#and without guilt comes exercise

[pleaseeeimjustagirl]

Improving Your Relationship With Food And Movement

Hey babesss I have improved my relationship with food and exercise these past few months. It was hard because I had to break down a lot of negative feelings and thoughts I had built around certain foods. I started yo-yo dieting and restrictive eating when I was 10 years old and it has had a lot of negative effects on my body not just physically, and mentally, but socially as well. These tips have changed my life and I hope they help you as well<3333

Signs you have a negative relationship with food.

♡ You think of food all the time. You think about what you're going to eat next and overthink your meals, and the calorie counts.

♡ Feeling guilt over your food choices. Whenever you eat something that might not fit into your “diet” you feel guilty and say negative things about yourself or “punish” yourself by excessive exercise or extreme restrictive eating. 

♡ You must earn your meals. This ties into the previous sign, you feel like you have to earn your meals through exercise and restrictions.

♡ You binge eat. Binge eating is having a large amount of food in a short period, accompanied by feelings of loss of control.

♡ You ignore hunger cues. You feel the urge to eat but don't allow yourself to because of a certain diet or restrictive eating.

♡ You can’t keep your favorite foods in the house. You can’t control yourself around your favorite foods due to going a long time without them because of restrictions.

♡ You emotionally eat. Using food to comfort you is okay sometimes BUT it becomes a problem when you turn to food constantly whenever something bad happens and causes negative emotions.

♡ It is stressful going out to eat. You can’t enjoy yourself at restaurants or turn down invites to restaurants or events because you are overwhelmed by the idea of food and calories.

♡ You’re stuck in a diet culture mentality. It is okay to want to lose or gain weight and get into a healthier body but you can do this without restrictive eating. 

♡ Your body dictates your food intake. If you are bloated you eat little or skip a meal altogether.

Signs you have a negative relationship with exercise.

♡ You use exercise as a punishment. Whenever you overeat or feel like you have you make yourself exercise for long periods.

♡ You feel guilty when you miss a workout. As women sometimes we can’t work out the way we want to because of our menstrual cycle and you need a break and it is okay to take a break.

♡ You exercise even if you're injured. Rest days are okay working out through injuries only makes injuries worse.

♡ You do workouts you don't like. You're focused on burning calories and not the enjoyment you feel when working out.

♡ Affecting your social life. You might excessively work out to the point you're missing events and invites to work out.

Tips to improve your relationship with food. 

♡ Learn about nutrition. A lot of us are uneducated on nutrition and how we should be eating to prevent excessive weight gain and malnutrition I will recommend a lot of books below to start your education on nutrition.

♡ Practice mindful eating. Slow down and become aware of what is happening to your body when you eat certain foods, and your hunger cues, and don’t make any judgments. Eat foods without distractions such as TV, books, and phones. Take your time to chew and taste your foods. Mindless eating is eating without control or out of boredom.

♡ Stop labeling foods. We tend to use the words “good” and “bad” when talking about foods. However, labeling foods can harm your relationship with foods. Welcome all food groups into your diet. Making food decisions shouldn't make you feel like a bad person or a good person. 

♡ Find enjoyment in food. Focus on enjoying food and the pleasures that come with preparing and enjoying food with others.

♡ Allow yourself to eat the foods you enjoy. It is okay to eat foods you enjoy in moderation, 

♡ Challenge negative self-talk. The way we speak to ourselves regarding food and diet can affect the way we view foods challenge those thoughts with positive thoughts when they come I recommend reading this blog post about your mental diet by @arielsreality

Tips to improve your relationship with exercise.

♡ Create your own vision of fitness. Everyone has different body goals and what they want to look like the media pushes an image not all of us want to fit into. So create a vision for what you want to look like.

♡ Try different forms of exercise. Try different types of exercise. If you don't like cardio, try weight lifting. If you don't like weightlifting, try pilates. There are many options to choose from, so give them a try. Do what feels right and brings you joy.

♡ Listen to your body. If your body is sore, skip a day and walk instead of lifting weights. Listening to our bodies is super important ignoring pain cues is very harmful.

♡ Embrace rest. Sleep is our best friend getting the right amount of sleep every night is what helps our glow-up journey over all. Taking rest days is super important as well.

♡ Understand your body changes. Your body at 12 is not your body now and that is a beautiful thing. We especially as women go through a lot of bodily changes so we have to let go of society's expectations of how our bodies should be and look like what do you want your body to look like? And how can you get there? 

♡ Follow women who look like you. Follow women with similar body types like yours. I have a Pinterest of women who have similar body types to mine labeled “Your body is beautiful” I look at it if I need reminders when feeling insecure. I follow a lot of black women on many platforms as a black woman because I like to see women who look like me in positions of success and wealth it motivates me. 

♡ Celebrate non-scale victories. Maybe instead of being stuck on the number on the scale, you tried those jeans that couldn’t fit before but now they are so comfortable. That is something to celebrate!

Book Recommendations 

♡ The Binge Code by Alison C Kerr

♡ Women Food And Hormones by Sara Gottfried

♡ The Food Therapist by Shira Lenchewski MS RD

♡ The Good Gut by Justin Sonnenburg

♡ Feed Yourself by Leslie Schilling 

♡ Reclaiming Body Trust by Hilary Kinavey MS LPC 

♡ The Food Mood Connection by Dr Uma Naidoo

[mysunshinetemptress]

Wanted, Unwanted

Leah Williamson x McCabe!Reader Warnings: None this is mainly the backstory

Leah's stomach churned, a mix of excitement and guilt bubbling within her. "A hundred quid," she blurted voice trembling slightly, the number seeming arbitrary in the face of her sudden nervousness.

Katie's eyes gleamed. "Deal. But it's gotta be believable. Dates, compliments, the whole shebang. And no backing out, Williamson, or you double the bet."

The rest of the night was a blur for Leah. Laughter felt hollow, and jokes fell flat. All she could think about was your smile, the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, the nervous way you bit your lip when you were focused. Finally, the night ended, and Leah was left alone.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind. Leah made a conscious effort to spend time with you, initiating conversations during training, texting you funny memes, and even asking you to have lunch together a couple of times. You, ever trusting and eager for friendship, soaked it all up. You confided your anxieties about playing time, your struggles to connect with the other girls, and your admiration for Leah's confidence and leadership on the pitch. Leah listened intently, a pang of guilt twisting in her gut with every shared detail.

Leah tossed and turned in bed, sleep refusing to come. The guilt that had simmered for weeks boiled over in the quiet darkness. Katie's taunting face flashed before her eyes, the carefree challenge morphing into a cruel reminder of Leah's manipulation.

The more you confided in Leah, the heavier the charade felt. Your genuine affection, so evident in the way your eyes lit up when you talked about your dreams, was a constant reproach. Leah initially reveled in the power of having you wrapped around her finger, a twisted satisfaction born from the win over Katie. But it had curdled into a gnawing sense of betrayal.

The next morning, training felt like an exercise in self-torture. Every laugh you shared with Leah felt laced with deceit. The playful teasing she used to initiate now felt like emotional jabs. You, oblivious, misinterpreted her forced distance as shyness and tried to draw her in further.

"Hey, are you okay?" you asked, concern etched on your face. "You seem a little off lately."

Leah opened her mouth to offer a practised smile, but the words wouldn't come. The weight of the lie threatened to suffocate her. Should she confess? The thought of shattering your trust was terrifying, yet continuing the charade felt even worse.

Leah stared at your worried face, the knot of guilt in her stomach tightening to the point of pain. A million justifications and excuses swirled in her head, but none of them felt substantial enough. Katie's taunting voice echoed in her mind, "No backing out, Williamson..." The thought of doubling down on the bet was repulsive.

Taking a deep breath, Leah forced a shaky smile. "Honestly? Yeah, things have just been a bit hectic lately. Family stuff, you know?" It was a lame excuse, but hopefully vague enough to buy her some time.

Your brow furrowed. "Is everything okay? Do you want to talk about it?" The genuine concern in your eyes sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing over Leah. You deserved honesty, not fabricated drama.

"Maybe later," Leah mumbled, averting your gaze. The playful banter you usually enjoyed felt like walking on eggshells. Every word, every touch, felt like a betrayal. Steeling herself, Leah decided she couldn't take it anymore. She needed a way out, a way to confess without causing irreparable damage.

A confused warmth had bloomed in your chest over the past few weeks. Leah, the confident captain you both admired and were slightly intimidated by the girl you were utterly in love with, had started seeking you out. The stolen glances during training, the funny texts that made you snort out loud, the surprise lunches – it all felt unreal. Was Leah Williamson actually crushing on you?

The thought sent a giddy blush creeping up your neck. You confided in Leah about your anxieties, your struggles to connect with the team, and your hero worship for her leadership style. With every shared secret, the warmth in your chest intensified. Here you were, getting to know the real Leah, and she was amazing. Her focused gaze held a depth you hadn't noticed before, and her playful teasing sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

But lately, a flicker of doubt had started to cloud your sunshine. Leah seemed…distant. Her smiles seemed forced, the playful banter replaced by awkward silences. Your concern grew when she brushed off your attempts to reach out, citing vague family issues. The warmth in your chest started to curdle, replaced by a gnawing sense of unease. Was this just a phase, or was something else going on?

As Leah mumbled about family stuff, you couldn't shake the feeling she was hiding something. The hurt was sharp, tinged with a confusing mix of anger and disappointment. Had you misread everything? Was Leah just being friendly, and you'd gotten ahead of yourself? The thought of your budding friendship being a figment of your imagination was a bitter pill to swallow.

Yet, amidst the hurt, a spark of defiance ignited. You wouldn't let this go without a fight. You deserved honesty, and you were determined to get it from Leah, one way or another. The playful banter you once craved now felt hollow, replaced by a steely resolve. You wouldn't be anyone's fool, not even Leah Williamson.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, after Leah's mumbled excuse. Taking a deep breath, you decided to push past the awkwardness. "Leah," you began, your voice surprisingly steady, "is there something you're not telling me?"

Leah flinched, her gaze flickering away from yours. A moment stretched, then she sighed, deflating like a punctured balloon. "Alright," she finally admitted, running a hand through her hair. "The truth is... things with my family are rough right now, but that's not all of it."

Your heart hammered in your chest, a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. "What else is there, Leah?"

She met your gaze then, a vulnerability you hadn't seen before shining in her eyes. "The reason I've been acting weird... it's because..." she took another shaky breath, "because I really like you, Y/N. More than just a friend."

The admission hung in the air, a weight lifting from your own chest. Relief flooded you, warm and sweet, washing away the hurt and confusion. A hesitant smile tugged at your lips. "You... you like me too?"

Leah's cheeks flushed a rosy pink. "Yeah. I guess I was scared. Scared of messing things up with the team, scared of rejection..."

A genuine smile bloomed on your face. Leaning forward, you reached out and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Leah," you murmured, your voice soft, "the only thing I'm scared of is missing out on this."

The vulnerability in your eyes mirrored Leah's. A hesitant smile curved her lips. "So... what does this mean for us?"

You knew then, with a certainty that settled deep in your gut, that this wasn't just a fleeting infatuation. This was real. Taking another deep breath, you met her gaze head-on. "It means," you said, your voice firm with newfound resolve, "that I'd love to take you out on a proper date sometime, Captain Williamson. No family drama, no distractions, just you and me."

The smile on Leah's face this time was full-blown, radiant. "Sounds perfect, Y/N. Sounds perfect." But she couldn't help the sinking feeling in her stomach.

The air crackled with unspoken emotions as you and Leah walked away from the training ground, hands brushing every so often. The weight of her confession had shattered the awkward tension, replaced by a shy giddiness. Relief and a blooming joy washed over you – you weren't imagining things after all.

Weeks turned into months, and your relationship blossomed alongside Leah's ACL recovery. You became a constant by her side, a source of unwavering support throughout her physiotherapy. You diligently helped her with her strengthening exercises, transforming them into playful challenges that made the rehab less daunting. You celebrated every milestone, no matter how small, the glint of pride in your eyes a bigger motivator than any stern lecture from the physiotherapist.pen_spark

Training sessions became a delightful mix of focused intensity and playful competition. You mirrored each other's exercises, erupting in laughter when one of you inevitably stumbled or fumbled. Lunch breaks were spent strategizing for upcoming games and sharing childhood stories, your bond deepening with every conversation.

But Leah never forgot the initial deception that clouded the start of your connection. The guilt gnawed at her, especially during your physiotherapy sessions. She poured her heart into her recovery, fueled by the desire to be back on the pitch, playing alongside you, not just watching from the sidelines.

One particularly grueling afternoon, as Leah groaned through leg raises, you noticed the strain etched on her face. "Hey," you said gently, placing a hand on her knee, "need a break?"

Leah looked up, surprised by the concern in your eyes. "I'm almost done with this set," she mumbled, determined to endure the pain.

Almost doesn't count," you countered, a playful glint in your eyes. "Besides, wouldn't it be better to listen to your body? We don't want to set you back."

Leah couldn't help but smile. Your genuine care for her well-being was a balm to her soul. "Alright, fine," she conceded. "But only for a few minutes."

Those stolen breaks became a daily ritual. You'd bring her water, help stretch her hamstrings, and sometimes, just sit in comfortable silence, the unspoken bond between you a powerful comfort. You even started researching healthy recipes, determined to fuel Leah's body with the nutrients it craved for recovery.

As Leah's birthday approached, the excitement crackled in the air. You spent weeks planning her party with her family, before enlisting the help of her Mom after remembering her childhood idol Thierry Henry and how jealous she was when you told her you had a signed jersey from the French superstar much to your Dad's dismay. Amanda had asked you numerous times if you were sure you wanted to give that to Leah "She has made me feel more loved, seen, and wanted in these past six months than I have felt my entire life. I.....I just...I know I will never be able to tell her or show her how much I love her, how incredible she is and if this jersey shows her a fraction of that then I'm sure." Amanda pulled you into her chest tightly "You are the only girl i could have ever wished for Leah to fall in love with, but trust me darling she knows how much you love her."

1 Week Later

"I'm sorry you did what." Leah's eyes dropped to the ground unable to look at her mother's disappointed face. "I.....Leah of all the things and to Y/n.....Y/n she god Leah she was it she was your one....shes the one we all wanted the one we were all gunning for how.....how could you be so cruel and to Y/n I'm so disappointed, i actually cant even look at you." Leah turned “Mum…I.” But Amanda was gone

[pngjamie]

I yap about Forever + Falling with you

Forever being the end song to murder drones- and its lyrics being what they are

gives me the impression Murder Drones was a big love story about opening up and trust hidden under mounds of comedy and violence

And I dont mean that it ACTUALLY is, its more just.. a silly little feeling I get when i listen to it

Theres something about the song thats so... cozy? So like, softly spoken. A very hummable melody from one lover to another.

also falling with you, like what the fuck

never in my life have I felt a track was so carefully crafted- and prepared, carved out for two specific characters in one specific moment.

She made the choice to sacrifice herself- for him. In her eyes it was the end and if at the end of everything she could guarantee the life of one person it was going to be the one she loves, she didnt know what would be at the other end,

The thing is, he wanted to be there for her. Even when they're knocking on deaths door, he needs to be there.

Its like trust fall exercise, except the focus isnt on 'catch me' cause they'd never let the other fall,

its about making sure they dont fall when youre not looking. It hurts both parties, to crash without warning and to see the one you love fall

I *love* that they dont speak here. She looks to the side, shifting her glances before looking at him.

An unspoken guilt ridden apology.

The response he chooses?

forgiveness,

Even if the result of her actions hurt him- her intentions were good and meant to be entirely in favor of him

And in this moment, with their current history and with a yet to be seen future, he forgives her,

Cause at the very least, they're together again. He could save her.

And her look just, screams thank you to me.

Thank you for forgiving me, saving me-

for everything :) /ref

lighthearted preparation for whats to come :)

legitimately, what she says, reiterating herself "die mad bitch"

knowing theyre heading into the end of the world to prevent it?? Theyre going off to the fucking trenches together, key word this time being together

And then the horrible unexpected !

Uzi is ripped away from N, confronted with what her home has become, the universe is practically screaming at her to fix it, pushing her towards the end without mercy

But shes not doing it alone, she cant do it alone, not again, not this time

And he wouldnt let her

The universe could endlessly attempt to wield its cosmic grasp to push these two apart but itd never work, itd never end with them alone

Their love- their pure devotion to each other,

is so celestial in its own right

Not super related to my ramble but i love that in them becoming official (I will not call this a confession, N definitely confessed the previous episode)

Uzis so.. wagh.. her eyes.

That trademark look of panic or worry- I mean what would you expect from the black sheep of the colony? Being excluded on the daily, left to your own abandoned devices?? The reassurance she was requesting just, ughh.. my heart...

and the way. He fucking looks at her

Its so, soft. He knows she has not a thing to worry about. His heart is completely and utterly hers. Where most would die for their love, he lives for her.

The universe would be dammed to ever try and separate pure unbridled love like this ever again

ERM< ANYWAY that was super gay ew idk why im like. obsessed with their relatinshuio ahhajfhdgjbsjhfm someone blow me up

[sorchathered]

I can love you through the dark

Pairing- Jake Seresin x OC (Savannah Monroe-Seresin)

Warnings- language, angst, mentions of death, pregnancy, ptsd

Summary- sometimes the past keeps Jake up at night, but she is always there to bring him back from the dark.

A/N- an old WIP I found deep in my Google docs that I thought could use some love. Not beta read.

———————————————————————————-

Jake Seresin had a short fuse. He’d been working on that.

He kept his composure as Rooster threw that cheap shot at him, brushing it off despite the shock all over everyone’s faces by the pool table. “The only place you’ll lead someone is an early grave.” It rang in his ears later that night, Coyote was too damn perceptive as he watched his friend from across the shitty barracks room they were assigned to.

“I’m fine” Jake grunted as he stared at the ceiling, trying to will the thoughts away.

Two years. It’d been two years since his former wingman Torch had lost his life in a field exercise gone wrong. Jake had been cleared of any wrongdoing but he knew; if he’d watched his teammate’s back like he should have Torch would still be alive.

He’d worked his ass off to prove he was the best ever since, and refused to let anyone else in again after that day. Maybe that’s why he was so frustrated with Rooster, he cared too much where Jake refused to care at all. The mission was what mattered now; not making friends. All getting close to someone guaranteed was that you had more to lose, and Jake couldn’t bear to lose anything or anyone else.

“How are things going?” The soft voice filtered through the speaker of his phone as he paced the halls, another night full of nightmares and no sleep.

“It’s going. This is a big one, everyone who’s anyone is here and I worry that they aren’t taking it as serious as they should.” He sighed and ran a hand over his face, he shouldn’t be on the phone with her right now, one of them at least needed to get some rest.

“You need to take care of yourself, and try to be a team player-“

He barked out a laugh at that and he could just see her shaking her head and sighing, she knew he couldn’t afford to get close to someone like that again, no one knew better than she did.

“Jake. I need your head in the game. I can’t do this without you, I- I need you to come home ok?” She was crying, he’d promised he’d do everything he could to never make her cry and here she was getting upset over him again.

“Sweetheart I’m not going anywhere, but you need to rest ok? I’ll be good, I’ll be the very best. Take care of yourself and our little angel. I love you Savvy, fuck- I love you so much.”

They said their goodbyes and Jake slept for the first time since he’d gotten back to Miramar.

Savannah “Savvy” Monroe had been Torch’s high school sweetheart, she’d followed him wherever the navy took him until that fateful day when his plane had gone down. She’d always seemed like an unstoppable force until then, and Jake watched one of his best friend’s crumble and turn into a shell of the woman she’d been. It seemed obvious to everyone but him that they would seek solace in each other, no one blamed them for how they chose to stitch themselves back together, and while they started a new life together Jake couldn’t help but struggle with the guilt.

She’d dragged him to therapy after a big fight, he’d walked out her early in their relationship; determined to prove to her that he didn’t deserve her love and push her to hate him as much as he hated himself. 6 months later he’d finally found himself again, only to find out that Savvy was pregnant. He couldn’t help but wish Torch was here, and his therapist told him it was not only normal but expected. He’d made an honest woman out of her quickly after that, life had proven to be too short and they wanted to start their new life with all the bows tied up nice and neat.

When the call came up to head back to top gun they were nearing the 7th month and he wanted her to stay in Texas with his mom where he knew she’d be safe and taken care of. Now he was here and all he wanted was to hold her, especially after Rooster managed to get under his skin. No one really knew that he and Sav were married, except for Javy and his wife and he wanted to keep it that way. Rooster knew Torch would always be a sore spot, and he’d pressed just the right buttons to bring Hangman to the surface. He filed that rage away for the right moment and when the time came he was ruthless, he knew it was wrong to cut Bradshaw down like that but Rooster had thrown the first punch.

When he got reduced to spare and Rooster got promoted to wingman he was almost relieved, he had too much to lose and it was easy to get caught up in the competition. He wanted to be the best, but he had to think of his family.

Mission accomplished and successful, everyone had survived and made it back to Fightertown safely. As he stepped off the carrier he heard her shouting his name and shook his head in disbelief, he should’ve known better than to think her stubborn ass wouldn’t be here waiting for him to return. She couldn’t run bless her heart but she waddled across the lot as fast as she could with a giggle as he scooped her up in his arms, kissing her deeply and then dropping to his knees to talk to his baby boy.

Rooster watched from a distance, realization striking him as he took the scene in. He’d met Torch’s wife before, years ago when they were in flight school. Heat burned his cheeks as he realized that maybe- just maybe he was just as much of an ass as Jake Seresin, and maybe his judgement had been too harsh. Coyote clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, nodding his head in their direction as he watched Jake pepper kisses to her cheeks, he treated her like she were made of glass as he escorted her across the lot to his truck.

“Now you know a little something about Hangman, he wants you to think he’s a pompous ass; but the man couldn’t be more of a marshmallow. I hope to God we never have to live through what they did, don’t you agree?” Javy Machado didn’t wait for an answer, just left Rooster to ponder that thought.

He thought of his mother, broken over the loss of his father and felt a cold chill, he’d find a way to thank Hangman someday, he had saved his life after all.

———————————————————————————-

Tagging- @roosterforme @attapullman @bobgasm @seitmai @sebsxphia @mynameismckenziemae @sailor-aviator

[harmonictechnicality]

model!steve and voice actor!Eddie (part 2)

part 1 here | ao3 link here | the temp is up on this one so like... dni if under 18 pls

Steve spends a lot of his spare time at the gym. Comes with the territory of modeling or whatever. Gotta keep himself strong, without developing bulging muscles. Gotta keep himself toned, without becoming too lean. Somewhat of a balancing act to this media fuckery circus.

Times are changing, yeah maybe. But not for puffy-lipped preps with killer bone structure. Steve still falls under the category of stereotypical Pretty Boy, and he’s chill with that. Fucking owns it.

Most days…

He’s currently cooling down on the treadmill - brisk walk, almost a jog. It’s a good pace for multitasking some adult shit that he needs to get done. Staying hydrated, keeping his photoshoot calendar up-to-date, answering a few emails. Yada yada.

Steve takes a swig of his seaweed (more like arsenic) smoothie. Opens the top email that reads:

The Fallen King - Final Commercial Cut

Right. Steve almost forgot about this particular shoot. Well, tried to repress the thoughts of that mega-douche director who kept referring to Steve’s ass as ‘prime real estate.’ Fucking creep.

He scrolls down to the attached file and slides his headphones back over his ears.

The ad opens with a wide shot of Steve draped over the throne, fog swelling around the bottom of the screen. The music is an eerie cello solo, set to a heavy bassline. 

Just another oversexualized cologne campaign, he thinks. Probably will barely feature the product because they paid big money for Steve’s body. Gotta get their fill of it (ha, they fucking wish Steve would fill them up).

But then the narration rolls into his ears and the room does a somersault. Practically inverts it’s axis at the sound dripping in Steve’s ears:

‘The mighty will fall from grace…’

“Oh shit.” Steve almost wipes out on the treadmill, has to catch his fall on the side bars. His knees are tingling, calves molten and shaky. Already half hard, which is definitely going to be a problem in these flimsy, mesh gym shorts.

‘Forbidden love and public slander…’

But that voice. That tone. That sinful register set in the minor key of Holy Fuck.

‘Will bring them to their knees.’

Alright, that fucking does it. Steve pauses the video before he’s fully tenting-out in a goddamn fitness center. Packs up his shit, chucks the sludge smoothie in the trash, and finds an empty stall. Emphatically locks it.

“Agh, damnit!” Steve's thumb slips over the screen and exits out of the video. It scrolls back to the top of the email - a new message has been added to the chain.

Seriously, what obnoxious fucker does ‘Reply All’ these days?

The new message reads:

Great work, team. (Sorry for being such a vocal slut.)

(… Not that sorry though.) - Eddie Munson

That’s right - the voice artist. Almost didn’t recognize the voice, but the repressed memory of that day comes flying to the surface when Steve sees the name. 

He recalls the guy being objectively cute too. Not in the California ‘sun-kissed skin’ kind of way. More in the Seattle ‘rain forces me to be a pale homebody’ kind of way. His eyes were something else though. They reminded Steve of the sepia tone filters he used in his early modeling portfolio. No way in hell Steve could ever forget knockout eyes like that.

The locker room is empty. Steve reopens the video, raises the volume high enough to mute out the thin hum from the air conditioning unit. Only wants to hear Eddie’s voice. That’s it. 

He’s already touching himself when the first phrase falls out of the headphones. Can’t even help it now that he’s alone. It’s all too good. Works himself up all stuffy and sensitive by the time the new part comes up:

‘Drenched in their guilt. Soaked in their shame.’

Fucking christ.

‘Choking on worthless confessions…’

Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. Choking? Worthless? What is this, a sado hotline? Steve feels the heat spreading on his neck, flushed over in a non-exercise way. There’s a thump in his dick, has to squeeze his fingers around it. Like his body needs a reminder to calm the fuck down.

‘Until all that is left of them is desolate darkness.’

Pretty sure the raspy exhale after every phrase is going to do Steve in, saturate his last ounce of dignity with want. Eddie’s breathing is taking Steve’s breath away, and that’s an outright mindfuck. Earfuck. 

Something is getting fucked, and somehow, Steve still needs more.

While the song sustains, Steve strokes himself to the percussive rhythm. 

‘The Fallen King. The scent of secrets.’

The hiss on the last syllable fades into the music till everything fizzles out, going dead silent.

Well, everything goes silent except for Steve, who is utterly rattled. Can hear his dense breath and it’s way too noisy for a public space. The pulse in his neck is irregular, hitched the fuck up. His smartwatch is buzzing, alerting him that his heart rate is elevated, which duh. His whole body feels like it underwent some sexual awakening in the middle of a fitness center. 

And, sure. That’s a common place for people to realize how gay and desperate they are, but not like this. Not with zero visuals of sweaty bodies. 

Before he starts the video over to… finish the job, a phone call lights up his screen. Because of course it does.

He reads the name and swipes it open. “What’s up, Buckley?”

“I need coffee.” Robin whines, already pouting into the phone speaker no doubt. 

“You always need coffee.”

“Yeah but like… it tastes better when you buy me coffee.”

“Oh, so you want to mooch off of your own client?” Steve teases because he can. They can annoy the shit out of each other and write it off as endearment. “Pretty unprofessional of you, Ms. Manager.”

Robin groans. Makes it a long one too - probably to show off both her annoyance and lung capacity. “Fuck all the way off, you were my friend first. Always friends first.”

“Always friends first.” Steve agrees. She’s right, usually is about most things. Robin has been his manager since his last agency went bankrupt from pouring their funds into promoting Fyre Fest. And everyone knows that turned out to be an entire fuckshow.

Honestly, it’s easier this way - Robin being his manager. They get to hang out more, he has more input on gigs that he’s interested in…

Interested in. Huh. The metaphorical lightbulb flicks on in Steve’s voice-drunk brain. Having his best friend as his manager is also convenient when Steve needs the phone number of a certain co-worker.

“Alright, fine.” Steve has a sly grin on as he talks. “I’ll bring over some coffee.”

“Thank god.”

“If!”

“Ugh.”

He huffs out a laugh. “If you can send me the cast and crew contact sheet from the Fallen King commercial.”

“Ew, why?” Robin asks, sounds totally repulsed. Valid, that shoot was Objectification Station.

But truly, Steve’s not in the mood to make up an excuse. He’s sore and sweaty and half-hard. So he just gets to the damn point. “Look, do you want coffee or not?”

“Okay okay.” That’s one way to speed up the process. Caffeine threats - works every time. “Dropping the file to you now.” 

“You’re the best.” Steve sings.

“I know, I know.” And the line clicks dead.

Okay. This is not a booty call, it’s not.

Steve is just texting a semi-stranger to tell him that his voice is potentially the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Okay, he’ll definitely phrase it better than that, maybe throw a few emojis in there to normalize the tone. Soften it up to sound very un-stalkery.

Yeah. Not a booty call. And if Eddie happens to send an audio message, and Steve happens to jerk off to it… still not a booty call, right?

Pathetic, maybe. But not basic, thank fuck.

He types, then re-types the message out way too many times before settling on this:

Steve: Great work on the commercial voiceover! Got ur number from the call sheet. hope that’s cool.

Steve hits send before realizing he didn’t have the goddamn common sense to introduce himself. He’s not even a rookie at hookups, why is he suddenly so frazzled by this guy?

“This is Steve by the way…” he mumbles into an audio message. Hits send, then quickly makes another:

“The… model guy.”

The model guy? What in the flustered hell is going on with him?

A chime notification goes off maybe two minutes after Steve sends the last message. Which is like… hot. Shameless fast texters are a millennial turn-on, for sure.

It’s a voice text, so Steve takes thirty seconds to calm down whatever involuntary throb just happened in his sweatpants. He sucks in some air and presses play:

“Pretty sure all the kids these days just send a ‘u up’ message to people they wanna dick down at midnight.”

Damn. Eddie’s voice sounds totally different, but just as sexy. Like amateur porn sexy. Is amateur audio porn a thing? It should be.

Steve quickly saves the audio file and types back.

Steve:  Ok pls don’t mention ‘kids’ while I’m trying to flirt with u

Eddie: Waitwaitwait So we're definitely flirting right now? I actually interpreted that correctly?

Steve: Like u said It’s midnight So… *shrug emoji*

And a phone call comes through. Eddie’s contact name flashing in a harsh light, too blinding and too unexpected. Steve’s heart is hammering at his rib cage, suddenly so fucking nervous. He waits until the last ring to answer, buys himself some time cause god knows, he needs it.

Steve takes a breath and swallows. “He-”

“Okay, so you do realize this is the sewer rat voice actor guy from the commercial shoot, right?” Eddie interrupts, sounds out of breath. “And not like… a fellow model or Timothee Chalamet’s cousin or something?”

That earns a hearty laugh and eye-roll from Steve. “He is so not my type.”

“Thought he was everyone’s type.”

“Nah.” Steve rolls onto his belly, very giddy and disarmed by the ease of the exchange. His nerves are set aside, replaced with his usual confidence. “More into sewer rat voice actor guys.”

“That… is some very specific criteria.” Eddie coughs or maybe it's just a dry laugh. He sounds pleased as hell, so laugh seems more likely. “Holy shit, I’m flirting with a model!”

“You’re cute." Steve should not be so charmed right now, but the impulsive honesty is really doing it for him. "Dorky, but cute.” 

Eddie mumbles something incoherent, then clears his throat. Speaks quieter this time. “So why’d you text?”

“So why’d you call?”

“Just, uh… needed confirmation that this is real life.”

Steve lets out a ‘hmm,’ thinks of a proper response to that. “If I was there, I could pinch you. Ya know... so you’d know it’s real.” Okay. Maybe not proper, but whatever. It’s late. His brain is half scrambled from hormones and exhaustion, cut him some slack.

“Would do a lot more than pinch you if you were actually here.” And sure, Eddie might have mumbled that, but Steve clearly heard it. He heard exactly what Eddie just suggested.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Fuck, we’re doing this?” Eddie whispers.

Steve turns onto his back again, lets his hand wander down. “If you’re into that. Like hearing your voice, Eddie.”

“Like hearing you say my name like that.” And Eddie sounds like he means it. His tone is smoothing over, the same way it did in the narration. “You sound so worked up already.”

Steve moans, chest falling hard enough that the phone slips. Has to reposition it to get all that good vocal seduction back in his ear.

“God, wish I could see what you look like right now.” Eddie exhales, getting that nice rasp that Steve likes so much. It’s sultry and rich. Breathless at just the right moments. “Bet you’re lying down, aren’t you? Phone wedged between your neck and ear cause your hands are too busy to hold it properly. Am I right?”

“Yeah.” Steve pushes past the waistband of his sweatpants, then his boxers.

Eddie hums. Growls. “The things I’d do to you like that. Lying down, looking so eager to please. Saw how good you are at taking direction that day of the shoot. Does that apply in the bedroom too, baby?”

“It… fuck.” Steve strokes himself slowly. Can barely get the words out cause it feels like he's chewing on Eddie's voice. Swallowing every syllable. “Yeah, it does.”

“See - that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Problem?”

“That I don’t know what you’re into. How you like it.”

“Pretty open to… trying things.” Steve reassures, eyes closing to soak in every sensation. “Just keep talking.”

And thank all that is holy, Eddie does just that. He keeps talking. “Can’t stop thinking about that pretty neck of yours. How I’d kiss it, suck on it till your skin goes tender and soft under my lips. Till your head rolls back like it did in that video.”

Eddie's words are syrup. Heavy and tempting. “I’d let you rest it on my shoulder while I get my hands all over you. See what sweet spots drive you wild, get you to squirm for me.”

Steve's grip tightens, pumping at a pace that’s close to getting fucked. A pace that makes it easier to pretend that it’s Eddie’s hand wrapped around him, making his vision blurred and spotty - even with his eyes screwed shut.

“Eddie, you’re… oh my god.” Steve whines, knows it must be pretty fucking loud with the speaker smushed against his cheek. “You’re so good at this.”

Eddie shushes him, sounds like he’s snickering a bit. “I’d tease you like that until your thighs start to tremble. Until you beg me to go further. End the torture.”

“Fucking christ…please.” Guess Steve really is that good at taking direction. Or maybe he’s extra easy for guys that turn his brain into liquor. Too busy begging to know which one it might be. “Keep going.”

Eddie’s laugh is dark and rough. “Sounds nice hearing you beg like that. Like sin.”

Feels like sin too. 

Steve’s fingers are slicked nicely with precome. The friction of his palm is making everything warmer, better. And stirring all of those feelings up with Eddie’s voice? Fucking hell, Steve is close. He’s so damn- “Okay, okay. If we don’t stop, I’m gonna-”

“I know.” Eddie purrs, sweetly mean. “Thought that was the point.”

“Cannot believe I'm about to say this, but maybe…” Steve has to dig his hand out from his boxers to complete the sentence. Knocks his head against the wall because his behavior is totally batshit right now. “Maybe I want to see you again first? Is that weird?”

His skin sort of tingles from going this long without finishing. Never solved the blue-balling issue back at the gym either, so Steve’s on the verge of climax insanity right now. Didn’t think he’d discover an edging kink at the ripe age of twenty-five, but eureka. Here it is.

“Not weird.” Eddie’s voice returns back to a calmer one. The one that doesn’t make Steve want to bend over and get fucked so hard that his organs shift around. “I mean, I’m weird, sure. But wanting to complete this in person is not weird. Very un-weird, in fact.”

“You talk a lot.”

“Yeah well… voice actor.” Eddie says, sort of deadpan. “You couldn’t see that, but I just did ‘razzle dazzle’ hands.”

Shit, Steve really likes this guy. He just used the phrase ‘razzle dazzle hands,’ and Steve is still horny for him. Wow.

“Is tomorrow too soon?” Steve manages to say before overthinking it.

“Tomorrow-tomorrow, or like today-tomorrow?” Eddie asks. “Cause it’s past midnight.”

Right. Booty call time moves at an entirely different pace than normal time does. “Today-tomorrow. If you’re free.”

“Free as a dead composer’s anthology of music.” Eddie answers happily.

Steve opens his mouth to respond, then shuts it because what? What does that even mean? Is that a yes or a no? Goddamnit, his head hurts. Too many questions, not enough orgasms.

“Most classical music is royalty-free.” Eddie clears his throat, sounds like he’s tapping on something. “… So yeah. I’m free.”

“Right.” Steve chuckles, hard to believe he’s unapologetically gushing. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Eddie.”

“Great. See you today, Steve.” Eddie is still snorting at his own joke while the call ends.

They haven’t sorted out any of the details yet, but it doesn’t matter. It’s happening. It’s real.

So real, that he wants an actual date with Eddie before steamy phone sex. He wants to make Eddie laugh before making him come. That's like... unheard of for Steve. Uncharted.

Damn.

Today-tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

[littlefeltsparrow]

Nesta’s emotional breakdown at the end of the hike was not a product of a well-meaning attempt to improve her well-being, but a manipulative pseudo-therapeutic strategy that aimed to simulate vulnerability and masquerade as progress in Nesta’s character arc.

The narrative would have you believe that the hike was an ordeal of self-discovery for Nesta, that Cassian was using a bit of “tough love” to help Nesta get better and grow as a person. But it operates on the idea that exposure to nature, which is presumed to be inherently beneficial, would give Nesta the push she needed to work through her issues and unpack the trauma that had been affecting her all throughout the book. But, this couldn’t be further from the reality that we are shown. Exercise like hiking can be immensely beneficial to one’s mental wellbeing and it can also be therapeutic in some cases, but such benefits are negated when the people involved are subjected to undue hardship and danger during that exercise.

It’s not a coincidence that Nesta opening up to Cassian comes directly after an extremely straining hike, during which she exhausted herself mentally and physically all while in the midst of intense psychological stress. Nobody told her that Feyre was alright after their heated argument, nobody told her that Feyre AGREED that Nesta did the right thing and understood why she did it. Consequently, this omission prolongs Nesta’s emotional anguish and guilt unnecessarily and makes the ordeal of the hike even worse.

Nesta, who has never hiked before in her life, is forced on one against her will, chaperoned by Cassian who does not speak to her and hardly looks at her during the 2 day hike. This is a detail that exposes this hike for what it truly is, a means of breaking Nesta’s spirit to get her back in line. It was never about piecing her back together, it was about shattering her emotionally to punish her for defying Rhysand’s authority. But, the text doesn’t want to admit that, it wants to pretend to make a grand statement on mental health and make a cheap copy of Cheryl Strayed’s memoir “Wild” without any of the pathos. Cassian can feel warm and fuzzy about the accomplishment of opening Nesta’s heart, when in reality, that vulnerability he witnesses is entirely a result of prolonged stress and pain.

So could it be, that Nesta’s emotional “ breakthrough” at the end of the hike, was not due to Cassian’s and the IC’s efforts to help her, but the combined strain of dehydration, exhaustion and intense emotional distress finally catching up with her after repressing it for 2 days straight?

[kurishiri]

05 . . . don’t look at anyone but me ˗ˏˋ🪞´ˎ˗

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or may contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost or claim these as your own!

— cw: let’s just say there’s a reason why this needs the most heart sends 👌

Some days had passed since Vogel came, and this was a happening of that afternoon——

(What are they talking about over there...)

Hiding behind a pillar, I tried to listen in on Nika and Ring’s conversation.

(I only came across them by chance, and yet I couldn’t help myself from hiding here anyway.)

That said, they have come all the way here as goodwill ambassadors, so I couldn’t afford to do anything rude in front of them...

(It wouldn’t be good to push them away before I even get to know them.)

While still lost in the realm of my own thoughts,

Alfons: Now whatever are you doing here?

Kate: Hyah!

Surprised by the fingers that suddenly grazed my neck, I jumped back.

And when I turned around, there Alfons stood, wearing an expression that looked as though he had found an amusing toy.

Ring: Is it just me, or were there voices?

(Oh no, we’re going to get found at this rate!)

Having turned toward my voice, they were approaching our way, and in a panic, I——

Alfons: Oh, dear me.

I grabbed Alfons’ arm and pushed him into an empty room.

(I-I hid again...)

When I heard their footsteps from the other side of the door grow more distant, I was hit with a bout of relief for a moment, when...

Alfons: Goodness gracious, to bring me into a bedroom with nobody else around... dare I say, you do so embrace a heart of indecency...!

Kate: T-that’s not it!

...Alfons looked as though he was having quite a lot of fun, and I couldn’t help but feel perplexed at the sight.

Alfons: So? Would you be so kind as to tell me what you were doing outside?

Kate: ...I just happened to run into those two members of Vogel together, and I was listening in on their conversation.

Alfons: Listening in on them... let me rephrase my previous statement: I see now that you embrace every and all sides of indecency, indeed.

Kate: And as I’ve been saying! That isn’t the case!

I turned on my heel to try and leave the room, but——

Alfons: I cannot help but think you are akin to a devil in a human’s skin when I see you expressing interest in other men, even while I am before your eyes.

Kate: How many times do I have to say—wait, what?

Alfons took the key that was laying on the shelf and locked the door before approaching the window,

out of which he threw the key.

Kate: W-what are you doing!?

Alfons: Well, you see, the door cannot be opened without a key from both the out- and inside.

On the doorknob there was only a small keyhole...

Alfons: And as a cherry on top, it would be quite a stretch to say you would survive a fall from this height.

...and I saw from the window that the ground was very much far off; even using the curtains as leverage wouldn’t help.

Alfons: And hence, we find ourselves here, stuck with no way out.

Closing the window, he turned toward me with a full smile on his face, and I thought my words were going to lose themselves, but...

Kate: Why would you do such a thing...

Alfons: I feel that because it is you we are talking about, had you not been found out, you would have gone to talk with them out of guilt for eavesdropping, no?

Kate: That...

(Well, he isn’t wrong about that.)

The reason I hid and listened in on them,

was not really because of some guilty conscience, but more so I had been waiting for an opportunity to reach out to them.

Alfons: If I recall, Harrison did say that they were lying about something.

Letting out a sigh, he approached me, his fingers grazing my ear.

Kate: !

My body strained at the tickling sensation, and I grabbed his wrist so he couldn’t touch the nape of my neck...

Alfons: It matters not what said lie is, but it is in your best interest to exercise caution.

...but the fingers touching my ears made me feel good.

Alfons: And that goes twice for you, as you have nothing shielding your heart.

I bit my lip, and Alfons’ leather-gloved fingers made their way atop my lips.

Alfons: And what if this lie they are telling is meant to deceive you?

A: For example, wheedling you for their goal, and then like this——

Kate: Mn…

His fingers slid down from my lips to the back of my neck, before going through my collarbone to my chest, tracing the curves of my breasts…

A: ——they can give you this kind of pleasure, drown you in it.

Kate: Ah…

His fingers then made their way down lower before rubbing the place between my legs over my skirt.

Alfons: They may very well be aiming for you, to make you go past the point of no return.

Kate: Hngh, ah—

Slowly, yet surely, his sweet kiss melted my thoughts, and I grasped the shirt before me in response.

Every time our tongues intertwined, an obscene sound resonated in the room…

Kate: Mnn!

…and the fingers that had been between my legs pushed down on my sensitive bud from over my clothes.

Alfons: Oh, dear, to see you succumb so easily to pleasure like this, I cannot help but worry.

A: …All that said, though, the one who rendered you like this was none other than me.

My legs, which had been trembling from the pleasure, suddenly felt weak.

Kate: ——!

I felt his fingers push harder this time, and I sank down to the floor in response.

Kate: Al…fons——

When I tried to raise my head, I felt something cool on my fingers.

It was the key that was supposed to have been thrown out.

(Wait a minute…)

I turned sharply to look at the doorknob.

There, I saw not a keyhole, but a lever that could lock from the inside,

and when I looked out the window, there were flowers just outside waving in the garden, and I remembered that we were on the first floor.

Alfons: I see you have come to the inevitable realization?

(Yes, that you used your ability on me when you spoke to me and touched my neck then!)

Kate: But why did you use your ability…

When I looked at him in protest, Alfons, who was on his knees on the floor, averted his gaze.

Alfons: …Simply because I found it quite irking at best that you were making a show of interest toward other men.

Kate: Eh…

Alfons: Why not just forget about Vogel? I am here before your eyes, and yet you have the luxury to be looking away?

Seeing him say his qualms with a frown on his face was endearing in a way.

Alfons: Well? Do you still have the time and energy to talk with those people?

The fingers that held my sleeves resembled that of a child trying not to have his precious thing stolen away.

(I was a little angry, yes, but now I can’t seem to find it in me to stay that way.)

After all, I got to see an expression I didn’t usually see on him, and my heart felt like it was going to jump out from affection.

Kate: No, I don’t. Whenever you’re here, I can’t look anywhere else.

When I said that, the arms that had been grasping my sleeves wrapped around my back, and…

Kate: Wah——

His hands made their way below my bottom, lifting me up and dropping me on the bed.

He had an expression that looked as though he was having fun, albeit somewhat different from the one he wore before, as he took off his gloves.

Alfons: Just like that, you need only look at me, and not another soul.

On the white sheets, two people’s shadows came together.

Fin.

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[hastyprovocateur]

An analysis of Mizu×Akemi

Mizu gave up Akemi to Lord Daichi's men saying her path of revenge has no room for "love, friendship or weakness." She looked Ringo up and down at "weakness" after which he got offended and ended his apprenticeship for not helping Akemi. Mizu's eyes held guilt as Akemi cried out for her, hoping to be by Mizu's side and not go through with her marriage to the Shogun's son. Mizu was aware that if she fought Daichi's men, it meant more would be coming, which inadvertently meant more time having Akemi around, growing close to her... peering into her soul, breaking some walls... like she did at Madam Kaji's when she lay bare the fact that she's not the killer she pretends to be. Which was hammer meets nail as far as Mizu's singular purpose is concerned. It also means a lot that Mizu's appearance in itself wasn't scary to Akemi, or worthy of contempt despite being an aristocrat in an extremely xenophobic time. Racism should've been her second language but she doesn't exercise it. She only noted the distress evident in Mizu's behavior. Her rage- "Your face isn't even so scary... you're just... angry."

The thing about noticing is... you keep noticing more. Especially someone as observant and calculated as Akemi. Mizu was aware of this, hence why she tested Akemi's mettle in the brothel knowing she was the princess all along, trying to get under her skin instead of the other way around- "You thought I wouldn't recognize you?" casting back to the very intense first sight exchanged between the two on the bridge in ep 1. Mizu looked up with little interest, yet the stoic samurai's jaw dropped upon their prolonged eye contact and she tracked the palanquin long after Akemi had left her line of sight. It's implicit that love, friendship, and weakness represent Akemi, Taigen, and Ringo respectively. When Ringo questioned why Mizu let the princess go, she stated that Akemi's "better off" almost following up with "without me." She didn't deem her marriage to the Shogun as favourable, hell, she was unimpressed by the fact that Akemi was trying to save her doomed engagement with Taigen, telling her she's "begging to eat trash" despite being a "magical forest creature," who could have anything she wants. Mizu still considered it the lesser evil as opposed to spending time alone with her.

This isn't the case with Taigen, whom she is decidedly more comfortable with even though he threatens her, and calls her slurs. In part, Mizu believes that she deserves the hatred. She's more familiar with it. With her past where she was the demon as opposed to the future where she could be loved. Imagining true love is cruel for Mizu so she rejects it and embraces her darkness. It protects her from people actually seeing her as a person. As a whole. She can loathe herself in peace. She can be a vessel of revenge. She even promised Taigen the duel he wanted to up and kill her in exchange for his honour. Believing she won't have much to live for after concluding her revenge. Akemi is not the same. She never wished to hurt Mizu, going only so far as to try and drug her, until Mizu made her believe she killed her fiancé. Akemi was soon able to see Mizu's honour when she fought alone against the Thousand Clawed to protect Kaji's girls. Akemi was bent on helping, braving the trained men to protect Ringo and then to save Mizu's life from the man who almost choked her to death.

I will forever love the detail of her vulnerability in the face of death being mirrored by Mizu's own intimacy with Mikio in the flashback, letting her body serve love over rage for once. Engaging in sex was a huge step towards transparency on Mizu's part. Also, the fact that Akemi, in her little capacity, wielded her knife and pulled the clawed men away from unconscious Mizu, trying to keep their focus on her. Knowing she could very well die. She tells Ringo "I have been a captive my whole life. If I die, I'll die free." And then she goes upstairs saying "Mizu can't hold them off alone." Acting, most likely, out of a place of love. I was also warmed at the instances of Akemi trying to "drug" Mizu before she took on the bitter task of killing Kinuyo and then a few scenes later "slapping her awake" from a burning memory of betrayal. When her father's men came to fetch her, Akemi did not doubt that Mizu would fight for her after she did the same for her, hence her asking for her validation "I'm not going anywhere... right, Mizu?". And Mizu would've fought them for her, what's 3 more men after a whole army? But something prevented her.

To ruin Akemi's strong faith in her then... as opposed to later? When more of her ugliness had spilled before the princess? When both their hearts were more open to be scrutinized by the other? Madam Kaji and Swordfather Eiji are both the motherly and fatherly advice Mizu sorely needs. That fighting is an art, not independent of loving. Mizu cannot evade love if she is to take on a bigger war. She cannot do it alone and the story's purpose keeps circling back to the same lesson. Fighting from a place of hatred can never be stronger than fighting from a place of love. Akemi, evidently, was hoping to seek refuge under Mizu's protection. She is loyal, as she was to Taigen even though he abandoned her in pursuit of his lost honor. But Mizu's betrayal broke her heart. At the end of the Bunraku play in ep 5, Akemi confessed that she met the Onryo but that it was "incapable of love." That she searched his eyes for "love or mercy or good," only finding darkness. Both Mizu and Akemi weighed the merit of love in each other, Mizu pushed Akemi away because she felt love and Akemi avoided Mizu because she felt her lack of love.

Taigen, Mizu's former bully, did learn to respect her as a fighter and comrade. Representing their growing camaraderie, how they fight alongside. Mizu told him about Akemi getting married off to the Shogun's son in her duty to him as a friend. Upon learning that she abandoned Akemi, Taigen is also reasonably pissed. Mizu is on the precipice of the rebirth of her katana. Swordfather is justified in being wary of her guilt and darkness, refusing to aid in her pursuit but only guiding her by way of asking her to seek peace, to unify herself. Which she does by adding Chiaki's broken blade (which Taigen took), Akemi's knife, Eiji's tongs and Ringo's bell into the forge. She is ready to make amends by going to save Akemi, to encourage her to leave with Taigen, to be honorable as Ringo wants, and to find peace as Eiji wishes. And ofc to fuck the shit out of Fowler.

Akemi's repeated assertion of "we are not friends" (accompanied by the angy eyes) when Mizu comes back to save her is reflective of that heartbreak Akemi felt after relying on Mizu for her freedom before. Mizu tries to fix this by showing her a way to Taigen, trying to do right by her, asking "Do you still want your freedom or not." To give her what she wants even if she disapproves of Akemi's choice when she states "He's not a good guy, but he could be a great one." Seki too, gives Akemi a share of her dowry he saved to build a free life "With Taigen, or without." Akemi did end up rejecting the idyllic runaway Taigen was willing to embark on, it is hard to say Mizu would take it as an opportunity to make a move on Taigen after deeming him unsuitable for a partner. It would be against her nature to try to jump in as a lover just because Akemi's out of the picture. Not when she's so hot on the track of striking down Skeffington and Routley. It's pretty straightforward if you ask me.

Mizu is focused on going up for a bigger war. To seek the truth. To turn London upside down to kill all the four white demons that sabotaged her life since conception. This is parallel to Akemi deciding to stay and take control of the Shogunate through her powers over her decidedly meek husband. To take control of her life against all the odds that seek to box her up. I do not doubt that she will move to include Kaji and her girls in her retinue, subdue her father's machinations and rebuild Edo, and wrest power from whoever threatens her. Love doesn't seem to be on her cards. Kaji told her to choose a path of freedom through a man, not to choose a man to love like she'd been doing all along- "Stop running to and from men and decide what you want for your fucking self." Could this mean that Akemi is to never chase men romantically? Either way, Akemi follows through pretty quickly. Takoyoshi is a means to an end. Her sexual prowess was her first tool to entry into the Shogunate. Nothing more than an instrument of control as opposed to her initiating any sort of genuine romantic bond.

I fail to see as of now where Mizu and Taigen's paths collide romantically further since the latter clearly showed his intention to abandon all pursuits of greatness and to settle down. Which is vastly opposed to what Mizu and Akemi are bent on doing. I see a lot of potential there. If anything, Mizu would quite possibly need Akemi's refuge if she were to return to Japan in the wake of the London chaos. They are foils of each other. On the opposite ends of the spectrum with the same stories. Poor-rich, blue-red, water-vermillion, darkened-fair, streetsmart-booksmart, warrior-prostitute, bastard-pureblood, masculine-feminine, caged internally- caged externally, widow-new bride. Both deal with same vindictive self-serving parents. Mizu lost her stand-in mother in ep 5, and Akemi lost Seki at the end of ep 9. Mizu the crashing waves and Akemi the rising flames. Both women. Both so alike yet so different. Mizu's name is pretty straightforward, meaning "water." However Akemi's can be written as "bright sea" or "vermillion beauty" While vermillion is Akemi's colour scheme, "sea" is likely her connection to Mizu.

I find the sex in the show to be representative at best. Borne out of duty or manipulation rather than true love. Just because Akemi and Taigen had sex was no testament to the endurance of the depth of their relationship, same as Mizu and Mikio's wasn't. Akemi's alliances with men have always been influenced by the need to go with or against her father and never her independent choice. Same as Mizu merely agreeing to her mother's insistence on marrying and settling down. I liked the juxtaposition of Mizu being submissive during sex and Akemi being dominant, both with Taigen and Takoyoshi as well as in the brothel. Here, I would extend that this isn't their true nature. Both in marriage or the brothel, sex is labour meant to cater to men. As Seki said a woman can only have fixed paths- "Proper wife or improper whore." I can't imagine Mizu or Akemi being happy as either.

Akemi for the most of S1 only wanted to be loved but was being forced to use her lovemaking skills to steer men into agreeing with her. Playing the improper whore. I imagine that in a safer intimate relationship, she would enjoy being on the bottom, to be protected and pleasured instead of always being the pleasurer. Mizu on the other hand, was shown to deliberately downplay her physical agencies during her marriage, to pretend to not know knife throwing or what she wants during sex, thus settling for whatever her husband had to give lest he feel inferior. I would imagine she'd prefer to be loved in all her proactive masculinity, to not be forced to submit. To not be forced to be the proper wife.

Mizu has repeatedly been shown to dominate people unthinkingly, her safety lies in her being on top and knowing what she's getting into. We saw a glimpse of that in the brothel with Akemi under Mizu where she ordered the princess to "get down." The colours from their respective sex scenes blended into one, inky blue on Mizu's end, warm golden on Akemi's. Mizu immediately doses the princess on pursuing worthless men and then Akemi soon willingly submitting to Mizu's protection while thinking of her to be a man. They both tried doing the rightful wife thing, both tried to save their marriages with their husbands as best they could, to be the ideal women even after both men bailed on them. But now they are liberated. Akemi is free from her father and on the path to rule Edo, Mizu is on her own with Fowler, to pursue her revenge in London. Both are relentless in their pursuits. Akemi's "No one refuses me" and Mizu's "We're going to the 9th level" is one and the same. Unstoppable force meets immovable object. Only time will tell. I rest my case.

[callsign-rogueone]

lean on me

Sawyer Henrick + Ridoc Gamlyn Sawyer runs out of painkiller and drags himself, fully clothed, into an ice-cold shower in an attempt to take the edge off. It works, but once he sits down on the tile floor, he can’t get back up to turn the water off. Feeling that his rider is trapped there, freezing cold and dissociating, Sliseag reaches out to Aotrom, who sends Ridoc to the rescue. words: 3.2k 🏷️: trying something new, so be gentle with me pls, written before the release of Onyx Storm, set 2-ish weeks after the end of Iron Flame. nonsexual nudity, brief description of Sawyer’s injury site (Rid changing his bandages) but no blood or anything, mentions of nausea and skipping meals, the word puke is used exactly once, painkiller reliance, negative self-talk — Sawyer’s self esteem issues re: the injury and not bonding in his first year make an appearance, as well as Ridoc's guilt for letting things get this bad. this could be read either as platonic or as a ship fic, if you want. there’s mutual I love you’s in there, but nothing too romantical — and if you aren’t cuddling with your homies on the regular, wyd?

“Sliseag’s boy needs you.”

Ridoc is out his door and down the stairs in seconds, headed to the first-floor room they’d moved Sawyer into after he’d been discharged from the infirmary. The door is unlocked, the room empty, but he can hear water running in the bathroom right across the hall.

“Sawyer?”

No response. 

Then he sees a person sat against the wall under the spray of one of the faucets — unmistakably Sawyer, from their red-brown hair and pale skin. He’s still dressed. He hadn’t drawn the curtain, seemingly just turned the water on and sat down under it.

“Sy?” Ridoc tries again quietly, not wanting to startle him — nothing. He reaches up to turn the water off, and only then does Sawyer seem to notice his presence, looking up from his blank stare at the opposite wall.

His cheeks are wet, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes red and swollen from crying. His entire body is trembling — from pain or from the cold, Ridoc can’t tell. How long has he been sitting here?

Ridoc steps into the shower and kneels beside him. Water instantly soaks into the knees of his pants, but he’s used to the cold, being an ice wielder. Regardless, he isn’t focused on that right now, just on making sure Sawyer is okay.

Maybe okay isn’t the right word. There’s clearly something wrong if he’s in the shower fully clothed, and okay might be too lofty a goal for him these days after losing more than half a leg. 

Sawyer blinks a few times, coming back to reality and seeing the soft expression on Ridoc’s face — not pity, but genuine concern and love.

Sawyer had pushed him away for two weeks, pushed everyone away and insisted he’d be fine on his own, but Ridoc is here with him now. He was willing to climb in with him, to sit across from him in the cold water and guide him back into reality. He knew something was wrong, despite Sawyer’s reassurances that he was fine, and he sought him out in hopes of fixing it. 

“Hey,” Ridoc coaxes softly. “Talk to me.”

Sawyer can’t form words. Tears start to slip down his freckled cheeks, mixing with the cold shower water that’s still dripping from every inch of him. 

Ridoc moves closer, until he’s just inches away — hesitant, not wanting to cause him further pain. 

Sawyer closes the gap for him, letting his head drop against Ridoc’s shoulder as he continues to cry, quiet little sniffles that break Ridoc’s heart right in half.

“I know it hurts, Sy. I’m so sorry.”

He wraps the older boy in a hug, not minding the cold water that soaks from Sawyer’s clothes into his. His heart clenches as he realizes how thin Sawyer has gotten without the daily exercise, and without as much food — the healers had said something about the pain tonic reducing appetite and causing nausea, but the squad had been too relieved that he was still alive to properly focus on the instructions they’d been given. 

Ridoc can’t help but berate himself for letting it get this bad. He should have been more careful. He should have checked in on Sawyer more often, ignored the boy’s insistence that he’d be fine in his own room at Basgiath, and that the rest of the squad shouldn’t let him keep them grounded. 

Second squad had agreed without too much protest, knowing that the fight was far from over, and they needed as many trained riders as they could get.

Still, it shouldn’t have come to this. 

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, bringing a hand up to smooth down his wet curls. “We should have been there for you earlier.”

Sawyer doesn’t respond, but his breathing has steadied, the sniffling quieted. He’s still shivering, leaning into Ridoc for warmth — he must have been sitting here for some time if he’s this cold. 

“Let’s get you dried off,” Ridoc coaxes. 

Sawyer nods against his shoulder, taking a breath to brace himself for the discomfort of standing again. 

Ridoc rises to his knees, then his feet, hooking his arms under Sawyer’s to help him up. Sawyer pushes up off the floor, a soft cry parting his lips as the movement sends a needle of pain up his spine.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Ridoc soothes, the only thing he can think to say at the moment. “Hold on to me, it’ll take the pressure off.”

Sawyer shifts his weight, making the five steps to the small bench more bearable. 

Ridoc finds a clean-enough towel on the counter, extending it to Sawyer. “Dry your hair if you can. I’m gonna find you some clean clothes, okay? I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Sawyer makes the slightest nod of understanding, back to his slow-blinking silence. 

Time has been reduced to the slow drip of water down his face. He doesn’t know how late it is, or how long he had sat in the shower. It’s dark out, but it’s January — it gets dark after four. 

Ridoc is back quickly. Sawyer still hasn’t dried his hair, so he takes the towel back from him, working it through the wet red curls gently. His hair has gotten long enough to cover the tops of his ears. Ridoc would offer to do something about it later, but he’s not sure Sawyer would trust him with the task. Rhi, maybe. 

“Arms up,” Ridoc coaxes.

Sawyer complies, allowing Ridoc to peel the soaked tunic off. It’s unceremoniously dropped to the floor with a quiet splat, replaced with a soft towel that Ridoc wraps around his shoulders.

“Alright. How do you want to do the pants?” Ridoc asks gently. “We’ve seen each other naked before, so I don’t care either way, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable — and I don’t want this to hurt.”

“It’s going to hurt no matter what,” Sawyer says distantly, the first words he’s spoken since Ridoc found him. His voice is a raw whisper, hoarse from disuse. “I can take them off myself if I have something to lean on. Putting new ones on is always harder.”

“Okay. Whenever you’re ready,” Ridoc offers quietly, holding out two hands. 

Sawyer wavers a bit as he stands, holding onto Ridoc’s right forearm with one hand as he finds his balance, then slowly starts pulling down one side of the waistband, then the other, until they drop to the floor, a wet heap of fabric around his remaining foot. 

Ridoc doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to that sight, if it’ll ever stop feeling like a punch to the gut.

It’s not about you, he reminds himself. However uncomfortable and upset you are about this, Sawyer is probably ten times as much — it’s his body, his life that’s changed forever. 

Ridoc guides him back down onto the bench, kicking the soaked shorts aside, next to the shirt, and looks at Sawyer, trying to read the expression on his face. 

“Do you want a break, or…”

He shakes his head. “Pass me the shirt?”

Ridoc hands him the dry t-shirt he’d found in Sawyer’s room, one of the few clean garments he had left. He doesn’t ask if Sawyer wants help with this part — he gets the feeling that this is probably deeply embarrassing for him, and that he wants to do as much as he can on his own.

Sawyer tugs it over his head, easily putting his arms through the sleeves, and stepping through one leg of the boxers, pulling them up to his knee.

Ridoc extends an arm again, a silent indicator that he’s ready when Sawyer is. 

Sawyer takes another breath, gritting his teeth as he stands, but he seems more steady this time — putting more of his weight on Ridoc, trusting the other boy to hold him up as he dresses himself. 

Back down again. Sawyer takes a second to catch his breath, willing himself not to cry again.

“Shorts too, or…”

Sawyer shakes his head no. He doesn’t want to go through the up-and-down again, and he just wants to sleep. That’s all he’s really done this week, because sleep is the only place he’s comfortable — if you don’t count the nightmares, that is. 

“Okay. Can I look at the bandage?”

Sawyer nods, exhausted but knowing that the wrapping needs to be replaced; it’s soaked, the cotton gauze swollen with water. He definitely wasn’t supposed to bathe with it on, but he wasn’t really in his right mind when he’d dragged himself into the shower, just desperate for any sort of relief from the bone-deep ache and the shooting pains that keep coming whenever he moves.

Ridoc unwraps the dressing gently, keeping one hand on Sawyer’s other leg in an attempt at comfort, and bracing himself for the worst, but trying to maintain a neutral expression on his face. 

It’s not as bad as he’d thought. It doesn’t look infected, and the stitches are still holding the skin together in two intersecting, slightly-wavy lines. They’re probably ready to be removed — he’ll ask about that tomorrow morning, when he takes Sawyer to see the healers.

Ridoc tosses the wet bandages into the trash, reaching under the sink for the basic first aid kit that’s kept in every bathroom in the dorms. There’s enough gauze in there to make a passable re-creation of the neat dressing that had been on it before. It’ll only have to last the night, anyway; the healers will put on a new one in the morning. 

“Is that too tight?” Ridoc asks, looking up at him.

Sawyer shakes his head no, eyes still closed. He’s so tired, even after a day of doing hardly anything.

Ridoc stands, gathering the wet clothes and wringing them out over the sink. He’ll wash them tomorrow — Sawyer is running out of clean clothes, having been pretty much bedbound for the last two and a half weeks and unable to do his own laundry.

“You ready to get back in bed?” — A nod. — “Do you want your crutches, or do you want to lean on me?”

“You,” Sawyer says softly, blinking up at Ridoc. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open.

Ridoc pushes down the little swell of pride at Sawyer’s choice, draping the boy’s arm across his shoulders and hooking an arm around his waist to hoist him up. He lets Sawyer set the pace for the twenty-foot walk back to his new room, making sure that he’s well-supported. 

Thankfully, Sawyer had never warded his new room, so the door swings open easily, and Ridoc carefully deposits him on the edge of his bed, tossing the still-damp clothes in his laundry basket. 

Looking at the clock on his desk through bleary eyes, Sawyer can see that it’s sometime between ten and eleven. Ten thirty, maybe. A reasonable enough hour to go to sleep.

Ridoc should be going to bed soon, if he wants to get a decent amount of sleep before the standard six a.m. wakeup required of the cadets that hadn’t been permanently injured in the battle — everyone but Sawyer. 

He’s tired of being the exception. He should be out there training with them, not spending his days sleeping in an uncomfortable first-year bed.

Being back on the first floor for the third year in a row has broken him. 

Being in this room all day reminds him of his first first year, when he was one of the only cadets who hadn’t been chosen at Threshing, and thus couldn’t attend most of the classes that everyone else did — leaving him to spend the bigger half of six months entirely alone.

Every hour within these walls is another reminder of his failure. Death by a thousand cuts, or whatever they say. 

“Talk to me,” Ridoc says softly. “Tell me what I can do to help you.”

“I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice cracking. If Ridoc doesn’t leave soon, if he doesn’t stop looking at him like that, all soft and concerned, Sawyer is going to cry again. The first time was humiliating enough.

Ridoc keeps pushing, deciding yes-or-no questions might be less overwhelming. “Do you want to eat something?”

Sawyer shakes his head no quickly — he definitely doesn’t want food. Even the idea of eating is enough to turn his stomach. At least Ridoc hadn’t seen him puke. 

“Okay. You should probably get some sleep, then.”

Sleep is good. Sleep will numb the pain for a while, and he’s so tired… probably because he’s hardly eaten since he moved out of the infirmary and the healers stopped forcing him to choke down three meals a day. 

That had been torture. 

Sawyer nods, starting to shuffle back from his seat on the edge of the bed. The bed is unmade, as it has been for the last week and a half, so he’s able to scoot under the duvet easily, pulling it up over himself with minimal discomfort.

Ridoc helps him get settled, draping him with an extra blanket, because Sawyer’s skin is still cold to the touch. He quickly pulls his eyes away from the space where Sawyer’s other leg should be, that’s now just flat, only blankets laid over the mattress.

“If there’s anything you need, anything at all, have Sli tell Aotrom, okay?”

Sawyer nods again, the soft cotton of his pillowcase making a whispering sound under his cheek.

Ridoc straightens the books on Sawyer's desk, picking up a few dirty clothing items that Sawyer had dropped — damn tremors caused by that extra-strength pain tonic that he’d been using around the clock — and hadn’t been able to bend down to reach, or even to kick toward the laundry basket. So on the floor they’ve remained, all week — until now.

Sawyer feels a spike of cold move through his chest, his pulse jumping at the thought of Ridoc leaving, telling him goodnight and disappearing for another two weeks.

“Rid?” he asks in a small voice.

The other boy perks up at the sound of his friend speaking. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to sleep over?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment before Sawyer starts to take it back. “Obviously you don’t have to. I just thought it would be nice. The way it used to be, in Aretia.”

If Ridoc catches the panic in Sawyer’s voice, he doesn’t bring it up. “I thought you’d never admit it,” he says with a slow smile that Sawyer can hear, even with his eyes closed. “You miss me.”

It’s unclear if Sawyer can hear the thick guilt covered by Ridoc’s teasing. 

Of course he misses you, Ridoc thinks. You haven’t spoken to him in a week. He needed you, but he didn’t ask for help because he didn’t think you’d care. 

You’re a shitty friend.

“Should I steal some of Imogen’s black nail polish, or do you want to make popcorn and talk about cute boys?”

“Get the fuck out,” Sawyer snorts, and then regrets it immediately — What if Ridoc can’t tell that he’s joking? 

“Alright. GTFO-ing.”

Ridoc closes the door behind him quietly.

Sawyer squeezes his eyes shut, because he knows that if he opens them, the walls will start to press in on him. This room is the same size as the one he’d had in his parents’ home in Luceras, if not bigger, but after spending two weeks in it pretty much non-stop, it feels like a birdcage or a fish tank that he’d been shoved into.

That’s why he’d never warded the door. He already feels trapped here. If he becomes too weak to channel, he’d be trapped for real.

He hasn’t tried to use his signet, or any of the basic magic, since the battle. It’s unclear if he can, but Sli comes and goes in his mind, and that little red string had remained tied to his rib all through the surgery and his delirium afterward, never once fading or faltering, so he should still have access to it, but he might be too weak to do anything significant with it.

When he gets some of his energy back, he’ll try again. Maybe he can do something useful with it. They can park him in a chair and have him make weapons, more of the runed daggers. That way he’d be helping, instead of dragging everyone down. 

That’s exactly what he’d tried not to do, and look where it had landed him. 

Ridoc opens the door again after what’s probably fifteen minutes. He’s pajama-clad, his hair damp from the shower, with a pillow tucked under one arm and his duvet knotted around his shoulders like a cape.

“You came back,” Sawyer murmurs. He’s already half-asleep, his eyes closed and cheek smushed into his pillow. 

“Of course I did. It’s not every day that your adult male best friend asks you for a sleepover.”

Ridoc scoots the desk chair aside, making space for himself to lay down on the small rug there, untying the duvet-cape. 

Sawyer scoots himself over toward the other side of the bed, gritting his teeth. “The floor will fuck up your back. Get up here.”

“If you insist,” Ridoc replies with a grin. 

Sawyer would roll his eyes if it wasn’t such an effort to keep them open, about to jokingly retract his offer — only to wince at the feeling of the mattress shifting underneath him. 

Ridoc apologizes his way under the covers, trying not to jostle him too much. “I’d offer to rock-paper-scissors over who gets to be the little spoon, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

That gets a lazy laugh out of him, finally. 

Ridoc doesn’t think he’s seen Sawyer smile or laugh since before they left Aretia. They’d been in Battle Brief, and Ridoc had made a gods-awful pun around one of Brennan’s serious statements. It had nearly gotten the both of them kicked out of the auditorium from how hard they’d been laughing.

“Thank you for finding me,” Sawyer murmurs. “Probably would have died of hypothermia or something if you hadn’t.”

His hair is nearly dry now, the almost-ginger strands curling up in odd places. Ridoc reaches over to smooth a few of them down, but they spring back up after a few seconds. He keeps doing it anyway. 

“You can thank Sli for that, really. He told Aotrom to tell me that you needed help. He loves you, y’know. And he knows that none of this was your fault.” 

There’s a soft pause. “We all know that you’d be out there with us if you could. It isn’t the same without you, but until you’re healed and you can make yourself a super badass custom prosthetic and fly with us again, we’ll look out for each other. And I’ll help you with whatever you need — I’m really sorry for dropping the ball on that. I was a shitty friend, and there’s no excuse for it, really, but I’ll try my best to make it up to you.”

It’s a lot to process, and Sawyer is too tired to respond to all of it, but he’s able to sum it up in two mumbled words. “Love you.”

Ridoc smiles, moving his hand away from Sawyer’s hair. “I love you too, dude. Get some sleep.”

Later that night, when Sawyer rolls over and tucks himself into Ridoc’s arms, he doesn’t feel cold anymore, and the pain has dulled.

He decides that he wants pancakes for breakfast.

[theclaravoyant]

fireworks - bucktommy (T, ~1000wd)

AN ~ now taking prompts! because i can't help myself . in the meantime please enjoy this little hurtcomfort, inspired by the prompts "late night conversations/anxiety" for upcoming @evanbuckleyweek <3 (I couldn't wait that long!)

also on AO3.

-

Can't make it tonight babe :( Not feeling so hot.

Buck is running late, but not so late that he doesn't have time to stop by on his way to the Grant-Nash gathering for a little bit of boyfriending. Tommy had sadly had to pull out of this one, but not to worry, Buck has brought over his favourite meatball sub in case he's feeling like a pick me up.. and a bottle of ginger ale in case he's not.

Either way, as he approaches the front door Buck is surprised to hear music so loud – albeit muffled – that the bass in it shakes the windows.

“Tommy?”

He frowns. He, for one, isn't one to blast his workout mix when he's stuck in bed, or bent over a toilet bowl, or whatever other nastiness supposedly awaits him. The lights are off inside.

Brought dinner, he taps into his phone. All good?

He bounces on the balls of his feet.

Babe, let me in x

There's no response, not even those little bouncing dots. Buck is definitely not thinking about Tommy passed out on the living room floor or kidnapped or something. But he does pull up Athena's number before he reaches for the spare key. Just in case.

“Babe!” he calls, looking around. The house is dark. This still feels like something he shouldn't really be doing. “Tommy!”

He follows the sound toward the basement stairs, where light is coming through. From down below, he hears the grunts and slaps of rigorous exercise... or something else, and it dawns on him that well, he and Tommy haven't technically agreed, haven't really discussed, if they're exclusive or anything and he might be intruding on something and that little voice in the back of his head that tells him nobody's ever all in is getting so loud... He freezes at the bottom of the stairs, just before he can turn the corner and see something. What the hell is he doing. How fast can he back track without Tommy noticing that he's being jealous and weird and-

The music stops.

Well. Here goes.

-

“Evan?”

Tommy can't help it, his face lights up at the sight of him. Which is weird, because Evan looks sort of mortified. Probably because Tommy had bailed on something important to him under the guise of being sick and here he is, very much not throwing up or hiding from the light or anything, slicked with so much sweat his hair has dropped a few shades in colour.

“Tommy. Y- You're feeling better?”

“You brought a sandwich?”

“Botticelli's.”

Damn it. Tommy throws his head back, closes his eyes as a pang of guilt punches through him. The kid went and brought his favourite sandwich. He just wants to make sure he's okay. Damn it, damn it.

“I can explain.”

“Is this because you're not ready to meet Athena? 'Cause she can give one hell of a shovel talk but she's cool, really.”

“I've met Athena,” Tommy assures him. In spite of himself, a smile touches his lips, because that was kind of a significant part of this whole thing. “Evan – I promise, this has nothing to do with us.”

It seems to help a little bit. At least, enough that Evan trails after him into the basement proper while he paces and takes a swig of water and tries to wrangle the courage to say it.

“The fourth of July is just... not my thing,” he manages. “I don't really like fireworks.”

He looks Evan in the eyes as he puts it together. Maybe he knows Eddie doesn't either, maybe he knows it's a common trigger for veterans, maybe he just knows what it's like to try and pack the depths of unspeakable horror into words. Especially when you're meant to be a badass fearless firefighter.

“I'm sorry,” Evan says. The fear and confusion and anguish melts away, his expression painfully earnest and concerned as he closes the distance between them. Part of Tommy wants to bury his face, to freeze like a rabbit or run and hide, but something about Evan, as always, makes him stay.

“I'm sorry,” he breathes. “I didn't mean to lie. I'm just … used to dealing with this by myself. And you- you're so- I mean, you died? You actually, for real died in a thunder storm and you got in a helicopter to fly into a hurricane like it was nothing. I guess I worried you wouldn't get it.”

Evan cups a hand around the back of his neck and it's grounding, it's nice, and Tommy's forehead falls forward against Evan's. He takes a ragged breath. Evan's phone starts ringing.

“You don't have to tell me,” Evan says, “what you've been through. But I'm here for you, okay? If you want me.” He glances at his phone and adds- “It's Maddie. Just checking where I'm at. Want me to tell them I'm not coming?”

Tommy shakes his head. “No. Go. I'll be alright here, have a night in. My boyfriend brought me my favourite sandwich."

-

He smiles. Buck smiles back, and presses forward a gentle, comforting kiss before they part. Tommy shakes it off as he heads back toward the stairs, but there's a long stretch of silence. The muffled whistle and echoing boom of an airbomb sails overhead and he can hear Tommy's breath quietly catch and it's almost as if it pulls out the words from his chest.

“I can't remember the lightning.”

“Hm?”

He turns back. Tommy is watching after him.

“I can't remember the lightning, Tommy. That's probably why I can fly into a hurricane. It's- actually it's pineapple jello for me. It was all I could eat for weeks after they took the tubes out. Pineapple jello and vanilla icecream. The first time I smelt a piña colada after I got out, I thought I was going to die.���

I get it.

Tommy nods. After a beat, he adds-

“And hey, Evan. This is something I kind of like to keep to myself. So if anyone asks-”

“Violent gastro. Got it.”

He rolls his eyes, and huffs, and smiles as he tucks the little foam earplug back in place.

“I love you, too.”

[fillthattank]

Heavyweight

A huge thanks to @plumpboybellies for requesting this story, it was very fun to write! Also, a shout out to a few friends for giving me a few ideas (you'll recognize yourselves!). This story wouldn't exist without you!

***

"I want you to move up a weight class," Colton's coach said. "I know you've been playing at this weight for a while, but you have a big frame. You'll be even better with more meat on you."

"How big do you want me?" Colton asked. 

Colton was a wrestler. 6'2'', 190 lbs, all of it muscle. His singlet hugged his lean body, highlighting every bit of definition. You could even guess the outline of his abs through the fabric.

"As big as you can? They removed the maximum weight limit a few years ago," Coach said. "Just bulk up as much as possible in the off season, we'll see how it works out after."

Colton nodded. This sounded fun.

"You'll probably have to kiss that eight-pack goodbye, but the extra muscle and all the heavyweight matches you'll be winning should more than make up for it," Coach laughed, slapping Colton's flat stomach.

Like any self respecting jock, Colton had a big appetite, but sticking to his wrestling weight meant he had to keep it under control. Every so often, Colton would overeat, whether it was wanting to impress his friends, having too much fun at a party, or just his stomach having the better of him, and he'd have to go on a brutal diet to cut back down.

This was, starting now, a thing of the past. After his meeting with Coach, Colton went to the nearest fast-food joint, and ordered 3 massive burgers from the get go. He knew he had the capacity, and now he could binge guilt-free.

Colton came back for a 4th. And a fifth. By then, his belly was bloated and stretching his shirt, making a gentle curve from under his pecs. That belly felt good, firm and heavy, a symbol of his newfound freedom.

"You sure about this?" Asked the vendor, as he ordered his 6th burger. Jocks overloading their bellies was a common occurrence, so some concern was natural.

"One hundred percent," he said, giving his bloated belly a good rub. It was starting to feel tight, but Colton knew there was room for at least one more.

Back at his flat, Colton took off his shirt, and checked out his gut. The six burgers had bloated him so much, it stuck out by a good 6 inches from under his pecs. His abs were still visible, making the belly look like a turtleshell.

This would be the last time Colton saw his abs, as he then opened his fridge, and continued his rampage. Chugging milk from the jug, eating an entire tub of grated carrots with the better part of a jar of mayo. Colton wasn't even sure of what some things were, he just ate them, and his belly stuck out even more. Not that he cared. He just wanted as much food as possible inside him.

Eventually, Colton got so bloated he had to lie down. His belly was a perfect ball now, his abs completely smoothed out by the tremendous volumes inside him. As if he'd been blown up like a balloon, except rather than air, it was solid, heavy food. His huge tank hurt, a bit, but it was a good pain. The kind you got after intense exercise, one that comes with a deep feeling of satisfaction. 

Colton stayed on his bed for a while, feeling up his tank of a belly, enjoying the fullness. He could have stayed like that all evening, but was this really his limit? He no longer had to keep his appetite under control, he could experiment a bit, right?

Still flat on his back, the bloated jock grabbed his phone from the bedside table, and ordered a pizza. His guilty-pleasure pizza, large and with all his favorite toppings, the one he always ordered when he felt down, or wanted to treat himself.

Waiting for the pizza to come was a haze. Digestion was starting to heat up his belly, to make him feel sleepy. When the bell rang, getting up was harder than expected. His gut was so heavy, his abs were so stretched, his quads working so hard to bear his weight. His stomach like a wrecking ball inside him. Maybe this was too much ?

All doubt vanished when he opened the door and smelled his favorite pizza. Colton felt the delivery guy's gaze on his muscular body and massive belly, giving him an extra confidence boost. He was a jock, and he had the muscle and the gut to eat meals smaller guys could only dream of.

Colton brought the pizza back to his bed, and ate it flat on his back, watching his musclegut rise a little bit with each slice. His stomach had probably reached capacity a while back, the jock now eating by sheer force of will. Pizza being dragged into his monster stomach by muscle memory. The pressure inside his stomach, the weight of all that food, the stretch on his abs, the heat of digestion, it was all one big dream-like haze. It wasn't a new feeling, but the stretching felt like heaven. The jock passed out not long after the last slice, using what strength was left in his tired body to give his bloated belly one final rub. This offseason was going to be fun

*

Colton woke up still bloated the next morning. He'd eaten so much even his rocket-speed metabolism hadn't been able to digest it all in one night. Weirdest of all, he was hungry. His belly didn't so much feel half full as it felt half empty.

Colton liked this. He made himself the biggest breakfast ever, and ate it all.

This became an everyday occurrence. Colton's belly was constantly bloated, and Colton was constantly eating. Each time his bloat went down a bit, he'd top it back up. And when his belly looked close to the limit, he'd force more food in the tank. He figured out a neat trick, if he rubbed the side of his belly with one finger after it got full, his stomach would be able to stretch a little more, allowing him to eat more.

Colton had no idea how fat he was or wasn't getting, or even what his weight was. He had to be constantly lugging a few dozens of pounds inside his gut, and it was so packed at all times he couldn't tell how much of it was muscle, fat, or just plain bloat.

All Colton knew is that he was indeed getting bigger, and was getting stronger. His arms were bigger, his pecs, his back, his legs, every muscle, actually, though with a big asterisk over his abs. Sure, people stared at him when he turned up at the gym looking pregnant, but their judgement turned to admiration when they saw how much he was lifting, or how much he could put away in just one meal.

*

The day before wrestling resumed, Colton checked himself out in the mirror. He looked so massive, so beefy, his big round gut looking great on his muscular frame. Colton picked up his singlet, unworn since the end of last season, looking forward to seeing what he'd be looking like for the next few months.

Putting it over his legs proved tough. Even his calves were tight, nevermind his massive quads. Colton painfully got it over his lower body, but when it reached his waist, the singlet blocked. Colton's enormous belly stuck out by about a foot over the girdle, so far out he didn't think he could pull the rest of it up without risking tearing the fabric.

Colton tried to suck in his belly. Tried, and failed. He could barely get it to stick out by a few inches less, and trying to suck it in any further made him feel he was about to throw up.

He stared at his reflection, his singlet hanging around his waist, his belly looking way too big. Maybe he'd taken the eating a bit too far? 

Colton decided to fast for the rest of the day. He needed his bloat to go down to fit in his singlet, and anyway, it would be useful to know his actual weight. Never mind that he probably had enough food still in his system to hibernate a whole winter.

The rest of the evening was miserable. Somehow, the many pounds of food inside Colton's enormous belly weren't enough. He now needed to be permanently stuffed. The overbulked jock went out on a run, the first in a while, hoping it would speed up his metabolism and help his belly deflate faster, but it just made him hungrier. And after months of non-stop overeating, falling asleep on a stomach that wasn't stuffed to the limit proved tough.

Out of habit, Colton took a pack of pancakes to eat as he cooked a monster omelette, before remembering. He miserably put the food back in the cupboards, his huge stomach begging him not to.

Getting dressed for his first day back wrestling, Colton found almost everything in his wardrobe was still tight around his belly, even empty. The jock had always liked wearing clothes that highlighted his physique, and had carried the bloated gut as a point of pride all the off-season, but now he felt almost embarrassed. Maybe he'd gone too far, maybe the hunger was just putting him on edge. He settled on a baggy tank top, that was loose everywhere, but that made up by showing off his meaty arms.

Colton was driving to his wrestling practice when he snapped. He passed the same burger place he'd had his first cheat meal at. Remembered stuffing himself, how good it had tasted, how nice his belly had felt. And decided he was so hungry it was probably unsafe to drive.

"You sure about this?" The vendor said, as he ordered one burger. "Don't even want a second, big guy?"

Colton's orders had been progressively getting bigger over his offseason, so this was a sudden change. Still, a second wouldn't hurt?

Colton started eating, and this was the best a cheap burger had ever tasted. He could feel the life force coming back to him as he gorged, as the food flowed into his huge hungry belly.  He ordered a 3rd burger, then a 4th, and kept eating more and more. He needed the food. It was a matter of life or death.

The jock returned to his car with his 8 burgers comfortably packed in his big round belly. He'd worry about his singlet when he got there. His belly felt so good. And he wasn't going to perform well if he was too hungry, right?

Stepping into the locker room, Colton noticed he was way bigger than the other wrestlers. Even bigger than he expected. Guys he used to think of as massive, he now outbulked. Some had trimmed down, others had beefed up, but no one had gained as much as Colton, and he wasn't the only one to notice.

"Wow Colt', look at those guns!" said a jock.

"Bro the other heavyweights won't stand a chance," said another, feeling up his biceps and triceps. Because of his loose tank top, his arms stood out the most. And yeah, they had grown a lot bigger.

Colton was more than happy to have all the guys playing withis his big arms. His bulk had been a success, after all. The tune changed, however, when Colton took off his shirt, revealing his massive belly.

"Bro, you got pregnant or what?" 

"Damn dude, I know coach said bulk up but damn. It looks like you've done nothing but eat everyday until that belly is past its limit! That's some serious extra heft bro."

Other wrestlers stopped what they were doing, and came up to see Colton's new belly for themselves.

"I ate a lot at lunch time," Colton said, trying to defend himself.

"Yeah, and at breakfast, and at dinner, and a lot of snacking too, everyday. We can tell," one wrestler replied. Colton couldn't think of a come-back, the guy was right.

"Guys just how much do you think we can fit in here?" said one guy, passing a hand over Colton's big belly. "A gallon? Two gallons? Maybe even three gallons? It's really huge!"

The whole wrestling team was around him, playing with his belly, when Coach stepped into the locker rooms.

"You guys never seen a heavyweight wrestler, or what?" 

The other jocks stepped back. Coach walked up to Colton, eyeing up his belly. Gave it a few slaps.

"They've got a point, though. This is one big belly," Coach said, giving it a few more pats. "Go get changed, son."

Colton blushed and acquiesced. As the other jocks walked out, Colton pulled his singlet out of his bag. He hadn't eaten that much, only eight burgers, and he'd fasted before, so he was probably going to fit, right?

As last night, it was tight around his legs, the fabric straining over his bulked quads. Getting it over his meaty butt was even harder. It hadn't grown as much as his belly, but he couldn't suck it in, meaning he had to force hard.

Then came the belly. Colton sucked it in as hard as he could, pulled the singlet up, and nothing happened. He just felt really tight around the places he'd already put it on.

Colton relaxed, took a few breaths. Looked at his huge round belly on his beefy frame. The extremely tight singlet around his quads. He checked out his backside in a mirror, it looked vacuum sealed. Still, if he could get it over his butt, he could get it over his belly, right?

The jock breathed out all the air in his lungs. Sucked his gut in so hard he almost felt one of the burgers come back up. The belly still stuck out by a few inches, but Colton could now slowly inch the singlet up over his paunch. By the time he'd gotten his arms through the holes, he'd been holding his breath for so long he was about to pass out.

Colton's singlet was back on, clinging tightly to every bit of his bulked body. So tight, it was as if it had been spray painted on him. His beefy pecs, his quads, and of course his big round belly, prominent even as he sucked it in. A big change from last season. 

Pleased with himself, Colton relaxed, breathing normally once again.

crrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaack

Colton heard fabric tearing. He looked down, and saw his singlet completely torn, his bare belly sticking far out.

"Uh, Coach!" he called out, "I have a problem."

[tortillamastersblog]

♕ No Matter What - Part 16 | Lena Luthor ♕

Pairing: Lena Luthor x reader

Warnings: mentions of injuries and slight angst

Summary: Lena is still a no-show. . .

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

________________________________________________

“Good, you’re doing great. Just one more step,” Dr. Mike encourages, holding my left hand as I walk on unstable legs.

My right hand is wrapped so tightly around the bar mounted to the wall that my knuckles have turned white.

I take the last step before lowering myself into the waiting wheelchair. My hands are shaking and I’m breathing heavily as Doctor Mike crouches down by my side with a beaming smile.

“That was amazing, Y/N,” he says. “If you keep working hard and doing your exercises you’ll be almost as good as new in no time.”

I try my best to smile, but even without the pitiful look on Doctor Mike’s face that follows it I know it wasn’t very convincing.

Ever since we dialed back my pain meds my entire left leg has been tingling and is weak. Sometimes it feels like an electric shock runs through it, all the way from my hip and down to my toes, and Doctor Mike says that even though the weakness will get better, the nerve pain will never truly go away.

Yes, it will also get better, but I won’t ever have physiological sensibility and mobility again.

“Why don’t we get you back to your room, you look tired,” he states rather than asks when I don’t comment on anything that he’s said.

I mumble please and hang my head low when he begins pushing me out of the pt room and back to my own room.

It’s been almost three weeks since what happened and I’ve honestly never felt this empty.

Don’t get me wrong, I was absolutely crushed and numb after Noah was killed, but now there’s just so many things weighing me down that I don’t know if I’ll ever come out on the other side of things again.

To start things off, I’m constantly having nightmares about what happened with Lex. They’re mostly about what actually happened but sometimes they’re also about Lena, Sam, or Ruby getting shot.

Then there’s the whole situation with my dad. He hasn’t visited me since that one time where he tried to apologize, and I’ve been racking my brain ever since if I have it in my heart to forgive him.

There’s also the nerve damage on my lower spine which turned out to be worse than expected. I’m not paralyzed — something I apparently came very close to— but my left leg is basically useless at the moment and the constant physical therapy is painful and exhausting.

And to top it all off, Lena hasn’t visited me even once since I got here. I also can’t get ahold of her on my phone because Lex destroyed it and I have yet to get a new one.

No one’s heard from her. The news outlets are dying for a comment from her about Lex’s and all her friends — Sam obviously included— can’t reach her either.

She’s not at home, apparently, which worries me, but it’s not like I can just walk out of this hospital and go look for her myself.

The only thing that gives me a little peace of mind is the fact that she texted Sam the day I was shot that she had to deal with some stuff and that she wouldn’t be available for some time.

When I first heard about it I was very worried because I know she blames herself for what happened, but then as time went on, I started to hate her for abandoning me.

Now, though, I’m just sad and dejected.

Do I really mean that little to her? I mean, even if she does blame herself, I thought her worry would outweigh her guilt eventually and she’d visit me, but apparently not. . .

Doctor Mike drops me off in my room, making sure I’m comfortable in the bed before leaving with an encouraging smile.

I sigh and close my eyes, only to open them again a couple minutes later when Sam and Ruby stop by.

They’ve been visiting me every day and even though I’m absolutely miserable and can’t wait to get out of here, they’ve been a reliable support system and always managed to cheer me up, even if it’s just a tiny bit.

Sam kisses my cheek in greeting and Ruby hugs me before pulling a deck of UNO cards out of her mom’s purse.

“Can we play?” she asks with a hopeful grin and I pat the space on the bed next to me with a nod.

We’ve been playing this game for a week now and at first ai thought I’d get tired of it, but that has yet to happen. I love playing with the two of them, especially when Ruby giggles after putting down a draw four card.

“Of course, c’mere.”

Sam takes a seat on the chair next to the bed while Ruby settles in next to me. She shuffles the cards and hands them out as Sam tells me about her day at the office.

“. . . and then Marcus has the nerve to burst right into my office,” Sam concludes once Ruby has passed out enough cards. “Can you believe that?!”

I chuckle and shake my head, sorting my cards and fanning them out in my left hand. “I honestly don’t know why you haven’t fired him yet.”

Sam huffs and puts down the first card, a red four. “Yeah, me neither.”

We play a couple of rounds, chatting about God knows what until Ruby decides she’s had enough and that she wants a hot chocolate from the hospital’s cafeteria.

Sam hands her some cash and we both watch her leave before Sam turns back to me with a serious expression.

“Okay, out with it,” she says, moving her chair closer to the bed. “You’ve been awfully quiet lately and I know it’s not just because of Lena.”

Immediately my eyes start stinging with tears and I gulp, trying to force them away. When Sam grabs my hand and squeezes it however, there’s no stopping them anymore and within seconds my cheeks are wet and my chin is wobbling.

“I just— I can’t anymore, Sam,” I admit with a hiccup. “I’m exhausted and-and everything around me reminds me of everything bad that’s ever happened to me.”

I use my free hand to wipe away my tears, but it’s of no use because they just keep coming and there’s nothing I can do about it as everything I’ve been holding back for almost three weeks now bubbles out of me.

“I can’t stand walking past Noah’s favorite coffee shop every morning. I hate seeing my dad’s favorite local beer in bars and I hate all the reporters outside the hospital just waiting for me to talk about Lex,” I whisper, not daring to look at Sam. “It’s too much. . .”

It’s silent for a moment until Sam’s soft touch on my cheek makes my breath hitch. She uses her free hand to wipe away some more of my tears and when I look up to meet her eyes all I can see is sympathy and understanding.

“It’s okay, Y/N,” she says quietly. “I understand what you mean and I think it’s high time you got away from all of this for a while.”

I take a shuddering breath and squeeze her hand. “You’re saying I should leave?”

She nods. “Yes. You could travel and explore the world, or you could just move somewhere else for a couple of years, you know?”

I don’t want to travel. I’ve seen enough of the world for now, having been stationed in a couple of countries while I was in the Army.

The thought of moving, however, makes me pause and think for a second.

It would be a great opportunity to start over, start on a blank slate, and if I ever get homesick I can always just move back to National City.

“But what about you and Ruby?“ I ask. I’ve always been there for them and they’ve always been there for me, too. I can’t just leave them behind and start a new life somewhere.

“We’ll be fine,” Sam assures me with a watery smile. “We’ll always stay in touch, but it’s time for you to start living again, Y/N, rather than just existing.”

“Sammy. . .” I trail off, not exactly knowing what to say. I’m overwhelmed by her understanding and her support, but I’m also sad at the prospect of being away from her and Ruby.

“It’s okay,” she says. “You’ll be okay, and Ruby and I will be okay, too.”

I squeeze her hand again and close my eyes for a second, letting what happened just now sink in.

“I love you, Sammy,” I whisper when I open my eyes again.

Sam sniffles and blinks away some of her own tears. “I love you, too.”

I chuckle and press a kiss to her knuckles right as Ruby returns from the cafeteria. She doesn’t notice our tear stained faces and wordlessly joins me on the bed again, sipping hot chocolate from her paper cup.

She starts babbling about her day at school which makes me smile softly. Every so often Sam’s gaze meets mine and the unrelenting understanding in her eyes puts my mind at ease.

I’m going to be okay, I think, but the question of Lena’s whereabouts and what she’s up to still gnaws at the back of my mind.

It’s been a week since I decided to move and an old friend of Sam’s told her about an apartment he’s just finished remodeling in Metropolis that I can move into at any time.

It’s a big step, moving to the other end of the country, but it will give me the space I so desperately need.

I was released from the hospital two days ago and have since been packing most of my stuff and getting my affairs in order.

I have to take it easy because I’m still recovering, which is why I’m only packing light things like clothes. The rest will be taken care of by a moving company that I’ve hired to start tomorrow.

My left leg is still weak and tingles, but the shooting pains have stopped and all my other injuries have healed nicely.

I have to use a crutch for the time being because I’m still a little unstable on my feet, but Doctor Mike told me that I won’t be needing it soon enough if I continue to do the exercises the physical therapist showed me.

So far the only people who know that I’m moving are Sam and Harper. The latter found out because she was there when Sam called me about the apartment, but she swore not to tell my parents about it.

We’re almost back to where we were before Noah’s death since she, not unlike Sam and Ruby, also visited me in the hospital daily, but it will still take some time for our friendship to be fully restored.

Now, as for my parents, I’ve decided not to tell them about moving until I’m already settled in Metropolis. If I told them now they’d try to stop me from going because they’re both trying to make things right with me, but I can’t start healing if I don’t get some space.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I will never be able to forgive either of them for what they did to me, especially not my dad, but I can see myself being civil with them in time.

A knock on the door makes me pause and drop the stack of clothes I was just about to put into a box onto the bed.

It’s almost dinner time and Sam was planning on coming over with some pizza, so I think nothing of it when I open the door with a lazy smile, but then I freeze when my eyes land on the one person I’ve been yearning to see for almost a month now.

“Lena,” I whisper, taking in her red nose and the snowflakes in her dark hair.

“Hi.” Her voice is just as quiet as mine, if not even quieter, and when her green eyes meet mine in silent question, I step aside and let her into the apartment.

________________________________________________

I’m sorry it’s a bit short, but the next part (probably the final part) will definitely be longer.

*Not proofread yet

Tag list: @nerethos @orange15quote @nuianced-tck-enby @autorasexy @unexpected-character @nothisismax @wandatasha @likeornella @rosea-reginae @aca-biitch @jujuu23

[deleteddewewted]

can you write abt when ghost finally does feel comfortable to have sex w the reader? 👀

Ghost Recovering From His Sexual Trauma (Continuation)

Ghost x Gn! Reader

Summary: Simon is far enough in his recovery process that he's more. comfortable taking his clothes off and letting his partner touch him. He tries new things and set new boundaries with you. He knows he's still got a long road of him but he's happy to go through it with you.

W: Mentions of sexual abuse (past), Trauma being recounted, Semi victim blaming (Self Victim Blaming), Dead Dove (not too intense), healthy sexual boundaries, NSFW, sexual deviancy, Experimenting sexually, Pegging/Penetration, Dom/sub themes

He's finally better, at least that's what his therapist tells him. He feels it too. His workouts are much more positive in their intentions. He's exercising because he likes the way it makes his body feel and how you react to his body instead of doing it as a form of punishment. He no longer uses the mask as much in private when he's in his courters or when at your home. He likes the way the sun feels against his skin, how your skin feels against his own. The feeling of your hand on his cheek is reassuring and he doesn't flinch when you caress his face anymore which makes him feel better about taking his medication.

When you undress him for the first time, you're slow and checked in on him every time you're wanted to remove something from him. He told you to go all the way.

"Take everything off for me, love." You kissed his scars, his pale skin, and the inner part of his thighs before kissing his face.

Your hands on him, your mouth on him, you on top of him. It felt like heaven. He laid in your shared bed like he always dreamed he would and allowed you to do as you pleased. You rode him, his cock inside your hole and filling you with his release. He was overwhelmed by pleasure but it wasn't something he wanted to end. He liked it.

The bites you left on his neck made him feel claimed in a possessive and adoring way. The red streaks from your nails scratching his back and chest had him thrilled. It hurt but in a pleasant way. It stung and left behind reminders as to what he had done with you.

You fucking him like there's no tomorrow, lube/cum coming out of his ass after you pegged/fucked him into the mattress when he asked you "Take the memories of what they did to him away." He wanted something new to fill him. New memories and new sensations consumed his body all while you did all that you wanted with him.

The marking, the claiming, it all brought him a sense of comfort he didn't think was possible for him considering what he had gone through. He liked it so much that he started asking you to do it outside of the bedroom.

This didn't mean he didn't have issues with some aspects of intimacy. When you'd ask him if he wanted to try something new, maybe putting something inside him or even fingering him. Maybe you wanted to have him wear a gag or a cuffs. He would shut it down without wanting to discuss it, not that he owed you any explanation. The guilt of not participating in something that you wanted would bring him to panic attacks at times because he felt like he had failed you as a partner. It was worse if he had to be deployed for months on end when he knew that you missed him physically.

He intensified his therapy and made sure to write some of his more perturbed and vulnerable thoughts into a journal that he would read through to see his progress. He would let you read it too but you never accepted since you wanted him to have something for himself that he didn't need to share.

"Do you think you'd ever want to get hitched to me?" It was such an out-of-the-blue question but none the less you answered.

He wanted to grow old for the first time in his life. He wanted to wake up to you either inside of you or just wrapped around you. The violence in his head calmed when he felt your flesh on his own, the screaming of the past wasn't important while he lay beside you. He wanted to watch the years fade by all while he got to mark your skin just like you'd do with his. He wanted to feel pain if it meant having yous stay with him for the rest of his life and the rest of forever.

He was happy to just be as long as you held him and loved him. As long as you reminded him that he was someone worthy of love and not some cheap whore for a quick thrill.

He promised himself that if he could he would get you a ring when he was fully ok or at least somewhat fixed. He's happy to commit himself fully to you, someday, soon, hopefully soon so he can parade himself like a prideful man.

[andreas-river]

Bullied!Reader gained the Courage to come to The 141 boys + König knowing they are all a scary bunch and of Commanding rank to hopefully stop the bullying they were experiencing for a bit. They feel guilty for being a Solider who couldn’t handle it by themselves, but they beg for their help despite it.

“ I didn’t want it to come to this…I swear…I just don’t know what else to do…”

TW: bullying, mention of misoginy, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, fem!reader.

A/N: hello Anon, thanks for your request, sorry it took so long. I decided to write it without separating the characters, I think it makes the idea better like this!

Disclaimer: Too many people are bullied, and sadly it happens too often, and I have fallen into this deep hole myself. It can be both physical and psychological, and it is an devius but unforgiving form of violence. I hope this can give comfort to those who need it: asking for help IS NOT a form of weakness, sometimes even talking about it with a trusted person can make a difference.

════════════════════════════

Asking for help is one of the hardest things in the world. Admitting that we cannot do it on our own with our own strength is like a display of vulnerability that not everyone allows themselves to do: there are to many sharks around, and they are all out for blood.

But every day it was getting harder and harder, and it was almost embarrassing knowing the context in which you had been living for many years. Numerous missions made you used to the horrors of a military life, and the sight of blood had not affected you for a long time. You don't remember exactly how or when it started, but the stares of the men around you became more and more insistent, not giving you any peace, voices murmuring in the hallways as you passed by when you might have just been on your way to the gym or Price's office to fill out the various papers and get them in order.

Fortunately, you shared the office with Soap and Ghost, and more recently, König, who had been temporarily reassigned to 1-4-1 for future missions. All three were certainly much better company than the other soldiers, between the various chats with Soap, Ghost's jokes – so awful they were actually funny – and König's charisma, it actually made the day better, at least for the hours spent at the desk.

The nightmare continued during the rest of the days, and with it grew the guilt within you: you never responded to all those comments that reached your ears – being a woman in the Task Force apparently was impossible, to the point of comments that made your skin crawl with disgust, nauseated at the very thought. You knew that you had worked hard to get where you were today, and that you had earned the rank of Sergeant on your own, with your own strength, always willing to give your all, even while doing chores around the base.

With a sigh, you had forced yourself to walk to your room, which was on the opposite side of the offices, knowing that you would pass anyone who would murmur about you, after all, it was just after dinner and the corridors were much more crowded than usual.

As expected, the stares didn't take long to arrive, and a few murmurs began to reach your ears. Quickening your pace, you found yourself panting in front of the door to your room – literally running away from all those people, feeling like you had no choice. The thought brought tears to your eyes, but you had no other choice.

-

Since you woke up, every movement around you put you on edge, the day started like any other, but the knowledge of admitting something like this made you nervous. You were sure they would understand, as they often asked if you were okay, checking up on you as a family. A strange one, but one of the best.

As you walked into your office like any other day, you found Ghost and Soap talking, both greeting you as you entered the room. You waited silently for them to finish their conversation, distractedly listening to the fact that they wanted to change some exercises about the training, sneaking closer to them, still wondering if it was the right choice – you were literally the same rank as Soap – and you handled worse situations better than this one, where your life or others were at stake.

You were so deep in your own thoughts that it took you some time to realize that both men were trying to get your attention, and you snapped back to reality when the door to the office burst open, revealing the tall and looming figure of König.

Soap placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed gently with a warm smile on his face, "Hey – are you okay?"

You took a deep breath and felt König's presence at your side. You had a knot in your throat and you hoped not to stutter too much with your voice. "Yeah, I mean - kinda." The three men frowned, a bit confused by your behaviour in front of them. "I... don't know what else to do. I swear, I..."

The knot threatened to break at any moment, and you weren't so sure you wouldn't cry in front of your squadmates. "Every time I leave this office to just go somewhere, everyone starts talking–" you swallowed the luno in your throat again, feeling on the verge of tears. "They murmur about me, even disgusting things, and I know they aren't the truth, but now it happens every single day, every single moment I spend outside my room or this office–"

"Hey, hey, slow down..." Soap blocked you and made you sit down, Ghost still watching intently as König handed you a tissue, blinking and noticing that you were really crying. "Since when?"

Blowing your nose, you managed to mumble "a few weeks", letting the room fall silent after your words, except for your own stiffles, until Ghost resumed the conversation. "For today, you'll stay here and help Soap. König, you are with me today."

They all looked into each other's eyes in silent agreement, leaving you alone with the Scottish man. "They'll take care of everything, okay?" he hugged you gently, and you finally felt the weight off your shoulders, enough to allow you to breathe a little more.

-

Walking down the hall to breakfast felt strange, there was so much silence and fewer people, it felt so different when you spotted the others sitting at a table, you walked towards them with your coffee and found a place between Gaz and Ghost, with the others around.

"Sleep well?" Ghost murmured, leaning in your direction. For a moment you couldn't answer – there was so much silence that the atmosphere felt unreal. "Yeah, but... what happened?"

Price smiled as Ghost answered you. "There were... training changes."

You stared back at him, absorbing his words. You've never experienced anything like this in your life, and everyone helped you so quickly that you didn't even realize it was happening. You thanked him, a warm smile on your face as you came back to sip your coffee, finally relieved as you realized this was the best decision you could have made.

[bloodylullaby]

Noah x PTSD Girlfriend

AN: First ever HeadCannon, hopefully first of many :)

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You feel anxious discussing your diagnosis with others because there's a widespread misconception that veterans exclusively experience PTSD.

As your relationship with Noah deepens, you gradually find the courage to share more about your childhood and how it connects to your PTSD.

Noah, the best person you have ever met, took it seriously and asked how he could help you work through your triggers and episodes.

Later that night, when Noah returned home, he took it upon himself to delve into research, seeking a deeper understanding of PTSD to support you better. With genuine care and concern, he dedicated time to educating himself, immersing himself in resources to comprehend the nuances of your condition.

Aware of your difficulty being around men, particularly those you're not familiar with, Noah approaches the situation with sensitivity and understanding. Recognizing the importance of patience and space, he gently introduces you to the other guys, one at a time, allowing you to acclimate at your own pace without any pressure or guilt. 

As you gradually grow more at ease with Noah's friends and begin to relax, revealing your authentic self and letting go of your defenses, he feels overwhelming joy and pride. Witnessing your gradual triumph over your fears fills him with happiness, knowing you're taking significant steps towards healing and embracing life more fully.

When something does trigger an episode, He will hold you and help you do grounding exercises.

Hospitals are a massive trigger for you, so when you have to go to one, he holds your hand and constantly distracts you by any means necessary. 

During moments when you feel incapacitated after an episode, Noah tenderly remains by your side, joining you in bed with comforting snacks and water. Ensuring you're fed and hydrated in your sanctuary, he embodies unwavering support and compassion, offering solace in your time of need.

He never judges you; if he ever comes across someone who does, he stands firm in your defense. With unwavering loyalty, he shields you from any disparaging remarks or attempts to diminish your worth because of your illness. Noah's unwavering commitment ensures that you never endure the pain of feeling belittled or misunderstood again.

[hxltic]

Im not sure how to request cause this is like my first time doing it but would u write anything w iwazumis timeskip? like how hes an athletic trainer.. YK DO UR MAGIC idek how to request also x reader if thats ok. THANK U

Hey ofc!! You can be as vulgar and straightforward as you want, this is a safe space😘 (idk if you wanted nsfw or not so if not I’m sorry! I just made it suggestive because I was unsure :P)

The ass crack of dawn peeks through your window, enough to have your body twisting and turning until you’re inevitably forced awake.

Of course you drag yourself to the bathroom and check yourself out a bit, admiring how your new waist training is going and your puffy lips of the morning before brushing your teeth to start the day. Some argue you’re a morning person, but you aren’t. And you feel no kind of guilt admitting that.

You only get up because you have to—to remain consistent, especially with allowing yourself to grow not only physically, but emotionally, finally feeling free from the weights of stress by exercising and feeling good about your figure.

Also, the routine is great for you. It makes you feel productive in the morning, so now when you reflect before, there was this emptiness that came with sitting at home with the same three things you have to do on repeat.

And then of course, the motivation of going to the gym for a man you’ve been seeing around recently. He recognizes you now, probably casually assuming the relationship is nothing more than a mutual gym buddy.

And it’s likewise; you wouldn’t call it a crush. The both of you are grown, just two adults with the same hobby even though you are relatively newer to the activity.

So you pack up your bag and tip your head back for a swig of the protein smoothie you prepared and head out the door.

The gym doesn’t smell anything like how you imagined it would when you first cluelessly walked in. It actually smells clean (mainly from the overwhelming scent of chlorine in the pool water), and it wasn’t super busy around this time. If there were people, they definitely weren’t teenagers coming for their afternoon rounds. The receptionist waves back at you as you pass.

Today was legs. You recognize how far you’ve come, because initially, no day was your favorite, each as long and tortuous as the last. But this has got to be what it means to become accustomed to the pain. Does that make all gym-goers masochists?

If so, Iwaizumi has got to be the worst, because the only other person insane enough— that even remotely looks like he does anything other than train— to be here before you, is him.

“Morning,” you chime. His headphones are off, so the switch that usually tells you when people don’t wish to be spoken to doesn’t go off.

To your delight, he responds with just as much pleasure without turning around, currently sitting on the Lax machine and tugging the resistant handles. “Good morning,” he grunts.

He eventually does, even as he attempts to convince himself to stay focused on his set, but even the discipline he’s built over the years couldn’t prevent him from catching a glimpse of you. You were sitting your stuff down nearby, relocating to the floor to stretch.

He’s been watching you. Not in a creepy way, he justifies, but it becomes a habit when you’re working how he does.

Your progress is a miracle. He could count on one hand the amount of people that come in fresh and immediately get to working, just to return consistently, and cycle through this process until they reach their desired figure and continue after that. You, however, stepped in with a determination on your face he’d never seen before.

You hadn’t requested a trainer, and by what he sees, didn’t need one either. He remembers when you came in talking about how badly you wanted to rid of your little tummy, as well as slim down your plush thighs, pleading someone to teach you how. Of course he knew how; he keeps his work strictly professional with the women who came in asking for the same thing.

He’d always found the little pudge attractive, but it’s your body. It’s just somehow, he wasn’t on the verge of telling them how good it looks or the pure desire he has to press on the fat while his head is between their thighs like he was you. Someone must have heard his prayers though, because instead of slimming your legs down, you became comfortable with the idea of them getting stronger, ultimately making them slightly thicker.

The man was close to finishing the set but that one glimpse of you had him do five extra for good measure since he lost count. How could he focus?

As you split your legs and tilt to one side, you watch the man not too far. The black compression shirt he wears hugs his carved body perfectly, only cementing this fact as his back and arm muscles flex with every controlled pull of the bar. Everything about him was sharp from his shape to the hair on his head.

It was no doubt he was attractive, and since having graduated, attention wasn’t just found anywhere. Maybe some small talk will help?

“What are you doing today?” He hears you call. He almost flinches with what he thinks you’re asking until you add, “Workouts I mean.”

Iwaizumi chuckles at your mishap, more for himself, but it flushes your cheeks nonetheless. It’s a genuine, gentle sound. “Arms. Tomorrow is core,” he says coolly.

“I hate arms. I should probably do them more often, but lifting is only fun if you’re already strong.”

“I see where you’re coming from,” he pulls off the machine, rotating himself on the seat to face you. You’re in a lunge now, oversized t-shirt covering half of the skin tight shorts desperately trying to contain the glutes you’ve grown. He makes sure to force his emerald green eyes to yours. “You won’t get stronger if you don’t give it a try.”

You scoff, “You sound like my old therapist.”

The humor you two shared was nothing more than the surface level awkward kind so this unexpected comment from you had him laughing. Actually laughing. “And you sound like an old friend of mine.”

Smiling at this, you get one more good stretch in and come to your feet. You stand proudly with your hands on your hips, staring at him.

He blinks around happily, “What?”

“You said to give it a try right? Show me the way."

—•—

“I can’t do this,” you say, already struggling just with the form part of the exercise. You switched positions with him since it was closest machine. “How do I pull it if I can’t move my back?”

“Well, that’s the workout part,” he walks around the seat while inspecting you, waiting for you to figure it out with his advice. “Sit up completely straight and slightly lean back. Stay in that position the entire time, but try to pull the bar down to you instead of pulling yourself up to it.”

You try to replicate what you saw him doing. By this point, you had gotten majority of the positioning right, even keeping your back straight, but the damned bar wouldn’t move an inch. “Are you sure the setting on this thing is right?”

“Oh shit-” He pauses at this, then renders that you’re completely right. You’re trying to pull his weight.

As he shuffles over to the side of the machine to adjust it, you watch him with a smug expression and your arms crossed. I’m not just that weak, I knew it, it reads.

Moments later he comes back around, “That’s my bad, try it now.”

And you’re finally able to do it, but your form falters when you successfully pull the bar to your chest. He knows you know, you’re a smart girl, so he gives you a few more tries to correct it. “I feel like I’m about to fall,” you say finally.

“Here, that means you’re leaning too far.” He comes and presses a hand to your back, pushing you forward. “Don’t think about it too much. I’ll hold you right here for a few until you can support yourself.”

He was already hovering beside you, lurking and seeping into all your senses, making the air warmer than it usually is in the gym. With his palm on your back too, you’re starting to think this little affection of yours is getting out of hand. You don’t even look to see how much it has helped.

Somehow, you do eventually get through the sets, but you hadn’t realized that during that time he would actually train you. It was progressive overload, and he brought the weight up to what he thought you could handle each time. You were on the last few.

“C’mon, you got it.”

“I don’t,” you grunt while somewhat laughing, still pulling it to your chest. His voice is more declarative now. You deem it as his professional tone. You also wonder which voice he tends to use in—

“You do. It’s one more—make it your best.”

“Ready for the next?” His lips stretch into a smile, already predicting your answer.

And you do just that, slumping on the seat in victory.

“Good girl,” he praises, clapping, and he changes the weight on the machine to just five before twisting around and holding a hand out. He helps you up when you take it, but you’re really trying to figure out if what he said was professional if it made you clench your thighs.

You bend and get your smoothie, popping the top and drinking, “There’s a next? What’s next?”

“Pull ups of course.”

Truthfully, doing pull ups right after lax for someone who doesn’t really train arms is a death wish. It’s just this once though and your arms will already be sore so he might as well make the most of it while the adrenaline is there.

“Oh dear God,” you sigh.

“I’ll do them with you,” he reassures.

—•—

And he stands on his word, because after walking over to the bar, he clips the belt attached to weight around his hips. The bar was relatively high, even he can admit, so he isn’t surprised when you ask how the hell you’re supposed to get up there.

And you weren’t even necessarily short, it’s just the bar was made for 6’0 and over men, and athletes, so people like you were left out, hence the stacked boxes meant for help beside it.

Iwaizumi makes sure the belt is secure around himself before walking over to you, taking a stance directly behind.

He commands, “Arms up, sweetheart.” And it must be the proximity, because you do just that without a fight. The pet name contributed too.

But when he lifts you, he first drags his hands from your shoulder blades, to your ribs, and into the small of the your back. So smooth you’re questioning if he did it on purpose.

He couldn’t help it. Not when he’s hovering behind you, almost a foot taller. With one small nudge of his hips forward, he’d rest comfortably right between your ass, smelling the coconut shampoo of your hair. Though instead of being a pervert, he’d stick to the nicknames and the gentle touches until you get the damn hint.

Sometime later he’s effortlessly hauling himself up, counting one by one with you. He says you’ll only do 3 sets of ten. Either way it was burning by the ninth.

—•—

Finally you’re done. The only reason your arms aren’t completely limp is the adrenaline of just being around the attractive man next to you. He literally regulates your blood flow.

And you regulate his.

“Okay, now you have to do my workouts.”

He unclips the belt, turning to face you, amused. “I have to do your workouts?”

Your arms come to a cross offensively. “What does that mean? Yes. I did your arm day, now you have to do my leg day.”

He throws his hands in the air defensively, the curl of his lips threatening to break his character, “I’m just saying it won’t be the sa—”

“This way!”

—•—

This was a horrible idea.

He’s situated on the angled leg press machine at a diagonal, now gripping onto the handle bars. The amount of circular plates you usually have on it are already there. You’re standing beside him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to add weight? I usually go more than this,” he challenges.

“Fuck you— no.”

His laughter intensifies at your irritation. Then he brings his legs down slow and controlled, somehow still managing to appear like he could do it with his fucking finger if he tried. You’re not surprised, he’s extremely fit; though you had already catered to this by going whatever your highest weight was.

He guffaws again at your blank expression. “Fine. How much more do you need?”

He appears to think for a moment. Instead of calculating the math like he should be, he’s actually doing nothing of the sort. “Get up there.”

He bends his legs as if confirming he’s dead serious by allowing you to actually step foot on the back of the plate. You stand there still, having not even realized what he’s asking you to do. “What?”

“Get your sweet ass up there and that should be about what my usual weight is.” He shoots a nonchalant glance to the machine. “You won’t fall, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

After a few moments, with an incredulous look painted on your face, you slowly step to the lowered machine, and push yourself up and on to the back, past the weighted plates, to sit not-very-comfortably in the middle. “Uhm…”

“Perfect.”

This time, it didn’t look as easy, but he very much did an entire press to extend his legs out. You watch in wonder over the plate as he carried your weight and plus some just in his legs.

It was his arm day, and you didn’t get to fully watch him do the pull ups since the focus was keeping yourself on the bar. But you got a glimpse when he finished, biceps flexing and pulling extra weight then too. He was strong. You wonder if he puts it to use with his partner?

With his partner. What if he does have a partner? You shake your head, no, he wouldn’t have asked you to do what you’re doing if he did.

His grunts were a nice addition too.

Counting for him aloud, and not completely sure if you didn’t skip a number even though you’re only going to ten, you helped him through the set. It had been a while since there was someone to cheer him on. He was always doing the cheering.

“Okay okay,” you wait for him to finish the set, then get off. It feels so good to have your feet on the ground, sure that you won’t be yelled at by the gym staff to remove yourself from the equipment. “You’ve proved yourself, muscleman.”

“Great, I’ll take you out Saturday then?” He asks, pressing up the remaining weight easy and locking up the machine so he can leave it.

A flush runs across your cheeks, driving you to pick up your drink and sip to hide it. “You don’t know me. What if I have a husband and kids at home?”

You were projecting, you know that. It was fresh on your mind since you slightly wanted to ask him the same question. He stalks over to you.

“I don’t see a ring on your finger,” he observes, nodding to your right hand, making you look as if you didn’t know it was bare. He only stops walking until you’re face to face, way too close to just be a professional interaction. It only worsens when his thumb and index finger pinches your chin, his eyes sending flames through yours. “And let’s both be honest— if there was someone waiting for you at home, you wouldn’t be here with me.”

Let alone at the gym at all, he wanted to add. Whatever pussy was letting you come here to workout instead of telling you how good it feels to have your thick thighs ricocheting off his skin or how good your stretch marks look after being swollen with a child for nine months, doesn’t deserve you anyway.

He doesn’t kiss you, but he swipes your lips with his finger and retreats. The heat doesn’t dissipate.

“Saturday at 7?” You speak softly. So softly and breathless you aren’t even sure if he heard it as he walks away.

“My number’s in your bag, beautiful,” he winks, and then he’s turning the corner, back to where you met earlier in the morning.

smash

If you wanted like actual nsfw, (whoever sent the ask) just send in another into my inbox or just dm me asking!! LMAO

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©️hxltic