#not that long either but i feel like it's good enough to help get a feel for it

[zabchan]

Big Moana 2 Spoilers ahead. Beyond the cut is the Samoan to english translation of maui's 2nd song for moana. (And the context it appears in)

ladies and gents of the moana fandom, thanks to the effort of samoan speaker @yuki685 on youtube, and my buddy @rykierykerman for hooking me up with the text and screenshots

what i'd like to discuss with yall today is not only sharing the translation for this song, but some of the character implication this has for maui, especially when you look at how his OG legends depict him.

LYRICS:

(Maui singing in Samoan):

Aue, aue, le faigata / Aue, aue, how difficult it is

Ua pa'ū fa'anoanoa / Falling into sadness

Aue, aue, fa'ataga ola / Aue, aue, please allow this life to continue

Lenā La'u talosaga / This is my prayer

---

(E manu malo) / May there be blessings

(Opataia Foa'i and Te Vaka singing in Tokelauan)

Tele tele mana e o te vavau (Vavau) / Great, great power of mana

Tau ke tu ke Manumalo / Fight, stand tall and be victorious

Ke Manumalo / Be victorious

---

(Grandma Tala)

Aue, aue, mana e o te vavau / Aue, aue, the power of mana

Tau ke tu ke Manumalo / Fight, stand tall and be victorious

Ke Manumalo / Be victorious

Ke Manumalo / Be victorious

Ke Manumalo / Be victorious

_____

The piece that made me flip my shit when I read it was the confirmation that this song is a PRAYER

when I first heard this song before the movie I assumed it was a funeral rite. a dirge, followed by a choral revival. during the film, when maui and then the ancestors sang it over moana's lifeless body and I had no subtitles to go on, I thought perhaps it was a spell, or maybe a lullaby from Maui's far distant past, then taken up by the ancestors as a comfort to the grieving Maui- then back to the spell theory as Moana awoke to the powerful music and emotion channeled by tala and her crew.

even my first google translate search of the lyrics missed the word prayer, which goes to show that AI translation is no match for native human insight.

Maui's song being a prayer is a friggin big deal.

Maui's stories span the width & breadth of the pacific islands, and each culture arising from those island tells variations on that legend. some emphasize his rebellious side, others his inventiveness, still others his drive, his humor, his ingenuity, his pride. But a common theme in most is that this man, this demigod- he does NOT get along with the majority of his ancestors or the gods. Even when he's not outright malevolent to them, he's tricking them or undermining their effort. He's usually stubbornly self-sufficient, if he gets help from someone divine, its usually because he tricked them into doing it. Maui does not beg, he does not plead. (at least, not with any lasting sincerity). he's a charmer, a schemer.

But here he is, his tattoos stripped away, his hook gone, his beloved Moana growing colder and colder- he's out of tricks. he's out of time, out of power. he's as helpless as the day he was thrown into the ocean to save her. rock bottom, figuratively and literally.

he does the absolute last thing he can, born of pure desperation. pure grief, pure need. He prays.

he prays not expecting an answer. he prays, knowing that the gods and all his family would relish the chance to tell him to fuck all the way off. he prays, even if to no one but moana's lifeless body.

i often joke that maui is bad at feelings. but really what i mean is that maui is bad at regulating his feelings. he represses them as hard as he can, denies them, wraps them in humor and when that fails he straight up tries to out run them. its a maladaptive coping skill he's had to pick up over his immortal 3000 year lifespan because otherwise, he'd be wallowing in endless grief as friend after friend either dies or lives long enough to become his antagonist. boy has some serious trauma built up and no good examples of how to handle it in a healthy way.

until moana.

moana provided an example of how to be vulnerable without being weak. a safe space where he could share his heart and be met with understanding and validation. we see him mature, even fractionally, and in the sequel he's not nearly so closed off. he worries openly about moana, admits his concerns about the mission, even returns moana's favor from the first film and gives her a sincere, supportive pep talk.

but all his progress in processing his emotions seems to backfire in this moment. the first time he'd opened his heart to a fragile mortal friend and here he is, exactly as he feared, devastated at her passing. He had invested real time and care and attachment into this human and he's utterly shattered that its all coming to an end so fast. that he'll never experience her voice or her smile or her wit ever again.

she's precious to him. he cant bear to lose her. his sadness in more crushing than the ocean he's surrounded by, denser than the rock he kneels upon. even if he got his powers back, even if he pulled up a million islands, if Moana isn't there to land on them...there's no point.

less than 10 minutes ago he was ready to die for her.

3 minutes ago in movie time, maui faced his own mortality. powers stripped bare, down to his last ounce of strength, frying in impossible lightning heat, he kept struggling. the first look he gives moana is fear, raw and unfamiliar on that handsome face. but in this penultimate moment, his eyes meet moana's. his grimace gentles, eyebrows lift, gaze softens into a regretful, heart melting smile. he finds small comfort in seeing moana for one last time, seeing her unhurt, hearing her call his name. the rope slips from his grip, and somewhere in the milliseconds between lightning flashes, he relaxes, relief skitters across his features. perhaps he thinks "ahh, at least she's ok." "at least she'll outlive me". perhaps he has a moment of acceptance for his fate, knowing she's proud of him, knowing he did his very best. maybe he thinks ,"this way ill be sure to meet her again, in the afterlife. its for the best."

or maybe, just maybe, he thinks

"see you out there, moana."

but now, 3 minutes later, its once again the worst case scenario. any relief he had in that last smile at her is obliterated in the wake of his grief. its once again the worst case scenario. he's not thinking now of the curse being broken or his hook or his tattoos. a world that she's not in, whether he be human or demigod, is not a world he can stand to exist in. he cant do this without her. he needs her.

so he digs deep inside himself, through the pain or losing her, through his own family trauma and antagonism towards authority, and pride, to beg, on his knees for help from a higher power. its unclear to us if he's intending to pray to the gods or to his own ancestors or both or neither. to anyone who can help. to anyone who will listen.

and its neither of those sources who answer, at least, not as directly as matai vasa or tala do. its moana's kin, her loved ones, (eventually including the ocean), who answer from the great beyond. he looks them in the eyes and they weep with him. they sing power over moana and the impossible happens.

(salacious handholding occurs)

the stars are put back in maui's eyes, the sun back into his sky.

does this mean...

yes.

his tattoos are still cooler than hers.

even when theyre mad at him. (same, little guy, same.)

bruh.

now kiss

[stvrgxsm]

long nights, soft days | joel miller [1.2k]

joel comforts reader while she is on her period.

c: references to blood, periods.

beams of late-afternoon sunshine flowed in from the window, bathing the room in a buttery glow.

it wasn’t often that you allowed yourself to sleep in so much, but then again, last night had been… a lot. joel could get insatiable sometimes, and there were usually little to no warning signs. when he did get like that, you slept for far longer than normal.

but this time, when you tried to roll over, all you felt was warmth pooling between your legs. familiar and sticky, you instantly knew what was going on.

unfortunately, the end of the world didn’t mean the end of periods.

you clamped your legs shut and willed yourself to not feel the twinges of pain, both in your core and legs. one was biology. the other was joel.

speaking of joel… the room was empty, but judging by the angle of the sun, he should have been home already. you stilled and listened for a moment. sure enough, pots and pans clanging in the kitchen downstairs alerted you to his presence. 

a dull ache settled over your stomach, and you squeezed your eyes shut, groaning in pain. it didn’t even occur to you that ellie could still be home, or that she would hear you.

so when she burst into the room, you sat up in shock, your muscles cramping again. “woah. lady troubles?” she asked, hands up in a placating gesture.

“no– i mean, yes. can you just– can you help me to the bathroom?”

“yeah, of course. hold on, let me–” she ducked out of the bedroom, and a moment later, you heard her yell, “joel! she’s awake! can you bring up some pain meds?” then she was back, her arm looped under yours and wrapped around your back, supporting most of your weight. the two of you made an odd pair, hobbling to the bathroom.

your period had always been particularly bad. maybe if there were no infected, you would try to seek a diagnosis, but as it was, it hardly seemed important. there were more pressing issues to deal with. 

like your family. you’d been with joel and ellie for a good six months, and nothing felt better than being known by them. ellie had started bringing you the shiny bits of glass she encountered on her outings in jackson, and joel…

well, joel was your partner. in more ways than one. he supported you, he cared about you, and he bandaged your wounds. and he fucked you stupid with increasing frequency, but that’s beside the point. 

you took a seat on the lip of the bathtub and watched ellie gather some things she thought you might need. “do you prefer pads or tampons?”

“either. whatever. which do you have less of?”

she looked at you appraisingly. “i’ll just put both in here.”

“what are you making?”

“it’s a basket of period supply stuff. for you to keep next to you in bed.”

“oh. thank you, that’s– that’s really sweet of you.”

“yeah, of course.” she had to jump to reach the next item– chocolate from the top shelf. “i know how hard these are for you.”

before you could respond, joel had shouldered his way into the master bathroom. his eyes skipped over ellie completely and landed on you. his brow furrowed. “y’okay, hon?”

“she’s on her period.”

“ellie!” he scolded, the southern twang especially obvious in his distress.

“what? it’s true!”

a brief smile flashed across your face, but it was dimmed by another layer of pain settling on top of the first. joel noticed; he always did. 

“c’mon, honey. let’s get you to bed.” he reached for you with both arms, and you thought for a moment he was going to help you walk, like ellie had. but suddenly he was holding you against his chest, your arms wrapped around his neck.

“joel!”

ellie laughed from somewhere behind you.

“what?” he asked innocently.  

then he was laying you down on your bed gently, wincing with you at the change in position. “it’s okay, sweet thing, i’m so sorry.”

“do you have those pain meds?”

his eyes brightened with the reminder, and one of his hands went into his pocket to retrieve a small bottle of white pills. “ibuprofen,” he said, placing two of them into your open palm. 

“thank you.”

“of course.” he looked over the room for a moment, then back at you and the bed. “where’s your water?”

“i don’t– i don’t have any.”

you shrunk into the bed under his withering gaze. “baby. what did i tell you?”

“i have to take care of myself?”

“yes.” he heaved a long-suffering sigh, and you smiled up at him. “i’ll get you a glass. don’t dry-swallow those.”

you nodded, cradling them in your open palms reverently. he disappeared out the door, but you could still hear his footsteps on the stairs and in the kitchen. he had heavy footfalls; part of you thought you would be able to hear him even if he was outside. 

ellie brought the basket into your room. “okay, this has everything you might need. pads, tampons, a menstrual cup, chocolate, my heating pad, the works.” she rolled her eyes. “obviously joel keeps the pain-killers under lock and key. he’s so paranoid.” 

you shared a smile with her, and then she nodded sharply. “okay, i’m leaving. going to make dinner with tommy and maria. i won’t be back until later. will you guys be okay?”

“you know we’re supposed to be the parents here, right?”

but she was already out the door. “whatever,” she called behind her, laughing.

you weren’t alone for long. joel’s footsteps came up the stairs and into your room, and he carried with him a glass of water and a bowl. he set both down on your nightstand. “i made soup for you,” he explained.

“just now?” a smile played on your lips, pulling an eye-roll from him.

“no, silly girl, i was cooking this whole afternoon. while you were sleeping.”

“well, you did keep me up late.”

his brow furrowed. “is that why you’re feeling so bad? i mean i know you’re on your period, but is it made worse by that? i’m so sorry, sweet girl, let me make it up to you.”

he was already kneeling at the edge of the bed before you could even get a word out. “no, no, no, joel, it has nothing to do with that!! really. nothing at all.”

he eyed you warily. 

“i promise! it’s totally unrelated! please, just– can you just–”

“yes, sweet girl?”

fuck. “can you please just lay down with me?” it was almost embarrassing asking joel for anything soft. you knew he wasn’t a particularly gentle man. you were surprised he was even doing this for you.

his entire face softened. “oh, honey.” and then his shoes were off and he was under the covers, curled around you. he tucked his chin into your neck and inhaled deeply. 

you giggled. “what are you doing?”

he was quiet for a moment. “just thinking about you.” his hands came up to your stomach and began rubbing soft circles into the flesh there.

“what about me?”

he didn’t answer, and when you shifted in his arms to look back, his eyes were closed. but his grip tightened, and you allowed him to pull you closer, into his warmth. another smile danced along your lips. 

who needs a heating pad when you have joel miller?

[youcouldmakealife]

Owen/Willy, ScratchnMoney; team huddle (for warmth)

For the prompt: Anything Willy/Owen

Feat. shenanigans, as contractually required of all Scouts prompts.

Sometimes Tate thinks it’s a very good thing that Owen got to know the Scouts before anything ever happened between them.

This would be one of them.

Owen’s pretty accustomed to all of them by now, unfazed by the usual antics, but when he opens the door to the three of them, Tate shivering and dripping wet, flanked by Scratch and Money, like particularly negligent bodyguards, his eyes go a little wide.

“Um,” Owen says. “Hi?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Money yells over Scratch’s, “It was Money’s fault.”

“No one’s at fault,” Tate says.

His teeth are starting to chatter. He has a decent cold tolerance, and Missouri winters are a far cry from some of the ones he’s endured — pretty much anywhere will feel balmy after you spend some of your formative years in Winnipeg — but it’s certainly too cold for what he’s wearing. Well, it was perfectly fine, but that was when it wasn't sopping wet.

“Why don’t we get you inside?” Owen says, and Tate gratefully steps into the relative warmth, struggling to get his shoes off with stiff hands as Owen and the Tweedles talk, Money’s last insistence that it wasn’t his fault cut off by either Scratch hauling him off or the door closing on him mid-sentence. Scratch, probably. Owen’s too polite to close the door on anyone. Scratch is absolutely not too polite to stick his hand over Money’s mouth and drag him forcefully back to the car.

“Was it Joey’s fault?” Owen asks. He’s trying to look solemn, but his lips are trembling with the laugh he’s trying to suppress.

“It wasn’t not his fault,” Tate chatters.

“Why don’t you tell me after you take a shower?” Owen says, because he is, in fact, the most perfect man alive, then, “Do you want some tea?”

Like Tate said.

*

Even after a hot shower long enough that the tea Owen’s made him is bitter and tepid, changing into sweats and a hoodie, thick wool socks, grabbing a throw off the couch and bundling it around himself like a cape, Tate can’t seem to get warm.

Owen disappears from the table, returning with a beanie he tucks over Tate’s wet hair.

“Lose 40% of my body heat, right?” Tate asks. “Or is that a myth?”

“A myth,” Owen says. “But you’re still shivering, and it’s just about the only skin left uncovered. If this doesn’t help, the next step is going to grab you some mittens.”

“Then a balaclava?” Tate asks.

“As if you’d let anything cover your pretty face,” Owen says, and Tate laughs. “The step after that is probably body heat.”

“We can skip straight to that one,” Tate says, and this time Owen’s laughing.

“Drink your tea,” he says.

“It’s not hot,” Tate protests, and Owen disappears into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a fresh cup of tea, a warm compress he wraps around Tate’s neck and shoulders like a scarf. Tate tucks his face into the warmth, tucks his fingers around the mug.

“Was there another fountain?” Owen asks. And he's officially used to the Scouts by now, because he says it with weary humor, but absolutely zero surprise.

“It wasn’t a fountain,” Tate says. Which is a major silver lining, considering showing guys the fountain video is one of the way he prepares new teammates to meet the team. He thinks it gives a pretty good idea of the general vibe, and then he can add the proposal video to give them an even better idea, along with a pretty good litmus test on how well a guy's going to fit in the room, watching the way they watch it. But he’s sure, given the circumstances, ScratchnMoney — well, mostly Money — would show no mercy if they had video of Tate in a similarly compromising position — location? — as would be their right.

Which leads to the second silver lining: that ScratchnMoney were both panicking far too much at the time to think about pulling their phones out and hitting ‘record’.

“Don’t tell me you—“ Owen says, pure, undiluted horror on his face now.

“If I fell in the Missouri I’d still be in the shower,” Tate says. Possibly forever.

Owen lets out an audible sigh of relief. Tate takes a sip of tea. It’s just shy of boiling, and he’d usually wait, but that’s perfect right now.

“There may have been a pond,” Tate admits.

Owen’s smiling again. “Why was there a pond?”

“Someone was complaining his dinner was too heavy and he needed a digestive walk,” Tate says. A far cry from the drunken pizza run that lead to The Fountain Incident. They’ve all gotten old. Old men who need digestive walks.

“Somehow I don’t think Nick was the one suggesting it,” Owen says.

Tate tilts his head, giving him the point. Scratch spent the entire time grumbling that some people didn’t need digestive walks, and bickering with Money about how his ‘shit diet’ seemed to suit his digestion better than Money’s ‘rabbit food’ did. Tate did not get involved. He was honestly just glad Money had suggested before he did.

“Is that why it was Joey’s fault?” Owen asks.

“Oh,” Tate says. “No. It’s his fault because he pushed me in the pond.”

“Tate!” Owen says. “Why did you say it wasn’t his fault?”

“Because he would have stuck around to argue and I would have said or done just about anything for a hot shower at that point,” Tate says.

“And that’s why they made you the captain,” Owen says.

“I think it’s more that everyone else had too much sense to take it,” Tate says.

“You’ve stopped shivering,” Owen observes.

“Is that a good sign or a bad one?” Tate asks.

“Depends on the circumstances,” Owen says.

“Do you think we need to try the huddling for warmth part of the plan?” Tate asks. It’s a come on, sort of, but he’s a little embarrassed to admit just how nice it sounds, crawling under the covers right now. It’s far too early for that — if it were a game night, he’d still be out on the ice — and Tate is very serious about his sleep hygiene, but if Owen thinks they should huddle for warmth, then, well — he’s the expert. That’s biochemical, isn’t it? Biological, at the very least.

Owen traces his finger over the palm of Tate’s hand, and Tate shivers. It’s entirely unintentional on his part, as are the goosebumps rising in wake of Owen’s touch, but he couldn’t have timed it better if he tried.

“If you think it’ll help,” Owen says, then takes his hand away. Tate feels cold everywhere Owen’s touched him, overheated everywhere else.

“I think it’d be very helpful,” Tate says, all honesty.

“Then finish your tea,” Owen says, and Tate curses himself for requesting another cup, because if it were lukewarm he’d be able to swallow it in two gulps. As it is, he sips it as quickly as he can, and between the hot drink, layer after layer of clothing, and Owen puttering around now, turning lights out, setting the security system, he feels very warm indeed.

“Coming up?” Owen asks from the hall.

Tate takes one final gulp. He’d usually bring it back to the kitchen, but he thinks he can make an exception tonight, the same way he made an exception for the clothing puddled in the master bathroom, wearing a hat over wet hair, which he’s pretty sure his grandmother told him was fatal, though maybe she just meant outside.

“Right behind you,” he says, and flips the last light off as he follows Owen upstairs.

[satangcrush]

goodness gracious

lucifer x g!n reader, sfw, not beta-read

a/n▸ no idea if i can keep up with it but here's my day 1 entry for @om-adventcalendar. this was written in a haze so idk either. lowkey follow-up to this I think? i had no plans but I feel like it fits

The Avatar of Pride prides himself on his self-control.

He’s not delusional enough to think he’s the best at it when demons like Barbatos far outweigh him in this. But, he would like to think he’s confident enough in his control over his emotions.

Especially when you keep tempting him.

The slow drawl of your voice, the way you look at him softly when he speaks; just everything that you do. He’s lucky he has already fallen, else Father might have cast him out of the Celestial Realm for his thoughts.

.

He gets mornings like this sometimes. But somehow, it was particularly rough today. 

With his eyes closed, he almost wishes that he could just go back to sleep. Forget everything and all his responsibilities for once.

(He doesn’t. Father taught him otherwise. Responsibility is a heavy burden that he must wear.)

His limbs feel like its been filled with lead, heavy with something that he can’t quite place his finger on. Voice still half-muffled from the allure of sleep, he makes his way down the hallway to the kitchen.

“Good morning.”

He nods at you, coughing into the palm of his hands. You look at him for a moment, searching for something in his expression. He arches an eyebrow, placing a hand on the table as you slide over a mug of coffee.

“Kitchen duty?” His words sound slurred even to his own ears as he made his way around the table. There was a crick in his neck that didn’t seem to be going away.

“Correct.” You say, hip jutting out as you point the spatula at him. You’re busy, fiddling with the pan as you move about the kitchen. “Sit down there, I’ll whip something up.”

His mouth opens with the intent of rejecting your offer but you pin him with a pout. He sits down at the end of the table.

“Where are the rest?” His mind hadn’t cleared up enough to separate dreams from reality, and his eyes dragged over your figure – clad in a too-big shirt that you probably stole from one of the brothers as your sock-clad foot pads over the space.

It’s stretched and tattered, he realises as you close the gap. He briefly imagines the thought of you wearing his own before shaking them away. He catches a whiff of something warm and buttery, his gaze trailing down to the pan of fluffy scrambled eggs you hold.

You smell delectable, something straight out of his imagination. Ah, this must be a dream, he concludes in the end. Only something so serene could exist in the depths of his mind, and never in reality.

You stand before him, entirely in reach. A cosy haze still envelops him, muddying his thoughts and he thinks and thinks–

“–Do you want any sauce with that?” You break his thoughts with that gentle tone of yours, peering close at his expression. He couldn’t help himself, suddenly leaning forward to press a kiss to the side of your mouth.

“Thank you.” He feels tingly as if this was what he was meant to do. He rises to his full height, watching as your lips slightly parted, with your eyes widening in surprise. 

He ducks down to kiss you squarely on the lips this time. 

“I’ll have some Hellfire sauce with that.” He nods again, sitting down in his seat. A pleased smile graces his face as you walk shakily back to the corner of the kitchen and use a spell to float the bottle of sauce over to him.

Ping!

He glances down at his D.D.D. with a furrow, letting out a sigh.

Diavolo: Lucifer, are you reaching RAD soon?

He pauses, looking at the plate of food in front of him. He didn’t know dreams were so realistic nowadays, mimicking his schedule down to a T. 

With a yawn, he scans the room looking for your figure. Surprisingly, you were nowhere to be seen, traces long gone from his sight. What a shame. He wanted to say his goodbyes even if it was only a dream.

.

Within minutes, he’s shuffling out into the cold early morning air grunting as he holds the container of food close to his chest. For some reason, he decides to kick a stone that was in his way and that sends a flock of birds flying out of the way.

That breaks the haze he was in, realisation jolting him out of his skin.

Goodness gracious, he thinks. Everything is out of order. He leans down with his head in his hands, setting the container in his lap.

“Fuck.” He finally mutters out loud in the silence.

A bird caws back at him, mocking him in his stupidity. 

[astr-venus]

｡⁠☆ Who Is This Diva✦

｡⁠☆Content: Shouta Aizawa BF headcanons

｡⁠☆Cw: swearing, pregnancy mention, threesome mention (still sfw tho !), no use of y/n

✦ Not the sweetest boyfriend or husband, at least not in most people's opinion. He's quiet, blunt, a bit of a tease as well, and all of these things kinda make him look like an asshole. These qualities don't change when you're together either, you just get really good at reading Shouta.

✦ Incredibly observant and somehow remembers everything you ever tell him. You could slightly hint at wanting to go to some fancy ass restaurant, and 6 months later when your anniversary rolls around all of a sudden he's taking you there, hell you don't even remember mentioning it.

✦ The man is blunt, but still a little shy, especially with overly lovely PDA. He can do handholding, hugs, pecks on the lips, but anything more than that and he'll push your face away like he's annoyed. He knows damn well he's flustered and embarrassed, but he absolutely refuses to let you see that. Heaven forbid you see your big strong man weak for you.

"What the hell is wrong with you, we're at the school... No you can wait till we get home you aren't dying, stop being dramatic.... My face is NOT red and I'm not into it either, get away from me. You're such a pervert."

✦ A little insecure. He doesn't feel good enough for you. If you left him or fell out of love with him he wouldn't beg for you back, but I can't say he would just accept it either. He'd probably just... Grieve. He would want you back so bad, but would hate to make you stay when he fully believes there's way way better than him out there.

✦ shit texter. Terrible texter. Horrendous texter even. He's so dry and he deplores talking on the phone, half the time he just leaves you on read. He just don't even try to reply.

✦ a cuddle bug, but only behind closed doors. As soon as the lock on your front door clicks his arms are wrapped around you and his head is on your shoulders. He trails around the house behind you like a lost puppy (and if you don't let him in the shower with you ? Oh Lord you'll never hear the end of it)

"I don't care about whatever the hell an everything shower is. There's no reason why you won't let me in, I've literally been inside you, I don't care."

✦ possessive. Wants to know where you are and what you're doing at all times. Slightly controlling, but will back off if he's over stepped.

✦ scruffy but hygienic. Showers at least once every two days, but most of the time twice a day because of teaching and patrol. He buys antibacterial everything in a generic scent, but if you have preferences for anything he doesn't mind changing it as long as he still gets clean

✦ a worrywart. If you stub your toe and don't tell him he's pissed. An injury is an injury no matter how minor. He just wants to make sure he's taking care of you. If you do the same and try to help him with any cuts or bruises from patrol he'll pretend to get fed up, but in reality you make him feel so incredibly warm inside he feels like he might burn to death

✦ secure in his masculinity. If you're a fashion guru (or if you're Eri) he couldn't care less if you picked his outfit. You can put him in strawberry perfume and a skirt and all he would ask is that you make the outfit school appropriate

✦ speaking of Eri, that's his daughter, straight up. He loves that little girl like he birthed her himself, and the minute you two start bonding is the minute he figures out what heaven looks like.

✦ Shouta never really wanted kids, not to say he doesn't love teaching the brats at his school, but that really was enough time spent with children for the day. Until Eri came, and then when you came. I think he'd love to give Eri a little sibling, though I don't think he wants more than 3 kids. 4 at most.

✦ don't try to watch movies with him, don't bring him to the theater either, he's just gonna fall asleep as soon as the title screen comes up. He will beg and moan to watch some shitty movie with you and fall asleep before the main character even has their first line

"Hmm, what? No I wasn't sleeping... My eyes were closed because I was training my spacial awareness, I promise I'm still watching the movie... When have I ever lied to you ?"

✦ doesn't have a big presence and has a staring problem, people who don't know you're together think he's a stalker. Between his overall rough looking appearance and his hard focus on you he looks like a serial killer, there's a good chance you won't have to worry about a lot of other women bc of this tho (not that he would ever cheat, he'd fall upon his own sword first), so good for you !

✦ jumpscares you forever. He claims he isn't doing it on purpose, but for how often it happens it's gotta be malicious !! It's gotta be !! You turn around in the kitchen, when the hell did Shouta get there ? You're at the store, when did Shouta follow you out the door ? You wake up, good lord Shouta why are you staring at me like that ? There is no escape from how often he scares you either.

✦ starts referring to you as his wife before you're married, but he only calls you wife behind you're back before you're engaged. Since I don't see Shouta as the type to really yearn for marriage, I think if you don't have a want for it either he's calling you his wife a year into the relationship

"Yeah, my wife is at home with my daughter. They hate publicity as much as I do so I left them at home.... We've been together for a year, but known each other much longer. I'm incredibly lucky to have her."

✦ a very soft man. To outsiders he's cold and prickly but he's actually the sweetest blueberry in the basket, he's like a huge cat. All of his touches are gentle, he would never forgive himself if he hurt you, he'd spend his whole life atoning for something like that.

✦ I would like to end this post by saying if you ever convince him to do a threesome it would be with Hizashi. That is all.

Also, what character would YOU like to see next ? Thinking Mina or... Maybe I'll work on my Hawks characterization... Decisions decisions....

I kinda wanna make another post like this but it's erasermic + y/n. My fav polycule besides for tdbkdk if I'm honest. Should I do a Mic intro and then the poly post or just skip straight to the poly post ?

Slow posting as well 💔💔 made this blog and immediately got hit with the Too Busy To Post Beam, but I stare at it longingly before I go to bed every night

｡⁠☆Requests open

[luvissues]

thinking about john price who is just so guilty when he gets home from missions :( he’s always knocked out, fast asleep before you can even think to spend any time with him. he feels awful, he really does- so why not have his boys come to make up for his absence?

(cw: dubcon kinda(?), price being a cheeky bastard)

the first one he brings around is kyle, and while the captain claims not to play favorites, you know this boy must be it from the way john speaks of him. but you can see why.

he’s nothing but polite, all quiet thank yous and murmured gratitude. price had called you in advanced to warn you of his arrival; ‘he’s a good lad, love, no trouble. just needs a nice rest before he heads home.’

dutifully, you’d prepared the guest room. made sure to be a bit more conscious when you cleaned the house this time around. upon coming home, price wearily leaned down to press a firm kiss to the top of your head before lumbering off to bed. it was kyle who expressed his respect towards your efforts.

so, when you’re preparing tea the next morning, he just has to thank you for all of this the proper way. he catches you by surprise- you’d thought the soldier might be a little more like your husband, ever so ready to sleep off the long mission, but he’s up early enough to interrupt your little a.m. habit.

he hums a quiet good morning as he approaches from behind, forearms resting on the counter beside you. you don’t pay him much mind until you notice the slight tug on the bottom of your sleep shorts.

“all i’ve seen anyone wear for the past month is cargos and jeans,” he muttered, as if his interest stemmed from an innocent curiosity. “forgot they made them this small back here, eh?”

and, to your credit, you brush him off like the good wife you are. but that doesn’t stop the way the warmth of his palm skims under your loose shirt, creeping back down. he tsks when he runs a finger over your seam, pushing off the counter so that he can press against your back.

“poor thing, aren’t you? awe, no- you shouldn’t have to wait until price gets up, the lazy bastard. let me help.”

he keeps you pinned there against the counter as he works at you, deft, slim fingers curling so nicely inside. he makes a quick job of it too, not that the hushed, gentle praises he breaths against your neck made it any easier for you to resist.

he doesn’t linger long. simply snaps your drawers back into place, wanders back to his room. by the time john is up, he’s all dressed and ready to go, duffel slung over his shoulder.

“lovely home you keep, price.” he smiles as he kicks on his shoes.

“you know i don’t do even half the work, garrick.” your husband grumbles back, voice rough and thick with sleep.

“i know. wasn’t talking to you.” he chuckles lightly, hand curling around the back of your neck with a small squeeze before he‘s off to the door. you don’t notice the way price lingers longer than he should when he sees his boy off.

simon is a bit different. unlike kyle, you can tell that this man needs just as much sleep as john just by looking at him.

to be truthful, you were just a bit offput at your husband’s call this time around. you’d met ghost a grand total of maybe once in the entire time you’d been married. you’re starting to think that might be for a reason.

unlike his sergeant, he’s (very) blatantly brutish. he shoulders and elbows his way through your house, ducking under doors and manhandling his belongings. you’re happy to leave him be when you go tend to your husband.

john is always beaten up when he returns. it’s like he’s slept on the floor of the humvee on his drive back, except maybe the dirt road was made out of the biggest fucking rocks on the planet, or so it seems. there’s bruises and gashes everywhere, and you can’t even begin to think of how some of them appeared, if not for the van shaking him around like the clapper inside a bell.

either way, it’s a mess to clean him up, and an absolute haul to get him from the bathroom into bed. luckily(?) for you, simon is here, and he seems to have no qualms about helping his half-naked captain into bed.

maybe you should look into that, but you try your best to let it escape your mind.

when you finally get the big man down, you begrudgingly come to terms with the fact that there’s no way you’re sleeping on this bed. john is sprawled across it, pushing his lieutenant away at the offer of painkillers. just because he won’t sleep well doesn’t mean you have to suffer with him.

however, when simon notices you packing up for the couch, you can practically see him frowning even under the mask he wears.

“cap’n ‘ll kill me if i have his missus take the settee.” he huffs, and while you try to be a good host and usher him into the guest room, he doesn’t have any of it.

that morning, you get up nice and early to make sure that you can at least accommodate for your guest, considering he gave up his bed for you. and while it does take a considerable amount of time to shake that bear of a man awake, the only thing he wants is for you to sit down with him.

he makes everything so simple, doesn’t he? from the sleeping arrangements to the tidy way he conducts things. it becomes apparent, the longer you talk to him, that he never seems to have lived any other way. breaking things apart and reconstructing them in his head; keeping his life orderly, straightforward.

the way he approaches you is much the same. what starts as a hand on your thigh quickly becomes him cupping your core over your pants- right to the point. you’d decided to dress a bit more appropriately, considering what happened with kyle, but that doesn’t stop the lieutenant at all. he simply shoves his hand into your joggers, making no show of pulling them down and talking all sweet like kyle did. he only grunts, pulling his hand away so that he can maneuver you onto your back.

he seems to hesitate in his actions, a slight falter that you might mistake as inexperience if not for knowing his age. surely, with a stature such as his own, he’s gotten his way around. instead, his reluctance seems to be a result of your situation- you are important to price. he cannot hurt you, cannot break you, for that would be forgoing the trust placed in him.

but, like everything else, he tries to keep this easy. he shushes you lightly when he bullies his cock into you, but other than that, not a word comes out of his mouth. it would be mildly disturbing if you were paying any more attention, but luckily for him, your focus is directed at the way your nails scrape against the fabric of the sofa and the way you have to bite your tongue to keep yourself quiet; bigger priorities than his unnerving silence.

when john finally wakes, it’s only for long enough to give his soldier a pat on the shoulder and a quick goodbye before he’s back in bed. when you join him, you feel as though you’ve done some unspeakable crime. your husband seems none the wiser as he pulls you closer, and when you stay the rest of the day with him, he doesn’t know that it’s because your thighs are too bruised for walking to be comfortable.

the last to stay is johnny, who seems to have been beaten raw in about every spot apart from his voice box. the man gladly fills the silence that price leaves; he downs a couple of tylenol dry and seems good to go. you wince as you watch him.

the only reason johnny comes back with your husband is due to the length of their mission. something about not having enough time to make arrangements when they were out, so he has to make do now that he’s back. still, your last two guests have left you restless, and you tread carefully around the boisterous sergeant.

well, not that it matters. because as soon as johnny sees even the slightest furrow to your brow when you notice price blacked out in bed without having even removed his uniform, he’s determined to make you feel better.

he all but steers you back to the guest room with a very firm hand on your back. you don’t even remember lifting your feet off the floor- it’s like he pushed you all the way down the hall on his own. thinking back, it’s likely that’s exactly what he did.

unlike simon, johnny holds just about zero inhibitions. and if you though gaz was a talker, well, that made his comrade a goddamn motormouth. half the words he’s saying are either nonsense or spoken in an accent too harsh to understand, but the way he cages you underneath him is all the same.

“we’ve been oot a long time, haven’t we? aye, the captain’s sleepin’ like he ain’t ever wakin’ up!”

his jabbering does a decent job of distracting you from the way he’s hastily pulling your clothes off, but not much.

“right shame, is wha’ it is. dinnae worry hen, i’ll look out for ya, yeah?”

look out for you, he does. the man is relentless, spewing his chatty nonsense while he goes at you. he drags his thick fingers against your walls until you’re pushing him away, crudely lapping at your slick even then. for someone who was off fighting in a country whose name you can’t even pronounce, he sure does have some stamina in him.

and when you look down between your legs, eyes wide at the sight of his spend dripping out of you, he takes it as a sign that he’s not done a good enough job. if you’re not witless, he’s not done.

by the time you’re going back to price’s room, you’re so sore and achey that johnny carries you- not that he seems the least bit bothered.

there’s no way in hell that john can’t see what you’ve been up to this time around, even through his bleary eyes. you’re horrified, but when the sergeant haphazardly tosses you into bed, chirping about what a sweet little bird his captain’s got and how nice it was to see her, your husband only gives him a mock salute before he shuts the door.

he pulls you into his chest with a quiet rumble, tucking his head into the crook of your shoulder without a word.

stupid bastard knew the whole time. you’d be furious, spewing filth at him for what he ordered his men to do, but you don’t get a word in.

he smooths a hand over your head, slings a leg over your own. “mm, good lad, he is. he take care of you alrigh’? i told ‘im too.”

you can hear the hint of pride in his tone, like he’s satisfied with himself for thinking to get the boys to take care of you while he ‘recovered’.

you don’t respond. he takes that as answer enough- you can feel him smiling against your skin as he pulls the covers back over you.

[your-nanas-house]

Let me call you mine just for tonight

◇ Pairing: Robert Fischer X best friend fem!Reader

◇ Warnings: SMUT, riding, handjob, pathetic Robert, best friends, use of 'mama', kissing, sub!Robert/dom!Reader

◇ Summary: Robert needs a relief and asks his best friend for help.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. I haven't been so active lately because of uni and bit of a writer block. 🙏

"Please... Y/n, please" Robert begged with a pleading look, he had just arrived home from a stressful day filled with annoying meetings and unpleasant fights with his dad. His usual composed and neat appearance wasn't there at all, his hair were bit messy due to the stress, his shirt was partially open and his tie already loose.

The cold air of the weather outside was the cause of the soft blush on his face. His slight sniffing was another proof of the coldness of the air just like his freezing hands, which were resting on his best friend's thighs in an attempt to warm them up.

"Please..." the man repeated, giving a gentle squeeze at her warm leg. She could tell how desperate her friend was, just by looking at him.

The light but deep inhales and the tension on his jaw gave it away easily.

"I don't know, Robert. What it it changes everything and makes our friendship... weird?" the woman asked after a mid pause, bringing all her focus back on the previous topic as her mind kept wondering to the odd request of her friend.

'Should it really be worth an answer?' She pondered 'Should I agree to this random 'one night stand' supplication... a hook up with a childhood friend would bring just troubles, right?'

"Y/n, please. I beg you. Just... let me call you mine for tonight. Please— I-I-I owe you something" Robert's voice echoed in her head when he spoke after the awkward silence. He really seemed to need that, plus it wouldn't have hurt anyone since Y/n was single since ages now and he wasn't in a relationship.

"Fine, but.. I lead, and you won't take any initiative. Just be a good boy" she replied in a firm tone, wanting to take control over the situation and be sure to not be used as a simple fucktoy.

At the realization of the pet name, which slipped from her mouth, her mind and body slightly cringed internally. Her breath got caught in her throat as she waited for an unpleasant reaction from Robert.... but it didn't come. On the contrary, the man replied simply with a quick nod and a guttural whine that sent chills down her spine.

That situation could have ended in just two ways: with the end of their friendship or an added intimacy to their long bond.

Either way, they were both too far ahead to change their mind. Robert hands where already resting on her hips as he peppered light kisses on her neck, whining about needing physical love. His impatient hips thrusting slightly up as to convince her with a bit of teasing to not back off and keep going.

A way to prevent their rational part to come out and ruin everything.

"Robert" her tone was soft yet firm as she scolded his eagerness, reminding him the condition of their deal as her warm fingers ran down his neck to the first buttons of his white shirt.

The man's body was going on fire, his hands kept twitching as his breath got stuck in his throat at the soft teasing of his best friend. Her hands felt like heaven, and she was barely touching his skin. Maybe it was just because he was a bit too impatient, but he didn't care.

It took all Robert's strength to not move during her ministrations. He had to rest his head back against the sofa to be able to watch her better and let the feelings of lust and pleasure take over his whole body.

Her perfume had surround him fully, and her warmth could be felt through the fabric or his clothes while Y/n kept undressing him enough to not make things too intimate but still lustfull.

"Do you want me to get myself ready or..." she asked while undoing her friend's belt to open his pants and reveal still restricted boner. The woman didn't let him decide, though, sitting with her full weight on his lap after moving aside her thong to be able to feel the soft fabric of his white underwear against her. Mixing her juices with Robert's leaking pre-cum, which had already drenched the boxers.

Their lips were nearly touching, brushing teasingly against each other as their heavy breaths became one with closed eyes. Robert body twitched a couple of times, but he didn't move an inch, taking simply what she was willing to give him and not asking for more.

So he happily accepted the kiss, even allowing her to slip her tongue in his mouth as it got more and more intense. He could cum just by that... and the feeling of her dripping cunt which had now completely drenched the fabric with her slow but hard grinding.

"Just like that—" Y/n's voice praised softly, her hands moving the man's ones on her body, finally allowing him to kneed, caress, and rub her skin, whoever he prefered.

The rolling of her hips didn't stop, continuing in a pleasurable rhythm that was driving them both crazy. They felt like one due to the closeness and the intimacy.

Robert's hands, now warmed up, brushed her thighs to reach slowly under her skirt her clit. Pinching and rubbing it with a bit of experience to lead her to her first peak of the night.

As her body shook softly, arching perfectly as the pleasure washed over her, his cock twitched, dangerously reaching almost his climax while still tucked in his underwear

"Y/n, Y/n... please. I can't wait anymore, Mama, please" he cried out, buckling his hips against hers, emphasizing how close he was to his limit of endurance and encouraging her that way to hurry up.

Her fingers quickly pulled at the fabric, exposing now his hard-rock cock to the cool air. It was hard, resting against Robert's bare stomach, leaking shamelessly by the angry red tip. He couldn't really take it anymore, he needed to be inside of her.... yet he waited.

"Ok, ready?" Y/n asked softly, pumping his length a couple of times while rushing to put the condom around it with his help. As they were both sure it was on correctly his hands flew on her hips, grabbing them in a tight grip as she slowly lowered herself on his cock, sinking further and further till he was fully and safely in.

"I don't know if I can last any longer" Robert whined out pathetically, his lips swollen from his constant biting. He was breathing heavily, sweat was rolling down his forehead. He was close... too close.

"Y/n!—" the man nearly screamed out as his friend started to bounce, rolling her hips to get the right angle.

"Don't you dare, Robert" her harsh tone made his eyes close, his hips thrusting up faster and pathetic whines started to leave his mouth even louder. He knew she wanted to come first, but he didn't know for sure if he was capable of resisting any longer.

Please please please, his begs echoed in the room as Y/n started to rub quickly her clit never stopping her hips.

Please please please and he was spilling himself in the condom, his body shaking at the feeling of the squeezing of her warm walls cause by the intense orgasm she just had.

They were both breathing heavily, their hearts beating like crazy as the adrenaline kept tingling in their bodies. Robert's head had dropped against Y/n's chest, allowing her to sooth and cuddle him.

"Thank you..." He whispered out.

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

Charles sighed, straightening from the bench where he was untying his moccasins at the entrance to the cabin. “Stare any harder and you’ll burn a hole in my shirt.”

His voice was muffled through the thick cotton of the mask they both wore over their faces, a precautionary measure. Apparently TB was more contagious than either of them had realized at the start of this whole mess. 

“I’d aim for your hand,” Arthur sniped, adjusting on the bed that had been his prison for three weeks now. He could hardly make it to the outhouse without coughing so hard he’d soil himself, and he’d never felt weaker in his life. Still, he had pride. And, good Christ, was he bored.  “Maybe if I burn it you’d let me do some damn work around here.”

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger. This was a well-worn argument. “Arthur, you’re sick. Doctor said rest.”

Arthur snorted. “What’s the use of keepin’ my mangy ass alive if I’m just gonna go crazy?”

Charles looked over his gloved hand with a peevish glare. “Read? Do anything that ain’t bitin’ my head off?”

Arthur made to get out of the bed. “Just lemme help, I could at least cook—”

“Arthur!” Charles snapped, getting to his feet and crossing the room in three long strides. He gently grabbed Arthur by the shoulders, carefully but inexorably pushing Arthur back down to the bed. It wasn’t even hard—it’d been months since Arthur had the strength to offer anything like a proper struggle. “No, damn you! You can hardly stand!” 

Arthur huffed, glaring. Then he took a shallow, careful breath, willing himself to calm down. 

Charles had been nothing but good to him. It wasn’t his fault Arthur was like this. Weak, useless. Worthless. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, most days, how his lover could stand to be trapped in this sisyphean nightmare.

Not that Arthur could really call him a lover, anymore. They hadn’t so much as kissed in months. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur apologized, begrudging. “I just—I can’t get through, like this. Feel useless.”

Charles’ eyes were exhausted, dark circles deeply ingrained in the hollows. “Wish I had something to offer you,” he said, genuine. His shoulders slumped, weariness in every line of his frame.

Arthur shook his head. “Just wish I could care for you the way you do for me.” He reached out carefully, exhaling when Charles leaned into Arthur’s touch against his temple. Arthur tucked away a lock of hair that had escaped Charles’ braid. 

Charles’ hair was still growing back out—it was out of the awkward stage it’d been in, the first few months. Charles had looked ridiculous, thick, short hair on his sides sticking up like a porcupine’s compared to the long hair still flowing down his back. 

It was better, now. Just long enough to weave into Charles’ usual braid, though the shortest strands still escaped whenever he exerted himself, sticking out in a halo of fly-aways. 

Charles’ eyes slipped closed. His breath stilled, a deliberate hold, and his brow furrowed. “Brush my hair?”

Arthur blinked. Charles had always been particular with his hair—Arthur was hardly allowed to touch it, even the few times they’d made love before his illness had gotten so extreme that any such exertions sent him into coughing fits. 

“Don’t offer me that,” Arthur said, gruff. “Not just ‘cause I’m bored.” He swallowed the painful, hot sensation of tears building behind his eyes. “Not for pity.”

Charles shook his head, one hand coming up to cup Arthur’s against his own cheek, guiding Arthur’s fingers up and back into the warm, silk-soft strands at Charles’ temple. “Ain’t pity. I just—” Charles’ eyes fluttered open, brown doe-eyes regarding Arthur under thick lashes. He looked nervous, of all things. Shy. “I've been lonely, too,” Charles admitted. “I miss you, too, Arthur.” Arthur swallowed. He longed to trade years off his life to kiss Charles, in that moment. To press so hard against him that it'd push the lonely from his skin.

To make it so Charles never felt alone again.

But it wasn't just his years he'd be risking. So he'd seize this gift, so hesitantly and sweetly offered. This vulnerability, and pray on god he didn't sully it with his thieving hands.

"Alright, sweetheart," Arthur murmured, sitting up. He leaned up, brushed a cotton-muffled kiss against Charles' covered cheek. "We can do that."

[nickscodthoughtsblog]

Tentacles (monster!König)

just a little thing about finding out König has tentacles because i honestly really love that. 💕 man with eldritch features my beloved 💕

He had forgotten to lock the door, and that was his biggest mistake. 

It was a pretty standard routine for him. Every week, at midnight, he’d sneak into a bathroom when it was quiet and let his guard down, lift his sniper hood, and get some water on his tentacles. It’s better to do this alone, than risk some recruit seeing his eldritch features and freaking out. Better for him, better for others. “Just gotta remind myself of that…” he muttered to himself, cupping some water into his hands and splashing it on his face. It brought him small comfort, but enough comfort.

Hearing the door open made him pause. He swore he locked it like always. He quickly pulled his hood back down to cover his tentacles, turning to see you, rubbing your eye a little. You stopped when you noticed him. “...hey. Didn’t think you’d still be up…”

“Could say the same to you, Maus. You look exhausted.” he replied with a tone of concern. 

You shrugged it off. “Long training day.” You explain, stepping up to the sink next to him without second thought. “Couldn’t sleep though. Figured there’s no harm in a little splash of water, right?”

He nodded, chuckling quietly. He enjoyed your little attempts at humor. Better than Fender’s, at least. Then again, that might not be your intention. Either way, you did smile a little. 

As he watched you splash your face, he remembered he wasn’t done himself. He could just leave and wait for you to be done before sneaking back in, but would that be weird to you? Maybe if he was quick about it, you would be too tired to notice he had tentacles. He took that risk, lifting his sniper hood up enough, cupping water in his hands again to massage into his tentacles. 

Unfortunately for him, you noticed pretty quickly. Even exhausted and trying to be tired, you were perceptive. It took him a second to notice the surprise in your eyes, staring at him. He almost panicked. He was going to have to make you forget. At least, he thought he would, until you spoke up. “You need a hand with those?”

It stunned him for a second. Maybe you were too tired to properly process what you were seeing… “Uh…ja. If you’d like… Just need to wet them…” It was initially awkward. You tried not to drench his shirt as you rubbed his tentacles down with water. He was too used to using his own hands for this, so the feeling of your unmarred fingers working on the appendages was…new. 

He grunted a little when your hand tightened around one of them. “Ah- Don’t squeeze.” he reprimanded you.

“Sorry, sorry.”

It took a little longer than normal, but he was okay with that. Once you were done, your hand lingered on one of his tentacles, and it wrapped around your palm softly in turn. It had an odd texture. A little slimy and wet, but you figure it was more slimy before you helped wash it. “Do you need to dry these?”

“Nein, nein. It’s good as it is.” 

“Alright…” you nod a little, watching the way the tip of the tentacle brushes your knuckles. “Can’t believe these are real…”

“Tell nobody and I’ll let you touch them more.” 

“Deal, sir.”

Maybe forgetting to lock the door wasn’t his biggest mistake after all…

[iihyuck]

SOS — 7DREAM | TEASER

warnings pretty tame, mentions of sex, cursing, slight mention of jeno’s twin, eric from tbz, sneak from chenle.

notes i’m actually so excited to work on this, i’m finally free from my writers block, praise.

pairings nct dream x idol!fem!reader

With you and the boys finishing a show not too long ago, you almost felt guilty watching your thumb hover over the send button. There was no doubt that they were exhausted—hell, you for sure were. Between the exhilarating screams from the fans, the constant beating rhythm from your in-ear monitor, and the blinding flashing lights, you weren’t sure which was the culprit for the raging headache you were nursing. 

On the way back to the hotel, you were hoping that a cold shower and some painkillers would knock it right out but here you were, lying on your bed, with that same headache. You doubted that the illuminating light from your phone screen was doing it any favors, but you couldn’t pull your eyes away from the screen.

It was a usual ritual for you to hide away in your room and scroll online, wondering what fans thought of your performance that night. Usually, you’d be extremely happy watching the tweets roll in with their praise, but something about tonight wasn’t quite sitting right with you; your mind had been somewhere else.

Call it envy or whatever you’d like, but you couldn’t help but feel childish as you saw posts of fans gushing over your members. You were mind-blown going through the quotes.

Maybe because you were the only girl, people didn’t look at you that way. They always called you the baby of the group, the innocent little angel. You did love the title back when you were sixteen, but now you were twenty-two, turning twenty-three in a few months.

It’d be nice to be taken seriously for once. 

You huffed and sent the message.

It didn’t take longer than three minutes for you to hear knocking at your door, and it didn't take longer than thirty seconds for you to hear the door unlocking either.

You sat up, setting your phone on your dresser as you watched your seven members barge into your hotel room, oddly enough, all wearing matching blue bunny pajamas.

“How’d you even get in?” you questioned, your eyebrows furrowed.

“Got an extra key this morning. Where are your pajamas? What, are you too good to match with your poor members?” Jaemin teased, taking a seat beside you on your bed.

“I didn’t see anything about us matching!”

Renjun huffed, making himself comfortable on the couch positioned to the left of the bed. “That’s because you don’t bother to open our messages.”

Haechan stifled a laugh as he watched you roll your eyes while sitting beside Renjun, immediately invading his space by laying his head on the older boy’s shoulder.

“Yet we open yours. Speaking of which, what’s the SOS message about?” Chenle yawned, scooching into the last bit of space on the couch. He must’ve been sleeping; his bedhead told it all.

Mark nodded, sitting on the armrest. You noticed his eyes briefly checking you over—mentally assessing if you were physically hurt. “You look fine to me.”

Your head turned as you heard a scoff from Jeno, who was sitting on the edge of the bed facing both you and Jaemin, running a hand over his face.

“Peachy even.”

“Oh, shut up.” You reached behind you and tossed the pillow you were sitting against at him, but he caught it with ease, a teasing smile on his lips.

“You’re okay?” Jisung asked, to which you nodded, noting how he stood there rocking back and forth slightly.

Weirdo.

“Well, what’s so urgent that we all had to be here?” Jaemin leaned in, curiosity glimmering in his eyes as he absentmindedly played with your hair.

You cleared your throat, fluttering your eyes shut, and took a deep breath.

The boys exchanged confused glances, waiting.

They continued to wait longer.

It wasn’t until the silence stretched on for nearly two minutes that Haechan belted out, “Yah, spit it out already.”

You jolted in surprise, clearing your throat once again. “Sorry, I was... dozing off there.”

Renjun groaned loudly, throwing his head back, and Jeno rolled his eyes, standing up to stretch.

You winced. “Okay, okay—I am... I’m a virgin,” you blurted out, slamming your eyes shut as you waited for their uproar.

It didn’t come.

You cracked one eye open to meet their very unimpressed looks.

“Well, no shit?” Chenle deadpanned.

You stuttered in disbelief, “H-Hello??”

Jaemin and Jeno shared a look before snickering to themselves; Mark held a conflicted expression.

“Okay... so you texted the group chat ‘SOS’ because you wanted to announce to us that you’re a virgin? Baby, no offense, but I don’t think that’s anything... well, serious.”

You sighed; there goes that nickname—baby.

Haechan hummed, watching your reaction before Renjun cut in, “We already knew that. And even if we didn’t, why are you telling us?”

If you didn’t feel so defeated, you would’ve found his expression cute. You could practically see him trying to grasp this.

“Because I’m almost twenty-three and the only virgin left—how the hell did Jisung lose his virginity before me?” 

Jisung sighed deeply, dropping his head to the ground as soon as a loud gasp came from Jaemin.

Haechan shook his head, crossing his legs. “Jisung is still a virgin. He would’ve told me.” But the silence from Jisung said otherwise.

Jaemin tossed a pillow at Jisung. “Yah! You didn’t tell me?”

“Or me?” Haechan dramatically whined.

The younger boy stumbled over his words, his ears flushed.

Jeno laughed. “It was pretty obvious. Where do you think this random shift in him came from? It couldn’t be anything else other than, pus—”

“Jeno,” Mark scolded.

You furiously shook your head in disgust. “I hate that word; it’s so weird!”

Chenle found that ironic. “How? You have one—”

“Oh god,” you mumbled. Oh, how you wished you could crawl into a hole and never come out.

“When did you lose your virginity? To whom? How come you didn’t tell me? You don’t trust me? I raised you,” Jaemin ranted, throwing another pillow at Jisung. At this rate, you’d sleep without a pillow tonight.

“T-this isn’t even about me! Why are you bringing this up all of a sudden—” he scrambled, putting the spotlight back on you.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Because what if someone super sexy and hot, like Eric, comes up to me and says—” You cleared your throat, attempting to mimic his deep voice. “Uh, you’re also super sexy and hot; let’s have sex.”

Jeno perked up at the mention of his friend but scrunched up his face after processing what you said. “Okay, he doesn’t even sound like that, and that’s not how it goes!”

You cringed at yourself, covering your face. “See? I don’t know anything about sex; I’m like a fish on grass or something.”

Renjun raised an eyebrow. “That’s not how that goes either.”

Before you could complain more, Haechan got up, standing in front of you and removing your hands from your face.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m a virgin too.”

You blankly stared at him. “No you aren’t.”

He straightened up with a sly smile. “No, I’m not,” he grinned, putting his hands on his hips.

You huffed and pushed him, which caused him to dramatically fall back onto Renjun’s lap, eliciting a pained yelp from the man beneath him.

You didn’t even push him that hard.

Mark ran a hand through his hair as he met your gaze. “Is that all you wanted to tell us?”

You frowned. “... Yeah. I’m sorry; I just... I’m sorry; this was stupid.”

He immediately shook his head. “It’s not; don’t say that.”

Jaemin spoke up beside you. “You aren’t seriously upset about this, right?”

You shook your head.

Chenle furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t find a problem here. You can easily go get deflowered by anyone you’d like. You aren’t ugly.”

“Chenle, shut up, and don’t say deflowered ever again,” Mark mumbled. The disgusted expression on his face made you stifle a laugh.

“I say you should just wait for your time to come, you know? Wait until you meet the right person. You wouldn’t want to regret it.” Renjun's soft gaze met yours.

Tilting your head, you asked, “Isn’t that bull? I mean, Jeno, do you regret who you lost your virginity to? Wasn’t it that one hairstylist?”

He hummed, thinking back on it, and shrugged. “She was alright.”

Jaemin sent his best friend a bewildered look, before Jeno corrected himself, “But no, yeah, wait for the one.”

Mark let out a defeated sigh, standing up and stretching. “Look, just... sleep it off. We have a busy morning.”

Haechan clicked his tongue disapprovingly, leaning back even further on Renjun. “You’re telling the poor girl to sleep off her horniness.”

“I’m not horny,” you defended, crossing your arms over your chest.

Renjun shook his head, covering his ears. “What even is this conversation—”

Jisung muttered a confused, “So... you aren’t horny but want to lose your virginity?”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t even make sense?”

“Yes, it does, Jeno.” You frowned at him.

“This is like a major life milestone that I want to experience. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Well, of course not; we aren’t saying it is, baby.” Jaemin reassured you.

“Ugh— and stop calling me that!”

You took a breath. “It’s like I’ll never be desired with the way you guys baby me—hell, everyone looks at me like a little sister.”

“I don’t look at you like that,” Haechan said after a moment of silence.

“Gee, thanks.” You sighed, picking at the sleeves of your sweatshirt.

“I mean it though, and you’re definitely desired; look at you.”

You narrowed your eyes, meeting his gaze. He seemed genuine.

“So you’d sleep with me?”

The question caught everyone off guard except him; instead of shock, he looked determined.

“I’d be lying if I said I never thought about it,” was his response.

You opened your mouth to reply but were cut off by Chenle. “No way you’re losing your virginity to Donghyuck of all people.”

Haechan pouted. “Why not? It’s not like I’d be sleeping with you anyway.”

Jaemin’s deep chuckle caught your attention. “No one in their right mind would let their first time be with you. If anyone, it should be me.”

All heads, including yours, snapped in his direction.

“What? I’d be gentle,” he shrugged.

Jeno snorted at that. “Yeah, right. For the first round, maybe? You’d break her.”

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t?” Jaemin playfully argued back.

“None of you are going to take her virginity,” Mark scolded, only to receive a chorus of “Why not?” from all of you.

He scoffed, getting up. “Unbelievable—all of you.”

You quickly stood up, tugging at his arm before he could walk away. “I mean, it’d make sense, right? I’ve known all of you forever. We grew up together. I trust you all.”

He hesitated to meet your beady-eyed gaze but eventually did.

“It doesn’t sound like a good idea, baby—”

“Okay, then I won’t have sex.”

He gave you a curious glance. “What do you mean?”

You bit your lip, grabbing his hand instead and turning to the rest of the boys before speaking up.

“You guys can just show me the ropes, just no... penetrative sex!”

Renjun's eyebrows furrowed. “You seem pretty excited about this... Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I am.”

There was a beat of silence.

Jeno shrugged. “I’m in.”

All but Mark repeated “me too.”

You felt his grasp slightly squeeze your hand before he exhaled. “Alright.”

[for-a-longlongtime]

VI. Through the fire, to the wire

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Marcus Pike

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI 🔞🔥🏳️‍🌈 Words: 6.5K Warnings: m/m so obviously there's plenty of gay sex incl. anal fingering, dirty talk about oral, anal, threesomes and spit roasting. Erectile dysfunction (we don't refer to this enough in fic) in this chapter, because Tim is 52 years old and stressed the fuck out by work. A/N: We're no longer in ficlet territory - I'm just embracing it. We are, however, continuing the cheesy Top Gun soundtrack references, because why the hell not? All my love to @sin-djarin @lotusbxtch @qveerthe0ry @mountainsandmayhem @perotovar for helping me get through my writer's block! Mostly unbeta-ed, dividers by @saradika.

< chapter 5 | series masterlist | main masterlist

“You said–”

“I know, but–...”

“It’s eleven fuckin’ pm, Tim.” Marcus’ voice is uncommonly sharp as he snags the stack of paperwork from Tim’s hand, nearly climbing over him in bed so he can shove the offending papers into the nightstand. “You’ve been working your ass off for months now. Rest a little, would you?”

Tim sighs as he nods, pinching the bridge of his nose before he takes off his glasses and tosses them onto the nightstand. The thick frames hit the edge of the table with a dull thud, before falling to the floor, but this late in the day he’s too tired to even roll his eyes at that. 

“What about your ass, hmm?” He slips his arm around Marcus’s waist, easily preventing him from moving back to the other side of the bed, and tugs him over to sit right on his lap, warm thighs bracing his own. “Come here. You smell good,” he muses, burying his face against Marcus’ neck to inhale the shower fresh scent lingering on his skin. Lemongrass and eucalyptus, two things that he pretty much exclusively associates with Marcus since they started dating a year and a half ago. Even when he smells it in a different context, his body consistently responds in a Pavlovian way, conjuring up images of Marcus pressed against him, gasping his name.

Always, without fail.

Except for how he now has Marcus right here, in his lap, still warm from the shower, dressed in just gray boxers - but yet his dick isn’t even stirring at the welcome weight across his thighs and the skin on skin contact.

As much as he’d like to ignore it, simply blame it on his body being slow to respond, he knows that’s not the case. He’s barely had a morning erection in the past weeks, and even being able to get off in the shower for some much needed stress release hasn’t been in the cards.

Breathe. It’s going to be just fine. You’re not impotent; you’re just exhausted and have been working too much for too long. He tries to be matter-of-fact about it, but the truth is that he’s not used to his body betraying him like this. Right now, it’s pretty damn hard to figure out if it’s temporary stress or a matter of getting up there in age. Early fifties isn’t that old yet, is it? Is this really about age catching up with me? No. It shouldn’t be. 

Before he can spiral too much, the sensation of Marcus’ lips against his cheek pulls him out of his thoughts. So he tries to stay rooted in his body instead of worrying about it, enjoying the feeling of warm hands sliding over his shoulders. Marcus moves with gentle urgency, deft fingers alternating with an occasional kiss against the most tense spots, trying to ease the most strained muscles with a light massage. 

“That feels good,” Tim says drowsily, a sigh escaping from his lips as he lets his hand slip to the small of Marcus' back. 

“Good. Relax,” Marcus whispers as he claims Tim’s mouth in a deep kiss, his hips starting a slow rocking motion against him. It doesn’t get Tim hard the way he wishes it would - the way it generally should -, but it hits his senses so good either way. They haven’t had enough time for each other lately because of his work, and particularly when he feels this run down, it makes him question if he’s doing right by Marcus. Whether at times the balance isn’t askew, even though work frequently keeps both of them at their respective offices for too long, and whether he can keep up with Marcus. 

Their age difference isn’t an issue most days - except for the times that those sixteen years suddenly seem to feel heavier than usual to Tim. If asked, Marcus will always dismiss the mere suggestion of it, but it has happened more than once that Tim finds himself wondering if he’s holding Marcus back, or when the reality of having spend more years in his body makes him wonder if he’s giving Marcus enough of what he needs in more than just a few ways. So this right here, the comforting touches, the way Marcus’ mouth finds his, still as hungry for him as that first week they met - it’s not just something Tim wants, but he actually needs it. The taste of Marcus on his tongue, be it the salt from his sweat or his cum, or that vague taste of coffee and something that’s so distinctly Marcus, just like that familiar fragrance that surrounds him everywhere.

“Stop thinking. I’ve got you.” Marcus’ voice is a low hum as he breaks their kiss so he can take off Tim’s undershirt. This time when he presses his chest against Tim’s, the heat of bare skin against bare skin, makes Tim’s breathing stutter. Missed you. Want you. Marcus’ hunger for him is comforting, reassuring, and Tim gladly lets him take control of the kiss. 

When Marcus’ hands slide over Tim’s chest, stroking his nipples on their way down, that nagging feeling he’s had for the past minutes turns suddenly into a flash of panic; his cock still isn’t responding. Not to any of this, no matter how good and familiar it all feels.

He tries to ignore the anxious feeling that’s building in his chest, unable to deal with it at the moment, still holding out hope that maybe it will be okay. But not even Marcus’ hard dick pressing through his underwear against Tim’s belly, or his whimpers and moans are making Tim stiffen the way it should be - regardless of how much he wants Marcus.

“Tim…”, Marcus breathes, grinding needily against him, and this time Tim feels the wet spot on Marcus’ boxers as he’s leaking through the fabric. He doesn’t think - it’s just instinct, the way his hands slide down to grab a hold of Marcus’ ass and help him rock against him, making Marcus’ needy movements more controlled and focused. Immediately he gets rewarded with another gasp by Marcus, and Tim feels that familiar feeling burning low in his belly - that primal urge to take control, to take and give in ways that make Marcus’ eyes glaze over, and won’t hesitate in the slightest bit to show Tim just how much he wants him. Maybe if he can get him off this way, he won’t have to address the panic right now, or the fact that he feels broken because he can’t even fuck Marcus the way he wants to - the way Marcus likes it. Maybe if…

“Come here, let me…” Marcus’ hand slips between them, cupping Tim through his boxers as he’s breathing heavily, and the panic flares up even more for Tim. That anxious feeling of not wanting to disappoint tastes almost bitter in his mouth, and not even Marcus’ hands or mouth can take that away. For a moment he has to fight the urge to physically pull away, not sure if it’s shame or self consciousness. He can cope with his own insecurities to a certain level, with feeling vulnerable - but he does not want to let Marcus down. Or even worse; make him feel like he’s doing something wrong. 

“Marcus…” He closes his eyes as Marcus strokes him eagerly, deepening their kiss as he rocks harder against Tim. Fingers touching in all the right places, with just the right pressure - but all that’s rising is that ball of panic inside of Tim, pushing against his rib cage until it almost becomes hard to breathe.

“Wanna lay down? Let me suck—“

Tim shakes his head quickly, not letting Marcus finish that sentence and risk getting himself into more of a predicament. He can’t let it get to the point that Marcus gives him a blowjob while he can’t even get fucking hard. “No no, it’s okay, let’s just not — I’m good,” he forces the words out, wincing when he sees the surprise on Marcus’ face and feels it in his body language. 

“If you don't want to right now, or-..”

Nausea turns in Tim’s stomach, and without making a conscious decision to actually say it out loud, he finds that the words just fall from his lips, unable to take back. “I can’t get hard.” 

There’s a beat or two of silence as Tim watches Marcus process what he just told him, and then suddenly the rest of his words come rushing, afraid he won’t be able to say them out loud if he doesn’t do so now. “Been about a week or two, except for that time we fucked in the gym showers. It either doesn’t happen at all or I can’t finish. It’s…. Fuck. I’m sorry. It’s not you. I just don’t want you to try and — it’s just a waste of time. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if I even fucking can fix it.” 

Marcus bites his lip, seeming to hesitate for a moment, and immediately Tim’s nausea gets worse. Fuck. I shouldn’t have… Not like this. Fuck, Rockford. 

“I noticed it already,” Marcus says eventually, carefully picking his words as he rests his hands against Tim’s chest, covering his heart that’s beating wildly. “You’ve been running yourself into the ground. Leaving before I go to work, coming home later and later with a heavier briefcase every week - and then those times you sleep at your office, or get home long after I am asleep.”

He’s right. And you’ve been neglecting him. You’re fucking up your relationship for work. “I’m so sorry.” The words barely come out of his throat, sticking in there like knives, but Marcus immediately shakes his head before Tim can say more.

“No, no. You don’t need to apologize to me about that, that’s not my point,” he clarifies quickly. “I’m just saying that your work is crazy right now, and you’re under way too much stress. You’re not sleeping enough either. That would fuck up anyone, you know? But it will pass. I don’t think you have to worry about this.” 

The expression in Marcus’ eyes is so soft as he leans in to kiss Tim, hands sliding into his hair now as he curls some of the longer locks around his fingers. “Besides. You’re never a waste of time,” he breathes. “No matter what. But thank you for telling me all this. I’m sorry you’ve been feeling so bad. But it’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

“I don't know if it will just...go away or pass, whatever,” Tim huffs, and this time the wave of anxiety hitting him is different. Not about how to bring it up to Marcus, but the scarier realization that maybe this is it, this is his new normal. “I'm not fuckin'...young. And if it is my age, then...” He hates saying it. Hates how it makes him feel and sound, but still it rattles around his brain, all day long, without a way to ignore it.

Marcus simply shakes his head, his fingertips softly massaging Tim’s scalp - slow, easy circles in an attempt to make him relax. “Then we’ll just deal with it. Plenty of guys do, and there are so many options. But I don’t think it’s got anything to do with that.” 

It’s almost maddening how calm Marcus is, how matter of fact about it. Tim isn’t sure what reaction he had been expecting, besides every possible bad response, but this sure wasn’t it - and he doesn’t quite know how to feel about that. 

It must be written on his face though, because Marcus tilts his head as he questioningly takes in the sight of him. “Tim,” he then says softly. “You’re overthinking this. Okay? You told me, and I told you that I already knew, and that it’s not going to be a problem. You need to sleep for now. It’s all just fine.”

At last, the tight feeling in Tim’s chest dissipates, slowly but surely. Sleep sounds like heaven right now, but also impossible with the adrenaline that’s still crashing through his body - he’s practically vibrating out of his skin, unable to settle down. Needing to quiet his mind and be useful. He buries his face against the curve of Marcus’ neck, breathing in his scent deeply to have something else than his thoughts to focus on, and he sighs when Marcus runs his fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp like he did earlier.

“Tell me about your day,” he says after a little while as he straightens up, the tension finally leaving his body just as the anxiety did earlier. “No, actually…” he then corrects himself as he remembers something, and he leans back against the headboard as he takes in the sight of Marcus sitting on his lap. 

“Tell me about the other day,” he says, this time brushing his thumb playfully over Marcus’ lower lip. He skips a breath unintentionally when those full lips part and then close around his digit, softly sucking on him. For a moment he’s too flustered and captivated by the sight, and by habit his fingers are just itching to guide Marcus’ head down to take him in his mouth, but he’s able to restrain himself - just barely, by reminding himself that’s exactly what he was trying to avoid right now. “Hey. Don’t distract me, you. Did you go to the airforce base for that flyboy?”

“Ohh. Francisco– Frankie? Yeah, I did.” Marcus can’t hide a smile but tries to anyway, looking bashful for a moment. He grabs Tim’s wrist, holding his hand in place as he kisses his knuckles one by one, then turns Tim’s hand over to pay the same attention to the palm of his hand. “He’s… nice.”

Tim hums in agreement. “Pretty too with those curls. Broad. Nice dick...” God, he still has that image burned on the inside of his brain. Walking into the locker room to find Marcus on his knees, sucking Frankie off - it wasn’t just a sight for sore eyes, but it made him want to spit roast Marcus there and then. “Good lay?”, he asks casually, but he knows the answer already before Marcus speaks. It’s that twinkle in his eyes that Marcus gets whenever he’s excited about discovering something he enjoys; an ancient piece of art at the office, or a song, or a person he’s particularly attracted to. 

“Tell me. If you want to.” They’ve always shared stories about hookups, and while this time - considering circumstances - there is a bit of a nagging insecure voice in his head, he still wants to hear about the day Marcus spent with Frankie. He rubs the small of Marcus’ back in encouragement, hoping to not get a response in pity or ‘are you sure?’ at his inquiry - and Marcus picks up on the silent request, going with it.

“He gave me a tour all around the place and even let me get into some of the planes. It was like a fuckin’ teenage fantasy.” A wide grin spreads over Marcus’ face, and Tim knows exactly what he means. Top Gun had been an obsession for Marcus when he’d discovered it during middle school, not to mention that it made him realize that he was gay. The celebrity crush he had on Tom Cruise had faded after a couple of years, but the one for Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell remained steadfast, and led to him becoming somewhat of an aircraft geek.

“So did you fuck him in a plane?” Tim asks innocently, not surprised when he feels Marcus wriggle in his lap at those words, his eyes darkening. “Oh, you diiid, you little slut.” 

“Technically it was a helicopter. I didn’t think we – I hadn’t planned it or anything.” Marcus laughs, the expression on his face clearly giving away how he’s thinking back about the encounter, and it makes Tim’s heart beat just a little faster. This is why it had been working for them to occasionally see other people; they could always talk about it and be happy for the other, without being intimidated. 

It’s a first for Tim, being in a serious relationship while still keeping things this open, as Marcus was the one who had initially suggested it after they’d been dating for half a year. At the time, he’d wondered if jealousy wouldn’t get in the way, but the opposite turned out to be true. It was exciting to hear what Marcus was up to, or to share whenever he himself had hooked up with someone. Not to mention the thrill of reclaiming each other, seeing someone else’s marks on Marcus’ body, knowing that those would fade but that Marcus would always come home to him. 

“I know. You mentioned it was just going to be a tour, but well… I know your weakness for that air force stuff.” Tim smiles as he moves his hands from Marcus’ hips to his ass, squeezing him as he helps him grind against him. Marcus whimpers, eyes closing for a moment, and when he rocks his hips against Tim, he’s clearly hard again, his whole body vibrating with need. 

“Besides, Frankie wanted to fuck you so badly,” Tim says casually, pleased when he gets a moan in response. “I could tell that the moment I walked into the locker room. You were sucking his dick so good, but he had that look in his eyes like he was starving, just wanting more of you. Am I right?”

Marcus nods wordlessly, and Tim smiles as he continues. “Yeah, of course I am. What happened in the helicopter, hmmm? Did he bend you over the control panel?”

“God, I was hoping he would.” Marcus’ voice is more than just a bit strung out as he rubs himself slowly against Tim’s belly and cock, gripping onto his arms for support while trying to find the words, as his arousal and the memories seem to make that more challenging than usual. “Would’ve been too risky. He blew me as I sat in the pilot chair, telling me I had to come before he’d lose it and would fuck me down on that floor…”

“Which you really were hoping for.” He smiles as he sees how dark Marcus’ eyes become, confirming how spot on that assessment is. 

“Fuck. Yes. His fingers…” Marcus shivers as Tim squeezes his ass again, letting a few fingers slip lower so he can rub the rim of him through his boxers. “He likes having his hair pulled. Was jerking himself off while blowing me, which was so damn hot. I made him come like that, and…” 

He has to take a moment to catch his breath, and Tim hums encouragingly at him as he tugs at Marcus’ boxers. “Take ‘em off. Now,” he orders Marcus, and it’s mere seconds before the underwear is tossed to the floor and Marcus is back in his lap, now fully naked. He doesn’t even have time to ask another question, because Marcus’ mouth is back on his almost immediately, kissing him deep and hard. 

The head of his dick leaks against Tim’s stomach, making it impossible to resist the slickness and heat between them that just keeps building. He growls low when Tim wraps his fingers around him, his tongue even more possessive as he rocks against Tim from the seated position in his lap, clearly eager for more friction.

“Tell me more,” Tim encourages him when they both come up for air, slowly stroking Marcus’ cock as he keeps him pressed close against his belly, not getting enough of him.

“We almost fucked in his shower later, but it was too small. Little place in Ocean Park. The view…” Marcus’ breathing grows heavier as his eyes close, lost in the feeling of Tim jerking him off, and it takes a few tries until he finds his words again. “He ate me out on his bed and fuck, Tim, his mouth. God. I thought I was gonna lose it, but he told me to not come yet, and–...”

“Bossy?”, Tim suggests. He leans over to grab the lube from his nightstand and slick up his hand, and this time Marcus’ hips buck up hard into Tim’s grip as he nods breathlessly. His cock twitches hard in relief and excitement at the welcome glide over his dick, as Tim cups his sack before he moves back up to the shaft. “Mmmm. I bet you loved that. How did he fuck you, ass up in the air?” He laughs as Marcus nods again, picturing it - one of Marcus’ favorite positions, especially with a new hook up if he’s really into them. “Yeah, you must’ve been begging him for it at that point.”

“It was so good. His hands all… fucking strong. He’s ex-army, Delta Force, but not one of those meat heads, you know? Just, broad.” Tim has seen Marcus give detailed presentations in a professional capacity, including discussing ancient art more eloquently than he’s ever heard anybody else do. But right now, Marcus fuckin’ Pike was just a mess, slowly falling apart under his touch - but also by reminiscing about what was clearly a pretty memorable fuck.

“Tell me about his cock,” Tim orders him, and Marcus bites his lip as Tim strokes him faster, making the grip on him tighter, his other hand still guiding Marcus’ rocking movements against him. “I know he’s well-hung, but I want to know how he felt - how you felt.”

“Yeah, yeah… Frankie’s pretty big. Uncut. About your size, just not as thick. He used a condom, taking his time to…” Marcus closes his eyes for a moment in an attempt to compose himself. His hands are warm on Tim’s chest and shoulders, and Tim groans softly when Marcus’ lips brush over his throat, mouthing at his Adam’s apple, then move to suck a hickey on his shoulder. 

“He felt so good. His head is thick, just… fucking perfect. He held me down as he took his time, just giving me the tip first, until I… He was a fuckin’ tease at first.” He laughs, shaking his head as he tries to compose himself, to focus on getting the words out. But when his gaze drops down to the sight of Tim jerking him off, the thoughts all seem to leave his head. He licks his lips hungrily, mesmerized by the slick slide of his dick in Tim’s hand. His cock is almost an angry red color, begging for more attention. He twitches repeatedly by the way Tim rubs his thumb against his frenulum, then upward to gather the bead of precum welling from the slit. “Shit....”

“Keep talking.” Tim’s eyes flit from Marcus’ face down to his dick and back again, taking in the dazed expression on his face with a sense of amusement and pride.

“I… what was I…” Marcus bites his lip, unable to tear his eyes away, then groans as Tim slips his foreskin up to fully cover him. After a few moments, he slowly slips it down again, his fingers a tight channel around Marcus’ cock, and the soft squelching sound of the lube makes them both shiver.

“You were talking about Frankie fucking you,” Tim offers helpfully, unable to stop his smirk at the strung out expression on Marcus face. “Uncut, big, not as thick as me. You like his dick, I can tell. You’re thinking about it right now, pushing inside of you.”

Marcus swallows hard, his eyes locked onto the sight of the viscous stickiness between his dick and Tim’s fingers. “He… yeah. He’s got a great cock, and he knows what to do with it. He liked it when I called him Francisco, and when I begged him for more. Said… he said I took him so well.” Finally Marcus looks up, his eyes dark and pleading, lips swollen from the kisses and bites he’s been leaving on Tim’s skin. 

Tim smiles, cupping Marcus’ chin with his free hand as he leans in to kiss him. “Ask me. I know you want to.”

Marcus’ breathing stutters as he licks his lips briefly. “I need you.” 

“So ask me,” Tim repeats, capturing Marcus’ bottom lip with his teeth to gently tug on it, just enough to cause a soft gasp. He quickly soothes it by sucking on the lip,letting his tongue apologize until the younger man whines for him.

“Please, Tim. Fuck me? Want to feel you inside of me.”

Hearing how much Marcus wants him never fails. It makes him even more eager to give him exactly what he’s asking for. His own dick being unwilling to stiffen is not even on his mind anymore, nor is the earlier anxiety now his head has finally cleared. 

He pours some more lube on his hand, the cool liquid making them both shiver when he slips his fingers between Marcus’ cheeks. “I got you,” he hums at him, stroking the puckered rim as he kisses Marcus, wanting to tease and please him just a little longer. “You want this? Hmmm?”

“Please.” Marcus nods eagerly, his eyes falling shut as Tim’s finger slips inside of him. A soft whimper escapes from him as his body relaxes even more than it did before, hungry to be touched more. He’s radiating heat, and everything is slow, unhurried, despite how eager he is and how urgent his words are becoming. “Aaahh, fuck. More, Tim, please…”

He hushes Marcus softly as he first fucks him with his index finger only, waiting for just a little bit until he slips the second finger inside of Marcus. The eager, tight heat wrapped around his digits makes him hiss, and he wants to put his mouth on Marcus so badly, but he knows this isn’t gonna take long to begin with in the first place. “Greedy boy, taking a second finger just like that,” he teases him with another kiss, sliding as much of his fingers inside of Marcus as possible. “You take it so well. Just like your Flyboy said.”

Marcus moans loudly, and Tim feels him clench tight around his thick fingers. “Shit, you can’t just…”

“Sure I can. I can do whatever the hell I want, baby.” He grins as he starts to pick up the pace, deciding to push Marcus just a little more on the topic of Frankie. He really likes that guy. Not just to fuck, it seems. “Tell me more about your hot little - no, broad, right? - pilot fucking you ass up in his bed. Big hands on your waist, we all know you like that.” He lets go of Marcus’ dick so he can paw at his hip, letting his fingers press into the soft, hot skin. “Did he fuck you hard? He looked like a calm guy, but I bet…”

“You’re killing me.” Marcus’ voice is hoarse, his eyes wild and glassy as he nods, grabbing his cock to stroke himself now Tim’s hands are both occupied. “Yeah, he did, and he’s got… these thick thighs. Strong arms. So hot. Balls slapping as he went faster, slamming into me. His hands—...” His breathing hitches as Tim sets a steady pace with his fingers, starting to fuck him, and again he clenches hard around him. “His… He got me off before he did, made me come so goddamn hard.”

As he should. “But you didn’t get to blow him again?” Tim muses as he licks a drop of sweat off Marcus’ jaw, knowing how much he likes giving oral - saw for himself just how much he was into sucking Frankie off. “Bummed about that?” He pulls his fingers out a little as he pauses for a moment, just enough until Marcus eagerly pushes back against his digits, asking for more.

A wide grin plays over Marcus’ face, and he looks away for a moment as his breathing is labored. The hand around his cock speeds up a little, and he brushes the palm of his hand over the tip, clearly eager for a release. “I did, actually. Later that night, when we fucked on the couch.”

“When you…” Tim can’t stop the whistle of admiration. “Sucking you off in a chopper and then making you come twice at his place? I like this man.”

“Three times, actually.” Marcus laughs breathlessly, hips moving faster as he reaches behind him to grab Tim’s hand, urging him to pick up the pace with which he is finger fucking him. “I woke up to him sucking my dick, and-...” His words suddenly drop off as his head tips back, and he groans loudly, his nails digging into Tim’s hand. “Yes, yes, right there, fuck me, that’s… ohhh, God. Jesus, Tim.”

“Right there? Hmmm?”, Tim coos at him as he adds more pressure, knowing he’s right at Marcus’ most sensitive spot - could’ve done so right from the beginning, but he likes drawing it out, getting the satisfaction of that prolonged release. Marcus nods breathlessly, his hips working along with the pace Tim has set - one hand on Tim’s bicep, the other one still firmly locked around his cock, and the slick channel his dick keeps making onto Tim’s stomach.

“Yeah, Mr. I Got Fucked Four Times In A Day By That Flyboy. I know, I know, you’re so close. You’re so…” This time, he doesn’t let his fingers push back in but instead pulls them all the way out, hearing the disappointed gasp from Marcus.

“No, no - please, don’t stop,” Marcus gasps, eagerly rocking back against Tim’s hand. “ ‘s so fucking good…”

Tim smiles, leaning his forehead against Marcus’ as he only lets the tips of his fingers graze over Marcus’ hole. “Tell me what you want,” he says softly, not being able to keep the teasing lilt out of his voice. “Do you want me? Or perhaps you want your Flyboy?” 

“You.” There’s not a moment of hesitation as Marcus responds. But it’s impossible for Tim to not notice the gleam in Marcus’ eye at the mention of Frankie.

“I think you’re lying. But do you know that you’re lying? Let’s try this again.” He brushes his lips over Marcus’ jawline, feathering light kisses, then runs his tongue over the slightest hint of stubble. “You want me to fuck you - or do you want that Flyboy pressing against your back, his mouth on your neck, so you can feel how hard he is? His hand on your dick - like this,” he squeezes Marcus’ cock gently, hearing his breathing hitch again. “Getting you all worked up so you can take him like a good-...”

“Fuck. Don’t be such a tease. You - I wanna feel you inside.” Marcus tries to compose himself, grabbing Tim’s hand behind him in a plea to slide his fingers back into him. “You don’t believe me?”

“I’m pretty sure I recall you saying you want us both. What was it…” Tim pretends to think deeply, this time slowly rubbing against Marcus’ heat with his middle finger. “Oh, right. Me fucking you further onto his cock to hear you choke.” 

“Jesus Christ.” Marcus’ eyes close for a moment as he whimpers, but Tim continues - making sure to stop touching Marcus’ dick before it pushes him over the edge, as Marcus is desperate for friction at this point.

“Does he already know how slutty you get?” Tim waits for an answer, and when Marcus merely blushes at his words, he grins as he leans in to hush him with a kiss. “Yeah, you heard me,” he hums as he lets his slick fingers push past the tight ring of muscle, slipping back into Marcus. “All breathy and needy, just like this. Wanting to be filled up so badly. Does he know? How nicely you’ll beg for it when you really want it?”

“Ooh, fuckk…” Marcus’ breath catches, his body quickly adjusting to being filled up again, and his dick gets even harder when Tim’s fingers easily find their way back to his prostate. “Tim, please. God, I have to come...”

“We’re done when I say we’re done,” Tim admonishes him, barely concealing a smirk when he feels Marcus tighten around his fingers.  “Unless you want to use your safeword?” 

He knows he’s pushing it, making him hang in there for longer than he usually does, but something inside of him craves it at the moment. Teasing and drawing out those little bits about Frankie that seem to make Marcus weak - just to hold it up to the light and watch it sparkle, see what riles him up the most about this little crush. Not to mention that the idea of a threesome with that pilot sure sounds appealing to him, too. For a moment, that nagging feeling of anxiety tries to creep back into his head - because really, is he seriously considering a threesome while he can’t even get it up right now? But one look at Marcus’ blissed out face makes him forget about

Marcus shakes his head, and when Tim takes his hand off Marcus’ cock and tells him to touch himself, he does so eagerly, his dark eyes remaining locked onto Tim’s.

“Tell me how you want us. Me and your Fra–... Flyboy,” Tim urges him, his right hand occupied with Marcus’ rapidly rising climax while his left one is holding tight onto his hip, encouraging him to keep grinding. “I know you’ve been thinking about it.” 

What, you’re talking about a threesome while you can’t even get it up right now, Rockford? He tries to ignore the anxious feeling that is trying to creep back into his head, and instead attempts to focus on Marcus’ blissed out face. The way he’s writhing in his lap, eyes half closed as Tim fingerfucks him - no, he’s not failing here, it’s clear that he’s giving Marcus exactly what he wants.

“Like that. Just like you said,” Marcus moans, drops of sweat rolling down his neck as he rocks along with Tim’s movements. “You fuckin’ me further onto his cock that’s in my throat, each of you on one end. And… and then I want to watch you fuck him.”

“How?”

Marcus shakes his head, almost tripping over his words. “Any fuckin’ way you want.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Tim groans against his ear, feeling the shivers running through Marcus’ entire body in response. A sob breaks free from the younger man as he jerks himself off furiously, grinding against Tim’s fingers in search of more. He doesn’t even have to ask; Tim picks up on it easily and hushes him reassuringly, capturing his lips again for a kiss. 

It takes a moment and some more lube, but then he slides a third thick finger inside the tight heat that surrounds him. Marcus’ breathing immediately is a dead giveaway that the extra stretch is exactly what he wanted, and he whimpers wordlessly against Tim’s mouth. The angle may be less than ideal for Tim’s wrist, but it’s clear that Marcus isn’t going to last much longer anyway. 

“Shit, shit, oh, god, please…” Marcus’ head tips back, full body shivers running through him as he just surrenders and lets Tim fuck him to his orgasm, fingers right against his prostate. “You should… I want… God, you should fuck him from behind. While he fucks me under him, on my back,” the hoarse words slip from his lips, and Tim can’t take his eyes off him, how goddamn beautiful he looks while falling apart. “I want to see how he takes you while fucking me, your hand in his hair, tugging his curls while…”

“Like this?” Tim’s fingers twist into Marcus’ short hair and he tugs, firm but not too hard, knowing pain isn’t exactly Marcus’ thing. He watches in surprise and awe as a few tears escape from Marcus, their barely visible path down his cheeks accentuating just how good he looks all blissed out. “Ohh, fuck. Your Flyboy is rubbing off on you with that hair pulling kink?”

“I need to… God, I’m gonna…”

“Of course you’re gonna come for me, like the good boy you are. You always do so well,” Tim breathes against his ear, and Marcus’ hips jerk hard as the words hit his praise kink - as deliberately aimed as Tim’s fingers inside of him pushing him relentlessly to his release. “Want to watch me take him apart the way you’re losing it now - is that it? Fuck him until he screams like he’s in heat, begging for more of my cock as I fuck him deeper into you…”

A loud gasp escapes from Marcus as he comes hard, crying out Tim’s name as he spills himself all over their stomachs. His body jerks with the intensity of the prolonged orgasm, and Tim can’t help but feel more than satisfied at that. He licks Marcus’ neck with a broad stroke before pressing more kisses and praise against his flushed skin, letting him ride out his high.

When he feels Marcus’ twitching getting too close to overstimulation, he slips his fingers out and grabs one of the wet wipes in his nightstand drawer - cleaning up his hand before he grabs a few more to clean up the both of them. “Thirsty?”, he asked, brushing his lips over Marcus’ in a soft kiss as he cleans the cum off his belly, and Marcus hums in response. “Got you, gimme a sec.” Part of him wishes he wasn’t using wipes to clean up Marcus, the urge to taste him on his tongue so strong. But with the adrenaline leaving both of them, exhaustion sets in for him as well, making him stick to the easy clean up for now.

“You have such a filthy mouth,” Marcus mumbles, half asleep already on his pillow a few minutes later, his arm slung low around Tim’s waist.

“Me? Because you’re so prim and proper.” Tim smiles as he tightens his arm around Marcus, pulling him in closer. “That Flyboy really gets you going.”

“I like him.” Marcus sighs, burying himself closer against Tim’s chest as his eyes are closed now. “You would too- I mean. Maybe you should meet him. Just because he’s nice, you know?”

It takes a moment for Tim to digest that comment, despite his previous playful comments to Marcus about taking him with Frankie. Because Marcus has never before suggested he should meet one of his hookups - not really unless there were clear plans to have a threeway. 

“You really like him, huh?”, he says eventually. But the only response he gets is the sound of Marcus snoring quietly and contently. So Tim lets it go - knowing he’s too tired to further pursue that line of thoughts right now. It doesn’t matter, especially not with Marcus falling asleep right there against him.

That flyboy got to him good, though.

Oof, it took me a while to hop back into the saddle and complete this chapter. I've got so much backstory (and upcoming chapters) in my head that it took time to sort this out. This is also why I'm so behind on reading and rb-ing everybody's fic, and responding to messages, but I promise I'll catch up soon. Thank you for reading, I hope you're still enjoying these guys! 💜

I’m not gonna make this a PSA but hey, if you or your partner are experiencing ED, try to be open about it! Not fun, but it’ll get you much further than ignoring it will. Talk to your dr (and if you don’t feel comfortable with them, get a new GP).

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[1toreyouapart]

The Lies We Tell

***FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE***

Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.

CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, more to come as I actually get things written out.

A/N: Links are being a pain at the moment. Will fix when they work again! 🫶

We Break

Three days until they were hitting the road again. The shenanigans had begun again. Currently Quinn had all the guys singing karaoke with her while he cooked in the kitchen. He couldn't help but smile at the sound of her and Folio belting out "Call Me Maybe." These were some of his favorite memories. Everyone being silly. More so her and Folio, actually. Sometimes he swore the two of them were meant to be siblings. They both matched each other's energy, always. When one got going the other was never far behind. He was a little jealous of their bond sometimes. Quinn was his best friend. Not his.

Footsteps running toward the kitchen drew his attention and he turned around just in time to see Quinn launch herself onto the island, still singing. Heart in his stomach he watched her dance and sing, ready to catch her if she fell. Always putting herself in precarious positions like this. Always scaring the shit out of him. It was like she was bound and determined to give him a heart attack. Folio joined her and he cursed. The one time he needed him to just not, and he did.

Anxious, he waited for the song to end, though he couldn't help but laugh at the two of them. A whole performance just for them. As much as she scared the shit out of him, he loved her for it. At least it was never dull.

"Alright. Song's over. Get down before you break your fucking neck." He shook his head, offering a hand out to her.

Quinn pouted down at him and those pesky butterflies started flitting around in his stomach. Goddamn it, he loved and hated when she pouted. It was adorable as hell, but he also couldn't resist when she did it.

"Come on. I'm not gonna fall."

"Don't look at me like that." He swallowed, fighting the urge to give in to her.

"Noah," she pleaded. "One more song? Then I'll get down?"

"This is exactly why I call you a terror pixie." He sighed. "Please, Quinn?"

With a roll of her eyes she moved like she was going to hop down, only to sit down right on the edge, directly in front of him and grin that big, shit eating grin of hers. Touchè. The little shit got one up on him.

"How about this? Will you stop being a kill joy now?"

His jaw clenched in frustration as he placed his hands on either side of her, bracing himself. Sometimes he wanted to wipe that smug little grin right off her face. Right now was one of those times. Ever so slowly he leaned in until their noses were practically touching. Watched as she swallowed, eyes widening slightly. Good.

"Why must you test my patience? Hmmm?" His voice was barely loud enough for her to hear.

"And that's my cue to leave the area." Folio hopped off the island, hurrying back to the living room.

"Noah-"

"Nope. You see, Quinn, you seem to have a death wish. And I happen to like you very much alive. So, please, for the love of God, stop trying to break your fucking neck."

Quinn nodded her head quickly, her cheeks turning slightly pink. And as much as he knew he shouldn't. As much as he knew it was a bad idea, he still tipped his head to the side, closed the distance and pressed his lips against hers. He kept it brief as to not draw attention, just long enough to feel her soft lips on his before he pulled back and walked back to the stove.

That was a terrible, horrible idea. Now all he wanted was to say screw the dinner he was now pulling out of the oven and take her upstairs so he could hear her pretty little moans again. Definitely not the best idea. Not with how he had handled it the last time. If he had just listened to her things wouldn't have been so awkward the majority of him being home.

Three days until he left for tour again. Just three days of somewhat normalcy. And with only three days left he was starting to break.

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @supersquirrel1996 @mrscevans

[lovemesomeagnst]

So for your Carmen Stan au how did Ford find out about Stan being brainwashed?

Okay so this ends up being different than in CS BECAUSE we have the added character of Alex, who’s their nephew so when the whole brainwashing and kidnapping thing happens Team Red would obviously be the first to know.

Ford and Fiddleford would realise something was amiss and are actually concerned for a while since Stan suddenly disappeared off grid and stopped appearing for his capers and all. At this stage I think they’ve both come to an agreement that Stan’s intentions were good (much like how Jules and Chase had believed in Carmen near the end) so the sudden inactivity from Stan was already alarming. Ford tries to rationalise to himself that Stan’s probably busy even though his gut screams at him that something is wrong.

It kinda sucks for him since he doesn’t have a proper way to contact Stan and they only ever see each other if Stan reaches out first or if they run into each other during one of his capers. Stan also hasn’t been checking in on Tate or Fiddleford like he liked to do sometimes so that was another thing. Hence the long silence brings Ford some anxiety. It wasn’t the first time he lost sight of Stan (happens all the time due to the secrecy but Ford at least has tabs based on report sightings of Stan from around the world) but it’s been like…ages and now that they were kinda on even/good terms Ford feels like something is wrong but he doesn’t know what.

When Stan finally resurfaces, Ford and Fiddleford are relieved only to be bewildered when Stan steals and doesn’t return the items to Fiddleford or like authorities. They find the behaviour suspicious but they could never get close enough to confront him, which was another red flag since Stan always interacts with them even on his missions (like a simple greeting or banter or teasing). So Stan avoiding them AND taking things but not returning them like his usual routine is very very weird.

Ford stresses over this change for a long time. He has no idea why his brother suddenly seems to change ways and change sides apparently. Stan not acknowledging him and actively avoiding him (cause Stan just thinks of Ford and Fidds as authorities after him now) hurts Ford because he has no idea why he’s being ignored either when they were on good terms already.

Ford eventually finds out from Alex. The poor boy had been stressed out of his mind in a dilemma on whether he should tell the rest of the family or just keep it to Team Red. Like I mentioned in a previous post here, he faces constant dilemmas regarding keeping Stan’s business away from the rest of the family, or to involve them as help. Eventually the whole brainwashing situation gets hopelessly bad and stressful and after discussion with Carla and the rest of Team Red, Alex believed his dad and uncle Ford deserves to know what’s actually going on.

Alex calls for a family meeting and Ford visits Shermie’s place and both brothers are shocked at what Alex reveals to them. This is also how Shermie finds out that Alex is Stan’s hacker and Ford is stunned that the entire time he comes over to rant about Stan, Alex had been part of it from the start. There’s a brief moment of Ford calling Alex out for being the reason Stan was able to escape his capture a couple times and it’s a bit hilarious. Shermie and Ford are obviously super caught off guard by the revelation that Alex was helping Stan the entire time and had somehow kept quiet over it for ages but then the seriousness of the situation finally settles in and both brothers are horrified.

Ford is absolutely grief stricken that his brother’s mind was brainwashed before he goes completely furious because how dare some evil organisation (that they’re just learning about now because Alex and Team Red decided it was time to tell the family everything) try to use his brother and mess with his mind. He immediately demands more information from Team Red so he can find a way to help.

When he gets back and meets with Fiddleford again he explains everything as Fiddleford is devastated. They both actually meet up with Team Red in this au cause Alex kinda has to let them (Shermie demanded him to do so) and also Ford wouldn’t take no for an answer, saying that Stan is his twin and he has rights to help in fixing the problem and saving his brother. Ford finding out about the situation definitely puts him on edge because his brother is hurt and not in his right mind and Ford wants to help but he has no idea where to start and he feels something akin to grief and fury creep up his throat.

They eventually learn how Stan got brainwashed (the use of the memory gun) and Ford actually gets mad at Fiddleford for a short while (mainly due to high tensions and emotions running on high from everything) and blames him for the creation of such a device before immediately regretting his words and apologising dw. Ford secretly fears that Stan’s mind can’t be restored back to normal but he buries it deep down and hyperfixates on helping Team Red find a solution to the problem, even bringing it up with ACME to get their resources and help.

He eventually helps in building the device to bring back Stan to his right state of mind but there’s definitely a lot of complicated emotions in the process. Mainly Ford having to grapple with losing his brother and desperately trying to fix him and bring him back cause ngl they’ve finally reached an understanding and he’d die before he let some stupid evil organisation rob him of a proper chance to actually sit down and talk with his brother (since they haven’t rlly actually had a long deep convo and mainly just run into each other for their missions).

[lawofangie]

hey, i need your advice. i know that we're supposed to affirm 'to remind' ourselves that we already have our desire and not affirm 'to get' which is thinking that doing the method will make the desire manifest. but, now every time after i affirm i can't stop questioning if i'm reminding myself or doing it to get, and it's been really stressful and idk how to resolve this.

then just try another method? lol, if something is clearly not beneficial to you, then don't do it. if i had to choose between stressing myself out and not stressing myself out, i would choose to not stress myself out.

there's nothing to "resolve". you make it sound like you need to affirm. affirming isn't mandatory in order to manifest, some people just aren't smart enough to understand the law and spread misinformation. the law of assumption wouldn't be called the law of assumption if it was about affirmations. the end goal is always to get yourself to assume you have it.

this is why you're told not to affirm to get, because you're supposed to assume you already have it. you affirm to help remind yourself for that same reason, you have to accept whatever it is as a present tense fact in order to have it.

still, affirmations are nothing but a method to help you have an easier time accepting whatever it is as a present tense fact. but so is visualizating, scripting, SATS, inner conversations, and i guess the void state stuff too (even though i really hate that method, it is still just a method).

when doing anything, a method is supposed to be whatever makes accomplishing that thing easiest for you. if that's not what you're currently doing, then why keep doing it?

i'll give you a non-loa example of this: let's say you were trying to make a traditional dish from any culture of your choice. if you found a certain recipe, you followed the instructions, and it turned out bad, would you try that same thing again until it came out well.. or would you just accept that this one isn't the best and try following a new recipe? i feel like it should be this simple, common sense should tell you to try something else.

and besides, you shouldn't waste your time going back and forth in your mind, otherwise there's no point in choosing to manifest anything. in the end, all that will ever matter is if you decide that you have it, or you don't have it. that's why everyone says "you either have it or you don't"... because you either have it or you don't.

all that will ever matter is your current assumptions. whatever you assume in this present moment is all that matters. the present is all that exists, as the past and future are something you access mentally.

with that in mind, if you say you're struggling to manifest, you don't have it right now. if you say you're making progress, you don't have it right now. if you say you're doing anything other than having it, you don't have it right now. this is how simple the law is. you have to decide you have it in order to have it. no amount of affirmations will change that singular rule.

but back to your question, this doesn't really matter as long as you don't identify with it. however, i think you should always be aware of your own intentions, i think you also know the answer if you have to question yourself like that. you are most likely affirming to get, because that kind of is the end goal, a lot of you just go about it the wrong way without understanding the key concepts of the law.

there's absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to get something, but understanding that you have to already claim it as yours in order to have it is important. it deviates from everything you've been taught your entire life (ex: needing to work hard in order to achieve your goals, needing to put in effort, good things coming to those who wait, any concept similar to this in general).

this is why so many of you get stuck in that mindset of needing to say 192733919222626992 affirmations in order to get what you want. because a lot of a&p individuals prioritize affirming so much to the point where you forget the key concepts of the law or don't care to learn. you take all the non-loa rules you've been taught and try to apply them to something you don't fully understand, then wonder why it doesn't work.

so, to summarize:

try to find what method works for you. maybe even not using a method at all and just deciding would be more beneficial to you. this is something you need to figure out on your own.

figure out your intentions. but if you need to question yourself, you most likely are affirming to get. you need to understand the law of assumption and how to properly utilize it, or you won't get anywhere.

the only thing that will ever matter is your assumptions, hence the name "law of assumption". whatever you assume to be true will be true. any method you use is just a means to help you comfortably assume something. a method is simply a way of doing something in order to help you achieve something. no method has ever had more significance than the goal you are trying to achieve.

doubts only matter if you identify with them, just like any other thought you have. if you apply meaning to them, they will have a meaning.

don't bother trying to apply logic or rules to manifesting, it doesn't work. you are just wasting your time.

don't do things you aren't comfortable with? this should honestly go without saying.

that's it, if you have anymore questions, don't hesitate to ask. hope this helps.

[reallife6anoufriev6boy6]

tft transfem artkita hcs? ^_^

t4t transfem artkita headcanons!

so i dont have any names for them picked out yet, but i think artyom would choose something really pretty while nikita would either just keep hers or would name herself something similar.

artyom would dress really nicely too. i can see her wearing brown/black skirts that go past her knees with some black/tan tights and furry winter boots or black marry janes depending on the weather - as well as one of those black plastic-y coats.

nikita on the other hand probably wouldn’t look much different. she would wear the same clothes she already wore (example being the hoodie with just a pair of black jeans) but sometimes artyom will help her get dressed up and make her look pretty whenever shes feeling nice.

in the typical universe artyoms ass would be hitting on girls, but now she would be hitting on boys to make nikita jealous.

when they fight and argue theyll both misgender each other just to piss one another off which will just make them fight more.

artyom would also probably tell nikita she doesnt look like a girl and that she isnt trying hard enough. they can both be trans lesbians, but that doesnt mean their personalities change. it would make nikita get very upset because she is trying, but shes too scared to really be a girl outwardly like artyom because she would just get made fun of.

i think itd be really cute though for them to do each others makeup and stuff. like when theyre in a good mood and not fighting artyom will offer to do nikitas makeup for her - nikita will try to do it back, but shes bad at it.

i also think it would be pretty badass for artyom to wear her nice, pretty clothes and skirts while they kill people. she doesnt care if they get messy as long as she looks hot and sexy while doing it (nikita practically drools over it).

if i think of anymore ill add them!

[vaquerobuckaroo]

My Last Boy Mission: Thoughts

[Warning: Spoilers, disjointed and unedited thoughts]

Watching the My Last Boy mission where the gang helps Eagle Flies and tribe storm the oil refinery

The horror, the absolute horror. Dutch walks away from Arthur as he's close to having his neck stabbed and gaslights him when Arthur confronts him about it. It seems apparent that though Dutch has formed a "family" in the gang, it doesn't seem so much important anymore when you disagree with him. Though I could see he was far gone in the head, I didn't expect this level of animosity and cold, unfeeling attitude. I can tell it will only get worse.

And for Eagle Flies, a third party (to the gang), to come save Arthur instead is both surprising and elating. Though both Dutch and Eagle Flies are frenzied and passionate, Eagle Flies is far more grounded and sane, enough to remember and repay Arthur for the times he's been helped.

The pause on Arthur's face right after he had been gaslit by Dutch is heartbreaking to see. You can almost see the "after all I did for you, this is how I'm treated? After all this time of running with you and doing what you asked of me, this is how you treat me? You leave me to die? What about family? Is money more important to you than lives?" look on his face.

In an odd way, this reminds me of my own dad, a part of him is, unfortunately, like this: valuing material possessions and principle over human feelings. A sort of "My way or the highway" mentality. Dutch exhibits this. There is a very fine line between authority and coercion. What Dutch exhibits isn't authority as a good leader but coercion as a boss. He doesn't care about anyone's feelings but his own, and cares none for anyone's benefit but his own. He is no different from the politicians, capitalists, and the government that he himself goes against, and has turned into what he despised the most.

I don't seem to understand what Dutch means to do with the money. I'm sure he can see the rift forming in the gang. When everyone either leaves or dies as a consequence of his actions, there'll be only a handful to be by his side in Australia or Tahiti or wherever. What then if it happens? They will be caught anyway, if not now, then later. Their sins will always catch up to them and all this will be for naught. As Charles said, "all this killing just to get some money to leave?" (paraphrase).

Dutch's idealistic views will not come to pass. It's a bit ironic that he has such dreamy, colourful ideals in this grimy world. What can one man and his tiny gang achieve? Why doesn't he realise that he is outnumbered against the world?

Arthur has tried his hardest to step into Hosea's shoes of the gang consiglieri, to try to take off the leader's rose-coloured lenses and see the world for what it really is, but it was only met with reproach and replacement by Micah, who encourages Dutch.

Rains Fall's words to his son, "Don't die for pride" ring true. Dutch kills for pride, and he will die for it too. And we all know he does, to the bitter end in RDR1, still clinging on to the age of outlaws that would long pass away. It's not to be wondered at. He was the one to say "you can't resist change" and ironically resists it and dies doing so.

Eagle Flies dies, yet another unfortunate pawn in Dutch's grand scheme of things. The poor man's ambition and frenzy for justice was used ill, only leading to his demise. In the end, what does it say about Rains Fall and Eagle Flies? The one who lives is Rains Fall, the very one to discourage the attack. The young might have energy, but pair it with the wisdom of the elderly, and everyone benefits from it.

All that aside, in a way, Dutch's ability to last so long in his profession is admirable. He knows it's a "survival of the fittest" world and he uses his fitness to its fullest extent, his right arm being manipulation. The saying rings true: Beware the old man in a profession where men die young.

But it makes me wonder... are we seeing a god complex in Dutch?