#There's much more to say. There always will be. But my thoughts are‚ uh. It's getting a bit...

[saudianna]

💥 love is papaya orange ᝰ.ᐟ

ੈ✩‧₊˚ : word count : 1669 👅 ੈ✩‧₊˚ : synopsis : after oscar's first championship win, his ego clashes with you- lando's lifelong best friend—when they're forced to work closely at McLaren. what starts as hate turns into secret tension, messy feelings, and a tangled love triangle that neither oscar nor lando saw coming… until it explodes into something no one can control!! ੈ✩‧₊˚ : featuring : oscar x engineer!reader x lando ੈ✩‧₊˚ : author's note : ahh okay pt 4!! pt 5 soon aka final n um this is set in 2026 ੈ✩‧₊˚ : genre : smut, smut and more smut!! theres some fluff and angst in the midst of it all ੈ✩‧₊˚ : tws : just love triangle in this chap </3 also alot of teasing n oscar being as complete ASS !!!!

part 4. falling into place 🦊

The following day, you didn't really see each other much, but when you did, you could tell the cloud of dislike had lifted off.

"Hi," he said, smiling for the first time, instead of stupid smirks.

"Hey." you responded, a faint smile

"I was thinking about how to pay you back.." he muttered and rubbed the back of his neck, sitting down by the chair in front of your desk, manspreading and looking away nervously.

"Yeah?" you said confused, looking up from your laptop,

"I.. could take you for dinner..? he choked out.

"Oh um- Oscar i dont kno-" you were cut off by a loud cough-

"Platonically! Of course.. or professionally, whichever you prefer.." he looked at you and furrowed his brows as you looked a bit incompetent.

"Ah.. In that case sure, but shouldn't we invite Lando? You know, to make sure the paparazzi don't say we are dating?" you said,

"Oh- i hadn't really though about that. But i wouldn't worry about that.. I can book a very private dinner?" he said nervously, using his signature face, one sided smirk and looking to the side.

"Mmm... Alright. Is Thursday good?" and he nodded,

"Yup," the p popping off his tongue, "Perfect. I can pick you up at 8? Or would you rather me order you an uber?" he offered.

"Uh.. id rather uber myself. Thanks." You cleared your throat. 4 days till your dinner. You didn't really expecting your view of him to change all that much after this dinner, but you were willing to try anyway.

"Oh- Alright," he spoke, "Well I'll see you tomorrow, its home time for me." he turned away.

"Bye," you said clearly.

"Bye."

Over the past couple days, your view did change. He was nicer, politer, you finally saw the version of Oscar everyone raved about. His 'polite cat energy' and honestly even the 'boyfriend material' his fangirls always talked about.

On the day of the dinner, you didn't want to seem like you were trying too hard, but you were going to a very fancy restaurant one reserved by only famous people. Insured that paparazzi would not sneak their way around.

So you ultimately threw on a long black silk dress that hugged your curves, not too tight but didn't exactly leave much to the imagination.

Hair curled and fluffy, eyeliner snatching your eyelids, and lips a dark red.

Your uber was nice enough, comfy and a talkative driver, although a bit inexperienced.

But when you got to the restaurant, you were kind of embarrassed to be riding in an uber, you hoped that people just thought it was fancy, your own personal driver.

As you walked in, searching for the familiar face, but he spotted you before you could spot him, walking over to you and smiling

"Hi, thought you weren't coming for a second there." he laughed

"Yeah... My uber didn't really know his way around, sorry about that." You giggled a bit and he smiled

He looked you up and down, "O-oh and you look really beautiful by the way." he said smiling.

You blushed a bit and laughed nervously. "Ah- thank you.. you look really handsome." he smiled really big and took your arm, "Cmon' our tables over here."

You guys sat down and chatted for a bit before the waiter came to take your drink orders.

"Buonasera, have you made a choice on the drinks?" (good evening)

"I'll have a glass of Amarone please."

"Good choice sir, and for your pretty girlfriend?" the waiter said calmly and Piastri nearly spat out his water.

"Ah- She's not my girlfriend.." he muttered and the waiter looked surpised

"My dearest apologies, i just figured from the way you look at her mister, terribly sorry." and the waiter hung his head for a second.

You coughed, "Ahem um... I'll just get the uhh, ahem.. the Chianti.. please.." you said quietly..

The waiter nodded and said softly to you, but loud enough for the very flustered Australian to hear, "He'll ask one day madam."

Oscar coughed very loudly as he saw you very red in the face, "Please will you just go get our drinks..!"

The waiter walked away and the two of you made eye contact

"I'm sorry about that..." he muttered

"Ah.. its okay osc." he blushed at the nickname.

Over the course of dinner, you got to know each other more, you told him how you knew Lando, and he told you how he got into racing.

When you had finished your meals, you realised he really wasnt that bad. I mean, you really liked him. He was sweet, handsome.. but you couldnt get over the fact he was such a prick when you first met.

At the end of the night as you were laid in bed. He dropped you off instead of ubering, and you gave him a hug before you went inside, his touch lingering a bit too much around your waist, and you leaned into it too much.

But fuck, what were you supposed to do?

And now both McLaren drivers looked at you with a glint in their eye, and both for the same-ish reason, love.

I mean, you weren't sure if either of them were in love, i mean, Lando clearly thought you were hot and wanted you, but you didnt know if he felt the same way, as if you wanted to date, but didn't at the same time, in fear of ruining your 20+ year friendship.

And Oscar, i mean you have spent basically more than half of your time knowing him, hating him. And that wasn't particularly a good start.

But, i mean you liked both, what Oscar lacked in confidence, Lando had. And what Lando lacked in gentleman-ness, Oscar had.

And like... why not both?

The next day felt like static in your brain — fuzzy, unpredictable, uncomfortable. You couldn’t keep stringing Lando along, not when Oscar had actually made you feel something... real. Even if it was barely developing. Even if it was new.

So you told him,

You caught Lando just before the briefing that afternoon, cornered in the hallway with his cap on backwards and his classic cocky smirk — the one you used to love.

"Hey... got a sec?"

"Always," he said, leaning against the wall. That look in his eye again.

You inhaled. “Lando, I need to talk to you seriously.” His smirk faltered.

“This... whatever we’ve been doing—”

“You mean fucking?” he joked, but it was tight, like he already knew.

“Yeah. That. I don’t think we should keep it up. Not anymore.”

His brows furrowed. “Wait, what?”

You swallowed. “I like Oscar.”

The silence hit like a punch in the gut. His eyes flicked away for a second before landing back on you, a little colder.

“You like him?” he said, like it tasted bitter in his mouth.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to.. But I do. And it wouldn’t be fair to you if I pretended I didn’t.”

He scoffed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Right, okay.” You reached out, but he stepped away. “I just— I thought you and me—”

“I know,” you said softly. “But you deserve more than half of me.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just nodded once, sharp and stiff, before walking away.

Later that evening, Oscar found Lando alone in the driver's lounge, staring at a monitor that wasn’t even turned on.

“Hey,” Oscar said cautiously. “You good?”

“Just fine.” Lando said sarcastically, still not looking at him.

Oscar hesitated, then sat beside him. “She told you?”

Lando’s jaw tensed. “Yeah. She told me.”

Oscar nodded slowly. “I didn’t mean for it to get complicated. I just— I like her. Like really like her.”

Lando scoffed. “Of course you do.”

Oscar frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lando looked at him, fire building in his throat. “It means I’ve been messing around with her for years man. Friends-with-benefits type shit. And now suddenly you get all soft-spoken and polite and she falls for you?”

Oscar blinked. “Wait. You and her—?”

Lando nodded once. “Yeah. We were something. Or at least... it felt like something. Until you came along.”

Oscar’s face fell, stunned silent for a second. “I didn’t know.”

“No shit.”

But then Oscar cleared his throat and looked away, red blooming up his neck. “For what it’s worth… I don’t think I just like her.”

Lando blinked. “The hell does that mean?”

Oscar looked at him — really looked at him. “You. You’ve been in my head too. And I hate it. And I don’t understand it. But it’s there.”

Silence.

Lando stared, like Oscar had just admitted to murder. His breathing slowed. He licked his lips, nervous. “Dude… are you saying you like me?”

Oscar swallowed. “I think I do.”

And then — blame the tension, the jealousy, the months of denial — Lando surged forward and kissed him.

Hard.

Oscar kissed back. They both breathed through it, hands grabbing shirt collars, lips parting, heat rushing in places they hadn’t even acknowledged until now.

It was messy. Rough. A collision of all the confusion and lust they’d buried.

But it didn’t last long.

They pulled away, panting, wide-eyed. And then, in perfect timing—

You walked in.

You froze.

They froze.

You blinked once. Twice. “Okay... what the fuck is happening?”

Oscar jumped up. “Wait, it’s not—”

“I mean, it is,” Lando interrupted, wiping his mouth. “But also… not what it looks like?”

You stared at them, dumbfounded, heart pounding. “So let me get this straight: I regretfully dump you and say that I like him, someone apolgized to someone and then you two decide to just make out instead?”

Neither of them had an answer.

“I— I don’t even know what to say,” you whispered.

Lando looked away. Oscar ran a hand through his hair.

It was silent for way too long.

Then you just burst out laughing. A short, hysterical laugh. “This is so fucking complicated.”

Oscar laughs, "We'll figure it out."

<- previous | part 4 | forwards ->

ੈ✩‧₊˚ : author's note : um so i had my first college exams guys, (im taking mechatronics enginerring!) and i did so well i think, so sorry this took so long, since its holidays for me soon ill be more active. and omg i think this fic is only gonna be 5 chaps.. i wanted in to be 10 but anyway. send me inbox's pls!! i alr finished my first, gonna release it ltr tdy but pls send more xx

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Locked Out of Heaven 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You cling onto the strap of your bag, wringing it as your nerves build with each step. You're really doing this. You're going out with a boy. No, a man. 

You stop short, a few feet from Nick's car. You gulp. What would your dad say? What would he do if he found out? How much would he really care? He only cares about your grades. 

You stare as you weigh the decision. He's not going to find out. Austin won't even know you're gone. So why are you suddenly so afraid?  

Nick's headlights flash and he rolls toward you. You turn to face him as he pulls up. You smile to hide the tremor in your chest. 

"Hi," you squeak as he lowers his window.  

"Hey, princess? You forget something? What's the matter?" He asks. 

"Oh, uh, I don't know," you look back at the house. "I... no. I..." 

"Get in, baby." He reaches over to pat the passenger's seat. "Boat's waiting." 

You stutter step then stagger around the car. You fumble with the handle and swing the door out. You fall in, ready to dissolve into mist, and shut the door with a jarring snap. 

You're so anxious, you could explode. Before you can even reach for the seat belt, Nick's on you. He cradles your cheek and slips his hand down to your chin. He holds you firmly and leans in, brushing his nose against yours. 

You shiver at his closeness. His warmth swathes around you and his scent stains your breath. 

"You miss me?" He purrs. "I missed you, princess. All I've been thinking about is you. About us." 

"Um, yes," you babble and nod into his hand.  

His lips curve and he presses them to yours. You brace his forearm in surprise, his veins bulging against your palm. His tongue dips into your mouth and he growls. He leans further over the space between the seats, smothering you. 

When he parts, you're dizzy, lips puffy, and cheeks burning. You stare at him dopily. You push your thighs together and tilt your pelvis. That tingly coil winds through you. 

He wears short-sleeve white button up with a blue line at the edge of the collar. And pale blue shorts that cut off high up his thighs. He wears those loafer-type shoes with the little nautical knot. Boat shoes? His gold chain sparkles above his chest and his pinkie ring encircles his finger. 

"I got everything you need, baby. Don't worry. It's all on the boat," he pets your cheek with his knuckles. "You're just going to sit back and relax. Let me take care of you." 

"Al... alright," you wisp. 

It's going to happen. You felt it. In his urgency. You know what he wants. He hasn't been subtle. You think you want it too. That must be what makes you so squirmy. 

"It's gonna be a great day. Just us. At last." He looks over the steering wheel and buckles his seat belt. You do the same. "Sun, drink, each other..." 

He grips the wheel with one hand and slaps his other onto your thigh. 

"We got all day and I'm going to take my time, baby. I'm gonna make you feel like the princess you are." He slowly pushes down on the gas. "You don't gotta worry about nothing." 

💜

The water gently stirs as you walk down the dock. Nick has your hand in his as he guides you along the shore side. There are other boats tied off there. Luxurious boats with upholstered seats and cabins, large steering wheels and monikers written across the sides. 

Austin has pictures of a boat like this on his socials. He went off with his friends last summer and came back hungover for a week. Your dad let him sleep it off while you did his dingy laundry. 

A ripple flows through you. Something like anger. Irritation. Your brother gets to go off and have fun without question. Even your dad goes out for drinks or goes golfing or whatever else he likes. Why is it so bad that you do anything at all? If your dad even knew about the trip to the gelato shop, he’d be barking at you for wasting time. 

You sigh. Nick squeezes your hand as something jingles in his other. He tugs you back before you walk off the side of the dock. 

“Woah, baby,” he draws you to face him. “Don’t want you falling in.” He kisses your forehead and the heat of his lips pulls you back to the present. “Whatcha sighing for?�� 

“N-nothing. I...” you look around, searching for anything to say. “I’ve never been on a boat.” 

“Gonna be a lot of firsts today,” he winks and brings your hand up to kiss your knuckles. “You stay here. Keep clear of the edge for me, princess.” 

He lets you go and shakes the keys in his other hand. You fold twine your fingers together and press your palms to your stomach. You turn to watch him as he nears the edge of the wooden planks. He hops across onto the open rear of the boat, easily launching himself over the gap. 

He steadies himself and ducks under the roof. You listen to his steps as the boat shifts subtly. You rock anxiously as a cool breeze brushes across you. 

He appears again and bends to slide out a board hidden beneath the floor. He extends it over the space between the dock and the boat. He straightens up and reaches to you, one foot on the ramp. 

You untangle your fingers and take his hand. He guides you firmly across onto the polished flooring. You glance around at the open space at the back of the boat, just behind the cover sitting area of the cabin. White leather and azure cushions. A table mounted between the benches, a narrow doorway to the front of the boat with the driver’s seat. 

“Wow, this is yours?” 

“Sure is,” he drags his hand up your arm slowly. “Ours.” 

You look at him, your heart pumping. You smile. You peer back at the dock. 

“Oh... I...” You watch a woman on another boat, in a sarong and sun hat. 

“I told you. I got everything figured out,” he rubs your shoulder. “Just a minute.” 

He turns and goes to slide the board back under the floor. Then he stands and unmoors from the post. The boat rocks with his steps. 

He strides back to you and points to the bench. “That’s yours there.” 

There’s a white and blue beach bag on the seat. You hadn’t paid it much attention at first glance. You tilt your head curiously. 

“You get into your bathing suit and I’ll get us asea,” he coaxes. 

“Oh, uh, okay?” 

“One thing at a time, right?” He purrs and leans in to kiss you. You close your eyes as a thrill rolls over you. Too far. No going back. 

“Yes, Nick.” You murmur as he parts, cradling your face as he brushes his nose up yours and once more presses his lips to your forehead. He hums. 

“Good girl.” 

His reluctance has his hand lingering on your neck before he pulls back. He turns and struts through the cabin to the front of the boat. He drops into the driver’s chair and you watch him swipe up the keys from the little tray beside the wheel. He turns the engine and the rumble startles you. 

You approach the beach bag. You peek inside as you touch the side. You reach in to pull out the bikini top. Oh. You only ever wore a one-piece with shorts. Your dad made you keep a tee shirt on even. This is less than you could even imagine. 

You run your finger over the patterning on the triangle of fabric. White with lilac vines printed onto it. It’s pretty and the straps are like thick ribbons. 

You glance at Nick and the boat lurches. You land on the seat with a gasp. He looks back. 

“You okay? Sorry ‘bout that.” 

“I’m good,” you sit and dip your chin, examining the top. Your hands tremble. You peek at him again. He’s focus on steering. 

You nod, goading yourself into it. You unhook your purse from across you and put your phone inside. You push it against the back of the sofa bench and drop your shoulders. This is what you want. It has to be. 

You peel off your shirt and look down at your bra. Plain, white, boring. You reach back to unhook it, another wary look at the driver. He’s unconcerned as the boat bobs over the waves. 

You take off the bra, your nipples hard from the air breezing through, or maybe the anticipation. You tie on the bikini top and it does little to hide them. Your chest feels like it will spill out at any moment. 

You stand and search for the bottoms. Not much more than the top. You quickly change into them. You try to stretch the fabric across your bum but it only covers half your cheeks. You chew your lip. 

You take the flip flops sticking out of the bag and put them on. You fish around again and pull out a sheer purple cover up. It opens in the front and has little tassels dangling from the short sleeves. 

“Alright,” Nick proclaims and makes you flinch. 

You bend to gather up your clothes and stuff them away in the bag. He stands and turns, ducking into the cabin then stands straight. He looks you up and down as you cross your arms. 

“Princess,” he breaths as he grabs your wrist. “Let me see.” 

He takes both your arms and pulls them apart. His eyes rove up and down your body. You shiver as the cover up falls open. 

“Oh...” he utters. 

You stare at his shirt collar, face ablaze. Is he disappointed. You brace yourself for it. 

“Wow,” he slips his hands from your arms and frames your hips. “Baby, you look amazing.” 

“Um, really?” You jitter in disbelief. “Er, thanks.” 

“Baby, baby, baby,” his thumbs dig into your soft flesh. “We got all day... so you gotta make me go slow.” 

“Oh,” you gulp. 

“I could...” he begins and chuckles. He shakes his head and pokes his tongue into cheek. “Come on, let’s get settled.” 

He lets you go and pops open the top button of his shirt. He goes down the row and pulls apart the fabric, revealing his muscled torso. He strips away the linen shirt and tosses it carelessly onto the bench. You gape at his chest. 

“Like what you see?” He taunts and you look him in the face, shrinking in embarrassment. 

“I--I--” 

He snickers. “It’s all yours, princess. You don’t gotta be shy.” 

“I... okay. I'll try.” 

“Baby, I got you, alright?” He drawls. “Come on.” 

He takes your hand and guides you onto the back of the boat. As it rocks with the water, you’re put even more off-kilter. He squeezes before he releases you again.  

He peers around and grabs a striped fabric chest. He flips the top and pulls out a large beach blanket. He spreads it over the flooring. He goes back to the cabin and grabs some cushions and tosses them down too. He plunks the chest at the edge of the blanket. 

“Got drinks, got snacks,” he reaches inside, “but most important, sunscreen.” 

You nod. He takes out the bottle of cream and wiggles it at you as he comes closer. He touches the edge of the cover-up. “Take this off. I’ll get you.” 

“Huh, oh?” You look down and shrug. You let the sheer fabric fall down your arms and pile at your feet. You’re too stunned to catch it. 

“Come on,” he gets down on his knees. “Relax, princess.” 

He tugs until you get down to. He taps the bottle on the blanket. “Lay down.” 

“Uh, okay...” you lay on your back, chest rising and falling quickly as your chest hammers. 

He shifts onto his butt and flicks the cap open. He squirts the cream into his palms and rubs them together. The coolness of the lotion is as jarring as the feel of his hands. He starts at your neck, smearing across your collar bone and to your chest. 

He drags his hands down, spreading it diligently before squeezing more from the bottle. You twitch as he gets to your chest, poking his thumbs under the edge of the bikini to get cream there too. He rubs it into your skin as your nipples poke against the fabric. 

He continues on to your stomach, massaging as he goes, then does your arms, kneading your hands delicately as he gets between your fingers. You’re paralysed as he plies the UV to your skin. 

He pokes your thighs, “come on, baby.” 

You hesitate before you spread your legs. You squeak as he gets between them on his knees. For a moment you think... 

He claps his hand on your thigh and smears the cream into your skin. He squeezes and his fingertips sends sparks through you. You spasm and squeal as he hits every nerve. You wriggle at the unbearable tingle. 

You giggle as the sensation turns ticklish. He chuckles too and purrs, paying close attention to your thighs. Pushing his thumbs in until your clasp onto his wrists. 

“Nick!” 

He smirks at you. “These are nice,” he clamps tighter on your thighs. “You know that?” 

You whimper his name again. He pulls out of your grasp and drags down your legs to your feet. When he finishes your soles, he clucks. 

“Turn over.” 

You blink but do as he says. You flip onto your stomach, feeling the jiggle of your bum as the bathing suit rides up. He hums. 

“Oh, princess,” he drones. 

“I... sorry,” you reach to fix the bottoms. 

He tuts and swats your hand away. 

“It’s all mine, baby. Don’t you worry. I want every part of you,” he shoves your hand down so it bounces on the floor. Your knuckles ring with the impact. “I told you, relax.” 

He gets up on his knees and blends lotions into your shoulders and down the back of your arms. Then he coats your back and hips, following the curve of your back to your bum. He massages the rise of flesh and bends to kiss the swell. You squeal in surprise and he nips you. 

“Mmm, delicious,” he snarls and runs his thumbs along the crease below your butt. You wince and ball your hands. 

He continues along the back of your thighs, even more sensitive than the front, and you squirm. You can hear him breath, almost growling. Your own breaths puff out in a storm of excitement and fear. 

As he gets the back of your calves, your head swims. He raises himself up and moves beside you. He caresses your arm. 

“Now let me see that pretty face.” He grits. 

“Sure, uh,” your turn over again and sit up. 

He rubs his hands together then cradles your face. He uses his thumbs to cover your cheeks with cream and traces your features. He runs his palms over your face gently and caps off the application with a longing kiss on your lips. 

He hovers just before you. “My turn.” 

He lets you go and lowers himself down. He hands you the bottle and you take it, dazed as your skin thrums. You watch him as he pushes his chest up just slightly and your eyes scale down his torso. Where do you start? 

You dollop the lotion into your hand and mash them together. You start at his neck, feeling his throat bob. He purrs as you get to his shoulders. The firm muscle makes you quiver inside. Then his chest... oh. It feels so nice. So strong. 

You retreat and focus on his arms. There’s muscle there too and the thick veins on his forearms have you squeezing your thighs together. His hands are bigger as you focus on them and rubs the cream into his rough palms. 

As you ply the sunscreen to his stomach, you feel it clench. You recoil as something catches the corner of your eye. You gasp and stare at the front of his shorts. You can see him inside, nearly bursting out as he bulges beneath the waistband. 

He lifts his head and groans. 

“It’s okay, baby, I won’t bite... yet,” he snickers. “Keep going.” 

You nod and bite your tongue. You put your hands back on his stomach and trail along his sides, sure to get every bit of skin. Your eyes flit back to his shorts. Your insides tighten. You shake at the flicker in your mind, the thought of grabbing it... 

Instead, you shift and move to his thighs. As tempting as it is, you’re still terrified. You’ll work up to that. Eventually. 

[bowxs]

66 with Soldier Boy x bratty!Reader. She is teasing him all day and when he finally has enough he fucks her till she cries. (And very soft aftercare with praise and Ben being so sweet with her)

66. “dont talk like that then cry when i fuck you too hard”

divider from @cursed-carmine

when most people thought of teasing, they would think of bending over in front of their partner, teasing words, and tantalizing touches, but no. ben expected that of you. you had to do more.

ben was sitting on the couch, a half smoked joint between his fingers with some stupid sports game playing on the tv, but you werent paying attention. how could you when ben was right there, legs spread so deliciously in those jeans that hug him just right- god he was hot.

before you could say ‘fuck me’, you were on your knees in front of him, your manicured nails trailing up and down his meaty thighs that felt so good in between your legs. ben didnt even bat an eye, too used to your behaviour by now. he just let out a small hum of acknowledgement, which was anything but satisfactory for you

you leaned up, your hand tracing over the soft outline of him through his jeans before your palm covered it, gently pressing down and rubbing. you kept your mouth busy too, kissing along his thigh- those sloppy, open mouthed kisses that ben seemed to love

“watcha doin’ down there, baby?” bens voice is heavy, still paying attention to the game playing on TV but occasionally flickering his eyes down to watch the way you palm him through his pants

you felt him twitch to life beneath your hand, steadily beginning to grow into a semi. bingo. you moved your hand from his now barely visible bulge and your lips from his thigh, instead backing away and resting your hands on his knees

“uh-uh, keep going” he tsks, giving you a pointed look thats supposed to hold a warning- to scare you- but you really cant help it if it just turned you on instead

“say please” you can see the way his jaw clenches, the way his eyes harden, the slight annoyance creeping in. you smirk to yourself, letting your hands trail back up his thighs again

“i cant hear you, benny.. you gotta say please for this pussy” he practically rolls his eyes at that, and you almost laugh- almost- before hes leaning forward and his hand is in your hair, tugging.

“dont talk like that then cry when i fuck you too hard” bens grip on your hair never falters, and you can practically moan from how hot he sounds when he finally snaps at all your teasing.

his cock bullied in and out of you at a relentless pace, his hand gripping your hips so tight you couldve sworn you heard one of his knuckles crack.

he had you on your side, legs pushed together on the bed, making you somehow even tighter around him with your legs crossed. both of your hands were held together behind your back by one of his big hands

“cant even take a good fucking- always talking a big game but cant fuckin’ take it” he almost mocks you, a cocky grin on his face as he watches a few stray tears drip down your face

“s’top much- benny m’sorry-” your voice is weak, desperate even, your hands wriggling in his grasp as you tried to move away from him, running away from the pleasure

“poor thing” he coos “crying cause my dicks to fuckin’ good” hes so damn condescending, yet you cant stop yourself as you clench around him at his words, cause damnit he was right.

bens hands were soft and gentle as he held you against his chest while you lay on-top of him. ben was never one for gentle, not before you atleast, so he was always considerate to show you that side of him especially in times like these

“your so good for me, baby. so fuckin’ good” he mumbles into your hair, pressing a gentle kiss where he spoke while his hand gently stroked up and down your arm

his movements weren’t demanding, weren’t wanting or expecting- they were just him. “really?” you ask, craning your head back to look up at him, your voice almost hesitant as if you didn’t believe it, but you just wanted him to say it again

“yeah baby, really. your always so good” he smiled sweetly at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead this time, finally giving you what you really wanted this whole time

[amphitriteswife]

Idol

Source: K-Pop demon hunter on Netflix! And Lookism

Warnings: Uh. Demonic? Also i would suggest knowing a bit about the movie! Little bit of uh psychological torture.

Pairing: demon huntress reader x Demon! DG

Note: help yes i crossed verses. Yes i thought about DG the whole time i watched this movie. Also ignore if its bad. My bad gang🙏

Help this shit lowkey cringe but i spent too much time on this so fuck it we ball

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Being an Idol in Korea has it’s perks….mostly cons. But also perks! Such as having the luxury of having a nice apartment. Your bills are being paid. And you can use you passion as a job! Very enjoyable right? Besides, you also get to meet other idols! Collab sometimes. Maybe even hosts events with another group of solo artists like yourself…though…the thing you lack most right now is fans…your music is…rather a different style than the Pop music most people in Korea are used to. After all you weren’t born Korean, and most of your songs are usually in different languages. Yes you also made Korean songs. But it wasn’t your priority. This caused you to be way more popular in other parts of the world. It wad refreshing to see people enjoy your work. The work you put your hard earned time and energy in. The work that made it your work. It was like as of people were finally seeing You. Not the label you wear as an idol. Not the eye candy. Not the mask that was molded for you to be someone you weren’t.

———————

Currently, you had been on haitus as a solo artist and joined a new group called Huntrix, it wasn’t necessarily permanent. But it was fun to finally step into something new again. This specific group you joined had besides performing as idols another job they had to complete. Making sure that demon’s were sealed away in the underworld by creating a barrier, by their music and performance. It was…hard to say the least, you had to adjust to knowing about the Honmoon, which is known as the barrier. You also had to get a certain type of weapon, rather..odd to know about demons or when a demon would show up or who it was…but then again, Korea often has scandals or lots of things behind the scenes. So this isn’t far from it.

_________

‘Are you enjoying your stay?’ A voice called out to you, it was smooth, pleasant to the ears and overall perfect. The voice matched the fave of the famous idol DG. Yet, his voice never held any real emotion except for perhaps mild things like irritation or amusement. His eyes didn’t seem to be very interested anyways. Asking it out if necessity to make sure things go smoothly between the two of you. Your contract with the group wasn’t extended. But that didn’t stop you from hunting demons down. It was part of your identity. Your moral, and you could always find an excuse to then be freed from your manager…That’s when DG showed up, he had offered you a contract with his company. Well, back then it wasn’t his but someone else’s. Although in that time he was promoted to CEO of the company. Despite the idol being in charge, he wasn’t letting go of his title as an Idol and continued to produce songs and performances.

‘Yes. It’s very…pleasant.’ You said to him, gently tapping the mug resting in your hands. DG was suspicious. Despite the fact he has no interest in you as an artist, he only ever cared about your ‘side job’. Something he continuously brought up. He usually tried to sneak it in when the two of you were talking about a new single, or perhaps the media. He always ‘casually’ saw this article about people going missing were rapidly growing. Yes, it was the talk in town. It wasn’t what he was talking about that was suspicious. No. It was the way how he gave you that fake ass smile. Or how his eyes sharpened when he talked to you about it, as if he was waiting for you to spill something. Not to mention, Your job as a hunter kept getting more difficult now that you are in contact with DG. He often questioned you when you were leaving, and almost always it was when it was an emergency about a demon. Not when you go to the store. Not when you have a secret event. Oh he definitely knew.

‘Then that’s great. Don’t forget to release the album. Your fans would be ecstatic.’ He said with a fake smile. You watched the pink haired man stand up from his seat, walking towards whatever he was up to do. Well. At least he’s leaving you alone…for now. You gave his back a look before turning to your own work. There were still samples and beats and lyrics you had to work on before releasing your album, some of them also included DG. But he himself works on it in his own time. Oh well… as long as he did his job.

__________________

‘We need to talk.’ Your sudden demand didn’t make DG fazed at all. He continued to look at his paper. Probably going trough some new lyrics he wrote for another album he was working on. It was almost time for his world tour after all. His eyes lazily glanced at you before scribbling onto his paper again. DG was acting weird again. Sometimes he’s super sweet to you. Other times he’s cold. It’s like he’s mad at you right now. Why would he be?…probably because he’s a demon. After all. There wasn’t anything you did today. You kept your usual routine. The only thing that was out of the ordinary was that you killed some demons and stopped them from taking people’s soul. That’s the only reason he could be angry. You know that’s the reason.

‘I know what you are.’ DG paused for a moment. His hand letting go of the pen in his hand. He leaned back in his seat. Looking at you just a little longer. His gaze seemed amused. Hmm. Maybe a bit of curiosity? Well. Most of it was masked anyway.

‘So what?’ DG’s dismissive response made you frown a little. He was smirking now. He seemed more…challenging? Why the hell would he want that? Shouldn’t he at least be…shocked? Hm, maybe he knew that you knew. But even then, then he should at least be concerned considering you will try to kill him? Why is he acting all nonchalant about it. Maybe even enjoy it considering he’s looking at you like that. Weird ass.

‘Do you truly think anyone would believe you?’ The words that escaped his mouth made you pauze for a moment. Shit. DG is way more popular than you. Especially here in Korea. Not to mention, his popularity had peaked more in the recent months. Brands asked for a collaboration. His streams were going up. Many seemed to buy his merch. He went on tv shows. Made commercials. He beat ever record from the previous idols. He was THE idol of the century. He’s still a demon sure. But. Even if you spoke the truth. Even if you killed him for it, you’d still be the bad guy. After all, most believe what they want to believe. And what proof do you have that he truly is one? A demon isn’t something one can just see with the naked human eye. A rather eerie chuckle made you snap back out of your thoughts, your eyes still focused on his. He was still creepy with that…polite like smile. And the eyes in slits as if he was trying to look human. Which he was failing at. What should you do? It’s not safe to expose him. It would cause you more trouble than him. And given how loved he is, he could just accuse you of trying to ruin your reputation and the whole fiasco will be flipped on you. Keeping your mouth shut would go against everything you stand for. It would betray Huntrix. DG could sense your hesitation. It’s was quite fun to him to be honest. Seeing you struggle while you were indifferent to him most of the time. It’s a nice sight. His eyes lingered on your form just a little longer.

‘Your contract is with me. Not with Huntrix. I made you the star you are today. I worked with you. I made sure my fans became your fans. You need me. I am your everything.’ DG told you, standing up from behind his desk and making his way over to you. His hand gently placed on your shoulder. You could feel his breath getting closer. It smelled like mint. His eyes that were usually grey were now yellow…the purple marks didn’t go unnoticed. But what were you supposed to do… he was right. You made it big in Korea because of him…He gave you a contract when no one else wanted you under their name….he gently brushed his fingers trough your hair, his other hand pushing you against his chest. He was being gentle…it’s strange…DG saw the way you looked up at him. Wide eyes. Pupils shaking slightly. Your mouth slightly agape. He was getting to you. It was working. A sly smirk which he quickly disguised as a gentle smile made its way on his face. This was way too easy.

‘I am the one who wanted you. I did it for you. Because I care about you. Because I love you.’ His hands gently rubbed your back in a soothing manner, his chin on the top of your head. It sounded…nice. To finally have someone say that to you. To finally be seen. To not be rejected all the time. To have someone who cared. He was so gentle…and even if you knew it wasn’t genuine, you’d rather make yourself believe that it was. He loves you. You don’t really know what he means by that. But it sounded very nice to hear it. He gently grabbed your chin, making you look up. His skin was now fully purple. His eyes almost a glow in the dark yellow. And his lips were whispering soothing words. It was almost enchanting. So enchanting that it became hard to focus. Your head began to feel a little dizzy. Your vision became blurry. It was hard to distinguish something in your blurred view, the only think you could actually see were the pair of bright eyes from DG. You could feel both his hand gently cup your face. It became hard to breath. What was he going to do? Was he going to kill you? Why was it hard to move your body? Did he cast a spell on you? And then suddenly you felt a pair of lips gently kiss your forehead. You stopped breathing, flickering your gaze upwards. Your brows furrowed, a hint of frustration but mostly confusion came across your face which earned a chuckle from DG

‘You’re bound to me now. Both in heart and soul.’

[docholligay]

Thicker Than Water

Do I even think this is good at this point? Could not fucking tell you. Probably not. But it's more than I have written in a long long time, and it combines just, so many of my favorite things, and it's with the new dollies Papa brought for me from across the seas. About 4300 words, I would love it if you could find one nice thing to say! This will absolutely be the regular liveblog draw and I reserve the right to give extra draws if you lie well.

I HAVE NOT SEEN PAST EPISODE 17. PLEASE DO NOT SPOIL ME AND KNOW I AM AWARE I AM JUST MAKING SOME SHIT UP BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW ANY BETTER THAT'S FINE WE'RE FINE.

The trouble with Hawkeye was--among other things Roy would list--you had to be able to read her. Hawkeye considered what she was feeling at the moment to be, like so many other things, on a need to know basis, and not relevant to the overall mission. 

Luckily, Roy had become very good at reading her. 

Unfortunately, not needing to explain herself to Roy had left her with little will to improve in this arena. 

Even less fortunately, a decision had to be made, and quickly, with nearly a dozen of his men around him, and Hawkeye doing everything she could to hide any anxieties in particular. 

It was like solving a Rubik’s cube colorblind. 

Roy took a long look at Hawkeye, her arms crossed and staring straight forward. A hellish barb stuck out of her leg, blood pooling around it. 

“The convoy should be here soon.” A kid. Probably nineteen. Roy guessed he should probably dismount the high horse about being and recruiting young in the military, but anyone could be a medic. You didn’t need to get to them young. 

“So we should wait?” Roy snapped his fingers, and the medic’s eyes widened at the sparks. 

“Uh, well, the thing is--I mean I don’t have anything to give her, so it--it’ll be bad. But…” he looked over to the wound, making a mental calculation, “Given what I know about the coating, leaving it in might be worse. If we wait. So. But, yeah.” 

“Love the confidence.” He muttered under his breath, walking over to Hawkeye. “Thoughts, Lieutenant?” 

She looked up at him, and Roy tried to read. Her eyes flicked over to a staring group of men, mixedly loyal, annoying, or both, waiting to see her squirm. But she would not give it, and she nodded stoically. 

“Take it out.” 

“Agreed.” Roy spun around and gestured to the entrance of the tent. “If you aren’t operating, being operated on, or me, I need you to leave. Go to your tent, go to the mess, go to hell, I don’t care, but get out of here, and be far out of the way.” 

“I need someone to hold her down.” He nearly stuttered it out. 

“I’m not here to be decorative.” He looked back over to the group. “That was an order I just issued.” 

He eyed Roy as several much bigger soldiers, not to mention what was possibly a good quarter ton of Al, left the canvas tent. Even Ed said nothing to question him, the one bright spot in an otherwise miserable day. 

“I’m not sure...this is going to be excruciating, sir. I--” 

Roy delivered his well-practiced glower.  “And I’m sure she loves hearing that. I wasn’t asking for a consultation. We’ve got it.” 

Roy knelt next to Hawkeye and took off his gloves, folding them neatly and laying them to one side. 

“Give us a minute.” he gave a smirk.  “Please.” 

The young medic looked to them both, and then nodded. “”I’ll get my tools.” 

Roy took off his coat and put it underneath her back. “Remember how all Alchemists are weak and pale and don’t have any physical fitness requirements, so we’re like squishy little baby birds? You’re always telling me this. So, if you fight back too hard, you’re going to hurt me. Having physical standards and all. There’s a reason I don’t mess with you and Hughes’ little war games. You need to try and stay still.” 

“The only weight an alchemist has ever lifted was a book.” 

“You like to say.” He rolled up his sleeves. “So be careful with me, I’m delicate.” He looked her in the eye.  “Me and you. We’ve got it. We don’t need anyone else.” 

He could feel her trembling as he put his arm around her shoulders and grabbed her elbow. It twisted his stomach into a cramp. The medic walked back over to them with a cart, rolled over the stone and dirt. He sat on the ground next to Hawkeye and ever so slowly cut around the wound, exposing the sick burgundy of it. Roy took a quick glance at the ceiling. 

Hawkeye took a short, brave breath and closed her eyes. “Keep talking.” 

“Boy, is that something I thought I’d never hear from you. Maybe he was wrong and you are dying.” He nodded to the young man, who was pale with anticipation. “I was thinking about our office the other day. My office, of course, but I let you in there. Who in the world let you set that up? Was it me?”

There was the high metallic ping of some tool Roy was too cowardly to look at, and she stiffened. 

“If it was me, I’ll write myself up. If it was you, I’ll make you do the paperwork.” Hawkeye’s back arched, and a cry stalled in her throat. “Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I’ll have you do the write up either way. Your penmanship is neater.” 

He heard the rasp of something against flesh, and listened instead to Hawkeye, taking a deep breath. 

 “You don’t even--” A swallow “Know where the forms are. Ah!” 

“Exactly. Exactly.” He held her tighter, and she twisted against him. “Makes me feel like a damn kindergarten teacher. And don’t try to make me feel bad about bringing this up now,” he tried to keep hold of her, “you never make yourself available to discuss this when I want to, so I have to take what I can get. Let me tell you what else is irritating--” 

His mind raced through a dozen things. Something she thought would be stupid, and funny, and would irritate her in the way only he could. Something that would make her forget the same thing he was trying very hard to forget. Had she pushed him aside, when the attack came? He couldn’t remember, and he couldn’t ask, because Hawkeye would roll her eyes at him and say something about how he was always in the way, so why should this be any different, or just roll her eyes and expect him to supply the sentence himself. Should it be him, gritting his teeth? He was a talker, he was a wheedler, he was a weaver, that was what he did, was talk and explode things, and if here he was failing at the first one when all he had to do was try and hold on to Hawkeye, to keep her still, and say bullshit, but the sound of it all was so loud, and the smell of Hawkeye’s blood was tin in the air and--

“Sir?” The medic interrupted, his hands bloody and his eyes soft, “This will be the worst part. It’s wrapped--”

Roy popped like hot sap in a fire. “Just do it!!” 

He complied with a twist and a tug, and Hawkeye found the end of her tether. 

“Roy!” She screamed it as she bucked her head against his shoulder, and a sheet of ice went down his back, the taste of bile in his mouth. She stopped herself and bit her lip, a prickle of blood coming from it.  She must have felt him freeze up. Hawkeye.

“No. Don’t.” He grabbed his glove and put it in her mouth. “Bite on that. You know, I think you’re trying to give me a complex about my name.  I always liked it, but you must not.  I am never having a good time when you say it. Not once.You know it means king? What do you want me to change it to? You think I look like an Andrew?” 

There was a crisp yank of Hawkeye’s leg, and then she collapsed into him, panting. There was an arc of small holes across his glove. The sweat from her forehead dripped onto his neck. It took him a moment to realize he and the medic were panting too, the three of them having run a race to the finish. Hawkeye remembered herself first, raising a hand to push the hair off her face. She closed her eyes, took two very calm breaths, pushed herself to to sitting, and promptly threw up in the instrument basin. 

“I got it out.” The medic remembered, the spell broken.  He held the twisted, bloody thing aloft. There was a small chunk hanging from the top barb. 

“I see that.” Roy lamented, his gaze sharpening,  “Go get something to clean her up.” 

The young man sprung to his feet for some fresh towels, and Roy took her shoulders. 

“You’re okay. It’s over.” He reassured himself as he squeezed her shoulder. 

“I’m fine, Colonel. Water.” She spat. “Please.” 

“Right.” He shook off the haze of the moment and began to fix his shirt, buttoning it at the sleeves. “Thanks for missing my jacket. I’ll charge the glove to your paycheck.” 

He walked to the other end of the tent, took the water from the bottle and drank deep himself, the cool of it breaking against the dry of his throat. He poured some of it into a small cup and went back to Hawkeye, who at least had been supplied a towel to wipe her face as the young man bandaged her wound. 

“Here.” He crouched by her. “I suppose you’re going to want the afternoon off. Lucky for you I don’t have much to do.” 

She drank the cup in one gulp, and handed it back to him without a word. She leaned back on her hands, closing her eyes. 

Roy stood up and went back to the water bottle, pouring another glass. He motioned to the young medic, who looked even younger than he was in the wake of the incident. He scampered over to Roy. He should be playing tag or something, Roy thought. It was easy to talk kids into games they had no business playing. It was part of the job.

“You like being a medic?” he nodded. “You want a better position?” Another nod. “As far as you’re concerned, she didn’t even whimper, and I expect that to be the gossip I hear at dinner.” 

“Yes, sir.” He saluted, and it seemed like he meant it. 

“Is she cleared to leave?” Roy wished he’d put his coat back on. He looked more authoritative with the coat. “I’d like to get back to my quarters.” 

“Yes, sir. I doubt she can put much weight on the leg, sir. It’ll be better tomorrow, sir. She needs some rest--” 

“Sir, I got it, I hear you.” He strolled back over to Hawkeye and gave her the cup of water. “You’re dismissed. The only thing I want from you is to tell the doctor to bring something for the pain when he arrives.” 

He gave another stiff salute, and left quickly, seemingly forgetting this was the medical tent and technically his domain. 

Hawkeye set down the empty cup and took a slow breath out. She pushed herself up onto the good leg, and tried to stand up, wobbling nearly over until Roy rushed under her arm. 

“Goddamnit Hawkeye, knock it off. I’m going to go get Armstrong. He’ll just throw you over his shoulder or something. Be done with it.” 

Her eyes widened. “No.” 

“Don’t be more irritating than usual. “ 

“I can manage.” She took a hop, and leaned heavily on Roy. Too heavily. It was easy to forget by looking at her, by seeing how quickly she moved in battle and with a grace that could surprise you, but she was not a delicate fairy of a woman. Roy struggled and nearly fell, which he did not consider very flattering to him, but to think any further than that would be to consider that possibly Hawkeye was right about his book to gym ratio. 

“You can’t. I’m getting Armstrong.” 

“Don’t!” 

He leaned her up against the sturdy metal table, which was currently holding both a bin full of instruments and puke, as well as several bloody towels, and picked his coat up out of the dirt. 

“Listen to me. I cannot carry you. Remember my very moving speech about being a fragile baby bird? I thought it was pretty good, but maybe I was the only one listening.” 

She snapped at him. “What would you do if I fell in combat?”

“What I’m trying to do now! Tell Armstrong to pick you up and move it before I burn a hole in his ass!” 

“I’ll walk. Just--a second. I can do it.” 

“I don’t like your color.” he stiffened up and threw his coat back over his shoulders..  “Lieutenant. I am your superior officer. As your superior officer, I am telling you, you are not going to walk anywhere. As your superior officer, I am telling you to accept the help from Major Armstrong.” 

“Permission to speak freely, sir.” She said, unimpressed by the coat. 

Her eyes attempted to bore a hole in him, but he deflected the gaze with a wave of his hand. 

“No. Denied. I have a pretty good idea of what you’ll say, Lieutenant, and I’m not in the mood.” He pushed back his hair, and it fell into his face just as quickly,  “You have my permission to shut the f--” 

There was a set of footsteps, rapidly approaching the tent, and Roy turned to meet them. 

Hawkeye gave an exhausted smile. “Hughes.” 

“Knock knock.” Hughes walked in and quickly surveyed the bloodied towels, Roy’s crossed arms, Hawkeye’s bandaged leg, and the general sense of argument and exhaustion in the room. “You two have all the fun without me.” 

Roy threw his hand up. 

“Is he allowed to know you’re human, or is that verboten too?” 

---

Out in the dust and sand, things were more like they had been in the war. One of the few aspects of it Roy had never particularly hated, though plenty of people did. There wasn’t enough room for officers to have their own quarters, so there was a tendency to double up in whatever arrangement made sense. No one had even asked if he wanted Lieutenant Hawkeye with him. No one ever needed to. 

They hadn’t asked where he’d wanted his quarters, however. He would have said, “Closer to the med tent, or closer to the officers’ mess tent, or closer to anything at all.’ Or maybe he wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t realized he’d be hauling one half of Hawkeye across the field. Hughes had his arm wrapped around her chest, under her armpits, and was doing a fairly impressive job of hauling her along. Roy both realized he was mostly providing balance, and that he was exhausted by the effort. Thank God for Hughes, he’d thought more than once.

The tent was large canvas, with a large bed, plush as Roy remembered for all the annoying higher ups he had now become, and a smaller, less nice bed for the subordinate officer. When had he become this? It seemed the years had been such a grind, but when he looked back at them, he wasn’t sure what the moment had been. 

Roy gently dumped Hawkeye on the larger bed, Hughes following suit. 

“This--” she protested.

“I’m tired of carrying you. This is where you stay.” Roy grabbed the pillows and piled them behind her back. “Where’s your bag? You’re sweaty and you’re making my bed sweaty.” 

“They told me as soon as I got off the convoy. Doctor’s right behind me, though I’m sure he’s probably reassuring the medic that Roy’s not gonna burn his tent down. Here, I stole this for you.” He took a slice of cake in a cardboard box out of his bag, and set on the side table. “The fancy lads with the fancy food are in camp. You deserve a treat.” 

Roy brought over one of her multiple grey t-shirts, and Hawkeye slowly took off the sweat soaked one and replaced it. Hughes squeezed her shoulder and gave her a little smile. 

“Can I fix your hair?” 

“I’m alright.” 

“Of course you are! I wasn’t worried about you for a minute, you could do this twice a month and come out swinging.” He looked at her.  “Maybe once a month.” He whirled around to look at Roy. “You, I’m not so sure.” 

He grinned and rubbed at his arm, wincing. “I think I hurt my shoulder.” 

“Precisely. Honestly, it’s more that as the father of a daughter, I should learn to do more than pigtails.” He sat down next to Hawkeye.  “Elicia’s hair’s not long enough for a braid, but she’s going to want them any day now. I don’t want to be a leech on Gracia. So let me practice on you.” 

Hawkeye looked at him with a haze of true exhaustion. “Okay.” 

“Thanks.” He took Hawkeye’s hair out of its bun, and smoothed it as he began an uneven low braid, filled more with kindness than with skill, and he laughed. “You see I need the practice.” 

Hawkeye’s eyes were far away, and she started to shake, just a little at first, enough that Roy could ignore it, and then a cold sweat broke out on her brow. Roy could read Hawkeye, but Hawkeye could also read him, which he found at equal parts annoying and useful. 

“I’m fine, Colonel. Don’t be worried.” Her voice did not shake, but only through sheer will. 

Hughes roped up the end of her braid “Who’s worried? We’ll just get you warm. We’ll get some food in you.” He looked at Roy, “This is just a thing that happens.” 

Roy wanted to argue with Hughes that he knew that, that he had seen more combat and more destruction and more ugliness than Hughes had ever seen riding a desk, that he was condescending, but it was so damn comforting that he couldn’t manage any of it. Fucking Hawkeye. Fucking Hughes. How they fucking cared about him. How annoying. 

Roy grabbed an extra blanket from off the end of the bed and tossed it over Hawkeye. “You need to lay down and rest. You’re off duty.” 

Hughes picked up the piece of cake. “You should eat this.” 

“I don’t want it.” She closed her eyes. 

“Where exactly is the rumored doctor?” Roy wondered aggressively. 

“Colonel. I’m fine. Just tired.” 

“It’s Grand’s. I thought you’d enjoy that. Considering your feelings.” Hughes sat down on the bed. “I stole it at great personal and professional risk, so it’s the least you can do for me.” 

There was a call from the front of the tent, and in came a serious looking man, who Roy was delighted to see looked old enough to be shaving. He nodded to Roy and Hughes with an the confidence that could only come from a man who had gotten to avoid the hard work, and set a bottle on the small table next to Hawkeye’s slice of cake. 

The examination was mostly perfunctory, and mostly to avoid having Roy as an enemy, and all that was fine by Roy. Hawkeye looked over at the bottle, sitting poker straight, holding herself still as possible, as the doctor gave her some instruction about rest and signs to watch out for that she mostly planned on following as long as it didn’t get in her way. 

Roy took the bottle and twisted off the top, handing it to her. “Take this.” 

She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it just as quickly, giving in the twin temptations of modern medicine and her own bone-deep exhaustion. She should measure it, she should reject it, she should do a dozen things, but the number one thing she wanted to do was the thing she did, which was take a reasonable drink of the bottle and let it numb her tongue. 

Hughes turned and smiled at the doctor. “Thanks.” 

“That means you’re dismissed.” Roy added. 

“Roy. C’mon.” 

Roy smiled in his charming, warm, and utterly fake way. “Thank you for your help, doctor. I’ll have someone report to you in the morning. That will be all.” 

“Of course, Colonel.” He picked up his bag and left through the flap, Hughes securing it before his shadow could even fully leave. 

Hawkeye laid back on the pillows with a deep sigh and a heavy flop, eyes closed. 

Roy shook his head. “You’re a ridiculous person. I don’t know why I bother.” 

“Stop talking.” 

Hughes grinned. “See? She’s fine. You know you should probably get to--” 

“I don’t need it from you.” He looked down at Hawkeye, pulling up the blankets. “I’m going to touch you. Don’t be paranoid.” he tucked them in around her and turned back to Hughes. 

“Well, you need it from someone, and Hawkeye’s tired, so it’s just me. If you didn’t want to get dinner, I do have some new pictures of Elicia to show you, and--you’ll never believe how cute she’s gotten--you know, Gracia was just saying the other day about you--” 

“Maes, it’s been a long day.” 

“Sun’s not even down yet.” 

“Maes.” 

“Anyway, Gracia was saying you--Hawkeye, are we keeping you up?” 

“No.” She smiled sleepily, her eyes still closed. “I like it.” 

“Great. Anyway, she was saying you should really meet this girl --” 

___

Roy sat down on the small bed and took off his shoes. He blinked back a wave of exhaustion that had finally crashed over him, as if his body had suddenly remembered the effort of holding so much tension. 

“She’s out cold.” Hughes gave him a glass. “Here. Have some brandy.” 

“I do think I hurt my shoulder.” Roy massaged it for a moment. “God, she’s strong.” 

Hughes sat down next to him and took a drink. “You’re not usually on the receiving end, so it’s easy to forget, but considering she’s flipped me over her back a time or two, I’m not all that surprised. ” 

“Thank you.” He stared into his glass. “For being here.” 

Hughes considered a moment. “She scare you?” 

“It wasn’t the greatest moment of my life.” He lifted the glass to his lips, but mostly wetted them. “Hawkeye. God. She’s so stubborn. I fought with her at--” He glared playfully. “See, this is why you need to pick up a job in Eastern. She listens to you. ” 

“No, she lets me get away with things. Besides, Gracia hates the east. You’re on your own.” He shook his head. “Roy, I know we’ve had a lot happen, but you remember the early days. She had to be more. Everyone treated her like garbage for the crime of being a woman. Hawkeye holds a grudge.” He chuckled.  “Honestly, like no one I’ve ever met. Impressive.” 

Roy swirled around the brandy, the heavy legs of the liquor making rivers back into the sea of the glass. He took a drink, long and slow, flipping over the events of the day in his mind and assembling them, like a man playing solitaire. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

“You look tired.” 

“No wonder Information gave you a promotion.”

“Ass.” He snorted, smiling. 

Roy sighed heavily . “She pushed me out of the way.” 

“Of course. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but, she’s just kept doing the same job since you met. You’re her Alchemist. She keeps you alive.” Hughes laughed. “And honestly considering the Alchemist, they ought to give the woman a medal.” He swirled the brandy in his cup. “Hawkeye’s Hawkeye, and I don’t try to fix it. You’re you.” 

“She could burn her life better.”

Roy glanced over at Hughes, who was considering. He took a drink and moved the words around like scrabble tiles, waiting to present them. 

“Not to her, Roy. And that’s her choice to make.” He nodded. “I don’t try to fix it.” 

Roy looked up at the ceiling. Hughes was annoying: Sometimes by accident, sometimes by design, but he was much keener and smarter than he pretended to be. He was a fantastic fighter, a brilliant informant, because he watched people. He understood them. It had been that way since they were young. All these things benefited him.

Hughes interrupted his thoughts by ruffling Roy’s hair with a smile. “And I like you both.’ 

But the greatest thing he was, was kind. This was also by accident and design. 

There was an unsuccessful tangle with the knot Hughes had tied at the midpoint of the zipper, and an angry man called through the tent flap. 

“Hughes, are you gonna come do your job, or are you gonna keep playing grabass with your little friends?” 

“I better go.” Hughes poured the remains of his brandy into Roy’s glass. 

“Pretty sure I outrank him.” Roy said, unsure if it was true, but sure enough that he could make the man think it. 

Hughes stood up and nodded to Roy. “I’ll come check on you after.” 

“I’m beat flat.” Roy shook his head, set down the glass, and began to unbutton his shirt. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Hughes took a moment to look around the room before grabbing his bag. 

“Well, if she’s not gonna eat this, I will.” He picked up the slice of cake and gave a little rub to Hawkeye’s arm.  “Goodbye, little friends!” 

He left out of the flap and zipped it behind him. Roy thought about getting up to tie the knot, but his body felt like it was made out of lead. The bed felt so soft beneath him. He tossed his shirt onto the floor and laid on his back. Hawkeye’s breaths were deep and slow on the other end of the tent. It was okay. Everything was fine. He didn’t need to fix it. 

He fell into sleep like a child falls out of bed, without warning, and all at once.

[caitchercatlady]

Sleeping Over at Ramshackle w/Kalim

Though you don’t remember much of parties from your world, Kalim’s parties at Scarabia do help you in coming out of your shell. Despite his extroverted nature, Kalim always makes sure that everyone, including you, is having the time of their life. You’re so appreciative that you wish you can do the same for Kalim.

Then, the idea hits you.

Over the course of the school week, you organize the spare bedroom with spare sheets that you have and do some cleaning. On that Friday, you are nervous out of your wits, but you finally gather the courage to ask him to have a sleepover at Ramshackle Dorm. In his chipper and excitable way, Kalim is very honored to accept your invitation. He will see you after club activities that night.

Hearing Kalim accept your offer should help tame your nerves, but it only makes them more rattled. Maybe Kalim has high expectations of you. Oh, you feel sick to the stomach.

Thanks to Jamil being able to keep secrets, he offers you some recipes that remind Kalim of home. They’re basic, but they won’t break your bank either.

At least it will give Kalim something to be impressed by.

You are finishing the cooking, which makes Grim droll like crazy, when you get the anticipated knock at the door. You cover the pots and pans to keep the heat of the dishes (and to ensure that if Grim tries anything funny, he’ll get a warning burn touch). You take deep breaths before you answer the door, and when you do, you catch Kalim with beaming eyes and a full luggage trailing behind him.

He greets you with a hug. “Hi, Prefect! Thank you for inviting me over to your dorm. The place looks great! Wait…You’re cooking something? It smells wonderful in there! May I come in?”

“Yes, yes, you may,” you reply, stuttering and moving away to give your guest room to enter.

Yanking his luggage behind him, Kalim makes his way to the living room. He asks if he can sit his things by the couch. When you answer his questions with permission, Kalim leans his things against the couch and immediately wants to know where your kitchen is. You guide him over there and handle the freshly made meal, thanks to Jamil’s instruction. Kalim’s eyes sparkle at your hard work.

“Prefect! These are my favorites! How did you know?”

“Oh, uh.” Your cheeks flush, and you scratch the back of your head. “A little bird told me,” you reply metaphorically.

“Well, please give that bird friend of yours my thanks. This will go great with the snacks I brought over. Oh! I’ll be right back!”

Before you can respond to his sentences, Kalim makes a mad dash back into the hall. You can Grim side-eye each other, not because of what Kalim has brought, but with how much. He doesn’t return just as swiftly, which makes you concerned but Grim drool. Kalim does come back with an arm’s hold worth of sweets, much to your dismay. When he reaches the kitchen counter, he lets the bags and boxes fall onto it like an avalanche.

Kalim wipes his brow and sighs heavily. “Gee! I kinda forgot how much I brought over until I opened my suitcase. No wonder it looks so much emptier now.” He lets out his cheeky laugh.

“If you think about apologizin’, don’t,” says Grim. “This is the buffet of my dreams.”

You grab Grim by his collar before he’d dive into the pile. “Grim, don’t be such a hog. Kalim put so much thought an effort for us. This is sharable.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Kalim replies. “I wanna try your cooking since you worked so hard on it.”

“As you are the guest, Kalim, you can pick first.”

“Oh boy! I can’t wait!”

The dinner may not be the Scarabia usual way of sitting and eating, but Kalim is very respectful towards your dorm and  your things (Much more than Grim is on a typical day). Along with that respect, he is incredibly pleased with the cooking, praising your gifted talent.

“I always wanted to learn how to cook, but everyone says it’s too dangerous for me.”

“Not if you know how to do it right,” you encourage. “If you’d like, I still have some spare ingredients for bread.”

“You want me to make bread with you?”

“It’s quite easy…if you want to, of course.”

Kalim giggles and latches onto you like a baby monkey to its mama. “Prefect, you’re the best. I promise I’ll be a good pupil. Where do we start?”

To say that baking the bread is quite the adventure is an understatement. Yes, Kalim is the Deuce of food instructions, but all ends well when the delicious bread comes out of the oven. Though Grim confirms how scrumptious the bread is, he pretty much eats anything. Kalim’s and your opinions matter the most, and you both concur with smiles and piece swallows.

The clock is striking late, and you figure that you need to get ready for bed. If not for sleep, at least to get comfy. You are heading from your bedroom to the washrooms to wash up and change, only to be intercepted by Kalim on his way from getting himself clean.

“Prefect! Glad, I caught ya!” He latches onto your hands and pulls you towards the guest room, where he will be sleeping for the night. As you enter, your let out a heavy sigh to the mess that Kalim’s already made with his belongings. He sees your face and his eyes widen. “Oh, I’m sorry! This will be clean by the time I leave, I promise.”

You smirk. “Thank you, Kalim.”

He quickly hugs you before he makes a swift walk to his luggage, retrieving a bow-wrapped-only present. Kalim shoves the gift into your arms excitedly. “I figured you’d like a new set of pajamas to where. Something for when it gets hotter here on campus…Not that I think you didn’t have any, but you never know.”

(Describe the pajamas after Kalim’s card drop)

Kalim swallows nervously. “Do you like them?”

Your face is washed of color as you admire Kalim’s present, gracing your fingers across the fabric. “Kalim…I love them. No one has ever given me anything like this before.”

Kalim’s starry eyes beam at your compliment. “Really? I’m glad to hear it, Prefect. Let’s go and have you try them on! What do ya say?”

You don’t get time to respond as Kalim pushes out of the guest room and down to the washroom. He fortunately leaves you to do that by your lonesome while he waits out in the hall. These pajamas act like outerwear with how many straps you have to tie to look appealing and practical. Nevertheless, you manage through it, impressing Kalim once you model your new night clothes to him.

He wastes no time in dragging you back to his room. It astonishes you still how Kalim can make a conversation out of anything. You let him speak his piece, but his sunshine energy doesn’t help your eyes stay perched open as they should. It’s nearly midnight by now.

Kalim notices this (how can he not?). His smile still plastered, he says, “Prefect, thank you for hosting your sleepover and thank you for inviting me.”

Your cheeks flush. “It’s nothing really.”

“Nothing? It’s not nothing. I’ve been having a great time.”

“Though I don’t have all of the animals and a buffet for a sultan?”

“You think those are the most important things about a sleepover party, Prefect?”

“Well, I…”

Kalim snickers. “Prefect, I know my own parties are unlike others, but a party is not all about how many things you can make or get. Parties are for having your friends to hang and have fun together. They’re about seeing people smile, cheer, and laugh. Does that make sense?”

You blush again. “You’re so kind, Kalim. I don’t know what to say.”

“Hey, it’s what friends do for each other, am I right?”

You nudge his arm. “I suppose you’re right.”

“And friends know when it’s time to get some sleep.” He yanks on the sheets and burritos you in them like the topping stuffings.

You attempt to protest about sleeping in the guest’s bed with him only for Kalim to massage your temple with his pointer finger. He’s not going to let you stress out over the little things. Well, for him, it may not be the little things.

Does he have any idea? you ask yourself.

The answer arrives swiftly when Kalim snuggles against you and yawns, “We should do this every week,” grinning against your cheek.

[jessicas-pi]

Hihi! Omg are we doing the AU Ask game again !? How exciting!!

How do you feel about a Sabezra Medieval Dragon Rider Fantasy AU ?

Also hope you've been doing well! Thank you for being awesome 😇

Hi hi!!! Indeed we are doing the ask game again! :D

This is a FANTASTIC AU idea and I was really tempted to write a snippet from my HTTYD AU but then I got an idea for something else!! It didn't end up with a really strong fantasy tone but it's medieval and sabezra and they ride dragons so let's just say it's close enough!

(this also, uh. it got. like. really super long. sorry about that.)

---

Sabine lovingly stroked one hand over Phoenix's scaly head. The dragon blinked her liquid gold eyes and chuffed contentedly, nuzzling her head against Sabine's and purring deeply.

In the courtyard of the stables, Sabine could hear the young dragons yipping as they tumbled and roughhoused, chasing each other in circles. Sabine had always thought dragon pups were bothersome and high-maintenance, but she had a soft spot for the trio, from the time they were just a cluster of speckled, lavender-hued eggs. Phoenix remained Sabine's best hunter, but had embraced motherhood with surprising aptitude.

With a happy sigh, Sabine slipped her arms around her dragon's neck and hugged her close. She had bonded with Phoenix when she was no more than a toddler and Phoenix was a fresh hatchling, born of a pedigreed showdragon and Father's own hunter, herself a purebred.

Phoenix had taken after her sire, with her long neck and iridescent dark purple scales and deep golden eyes. Father had suggested pairing her with another purebred, a racer with shimmery black scales and powerful wings, but Sabine had refused. She knew her father adored the dragons as much as she did and only wanted the best for them, but Sabine wanted Phoenix to have the chance to choose for herself.

Gently, Sabine scratched her dragon under the chin, and Phoenix closed her eyes and purred louder.

Tristan had told her she was projecting her own feelings about her upcoming betrothal onto her dragon, and deep down, Sabine had known he was right. But as it should turn out, Phoenix had been able to make her own choice in a partner.

(It was an extremely questionable choice, but there was no accounting for taste.)

Phoenix had the blood of Queens' dragons in her veins, and carried herself with all the elegance that befit her lineage. She slid through the halls beside Sabine like a long velvet ribbon, sleek and silent and beautifully dignified. And the mate she chose? The sire of her pups?

Well.

Sabine snorted as she watched Wulf lead his rider in a merry chase across the stableyard, hissing and occasionally sneezing fire over his shoulder at him. Elegant, beautiful, dignified, and pedigreed were not adjectives one could apply to Wulf.

Badly-mannered, incorrigible, and an utter menace might be a better fit.

As Sabine leaned against the wall of Phoenix's stable and watched, Wulf scrabbled up one of the high stone walls and took up a perch on the parapet, giving poor Ezra a look that Sabine could only describe as a smirk.

"Well, you just stay up there, then!" she heard Ezra holler breathlessly up at his dragon. "We both know you'll come down when—"

That was as far as he got before the trio of dragon pups dogpiled him, chirring playfully as they sent him crashing down into a heap of hay.

Sabine laughed to herself and gave Phoenix a little kiss on her brow, then stepped out of the stable and into the courtyard, whistling for the young dragons. Immediately, the pups abandoned Ezra and came bounding and flapping over to her. Tumblebria, the biggest, looked the most like her dam, with shiny purple scales speckled with orange. Scuffletrix took after his sire; all blotchy orange and brown, with only his golden eyes inherited from his dam. Switchtail was the smallest, and he was a perfect mix of both his parents. Large-limbed and long-clawed, their fangs jutting out of their mouths, with scraggly, too-broad wings, no one could call them dragons worthy of nobility.

"You're an awful set of monsters," Sabine scolded cheerfully, stroking Switchtail's head and scratching Tumblebria under the chin. "Attacking a poor, defenseless stableboy? If I didn't know better, I'd think your father was a wild dragon some idiot managed to saddle up and half-tame."

The three pups bounced around her for a bit, eagerly accepting chin-scratches and snout-kisses, then went frolicking off. She let them go, and turned her attention to the boy who was half-buried in the pile of hay.

"I'm not sure if I should be more offended at the part where I'm defenseless or the part where I'm an idiot," Ezra remarked, shooting her a look that was too annoyed to mean anything besides repressed amusement.

"But not the part where you're poor?"

"I am poor."

"True enough, I guess," Sabine laughed, and offered him a hand up.

He grinned and took it—and then yanked her down into the pile of hay beside him. She landed with a yelp, immediately scrabbling up to her hands and knees and swatting at him. Before she knew it, they were tussling like a couple of dragon pups. It took more time and effort than it used to for her to pin him down and demand surrender—partly because she'd lost the size advantage she once had on him, and partly because they were laughing almost too hard to breathe—but she was still able to manage it

"Okay—" he wheezed, through tears of laughter. "Okay! You win! Now get off me!"

"Oh?" Sabine demanded, trying to school her face into something challenging and finding it difficult. "Are you giving me orders now, stableboy?"

"Hey, that's dragon tamer to you, princess!" he teased, shoving her off him. "Now cut it out!" She made as if she was going to pounce on him again for calling her princess, and he caught her wrist, an unexpected urgency in his voice as he hissed, "People are watching, Sabine!"

The use of her given name—something he technically wasn't allowed to do, and something he only did when they were alone or something was urgent—stopped her short, and she looked around.

He was right.

Other workers were in the courtyard, all of them meticulously not looking at the tussling pair. On the other hand, one of Sabine's cousins had come out to see his mount, and he was making no attempt to hide his staring.

"Right. Can't have you tarnishing my honor in front of the stablehands, can we?" Sabine muttered sarcastically, and then raised her voice a little. "Very well! I accept your unconditional surrender!" She lowered her voice and pointed. "Also, your jacket has a rip."

Ezra sat up slightly with a dismayed exclamation as he plucked at the fresh tear in the cloth she indicated. "Aw! The kids must have torn it."

Sabine leaned back on her elbows, smiling a little at his habit of calling the dragon pups the kids. It was endearing, and she'd caught herself thinking of them that way, too. Though he could always find new ways to be a nuisance, Sabine was glad for his company, after the day she had.

(Really, she was always glad for his company. But lately, the implications of that had started to feel perilous, and she tried not to think about it.)

"I have warned you about roughhousing with dragon pups," Sabine reminded him, tilting her head back to stare up at the cloudy afternoon sky.

"It wasn't a big deal when they were the size of cats," Ezra grumbled.

"Well, now they're the size of small horses who think they're the size of cats. You're lucky they know to play nice with you, or it might not be your jacket that got clawed up." Sabine grinned at him. "So maybe listen to the girl who's been training dragons since she was four, and don't train the next batch of hatchlings to tackle you without warning?"

"The next batch?" He turned his head to look at her, surprised. "Did one of the dragons lay? I didn't know the Count had decided to breed any—"

"Father didn't decide anything," Sabine cut him off. "But mister Prince Charming over there—" She nodded towards the parapet, where Wulf had started to slither along it towards the section of the stables where Phoenix was kept. "—has been pretty sweet with my girl lately, and their hatchlings have started flying on their own, which means the nest is empty. I'll bet you my best jewels she'll be laying before the month is over."

Ezra raised his eyebrows. "You're not going to... stop... them?"

She shrugged, leaning back and crossing her arms behind her head. "I'm a firm believer in letting my dragons do whatever they want with their love lives."

She could feel his eyes on her for longer than was comfortable, and when he spoke, it was gently and with sympathy—and a trace of a pain all his own.

"Your mother's still pushing that betrothal, then?"

"You're as bad as Tristan," Sabine muttered, squirming under his gaze and looking away, only to catch a glimpse of Wulf and Phoenix nuzzling each other tenderly. She watched the big orange dragon nimbly climb into Phoenix’s stall, circling around her and nestling down in the hay beside her. Sabine could hear her chirping and trilling fondly as he snuffled at her snout, and she leaned over and butted her head against his chin, rubbing her long neck against his shorter one.

"I still can't believe you let them be together," Ezra said quietly, his eyes on them as well. "Anyone else would have just smashed her eggs and forgotten about it."

Sabine pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped an arm around them, resting her chin on her knees.

"I would never do that to Phoenix."

"But you didn't have to bring him here, either. You didn't have to make the stablemaster hire me, when Wulf kept running away. I know you wanted her to have a choice, but… anyone would have drawn the line at choosing him."

"I never said I thought he was a good choice," Sabine pointed out, and grinned. "He's horrible."

Ezra didn't grin back at her, and he didn't meet her eyes. "Does it… even... matter, to you? If anyone else thinks he's not good enough. If—if your family thinks he's not good enough."

Sabine looked away, his words bringing a sinking feeling in her chest.

I guess I'm not the only one projecting onto the dragons.

"No," she said, gulping back a sudden lump in her throat. She'd had suspicions—no, she'd known—how he felt about her, but she thought he knew that it was something that couldn't be talked about. "It doesn't matter to me." She tried to smile. "I mean, why shouldn't a half-tamed wild forest dragon have babies with a pedigreed purebred hunter? Besides the fact that their pups will be an awful nuisance. They're just dragons. It isn't like it is with people."

"Isn't it?" he whispered.

"Of course it isn't. Dragons are just dragons. People have to be other things. Just—as an example—you and I. We could never be together."

His eyes darted to hers for a second, and it felt like all the air had been sucked right out of her lungs.

"Maybe we could," he said, still holding her eyes. His gaze was searching, and his fingertips brushed her hand. "If we—"

"Ezra, don't," she whispered sharply. "Don't do this to me now."

He shifted a little closer and lowered his voice further. "It doesn't have to be this way."

"Yes, it does. People like us can't be together."

"Because of who I am?"

"Because of who I am! I have a duty to my clan. The Empire gets closer to our border every day. I will do whatever I have to do to protect my people."

She leaned closer to him and, for just a second, she let her arm brush against his.

"I'll do whatever I have to do to protect you, Ezra."

His eyes flashed, and quick enough that she couldn't stop him, he slipped his arm through hers and pulled her closer, ducking his head to whisper in her ear.

"Run away with me."

Those four words made her heart flip, and she wasn't sure if it was thrill or horror.

"Ezra!"

"I've thought it all out," he went on urgently, pulling her a little closer and ignoring the way she gasped his name. "I'll take Wulf and you'll take Phoenix and we'll bring the pups. We can disappear together. There wouldn't be anything stopping us then."

"Have you even heard a word I've said?!" she hissed, frantically aware of how many people were around them. Even if they couldn't hear his words, they were watching.

He wasn't deterred. "You know I don't have anything to give you. I can't make you rich or comfortable. Your family will never accept me. You won't be proud of me. I can't even give you a ring. But I'd love you, and I'd do anything to make you happy. Think about it, Sabine."

She shook her head, too choked up to speak or do anything besides drop her face into her hands and squeeze her eyes shut tight. After a moment, he let go of her arm—then slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side.

"Sabine? Was I—wrong?"

Sabine's throat was too tight to speak, and she just let herself lean into his side. It didn't matter who saw anymore. Nothing mattered anymore.

"If you don't want me, it's okay," he went on in a whisper that was as broken as it was gentle. "I'll still run away with you. We can say I'm your brother. You won't get pushed into a betrothal with some Imperial scum."

"Stop," she whispered tremulously, afraid to open her eyes and see the way he was looking at her. "Just stop. I can't do this. You're going to be part of my life for as long as our dragons live, and I don't want to look at you every day and think about what we could have had."

She heard him inhale sharply, and felt him move closer to her, leaning his head in towards hers and speaking in a breathless whisper.

"Sabine—you mean—you—"

"I mean I can't," she hissed, raising her face and finding that he was dangerously near her. "Not I don't want to. Not I won't. I can't. That's all there is to it. That's all we can do. That's—"

Something flickered across his face as he looked at her, and for a heart-stopping second, Sabine knew he was about to lean in and give her a kiss slow and tender enough to break her resolve.

"Don't," she whispered, barely putting breath into the words.

Ezra held her eyes, then nodded once and let go of her.

"Of course, Viscountess," he said, offering her a weak joke as he moved away. "Can't have me tarnishing your honor in front of the stablehands."

Sabine glanced around. The not-staring was so obvious she could feel it.

"Too late," she said with a painful half-laugh, because it was terribly true.

We're too late, Ezra. We never had a chance.

[ducktracy]

there are a lot of evil people in the world and a lot of darkness in the world and so it’s very important for me to stress that now more than ever is the time to spread kindness and compassion. combat the evil by not only not partaking in it, but actively refuting it. destroy the notion that being compassionate or generous or kind to someone is uncool or embarrassing or even scary. be the change you want to see. start a chain reaction. positivity only breeds more positivity. do an act of kindness for someone so that that person who is too afraid to do it themselves can see you, realize that they’re not alone, and perhaps sheepishly follow your example. and then the next person who is too afraid but sees that person can do the same. when bad news comes out about bad people or horrible atrocities in the world it’s such an easy impulse to despair, and obviously it’s important to feel what you need to feel. grieve. be angry. be sorrowful. be empathetic. but dust off your pants and get up and be a part of a chain reaction that, no matter how small the scale, and spread compassion and love and care. all the reasons why you might not—“it’s hard! it’s scary! people will make fun of me! it’s useless because there’s too much evil!” are all grade A arguments as to why you should. you have no idea how many people you could inspire to do the same. even if it doesn’t get you anyway far, you can at least say you have the nobility of trying. please choose love and please choose life. you are worth loving and you are worth inspiring others to love

[camellcat]

@wondlas SAID THE PACK IS TRANSFEM XANDER CODED BC THE ALPHAS OF HYENA CLANS ARE FEMALE AND THAT WAS HIS ROLE. GASPING CHOKING DYING I NEED MTF XANDER NOW!!!!!!!!!

[cillyscribbles]

uh oh!

bad decision, thatcher!

[cpunzreal]

hi. reblogging this because you finished before me grrrrr (/lh) but also i agree with a Lot of what echo and helios have said so im just going to add on with my one billion thoughts about punzs gender

okay so Basically punzs answer to gender is "no" but also "yes" but also "i dont give a shit what you call me". but also they do notice that 90% of people default to calling them a man and its kind of like . "i dont care about gender but thats not right" . doesnt care until you make them care, basically, even if theyd never actually comment on it . (if i had to put a name to it, id theyre say a mix of agender, pangender, and a lot of cassgender)

in terms of actual clothing they would wear, well, 90% of their fashion is "how do i maximize my chances of survival" and 10% is "how do i want to be Perceived" . "what about what they actually want to wear" Well,

punz wasnt raised transphobically really, i mean . as inclusive as you can really get when your family is the in-world equivalent of conservative christians . they werent terrible but they did raise punz to be incredibly cishet, which is, well, a little bit of a problem when shes gay and nonbinary . but they dont really think about that for a while . epitome of "im probably nonbinary but i have a job so idrc about that rn"

punz mostly wears just whatever fits in the moment . theres always the lingering thought at the back of his mind of "youre doing this wrong youre supposed to be a Man this is defying what you were meant to be" but theyve gotten very good at ignoring that . i designed their main outfit to be decently functional (part of the reason why i cut off the sleeves of their hoodie, i think having sleeves would get in the way of movement + trying to slip in and out of it easily, also part of why i gave them a choker to wear most of the time rather than a necklace because that would be so easy to grab)

however as much as punz would like everyone to believe that everything she wears is exclusively for practical reasons and they dont care about literally anyone elses opinion, and they probably dont even realize it themself most of the time, They Care A Little Bit and subconsciously a lot of their fashion choices are at least a little bit to affect how other people see them. constantly trying to get people to look at them and go "h- um, sh- uh, they-" or at least be a little confused for a second. for one, its fun to see people get confused, and for two, their gender is "everything and nothing at the same time" so they kind of are "he i mean she i mean they???". thats one of the reasons why they let their hair grow out a bit, wear a choker, and wear makeup

i fully agree with punz having at least a bit longer hair and tying it back in a bun. also painted nails. you literally have to give them painted nails its the law i dont make the rules. i personally give him painted black nails most of the time but i could also see them wearing maybe blue or gold? considering them having painted red nails while corrupted. lots of things you can do with nail polish! also LOTS of piercings. i need to actually plan out what piercings i have in my design. consider punz with angel fangs. also nipple piercings woah guys who said that

i also always draw them with eyeliner. hes gotten very good at putting eyeliner on as quick as possible, although its a bit messy. also some mascara if they have extra time. they also wear lipstick at least occasionally, itd probably be more subtle (although they would look great in black and/or gold lipstick i think theyd consider anything complicated way too time consuming).

i think what theyd be most comfortable in, as a good balance between practical and affirming, would probably be leggings and leotards and other tighter clothing. although theyd definitely wear clothes over that (in my design they wear a leotard under their hoodie just in case they need to take off their hoodie, like if they need to swim or something and dont want that weighing them down, same with their pants that they have shorts under)

whenever theyre just inside alone or with dream though, they probably just wear a dysphoria hoodie and maybe shorts and nothing else. cannot be bothered to put on anything else

anyways . this post is long enough But if you want me to talk about this more feel free to send me an ask because i could literally talk about this for a week straight and not get tired

guys what are your thoughts on c!punz’s gnc visual presentation?

the way gender nonconformity occurs in males clashes with my gender nonconformity and the way i would choose clothing in his “profession”, so i need some ideas <:p

[seventh-district]

7am, eating cold leftover teriyaki stir-fry for breakfast and crying over blorbos

[the-flowerpatch]

It's very silly, I think. Everyone here eventually has an "oh" moment. That moment when they realize they care about you. This moment never happens for any of our other friends, or at least, it doesn't anymore. Probably did when our friends were our FPs. But. I had that moment, just a few minutes ago, and.

And I. I get it. I understand. And you could look at my SP profile and see my listed groups and go, "Well that's not surprising, you've been in the flower patch since you formed," and you'd be right. But still.

I... Don't know how to label this. Should I even bother? Does it even matter? I'm a man of labels. We are too, collectively. We feel or experience something and we have to find a word for it, and if a word doesn't exist then we'll be damned, we'll make one, but.

But. Perhaps it's fine for things to go unlabeled. Whatever this is. It feels stronger than friendship, to us. Not romance, never romance, but more intense than "friendship".

And, god, friendship. We have... Thoughts on the word, as someone who's apl.at. If we could we'd never call our friends our friends. We'd never use that word to describe our relationships with them. We'd call them our stars, they burn bright in the sky and light the sky up in the most wonderful constellation one could imagine. But... Eh. They wouldn't understand. People rarely... Get it, that aspect of our identity.

But I digress.

All I know is I care about you. On top of being a stickler for labels, I'm not one to... Feel. Strong emotion. Some of us are much more emotional than others; I got the short end of the stick there and hold onto our alexithymia. Emotions are a goddamn mystery to me half the time. But what I do know is I'm tearing up writing this and you're on my mind and my heart aches, and... I don't know.

My role here is just like Stan's, it's related to you, specifically. We keep the system from panicking when you're not doing good, to put it very simply. I can do this job no problem, I don't feel emotion very well or very much, and until today I wasn't... I dunno. Until today it didn't hit me. Whatever "it" is.

All this to say... Congratulations, I guess? You got another one. I am very fond of you.

[cleromancy]

hi! I was scrolling down your DC tag and found this post (www(.)tumblr(.)com/cleromancy/735420182202368001/fucking-no?source=share) -I hope the link doesn't vanish but just in case it's one where you talk about approaches to writing DC and you cite waid, grayson and morrison. I know a bit more about morrison's, but (if you don't mind), would you care to elaborate on each style?

speaking very very broadly here, and therefore making generalizations that won't apply to every single thing each writer has ever written, but rather their general reputation or what i personally have found reading their work

waid is famously well-read and generally tries to reconcile as much canon as he can while still 1) telling the story he wants to tell and 2) fitting with modern style/genre/etc conventions. if he does make a departure you generally assume he knew he was doing it and did it on purpose while still mostly adhering to that former goal. im thinking of the donna/garth situationship in worlds finest teen titans here, which to me read like he was like "wait, why *wouldnt* they have ever had a thing, they have so much in common" and an exploration of that, and it does actually mesh with stuff that came before imo. but i picked waid as an example of someone who is extremely well read and puts a lot of effort into yes and-ing what came before. but at the same time he Builds a lot off of it, he's not just parroting.

devins approach to my reading is more like... she's character driven in a way where like. 1) she probably has a solid understanding of the history of her mains and has probably read at least the recent stuff but definitely hasnt sat down and read their Whole History, and 2) if her character concept differs from what came before she's comfortable stepping away from it. so by contrast to waid as an example, you generally won't see her playing with minor elements from teen titans 1966 or new teen titans, or if you do it's a surprise and she might have just taken a concept and turned it on its head, if that makes sense. shes more likely to bring in her own stuff. but at the same time you usually don't expect anything of hers to be a sharp departure from anything recent or any of her contemporaries. devin is someone who can read catwoman comics and then be like "i actually think catwoman should be more like xyz, because when i boil her down to what i see as her essential/core elements, this is what feels honest and compelling to me," and then that's how she'll write her.

morrison is pretty infamous for their "everything is canon" approach by which i mean. they may not have read anything recent scrimblo scringus was in, but they *did* read the elseworlds comic from 1989 where they originated that bears little to no resemblance to their current iteration, and they think it would be fun to randomly bring in some shit from that story into scrimblo's mainline continuity. so you get things like new earth jason being a redhead but also entirely unlike either pre-crisis jason or post-crisis jason in any discernable way, or they'll import batcow from tiny titans to the main continuity. because actually why Shouldn't we have batcow too. so morrisons something of a wildcard in terms of both what they might have read and in what they'll use and what they'll ignore, its a total free for all. every comic ever written is their playground, pretty much.

hopefully that makes sense lol. and i am oversimplifying a lot but that was my logic in name-dropping those three