#I MISSED WRITING ABOUT MY GIRL

[andersonfilms]

❝ LONG NIGHT, LONG RIDE ❞ ✶ ABBY ANDERSON !

★⠀warning y disclaimers — eighteen+, nsfw themes, country!abby, petname usage (sweetheart, darling), mechanical bullrider!abby, abby is a big ass flirt, kinda shy!reader, dub-con (alcohol involved). 

RAY RAMBLES ★ idk a random thought and i kinda ran with it. if you like, i have a part in mind with smut for my slutty friends. to be continued ...

you’ve never seen a woman move like she did. it wasn’t the first time you’d seen her there. nestled deep in the heart of texas, tattered-blue denim jeans hugging her thick thighs deliciously, white tank top accentuating her toned abdomen. worn-in brown boots on her feet, blonde hair as carefree as she appeared, hips in sync with the mechanic bull as her skillful hips ride as the operator strategically tries to rid her off of it. s’not an easy task by any means. 

she has the face you can’t quite seem to forget. you never really do. it’s become a ritual of yours. every friday night, you end up in this rundown bar, the only one in this nothing town. maybe it’s pathetic to pine over someone so clearly out of your league. but she’s easy on the eyes, the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. surely, it wouldn’t hurt to just look. 

the girl of your dreams is riding the bull again, and looking goddamn hot doing it. possibly even hotter than this texas heat in the beginning of summer’s warmth. someone as muscular, toned, and broad as her shouldn’t be doing it so gracefully. it’s been a month of watching her. every friday night you nurse the ice bear, condensation dripping down to your fingertips, soaking your wrists as the liquid drips further. 

she’s making quite the show of it tonight. anderson, ever the performer. 

the only name you’ve heard being used, quite loose lips of the small town groupies. apparently, anderson, is the talk of the town and tonight the girls next to you at the bar are as chatty as ever. you only pick up remnants. bits and pieces of their drunken gossip. 

she broke up with her girlfriend. been two months actually according to nora. time to make a move. 

anderson wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole. 

whatever. i’m going to make sure she’s riding me tonight. you’ll see. 

you force yourself to disengage the eavesdropping and look away from the scene of her riding the bull. you’ve seen her do it so many times you know it’ll be over soon. it’s pathetic how you know that in the first place. 

you’ll leave soon, the commitment of work bright and early looks over your intoxicated brain. but then you hear loud boots stomping their way to you. looking over you notice it’s her and she makes conversation with the bartender as she sips on the chilled bottle of beer. 

“seen you here every friday for the best month, darling. do you like the show?” anderson chuckles as her body inches forward. her thumb picking at label on her beverage.

she’s noticed you before? 

“mhm, not sure. still trying to figure out if i do.” 

she nods smoothly, amping you nerves as she scoots the bar stool closer to yours, before taking a seat. meaty, strong, legs opened wide as they rest on each side, supporting the weight of her built frame.

“hm.” she hums, watching as you take another swing of your beer. 

she opens her mouth, more of her southern drawl seeping out but the girls from before manage to squeeze through the small space between you and the mysteriously hot woman who occupies your brain. 

“anderson, you look really good tonight.” the girl from before resurfaces, her sultry tone sharp enough to cut through the entire room, her hands making connection with her toned, freckled bicep descending down her forearm. you make yourself scarce to the bathroom, not enjoying the sudden storm in your stomach. 

it’s just there. 

jealousy storming it before you could even stop it. it’s clear anderson is more than sought after. she’s everyone’s dream, yourself included. you’ve had one short lived conversation. maybe she’s an asshole, a cheater, an ego the size of this massive state.

it’s what you told yourself as you washed your hands in the washroom. it’s the only thing you could tell yourself. the hint of rejection was even more unsettling so you decided to pay your tab and get the hell out of here. 

the vibrator tucked in your nightstand drawer had never done you wrong. why break a good thing? right? god, there’s never been a more pathetic moment on earth. you and your wand against the world of scorned loneliness. but then she’s in there with you. you’re frozen, unable to move as walks in. confidently, resting her broad back against the wooden door. the single use bathroom does not give you much room to breathe. 

anderson crosses her arms, muscles flexing as her arms visibly look bigger, as if they weren’t already delicious enough. she looks down as you’re slightly bent over the short sink, suddenly taking interest in your ass. 

well, it seems sudden to you. 

“you really didn’t have to run off.” she tuts, as you find her frame in the mirror. you swear she bucks her hips slightly but you must be imagining it. taking note of her golden locks flowing past her sculpted shoulders, brown stetson hat concealing her eyes from you, for the most part.

“i don’t know. you seem pretty preoccupied. didn’t wanna put a damper on your night.” once you were done rinsing your hands, you turned around, arms placed at your side. every single bone of your body incredibly nervous to speak with her. especially to be alone together.

“besides, it seems like you have a lot of fans mesmerized by you, anderson. everyone seems to talk about you.” 

“maybe? but i wanna talk to you, darling.” pushing off the door, anderson inches herself closer towards you.

“would this be something you want? my attention?” raising her head, tilting it to the side as she awaits your response. 

“you’re… forward.” you grasp at straws, trying to find the right words but nothing seems right. 

“jus’ know what i want when i see it.” anderson admits. you’re not sure what to think. the sinfully hot woman, everyone’s vying for her attention, and she’s decided to extend her interest in you. why? you’re not sure. “what?” 

“i-i just don’t know what to say to you, anderson.” she smirks, the sly smile of hers on display. “anderson, huh?” 

“isn’t that your name?” you perch yourself onto the sink. clearly, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. “sort of. it’s what everyone here knows at least. but you should call me by my name. my real one.” 

you’re honored with a privilege, a simple one, just for you. it’s intoxicating how special she can make you feel. your heart beating out of your chest the more she takes. affecting all and any rational thought occupying your brain. it’s just her. 

“abigail, but you can call me abby. abs.” she takes a few steps forward inching closer to the space between your open thighs.

“whatever you want, really. as long as these pretty lips are talking to me. hm? how does that sound to you?” 

you visibly gulp as  she inches closer and closer…

“uh, um, abigail’s pretty.” she’s got you now. utterly fucking trapped. 

abby chuckles. if she wasn’t this hot, it would be downright condescending. “mmm, think i’m pretty, sweetheart?” she’s so sure of what she wants, eyes set on you and it’s s’much to handle. the trap’s been set and you’re falling into her southern charm far easier than you would have if it were anyone else.

you barely nod your head, shyly biting your lip. finally, giving her something to work with. abby’s thinking about devouring you whole, eating you right up, bringing you home with her, pulling you into her bedroom, tearing you apart in every way she knows how. 

the light shining in your eyes makes her think you’d let her. 

“y-yeah, i do.” abby makes home between your thighs, standing at her full height, stammering six feet tall. firmly grabbing your legs before wrapping them around her torso. “bet you do, sweetheart. i’m sure you think about all sorts of things, especially about me.” 

your breath hitches as abby removes her hat, shaking her blonde hair to the side, sunkissed skin even more exquisite up close. freckled cheeks, the adorable bump in her nose, her nipples hard and now poking through the tank top, chest nearly against yours as she wedges herself impossibly close to you. perfectly shaped lips moving closer to yours. 

“why don’t you tell me what you think about when i’m riding the bull? when my hips roll, my head tossed back, and my back arched. be a sweetheart and tell me, darling.” her hat is placed in free hand while the other softly grips your chin, thumb smoothing over the soft skin.

“be real good and tell me.” 

you pause for a moment, doing your best not to fumble over your words, just this once. 

“most of the time, i can’t stop looking at your hips. how in control you look, so confident and my mind just…drifts.” you linger, eyes meeting her baby blues and fuck. fuck. fuck. 

you’ve never been so doomed to fall. 

“darling, don’t leave me hanging. what does it drift to?” abby asks, dipping her lips to your neck, ghosting over the access point, until she lightly kisses at your collarbones. so light, it makes you question if this is just some cruel, fever dream you’ll wake up from.

“shit.” abby takes it as a sign to continue her lips dip into your chest, hardly divulging to where you need her, before she’s ascending back up to your neck. “you gonna be good for me?” she whispers in your ear, her breath calm and even. 

you nod and abby bites your ear playfully as you moan, pulling her in by your legs. “hm, if i keep whispering pretty little things in your ear? can you handle me, sweetheart?” her southern accent further cementing you in her honey grip. 

“maybe? i don’t know. fuck, yes?” abby giggles, her voice dropping an octave as she goes in for the kill. “oh sweetheart. i might just kill this pussy of yours with what i have to say next.” on instinct, your hands tangle themselves into the root of her blonde hair, tugging her closer to you. wanting to suffocate her in your scent, but she’s already halfway there. 

“abigail, just say it. please?” she nods, loving how you’re already using your manners. fuck, so good for her already, not even having to ask twice. abby feels the heartbeat of her clit stirring in her pants as it chases the sound of your voice. she’s so feral, already. yeah, you may feel like a goner but if only you knew she is by far so much worse. 

“i noticed you the first night. those pretty fucking eyes staring at me. wouldn’t fucking leave me for anything, even when the bartender was trying to get your attention. those bambi eyes on me, bright eyed and practically begging for me….” abby’s purposely whines in your ear, causing you to grind into her. she can’t stop the chuckle leaving her lips. 

“you’re being mean. just tell me.” abby pauses as she grins like the cheshire cat. you tug her hair back tightly, the moan she emits is loud. her eyes nearly roll back into her head, but she’s able to stop it before it goes too far. before you push her to the subspace she can so easily get to when push comes to shove. for now, she’ll bask in the dominance. 

all of it so new, so fresh. “oh, i’m being mean?” abby threatens cockily. “i have  been awfully mean, huh? letting those pretty girls flirt with me right in front of you.” she kisses lightly underneath your ear before continuing.

“been thinking about you the last couple of weeks when i’m riding.” abby teases.

“you do?” your jaw slacks, your grip on abby’s head releases. “sure have, darling. m’thinking about how you want to ride me instead. pretty thighs rubbing together when you’d look my way.” abby’s hand drops to your thigh, rubbing your inner thighs with her thumb. basking in how you open them even wider, unprompted. just a small mention and you’re right back to her riding the bull. whimpered out for her, needing her to do anything, something. 

“why don’t we get out of here and you can come home with me?” she pleads, pressing a kiss to your temple. sweet and sultry with half-lidded eyes looking at you. your eyes looking at the hat in her hands. 

you nod, “yeah, i’d like that.” shyly, scratching the nape of your neck. 

“are you going to put your hat back on?” 

“mhm, not sure.” abby bites the inside of her cheek, anxious as the next thought plagues her mind. you won’t know what a big deal it is, but everyone in the bar will know. she will know, but you won’t and somehow it makes it easier when the request flies off her lips. 

“you could wear it? if you want, sweetheart.” abby asks sweetly. you’re quiet for a moment, pondering. “who knows. might be too big or too small.” you shrug your shoulders as if you’re not interested. 

“well, why don’t we try then, sweetheart? won’t know until you do.” she maneuvers the white cowboy hat, placing it carefully in your head. 

you smile happily at her. “look! a perfect fit.” 

abby knows there’s not a damn soul who looks better than you. “yeah, sure is perfect.”

DAILY CLICK + DONT BUY TLOU + DONATE

[blueskittlesart]

in the nicest and most non-confrontational way possible. i feel like some of you think that anything that isn't directly openly spelled out for you within a story is "missed potential" or "unexplored." like. sometimes there are implied narratives. sometimes the point is that you as the reader are supposed to think and draw your own conclusions and participate in the story. the writers not directly spelling every little detail out for you doesn't mean that the story is poorly written or missed its own plot details somehow. PLEASE.

[antigonesghosts]

What I loved about Cinderella's Castle is it is so entirely about Ella. We know starkid can handle a show with tons and tons of characters but I found it quite refreshing for it to be so wholly her story? I think it was a lovely choice for this show and man Bryce did such a perfect job of it, she is truly such a star

[prettymediocrewizard]

Thinking about... tha girls...

[spacedlexi]

twdg s4 really gave us an adorable wlw romance for the main character about building a home and a family where the two antagonists are an evil woman who she was partially cared for by as a child and her girlfriends fucked up not-exactly-ex girlfriend who wants her dead (who has been manipulated by Evil Woman and they are character foils) AND its written by a gay woman and its fucking CRICKETS!!!!! i dont understand !!!!!!!

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 44

PREV

The flight up to New York is a pleasant one.

The time in the airport itself had been less pleasant. Matt, as it turns out, is a firm believer in arriving with just enough time to check a bag, get through security, and get to the gate. He had claimed up, down, left, and right that he had it down to a science.

No matter how many times Smith had wondered about the scientific rigor of this 'science' he still kept it to himself. There was no need for Smith to voice his uncertainty with this plan because Kevin well and truly had it covered.

"You're giving us only an hour to check bags, get through security, and get to our gate?!" Kevin demands.

"Kevin, if you wanted to be there earlier then you could have asked Andrew to give yo a ride." Matt says. "We'll be fine."

"You know what Neil and Andrew get like when they have a long roadtrip ahead of them." Kevin argues.

"All lovey-dovey?" Nicky asks as Aaron makes a gagging sound.

"No, well yes, but no they always stop and buy all of the worst food too." Kevin reminds. "I'm just concerned about us missing our flight! We have barely enough time!" Kevin huffs crossing his arms.

"You're wrong anyways." Aaron says idly as he continues to text with Katelyn.

"How am I wrong?!" Kevin demands.

"We also have to park within that hour that Matt has left us with." Aaron says looking up from his phone.

"Matt!" Kevin squawks.

"It'll be fine." Matt reassures for the 2nd time.

"We all have checked bags!" Kevin exclaims, "What if we miss our flight?!" he wails.

"It'll be fine!" Matt repeats.

"No it won't!" Kevin exclaims.

---

It was fine.

The only real delays they met were at security.

Smith prided himself on being efficient in the security line. He has his watch off, his phone and ID secured in a zipped jacket pocket, his backpack and electronics in separate trays, and his shoes ready to be slipped off.

So he was shamed to have been the cause of the first delay when the TSA agent wouldn't wave Smith through the metal detector since she didn't realize he was there. That had been a whole anxiety attack and a half as the line had formed up behind him all wondering what the hold-up was.

Finally she seemed to startle as she realized that Smith had been standing there waiting and waved him through.

The other delay was that Kevin got patted down after he had forgotten to empty his 'emergency' water bottle.

It was probably for the best that they didn't have to be in the airport for that long. Every announcement that it was very important to not leave your bag unattended made him worry that with every blink somehow someone had slipped a bomb into his backpack.

While it was on his back.

As he was running with the rest of his friends to their gate.

"It just had to be the gate on the other end of the terminal." Aaron huffs.

"It would have been 100% perfect if someone hadn't left their water bottle in their bag despite the, let me check, 3,820 signs that said remove all liquids from your carry-ons!" Matt says as they continues to run.

"I said I forgot!" Kevin yells back from his spot at the front of the pack. Smith was under the distinct impression that Kevin was keeping pace with them since he had seen the Striker move much faster on the court and during warm-ups.

"We could have forgiven that!" Nicky pants, "Why did you have to slam the whole thing to prove that it was 'just water'?" he asks.

"Because I wanted to prove I wasn't a national security threat!" Kevin says. "I'll be going to the Olympics in a couple years and I can't have that on my record." he continues as he rounds a corner.

"What record?!" Smith asks suddenly worried that there was a record.

"Smithy, there's no record Kevin's just an idiot. An idiot who got patted down, tested for explosives, and had his carry-on searched." Nicky huffs.

"You don't know that there's not a record! The record everything nowadays!" Kevin huffs and their gate is in sight.

"Kevin, just shut up!" Aaron exclaims as they reach the line for their flight.

"Wait why aren't any of you getting shitty with Smiths?!" Kevin asks.

"His delay was like a minute and more importantly NOT HIS FAULT!" Nicky defends.

"He should have just walked through!" Kevin argues.

"Oh it's fine if he gets a record but not you?!" Aaron asks.

"So there is a record?!" Smith asks again.

They reach the line and the largely empty area around their gate is more than enough evidence that this was the final boarding. Smith breathed a sigh of relief as he took his place in line behind Nicky.

"The lines pretty slow, I'm going to go get a water." Kevin says and before any of them can say anything he is off towards a busy looking Newsweek store.

"I cannot believe him." Aaron huffs.

"All that water he just drank and is about to drink? He has lost window seat privileges." Matt pants wiping sweat from his brow.

"Agreed." Nicky says.

Smith laughed between panting breaths. His stomach hurt a bit from the stress of running but it was fine.

They get on the plane without Kevin and head to their seats. Most of the overhead storage is taken up at this point but Smith slides his bag under the middle seat in front of him after Matt

In the end, Kevin barely made it onto the plane in time since he got caught up in deciding on water. "You're in my seat." Kevin says as the only man not yet seated.

"I am not about to spend this flight getting up every 2 minutes because you have to pee." Matt says, "Abby didn't used to need to take all those pitstops when we're on the bus." Matt adds.

"I hate the aisle, the cart could hit my legs." Kevin argues.

"Then you can sit in the middle if Smith's willing to move." Matt says.

"You can have the middle Kevin." Smith offers actually preferring the aisle seat since then he doesn't have to ask anyone to move for him.

"I hate the middle seat, there is no room." Kevin crosses his arms.

"Smith is like only 3 inches shorter than you and he's not complaining." Matt continues.

"It's an important 3 inches."

"I bet it is."

"Nicky, are you serious?"

"What?!"

"There is an uninvolved member of the public, right there."

"He's wearing headphones it's fine!"

---

It's fine.

Eventually Kevin takes the middle seat if for no other reason than Matt stubbornly pretends to go to sleep but absolutely does not want the aisle seat either.

Smith gives it up and ends up with his own preferred seat while Kevin pointedly takes both of the arm rests, as is his right. The plane ride progresses smoothly from there. Smith has always liked flying. There is always a sense that the second that he gets onto the plane and the door closes he has absolutely zero control over what happens afterwards.

That is a nice comfort.

He pays attention to the safety briefing, finds his nearest exit, and that he should secure the bag over his own face before securing it on Kevin's.

He puts his headphones on and tries not to think about the anxiety of meeting the 'girls'.

He has heard much about the 'girls'.

Allison Reynolds. Allison was someone who's legacy existed even outside of the team. Smith didn't know much about fashion but a Reynolds bet remained a solid practice within Palmetto. She was, undeniably, absolutely gorgeous and if Kevin was to be believed 'kind of a bitch'. Nicky had swatted his arm but had said that it was not entirely inaccurate but like 'in the best way'.

Dan Wilds. He met Dan. Dan was nice. Also, if Matt was to be believed, the best human to ever walk the planet earth. The reason the sun rose in the east and set in the west. The gravitational pull that held the universe together. If Andrew is to be believed, she's fine.

Renee Walker. Renee was the one who taught Andrew how to use knives. His friend has talked warmly of her, in the way that Andrew talks warmly about anyone which is mentioning them at all. She was the one that Smith was the most anxious about meeting.

Kevin turns his nose up at the ginger ale that Smith gets but he's allowed these now per his actual doctors orders.

1 hour left until arriving at JFK.

He hopes this ginger ale is enough to calm his stomach since he's still not allowed Pepto.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

[marybeatriceofmodena]

I can't fucking believe yall were up Rings of Power's ass when HotD decided to have Our Lady of Sorrows of Westeros cause a civil war because she forgot her own trashbag of a son was named after Aegon the Conqueror and she took a dying man's rambling about some pretty fundamental history as him designating him as heir. Like, I'm supposed to think this lady is smart. What even.

And if any Alicent stans want to come for me I want you to seriously sit down. And think about how your fave is written. How she reacts to things. How she processes information. Like, this is someone who's been in court for 20+ years and still doesn't get the basics. I hate Philippa Gregory's books with a passion but Mary Boleyn was a smarter bitch than this. This is a writers' problem.

[henswilsons]

think about all the places we could go

buck/eddie | 2k+ | ao3

“I,” Athena says, slowly, “have a lot of questions.”

“That’s understandable,” Eddie says. “Take your time.”

Athena takes two long, deep breaths. The other officer next to her doesn’t seem to know where to look; Buck sees him desperately pretend to be interested in the one solitary picture Eddie has hanging on his wall, like their family trip to the zoo is pertinent to the matter at hand. “I don’t suppose anyone knows about this,” Athena says.

It’s not a question, but Buck is also currently wang-out in front of his boss’s wife, so he has enough self-preservation not to get caught on semantics, now. “Uh, no ma’am.”

“Don’t you ma’am me,” says Athena.

“Sorry.”

The other officer is now almost nose-to-nose to the picture with the force of his feigned ignorance. Athena just looks grieved. “Why, then,” she says, “did you get military-grade handcuffs? Were the pink fuzzy ones not macho enough for you?”

Her tone drips with derision. She’s absolutely going home to tell Bobby all about this. “We kept, uh, breaking the pink fuzzy ones,” Eddie admits, and then, “Buck, don’t preen.”

“I’m not preening,” Buck says, probably definitely preening, but like it’s his fault, okay? It’s good to know the bicep curls are working. “Look, we’re two big firefighters. Those flimsy sex store handcuffs weren’t gonna hold us.”

read on ao3!

[gen4grl]

you would think after all the yapping i do about these losers i would have a plethora of art uploaded … no… so here is my first kantrio post lol

i did these over the last month while watching the olympic weightlifting and jamming to kpop (stan red velvet and kiss of life BTW!!!)

[brutal-nemesis]

big question!! dude can we please see a scene in the AU where castys has his tongue cut off and he has to deal with that? like man, the shock and the pain and the fuckin grief? and neteri just being herself ofc

anyway the latest erebus chapter was heartbreaking you’re so good at being awful to these lads (i can’t stop reading)

Thank you I try,,,,,

Okay strap in fellas I think this is banger as hell I had a great time and let me know if you have any other requests for the AU!

Ingredients: shockingly, tongue gets cut off! some suffocation as well

Castys wasn’t great at sitting in chairs normally, something his parents had always reprimanded him for, but, hey, they’d never taken it as far as to fucking tie him to one, and Castys was grateful. This shit was uncomfortable. Like, yeah, the rough ropes around his wrists and ankles were tight and itchy, but also the position just sucked. Not that he’d rather be standing or something-

“You must be Castys!” The door had swung open, and now this little lady with a white coat on was walking up to him. 

“Yes, I’m Castys,” he said flatly as she scurried behind him before coming back without her bag. And then she just…stared at him. Castys wasn’t sure what she was looking at, since there really wasn’t much to see, just, like, him. Eventually her eyes wandered up to his, and she jumped in place a bit.

“Oh, right, I’m Neteri.” She stuck her hand out like she expected him to shake it.

“You know I’m tied up, right?”

“Ah. Yeah.” Her skin was dark enough that it wasn’t immediately obvious that she was blushing, but Castys was pretty sure she was. She ended up awkwardly grabbing his right hand and shaking it a bit. “I, um, I’ll be preparing you for this afternoon. Sorry, I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Well, you’re not tied to a chair so I think you’ll be okay.”

She laughed. “You’re right, you’re right, but I’m just…I think I’m going to do something I’m not supposed to do.”

Castys raised an eyebrow. “Let me go because I’m funny?”

Neteri rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, so clearly she did think he was funny. “No, you’re staying put, sorry bud. But I think I’m going to keep you. You’re kind of perfect.” She tried to cup his cheek in her hand, but Castys leaned away, staring at her with wide eyes.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” His mouth was really dry all of a sudden, he wasn’t perfect, he was a fuck-up, a useless heir, that had been his goal, he wasn’t good at anything he was supposed to be good at, he wasn’t well-mannered or polite, he had a huge fucking scar on his face and a lopsided smile because of it, he was filthy and vulgar and didn’t have any interest in getting married he was absolutely anything but perfect. So why the hell did she want him?

“It’s not important right now. You’ve got a big day ahead of you!” She clapped her hands, dismissing the subject entirely. He wanted to press her further, but after seeing the lovely object she pulled out of her pocket, everything else was forgotten.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Aw, what are you gonna do about it, Castys? I thought you were tied to a chair!” Great, now it was his turn to feel his face grow hot, because, yeah, what the fuck was he gonna do?

Normally, he doubted he’d immediately recognize it for what it was, but today, right now, after just being told this lady wanted to keep him, it was instantly clear. And Neteri was right, he was only able to squirm uselessly and lean away as she wrapped the collar around his neck without much trouble. His first swallow after she’d sealed it shut felt horrible, and he absolutely did not want to get used to it.

“See, it’s not so bad. It looks cute on you!” She ruffled his hair, which only made Castys more uncomfortable.

“I don’t want to be cute. I’m not a fucking dog.” He wasn’t sure whether the collar was part of Neteri’s weird desires or just to humiliate him, but either way he hated it.

“No, you’re not, but you’re also not a prince anymore, and you’re the property of the Xernan Empire, and this is a good reminder of that,” Neteri said as she walked around behind him, probably to her bag. Castys rolled his eyes. He didn’t need to be reminded that he wasn’t a prince, since it was his favorite new development in all of this. Unless…unless it wasn’t just a reminder for him, but for everyone else, too…He really, really hoped there wasn’t going to be some sort of public display, but given how Neteri’d said he had a “big day” ahead…fuck, that was probably the case, huh?

“Now, I’m going to…oh, I might get in so much trouble for this,” Neteri muttered as she stared at the floor, standing in front of him once again. She had leather gloves on, which would have been nice earlier when she was touching him, and she was holding…a pair of shears? He didn’t think she’d put on gloves if she was just going to cut his hair, and given that she thought she might get in trouble for it, it seemed like she was going to…maim him somehow. Castys curled his hands into fists as Neteri slapped her cheeks with her palms, still talking to herself. “No, I’m going to do this. I deserve it. It’s not that far off from what the emperor wants. Okay,” she held the shears up and gave Castys a concerningly bright smile. “Any last words?”

For once, Castys didn’t take the opportunity to speak.

Instead, he locked his jaw shut tight, teeth clenched so hard it hurt, lips pressed together, walls of protection around his tongue. 

That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it?

Neteri cocked her head, watching him. “Nothing to say all of a sudden? No jokes?” Her smile disappeared as her eyes narrowed. “You figured it out, didn’t you, Castys? What I’m going to do to you.”

He didn’t bother nodding.

Neteri stepped up to him, her knee on the chair in between his legs, leaning over him, her face right above his as he craned back to avoid her. “You’re going to have to get used to obeying me, Castys.” The cold metal of the shears rested on his cheek. “So open your mouth.”

If there’s one thing Castys was good at, it was disobeying orders.

After a few moments of neither of them moving, Neteri pinched Castys’s nose shut with her free hand, not saying a word. Fine, he could play that game. Hold on as the pressure in his chest built, as his head started to spin, as his vision started to darken, every fiber of his being screaming at him to just give in to the inevitable and take a breath. He could do it quick, a little gasp, fast enough that she wouldn’t be able to do anything. Okay, three, two…

The exhale was shaky, but it was fine, just a quick inhale as he snapped his mouth shut-

His teeth scraped against metal, the sensation sending shivers down his spine.

Neteri stared at him with a detached coldness as she rotated the shears, forcing his jaw open wide, wide enough for her to stick her hand in and grab his tongue, pulling it out despite his attempts to pull it back, turning the shears to the side now, opening them up, the cold blades-

Snip.

Castys’s mouth was hot it was burning he was choking the smell of blood was so strong he was suffocating on it her hand was still in his mouth her fingers pressed against his wound magic piercing through his jaw he’d scream if he had the air and then that was it her hand was gone he lurched forward coughing and spitting blood and saliva all down the front of the threadbare shirt he’d been given and once he saw the discarded little piece of pink flesh on the floor he couldn’t look at anything else he couldn’t believe that was it it was gone it wasn’t in his mouth his mouth was empty there was only the blood still dripping out and when Neteri laid a hand on his back he wanted to growl at her not to touch him but he couldn’t he couldn’t say anything anymore he was quiet nothing to say no thoughts or opinions of his own just how his parents had wanted him-

“It’s alright, Castys, just breathe. It was a little more difficult than it needed to be, but you did it.” And why did it need to be at all? “Just two more things left today and then you can rest. And then hopefully…” Her hand slid up, resting on the back of his neck, on that awful collar, and Castys wanted to scream. He never, ever wanted to belong to her.

But what he wanted didn’t matter anymore.

Castys was dragged out and whipped and branded and left out on display, brought back and patched up by Neteri and given soup that he couldn’t taste, and when the door slammed shut behind her, he finally allowed himself to cry.

His back and chest hurt, of course, the wounds aggravated no matter how he moved or what position he laid in, but he could deal with it. It was nothing compared to what he’d lost, the little pocket of empty space inside his mouth.

Words were all he’d ever have to really fight back, complaining when he was forced to do things he didn’t want to, scaring off all the suitors his parents picked out, jokes keeping him calm when he was scared or upset, even when he couldn’t do anything he could still say something, make sure everyone knew how he felt, and now he was more helpless than ever before and he couldn’t say a single fucking thing. 

He didn’t even know where he was going to end up, either sold off to some asshole or left in Neteri’s clutches, and no matter what, he wasn’t going to be treated like a person. The collar made it pretty clear. He was less than human now, a pet, a lab rat, property, something that didn’t need to have thoughts or opinions anymore. 

He’d rather be a prince after all.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump 

@starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words​ @misspelledwitch @suspicious-whumping-egg​ @pumpkin-spice-whump​ 

@painsandconfusion @i-can-even-burn-salad @befuddled-calico-whump​ @whumpinggrounds​ @whump-queen​

@whumpedydump

[topnotchquark]

In the spirit of this quaint men-on-motorcycles-enthusiast blog I went to watch The Bikeriders and had my heart quietly broken by a slow but softly luminous movie. Something about men's expansive lives and how movement is ultimately the seed from which all freedom grows. When you see Tom Hardy's Johnny slowly strain and crack under the realization that something he created out of simpler desires is now turning into a hydra headed problem he can't seem to solve, you understand something about existing in a world where your need for belonging is a vulnerability that eventually gets you.

When he asks Austin Butler's Benny about taking over the gang from him he's submitting himself to someone he trusts. Their faces slowly coming together, closer and closer, in the dark with just the incandescent glow of the streetlamps on the edge of their faces, like burning paper. How Benny is too stubborn to understand that its not a favor being asked of him, but a declaration of something deeper from Johnny. What a beautiful narrative choice it was to have a woman recollect this entire story of this rag-tag group of men, who herself was affected by the atmosphere she found herself unable to get out of. I love that it works like a non-judgemental narration of how quickly boyhood bluster breaks down when real life circumstances get rough. How difficult it was for Johnny to keep the community together because he didn't expect it to be anything more than a quaint cosplay when he started it to escape boredom. At the end where Benny finally gets the news of Johnny's murder, something done to usurp his frayed authority, and he returns to Chicago and breaks down on Kathy's stoop, I found myself crying alongside him.

The movie was clearly a labour of love from someone who had deep fascination with the lives of these men and with motorcycles. Wild that a two wheeled liquid fuel powered machine has been the site of so many meditations on masculinity and rebellion and anger and power and authority. I don't know if I want to revisit it but I am glad I got to watch it in the time period of my life that my deep fascination with bikes and men's lives makes it so much more valuable to me.

[randomprose]

// part 3 of platonic itafushikugi. set after the kyoto goodwill school event//

i. the one where nobara and megumi cope | ii. the one about yuuji

In the days concluding the Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event, Nobara and Yuuji had camped in the infirmary beside a bed-ridden Megumi until Shoko declared him clear of all the residue of the cursed buds that special grade curse planted in him and promptly kicked them all out. 

They insisted on hanging out in Megumi’s room after that, even taking all their meals together by his bedside.

Nobara and Yuuji enter his room each carrying breakfast trays with bowls of food. Nobara’s has two bowls of gyudon over rice, two bowls of miso soup, and a plate of meatballs which she puts down on the floor as she sits down. Yuuji puts his tray over at Megumi’s lap and the latter frowns when he sees it only has a bowl of clear soup and a plate of cut-up fruits on the side.

“The pizza last time might have been a bad idea,” Yuuji sheepishly says as he sits down in front of Nobara who’s already dug in.

Megumi makes an annoyed noise but doesn’t contest. He did end up throwing up later in the day after that box of pizza.

“Ieri-san said you no greasy food and nothing too heavy for a week.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” Megumi grumbles as he brings the bowl to his lip, sipping at the broth miserably. 

Yuuji tells him it’s bone broth. It’s not bad. It’s quite good even. Just the right amount of flavor even without meat and just a couple of sliced vegetables. Yuuji is a decent cook and Megumi has yet to eat anything bad he’s made. It’s just that…his mouth is looking for something more as he looks down and sees Nobara pick up a meatball with her chopsticks.

“Hey, is that—”

“Not for you and yes it’s Itadori’s ginger meatballs,” Nobara cuts Megumi off and is unaffected by the following scowl. “You can have a bit of rice but that’s it. No meat for you yet.”

“Tch. You didn’t even help make these. Who made you in charge?”

“Hey!” Nobara points her chopsticks menacingly at Megumi. “I helped!”

“Bringing the food here doesn’t count.”

“I cut up the fruits!”

“Oh, yeah. Big help.”

“Alright then, tough guy. I’ll do the cooking next time. See how you like it.”

“That’s—” Megumi deflates, remembering the last time Nobara was in charge of dinner. “Right. Sorry. Don’t do the cooking ever.”

“That’s what I thought, you—hey!” Nobara flicks a grain of rice at Megumi. “What’s wrong with my cooking?!”

Nobara and Megumi argue throughout dinner while Yuuji laughs, glad that he isn’t the one involved in the argument and genuinely finding his friends’ verbal sparring hilarious. Nobara ends up caving towards the end of it and granting Megumi half of a meatball. She thinks his small, content smile while he chews on the bit of meat is a good consolation and reminds herself to make him take a stomach pill before bed.

Megumi attempts to get up and help with the clean up but Yuuji gently pushes him down.

“What are you doing, moron?” Nobara scolds him as she stacks up the bowls. “Don’t worry about it. We got this. Just stay right there and don’t move.”

“Sorry, Fushiguro. Doctor’s orders and honestly I’m kinda scared of Ieri-san.”

Megumi doesn’t hide the displease on his face and his tone when he says, “I’m not an invalid.”

“Well, you kinda are right now. So.” She shrugs. “Just do as we say and don’t get in our way. At the rate we’re going, you’ll find a way to repay one of us sooner or later.”

This practice of not letting Megumi do anything continues. Yuuji and Nobara are practically at his every beck and call, albeit very reluctantly and outwardly annoyed on the latter’s part, even for the simplest things like getting the TV remote or handing him his phone after it finished charging. And for someone who’s used to doing everything practically on his own since he was a child, it’s just about driving Megumi up the wall and near insanity. They only finally let up on him when he bursts out after Yuuji tries helping him go to the toilet.

“I can fucking pee on my own, Itadori!”

Yuuji’s hands are frozen to where he is moving to help Megumi up. His hands drop to his sides with a deflated “Oh. Right. Sorry.” and Megumi soldiers through the guilt of blowing up on his friend’s face who he knows only has the best of intentions.

Megumi throws his feet over the bed and just barely keeps from wincing at the sharp pain that shoots to his sides. He braces a hand against his bedside table, white-knuckling the edge, as he psyches himself to stand up. When he does, un unbearable pain flares up in his torso and he stumbles back to his bed with a gasp and a shiver as his body breaks out in cold sweat.

Nobara, who’s standing by the side watching the scene unfold, has finally had it and lets out an annoyed ‘tch’. 

“Itadori,” she calls out to the boy hovering unsure by the bed and looking helplessly at Megumi. “Help him up.”

“I said I can—”

“Listen, dipshit. The sooner you recover, the sooner you can get us out of your hair,” she says, leveling Megumi with her meanest glare. “Now, do as we say and just be grateful you have two wonderful friends taking care of you.” 

“Fushiguro?” Yuuji calls out, still hesitant. “Can I…?”

Megumi doesn’t answer for a bit as he catches his breath and lets the pain slowly subside. It’s silent except for his heaving breaths while Yuuji and Nobara just hover at the side. 

“You’re right,” he sighs after a while, sounding resigned. “I…I’m sorry. I am grateful. Really, I am. It’s just—I…” He seems to struggle for a bit, trying to find his words before he settles with a quiet, “Thanks.” 

“Hm? What’s that? I don’t think we heard you.” Nobara teases, cupping a hand over her ear. “Right, Itadori?” 

“Yeah, we didn’t quite catch that, dude. The cicadas are really loud tonight. Say that again?”

Megumi, still half lying down, turns his head to glare at them. “You guys suck. Get out of my room.” His glare eases up when he remembers that he still has to pee. “Right after Itadori helps me to the bathroom.”

--

For some reason, there’s an unspoken rule that Nobara is in charge of cleaning and changing Megumi’s bandage, and once, in a rare act of charity, she offers to wash his hair.

Megumi agrees and lets her if only because he’s already feeling really gross and bothered by how long he hasn’t washed his hair since he can’t take a shower lest he wets his bandages. 

With Yuuji’s help, they get him settled over his sink. Someone has the foresight to put a rolled-up towel by the sink’s edge so Megumi’s nape has something to rest on instead of directly on the cold hard porcelain. 

Nobara makes a face at the 3-in-1 drugstore shampoo she discovers Megumi uses and promptly decides that will not do. She leaves Megumi, head tilted back with his hair under the running tap, and returns with two bottles.

“Listen, I normally don’t like to share my products because they’re expensive but I’ll make an exception just this once.” She puts the bottles by the sink and pops open the cap in one of them. “Sakura scent, okay? You’re not allergic or anything?”

“No, it’s fine, but what’s wrong with my shampoo?”

“Fushiguro, you use the cheap 3-in-1 drugstore kind,” Nobara says in a tone that implies something is very wrong with that. “What, do you also use it as a body wash?”

“Well.” Megumi looks at Nobara like the answer is obvious. “Yeah.” 

“Dude,” Yuuji says with the same horrified look Nobara is giving Megumi. “Why do you hate yourself?”

“Damn.” Why did I think Gojo-sensei raised you better than this.”

“What? It’s economical!” Megumi reasons, sounding defensive when even Yuuji comments on it. “And it was on sale!”

“Man, at least get a proper conditioner.”

“Shut up, Itadori. As if you don’t buy your toiletries at the sale bin.”

“Excuse you! I take my hair care very seriously! How do you think I keep my hair healthy after consistently dying it?” Yuuji jumps to his defense. “Plus! It’s strawberry-scented! Sometimes peach. To match the color to the smell. Also because I like smelling fruity.”

“Yeah, you’re fruity alright.” Nobara snickers which pries a chuckle out of Megumi as well. “But good job on that, Itadori. I’m actually kind of proud of you right now.”

“Thank you.”

Nobara’s hands are thorough as they card through Megumi’s head with her Sakura-scented shampoo—which Megumi will admit does smell way better than his ‘sporty aquatic aroma with clean citrus notes, underlined with warm woods and musk’ and whatever masculine bullshit scent was listed on it shampoo. He fingers massages his scalp with short trimmed nails lightly scratching at it in a way that has Megumi closing his eyes for reasons other than to not get the suds on his eyes. That coupled with her and Yuuji’s low conversing voice and the sound of running water as she rinses his hair to apply conditioner next is enough to lull Megumi to a half sleep.

A couple more minutes later, Megumi feels a light tap on the side of his face and he slowly blinks his eyes open. Nobara tells him she’s done and doesn’t comment on his dazed eyes as they help him sit up so Yuuji can towel dry his hair. 

Megumi fully wakes when Nobara and Yuuji laugh themselves to tears at his wet look, and then again at his towel-dried hair, before Nobara finally blow-dried it for him—at which point they realize Megumi’s hair just spikes up naturally and is not at all the work of hair gel or any hair products. 

Yuuji and Nobara laugh about it until they are wheezing and bent by the waist. Megumi sat through it annoyed and scowling at first before finally deciding that, yeah, it is a little funny.

--

“You didn’t see him, Kugisaki. I—the plants they—” Yuuji heaves a shaky sigh as he goes to turn on the rice cooker. “They were coming out of Fushiguro in thick stems. It was like he was stabbed by multiple swords if the blades had vicious flower buds in them. It was like straight out of a gory nature horror movie.”

“Stuff of nightmares, huh?” Nobara comments, remembering how Megumi talked about seeing Sukuna ripping Yuuji’s heart and Yuuji plopping lifeless right in front of him. “You guys really have seen each other at your worst, huh?” 

Worst so far.

Yuuji chuckles humorlessly. “I guess you could say that.”

Nobara hums. “Hm. Must be cursed energy residue of those plants. I’ll ask Ieri-san about it.” 

She sends Shoko a text and gets confirmation that she’s right. Shoko assures her it’s nothing serious and perfectly normal. In fact, it’s good that his body is dispelling it, and tells her to just make sure he doesn’t hurt himself in the process. Nobara tells this to Yuuji and expresses her annoyance at Megumi still refusing to ask for help.

“Yeah, well,” Yuuji shrugs as he stirs the pot of miso soup. “That’s Megumi.”

“He’s an idiot is what he is,” Nobara grits, clutching her phone thoughtfully. “Alright. That’s it. We’re sleeping in his room tonight. I’ll take the wall and you take the edge of the bed just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

“Just in case he needs to barf in the middle of the night, you can guide him to the bathroom.”

“What? Why me?!”

“Because I don’t want cursed energy puke on me.” 

“And you think I want it on me?!” 

“You literally have the King of Curses inside you. You’ll be fine.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense! I don’t want cursed guts on me either! It’ll be a bitch and a half to get out!” 

“Rock, Paper, Scissors?”

“Best of three. Let’s go.”

(Yuuji loses three out of three and proposes a best of five. He still loses.)

--

Nobara crosses over to the boys’ dormitory with her laptop, a pillow, and a blanket. She was about to knock in Yuuji’s room when she hears his voice from Megumi’s room and decides to go straight there instead. 

“Knock, knock. I’m coming in,” she says to announce her presence before closing the door behind her. She walks to Megumi’s bed and dumps her pillow and blanket on the space by the wall. “I’m sleeping here tonight, but let’s watch a movie first.”

“Wha—”

“Hey, no fair!” Yuuji protests from where he’s sprawled on the floor by Megumi’s bed surrounded by manga and some other shounen magazines. “I wanna sleep here too!”

“Oi! What’s with this? I never said—”

Megumi’s protests fall on deaf ears as Yuuji rushes to get his own set of pillows and blanket while Nobara scrolls through their shared Netflix account. There’s a scowl on Megumi’s face when Yuuji gets back and positions his pillow on Megumi’s other side by the edge of the bed.

“Scooch over a little, man. My ass is hanging off the edge.”

“That’s because this bed is not meant to fit three people!”

“Shut up and get comfortable already. I’m gonna start the movie!”

“Pray tell, Kugisaki, how we’re gonna get comfortable in a twin-size bed.”

“Tch. You’re such a whiner. Here.” Nobara perches the laptop on Megumi’s lap. She maneuvers herself on her side as she gently tugs Megumi closer to her leaning her head on his arm while Yuuji mirrors her position at Megumi’s other side, both mindful of their friend’s injury. “Everyone comfortable? Yes. Okay. I’m pressing play.”

“Why does it have to be in my bed?” Megumi grumbles settling down as well, apparently resigned by the fact his stupid friends will be invading his space for the night. “Why couldn’t we just watch in the common room?”

“Because, dumbass, moving you there and back here will just be too much trouble and we’ll probably fall asleep halfway anyway so might as well just watch it here.”

“Tch. What are we even watching anyway?” 

“March of the Penguins.”

“...Fine.”

“Man, you’re so easy.” Nobara snickers along with Yuuji.

“Shut up and press play already or I’ll kick you both out.”

Nobara falls asleep not even halfway through the documentary while Yuuji makes it until a quarter of it. Megumi silently shuts off the laptop when it’s finished but it still startles both Nobara and Yuuji awake.

“Oh, you guys finished it?”

“I finished it. You guys fell asleep halfway through.”

“Hey, I lasted longer than Kugisaki.”

“Whatever.” Megumi rolls his eyes, but it’s extremely fond. Why bother watching a documentary if they’re just going to sleep right through it? Idiots the two of them. Megumi’s extremely considerate idiots. “Thanks.”

Yuuji takes the laptop and stands to put it away on Megumi’s study table and turns off the light, replying a half-hearted “Yes, yes” to Nobara’s threats of skinning him alive if he drops it. Megumi already has his eyes closed and is breathing evenly when he settles back in bed. Yuuji watches the steady rise and fall of his chest. When he snakes an arm over Megumi’s body to rest on his torso, his hand brushes against Nobara’s hand already there.

Across Megumi, he meets Nobara’s eyes. She’s using Megumi’s arm as a pillow, her cheek squished against his shoulder. Her hand shifts to squeeze his under the blanket and Yuuji is reminded of their conversation over dinner prep.

Nobara mouths, ‘He’s fine. Stop worrying. Go back to sleep.’ and Yuuji was about to reply when Megumi speaks. 

“I can hear you guys.”

“Wha—we weren’t even saying anything.”

“I can just tell you’re talking.” 

“Wow, Fushiguro. Are you an ESP too or something? Is that another curse technique of yours? Another family lineage or some shit? Wow. You really are a prodigy.”

“Shut up, Kugusaki. You’re literally using me as a pillow. I felt your mouth move. You guys are noisy even when you’re trying to be quiet.”

“Careful, Fushiguro. My hands are over your injury, you know.”

“You wouldn’t. You’re above hurting the injured.”

“Am I?”

“You’ll have to redo the bandages.”

“Fine. I won’t pinch you then.”

“How merciful.”

It’s silent then. Nobara and Yuuji’s hands are still intertwined above Megumi’s bandaged torso.

“Itadori said you’ve been puking.”

Nobara feels Megumi’s chest heave and his mouth open to spout his denials before she cuts him off.

“Don’t lie. He said he heard you.”

“I’m literally right next door, dude. And the walls aren’t that thick.” 

Megumi makes an offended noise and tries to shoot Yuuji a betrayed look.

“What? I heard you retching bad! You didn’t expect me to not tell Kugisaki and do something about it, did you?!”

“I asked Ieri-sensei about it. It’s nothing serious. Says it’s actually good that you’re body is getting rid of the excess cursed energy. Just…” Nobara sighs. Her hand untangles from Yuuji and moves up to lightly pinch Megumi’s cheek before giving it an affectionate tap. Megumi’s getting sleepy enough to not react to it. “Just ask for help next time, alright? Or at least let Itadori know since he’s closest. It’d be embarrassing for you to die choking on your own puke after surviving a special-grade curse.”

“Not to mention disgusting,” Yuuji adds, shifting closer and resting his head on Megumi’s other shoulder. 

“Do you really want ‘choked on his own sick’ written on your death certificate? That would be so lame even for you, Fushiguro.”

“Plus, I’m pretty sure Gojo-sensei will never let you live it down.”

“Fuck.” Megumi breathes out. “Fuck. Fine, I get it. You’re right.”

“It’s good that you finally see our point.” Nobara’s hand doesn’t leave Megumi’s face and in his groggy state, he leans into her touch. It’s uncharacteristically cute that she finds her lips quirking at the corners “So, quit being stubborn already, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

Nobara makes a contented hum while Yuuji hides his grin pressed against the sleeve of Fushiguro’s sleep shirt.

“Alright. Let’s sleep. Good night, you two.”

“Good night!”

Megumi only manages to mumble a half-slurred “g’night”, already halfway to sleep as he’s lulled by the warmth of his friends by his side and the low timbre of their voices reminding him he’s loved and safe.

[softspeirs]

Hi Katie! From the prompt list, "I haven't laughed like this in a long time" for Grace and Rosie if you're feeling that vibe?

A/N: Hi Battie! Thank you for sending this in! I hope you like this. These Heartbeats Clear Masterlist

The Officer's Club is a flurry of activity as the Red Cross girls enlist the Nurses to help them decorate for the evening's shindig.

Grace straightens to her full height, wiping perspiration from her brow when the door opens, and Rosie's large frame fills the space, the light from behind illuminating him.

Helen winks at Grace, who flushes and bats her friend away.

Crusher cap in hand, Rosie takes in the scene as he approaches. "Thought I'd find you here. How's it going?"

"Fine," Grace says, stepping closer and lowering her voice. "You're sure he has no idea?"

"He's too busy to notice. I'm a little worried we won't be able to get him away from his office, to tell you the truth."

Crosby has been promoted to Major, and everyone decided it was worth celebrating, even though the man himself would probably be mortified. Really, they all need a reason to have a party.

Morale has been low. They need an excuse to have fun, even if it's only for one night.

"Well, we're counting on you to convince him, Major."

She loves the slow smile he gets sometimes that's she's trying hard to believe isn't just for her. It gives her butterflies. There's a simmering heat between them now, weeks after Rosie's hardstand confession that had left her breathless.

She's pretty sure she loves him, and is working up the courage to let him know that fact before he flies again.

"Major, can you give me a hand for a second?" Tatty asks from across the way where she's trying to hang streamers. "Sorry to interrupt, but you're taller than anyone here."

One last soft smile at Grace and then he heads over, talking to Tatty quietly as he holds up one end so she can tape it to the wall where she's perched on a stepstool.

Grace busies herself with other party prep, but she can't stop herself from sneaking glances at Rosie every chance she gets, biting her bottom lip to keep from smiling when she catches his eye a few times.

She feels like a teenager.

It's a few more moments of trying not to eavesdrop to Rosie's low voice before she registers his presence at her back again, turning around to give him a grin.

"So, Major, what time should I pick you up?" She asks, delighted at the incredulous laugh that bubbles out of him.

"Oh, you're taking lead on this mission?"

She nods, face serious. "That's right. You deserve a night off. Let's see... seven o'clock? Can you be ready by then?"

He nods, scratching at his jaw in that way he does when he's trying not to laugh. "Yes ma'am. With bells on."

.

And so it's Grace loitering outside Rosie's hut in the early evening light, wearing the one non-uniform dress she packed for this exact type of occasion.

The door opens and Douglass is there, straightening the tie on his uniform, and he smiles when he sees Grace twisting her fingers together anxiously.

"Captain," he says, "You look great."

"You look handsome, Dougie." Grace says, smiling shyly. "Any chance you can let Rosie know I'm here?"

"Oh, he knows. He's been checking his watch for the last five minutes." His grin is shit-eating. "Not every day you get a girl askin' you on a date, you know? He'll be out in a minute." '

Grace shakes her head, watching as he walks in the direction of the officer's club. The door squeaks open behind her one more time, and she smells Rosie's familiar cologne before she turns around. His eyes are pinned to her, dark blue traveling up and down her body as he smiles gently at her.

"Wow, Grace."

"It's not anything--"

He cuts her off before she can continue by taking her hand, lacing their fingers together. "Don't say it's nothing special," he chides. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you." Grace whispers. There's no one around that she can see, so she takes a chance and lifts up on her toes to press a soft kiss to his lips that immediately part for her, his hand coming up to cradle her jaw. "Hi."

"Hi." He echoes. "Ready to go? I told Croz to come but there's still a chance we'll have to go by his office if he doesn't show up."

"Ready." She confirms, and they swing by command first, both of them letting out a sigh of relief when Crosby's desk is empty.

At the officer's club, he's waiting by the door, a sheepish grin on his face as he accepts congratulations, pats on the back, and a beer from Douglass.

"I knew you were up to something," he says, pointing a finger at Rosie when they get inside. "And you!" He switches his attention to Grace. "You said it was urgent--"

"It is urgent! It's urgent that you take a night off and have a good time. Doctor's orders." Grace replies.

Distantly, she's aware that Rosie hasn't let go of her hand, but she's past caring. Their relationship isn't exactly a secret, not after they had their first kiss in a post-mission induced haze on the hardstand where anyone could see.

She also suspects no one cares, not as long as they're happy. This war has been too long for anyone to care how other people find their bit of happiness.

"Congratulations, Major." Rosie says to Crosby, stepping forward to shake his friend's hand. "Now let's have some fun."

They spend the night drinking and dancing, Grace laughing as she trips over her own feet until she gets the hang of letting Rosie lead. He only teases her about it once, and she basks in the glow of an evening where no one is worrying and where they all get to let loose. It's so rare these days, and she can't remember the last time she had this much fun.

"I need a break," she whispers in Rosie's ear after awhile, sweat curling the hair at her temples.

"I'll get you another--"

"Water, Rosie. I need water."

He nods, smiling as he leads her over to an empty table, pulling out the chair so she can sit down before heading back to the bar. He comes back with a water for her and a coca-cola for himself, and it's not long before he takes her free hand again, his fingers tracing the veins on the inside of her wrist casually, like he doesn't even realize he's doing it.

"I haven't laughed like this in a long time." He tells her, voice soft. "This was a good idea."

Grace looks around the room at all the smiling faces, people dancing and propping up the bar, split in pairs or in groups of friends, and she looks back to Rosie, who is watching her like she's hung the moon.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Can't help it."

The party winds down sometime in the early hours, and there's no missions scheduled for the next day because of inclement weather. They all take a collective sigh of relief knowing that the high of their party won't come crashing down the next morning.

Grace has the afternoon shift at the hospital the next day, and as Rosie walks her back to her hut, she squeezes his hand in thanks.

"What?" He asks.

"Just-- I had fun. And this--" she holds up their joined hands, "I like this."

His cheeks flush. "Me too."

They come to a slow stop near the door, and Grace laughs when Rosie tugs on her hand to pull her to the side of the building, away from, the harsh light above the door and away from prying eyes.

Grace is sure Rosie has never done one improper thing in his life, and it makes her light up from the inside out to see the way he wants to keep these moments between them private and just for them.

It's still up for debate if the way he kisses her would be considered proper. Certainly not to any poor soul who might wander by and catch them, but Grace is past caring. It's just-- he's so passionate about everything he does, his feelings for her included.

She responds in kind, and there's not a second where she feels the need to slow things down. She trusts him implicitly, and she knows the feeling is mutual. She can feel it in the way he gives himself over to her, lets himself be his most vulnerable in front of her.

Foreheads pressed together, both of them trying to catch their breath, he gives her a blinding smile before kissing her temple. "Goodnight, Grace." His voice is a low, low rumble that makes her break out in shivers.

"Goodnight," she replies in a whisper. "Pick me up for breakfast tomorrow?"

"You got it."

He walks her back to the door, and stands there, hands clasped behind his back as he watches her go inside. She gives him one last smile over her shoulder before she closes the door. Sitting down on the edge of her mattress, she lets out one more breathless laugh before getting ready for bed, hoping they both have many more laugh-filled nights ahead of them. Together.

[drabblingman]

Mephistopheles shut their diary in one hand with a "snap", and rushed off as fast as he could. His steps mixed with the rapid clacking of his cane, and his old injury screamed at him, but that didn't matter right now.

He had to find them. To set the record straight.

But what exactly was the truth? Wasn't his whole reason for snooping because he disliked them? Hadn't he been trying to unearth dirt on them? To write a scathing piece in the R.A.D. Times on? To sully their reputation, and prove they weren't as honest as they appeared to be?

Stupid.

They always told him the truth. He had tried time and again to catch them in a lie, but he never could. They never lied. Even when they knew what they said could be misconstrued, or twisted against them, they always spoke the truth. Their truth.

Why would their diary be any different?

He was so stupid.

It was one of the things he liked about them. But if he disliked them, why would he like something, anything about them?

Why would it hurt that they thought he hated them?

He liked a lot of things about them. Their honesty. Their quick, yet cutting, wit. Their ability to get in and out of the most frustrating and precarious of situations, always with a new story to tell. Their humor. Their laugh.

He liked them, damnit, so why did they think he hated them? Why did he think he hated them?

He gritted his teeth, and clutched their diary tighter in his free hand.

God above and Demon Lord below, he was so stupid.

He turned a corner, and found them exactly where he knew they would be. He had, after all, had to plan for the optimal time to go looking through their most personal of belongings, and it'd be a rookie mistake to not know where your target was at the time of infiltration.

The human exchange student was alone, after class, at a table outside of the school. They were packing up after working on their homework for exactly 58 minutes, so they could make the late bus that left exactly an hour after school. Something he had planned meticulously for.

Too bad all of that planning had gone out the window. (Which was, ironically, how he had planned to make his daring escape.)

He approached them as they were placing their books in their bag, not yet noticing him.

"How dare you write such accusations!" is probably not the best thing to shout at someone while holding their diary.

Which is why Mephistopheles preferred the written word. Preferably, articles. Then, he could go back and forth and rewrite anything that came out too harshly or just plain wrong. Here? Oh no. He couldn't backspace a single letter from what he said here.

They looked up, bewildered.

And then he saw it. The dawning realization that in his left hand he held their diary, replaced quickly by the shock and betrayal that he had alluded to having read it.

It was like they had frozen in front of him, yet he was the one who felt cold from his own thoughtless actions.

Had he mentioned how stupid he was? Because he really was quite stupid.

"Why do you have that?" They asked him, their voice low and serious.

"I-! Well-!" He spluttered, unable to think of a perfectly valid excuse for breaking in to their house, their room, and their locked and magically-enchanted diary.

"You know me! I'm an investigator! And I must investigate you!"

They stared at him, then at their diary, still clutched firmly in his hand.

"Give it back."

Mephistopheles blinked at their outstretched hand, processing, for a moment too long, what they had requested of him.

They made a grabbing motion.

"Oh-" he finally realized, quickly dropping their diary back into their palm.

They packed it in their bag with the rest of their books, silently, as Mephistopheles watched.

"We- we really must talk!" He managed at last, stumbling on his words.

Their head snapped up, and the glare they threw his way he would've sworn gave him physical damage. Even Lucifer, king of the death glare, would have quaked in his stupid fancy shoes.

"What's. There. To. Talk. About?" They asked him, enunciating each word carefully.

"About what you wrote-"

"-You mean my private thoughts?" They cut him off. "You mean my private thoughts that you violated? That you read without my permission? That I wrote so I wouldn't have them running around my head? So that I wouldn't speak them out loud? Those?"

He winced.

This was not going well.

And he was probably digging his own grave.

Which he assumed they would then dance on.

And then they'd probably raise him from the dead, just to kill him and dance on it again.

But still...

He had to know.

No matter what, he had to know.

"...Do you really think I hate you...?"

They stared at him, as if he was completely stupid. (A sentiment he was really truly beginning to agree with.)

"Why would I lie to my diary? Of course I do. What other proof do I need after this stunt you just pulled?"

Ouch. That one stung a little.

Ok, a lot.

"Then, what about the other things you wrote about me?"

They held his gaze for a moment, before looking down at the table, quiet.

"...What does it matter?" They asked bitterly, sadness tinging the edges of their words as they avoided eye contact with him.

He approached the table from the other side, placing his white-gloved hands on it's filthy surface, leaning forward to try to catch their gaze.

"It matters a lot." He said gently, reaching out cautiously to their face to comfort then, or at the very least get them to look up at him once again.

"At least, to me it does." He withdrew, suddenly anxious his touch was unwelcome. "Because I don't hate you. In fact, I've come to enjoy your company."

The human's face shot up once more, their eyes wide, searching his own meticulously for any trace of sarcasm or untruthfulness.

"What?"

He felt his heart thud in his chest when their eyes locked with his. He hadn't even meant to say that last part, it had just come out of his mouth without thought, but now, he was forced to address it. He was forced to confront his feelings about them. Or, rather, his feelings for them.

Why hadn't he noticed it before? Had it happened too slowly for him to perceive the changes? Had all of their late night "investigations" into Lucifer and even later night editing sessions together caused them to rub off on him? All of the teasing they did of each other? The back-and-forth quips they exchanged as if they were playing tennis? The compliments veiled as insults? The insults veiled as compliments? Had they completely flipped his opinion of them without him even knowing?

Or had it happened all at once, when he had read confession note after confession note in their diary, crossed out and marked up and edited, not unlike how he wrote his articles, and felt his chest swell with each word? Each little thing they claimed to admire in him? Each piece of evidence that showed how much effort they had put into trying to make everything perfect? Had he been swayed in that instant, convinced, finally, that they weren't always nearby just to be a thorn in his side?

They stared at him expectantly.

"I- I..."

He suddenly couldn't find the words.

Well, that was a first. He almost laughed out loud at the ludicrousness of it. Him. At a loss for words. The very idea had never crossed his mind before. Sure, he had sometimes had to look up different ways to get his point across more eloquently, his thesaurus was sometimes his best friend, but he had never been so completely devoid of words before.

He pursed his lips, dumbfounded.

"Mephistopheles...?"

They managed to shake him out of his reverie, their voice gentle, and quieter than he had ever heard it before.

Their voice. He really liked their voice. When had that happened? They had just said his name. His full name, with their clumsy, human voice. He was supposed to hate human voices. They tended to trip over his name. But this one didn't. Why didn't they? Had they practiced? They must have. But why would they? Why had it mattered to them? After everything he had put them through, why did they even bother giving him the time of day, much less recite his name over and over to themself until they got it right?

His hands, seemingly of their own accord, drifted to their face once more.

The human, a flustered expression plastered to thdid own face, could only splutter as he brought his forehead to theirs.

"What I mean..." Mephistopheles stated, so close now to them he felt he his heart might burst, "...is this."

The last thing he saw before closing his eyes and locking his lips with theirs, was a look of pure wonder.

He burned it into his memory forever.

It was like he was desperate; the second he had given in and kissed them, he couldn't get enough. But the way they was responding to him, it seemed as if they felt the same. Their hands had hooked around his neck, pulling him as close to themself as they could with a table in between the two of them.

They tasted so sweet. Like the berries they ate throughout the day that he would poke fun at them for, seemingly the only healthy things they'd eat with regularity amidst the snacks and junk foods they enjoyed.

Their hands were exploring now, fingers combing through his undershave. But his were no different. Running up and down their neck before slowly making his way back to their face.

He wanted to stay in this moment forever, but alas, he knew they couldn't. After all, they both sadly needed to breathe.

As they parted, he realized he was the last out of the two of them to open his eyes.

They were staring at him, panting, stars in their eyes. It was enough to make his own breath hitch.

"What... Was that...?" They asked, breathlessly.

"That..." He stopped, panic creeping in. What was that, indeed? It was unlike him to suddenly lose himself like that.

He scrambled internally for a reply, some kind of excuse, a way to claim temporary insanity, anything except the truth...!

The truth.

It suddenly smacked him.

The truth, the one thing he knew he could always count on from them. His MC. His wonderfully human MC.

He loved them.

No matter how hard he tried to bury it away from himself, there was no hiding from the truth. He should have known that.

He loved them.

"...That was my own confession." He finally managed, looking down in embarrassment.

"I read page after page of yours... Which I know was wrong...!" He added hastily, "but after reading all of those kind words, and then... Reading how much you thought I hated you, I..."

He locked eyes with them again, scared of how they would react, but determined to vocalize his feelings.

"I don't hate you. MC, I adore you. I've come to realize I am absolutely smitten with you. I was just too stupid to figure it out until now."

[nbkdramathings]

Episode 14 may LITERALLY be my favorite episode of the series so far!

[mbat]

its still nuts to me that sunny is related to darkstalker, even if its from a long time in the past. like imagine finding out youre related to... that guy