#parry always and forever

[moffnat]

lol parry. i had a guy make a new psn account just to send me this after i parried and killed him (tw slurs)

If I didn’t think of anything put it in the tags

[binnybinnychickendinny]

also here's this bc i only just realized WHY thurmy knocked over parssinen here lmao. he knocked over fowls AND ran into binner a little bit before thurmy touched him. so they just hate him for his assistant captain swag ig idk

[derekhighwaytf]

Witches and Twinks

MONDAY

The small London restaurant’s dim light flickered against the wine glasses, casting soft Merlot shadows onto George and Adam’s lips, noses, the entirety of their smug, helpless faces. This should have been the perfect pairing.  They were both intellects, with high senses of self and a love for information (ie. control), and though they’d talked for nearly an hour at this point, the conversation felt more like a fencing match than the start of a beautiful new friendship—each word a parry, each retort a thrust. Adam, dressed in his sweater and khakis, leaned back in his chair with a faint smile, his tone sharp but measured for every measure George tried to fling upon him.

“As much as people romanticize magic or ‘karma,’ it’s all just bullish storytelling,” Adam said, swirling the last of his drink. “Yes, Shakespeare and Marlowe write about it, but even they understood that human intellect, not divine intervention, drives our fate. Julius Caesar—perfect example. ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.’ The real power lies in reason and intellect.”

George, dressed more casually in his loose-fitting green shirt, met Adam’s judgey gaze with a bewitchingly bemused smile. “Shakespeare also believed in the supernatural,” he countered. “The witches in Macbeth didn’t rely on logic to mess with the characters. Magic, fate, karma—call it what you may, but it holds an inexplicable force over more than just imagination. You’d be surprised how much control you don’t have.”

Adam chuckled, leaning forward slightly, his confidence more than bordering on just arrogance. “Macbeth? The witches merely represent internal fears and ambition every man or woman has in themselves. You can interpret them as mystical, inexplicable forces if you must, but at the end of the day, it’s Lady Macbeth’s persuasion and greed that destroy her husband. Shakespeare knew that intellect was the ultimate weapon. Magic? That’s just an excuse for weak minds like yourself who can’t handle the complexity of the human condition.”

George’s smile twitched as if he found the power not to turn Adam into the jackass he’d been acting like right then and there. “You academics, always trying to boil everything down to logic. I think you’re missing the point of the supernatural entirely. It’s not always about intellect. There are forces beyond understanding, beyond your understanding,—forces that aren’t impressed by your degrees or how many times you’ve read Troilus and Cressida.”

“An underrated work, if I say so myself.”  Adam’s smirk deepened. “And yes, the mysterious ‘forces beyond understanding.’ Tell me, how do they rank next to a Ph.D. in Shakespeare? I’d be curious to know.”

George tilted his head and took a swig of his drink, his gaze softening in a way that made Adam’s need to seek scholarly validation seem hollow. “You think Shakespeare would’ve agreed with you?”

“I know he would’ve,” Adam replied, superiority painting his tone. “The entire premise of his greatest works is that humanity’s biggest downfall is ignorance, not the supernatural. He’d side with intellect.”

“Or maybe he’d side with me.” George leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “You don’t think Shakespeare had a little magic in him? Maybe even enough to change a man forever?”

Adam’s smile faltered slightly, a small crack in his polished confidence. “What are you getting at?”

George’s just giggled, something dark and knowing flashing behind them. “I’m saying that not everything in this world is logical, Adam. You’re sitting here, lecturing me about Shakespeare, as if your intellect puts you above magic or fate. But I could change your entire world with just a flick of my hand, and all that book knowledge would evaporate into thin air.”

Adam’s gulped, unsure whether to get up and run or call the waiter. “Magic doesn’t exist,” he scoffed. “This isn’t some fantasy. It’s reality. You want to impress me? Show me something real.”

Without hesitation, George raised his hand, a scarred palm outstretched, and without breaking eye contact, he waved it through the suddenly thickened air with an inexplicable grace. The motion was so sudden, almost imperceptible, but Adam’s reaction was immediate. His breath hitched, his confident posture writhing and wilting as his widened eyes fluttered in confusion. The polished veneer of intellectual superiority melted away as something unfamiliar and overpowering gripped him.

Suddenly, Adam found himself folded over the table, unable to look away from George. The irritation he’d felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a deep, floundering passion—something that made his heart race and his chest tighten. His thoughts scrambled, no longer sharp and clear but clouded, fogged by an overwhelming sense of need.

“I…” Adam stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t understand… what were we—?”

George shushed him, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “You’re not supposed to understand, love. That’s the point.”

Adam’s breath grew shallow, his pulse quickening as his gaze locked onto George, unable to break away. His mind, usually so sharp and critical, was a jumbled mess of scrambled eggs. Everything he knew, everything he prided himself on, suddenly felt distant, irrelevant. All that mattered now was George—his voice, his presence, his timeless beauty.  George was Adam’s everything now.

“You’re…” Adam’s words trailed off as his hand reached across the table, trembling. “You’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met.”  He swallowed his own tongue, choking on his own breath.  “Will you marry me?”

George’s smile widened, a quiet, knowing victory in his eyes. He leaned back, looking under the table, watching as Adam’s brain couldn’t catch up to his…heart.

“And just like that,” George whispered, “all your intellect can’t stop what you feel now, can it?”

Adam blinked, his face flushed with a mix of confusion and something else, something deeper. “No… I… I can’t stop it.” He swallowed hard, his voice small, vulnerable. “I don’t want to.” 

George’s eyes glittered with satisfaction. “Good,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “Now, why don’t we talk about something that really matters back at your place?”

Every part of his intellectual, collected self knew better than to let this menace into his home, but all Adam could do was nod at his newfound love’s commands. And how bad could it be?  All’s well that ends well, right?

Adam fumbled with the keys to his flat, his hands trembling with an erotic urgency he’d never known before. A man of his knowledge and tact would never sleep with a man so quickly, but alas, his once methodical mind, the same one that could cite King Lear on a whim, now reeled only with thoughts of George on his bed—George's lustful eyes, George’s sweet cock, George's very presence seemed to fill every emotional crevice of his being. His usual restraint, his prudent superiority, was gone, replaced by a consuming need to be filled by this cunning, enchanting strange.

They stumbled inside, the door locking shut behind them. “I’ve never…” Adam’s voice cracked, and he shook his head, words failing him. “I don’t know why, but I want you, I need you. Now.”

George’s lips curled into a soft smile, almost pitying. “Not yet, love. You’re tired.”

“No, I—” Adam’s horny existence began to protest, but before he could finish, George raised his hand and with a single flick of the wrist, Adam’s body crashed into a wave of heavy and irresistible drowsiness. His knees buckled slightly, and he stumbled backward onto his bed, the fatigue wrapping itself around him like a thick, suffocating blanket. His eyelids fluttered as the last bit of resistance left him, and in moments, he was fast asleep, still in the preppy clothes that once defined him.

George stepped forward, his eyes brooding as he stood over Adam's sleeping form. His fingers trailed lightly over Adam’s temple, tracing the outline of his brow. “You’ll thank me for this one day,” George murmured, though he knew Adam couldn’t hear. 

With that, George’s expression shifted from amusement to something far more dangerous. He moved to the center of the room, kneeling over, and began reciting words in Old English, his voice low and rhythmic, like a conjurer summoning something deep and ancient.

“This man doth dress in shorts of scanty seam,  

But two inches, nay more, could his cloth bear.  

All trousers, all pants, dare try to redeem,  

Will twist and turn, yet still they'll shorten there.”

As the words slipped out from George’s lips, the change began. Adam’s legs, still clad in his conservative khakis, twitched. The fabric shimmered like glitter, rippling unnaturally, as though it had come alive beneath him. Slowly, the pant legs began to pull and pull, retracting themselves upward inch by inch. The sturdy material warped and shrank, tightening suddenly as it rose. In moments, the khakis had transformed entirely into a pair of short, nay, outrageously short gym shorts—barely two inches of inseam, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

The fabric clung to Adam’s shivering thighs, exposing pale skin that had seemingly never seen the light of day. His knees, his nonexistent calves, everything that had been carefully covered up was now on display, with the hem of the shorts barely reaching the tops of his legs. He lay there, still sleeping, completely oblivious to the transformation.

George’s eyes gleamed as he watched his imagination solidify into reality, their bright, synthetic fabric snug against Adam’s skin. “Much better,” he whispered, stepping closer. But alas, he wasn’t done just yet.

“In tanks of muscled shape, his chest laid bare,  

Neckline to navel, each nipple shall show.  

Armholes so deep, their movement none can spare,  

In every stride, his shirt reveals more woe.”

Another shift rippled through Adam’s sleeping body, this time around his torso. The sweater he’d been wearing—the very picture of propriety—began to distort itself, the fibers unraveling at his collar. The neckline dipped lower, and lower, and lower still, until it stopped just above his flat belly button. The sleeves, too, warped, pulling up and away from his twig-like arms until they were nothing but gaping holes that left his ribcage completely exposed. The fabric thinned as the sleeves disappeared, leaving him in a muscle tank so revealing that his nipples couldn’t help but to peek through with every slight motion.

The soft knit of his sweater had become a thin, athletic material, stretched across his chest and shoulders, barely covering anything. His once modest outfit was now reduced to something shamelessly provocative, his entire upper body on display, his pasty white skin brushing against the air with every breath.

George admired his work, his fingers drumming lightly against his thigh as he took in Adam’s new look. “Perfect,” he murmured. And yet, there was still more to be done.

“In high shoe laced, his socks pulled crisp and white,  

A chain of gold doth glisten 'round his neck,  

Beneath it all, a jock to fit him tight,  

No other cloth for him shall fate select.”

Once again, for the final time tonight, the changes swept through Adam’s cold, lifeless body, this time starting at his feet. His Sperry boat shoes dissolved, giving way to a pair of bright white Nike hi-tops, their thick laces tied into the most perfect bows for the treadmill. The socks that appeared around his ankles pulled up snugly, reaching mid-calf, their crisp whiteness almost blending to the cream of his skin.

Next, the thinnest, most douchiest gold chain materialized itself around his bony neck, resting just above his exposed collarbone. The delicate glint of the necklace caught the light, its subtle flash at odds with the rest of his now athletic ensemble. Finally, the transformation moved beneath his shorts. His boxers melted away, replaced by a tight-fitting jockstrap that cupped him in place, offering minimal coverage and the most maximum exposure, almost as if he were a twink stripper on the Miami shore instead of the next youngest professor at Yale.

George stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Adam, once a picture of scholarly decorum, now lay before him clad in nothing but slutty gym shorts, a muscle tank that exposed far more than Adam would ever desire, hi-top sneakers, a thin gold chain, and the most illuminating jockstrap. It was absurd, provocative—and exactly as George had imagined.

For the final touch, George recited the couplet, his voice soft but firm:

“Forever cursed, his garments shall remain,  

In shorts, in tanks, he'll live his life in vain.”

With those words, the spell was sealed. No matter what Adam touched, no matter how hard he tried, every article of clothing would morph into this same, revealing outfit. George smiled, satisfied, and took a seat in the armchair across from Adam. He watched him for a moment, sleeping so peacefully despite the irreversible change that had just taken place.

But as the night crept on, George allowed himself to sleep too, a smirk still resting on his lips as he lied next to his creation. Tomorrow, when Adam awoke and his spell of infatuation wore off, George knew that’s when the real fun would begin.

TUESDAY

“AHHHH!”  Adam woke up, his heart racing as the morning light shone onto his hungover face. His body felt strange, but his mind was far more disturbed. The events of the previous night seemed fragmented, cloudy—George, the strange pull, the overwhelming desire, none of it made sense. He sat up in his sheets, his eyes darting around the room, his chest heaving.

He looked beside himself and dear God, there he was. George was still asleep, draped casually across the sheets, his face peaceful in the way that seemed entirely at odds with the havoc he’d wreaked. Adam’s stomach turned. I slept with him, Adam thought, his mind spinning like a top. He clenched his fists in the sheets, his face flushed with shame. How had he let this happen? His mind, so methodical and proud, had completely failed him and allowed him to degrade himself for some vampiric twink.

Panic gripped him as he stood from the bed, only to stop mid-step when he realized a breeze he’d never felt before. His legs were bare, his thighs on full display. It was then that he noticed his reflection in the mirror across the room. His mouth fell open in shock. Gone were his conservative khakis and sweater. In their place, he wore nothing but a pair of impossibly short gym shorts, a muscle tank that exposed his chest and nipples, white socks pulled up to his calves, and, what on earth, a jockstrap?  He looked at himself again and thought he looked like a child dressing up in his musclehead uncle’s clothes.

He quickly shuffled to his dresser, desperate to change out of this ridiculous, humiliating outfit before George woke up. He rifled through his drawers and pulled out a pair of khakis and a button-down shirt, but as soon as his fingers touched them, they shimmered and twisted, morphing into the same slutty gym shorts and revealing muscle tank that now clung to his body. Adam's eyes widened in horror. He threw the clothes aside and reached for another pair, only for the same thing to happen. Every single item he touched—his jeans, his sweaters, even a pair of pajamas—all transformed into the same jock-bro ensemble.

“What the fuck?” Adam muttered under his breath, the frustration building. His heart pounded as he rifled through his now everchanging closet, grabbing hangers and tossing clothes aside in a frantic attempt to find something—anything—that wouldn’t transform. But everything he touched met the same fate, shrinking and twisting into the cursed, douchebag outfit.

Behind him, he heard a soft laugh.

George finally awoke, sitting up in bed, arms crossed, a lazy smirk plastered on his face. “Having trouble love?”

Adam spun around, his face flushed with fury. “What the hell is this?” He gestured to his outfit, his voice rising. “What did you do to me?”

George laughed again, softer this time, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “What’s wrong? What happened to the complexity of the human consciousness or whatever bullshit you were spewing last night?”

“Magic?!” Adam’s voice cracked with a mixture of disbelief and anger. “Is that what you’re blaming this on?  You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, but I am, love.”  George stood, casually pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. “Oh, come on. Don’t you like your new look? I think it suits you.” He took a step closer, his smirk growing wider. “And honestly, after all that big talk, I would’ve thought you’d handle a little transformation with more grace.”

Adam clenched his fists, his voice shaking with rage. “This isn’t funny, George! Somehow you’ve made me look like some jock-bro idiot. What the hell am I supposed to do like this? Just tell me what you did!”

But George’s expression darkened. “You still don’t get it, do you?” His voice dropped, the playful tone gone. “You can’t just insult me, mock what I believe, and expect no consequences.” He took another step forward, his brooding eyes locking with Adam’s. “You wanted to prove your intellect was above everything—above magic, above fate. But you’ve proven nothing except how small your mind really is.”

“Small?!” Adam barked. “The only thing small here is you, you psychopathic, egotistical—”

But before Adam could finish, George’s pupils flashed with anger. He raised his hand, the air around him seeming to hum with energy. “Careful what you say next,” George warned. “Or you might not like what comes next.”

Adam’s lips parted, the insult on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated. His pride warred with his common sense, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You’re nothing but a dumb fucking slut."

Suddenly, quiet filled the room as the words escaped Adam’s quivering lip, but once he got himself collected, George’s voice rang out in outrage, calm, yet oh-so commanding.

“This man shall bear a curse of feet most foul,  

With stench of sweat, his socks shall rot and tear.  

His pits shall reek, his skin a pungent scowl,  

Athlete’s rot shall mar each inch laid bare.”

Adam barely had time to register what George had said before a horrifying sensation crept up from his feet. He looked down, his newly acquired hi-tops feeling unnaturally damp. His socks, once crisp and white, were now soaked with sweat and dirt, clinging to his wretched skin. He wrinkled his nose at the sudden, overwhelming odor that wafted up from his shoes. It was rancid—like rotting toe cheese mixed with mildew and and an ocean’s worth of sweat. His feet itched uncontrollably, the skin burning as if something was crawling beneath it.

At the same time, his armpits began to burn and sting. He reached up instinctively, only to pull his hand back in disgust. His armpits were slick with a salty wetness, and the stench hit him like a punch to the gut—thick, sour, and overwhelming. It was as if he hadn’t showered in weeks, months even. His face flushed with embarrassment as the realization set in: his body reeked. His feet, his armpits—every part of him was drenched in sweat and stench, a walking cloud of filth.

“What the—?” Adam staggered back, staring at George in disbelief. “What did you—?”

But George wasn’t finished. He raised his hand again, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction.

“This man shall itch where modesty once laid,  

His bush shall grow, his groin a scratching hell.  

He’ll fight in vain to stop his hands’ parade,  

As arse and crotch demand his touch as well.”

And just like that, a sharp itch exploded itself across Adam’s groin, so intense that he doubled over in shock. His fingers flew to his waistband, instinctively trying to scratch the burning sensation beneath his jockstrap. The itch was so unbearable, spreading across his groin and into his backside, radiating like fire near his hole. No matter how hard he tried to resist, his hands were drawn to the sensation, scratching furiously, desperate for relief.

But there was none. The more he scratched, the worse it got. His fingers dug into the fabric of his shorts, and soon, he was practically clawing at himself, unable to stop. His face flushed red with embarrassment. The itch was maddening, and it didn’t care about decorum or propriety. Weak, he was scratching himself in front of George, his hands running over his crotch and ass, completely helpless against the overwhelming need for relief.

“Stop this,” Adam gasped, his voice shaking as he continued to scratch. “Please, stop.”

But George only smirked, his voice calm as he began the next quatrain.

“Each hour, his body shall release its gas,  

With burps and farts to shake the very air.  

No matter where he goes, no lad or lass  

Will dare endure the odors he’ll declare.”

Before Adam could breath in, his stomach rumbled violently. His eyes widened in horror as his body took over, an enormous belch ripping from his throat, so loud it echoed through the tiny studio. A second later, a foul-smelling fart exploded from him like a cloud, the stink so pungent it nearly knocked him back. 

“No—” Adam gasped, but his body betrayed him again. Another belch, followed by another fart and another burp, and yet another fart. The stench filled the room, thick and nauseating. His face turned crimson as he stumbled back, his hands flying to his mouth as if he could stop the sounds from escaping, but it was no use. Every few seconds, another belch, another fart, the air around him quickly becoming unbreathable.

George watched, amused, as Adam staggered, his eyes wide with humiliation. He raised his hand one last time, his voice soft and final.

“This man of filth, of shame, of rank decay,  

Shall live apart from grace, in filth to stay.”

With that, George turned toward the door, leaving Adam in the haze of his own stench, his body a twisted caricature of everything he once prided himself on. The smell of his own filth lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive, but it was the itching, the relentless belching, and the horrible farts that kept him anchored to the spot. His whole body was a battlefield of sensations he couldn’t control. His intellect, once his greatest weapon, felt utterly useless now.

He staggered toward the bathroom, desperate to scrub away the grime of his new persona. He turned on the shower, hoping the water would wash away the stench and the shame. But as soon as the water hit his body, it did nothing. The sweat, the reek from his armpits and feet, even the itch in his groin—it was all still there, clinging to him like a second skin.

After multiple futile attempts, he stared at his reflection in the fogged mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed from scratching and embarrassment. His once carefully maintained hair was now matted with sweat, and his body, encased in the ridiculous bro-ey outfit, made him look more like a lazy frat boy than a Ph.D. candidate.

Adam threw on a hoodie, hoping it might cover up some of the smell, and pulled the hood over his head, trying to obscure himself. He couldn’t just stay home. He had a meeting with his professor that afternoon—he had to go. He had to maintain some semblance of normalcy, even though nothing about this felt normal.

As he left the apartment, he became acutely aware of the looks he was getting from people on the street. Some wrinkled their noses, others shot him a glance before quickly looking away. His footsteps echoed in his ears, punctuated by the sound of another loud fart escaping him, followed by a huge, gut-shaking belch. The smell followed him like a shadow, and the itch in his groin was impossible to ignore. He scratched absentmindedly, wincing as he did, but the relief only lasted a second before the itch came back with renewed intensity.

The closer he got to campus, the more nervous he became. His body wouldn’t stop betraying him—every few steps, another belch, another fart, another desperate scratch of his groin and butt. He could feel the sweat pooling beneath his shirt, the odor rising with it. He pulled his hood tighter over his head, hoping to disappear into himself, but nothing could hide what was happening to him.

By the time he reached his professor’s office, he was a mess of nerves. He stood outside the door, trying to compose himself. You can do this, he thought, even as his body itched and groaned in protest. But the second he stepped inside, the look on his professor’s face told him everything.

“Adam,” Professor Wilson said, his voice hesitant as he looked up from his desk. His nose wrinkled almost immediately, and Adam saw him discreetly glance toward the window as if considering opening it for fresh air. “Are… are you feeling alright?”

Adam swallowed hard. “I—I’m fine,” he lied, but even as the words left his mouth, another loud belch erupted from his throat, followed by the unmistakable sound of another fart. The air around him was thick with the stench, and he could see the professor’s face go pale with disgust.

Professor Wilson stood abruptly. “Perhaps we should reschedule,” he said, clearly trying to hold back his revulsion. “It seems like you’re not… in the best condition today.”

“I can explain—” Adam started, but even as he spoke, his hands betrayed him again, scratching furiously at his groin and rear, the itch unbearable. He tried to stop, tried to keep himself composed, but his body had other ideas. Another belch, another fart, each more embarrassing than the last. The smell in the room was unbearable, and Professor Wilson’s eyes were wide with a mix of pity and horror.

“Adam, I think it’s best if you go home and take care of… whatever this is,” Professor Wilson said, his voice tight with discomfort. “We’ll discuss your dissertation another time.”

Adam’s face burned with shame as he nodded stiffly, his throat too tight to speak. He turned and left the office, another loud fart escaping him as he hurried down the hallway. The students he passed gave him wide-eyed stares, some covering their noses, others whispering and laughing as he stumbled past them. Each new step felt heavier, the weight of the day pressing down on him, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the nightmare his life had become.

By the time he could finally make it back to his apartment, he was utterly defeated. His body reeked, the itch in his groin had only gotten worse, and his belly was constantly churning with the pressure of more belches and farts waiting to erupt. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow. The day had been a disaster—there was no way he could continue like this.

As the evening settled in, Adam lay there, his mind racing even as his body continued to betray him. He had to find George. He had to fix this. There was no other option.

He couldn’t live like this—he couldn’t endure the stares, the laughter, the humiliation. His career, his entire life, was at stake. With each itch, each stench, each belch and fart, he felt his old self slipping further away, and he was terrified of what he would become if this continued.

With a heavy sigh, Adam closed his eyes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would find George and demand that he fix what he’d done. Tomorrow, he would get his life back.

WEDNESDAY

Adam sat desperate against his pillow and his headboard, his phone clutched in his hand, staring down at the screen with a sense of failure. The stench from his armpits, the itching in his groin, the endless belches and farts—everything had become so utterly unbearable. The reflection he caught in the mirror was still that of the cursed gym rat, his outfit vulgar and ridiculous against his scrawny body, the stink so thick it began to cling to the walls of his flat.

He began typing. His fingers trembled slightly as they tapped against the glass, carefully crafting the text to George. His pride screamed against it, but he was out of options. He couldn’t live like this, not anymore.

"Hey George,  

I’ve been thinking a lot…and I just wanted to say how sorry I am. I was so out of line, and I didn’t mean to insult you or dismiss what you believe. I get it now—there are things beyond intellect, beyond control, and…beyond me.  I was wrong, and you were right. There.  I should’ve believed in magic instead of trying to mock it. Please, is there anything I can do to fix this? I don’t want to keep living like this, I just can’t."

He hesitated for a moment before hitting send, his stomach twisting into a knot of hope and dread. Adam tossed the phone onto his bed and laid back, staring at the ceiling as the minutes stretched into hours. Every itch, every foul-smelling fart reminded him of his new reality. He tried to distract himself—cleaning the apartment, watching plays on Youtube, attempting to focus on some new Shakespearean analysis—but nothing worked. The stench hung in the air like a punishment, stuck to him no matter what.

By midday, Adam’s hope had started to wither into nothingness. George wasn’t going to respond. He probably didn’t even care. Maybe this was it—maybe this revolting, humiliating state was his life now. He sighed, dragging his hands through his sweaty hair, glancing toward his phone again. Still nothing. He swallowed the lump in his throat and paced around room, fidgeting with his bro clothes that clung to his now lean body like a cruel joke. 

Bzzzz.

Adam rushed to his phone, his heart thudding against his chest as he unlocked the screen. A message from George appeared, and his breath caught.

“Curses can’t be undone, love.”

Adam’s face flushed with frustration. His jaw clenched as he stared at the words. All of that groveling, all of that begging, and this was the response? He typed furiously, his anger bubbling to the surface, but before he could send anything back, another message appeared.

“But I must admit.  I didn’t think you would actually say that.  Honestly, I really appreciate the apology. Why don’t call it even, huh?  Why don’t I give you a gift?”

Adam blinked at the screen, his anger slowly dissipating into confusion. A gift? What kind of twisted gift could George possibly mean? If it was anything like the last, then he could keep it. But before he could protest, another message filled the screen.

“His arms, like oaks, doth stretch from end to end,  

With strength to lift the world or crush its weight.  

Their power matched with beauty none can fend,  

Two mounds so vast as sunset’s final state.”

As Adam read the words, he felt a sudden warmth spread through his arms. Not again, he thought, but then his eyes darted down in alarm as his previously thin, lanky arms twitched, then bulged. He watched, wide-eyed, as his biceps began to swell, the muscles rippling and bubbling beneath his skin. The skin of his arms grew tight, barely able to contain the massive growth. His once scrawny arms were transforming into huge, muscular limbs—so strong, they looked like they could crush stone with a single flick.

He flexed experimentally, his new muscles hardening themselves like marble. His biceps were enormous, so large they cast a shadow on his bony torso. He stared in disbelief at his own body, feeling an unfamiliar surge of power rush through him.

His phone buzzed again, another text:

“His chest, like breasts of Venus round and great,  

Two orbs of strength that push against the day.  

Each pect’ral it’s own ball upon a beach,  

So full, so firm, none dare to turn away.”

Adam’s gaze shifted down towards his chest, and once again, he felt the same warm, tingling sensation spread across his torso as he began to feel an unnerving top heaviness. His pecs swelled, pushing against the straps of his tank top until the neckline stretched even lower than before. His chest ballooned outward, each pec growing into a massive, rounded mound of muscle, firm and solid beneath his skin. His nipples presented so visibly, his chest now so large it jutted forward, casting a shadow over his barren stomach.

The weight of his new pecs made him feel even more powerful, even more in control. He couldn’t stop staring, watching the way his body filled out, how his once-flat chest had been replaced by two enormous mounds of muscle that jiggled involuntary with every breath. They were so big, so round, they almost looked unnatural—but Adam loved it nonetheless.

Another text…

“His stomach, carved like canyons deep and wide,  

Each groove a trench, each line a valley low.  

His legs, like trunks of ancient oaks abide,  

With strength to stand through storm and sun and snow.”

Adam’s abdomen contracted, the sensation rippling through his core. He watched as the muscles on his stomach began to etch themselves into deep, chiseled grooves. His once-flat belly was now an eight-pack, every ridge and line so pronounced it looked like his abs had been carved out of granite. His waist boxed in, accentuating the sheer mass of his chest above and the powerful definition below.

His legs were next. His thighs bulged beneath his gym shorts, the muscles expanding rapidly, filling out with every second. His calves thickened into pillars of strength, his quads growing into enormous slabs of meat that made his legs look like logs. He was massive now, his entire body transformed into something that looked like it had been sculpted by the god Zeus himself.

The final couplet arrived, and as Adam read the words, he felt the last part of the transformation taking hold:

A man’s man, dominant, in every stride,  

With looks that none, not man nor beast, can hide.”

As Adam gazed into the mirror, his eyes widened in awe. His reflection had changed entirely. He stood there, towering, his body brimming with strength and raw masculinity, as if he’d eaten raw eggs every day of his life since he was ten. His jawline was sharper, his posture more commanding, and the way he looked—it was undeniable. He was an alpha now.  He demanded attention, respect, and desire. The smell, the stink that had once plagued him—it didn’t matter. His overwhelming physicality eclipsed all of it.

Adam grinned, a wave of confidence crashing over him. This was power. This was control. He grabbed a jacket, still feeling the massive stretch of his biceps as he slipped it over his shoulders, and headed out.

At the nearest gay bar, the moment Adam walked in, all eyes were on him. His broad shoulders and massive arms filled out his jacket in ways that left little to the imagination. He could see heads turning, guys sneaking glances at his hulking frame, his thick pecs nearly busting through his shirt. He walked up to the bar, and within seconds, a couple of older men sidled up to him, their eyes wide with interest.

One of them, a trucker looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and the crustiest mustache, leaned in, his voice low. “You’re looking good, boy. Smell like man too.  Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

Adam wrinkled his nose slightly. The man was old, rotund, and ugly.  He could do better, much better. “No thanks, ..sir,” Adam replied coldly, his voice deeper and more commanding than he remembered. The man’s face fell slightly, but Adam didn’t care. He was too busy reveling in the attention, in the way every guy in the bar seemed to be watching him, wanting his body.

As the night wore on, more and more guys approached, trying their luck with him. But none of them were good enough for Adam. He was an alpha now—he could have anyone he wanted, and the more he held out, the more they wanted.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow, he would go see George again.  If George can do this for him.  There’s no telling what else he could get out of the witchy twink.

THURSDAY

Adam took the tube immediately once he awoke and stood in front of George’s door, the weight of his muscular new form making him feel absolutely invincible. His inflated biceps and thick chest on the reflective glass of the door fed his ever growing ego, but deep down, he couldn’t help but shake this nagging doubt. George had done this to him—made him into a walking Marvel superhero, sculpted from stone, pure lust, and raw, unadulterated power. But was it enough? No, Adam wanted more. Needed more.

He knocked, his hairy knuckles bristling past the door handle. The first time he’d sought George, he’d dismissed the supernatural as nonsense. Now, with the power of George’s magic coursing through his sculpted body, Adam was ready to claim yet another piece of it. But this time, he knew he had to play his cards just a tad bit differently.

The door creaked open, and there stood George, his face shifting from surprise to a soft, almost suspicious smile. “Adam,” George purred. “Back so soon?”

Adam leaned against the doorframe, his massive arms bulging as he flexed them just enough to show off the strength George had given him. “Missed me?”

George raised an eyebrow, but his gaze lingered on Adam’s tits, those enormous pecs straining against the thin straps of his bro-ish muscle tank. There was a flicker of something in George’s eyes—desire, interest, maybe even a sliver of actual emotion, something he hadn’t felt in centuries. Adam noticed, and he played into it, taking a step closer, his voice low and smooth.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Adam said, his hand grazing George’s arm. “About I’ve been thinking about just how much I owe you for this body, for… everything.”

George tilted his head, still guarded. “And what exactly do you want this time, Adam?”

“I don’t want anything,” Adam replied, his lips curling into a seductive smile. “Just you.”

He moved closer, his muscular frame dwarfing George’s, his presence overwhelming in the cramped air of the doorway. George hesitated for a moment, but Adam’s hand slipped to the nape of George’s neck, pulling him in with surprising gentleness. Their lips met, slowly melding together, turning into something hotter, far more dangerous. Adam’s thinly veiled cock rubbed against George’s abs as his walls came crumbling down, and for the first time, Adam felt the subtle shift in power—he had George, really had him.

The day blurred into heated moments, their bodies tangled in sheets and sweat. Adam was relentless, his new body a weapon of seduction, and George, for all his magic, succumbed to the raw physicality of it. They moved together with an intensity that neither had expected, sucking, fucking, and by the time they lay spent, George was quiet, staring at Adam with something akin to affection.

Adam, however, was already thinking ahead. He turned to George, still catching his breath. “You’ve got power, George. Magic.”

George giggled with a flush.  “You’re just saying that.”

But Adam turned cold.  “I want more of it.”

George’s face darkened. “What exactly are you asking for, Adam?”

Adam grinned, his arrogance returning now that the heat of the moment had passed. “Whatever gift you think I deserve. You’ve given me all this, how can I doubt your judgment, my sweet baby.  My love.  I’ll leave it up to you. Surprise me.”

George’s expression shifted from curiosity to something more guarded, his eyes narrowing as he watched Adam’s smug face. “Anything I want, huh?”

Adam shrugged, confidence oozing from every pore. “I trust you.”

George sat up, his fingers trailing along Adam’s broad chest as if considering his next move. For a long moment, he said nothing, then with a quiet, deceptive murmur, he recited:

"A man so well endowed, his length shall grow,  

Eight inches, thick as snake in fabric’s cage,  

His buttocks firm, a perch for all to show,  

A bubble round to seat him firm with age."

Adam’s goosebumped body tingled immediately, the familiar warmth of transformation spreading through his lower regions. He let out a low, grunty moan as the sensation deepened, his cock thickening and lengthening under his teeny tiny shorts. Diameter growing as his ass tightened, the muscles swelling into perfect, round bubbles that pushed him slightly upward in the bed. He grinned, looking down at himself, clearly satisfied with George’s work.

“That’s more like it,” Adam murmured, his hands roaming over his newly enhanced assets. The heft of his cock felt incredible, and his ass, firm and plump, made him sit taller, more confidently. “I can’t wait to use this out in SoHo.”  He turned to George, expecting more praise, more lust, but George’s face remained unreadable.

Then, George’s voice darkened, and he continued the sonnet.

"But this thick snake shall rise and never fall,  

In constant stand, no peace, no quiet still.  

His rounded arse shall breathe and stretch at call,  

Each muscle loose, no seat can meet its will."

Adam’s smile faltered, confusion flickering in his eyes. The change happened so quickly—his cock, now a monstrous length, hardened immediately, pushing insistently against the fabric of his gym shorts. It throbbed, always erect, always at attention, with no sense of relief. He shifted uncomfortably as his ass, once firm and perfect, started to feel strangely loose towards the center. It twitched and clenched on its own, the muscles stretching and relaxing without his control, as if it was becoming an underground tunnel.

“Wait, what the—?” Adam stammered, sitting up, his hand moving to adjust his cock, but it wouldn’t soften. His asshole kept opening with a subtle, almost breathing sensation that made him feel unstable, as if he could fit a tube station in there.

George smirked, watching the realization dawn on Adam’s face. “Not quite what you expected, is it?”

Adam’s panic grew as he tried to stand, but the constant, unrelenting erection made every step uncomfortable. His ass moved with a will of its own, making it impossible for him to walk without awkwardly adjusting himself.

“Stop this,” Adam demanded, his voice sharp with fear. “Fix it!”

But George continued, his voice soft, but with a cutting edge:

"For every man he sees and thinks of thus,  

A need shall spark, his body shall obey.  

Two seconds more, his lips will ask with trust,  

And if they say ‘yes,’ he cannot turn away."

Adam’s eyes widened in horror as the words sank in. The change was immediate. His mind, sharp and calculating, suddenly snapped. The second he looked at George, an overwhelming desire flooded him. He took a step forward, his voice trembling.

“George, I—” He swallowed, trying to fight the words that wanted to spill out, but they escaped anyway. “I want you… I need you. Please, let’s do it again.”

George’s smirk faded into something almost pitying as he stepped back, shaking his head. “No.”

Adam blinked, the refusal shocking him, but the need remained. His body trembled with desire, the thought of George sending his blood rushing. He reached out, desperate. “Please, I can’t—”

But George stood firm. “This is what you wanted, Adam. You wanted the magic. Now you’ve got it.”

Adam’s desperation turned into panic, the uncontrollable lust gnawing at him as he realized what had happened. “Please, you have to stop this! I can’t live like this!”

George’s eyes softened, but his voice remained firm. “If you never see me again, I can never curse you again. Plain and simple.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the curse pressing down on him. He had no choice. He nodded stiffly, his voice shaking. “Fine.”

Without another word, he fled the apartment, the constant throbbing in his pants making every step unbearable, as if he were walking with a third leg. His ass twitched, loose and awkward, making him shift with every movement. He tried to keep his eyes down, avoid seeing anyone, avoid thinking about anyone. But as he neared his flat, he saw him—the old, fat man from the bar, the one with the crusty mustache he’d brushed off so easily the night before.

Adam’s eyes locked onto him, and the thought, just two seconds, crossed his mind. The change was instant.

“Hey,” Adam called out, already relieving his itchy erection, his voice unabashed from shame. “You wanna fuck me?”

The man’s eyes widened, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, I do.  Let’s go boy”

Before Adam could stop himself, he moved closer, his body betraying him. They ended up in Adam’s flat, the humiliation sinking deeper as he stripped down, his body moving on its own, giving in to the fat man’s cock. Every moment was pleasure, the curse forcing him to enjoy it all. As the man’s fingers roamed into his hole, Adam’s cock stood painfully erect, his ass twitching and clenching, unable to resist the pleasure.

By the time it was over, Adam lay in bed, the old man’s snores filling the room. He stared at the ceiling, the weight of his actions crushing him. He hated it. He hated the curse, hated George, hated himself. But as he thought back to the encounter, a sickening sense of satisfaction settled in his chest.

Maybe this was who he was now. He’d become the horny, bro-ish slut he’d always railed against.

But hey, at least he still had his wits about him.

“You wanna go again,” he asked the sleeping bear.

He awoke.  “Fuck yeah I do.”

FRIDAY

Adam groaned, his body still humming from the night before, shifting slightly in his bed, the weight of his smelly, bulging muscles pressing against the mattress in ways that felt less and less alien. The stench of sweat and sex clung to the sheets like a cruel reminder, but what gave him the most relief was that the old mustached bear, the fat man who had taken him, or he’d taken in, last night, was gone, leaving Adam with what few shreds of dignity he had left. For but a brief moment, Adam felt a glimmer of his old smart self, something buried deep beneath the layers of this cursed, grotesque transformation.

He brought himself up slowly, running a hand through his cum-soaked, dampened hair, trying to ignore the disgusting aire of musk that followed him everywhere. The night’s events replayed slowly in his mind, and each moment sent waves of heat rolling through him. He was disgusted with himself, yet somehow also satisfied. As much as he wanted to shake off the craziness of last night, something darker tugged within him—or instead, someone.  Someone he couldn't control.

George.

The mere thought of him, that witchy smile, made Adam's heart pump and race. He tried to resist it, clenching his fists as he paced around his tiny studio. No. He wouldn’t give in. Not again. But the more he fought it, the stronger the curse became. His cock twitched in his shorts, eternally hardening more and more, his mind clouded with an overwhelming desire as he let out a massive burp. It was George. He needed George. He needed to see him, fuck him, even if it meant more and more of these horrible, disfiguring changes.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Adam was out the door, heading toward George’s place. His brain screamed at him to turn back, to stop this madness, but his feet kept moving, each step heavier with the weight of inevitability. He arrived at George’s door, his heart pounding so hard it echoed in his ears. Before he could second-guess himself, he knocked.

The door creaked open, and there stood George, the same knowing smile curling on his lips, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Back so soon?” George asked, voice dripping with mockery.

Adam swallowed, his throat tight. His body screamed with need, the throbbing in his pants unbearable. “I… I need to fuck you,” he stammered, the words barely making it out. His muscles tensed, his breath shallow. “Please, George. I just want to stick my-”

“No.” George’s tone was sharp, cold. “I warned you, Adam.”

Adam froze, his heart sinking. Panic flooded his chest. “No, wait, I… I—” He turned to flee, the humiliation too much to bear, but George’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

“You’re not going anywhere,” George said softly, a cruel edge to his voice. With a flick of his hand, Adam’s body locked in place, muscles freezing as though they were held by invisible chains. Adam’s eyes widened in fear as George circled him like a predator, his gaze sweeping up and down Adam’s massive form.

“You could’ve been so wonderful, Adam,” George whispered, his fingers trailing across Adam’s rigid biceps. “If only you weren’t so obsessed with being better than everyone else.” George stopped in front of him, his eyes gleaming. “But don’t worry. I’m going to fix that.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, his giant mind racing with panic. He tried to move, to speak, but nothing worked. He was trapped, helpless, his body at George’s mercy. And then, George began to recite.

“This man, with wit so sharp, shall find it dull,

His tongue to fail at words with length and grace.

In single beats, his speech doth make him full,

No thought can break the barrier of his face.”

Adam’s head buzzed as George’s words sank into his soul. He tried to protest, to say something, anything, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out were simple, one-syllable words, clumsy and slow like the dumbass he used to make fun of, the one he was about to become. “Wh-what… you… do…?” he stammered, struggling through each word. His brain felt like it was being squeezed, cell by cell, every attempt to say something even somewhat intelligent or complex was met with a foggy, impenetrable wall.

“No… more…” he managed, but even that felt like a battle. His tongue stumbled within his mouth, his speech slurring as the magic took further hold. Adam’s face twisted in frustration, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even think of a word longer than one syllable. His mind was trapped in this humiliating simplicity, a far cry from the sharp intellect he once wielded.

George smiled, watching the struggle unfold with sadistic delight. “You’re already looking more like yourself, love.” He continued, his voice low and melodic.

“A jaw so slack, it barely knows its place,

His mouth hangs wide, flies wander through the door.

With 'duh' his mind reflects upon his face,

A smile so dumb, he trusts each word, what's more.”

As the next words spread themselves throughout the air and landed onto Adam’s face, he felt his jaw slacken into a relaxed position, the muscles in his face going completely limp. His mouth hung open, agape, his lips parting into a dumb, vacant expression. He could feel the cold air tickling his teeth as a small, stupid smile crept onto his face. He tried to close his mouth, to tighten his jaw, but it wouldn’t obey him. No matter how hard he tried, it remained slack, open, like a door left ajar.

Flies buzzed around, and before he knew it, one flitted into his mouth. He barely registered it, too dazed, too numb to even care. His face felt frozen in that idiotic grin, his eyes glazed over. Worse yet, every word George said sounded so… true. Every part of him wanted to believe whatever George told him, his gullibility sinking deep into his bones.

Adam’s mind screamed at him to resist, to hold onto what was left of his pride, but that part of him was fading fast. His lips, still curled in a stupid smile, parted again. “Uh… yeah, right…” he muttered, barely able to form coherent thoughts. His voice sounded thick and dopey, like it belonged to someone else, someone who couldn’t even spell Shakespear.

George’s voice softened, almost tender. “See, isn’t that easier? No more thinking, no more overcomplicating things. Just smile, and trust whatever I, or anyone tells you.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, but his mind couldn’t focus. His thoughts were slipping away, replaced by something far simpler, far more primal.

“His thoughts now cloud with only two desires,

To lift, to bed, these things alone will stay.

His mind a fog, of neither will it tire,

And all else fades, in gym and bed to play.”

With those words, haze descended over Adam’s mind. Thoughts, once sharp and filled with wit, were now muddled, clouded with only two overpowering urges. He wanted to work out. He wanted to fuck. Everything else—his career, his pride, his intellect—faded into the background, meaningless, never to be seen again.

Images of bench presses flashed into his shrinking mind, the sensation of cold iron in his sweaty hands, the strain of his muscles as they bulged and flexed. And then there was sex—hot, mindless sex. His cock throbbed in his shorts, and the desire, the absolute need for physical release overwhelmed him, drowning out any other thought. Working out, fucking, working out, fucking, again and again and again. That was all that mattered now. Nothing else made sense, not like he could comprehend it anyways.

Adam tried to resist, to push through the fog, but alas, it was no use. His mind was too far gone, too consumed by primal urges. He let out a resonant, needy groan, his thoughts too disorganized to form any coherent plan of escape.

George watched with satisfaction as Adam’s transformation neared its end. With a triumphant smile, he delivered the final couplet.

“And now this man goes by initials who,

With knowledge slight, no higher than eight-two.”

As George’s last words took their hold, Adam felt the last remnants of his old self slip away, the final pieces of his mind shattering like glass into a distant oblivion. He wasn’t Adam anymore. He was… AJ. His name was AJ, always had been. That dumb, jockish grin became permanent across his face as his old life rewrote itself. His memories, once filled with scholarships, academic debates, tragedies and comedies, were now replaced by scenes of the gym, of flexing in front of the mirror, of fucking nameless faces in dark, sweaty backrooms.

His chest swelled with pride at the thought of lifting those heavy weights, of feeling the burn in his muscles as he pushed himself harder and harder. His thoughts were no longer burdened by complicated ideas or big words. They were simple, direct. Lift. Fuck. Repeat. That was it.

AJ blinked, his slack jaw hanging open as he stood there in front of George, his once bright mind now dim, sluggish, and focused only on the most basic of desires. His body reeked of fart and musk, his mind a tangled mess of lust and primal urges. His life as Adam, the intellectual, was gone. All that remained was AJ, a dumb, slutty, smelly jock.

George stepped back, admiring his handiwork as AJ smiled dumbly at him, his eyes empty, his brain no longer capable of critical thought. “You look perfect, AJ,” George said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

AJ’s grin widened, his thick tongue lolling slightly as he scratched at his crotch. “Th-thanks… bro,” he slurred, his voice deep and stupid.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” George murmured, tilting AJ’s chin up so their eyes met.

AJ’s smile grew even wider, his lips twitching as he struggled to form words. “Yeah, bro,” he said, his voice slow and thick. “I’m… real good.”

George couldn’t help but laugh. AJ was exactly what he had imagined—empty-headed, obedient, and driven by nothing more than his primal instincts. “You won’t be needing any of those big words anymore, will you, AJ?” George asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

AJ shook his head, his brow furrowing slightly as if even that small movement required a great deal of effort. “Nuh-uh,” he mumbled. “Big words are… uh… too hard.”

“Exactly,” George said, patting AJ’s cheek lightly. “And from now on, you’re going to live a very simple life. No more worrying about being better than anyone else. No more trying to prove how smart you are. You’ll be much happier this way. Just working out, fucking, and doing whatever you’re told.”

AJ nodded slowly, his thick muscles pulling and rippling beneath his skin as he flexed unconsciously. “Yeah, bro,” he agreed, his voice, like his mind, slow. “I like… liftin’... an’ fuckin’...”

“Now, AJ,” George said with command, “I think it’s time you head to the gym. You wouldn’t want to miss leg day, would you?”

AJ’s eyes widened slightly, the thought of working out sending a thrill of excitement through his body. “Leg day,” he repeated. “Yeah, bro. I gotta… lift.”

George smirked, watching diligently at his Frankenstein creation as AJ’s single-minded focus shifted completely to the gym. “That’s right, big guy. Go on, hit the weights, and make sure everyone sees how big and strong you are.”

AJ beamed, his dim-witted grin stretching even wider. “Gotta pump some iron.”  And as AJ disappeared into the distance, George sighed, knowing the man who’d once scoffed at him, at the very idea of magic and fate was now living proof of it’s power, his entire existence rewritten by just a few simple words. George smirked, satisfied once again, and waited for the next asshole to match with him on Hinge.

AJ, meanwhile, wandered toward the gym, his thoughts a jumbled mess of anticipation and primal urges. He could feel the weight of his bulging muscles with every step, the tightness of his tank top stretching across his massive chest. The constant itch in his groin had him adjusting his shorts every few seconds, a fart always ready in the chamber, and his cock already hard at the thought of the next guy he’d meet, or the next weight he’d lift.  He grinned stupidly, flexing his biceps as he prepared for the first set. “Let’s go, bro,” he muttered to himself, his voice thick with excitement. “Time to get swole.”

And with that, AJ’s transformation was complete. The man he had once been—Adam, the intellectual, the scholar—was gone, replaced by a farting, burping, simple-minded, horny, muscle-obsessed jock who lived only for the gym, for sex, and for any task any man asked for.

“Life’s good, bruh.”

[heavenbarnes]

hiiiii pretty cosmos, just read sm of your older bf!simon (again, shocked are we. ((no)) and the meet cute + first date was adorable 🥺 id love to hear your thoughts on their first night together

i am ALWAYS shocked when people read my stuff, let alone more than once 🥹🫶🏼 p1 | p2

if it had been up to older bf!simon then you probably would’ve had your first night together the first time you met.

and if it’d been up to you it would’ve been the night of your first date.

but the second best time to plant a tree is now.

simon had plied you with a plate of pasta, washed the dishes, and had retired you both to the couch where your feet rest in his lap.

if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was trying to spend the night.

he only ever wanted to talk about you, how work was for you, how your weekend was, what you liked to do. you figured you’d have an easier time pulling teeth than getting anything out of him.

not because he didn’t want to talk- hell, if you asked him, this was the most he’d spoken his entire life.

but because he was scared?

see simon couldn’t quite understand why you wanted anything to do with him.

when he’d asked you for your number that first day, he was genuinely shocked when you’d said yes.

when you’d asked him out to dinner, he was sure it was all a cruel joke at his expense.

so there was this part of him that was entirely terrified to actually let you see any real part of him, actually let you in, just in case you hated what you saw- simon didn’t think he could handle the humiliation.

(and worse, what does he do if you did want to stick around? he’s never even been remotely close to a situation like this before)

so simon skirts around questions, dodges and parries any attempt at learning anything more about him. he wants to keep you at the surface, treading water where you’re safe.

but, he’s also plied with pasta and he’s warm and your couch is soft and your feet are resting so nice on his thigh he’s been thinking of offering you a foot massage if that isn’t weird and-

he lets slip. the tiniest little slip that tells you he’s not as stoic as he makes out to be.

“who’s gaz?”

simon freezes because he can’t believe he gave you an in, gave you the chance to learn more about him and-

“he’s a mate- well actually he’s a team mate- he’s uh-”

he hates the way your eyes glow as you gaze at him along the couch, hand folded under your chin and a content smile that says you’re learning about this man come hell or high water.

and it’s the beginning of the end really, because he can’t talk about gaz without talking about johnny who you can’t talk about without talking about price which means you have to talk about-

work.

the darkest part of him.

and yes, you know what he does for work- hell it’s how you met him. he should be grateful for work, and he is, it brought him to you.

but you don’t know what he does when he goes to work. you don’t know what he’s done, what he’s seen, the things-

that’s what he wants to keep at arms length. you’re so soft and so sweet and he’d never forgive himself for marring you with the unkind that follows him home like a stray dog.

but you’re not accepting the easy way, you’re asking questions.

“only what you’re comfortable sharing”

oh, ok.

simon keeps himself on a leash, forever tugging at the collar he put around his own neck as early as he could remember.

but he tells the truth.

and you don’t look scared? you look interested? you nod at the right moments and you smile when you can tell he’s trying to joke and you frown when you know he’s trying to be taken seriously.

most importantly? you don’t make it last.

you let him trail off until he’s convincing you that you’d actually like a man united game if you just sat down and watched and his ears are burning hot when you tell him you’d like to watch a game with him.

you let him be simon, you chose simon- you never called him ghost.

simon learns a few things that night:

a good recipe for pasta

you look lovely in lamp light

he really likes making you laugh

he never thought of himself as someone that could be soft. there’s a voice inside that chastises him for “going soft on me, boy” and he tries his hardest not to put a name to the voice.

but you light up when he becomes soft.

you curl into his side of the couch and you like it when he talks nice.

he realises it’s a side of him he likes- but only if you’re the one who sees it. the only one who sees it.

he decides he wants to compartmentalise, whether rightly or wrongly. but he wants to create parts of himself that are reserved for you.

he also realises, very quickly, that the parts he wants reserved for you are the parts of himself he hasn’t let himself acknowledge for a very long time.

that parts that feel like him.

he only realises it’s late when you start yawning and he dreads the idea that you might ask him to leave and then he has to skulk home under streetlights like-

“only if you want to?”

simon begins to realise that the time spent in his head is time spent without you. hard to reconcile with given he spends almost all of his time in his own head.

this was all a very roundabout way to say, you'd invited him to stay the night and he was so stuck in his own head that he'd completely missed it.

dimwit.

a really loud part of him reckons he shouldn't. looks at you, looks at the way you're staring up at him like he's responsible for placing all the stars, looks at you and thinks-

he really cannot afford to fuck this up.

and, to simon, that's what will happen. that's what happens when he opens up and allows himself to enjoy. allows himself to go soft, boy.

that anything he does that isn't out of bare necessity is surplus to requirement and he should live out his days on a threadbare mattress thousands of miles from anything that resembles home.

that it's almost guaranteed he'll fuck this up because anything he touches turns to blood and he's simply not the kind of person that deserves nice things.

he ends up on his back in your bed because you decide he deserves nice things.

the tv merely glows at the end of your bed, it's playing a show simon hasn't even heard of (because it's not top gear) but he's not watching because you're not watching.

and you're not watching because you both can't stop giggling.

(yes, simon giggles even though he'd never forgive you for calling it that but there is no manly explanation for the sound that comes out of his mouth)

your head rests on his chest so you move with every laugh and every intake of breath- you can hear his heart just a little out of reach but closer than it's ever been.

he could stay like this all night, and it feels like he does. in reality, he falls asleep very easily, easier than he has in a long time.

and easier than he feels he should.

if he still had his wits and consciousness about him, he'd be making himself repent for letting his guard down so quickly. but he doesn't.

so he sleeps.

for the first time in that long time he's always thinking about, he really sleeps. he evens thinks he might've dreamt.

simon lets himself fall into the plush of your mattress, lets himself wrap you up him arms, lets his lips press to the crown of your head.

lets himself be.

doesn’t hear that chastising voice of impending doom, reminding him that at any given moment all of this can be taken from him.

because that’s really hard to believe when you’re so close you’re literally in the palm of his hand. he doesn’t have to let go if he doesn’t want to.

so he doesn’t.

simon riley, the good time and the long time.

[justanothermemestrider]

"That's My Girl" - Jago Sevetarion x F! Reader

Ask thee and ye shall receive. Here's a fic based on the sparring headcanon from my Sevetar Assorted Headcanons. The sypnosis: Sev takes you down to the training mat to help you train some sword craft, and things get... spicy

Hope yall ready for some heresy.

CW: NSFW, MDNI

Apologies for grammar and spelling mistakes. Please enjoy!

"I really don't see why this is necessary."

"Really?" Jago asks. "Sweetheart, have you seen what the people on this ship are like?"

"Well yeah, sure," you say. "But I've got you. And if you're not around, Talos and Cyrion always look out for me."

Jago clicks his tongue, twirling the wooden swords he's currently holding in both hands as he considers your words. "That is true," he admits. "But even then, there is always the chance- no matter how small- that you may be caught out alone on this ship." He offers you one of the swords with a smile. "As such, you need to prepared."

You give him a long, unamused look, eyes shifting between his proferred wooden sword and wry, lopsided smile. The skin of his face is a mess of scars and callouses, but underneath all of that is a strong, almost handsome visage with broad cheek bones and a square jaw. His hair is slicked back save for a handful of thin bangs that tumble over his forehead to frame his eyes and nose. Jago's smile broadens into a grin. "Come on, little bird," he says. "If not for you, then for me?"

You let out a sigh. Without a word, you take the sword from his hand.

"Atta girl," Jago chuckles. He steps away from you, then surprises you by sheathing his sword. His grin suddenly turns feral. Before you can ask, he unclasps the front of his tunic and lets it drop to the floor. His torso, like his face, is ravished by scars, though these are far larger and more vicious looking. Bolter holes, chain blade slashes, stab wounds and burn marks; Jago wears the marks of all of these and even more. Black neural ports run down his shoulders and chest, contrasting sharply with his pale skin. But, just like his face, his scars and cybernetics do little to detract from the beauty of the body beneath them. You can't help but take a moment to drink in the sight of him; the twistedly gorgeous demi-god you call lover and protector. At your staring, Jago chuckles. "You may remain robed if you wish," he says. "But among Astartes, it is tradition to spar as... unencumbered as possible."

"Oh really?" you ask, clearly unconvinced.

Jago laughs again. "Eyes up, little bird," he orders. "Raise your blade. We begin now."

Unable to keep the grin off your face, you does as he commands.

"You remember what I've taught you?" he asks.

You give your sword a cursory twirl. "Of course I do." As if to emphasise the point, you hold it out in front of you in a defensive stance.

Jago gives you a satisfied smirk. "Guess we'll find out soon enough, won't we?" With that, the Night Lord lunges.

You slip to the side, parrying with your sword. The wooden blades crack against each other like bone, and the force of the impact sends painful vibrations rocketing up your arms. Grunting, you take several, darting steps back, but Jago refuses to give you any such breathing room. Several more time, your training blades clash. You know Jago is holding back; he has to, for if he didn't, his first strike would've likely snapped your arms in half. But even with his abilities actively reduced from demi-god levels, he's still faster and stronger than any baseline human could dream of being. Already, your breathing hard. Sweat pouring down your brow as your heart pounds relentlessly. Jago, on the other hand, has barely broken a sweat.

"Don't be shy, little bird," he says the next time the pair of you disengage. "You can't defend forever."

Between heavy breathes, you scowl at him. "Easy for you to say, Son of The Night Haunter, you."

Jago flashes that wry, crooked smile of his from the other side of the training mat. "No warrior is perfect," he says. "Even Astartes have certain aspects that can be exploited."

"Such as?"

"Just look at me, sweetheart. Two metres tall and half a tonne in weight, all of that being bloated muscle and reinforced bone." Jago holds his arms out wide. "What does that make me?"

"I don't know," you huff. "Strong?"

"Nope," says Jago

"Unbeatable?"

"Hah! I wish."

"Sexy?"

Jago laughs. "You flatter me, little bird. But no. Not the answer I am looking for."

"What then?"

The night lord sighs in mock exasperation. "It make me big," he says. "It makes me heavy. And no matter how fast or strong I am, it makes me very much at the mercy of physics and biomechanics. But you-" he points at you with his sword. "-my love, you are not so much. You are lighter. Your body, more flexible and maneuverable. Therefore, such natural laws are far more lenient on you than I. You understand?"

After taking a moment to think, you believe that you do. You tell Jago as much.

"I knew you would." Lowering his sword, Jago bares his teeth in a grin. "Now. Prove it to me."

Raising your sword, you approach him at a slink. Stepping on the balls of your feet, wooden blade out and pointed at his chest. Jago flurries his own weapon. Ripples of tension feather through the muscles of his chest and abdomen. He holds his sword low, clearly trusting himself to be fast enough to raise it should you choose to attack. But it is that very reflex that you intend to exploit.

With the technique of a fencer, you thrust at Jago's throat. Just as you'd guessed, he brings his sword up and around to block. But the moment you see his arm move, your strike turns into a feint. Ducking underneath his arm, you lock your blade around his shoulder and launch a savage kick into his knee. In the same moment, you wrench hard with your arms, turning your wooden sword into a lever over which you toss Jago to the ground. Of course, such a throw would never work in a true one-on-one fight with an Astartes. But against another baseline? Absolutely, it would. And, since he is currently moonlighting as such, Jago lets you take him down. The mat shakes as his body hits the ground. Before he can move to get up, you leap on top of him. Straddling his waist and bracing the edge of your mock sword against his throat. Your arms tremble from exertion, lungs burning as you breath hard and fast through your mouth. But as exhausted as you are there's a smile on your face. When Jago locks eyes with you, it only grows broader.

"That's my girl," he says, his adam's apple bobbing against your blade as he speaks.

In spite of yourself, his praise makes you giggle. "Does that mean I win?" you ask.

"Almost," Jago says. "But you've forgotten one very important thing."

You raise an eyebrow. "That being?"

Between your legs, you feel the rise and fall of his belly as he breathes in and out. You also feel him bending his knees and planting his feet on the floor. "When your opponent is so much larger than you..." Jago trails off. Then, quick as a snake, he grabs your sword with one hand and seizes your arm in the other. Bridging his hips, he throws you off him, sending you sprawling onto the mat. You yelp in surprise as Jago reverses your mount and straddles your hips. His weight is immense; your pelvis feels like it's being crushed beneath an anvil, while your legs and hips are completely and utterly pinned. Jago leans over you, grabbing your sword hand by the wrist while bracing his own sword hand on the floor right beside your ear. Lips peeling back into a predatory smile, he finishes his earlier warning. "...You must never take them to the ground."

Any outward observer would expect you be terrified, but in truth, you only feel flustered. Even after all this time, being this close to him- face millimetres from yours, naked, muscular body pressing against your own- still has your stomach winding itself into knots. And from the bulging hardness you can feel pressing against your lower belly, Jago is feeling the same way.

"This had nothing to do with training me, did it?" you whisper.

"Of course it did," Jago replies. "Your safety is the single most important thing to me. You know that."

"Fine. But it wasn't the only reason you brought me here, was it?"

For the briefiest of moments, Jago's smile turns sheepish. "Alright. You may have me there." Leaning closer still, he touches his forehead to yours. "You know how much I love a woman who can kick my ass."

You reply by kissing him. Tilting your head back so as to give you access to his lips, then locking them within yours with rough and enboldened hunger. Jago immediately returns it in kind. He drops his sword and releases your wrist, scooping one hand up underneath your waist while gripping you jaw with the other. Like pieces of a puzzle, your bodies fall into place around each other. Your legs wrapping tight around Jago's waist as he pulls you closer still. The heat between your legs presses the hardness between his, and even through the fabric of your clothes, the friction is enough to make you whine. The sound elicits a growl from Jago. You feel the hand at your jaw release, then slide down your front until it reaches the waistband of your trousers. He drags them off you, followed by your underwear. You gasp when the cold air kisses your exposed sex. But quickly, the sound devolves into a moan as Jago presses his fingers into your clit. Electricity bolts through your body. The heat in your core swells into an aching throb. You feel yourself growing wetter, hotter, more desperate and breathless. You claw your fingernails into Jago's back and let out another pleading moan.

"Jago..."

"I know, sweetheart," he rumbles. "But I've gotta slick you up first; don't want to hurt you."

You reply by bringing your hands up to his shoulder blades and digging your fingers into the neural ports embedded in the muscles there.

An involuntary shudder rips through Jago's entire body. His limbs buckle, sending him sprawling flat against your front. The sound that falls from his lips can only be described as a whimper.

"Oh, I see," he growls once he recovers. "And here I was thinking you liked me best when I was nice."

"Most of the time," you answer. "But not today."

Jago bares his teeth in a smile that's both affectionate and utterly lusting. "As you wish, little bird. But don't say I didn't warn you."

You open your mouth to reply, but before the words can reach your voice, Jago locks his hand around your throat. He unclasps his breeches, finally freeing his hard, aching cock. He lines his hips with up with yours, and with a single, savage thrust, drives himself all the way inside of you.

A cry bursts from your lips. You feel yourself stretching to accommodate his length, but even then, the fit is impossibly tight. Jago moans into your ear. The hand around your throat tightens. Without skipping a beat, he starts moving. Thrusting his hips hard, filling you up, pinning your clit against his public bone and rubbing it to the point of pain. Sparks and black spots burst within your vision. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull. Every one of your exhales is a whimper or a moan. Ecstasy doesn't come close to describing this feeling. This raw and primal pleasure that's got your every nerve in a chokehold. Meanwhile, Jago growls and snarls like a beast in rut. His breathing is loud and laboured, his every muscle bulging against his sweat-slick skin. The hand he hasn't got around your neck is pressed hard into your lower belly, forcing his cock deeper and deeper still.

The coil in your belly reaches critical mass. You can feel your orgasm coming, just on the horizon, but not quite there yet. There's no way in hell you could string together a sentence, so instead, you say his name. Once again finding Jago's shoulderblades with your fingers and clawing them into his neural ports.

"Jago... Jago..."

Jago's body shudders again, and a long, almost pained whine interrupts his snarling growls. On his next thrust, he rears up onto his knees, scooping up your leg with one hand and throwing it over his shoulder. The sparks in your eyes become stars. The coil in your belly becomes agonisingly tight. Your spine arches until it's not longer touching the ground and you let out another, desperate cry.

It's then that Jago decides to say something. The words are whispered in your ear, barely comprehensible amidst his growls and moans. But they're there. And they are what finally send you over the edge.

"That's my girl."

Orgasm grips you like a lightning strike. You throw your head back as a scream of ecstasy erupts from your throat. Every muscle in your body clenches and your walls squeeze Jago so tight it makes his voice crack. His rhythm suddenly falters. He releases your throat to claw his hand into the floor. With a throat-tearing roar, Jago finally hits his release, burying his face into your shoulder and pumping you full of his hot, thick seed. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you entangle your fingers in his hair, holding him close as you both ride out your orgasms.

When yours finally fades, you collapse against the floor. You still have the energy to gasp at the feel of Jago pulling out, but aside from that, you're completely and utterly spent. Means when Jago rolls you onto your side and drags you into his body, you simply let him. Both of his hearts are beating hard; you can feel their twin pulses pounding against your ear. He doesn't simply hold you, either, but rather he's actively pulling you close. Pressing you hard against his chest and wrapping his arms around you tight as if he were trying to shelter you or keep you from being dragged away. His grip is crushing. His skin and hair both slick with sweat. Gently, you reach a hand up to his face and brush your fingers against his cheek. "Careful," you says softly. "Squeeze me any tighter and you might just break something."

You hear his breath hitch. Slowly, the pressure around your waist and shoulders diminishes. "Sorry," Jago mutters. The extra gravel in his voice confirms what you'd suspected from his pulse, that he's still coming down from his high.

Tilting your head up a little, you press your lips to his collarbone, then nuzzle your face into his chest. "It's okay. I forgive you. This time, at least."

Jago smirks, but says nothing. After a handful of quiet moments, you hear his heart rates finally begin to settle. His breathing deepens, then levels out and the residual tension in his body releases.

You choose that moment to caress his scarred cheek again. "I love you," you whisper.

His chest vibrates against your ear as he chuckles softly. "By the Warp. I don't think I'll ever get used to hearing that."

"Do you doubt me?" you ask playfully.

"What? No! Of course not."

"You do not feel the same, then?"

That actually makes him growl. "Of course I do." The grip around your waist and shoulders tightens. "You know that."

You reassure him with another kiss to his collar bone. "So, why, then?"

"Why?" Another rumbling laugh. "Sweetheart. Look at me. Recall who I am and what I've done."

Retracting your hand, you start tracing one of the dozens of scars running down his chest with your finger. "I see Jago Sevetarion," you say. "The man who cares for me and protects me." You let your head fall against him, eyes slipping shut. "I see the man I love."

Your earnestness seems to take him by surprise, for he does not reply nor react right away. He doesn't seem to know how to. All he can think to do is pull you closer still and bury his face into the crook of your neck.

Sorry if I've missed you. If I have or you wanna be added, please let me know :)

Taglist: @yanagikou @nereidof40k @yurihasurunbara @beckyninja @moodymisty @wolf-feathers12 @justfreakynothingelse @egrets-not-regrets

[thelostprincessposts]

Sunflower [Painted Verso x Reader]

Pairings: Painted Verso x Reader

Summary: you like Verso, but you think he likes Lune, and you're both clueless in love. Angst with a happy ending!

Rating: PG?

Warnings: none really. Canon-typical violence and injuries.

Author's note: I am PMSing this week so what started angsty turned mushy because Verso makes me mush

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks as your gaze followed Verso's lip movements; the way his sentence would finish and the corner of his lips would uptick slightly in a warm smile. His eyes were glittering, half lidded as he listened intently. The way the fire lit his beautiful eyes. How the flames made him seem softer and more content than usual. You could listen to the mirth of his laugh forever; let it lull you into a stupor as you sat there entranced. You wished you could reach out and brush away the stray hair that managed to fall over his forehead.

Fuck. You were falling for Verso.

There was a small...tiny...miniscule problem, though. You sat across the campfire, observing him from a distance. His current demeanor was not aimed at you, but at your teammate, Lune. And Lune was one of your best friends, so how could you interfere with her happiness?

Verso seemed so at ease with her. They would poke fun at each other and ask each other the most ridiculous questions, like "would you rather be a monkey or an elephant?" And then get into a heated debate about the pros and cons.

When did you even start to harbor these feelings for Verso? You couldn't remember a time that you looked at him without thinking how attractive he was or a time when his sarcastic remarks wouldn't make your chest feel warm.

You sighed to yourself and tore your eyes away from them, instead leaning your head on Sciel's shoulder. She was fond of snuggling and gently laughed while wrapping her arm around you.

"You know I can always tell what you're thinking?" She said mischievously. You pulled your head away to narrow your eyes at her. She stared right back with a smirk.

"Cards, yeah? Let's play," you suggested heavily. Since Sciel could summon her deck anywhere, you two were getting quite good at various games each night.

"Fine, but I'm not letting you win this time," she fake yawned before dealing your hand.

"Ouch," you laughed back. You tried your hardest not to look over at Verso and Lune. You'd had enough pining for one night. In turning your back to him you completely missed the way Verso's eyes softened at your laughter with Sciel.

_______________

You then thought, perhaps, that Verso viewed you as a liability. He'd suggested sparring with you to prepare for the next area you'd be exploring. "The nevrons there are really fast, and I noticed you haven't been our quickest dodger..."

You almost spit out the oats you were eating for breakfast. "Uh... I'm not sure how you want me to take that observation," you said, more than mildly offended. His eyes widened and his hands became super animated as he replied.

"No! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. All I'm saying is that I'd like to help you train. If you're not comfortable with me, I can ask Monoco to help too," he suggested. "It's just that I know some of these nevrons have effects that can't be parried. I need to be sure you can dodge."

It was still early. Lune was grumbling through breakfast (she's definitely not a morning person). Sciel was already helping Maelle with her pictos in a clearing nearby.

Verso's eyes looked helpless. He rubbed his neck waiting for your response.

Your heart raced against your will at the prospect of training with Verso in private, even if just for a few minutes. "Okay, if you think it will help," you agreed.

He gave you a crooked smile and stretched his arm to the edge of camp gesturing to an open area to practice. You walked past him trying to hide the blush that was inevitably creeping across your face. Get it together.

You stepped away from him and pulled out your daggers in preparation. "No daggers," he commanded. "I'm going to send blank chroma waves at you, gradually faster, until you're comfortable dodging them. And then maybe some hand to hand combat if you're up for it."

You nodded in anticipation. Admittedly, you were not the fastest fighter of your crew. You were methodical and always there to support the fight, but it wasn't in you to run in, guns blazing for a takedown. Verso shook his jacket off and removed his weapons belt, leaving him in his white blouse. That damn neckline showed off the valley of his chest and you had to force yourself to meet his eyes.

He started off slowly - sending blasts of chroma near your feet and then to your sides to dodge. As the speed picked up you were bending and jumping, cutting to the left and right to avoid the shots.

"Good. I'm not so worried about distance combat," he said, motioning his fingers to beckon you closer to him. Your chest was heaving trying to keep up with your movements.

Verso didn't give you a chance for a break, instead launching into a series of punches. He wasn't putting much weight behind them. You only noticed this because, as he expected, you were not as good at dodging in close range combat. His hands grazed your shoulders and arms a few times before you lifted your arms in defeat.

"I need to catch my breath," you admitted before scratching your flask of water.

"You're getting better," he offered while you took a long pull from the bottle. You couldn't help the next thought that popped into your mind, let alone left your mouth.

"Have you trained with Lune?" You asked. Your back was turned to him while you replaced the bottle cap and set the water aside.

"I don't have to. She's a strong fighter," he replied. Part of you was giddy that you had his attention, but the other part of you was horrified that his attention was on you for the wrong reason. When you didn't reply he started to stutter over his words. "Look, I...I didn't mean you're not a strong fighter. You've held your own. I just, I wanted to -"

"Save it, Dessendre. Let's go again." Your shoulder brushed his as you strode past him to your starting point. In an attempt to not show your defeated face, you missed the look of total regret covering Verso's festures. When he turned to you and nodded, you'd never be the wiser.

Verso was fast, but you knew the nevrons could be faster. You went through two more rounds of hand to hand before Maelle approached to watch. You'd been in the middle of taking a breather when she suggested it: "maybe I should practice with you. My sword can be very fast."

You took a hesitant look at Verso, but he agreed with Maelle. Maelle was giddy to be included, though you felt your time with Verso was cut short. You and Maelle started with hand to hand drills before moving to makeshift weapons. Her sword was replaced by a sturdy branch, your daggers replaced by twigs.

Lune came over during the sparring to see what was happening. You couldn't help but notice how both her and Verso's faces lit up as they talked. You saw her laugh out of the corner of your eye at something he said and the next thing you knew you were groaning in pain before landing on your ass.

Maelle's stubby branch had made contact with your ribcage and a bruise was surely forming. You felt the wind knock out of you as you hit the ground and Maelle gasped.

"Oh my gods, I'm so sorry Y/N!"

You shook your head as you winced and felt your lungs struggle to open up. Verso rushed to your side immediately and lifted your shirt to see if any real damage was done. "Look at me, Y/N. You can breathe. You just had the wind knocked out of you. Take a small breath through your nose," he coached you. His eyes were intently scanning your face before his hand reached down to brush the hair off your forehead.

As your breathing figured itself out, you felt immense embarrassment and anger at how you allowed yourself to be distracted. You needed to forget about Verso.

"I'm fine," you murmured as you rolled to your side, away from the team huddled over you, and pushed yourself up. They couldn't see the way your face scrunched up in discomfort.

"Y/N..." Lune managed to catch your arm as you went to pick up your water. "I can help heal it if you want." Of course she could. Lune could do fucking anything.

Your eyes met hers. Your resolve was crumbling as you felt Verso's pained eyes staring you down from where you fell. "I'm fine, Lune. I'd like to be alone for a bit."

She nodded and watched you stalk off to the springs to get cleaned up.

__________

You and Maelle were chatting over the fire when Lune interrupted to ask about your bruising. Maelle respectfully slipped away so Lune could sit with you on the log.

It was just the two of you. You lifted your shirt so she could see your injury more clearly. "Yikes, that's intense. I'm shocked Maelle had that much force behind it."

"I wouldn't underestimate her. I think I just lost focus after all that training." Lune nodded at your flimsy excuse and brought her hand to her chin thoughtfully.

"It doesn't look like anything is broken. Do you want any healing?" She asked. You lowered your shirt and shook your head.

"I'm okay. I'll just have to pay more attention next time."

There was a stretch of comfortable silence as you both watched the fire. You'd known Lune since you were children. If there was anyone who really understood you, it was probably her. "It was kind of Verso to offer to train with you," she said.

You didn't really have a response, still unsure of what to make of his intentions. You made a noncommital hum in response. Your thoughts wandered thinking how foreign it felt to hear Lune speak with you about Verso - about any man, really. Lune never was the kind for girl talk back in Lumiere.

"Sooo...what do you think of him?" Lune prodded. There it was. Lune wanted your opinion on the man she was interested in. Her smile was growing and you knew you had to choose your words carefully.

You ran your hand through your hair with a shrug. "From what I can tell he seems to be endearing. He seems to get along with everyone quite well."

She chuckled and crossed her legs. "Endearing? Are we playing a word game?" She teased.

You laughed a bit yourself, trying to relax. "I don't know, Lune. He's not been with us that long." 19 days, 2 hours, and 49 minutes actually. "What don't you want me to say?"

"I wish you'd get to know him better."

Maybe you didn't spend your days chatting with him nonstop, but you knew plenty. You knew he was a terrible sleeper. Knew he was hiding an arm injury from the way he favored his left arm. Knew that he savored the instant coffee the team brought because it took him 30 minutes of nursing his cup in the morning before finishing it. You knew the way his eyes crinkled when he found something undoubtedly funny. And you knew he was falling for Lune.

"I've gotten to know him plenty. I'm happy he's with the team."

What you were really trying to say to her was: I'm happy for you. But you couldn't bring yourself to say it directly yet.

Lune threw an arm around you and you returned the embrace with a hug. Your heart might have felt like it shredded into a million pieces, but you would never let her know this.

__________

As if getting an injury during sparring wasn't embarrassing enough, Verso was constantly checking up on you throughout the next day. It felt like at each mile you walked he was asking if you were coping alright and telling you to stay out of nevron conflict - that the team could handle it without you.

You felt useless and like a hindrance all day. Your thoughts were unkind as you watched Verso and Lune walk side by side ahead of you. Verso was making Monoco walk near you since he was much bigger and could defend you quickly. By the time you made it back to camp, you were over it.

You completely skipped team decompression by the fire. As much as you wanted to be there for the team, you weren't sure you could handle another heart to heart with Lune.

Thankfully, you didn't have to tonight. You scrubbed your face with spring water and noticed Lune and Verso had made their way to the cliffside to chat. You couldn't resist peeking around the corner to see what they were up to. Their conversation looked intimate from the way he ran his hand through his hair and the way her hand was gently soothing his upper arm. Your heart completely crumbled at the sight.

You turned away quickly and tried to swallow the lump in your throat before anyone could see you. Your vision felt blurred and your chest ached thinking of their romance; not to mention the bruise on your side making it difficult to breathe deeply.

"Everything alright, Y/N?" Sciel asked, concerned when you snatched your bedroll and water flask up in a flurry.

"Fine, I'm just exhausted. I'm going to sleep," you replied in a rush before settling down in the cave where the Curator usually set up. It was always quiet and dark there. Once you knew you were alone, you couldn't stop the tears from slipping down your face. Eventually sleep took you blissfully away from any thoughts of Verso's proximity to Lune or Lune's boisterous laugh.

___________

You woke the next day with a wicked headache, surely from crying all night. Though, it did feel good to release all those emotions. You were resolved to start the day anew and distance yourself from Verso and Lune while you sorted out your feelings.

This proved difficult as Verso intercepted you on your way to the campfire in the morning. "Y/N, how are you doing? Sciel mentioned you looked unwell last night." Traitor, you thought.

You pushed past him to grab an apple from the supply stash. "I'm fine. Was just tired is all. You don't need to worry about me." Your words were clipped as you refused to make eye contact with him.

"Y/N! You're awake. Can I take a look at your ribs?" Lune exclaimed, coming around the corner with some fish from the stream. Your new day's resolution was imploding at both of them hovering over you.

"I'm fine," you said tightly. "Much better than yesterday."

"Is it normal for you to wince, then? You look pained," Verso remarked, crossing his arms.

"Are you guys going to fuss over me all day or can we just get going? I said I was fine. Let's leave it at that."

Verso and Lune shared a glance. They were having some secret conversation in their eyes. Your heart panged, but Lune put her hands up in surrender.

A few hours later the team was trekking through an area of dense forest trying to find an old expedition camp Verso swore had leftover supplies. You were thankful that the foliage was so thick that it prevented the sun from beating your forehead any further, but the forest felt oddly quiet. Too quiet.

"Stay close. Something is off," Verso whispered from the front. The only sounds for a few minutes were your feet crunching leaves and the wind whipping through the trees. Verso moved cautiously in front of you, his arm pulling you behind him. You startled at the contact, but your heart warmed at his protection.

You didn't have time to dwell on the moment because within seconds your team was surrounded by bulky nevrons with bladed arms and legs.

"It's an ambush! Circle formation!" Lune called from your side.

The team naturally moved so that everyone's back was facing the center. Everyone was focused outward and no nevron would get between the group. You were secretly grateful for Verso's trainings since these foes were, indeed, close range combat fighters. You parried their arms as best you could and then dodged to land blows at their sides. You had to have been close to the abandoned camp with how many nevrons were surrounding the area.

You were winded from fighting off three opponents, but you couldn't lose focus. Lune was dodging her opponents but was overrun. You helped her by taking down a nevron at close range. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed another nevron moving on Verso and hurried to meet it.

The nevron was fast, but when it noticed you coming it switched its attention from Verso to you. In one swooping motion, its arm aimed from Verso's side to your leg and you didn't have enough time to dodge from the way your momentum was carrying you. The blade sliced your thigh, tearing through your pants and leaving an immediate gash.

You let out a guttural yell as your dagger met its chest, the nevron disappearing as your leg gave out.

"Y/N!" Verso screamed. You were falling and your leg was on fire and you were pretty sure it was the dumbest thing you'd ever done. It dawned on you that Verso was immortal and would recover from the nevron attack. You, on the other hand, were already injured and definitely not immortal.

You could hear yourself screaming and writhing in pain, but your mind felt disconnected from your body. Your eyes searched the trees above you; your peripheral caught the flashes of Lune's fire attack and a burst of energy from Sciel.

The wind picked up again and as you watched the leaves dancing in the wind, your eyes fluttered closed of their own accord and strong arms gathered you from the ground.

__________

You weren't sure how long you'd been unconscious, but the next time your eyes opened it was dark. Your body had only woken you up to purge, for in seconds you rolled over to heave onto the ground.

Someone was saying your name. Someone else mentioned poison. The sensation of wet fabric cleaning your face was the last thing you remembered before slipping back to a dreamless sleep.

__________

You were hardly awake, but you were roused from your sleep by your body shaking intensely. You felt like your bones were trying to break out of your skin from how harshly you shook; your teeth clattered and you felt extremely cold despite a sheen of sweat coating your skin.

Lune's hands were on your leg while she attempted to cleanse and heal it. She had not realized your eyes were open yet. "Lune..." you croaked.

Her eyes whipped up to watch you before she yelled for the team. "So...cold..." you managed to whisper to her.

"You're cold? You're burning up. You've been poisoned by the nevron's blade. Your body is trying to rid the poison," she spoke gently. Verso was the first to make it over to you two. You were struggling to stay awake, but you would never forget the way his wild eyes held yours. "She's complaining that she's cold," was all Lune said before turning her full attention to your leg.

Sleep was coming for you, but not before you felt another jacket being placed on your body and the warmth of a body behind you.

__________

It was dusk when you opened your eyes next. The sky was a beautiful mix of pinks and blues while the sun was setting and you could smell someone cooking at the fire nearby. Your body was no longer shaking and your leg, while painful, at least was not on fire any longer.

You coughed from your dry throat and heard footsteps racing toward you. "Oh thank goodness! Let me get you some water," Sciel exclaimed. "Lune! Y/N is awake!"

You attempted to prop yourself up on your elbows when you noted a log behind you. Lune was by your side in an instant to help you rest against the log in a semi-seated position. Sciel returned with a flask of water, but Lune warned not to drink too much in case your body threw up again.

"Your fever has broken," Lune commented after touching your forehead. Sciel was stroking your arm soothingly, trying to be close to you, but not too close.

"Where is everyone?" You asked. You seemed to be at the old expedition camp, but it was just these girls with you.

"Verso took Maelle and Monoco to look for something. They should be back soon," Lune commented before examining your leg.

"How long was I out?" You asked through a wince while she prodded at your bandage.

"About a day...although you were up a few times to puke through the night. We were afraid to move you back to camp, even with Esquie. You were...in pretty rough shape," Sciel responded.

You caught a glimpse of your mottled leg under the bandage and grimaced. It was dark and the scar looked rotten. Lune had done more than a fine job of closing up the wound.

"I remember you healing me, Lune. I can't thank you enough," you said quietly. She shook her head as she replaced the bandage.

"None needed. This is what we do for each other. We do what we must."

You caught her wrist and made to hold her hand, but her eyes got all weepy. "Lune, there's something I've been wanting to say and now feels as good a time as any since Verso isn't here. I'm so happy for you," you stated as best you could.

Lune's face held pure confusion as she looked from you to Sciel. Sciel shrugged. "What...do you mean?" Lune asked.

"I mean you and Verso. You don't have to deny it. I saw you two the other night at camp and the way he acts with you. I'm happy you found someone that cares for you."

Lune stared at you with wide eyes before busting out laughing. She ripped her hand out of yours to wipe tears from her eyes. It was your turn to look confused. "You...you think...Verso is into me?" She managed to get out between laughs.

Meanwhile, you and Sciel eyed each other, both confused as hell at whatever was happening. "Lune, you two have spent most nights in each other's company."

"You idiot," she smirked as her laughter finally calmed down. "He's been asking me about you. He's been so nervous about getting to know you. I guess it looked like we were together, but I did nothing but speak of you in private. Trust me, Verso only has eyes for you."

"Me?"

"Y/N?" Sciel asked at the same time.

Lune shook her head laughing and adjusted to sit on your left. Sciel sat on your right in a cozy gal pal circle...well, triangle.

"Y/N, I've been coaching Verso on how to approach you. Albeit, my advice doesn't seem to always work, but he's trying to get comfortable around you. He cares a lot for you," Lune shared and Sciel 'awwwed.' Your heart soared at the prospect of Verso inquiring after you.

"That...makes no sense. He practically told me I was a bad fighter and then had Monoco babysit me on our trek."

"He just didn't want to see you get hurt. He's...not the best with words yet, but his intentions were good, I promise," Lune offered.

The fire cracked and the sky grew darker. You weren't sure how much longer you had before the others returned, but your mind was still trying to make sense of Lune's admission.

"Soooo...you're not into Verso, then?" You asked quietly.

"No, Y/N. That's why I asked what you thought of him. I already gathered that he was into you, but I needed to know if you had any interest."

"Gods, I feel ridiculous," Sciel laughed.

"Why?" Lune questioned, eyes narrowed.

"I'm pretty sure I aggressively hit on Verso and few nights ago. Makes sense why he turned me down now." The three of you cackled and it felt just like old times in Lumiere. It took a minute or two to calm down from the laugh attack before you sighed.

"I am happy that you would have supported me if Verso and I were a thing," Lune said, squeezing your hang. "But, I have to know...you are into him right?"

You felt your cheeks heat and you looked down at your lap. "I'm very into him," you admitted.

"Okay good, because that man stayed up all night trying to keep you warm and he's currently out looking for sunflowers for you."

You opened your mouth to reply, but were cut off by Esquie's shouting coming through the clearing. "Mes amis! We return!"

Both Sciel and Lune stood up, the latter giving you a wink before checking on the food over the fire. You couldn't even imagine what you looked like after 24 hours of poison-fueled sickness, but there was no time to fix that.

It just registered to you that Verso's jacket was covering you since he approached the group in just his white shirt. You felt like you might explode with anticipation, which admittedly was better than feeling like you might puke again. Verso picked up his pace when he saw you were awake.

"She's awake and thankfully it looks like she's on the mend," Lune announced. She was stirring a stew of some sort - an expedition speciality to throw whatever you could find into a pot.

Verso's eyes met yours once in the camp perimeter and you caught a glimpse of a bundle of flowers in his hand. He immediately came to kneel by you. You could see the exhaustion lining his features before he forced a smile. "You're awake," he said in disbelief.

"I already said that," Lune chimed in. She grinned as she watched you two and you couldn't help but roll your eyes.

"Lune..." you warned. She laughed and turned around, but you sighed and noticed Sciel watching you too.

"Any chance you can help me to a more private location so we can chat?" You whispered to Verso. This time he gave you a real smile and nodded. He handed the flowers to Maelle and scooped you up in his arms. He might have looked exhausted, but the ease at which he carried you said otherwise. Maelle trailed behind with the flowers saying how relieved she was to see you recovering.

Verso brought you to a tree log around the corner and set you down gently before turning to Maelle. You shrugged his jacket off while he turned away, and as Maelle sauntered back to camp, you both turned to each other with an offering: his arm outstretched with a bouquet of wildflowers and your arm bearing his jacket.

"Thank you for the jacket, but it's getting cold and you may need it."

"Are you still cold?" He asked before sitting next to you.

"No, and I hear I have you to thank for that," you blushed. He took his jacket from your hands and slipped it on.

There was a moment where he didn't say anything, just contemplated the ground and refused to meet your eyes, but you didn't want to rush this conversation.

"I'm struggling to decide if I should yell or scream or cry over what you did yesterday, but I'm just...so happy you're alive," Verso said quietly. A shiver made its way up your spine at the vulnerability in his words.

"Me too. I'm forever indebted to you and the team for taking care of me. I wasn't thinking properly when we were attacked."

Verso gave a small nod and met your eyes. "What were you thinking?"

You laughed a bit to yourself. "Probably something along the lines of 'I'll show Verso how fast a dodger I am and how dare he think I'm a terrible fighter.'"

He raised an eyebrow at you. "I don't think you're a terrible -"

"But the louder part of my brain was thinking that I couldn't stand to see you get hurt. Even if you would recover," you cut him off. You could see him visibly swallow before reaching for your hand. His right hand gently covered your left and he stared at the connection for a moment.

"I was terrified," he whispered. "I'd never felt someone shake as violently as you did last night. I honestly wasn't sure you'd beat the poison. I kept checking your breathing when you weren't shaking just to make sure you were still with me." His eyes began to search yours, like he was making sure you really existed next to him.

With me. Your heart ached, this time for all the right reasons.

"I'm with you," you whispered back. The proximity of his face to yours allowed him to rest his forehead against yours and he closed his eyes. You wanted nothing more than to let him rest, but part of you wanted to soak this up as long as you could.

"Lune told me about your chats," you said quietly.

"Merde..." he laughed before pulling back a bit. You smiled and gripped his hand tighter.

"I'm sorry if I've been moody. I...was totally convinced that you and Lune had something going on."

"I royally fucked this up, haven't I?" He joked. You shook your head and reached for his jawline with your right hand. Your hand cupped his face and you swear his eyes melted at your contact.

"I don't remember when it happened, but these days one of the only things I'm sure of is that my heart belongs to you. I look at you and I'm sure that nothing else matters," you said shakily. He grasped your hand that was on his face and brought it to his lips, placing a light kiss on your knuckles.

"I remember exactly when it happened for me. You and Maelle were leading the charge on maybe my third day with your group. You were trying to cheer her up and kept showing her shapes you made with your ice magic. The way she finally broke when you made her that Esquie in a tiny hat... I'll never forget your smile or the kindness you showed her."

You'd actually forgotten that afternoon; it was distant compared to the trials you'd faced on your journey, but you smiled at the memory. That something so small could make him fall for you, but then you supposed it was just like the way you recounted the way he watched the sunset or the way he would re-challenge Sciel to cards when he lost.

It was all the small things.

"I, uh, I went looking for sunflowers today. Lune said they were your favorite," he grumbled. He leaned away to reach for the bouquet and presented it to you. "But I couldn't find any."

"Too early," you smiled. "They won't bloom until summer.

He smiled back as you accepted the flowers. "But I did find these other yellow ones that I thought maybe you'd like and then these lavenders - I remember you said purple was your favorite color. The kind of purple that fades into the sunset."

It was the most beautiful bundle of purples, whites, and yellows you'd ever hold. "It's perfect, Verso. I love them. I wish you'd have gotten some rest today, though."

He brought his arm around you, warming you against the early evening temperature. "I wouldn't have been able to anyways."

It was comfortable, the way his hand found your ribcage and his thumb moved up and down gently. You stared at the flowers while you allowed the weight of your head to rest against his shoulder. "My mom used to get sunflowers at the market every spring. She'd plant them in our roof garden and then every summer I'd watch them sprout until they were taller than me."

He chuckled and the vibrations from his chest brought a smile to your face. "It sounds like you were very fond of your mother."

You nodded and continued, "she used to say sunflowers were innocent. They always found the sun and when they couldn't find the sun, they would turn to each other. Sunflowers were truly always finding the light, whether literally or within each other. I always loved that."

Verso gently pulled away and brought his hand up to cup your cheek. The way his eyes crinkled looking into yours told you that he was truly happy.

"That's what you are to me - a sunflower. Your positive attitude and the way you continue to support the team will always make me turn to you, even when it's dark." His words made your eyes crinkle back and brought a toothy smile to your lips.

It wasn't until you felt him leaning towards you that you placed a hand on his chest to stop him. "Verso, this moment is literally perfect, but we can't kiss right now." His face turned to immediate confusion. "I'm pretty sure I threw up a dozen times in the last day and I have yet to clean myself up," you stated with a laugh.

Verso let out the loudest laugh you'd heard from him yet and he shook his head. He placed a kiss on your forehead and agreed, "Alright, no kiss tonight, but I'm looking forward to when I can properly romance you."

"Me too, and perhaps when Sciel isn't spying on us," you said loudly, turning to the rock formation where you knew she was listening.

"Putain!" She shrieked before running away. Both you and Verso laughed again before he rested his forehead against yours and you took in the miracle that was your sunflower.

[saints-who-never-existed]

So we all know that Blanky is cool and badass as fuck. That goes without saying. There's a sense, right from the get-go really, that he pretty much always knows what to do in any given situation.

Blanky knows when humour will lift a mood, and when seriousness is required. He knows when to give grace and kindness, and when to dole out much-needed tough-love.

I think it always worth repeating, though, that none of that would be possible without an extremely high degree of empathy and emotional intelligence. To me, that's Blanky's real greatest strength. It's the root of what makes him so cool and badass as fuck so I want to ramble more about some examples of it.

-

In Episode Two, for instance, we have his nighttime conversation with Crozier where Blanky matches the captain's energy beat for beat.

He laughs with him first about the erstwhile reindeer and while he remains optimistic throughout the rest of the scene, he's also honest, both acknowledging Crozier's various fears and drilling down to the root of them immediately - "Aye. You trusted Ross and you trusted Parry."

When Crozier remarks on his perceptiveness, Blanky's incredibly tactful and kind too - a casual "No, it's just that I know you." when in reality Crozier's been doing a horseshit job of concealing his thoughts and they're visible from fuckin' space.

-

In the following episode, I think the response Blanky gives to Little's fearful teatime diatribe is great.

In contrast to Crozier's vague and even condescending reply which only seems to rile him up further, Blanky shuts Little down clearly and firmly but without being unkind. I think a simple, factual response was the right tactic for the lawful-good sort of guy Little is.

I think his accurate judgement of Little's character is further confirmed later in the episode vis a vis the clandestine rescue party. He's right when he says "Lieutenant Little will never agree to it."

-

Another example that's very special to me personally is in Episode Five and it's not Blanky delivering his warning after Crozier punches Fitzjames, or even when he lightens the mood with jokes and toasts before having his own fuckin' leg sawn off (although I could talk about those forever).

It's actually a wee almost throwaway line Blanky utters to McDonald right before he heads up on deck:

"He's ill with it now..."

Crozier's behaved abhorrently to everyone around him up until that point. He's been vicious and manipulative, cruel and thoughtless. Threatening to throw Silna out into the elements and actually following through with Blanky, ordering him out into weather he knows full well is so cold that it literally just killed a man.

It would be so easy for Blanky to decide that that was final straw, that he was done with Crozier's bullshit. But no! Even then, even then, Blanky seems to be able to take a step back to some degree. To recognise Crozier's alcoholism for what it is - a debilitating illness and not some great moral failing.

It used to confuse me to some degree why Blanky would greet Crozier so warmly at Carnivale (other than the fact that the absolute mad-lad is drunk off his ass). Like, that's the man who made the decision that lead to you nearly dying and losing a limb - how can you just hug him as if none of that happened? But the more I thought about that earlier line, the more clearly it spoke of the incredible depth of understanding and feeling Blanky has for Crozier and the more beautiful that relationship became. He can forgive him so quickly because he can see so clearly the true person under the difficult surface.

-

We talk so much about Blanky remaining outside of the horror story the rest of the characters come to inhabit, refusing to dignify it with his presence. And, again, I just think an important part of the reason he's able to do so is that he sees the world around him and the people within in it for exactly what it is and for exactly who they are. It's just a lot harder to jump-scare a man who sees the mask you're wearing from a mile away, and understands precisely why you've donned it.

[ryuyejiho]

"Drinks and Desires" Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Genre: Smut Warnings: 18+, Smut, Fingering, Sex Summary: A bartender and regular customer, Jungkook, share a playful flirtation that turns into an intense, passionate night, changing their relationship forever. Word Count: ~2.7k

Working at the bar on night shifts was not one of the best. But it always became survivable thanks to that one regular customer.

He came here almost every day. He would have either one drink or countless drinks getting drunk. He would always sit at the bar and watch me work. At first I found it annoying and uncomfortable, but since the first time he spoke we liked each other, and every time I'm glad when I see him at the doorstep.

We may not have been best friends, we knew each other as much as a late-night conversation and never saw each other outside the bar, but I could safely say we were drawn to each other by something. We got along well, and even though we didn't know anything about each other, we always had a multitude of topics to talk about.

I knew Jungkook was a singer but I had never heard his songs or heard him sing. I wasn't from around here and my life only revolved around work and studying at a Korean university.

I was just wiping the glasses dry when a man walked in. He had a huge black jacket, a black hat and a black mask over his face. I immediately knew who it was, it was his standard look. He walked up to the bar, sat down on a stool at the bar across from me and pulled off the mask which he put in his jacket pocket before unzipping it. He looked at me and smiled such a forced smile and when I burst into laughter he laughed lightly himself. I handed him the drink he always drank and leaned on the countertop behind me watching him drink it in one gulp.

"What's so late today?" I asked, taking the glass from him.

"I had to stay longer at training today. And I had singing lessons. But I came to see you," he smiled stupidly.

"Do you want something else?"

"Make me something good. Something I haven't drunk yet" he leaned forward and made such puppy eyes. I shook my head with amusement and reached for new glass.

"Give a review if it's good," I said, hoping he'd like it. Sometimes I caught myself making myself weak for him. That I do everything he wants and do everything to make him happy.

"I think it's a little too sweet for me," he stated, holding his glass up and eyeing the pink color of the drink.

"Why?" I asked slightly disappointed.

"Because it's nothing compared to how sweet you look today," I took a moment to digest what he said. I rolled my eyes and turned my back to him at which I heard him laugh out loud.

For the next hour he threw around such texts and had a great laugh about it. I was fed up with him, at the same time I looked at my watch with pain and how time was passing quickly. Jungkook sat quietly for a while until I handed him the same drink again.

"You're good at this.... But you know what would make it even better?" he asked raising his eyebrows .

"What?"

"If you served me you on the side" I took a deep breath to cool down at which he laughed. I looked at him, leaned forward against the bar and replied in a quieter tone.

"Careful, that might be a little too much for you," at my words, he parried a gentle laugh with a smirk.

"You'd be surprised at what I can handle" he put the glass to his lips and drank the rest of the drink to the end in one gulp. Saying nothing, I walked away from the bar and went to the last three guests to inform them of the closing.

While they were gathering to leave I started wiping down the tables and setting up the chairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jungkook take one of the bottles of wisky by himself and pour himself a glass. I was lucky that there were no cameras around. Then he suddenly appeared next to me looking at what I was doing.

"I'm not sure if you're cleaning .... or teasing me," I looked at him surprised and laughed.

"Wouldn't you like to find out?" I replied jokingly to which he leaned against the table and sighed.

"Trust me, I really would," I shook my head and walked away.

I went to the door to close it and then headed to the storage room to grab a mop to clean the floor. I started from the bar and moved closer towards him. All this time he stood in the same position and watched me without saying a word.

"You're doing a good job with that mop."

"Thanks?"

"It's not the only thing I'd like to see you handle.... properly," he said in a flirty tone, coming up to me. Half the night I heard such texts from him, but I began to notice that they had ceased to be one hundred percent just jokes.

"Do you want to stay and help me?" I asked to which he immediately shook his head in denial.

"Tell me to go," I looked at him surprised.

"Why would I?"

"Because if I stay any longer, I'm not helping you clean. I'm helping you make a mess" I lowered my hands in helplessness and walked back to the bar to put everything in its place and clean up there. After that I would be free and could go home.

But before I could get behind the bar the boy grabbed my hand and leaned me against the counter. He stood facing me, a little too close, and rested his hands on either side behind my back. He lowered his face so that it was at my height.

"Last chance. Say it now... or don't say it at all," he said quietly, in such a sexy tone, alternately looking into my eyes and peering at my lips. Now for him to go was the last thing I wanted. Thinking nothing of it, I joined our lips in a kiss, and before I realized what I had done, Jungkook reciprocated it without hesitation. 

In a split second, everything became several times more passionate, appealing. His hands wandered over my bare skin under the shirt I was wearing, our tongues fought a battle for dominance over each other. But as I mentioned earlier, I was very weak to him. Even, apparently, in this regard.

In one nimble movement, he lifted me up and planted me on the counter next to some empty bottles that had fallen over creating a loud clang. He stood between my thighs and pulled me closer so that our bodies pressed against each other.

"I warned you," he said between kisses.

"And did I say anything to make you go," I replied sarcastically, breathing deeply. He smiled cocky and started kissing me again. After a moment, he straightened up slightly pulling away from me, looking straight into my eyes, as if he wanted to say something, but held back. Instead, he moved his fingers down my thigh to my knee and sighed with a slight smile.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been thinking about this?" I tilted my head, feigning innocence at his words.

He clamped his fingers quite firmly on my thigh, close to my intimacy, and there was a spark in his eyes. He moved his hand down and up again, on the inside of my thigh, without taking his eyes off me. I felt my breathing quicken and my body tighten under his touch. His lips returned to mine, more greedily, more confidently this time.

He didn't kiss like someone who asks permission - just like someone who finally got what he wanted.

I felt his fingers weave into my hair pulling on it to make my head tilt back, and he began to move his lips along my neck. The warm breath on my skin made me shiver and the tip of his tongue left a wet, steamy trail.

I slid my hands under his T-shirt, mussing his belly with my fingers as I felt his hard muscles tighten under my touch. His hips moved closer until there was nothing left between us. He sucked, nibbling at the skin on my neck until a quiet moan escaped my lips, barely audible, but he reacted immediately - he raised his head and looked at me as if that very sound was all he wanted to hear.

His breathing was hot and uneven, and his eyes were dark with desire.

With one hand he embraced me tighter, and with the other he slid down to my neck, kissing me deeply - no longer sensually, but desperately. At that moment we stopped caring about anything. We moaned into each other's mouths, my hands roaming all over his torso.

He unbuttoned my shirt but halfway through he aggressively ripped the buttons which fell to the floor, then, almost immediately, his lips moved to my breasts. I pulled my shirt off completely and weaved my fingers in his thick hair, tilting my head back and sighing in pleasure.

At one point he straightened up and his fingers tightened on my waist. Harder. More securely.

And then, kissing me again briefly and greedily, in one motion he slid me off the counter and pressed my front against the cool surface of the bar. His lips were on my neck and his hands on my hips, which he lifted slightly and pressed me even closer to him. I felt his body pushing against mine, felt his bulge on my buttock.

He moved his fingers upward along my waist until his full hands caught my breasts. I entwined my fingers around his wrists tilting my head back and resting it on his collarbone. Jungkook let out a satisfied purr and moved one hand to my neck tightening his fingers on it. With the other he moved down to my pussy pressing his hand against it.

"The way you let yourself be led makes me unable to stop wanting you," he whispered in a low tone of voice and bit the lobe of my ear. I smiled cocky, as if showing how much I liked it.

"Shameless submissive" after those words he pushed me onto the bar to lean over, put his hands on my hips and pressed his hips against my buttocks. I moved my ass from side to side at which he quietly moaned and slapped my buttock with his full palm.

At one point he grabbed the hem of my skirt and in one motion pulled it upward so that it was now rolled down over my waist. He moved my panties to the side and without hesitation, without warning, slipped a finger inside me. Not for long because he immediately pulled it out, but the movement made me shiver. I involuntarily let out a loud moan, bending my head down.

Jungkook grabbed me by the hair and pulled hard, so that I was now holding my head high. Then, again without any warning, he slipped two fingers into me this time and began to move them at once, quickly and sharply. The whole room was filled with my desperate moans and the sounds of my already quite wet pussy.

Suddenly he stopped any actions, let go of my hair and pulled his fingers out of me. For a moment there was silence, only my loud breathing could be heard, and after a moment the sound of rustling clothes falling to the floor. Before I could turn my head, Jungkook moved closer to me so that I could gently feel his bare skin rubbing against mine.

He stroked my buttocks for a while, taking turns giving them fairly firm spanks, until after a long while he moved closer and placed several kisses on my back. Then I felt his hand on the center of my buttocks and slipping between his penis. At the thought, I took a deep breath.

He moved back and forth rubbing against me, breathing deeply. I reached back with my hand wanting to touch him but he pushed it away. Instead, he moved away for a moment and then I felt his tip at my entrance. I closed my eyes and let out a long, loud moan as he entered me with his entire length, slowly as if he wanted to feel every millimeter. When he entered fully he remained like that for a while without doing anything. We both breathed faster and faster, and I could feel my heart pounding hard.

I wanted more, I couldn't wait for him to start doing more so I started to move my ass myself but he put his torso on top of mine, pressing me against the tabletop and restraining my movements.

"Slowly... I want you to feel how much I want you," he said and put his hand on my neck, pressing his hips against mine even more.

"Do it, I can't wait, please..." I said in the most desperate voice in my entire life. At my words, he laughed softly and moved his hips away coming out of me halfway. Then he slid back into me, slapping hard so that the edge of the bar poked my ribs.

After a short while he did the same, doing it continuously. Faster and faster, once harder and once lighter. We both moaned like desperados, we were so good with each other that I didn't want it to ever end.

"You will be for me," 'Only mine,' 'You are so obedient,' 'You will do what I let you do,' 'You will not leave me until I let you,' he repeated all the time between moans, curses and kisses.

I could only afford to moan and scream. I wanted to tell him how well he was fucking me, I wanted to scream his name but I couldn't even do that. Tears were dripping down my cheeks, my legs were like cotton wool.

Then, he came out of me, turned my front around, and kissed me. He kissed hard, passionately, all the time he was the one in control. He lifted me up to which I wrapped my legs around him, walked a few steps and sat down on the nearest sofa. I could have started jumping on him but no. He held me firmly slightly raised and, leaning against the backrest, began to enter me hard and fast. I caught his shoulders and leaned back resting my forehead against his shoulder.

"I beg you, don't stop," I said and he pressed his lips to my cheek.

"Please..." I said again, this time in an almost crying voice.

"It's almost there, baby.... let me give it to you," he replied and put his arms around me tightly.

He sped up even more, his movements became chaotic. He hid his face in my hair, in the hollow of my neck. A few moments later we came together, simultaneously.

We sat like this for several minutes, trying to normalize our hearts. With one hand, he lifted my head for me to look at him after which he kissed me. But this time gently, still passionately but gently.

"Remember when I said you should serve me you on the side? Gotta say, tasted even better than I expected" I looked at him amused and punched him in the arm at which he laughed himself.

"Well, I did warn you it might be too much to handle" I shrugged my shoulders confidently.

"You didn't even do anything like that this time" he laughed.

"Then maybe next time"

[totaly-obsessed]

Revenge

Mary Earps x reader request

-> Meeting Mary for the first time after losing the Euros to her is far more interesting than you had thought.

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Derby days were always a different kind of excitement. Old Trafford was filled to the brim – a sea of red as far as you could look. But every now and then a sky-blue jersey could be seen in the crowds, making their way to the visitor’s side where they formed a new hive. 

Excited chants filled the Stadium as the players warmed up on the pitch – the crowd's roar when the red devils walked out was nearly deafening. The season had been going on for a while until you had come to this point.

This was insane – just a year ago this had all been drastically different. The Lionesses’ winning the home European Championship and managing to include the media as well as they did, changed the games of Women’s football forever.

Coming home with a silver medal instead of a gold one hurt a little less once you saw how the game in England had changed.

Or rather how different it was to Germany. The change from Eintracht Frankfurt to Manchester City had nearly given you whiplash. But the players on your new team were nice and kept their teasing and gloating about winning to the minimum.

Standing in the tunnel you couldn’t help but eye up your opponents – Alessia Russo, Ella Toone, Nikita Parris, and Mary fucking Earps. 

Ella had scored the first goal in the final – but Mary had stopped three of your four strikes on goal – only letting one in. Maybe, if she had just slipped or miscalculated, you would have been the reigning champion of Europe.

But that didn’t happen. She didn’t slip or miscalculate – she was just too good.

It was as if she could feel your eyes on her, with a raised eyebrow she mustered you before her lips finally formed a cocky smirk. She didn’t need to hear you speak to know that she got under your skin. 

Mary relished in that feeling of your pure annoyance as both teams walked out to a deafening crowd of fans. This was her pitch, her goal, and her match – and she would make sure you knew that.

But when the goalkeeper went to shake your hand before the match, she was surprised by your composure. The last time the Brit had seen you was when you were crying on the pitch because of the loss.

You could see her confusion, brows still furrowed but it looked different – she looked curious. A little like a cat who just saw a little piece of string vanish around a corner, desperate to figure out where it went.

“Get ready Earps – no excuses today.” 

She didn’t really understand what you meant with ‘excuses’, but hearing the determination in your voice threw her off a little more – and you could see it. Shellshocked Mary still stood there when you had already gone past, running back to the sky blues for a team photo.

This was your game. And once she saw your smirk as you posed for the photographer, she knew it too. Today she would lose.

The game was brutal and you could swear you saw more of the ground than any other place on the pitch. But eventually, it was Alanna Kennedy who set a long ball through to you nearing the end of the second half.

After a nice little back and forth with your fellow striker Lauren Hemp, you finally managed to break through their middle field - only to be met with Ona Batlle who had made her way back. Annoyingly she was quite hard to get rid of. 

Old Trafford got noisier the closer you got to Earp’s goal. You could hear the boos and disappointed shouts from the stands as Ona landed on her bum, but they only motivated you even more.

The Manchester United goalkeeper needed a second to understand what had just happened – she conceded. And it had been you.

She could have sworn she had the ball in her hands. 

She did – for a second, before it continued on its path, into the back of the net. Much to her disbelief and the annoyance of the crowd.

Jess Parker was the first to reach you, abruptly jumping on your back, and taking you down with her. “What a fucking Power Shot!” 

You got up as quickly as possible, running to the goal. The plan was to grab the ball as quickly as possible, trying to ensure your lead. But when you pulled the ball, it didn’t move.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Mary’s accent was thick, laced with anger as she yanked the ball to her chest – pulling you even closer to her than you had been before.

No way would you let go of the ball.

“Use your brain should you have one. Let go.” Taken aback the goalkeeper actually let go of the ball, watching as you ran back to the middle line.

You could feel her staring, especially at your backside – once you looked back at her, smirk on your face, eyebrows pulled up, she blushed.

The Mary Earps was staring at your ass and blushed once she got caught. This was officially the best day of your life.

And it would continue to be a good day because just shortly after you slotted another one past her, this time you had just picked up one of Millie Turner's lost balls and sent the Goalkeeper flying in the wrong direction.

To no surprise making the round in Old Trafford didn’t take too long, seeing as their team just lost 2-0 to their city rival.

Just as you were entering the tunnel you were yanked backward, effectively cutting the conversation with Alessia Russo short. However, the blonde didn’t seem too sad, once she saw Mary was the one with a fist in your jersey.

“Have fun!” You couldn’t miss the shit-eating grin on Ella’s face as she tugged her best mate down the hallway.

Your shirt was now half up your back – and Mary didn’t say anything, her eyes didn’t even meet your eyes. They were caught on something else.

“If you wanted me naked you could have just said so – no need for violence.”

Mary had finally caught herself, letting go of your shirt and instead crossing her arms in front of her chest. It was kinda funny how she tried to look taller and buffer to intimidate you. 

“As if! Who would want that?” The goalkeeper's eyes flit from one direction to the next, acting as if she was looking for people who would want to see you.

In a quick motion, you stood shirtless in front of her, turning it right side around again – before eventually just throwing it in her face.

“Thought you might want the shirt of a winner - if you want the shorts too you’ll have to come find me!”

With your sweaty shirt in hand, Mary could only watch as you ran in the tunnel to a giggling Esme and Hempo – she didn’t even manage to tease you about losing the euros but before she could follow her team, you turned around to shout something in her direction.

"And I expect you to bring your shirt in exchange!"

Manchester wasn’t that big. She would find you - right?

[hheartsdramas]

a moment but forever episodes 17-18 starts off real strong:

i almost don't care about the gods and immortals part of the plot anymore. how about 18 more episodes of "a band of awkward fools go on adventures together" because i personally can't get enough

it is admittedly fun to see yz flex his martial arts skills though

"i'm good bro, i get a salary and benefits and have a permanent address. i don't want to climb the corporate ladder."

i don't want no scrub, a scrub is a guy that can't get no love from me

the hair brushing gets me every time. it feels so intimate!

oh no amnesia sword boy and lady innkeeper are very optimistic about the future, that makes me nervous. can the weapon spirits die? what happens if they do?

yz becoming a sugar daddy against his will is top-tier comedy tbh

wow that was so satisfying

zhi dai might be my favorite character in this drama. i love our gaggle of dorks but her growth! her poise! she deserves everything except tanghua’s condescension

i don’t know what they’ve put in this show but i have squeed squealed kicked my feet over them more than any other show i’ve seen lately. and i’ve loved a lot of otps the past few months!

mmkay sure bro

the demon clans always have the best hairdos in xianxia

why wouldn’t you try to parry or block him with something other than your chest, tanghua? don’t you have the undefeatable sword in your hand? (i don’t think they’re killing their 2ml this early so i’m not worried about him. except his decision making. which is demonstrably bad)

what did this girl know that everyone wants or wants to kill her????

i have been wondering what yz would do when he finds out about ty’s godhood and we’re maybe about to find out (even if it’s her accidental alter ego)

there are a lot of very intelligent characters in this show but i’m more convinced every scene that innkeeper lady is the only one who would survive a horror movie

that prayer! he is so conflicted. he wants to trust her so badly but the forced secret keeping is doing so much damage for a guy who has literally never been able to trust anyone and who can’t see any reason for someone like her to attach herself to him except for nefarious purposes

i told you not to tell her your birthday, tanyin! why don’t these drama characters ever listen to me? and it’s going to coincide horribly with him trying to decide if she’s evil or not

zi fei i thought you were rooting for them! betrayal!

the previews for the next couple episodes though! 😱

[stinkysam]

Monkey D. Luffy - Always together.

Warning : none

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : "Luffy and reader being childhood friends and making a promise to get married but reader leaves the island, but they eventually meet again and readers a super powerful swordsman and luffys absolutely mesmerized and they catch up and I guess they eventually get together???" - anon

Reader : male (you/he)

A/N : Part TWO

"Let's get married one day."

"Why ?" Luffy answered flatly, his pinky finger digging in his nostril.

"So we can be together forever !" You grinned, proud of your idea.

"Mmmmmmh… okay !" Luffy smiled too, extending his hand for you to shake and make this promise official.

You two giggled happily with your plan to stay together, unaware this was your last one with each other. You left the islands a few days later.

You don't remember why, each time your parents tried to tell you you became too angry and upset at the idea of leaving Luffy to listen. Yelling and crying, snot everywhere on your face as you waved him goodbye from your small boat.

But things have changed now. You had grown and were not a crybaby anymore. You were a renowned swordsman, known on all the seas.

Since you've seen Luffy's wanted poster, you went after him, but in the end, he's the one that found you. They stopped at an island to get some food stock. They heard a loud crash and some yelling. Marines. After a single person. You.

You ran past them quickly, not even seeing Luffy. But he saw you and recognized you instantly. He ran too and the rest of his crew followed. He grinned widely as his eyes were on you.

He watched you defeat the marines easily, your sword cutting them smoothly before they could get the time to parry you. You cut the last man after you in half and before you could notice Luffy, his stretched hands were already on you.

He grabbed you and threw himself on you, wrapping lengths and lengths of his arms around you, caging you in his embrace as if to make sure you don't get away.

"Luffy ?!"

"Luffy !" Nami yelled, clearly afraid of you. Usopp did the same. Why was Luffy casually hugging a deadly and notorious swordsman ?!

Zoro straightened when he saw your face, placing a hand on his swords. Sanji straightened too, if Zoro was ready to fight, so was he. He didn't know Zoro had you in his list of people to defeat.

"Luffy, who's- who's that ?" Asked Usopp, shaking and out of breath.

"This ?" Luffy pointed to you as he finally let go of you. "That's [Name]. He's my friend !" He said grinning.

"This is [Last name] [Name], he has a bounty of-" Began Nami only to be cut off by Zoro.

"Soon to be lower than mine." He announced confidently, taking a step forward.

"Oh ?" You raised an eyebrow, turning your head to him, clearly interested. You smiled and awkwardly waved at them before turning your attention back to Luffy.

"I see you have become quite the pirate !" You say, grabbing his cheeks and stretching them. "Didn't expect less from you." You added and Luffy giggled proudly at your words.

"And you became a swordsman ! I wonder who would win between you and Zoro."

"I'd win." / "Me obviously." You both said in unissons to then glare at the other as if you were ready to go fight, making Luffy laugh once more clapping his hands together.

Nami sighed.

"Maybe we should head somewhere else." She said, "Where there's less… decapitated marines on the ground."

You looked around, as if you had forgotten about them and nodded.

You helped them take some stock of food to the Merry and they left with you, getting you away from the marines to have some peace for a moment.

Luffy couldn't stop grinning each time his eyes fell on you or when he thought of you.

He listened intently to your stories while Zoro, Nami and Usopp slowly warmed up to you. Sanji was already coming along, preferring you over the moss head.

It's been a few days now and you were still with them on the Merry.

You were currently stargazing with Luffy, well, to be honest, he tried to get a midnight snack and got kicked out of the kitchen and sent laying on the floor, you just joined him, beer in hand.

After a moment, he spoke.

"[Name], do you remember our promise ?" Luffy asks, staring at you with a smile as you bring your beer to your lips.

"To marry each other to be together forever ? Yeah. I thought you'd forget about it since I left."

"I thought you had forgotten !" He says. That's true. As you left with your parents, Luffy had thought the promise was broken and you didn't want to marry him after all. But Shanks told him the only way to make sure was to find you again. And he did !

"Hey, that wasn't my idea to leave ! But… why do you ask ?" You tilt your head, growing interested. You never thought he'd remember about it and even less mention it.

"Well, I thought about it-"

"You ? Thinking ? Unlikely."

"Shut up ! I've grown since then ! I'm not a kid anymore !" He grimaced and crossed his arms, making you laugh.

Luffy groaned, annoyed by your teasing.

"Alright, alright, go ahead, what did you want to say ?" You said, taking a sip of your beer.

He debated whether to tell you or not. Not because he was hesitant or shy, but because right now, he was truly vexed. He thinks. A lot of thoughts go behind those eyes, okay ?

"Fine." He finally said, slightly reluctant. "Do you wanna be my boyfriend ?" He asks, not an ounce of hesitation in his words, his big eyes on you as his smile reappears again.

You almost spat out your drink, a blush creeping on your cheeks.

"Huh ?"

"I told you ! I thought about it ! And I like you. I want you to be my boyfriend, [Name]." He said, looking at you with expectant eyes. "So we can get married and stay together forever !"

His smile never faltered as he waited for your answer. You looked away, trying to regain your composure and act confident.

"So ? What do you say ? Boyfriends ?"

You could only smile at his eagerness, his own excitement being contagious.

"Yeah. Boyfriends."

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Wassup y'all, I'm back from lowkey radio silence with another hot take.

I've been trying to figure out lately why my multishipper ass dislikes a lot of ships within the fandom- more specifically a lot of greaser/soc pairings, and I realised at the core of it it's because there is no conceivable universe where they work without completely changing canon or the personalities of the characters. or at the very least their loyalties and motivations. Narratively, the novel is very clear about this, it even throws Marbit in our faces to prove it, showing (greaser) Two-bit his absolute dream girl who is beautiful and fun and likes him too , and yet is forever unattainable because she's a soc.

"Oh but Lovely, you ship Marbit! And you've written Parry! Obviously you're just hating on our ships."

No, I'm not. I very specifically DON'T hate on any ship, because that makes fandom less fun and more toxic and that is the LAST thing I want to do and because everyone deserves to have their blorbos and their ships that make them happy, I'm not here to yuck anyone's yum. And I realise my claiming I can't see greaser/soc pairings and using Marbit as an example of why while also actively shipping them looks very hypocritical. That said, I ship both Marbit and Parry in a very specific way, that would work canon compliantly, or at the absolute minimum still within canon verse without changing the tensions or the history between the east side and the west wide, or the characters as people.

Do I think Marbit could work in canon (in a post canon verse)? Absolutely I do- but not with Marcia staying a soc, or (more unlikely) Two-bit staying a greaser. If it's going to work- and I think it will because they are each others person, in any universe, whether it works or not- then Marcia either needs to fully acccept that the man she's in love with is a greaser and will always be a greaser, he is from the east side, and he has nothing set up in terms of a future, and no family money to keep him safe and sheltered. She needs to accept it, and accept Two-bit in the process, and embrace a life where she is ok with it being her future, particularly if she and Two-bit ever want to date in the open, and definitely if they ever want to get married. If Marcia wants Two-bit she needs to be prepared for the judgment she will face from her peers for marrying a man so far 'beneath' her, has to be prepared for potentially being disowned/cut off by her parents, needs to be okay with the realities of east side life becoming her reality. In a slightly different reality, Two-bit needs to be prepared for marrying Marcia meaning he needs to clean up his act, needs to realise it will entail being forever looked down on by her family and friends (if they stay in contact), be prepared for Marcia's parents to pull some strings and get him a decent job, not a soc level one but one available to the upper middle class and definitely not poor kids. If Two wants Marcia he needs to recognise that it will mean no more petty thieving and no more booze and being viewed as a class traitor by the majority of his neighbourhood. In either version he has to be ready to deal with the people who will tell him he's ruining Marcia' life, that he dragged her away from her life and her potential, will perhaps have to grapple with those feelings even if they come from no one but himself.

But I still could see them working in canon, and working as themselves, but their relationship would always be affected by soc and greaser dynamics and if they work out, one of them will forever be viewed as a class traitor, and it will absolutely not be smooth sailing no matter how much they love each other.

Parry is a little bit different, but it's still a greaser/soc ship I could see fitting in canon, or in universe without egregiously changing the characters or class tensions, and a big part of why is because it's a clandestine relationship that is doomed from the start, and is doomed in every universe. It's a first love, a secret gay relationship between teenage hypermasculine football players in the 60s. Here, class tensions probably caused tension in the relaionship, but outside pressures would be less because Darry was well liked by even the rich kids and known to be going places, and also because the relationship itself never saw the light of day. The reason I ship Parry but only when they're doomed is because it very obviously could happen: Darry could kiss Paul in secret and still be a greaser loyal to this neighbourhood, and Paul could snog Darry and still be an upstanding upper class golden boy without looking like he's punching down, because no one knew they were dating in the first place. They could have truly loved each other when they were together and in canon it means nothing except the fact that their fight was a bit more personal than any other at the rumble, because neither of them ever intended for their relationship to be anything but a secret. They knew it would never be real in the sense they could have a life together, so it fits in canon because they characters were only ever going to be themselves, and as themselves their social classes make it so they are fundamentally incompatible, even if homophobia wasn't a barrier that it so obviously would have been. Darry and Paul work as a plausible couple because they never plausibly would have ever made a go of a serious relationship, and they both know it.

"Oh but Lovely," you say "by that logic any greaser/soc gay ship works in canon verse or canon adjacent verse. You should be able to see/ship any of them." To which I say no, not necessarily. First of all, not every queer person throughout history was okay with having a secret relationship- quiet ones sure, but gay people had 'roommates' in the sixties, and i think textually there is a lot of evidence to support that the majority of the Outsiders characters, were they queer, would not be particularly interested in being anyone's dirty little secret. And even if that weren't the case, and they'd be fine with a secret relationship, the fact remains that the greasers and the socs don't like each other. In fact, they canonically despise each other to the point where violence between the groups is commonplace. Darry was in a very unique position as captain of the football team and boy of the year, to form a connection with Paul that would be able to blossom into romance. He had a level of comfort and familiarity with the socs that the vast majority of the greasers don't have, and would never attempt to or even want to attain. The average greaser sees the socs as a danger and the reason they always get the short end of the stcik, and the average soc sees the greasers as ruffians and thugs, dirt under their shoes that belongs there. Yes, the book makes the point that all people are just people, but from what we see textually the chances of a greaser and a soc- particularly of the same gender- getting close enough to form a romantic attachment is slim to none unless both sides got really cool with a bunch of stuff really quickly after the rumble.

ANWAY if anyone is still here thank you for listening to my rambly unedited thoughts from 2am, these are my reasons for not shipping the majority of greaser/soc pairs, I hope they make sense

[littlestarbigsky]

alright gang time to talk abt the parry dads au🫶🏻

i’ve kinda touched on this au before (check the au in the tags if you’re curious lol) but i’ve been cooking with this au for a MINUTE,, like i’ve been yapping abt this w @youllneverseeonascreen since like,, november lmao

pls send asks abt this au i could actually talk about it forever i fear

alright let’s go‼️

it was after the rumble (and for my own sanity, johnny and dally are both still alive :p ) but paul, 19 years old and sick of college, was sitting in the diner, having just seen darry for the first time in two years and his ass kicked by a bunch of hoods. he was angry, desperate, and stupid.

he found a girl at the bar, the prettiest one he could get, eliza, and he started talking to her. one thing led to another, they laughed, they kissed, they went home together. things escalated, and two months later, eliza called to tell him she was pregnant.

things moved quickly after that. she dropped out of school to have the baby, they moved in together, had a quiet wedding, and paul got a job to try and be a breadwinner for the family. they figure out pretty fast that neither of them swing that way (iykyk) but maybe they could commit to each other. he was still trying to get his business degree so he could join his father’s company, even if he wasn’t sure he even wanted that. still, they were happy. loved eliza, or at least he was pretty sure he did. even though nothing compares to what he used to feel, but he can’t have that anymore.

everything changed the day his little girl, stella, was born, six weeks early and fighting from day one. she was a week old before he even got to hold her, and his sole focus was to do anything he could for her, not realizing that eliza had become completely withdrawn. she stopped caring about paul and the baby. this baby was going to be messed up forever and she wouldn’t let herself get caught up in it.

paul though? he was with the baby every minute of the day, sleeping in chairs and on waiting room sofas, signing off on whatever medicines and treatments the doctors recommended, she was going to get through this, he needed her to. her lungs weren’t fully developed, and her fine motor skills would be affected, and she was just tiny.

but, of course, she made it through. they brought her home, eliza doing just enough to be considered a mom, but paul did all of her breathing treatments and took her to physical therapy once a week. when she was old enough to start talking and had a stutter, he took her to speech therapy. he worked on helping her to use her fingers and hands, coloring, working on puzzles, anything he could to keep her from falling further behind.

fast forward a few years…

i’ve always imagined paul had a sister who was much older (her names penny,, ive also done a whole info dump on her lmao) and her apartment complex was having some exterior work done, and she recognized darry within about three seconds. “hey, you’re the kid my idiot brother kept trying to sneak out in the morning, right?”

darry didn’t know what to say, because really, he had expected penny to hate his guts, but the next time paul was over, she waved him down and had him come over to say hi. the tension in the room was other worldly, what can a person say after 5 years? and truthfully, they don’t get the chance to, because stella comes sprinting out and jumps on darry, thinking he’s her dad. she jumps right back when she realizes he isn’t and paul picks her up and calmly tells her that darry is an old friend, and that he doesn’t mind.

penny makes lunch, insisting that darry stay (and also because she is thoroughly enjoying watching the two of them and how uncomfortable they are). eventually, paul asks penny if she can watch stella while he is in court. darry asks why he needs to go, and he explains that he’s getting divorced and that he and eliza are in the middle of a nasty custody battle.

and without thinking, darry says he’ll watch her.

again, ask me literally anything you want to know abt this au,, i’m so obsessed UGH

[stariikis]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 | 𝐧.𝐫𝐤

synopsis ; not much to say, just perfectionist yn and former perfectionist riki knowing just how to comfort you :') i need a bf

pairing ; fencer!nishimurariki x fencer!reader genre ; fluff n comfort, established relationship, oneshot wc ; 1616

inspired by ; labyrinth - taylor swift

You’ve always been a perfectionist, and you forever will be.

Riki, darling, on the other hand… you can see his smirk through your fencing mask as you gain a point against him. Feeling proud on your behalf. He, too, is prone to beating himself up for the smallest of mistakes, but his only soft spot is reserved specially for you. 

He grins, walking up to you on the piste and yanking off his mask roughly. “You’re the only one who can match up to my skills.” 

He always says this, and you never believe him. It’s only because I’m his girlfriend, that he’s saying this. 

“Hey,” your eyes go wide and your free hand — not holding your heavy blade, smacks his arm. “You don’t say that about your teammates.” 

Looking indignant, he chuckles and runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “Fencing is an individual sport, though?” 

You roll your eyes. 

Gesturing for him to put his mask back on so you can start fencing again, you apologise to your poor referee. Your teammate and makeshift scorekeeper — Chaehwa — appears absolutely disgusted. Then again, she always wears his expression when she, quote unquote, has to “third-wheel you two.” 

She blinks at you, turns around to another teammate, and signs for “help” with her hand. “Save me from these two, please, Minjeol.” 

Minjeol laughs from the other side of the room, fencing jacket rolled up to her elbows as she crosses over the pistes. Taking a swig of her water, she comes up to pat Chaehwa’s back sympathetically. 

Feigning annoyance, you glance back at Riki and walk back to your en-garde line. Through the mask he blinks at you warmly, and you have to physically restrain yourself from falling to your wobbly knees. 

Minjeol has apparently taken over Chaehwa’s position, probably to save her from the wrath of the most well-known couple in school fencing each other. The captain and the vice-captain, so perfectly matched that it shocks the students who don’t know of them. 

“En-garde.” You fall into the all-too-familiar stance. Riki does the same. “Pretz.” 

“Allez!” 

The rush of adrenaline that breezes through your body should have fuelled you enough to score a point against a very enthusiastic Riki. Should have prevented you from missing the chance to take his blade with your own and attack at once. 

You should have seen it on his face, should have realised his ulterior motive of not attempting an immediate attack. Usually, he’s waaaay too eager to lunge at you as soon as the referee starts the bout. This time, you foolishly believed it was a genuine fault on his part that he didn’t do so. 

But when you lunge forward in a fast and confident attack, Riki smiles devilishly and skitters backwards, giving you the illusion that he’s retreating. However, when you recover from your lunge and start to step forward, he parries your blade away and ripostes. 

It all happens in an instant, and you’re left stumbling backwards as he loses his balance and almost collapses onto you. Dropping his blade and leaving it hanging by his body wire, his hands jolt out to stabilise you. Breathing heavily, he unclasps his wire from the weapon and checks you for injury. 

“Are you okay?” He even tosses his mask to the side and grabs your shoulders in concern. His hubristic exudation — gone in an instant. His eyes scan you. His mind looks at you. It touches you so deeply that tears well up in your eyes and you stumble backwards even more. 

Now, usually your tears are out of self-disappointment, pure frustration fuelling the tears leaking out your eyes. You’d try to hold them back, to no avail, and Riki would come over and take off your mask, wiping the tears away just as you wish you could wipe away your dismay. 

And he does just that, with the belief that you’re internally reprimanding yourself for your errors in gameplay. His fingers run through your hair, slowly sliding off the hair-tie you used for your messy bun. An icky, sinking feeling fills your stomach when you see the sadness glazing over your boyfriend’s eyes. 

He may seem overly self-confident, but he sure does know the feeling of a bad case of low self-esteem. 

“You sure you want to cry here, my dear?” He leans down to whisper, thumb rubbing soothingly over your upper back. Though you had decided to wear slightly elevated sports shoes today, he still towers above you. “You want me to walk you to the restroom?” 

He knows you so well, too well, it hurts your heart to even think. 

When you don’t answer, your chest feeling clogged up with the sobs escaping you, he unhooks himself from the piste, and then unhooks you as well. He drags you away from the piste and leaves Minjeol standing uselessly by its side. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs after handing you your Hydroflask and helping you remove your lame. “I shouldn’t have tricked you like that.” 

That’s what he’s worried about? That. That is so incredibly annoying. 

“I’m not upset about that,” you laugh, finally swiping away the last of your tears. “Really. I know it sounds like I’m lying but seriously, I’d rather you try your best than go easy on me. You know?” 

Nodding earnestly, Riki sends a charming smile your way before unzipping your fencing jacket. “Then why were you crying? I mean, like, you couldn’t breathe — type of crying.” 

You tilt your head but remain silent. And then it strikes you. As much as you were touched by Riki’s loving attention, you cannot doubt that you still have so much self-hatred broiling inside you, so much that now you can’t even tell it’s there when you break down. 

So much that Riki can detect your emotions even before you can. He’s not even a master empath; usually he can’t pick up hints of irritation when he teases you. But now, he’s either strengthened his sympathising skills, or he’s grown so used to you crying over every miniscule thing. 

“You know,” he slips your weapon into the blade cover for you, “I can read you.” 

It hits a little too close to home, and you flinch at how well he can read your thoughts. Following that, he still somehow has the audacity to ask, “penny for your thoughts?” 

Riki blinks at you, lips subconsciously forming a pout like they always do. It’s endearing and makes your heart ache endlessly. You don’t like this. You should not be feeling so down after every single training session. You’re the captain, for goodness sake. Your teammates are going to think you’re weak, sitting out every session just to cry to your boyfriend. 

”I’m fine,” you say, a statement you want to engrave in your mind. A promise to yourself that it’s really the truth. Because it really, truly is. “I’m fine.” 

Riki stares at you doubtfully through half-lidded eyes, but merely scoots closer to you on the floor. His hand reaches out to touch your knee. His lips lean in to gently touch your cheek, and you shiver upon the contact. Never has a training felt so warm and fuzzy. 

After the kiss, you glance around the room, relieved to see nobody is looking your way. Maybe they’re already used to it, or maybe they’re secretly spectating and whispering behind your back. Either way, nobody’s making the effort to bother you and Riki. 

“You know you’re doing well, right?” Riki whispers, so close you can feel his breath warm on your ear. It’s all you’ve ever wanted to hear, but can never ask to hear. But there’s still a lingering doubt deep in your soul. Ironic, isn’t it? It’s all you’ve ever wanted to hear and you still. don’t. believe it. Not one bit. 

He goes on, “It’s amazing that you can even see where you go wrong. Sometimes I don’t even know how I’ve lost my point, and it’s pretty embarrassing.” 

Pursing your lips to suppress a laugh, you mutter, “that’s your problem, not mine. Maybe I’m good but I’m not good enough.” 

“But you are!” A mock-annoyed Riki grabs ahold of your hands and brings them close to his chest. The genuity lacing his voice and the way his eyes go wide in an attempt to help you believe in yourself — you just accept what he’s saying without any further thought. 

What more is there to internally debate about anyway? If Riki believes, you believe too. You smile and he kisses you lightly again in return. If fencing is your hell, Riki is your heaven. 

“You ready?” Minjeol raises her eyebrows at you as if confirming whether you’re really willing to repeat the cycle all over again. At first, you’re hesitant, uncertainty swamping over your every sense. But when Riki comes over to test guard and salute, the warm, encouraging smile painted on his face helps you nod with confidence. 

“En-garde. Pretz. Allez!” 

It’s been a while since I’ve done this. 

You both charge towards each other, but you’re faster. A feign and a double-attack later, you’ve scored the winning point against Riki. The latter seems even happier than you for this, which is insanely cute to you. He walks up to you, mask already off and in his hands. Setting his aside, he leans to help you with yours and then presses a finger to his cheek. 

“A kiss for your biggest supporter and mentor?” He laughs boyishly. 

“Mentor!” You gasp, pretending to take offense. “Do you even deserve this?” 

You press your lips against his cheek, trying not to take notice of the way his face goes pink. 

Victory has never tasted so sweet. 

thanks for reading!! and yes, i'm a fencer. and they're using the foil weapon teehee

some terminology used that you might need to know en-garde, pretz, allez - words used to start a bout en-garde - french for "on guard", a stance with knees bent used by fencers lame - the silver electric jacket worn on the outermost part of the body riposte - an attacking action used after a parry

i'll take this time to promote my chaptered nishimura riki fic, you in the rain. if you're a fan of wifty or taylor, be sure to check it out! hehe

more of my works >

[inquisimer]

Happy Friday! From the hurt/comfort prompts: "I don't need a break, I'm okay" for Arlow de Riva/Lucanis

thank you for the prompt!! a little pre-canon sparring between these two (:

Arlow de Riva/Lucanis | 676 words | @dadrunkwriting - veilguard

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He knows from the moment her blade touches his that this is different. It is still practice--but it is not.

Ordinarily, she is a well-oiled machine. Viago would not open their House to critique by offering a novice assassin to train with the First Talon's best. She was already a sharpened blade; Lucanis was simply the whetstone against which Viago intended to hone her, shape her, direct her.

Usually, she touches her blade to his, the universal start of a duel-dance that has been worn throughout the ages. She steps back in the typical moves, gauging where he will take their fight. Content to let him set the pace, the mood of the engagement.

Not today.

Today, she crackles like the oncoming storm. Her edges are fuzzy with--frustration? Anger? He can't quite read it; this is the one thing she has always had on him, the balance that levels their playing field. She reads him like a book and it compensates for her slightly delayed reactions, for the moves he knows that she does not, for the speed he executes that she cannot.

When they part, she is on him in a whirl of spellblade and violet electricity.

He does not usually see her like this. Their practice is a controlled thing; mage versus mage killer, as they've been trained to be. Very few mages survive in the Crows. Even fewer Crows have survived in House Dellamorte. They are, the both of them, the promise of legacies lost, of better things to come. They are controlled. They do not disappoint.

Perhaps that is why she is wild today. No--not wild. Still controlled, but a controlled chaos, driven to a point as white water drills against stone, tearing the path that it wants, regardless of the path nature says it should take.

He tastes it though, as he parries her forceful strike, and ducks under the lightning that flows so naturally off her fingers. Regret, almost; guilt, certainly. He does not make the mistake of thinking it makes her vulnerable. If anything, her emotion makes this more of a dance than it usually is; gives a flow to their spar that is normally more clinical, studied. He finds himself giving over to it, as well. His offhand blade catches at her ankle before she can flip away--tears the leather--then the skin--

She falls to one knee, her blood pooling as it runs down her footwraps and finds a new home on the stone floor. Her shoulders shake with something other than her heavy breaths, and Lucanis does not need to know her as well as he does to recognize the wrestle for control.

He shoves his blades into his belt, but he only takes one step toward the healing chest when she objects.

"No. I'm fine." She lifts her face, sweat-streaked and a frenzied twist, brought to heel. Her eyes are just out of focus, but the set of her jaw is firm. She struggles to her feet. Lucanis gestures to the injured one she's favoring.

"You won't fight well on that."

"I will," she insists, throwing her arcane focus back up into the air. The tether she uses to hold it snaps into place like a whip and she assumes the stance that beckons him back into the dance. "I must. There would be no other choice on a contract; there is no other choice, here."

She raises her spellblade. Waits.

And he knows--he knows that this fight will not do what she wants. It will not burn away whatever Viago has said that left her in such a state. There is nothing that could do that. Some words linger like a brand, forever, and he suspects that Viago's words sink their teeth into her farther than any others. If this were an honorable duel, he would refuse to engage her, force her to take the potion, or the bandage, before they start another round.

But this is not about honor. They are Crows.

He pulls his blade from his belt, and touches it to hers.

The dance begins again.

[mydearestbeloved]

Woo, done with chapter 6. Always love the POV shift bc that means I get to see how people view reader as a queen she is 🥺. I love when writers are good at fighting scenes. And yours is so thrilling 😤😤. Is her scepter a transformative weapon of some forms? And it can be changed to any type of weapons or is there a limit? I actually really want her to use a scythe 👉👈 bc… imo it fits well with her whole gardener/farmer thing and her being associated with the cycle of life and death, like a soul harvester/grim reaper type beat. (tbh reader’s Disney princess vibe along with her being a hunter and… and silver energy thing is giving Artemis than Persephone to me and I’m not complaining here 🤭)

Speaking of soul harvesting, I’m in love with the fact that you give her butterflies as summons and not bees and make them harvest mana/lifeforce bc irl, a butterfly called Purple Emperor avoids flowers and instead, preferring rotting animal corpses exists, kinda like reader’s butterflies here 👀.

Also, I reread your answer to my one of my previous asks and there’s this part about “lifeforce” and you said reader can “accelerate cells”. That means she can manipulate life energy to some extent, right? Do you think in the future, she can make living tissue going out of control and exploding with energy, making it looks like she’s setting things ablaze? Like overloading foes with so much life energy that they literally ignite? (maybe she can do a Riptide like Childe, “chaining” foes and making a firework show out of them 👀)

(the video that inspires this ask)

?System¿:

[ Review has been submitted . . .

We thank you for your feedback, Reader.

System will now connect you you to 《AUTHOR》 ]

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Thank you for sending your review, my apologies for the very late response! 🙏💞

Now onto your review:

Fighting Scenes in Trial Player AU

Thank you! I’m glad you find the scene thrilling enough. To be honest, I have trouble writing fast-paced action scenes. However, I knew what I was getting into when I decided to write a Solo Leveling fanfiction. Even though it’s a romance story, since the events are still linked to canon, I can’t avoid canon fighting scenes forever. So, I put more focus on the emotional aspect (mostly regarding the changes from canon) rather than describing the physical fights in detail, since those are already fleshed out in the novel/manhwa/game/anime. I’ll attempt to be more descriptive when it comes to Trial Player AU’s original fighting scenes, but I’ll still avoid writing large-scale battles too often. 🙏

Trial Player: [Dreamer]

You could say that TP!Reader’s scepter is a transformative weapon. However, its transformative ability is more centered to her forging skills. Remember that she has to manually level up her skills? For forging, she has to learn weapon structures from the inside out. Learning to fight with them helps her understand them better—their design, strengths, weak points, and so on. But since training with different weapons is separate from her forging skill (and there’s no specific weapon-related skill that can be leveled up), she doesn’t dedicate too much time to them. There are also other skills that could be more beneficial depending on her current situation (e.g. crafting, since knowledge of materials can be applied to other skills like forging, alchemy, etc.).

Her specialty is magic in the first place, but her experiments with different weapons have at least made her decent at using them. This also affects her decision to use a wand-type artifact most of the time instead of, say, a grimoire. While she could whack someone with an enchanted book (and she will if the situation calls for it), the rod part of a wand-type can be fortified and has a shape similar to spears, length-wise close to a sword. It also allows for freer movement compared to shields, enabling her to parry at the last second and giving her time to adjust if she’s forced into close combat.

Why a scepter? It's just one of those things you can’t quite explain—even without knowing of its positives and negatives, it just fits. For readers, this can also be seen as a hint for future revelations. 🤫

Since her scepter has a stronger foundation than normal mage-type artifacts—rivaling even high-impact melee weapons—it’s sturdy enough to hold other shapes. TP!Reader just needs to focus her mind, and then her magic, into it. It works like her teleportation skill: put your mind into tangibles, and then voila. That’s why knowing the weapon she wants to use is crucial first. Otherwise, she might create a bendable spear, a sword that breaks easily, a gun that explodes on itself, a shield that cracks like glass, and so on. Has she ever used a scythe? Most definitely—especially given her connection to plants. Other future symbolism will follow.

Trial Player: [Butterflies]

Her butterflies are extensions of her, so if we don’t see TP!Reader using capabilities she is implied to have, the children will show glimpses of them since they also have separate preferences.

Eeee, I didn’t even know about the Purple Emperor before you mentioned it. I know some shades of blue are considered purple, but purple is purple—and who has a purple aura? Our very own male lead ASDFGHJKL 😍

The coincidences are uncanny, and I love it! ❤️

Also, thanks to you, I now have the Purple Emperor as a core inspiration for one of the butterflies—not officially introduced as of Chapter 23, but soon! Thank you so much for mentioning them 🙏💕

Trial Player: [Chronomancer] & [Lifeforce Manipulations]

As for living tissues going out of control—by a different definition, speeding or slowing them while other functions remain normal is also considered ‘going out of control,’ right? TP!Reader can already do that, though it’s more based on time magic. A related topic includes speeding up the bone marrow’s production of blood, which would cause the heart to pump more blood through the body at high speed and tension. Since the volume would increase too fast with little recovery time, the body might not be able to contain it anymore and just burst—in theory.

Will I make this work in Trial Player AU? Maybe. 🙃

By the way the story’s going, yes, there’s a huge possibility in the future that she can manipulate life energy more intricately. As for flooding a target with life energy, I haven’t thought of them igniting per se. Exploding from the inside, on the other hand, is in line with Trial Player AU’s mechanics of lifeforce. Since lifeforce also maintains the body and mortal beings are born with a set amount, depleting lifeforce can cut one’s life short. So I don’t see why overloading someone with more lifeforce than they can handle wouldn’t make their body explode.

While it’s not exactly setting things ablaze, let me raise you another idea: how about flowers popping out from one’s body? If TP!Reader gains the ability to manipulate the lifeforce of different beings down to the last detail, what happens when she floods her target with lifeforce not of the same species? (If the same, then the explosion scenario would happen.) The body would likely adjust to the altered essence.

In real life, the body might overexert itself trying to eliminate, recover, and then adjust to the foreigns if forced into long-term exposure. Best-case scenario, they adapt with minimal effects. Worst-case scenario, they might just adapt by creating a horrifying mutation of an adjustment, since their body isn’t built for it normally. If magic exists, then it’s possible for that monstrosity to be perfected instead, in which case, new functions could take over.

So, for example, if a goblin were overloaded with the lifeforce of Asclepias tuberosa (butterfly weed), then flowers might start growing from the inside, breaking through the skin until the goblin’s body becomes a flower bed. The remains of the living make good fertilizer too. 🫢

As for Childe’s Riptide concept, the only kind of “chaining” I can think of right now is TP!Reader possibly utilizing others’ life energy—which, in analogy, would be like seeing normally invisible lifeforce as tangible threads. Weaving them (which could also be interpreted as manipulating them) would make it possible to connect one person’s lifeforce with others’—and then cut their lives short all at once. This is inspired by the Moirai, or the Fates, from Greek mythology.

I don’t think fireworks are TP!Reader’s usual style. That’s more like the butterflies’ thing (see Red’s blood-petals in Chapter 23), maybe Gale’s and/or Neonie’s.

Anyway, targets that die this way (lifeforce cut-off in an instant) likely wouldn’t feel pain—they would just die seemingly without warning.

This is different from how the butterflies work. If you think about it, the butterflies torture their targets with a painfully slow death—mentally through illusions, while their bodies are devoured and their essence is essentially used against them.

Similar like the Mother who utilize spoils of battles for future use, the children also use the victims as a form of entertainment flairs, turning their remains into props for what feels like a farewell party—theirs.

[ —As voracious and vicious as they are unassuming and beautiful. ]