#my god it’s like fuck this day entirely

[checkeredflagggs]

Aftermath of a Storm

Pairing: oscar piastri x sargeant!Storm chaser!fem!reader

summary: people are shocked to learn about alice and oscar

a/n: tbh i really meant for the first part to have more of the other drivers learning about Barbie and Alice but obviously that didn’t happen 😂

a/n 2: timelines? What timelines? Idk know them

Part 1

Twitter

Private Messages - Logan, Oscar, Alice

Private Messages - The Grid, Fun

Private Messages - Logan, Oscar, Alice

mclaren

liked by drbarbie, teammate1, logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 4,822,445 others

tagged: drbarbie, oscarpiastri

mclaren: Check the weather this weekend! Because there must be a storm moving in —Oscar Piastri is taking Dr. Alice “Barbie” Sargeant, Williams Racing’s Logan Sargeant’s twin sister and notable storm chaser, on a hot lap here in Mexico!

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user1: oh my god this is everything I never knew I needed

user2: oh yeah hey mclaren don’t forget to mention THAT THEY ARE DATING

oscarpiasti: it’s gonna be a good time!

logansargeant: it’s been nice knowing you

oscarpiasti: I’m sure it’ll be fine

logansargeant: you sure about that? you SURE about that?

logansargeant: are we talking about the same girl?

user4: WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?

used5: LET US IN. LET US IN!! YOURE AMERICAN — SPILL THE TEA

landonorris: Oscar! You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend!!!! 😡😡😡

oscarpiastri: I’m sure I mentioned it.

landonorris: I’m sure YOU HAVENT!?!

oscarpiastri: of course I have. are you sure you were listening?

landonorris: of course I was LISTENING! You just haven’t said A WORD!? Since when have you had a girlfriend?

oscarpiastri: we’ve been together for nearly 7 years

landonorris: 7 years?!?

oscarpiastri: yes.

landonorris: WHAT?!??!

user6: WHAT?

user7: uhh raise your hand if you had Oscar Piastri has a secret girlfriend, Logan Sargeant has a twin sister, or the two would be the same person on your bingo card this year

user8: ok but if anyone on the grid had a secret girlfriend of course it’s gonna be Oscar?

user7: you got me there

user9: 7 years?!? How do you hide a girlfriend for 7 years? Especially one as cool as drbarbie?

user10: user9 asking the real questions

user11: right?? How did some guy who drives in silly circles score such a cool badass girlfriend?

drbarbie: I ran over him with my bike one day

user11: WHAT?!?

drbarbie: ummmm what is this??? oscarpiastri WHAT DID YOU DO???

logansargeant: apparently signed you up to tackle a hot lap

drbarbie: NO

drbarbie: ABSOLUTELY NOT

drbabrie: SPEED AND I DO! NOT! MIX!!

drbarbie: oscarpiastri ANSWER YOUR PHONE

drbarbie: nicolepiastri where is your son? I’d like to have some words with him

nicolepiastri: you and me both sweetie

user12: you chase tornadoes but can’t do a hot lap?

drbarbie: THERE IS A MAJOR DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE TWO!

user13: and you prefer the storms?

drbarbie: YES!!

f1gossippage

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, teammate1, and 3,997,455 others

f1gossippage: a hot lap for the records! Oscar Piastri drove girlfriend Barbie Sargeant around the track twice today! Definitely seems like she’s not a fan

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user14: not a fan? I’d say 😂 I didn’t know anyone could scream that high tbh

user15: those were genuinely screams of terror…save my girl 😭

user16: Barbie Sargeant? Nah fam you did not do my girl dirty like that. Put some respect in her damn name. It’s DR. ALICE “BARBIE” SARGEANT

user17: oh thank god someone said it. She did not get 2 phd’s by the time she was 21 to have that be disrespected

user18: no shit really?

user17: yes! She graduated with double phd’s in meteorology and mechanical engineering from Cornell when she was 20!

used18: so fucking cool! And yea! PUT SOME DAMN RESPECT IN HER NAME!

user19: someone with more experience needs to watch this entire clip and then make gif sets of the ENTIRE thing because her face goes on a lot of journeys

user20: most of those journeys end in murder i think

drbarbie: they do. They will

logansargeant: maybe don’t threaten Oscar on a public instagram post?

drbarbie: for once in your life, stay in your lane. Unless you’d like to join him?

logansargeant: …carry on.

user20: logansargeant what was that??

logansargeant: I support women’s Rights and Wrongs

drbarbie: good

oscarpiasti: oh these are good pictures!

drbarbie: you are a dead man walking Piastri

oscarpiastri: would you really hurt me?

drbarbie: yes

oscarpiastri: what about my mother and sisters?

drbarbie: nicolepiastri soooo…you’re gonna be down a son soon. I can offer Logan?

nicolepiastri: oh we’d love to have the two of you visit again soon logansargeant and drbarbie

oscarpiastri: nicolepiastri mum??

user21: not nicolepiastri supporting this 🤣😭

teammate1: 😂😂😂

drbarbie: I sign your checks. Watch yourself

teammate1: girl this is too damn funny

drbarbie: 🙄😑

Private Messages - Oscar, Logan, Alice

drbarbie

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, and 3,728,388 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

drbarbie: it’s your turn now! 🥰

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user22: the hearts make this a very ominous message

drbarbie: it’s supposed to be!

user22: oh!

oscarpiastri: babe?

oscarpiastri: what do you mean my turn?

drbarbie: I told you! I’d only ever get in your car when you get in mine!

drbarbie: so convenient that you have a break and dolly is back from the mechanics right now! 🧡🩵🧡

oscarpiastri: ummm…🏃🏻‍♂️💨

user23: ok but is she really gonna take him through a tornado???

user24: that does seem like it’s the plan?

user23: I can’t watch this 🙈

user24: she’s a professional?

drbarbie: more confidence in me please

user24: you right you right

user: SHES A PROFESSIONAL

drbarbie: thank you!

logansargeant: good luck! Have fun!

drbarbie: 😊😊😊

logansargeant:…no.

logansargeant: What did I do?

logansargeant: come on I helped you

logansargeant: I’m on your side!!

teammate3: dolly is ready to roll!!

oscarpiastri: that better be a joke

teammate1:…

teammate2:…

teammate3:…

teammate4:…

teammate5:…

Private Messages - The Grid, Serious

drbarbie

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, charles_leclerc, and 4,288,373 others

tagged: oscarpiastri, logansargeant

drbarbie: don’t worry guys! They made it through the “storm” a-ok! (Come on guys, have a little faith. I’d never actually take someone unprepared into an actual tornado. Plus prime tornado season is over for the year!)

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user25: oh thank god. I was so very nervous

user26: girl you ain’t the only one. Check the video at 14:25. Oscar’s fingers are fucking white with panic 😂😂

oscarpiastri: thank you love for not subjecting me to a tornado

logansargeant: yes thank you my very favorite sister who is definitely the best and best and most wonderful

oscarpiastri: yes! Most wonderful and loving and beautiful girlfriend ever

drbarbie:…laying it on a little bit thick aren’t you?

logansargeant: quite literally whatever I have to do so I never ever ever ever have to get in that truck again!

drbarbie: don’t you dare disrespect dolly!

logansargeant: never!

oscarpiastri: dolly is a queen! We aren’t worthy.

logansargeant: yes! We definitely shouldn’t be in that truck ever again

drbarbie: babies…fine

user26: wow!!!! 🤩 those photos are stunning!

drbarbie: thank you! When I was planning this I knew the conditions were gonna be good for some nice thunderstorms but even I didn’t expect this level!

user26: so you just…followed them around?

drbarbie: yup! It’s something our parents used to do for me when logie and I were young - the driving being a lot more calm then normal is just about the only difference (my passengers complained the entire time 🙄)

user27: oh that’s so cute! (They seem like the type 😂)

landonorris: stunning

drbarbie: thank you!

oscarpiastri: no

landonorris: I didn’t say anything?

oscarpiastri: and yet the answer is no. Go away

georgerussell63: shut down!

landonorris: why am I catching strays on my comment thread???

charles_leclerc: these are magnificent photos! And it looked like a fun trip to get them

drbarbie: thank you! (Oh my god oscarpiastri I’ve been noticed by your father!)

oscarpiastri: that’s cool babe

charles_leclerc: yes! Welcome to the family. We expect you for dinner soon

drbarbie: score!

alicepublic

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, and 3,590,455 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

alicepublic: happy anniversary my love. The best 7 years of my life so far — with many more to go 🧡🧡🧡

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oscarpiastri: I can’t believe that it’s only been 7 years, I feel like I’ve known you for a lifetime already — I couldn’t imagine spending it with anyone else.

alicepublic: oh my love…

user28: water is wet. Fork found in the kitchen. I’m sleeping on the highway!

user29: sleepover!!

oscarpiastri: You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me 🩷

mclaren: you won the race last week?

alicepublic: uhhh your point?

oscarpiastri: and? I said what I said!

mclaren: alrighty then! Well said!

charles_leclerc: happy anniversary my son and daughter in law!

alicepublic: not a daughter in law yet but thank you!

oscarpiastri: soon!

alicepublic: WHAT?!? 😳 🫢

logansargeant: 7 years of being a third wheel and they don’t even tag me…EVEN THOUGH I'M VERY BLATANTLY IN THIS PHOTO DUMP

alicepublic: chill out dude

oscarpiastri: thank you for being our favorite third wheel and for taking these wonderful photos

logansargeant: Oscar is my favorite

alicepublic: I’d be mad but same tbh

user30: it’s been years but yay! Dr Barbie’s priv account is finally open

user31: oh my god baby her and baby Oscar are so cute!

user30: I know!! I’ve been getting fomo going through her posts - like what do you mean I haven’t been growing up with them?

user32: yeah alicepublic can we get an explanation for that photo near the beginning of you on a bike and Oscar bleeding?

alicepublic: that was the first day we met! My bike broke (no brakes) and as I was trying to slow down I accidentally ran over Oscar!

oscarpiastri: best accident I’ve ever had!

user32: ok this is the cutest meet-cute! ♥️

landonorris: unfortunately you guys are cute…

alicepublic: what 🥺 🥺 …

oscarpiastri: what do you mean unfortunately?

landonorris: yeah — can’t have anyone cuter than me in the garage so you’re uninvited to mclaren

oscarpiastri: happily you can’t make those decisions (slides $5 to mclaren)

mclaren: don’t worry alicepublic ! Permanent paddock pass for you!

landonorris: WHAT? NO!

landonorris: IM STILL CATCHING STRAYS ON MY COMMENT THREADS

[wizzdot]

*short fic alert* (fic under page break)

Hear me out. Is this….John Price?!

The 141 get home late from a mission, Johnny and Gaz go straight to the showers and Simon slinks off to wherever it is he winds down after a tough few days.

You have been sat on the proverbial bench for the past few weeks with a bullet wound to the shoulder. While rendered useless to the team, you decide to take up a new hobby. So far, the boys have been lab rats for the taste tests of whatever concoction you pull from the oven.

The burnt cookies (that you’d forgotten to put eggs in) that Kyle had whined about almost breaking his perfect teeth. Johnny managed to gobble them up and didn’t seem to understand what the problem was, leading Simon to joke that the man had no taste buds.

Or the time you accidentally used Salt instead of Sugar in the Victoria Sponge cake. Kyle subtlety threw his slice in the bin while you weren’t looking making sounds as if he had enjoyed in. Johnny ate it, making it look so delicious that you were getting confident that your baking skills were finally improving. Simon took a slice back to his room and in the privacy of his own bed, took a bite, and immediately spat it down the toilet. “Christ Almighty, that fuckin’ twat really doesn’t have taste buds” he cursed.

You perfect your skills over the next couple of weeks, with Johnny and Kyle remaining endlessly supportive of your new venture. But the entire time, John avoids your baking attempts.

“Need to watch my weight, love”

“Wish I could have a bite, but I’m on a diet, sweetheart”

“Can’t afford to pile on the pounds at my age, Dove”

They are John’s favourite excuses. You won’t admit it, but it makes you sad. You want to make all of your boys happy. Also, he isn’t even that old for gods sake.

Simon knows that the Captain is avoiding your god awful attempts. But even Simon notices that your skills are slowly improving. He keeps sneaking cupcakes and cookies into his room and this past week, especially, they’d been… alright. Well - apart from the horrifically deformed attempt of decorating a cake like Yoda. It looked like a slimy goblin with wonky eyes - but it tasted ok.

So picture this, they get home from a three day long mission. You’d missed your boys. You’d left your most recent cake on the kitchen counter before going to bed. You climb out from your bed when you hear their tired footsteps heading down the hall.

You poke your head out of the door. Johnny and Kyle come over and give you a soft hug. “Christ, you boys stink” you say. “Fuck off” Kyle laughs, before stripping himself of his shirt “gonna hop straight in the shower anyway. See you in the mornin’, yeah?” he asks. I nod and watch as he leaves towards his room.

Johnny stands, watching Kyle retreat. “I smell even worse than him, hen” he says, trying to shove your head into his armpit. You fight him off and shoo him down the hall.

Simon walks past and gives a small nod, “you might want to go and see Price. He made a beeline for the kitchen” he grumbles, continuing on his way casually.

That comment puts you on edge. Is John hurt? Is he looking for you? You quickly slide on your fluffy slippers and shuffle down to the kitchen as quickly as you can.

The scene that greets you is the last thing you expect to see. The Captain, in a wide stance, leaning one hand on the counter, devouring your Cake (the best one you’d baked so far!!!) with just a single fork. He’d polished off at least half of it, showing no signs of slowing down.

You can’t help but giggle at the scene. “Is it good…?”

“Fuckin’ hell, Love. It’s delicious”

The blush that erupts over your cheeks is immense.

“That was supposed to be shared..” you mumble.

“Not in a sharing mood” he says through a mouthful of cake.

“It’s rude to chew with your mouth open, Captain” you joke.

“Teach me some manners then, sweetheart” he teases, stabbing the fork into the top of the remaining quarter of cake before crowding into your personal space.

“Cakes almost as sweet as you” he whispers into your left ear before leaving the kitchen with a smug smile as you stand frozen in place.

“Oh, I’ve forgotten something!” He mentions from down the hall before turning back and snatching the cake box from the counter. He pauses on his way out, pecking you on the cheek and heading to his office as if that was totally normal behaviour.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t stand touching the spot that he’d kissed for half an hour after he’d left.

Your phone interrupts your frozen state. It’s a text from the group chat.

………..

Johnny: “Kyle, d’ya think Cap told her how he feels yet?”

………

Johnny: “c’mon ya cunt, don’t ignore my message. I know your out the shower I can hear you laughin through the wall”

………

Simon’s voice bellows throughout the hallway “wrong fuckin’ chat, you moron” followed by Kyle cackling and Johnny swearing loudly.

You’re still standing in the doorway of the kitchen, in shock, when the door to John’s office opens.

“Guess you saw that, eh?” he asks, sheepishly.

You nod your head, zoning in on a piece of icing on the corner of his mouth. As if on instinct, you reach up and wipe it with your finger, sticking it into your mouth, before freezing again, realising what you’d just done.

Johns eyes follow your finger, hungrily.

“If you wanted to taste it, you could’ve just asked, love”

[cheynovak]

Sleeping beauty

Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N Female character     

Summary: REQUEST: Dean sees Y/N sleeping, in his bed, in his shirt and it drives him insane. The heat he feels rushing through his veins. And it's all because she looks so good while sleeping. He just can't keep his hands to himself.

Warnings: 18+ Explicit, Somno, mastrubating, unprotected P in V, slight dominance, ...

English is not my first language 

*This story is my own original story, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

Dean pushed open the heavy metal door of the bunker with a quiet grunt, his entire body aching from the hunt. The long drive back had done nothing to ease the tension in his muscles, and the only thing on his mind was crashing in his bed.

Dean pushed open the heavy metal door of the bunker with a quiet grunt, his entire body aching from the hunt. The long drive back had done nothing to ease the tension in his muscles, and the only thing on his mind was crashing in his bed.

It was late—really late. The dim lights of the bunker cast a soft, familiar glow over the stone walls, offering a kind of comfort he rarely admitted to feeling.

The hunt had been brutal, but it was over. For now, at least. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, feeling the grit of the day clinging to him like a second skin.

All he wanted was to crawl under his sheets and sleep for as long as his mind would allow, which wasn’t ever as long as he hoped.

Kicking off his boots near the war room, planning on taking a quick shower, just to clean up before going to bed. Or that was what he thought he'd do. He padded silently down the hall toward his room.

As he got closer, a sense of something different hit him—something warm, something familiar. The door to his room was slightly open, a thin warm light spilling into the hallway from the bedside lamp.

Dean's brow furrowed in confusion, but the weariness in his body kept him from thinking too much about it.Pushing the door open, he froze in the doorway.

There, nestled in the middle of his bed, lay Y/N.

She was on her side, facing away from him, curled up in the middle of his bed like she belonged there.

The soft fabric of his worn, oversized flannel shirt draped loosely over her body, the sleeves bunched around her hands.

The sheets were tangled between her legs, one knee tucked up and the other stretched out, the thin blanket doing little to hide her body. Her hair spilled across the pillow, framing her peaceful face.

Her hip and ass showing over the sheets since she wore little to nothing except a pair of panties, Oh god... what is she doing to me!

Dean couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. His eyes glued on her body. A part of him was surprised, but another part—one he rarely allowed to surface—felt like this was right. Like seeing her here was what he needed after a hunt like that.

After a life like this. Come home, find her naked or nearly naked in bed, fuck her till he find sleep himself.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. Before he silently took his fresh shirt and boxers to go shower. While he closed the door behind him softly he kept looking not to wake her.

His mind spiralled in the shower. Why was she there? Did she miss him or maybe her own hunt was shitty and she needed him?

But all he could think of was her curves, how her ass lifted in the air, calling his name. Dean's cock was throbbing, his hand moved instinctively to it, making the release quick and hard.

But the second he turned the shower off, thanks to his own vivid imagination, he was hard again.

He walked back to his room, half expecting Y/N to be gone. But no... she was still there, in the same position.

The soft rise and fall of her breath was the only sound in the room, the quiet rhythm calming something deep inside of him. She looked peaceful, completely at ease. It was such a stark contrast to the usual chaos of their lives. And she was in his bed, wearing his shirt.

She turned a little more, showing herself a little better. Dean’s lips quirked up into the faintest hint of a smile. She is asking for it.

He stepped forward quietly, not wanting to disturb her, and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly beneath his weight, but Y/N only stirred for a second before settling back into her dreams.

She looked so small wrapped in his clothes, the shirt swallowing her frame, and the sight did something to his heart (and cock) he couldn’t quite explain.

For a while, Dean just watched her sleep. His eyes traced the soft lines of her face, the way her lashes brushed her cheeks, how her lips parted slightly with each breath. Hands hovering over her curves wanting to touch her skin.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, just soaking in the moment, but for once, there was no urgency. No looming threat, no ticking clock. Just her, and the quiet sound of their breathing. Unless he counted his erection as a ticking time bomb...

They often enough had a quick fuck during or after a hunt. Just to release stress, this wasn’t different, all though he tried to ignore the sensation his cock was giving him. Just releasing stress.

He leaned back slightly, his hand coming so close to touch her. The warmth of her skin was a stark contrast to the coolness of the room, and he found himself wondering again how she’d ended up here.

Did she miss him while he was gone? Had she come looking for comfort in his absence? Or was she desperately looking for sex. That wouldn't be a first.

They shared a bed... couch... car... They settled boundaries before. And this was something he knew she'd be into.

His hand now warm on her hip made her lean closer to him, showing him a little more.

His flannel hung loosely off her shoulder, exposing the smooth skin of her collarbone, seeing how she was naked under his shirt.

Fuck! Dean had to fight the urge to reach out, to touch her, to pull her close, to knead and feel her breasts, feel how her soft nipple hardened with his touch.

Instead, he let out a soft sigh and ran a hand down her leg.

Carefully, not to wake her, Dean turned beside her on the bed, The mattress shifted slightly, and Y/N stirred again, her brow furrowing for a moment before she relaxed once more. Dean turned on his side, facing her, his head resting on the pillow just inches from hers.

But he couldn't stop himself. His hand moved slowly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. The touch was so light, so careful, as if he was afraid of shattering the calm of the moment.

His fingers moved over her collarbone to her breast softly kneading her flesh.

As if sensing his presence even in her sleep, Y/N shifted closer to him. Her body instinctively pressed into his, her ass moving against his hips.

Dean’s breath hitched at the contact, the feel of her so close sending a warmth through him. Fuck he needed her!

She mumbled something incoherent in her sleep, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his sheets. Dean chuckled softly under his breath, a rare sound in the stillness of the room.

“You always steal my shirts.” he whispered, even though he knew she wouldn’t hear him. His voice was rough with exhaustion and need but soft, the kind of tone he only used when it was just the two of them.

"This time you'll need to pay for it princess." He whispered while his hand dipped between her legs. Unknowingly she let him, moving her leg a little higher. "Fuck you're so wet already... did you...?" his voice broke off.

Would she? The idea of her playing with herself in his bed, in his flanel drove him insane. Her breath became deeper while his fingers played with her. Drawing slow easy circles on her clit.

He tugged her panties aside, before he freed his throbbing dick from his boxers. No longer able to wait, he rubbed himself against her wet core. The feeling almost enough to come then and there.

Seeing how her panties get wet with their movement.

A soft moan escaped her mouth, "D-Dean?" her voice sounded sleepy. Her hand moved back, trying to find him, and she did, pretty easily she found the back of his head, pulling him closer.

His other arm slid under her, pulling her just a little closer, and she instinctively settled into him, her head now resting against his chest.

"Shh..." He whispered. He turned her on to her belly, granting himself more access. Her hand kneading the pillow while he adjusted himself. Pulling her panties further down. Kneading her ass, kissing her flesh.

He guided himself inside, feeling her thighten just a little by the surprise of him. Her body reacted, a soft "Mhm." escaped her mouth, not knowing weither she was fully awake or he'd just given her a great dream.

"D-Dean?" she moaned sleepy. "What are you...Oh!" He leaned in closer, thrusting all the way in "Just enjoy baby." He said before he kissed her neck. She was clearly awake now, pushing her ass up so he could thrust deeper.

His hand fisted her hair, "Do you have any fucking idea what you’re doing to me? Sleeping in my bed, halve naked."

"Mhm..."

"What did you think of when you tickled that pretty little cunt of yours." Her head lifted. He knew... but he bit playfully in her neck. to hold her down.

"I felt it... while you where sleeping, I felt how wet you where without me even touching you." A breathy "Oh." escaped her mouth.

"You wanted me to fuck your sleeping pussy didn't you."

All she could was moan in response.

"Yes..."

--

Please like, share or comment when you liked the story. If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

Tag list:-> If you want to be added let me know what you like to read! If anyone feels like you're tagged too much, also let me know please. :)

@deans-baby-momma @soab1967 @livingdeadblondequeen @ladysparkles78 @kr804573 @nancymcl@suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @globetrotter28 @jackles010378 @hobby27 @call-me-mrs-winchester @winchesterwild78 @deans-baby-momma @soab1967 @livingdeadblondequeen @ladysparkles78

[starfxkrreloaded]

⋆｡°✩ being sarahs best friend who moved from the cut, and during a sleepover one day she's just poking through your stuff untl she finds this litle rinky dink camera that she knows you carry around sometimes so she's going through it while you're in the shower. and it's nothing crazy at first--the two of you together, different parties, overall fun moments.

but you scrolls back a little further, about a year or so, and all of a sudden you're somewhere unfamiliar. it's dingier, woodier, more simplistic. it's gotta be back on the cut, and you're not the one holding the camera. someone else is, it's some guy with the lens trained on the way another guy--blonde this time--is gripping your things. you're standing, barely, slurring and leaning on the blonde one for support as he gropes at you in your bikini and tiny shorts.

told you dude, s'like we got our own porn star over here' he punctuates his action with a light bounce to your breast, pulling the damp triangle to the side so the cameraman can zoom in.

cmon jj don't say that, we gotta have some dignity about this'

all 3 of you sounded drunk, and you and jj were clearly far gone--kissing hard and deep as he pinched you nipple and shoved a hand down your shorts at the same time.

the unseen voice grabs your face, turning to his direction and sarah can see a little glimpse of him when he leans in to kiss you; curly brown hair, soft lips. its enough to make you groan, and blonde greedy because you're tugged out of the way so the two can kiss. sarah feels her whole body flush hot, she's used to seeing girls for a guy, but this is something new entirely.

you always do that, john b wanted to kiss me.

there's a bit of a shuffle, and sarah can't see anything, not until he sets the camera down, and she sees you on the bed, the blonde boy behind you holding your leg up as he pushes inside your ass. even in the crappy quality sarah can see you're wet--puffy lips glistening in the low light and she swears she can see a trickle of arousal drip down your thigh.

"oh my god..."

john b hurry up, i can't wait anymore i need both.

alright sweetheart relax, tell our boy to slow it down back there.

jj slows his thrusts just enough for john b to push into your cunt, and sarah almost gasps at how thick he is, he look's like he's gonna tear you in two. but all 3 of you let out some sort exclamation, and sarah's clit throbs at the sight, but the shower's turned off now and she knows there's only so much time left.

fuckfuckfuck oh my god. you're stuck between them, forced to take the dual pounding in a cacophony of moans and grunts as you start to squirm, god i'm gonna cum.

just as your voice reaches a pitch you come out the bathroom, skin still steaming as you finish rubbing your lotion in and sarah only had a split second to sit on the camera. hoping the minuscule chaos helped cover the sound as she shut it off

"the fuck's wrong with you?" you giggle as you walk past her to your dresser, dropping the towel leaving sarah to stare, watching you bend down to pull your panties on.

she glances in the mirror, and sees how flushed she looks, "oh just, opened the hidden replies on twitter. wasn't expecting that."

you snort, throwing on an oversized shirt that says Hayward's Seafood, and turning around, "don't know why it's always some crazy shit. come lady down i wanna watch a movie."

sarah does what you say, her body finally calming from the scene she witnessed but now all she can focus on is the warm vanilla scent of your skin and a picture she never paid too much attention to above your headboard.

"so, who are those two guys you're with here?"

[rocknroll7575]

Knight of Olympus

Jaune: OK every one we will be doing capture the flag but with a twist and.... are those actual weapons?

Percy: Yes?

Jaune: THAT IS SO DANGEROUS NO!!!

Clarisse: So what you said you used actual weapons in training in your world and were wearing armor?

Jaune: BECAUSE WE ALL HAD PERSONAL PROTECTIVE BARRIERS AND WE STOPPED WHEN OUR AURA GOT TO A LOW PERCENTAGE!!!

Annabeth: You guys could measure it down to the percentage?

Jaune: Annabeth, not now!

Annabeth: Right, sorry!

Jaune: Ok raise of hands... how many of you have almost died during this?

*Everyone raises a hand*

Jaune: Oh for fuck sake! Ok, Percy you start!

Percy: Well, Clairesse tried to kill me that one time, and then a hellhound nearly cut me in half

Jaune: Oh my gods!

Annabeth: Then there were the chariot races and the birds

Jaune: *rubbing his temples* Ooooh... my gods...

Drew: Let's not forget the Hunters trying to maim every boy when we all go up against them

Jaune: Ok, gotta talk to Artemis about that- Anyway! We'll be using practice weapons from now on so nothing like that happens again and if I find out it does, so help me, I will personally give you the worst punishment in this camp imaginable!

Connor: Like what?

Jaune: I will personally make you Mr. D's servant for an entire day, got it?

Diyonisus: How is that-?

All Campers: GOT IT!

[bluecollarmcandtf]

M O O N L I G H T ™

Chapter III

It's late, and the last thing I expect to find at my nightly workout is my little bro, dressed up like a personal trainer. He looks ridiculous in that cheesy uniform, not to mention the light pouring out of his skull and the smile stamped into his face! I guess the little idiot signed up for Moonlight™: that was one helluva mistake!

"Good evening, sir," my brother speaks as if we hadn't grown up together, "Is there any way I can aid your fitness journey tonight?"

Hearing Ryan call me 'sir' brings a devious grin to my own face. I've bullied this kid for years, and now he's kissing my ass like well-trained puppy. Thanks to Moonlight™, my annoying little bro is just a mind controlled employee who doesn't realize his brother's here, let alone embarrassing him! I wish I could get my entire family implanted with these little Moonlight™ things. Messing with them would be hilarious!

"Oh yeah," I sneer, "And what's string bean gonna do for a guy like me?"

"Well, sir, as a personal trainer here at Planet Fitness, I'll gladly demonstrate how to use the machines, spot patrons with heavy-lifting, and return equipment when finished."

God, he sounds even more annoying than usual! "You really think a someone like you could spot me?" I scoff and bring my bicep to his face, flexing it inches away from his perpetually open eyes.

"Actually, sir, this body can lift 260 lbs on the bench press without injury. The load you have is well-enough below to ensure that I may be of service. Still sir, the weight you're lifting is a very respectable amount," Ryan's smile beamed at me, but mine fell.

"Whatever, I'll be fine," I retort, "Just stand over there and mop up my sweat when I'm done."

"Yes, sir."

My little brother takes a step back as I get ready to lift. As stupid as he looks, standing there waiting on me to finish, he also looks pretty fit. His company polo might be sweaty and gross, but it's tight against his improving physique. He's clearly been lifting a lot while he's been working here, but his gains should not count if Moonlight™ is the one actually working out that pathetic little body! The only way he could bulk up was by becoming a fucking puppet! Talk about sad!

"Fuck!" I grunt, tossing the barbell back as I finish. I did a few extra sets to prove a point and now my arms are on fire. "Towel!" I snap.

"Yes, sir," Ryan rushes over and wipes the sweat off my brow. I just laugh in his face.

"I think I got some sweat on my sneakers too," I jab, "You can wipe them off and then put twenty more pounds on the bar."

"Of course, sir."

My brother gets on his knees with the towel, giving my sneakers a cursory buff. I don't know what personal trainer has shoe-shining in his job description, but I've heard these Moonlight™ employees can be pretty pliant. Apparently, you can make them do quite a bit with the loopholes in their programming. Maybe I can get Ryan here to do something even more embarrassing than polishing his big bro's shoes!

The next week, I worked out every night.

Turns out, bullying my little bro was great motivation to go to the gym! When I saw him during the day, I never mentioned the fact that I knew; didn't want to scare him off. At night, I had every opportunity to take out my frustrations on him. If he pissed me off during the day, I could boss him around at the gym, ordering him to follow me around and wipe down every piece of equipment. I could call him whatever names I wanted and yell at him as loudly as I pleased; he had to just stand there with the best customer service smile and say "yes, sir."

Playing around with Ryan was fun, but it wasn't until I went out for a drink that I ran into my second brother. I guess he had the same idea to get hired with Moonlight™...

"Can I fix you a drink, sir?" my brother, the middle child, yells over the club's EDM.

"What the hell?" I shout, "Ryan's dumb enough to Moonlight™, but I didn't think you were!"

Sam just stares back with the same flashlight eyes and widely stretched lips. Of course his programming won't let him do anything outside of bartending! He's probably not even conscious in there! Ryan was always a bit of an impulsive twerp, so I wasn't surprised to see him Moonlighting™, but Sam is different. He'd said he'd never put his body to work at night. Something about the behavior of Moonlighters™ always rubbed him the wrong way...I guess he changed his mind.

"A round of beers," I tell him, warily gesturing to the back corner, "For me and our crew."

Sam's glowing stare looks over my shoulder and sees our friends, the guys we both hang out with, "Yes, sir. I'll have it right out for you."

I return to our pals, anxious for my brother to follow. Sam is only a year younger than myself, so we run around with the same crowd, yet he didn't recognize any of our buds. Now he's about to serve them like a fucking waiter. My catatonic brother is about to walk into the most humiliating situation of his life. I just get to sit back and watch!

"Sam?" one of them asks a moment later.

"Here are your beers, sir," my brother plucks the bottles off his tray and sets them out for each of his friends, completely oblivious to their stunned reactions, "Is there anything else I can get any of you?"

"Holy crap, dude!" another pal turns to me, "Since when did your brother start Moonlight? He looks like a total idiot!"

Sam doesn't seem to register the insult.

"I don't know man," I laugh, "Tonight, I guess."

"Fetch us some napkins," one guy quips with an amused flick of his hand.

"Right away, sir." Sam answers a little too promptly, and whisks away.

"Right away, sir, Ha!" the guy repeats with a mock salute, "We've gotta mess with him!"

Sam returns, obediently passing out napkins, but I'm finding it harder to meet his gaze while he's grinning so manically. This situation is starting to feel more awkward than hilarious. These guys will never let him live this down!

"Sam, get over here and give this paying customer a sloppy BJ!"

My brother stiffens, and for a second a jolt of fear runs down my spine, terrified that Moonlight™ will actually make him comply. Pranks are all good and fun, but I do not want to see my brother about to blow another dude!

"I apologize, sir," he finally resumes, "That is not part of my responsibilities as bartender."

Thank God.

"Then get something to clean this up," he laughs wildly, "You spilled my beer!" Our friend then pours half his drink on the crotch of his jeans, staring at Sam with the amused eyes of a drunk fool. This guy always gets weird after a few drinks. I don't know why we still bring him along. Normally, we just ignore him.

"Of course, sir," Sam answers attentively.

For the next ten minutes, I sit in silent horror as my brother returns with a rag, proceeding to get on his knees and wipe down another man's crotch with painful dedication. Of course, our friends are all howling with laughter at this point, taking video evidence that they can embarrass Sam with later.

It feels like a lifetime, but Sam finally stands up, "I hope I cleaned that up well enough for you, sir."

The guy feels at his wet jeans, saying, "I don't know if that's good enough, bitch."

"I'm sorry, sir, let me try ag-"

"No! It's my turn," someone else cuts in, pushing his way to the front, "You spilled some on my ass that needs cleaned up!"

The gang loses it, doubling over with laughter as Sam prepares to spend the next ten minutes wiping down another guy's ass, but I've had enough, "No! We're done here, thank you. Go close our tab," I bark.

"Yes, sir," Sam turns on his heel. His dumb obedience is more disturbing than entertaining at this point.

Our friends all give me a hard time for sending him away, but I'm not having it. Maybe I'm not drunk enough, but they're enjoying this a lot more than I am. At this point, I'm ready to call it a night and go home, so I say my goodbyes and head for the exit.

The walk home isn't a far one, but I pass a few notable places on the way: one being my dad's dark office building. Our old man has been working late nights there lately. In the dimly lit lobby, I recognize someone...

"Dad?" I gasp.

"Good evening, sir," my father says to me without any note of familiarity in his voice.

"Wait, you're moonlighting too?" it comes out as more of an accusation, but at this point I'm fed up with finding family members secretly working random mind-controlled night jobs.

"I am a security guard employed through the Moonlight™ corporation," his gravelly voice sounds foreign, delivering these programmed prompts, "If you'd like, sir, I can help you apply for a Moonlight™ position, and you can start making the most of your sleeping hours too!"

"Why the fuck did you think this was a good idea, dad?" I ask, knowing this stupid security guard persona isn't capable of answering.

"He didn't."

The voice of someone else in the room sends shivers down my spine. I whip around, and see a gangly, middle-aged man stepping forward.

"Jeff?"

"Hi, Jamie," my uncle says, sauntering up to his far taller brother and resting an arm on his shoulder. My dad's attentive posture doesn't waver. He just keeps on acting like the perfect sentry for the building and the perfect armrest for his brother.

"Do you mind telling me what's going on!?"

He sniffles and sighs like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, "Yes, I suppose this charade of mine was doomed to be found out sooner or later. I put your father in the Moonlight™ database. He was just wasting his sleeping hours at home in his bed, and he'd always refuse to let me sign him up, so I did it in secret. He makes a great guard. Right Tom?"

Uncle Jeff claps my dad on the back, prompting him to announce a proud, "Yes, sir!"

"See," my uncle turns back to me, "No harm done. Your old man gets paid to stand around in his sleep. Its harmless!"

"But he doesn't know!" I yell, seething at my uncle's sheer abuse of his place in the company, "This has to be illegal, and are you just pocketing Dad, Ryan, and Sam's salaries?"

He rolls his eyes, "I am right now, but the four of you don't even make that much."

"Did you just say the four of us?" I grunt.

"Oops," he holds a hand to his forehead and curses under his breath.

"AM I FUCKING MOONLIGHTING WHILE I SLEEP TOO?" I am screaming at this point, "You're fucked up!" I bark. Angrily, I stomp towards my uncle, but my father takes a firm step planting himself between me and the man. His steady palm is holding the baton at his belt, making me nervous. Is my dad about to beat me up for this creep?

"Excuse me, sir," my dad smiles at my uncle, "Would you like me to escort this man out of the building?"

"That won't be necessary," my uncle says, "I'll just trigger his Moonlight™ shift to start now. You can go back to standing in the corner"

"Yes, sir," my security guard father answers placidly, returning to his attentive stance.

"You wouldn't," I snarl.

"Oh, trust me, I will. As I understand it, overriding a subject's body while awake means you'll be fully conscious. I'll work on something to make you forget this whole incident later."

He presses a few buttons on an ipad, and suddenly my vision is engulfed in a purple haze. My back straightens, my muscles relax, and I feel my face contorts into a giant smile. Suddenly, my entire body seems to be gone from my grasp, and I'm constrained to a tiny space in my head while something else takes over.

"Enjoy your shift," my uncle snickers with a glare.

"Thank you, sir. I will," I feel my voice pushed out of my throat with an excited tone that isn't mine. Before I know it, my legs are carrying me away from my uncle, leaving him with my father, to march down the dark street...

"Here's your order, sir," my voice has the trademarked Moonlight™ eagerness in it as I reach out the window and hand over the meal.

"Fuck off, sleep-freak!" the teen in the driver's seat flips me off, making his immature friends cackle as they speed off. I can't do anything but smile and watch as they weave away. They have no idea I'm actually conscious in here.

After being forced to leave my uncle, I found myself striding into a fast food restaurant through its backdoor. I could instantly tell the place wasnt anywhere I'd eat at because the dumpster smelled like soggy fries and old meat. The kitchen was a fluorescent-lit pit, with a thick feeling of oil hanging in the air. I could barely take in the surroundings before I was changing out of my clothes by some lockers. I was horrified that Moonlight™ was making me fucking strip, but before long my hands were pulling on new clothes: a uniform. The polo felt like it'd been sitting at the bottom of the locker since the last shift, drying in sweat, and the pants were sticky with something unidentifiable. I was mortified to be pulling on a fucking hairnet and apron, but I had no choice.

"Blondie's here early," a smoker's voice purred from behind me. I had a bad feeling he'd been standing there for a while, watching.

"Hello boss," my voice answers, apparently recognizing the overweight, unshaved creep, "I'm ready to start my shift, sir! Where am I needed today?"

I watched as the man licked his stubbly lips, his beady eyes crawling all over me. Without any shame, his sweaty palm groped the growing bulge in his khakis. He was obviously happy to see me, and he probably thought I couldn't actually see him! I guess, every fucking night that my uncle's made me work in my sleep, I've been under the supervision of THIS pervert!?

"Get to the fryer," his scratchy throat moaned, "You know I want you to get nice and sweaty for later."

"Yes, sir. I'll be sure to work up a sweat for you," I answer, confused and disturbed by my response. The cheer in my voice did not match the overwhelming gloom I felt when the man slapped my ass. His hand lingered on my rear for too long, but I couldn't even frown.

Since then, I've been boiling fries and flipping burgers. Every so often I have to hand an order out the window, but my heart races every time I do. Three orders ago, the customer threw their soda back at my coworker, he's a fairly average guy in his thirties, and he was dowsed in Coca-Cola. It didn't keep Moonlight™'s programming from working: he just kept manning the grill, smiling, eyes glowing, and hair dripping with cherry flavored juice.

"Ouch!" at least, that's what I want to say. The oil sizzles and pops, and a few drops of hot grease splatter onto my arm, but I don’t flinch. The control won’t let me.

Suddenly I feel someone leaning in behind me. My spine shivers as my manager says, "It's closing time, Blondie. I'll send everyone home so you and I can clean up like usual." He whispers it in my ear, with his flabby arms wrapped around me like we're fucking lovers! I wish I could vomit!

"Sounds good, boss," I find myself saying.

One by one, the manager dismisses each of my moonlighting coworkers. I can't help but feel jealous as they strip out of their uniforms by the door. It isn't just that they get to leave; they also have the luxury of not knowing what's going on. They're all asleep. I'd give anything to at least be unaware of whatever this fucking pervert is about to do!

My body is preoccupied with whatever shit needs to be done for closing, wiping down the tables, taking out the trash, and more.

"Mop time," the manager suddenly announces, holding the raggedy thing out expectantly.

"Yes, sir," my voice answers, and I drop what I'm doing to accept the mop. The crotch of his pants is unzipped, but my bodies already turned away from him, turning all my attention to swab the tiles floor.

"You're doing it wrong again, Blondie," he purrs slowly, "I'm gonna have to help you like usual."

"Thank you, sir," my voice sounds grateful, but I am anything but. The pervert presses his rotund body against my back and holds my muscular arms with his own chubby ones. I can feel his penis poking into me below his gut, but my body accepts his touch like he's just a boss helping out an employee.

I guess this asshole found a loophole in Moonlight™'s fucking programming. He's going to touch me all he wants under the guise of demonstrating the right way to mop.

The creep spends the next ten minutes guiding my arms back and forth. "Fuck, you're bubble butt feels even better than usual, Blondie," he breathes in my ear. If I had control of my muscles, he wouldn't stand a chance, but right now, they're putty in my boss's arms. Meanwhile, his waist gets busy dry humping his chode into my rear end. "I'm so glad a jock like you was dumb enough to try Moonlight!" he grunts, his tongue dangerously close to my ear. I can only thank God that he can't take my pants off! After several painful minutes of him spitting more disgusting comments onto my cheek, his arms drop mine and plant themselves on my chest. His hands sloppily grope my pecs and pinch my nipples. I've never felt more pathetic. The man makes one final exclamation, "FUUUCK!" and I can tell he has finally gotten off.

"Thanks for the help, boss," I find myself saying.

With heavy breaths, he staggers back. The sudden open air on my back makes me realize just how hot and sweaty that slob was, and I can feel the slimy remnants of his balls slipping down my back and legs.

"Good job as always, Blondie," he breathes heavily with satisfaction.

"Thank you, sir," I answer. My voice hasn't lost its awful chipper quality, and my face is still stuck in a smile like I hadn't just been taken advantage of.

"Finish mopping up, and then you can lock up and clock out," he winks as if we shared some inside joke. I hate that all he sees is my smile.

"Yes, sir," I answer, but the creep has already waddled out of the building and slammed the door shut.

The sudden silence is unbearable. It makes the monotonous task of mopping the sticky floors all the more unpleasant. What's worse is that I can't pause to wash the manager's cum off my back. It soaks into my pants as I work, trapped in my own body. At least I know why these pants are so sticky. Honestly, I hope Uncle Jeff will wipe my memory...

[kiwiana-writes]

hi MJ!! for the sleepover weekend asks, i'd love some fluffy and a few hurt/comfort firstprince fic recs! and and for fmk: bea, june and nora from rwrb! okay thats it byebye ~saturday xoxo

Forgive me: I sat on this one for so long it's now officially NEXT weekend, at least in my part of the planet, so I guess answering this is also me kicking off this weekend's slumber party 😅

I'm doing FMK first, even though I need you to know this is CRUEL. Fuck Nora, marry Bea, kill June, but I am absolutely relying on Nora's smarts/Pez's cash to get her out of this situation.

Anyway:

FLUFFY FIRSTPRINCE FIC RECS

take me back to San Francisco by @getmehighonmagic: this has a sequel languishing in my emails for that magical future day when I'm capable of reading again but I have no doubt it'll be just as incredible as part one, which is FUCKING DIVINE. Also I just... really wanna go to San Francisco.

You love me! You love me? by anarchyat4am: How often I shoehorn a rec for this fic wherever it might be even remotely applicable is sort of a running joke by this point but I stand by it actually. This is a massive comfort fic for my trans ass.

Confidential Memorandum by @sherryvalli: this fic is so stinkin' cute I feel like I need to book a dental appointment every time I read it.

Dick, Dick, Dick (You Down) by @everwitch-magiks: do I feel a deep abiding kinship with Henry's anxiety being read as rudeness in this fic? Maybe, shut up.

Getting Clinical by @cha-melodius: Yes I'm biased because this was a gift for me, no I don't care, IT'S A FUCKING DELIGHT.

In His Wildest Dreams by @myheartalivewrites: This fic is a fucking fluffy blanket of joy.

If at first you don't succeed by @clottedcreamfudge: I am lowkey obsessed with CCF second first impressions and Alex being blissfully unaware until he's not.

HURT/COMFORT FIRSTPRINCE FIC RECS

a shard or two by @aeithalian: you don't read WIPs? I don't care. Read this one. I beg of you. Hands down the most criminally underrated fic in this entire fandom in my opinion. It is so, SO good. I reread it all the time in between chapters, I am hoping DESPERATELY the author will let me ficbind it when it's done, and I will scream about it from the fucking ROOFTOPS to convince y'all to read it. No cliffhangers, no relationship drama, just the meatiest post-canon deliciousness.

(but i knew you) baby, kiss it better by saintsnames: age gap my beloved, sex bloopers my beloved, two idiots in love MY BELOVED.

i ask you how you’re doing (and i let you lie) and even though we know it isn't true by @matherines: double-reccing even though these can be read separately because HAHA OUCH MY HEART. Both of these fics just fucking flayed me alive????

you were more than just a short time by @hypnostheory: DAVID 😭😭😭😭😭😭 mind the living fuck out of the tags but FUCK this is good. Heartbreaking, but good.

Downburst by @cricketnationrise had me clutching my face from start to finish I swear to god.

So I Will Weather the Storm by @sparklepocalypse: while reading this, picture me just screaming ALEX YOU FUCKING DUMBASS at my computer the entire time and it'll be like you were right here with me the first time I read it!

The Domestication of Household Spiders by @cultofsappho: if Spider-Man Alex has no fans I am dead etc etc. This is so fucking SOFT from start to finish.

[Sleepover weekend!]

[saiintofdiirt]

Summary: Ken walks into the aftermath of Parrot finding out Wifies is actually a clone. He should be given sainthood for how little he kills Parrot.

notes: this is so not edited lol i wrote this in like. 3 hours between tasks at work. rip. this is vaguely set in the most recent UU episode in that i needed a setting and also a reason for ken wifies and parrot to be in the same place at once. no spoilers for the episode its just alluded to being the setting. uhhhh. i think thats it. enjoy.

word count for the curious: 2678. allegedly.

~~~~

Ken arrives in the meeting room with a hop in his step. He’s been looking for Wifies everywhere, but Dean let him know that Wifies was talking with Parrot, and now Ken can finally show him the little tricky trap he’s been working on! He’s proud of himself. It’s a really good design! So he’s hopping into the room like a rabbit instead of a cat.

Parrot stands alone at the head of the table, back to the door. Just Parrot.

Bleh.

“Yo,” Ken greets even though he still feels the urge to whack Parrot across the head occasionally. “I thought Wifies was here?”

“Did you know?” Parrot asks.

Ken can feel every single part of his body prickle with discomfort. He’s glad that Parrot isn’t looking at him, so he has a chance to lower his shoulders, and tail, and ears. And attitude. He knows, somehow, what exactly Parrot means by knowing. Ken shuts the door silently.

“Know what?” Ken asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Don’t play dumb Ken. Did you know about Wifies being a clone?”

Ken breathes in slowly. He pulls his comm out and checks the playerlist. Wifies is gone. He was here only a few minutes ago when Ken last checked, which means that whatever happened, just happened.

“Did he tell you that?” Ken asks, opening Wifies’s chat.

[_Kenadian_]: where are you?

“You know, I was so confused,” Parrot turns around, eyes distant and face blank. “When I first met him, he was such a fucking asshole. Entirely full of himself. Still the smartest guy I’d ever met, though, so when all this stuff started happening on the server, I couldn’t help but think of him. I thought I was gonna regret inviting him, yet he was so quiet and nice now.”

[_Kenadian_]: wifies

[_Kenadian_]: seriously where are you

“He was always reserved, even before, but all these little things started coming up— he couldn’t remember things well, he’d talk about weird things in his sleep, things like that. And I couldn’t even. . . I didn’t know how to piece it together, and he wouldn’t talk to me!”

[_Kenadian_]: wato

[Wato1876]: Hey!

[_Kenadian_]: have you heard from wifies

[Wato1876]: No?

[Wato1876]: Isn’t he on unstable w/ you right now?

[_Kenadian_]: he left and isnt answering my messages

[_Kenadian_]: parrot found out, idk how, and now wifies is /gone/

[Wato1876]: ok I’ll check around for him

[_Kenadian_]: thx

“Are you even listening?” Parrot asks, and Ken finally looks up at him. His expression is one of desperation. It disgusts Ken.

“No,” Ken says, voice bone dry. “You yelled at him didn’t you? God Parrot, and I was just starting to respect you.”

“He lied to me this whole time!” Parrot explodes, eyes wild as he leans his hand on the table. “From the start, he hid this from me, and I only found out by— by sheer coincidence! He was talking to someone on his comm, and said something about being a clone, and I just—”

“Wait, who was he talking to?” Ken interrupts with a frown.

“I— I don’t know, they had a deep voice, talked really particularly?”

“Must’ve been Retro. . . Retro knows?” Ken mutters to himself.

The shame Wifies stews in every day because of his clone status is something Ken hasn’t been able to push past; Wifies always says he owes his life to Ken, but rarely does he bother to share his burdens with him either. Which means at least Retro seems to be getting through to him. . . It stings a little, but Ken has bigger fish to fry.

“So you did know!”

“Parrot, why do you care!” Ken snaps, turning back to his comm and searching for Retro’s contact information. Shit. He should’ve nabbed it off of Wifies earlier. “You drove him off! He’s not your fucking problem now, shouldn’t you be happy?! There! You cleaned your friends list of liars! Aren’t you satisfied with your work?!”

“I just wanted to know the truth, I didn’t want to drive him off! He's not a problem to get rid of!”

“Well great fucking job, man, go kick rocks or something. Fuck, where did he go?!”

[Wato1876]: Found him. He’s at the factory.

[Wato1876]: Ken, his comm is cracked right in half. He’s stuck here again.

Ken feels everything in him rear like a lion. He closes his comm and tucks it into his pocket. Slowly, oh so slowly, he stalks around the table towards Parrot, holding the hilt of his sword in a loose grip. Parrot follows his path with his eyes, feathers puffing out and fists clenched.

“Did you break his comm, Parrot?” Ken asks casually.

“No,” Parrot replies.

“Parrot. Tell me the truth. Did you break Wifies’s comm? Even by mistake?” Ken’s gums ache. He’ll dig his teeth into Parrot’s thin throat. He’ll rip his flimsy little esophagus out.

“No, no. I didn’t. I didn’t touch him. I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know if you wouldn’t, Parrot, but I swear to everything you hold dear, if I find out it was you who broke his comm, you are going to wish I had just killed you instead,” Ken hisses out.

“His comm is broken?” Parrot echoes faintly, and it’s like gravity returns to his world, his feet landing back in reality.

“I don’t think you deserve an answer, Parrot, but yes.”

Ken tries to breathe through his anger. He’s going to believe Parrot for now.

[_Kenadian_]: ill be there soon

[Wato1876]: Bring a replacement comm?

“I was mad,” Parrot sounds wretched. “But not— I don’t care that he’s a clone Ken. I just felt like he didn’t trust me.”

Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder.

“I never trusted you, Parrot, not once, not for a single moment, but you made Wifies happy. I don’t know what he sees in you, but he was happy playing second fiddle to your stupid little orchestra on here, y’know? So I tried very hard to get along with you, so Wifies could stay happy,” Ken lets go of the hilt of his sword to press a sharp nail into Parrot’s chest. “You don’t understand the state I found him in before he came here, before you roped him into your stupid little games. He—”

Ken’s voice cracks and he curses, indistinct and abstract. He hates this. Leave it to Parrot to fuck everything up, just like Ken always knew he would with his lack of foresight and planning and brain. Parrot snaps up to grab Ken’s hand in a tight grip.

“Ken, I didn’t want him to leave me,” Parrot chokes out. “I just wanted to know, I just—”

“And look at where your wanting got him!” Ken spits out, yanking his hand away. “You want, and want, and want, Parrot do you even care what your wanting costs the rest of the world? What it costs Wifies?”

“He never says anything to me, he never—”

“Do you ever ask?! God Parrot, get out of your head for a minute!”

Ken runs a hand through his hair. Where is he gonna find a replacement comm? He might have something in one of the prison servers he frequents, but his head is scrambled, he can’t quite sort through his inventory in his head to figure out what he has right now. He may have one in his escape kits. . .

“Ken,” Parrot breathes. He finally realized what he’s done, it seems. Ken wants to stab him in the stomach. “Ken, I care about Wifies more than anyone else. You know that right? He knows that right?”

Ken pulls at his roots.

“I don’t know anything about Wifies right now,” Ken finally says, exhaustion creeping into him as his adrenaline runs dry. “I can’t contact him right now. He gets. . . bad, when it comes to the clone stuff. God, Parrot, what the hell have you done?”

Ken doesn’t wait for an answer. He leaves the server and lands in his solo world, scrambling around his storage before finding a dusty old comm he hasn’t used since he customized his current one. Landing near the factory is always a displeasure, but he pushes his feelings aside and enters. It takes a little searching, but he finds Wifies and Wato in the office, laid out on the floor next to each other.

“Wifies,” Ken says, more to say something than having anything to say, and he sits next to Wifies.

“Sorry for scaring you,” Wifies says. His voice is hoarse, and his eyes are bloodshot. “My comm broke. I dropped it while it was open, and I fell on it.”

“I brought you an old one I had laying around,” Ken says, bringing a hand up and running his fingers through Wifies’s curls slowly. Wifies closes his eyes. “What happened?”

Wifies doesn’t answer at first, just breathes evenly and relaxes each part of his body. He's so tense. Ken wishes he had killed Parrot.

“Parrot found out,” Wifies whispers. “I was talking to Retro. He’s been. . . helping me decipher some stuff from the notes. It was important. And I called him, and Parrot heard, and he was livid. That I hadn’t told him. That he couldn’t trust me. So I left.”

“He’s an asshole,” Wato says, and both Wifies and Ken turn to look at him in shock. “What?”

“Wato, there’s a reason why we’re such good friends,” Ken says with a grin. “Because I, too, believe Parrot is an absolute asshole.”

“You guys always knew, but I lied to him,” Wifies says. “I don’t know if he’s an asshole for being upset I didn’t tell him.”

“Yes he is,” Ken and Wato say together.

“There’s no reason to defend him out here,” Ken scolds, scratching Wifies’s scalp lightly.

“I don’t hate him, Ken,” Wifies lets out a deep, winding sigh before sitting up slowly. “Can I have the comm? I need to message Retro. Tell him everything’s okay.”

“Fine.”

Ken hands over the comm and Wifies thanks him faintly. As he boots it up and logs in, Wato sits up and gives Ken a look. Ken returns the look. Before they can descend upon Wifies and force him to talk about his feelings, the comm begins pinging wildly, messages flooding in and not stopping. Peeking over Wifies’s shoulder, Ken makes a disgusted expression at Parrot’s chat being at the top of Wifies’s DMs. Parrot is absolutely spamming Wifies’s inbox. Ken’s going to eat him for dinner.

“Ah,” Wifies says. He then proceeds to ignore Parrot to text Retro. Good. Fuck that guy.

“What does he want?” Ken asks, not because he really cares but because if Parrot pisses him off again, he can justify going at him with an axe.

“Maybe. . . Maybe not right now,” Wifies’s voice is weak.

The messages roll to a stop. Good! And then Ken’s comm starts ringing off like shots. Goddamn it. Ken pulls out his comm. It is Parrot. Awful. Now Wifies and Wato move to peek over his shoulder as his inbox becomes utterly unusable.

[Parrotx2]: Ken

[Parrotx2]: I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: not to you

[Parrotx2]: well I can be sorry to you too but I’m sorry that I reacted like that to Wifies

[Parrotx2]: and I just need him to know that I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: and I know you hate my guts

[Parrotx2]: but you said he was happy right? I made him happy

[Parrotx2]: I don’t think I’ve ever made someone happy by just existing

[Parrotx2]: cause fuck, it’s not like I’ve done anything for him

[Parrotx2]: Ken what the fuck did I do

[Parrotx2]: please just let him know I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: and that I didn’t mean to blow up

[Parrotx2]: you’d think I’d be used to betrayal but with him, it felt so much worse than betrayal

[Parrotx2]: like I had failed to be trustworthy

[Parrotx2]: the reveal was a lot, but I felt more hurt than disgusted or scared

[Parrotx2]: I don’t care if he’s a clone

[Parrotx2]: I mean I care if he wants me to care. I want him to want me to care about him.

[Parrotx2]: I care about him in general

[Parrotx2]: plus whoever the guy before him was was a bitch

[Parrotx2]: he’s like so much better in a million ways

[Parrotx2]: not the point

[Parrotx2]: the point is my caring of him is not reliant on his clone status

[Parrotx2]: I can tell he’s got a comm now cause my messages are showing up as received

[Parrotx2]: does he hate me now?

[Parrotx2]: he has every right

[Parrotx2]: I can’t even pretend that he shouldn’t hate me

[Parrotx2]: Ken I don’t want him to hate me

[Parrotx2]: I don’t know if I can live with that

[Parrotx2]: I fucked up so badly

[Parrotx2]: the worst part is I trust him

[Parrotx2]: I made this whole fuss about trust and I still trust him

[Parrotx2]: of course I do, he’s the single most trustworthy person I’ve ever met

[Parrotx2]: I’ve slept in the same room as him for months and I never even worried

[Parrotx2]: he could’ve left or betrayed me or killed me literally at any point

[Parrotx2]: and he never did! even if it would’ve made his life easier

[Parrotx2]: what the fuck was I thinking?

“Ugh. Do you wanna talk to him right now?” Ken asks, turning his head towards Wifies. He gets a face full of sweet smelling curly hair.

“. . . I don’t know,” Wifies says, resting his chin snuggly onto Ken’s shoulder.

[_Kenadian_]: can you shut up. jesus.

[Parrotx2]: sorry

[_Kenadian_]: yes he has a comm now

[_Kenadian_]: he’ll talk to you when he talks to you

[_Kenadian_]: you made him cry yknow

“Ken!” Wifies hisses, cheek warming up where it’s now pressed to the side of Ken’s throat. “Why did you tell him that?”

[Parrotx2]: fuck I’m sorry

[_Kenadian_]: yeah he knows

[_Kenadian_]: just

[_Kenadian_]: give him some space

[_Kenadian_]: also dont text me like that whats wrong with you

[_Kenadian_]: i want you so dead its not even funny

[_Kenadian_]: this is the SECOND time you make him cry

“Ken!!”

[Parrotx2]: I

[Parrotx2]: what?

[_Kenadian_]: wouldnt you like to know bird boy

[Parrotx2]: why would you tell me that

[_Kenadian_]: you need to understand the consequences of what you do

[_Kenadian_]: wifies never lets you see but i do and i think you should writhe

[_Kenadian_]: you care so much? lets see.

[_Kenadian_]: writhe bird boy writhe

“That’s mean,” Wifies says as Ken closes his comm, but he doesn’t move a single muscle.

“You should’ve made it worse,” Wato says. “Should’ve told him Wifies was comatose or something.”

“Jeez, since when are you so vicious?” Wifies asks, but Ken is almost certain he and Wato are holding hands behind Ken’s back.

“I approve,” Ken says, bumping his head into Wato’s lightly. “Anyway, take as long as you want to ignore Parrot. Forever, even. I’d also approve of forever.”

Wato hums in agreement. Wifies sighs again, much lighter than before.

“Just a little while,” he says to Ken’s vast displeasure. “Just until I can stomach it. I shouldn’t have run away.”

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want, actually. Forever.”

Wifies giggles, and Ken finally feels himself relax a little. If Wifies is laughing, then it’ll be okay. He still feels anger pulsing within him like a second heartbeat, but it softens when Wifies bumps the top of his head into Ken's cheek. Not gone, never gone, but quietened enough to let Wifies speak for himself.

Ken trusts Wifies despite his own opinion. So he'll keep true and hold Wifies close no matter what.

“We still gotta talk about your feelings,” Wato says, and Wifies whines, trying to hide his face further into Ken's shoulder. 

“It's so embarrassing,” he murmurs.

“I'd be embarrassed too if I cried over Parrot of all people,” Ken deadpans. 

Wifies groans. Ken won't let him get away this time.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Ice's Favorite Black Characters, #4

Angrboda, God of War: Ragnarok

Okay so technically, I'm not fully informed because I have not finished the game (we got a lot of games to play at home. No spoilers!!). BUT! There are two reasons I love Angrboda enough to include her on this list.

FIRST, the moment I saw who they cast, I knew it was about to be white supremacist hell on the Internet. "A Negress? In my good Christian Viking White Fantasy World??" Yeah. Literally when I click images after typing her name in on Google, a fully whitewashed image appears. So you can see how I was arms up and ready to go. IDC what she does, I'm gone fight about it 🤷🏾‍♀️ Because don't have Black men voice Kratos for over a decade, don't have us entertain you, and then act like we can't be on screen with you. Fuck racists 😤

Second, her first meeting with Atreus/Loki and that entire section has sat with me to this day. Angrboda chafes at the idea of being the one little bit of Atreus' story. The prophesied one to tell him how to find his way, and then... Dassit. Be seeing ya! Back to home to her lonely, magical swamp with her ox, where her parents are dead, and her heartbroken toxic grandma hates/loves her but won't speak to her. A young woman who yearns to leave and do something big, to live life, shoved into a small role that's gonna kick off somebody else's grand hero's journey. That's it, that's the one meaning to your life, and at 14, it's been accomplished. Congrats.

Yeah she had every right to be salty about it, and I was happy she acted like it! She's right!! I'd be sick as fuck if it were me lmao. So many women designated to the whims of fate and mythology in some guy's story. Boooooooo! I really liked that that was a point for her! It was really cool seeing that yeah, i might recognize that I'm not the main character but damn lmao let me do something too! I am more than what this boring ass prophecy says I'm meant for!

I also love how they like... They act like teenagers going through identity crises. Obviously teens don't make the greatest decisions, but they're figuring it out, and that's okay! Yeah I think they were cute. Alas, people hate Black girls as love interests 😭

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Hi can u please write about domestic life with Bills Eric Draven? Can there be fluffy and smutty moments? Tyyyy

Boy can I??? I’d be DELIGHTED. His domesticity is all I think about. He’s the sweetest, kindest and most loving bf and you can’t change my mind. I got a little carried away! Hopefully this is what you were wanting! Enjoy doll!

Bf!Eric x gf!reader. Explicit sexual content under the cut, minors dni, oral (f receiving), p in v. brief mentions of drug use, mostly fluffy relationship stuff

It wasn’t entirely easy. You and Eric. The circumstances under which you met and the nature of the both of you was quite dysfunctional. You were chaos, and he was a mess. But it worked. The two of you. You worked perfectly. You weren’t sure what it was, you had never been able to maintain a healthy relationship with anyone. But it was almost like you were meant to be together. If you didn’t believe in the whole soulmates thing, you started to believe it when you met Eric.

He was so unreal, so out of this world. He was always by your side, fingers laced with yours, arm thrown over your shoulder. He always had to be touching you, whether it was something as little as holding your hand, or going as far as putting you in a matting press when he fucked you, because he hated the idea of not being as close to you as possible. He never meant to, he didn’t even know what it was. He just did it one day. Your knees damn near next to your head, your body nearly folded in half as he draped his body over yours. You didn’t even know your body could bend this way. But god this you like it. How deep he could be this way. And you had him so close you could hear his little sounds, his hard breathing and his soft grunts.

He always felt a little bad, manhandling you around like you were nothing. If he wasn’t bending your body in ways you didn’t think were human, he was putting you in a headlock as he took you from behind, one arm draped around your neck from shoulder to shoulder. He just wanted you close, afraid you’d run away. But he sometimes forgot to take it easy on you. You always assured him you were more than happy with him, that he wouldn’t hurt you. Deep down it made you all kinds of earn to know you could arise such passions from him. For someone so morbidly quiet and nonchalant, Eric was very intense and passionate lover.

“It’s okay, baby. I got you. You’re doing so good.” He would tell you, his voice soft and quiet in your ear, grounding you as his cock fucked you into nothing. “I just want to make you feel good, hm? Just want to make you feel good. That’s what you deserve.”

“I don’t deserve this. You’re too good for me.” He would say, his lips on your cheek as quiet moans spilled from your lips. “You’re just so… I can’t believe you’re all mine.” His name falling from your lips would be the end of him. So soft and desperate for him. He didn’t have much experience before you, but now he just can’t get enough of you. He wanted to be all over you at all times it actually upset him when you had to leave or when he did.9

But he was also oh so kind, so gentle and patient with you. He always followed you around like an oversized puppy, quietly listening to whatever tangent you would go on about. You could be cursing up a storm (albeit not directed at him) and he would take it with a straight face and big eyes. And it was often that nothing more but his presence would calm you down, center you.

“How do you do it?” You asked him one day, hot tears staining your face after a day of one stressor after another. Eric had managed to get you on the couch where he silently sat you down on his lap. You almost immediately curled up into his lap, legs tucked under you and your head on his chest. You felt an almost instant sense of relief and peace fill you, and you were sighing deeply, feeling your heart slow its fast beating.

“Do what?” He asked you softly, his fingers massaging your head calmly. You rested your hand on his chest, eyes closed.

“This. You calm me down. I was crying two minutes ago and now I feel… okay.” You felt him shrug under you and when you looked up he had a smile on his face. That smile could make you forget any grief or sadness you might have, because none of it really mattered.

But it wasn’t just him who could bring you peace, you were his, too. His lows weren’t as intense or visible as yours, but when he was at his low, he was at an all time low. He wouldn’t speak, he wouldn’t eat, he would just go about his day like a corpse, eyes dead and empty and his mind elsewhere. You understood he had his issues too, so you tried to be there for him without pushing him. You were more subtle. You’d make him dinner, you’d invite him to watch a movie with you. And you’d tangle up with him on the couch as you all but forced him to eat, and you’d talk to him about your day. But something so small always meant so much to him. He couldn’t help the way he felt, he couldn’t help his negative thoughts that drove him to do drugs in the first place, but having you around to remind him someone in this world loved and cared for him, it made it all a little bit easier.

Eric started to bring you flowers one day. Every week once a week, he could come home with your favorite flowers. He alternated colors. With a sheepish smile he’d stand in the doorway with his hands behind his back. And the way he would look at you when gushed about how pretty they were was like he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world, the only one that mattered. And to him you were. Seeing that smile on your face was the only thing he ever wanted to do.

“You like them?” He would ask as if it wasn’t obvious, but he’d do it just to hear you giggle and watch you all but skip to put them in water. “Yeah? I saw them and thought about you.”

He always thought about you. There wasn’t a single waking second where he didn’t. You were good for him. And he knew that. He didn’t need anything else to fill the emptiness in his chest because he had you. You had filled that hole and he made sure you knew that everyday.

Eric had many ways to show his love and devotion for you. He wrote you poems, he drew for you, you had so many sketches you have started to run out of places to hang them, but this one was by far his favorite. He could spend literal hours between your legs. He absolutely loved it. He was absolutely obsessed with it.

“E-Eric.. Please.” You were shaking, sweating, incoherent as his tongue circled on your clit, his long fingers fucking you through your, fourth, fifth? You stopped keeping count. He had been down there for an eternity. He just kept asking for one more, just one more and he’d leave you alone. But it wasn’t enough. He was quite obsessive with the things he wanted.

But he figured he’d have to give you a break eventually. He was also painfully hard.

“I’m sorry baby.” He muttered softly as he crawled up your body, using the back of his hand to wipe the mess you had made, but his plush lips were still bright red and glistening. “You know I get carried away sometimes… You’re just so..”

He would kiss your face, brush your hair, soothe you back into a functioning human being. It wasn’t often that Eric vocalized his thoughts, but in moments like this when he felt safe and comfortable enough to be vulnerable, he would tell you all about how pretty you were, how talented you were, how much he loved you.

Eric was always full of surprises. He was quiet and nonchalant, but he was impulsive. You learned that very quickly.

“Baby?” You heard Eric call out to you as he came into the loft. You sat on the computer as you listened to one of his recordings. He had asked you to help him out since he really wanted to start pursuing his music and art now that he actually had someone that supported him.

With a smile, you took your headphones off and went to greet him, but you immediately frowned when you saw him hold something wrapped up in his hoodie.

“Hey, whatcha got there?” You stood up, approaching him with narrowed eyes as he broke out a smile.

“I’m sorry. I just found it, I just.. I felt bad.” He pulled down his hoodie to reveal a precious little kitten. A black ball of fur coating its little face. Your heart immediately sank and you wanted to cry.

“Oh my god, Eric.” You took the kitten into your hands and your eyes started watering as you hugged it. Eric wasn’t sure what to make of your reaction. Did you hate it? Were you upset?

“No, baby, I’m sorry. I found it outside, it’s kinda cold and it was drinking from a puddle. I didn’t want a car to hit it. We don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to, we can take it to a shelter or something.” He started to mumble, a hand coming to rub the back of his head and his lips fell open when he saw a tear fall down your cheek. He approached you, reaching to grab your face. “Please don’t cry.”

“No… No Eric I’m not..” You sniffled, laughing softly through your tears as you leaned into Eric’s chest while still hugging the now purring black ball of fur. “I’m not upset at all. It’s just… I’ve never had my own pet before. And it’s so cute, can we keep it, please? It’d be our little child.”

The way you looked at him with big pleading eyes made him feel so warm, he never thought he’d feel something like this. He smiled, nodding as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Of course we can keep it. He’s kinda cute, right?” Eric chuckled as he scratched the little one’s head.

“Or she.”

Your little ball of fur wasn’t the only thing you and Eric shared. You got so many matching tattoos it was concerning. Your friends and family had even told you it was odd to get tattoos with a guy you had been dating for only a few months. But it didn’t matter to you. You didn’t know why, but deep down you knew your connection with Eric was out of this world. So what were a couple tattoos? You loved that you had a physical reminder of your connection with him. The feelings deep within your souls were forever marked on your skin, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Truth was, Eric loved tracing each and every one of your tattoos. He traced his fingers over the fine lines, traced the words, he traced his lips over them too. He particularly loved the ones on your back and on your stomach, the ones no one but him could see. They were his little secret.

You matched each other perfectly, in every way.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Okay okay. I just had this beautiful mental image of competence kink Steve. And my brain produced two fairly different images: Steve sees Bucky do something incredible during a mission. Idk what. And *oh*, he pops a boner right there and then, as much as the cup of his suit allows anyway. He can barely wait to get off the quinjet post mission, much to the team's amusement, to blow Bucky and then fuck into next week because holy shit hot

Or, Steve having an unfairly wet dream about WS!Bucky in the leather and incredible skills with all the knife tricks and so on and feeling very guilty about that. Because getting the horny from something Bucky had no control over? Not cool, at least in his mind. Bucks somehow gets him to spill though, and then ties Steve up and uses his knife skills to get him out of his clothes very efficiently, leaving Steve there as a panting and moaning mess Uh yeah my brain melted a little

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

Oh, fuck yeah, I love competency kink. We can certainly talk about that and soak in the brain melt together, lol

Besides, we all know that that fucker has one

gifs by @/linusbenjamin

and this moment haunts him 😏 because of it.

Plus, that single shield catch isn't even to mention the million other examples I could think of for Steve's fixation on the Winter Soldier. The ghost is strutting around in what's practically fetish gear, like, c'mon, give Steve some slack. It's leather and straps and shimmering metal and decisive, confident combat. Motherfucker.

I am SO fucking down to think about Steve watching Bucky execute some incredible feat on a mission and getting turned on because of it, and I will expand on that in a minute. But, also, the second option, too. YES. Steve wet dreaming about the Winter Soldier? God, it's more than just likely, that shit absolutely happened.

(I did write something about those wet dreams in this ask answer under "war paint")

(Also, you need to see this art, that is... yup. Knives and bondage and competency.)

Okay, competency on missions driving Steve insane...

(warning for canon typical violence!)

It happens like this: one instant Steve is solely focused on strangling the underling that's freshly come at him 'cause he's just trying to get through the masses of them before he can actually disarm this whole fucking shitty, dangerous situation alongwith it's leader, and the next instant Steve is totally, completely, and entirely distracted from getting an arm around this fuckers throat, squeezing off his air between his forearm and bicep. It could not be farther from his mind, really.

Rather than thinking about how he can best discard this underling and move on to the next--always plotting his following move, what punch should he throw, what kick, where's his shield, how should he throw his shield, who's around him, and are they his teammates or this month's big enemy--he's aching, not thinking, aching to drop to his knees. It is a visceral, very unchill reaction that Steve can't fucking control. There is no way on god's green earth.

The wanting to drop like a fly isn't because he's tired and ready to give in and surrender, nah, he could do this all day, it's because he's at fucking full mast in his uniform pants so suddenly that he needs a goddamn break from himself. His own hyperreactive body. It's dizzying, debilitating, how his blood rushes from circulating oxygen as fast as it can to his bulging, burning, working muscles to pooling heavy and hot in his cock.

All that hot, thick blood filling his dick out as he moves and twists, grappling with his fucking random ass bad guy, and threatening, incidentally, to rub himself salaciously against the hard pressure of his athletic cup.

His cup is cupping him.

He's big, he can't not. He's got no fucking room. It's... yeah, it's, just--

Jesus Christ.

Steve's aching to drop to his knees and more. It doesn't stop at getting to his knees. One moment and he has the worst kind of desperate craving crashing through him, leaving him hankering for the sensation of firm, muscular legs squeezing around his throat, the pressure tight on both sides, making him feel like his head might explode as he gasps for air or he might pass out without any air or he might cum from pure fucking lust at how hot it is or all of the above all at once.

All at once.

It is an onslaught of arousal. Just. His appetency is un-fucking-checked for the tingling, sharp burn of fingers raking through his hair and pulling hard until he feels it in his scalp and skittering down his back, richly feeding the fire at the base of his spine. He needs to feel body heat suffocatingly around his neck and shoved up against him from behind. Heat painted like thick, sticky tar up the nape of his neck to the crown of his head.

And all that weakening fucking hunger is inspired by one instant. A single flash that he catches, lightning-fast, out of the corner of his eye.

Dark leather molded to fit a shapely body perfectly, sinfully, waves of hair flowing like water, and the distinct glint of silver metal caught in the sun, flashy and, just, sexy.

Bucky.

Bucky, who's barely just been able to be comfortable in combat again after deprogramming but is ever-skilled. Honed. Deadly and gorgeous as a honey trap.

Bucky, who has spent more hours in the gym training with Natasha than anyone else combined--something about mutual trauma and understanding and trust.

Bucky in elegant, lethal motion, wrapping himself like a lithe snake around his own steroid-fit underling, his burly thighs squeezed around the baddies thick, muscular throat, his veins bulging in strain, balanced perfectly on his broad shoulders, and keeping the power in his own mismatched hands. The palm of his hands, like it's easy.

Bucky is fucking winning, it's plain to see. No sweat.

Bucky has shocked this baddie by mounting him, throwing his weight around with ease in a way that shouldn't be possible for a man his size. Better, Bucky has thrown him even further off, fisting a hand into his hair cruelly, pulling so hard that his choices are to let his hair be ripped out and deal with the gritting pain or follow the hold and put himself in worse danger, prolonging the time before the pain. The unnamed baddie follows, of course. Anyone would follow someone as intoxicating and beautiful as Bucky. But he's then pinned there, throat fully exposed. Perilous. The most animal form of submission, this time forced and humiliated by defeat.

Bucky is the dominant fighter.

He is in control.

And he is making it known with what would be sickening glee if Steve was anyone but himself--if Steve wasn't so fucking aroused by watching Bucky wield himself as a weapon of his own choosing, taking control, and reveling in doing good.

God.

With his thighs around his neck, Bucky deftly plucks a long, sharp knife from its holster strapped onto his mouth-watering thigh and twists and twirls it around his fingers before holding it against the underling's throat. The threat is crystal clear and needs no further explanation: move and its lights out for you.

So, the underling folding to his mercy, Bucky slowly, slowly contorts his body, displaying his oh-so flexible spine and positioning his mouth right above his ear. Steve watches him whisper into his ear--his pink lips curling over the hushed syllables in the heat of chaotic, loud battle--and shivers.

Goosebumps come to attention all across Steve's body.

Shit.

He's unreal.

He's so gorgeous and so good and so charming.

At whatever he tells him, the baddie nods stiffly, all the color drained from his face, and Bucky retracts his knife unhurriedly, perfectly moving according to his own schedule, and confidently sheathes the blade it once more. Then, neatly, he unclenches his thighs from around his throat and slithers off his shoulders. It's almost a dance--totally smooth, well-rehearsed choreography.

He defies gravity.

As soon as Bucky is far enough from him, peeled away, the underling scurries off like a frightened rat, stumbling as he sprints off. Bucky watches him go with an unhinged, almost-pitying smile, an expression just for himself, as if to say, that's right, you better run. Tell the others, too. You fuck with me and it's over. Don't bother coming back.

Steve whimpers.

Realistically, it--Bucky devastatingly executing one of Black Widow's signature flipping, twisting moves as if it's his own and something developed specifically for him, an over 200 lbs man of pure muscle and metal--all happens in the span of seconds. Or, maybe it happens faster. It may not even be a single second. But for Steve, it plays in slow motion; it lasts ages in his mind.

Still, really, just it's one instant, and then his brain chemistry has been fully altered. Immediately. His wires have been crossed over and shorted out. Sparks fly. And his reboot back to being a functioning fucking human comes in the form of a punch to the face.

Fuck.

Steve groans through the pain of a fist colliding with his face, wincing, and opening and shutting his jaw to have it crack back into place. He's gonna fucking feel that later. But, for now, he has to ignore the heavy, aching throb of his cock, the pain in his jaw, and get back to fighting.

Later, he tells himself.

Later, that'll be his treat for getting through this shit day. He can kneel and beg, forgetting himself as a drooling, heaving, out-of-breath, hot faced mess at Bucky's feet, fumbling over words as he incomprehensibly pleads to have his shapely thighs wrapped tight around his head, his neck, his waist even, anything. Just hold him there until he fucking dies a happy death between those legs.

Heaven.

[daryltwdixon]

Picture You

You and Daryl both fantasize about each other--at the same time it turns out.

Inspired by Picture You by Chappell Roan

Content warnings: smut !!!!

I had to run and splash cold water over my face after this one

black font: you blue font: Daryl purple font: when you're actually together

There had been a lot of…touching going on lately. That’s as plain as you could explain it. Anytime you were near Daryl, he’d find a way to put his hand on the small of your back if he was passing behind you. He would manage to sit by you a lot, brushing the side of his arm against yours. On runs lately, he stayed closer to you, touching your arm to get your attention. Protecting you even when against the smallest threats. You noticed him…watching you too. If Daryl were anywhere near you, his eyes were always latched onto you; studying, assessing… admiring? You weren’t sure if you’d go that far. But god, did you love it.

He couldn’t stop himself from just…being around you. You had some sort of magnetic field specifically calculated to his center of gravity–his true north. He couldn’t help the times he’d brush by you, his hand on you or if he was lucky enough to be close, smell the lingering scent of your shampoo. Even if you hadn’t showered in days, which sometimes was the case, your scent drew him into you. He couldn’t stop watching you either. Everytime he caught himself staring and you’d meet his gaze, he would kick himself for probably being such a creep. You were hypnotizing to him. 

So, he finds himself in the bathroom alone, thinking of you at dinner that day. Sucking your fingers clean after your meal, licking your lips when you looked up at him. He’s unsure if he was imagining the hunger in your eyes–even after a full meal. 

He’d been aching in his trousers the entire time it took him to excuse himself from the group and make his way down the cell blocks into the bathroom, shutting the door tightly behind him. In what must’ve been a guard’s bathroom–it was a single washroom with a counter for the sink and white tile all along the room, from floor to ceiling. When he finally was confident he was in the bathroom alone with the door locked, he unzips his pants and pulls out his already throbbing member. 

His hand is wrapped around the base of himself, teasing and gentle like he pictures you holding it. He closes his eyes, imagining you on the sink in front of him now, sitting on the edge of the cold counter, your legs around his waist. Behind his eyes, he is wrapping his hands around your thighs as he leans into you, his mouth on yours, tongue plunging into your warm, wanton mouth. He can almost smell you, imagining the scent of cheap green apple shampoo you found on your last run. His tongue dances with yours, letting himself take control of the embrace, his mouth claiming you. His hand fists his cock slowly up and down, but tightening his grip as he pictures you reaching down to palm him through his pants. In his mind’s eye he kisses along your jaw, down to where your neck meets your shoulder, eliciting a small moan from you. He pulls back from you, lifting your shirt over your head gently, but with haste. When he looks back at you, your eyes are half lidded with desire, lips wet and swollen. God, you’re so fucking pretty like this. So needy for him. His lips reattach to the skin of your neck, your hand coming up behind his to hold him close. Your fingers reach and scratch gently at the nape of his neck. His lips journey down your body, tongue gliding around your nipples before he pulls one into his mouth between his teeth. Your heavy breathing and moans bring a smile to his face as he looks back up in your eyes. 

He crouches down, his hands coming behind your knees and down your calves, bringing your bottoms and panties down with them. After discarding your clothes, he begins kissing your legs from your ankles, nipping when he gets to the softness of the inside of his thighs. He imagines your hand coming down and intertwining in his long hair. He lifts his eyes up to yours as he slowly makes his way to your center, your legs trembling in anticipation. His mouth meets your dripping—

Daryl’s hand comes up against the mirror roughly, losing control of himself. His eyes flash open as he stumbles and grips the wall beside the sink, steadying himself. He has to release his hand from himself to keep from finishing right then and there. He’s not done with you yet, even if it’s just in his mind. 

You’re settling into your cot a little while after dinner. Daryl had been watching you again today. So, you decided to play his little game back at him. At dinner you saw him watching you with a predator’s gaze. He was fixed on you through the whole meal, so god forbid you wanted to be a little tease. You made sure to lick your fingers clean slowly, licking your lips looking at him afterwards. It took you aback when you saw his eyes darken even more, but you just returned the look with one just as hungry. Eventually he excused himself a little while later, but the look in his eyes was on your mind the rest of your time you stayed at the table. 

Back in your bed, you have your hands traveling down your chest, over the thin fabric between your fingers and sensitive nipples. You let your eyes flutter closed, imagining Daryl’s hands traveling where your’s are. You slowly let them drift down your stomach, pressing your thumb in gentle circles on your hips. Your legs can’t help but start to fidget as you get more and more impatient for him. In your fantasy, Daryl is leaning over you now, bringing his lips down to the sensitive skin of your hips, nipping at you affectionately, bringing his tongue out in apologies when he bites you harder, making your hips buck. 

“Easy,” he would growl out, his breath fanning over your eager center. He turns his head and bites, licks, nips, sucks on your inner thigh near the juncture of your apex and leg. Your hand reaches down to intertwine into his long hair, your body begging for him. 

Your fingers slowly meet your wetness, starting on the lips and entrance, imagining his tongue there instead. Circling your most sensitive area without giving you what you want most. Your back is arching off the bed, sweat starting to bead on your chest and forehead. You imagine his hands gripping your hips harder now, trying to steady you as he devours you. His tongue finally comes into contact with your clit, flattening his tongue and laving at it like it’s his last meal on earth. He purses his lips, suckling you and grazing his teeth against the nub. Your eyes flash open at the feeling of it, pausing and breathing heavily. You stare at the top bunk above you, collecting yourself before you get too close to the edge. You gently glide your fingers down again, toward your slippery hole.

Daryl has his mouth back on your center in his mind. Fisting his cock again, he leans back against the bathroom wall, mouth slightly agape, eyes closed in ecstasy. In his mind’s eye, he is kissing, sucking, eating, nipping, devouring you. Your fingers tighten in his hair and your legs are resting over his shoulders as he brings his fingers up to tease your entrance, his mouth never leaving you. You gasp and buck when he inserts a long finger into you, immediately finding the corner of your walls that makes your eyes roll. You’re already close, he can feel you tightening around him and he brings another finger into you. Your hips are undulating against his hand, riding his fingers in pure bliss. Your sweet, gushing cunt is convulsing against his fingers, your legs beginning to tense. But before you have a chance to finish, he pulls away from you. 

“Jesus, Daryl” you whisper to yourself, your hips bucking at your own fingers inside of you. You’re grinding against your own hands, trying to find the friction you so badly need.

“Fuck,” Daryl growls out loud as his hand is moving faster on himself, his cock hot and heavy in his hand. He’s raising himself up in front of you, hands back under your thighs to pull you towards him. His cock slides up and down your soaked entrance, and your hands are gripping his arms, nails pressing into him, eager. So eager for him. Your body begging before you can speak the words, “Daryl,” he imagines you whispering into his neck, finally able to make a coherent word in your blissed out state, “please,”. 

He grabs your hips, pulling you into him fully. He lets his throbbing cock enter you. Your head falls back and his mouth meets your throat, loving the salty taste of your sweat on his tongue now. The symphony of your moans and slapping of skin echoes in his ears making his cock twitch in his hand. 

You’re gyrating against your hand in hopeless abandon, your other hand coming up to graze your nails against your throat, imagining Daryl’s teeth on you while he enters you. He isn’t a quiet lover in your mind—he’s grunting against your skin, his mouth vibrating with the sound coming from him. You don’t mean to you but your quiet whispers of ecstasy are turning into whimpers. And when your fingers finally find that one spot, hitting your clit perfectly against the heel of your palm, you let out a moan. 

“Daryl,”

Your moaning is driving Daryl wild, he’s thrusting into you with sweet abandon, pulling you flush against him like he can’t get you close enough. But suddenly he takes a pause from a disturbance in the hallway outside. He stills and listens intently. There’s a gentle echoing out in the cell block and—did he just hear his own name? No, no, he’s just imagining it from thinking of you.

No wait— yes. Yes, that's his name. Softly being called out to him. He tucks his pulsing, aching member back into his pants in what only can be described as bewilderment. He gets out of the bathroom and softly walks down the cell block, getting closer to the sounds of a desperate whimpering. 

You are careful not to let another loud moan out again, aware people could be sleeping around you. But you truly could not contain the whimpers coming out of your mouth, the heavy breathes that you were gulping as you continued to ride your hand, imagining the archer’s cock deep inside you. You wondered what he’d really feel like, how he’d stretch you out as you’d cling to his gorgeous biceps. Would he be slow and agonizingly tender or would he be so ravenous he wouldn’t be able to be gentle with you? You knew in your core you didn’t want him gentle. At least not the first time he got his hands on you. You’re palming your own chest, imagining his hand grabbing, pulling, kneading your breast. Your legs are trembling from the pressure building in your core now, your skin flushing with heat. You can’t help the desperate whimpers escaping from you now in the moonlit cell block, forgetting the people sleeping around you. His name keeps slipping through your mouth along with a string of incoherent curses. 

“Are you going to cum for me?” You hear him say, but you jolt with electricity when you realize it wasn’t in your head. Your eyes fly open, your body frozen in place. You are fully and completely in the direct view of the archer in the doorway. His eyes are hauntingly dark with desire, and when you get a good look at him, his pants are tight against his lower half. 

“What—what’re you—“ you hoarsely whisper.

He makes his way over to you, pulling your hand up to his face, taking both of your fingers into his mouth to taste you. His tongue glides deliciously around your sensitive finger tips, sucking and grazing his teeth just as you imagined him. 

“Do you want—“ he whispers. 

“Yes, god yes,” you plead. 

He stands and begins to undress, your hands all over him and soaking in the sight of his beautiful body. Your fingers trace the lines of his muscles as he discards the last of the things keeping you from him. He joins you in the bed, leaning over you, caging you in between his arms on either side of your head.

“I wanna hear you say my name again,” he whispers, holding his fingers against your wet center.

“Please, please no teasing. I need to know what you feel like,” you beg of him.

He groans, dipping his head into the crook of your neck. His sweat slicked hair sticking to you as he kisses and bites you tenderly. You reach down and grasp his member in your hand. It’s hot and thick and heavy with need. He growls against your skin, sitting up now and taking your hand off of him. He interlaces your fingers and puts them back by your head, making you helpless. His other hand is on his cock, leading himself up to your entrance. He is sliding the head along your drenched center and your hips buck with need. 

“I’ve been thinking about you, just like this. Under me, on top of me, all of you. Been thinkin’ about it a long time,” his voice is hoarse, almost a whisper.

“Daryl,” you whisper. Your other hand is grabbing for him on his stomach, chest, shoulders. Touching anything you can reach, “please”

He plunges into you in sweet euphoria, and your moan escapes you before he has time to cover your mouth with his large hand. He leans on top of you now, his weight pressed into you as he thrusts with desperation into you. God, you feel just as good as he expected. Better even. Tight, warm, delicious walls constricting around him. 

He doesn’t relent, bringing his hand down between you finally to press his thumb on your sensitive nub. Your eyes roll back and you're meeting his hips with every thrust now. He’s beginning to get messy with his rhythm and his sweat drips down onto your chest.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

You nod vigorously, “I’m–mm so c-close-ss-” you breathe, gripping his arms with desperation.

“Cum with me, baby, please–fuck. I want to see you cum with my cock inside you,” he says breathlessly. Your back arches at his words, and the feeling of your cunt convulsing around him topples him over the edge just as you do the same. 

Daryl’s face is tucked into your neck as you both take deep breaths. Your hand is on the back of his neck, gently brushing the nape of his neck. He then pulls himself out of you and drops next to you. But he turns and wraps his arm around your body, pulling you in tight. You turn to face him, looking into his icy blue eyes. When you meet his eyes, both oh you can’t help but let out breathy laughs, utterly awed by the night’s events.

[insolemi]

New Beginnings

cate dunlap (gen v) x (hopefully)gn!reader

summary: cate's life takes a series of turns when she gets to God U, and you're at the center of all of them

genre: fluff, potential angst

inclusions: language, awkward situations, touchstarved and socially awkward!cate, overly-excited and outgoing!reader, ooc cate fs, this is more a few different scattered scenes that it is a full, single plot fic so be aware, my first attempt at a fic so please lower expectations

wc: 4.4k

hiiii… y’all i am so sorry this took me seventy years to get posted, i had the strangest series of events happen, but here it is and i hope you enjoy it !!

Godolkin is an entirely new environment.

It's not like Cate hadn't known that going into it, hadn’t known that her life would be completely different from the moment Indira Shetty had shown up in her room and offered her a way out of her childhood bedroom turned prison. She doesn’t think she’d ever be able to repay her for that. For getting her out of that house, out from under the echoing emptiness of the four walls of her bedroom and the occasional sound of her online homework videos.

For being the reason she met you. Her pretty, sweet little roommate.

Move-in day hadn’t been particularly good or bad, the large crowds of people and their chattering were overwhelming but calming at the same time, knowing the voices weren’t in her head but out loud, around her this time.

She made her way down the hall, brushing through smaller crowds of students and their parents as she counted the different numbers above the doors. 415, 417, 419. She reads the number, coming to a slow stop outside of the dorm room with the number written on the piece of paper in her hand, her name labeled right next to your name. The thought alone of it makes her nauseous, having to share a bedroom with an entirely new person she’d never met before and hope that they get along. 

Whatever. It’s fine. She can do this. All she has to do is walk into the room, introduce herself to you, and try her best to not embarrass herself. That’s easy enough, no? It’s not like its rocket science or a hostage situation (although the way her heart is beating loudly in her ears might say differently), all she has to do is walk in and say ‘Hi, I’m Cate’. 

She stands in the doorway, just staring at your back for a moment, her eyes wide, the leather of her gloves creaking around the strap of the bag she’s holding in her hands (one of the only things she’d even brought with her) as she works up the courage to just open her mouth and talk as the only thing running through her mind is that everything is fine, she's got this, all she has to do is say–

Fuck.

The second her mouth opens, you turn to face her from the desk you’d been arranging things on and any words she’d been carefully planning in her head die on the tip of her tongue immediately at the sight of you. 

She hardly has any time to let the thought cross her mind and register it before you’re in her space, introducing yourself with an excited note to your sweet voice and wrapping your arms around her in a brief hug, your chin pressed against the side of her shoulder, the palm of your hands braced on the back of her shoulders, the other hand around her neck. You pull back from her and rest your hands above the back of her elbows, your face still in her direct orbit as you smile at her, your mouth opening to continue speaking. “You’re Cate, right? My roommate?” There’s a pretty little sparkle to your eye that she has to tear her own away from.

She can’t think about anything but the sound of your voice ringing in her ears and the feeling of the heat of your hands over her sleeves, but she somehow manages to get the words out of her mouth to finally introduce herself. “Uh, yeah, hi,” she forces out, her head spinning so fast that she can’t think properly and she stumbles back a step, pulling out of your grasp, unable to handle the warmth of your touch. She awkwardly tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I'm, um… Cate.” It’s been so long since anyone touched her so enthusiastically, without any ounce of hesitation, and now here you are, all smiles and casual touches, and she can barely keep it together.

But she does. She doesn’t want to come across as weird, a freak, so she smiles and nods along with your excited chattering, your energy far off the charts of anything near the realm of what she’s used to. “Thank god,” you laugh, clapping your hands together as you look her over for probably the first real time since she entered the room. “I was so worried I was gonna get a total bitch, but you seem sweet, so, again, thank god.” Another bell-ringing laugh.

“You have a nice laugh.” Fuck. Again. Her and her big mouth. “Sorry! I didn’t–”

“It's fine! Thank you," you keep the pretty smile on your face as you continue to look over Cate, a tint to your cheeks appearing briefly before you’re back to talking, something she’s starting to get the sense you do a lot (not that she minds, not if it means she gets to keep hearing your voice). "Oh, your hair is so gorgeous," you lift a hand from where it’s clasped in front of your chest to briefly lift a strand of Cate's blonde hair, admiring the clips she has in place.

Cate feels her pulse quicken. “Uh... thanks. It’s just, you know... hair,” she laughs nervously, unsure what else to say. Your touch, though brief, leaves behind a warmth that spreads through her chest, and it’s making her head spin

You smile brightly, seemingly unaware of how much you're affecting her. “Y’know, you and me? We’re going to be best friends. I can already tell.” 

Cate’s face flushes instantly. "Oh, um... yeah! That’d be cool." Her voice cracks slightly as she tries to match your enthusiasm, and she winces inwardly. You sound so sure of yourself, have so much conviction in your voice that Cate can hardly do anything other than believe your words. It’s overwhelming, in the best way, but she feels like she’s drowning in it. She’s not used to this kind of attention directed at her. You’re all smiles, your energy is infectious, and it’s making her feel out of place for not being able to respond how she wants to. She knows what she wants to say, but that’s almost never what leaves her mouth.

Still in the back of her head, there’s a wiggling part that kinda smarts at what you say. Best friends. That’s exactly what she needs, she thinks, a genuine best friend, though that thought directed at you makes her chest tighten in a way she doesn’t know how to handle, for reasons she doesn’t want to think about.

“You seem... really sweet, too,” Cate admits, biting her lip the moment the words leave her mouth. She hates how transparent she’s being but with you... it’s hard to hide how much she’s already attached.

Your smile grows even warmer. “Good! ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, Cate.”

Cate lets out a nervous laugh, trying to mask the overwhelming flood of emotions that sentence sparks. "Yeah... I’m okay with that." More than okay, she thinks, but she can’t say that out loud.

—

It’s late, and the two of you are sitting on the loveseat couch in your dorm room that you’d somehow managed to acquire (somehow being you sweet-talking a frat boy out of one, not that anyone else needed to know that), mid-way through watching some animated movie Cate can’t remember the name of but you’d forced her to watch (‘forced’ meaning you asked her once to watch it and she caved) once you realized she’d never seen it. You’ve been leaning against Cate’s side for most of it, your head resting on her shoulder, legs thrown over the arm of the couch, and she’s been tense the whole time, back ramrod straight, trying her best not to move too much, not to let her nerves show. She’s terrified that if she moves, you’ll realize how fast her heart is racing.

It’s silent in the room until you let out a soft sigh, shifting slightly where you’re laying basically your entire body against her side. Cate can’t help but somehow stiffen up more. This doesn’t escape your notice, just like anything else that has to do with her, and you lift your head, turning it to look at her.

“You okay?” The concern in your voice makes her heart squeeze and she makes a conscious effort to relax a little. 

“Yeah,” she slips you a tight smile, her eyes darting back and forth between the screen and your face. More than okay if she’s being honest.

You nod, a soft hum of contentment leaving your lips as you lay your head back down on her shoulder, pulling your legs closer to you on the couch and loosely wrapping an arm around hers. Cate’s breath hitches despite her best efforts to focus on anything other than your bare palm on her arm. “Yeah,” you echo, the sound full of a kind of relaxation Cate desperately wishes she could hit.

It falls silent in the room again, the neon colors on the screen glowing brightly around the room, casting long shadows where the light can’t quite reach. There’s almost something either poetic or ironic in that, Cate thinks. Maybe she could figure it out if she could think about something other than the heat of your skin or your breath fanning out over her arm, your eyes still focused solely on the screen.

She feels like she should say something more, but the words get stuck in her throat, but all she can think about is how warm you feel against her, how much she wants this moment to last forever.

You glance up at her again, noticing the distant look on her face, and nudge her with a playful grin. "You’re still watching, right?" you tease, your voice light but laced with affection. “This is my favorite part.”

Cate blinks, momentarily startled, then forces a sheepish smile. “Uh, yeah. Totally.” But in reality, she hasn’t processed a single frame of the movie. How could she, when you’re so close? When your every movement sends ripples of warmth through her?

The movie continues to play, but all Cate can focus on is how natural it feels, how right it feels, sitting next to you like this.

—

It’s been a few weeks since you two moved in together, and Cate is slowly starting to feel more comfortable around you. She’s still a little awkward, old habits die hard (especially ones like hers), but she’s not as jumpy as she used to be. Especially not now when, where there used to be hard spots of tension in every silence between you two, are now small, quiet moments that are more comforting than they are terrifying.

So today, when you suggested grabbing coffee at the campus café, Cate agreed. Even if the thought of spending time alone with you, even if it is in a public space, still makes her heart race, she just couldn’t find it in herself to say no this time. She’s sitting across from you, absently stirring her drink as you talk about anything and everything, your hands doing most of the speaking for you when you bring it up. 

“So…” She can already tell you think you’re taking a risk bringing it up, which makes her stomach twist a little. “There’s this little hangout thing – not a party!” You reassure immediately, hand coming up to stop any protests she might have, already well aware that parties aren’t her thing; too many people, too much noise, too much of a risk of something bad happening. “It’s not a party, it’s just, like, five or six people, I swear.”

“You should come with me!” you say, your eyes lighting up. “It’ll be fun, I promise.” It’s a long shot, asking her to go to a party (or anything, really), and you both know it, but you never skip asking her anyway, despite her numerous rejections. It makes her feel… warm? That you never give up on her. That alone makes her reconsider her usual knee-jerk reaction of saying ‘no’.

Her fingers toy with the rim of her cup, buying her a moment to think. “I don’t know...” she begins, her voice hesitant. “Parties aren’t really my thing.” She glances up at you, biting her lip. “But... maybe.”

You nearly spill your coffee as you sit up straighter, eyes wide and a hopeful smile on your face. “Wait—really? You’d come?”

Cate feels her heart skip a beat at your genuine surprise and excitement. A small, tentative smile pulls at her lips, and for once, she lets herself enjoy the idea. “Yeah,” she shrugs, trying to sound casual even though her heart is racing. “Why not, right?”

You grin from ear to ear, letting out a little squeal of excitement, making her feel a little braver for saying yes. “This is awesome, Cate! You won’t regret it, I swear.”

She hopes you’re right.

—

Later that night, Cate stands in front of the mirror, adjusting her shirt nervously for what feels like the hundredth time. She’s never been comfortable with events like this, even if it is nothing big, just a small gathering with some people from your class like you’d said. Despite the anxiety gnawing at her, she’s determined to at least try, especially since it means spending more time with you outside of classes. She tugs at the sleeves of her shirt, her eyes lingering on her gloves.

Your soft knock on the open closet door pulls her from her thoughts. You poke your head around it, a playful grin on your face. “You ready?”

Nope. She is absolutely in no way prepared for this. At all. Cate takes a deep breath, her lips quirking into a small, hesitant smile. “Yup,” she chirps, though there’s still audible uncertainty in her voice.

You walk over to her, gently reaching out to fix a stray strand of hair that’s fallen out of place. Your fingers barely graze her skin, but it’s enough to send her pulse racing. “You look great, Cate.”

Cate’s breath catches at the compliment, and she gives a soft, nervous laugh. “Thanks,” she murmurs, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “You too. I mean, you also look great.” She's not entirely sure that covers it.

You grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. “Don’t worry,” you say reassuringly, “I’ll be right there with you the whole time.”

For some reason, that promise makes all the difference. Cate takes another steadying breath and follows you to the door, feeling just a little braver with you by her side.

Maybe tonight, she’ll finally stop holding herself back.

—

A few weeks later and the two of you are lying on your beds, the lights dimmed, just talking about anything and everything. These late-night conversations have become a nightly routine since moving in together, and Cate is starting to feel like she can really open up to you in ways she hasn’t with anyone else. There's something about the quiet of the room, the gentle rhythm of your voice, and the way you listen without judgment that makes her feel... safe, she thinks. 

You stretch out, letting your arm dangle off the edge of the bed, glancing over at her. “Hey, Cate,” you ask softly, “what’s your family like?”

Cate hesitates, staring up at the ceiling. She’s never been good at talking about them—the weight of her past always feels too heavy, too personal. But with you, it doesn’t feel quite as suffocating. There's something about the way you ask, like you’re genuinely interested, but not pushing her to share more than she’s comfortable with. She still isn’t sure how much she wants to reveal, but the silence that follows your question is patient, giving her room to breathe.

She finally speaks, her voice low. “My family’s... complicated.” She shifts slightly on her bed, pulling at the sleeve of her shirt. “I don’t really talk to them much anymore.”

You turn your head to look at her, your voice soft and full of understanding. “I’m sorry, Cate.”

Cate swallows, feeling a familiar tightness in her chest. She doesn’t want to go too deep, doesn’t want to drag the mood down, so she shrugs, trying to make it seem like it’s not that big of a deal. “It’s okay. I’m... kinda used to it by now.” Her voice wavers slightly, betraying her attempt at nonchalance.

The room falls into a thoughtful silence. It’s not uncomfortable, just heavy with the unspoken weight of everything Cate has never said aloud. You don’t push for more, just let her words hang in the air, like you’re giving her the space to share if she wants to. After a long pause, you break the silence with a soft chuckle.

“You know, I think we’re kind of like family now,” you say, the warmth in your tone unmistakable. You roll over on your side, facing her, your face half-lit by the soft glow from the window. “I mean, we live together, we spend a lot of time together, grocery shopping... pretty much checks all the boxes, right?”

Cate turns her head slightly, surprised by your words. The idea catches her off-guard, but not in a bad way. It’s just... new. “Yeah?” she murmurs, her voice uncertain. “You think so?”

“Definitely,” you say with a grin. “And you don’t have to think about any of that shit with your family right now. You've got me.” You scoot a little closer on your bed, giving her an earnest look. “So... if you ever wanna, like, talk about it, I’m here. But if not, that’s cool too. It won’t hurt my feelings or anything.”

Cate’s heart skips a beat. It’s not the words themselves that get to her—it’s the sincerity behind them. The way you say it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, makes her feel like maybe she’s not as alone as she thought.

A small, genuine smile tugs at her lips. “Yeah,” she murmurs, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “I guess.”

You flash her another warm smile, your voice light. “See? I’m not so bad to have around, right?”

Cate chuckles softly, the sound easing some of the tension in her shoulders. “Eh, you’re alright,” she teases gently, heaving an exasperated sounding sigh. “Guess I could do worse.”

You laugh, a playful glint in your eye. “Wow, thanks, I think? High praise coming from you.”

Cate rolls her eyes, but there’s no denying the smile that’s still on her face. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” you reply, your grin widening as you settle back into your pillow. The easy banter between you both feels like a balm, soothing the heaviness of the earlier conversation.

—

You and Cate are sitting on the bed, talking like usual, but there’s something different about today—something a little heavier in the air. Cate’s been quieter than normal, her gloved hands resting tensely in her lap, fingers curling and uncurling against the fabric. You can tell something’s bothering her, the way her gaze keeps flicking down to her hands, then back up at you, as if she’s debating something in her head.

You wait for her to speak, sensing that there’s something she wants to say but is struggling to get out. Finally, you reach over and place your hand on top of hers, your thumb tracing gentle circles over the soft leather. “Cate... what’s going on?” Your voice is full of care, inviting her to share what’s going through her head, even when you both know you already know.

It’s silent in the room for a moment before you speak again. “It’s about your gloves, right?” A gross underestimation and you both know it. “You don’t have to wear those if you don’t want to. Not around me.”

Cate’s breath hitches, her eyes widening as she pulls her hands away instinctively. “I– I do,” she whispers, almost like she’s trying to convince herself as much as you. “You don’t understand. If I touch someone, tell them to do something... they have to. I can’t just take it back. What if I say something I don’t mean? What if I hurt you without even realizing it?”

Your expression softens as you scoot closer, your knees brushing against hers. “I trust you, Cate,” you say firmly, but with a gentleness that makes her heart ache. “C’mon, I know you’d never hurt me. Not like that.”

Cate bites her lip, her gaze dropping again to the gloves. She’s heard those words from you before, but it’s hard to believe them, especially when the memories of what happened to her brother still haunt her. “It’s not that simple,” she mutters, her voice tight. “I could slip up. All it takes is– is a touch and a word, and I could—” She stutters through her words before they break off, biting her lip. The thought of losing control terrifies her.

You lean forward, holding her hands tighter, not letting go this time. “I do know,” you say softly, your eyes searching hers. “I know, Cate, what you can do, what happened to your brother, but I also know you. And I’m not scared of you because I know it wasn’t your fault. Not even a little.”

Cate’s breath catches, her heart pounding as she stares at you with wide, searching eyes. No one’s ever said that to her—not like this. Not with so much confidence in her. She wants to believe you, wants to trust that she won’t make a mistake... but the fear of losing control, of saying something she can’t take back, always lingers at the edge of her thoughts.

She looks away, her voice trembling. “But what if—”

“No ‘what ifs,’ Cate,” you interrupt gently, moving her hand up to your cheek, even with the glove still on. “You can take them off. I want you to. Please?”

Cate’s heart pounds, her fingers trembling beneath the leather. She hesitates for a long moment, her mind racing with a hundred different reasons why she shouldn’t. But something about the way you’re holding her hand—like it’s nothing, like you don’t see the danger—makes her want to try.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, she reaches for the edge of one glove, pulling it off with trembling fingers. Her hand feels exposed, vulnerable, but you don’t flinch. You just hold her gaze, calm and patient, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

She pulls off the second glove, her bare hands now resting in yours. She waits—waits for something to go wrong, for the fear to take over. But nothing happens. You don’t pull away. You don’t flinch. Instead, you gently lift her hand back to your cheek, letting her feel the warmth of your skin.

“See?” you whisper, your voice gentle. “You’re in control, Cate. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

Cate’s breath hitches, her chest tight with emotion. She can hardly believe what’s happening—she’s touching you, skin to skin, and it’s okay. It’s more than okay. It feels... right.

“I never thought I’d be able to do this,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I was so scared I’d mess up... that I’d say something and lose you.”

You smile softly, still holding her hand against your cheek. “You don’t have to be afraid, not with me. I trust you, Cate. I always have.”

Cate’s heart swells, the weight of her fear slowly lifting. For the first time in what feels like forever, she feels safe. Not just because of your touch, but because of the way you believe in her—like she’s more than just her power, more than her fear.

“I... I trust you too,” she finally whispers, a small smile tugging at her lips. She holds onto your touch, the warmth of your hand grounding her in a way she’s never felt before. “Thank you. For believing in me.”

And in that moment, with your hand in hers, the fear that’s haunted her for so long feels just a little bit lighter. Light enough to get everything else off of her chest.

Cate swallows hard, feeling like her heart’s going to burst right out of her chest. She tries to steady herself, but the weight of everything she’s been bottling up is too much. She glances down at her hands, then back at you, and before she can stop herself, the words start to spill out—awkward, messy, but real. “I... I’m scared because... because I care about you. Like, a lot. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone, and... and the thought of hurting you... it just—it freaks me out.”

She looks away as soon as she says it, like she’s half-expecting you to laugh or push her away. But you don’t. Her heart skips a beat when she hears your voice, soft and closer than she expected.

Your heart skips a beat at her confession, but you don’t pull away. “Cate, you’re not gonna hurt me.” You lean in, your voice a little quieter, a little more vulnerable. “I care about you too... more than you know.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide as she stares at you like she can’t believe what she just heard. “Wait... you—you do?”

“Yeah.” You nod, looking just as nervous but still smiling a little. “I’ve felt like this for a while. I just... didn’t know how to say it.”

Cate opens her mouth, but all that comes out is this weird little half-laugh, half-gasp sound, like she’s trying to process it all. “You’re serious? You like... you’ve liked me?”

“Yeah. For a while now.”

There’s this awkward pause where you’re both kind of just staring at each other, unsure of what to say next. Cate lets out a shaky breath, her fingers twitching in your grasp, and she looks down again, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

Your smile softens, and you reach out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to think about that. I’m not going anywhere.”

Cate’s throat tightens, and she feels her eyes starting to sting. She blinks quickly, trying to hold back the tears, but it’s no use. They’re not just tears of fear anymore. It’s everything—relief, hope, something she hasn’t let herself feel in a long time. She leans in without really thinking, her forehead resting against yours, her voice barely audible, trembling just a little.

“Promise?” she whispers, her breath warm against your skin.

You nod, your eyes closing as you hold her just a little tighter. “Promise.”

In that moment, Cate finally lets herself believe it might be okay.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️ HELLO

Oh jeez more than your usual 129. Okay let's GO.

198 for 🛏️:

---

Buck is chasing it like a fucking drug.

“Your eyes are really pretty,” Buck tells Eddie one evening, when the glow of the setting sun shifts the brown to a warm bronze. “I’ve always thought that, you know.”

It’s forward. It’s risky. But the bright, happy look on Eddie’s face when he hears it is so entirely intoxicating. And it’s not just Buck. In fact, it’s not even mostly Buck. Eddie is just as bad, if not worse. 

“I love your laugh.”

“I could listen to you talk about this for hours.”

“You smell really good today.”

And eventually Buck realizes that, okay yes, things have shifted. But also, Eddie has always been like this? He has always praised as much as he teases. He has always showered Buck with such devastatingly sweet things to Buck that Buck’s lungs have stopped working. They’re just changing in tone, a little. And Buck is just advancing in his own understanding of the way they make him feel. 

He didn’t get it, years ago, when Eddie told Buck there was no one in the world he trusted more with Christopher. He didn’t get that the breathless feeling was more than just platonic devotion. He’s starting to get it. He feels like a camera lens, finally coming into focus.

So eventually, when it keeps happening, Buck can’t keep playing chicken.

They’ve got a movie set up on Buck’s laptop. Eddie’s freshly showered. His hair is damp, smelling like Buck’s green tea and ginger shampoo that he’s been using. The one that apparently smells really good. Buck slides a bit closer to Eddie, until they’re a little tangled together. Eddie’s thumb is rubbing small circles over the bone of Buck’s wrist. Something he’s been doing more and more lately.

“That feels good, you know,” Buck whispers. 

Eddie pauses the motions for a second, like he hadn’t even realized he was doing it until Buck pointed it out. Then, tentatively, it starts up again.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Buck replies. “It… You… I mean you always feel… Uh, good.” 

Eddie inhales sharply. Buck wonders if he’s said too much.

“I do?” 

“Eddie,” Buck whispers, a slight complaint in his tone. “You know.” 

Eddie nods a little. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Buck holds his breath. He won’t be the one to do this. He needs to wait for Eddie. To be sure. Though, he thinks it is a sure thing. 

He doesn’t need to wait long. 

Eddie drops Buck’s wrist and raises his hand to cup Buck’s jaw, and suddenly they’re kissing. Kissing. It’s warm and soft and perfect. And honestly, if Buck could have guessed what kissing Eddie would be like, it would be this. Like sinking into a warm bath after a cold day. Like the sun beaming through the window and landing perfect on your cheeks. Like a breath of crisp fresh air. 

It’s everything. 

It’s so good, in fact, that Buck has to pull away from it, terrified. 

“Wait,” he begs. 

Eddie freezes. His eyes dart back and forth between Buck’s eyes and mouth, like he’s torn between the polite thing and his impulses. God, that’s hot. Buck just wants to let him do whatever he wants. 

“This isn’t because I mowed your lawn, right?” Buck asks.

Eddie’s jaw drops. “What?”

Yeah, okay. That sounded ridiculous. 

“Like, you’re not kissing me right now because I’m letting you stay in my bed and I mowed your lawn and you feel like you have to kiss me?”

Buck really hopes not. Because that might genuinely break his heart. 

“What?” Eddie asks again. “Buck? Seriously?”

“I-I don’t know!” Buck stammers. “You’ve never… So I just want to make sure that I didn’t accidentally pressure you or something.”

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leans forward and kisses Buck again. 

“I’m kissing you,” Eddie says, between a series of small, quick kisses. “Because I really, really want to.”

Oh. Oh, well that’s the best case scenario, then. Buck turns off his brain. He kisses Eddie back with enough passion and fervor to make up for six years of not kissing him. 

After that, kissing becomes a thing they do, too. 

vi.

It’s early August when Buck makes the suggestion. 

He doesn’t predict that this will lead to any sort of negative response. Hell, it seems innocent enough. Here they are, nearly two months into Eddie being here, with no sign of leaving. Kissing has escalated into other things. Buck thinks, maybe it would be nice to have multiple pieces of furniture that can support both of them, for when movie nights are really just movie nights. So he asks.

“Do you want to help me find a couch on our next four-off?” 

But instead of an easy-natured reply like Buck is expecting, Eddie’s face sort of freezes. He is not happy with this question. Buck just doesn’t understand why. 

“Eddie?” He asks, frowning. 

Eddie swallows. “Uh… I don’t know.”

“O-Okay,” Buck replies. “It’s fine. I can do it by myself.”

“No,” Eddie blurts. “No.”

“No, you’re coming or no, I shouldn’t do it by myself?” Buck asks. He really doesn’t get what the issue is, here.

“No, I don’t think you should get a couch,” Eddie says. 

Buck blinks. “Since when? You’re, like, the first person to make fun of me not having one.”

“That was Chris,” Eddie mumbles.

Buck’s chest hurts a little. 

“Why don’t we bring my couch here?” Eddie asks. “It’d fit.”

Buck’s head cocks to the side a bit like a confused puppy.

“Uh, Eddie… Why would we do that? Your house needs a couch.”

“Does it?” Eddie asks, nervous edge in his voice. “No one lives there right now.”

“Right, but then when Chris comes home, we’ll have to move the couch back, and the problem remains. I still need a couch.”

Eddie looks at the ground. 

“Eddie?” Buck presses. “Come on, what’s going on?”

Eddie takes a shaky breath and looks back up at him. “What if he doesn’t come home?”

Oh. 

Fuck. 

Buck can see how he got here from a couch, but it’s still some seriously anxious pathways of logic. Buck doesn’t need to buy a new couch, because Chris isn’t coming home, so they can move Eddie’s here, and Eddie will stay forever. Because he can’t go home if his son isn’t there. Jesus. 

Buck grabs his hand. “Of course he’s coming home, Eddie. That’s… That’s not a concern. He’s coming home.”

“You don’t know that,” Eddie argues. “He’s barely talking to me. And when he does… He doesn’t want to come home.”

“I do know it,” Buck shakes his head. He squeezes Eddie’s hand tighter. “Chris is coming home, okay? I know you don’t trust yourself fully right now, so trust me.” 

Eddie’s eyes glaze over with tears. “I want to. I do.”

Buck hugs him, squeezing him. “I’ll believe it for both of us. And then get the honor of saying I told you so.” 

“You do not get to tease me when-”

“Ah, you said when! Not if!” Buck exclaims triumphantly. 

Eddie groans, defeated, but then sinks deeper into Buck’s arms. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles. 

Buck kisses the top of Eddie’s head. 

“Always,” he replies. “But I still need a couch, Eddie. When was the last time we comfortably played video games?”

Eddie sighs. “I don’t want you to get a couch that isn’t mine.”

It feels like a sort of confession. And maybe it’s entirely ridiculous, but Buck wants to give him exactly what he wants. 

Buck squeezes him again. 

“Well, okay then.”

vi.

A few days later, they’re moving Eddie’s couch into the loft. 

Buck tries not to complain about the tight squeeze and awkward journey into the elevator and up to his floor. He supposes other couches might be just as difficult. And, without the added bonus of already knowing it’s the perfect couch. So he deals with the ridiculousness of moving a couch into the loft which he knows will return home before too long. Regardless of what Eddie believes. 

They’ve had a good talk about things. Which is something they actually hadn’t done before. They just sort of kept slowly inching forward, not addressing much of anything with words or formal understandings. But the way things are going, that wasn’t quite sustainable. They needed to lay it all out in the open. And when they did, this is what they found. 

They are both pretty entirely and devotedly in love with each other. With or without shared bed arrangements. No matter what.  Eddie is still figuring himself out. A lot of himself. Not just the parts that are new in terms of their relationship.

[the-blossica-fan]

Blossica and A Nightmare At Green Lake

An analysis made by THE Blossica fan

Why do I love Blossica? Why is it so important for A Nightmare At Green Lake? Would the story be the same without it?

In this long rant I call "Analysis", I will tell you my thoughts, the reasons and MY opinion on this ship and its importance to the entire event.

It can not be yours, and I'll gladly listen to your thoughts and reasons, but here's why it is so important and the story wouldn't be the same without it.

It has been edited, there might be some more changes if I see any inconsistencies.

Let's start by what most people call this ship, Childhood friends to lovers. I've seen a lot of people call it that, and while it's not wrong, it's also not right.

The better term Is "Childhood crush", as Blonney (Jennifer) is Jessica's childhood crush.

Must take into account that Blonney never knew of Jessica's existence, the OG Jessica was Blonney's imaginary friend, Changeling/Jessica just happened to hear it and thought it was Blonney giving her a name.

Why childhood crush? Well, it's pretty easy to know that Jessica's infatuation that persisted through the years is far more than just friendship. From things like reviving all the stories she told, retelling them and even exhausting them for everyone else.

It's also not a secret that she has probably been looking for someone to replace Blonney's space in her heart, which is why no one has ever seen as interesting in her eyes.

In Vertin's words "What happened to those people that accepted to stay with you? When you ran out of available games, they were no longer adored by you. I can stay longer than them, but with no exceptions. I'll become boring one day." These words are a hint to something.

No one can replace Blonney's place in Jessica's heart.

And, what about Blonney?

Blonney is definitely a lesbian, but this is no headcanon, in fact, I'd argue this is definitely canon. From design hints like those hair clips (this is Bluepoch, they pay heavy detail to their models, this is definitely not a coincidence), to even more hidden hints in her stories.

Since a child, Blonney has been writing in her diary stories, but you know what's interesting? Blonney describes the women as beautiful, like in the story about the dead bride.

A bride that looks for other happy brides? Mmm, doesn't it sound weird?

Blonney also describes Anne/Anna in extra detail, as if she had some sort of fixation with her. Let's remember that this description of characters is not only a script, but Blonney's own thoughts written on paper. When she criticizes herself, saying she'll pay for her doings one day, it feels crude and out of place because that is what she thinks about herself: That she'll pay for being a liar and mean (an arcanist and a lesbian)

The event itself also tells us enough for it to not be speculation, but absolutely straight up in your face.

Blonney's denial of her arcanist self (she punched Jason and yelled that she was not an arcanist, for those with internalized homophobia, this is a common reaction. Anger), the iconic couch scene and later on, her discussion with Jessica.

"How many times do I have to tell you how much I hate being called an arcanist", this is similar to a reaction I had before, denial and anger. In this case, and during the entire event, "arcanist" is used as an allegory.

For fuck's sake, Blonney was CUDDLING with Anne right BEFORE the iconic couch scene. Jessica/Anne is the one that made Blonney start to accept that side of herself, alongside with Tooth fairy's guidance; a professional lesbian.

"You seem to really like me. You would jump off a car to rescue me, you protect me, praise me. You would even be happy because I was happy." "Because I've never seen anyone as pretty as you are. You're special, you're different to the rest of us"

Oh God do you see that? This is flirting.

And while some might say Jessica doesn't know what romance and what liking romantically means, I'd argue otherwise.

Jessica does know what romance is

Let me tell you quickly. Jessica said in "The nightmare of green lake", she has met a couple of people who have different relationships with each other. She has even interacted with them, as in, she HAS talked to them. She has 6 people (excluding Michael, Jason and Freddy) in a cave, she knows some stuff.

When she says "I like you", she knows what she means. Her desperation to get Blonney to stay is not only because she doesn't want to be alone, but because she wants Blonney and ONLY Blonney to stay.

It's possible she's not sure she's in love, but she knows her feelings go far more deep than just a normal friendship. Plus, she has lived with Blonney's childhood stories, and those horror stories do have romance (The pathetic bride includes romance, Jessica is the one behind the pathetic bride, she knows). She's not oblivious nor stupid, she's just inexperienced. She knows she likes Blonney more than a common friend (based on how she treats others), and I think she would never like anyone that's not Blonney.

And what about their relationship?

People think they're master and pet, owner and pet, and I don't think they realize how deep that goes. Blonney is definitely in need of a person like Jessica, who fully supports her and her unique ideas. Jessica loves Blonney unconditionally, there's no reason to not think so. Their relationship is perfectly healthy, Jessica loves being adored and treated as a pet by Blonney, and Blonney is happy to see her happy.

That line of dialogue about a collar, despite how sexual it might be, is made out of innocence. They're not just master and pet, they're girlfriends and, don't we all have weird relationships with each other? They're happy, they're good for each other and are what the other needs.

So... What's their importance to the event? Are they really that important?

Yes.

The event wouldn't exist without that crush and romance. If Jessica didn't think romantically of Blonney, the event would be different, she wouldn't try hard enough to just keep Blonney and much less plan to get rid of everyone around Blonney so it's just the two of them.

If Blonney wasn't in denial of her homosexuality (and arcanum?), the event wouldn't be about accepting yourself as you are, it wouldn't be a story about coming out and the morals wouldn't be as impactful.

It would be a lackluster event.

Their relationship with each other is of heavy importance because it's that crush and denial that make up the entire story. The horror is just a side dish, the murderer and all of it, because this is not a horror story.

It's a love story

"I don't care whether my parents allow it or not!"

"I will quickly reveal this true look of mine, and everyone will look at me as if I've done something wrong"

Huh? Are we still talking about arcanists?

These lines are out of place for a 'friendship', or a discussion about staying or not. This is romantic, and especially in the homosexual way.

This true "look" of mine, doesn't it mean love? People do look at same-sex couples as if they've done something wrong, and while Jessica is talking about her changing abilities, we all knows this is about her crush on Blonney and how society would look at her wrongly.

Because, if she truly didn't know about her crush on Blonney which is the basic of all; everyone knows about crushes and romance, then how would she know people would look at her wrongly?

"I don't care whether my parents allow this or not"? Is a line said in ROMANCE. All romance stories with a 'secret romance' have this sort of line, whether straight or gay, this is a basic must-have in this sort of relationships.

She's not only talking about Jessica's changing abilities and arcanum, she's talking about her own blossoming love.

Especially when Jessica asks if Blonney liked her story, she's seeking approval and a hint Blonney will stay by her side, this is a confession. Which is why she gets so down when she gets a "yes, I like it very much". That's not a yes, it's a dismissal, a 'not so important' thing. This is a rejection of her feelings, even if on accident.

And, why does Vertin intervene? Why does she have the talk to Jessica about staying?

Because Vertin more than anyone knows what it's like to let go of a lover, she knows about not being able to confess in time and she knows that if she doesn't intervene, this will be like her and Schneider all over again. Regrets. She's being supportive, she's trying to do what she couldn't do. She's playing cupid.

A place where no one would judge Jessica for her looks, also known as the homosexual suitcase. We all know that no one in Reverse is straight, or at least, 99% aren't. We all know no one would bat an eye if a deer girl was kissing an 80's horror movie girl in the middle of the wilderness.

This is the perfect place for both, Blonney and Jessica, a place where they can be together while not being judged.

And what about Horropedia, Sonetto and Tooth Fairy? What part do they play in this Horror story?

Oh, they're very important as well. In fact, all of them are.

Horropedia, despite interrupting the girls RIGHT BEFORE KISSING, is the reason they're there. Without him, this would be a psychological horror story. And Blonney and him are the wlw and mlm hostility, they're so hating on each other but they do care. Sonetto has helped Blonney in silent ways, not only by helping her become more herself and supporting her fully, something she needed, but she's also an example of someone who's tied down. They've become good friends because they both used to be in similar situations mentally and emotionally.

But out of the two, Tooth Fairy is definitely the most important. She has gone through the same experiences as Blonney. Arcanist living in human society and a lesbian. She knows what Blonney is going through so she's helping, in her own way. She's the one who makes Blonney start to accept herself, to accept the fact that she is the only one Jessica wants and the one who understands her the most. Blonney softens because of both, Jessica and Tooth Fairy.

Tooth Fairy was the key to Blonney's acceptance, and it's because of her talk to Tooth Fairy that Blonney treats Anne better, that she's willing to share more of herself, that she's more physical. It's not a coincidence that after slowly accepting the fact she's an arcanist (lesbian) that she gets more flirty and physical with Anne/Jessica.

This entire event was a way to talk about coming out, and I've watched this event so many times I wrote this out of memory. It feels this way because it's INTENDED to be that way. It's real, it's crude. It's so direct because that's what it is.

A coming out story, a horror story

A love story

[skinreflectsthesun]

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