#he had one (1) fuck to give in his entire life and he chose to give it to that walking life insurance payment of a man

[peachesofteal]

The Pit

COD masterlist Part 1/2 - Part 2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dub con, kidnapping, manipulative hurt/comfort, whump, the guys shave you, humiliation, forced orgasm, predator/prey, medical inaccuracies. Clothed males/naked female. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Horror-ish. Misery inspired.

Winter in the mountains can be cruel. 

This is something you’ve always known, even as a child. You were raised with it. Chose to return to it after school, decided to make a go of it, of a life here, as an adult. You knew what you were getting yourself into, long cold winters that felt both bleak and promising, unblemished blankets of snow possessing the ability to be stunning, while also lethal. Winters were dangerous, silent killers that left corpses in their wake and no amount of lupine or paintbrushes, glacier fed lakes or springtime moose calves could make up for the hell that winter wrought. Winter brings most living things to the knife’s edge of survival, forcing most to bow beneath the weight of its fury, backs breaking with the burden of just existing in an environment that truly acts, and feels, inhospitable. 

Although, there are those who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter.

There are predators who thrive. 

“You closin’?” Your coworker, the new one, asks from where she’s settled across the dark wood bar, two amber Budweiser bottles empty in front her idle hands, eyes wandering to guys posted up by the loneliest pool table in fifty square miles. 

“I am.” She casts the only window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. It’s snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top. 

“You still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?” You nod. 

“Yeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new place this weekend.” 

“Fall River? Is that even open right now?” Andy, a regular who lives a few streets over from you, chimes in, twisting an empty rocks glass in his fist. You pull the bottle of Jameson from the rail and tip it vertical, honey brown liquid sloshing like a wave until his glass is halfway full, and he gives you a flirty kind of smile, the same one he’s been giving you for a year now. Yeeesh.

“It is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And it’s Friday. I’m not trying to be stuck on the highway with weekend traffic.” You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. The traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. “I’ve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.” Andy snorts. 

“Like you haven’t been gettin’ good use out of them? First real snow was before Halloween this year.” You nod. He’s not wrong. You did get dumped on two weeks before the end of October, twenty-three inches piling up within two days, before half the area was even ready for it. You throw him a polite smile, one that you hope reads like ‘okay thanks for the concern, we’re done now’ and he sighs. “Well, drive safe.” 

Fall River pass, it turns out, is not open. It’s closed by the time you split off from the interstate and start the windy, switch-backed trek in your jeep, flashing orange and yellow lights dotting the top of a barricade just barely visible through the speckled snow flying by in your headlights. 

Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. There’s another road. A less maintained option, but… you’ll be fine. You’ve driven in worse. 

The other road, a sharp, narrow, desolate path that cuts through a large swath of unmanaged forest just outside the national park, is easy at first. You’ve been driving the same jeep for years, a 2007 two door Wrangler, and you know how it handles like the back of your hand. With snow tires, it could pretty much cut through anything, even unplowed, fire watch roads like this one. 

Which is why, after the first few miles, your nerves fully settle, and you allow yourself to relax a little bit behind the wheel, easing the jeep across the dips and slicks in the road as you cautiously build speed, snow falling fast through night, growing thicker the higher you travel into wilderness territory, and the farther you left modern civilization behind. 

An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that you’ve now realized you’re the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. You’ve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It runs perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, you’re pretty sure, although you can’t be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.

Still, won’t hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded. 

You pull your phone from the center console, thumbing at the screen, allowing your eyes to linger too long without looking back up through the windshield. No one else is out here. It’s not like you need to worry about oncoming traffic. The little SOS insignia blinks at the top corner, and you tap on the map icon, hoping it will bring up your geo location so you can glance at the satellite image of the area. 

You’re so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, it’s far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, shoving the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling. 

Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driver’s window, stars and streaks spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you alone in the dark. Your head spins like you’re still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body. 

It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm. 

You’re going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you don’t have service, by the time they find you, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and- 

You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, darkness pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath. 

You could just close your eyes. Just for a moment. 

Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, you’d think it was too bright. You’d say it was blinding. 

But you can’t formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black depth, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind. 

Sleep. 

You’re drifting. Falling through a stardusted, molasses filled haze, your mind ebbs and flows with consciousness; soft and warm feelings contrasted with sharp pain that bites through your body as if it’s slowly trying to eat you, chipping away piece by piece.

There are words, voices. There are hands too, fingers walking across your skin, limbs being moved, arranged, always with pain that’s followed by a hushed whisper of apology, a confusing sentiment in the dark. Your eyes won’t open. Your mouth won’t work. Your head is stuffed with cotton, wispy strands of connections that can’t quite get there, scrounging along the walls of your skull, trying to meet in the middle. You’re drowning, sinking to the bottom of a macabre pool, the one that’s infected your synapses and kept you just inside the shelter of delirium.

You try to call for help, but you can’t.

You try to swim to the surface, but the grisly black of your mind is never ending.

You’re dying, the tiny sliver of rational thought assures. Or you’re already dead.

Despair swells, and if you could feel your face, you’d think you were crying, lost to the sweeping desolation of your pain. It steals your breathe. Your sense. Everything becomes secondary to the obliterating agony that you feel. 

Something touches your cheek. Your eyes fight to open, straining against the heaviness that weighs on them, just barely blinking wide enough to let some light in, your vision fuzzily trying to focus.

Wood beams come into view. A ceiling? Where-

You try to turn your head but an electric shock rattles through your brain, forcing you to slam your eyes shut again, world spinning on an uneven axis as something on the edge of your sight shifts. A monster. A man?

Something is said, whispered, and then everything fades away, your mind and body slipping beneath the waves of darkness.

The next time you surface, you manage to cling to consciousness long enough to take stock of your surroundings, realizing you’re tucked into a soft, warm bed almost immediately, something hot near your feet, pillows fluffed beneath you. A hand stitched quilt is spread across the top of copious other blankets and sheets, and your fingertips scratch against the fabric. Flannel.

You’re also awake long enough to truly experience the pain you’re in.

One thousand tiny knives rattle around in your skull, slicing into the soft matter of your brain, tearing you apart piece by piece, everything in you unmoored and off balance. Searing pain radiates up your leg, through your arm and wrist to your head and neck, and when your instinct urges you to try to move, your body screams in protest, the pain so intense that you cry out.

That’s when you see him.

A man steps towards you from the edge of your peripheral, and you freeze in terror.

“Shhh. We’re not goin’ hurt ye. Ye had a terrible accident. Pure luck we found ye when we did, dove. Ye would’ve died out there.” He coos in an accent, inching closer, and you manage to get a better look at him, recognition failing immediately. An accident? An accident… memories come flooding back, broken clips of the jeep spinning, rolling, the woods, the fear. Who is he? Where are you? Brilliant blue eyes look down at you with concern, handsome face tweaked into worry, furrow in his brow partially covered by the long strands of an overgrown mohawk. He’s pretty. “Can ye follow my finger?” He presents one in front of your nose, but it splits into two, and then three, just the attempt to focus enough to make your head throb, and a whimper escapes from your throat. “I know, I know.” There’s a ceramic mug in his hand, and he carefully lifts it to your lips, encouraging you as he tips it back, warm, sweet liquid washing down your throat. You can’t even move your arms to push him away, and when he seems to be satisfied, his thumb wipes the corner of your mouth. “Good love. Well done.” You feel woozy all of the sudden, maybe even a little nauseous, and you think you could be hallucinating when another man appears at the foot of the bed, handsome, but in a rugged way, watching you with honeyed brown eyes, the broadest, biggest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Those bones need setting.” He says, and the pretty one grimaces, fingertips trailing along your cheek.

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m still worried about the concussion.” His thumb cards across your brow.

“It’s been three days, Johnny. Can’t put it off too much longer.” Three days? Your brain latches onto the time. Three days of what? Since when? You’re starting to fade, trying to focus on what they’re saying but losing the battle horrendously when the blankets shift, warmth tucking down around your waist and shoulders, unable to react or even speak when they both press a kiss to your forehead, affectionate and longing touch that startles you until you’re losing the battle to sleep.

It's snowing.

You don’t have to see to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds during a snowfall that blankets everything: houses, trees, mountains… your mind.

You love the snow. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It’s what brought you back here, kept you here, even amidst the perils. The feeling of a forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white, the crisp smell of the air the morning of a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the night when everything is dampened by the weight of a million, billion, uniquely crystalized webs of frozen water.

This snow feels different. It doesn’t feel like a velvety white, candy-coated dream world; but a nightmare… one filled with pain, anxiety. Where are you? What’s happened? 

And why do you hurt so fucking bad? 

“You’re awake.” A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn’t as lightning sharp pain zings through you, your voice breaking with a cry. “Easy.” He cautions, and your head stops swimming long enough for you to realize it’s the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He’s sitting in a chair that looks far too small for his width, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed.

“Where… am I?” You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to swallow the burn of bile that’s racing up your throat.

“Are you going to be sick?” He strokes your face, the touch nearly sweet, but confusing, and you hold your tongue, unsure. He sighs, expression shifting into disapproval, and then a frown. “Tell me.”

“N-no, I don’t-“ You can’t even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving and he’s springing into action, shifting you onto your side where a clean bucket sits right next to the bed. You wail in misery, pain shooting through your leg and arm, your ribs, bile and spit leaking from your mouth.

“It’s alright, that’s it.” A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears dripping to the wooden floorboards with a splash.

“Nnrgh-“

“I know, I know. Poor thing.” He coos, and it sounds… endearing, so sweet yet… frightening, like the poison of a predatory, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.

Somewhere, nestled inside the last shards of your sanity, an alarm bell whistles, but the intensity of your pain quickly drowns it out, and you cry aloud.

“Hurts.” He rolls you back to your original position, arranging you like a doll. “It hurts.”

“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. We’re going to fix it.” A cloth dabs at your forehead and then down to clean your mouth, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, worry rife in his features.

“Poor baby. Were ye sick again?” Again? You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, urging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you’ve had a few sips with a gentle “not too much.”

“Who are you?” The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it’s well water, maybe?

“I’m Johnny.” He’s setting up something beside you, organizing it, but you can’t turn your head to look, and can’t quite catch it from your peripheral. “An’ this is Simon. Or Si, but ye probably willnae be callin’ him that quite yet.” Quite yet? What? Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can’t you remember? 

“What happened.” You try again, gritting your teeth.

“Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about it yesterday. Ye rolled off the road, ended up nearly down the mountain, in the thick of the trees. Ye’re lucky the one didnae impale ye.” Impale?

“And you found me?” You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?

“Aye, we did. Pulled ye out, brought ye home.” Home?

“You don’t have to worry.” Simon, the bigger one, tells you. “We’re going to take care of you.” Take care of who? Everything is foggy, clouded, and you try to shake your head in confusion.

“I don’t… why-“

“Storm is pretty bad. One of those, once in a lifetime types. Pass is closed.” You close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed. You guess you’re lucky. They could have left you to die, and you could have never been found. You could have frozen to death. Bled out.

“Thank… thank you.” Johnny hums, and then you ripple in shock as he leans forward and brushes his lips against your mouth in a kiss. This… this is not normal? Are Scottish people just… more affectionate? 

“Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we woudnae.” What?

“Do what?” Simon casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He’s got piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them, fear freezing solid inside your pores. Do what?

“Bite down on this, precious.” Simon instructs, placing the swatch against your bottom lip, and you jerk away in protest, pain burning through your body.

“Do what?” You try to sound strong, demanding, but it comes out a little less than timid, and he gives you a sad smile.

“Your femur is broken.” A warm hand rests on your leg, over the covers, and you try to click the pieces together. “And I suspect your radius is, too. We need to set them.”

Oh. Oh no. 

“N-no, no, you… you ca-can’t.” You stutter. They can’t. A doctor should be doing that, shouldn’t they? Johnny hovers over you, placing his palm on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm across your collarbone. His touch is gentle, but strong, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong… intimate in a way that makes you shiver. “Please. Please, please… don’t-“

“It’s alright.” He shushes you, and the pressure increases against your body as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather in your mouth, bracing around your wrist, his other hand holding your elbow. You gasp for air, adrenaline fueled by pain and fear coursing through you, and Johnny coos, telling you ye’ll be alright, that ye’re with them now, and they’ll take such good care of ye. 

“Take a deep breath.” Simon urges, and you stare at him, wide eyed, pulse thundering in your ears.

“Ye’ll probably pass out, bonnie. We’ll get the second one done while ye’re down, and I already gave ye somethin’ for the pain.” He assures, like it’s supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon’s grip. 

This can’t be happening. This has to be a nightmare. How can this happen? No, nononono-

There’s a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating torture rockets up your arm, exploding inside you like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. You think you’re crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, fucking dying, all at once. It hurts, it hurts so bad, stop, please-

“We’re sorry, we’re sorry.” Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your brain starting to sever itself from reality, floating away as you slip inside the dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to the fog as they both stare down at you, sickeningly saccharine concern layered overtop the faces of wolves, predators licking their maws in preparation for a meal.

You sleep and wake in a haze.

You sleep. Your dreams are torments, visions of being chased through the mountains by monsters, being pinned to the ground, teeth tearing into your throat with no preamble, or nightmares of drowning, being swallowed by the ocean, lungs sputtering with concrete laden sea water.

You wake. Your vision blurs, mind scrambled by pain, vaguely aware of being moved, carried to the bathroom, held upright over a toilet, gentle touch soothing up and down your back, heavy palm cupping curve of your skull when your head is tipped back and something is dribbled past your lips. You blink blearily with stone weighted lids, taking in the room bit by bit, the wrought iron bed frame, crackling flames sparking in a fireplace, mountain of pillows sagging with the imprint of your body. Your limbs are wrapped and unwrapped, immobilized, and shifted, and the pain is enough to make you gasp for air, tipping you over into the decaying depths of unconsciousness again and again.

You sleep. Restless, chilled. Ice spreads from the nerves in the tip of your nose to your brain, your fingers, and you try to burrow it deeper, seeking the comfort of the pillows, but finding warm skin and muscle instead. In your sleep, it’s lovely. It’s comforting. Even when you’re rolled to your side, something sticking under your tongue, you chase the heady thick heat that seems to roll off the limbs around you.

You wake. There are voices, deep and rumbling, bouncing through the room. Warm water dabbing down your neck, your belly, your legs. You’re too hot, uncomfortable and smothered until you hear a sharp pitched snarl accompanied by a yank, and then there’s a void of emptiness around you.

You sleep.

You wake. The pain starts to change, melting into something that’s consistent, throbbing, but a little less sharp, unless you move, and then it shrieks through your nerves like an electrical shock, vibrating your jaw shut.

You sleep.

You wake. They’re there. Simon is dabbing a cool washcloth across your forehead. You try to flex away on instinct, but firm hands stop you, holding you in place.

“Hey there, dove.” Johnny whispers, smiling. It’s a shy kind of smile, sweet, and the world spins. You grapple with reality, trying to remind yourself where you are, what happened. The fire snaps and pops behind Simon, who stands at his side, massive hand on his shoulder. “Made ye some breakfast. Think ye can eat somethin’?” Breakfast? A steaming bowl of oats sits cradled in his hand, spoon at the ready. Nausea roars, enflamed by the pain in your bones, and you shake your head. “Ye need to eat. Been givin’ ye soup for the past few days, but ye need more carbs.”

“I- I don’t understand.” You try to explain your confusion, hundreds of questions brewing on your tongue, trying to spill out.

“You’ve been in and out consciousness for the last week.” Simon explains, and your eyes widen.

“What?” Panic knots, twisting you up tight, heart fluttering in your chest.

“We had to sedate you. Needed to keep you still through the first part of the healing process.”

“You… you drugged me?” You stammer, and Simon smiles, but it’s not sweet like Johnny’s. It’s severe. It’s dangerous.

“Soft calluses form around fractures, after they’ve been set.” He sits down on the other side of the bed, across your hips from Johnny. “Your breaks aren’t in casts, so we needed to minimize your movement until the calluses could strengthen.”

“Ye willnae be able to walk on the leg, or lift anything with that arm, but we’ll help ye.” Johnny assures. “We’ll be here for ye, as ye get better.” The words don’t compute, and you look at both of their faces, sweeping back and forth, blue eyes to brown, brown to blue, until the only thing that you can think of blurts out of your mouth:

“Where’s my phone?” There’s a flash of discontent in Johnny’s features, but it’s quickly smoothed away, and you wonder if it even there in the first place.

“I imagine it’s somewhere near where your jeep rolled. We weren’t exactly concerned with finding it, considering we were trying to save your life.” Simon’s hands flex in the sheets, and then relax, serious look on his face, and guilt swamps you. Right. They saved your life. You could have died. And the pass is closed. Maybe this is all… as normal as it can be, given the situation. Calm down. 

Still… 

Didn’t Johnny kiss you? 

The spoon clinks against the bowl, jolting you back to the moment, eyeing the scoop of oats as it drifts closer to your mouth, lips parting on instinct.

The first bite is difficult, an insipid, unsavory lump sliding down into your stomach, toothy grin stretching across Johnny’s face as you swallow. The second bite is easier. So is the third, and you manage a few more after that until you start to feel wooly, head fuzzy and stomach sick. “I can’t.” You bleat, and he nods sympathetically.

“Alright, ye did good.” Sleep tugs, insistent again, strong surge of fog pulling at your eyes, and you yawn.

“Tired?” Simon’s already moving, hovering, patiently adjusting your pillows and lazily urging you into them. “You should rest.” You’re too weak, too miserable to argue, so you let yourself fade to black, easily falling back into the webbed slush of sleep.

You drift in and out for days after that. A bright spot of consciousness here and there before it dissipates and you fall into oblivion, and you find yourself embracing it as often as possible, trying to escape into yourself, away from wooden beams and potential predators that flank you.

You’re content to let it stay that way, hiding away behind closed lids for as long as possible, until the morning you feel the washcloth.

“Sh-sh-shhh.” Johnny hums when you garble out a distressed question, tipping a glass to your mouth. Cold liquid rushes across your tongue, and you have no choice but to swallow, confusion webbing across your thoughts. Simon has the blankets pulled away, chilled air nipping and your skin, and you moan. It’s strange, like you’re exposed, half floating like you’re high, and half spiraling through your pain.

“It’s okay, we’ve got you.” They’re repositioning you, arms and legs like a little doll, and you frown. “Jus’ need to get you clean.” Clean? The washcloth coasts across your neck and down to your chest, warm water soaking a trail down your breasts. You’re naked, fully, a hot palm against your hip, skin on skin contact registering as you blink fuzzily, watching the way Johnny focuses on you, concentration shining in his stunning blue eyes.

Water sloshes. Squeezing and dripping, and then the warm, nearly hot cloth is being pressed against you, stroking over your nipples, washing the underside of your breasts. It feels nice, and you whine a little when it pulls away. Simon chuckles.

“Do ye like that?” Johnny coos, reapplying the cloth to your belly. “Does that feel good?” Does it? Is it supposed to? Your vision doubles then realigns, and you stare at the underside of Simon’s jaw, mesmerized by the scar on his chin, the width of his neck. He readjusts you, again, slowly moving your knees apart, spreading your legs, and heat climbs through your bones to your cheeks.

You’re naked. They’re fully clothed. 

“We’re goin’ clean this up a bit.” Simon murmurs, a thick finger tracing along your slit, through the soft curls between your legs, and you balk. Clean what? How?

“My… my-“ you can’t even get the words out, too embarrassed, and he nods, sliver flash of a razor twinkling in his hand. The air in your chest sputters.

“Your hair.” Johnny works the washcloth back and forth, water dripping down your skin to the towel that’s been placed under your hips, you can only lay there in mortification when you feel yourself getting wet, tepid arousal roaring to life between your legs. “If you’re a good girl for us,” Simon continues, spraying a big glob of shaving cream into Johnny’s palm, “we’ll give you a treat afterwards. How’s that sound?”

“A treat?”  You squeak, and then whimper, Johnny’s fingers creeping down your slit, rubbing the cream across your pubis and labia, heel brushing against your clit. You make a noise of a protest, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Ye’re alright.” He coos, bumping against the swollen bud again, and you try to stop the moan that builds in your chest with no success, slamming your eyes shut and trying to disappear into the pillows. “It’s natural, dove. Ye dinnae need to feel embarrassed.” He leans forward, slotting his mouth against yours, lips soft and fragrant in a pillowy sweet kiss that lasts too long, his eyes blissfully closed in front of your almost crossed ones. 

“Please…” you whisper, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for, and Johnny coos at you, bending at the waist to get a better vantage point between your legs. You shake your head, eyes wide with disbelief, with fear, your mind trying to catch up, trying to rationalize what’s happening at the same time as your body is betraying you, slicking the cream that’s lathered between your thighs, clit pulsing with desperate need.

“I- I don’t want you to… shave me.” You whisper. You don’t want them to touch you… there, and the panic that’s pulsing between your ears continues to rise as your protests go unnoticed. Just saying it out loud makes you want to die of embarrassment, and Simon clucks.

“We have to take care of you, sweet girl.” Simon grips your thigh, fingers pressing into flesh, and the cool blade of the razor moves against the grain with a flick of his wrist, drawing back to a bucket for a rinse before a repeat, breath frozen in your chest as he slowly eliminates the curls of your pubic hair. “It will be easier to do that, to see what you need without all this.” He hums, the smile of a wolf coy on his face. “Stay nice and still for us.” They work in tandem, perfectly synchronized, and your unwanted arousal starts to overpower the pain that’s radiating from your broken bones. It’s been so, so long since you’ve been touched by anyone, and your body does not care that you didn’t want this, or agree to it, too eager to be satisfied, to be touched in anyway it can get, and it gets worse, more intense the longer it goes on, the precise movements of their hands, the slow and methodical approach to your cunt. “Almost done.” Simon tells you, and the side of his finger passes over your clit unintentionally, and you whine. “I know, I know. You’re bein’ so good. Such a good girl.” Your good hand is shaking, gripping the sheets, and when he finishes, Johnny wipes you down with a clean cloth, passing over your clit again and again, electric shocks sparking in your belly. You’re paralyzed, helpless, and yet… soaked. Desperate. The warring emotions tear at you, shame and fear and desire rendering you speechless.

“I think ye need some relief, dove.” Johnny hums, looking from your pussy to Simon, both of them tilting their heads to stare between your legs. “Poor thing is so swollen, Si.”

“Do you want to touch her, Johnny? Give her a reward?” Simon asks him, so sweetly, and Johnny shimmies down to be eye level with your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Half of you screams no. Half of you shouts yes.

All you can do is watch, helplessly, as they settle themselves between your legs, Simon over Johnny’s shoulder, tempering his frenzied excitement with assured patience. 

“Will ye show me how?” He’s eager, and you frown, confused.

“Johnny’s never made a girl come before,” Simon tells you gently. “You’ll be his first.” Oh my god. “Will you help him? Tell him what feels good?” Your brain melts. You don’t know what to say, mouth half open, staring at the both of them, and after a few seconds, Simon sighs like he’s exasperated with you, before ducking back down next to Johnny and murmuring softly to him, probing along your cunt, finger dipping into your hole, swirling in the wetness gathered there and then moving up to your slit. You gasp, eyes nearly rolling back in your head.

“She likes that.” Johnny groans, breath blowing over your exposed flesh, and Simon takes his hand, thumb over thumb, guiding him in small circles around your clit.

 “Nice an’ slow at first, when you’re rubbin’ her clit. Feel how hard it is?” He instructs, pressing a kiss to the side of Johnny’s head, and he nods enthusiastically, looking up at Simon with wide, puppy dog eyes, sappy and saturated with love. It’s sweet, and affectionate, like they’re the only ones in the room, in the world… and you’re intruding on a private moment between these two men and your body. Like you’re a bystander. Or a doll. It’s confusing, your brain trying to sort everything that’s happening into neat little boxes that keep overflowing or falling apart, fracturing under the weight of your helplessness, the shock and fear that’s nearly made you dizzy. “See how her little hole is clenchin’ like that? It’s ‘cause she’s empty, needs to be filled up. When she comes, she’ll get real tight.” He explains, your body enflaming in mortified heat. They’re pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm, and Simon increases the speed as your hips jolt.

“Fuck.” You hiss.

“That’s it.” Simon coaches. “Are you close, sweet girl? Gonna come for us?” You shake your head, but even if you wanted to close your legs, you couldn’t. You’re trapped, lost in a sea of wild waves that break directly over your head, one after another until you’re drowning, gasping, muscles so tight they burn, pain in your arm and leg a secondary concern behind the pressure in your belly, the zap of your clit as they drag you too easily to the bottom, before sending you breaking through the surface.

You come with a distressed moan, hips jerking, and then a raspy plea for them to stop, telling them it’s too much, you’re too sensitive, to which Simon wraps his hand around Johnny’s wrist and pulls his hand away.

“We can’t overwhelm her just yet. Gotta wait until she’s healed up, hm?” He murmurs, reaching for the cloth. You blink at the ceiling, drifting, floating away, little boxes in your mind broken up into gnarled pieces that don’t make sense.

What just happened?

You stay silent, blank, as they settle you, cloth cleaning between your legs, blankets being fussed with around your body, pillows plumped. Simon curls some of your unruly hair behind your ear, swooping down until the breadth of his body blocks out all the light in the room, lips brushing over your ear. “What a good girl you are, dove. Did so well, letting Johnny give you an orgasm. So sweet for him.” He tucks you in a little tighter, and Johnny ducks around him, kissing you gently, like you’re made of glass, thrilled smile tugging at his cheeks, unfettered joy the last thing you see before your eyes slip shut.

The next time you wake, Johnny is in bed with you. It’s dark, a flickering orange glow casting shadow across the room, and you startle at the weight of his arm stretched across your chest, cradling you close, half curled around you like a cat. You turn, face to face, his mouth slightly agape, breath blowing over your cheek. You can’t get enough leverage on one leg to slide out from under him, and when you squirm, he only tightens his grip, pinning you to the bed. You’re overheated, and when you peek over his shoulder to get a look at the fire, you see Simon instead, sitting upright in a chair, fully awake, watching you. White hot fear shocks your system, forcing your eyes down in disbelief, surprise, his chair creaking in the night. Your breath stops in your chest, and then there’s a hand smoothing over your forehead, as he leans past you to brush his lips against Johnny’s, and then rough stubble presses against your cheek with a jagged whisper.

“Sweet dreams, little dove.”

[doromoni]

Take my Advice | MV1

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Ships : Max Verstappen x F1 Driver! Reader

Genre : Fluff

A/N : As per y’all request. A Max fic *tadaaaa*

Summary : Being a female driver in Formula 1 is already an achievement and now you are the leading candidate for the Red Bull seat. But Max Verstappen has some advice.

Masterlist

A question for Y/N please” A reporter stood with a mic in hand, staring you down — the condescension in his eyes was palpable. You could feel your skin crawl as you waited for the man’s question.

Darry? Larry? what was his name again? He was a reporter notorious for asking rude and borderline unethical questions to drivers. How did he continue to have access to F1, you could not answer. You were his favorite target just because you were born with the XX chromosome or that you were too glamorous and girly to be driving at the pinnacle of motorsport — his words exactly.

“People are speculating that you would be moving to Red Bull in 2025 or even earlier, however, you just placed P10 in the last race. How confident are you that you’d be promoted to that seat given your lack of consistency in driving so far? Shouldn’t you think Daniel Ricciardo’s a better option? ”

Barry? Sally? whatever his name was finished talking, yet his sticky gaze never left you.

The smile on your face slowly hardened as you tried to keep your cool. You felt your veins pulsate with rage and your jaw clenched with force. Your hand gripping the microphone that you held till it felt like snapping in half.

Everyone was speechless, including the other drivers that were with you. The people who were seated beside you had their mouths agape. The driver lineup was composed of You, Oscar, Lewis, and Nando, with Alex and Max by your side. Everyone could feel the intense tension in the air. The absolute ignorance and stupidity of his statement hung in on the air…

You were dominating the midfield given the car that RB had given you. You garnered points for your team consistently — only fucking up when your team fucked up their strategies. You were outperforming your teammate by miles and you were pulling miracles out of nothing in that car and in that team.

“Well Danny is a very talented driver and I respect him immensely. I truly do wish the best for him and the team, but it’s not my job to compare stats between us, no?“ You answered with a smile and nothing but praises left your mouth.

Mama said kindness and peace are what make life go around. You lived by this every single day of your life, no matter how difficult it may seem — a smile goes a long way. You chose to make peace and give way to others when opportunities presented itself. Rather catch flies with honey than vinegar right?

You were since then dubbed as the sunshine of Formula 1 — a title that you didn’t want … because it was another thing that you stole from Danny, at least that's what others think. Even when your path to your F1 seat had never been easy, every step you took was criticized just because of you being a girl, but you persevered and faced everything head-on. Through the midst of it all, you, Y/N L/N, were the driver who held smiles, kindness and cheers.

Y/N L/N the driver to always take the blow for the team, the scapegoat, you were always the 1st one to be the sacrifice. But still, you held your head up high and carried on… because it was an honor to have a seat in the first place.

“Let me just get some things straight” Lewis had taken to himself to talk seeing that Gary? Donny? seemed not willing to back down with the intent to make you react.

“Y/N has been nothing but consistent. Look at the charts properly” Lewis argued, his face holding concealed anger as he stared down the reporter

“Thank you for that Lewis, but I did check — Y/N has placed P5, P8, and P10 for the last consecutive races” The entire couch of drivers could only shake their heads in disbelief at the utter nonsense that the man continued to spout

You were driving a car that was projected to be at the back of the grid, yet here you are gaining points regularly. No offense to your teammate but you were dragging Danny through the mud — heck fellow drivers could bet their entire fortune that given a better car, you would be battling Max and Lando for the championship.

“Check again. Check your eyes too mate, cause it seems like you’re going blind” Gaps and oohs filled the room as Max, much to your surprise, butted with all seriousness in his voice.

Max was an enigma to you, the way he switches from a fire-breathing beast on the track to a literal cat-cuddling, sim-racing nerd and overall wholesome person once he finishes a race compelled you to explore and dig into the mind of Max Emilian Verstappen.

Yet you couldn’t because he was untouchable. The golden boy of Red Bull, the champion, their number 1. They would kill you if you got your business entangled with the Dutch driver. Fuck with him and you could kiss your chances at a seat in Red Bull goodbye. Unfortunately for you, you just had to have a big fat crush on the very same driver.

You weren’t even sure when your admiration for Max’s tenacity and sheer talent on the track turned into you looking at the Dutch with hearty eyes and wondering how he would taste on your lips. Maybe he would taste like the Red Bull he always seemed to drink or was it him tasting entirely of something else….. Oh, you were doing it again! Yup, you were indeed doomed.

Everyone on your team said to keep your distance and you did! Not that it was hard because Max did the same. It was weird he was always friendly to Daniel and Checo and even the other RB and Red Bull staff, but Max had this certain “coolness” when interacting with you. He was never rude or anything like that… Max just seemed guarded. Fuck! why did it have to be Max?!

“Y/N, anything to add?” the present hit you quick and fast — and that present was every pair of eyes in the room zoning in on you and your next statement.

You had so much to say and yet you presented the pr smile you practiced way too much, the smile the mirror in your driver's room knew too well. And with that same practiced smile, you stared down the reporter and uttered “Nope, nothing else from me. Thanks”

You swore you could hear Max scoff silently. Your head snapped to the Red Bull driver beside you instantly. You didn’t know what to expect but it wasn’t Max directly looking back at you with those piercing blue eyes and an eyebrow cocked upwards.

It seemed that you forgot how to blink because you just stared right into his gaze, your heart accelerating by the second — you had the same feeling you had at every start of a race; the adrenaline pumping in your veins, but instead of pushing your foot on the gas… you wanted to push your lips to his. WOAH. You needed to get a grip on yourself! Where the hell did that even come from?

Neither the two of you were backing down, only breaking eye contact when another reporter asked a question to Max. But before Max had answered, you saw him lightly shake his head sheepishly as the words “so fucking cute” whispered out of his mouth.

***

You were so fucking gutted. It was another race that your team had screwed you over for your teammate once again.

You were leading and you had clean air in front of you and your teammate was 5 seconds behind, everything was in place and you were in P10 when you suddenly heard from the radio to let Daniel overtake you.

You loved Danny, but that was so unfair! You tried to argue over the radio yet your appeals are once again disregarded by the team. You followed team orders and thought that this was for the long run that this would show that you were a team player and that you would be an asset as Max’s teammate in the future.

Yet no matter how much you tried to cheer yourself up or make excuses for the team, the anger and betrayal never dissipated.

You were dragging your feet towards your motorhome when suddenly you were pulled into the dark alley between your motorhome and McLaren’s hiding the two of you between used race tyres.

A shout was ready to leave your mouth when the person’s hand stopped you from doing so.

“It’s me, Max! Don’t shout” Max whispered as his eyes darted to see if anyone was looking.

The space between the motorhome wasn’t that spacious, so Max had you pushed into the wall. You could feel the heat radiating between the two of you, the taste of sticky champagne on Max’s hands transferring onto your lips.

The initial shock and Max’s closeness made you breathless and your mind spinning. What the hell is happening? Max slowly peeled his hand away from your lips.

“What the hell Max? You scared the shit out of me!” You wheezed as you breathed deeply, trying to steady your shakiness.

“There’s a difference between being nice and being a pushover. You can’t just bow down to every command your team gives you” Max had suddenly sprung on you. Your brain was reeling trying to comprehend what was happening.

“Max. I- uh… what?” only incomprehensible words fell out of your mouth.

Max held your shoulders as he bent down, his face now leveling yours. Max's face held all seriousness as his eyes, his eyes still shone with fire behind them even with the darkness that enveloped the two of you.

“Take my advice L/N, fight back and do what you want.” As Max said those last words — he was gone.

The only indication that told you that everything that happened was real was the Winner’s champagne tasting so sweet and tangy on your lips … the same champagne Max’s hand left.

***

“I chose Y/N” Max announced to the host and crew who were on the set. Everybody was shocked at the Dutch’s choice.

Red Bull and RB are filming another media junket for the fans to enjoy and everything was running normally till Max chose you as his teammate. Everyone, including you, was expecting him to pick Daniel when the staff said to choose your teammate from the other racing team.

“Aww! Max you’ve betrayed our years of friendship” Danny acted hurt as he held onto his heart, earning chuckles from everyone— which effectively diffused the atmosphere.

You smiled and rolled your eyes at your teammate’s antics. You made your way to Max’s side, careful not to be too close or too far for fans to overanalyze.

The distance between you and Max was at least 2 feet when he took it upon himself to step nearer towards you and smile his charming smile at you when you looked up at him quizzically.

Your heart was thundering in your chest, but your curiosity won over your nerves. What is going on with Max this couple of races? He had been very attentive and approachable towards you all of a sudden. Opening doors for you delivering water bottles, and giving your favorite snacks during media shoots and lots more. Not that you were complaining!

You couldn’t help yourself but ask the driver what was going on. You surveyed the room and found that everyone was focused on Checo and Danny.

You lifted your hand and discretely tugged on Max's shirt to gain his attention. And it worked as he found himself looking down into your eyes with curiosity.

“What is it Y/N?” Max asked lowly trying not to get everyone else to look at the two of you.

“What’s up with you recently?” You whispered back.

Max’s brows slightly crunched together.

“What do you mean?” He asked confused

“ I mean, you’re being so nice and attentive to me.” As the words spilled put your mouth, you realized just how stupid the question was. It was just Max being a decent person, right??

Max only chuckled and bent down to your ears, his lips ghosting the shell of it, sending goosebumps all over your body

“I’m just taking my advice Y/N. I’m doing what I want to do… team rules be damned”

***

Knocks echoed through your hotel room as you heard Max call for you to open the door.

You opened the door to a disheveled Max.

“Max?” you called out to the driver who pushed himself into your room and sat on your bed.

Ever since that day of the Media junket, you and Max grew closer together. You got to know Max than what was on the surface and you two quickly grew a bond that was more than just friendship.

The tension was there yet neither the two of you were acting on it. From his lingering touches that drove you crazy and the flirting disguised as banter you exchange on the daily— frustrating as it may seem, you loved every second of it.

You joined Max in your bed, you sat beside him and took his hand in your own. Your entwined fingers looked so unusual yet right together, it made you smile.

You feel Max tug on your hand trying to catch your attention. You looked up at him with a questioning stare

“They’re switching Checo and Daniel next season… they dropped you out of the roster” Max spoke carefully.

The smile on your face dropped instantly, as his words ran through your mind. Your face is painted white from disbelief.

They choose Daniel over you?

“What?” You whispered, the hurt and confusion evident in your face.

“You deserve to know before they announce it to everyone… you don’t deserve to be humiliated”

You were speechless. Tears didn’t even come pouring down … you were just in shock. You thought that the Red Bull seat was your, done deal. You’re so far away in the points from your teammate. Your driving was close to flawless … so why?!

You couldn’t even say anything. You just felt Max pull you into his embrace.

“If what I’ve heard from Mercedes is true, take it. Screw loyalty, that team failed you in every way. You deserve so much better”

***

“Y/N, final lap. Verstappen is 2 seconds behind, push the car. I repeat push the car” You hear Vince, your race engineer over the radio.

“With pleasure” you felt yourself smile. The excitement mixed with adrenaline pumping in your veins as you floored your Mercedes, driving the car to its maximum

Everything was a blur, you were on autopilot as you made every turn perfectly. As the past events that led to this moment played in your mind.

How you took Max’s advice and moved to Mercedes. You remember the relief when you penned your signature down on that contract as Toto was smiling wide at you, shaking your hand firmly as he welcomed you to his family.

You remember the feeling of sharing your first-ever podium with Max and him being so proud of you and what you’ve done so far. You were still in that scap RB car and this podium was the final “fuck you” to them, before you announce you switching teams. The self-doubt in your heart is being washed away by the sweet champagne that Max sprayed all over you. You knew you made the right choice.

And you couldn’t forget how Max had been with you when you finally dropped the bomb on RB and Red Bull. He had been through with you with every step.

And here you are now, chasing your first win in Formula 1 with the team capable to give you a winning car. You see the chequered flag waving and you hear the crowd roar as you finally cross the line

“Y/N L/N YOU ARE A GRAND PRIX WINNER!” You hear Toto over the radio and your team is cheering in the background.

“YES! YES! THANK YOU EVERYONE! WE DID IT” You shouted back as you parked your car on Parc Ferme.

you stepped out of the car you ran to the waiting arms of your team as they cheered and congratulated you continuously. When you finally to Vince who smiled so wide as he patted your helmet; his smile grew even wider as he looked behind you.

“Remove your helmet and balaclava.” He said as he offered his hand saying to give it to him. You looked at him confused but did as he said.

“Turn around” He shouted with glee as you heard everyone starting to cheer louder.

You did turn around and there stood Max Verstappen with a bouquet at hand, a smile on his face as his arms were opened wide.

Your jaw dropped and your hand covered your mouth in shock. The entire world was watching yet neither of you cared as you ran into Max's arms. You buried your face in his chest as his arm enveloped you.

“Hi boyfriend” You greeted the Red Bull driver with a grin

“Does Toto know?” Max asked as he looked at your team principal and mechanics that were shocked at what they were seeing.

“Well thanks to you EVERYONE now knows. Your not really slick there buddy” You giggled at the Red Bull driver’s antics.

Max kissed the side of your head before mumbling into your hair “ Well gotta let everyone know you’re mine . Congratulations on the win, Schat! I told you you’ll win ~ I could feel it”

You feel yourself chuckle and shake your head. You gazed up at the Dutch driver.

“Shut up and kiss me you dork” You whispered to Max, a gleam in your eye that he sure noticed.

“Yes, Ma’am” Max’s lips finally met yours in a sweet and passionate kiss — you knew what Max tasted like and you wouldn’t mind having another taste. Everything was just perfect and you would not exchange it for anything in the world.

“I always wondered what you tasted like” You said when you pulled apart. Your hand ran through his hair, something you wanted to do for ages.

“Really? What do I taste like?” Max asked clearly amused. His hand on your lower back now guiding the two of you to be interviewed.

“Sweat” You joked, and he only rolled his eyes and kissed you once more.

***

“ A question for Y/N please” You internally groaned and rolled your eyes as you heard his voice once again. This man was an actual menace.

“Yes, Hillary?” You said into the mic, a sickeningly sweet smile on your lips as you stared him down.

“It’s Harry” He corrected you.

“Oops, sorry Larry! please continue” You hear your fellow drivers snicker and hide laughs beside you.

It was like full circle, the same set of drivers in the interview — sat in the same positions yet now you were driving for Mercedes, clad in black instead of RB’s white race suit.

“Do you think Max let you win during the last race? He does fancy you.” You hear yourself laugh and you aren’t afraid to let others see. You’re no longer holding back for the sake of your team.

“I don’t know, Barry. I don’t know if you watched the race, but if you did might have seen that I already led the race at turn 1 till the final lap. no? And I sure do hope that he fancies me, considering he is my boyfriend afterall” You replied and couldn’t help yourself as you shot him a wink.

“You’re very confident, now that you’re in Mercedes. Huh?” Ohhh he was seething, if this were a cartoon he would have smoke coming out of his ears.

“ Yeah, I’m getting comfortable in my seat, thanks for asking. I’m only getting started” You said with a shit-eating grin.

To your left, you hear Max utter the words “ That’s my girl” proudly.

A/N ++ : I don’t know what to feel about my writing here tbh~ My brain is fried 🙃

Anyone interested to be added to the taglist? Drop a comment or DM me!

Maintaglist : @myescapefromthislife @peterholland04 @charlottef1 @fangirl125reader @mel164 @gnarlycore @chloelovesln4 @vickykazuya @merchelsea @ln4author @qzmef @nxk1309 @styl1shl1v : open for tag request

[akoyaxs]

˚༄ Tìyora Pt 1

༊ Aonung x Fem!Sully!Reader ༊ Enemies to Lovers ༊ 4.4k words Warnings: competitive violence, bet, kuru pulling, p in v, reader hates Aonung THIS WILL BE A SERIES!!!! *Note that reader is practically Neytiri's twin, like mother like daughter. I chose this photo bc when writing I like picturing an OC or different face in my mind, and this one looks different enough from Neytiri's other scenes, but similar enough that reader has all the good Sully genes*

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It’s not like you’d never felt annoyance before. You had, of course. You couldn’t have survived your entire life with Lo’ak as your brother without having felt annoyed, trying to clean up his messed. You wouldn’t have survived your entire life without being annoyed by being berated by Neteyam for cleaning up your messes.

But now, you’re pissed the fuck off. It’s not just that you’d been held hostage by a stupid group of avatars, or that now you’d needed to leave your clan and fly a million miles to seek uturu in the fucking ocean, but it was the people.

Tsireya was a sweetie, Tonowari admired your bravery, and Ronal found your determination endearing (though she kept it to herself). But Aonung was a whole other story.

You could count on your five-fingered hand how many times you’d gone a minute in his presence without wanting to punch his smug stupid face. You could count with no fingers. Because you hadn’t gone a minute without wanting to punch him.

And now here you are, face to face with the fucking skxawng once again. There’d been several interactions like this. When Aonung and his ugly ass skxawng friends were teasing Kiri, you had been the first to throw fists, and the last to be dragged off. When Lo’ak had been left stranded by said skxawng and accomplices, you had come so close to murdering the next Olo’eyktan, several warriors had to drag you off.

You had grown quite the reputation in the week you’d lived in the reef. Furious, violent, unapproachable, dangerous, attentive. And of course, an excellent fighter. The thing was, the Metkayina had yet to see you fight, given that the instances you smacked the shit out of their precious little prince had been out of the public eye.

Which is probably why they’re now watching with bated breath and eyes wide as the moon as you circle the stupid skxawng around the Metkayina training grounds. It was Tonowari’s idea for you to start training with the warriors of your new clan. As he delicately put, it was a good way for you to let everything out without inflicting any damage for non-training reasons.

Across from you, Aonung shifts slightly, tilting his head cockily and gripping the spear in his hand more tightly. He looks determined; it wouldn’t be a great look if he lost to you in front of the whole clan, after being beat up by you twice.

You’re determined too, you guess. Not to prove yourself, no, it doesn’t make any difference to you what all these Metkayina think of you, not when you could fight them even easier than Aonung. But you want, just once more, to beat him.

You’re not completely sure why but beating him gives you this crazy thrill of pleasure. It probably has something to do with his annoyance and squirminess and coldness and sullenness. He’s embarrassed when you beat him, and it’s perfectly clear to you that Aonung isn’t someone who gets embarrassed easily.

You glance across at the watching Metkayina quickly. Tonowari and Ronal are watching expectantly, little smiles on their faces. Tsireya and Rotxo look slightly worried (bless their sweet little souls), but your siblings are watching with broad, confident grins on their faces. Lo’ak looks especially ready to watch you beat up Aonung again.

He makes the first move, the moment you glance at the onlookers. It was an anticipatable offence, and you step quickly aside, ducking under his swing. You move around behind him and kick his leg, bending it and sending him to his knees.

“You look so pretty on your knees,” you grin teasingly. “You should stay down.”

Aonung’s eyes narrow somewhat, obviously not taking kindly to your little taunts. It’s evident to everyone watching that this is just a little game for you, and you’re taking the opportunity to have some fun with their prince. Aonung seems more determined, and he growls and jolts forward.

He stabs his spear towards you, which you parry, slashing and spiralling, ducking and stabbing. Eventually, he tosses you to the side and your spear goes skittering away. You feel the audience sit up slightly, not expecting this to happen.

Aonung approaches slowly, a cocky little smile on his fishlips. You roll your eyes at his overconfidence, before ducking under the next stab so you’re pressed between his body and his spear, before ripping it from his grip and tossing it out of the circle.

He hisses with annoyance and makes to shove you away, but you’re already ducking under his legs and flipping him over your back. Groans come from the crowd as Aonung slams into the floor, but you hear a delighted whoop from Lo’ak, followed by Kiri stifling a laugh and Neteyam shushing them both.

Aonung clambers to his feet and you crouch a little lower. His eyes are blazing now, looking absolutely furious. A shiver of anticipation runs through you as he tilts his head, eyes narrowing to icy slits. Finally.

“Going to actually fight now?” you ask, smiling tantalisingly, tauntingly. You weren’t really expecting an actual fight, any real competition, but this is even better than the fun little tussle you’d anticipated. With the way he’s looking at you, you just know he’s ready. He’s furious and humiliated and he’s dangerous.

You trail the circle, eyes fixed on one another. You wait, unhurried and unworried, so he gives in and makes the first move again. This time he goes for your legs, and you leap over him, pushing his shoulders down so he stumbles and you roll to the ground and spring up again.

You exchange punches and kicks, and he doesn't hold back. He tackles you to the ground and jabs his elbow at your gut. He’s strong, very strong, and there’s a moment where you realise you forgot to factor in just how stupidly, ridiculously tall and muscular the infuriating skxawng is. You jab him back with your elbow, and he grunts before pinning you down with one arm, his other hand closing around your throat.

The warriors, your friends and your family are watching with bated breath as you struggle under him for a moment, eyes flicking in wide fascination between your twisting form trapped underneath his. You can feel the pressure of their gazes, and the thought that they think he might actually win is more than you can bear.

“Kinky,” you manage to whisper, throat starting to ache under his grip. His face twists for a moment, which you don’t pause to read before you move your knee up to smack him in the groin. You roll over him, legs wrapping around his neck and squeezing his head between his thighs.

“You’re one to talk,” he grunts, trying to shove your legs apart. You tighten your legs together around him, and he gasps.

“Go on,” you breathe, looking down at Aonung, between your legs, face filled with frustration, hands scrabbling at your thighs. He doesn’t say anything. Everyone’s watching expectantly, and you reach down to tug his head back further by his kuru, neck trapped between your legs.

The moment your fingers close around his kuru, he hisses. You glare at each other for a moment, his eyes blazing with frustration, your own eyes a clear message: give up.

“Fine,” he hisses, trying to twist away from you.

“Louder,” you snap, tugging his kuru harder, and he growls.

“I give up!” he explodes.

For a moment, you just stay like that, the crowd watching silently as you stare down at his irate face. And then, with movements that even to yourself feel like they’re in slow motion, you let go of his kuru and open your legs, Aonung toppling onto the floor between them.

Then Ronal is standing up, Tonowari is smiling, and Lo’ak is cheering. The crowd follow, smiling and applauding and grinning at one another. Amidst it all, Aonung has clambered to his feet, ears pinned back against his face and face bitter.

“I hope this has settled things between the two of you,” Tonowari says, as everyone starts to finally fuck off out of the training grounds and back to the village, chattering excitedly and shooting glances back towards you all.

He looks between the pair of you expectantly. You’re both slightly flushed from the fight. Aonung still looks ashamed and frustrated, tail flicking agitatedly behind him, absentmindedly and violently drawing in the sand with his toes. You just avoid eye contact, and Tonowari sighs.

He signs to his son, who scowls and signs back. They continue in this way for a minute, exchanging what is clearly a heated debate in the unspoken language you have yet to learn properly, while you stand on the side and wonder absentmindedly if you’ve been dismissed.  Just as you’re about to try and slip away, Tonowari clears his throat and you freeze.

“The two of you will train together,” he says in a voice that makes it clear it isn’t up for debate. Aonung tries anyway, clearly protesting in their signed language, and you wait with a frown on your face. “It is decided. I’ll leave you too to sort out your… differences.”

Aonung glares after his father, and you fold your arms. Finally, he turns towards you, eyes blazing with irritation. You glare at each other in silence for a few moments.

“What’s your problem with me?” Aonung says bluntly, finally breaking the tense quiet.

“What’s my problem?” you hiss, brows raising in disbelief, eyes narrowing conversely.

“Yes,” he scoffs. “That’s what I just said, isn’t it? Are you deaf, as well as a freak-”

“Are you serious right now,” you cut him off, swallowing hotly before your fist accidentally slips and he ends up with a broken nose. “Are you really doing this again, after I just rocked your skxawng ass in front of your whole clan?”

Aonung scoffs again, eyes narrowing as well, and you take a step in, not in the least intimidated he’s a good foot taller. Or by the way he straightens to glare back from his full height, waiting impatiently for you to speak your mind. You’re quite impressed with yourself that you’re only now about to insult him; it’s been a good minute long since you last did.

“Fine,” you concede. “You’re entitled. You’re rude. You don’t give a single fuck for anybody but yourself. You are the most close-minded person I ever met, and I’ve been held at gunpoint by artificially revived humans. You are so egotistical you clearly think the world revolves around you. You except us to sit back while you taunt and ridicule us, you picked on my siblings for the hell of it then had the nerve to act surprised when I fought you over it. You think you deserve everything you deserve everything because you have it, but I promise you this; you are so much less important than you believe.”

Aonung blinks slightly. You don’t step back, and when he exhales shakily and his rage flares up again, you stand your fucking ground as he steps in as well.

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” he growls, glaring down at you.

“And what are you, then?” you snap. “Entitled prince of the clan. Who gets whatever he likes. Who can’t handle me calling him out on what he actually is.”

Aonung hisses, and you suddenly find yourself inches away from him. It takes you a moment to realise he’s dragged you there by your kuru, neck tilted dangerously back so you can still make eye contact with him when this close given your stupid fucking height difference.

He’s breathing heavily, eyes blazing. You’re breathing heavily too, eyes wide as you stare back at him. It’s less of a glare now, you’re just waiting to see what he’s going to do. When he realises you aren’t fighting back for once, not pulling away from him, his pupils widen to large black slits, eyes still narrowed and blazing.

And you stay like that. Neither of you move. Neither of you dare too. Neither of you can guess what the other will do. You half expect him to toss you away, or maybe cuss you out. He’s one hundred percent sure you’re seconds away from cursing him out and certain violence.

“What are you doing?” you whisper. It doesn’t come out as you meant it, nowhere near as warning, as fierce, as dangerous. Because this is. It is dangerous.

Dangerous to be this close. Dangerous for you to be thinking what you’re suddenly thinking. Dangerous of him to be holding you this close.

With a small shiver, you realise he’s still holding your kuru in his fisted hand, your body so close to his that when you breathe, your chests nearly brush. You try not to swallow; there’s no way you’re going to let him see how dry your throat suddenly is.

His eyes are roving over your face, which he still holds facing up towards him with his grip on your kuru, tilted so far to keep him in your sight that your throat is tight, and your heart is pounding slightly. Because of the pressure on your throat, because you can’t breathe. Obviously.

Your question hangs in the air. Silent. Aonung doesn’t answer. You can feel his breath fanning across your neck. It’s hot and heavy and you try your best not to make another sound, to make sure he can’t feel how hot and heavy your breath is suddenly feeling.

It never struck you how sensitive a kuru is, but when he pulls you closer by another inch, you feel your whole body tense. Your pupils blow wide and to your horror, you moan. It’s soft, breathy, and you pray to Eywa it was soundless, that it was just some horrific, mortifying figment of your imagination summoned by the oddness of your situation. Even more shamefully, there’s an undeniable twist in your heart, and a certain wetness in your loincloth at the tug of your sensitive kuru.

But then Aonung squeezes his eyes shut, breathing deeply. With his eyes closed, you quickly let your eyes dart over him. You’ve never seen him this tense, not when fighting him, not when shouting at him, not even when you had to wait for Lo’ak to be found when left at Three Brothers Rock.

Every muscle in his neck is tensed, jaw clenching tightly, throat bobbing and chest moving with each strained breath. With another surge of your heart, your eyes drop to the rippling muscles of his arms and shoulder. His veins are evident in those smooth teal arms as he grips your kuru. Then he’s looking at you, eyes opening and instantly falling into your own. They’re dark, not just by his pupils blown wide as the fucking moon, but something deeper, darker, hungrier that has your heart clenching.

You breathe like that for a moment, eyes wide and gazing at each other, hearts hammering and breath heavy, before he wrenches his gaze from yours and quickly lets go of your kuru. And then, your heart stops hammering and your annoyance is rushing back and you forget that strange, infuriating rush from before.

“What was that?” you growl, pulling your kuru back and scowling at him.

Aonung just swallows, still avoiding your gaze and shifting slightly, and you look down. Immediately, your gaze darts up to his slightly flushed face, which looks mortified and frustrated now.

“You fucking hypocrite,” you breathe, eyes wide. “Taunting us, teasing us, when you are hard just by hearing me moan.” Aonung flushes deeper, and you scoff.

“Do you get like this when Kiri shouts at you?” you ask derisively. “Or even when Neteyam gets mad? Or is it just me that has this effect on you?”

Aonung’s glower is answer enough, and your eyes widen further, mouth parting in shock.

“Shut it,” he hisses, shifting again in an attempt to hide himself, and you laugh.

“Are you serious?” you deride. “What happened to me being a repulsive hideous freak? Or do you secretly like that- getting shouted at by a foreigner? Do you like it when I’m mean to you, Aonung?”

“I said shut it freak,” Aonung growls, though you don’t at all miss the way the tent in his tewng seems to grow as you trail closer.

“What do you want then?” you ask, raising your brows. “Surely it’s not above the prince to ask for help, if he really isn’t an entitled brat.”

“As if you would be any use,” Aonung snarls. “As if a freak like you could make me cum.”

“Oh?” you say with narrowed eyes, stepping closer. Aonung blinks, stepping back. He’s reluctant to stay so close to you, you realise. Which is fair, given that last time you were inches apart was what made him hard in the first place. “Do you want me to moan again for you, that seems to do the job well enough.”

You shoot a pointed look at his still growing bulge, and he pauses.

“I have my doubts though,” you say tiredly, trying to hide your amusement. “I don’t think a fishlipped brat like you would be able to make me moan anyway.”

“Is that a challenge?” Aonung says.

“Was it?” you raise your brows. “I feel like I’ve already put in some effort, at least I’ve done something for you.”

“One final challenge,” Aonung says through gritted teeth. “Settle this once for all.”

You consider it. You, of course, had already proved yourself over and over again, proved yourself superior to this skxawng. But on the other hand, your tewng was still wet, and you have this massive, horny ass man in front of you, clearly desperate for anything, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

“Alright then,” you concede. “Because I’m not losing. I’m going to prove myself, you’re going to be eating your words, and then all will be good.”

“I do not understand eating your words,” Aonung says bluntly. “Is it some demon-”

His words are choked off when you reach out and press your palm into his bulge. A minute later, tewngs are disgarded, you find yourself pressed against the sand and he’s all over your body.

“You don’t need to,” you say quickly, when his fingers swipe along your slit. “I’m wet enough.” Aonung looks like he’s about to make some snarky comment, and you growl. “You’re going slower than my grandmother. I hope you’re-”

Suddenly you're lifted up and you're on your knees right there on the sand. You can feel Aonung's breath hot and heavy as he nips at your neck, folded over your much smaller, arched body and sliding your tewngs away with quick hands.

You feel yourself being stretched open, small stings of pain shooting through you as you drop your forehead to the sand. You sink your teeth into your lip, determined not to make any noise. This is different to before, bent completely over with your face pillowed against the ground.

“Alright princess,” he says snarkily, pausing for a moment, buried deep inside you. His voice sounds shaky.

“Thought you’d be bigger,” you lie, scrunching your face up as you try to adjust to his size. Aonung just lets out a deep, amused laugh, before pulling out to the tip and pressing down on your back to arch you further down.

When he starts to move, it completely knocks your breath out, so you're left gasping for air you never manage to catch as he thrusts again. His grip on your waist is bordering on strangling, yet you find yourself unconsciously following him, pulling yourself back to meet each one of your thrusts with a choked moan.

His sudden roughness and hunger and desire is startling. So this is what it's like when he's unrestrained, hot and animalistic, rutting fast and hard, pushing you into a further arch while his sharp teeth nip at the back of your neck and shoulders.

Eywa, if he’d worked this hard, this determinedly, this fiercely whenever you fought, maybe you’d actually have respect for him.

It's starting to get too much, the coil in your stomach growing too close too soon, and your moans are starting to border on lewd whines and whimpers as you sink your teeth into the flesh of your arms. You're clutching the ground for dear damn life, arms attempting to pillow your face as your whole body rocks forward with each rough, almost ruthless thrust.

Pearls of blood are collecting from where your fangs are sunk into your smooth skin, but you ignore it, much rathering the pain than Aonung having the satisfaction of knowing how long you’d be without it. Aonung too, is tense behind you. You can sense the effort he goes to keeping quiet.

It’s a fucking game, pretending neither is impressed by the other, when he’s punching every breath out of you with deep thrusts, and each clench of your walls around him is about to drive him insane. You’re both close, and you both know it, given the way he’s twitching inside you, and you’re fluttering around him.

“Go on then,” you groan through gritted teeth. “I promise, I’ll be gracious about my win.”

“You wish,” he huffs, but you can feel him twitch inside of you. Each rock of his hips knocks every breath, every thought out of you until your heart is pounding in rhythm with each increasingly rough, deep, animalistic thrust of his cock rutting between your legs.

You just bury your face deeper into your arms, hoping that they'll be enough to hide the moans knocked out of you with each of his deep thrusts. He has you pinned firmly beneath him, yet it feels snug and comforting despite the pain of his grip. It feels like he's fucking everything into you, even his scent, so each thrust is enveloping you in his warm, tropical smell.

And with a surge of panic, you feel that familiar heat to growing again, and by the way Aonung is hissing and groaning and burying his face in your neck, you can tell he’s close too. With a final chance to finish this, you’re suddenly rolling over and pushing him back against the sand.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting to see from Aonung; you had no idea what he looked like when you were ass up with your face half buried in the sand. But you certainly weren’t expecting those blue eyes dark and wide and hungry, his lips to be parted in a silent gasp.

His hands fall straight to your hips, slowly rocking you on him. You stare the whole time. With narrowed eyes and shallowed breaths, it’s all a challenge. And you’re determined to win.

“Go on,” you hiss, attempting to grin down at Aonung despite your flushed face and hair spilling anywhere. He looks like he’s about to protest, and you know you have one move left to pull. You finally unsink your teeth from your lips and let it all out. The moment your moan rents the air, Aonung tenses below you. And when your head tips back and your back arches, you both know he’s a goner.

It never occurred to you, just how gentle he’d been, until he’s completely let go, allowed the crushing desire to overcome him. He's half thrusting up into you, half picking up and slamming down your body onto him. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think you could hear him moaning your name.

You yelp as he speeds up now, brutal and animalistic as the last tenterhooks of his final restraint snaps and he buries himself deep inside you. And finally, you can’t hold it any longer, flopping forward against his chest and doing your best to ride out your high.

“Holy shit,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to breathe properly. Aonung doesn’t reply, and when you look up, you find him inches away, staring blankly at you. You quickly scramble off him, snatching up your tewng and covering yourself up. You try your best to ignore the come dripping between your legs, or the flush on your face. “I won.”

Aonung’s face stills, back to his regular, blank stare, though you weren’t sure what you were even reading in it before.

“Yeah whatever,” he grumbles. “Still a freak.”

“A freak who had you fucking moaning my name,” you mutter under your breath, making sure you’re all covered up again. “And you are still an entitled, bratty, fishlipped sore loser.”

“Fuck off,” he grunts, smacking you hard with his tail, and you straighten up, glaring at him. He just glares straight back, both of your chests heaving as you still fight for breath, eyes narrowed and tails flicking agitatedly.

Finally, you just huff and turn, storming back along the beach away from the training grounds and Aonung, and back to the village and the marui you share with your family. You ignore their delight at your win in the fight; they have no idea what happened after, and you fully intend to keep it that way.

For some reason, you don’t feel as satisfied by your other win as you thought. It had been gratifying to watch as Aonung just completely lost control, and maybe you even enjoyed watching him lose his temper and toss and pull you around like you weighed nothing. You scowl and slump onto your sleeping mat.

Stupid skxawng, not admitting you won, when you both knew he was practically whimpering your name. The trouble was how difficult it had been for you not to do the same, moan out his name. And then there was the other trouble. That it had been nothing like you’d ever experienced, being stretched far further than ever before, him reaching places you didn’t even think were possible.

It was harder than anything. Harder than your iknimaya, harder than escaping Quaritch even. It was almost physically impossible, not to just collapse against him, not to moan your pleasure for Eywa to hear. And certainly not for Aonung to hear. If he knew how shaky you feel, how sore your legs are and how faint your head is, the stupid skxawng would never let you hear the end of it.

So you just slump back against your sleeping mat, trying not to think about how you have to train with him the next morning.

──────⊱⁜⊰──────

༊ Taglist: @hadesbabygurl @wavesarchive @kqlopsia @tadomikiku @ntymavtr @mommyanddadskiller @thehoneymushroomhealer @tsireyax @integers @tiyawnyana @whatevenisagrapefruit @oakbuggy @sunsetviper @blue-slxt @simplyawh0re Okay let me know if i forgot someone hope you pookie pies enjoyed 🙃

[slutforitoshi]

nagi seishiro - illuminate *:･ﾟ✧

ft. fratboy!nagi x f!reader, 18+ minors dni

cw: intoxication/fucking under the influence (alcohol), nipple play, thigh riding, fingering, choking, cumming on body

synopsis: what happens when you lose your roommate at the biggest frat party of the semester?

wc: 2.06k

A/N: inspired entirely by a whiteout party i went to last night 

you stopped trying to look for your new roommate about half an hour ago, giving up the impossible search in a sea of sweaty bodies dimly lit by uv lights. 

“pleaseee” she had said with doe eyes, begging you to go with her to the first frat party of the semester. you barely knew anyone within greek life and the last time you were at a frat party some random girl threw up all over your new dunks. this was before you knew frat shoes were a thing, and the memory makes you shudder. 

“i heard ksig has really cute guysss” she continued, still trying to convince you to come.

you rolled your eyes, “sorry i’m not interested in lumberjack built gym rats whose greatest contribution to society is shotgunning beer cans in seconds.” 

“what else could you possibly be doing this saturday night? and don’t tell me it’s homework because it’s just syllabus week” she exasperates, not giving up, 

“well-” you started, but then realized she had a point. 

“come on it’s the biggest party of the semester”

and that’s how you ended up at kappa sigma’s fall rush social: whiteout theme. looking at the state of the frat house, you wondered who came up with that terrible idea. the uv lights only highlighted the filth on every visible surface area. upon entry you were already regretting your decision.

that regret only grew when you realized your new roommate was a runner. you lost her barely half an hour in, unable to find her in any public space. you chose to avoid looking in the private rooms though because well you know what happens in there during parties. 

low battery: 20%. great now your phone was running low too. there had to be at least another two hours before the party ended, and something told you your roommate wouldn’t be calling you back anytime soon. 

“HE JUST DOESN’T MISS!!” a deep voice booms followed by an eruption of incoherent yelling. a crowd was growing near the beer pong table, and you decided to join them. it had to be better than sitting alone doing nothing on a couch now that your phone was low.

you push your way towards the front to see what the noise was about, and you see a duo stood at one end along with a singular guy at the other. the one-man team was clearly dominating as visible by the cup ratio: 1 to 8. he is up, having to land a pingpong ball into the remaining cup twice. 

shoot, in. the first shot is successful, and you could hear people murmur in anticipation. 

shoot…in. the crowd erupts in an instance, and the guy is hoisted up onto another’s shoulders. there, you finally get a good look at him and your stomach flips. he’s fucking hot.

all your previous qualms about the theme were long forgotten as you see how his white hair glows under the dark lights, illuminating his figure. he’s tall too, nearly touching the high ceiling from the shoulder ride. 

“LET’S FUCKING GO THAT’S OUR SEI!” the guy carrying him shouts, earning whoops and hollers from who you assume are the ksig brothers. 

“so his name is sei” you murmur, liking the way it sounds on your tongue.

“can i go play games upstairs now?” sei asks, and his brothers boo in response. he seems entirely different from the other frat boys, almost bored at his win, like it was only obvious that he would sweep the other team. your attraction continues to grow.

“come on sei, you never come to these things. at least stay for a little longer.”

“what a hassle” you hear him say softly as he’s lowered back down to the ground. his brothers go to the next room for more drinks you assume, but sei stays put near the table. and suddenly you’re met with an opportunity. 

you swish around the remaining jungle juice in your solo cup for a bit before raising it to your lips and downing it in one breath. you needed a shot of courage (or multiple in this case because why the fuck did that taste like 80% alcohol). 

“you were really good back there” you lean on the pong table, facing your body towards sei who was currently occupied with his phone. he looks up from his device, and you don’t miss the glance he gives towards your body.  

suddenly you’re thankful that the only clean white fit you had was coincidentally your sluttiest one. the crossed fabric that wrapped around your neck defined your cleavage, and the short tennis skirt threatened to show your ass at the slightest bending motion. 

“oh thanks…do i know you?” 

ouch. 

“probably not, this is my first ksig function” you try to ignore the heat that flashes across your face, “not really a frat party person.”

“me neither. the bros made me come today since there were zetas talking shit about our pong game” he responded, and you’re thankful to find common ground.

“well clearly they weren’t much of a match. i’m surprised you’re a brother if you don’t go out often”

“hm i actually only joined on a bet. my friend said he’d buy me a ps5 game if i got a bid” he shrugged. “i’ve been trying to drop for over a year now, but they need me for the tournaments”

“tournaments?” you ask, clearly not the most knowledgeable about frat culture. 

“yeah for pong and beer die. they think ksig has a shot at the finales for the first time in years or something” 

they probably do judging by sei’s performance just a few minutes prior. you reach for a ping pong ball, purposefully grazing his arm lightly to reach it.

“can you show me how to throw? i suck” you pout slightly. technically it wasn’t a lie, you couldn’t aim for shit, especially not while buzzed. 

“it’s easy, it’s all in the elbows” he takes a ball himself and shoots, naturally landing it of course. you try to mimic him after, only to see the ball bounce off the cup’s rim. 

“you’re bending your wrist too much” he comments, handing you another ball. you try again, and it ricochets off one cup, barely missing the one next to it. 

“you’re overextending your arm now” he says, already with another ball in hand. 

“let me show you”, you expect him to demonstrate again but instead he places it in your hand and takes position behind you. he raises your arm with his own, showing you exactly how the movement should go. you’re focused on anything but the technique though, instead thinking about how warm his fingers are against your wrist. 

“now you try” he says, by your ear. holy shit he’s right there. he doesn’t move from the position though, and the nerves caused by his proximity makes you miss terribly.

“how did you get even worse,” he’s clearly shocked, doubting his own teaching ability for a second, “you should just give up” he concludes.

“hey it’s just because you were so close” you defend yourself, eyes widening once you realize what it suggested.

“do i make you nervous?” he smirks, and you’ve never felt smaller (maybe that’s also because he’s literally towering over you). 

“so what if you do?” you retort, digging yourself a deeper hole. 

“want to go to my room?”

~~~

the door is barely shut before your lips are on each other, tasting remnants of alcohol. he leads you to his gaming chair, seating you on top of his lap. immediately you can feel a bulge form under you.

sei’s kisses aren’t aggressive, but needy. his hands are on your waist, pulling you in further towards his chest. then back out, creating just the right friction beneath your skirt. you build a rhythm, grinding on his thighs, which you note are quite toned. 

“f-fuck sei” you moaned against him, resulting in a tightened grip on your hips. 

“you’re making a mess” he observes, pleased at the damp streaks forming on his pants. while one hand remains at the side of your waist, he moves the other one up, settling on your right breast. he eagerly tugs your shirt to free it, capturing the bud with his fingertips. pinching and rolling, emitting louder moans from you. 

“so fucking perfect” he murmurs before diving in, capturing the sensitive bead between his lips. the sensation pushes you further to the edge, eyes rolling back as his tongue circles it.  

he picks you up easily from the chair, face still buried in your chest. he sets you down on his bed and starts to unbuckle his belt. you remove your own drenched panties and move to do the same with your skirt.

“keep this on” he smacks your hand away from the waistband, “i’ve always wanted to fuck someone with a skirt on”

he takes off his shirt with one pull, and wow abs. he smirks again, seeing your eyes fixated on his body. 

“like what you see?”

“how could i not?”

if you looked closely you would be able to see his cock twitch, clearly thrilled at the validation. his lips are on you again, and he mumbles out a “you drive me fucking crazy”

fingers are prodding near your entrance, and you instinctively shut your legs from the sensitivity.

“keep them open” he pulls your knees apart, strong arms keeping them from shutting again. he circles your clit first, lubricating his digits with the surplus of slick. once satisfied, he enters with two at once, earning a particularly long moan from the stretch.

“so wet” he starts to pump, quickening his pace, “all for me”

“just like that sei just like that” you repeat, intoxicated by the feeling. the squelching noises are overwhelming, bouncing off the walls. then he curls his fingers.

“don’t do that i-” you choke out, “i’ll cum!”

he doesn’t stop though, still thrusting his perfectly curled fingers through your orgasm. wait, what kind of frat boy makes the girl cum first? 

before you could ponder too much he’s wrapping an arm under you, swiftly flipping you over onto your stomach. you go onto your knees, and he’s nearly cumming at the view of your ass up against him. 

glancing back you see him quickly rip open a condom with his teeth before slipping it on, as if he’s done it a billion times before. with looks like those you wouldn’t be surprised.

he positions himself behind you, aligning himself with your entrance before pushing. 

“seiii” you drawl, in awe at how perfect he fits within you. 

his hands are positioned at your hips, slowly thrusting his own against you as you grow accustomed to the intrusion. 

“y-you can go faster” you moan, and what can he do but comply. his thrusts are sharp and quick, and you begin to hear his own breathy moans at the feeling of your velvety walls. 

“your body’s so perfect…like it was made for me” he groans. his right hand moves away from your hips and rest against your throat, squeezing. 

the sudden loss of oxygen makes your mind go into a haze, unable to focus on anything but the pleasure. 

“flip over” he suddenly goes, before moving you himself. “need to cum while seeing you”

his hand remains on your throat as he continues to fuck you in missionary, getting closer as he hears those sinful moans and sees your face permanently plastered with an expression of ecstasy. 

“want you to cum on me” you plead, “want you to make me a mess”

unable to say no, he pulls out and rips off the condom with alarming speed. within a few pumps of his hand he’s granting your wish, decorating your upper body with thick spurts of white. 

you’re sure it would be a sight if you were to step back into the party under the uv lights. 

~~~

sorry i totally forgot to tell you i left with a guy >.<

you stare blankly at the text from your roommate displayed on your screen. yeah you were never going out with this girl again. 

“just stay here with me” sei says, also seeing the text from over your shoulder. “i’ll take you home tomorrow”

well you’d have to thank her for dragging you out this one time at least. you shut off your phone and succumb to sleep in the arms of your not-so-typical frat boy.

[faeriekit]

sorry I need to lose my mind for a couple paragraphs:

THIS old man is WHITEPASSING.

So, if you're wondering how the hell this dude is Whitepassing, please note that this is restricted to a single comics run rather than All Alfreds in the Known Multiverse™. Anyway, I was reading the Dark Knights of Steel vol 2 of my own accord (and against the better judgement of friends) because I apparently enjoy suffering when I got the to the "Alfred has secretly been J'onn J'onezz the whole time" schtick and my brain turned clean off.

Because. Implications.

To start, when they draw J'onn as himself as opposed to his "Alfred" disguise:

J'onn is still drawn with what look like typically "Black" features, albeit with a few Martian overtones: high cheekbones, a broad face, a flat, wide nose. His "Alfred" form is distinctly differently structured with a narrow face, sharp nose, etc etc. Couple that with a backstory explicitly referencing escaping from a war and attempted enslavement, this is a pretty strong attempt at an allegorical Black alien, even if, uh, you know. It's also Alfred. (And yes this is all ignoring that J'onn is usually portrayed as Black; I just wanted to see if his allegorical Blackness still held up in this particular comic run.)

And there's a lot to be said here about the long and storied history of having black caregivers raise privileged white children and the racism embedded therein but that's not what's happening!! As far as I've gotten (and this is as far as reading vol 2 of the dark knights of steel compendium, and only vol 2), Alfred did stay beside Bruce ever since Bruce's parents kicked the bucket, but.

No one else knew "Alfred" was a nonhuman.

Not Bruce. Not his friends (if he has any). Not his fellows in the army, nor anyone else in the entire world— because due to the inherent prejudice of the setting, everyone he knew would quite possibly turn their back on him or turn him in if his true history was revealed. The world at large was prejudiced against him and non-humans like him, and the solution was to hide or otherwise obscure both history and origin so that he could move freely without repercussions. Even Bruce in this run, the only guy "Alfred" is with at all times, is shown to be prejudiced against non-humans and explicitly hostile. Hiding is shown to be not just necessary, but the only surefire way to survive the Plot™.

So, uh. Just to make sure everyone is on the same page, do y'all know what Whitepassing is...? Ever since White people started bringing slavery to the shores of the new world in the 1600s, people were pretty quick to discover that as long as you were born light enough, people would no longer harass you for doing dangerous and scary things like wanting to own property or to stop being held captive and forced to do hard labor or wanting to keep your own kids. It was easy to do! Provided, of course, that you could 1) escape your circumstances in some manner, 2) give up every person you ever knew, including all friends, family, and references to thereof, and 3) pretend you're someone else for the rest of your life without ever breaking your own cover.

You may be thinking, wow, this sounds horrible and traumatizing! Sure does, and that's because it is! But it's a pretty well-known part of the Black community even today, because if you could pass, you had an infinitely better chance at making enough money to live. You could feed your kids. You could save up to own your own home. You could get a career that didn't physically break you down or disable you.

Passing is giving yourself as good a chance to live as anyone else could ever get, and all it costs is everyone and everything you've ever known. Of course people chose to pass. Of course people choose to pass even here and now.

And you know what? As soon as J'onn reveals his nature, someone close to the throne takes advantage of the knowledge to immediately kill him. Fucked up. It's notable that, in some way or form, J'onn J'onzz, Martian man from outer space, is always human-passing, but the sheer implications of being explicitly depicted as Whitepassing, even if only accidentally, blew my brain clean open.

Imagine passing in a world completely foreign to you. You don't know their customs. You don't know their language at first. You have to learn to adapt. You can't say your true name or show your true face, or everyone will know who you are— what you are. Eventually, you learn to let people close to the mask you've made, but you can never relax with them; you can say your wife is dead, but they cannot hear her name, or they will Know. You can tell them your child died in your arm, but you can't tell them where, or when, or why.

You raise a child to adulthood. They do not know your true form, and you pray they never will.

You tell them the name appropriate for their society, and that is what they call you.

Anyway. This old man is Whitepassing. I feel so bad for him.

(It's important to note that while this part of the storyline doesn't seem to go anywhere that wasn't plot relevant, that somehow didn't stop it from manifesting in the middle of this medieval aliens comic. Which. Wow. What a move.)

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

a noble runs into MC and the nobody devil while they’re on a date and MC introduces them to each other when confronted…

didn’t mean to annoy you by being clumsy and sending 3 asks in a row. apologies🤦

It'a fine, pussy, my imbox is empty, so there's no tragedy in giving the same request multiple times. For my sake, I'll just name the demon Marian, but you can imagine anything else instead.

Whb nobles seeing MC with another devil

Zagan

He was just going on his morning jog when he spotted you and Marian

Everyone in Gehenna knows everyone else in Gehenna, so don't be surprised that they know eachother.

Zagan would be kind of shy when getting closer to you and nod at the two of you

"Oh, hi Zagan! This is Marian, my boyfriend."

His face doesn't change much but you can tell that the realisation struck him

He shakes Marian's hand and leaves.

You should be thankful it was him that found you two and not someone more... aggressive

Astaroth

He's stuck

On one hand, this is such an amazing love story plot.

The child of Solomon, the human that could have them all settles with a nobody.

They are everything and he's just Marian

The drama, the romance, the tragedy that could spur out of something like this

He's all for it

But on the other hand, really?

You have all the kings drooling after you, all the nobles lining up to make a carpet out of their bodies so you won't have to step on dirt, and you choose... Marian?

Humans trully are fascinating creatures

He doesn't say anything when he sees the two of you, just hiding behind a corner and observing. He's really invested now, be ready to find his newly published novel about a queen falling for a layman on your nightstand

Bimet

He audibly gasps

He is revolted, he is insulted, he is disgusted

How fucking dare you

He doesn't know who that demon is, nor does he care

He would power walk between you two and look only into your eyes.

"MC, I didn't think I would find you! Who's the accessory you have with you? What's his purpose and when will he expire?"

"That's my boyfriend Marian."

"Hahaha, you're soooo funny! You're already dating Mammon. Do you really need something as... insignificant as this devil?"

You start arguing with Bimet until he just picks Marian up and takes you to the royal quert.

When Mammon gives the verdict that you can date anyone you want, Bimet's entire attitute changes.

He congratulates you for finding such a handsome devil and wishes you both ferwell.

Glasylabolas

Oh ho ho ho, now this, this is interesting

He's gonna have the time of his life with this one

First, he takes pictures of you two on the date, holding hands, hugging, any physical contact works

Then he makes his presence known

He's a lot more cheerful than usual and he eggs both of you on.

He acts like you two being together was his OTP all along, talking about how you two are just made for eachother

"Oh, but MC, why haven't you told his majesty Leviathan about your blooming relationship with this young fella? Should I do the honorifics myself?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, he just summons his coffin and teleports to Leviathan's throne room to tell him the gossip.

Seeing you and your boyfriend hanging put a smile on his face

Next time, try not to get caught

Stolas

He just shoots the guy

No warning, no anything

He doesn't want to hear your complaints

A vermin was touching the child of Solomon in a romantic manner

Avisos' one law is to not steal someone else's partner

And you're clearly dating Beelzebub, so Stolas was just enforcing the law

You had to rush your boyfriend to Paradise Lost to get treatment, but Stolas won't apologise

You have to explain to him step by step that 1. You're not dating Beelzebub and 2. You chose to date Marian because you genuinly love him

It takes him a while to process, and he still has doupts, but he'll pay for the treatment of your boyfriend

Ronové

You don't see or hear him coming, you just feel his arms snake around your neck

He congratules you for getting a boyfriend and shakes the devils hand.

He's actually very chill about the whole ordeal, but he seems weirdly fascinated about the other demon's sex life

He really doesn't want the child of Solomon to get sexually frustrated

He would offer to show him how its done, but you slapped Ronové before you could finish

He just chuckles and hands the devil a business card

Before he leaves, he whispers in your ear "if he doesn't treat you well, chop his dick off. Or better, ask me to do it."

Andrealphus

At least it's not an angel

When Andrealphus walk closer to the two of you, your date starts shaking in fear

Andrealphus just smiles and hugs you since he hasn't seen you in a while (insert blind joke here)

He smiles at your date, which doesn't help make him look less intimidating

As long as that devil doesn't pose a threat to you, he's fine with letting you date whoever you want

Your date might faint after Andrealphus leaves, but you both are glad that nobody got murdered.

Buer

He's confused and a bit offended

I mean, Lucifer is right there

It kind of reminds him of that story Lucifer once told him about his younger self. How he fell in love with a human princess but the princess chose some random dude instead of him and he got depressed.

He doesn't want that to happen again so he probably would move you and your new sweetheart to different sides of the hospital

If you try to comfront him about it he's just like "You are under my care and he's under Marbas' care, there's no reason for him to be in the same wing as you"

He wants to break you two off, but not directly. So he just hopes that the physical distance between you and your boyfriend would make the relationship deteriorate by itself.

Would probably stop only if Lucifer tells him to knock it off

[arthurthepeoplesprincess]

Merlin fandom try not to act like the Knights of the Round Table were secretly pro-magic activists challenge (impossible). Why do you act like they weren’t grown ass men who willingly chose to work for the system oppressing magic users?

it wasn’t a secret to anybody that one of the obvious job requirements was occasionally murdering people.

But but you don’t get it! When the magic reveal happens, they’re all going to be protecting babygirl Merlin against bad alpha Arthur (as if they weren’t all following the same fucking system).

You can’t possibly believe these people actually give a fuck about magic. I’m so sorry but that’s ridiculous.

Controversial opinion, but when you think about it, Arthur was actually the least worst of them all because, unlike the rest of them, he was the only one who had no choice in doing this job. He was canonically groomed into becoming a child soldier and was brainwashed and abused directly by the fucking dictator himself. He canonically said that if he had a choice in his life, he wouldn’t be here, and if I’m not mistaken, he was the only one of them to ever question if the system was wrong. The rest of them were just going with it with no second thoughts and didn’t give a fuck at all.

A lot of people fail to remember that 1) Uther is the only family Arthur ever knew, 2) his only family also happens to be the narcissistic tyrant who we saw committing all types of atrocities, 3) he was isolated (he didn’t even have friends before Merlin arrived), and 4) he was only fed lies and half-truths his entire life.

Like, is it crazy that he was brainwashed?? No?? Why do you act like he was like that solely because he’s an annoying brat lol.

And imagine this: after all that brainwashing, where your abuser drills 'Magic is evil' in every possible way, he unfortunately gets proven right multiple times (82.05% of the times Arthur was aware of magic being used, it was used in a harmful way, based on a meta made by anarchycox, thenerdyindividual on AO3).

So, considering all the brainwashing, the abuse, and magic being used to hurt Arthur or someone he loves or the entire kingdom, he still has it in him to try and think that maybe there’s good in everyone, that maybe Uther was wrong.

Do you know how crazy that is?? I want you to stop and think: would you do that if you were in his situation? Because I’m definitely not going to, but maybe I’m just an immoral person lol.

And also, stop acting like Arthur wasn’t doing anything when he became king. He stopped the mindless murder of anyone who had magic and only punished those who used it to do harm and that was after a trial.

You might say that this is just the bare minimum, which is somewhat correct but not entirely because 1) Arthur only ruled for four years, meaning he didn’t have time, 2) there were tensions and wars started by Uther that he was trying to undo, meaning the magic situation wasn’t the only thing going on, and 3) the entire population had been brainwashed for 30 years and was terrorized by Morgana’s followers very recently. Like, sure, it’s definitely a good decision as a newly crowned king to just suddenly repeal the laws and no one would mind not Uther's followers, not the nobles, and certainly not the average citizen, right?

Also disclaimer: this is neither me hating on the knights nor saying you can’t like them, nor is it me excusing everything Arthur ever did or saying that he was 100% innocent, because he definitely wasn’t. It’s just me saying that maybe you should consider his trauma and point of view before making him into the bad villain and then believing that the knights were better people, because they definitely weren’t.

[torao-d-water-ya]

Trafalgar Law, the Don Quixote brothers, and why Doffy takes such personal offence to the existence of Lawlu (Part 1: Faith)

1. How can you trust Straw-hat so much?

Doflamingo kicks up a huge fuss about Law forming an alliance with Luffy from the get go, and continues to go on about it till literal moments before he gets put down by Luffy at the end of the arc. 

Up until this point we've seen Law act pretty casual about his relationship with Luffy – he saved him at Marinford on a whim, he's forming an alliance out of convenience, "this doesn't mean we’re friends". It isn't until we see Doflamingo's reaction to this development that we realize the importance it holds for Law's character, and stop to think about what it might represent, given the context of his past. To Doflamingo, who’s seen Law at his lowest – who’s seen the kid who’d stopped believing in anything, and wanted to destroy the world – Law’s faith in Luffy, who seems to stand in antithesis to all that Doflamingo stands for, is a huge fucking deal.  

Doflamingo already knows, of course, what changed his heart all those years ago. But he asks anyway, because Law showing up here with Luffy, even after all this time, feels like salt being rubbed in the wound; Doffy’s pride can’t take it. Law gives him the easy answer – the simple, surface level answer. He trusts Luffy because he believes in the will of D, because Cora-san believed in the will of D. 

But we all know there’s a lot more to it than that. 

2. Why did you choose him, Law?

13 years ago, Doflamingo lost Law, his chosen successor, to Rocinante. That’s what he’s seeing every time he’s faced with Law’s partnership with Luffy – that’s why he’s so hung up over it. Law being here with Luffy just serves as a reminder of him choosing Corazon, all those years ago. A reminder that even though it was Doflamingo who pulled the trigger to kill his own brother, in the end, Corazon won. They were both children of the same wretched circumstances, but where Doffy decided to destroy the world for what it had done to him, Cora chose instead to save it. Then along comes Law, another child ravaged by fate, and Doffy sees in him an exact mirror of his past. Sees a weapon, ripe for the taking  – one that might someday be used to destroy the world at his behest.

That is, until Corazon manages to save him, too.  And in trying to live up to the man Cora-san would want him to be, Law stumbles into becoming the sort of person who would stand side by side with the ‘fool’ that is Straw-hat Luffy.

3. Why do you want to die in vain ... alongside this dumbshit?

It isn’t about the Will of D, not really. The first time Law laid eyes on Luffy, he watched the guy punch a Celestial Dragon in the face without a second’s hesitation, because it was the right thing to do. If it weren’t for this moment, Law would never have been compelled to sail to Marineford, thus putting his entire crew in danger, to save the life of an almost-stranger bearing the initial of D. There’s a quality in Luffy that drew Law to him, and it’s the same sort of quality that incited Cora-san to ditch his mission and run off to save Law’s life. 

It’s the sort of quality that Doflamingo, for all his talk, could never hope to understand. 

[wolfnight2012]

EPIC!Polites had to die

(Hear me out!)

Anyways, i talked a bit about how Polites literally moves the plot in EPIC ( here) but this time I'm sorta gonna mirror the arguments.

So, this is all gonna come across as Polites favoritism, but (though you don't have to agree with what I say) know my arguments are taken straight from the text.

So, why does Polites have to die?

Because EPIC cannot happen without his death (for two reasons)

Number One

As I state in my linked post, Polites is the only person Odysseus is shown to listen to.

Odysseus changes his mind/his actions 3 times in Act 1.

Zeus: Odysseus would not have killed that infant if Zeus did not tell him to. Zeus tells him the infant will kill Odysseus' loved ones in the future & with a heavy heart, Odysseus acquiesces.

Tiresias: Odysseus would not have become the monster if the prophet had not told him he would never get home + Penelope was with a murderer.

Polites: at the end of "Open Arms" Odysseus starts to seriously consider Polites' words (that's why he sings Polites' words "Greet the world with open arms" back to him.) Thats also why that's the moment Athena chooses to come berate Odysseus. Odysseus has been guilt-ridden since Astyanax, but Athena chooses this moment, when Odysseus is with Polites & listening to him, to tell him he's "forgotten to turn off [his] heart."

One of these instances is not like the other.

Unlike with Zeus or Tiresias, Polites is not threatening Penelope/Odysseus' family.

These are also not the only instances of someone trying to change Odysseus' mind (or trying to tell him what to do)

Odysseus disregards Athena's instructions to kill Polyphemus & when she doubles down on his recklessness/disappointing actions, Odysseus essentially tells her to fuck right off.

Odysseus refuses to give Poseidon a real apology (not saying it would have saved his crew or not, but Odysseus clearly thought it would, hence him playing along)

Odysseus doesn't allow himself to be tempted by Circe in order to save his men (not saying this is a bad thing btw!!)

And then there's Eurylochus.

Eurylochus, notably, tries to reason with change Odysseus' mind a whopping Five Times in Act 1.

Full Speed Ahead: "We don't know what's ahead"

Remember Them: "Captain, we should run"

Storm: "Captain, we will capsize with these waves, our fleet will fail"

Luck Runs Out: (literally the entire song)

Puppeteer: "Think about the men we have left, before there're none"

And Odysseus listens a total of zero times.

And yet, unlike with "Luck Runs Out" when Polites tries to tell Odysseus to change his behavior/his mind/his way of thinking, Odysseus puts up a lukewarm resistance at best AND he sincerely considers Polites' words.

Number Two

Out of all the characters we've been introduced to this far (up to the Thunder Saga) Polites is the one who knows Odysseus best (AND the one he is closest to)

I know we only have 2-3 songs to establish Odysseus & Polites' relationship while Polites is alive (though he does very much haunt the narrative, even up to "Suffering" as Jorge recently-ish informed us) but OH BOY, is it Thoroughly established.

Full Speed ahead:

The joy in Odysseus' voice when he greets Polites vs the more professional affection given to Eurylochus' entrance.

Not only the fact that Odysseus chooses Polites out of 600 men to scout the island with him, but that he choses only Polites. Either he can trust his life to Polites' skill as a warrior OR (more likely imo) he wants some alone time. And he feels he can be alone/himself with Polites.

Open Arms:

Polites immediately knows something's up with Odysseus but (unlike Eurylochus in "Luck Runs Out") he doesn't say anything in front of the crew, rather waiting until they're alone on the island. Either Polites has more tact than Eury OR (more likely imo) he knows Ody--enough to know he doesnt respond well to being called out in front of others or how to best approach a conversation about his mental state

Polites correctly calls out that Odysseus is tired of war (which Odysseus confirms in "Just a Man"), that he's stressed out ("Look at how you grip your sword, enough said"), and that something is eating at him ("I see in your face there is so much guilt inside your heart")

Odysseus never gets defensive with Polites or shuts down him down (unlike in "Luck Runs Out") despite the fact that Polites IS calling Odysseus out, (Just Like Eurylochus in LRO!) The most we get is a half-hearted/unconvincing "I'm fine, Polites" which makes ME think Ody isn't trying too hard to convince Polites, either because he knows he can't get one past his best friend or because he doesnt want to wear a mask, not around Polites.

((arguably!!)) Odyssues only goes to the cave/trusts the lotus-eater's information because of Polites (which is another instance of him being swayed by Polites or of the affection he holds for his friend being strong enough for him to want to please him)

Survive:

Polites' death is what causes Odysseus to freeze up/go into shock. Odysseus stops captaining his men & leaves them orderless (despite their pleas for him to resume command) solely because Polites dies (and we do have confirmation on this given that in the last live-stream, the stage directions during "Remember Them" tell us Odysseus is still staring at Polites' body up until Eurylochus snaps him out of it)

So, why do I think Polites had to die to keep the EPIC plot as is?

Well, given the information we have (and including no further speculation or headcanons) we know five things:

Odysseus trusts Polites

Odysseus cares deeply about Polites

Polites can effectively tell when something is bothering Odysseus

Polites can call Odysseus out without getting shut out/down

Polites can get Odysseus to listen/change his mind

Which tells me, Polites could have likely prevented everything past the blinding of Polyphemus.

We KNOW Polites' death is a large part of what causes Odysseus to shout out his name ("My friend is dead") but beyond that:

If anyone is going to tell something is eating at Odysseus in the Ocean Saga, it's Polites. (No other crew member tries to figure out how Odyssues is doing mentally/emotionally OR figures out what's bothering him beyond "Everything's changed since Polites") If Polites is alive, Odysseus isn't carrying all the weight on his own, because Polites will notice & reach out

Polites has a track record of getting Odysseus to listen. If they need to talk to him, it most likely wouldn't be Eurylochus stepping up if Polites lived

Odysseus trusts Polites. If they still get the windbag, Odysseus is letting Polites take a shift

If Polites lives, the plot of EPIC is diverted during the Ocean Saga at latest. Either Odysseus isn't made reckless with grief/anger & thus doesn't reveal his name. Or he doesn't become isolated/succumbs to his stress (and thus allows doubt to sow within the crew) because Polites is there to reach out. Or he trusts the windbag to Polites & they make it home to Ithaca.

Polites has to die to cement Odysseus' downward spiral.

Thank you for coming to my tedtalk.

[idcbabyialreadylostmymind]

Blood of my Blood pt.4

Pairing-Sully family x Sully!reader

Summary- There is so much you would do for your family even at a young age but there is one thing you just couldn't do so you do the only thing you find reasonable you run.

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4

A/N- Low-key sad this series is ending its been one of my favs a wrote but thank you all who supported me amd this series I hope you like the ending 🫶🏼

Na'vi Translations: Sempu- Daddy, Sa'nu- mommy

You felt someone shaking you awake and finally you woke up from your first peaceful sleep in a while. You open your eyes and see Neteyam and Kiri standing over you and Tuk sitting up eating some citrus like fruit. ''Uh, hey good morning to you too.'' You say rubbing your tired eyes that threaten to close every once and a while.

''We just wanted to say thanks for taking the blame yesterday you didn't have to but you did.'' He said and you smiled, "Where's Lo'ak?" You ask about the absence of your other younger brother as you lifted yourself out of bed and into a changing area. "Still asleep " Kiri replied and you only hum in response.

Quickly, changing into a feather intricate top and a long skirt that was white and soft. Walking out Tuk squeals and tugs at your skirt and you laugh. ''Can I have a long skirt?'' She asked and you took her hand in yours. ''I'm sure I can whip you up something.'' You say and she yells in excitement.

You all walked into the communal area and at the very center sat Kamun, Jake, Neytiri, and Peyral who seemed deep in conversation. But Neteyam stopped and cursed under his breath. ''I have to get that scroll dad asked for or his gonna skin me alive.'' He said as he ran back up to the rooms. ''Shoot me and Tuk are supposed to gather herbs for trade, can you tell mom that we are doing our duties and will attend later.'' Kiri said, picking up Tuk and running into an empty healers tent.

You were dumbfounded they just did that. You shrug and sit next to Kamun and Jake "Uh they wanted me to tell you they'll join later they got some stuff to do." You tell the two a you begin peeling a star shaped fruit. Cutting the fruit someone bumped into you making the knife slice your hand, ''Fucking shit.'' You say as you drop the fruit and knife everyone watches as you leave and go into a healer's tent.

Only thing you didn't notice were the two other omaticaya na'vi following your worried expression laced their faces.

''Do you need help.'' Neytiri asked and you bit your lip.

Of course you wanted help, you wanted to crawl into their laps and talk about useless stuff, curl your head into their necks amd have them rub your back as they used to, tell stories, you wanted to melt into their warmth, the warmth you've yearned for years.

But you couldn't help but hold resentment towards your parents for what they did, how they chose something like that and expected you to be okay with it.

You shake your head yes as you wrap the cut up horribly. "Here I can help." Jake says walking towards you and you quickly grow irritated with their presence as you step back from his reaching hand. "I'm fine." You say to him tightening the bandage. "Y/N please-" Jake said and you inhale and glare daggers into his direction. "What?" You say harshly.

"Just listen to us-" Cut off again. "Why?" You ask, "Why should I listen to you?" You hiss at the two and it seemed you inherited the patience of your father as he soon grew irritated with your stubbornness. "I don't know why you are angry at us." He said and you laughed, your laughter was full of bitterness. "You don't know, that's rich." You say rubbing your eyes. "Hey you're the one who left, remember." He said and you look at him and clench your fist the anger that began bubbling from the start was now boiling as you stared at your father.

"Yeah the one who left," you retaliate stepping closer to him. "You two had my entire life planned out for me. Didn't give me a chance." Your voice breaks as your eyes fill to the brim with tears, but you refused to let them fall, to let them see you break. "Didn't give me a chance." Your voice was barely above a whisper. "Didn't even give me a choice." You say looking at them.

Neytiri felt shameful she knew the arrangement was wrong all those years ago but she didn't wanna risk war so she risked her daughters happiness, how ashamed she felt was nothing in comparison to how Jake felt and what you are about to say smaked the realization into his face.

"I was just a kid."

Walking out of the room and not turning back. Jake's face had a few tears that seemed to slip past his eye and he looked at his mate who shared the same expression, pain mixed with a little sadness but most of all shame.

You didn't attend any activities for the day and stayed in your room at dinner time. Peyral allowed this as she saw how angered you looked when you stormed away from Jake and Neytiri earlier that day. Tuk kept asking where you were and the others were worried as well, did they do something wrong?

They all had questions that ran throughout their minds and their shoulders hung low as they walked to their rooms.

Neytiri and Jake sat on their shared cot and all they could think about was the pained look that painted tour features only hours ago and Jake couldn't handle it anymore. "Let's go talk to her." He said and Neytiri's ears perked up as she stood up and was the first out of the room.

They stood in front of your room and heard low humming. It was a lullaby Neytiri used to sing to you.

Allowing themselves into the room they see you fixing up your bow and sharpening a few weapons. "You still remember it." Neytiri said making her voice known only to make you jump since it is in the middle of the night after all. Sitting down the freshly sharpened blade down you inhaled sharply.

"Of course I still remember I always forced you to sing it to me." You say getting up now staring at the two. "Is there something you wish to say?" You ask directly.

Silence.

A pinecone falls.

Silence.

Eye contact mever faltered.

Silence.

An animal screeches.

Silence.

"We're sorry."

Those two words penetrated the walls that you securely put up and threatened to crumble down.

"We're so sorry." Jake said, stepping closer to you as you only look at the ground in disbelief. "We were wrong, I see that now." He says bringing a hand to your face and your widened eyes stare up at him.

"I see you daughter."

You smile as tears pooled to your eyes and slipped out from under your lashes, throwing yourself into his arms. "I missed you sempu." You say and his heart that had been shattered from the fear of rejection pieced back together as he hugged you back. Pulling from the hug you look at her and she has a smile. "Sa'nu.." you say and all she did was embrace you with her warmth, that warmth you've yearned for you finally got it back.

Your relationship improved with your parents as did the relationship between your siblings, it was clear to any passing Na'vi.

You finally had your family back.

Tags- @ssc7514 @23victoria @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @chaoticmagazineboard @spicycloudsalad @ilovejakesullysdick @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @neteyamforlife @phoenixgurl030 @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @kikookii @elegantkidfansoul @kurtsworld096 @bucky1235 @dizzythediasy @ducks118 @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @arianapntn @hellok1ttycake @tsireyak @ambria @dimplesxx @v4mp1rr3 @ughits-kayla @lilgurlbeoncrack @t3ddyhon3y @sillyfreakfanparty @mentallyillmexican @dreamsholdpowers @sseleniaa @bat1212 @iikatsukii @simp-erformarvelwomen @dimplesxx @nanamisbigassschlong @yukichan67 @abbersreads @tejas-kris

[respectthepetty]

I.

Love.

This!

They really fucked Non over several times. If there was a way to make Non's life more miserable, they did it. If they had an option to pick peace, they chose violence.

We were shown Tee and Por have messed up home lives, but they took that out on Non, who the entire group except Jin kept calling Greasy. But we also learned about Non's home life: 1) he has an older brother named New who is studying abroad *wink*,

2) he has someone he loves and is texting who I'm unsure is his brother *wink*,

Because it seems like that person possibly goes to his school since they asked if Non had arrived at school yet, and Non said yes and that he missed that person and they missed him.

Sidenote: He ignored Jin's text.

and 3) he takes medication for possibly anxiety but the point is he has pills *wink*

He lost sleep and stressed himself out trying to write that script only to be shut out when they won and for Por to take the writing credits.

Top broke that camera only to blame Non with the help of Tee, so Tee could get someone to be a mule for his uncle's illegal money laundering scheme (which was in the newspaper in the present and Fluke pointed out to White), while Fluke watched all of it go down.

Non thought he made friends, but every time they touched him, they'd wipe their hands on each other. They laughed at him and called him names to his face. They used him. Then, they stole his work.

Right now, Jin is the only kind one (Fluke knew the truth and said nothing), but I have believed that Jin's betrayal had to be the worst if him possibly leaving Thailand forever prompted this killing spree because I don't think he could be one of the killers now to get revenge on behalf of Non.

And Jin saw a bloody Mr. Keng, so I think Jin contributed to Non's pain just as much as these other boys.

So I'm very interested to know Keng's story since he seems nice to Non too . . . for now.

Top wanted more screen time, Por wanted the murders to be more vicious, and Fluke wanted to look better for med school while Tee just wanted to use Non as a fall guy.

But Jin is the main character.

Dear killers and final gay.

Give these boys exactly what they wanted.

They deserve it.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Cameos & Familiar Faces

Entirely subjective yadda yadda. Organized by favs in each category. No numbered lists anymore, tumblr be buggn'.

End of Aug Start Sept 2023

Ongoing Series - Thai

Laws of Attraction (Sat iQIYI) 8fin - Oh the DRAMA. Why does the insane ex (my true love) remind me of the cartel leader from Romancing the Stone? Even the sides got HEA! It was fucking great!!!!! Charn remains a bonkers spoiled evil murderous brat with a cruel smile beloved by his one true paladin. Also: post it love note trope! Been a long while my old friend. NO SINGING!!!!! I do love that wedding jacket frock coat cape thing Charn wore. 

In conclusion: This is a great gay suspense thriller with several solid couples, fun plot, killer characters, queer rep, and a happy ending. Charn may be my favorite lead character of 2023. However, this show is not entirely BL, more on the fringe, like Manner of Death. Add that to several "singing incidents" and pairs being a little weak in the chemistry arena, and this lands safely in 9/10 territory. It’s tons of fun tho: HIGHLY RECOMMENDED. 

I Feel You Linger in the Air (Sat grey) ep 3 of 12 - This show is getting more and more lakorn each ep. Apparently the straights are having a class divide arranged marriage crisis. Who cares? Our boy is ALWAYS in trouble. Crazy that he has to save the people who betrayed him in a previous life - but I guess he chose revenge! That's unexpected.

Had to switch to grey and couldn’t find a working rip. It was frustrating and I wouldn’t have bothered except I like this show so much. Still, it means no screen caps because the rez is naff.

Dangerous Romance (Fri YT) ep 3 of 12 - Uh oh. Kang wants to save Sailom and be his hero. The fact that K’s Pa puts no pressure on him whatsoever, makes me wonder if K's Ma committed suicide or something? It’s definitely the opposite parental dynamic we normally see in BL. I have to say, the pacing is great in the show. And the acting is on point. It’s really great. 

Hidden Agenda (Sun YT) ep 8 of 12 - these two just kiss well. I mean not "rip your clothes off Taiwan-style," but sweet young boyfriends-esk. Joke wants to be claimed so bad. It’s great. I enjoyed this ep, unfortunately it looks like we have a manufactured angst drama drop in the next episode. Is this a 10 episode arc? I thought it was 12. It’s odd to have doom happening next episode already.

Only Friends (Sat YT) ep 4 of 10 - Back story time! Ray and Mew are HARD to watch. Incestuous friend group gay is the worst. Omg I got such QAF vibes from this ep. Nick Boston Sand chats = very throw back 90s gay soaps. 

Location game moment: Top's hotel room is also Chan’s apartment in Laws Of Attraction. 

Naughty Babe (Sat YT) ep 1 of 8 - Ooo. Est is back! Hi handsome. Head of security suits you. Please lead out the new Waterboyy remake? You’re perfect for the role. (If it must happen.) Yi’s Pa is GREAT. Please give daddy a nice boy? Could that be our secondary couple for this series? 

Meanwhile, with the leads (sorry I was distracted by daddy) we got us an arranged marriage, run away bride, and an amnesia trope. Put in a secret baby and it's squarely 1980's Harlequin. Will there be Vikings? Sex herbs? Pirates? Dub con?

Be Mine Super Star (Mon Viki) ep 9 of 12 - Again with lovely sex scenes, it’s just the plot stringing them together is frayed. Also don’t fuck in an onsen. Both yech and ouch.

That goes for all y’all.  

Wedding Plan (Wed YT & iQIYI) ep 7fin - Trash watch here! Honestly this was an okay ending, I’m not mad at it. If you can tolerate Mame and liars (kinda the same thing) you’ll be fine with this show.

Summation: An innocent wedding planner falls haplessly and hopelessly in love with a groom who relentlessly pursued him, even though he’s about to marry someone else. A somewhat lackluster mame offering with less of the usual stellar chemistry, but all of the usual lies and manipulation. 7/10

Love in Translation (Sat iQIYI) ep 3 of 10 - I skip everything to do with Tammy and it’s fine. There’s only about 20 minutes of fine but that’s more than enough. On the bright side. So far. No singing.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) ep 2 of 24 eps - Cassanova Begins Part 2. Aw. It was sad. Another variation on the “my ghost boyfriend” trope (usually sad). 2/10 I don't do sad BL.

Next up is Merry Go Round featuring the pair from Destiny Seeker (we likey) who want to marry each other, but end up fake engaged to the same woman. Beard squared? Looks silly.

Crazy Handsome Rich (Sun Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - There are 2 things I like about this. I bet you can guess what they are.

Lee Long Shi

The whipping boy trope

There wasn’t enough of either in this first ep. ALSO the captions, sound effects, and voice over are truly next level bad. Utterly atrocious.

The 2 leads fucking around in the end credits was the funniest part of the whole show. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Jun & Jun (Korea Thur Viki) ep 7 of 8 - I am confused and frustrated about what the communication delay is between the two Juns. It feels artificial and narratively manufactured. But since this is a short form KBL and I know it will be resolved quickly, I’m not as annoyed as I would be if this were Thai BL. Still it feels audience manipulative. I also feel sorry for Simon. BUT it looks like it’ll be a sweet boyfriends final episode.

Stay By My Side (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 10fin - Omg they’re so cute!!! Taiwan the purveyors of ultimate sappy gay domesticity. I am going to miss having these to nonsencing all over my dash.

This show was an interesting take on the "ghost boyfriend" trope. About a boy who is tormented by hearing the dead, except when he is around one other boy - desperation+proximity = love. Unfortunately, the story was erratic and waffled about. While the leads turned in solid performances and the sappy domesticity was off the charts, it never really had the strength of the narrative convictions such a strong concept should have supplied. Highly rewatchable and enjoyable for that sappy domesticity but not a whole lot more. Still I always give extra credit for the diabetes-inducing sugar content and rewatch capacity. 8/10 

Kisseki: Dear to Me (Taiwan Tues Viki & iQIYI) eps 3 of 13(?) - I love the punching thing - there is a lot of violent flirting in this show. I’m not mad about it. Ugh, poor thing has real abandonment issues. And now trust issues. I see why we’re getting 12-14 eps. This gonna be MESSY.

Meanwhile, does EVERYONE have a guest cameo? Not that I’m complaining. Hi BLIHID boys! Now I need to rewatch that show. 

Love Class Season 2 (Korea Fri Viki) eps 7-8 of 10 - Oh my God the next morning w/ couple 2 was so darn cute. They are all such terrible flirts with each other. Honestly, this show makes me laugh more than any other BL currently airing. I’m not sure it is meant to be as funny as I find it. While couple 3 (the mature characters) is by far my favorite, I actually think they don’t work with the other two pairs, they feel superfluous to the show. I like the show better because they’re in it, but it feels like two different BL‘s stuck together. KBL certainly can’t handle more than two couple threads at the same time. 

Why R U? (Korea Wed iQIYI) eps 3-4 of 8 - Ugh. I am such a sucker for the FighterTutor dynamic. Why so good? Uh oh. Real kiss! KBL you're spoiling us. But, isn’t sad-seme-hyung dating some chick? Argh. Poor Sunwoo. This show is even worse at repping Fighter's character sympathetically. Who knew that was possible?

My Personal Weatherman AKA Taikan Yoho (Japan Sat Gaga) ep 3 of 8 - The date episode! Even Japan is doing it now. And these two who have been living/fucking together for ages still dance around each other like junior high kids. I gotta say, I watch this one twice because Vicki has different subs from Gaga. I feel like it’s easier to understand if I watch two different translations of the same script. But it’s still quite a taciturn piece. 

Minato's Laundromat Season 2 AKA Minato Shouji Coin Laundry Season 2 (Japan Thu Gaga) ep 8 of 12 - Sides are great. It was mostly a cute ep with tiny bits of Progress and a proper Confession. I miss Shin’s siblings. And then… the much loathed amnesia trope. Really?

Everyone say it with me: Must you, Japan? 

Stay Still (Hong Kong Tues YouTube) ep 5fin - It ended happier than I was expecting. Optimistic for one couple, and most likely optimistic for the other.

Summation: What to say about this offering from Hong Kong? It’s different, a mix of early CBL, Taiwanese shorts, and Pinoy visuals. It felt like the story was 2 independent shorts that had been lengthen and then stuck together, and I wish they'd been approached as separate and tighter entities. Nevertheless, this was a complex little piece,  interesting in a sweaty grungy way, with a certain aura of queer authenticity that made it simultaneously tense, unpredictable, and refreshing. I’m not sure I would necessarily call it BL, but any county’s early foray into the genre usually starts out this way, so perhaps nascent BL? Worth watching, especially if you enjoy stuff from the Philippines and Taiwan. 7/10

In case you missed it

Dinosaur Love ended its run but the final 2 eps are behind a paywall. Word on the street is they aren't good anyway (shocker) so I'm marking it as DNF and moving on with my life. If I can find em grey I'll watch 'em merely so I can give it a rating, but I can't imagine it will get more than 5/10. Seriously, do not bother.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Coming September

9/15 You Are Mine (Taiwan Gaga) Secretary has to deal with grumpy boss.

9/15 Bump Up Business AKA Bump Up Project (Korea movie) suspected cinema release? I don't know much about what's going on. Last status update. Love story between a trainee who is about to debut and a celebrity from the same agency. Kpop boy group OnlyOneOf has signed up to star in this idol-based BL (based on a webtoon). They’ve been auditioning for this since Libido IMHO. You can watch me chronicle their BL MV series in this post. It’s from Idol Romance who will do sad but can do good kisses (Wish You, Nobleman Ryu, Once Again, Kissable Lips, Poongduck 304, Tasty Florida, Tinted With You).

9/26 I Cannot Reach You AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai (Japan ????) - Adapted from the manga, childhood best friends: The cool, smart one who’s good at everything, and his average, dorky friend who struggles. Always by the other’s side, but not together in the way they truly want to be. No matter how hard they try, their hearts cannot reach each other.

9/27 Absolute Zero (Thai iQIYI) - from 2021, Studio Wabi Sabi and New Siwaj finally bring us this “time loop to prevent tragedy” romance. We don’t always get HEAs from them, so I'm on my guard.

9/? Venus in the Sky (Thai iQIYI) 10 eps

9/? Mr Cinderella 2 (Vietnam YouTube?)

2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED).

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Hidden Agenda hitting us up with a hug + lap + kiss. Very nice.

I think these two might be GMMTV's best cuddlers.

Boys, I think your JoongDunk is showing.

(Last week) 

[rogueddie]

Different Time AU, Steddie Fics

Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 🕓

I'm a Fool to Want You

senoritablack

Steve Harrington is a regular at Valentine’s, a word-of-mouth, traveling party for queers. As a hard-knocked detective in a town meant to kill you slowly, he’s not meaning to be anything but drunk at tonight’s shindig. Somehow, with the help of a gorgeous pianist, he finds himself in love.

Words : 7,755 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

( Set in the 1940s )

Don't threaten me with a good time

QueenOfSwords1312

No sooner is Eddie through the door, bottle in hand, than he’s being swept up in someone’s arms and pressed back against a wall. He blinks a few times to steady his vision after the near-whiplash move and comes face-to-face with Coriolanus himself, Steve Harrington. He’s got one hand on Eddie’s waist and the other has smoothly made its way into Eddie’s hair at the back of his head. And Eddie’s still clutching the damn wine bottle neck so he only has one free hand to grasp at Steve’s sweater.

The last time Eddie had seen the beautiful man, he’d been on stage, covered in fake blood and waxing poetic about all the bad decisions he made in his life to land him where he was. Which was hot , if a bit sad, but definitely fucking hot.

“You’re—” Eddie starts, but Steve cuts him off.

“Gonna kiss you now, if that’s alright,” Steve says, already staring at Eddie’s mouth.

Words : 7,496 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

( Modern au )

What Do You Want?

Sharpbutsoft (BuckysButt)

He hears the clink of glass pearls first, then feels a bare arm pressed alongside his own, warm through his thin cotton shirt.

“You here alone, handsome?” asks a low, husky voice, right into his ear. Steve turns to see the most beautiful person on whom he’s ever laid eyes.

Tall, with long, dark hair and darker eyes. A gash of red lipstick on her full lips, a stylish fringed dress and a strings of pearls hanging off her boyish frame.

Words : 1,543 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

( The whole series is great, and it is also written / co-written by dodger_chan. Set in the 1920s. )

May I Have This Dance?

sky_neverending

Steve attends a masquerade with Robin, and ends up meeting a handsome stranger who awakens a new feeling.

Words : 3,162 Chapters : 2/2 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

( Set in the 1800s )

Moments can be Monuments to You, if Your Life is Interesting and True

DiscoSuperFly

Working 911 dispatch in a small town is equal parts stressful and rewarding. Steve likes to think he's making a difference.

Eddie quietly returns to Hawkins and is surprised by everyone who chose to stay.

Why would a golden boy like Steve Harrington stick around in this dead end town?

Words : 58,749 Chapters : 7/7 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

( Set in the 90s )

Betting On Your Name

FIick

“But I don’t want her Eddie!” The prince throws his hands up. “Why can’t my father see there are other candidates who are closer to me, right here at home!”

“Who do you want then?” Eddie asks his breath catching in his throat, his hands itching to reach out and reassure. This is a dangerous game. Far more so than a silly childhood bet. It’s a very easy thing to say he’ll give Prince Steve the air from his lungs, and another entirely to do so.

Words : 4,533 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : General Audiences

AO3 : x

( Medieval au )

the devil’s camaro (please don’t remember me, it’s only 1993)

roosterroo

It’s 1993. Eddie works at his local garage after serving time for a drug charge in high school. There he meets Steve, a typical well to do suburban dad type, who turns everything Eddie believes on his head. And he’s married- but also flirting with him?

Words : 32,798 Chapters : 6/6 Rating : Mature

AO3 : x

Here is the Repeated Image of the Lover Destroyed

stevefuckingharrington

He could feel the warm, wet red of his blood slipping down over his fingers and dripping onto the forest floor. He had been stabbed before of course - it came as part of the job - but never quite like this. He could feel himself dying, his life slipping through his own weak grasp.

It was no longer a case of ‘if’, but ‘when’.

Words : 1,744 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Mature

AO3 : x

( Medieval au )

Blood 🩸 & Caffeine ☕

Witch_Weakly

Eddie's got a little vampire...problem. You see, he normally feeds once a month from the blood bank at the hospital where he works. And that's normally fine. The blood provides him with life for a few days - breathing, hunger for real food, a healthy sex drive. And then that fades away, replaced by a mild bloodlust that gets stronger until he finally needs to feed again. This cycle is fine as long as he doesn't go too long. As long as he feeds before he gets so numb and so hungry that he loses himself. Except one day, that's exactly what happens. And it's only been a few weeks since his last feeding. Way too soon. In a panic, he feeds early and now needs silly human things like sleep during his scheduled night shift. Guess it's time for a trip down to the coffee shop. But on top of meeting a hot barista, Eddie finds that his little problem is only getting worse.

Words : 17,756 Chapters : 9/9 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

( Modern AU )

[cannedbeefaroni]

March Of The Pigs: The Bad Touch Pt. 2 (Edward Nashton X Reader)

Part 1

Summary: You can't save Edward Nashton when the whole system is rigged against its patients. Desperate times call for desperate measures

Content: SMUT 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, MEDICAL MALPRACTISE, MANIPULATION, POWER IMBALANCE (for those reasons, i consider this fic to be DUBCON), VIOLENCE, Reader and Edward have a bit of a role reversed Harley Quinn and Joker dynamic, Edward is described to struggle with hypersexuality and paraphilias (based on how the reader is described, they also have those issues), handjob, penetrative sex (not specified whether its anal or vaginal), exhibitionism (public sex), physical restraints, degradation

Y/N is referred to in second person as you/yours and is written to be entirely gender neutral.

(I'm sorry this is pretty short)

You were so fucking sick. Sick of yourself trying to assimilate into this corrupt, archaic environment, thinking you had any sort of power to be the change you wanted to see. You thought working at Arkham Asylum would give you the opportunity to help the outcasts and undesirables of society. It was stupid of you to assume that would ever be the case. All you achieved was becoming a pon in a system that only benefits the top 1%. There was no such thing as helping anybody, only imprisonment and torturous treatment, pretending to the rest of the world that something good was being done. You weren’t better, you realize how selfish you had become at the hands of this job. At this point, you weren’t even sure who was to blame: you, the given circumstances, or Edward Nashton. You knew what he was capable of, so it infuriated you seeing how small and weak he chose to become. Watching him be manhandled by guards on nearly a daily basis made you want to vomit. The worst of it had to be that one time you had the misfortune of seeing the nurses physically restrain him to the floor as they forced medication down his throat. You had a horrific epiphany that you never felt real empathy in your life until now. Knowing that for years you had seen all this occur and simply looked away, you hated yourself for it.

The day you had lost your job was the biggest relief of your life, but simultaneously the worst thing to ever happen. You’ll admit that it was probably unethical to perform sexual acts on your patient, but at a certain point you just stopped caring. You didn’t value working there anymore. You were able to engage with Edward inappropriately in three different sessions before you were found out, the last time being caught on camera in irrefutable evidence. 

The first time you met with him after the incident began, you were extremely cautious, aware that you had gotten overzealous the last time. Making sure to be as quiet as possible, you touched him again. He was even more eager this time about it, body shaking as he fucked your fist. Keeping your head down, you pretended that the interaction was purely professional. Your face stayed dead straight as your body internally screamed for relief. His tip turned red as precum pooled from his aching dick. You must have unintentionally leaned in closer, because you could feel his heavy breaths on your face as you kept your head down. Then he kissed you, catching you off guard. He leaned down, catching your lips with his, tilting his head to the side as his mouth dropped open, forcing his tongue into your mouth. He couldn’t hold you, since his hands were cuffed behind his back as per usual, but you didn’t pull away. You knew you should’ve pushed him away, but you just sat there, letting him make out with you as you unenthusiastically tugged on his dick. You felt miserable, knowing you were nothing but his therapist as he shot ropes of cum on your shirt, then it pooled over your hand. Near tears, he apologized profusely, but you insisted it was alright. You rushed to the bathroom after that session, desperately trying to wash your shirt in the sink, but you could only do so much, and ended up going the rest of the day in a soiled, damp shirt. 

During your last encounter with Edward, you were acutely aware that this arrangement couldn’t last much longer. You couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone knew what you were doing with him. Even though you felt your days were numbered, you decided against your better judgment to risk it all, going as far as possible. You put him inside you, and he didn’t stop you. Leaning back in his seat as far as his arms cuffed around the back would let him, you sat on his lap with his legs spread open, and you fucked him. He hissed viscerally behind you, tensing every muscle in his body as he resisted the urge to scream from the feeling of how mercilessly you viced him. Leaning forward, holding yourself up against the table, you rode his dick, and no matter how slow you went, the chair clanked against the floor. You hung your head, staring at your feet as you two desperately thrusted into each other. His tip prodded deep inside you, feeling as if every organ in your stomach was reacting to his penetration. Despite trying to keep the pace slow, he kept going faster, and you didn’t have the willpower to deny it. 

“You’re doing so well,” you praised him, for the first time in a genuine tone. You sounded disheveled and breathless. 

“You’re a shitty fucking therapist,” he chuckles cruelly. Head spinning back, you glare at him, eyes glossed over. That was probably your biggest mistake. Looking him desperately in the eyes as he degraded you so viciously. There was never a point in your life where you came that hard. It was almost numbing, and you couldn’t stop yourself from screaming out in pure ecstasy. Soon after he came inside, filling you up so much it was dripping down your legs when you stood up. 

“I’m sorry, Edward. I’ll make things right, I promise,” you said as the session finished, and you dressed the two of you back up before leaving, allowing the guards to take him back to his cell. 

Soon after you were called into your boss’ office. You didn’t need to go to know you were fired, but you did anyway. It was probably the most humiliating moment of your life, but on the plus side, they’d keep this incident a secret.Apparently what you had done was the most embarrassing thing to ever happen in the history of the asylum. It seemed they cared more about a public image than morality. You were told to never speak of it and move on. Somehow, that outcome was even worse than you expected. The truth was finally revealed to you: that there was no saving this abomination. There was no guilt or questioning what you were about to do. 

It was disgustingly simple, sneaking into places you didn’t belong, stealing a ring of keys from an unsuspecting guard, and just playing a guessing game of which one would unlock the button in the control room that would unlock all of the cells. The guards were all underpaid and undertrained, making the simple act of carrying out the plan right under their noses a breeze. One of them asked what you were doing, but all you had to do was flash your ID, which you hadn’t turned in like you were just told to. 

The moment the cover was lifted and the button was hit, you had mere minutes to carry out the rest of your plan as the emergency sirens blared. You were free to find Edward’s cell. Just like all the others, his cell door was wide open, and he was standing in the doorway, confused and scared. You run straight towards him, almost knocking him over as you collide. He tries to protest, stuttering as you grab his hands and bolt down the corridor, taking him with you. Finding a fire extinguisher on a wall, you smashed the glass with your fist and hauled it into your arms, slowing down, allowing security to catch up, but you swung it around, hitting one of them in the stomach with intense force. You and Edward continued your escape as you located any room with windows that weren’t barred in. Finding the office you were just fired in, the door was left wide open, so you ran in and threw the fire extinguisher through the window. 

This was the worst possible escape route, as the window led to a steep drop into the ocean. It probably wouldn’t kill you, but you didn’t have an option as you only had mere seconds to act before the two of you would be apprehended. Edward was petrified, but didn’t hesitate when you grabbed him, throwing him out the window, as well as yourself. 

It felt like you had died. The only feeling in your body was how cold it was, but the moment you realized you weren’t getting air, your survival instincts reacted, and you started moving again, peaking your head from the murky water before you could drown. Red flashing lights were reflecting in the pitch black water of the harbor. You could feel something brush along your leg, and your heart sunk when you realized it was Edward, still underwater. You dived in, reaching for him until you finally got a grasp on the scruff of his shirt. Pulling him up, his face peaked into the air, and for a moment he was completely still. You shook him as hard as you could, even slapping his face to wake him up, then he started hacking and coughing violently. His face was bleeding, and his glasses were missing entirely, leading you to assume they broke and cut him up. Holding onto him, you began swimming toward the nearest infrastructure in the water, needing something to hold onto so you wouldn’t drown from fatigue. Hiding in the water under the docks seemed like the safest option for now. 

Arkham was ignited with chaos as the freed inmates rampaged the island. Your head was so full of water you could barely hear the gunshots and violence occurring. You clung for dear life to a filthy algae covered wooden support. Edward was clinging to you, his head hinged on your shoulder. He was crying, and you didn’t know why it shocked you. You forced this upon him, now it was your responsibility to save him.

[koshkamartell]

Yours For The Night

Chapter 1 - Strangers In The Night

Chapter warnings - mentions of drug use, alcohol, and sex work, reader suffers from anxiety, mentions of sexual harassment.

The town was quiet tonight, even more so than usual. There was some kind of event in the next town over (a carnival or festival, you weren't entirely sure) and a lot of the townsfolk had travelled there in search of entertainment, a distraction from the dreary mundane day to day life of living in a small country town. The usual popular nighttime haunts, like the Bullhorn Bar and the Gin Lounge, still had a steady trickle of regular patrons slink through their doors, but everywhere else was lifeless and somber.

You lean back against the gas station wall and take a sip from the straw of the the slushie cup you are holding. It was around 11pm but you weren't in any rush to go home. You were living with your alcoholic cousin in a trailer park on the northern edge of town and half the time she was passed out or missing for days at a time. There was no warmth to return to, no hugs or smiles to greet you, nothing luring you back there except the guarantee of shelter and a bed. Your small circle of friends have equally shitty living circumstances; you all spend the majority of your time roaming the streets and haunting secret hideouts that have been sacred territory for runaways and strays for as long as the town has existed. The 24 hour gas station was one of the places you frequented and you felt comfortable to loiter there at such a late hour.

You're alone tonight. Some of your friends hitchhiked to the neighbouring town to check out the event. Another was spending the night with her much older boyfriend, the guy who often plied you all with weed and alcohol. Two others had been missing for a week now, rumoured to have disappeared after going to score drugs from a local dealer with a sordid history. With no company and no point in going home you chose to just drift for a while. You didn't mind being alone though. You learned from a young age to appreciate solitude.

You lower yourself to the ground with your back upright against the wall and your knees bent. You put the slushie next to you on the cool concrete and fish in your jacket pocket for the small rectangular tin you had grabbed from your cousin's bedroom a couple days ago. Smoking wasn't a vice you indulged in all the time, but you liked to smoke when it was available to you; cigarettes took the edge off the anxiety and it gave you something to focus on, the nicotine offering you just the right hit of dopamine to keep you afloat.

You retrieve the tin from your jacket and flick open the lid to reveal a thin hand rolled cigarette, the last remaining one from your cousin's stash. You pop the end inbetween your lips and reach back into your pocket in search of a lighter.

"Come on," you mutter lowly in annoyance, the cigarette dangling from your mouth.

After a second of searching it was clear your pocket was empty. Fuck. You must have lost the lighter somewhere during your travels today. You had no money left, either, and the guy working behind the counter at the gas station was nice but you knew there was no way he would give you a light.

You sigh heavily and bow your head, crestfallen. It may have just been a shitty stick of tobacco but you really needed it right now. You needed the comfort of chemicals filling your lungs and decompressing the pent up tension threatening to burst right out your body. Especially today.

"Needa light?" A baritone voice spoke suddenly, shattering the haze of your despair.

You lift your head up. A man stands just a couple feet away from your sitting position on the ground, but his height makes him tower over you. Where did he come from?

He was alot older than you, evident by the crowsfeet and wrinkles etched on his face and the salt and pepper colouring of his patchy beard and in the curls ontop of his head. You guessed he was 50 years old, maybe more. He was also incredibly handsome, with an aquiline nose and plush lips. His dark brown eyes seemed troubled as he stared down at you underneath his furrowed brows.

You were too preoccupied with openly staring at him that you did not respond to his question.

"Well?" The man gruffed, raising his eyebrows and tilting his face slightly downward. There was a hint of authority in his gesture.

"Oh," you mumble, eyes blinking rapidly. "Shit, sorry. Yeah, a light would be good."

The man took a small step closer to you, his boots scraping on the dirt of the concrete, and then crouched down to your level. His broad chest and large arms strained under his green flannel, his gorgeous face less than a foot from yours. You instantly felt crowded and overwhelmed.

The man held out a lighter in his large hand and downpresses the ignition button with his large thumb, sparking a flame. He stares at you closely as you lean in and ignite the tip of your smoke on the dancing blue-yellow flame. You pull back and his thumb slips off the button.

"Thanks," you say quietly, your eyes staring into his.

The man just nods and stands back up, his knees cracking audibly as he ascends. He takes a step backward, his eyes never leaving you. You tilt your head to gaze at him while you inhale.

"'S bad for you, ya know," he murmurs, looking back at you with a kind of gentle intensity that causes a tiny pull of desire to whirl in your belly.

"Mmm," you hum softly. You exhale through your mouth and give a little shrug. "Gonna die someday, anyways."

His jaw ticks and something unidentifiable shifts in his expression, a flash in his eyes that comes and goes in a split second. There's a few moments of silence while you regard one another. It isn't awkward but the air between you is loaded.

You have been flirted with since you were 12 year old, been persued by both boys and grown men since you were 14, learned how to use your body to your advantage soon after. You know when someone is interested in what's under your clothes. But this seems different. There is no flirty banter or coy smiles. It make you feel a bit unnerved to recognise that you can't tell what he is thinking, only that he looks like he's struggling with something internally.

You break eye contact first and look down to examine the chipped nail polish on your fingernails. His hands come to rest on his hips and his head turns to look left and right, scanning the area around the gas station. The place has been deserted tonight save for an occasional customer. The man's eyes land back to your face.

"What's your name?" He asks. You glance back up at him and tell him your name, then ask for his.

"Joel."

You nod to indicate you've heard him and take a drag of your smoke. Joel watches you.

"What're you doin' out here so late, all by yourself?" Joel asks. There's a twang to his words - he sounds Texan.

"Haven't got anywhere else to be," you answer nonchalantly. "Why are you out here so late, by yourself?" You parrot back to him with a slight smirk.

"Wanted to get a cup'a coffee. But that ain't a problem cos I'm a grown man, ain't no one gonna cause trouble with me." Joel replies with matter of fact confidence. "But you, well..."

You roll your eyes a little and inhale another drag. Ah, there it is. That is probably his deal - the upstanding citizen showing concern for the safety of today's youth running wild on the streets. You have had similar interactions with strangers before - mainly with self righteous religious do-gooders trying to offer words of wisdom and free meals at their church, which you and your friends declined.

"I ain't jokin' around, little girl," Joel warns. The stern edge of his voice makes you meet his gaze. "It's dangerous out here for someone like you."

You scoff and shake your head. "I can handle myself, so save me the speech, dude."

Joel sighs heavily and runs a hand over his beard. He seems genuinely concerned, almost exasperated by your indifference. You watch him, secretly delighting in how harassed he looks.

"Why do you care, anyway? You don't know me." You sweep away a lock of hair that's fallen infront of your eyes.

"I don't know, guess I feel bad seein' someone so young alone on the streets," Joel mutters quietly. "Where are your parents, they ain't worried about ya?"

You turn your head to the side and pretend to be distracted by a passing car in the distance. "Don't have parents, they're dead."

You hear Joel inhale a deep breath and then exhale long and heavy. You can tell he feels bad. You've gotten used to this reaction; the pitying sadness in the person's eyes, the apologies that spill from their mouth, the awkward tenderness in their need to hug you. You hate it.

"Shit," Joel drawls. "Sorry to hear that."

You take a final puff of your rolled cigarette and then flick it over the pavement. "It's fine," you say flatly. You push yourself up from the ground to stand, taking the sushie as you rise. "Thanks for the light, Joel."

"Where you goin'?" He asks, frowning. You shift the strap of your compact purse further up your shoulder.

"Phone's almost dead, gotta charge it."

You turn to walk away but Joel's hand, warm and so big, touches your shoulder to stop you. "I gotta charger in my room. I'm stayin' at the motel across the road, room 15."

You let out a little gasp at the sudden soothing heat that blooms under the unexpected weight of his hand. You stare at up him and he's gazing down at you, his dark brown eyes roaming over your face, and you think you can detect an underlying urgency in his expression, something pleading.

You step away from Joel and look down at your shoes. He pulls his hand back and clears his throat. "'S up to you," he mumbles. "Just offerin', ain't gonna push you."

You kick at some pebbles on the pavement and fiddle with the straw of your slushie. Joel's gaze is intense and you still can't quite decipher what he's thinking. In your experience older men approaching girls your age have little else on their mind but sex. But you don't get that vibe from Joel. There's no hungry lust in his eyes, no sleazy charm in his words.

Maybe he's too shy to outrightly proposition you for a quick fuck in his motel room.

You look back at him and study his face. He's handsome, there's no doubt about that. You'd probably fuck him for nothing, if you were in the right mood. He doesn't wait any longer for your answer.

"'M goin' to get a cup of coffee," Joel murmers before spinning around on the heel of his boot and walking toward the convenience store entrance.

He's only gone for a minute but you've found yourself glued to the spot he left you, unable to muster a answer to decline his offer. You would never admit it outloud but you're lonely. You don't want to return to the trailer and it's dingy mess, the dirty crumple of sheets on the couch you sleep on, the stale smell of beer that permeates the whole place. Just thinking about it makes your belly gnaw with a low level anxiety that you refuse to acknowledge.

Joel's hulking figure strides back out of the store with a paper cup of coffee in his hand. He doesn't show any sign of surprise or satisfaction at seeing you waiting for him and he doesn't stop as he approaches you.

"Room 15," Joel reminds you quietly as he passes by. He takes a sip of his coffee and stalks across the road towards the seedy looking motel, not looking back once. It's neon pink sign glows like a beacon in the night.

You watch him, admiring the broadness of his back and his shoulders, the confident masculine way he carries himself. He reaches his room on the bottom story of the motel and disappears inside.

Fuck it.

You scamper after Joel, your heart hammering in your chest.

The room is what you would expect it to look like given the tacky, run-down exterior of the motel. It contains a queen sized bed complete with a faded patterned comforter and matching pillows, a bedside drawer, a small table with a single chair, an ancient looking television, and a cramped ensuite. There are no pictures or paintings adorning the shabby off white walls, only a broken air-conditioner with dust caked on its vents.

A duffel bag sits underneath the only window in the room, the one that looks out onto the road. The bed is made and looks untouched, as if Joel has just checked in.

You are aware that this situation looks sordid - a young woman in a seedy motel room with a man much older than her, both of them strangers to one another. You know of other girls who have been in this exact situation before after being lured with the promise of drugs and alcohol and money. You've heard the rumours of how cruel men can be, how despite the bruises and the blood the police department don't give a shit about girls who are stupid enough to whore themselves out to strangers.

But you have learned to trust your gut instinct over the tumultuous early years of your life, and your intiution is telling you that you aren't in any danger with Joel.

He crouches down to rummage through his bag while you linger awkwardly by the door. He pulls out a phone charger and stands back up, his knees cracking as he straightens. You are suddenly taken aback by how imposing his figure is in such close proximity and in such a confined space.

"Should do," Joel mumbles, holding out the charger for you to take.

When you reach out to take it from his proffered hand, you can't help but stare at how thick his fingers are. They are rough and calloused. He must work with his hands, maybe doing some kind of labour. For a second you wonder what it would be like to have those fingers kneading into your soft flesh, or sinking inside you to stretch you open. A tug of yearning pulls in your belly and snaps you out of your imagination. With flushed cheeks you clear your throat and gingerly pluck the charger from his grasp without meeting his eye.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

"Thanks," you mutter.

"Can use the outlet by the bed, if ya want," Joel gestures to the socket under the bedside drawer.

You sit on the stained carpeted floor and plug the charger into the wall and connect your phone. Joel sits at the table and drinks his coffee. The only sound in the room is the occasional slurp that comes from his lips. You busy yourself with your phone but there are no new texts or calls for you to respond to and you soon get bored. You toss your phone to the side and sigh. When you look up at Joel, he is already watching you, a pensive expression written on his features. His beautiful hooded brown eyes look tired. He is still wearing his boots and his legs are spread wide, his thighs straining against the denim of his jeans.

"Why are you drinking coffee at night?" You ask. "Isn't that more of a morning kinda thing?"

Joel looks down at his coffee. "Didn't feel like drivin' around lookin' for a bar. Felt like a coffee instead."

You tilt your head to the side and study him. "Won't it just keep you up all night?"

Joel scratches the side of his face and sighs a little. "Nah. Don't sleep too good anyway."

"Is that black coffee?" You scrunch your nose. "You don't even take milk?"

Joel rolled his eyes and takes a sip from his cup. "You always ask this many questions?"

"You always invite girls to your motel room?" You bite back without thinking.

Joel freezes mid sip. He frowns and looks at you with a hint of sad reproach in his gaze. "No," he mutters, lowering his cup. "No, I don't. You can go, if you want."

"No," you blurt out, "no, I wanna stay."

Joel just nods curtly. Neither of you know what to say next. You idly scroll through your photos and old text messages in silence. After a minute Joel clears his throat and lightly raps the tabletop with his knuckles.

"So, where do you live?" He asks softly, his head tilted slightly to the side. You glance up at him and stretch your legs out infront of you, sighing.

"About two and a half miles from here, at the Twin Peaks trailer park. It's near the Chalfont diner."

"You live alone?" Joel quirks an eyebrow.

"With my cousin. But she's not around much." You reply quickly, matter of factly. You don't really want to discuss your cousin's drinking habits or just how depressing your living circumstances are to somebody you just met.

Joel hums his understanding and doesn't question any further about your cousin. Silence falls upon the room for another minute or two before he speaks again. "You got a job?"

"Nope," you mutter. "Worked at the supermarket across town for a while, until my boss showed me what a creep he was. Said I had to give him 'special attention' if I wanted to keep my job."

You aren't really sure why you're being so open with him when you're usually reserved with people you don't know. Maybe it's because his questions aren't prying and they lack judgement, but for whatever reason you find the words come tumbling out of your mouth without any thought.

You don't see the way Joel's body tenses at your revelation, how his fist flexes or the annoyed tick of his jaw.

"Sounds like an asshole." He gruffs.

"Mmhm," you nod in agreement. "He was. That was a few months ago, haven't really found another job since. What about you?"

Joel runs a hand through his salt and pepper curls. "I'm a contractor. Build houses and things like that. I live in Fallsview but got a project in the next town over. I'll be stayin' there for a few weeks."

"Cool," is all you can say in reply. You knew his hands weren't those of a man who worked in an office. Your eyes flicker to them now and you notice his ring finger is bare. "Are you married?"

"No," Joel answers with a small shake of his head. "Divorced."

"Oh." You purse your lips and frown a little down at your lap. You are concentrating on trying to construe just what Joel's intentions might be now that you have this tiny morsel of insight into his life. He's not married. He doesn't seem like the churchy self righteous type. And he is staying at this shitty motel alone. Maybe he really is looking for some action from you.

Joel can see you are clearly conflicted by your thoughts. He looks at you expectantly with a raise of his eyebrows.

"What is it?" He asks. "Seem to have somethin' goin' on in your mind over there."

"Dunno if I should ask it," you mumble and chew on the tip of your thumb sheepishly.

Joel makes a 'come on' gesture with his fingers. "Ask what? Let's hear it."

"Uhm," you clear your throat awkwardly, somehow mustering the courage to look at him as you speak. "I just wanna know...did you offer me the charger, like in exchange for something?"

Joel stares at you with an uncomprehending frown that makes you feel even more self conscious.

"You know," you blurt out. "Like maybe you were inviting me here for the charger but also expecting me to give you something in return.....you know, like sex?"

"Hold on a minute," Joel groans, pinching his eyes shut and holding his hand up to signal for you to stop talking. "Please."

You stop speaking. You spy a small tinge of pink on his cheeks and think he must feel as equally embarrassed as you do. But despite his discomfort, Joel's gaze is focused on you, commanding your attention.

"No," Joel answers with conviction. "I don't expect nothin' from you, just offered the charger to help you out, that's all."

"Okay," you reply meekly. "I just didn't know, so..."

Joel shakes his head dismissively. "'S okay. I know it might look that way, but I don't...do those kinda things."

"Okay." You whisper once more.

Joel sighs heavily and scrubs his hand over his face wearily. You are about to say something else, possibly to apologise for your curiousity, but are unable to stifle the yawn that forces its way out of your mouth. You hadn't realised how weary you were, and now it felt like sleepiness was beginning to settle into your bones. You weren't ready to leave Joel's company just yet but the walk home was going to be a struggle. You deicded that you had better leave while you were still awake enough to move your legs.

"Tired?" Joel murmers.

"Mm," you hum. "Guess I better get goin'. Thanks for the charger." You push yourself up from the floor and stretch your arms above your head, yawning once more.

"Where's your car?" Joel asks as he rises from the chair. You hear the joints in his knees cracking.

You chuckle sardonically. "Oh, you didn't see my red Ferrari parked outside the gas station?"

Joel shoots you an unimpressed look in response. "You ain't got a car? How you plan on gettin' home?"

"Same way I get anywhere," you say nonchalantly. "By walking." You unplug your phone from the charger and slip it into your handbag before pulling the strap onto your shoulder.

Joel reaches out to you and lightly touches your arm - it's a respectful gesture to gently command your attention, and it causes a tingle to dance up your spine.

"Let me drive ya home," he implores.

"I walk all the time, it's okay Joel." You assure him. Truthfully you wouldn't mind getting a ride home but he's been generous enough already and you feel uncomfortable at the prospect of receiving any more charity. You are not accustomed to accepting help from anyone; something that has become entrenched in your personality from the myriad of times you were left to fend for yourself, a part of your mentality born from self preservation.

"No ya ain't," Joel states definitively. "Ain't safe. I'll drive ya."

He doesn't wait for your reply, already having swiped the keys off the table striding to the door.

You acquisese with a little shrug. "Okay okay, wait up."

You sit in the front passenger seat of Joel's truck and glance curiously around the interior. The centre console is littered with some gum wrappers and silver coins. Apart from this and the tracks of dirt on the floor of the car, it is relatively clean. The faint smell of pine, leather and mint is pleasant as it wafts into your nostrils. You hear the rattle of a tool box somewhere in the back seat.

You tug the sleeve cuffs of your sweater over your hands and snuggle back into the car seat. It seems to cushion you in a way that makes you feel small and childlike; your mind conjures a nostaglic memory of you as a young child laying in your father's car at night, the enveloping blackness of the sky and the vibrations of the vehicle lulling you to sleep.

How you are able to curl into the seat is a stark contrast to the way Joel occupies the drivers side. His body fills his seat completely, thick thighs spread and knees touching the steering wheel. The width of his shoulders leave little room for his arm to rest without encroaching on your space, and the sleeve of his flannel is close to brushing against your arm. His hand practically engulfs the gear stick when he clutches it.

The radio plays some old fashioned country tune, low and crackling. You and Joel are silent during the ride and the only time you speak is to give him directions to the trailer park. There is some kind of tension in the air between you that you can't quite distinguish, and you wonder if Joel feels it the way you do. He seems a little unsettled - you notice his large mitt flex on the gear stick every so often and how his thumb taps almost nervously against the steering wheel as he grips it.

You brave a few glances in his direction out the corner of your eye. He stares ahead at the road and you are able to admire the attractive shape of his profile and his facial features. The fluffy salt and pepper crown of curls that sit atop his head, his aquiline nose, the plushness of his bottom lip below his moustache, the smattering of hair along his distinct jawline.

He's so handsome, you think. Especially for an older guy. How old is he, anyway? You hadn't asked him how old he was, but he hadn't asked for your age, either. It seemed a little awkward to ask now.

Joel clears his throat suddenly, startling you. You hurriedly tear your eyes off of him and stare at the road, hoping he hasn't noticed you watching him.

Joel drives past the Chalfont Diner and you turn your head to gaze at its broken neon sign flickering in the parking lot. The familiar sight signifies that you are almost home, and you feel a strange pang of disappointment in your stomach.

The entrance of the trailer park comes into view after another minute. Joel turns off the main road and drives down the dirt road that leads to the park. When he enters into the lot he slows right down, letting the truck roll as unobtrusively as possible as you direct him to your cousin's trailer.

Immediately you can see that there are no lights on inside the trailer and that your cousin's car is gone. You aren't sure where she is or when she will be home again.

Joel stops outside your home and parks the truck, but doesn't turn off the engine.

"This it?" He asks, peering through the front windshield to look at where you live. Although he makes no comments, you can't help but feel a little embarrassed that Joel is seeing where you live. What does he think of the peeling paint on the exterior of the place, the wire door hanging off its hinge, the milk crate of empty beer bottles haphazardly discarded on the partially dead lawn out the front?

He probably thinks I'm trash.

"Yep," you say unenthusiastically as you unbuckle your seat belt. "Thanks for the ride, Joel."

You aren't sure why you want to linger in his truck, why you feel a pull to stay with him just a bit longer. Are you really that lonely? You do your best to suppress the confusion inside your head and grab the handle to open the door of the truck. You give Joel a nod before getting out.

"Welcome," Joel nods back. "G'night."

You don't turn back to look at him as you trudge over to the trailer and up the couple of steps to the door. You don't turn back after opening the door and going inside, either, but you sense that Joel is waiting for you to safely enter before driving off.

The next few weeks pass by uneventfully. You and two of your friends hunt for different ways to earn some money - the three of you make a little cash by hand washing cars for a couple days, then the next week you peddle cartons of bootlegged cigarettes for your friend's uncle.

One of the girls, Lacey, tells you that the strip club where your cousin works is looking for waitresses. She suggests you both apply for a job there but you aren't sure you want to. Your other friend, Tiana, wants to be a hairdresser and has tried finding a job in town at the salons but has had no luck.

Life seems hopeless in this dead end piece of shit town. Your plan is to get work and save up as much money as you can and then leave and never come back. But judging by the way things are going that dream looks like it'll never come true.

When you aren't hanging out with your friends you sit on the steps of the trailer and write in your journal. It's a binded hardcovered notebook covered in a pattern of pretty galactic swirls of purple and silver. You have spent hours filling it with your innermost thoughts, your hopes and aspirations, aswell as poems and sketches you consider amateurish and at times silly. It's a piece of your heart on pages of paper, something precious and personal; journaling has been the only dependable companion you've ever had in your life.

Your cousin comes and goes, sometimes with a man you deduce is her new boyfriend. His name is Trent and he always wears a cap and a white wifebeater underneath a flannel shirt. He works at the steel mill just outside town. Whenever Trent is over he eyes you with smug lechery that makes you want to gag.

They are usually high or drunk when they return to the trailer and don't bother to restrain the sounds they make when they fuck. Now whenever you hear his truck rumble noisily outside you snatch up your handbag and escape to the streets in town.

Tonight is one of those nights. You scurry out the door and down the steps to escape before they even open their car doors. They don't seem to care though.

You leisurely walk along the back dirt roads into the cenrre of town, listening to music through a pair of old earphones that still manage to work. The twilight sky twinkles above you while you walk, and your path is beautifully illuminated by the round pale moon and the nearby streetlights. A slight breeze cools the bare skin of your legs. It is tranquil, soothing. You consider what you will do for the night. Maybe some of your friends will be out and about too and a group of you can get high under the bridge like you sometimes do together.

A sudden growling in your stomach makes you wince. You haven't eaten all day - you know if you get high when you're hungry you'll feel nauseous and want to vomit. Shit. Maybe you will try sell the last pack of bootleg smokes you have left so you can skim a bit of funds from the total and then treat yourself to something cheap from the gas station.

You head to the Bullhorn Bar where you know you'll have a good chance of finding a buyer to sell to. Unlike an establishment like the Gin Lounge, which mostly caters to business people and more self important members of society, the people at the Bullhorn Bar would be more inclined to purchase something off the street. The usual patrons are steel mill workers, rednecks and the occasional biker gang, and while the bar has a rough reputation you know it'll be easier to hawk something there than anywhere else in town.

You don't go inside but stay outside instead, casually leaning against the wall of the building by an adjacent alleyway. The muffled thump of the country music inside the bar reverberates through the brick wall behind you. It must be busy tonight, you muse.

You take out one of your own rollies from the pocket of your jacket and light it up. You smoke as you watch the occasional customer walk by to enter through the saloon style doors of the place. You wait a while before initiating conversation with anyone, patiently fishing for the right buyer.

Soon enough a man comes ambling along the sidewalk in a crumpled grey suit, his tie loose around his neck and his face flushed. He already looks half drunk. This should be easy.

"Hey," you greet him smoothly.

The man stops and looks at you blankly, his eyes bloodshot. "Evening."

"You smoke?" You smile a little, holding up your cigarette.

"Uh, sometimes," the man mumbles non-committally, unsure what you're getting at. "Why?"

"Well, I gotta brand new pack of smokes right here," you reach into your bag and pull out the box. "I don't need 'em. Wanna buy?"

The man shakes his head rapidly, making his jowls quiver. "Oh no, no, no thank you, young lady," he mutters, "none of that for me tonight."

"Come on, man," you soothe cunningly, "I gaurantee you haven't tried these before. They are smoother than those bullshit Malboros you probably smoke, and they are half the price. You can't say no to this deal."

The red faced man just continues shaking his head and raises his hands up in refusal, then quickly walks away from you towards the saloon doors.

"Oh, for fucks sake," you groan with annoyance. Oh well, that was only the first try. Plenty more to go. You pop your rollie back into your mouth and deposit the cigarette packet back in you bag.

"Those'll kill ya, you know." A deep voice speaks suddenly behind you.

You squeak, startled, and fling around. The voice belongs to Joel, ofcourse. He is standing tall infront of you with his arms crossed. He is so close that you can smell his scent from where you stand - a mixture of pine, mint and coffee. His hair is slicked back and he wears a green flannel shirt with a black t shirt underwear. You notice how his biceps strain the fabric covering them.

Joel looks down at you with the slightest hint of amusement in his eyes, and you notice how the tanned skin around them crinkles. "Forcin' strangers to buy some smokes?"

You shake your head a bit and snicker. "No," you say, "I'm just trying to make an honest living, thank you."

The corner of Joel's lips quirk into a tiny smile. "Sellin' bootleg cigarettes 's what you call an honest livin', huh?"

You grin sheepishly and give a shrug. "I'm working with what I got, man." You tap the ash at the end of your cigarette onto the sidewalk and take another puff. "What're you doing back here?"

Joel looks down at his boots and kicks at a pebble on the ground. "Finished work for the week and got some time to kill. Thought I'd drive through, see what's goin' on."

"In this town?" You scoff teasingly. "Not much to do here, Joel." You drop your rollie and crush the ember with the toe of your shoe.

Joel lifts his head and looks at you, the light from the streetlight overhead creating the illusion that his dark brown eyes are sparkling.

"You remembered my name?" He asks softly, sounding like he's both surprised and pleased at the fact you hadn't forgotten him.

You tilt your head and raise your eyebrows inquisitively. Ofcourse I remembered, you want to say. "Yeah," you reply simply instead. "Did you remember mine?"

Joel stares at you intently and nods, his jaw ticking once. He speaks your name then to prove himself, the rich timbre of his Southern accent sounding smooth and honeyed to your ears. You feel your cheeks blushing in response and you have to internally scold yourself for being so ridiculous.

"Yep, that's me," you murmur shyly, looking down at your shoes and fidgeting with your hands, unsure of what else to say.

After a few moments you hear Joel clear his throat and then you feel the heat of his large hand as he gently cups your elbow in his palm. "You wanna go get somethin' to eat? I'm starvin' and got no idea where to get a good steak around here."

You peer up and smile at him,  "Uh, sure," you whisper. "That would be nice."

[tired-reader-writer]

Thoughts on ferdinand?

Short answer: Don't like that guy.

Beyond this point is the body of the post where I may rail on your favorite character. This post is clearly-labeled and easy to avoid. If you choose to read on despite me making it clear what my opinion is, you do not have to right to vague me in a condescending manner as you may or may not have done with another post of a similar kind. Just avoid this. It's not that hard. I'm making the fandom ecosystem a little more varied, is all. Us Detlinde fans, Sylvester lovers, and Raublut sympathizers have had to sit and bear with it as the fandom paraded our faves and hurled shit at them. If we have had to endure that, surely you can endure One (1) post that criticizes your fave who is widely loved by everyone else and is also put under a cut. Don't start insulting me for criticizing a character when you've gotten mad at me for responding to insults with anger.

Surely a fandom that condescended to us for reading something we disagree with will understand the point I am making here :)

Aight now that that's out of the way, I can finally get to the meat of the post for all the big-brained people who chose to continue.

Reasons why I think Ferdinand sucks have been touched on in these posts (A B) so I don't really have all that much to say about that outside of reiterating what those posts said.

I tried, y'all. I tried so hard to like him. Everyone else loved him and I wanted to see what they were seeing.

But I couldn't.

He's an abusive jackass who doesn't see that the people around him do love him, can't be allowed near children, doesn't bother lifting other people up he just expects them to be already good. His memory trip with Myne changed nothing about how he saw her or other kids “her age”. He doesn't even seem to like most parts of her, he just seems to like that she's on his level and that she'd protect him.

And the problem is that. I wouldn't hate him nearly as much if only the story or the fandom acknowledged his dickishness. It's not that I'm unfamiliar or can't handle heavy topics, either— I am a victim of lifelong abuse in a country that's been on fire for as long as it's existed. I Been Knew, buddy.

Vincent Nightray from Pandora Hearts is a misogynistic little prick who lies and tricks and betrays people to get to his goal. He may or may not also be a transphobic allegory. But I love him! He's one of my favorite characters from the manga! How could this be? Because his flaws matter. Because both the story and the audience understand that he's not just the poorest little man. He kinda is, but I love him because he's a messy character full of flaws. It makes him interesting. Also because his struggles and storyline involving guilt and suicidal ideation resonated deeply with me.

I absolutely fucking adore Sohma Akito from Fruits Basket. She is so fucking abusive to so many characters and… the story knows that! It acknowledges that! She's, like Vincent, a fucking mess! But the way her backstory explains her entire thing but doesn't excuse it, the way she's such a realistic exploration of abuse both as perpetrator and victim, is so interesting! She's so interesting! Fruits Basket as a whole is just. It's good. It's excellent. It even has a counselor and an artist analyzing the symbolism, art direction, and psychology of the characters on YouTube. You should give that podcast a listen. It's by the channel ThoughtBubble. (Ferdinand's “trauma” could become a realistic exploration of the consequences of such a fucked up life, how he passes on the hurt to the younger generation, if only the story let it but… everyone just uses that trauma card to woobify him and excuse him and go “oh poor Ferdinand” on him like a pity party, which I don't like. Again, the potential is there and I could like it, but the way the fandom treated his trauma is so viscerally off-putting to me that my faith in his potential plummeted and I “hate” him by their definition instead)

How about Orochimaru? Irredeemable terrifying bastard villain WHO TRAFFICKS AND EXPERIMENTS ON CHILDREN. There's discussion of how the military state exploited him and he went off the deep end and it was excused when it still benefited the state but became a crime as soon as it became for himself, but largely people agree that he cannot be excused. And he's one of my favorite fucking characters.

Shimura Danzo? Y'all don't need a primer on that fucker everyone hates him he's terrible he's problematic and I love him. One of the characters of all time.

How about Senju Butsuma? Specifically, the rendition of Senju Butsuma in a fic written by my friend. He's still abusive, he literally has a scene of beating the crap out of his sons on-screen in the fic— that scene triggered me by the way but it just goes to show how well-written it is, my friend the author specifically mentioned that he didn't want to trivialize abuse but also didn't want to turn it into a sympathy-bait pity party for the Senju brothers— and? He's my babygirl. He's everything.

Prospera Mercury? Fucking war criminal milf with Issues? She uses both her children as weapons even as she claims she's doing it all for one of them? Massacres people? And? I love her????? She's so messy she's got Problems she's not good for her daughters. And that makes her infinitely delicious. Easily one of my favorites of all time.

So it's not that I hate characters who are jackasses. It's not that I hate flawed, messy characters. I love them! I love them even when canon doesn't. I love them even when the fandom doesn't. I would never try to excuse or absolve them (I mean, I'd like to see any of you try to excuse Danzo??) I try to give these characters the justice they deserve when I'm discussing them with people. But I… can't do that with Ferdinand. Any discussion of his character in a way that doesn't fit their very narrow view of “the biggest victim in the world who is also the strongest most badass man ever” immediately gets clotheslined into “hate”. Even the mildest of criticisms, even the most politely-worded posts get misinterpreted, misconstrued, and ultimately declared as senseless petty hate. Heck, even people who like him a lot get shunned and ostracized from the fandom if their interpretation is too different from the Fandom Majority's! So yes! By the fandom's very definition, I hate him! I hate him most immensely! I hate the parts of him that the narrative and the fandom choose to highlight as opposed to the more interesting bits! I hate that he takes up all the oxygen in the room whenever anyone discusses Veronica's abuse and her victims! He's not the only victim, but everyone acts as though he is!

So yes, tldr: I hate him. If only he could've been written by a better author like Mochizuki Jun or Takaya Natsuki. Fuck, even as much as I gripe about Arakawa Hiromu, even she could've handled him better.