#i think about this a lot more than id like to admit

[milfygerard]

sometimes i go thru the gaylor tag to see updates or reactions or something and its so funny everytime. You people are insane i respect literally none of you etc etc

[gibbearish]

a weird little thing abt me is i will definitely mock shitty ai art but it never feels right doing it about the hands simply by virtue of the fact that a lot of them look indistinguishable from the hands i was doing years ago when i first got a drawing tablet

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

TENDER CARE. 18+

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary. you’ve been feeling insecure lately and your boyfriend, bucky knows just the way to make you feel pretty

word count. 2847

warnings. 18+ only!! hurt/comfort, reader feeling insecure, lots of hand kissing bc that shit makes me weak, kissing in general, praise, body worshiping, oral (f receiving) little bit of titty stuff, unprotected pinv sex, bucky being the best bf. minors dni

It was late, the evening quiet - the winter moon, a bright slither of silver amongst the dark blue sky. 

As you lay in your bed, admiring her -the moon’s- beauty through the condensation of your window, your mind begins to drift, irrationality throwing hurdles at you. Your brain darting back and forth to those same thoughts you've been having more of lately - ones where doubt and insecurity flood any sense of logicality. 

You knew you had no reason to feel this way. Your boyfriend always went to grave lengths to ensure you felt loved and appreciated, showing you nothing but tender care. Though, there was just something in your brain, that little green gremlin instilling distrust within you - no fault to him.

You felt isolated with your sense of humility, often feeling as though you didn't have someone to confide in, someone to talk to. It wasn't an easy topic to bring up, and although you felt comfortable enough with Bucky to share your mind freely, this was something that you just could not stomach. 

Not only were you thinking about yourself, you were thinking of Bucky. The thought of admitting to him you felt insecure in your relationship felt like the highest form of betrayal. To confess to the man who's been torn apart and stitched together more times than one can count - that you felt unlovable, was something you couldn't bear. 

The amount of hurt you would cause him simply by sharing was enough to deter you. So, for that reason alone, you kept it hidden. Letting yourself wallow in the crappy feeling unaided. 

Your phone vibrates on your nightstand beside you, the screen obnoxiously bright - the white almost blinding you within your dim bedroom. Teary-eyed, you peek over at the caller ID, your boyfriend's name displayed beside his picture. 

You wanted to talk to him - to hear his voice, but you knew your wavering tone would give away your dismal state. So, you let his call go to voicemail, like all his others from this evening. 

Feeling guilt-ridden for declining his calls, you pick up your phone, deciding to send him a text instead. But when you unlock your phone, you see a pile of missed messages from Bucky, each text growing more and more worried at your sudden disappearance - his last one reading, 'I'll be over in 10' which was nearly ten minutes ago. 

You exhale in frustration, cursing yourself as you wipe your eyes - carefully blotting the sensitive skin with one hand, the other typing a response. You decided on a small, white lie, replying, 'sorry, I was sleeping.'

The second your thumb presses send, you hear a frantic string of taps on your door - the repeated sound of knuckles knocking. You take a moment to situate yourself before making your way to your front entrance, socked feet paddling over to answer. 

You peek through the peephole, your boyfriend on the other side - visibly distressed as he rakes through the front strands of his hair. You reach for the handle, unlocking the door with an expression you were sure to be disgrace. "I'm so sorry. I was in—" you start.

"Are you okay? You didn't answer. I got worried— I thought something happened," Bucky cuts you off, walking past you and stepping into your apartment.

You close the door behind him, turning to meet his frazzled features. "I know, I know. I'm really sorry. My phone was on silent, and I was in bed. I didn't see anything til just now," you confess, sharing parts of the truth.

He deeply exhales, gaze softening as he looks over you. He pauses, seeming like he's analysing you, eyes honing in on your evading ones. "What's wrong?" 

You knew your gag would be up sooner or later, but you didn't expect it to be this soon. Sometimes, it was like your boyfriend knew things about you before you even did yourself - as though you failed to remember who you were talking to.

"Nothing," you smile, kissing his cheek as you step past him. "Just tired— didn't sleep properly."

"Yeah?" he hums, not quite believing your half-truths. He kicks off his boots and follows you into your room, soft footsteps behind you like a shadow. "How was your day?" he asks, talking like he's scoping you out.

You sit on the foot of your bed, shrugging at him dismissingly. "Same old. How was yours?"

He steps towards you, eyes darting around your room before focusing on you - everything becoming more apparent. "Fine. Good," he nods, softly groaning as he takes a crouch in front of you, kneeling on the floor between your legs so he's level with you. "What's wrong? What's going on?" he asks, eyes following you with the movement of his head, brows narrowing.

"Nothing," you reply, speaking faintly. Responding minimally in case your voice were to break.

"No?" he questions, placing a delicate hand over your knee - the palm emitting warmth onto your skin through the fabric of your pyjamas.

You shake your head, bottom lip beginning to waver under his attention. 

"Then what's on your mind?" he asks gently, his tone warm and concerned.

"I told you," you avoid his eyes, looking down at your hands on your lap. "Didn't sleep well."

He sighs at your tenacity to push him away, head cocking to the side. He adjusts the stance on his knees, and your hands scramble for him - reaching out and holding onto him as if you were to stop him from leaving. Though only he wasn't leaving - he was just getting more comfortable. 

"I wasn't leaving," he murmurs, slipping his hands into yours, thumb brushing over the back of your hand assuringly. "Did you think I was going to leave you?" he asks, lips lining into a faint frown.

You notice his brows tug upwards in the middle, the tell-tell sign he was beginning to think too hard. "No, I was just— I... don't know."

"Well, I'm not," he responds shortly, speaking like he was being stern with you - tough love. "Now, what's going on with you?" he asks, his grip on your hand tightening with a reassuring squeeze, the silent act encouraging you. 

You inhale steadily, letting the air fill your lungs. "I haven't been feeling good."

He keeps his eyes on yours, following you. "Okay, why?" he questions shortly, wanting to get to the root of the problem as quickly as possible.

"I've been sad."

"Why?

You shrug. "I just have."

"I need more than that. Why have you been sad?"

"I don't know."

"Why?" he repeats, brows straightening.  

"Because I feel... ugly."

He hesitates, his shoulders slumping at your confession, visibly digesting your words. "Ugly?" he recites, the remark leaving a foul taste on his tongue. "Honey," he lingers, softly shaking his head.

Bucky stills, his forehead creasing with what you perceive to be pity. His mouth opens as though he's going to say something, only for it to snap back shut. He faintly sighs, bringing your hand to his lips. "You know that's not true, right?" he rhetorically asks, pressing a kiss into the back of your hand.

You don't say anything, the only reply being a short exhale and an awkward smile.

"Because I think you..." he pauses, kissing another patch into your hand. "Are the prettiest," a slow smile lining his lips - an expression that's now mirroring yours.

It was so simple. Everything Bucky did to reassure you - he did with ease. Just the tiny, loving act instantly melting the tension in your mind. His care for you pushing away any sense of self-doubt.

He peppers another kiss into your hand. And another - littering a short string of them over your wrist. "Don't listen to your brain, okay? She's not always right," he murmurs, expression softening like it was reassuring his words.

"I know," you nod, weakly smiling at him. "Just—"

"Hard. I know," Bucky finishes your sentence, nodding at you understandingly. 

He leans forward and places a soft kiss on the centre of your lips - his own brushing over yours sweetly, the action grounding and comforting. He pulls away first, eyes half-lidded as they glance over you, focusing on the almost pleading look on your face.

Your free hand reaches up to his face, palm enclosing his jaw as you bring him back in for a kiss - lips working over his more urgently than the time before. 

"Thank you," you mumble against his mouth, merely pulling away to show your appreciation. "You're so kind to me."

His grip loosens on your hand, now sliding both up to your face, cupping your cheeks as he deepens the kiss - tongue slipping into your mouth willingly. His lips leave yours, trailing a line of kisses along your jaw and down the side of your throat. 

"Always," he murmurs, the short word muffling into your skin. Whispering, "I want to show you just how pretty you are."

A soft whine-like hum vibrates in your throat, the noise accepting his words eagerly. Your hand trails into the short strands of hair at the back of his head, fingers grazing his scalp as you hold him to the crook of your neck. Neck tilting to the side, allowing him more access to you as you reach for his jacket, pushing the fabric off his broad shoulders. 

He presses a final kiss into a patch of your skin and pulls away, looking at your ever-softening features - eyes and brows growing pliant under his attention. His hands slowly roam down to the hem of your t-shirt, fingers hooking under the fabric as they lift, pulling it off your head in a steady, swift motion.

You sit in front of him, chest bare and on display in front of him, letting him take you in - not shying away like you did earlier.

Bucky remains quiet, his eyes fixed on the lewd sight before him, silently storing the image for safekeeping. He brings his hands up towards your tits, cupping under each - holding them in his palms. "So beautiful," he hums, leaning in to place a kiss on the swell below your nipple, giving his attention to each breast.

He rolls them in his strong hands, delicately playing and toying with them, thumbs skimming over your sensitive, hardening nipples, pressing kisses into the skin above. He looks up at you from between your tits, eyes full of love, full of warmth - looking up into your blissed ones with nothing adoration. 

He places a hand over your middle - fingers spread wide as he nudges you backwards, silently and carefully laying you down. Your bare back against the covers with him kneeling on the floor between your spread thighs. 

Barely leaning over you, he reaches up to kiss a trail over your abdomen, lips skimming along your jittering stomach as his fingers slip into the waistband of your underwear and pyjama bottoms. He pulls them down - light tugs as he drags them off your hips and down your thighs, grazing kisses over your now-exposed skin as he undresses your lower half. 

Pulling the fabric off your ankles, he sets it aside, replacing the material that just covered you with kisses - lips grazing up the length of your legs, chaste pecks over your skin like he was worshipping you. The kisses trail higher and higher, reaching up to the crease between your thigh and cunt where he continues the worship, tongue faintly swiping over the skin.

Your hands worm into the roots of his dark hair, fingers locking on the shorts as you hold him to where you want him, guiding him to the needy little spot between your thighs. Chest rising and falling, inner thighs twitching as the anticipation builds in your stomach.

He situates himself in front of your pussy, lips mere inches away as he softly breathes over it - teasing you, his eyes locked on your trembling stomach above. He places a peck on the bottom of your slit. And another. Lining a stripe of kisses up your cunt til he reaches your clit where he skates past the nub, tongue skimming over it.

Hands working over your thighs and to your hips, he adjusts you, placing your legs over his shoulders - letting them drape freely over his blades as he delves in deeper between your thighs, caressing your plushy folds with his lips and tongue. 

You murmur the first half of his name only to be cut off by a whine, the desperate noise catching in your throat when he nips at your clit, his lips wrapping around the mound - tongue skillfully flickering across. 

The noises he muffles are lewd and obscene - gruff, soft groans as he adulates your pussy, pushing his mouth in closer. Your fingers tug tighter on his roots at the consuming feeling, back lifting from the bed in an arch, mindlessly grinding your cunt into his face. 

Within minutes, you become a twitching, moaning pile of mush, coating his chin with your slick as you cum - thighs clamping around Bucky's head between.

He places a final kiss on your pubic bone before pulling away, standing up with a chubbed-up cock in his pants, the area tenting after tasting you. You hold his gaze, looking up at him with blissed eyes and a stir in your stomach - the sight of him making your cunt twitch. 

He wipes the wet from his chin on the back of his hand, briskly drying his stubble before undressing his lower half - tugging down on his combat pants and boxers, letting the material pool around his ankles as his cock springs free. Full length hard and ready, tip leaking precum. 

You scooch up your bed, resting flat with your head on the pillow, eagerly awaiting him. Your thighs instinctively spread as he crawls up the bed and between your legs, slotting his lower half between you - anchoring his weight on his hands either side of your head.

He leans in to kiss you, making you taste yourself on his tongue, the residual creamy slick transferring onto your own. Cock absentmindedly rubbing up against your pussy, the faint friction making you whimper into his mouth.

Your hands hook into the hem of his t-shirt, fingers gripping the bottom of the fabric as you guide it up his back, pulling it over his head as you break the kiss - his chest now bare and up against yours. 

Balancing on his left metal hand, he dips the other between you, reaching for his cock, wrapping his fingers around the base. He gives himself a few short strokes, guiding his head towards you - pushing his tip through the slick of your folds, coating his cock in your wetness before sinking into you.

You take him at your own pace, walls fluttering and loosening around his shaft as he eases more of himself into you - your pussy swallowing little bits of him at a time. Your hand paws at his wrist placed on your hip, fingers enveloping around the thickness, silently pleading and begging him to get closer.

He looks down at the lewd sight of you spread out in front of him: your brows knitted, eyes soft, lips bitten - natural, unadulterated beauty all desperate and malleable for him. He notices the bliss cloud in your eyes and gives your glistening, stuffed pussy a final once over before hovering back over you, chest lingering above yours. 

His lips skim over your jaw, trailing even more kisses down the side of your throat, giving you easing, reassuring pecks as he slips more of his cock into you - distracting you from the dull ache. 

"You are so beautiful," he whispers into your skin, sealing the compliment with a kiss. "You really are," he adds, pressing kisses into your shoulder. "I don't know how you don't see it."

You bend at the knee, holding it at his side - the new angle opening your hips wider, allowing that last bit of his cock to slide in, head hitting at the hilt. You keep him snug to you, arms lazily wrapped around his neck, your other leg entangling with his as your lips shadow each other. 

The moonlit room fills with soft, wet clicking - the sound of your pussy and sticky skin hitting cuts through the bliss-filled noises that slip past both of your lips, lewd noises surrounding you in the dark.

Bucky pulls his forehead from the crook of your neck to look down at you, eyes hinting at something - like his mind was temporarily elsewhere.

"Earlier," he starts, his voice hoarse as his hips wind into you, cock rubbing your walls so nicely. "When you said that thing," he adds, following your eyes when they bashfully divert away. "You tell me when you feel like that... I'd be happy to remind you just how pretty you are."

a/n. I had an idea for myself, what?? and my first full fic in almost a year??

[monamourbladie]

AHH OKAY SO.. this feels so weird typing out but IF YOU'RE COMFORTABLE CAN YOU WRITE LIKE PROTECTIVE/POSSESSIVE DAN HENG IL? idk how to describe it aaa like.. id imagine because he is a vidyadhara, they stay with their lovers for life, so he's be like very protective over his lover. maybe smut but its up to you!!!!!!!

Possessive Dan Heng/IL head canons

okay firstly i wanna say i was sitting on this ask for days bc i was trying to think of a possible plot but I couldn’t:( so i’m just gonna do some head cannons, i hope you don’t mind! I’ll be including some nsfw ones at the end too don’t worry :)) and thank u for being my first request on this blog hehe~

Dan Heng:

alright, so Dan is a very reserved and kept to himself kinda guy as we can see on the Express. he doesn’t show his emotions a lot and he’s kind of hard to read

you’re one of the few people that can read him like a book due to how close you guys are and how much he trusts you. like, even MARCH couldn’t get him to open up as much as he does with you

so when he’s upset, you just know. like it’s so obvious to you and you alone lol

so let’s say you’re out in Belobog and he’s speaking with March & Stelle when some guy comes up to you and starts chatting with you

initially he wouldn’t think much of it until he starts hearing laughter from you, and then all his attention is on you and him. like, why are you laughing at his jokes? what’s he even doing talking to you??

he’d just kind of keep his distance and just watch. nobody else really understands what he’s doing, but you can immediately recognize the coldness in his eyes as he’s glaring daggers at the man.

eventually he’d have enough when he notices him starting to touch your arm and he immediately walks over, keeping a calm & collected stature

“y/n! there you are, i was wondering where you ran off to.” he’s walk up behind you and wrap his arm around your waist, keeping you pressed close against him.

your cheeks would flush and you’d immediately lean into him, feeling better now that he’s here and can scare the guy off. “i was just waiting for our drinks.”

“and speaking with me. i was offering to give her a tour around Belobog, since she’s new,” the man said with a smile to her. dan’s grip would tighten around your waist and he’s grit his teeth.

your drink would be called and he’d move away for just a moment - (it helped that you were waiting by the counter, anyway) and grabbed your drinks for you, handing you one and kissing your forehead as he did so, “that’s sweet, but we already have a tour guide. let’s go.”

he’d grab your hand and fast walk you away, his heart almost aching from the exchange.

you always understood how sensitive he is about you dating him, since he’s been so heavily traumatized by his previous marriage in his past life. any scenario where you could leave him in any way terrifies him more than he wants to admit.

“was that supposed to be intimidating?” march would comment with a giggle as they walked over. dan simply sighed as he handed march her drink, “leave it, march.”

you’d look up at him with a soft smile and tilt his face to look down at you. you’d grin and kiss his lips longingly, “don’t worry, sweetheart. i was just being nice and keeping conversation.”

this eased his mind greatly - it’s not like he doesn’t trust you, he’s just extremely insecure and fearful about losing his loved ones, even to a random stranger in a planet they have no plans to stay on.

back at the hotel when you’re alone though? that’s another story. he doesn’t feel the need to keep his usual reserved facade up, and you know that.

the moment the door is shut, he’s immediately behind you, his arms trailing up yours as he peppers kisses up the back of your neck, “i hated seeing him speak with you, you know that?” he’d mutter against your skin.

you’d hum and close your eyes as you leaned into his touch, knowing this was going to be a pleasantly long night. “were you jealous, baby?” you’d playfully tease him.

he’d let out a low growl against your skin as his grip on you tightened, moving you in his arms so you’re pressing your chest against his own. he leaned down and started to kiss against your jawline up to your ear, “i don’t get jealous. i get protective.”

“you’re so jealous,” you’d giggle, moving your head so you could kiss his lips instead. he’d kiss you back harshly to immediately shut you up, beginning to walk the two of you slowly over to the bed as you’d kiss

he’d pin you down against the bed quickly, his kisses getting more feverish as his hands start exploring your body, “that’s enough out of you. you’re my girl.”

you’d squirm under his touch in enjoyment, cheeks flushing red from being called his girl. you loved when you got him to act all touchy, especially when he was riled up like this.

he would absolutely tease you all throughout the night just to get you so riled up that you’d just be panting and begging for him to finally let you have your release.

he’d click his tongue and lean in against your ear, his fingers teasing you unbearably slowly as you squirmed. he wouldn’t let you have your release until you cried out that you were his and only his, reaffirming him in the best way.

he’d lean down and kiss you heatedly as he pumped his fingers quickly to push you over the edge, “good girl, that’s right… you belong to me, no one else…”

youd cry out as he helped you through your high, “o-only yours, dan… f-fuck…”

there was literally nothing he adored more than seeing you a sobbing, moaning mess all because of him. part of you wondered if you should get him possessive more often if he would treat you so nicely afterwards…

Imbibitor Lunae:

if you thought dan heng was closed off and reserved, dan feng was another level. we all know everyone described him as cold and uncaring, but when it came to you? he was a total opposite and an absolute sweetheart.

he had his moments of being a typical brooding dragon, but the love he has for you is so immense that it outweighed every once of coldness in his heart and actions

it honestly surprised most of the quintet when he announced that you two started dating, because out of everyone they expected to actually get a girlfriend the high elder himself was last on the list — let alone a short life species such as yourself.

dan feng does not like showing any ounce of PDA in public by any means. in the public eye, he only would have his arm around you if you were walking around, or occasionally held your hand. he would never kiss you if he knew a lot of people would be seeing it

at least that’s how he acted early on in your relationship. this lead to most people thinking you were single, so it was not uncommon that you would have guys flirt with you right in front of him.

the first time dan feng noticed a drunk guy coming into you hardcore, it made his blood boil. unlike dan heng, dan feng was totally cool with showing off his angry side.

he immediately stormed right up and got between the two of you, resting his hand against your chest and glaring at the man, “i think it’s best if you leave.”

the man scoffed as he crossed his arms, “actually, it would be best if you left. i was having a great time with her.”

dan felt his blood boil and he glared at him, “that’s my fiancée, and i suggest you get away from her immediately.”

“or what?” the man spat back. “for being her fiancé, you certainly don’t act like one.” without thinking, dan shoved the man against the wall, his arm pressed firmly over his chest, “you have some nerve to speak to your High Elder in such a way. I told you — stay away from her. you should be thankful i’m not throwing you into the Shackling Prison for being an ass.”

the man’s eyes widened as he started sobering up enough to realize how badly he fucked up. he squeaked and nodded furiously, “i-i’m so sorry, your highness! it won’t happen again!”

he’d step back and let him run off quickly. turning back to you he saw your cheeks burning red with embarrassment, and his demeanor immediately changed back to stoic. he approached you and began to walk away with you, his hand wrapped around your waist, “i believe i owe you an apology. i didn’t realize i wasn’t acting as much of a fiancé as I thought i was.”

and ever since that day, he made sure he always had his arm around you in some way, and made it very, very clear that you were his fiancée.

he’d pretty much be the same as dan heng, except way more passionate and dominating about it. he’s not afraid to entirely let his guard down in private with you, especially about anything sexual, so absolutely be prepared for a long, pleasure filled night

he’d be very dominate but definitely a pleasure dom … most of the time lol, other times he’d just be absolutely rough with you if he was really, really feeling jealous or possessive

he would not be afraid to leave a lot of marks - it made him proud that others would absolutely know you’re taken just by one glance at your neck, and he wasn’t ashamed of it, either. he knew he fucked up early on, and he made sure to always make up for it, especially in bed

and yes — part of the reason why he’s so protective over you is because you are a short life species. it absolutely destroys him that while you will grow old and spend the rest of your life with him, he cannot share the same blessing with you, and he absolutely hates himself for it. it’s not fair.

that’s why any time anyone tried anything with you, he’d get so angry over it because how dare they flirt with his one and only?

he also gave 0 fucks that some vidyadharans did not approve of you, in fact he loves to flaunt it in their faces now and kiss you at public events when he hears people murmur about the high elder and his “short-life woman.”

moral of the story, don’t fuck with the high elder’s woman or you’re a dead man

i hope this is what u had in mind alenfhehddhhd thank you for the request 🫶🏻

[eilidh-eternal]

Having thoughts of the 141 but as the four horsemen of the apocalypse

Despite being known as the four horseman colloquially within the SAS, none of them got their names because of the way they fight, or for some stupidly brave thing they did on an op. Nope.

Gaz - Pestilence

Has an infectious smile. Literally no one can resist it. Can get anyone to do anything he asks with his smile and is soooo smug about it. Flashes it to the shy little secretary outside Price’s office when he needs a favor with his paperwork, or to the base gate-guard when he forgets his ID. He has tags on his truck for that but he likes seeing them flustered.

Price - War

Do. Not. Play. Risk. With. Him. Price has been banned from game night because the rest of the team is convinced he cheats. No one has ever beaten him at Risk—hasn’t ever come close to outmaneuvering him. Ghost takes it personally too because he’s known him the longest and still hasn’t figured out how to beat him.

Soap - Famine

Man can eat. The rest of the team knows to tell him dinner starts 15 minutes later than it really does because if you don’t beat him to it there won’t be anything left. None of the poor rookies have figured that out yet though, so Gaz always takes a little extra to share.

Ghost - Death

The jokes. Oh god the jokes. It’s not even that they’re particularly funny. It’s his deadpan delivery. He may not know anything more than cheesy military puns, but they’re good for talking rookies down in the field. Soap will never admit it but it helped a lot when he was alone in Las Almas.

NSFW below the cut

Gaz

Absolutely abuses his pretty privilege with the lads and ladies. If you think soap is a big flirt? He has nothing on Gaz. This man is disgustingly, sickeningly charming and sweet, even in bed. Is absolutely the type to have you babbling nonsense, clenching down on him as he rolls his hips languidly and murmurs the sweetest praises against your skin.

“Takin’ me so well, luv. Gonna give me one more, yeah? Gonna let me hear those pretty moans?”

Price

Talks you through it. He’s used to talking his team through missions and trainings, and it’s carried over to the bedroom. Especially when you’ve been a brat all day and you’re bent over his knee, counting each strike of his hand against the swell of your ass.

“Only 5 more, don’t get quiet on me now. If I can’t hear you I’ll keep going until you can do it right. That’s what this is for, isn’t it? To teach you to do things the right way?”

Soap

Goes down on you like he’s starving. Absolutely does it for his own pleasure, and is downright nasty about it. Begs you to let him do it, complains that he needs it, that he has to know what you taste like.

Won’t stop whining until you shove his face between your legs to shut him up, and even then he’s sucking and slurping and making lewd sounds, moaning and begging for you to cum on his tongue until he’s had his fill.

Ghost

Listen. He may be an Englishman, but Ghost fucks like the French and you can’t convince me otherwise.

La petite mort.

If he doesn’t leave you limp and tingly all over, he hasn’t finished the job. Will go as many rounds as it takes to see you dumb on his cock, so fucked out your eyes are glazed over and the only name you can remember is his.

[olderthannetfic]

I have really mixed feelings about the small proportion of F/F fiction (original or fanfic), because yeah sure, people have their desires, they should write what they want, I get it. It all works out when I hear it from person to person. But somehow the logic only ever applies in one direction? "There are more male protagonists because men only care about male characters! Women also mostly care about male characters, because that's the majority of characters they get!" And then somehow we also yet kvetch when men write female characters (because it's incorrectly or something, nevermind if women are writing male characters correctly). Why don't we expect gay men to feel compelled only by femslash for the same reasons (but gender swapped) as the lesbian slashers/fujoshi? All of those very rational justifications are applied selectively, "for me for not for thee," and it all only leads to "idk I just don't wanna write femslash", for Reasons. Do we get to call them microaggressions yet?

--

No, you don't get to call other people's fantasy life a microaggression.

That is indeed "for me but not for thee" in the sense that you get to want what you want but other people aren't supposed to follow their id.

Do you also police gay men who spend too much time on drag and obsessing over female divas? That's an actual real world behavior that's somewhat equivalent. It frequently goes unchallenged, at least by progressives, because men are allowed to do whatever they want with chick stuff, while women are "stealing" if they dare to stray into dude stuff.

(God, I've seen so much more policing of drag kings being ~problematic~ for acting out stereotypical gender than policing of drag queens for the same. It's nuts!)

Fujoshi are often queer, but it's absurd to think we're mostly lesbians. We tend to be bi or asexual women with gender stuff going on, though there is a mix of everybody, including lesbians. There are also a lot of AFAB non-women who get lumped in with us. On the rare occasions I find a man willing to admit to being a similar demographic, he usually does like gender play in his hobbies and entertainment. It's just that men face even more pressure than women do to fit into tidy categories. Bi women get told we're whores. Bi men are told they don't exist.

Yes, I know plenty of lesbians who write more m/m than f/f, but in the big picture of all of AO3 or all of fanfic or all of media, they aren't the demographic driving these numbers. They're vastly outnumbered by the bi women, the asexual women, and the straight and gnc women.

The men we should be looking at as an equivalent aren't cis gay men but bicurious soy boys and the like.

Do most of us fujoshi object to equivalent men doing an equivalent thing? I've seen it sometimes, and I agree it's hypocritical. I'd like us to afford men the same ability to play and take on identities in their art. I remember enjoying Ranma fandom back in the day and reading quite a lot of f/f that was probably by men. It had some of that same sense of distance and fantasy that I so enjoy in m/m aimed at fujoshi. (I do consume some by-cis-gay, for-cis-gay content, both m/m and f/f, but it's often too literal and too bound up in specific named identities for my taste.)

On average, the people I see complaining most about men producing f/f material are the same people who think that because I have a clit, I should center my life around women exclusively. In other words, people spouting radfem ideology, perhaps on purpose or perhaps without realizing.

I do agree that some of the ways of expressing a lack of desire to write femslash can get pretty douchey. I want us to move away from some of the less accurate ones like "There are no compelling female characters" because of this.

But the reason for all these jerkass explanations is that women and people perceived as women who like m/m are constantly asked to explain ourselves. These aren't usually microaggressions: they're openly hostile. People get defensive and try to answer with important-sounding reasons about identity and pain because society at large won't accept "I like this" as the true explanation.

Pleasure is never enough of a reason for a woman to do something.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

On Kurapika's Self-Imposed Isolation

While I recognize that probably everything I'm about to say is going to be super obvious, I just wanted to briefly touch on Kurapika's self-isolation, and the reason behind his not picking up his phone or exchanging anything more than clipped words and business after Yorknew.

I think the obvious answer is that Kurapika doesn't want his friends in harms way, or to be used as a bargaining tool against him. This is an understandable and probably accurate conclusion. After all, Gon and Killua did get taken hostage, and Kurapika was forced to negotiate an exchange. Chrollo picked up on Kurapika's "weakness" right away - that he values his friends' safety before his revenge. Fortunately for Kurapika in this situation, Pakunoda was a whole lot more similar to him than he would've cared to admit, as she placed a value on Chrollo's life even though everyone in the Spider was intended to be replaceable. So, now that he's been through Gon and Killua having potentially gotten killed or seriously hurt, and Chrollo knows that he has a soft spot for them, it does make sense that he would try to push them away for their safety and for the sake of not having an exploitable "weakness" in future. He may also not want to burden them more when they have their own lives to live - he does slip off without telling Gon and Killua for the sake of not distracting them from Nen training, after all.

Except that he already tried all this earlier in Yorknew arc. He tried to tell them they shouldn't get involved, and they all agreed that the risks were massive - but his friends agreed to undergo the risks anyways to help him. Kurapika was even grateful for it - "I have been blessed with good friends."

So, for him to push them away solely for this reason after the fact, knowing that this was very much a likely situation to happen, is a little odd to me. Kurapika knows full well that Leorio would be frustrated, Killua would be offended and Gon would worry. So, I think there's a little more to it than that, and I actually would venture to say that "keeping his friends out of danger" is more a secondary reason for his actions - one that would come across as more of a reasonable excuse to others.

The primary reason is likely a lot more selfish than that. Kurapika has to ensure his mission comes first. And unfortunately, he is fully aware that his path and choice in abilities is deeply self-destructive.

Kurapika needs to make sure that he doesn't have exploitable weaknesses, sure, but he also just as much needs to purposefully worsen his headspace - and he can't do that with those three around.

Think back, what are the happiest moments we see from Kurapika in the series? The one that comes to mind first, and the one I'm sure most of us will think of immediately, is this:

[ID: A screenshot from the 2011 anime adaptation. Kurapika smiles - he looks at ease. End ID.]

It's one of the sweetest scenes of the series imo, right before the whole group is reunited for the first time since the Zoldyck Family arc, and it's even more notable because it comes immediately on the tail end of this...

[ID: Three panels from HxH Chapter 101. Kurapika removes his contacts over the sink. His expression is distant. End ID.]

...and this...

[ID: A panel from HxH Chapter 101. A close up of Kurapika's vacant and furious expression, his eyes wide and dangerous as he says "It might as well be you." Though the art is in black and white, it's apparent his eyes have gone scarlet. End ID.]

...and this.

[ID: A panel from HxH Chapter 101. A distant Kurapika speaks on the phone on a rooftop at night, the cityscape of Yorknew around him dark, but speckled with lights and stars. He says "The Spiders are dead." His face is not visible to the reader. End ID.]

This is, up to this point in the series, Kurapika at his lowest. In contrast to Gon, who is happy to hear that the Spiders are dead already because now Kurapika can focus solely on finding his peoples' eyes, Kurapika... is clearly not happy - and that's because killing the Spiders himself isn't just revenge. It's penance. It's survivor's guilt. Kurapika's powers, which Izunavi even comments sound much like he is chaining himself in the process of chaining his enemies, are oh-so-beautifully prophecied to destroy him - and Kurapika was aware of this from the moment he set off down this path of revenge.

(As a side note, this is why I'm really hoping we see Gon and Kurapika interact again after the Chimera Ant arc - while Gon has always been pretty attentive to Kurapika's emotional state, in Yorknew, he lacks a true understanding of why Kurapika would go so far... but as of now, he understands rage fueled by guilt and grief all too well. I know we're all rooting for Leorio to reach Kurapika, but barring that, I really think Gon could get through to him - after all, they are similar in several ways, and I find it fairly apparent that Gon reminds Kurapika of Pairo.)

But back to the main point here - I do suspect Kurapika expects (if not wants) his revenge mission to destroy him. I think a lot of times, we forget just how young Kurapika is, and how much his character is dictated by honour, and the abandonment of it.

Certainly, he can and will go against his principles for the sake of his mission... yet, almost paradoxically, he's bound to his promise to his fallen clan; a promise to avenge them made in anger.

But Kurapika... doesn't come across as a naturally angry person to me at all.

He seems like the stoic, vengeful type on his initial introduction... and then we get his panic at Gon's recklessness

[ID: A panel from HxH Chapter 2. Kurapika and Leorio wear matching expressions of panic in front of Gon, calling him out for his recklessness. End ID.]

...and his near-immediate forgiveness of Leorio after getting the first inkling of his character - of someone who cares just as fiercely as he does.

And after that point? Almost all through the Hunter Exam? Kurapika smiles so readily at them. He's sharp and funny. He mediates at times, but is stubbornly prideful in others. He's very amused by his friends' antics, and it really does seem like he starts to enjoy himself, with them. And, more than that, he counters Leorio's initial impression of him as an independent loner - on several occasions. He decides to follow Gon because Gon intrigues him. Asides from Gon, it is Kurapika who is the most unwilling to fight each other at the bottom of Trick Tower. Kurapika who makes the first move to team up with Leorio, even though that arrangement benefits Leorio much more than it does him. Kurapika who refuses to abandon Leorio to his fate in the cave, and who checks on Gon after noticing his bad mood. Who was furious enough watching him get beat down by Hanzo that his eyes went scarlet for the first and only instance outside of Spider mentions and Emperor Time. Who quite readily detoured to help rescue Killua.

[ID: Three screenshots from the 2011 adaptation Hunter Exam arc. In the first, Kurapika smiles at a sleeping Leorio. In the second, Kurapika stifles laughter as he pretends he's asleep. In the third, Kurapika has an open-mouthed smile as he acquires the airship tickets for them, Leorio and Gon standing behind him. End ID.]

Look at him! He's so bright! So happy!

...too happy. Too happy to do what he promised himself he would do. And that's his biggest fear, isn't it. Without his rage... what is he left with?

[ID: A panel from HxH chapter 2. A close up of Kurapika's eye as he says "I do not fear death. What I fear is that my rage will one day fade away." End ID.]

Kurapika is far, far less mired in anger when he's with his friends. I actually dare to say that at certain points, he was able to go for lengths of time without thinking much about it - alternating between almost forgetting in one instance and being hit like a sledgehammer on exposure to a reminder in the next. This violent swing is... actually the beginnings of the natural process of healing from loss and trauma. But to Kurapika, who's made a promise to his people's memories, this is not a relief. This is betrayal.

I think that actually scares him, that he can almost picture it. A life beyond his guilt. That he, too, could learn to be happy, even after unimaginable loss.

And so, as Kurapika continues his mission offscreen, finding more and more gruesome reminders of the cruelty inflicted on his people and losing more and more pieces of himself in the process (in his own words, no less), he prioritizes his responsibility to them, and pushes away his distractions. He cannot be a soul at peace until his work is done; he must be in turmoil. He pushes people away who he cares for, and binds himself, and keeps his people's eyes on him, quite literally, because respite, for him, is unacceptable. Perhaps that guilty part of him even hopes, by the end of this, that his soul will be so unrecognizable as to be fundamentally unsalvageable. But the truth of the matter is, or at least what comes across to me, is that Kurapika cares much more fiercely than he hates. He knows what matters most. And for as long as he does, he still hasn't truly lost himself.

[ID: A panel from HxH chapter 350. Kurapika looks down at baby Woble with a gentle, yet complicated expression. The inking is somewhat softer. End ID.]

Kurapika's soul is kind, really. And it wants to heal - but for the sake of his mission, he needs it damaged and bleeding. And so, he forces himself to exist in that pain. All alone.

[ID: A panel from HxH Chapter 344. Kurapika, dressed in a black suit, sits with his back to the reader, looking down at a photo in his hand. He is slumped a little before the church vigil he has prepared, all his clan's eyes lined up in their jars and honoured with flowers and candles. He thinks to himself "There is no home for me to return to... and nobody to welcome me back. I have nothing left." End ID.]

[scekrex]

I’ve had this idea for a while and I like your writing so I figured Id ask you! If you don’t like it, please feel free to ignore!! Can we get Lucifer’s reaction to sinner!Adam being with someone who seems to genuinely love and care for him. I always kinda saw Lilith and Eve as people who wasn’t into the idea of being with Adam in a serious manner (Lilith a lot more than Eve) which is why they turned to Lucifer.

I just find the idea of Lucifer seeing someone genuinely care for Adam more than any of Adam’s past lovers really fun. Like, would he be low-key jealous? Would he be happy for Adam (as much as he definitely would not admit it)

I also would find it funny of what Lucifer would think to Adam dating a guy. The first man, progenitor of humanity, Mr. everyone came from these nuts himself, discovering he’s bi waaaay too late into his after-life, and after he becomes a SINNER no less! I can’t help but chuckle about it

Have a nice rest of your day!! ❤️❤️

Okay so this turned into some Adam x male!reader n Lucifer being jealous over reader. Basically one-sided adamsapple. Hope you enjoy, xoxo/p

Part 2

Maybe you can call me Eve, standing here under the forbidden tree

pairing: one-sided adamsapple/Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

It was a little weird, that the devil had to admit, it was a little weird to see Adam so happy, so relaxed, so lovingly. Ever since the former angel had arrived in hell after Alastor's little demon girl friend had ended him he had been even worse than before. He had constantly insulted the residents of the hotel, whenever there had been the possibility to pick a fight with Charlie, Adam had done exactly that.

And it made Lucifer feel strange.

Adam was laying on the couch, you were laying on top of him - chest to chest - his guitar was gently placed on your back as he played for you. Has Adam ever played for anyone but himself? Lucifer certainly didn't think so. Sure, he had played concerts in heaven, but he had mainly played for himself, for his own entertainment, so that people listened to him had just been a nice bonus. But actively played for someone? No.

And your curious, loving eyes were watching his every move, an adoring smile was on your lips and Lucifer's heart felt heavy at the view. The thought was small but it bloomed in him, the thought that this could have been him, that he could be the one laying on Adam's chest while the first man played for Lucifer instead of a random sinner. It wasn't fair, but Lucifer had already known that. Life - or afterlife - never played fair. Never.

“Dad?” Charlie's soft voice made him tear his eyes from the scene, her hand came up to rest on his shoulder. “Are you-” she interrupted herself as soon as she spotted you and Adam and a small sigh escaped her.

Adam played the last chord and then proudly looked down on you, a cocky smile on his lips as you placed a small kiss on his stubbled chin. One of your hands moved to ruffle through his hair and Lucifer suddenly remembered Eden, back when it had been just Adam. Just him and Adam. Those times were long gone though, and the devil knew it, he knew that what they had back then would never return, especially now that Adam had you.

He was thankful that Adam had finally found someone, that he wasn't feeling as miserable anymore and that he actually seemed to try and redeem himself. And yet Lucifer couldn't bring himself to be happy for the first man, not when the person laying on his chest was you instead of him.

The fact that Adam was dating a guy didn't make it easier to deal with though. If you were a girl it would be different for Lucifer, that way he could trick his brain into believing that Adam was straight, that he had no chance anyway. But you weren't a girl and Adam wasn't straight. The possibility had been there, the possibility had been right in his damn hands back in Eden. The bond he and Adam had back then had been special, it had been a connection Lucifer had never felt again in that way. Yet Adam had always denied being queer once his soul arrived in heaven. The image of him kissing your forehead so softly however shed new light on it, Adam didn't deny being bi anymore, he had grown comfortable with it actually. The credit for that went to Angel Dust.

Why you? Why not him? That's a thought that constantly occupied Lucifer's mind. What did you have that he hadn't? The devil didn't know.

Charlie's hand squeezed his shoulder apologetic, she knew. Of course she knew, Lucifer had told her himself after all. He had told her about Eden, back when Adam had been the sweetest creation of God's, right after ducks, that was. A thing Adam had named. Adam had named most of the things, if Lucifer was being honest with himself, it had been his job after all. But when Adam had named ducks, Lucifer had been there, he had been with Adam when the first man had spotted a duck for the first time.

Oh how bittersweet that tasted now.

You looked over, spotting the devil and his daughter as you happily waved them over, Adam simply rolled his eyes in annoyance but remained quiet.

Lucifer tensed up, Charlie however led him over to the two of you.

Oh fuck him.

[chronically-ghosted]

i'm swingin' blind and you're stunning me without any gloves

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 9K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: the night continues while the two of you dance around the inevitable. dieter's restraint is foiled by dreams of a water bed.

warnings/tags: depictions of drugs, age gap, cum eating, piv sex, not actually incest but close, concerns about getting old, reader is at least 18 (by how much is up to you), no use of y/n, oral (f receiving), hand jobs (m & f receiving), unprotected piv, squirting, the barest hint of overstimulation, oh and SMUT.

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“Do all movie stars have six empty bedrooms they don’t use?” 

“They’re not always empty . . . I mean, it’s good for parties. Gives people space to get out of the chaos if they want, or if they need a place to crash. Keeps the energy, uh, flowing. Keeps the vibes good.” 

He uses the joint to take the place of having to explain that the room you just passed was in fact used as a revolving door for anyone who wanted a bump only two weeks ago. The second floor stretches out into the darkness, the nasty weather outside beating against the windows. He keeps a slow steady pace, the high making his insides comfortably warm as you wander in and out of rooms, like a less frantic, totally-fuckable version of that Scooby Doo gag. He’s quite sure he’ll never be able to watch Saturday morning cartoons the same way.

So far, you’ve been content with asking rather inane questions, filler questions that he suspects you’re hoping reveal more than he’s giving. The response to the question being more important than the answer itself. 

So no one lives in these rooms? No.

Do you ever use these as anything else other than bedrooms? No.

What’s outside by the pool? A gym.

A gym with full length mirrors that he used to adore snapping selfies in, in his younger cop show days, and without much prompting, would admit to masterbating to on occasion. 

You’ll always be your own greatest critic so fuck ‘em.

You come out of the last bedroom, smirking faintly as though someone had told you a particularly naughty secret, humming faintly to yourself. He never much cared for giving tours but given that you walked ahead of him and gave him adequate time to ogle the backs of your thighs, he could think of worse ways to spend time with you. 

“Mhm hmm,” you mutter to no one in particular. The carpet is plush, but that is the only thing you could say you really enjoyed about the style of the house. Everything else, especially the almost clinically clean air to it, makes it feel like a hotel, as if Dieter is mold growing in someone else’s house. Again, these are filed as things that helped fill out the picture of the man your uncle had become, if not the man he wanted to portray.

“So where do you sleep?” 

He had been lulled into such a stupor of quiet fantasy fueled by his warm high that he didn’t even think twice when he pointed down the hall. 

“God, it just keeps going, doesn’t it?” 

Turns out the path to moral degradation isn’t a straight line, but a curved slope. One he finds himself on, going down round and round and round, the longer he watches your legs, the curve of your ass, the bright smile as you quite obviously tried to get a glimpse of the old Dee. But that's the thing about drugs that he finds he so actively craved – of course there is the euphoria, the chemical sensations, the wires of your brain plugged into different outlets and restarting the whole system. But he's found that’s when people tended to be their most honest, most unpolished and they weren’t afraid to be like that. 

There was a lot of talk around the ego and the ID in his early acting classes. Who was your character when their ego had been pulled back like strips of skin? 

But as he got older, the question he became more obsessed with was, who were the people around him when they weren’t being paid to like him?

You, of course, are different from all that. You hadn’t built up an ego quite yet. You hadn’t built up the mechanisms required to survive the world because you hadn’t needed to. Sure, you could deflect and get what you wanted by batting your eyelashes, but there are times he felt ugly in the skin he had built. Like somewhere along the way, he had tried on all these hats and now they had all attached themselves to his head and he couldn’t tear them off if he tried. His costume didn’t fit– his face wasn’t even visible any more. 

And who exactly had spent the last fifteen minutes trailing after his beautiful, carefree niece, a single breath away from getting so hard it hurt, in this massively empty mansion? What version of himself wants to snake a hand into those shorts and effectively ruin you for anyone else – wanted to grip you so hard there’d be bruises and tears in your eyes when you came? 

Which one of them is he willing to show you?

All of them. None of him. The ID.

You glance over your shoulder, curious that he hadn’t answered you. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, smoking between his two fingers again. “Could get lost in a place like this.”

You pause in your inspection, eyes soft because of the drugs or the low lighting or something else, and take his hand. “Lucky I’ve got you then.” 

His mouth is instantly dry in a way that has nothing to do with the weed. He offers you the joint and you smoke too, eyelids drooping, allowing him another second of looking. 

And then another smile breaks across your face.

“Fuck,” your laugh turns into a cough. “Did you ever get that stupid fucking waterbed you wouldn’t shut up about? I remember you swearing the first thing you’d buy when you were rich and famous was a waterbed – which I thought was so fucking cool because I’d never heard of a waterbed before because I was seven and it sounded like something totally made up — so of course, someone rich and famous could have one.”

You’re still holding hands, your palm dry and warm, when he laughs too. He takes the joint back from you, eyes narrowing as he looks at you out of the corner of his eyes.

Turns out moral degradation is a fucking cannon ball. 

“Why don’t you go see for yourself?” 

You squeeze his hand, eyes bright, before almost sprinting down the hall to the room on the right. He follows you, struck by the notion this is the first and last time you’ll ever enter his bedroom. This has to be the end of something.

He hears a grunt and a groan and he can’t help but smile. He saunters into the room, leaning up against the door frame with his hands in the pockets of his robe. You are face down on the mattress, hands under your chest. 

“This is not a water bed,” you grumble, the sound muffled. 

Once again, Maria deserved a raise just for making his bed. 

“No, it’s not,” he says slowly, as he edges a teasing tone into his next words. “Look, I did get a fucking water bed, alright? Just about a century ago when they were still a thing.”

You ease up onto your elbows and glare at him. “Can’t believe you got rid of it. What a waste.” 

And then you’re sliding back onto your knees, hands planted on the covers, and for just a second, he swears he can see the outline of your cunt through the material that could hardly be called shorts. 

His knees actually buckle for a second before he stands up right and physically has to close his eyes. Looking away wouldn’t have been enough. 

But you don’t see all of this. You’re frowning down, as if glaring hard enough will bypass physics and liquidate the mattress. 

“What happened to it? The water bed, I mean.” 

Just as he’s gotten his heart rate back under control, your question throws everything into a spiral again. 

Do not fucking tell her about the hookers and the brass pasties. Or the cock ring. Definitely do not mention the cock ring. 

“It, uh, popped.” 

You smirk over your shoulder. “It was a sex thing, wasn’t it?” 

The question lingers, Dieter unable to make a coherent word that didn’t sound like take your pants off right fucking now, so he swallows and shakes his head. By some minor miracle, you shrug and don’t push it, sliding off the bed and completing your assessment of his life by regarding the book collection against the opposite wall. 

It’s bigger than you expect someone like Dieter to have, but its placement in the house – almost hidden in his private bedroom – suggests that its volume is not there to impress. It’s his personal collection and, judging by the bent spines, books he’s actually read, perhaps several times. There’s a small desk next to it, crouching in the corner and littered with sheets of paper that look like they were torn from a sketchbook. 

He couldn’t decide which version of himself he wanted you to see less: Dieter, full of vices, or Dieter, bratty actor who only acted in the first place because he couldn’t cut it as a real artist. 

Your hands run over the sketches, eyes annoyingly unreadable, and just as he’s about to leap forward and scoop all of the sketches into the trash, you move on. Your interest is caught by some of the books. You make noises that are both outside of the realm of approval or disgust and he finds himself nervous. Book reading is about the last thing on anyone’s mind once they’ve reached the final destination of The Bedroom, so he’s never worried about what someone might think. But this isn’t just someone, it’s you. 

His mouth opens to make some quippy remark, when you gasp and lunge forward, grabbing something at the back of the shelf.

“Holy shit, that’s you!” 

You hold up a picture of his high school’s production of Othello and there he is fifteen and smack dab in the middle of the cast. 

“Oh fuck, I forgot that was there,” he groans, dropping the nearly gone joint into an ashtray by the side of the bed. You’re practically glowing with excitement and he rolls his eyes as he takes it from you.

“Jesus Christ, look at that kid. Has no idea what kind of dumbass he’s going to grow up to be.” 

Three years after that photo was taken, he had left in the middle of the night for Hollywood. Of course, just as he had finished packing up his piece-of-shit Chevy, Enrico caught him. Exploded in his face and scolded him in his old man ways for leaving without saying nothing. 

He kept this photo because it was the last thing that reminded him of home and yet so distant it didn’t hurt as bad any more. 

“I think he did spectacular for himself,” you grin at him. “Who knew The Dieter Bravo was such a softie for the old days?” 

He smirks at you, finally sick of you kicking his ass all night. There is a line between fucking you and out sassing you, one he could live with. You aren't fucking ready for that Dieter. 

“No way,” he rubs the bottom of his lip with his thumb, artfully contemplative, and purposefully distractingly hot. “Just keep it around for the spank bank. Ms. Lemons was a babe.”

You narrow your eyes at him as he leans across you to put the photo back.  “Oh yeah? I gave my first blow job in that blackbox.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.”

“Yes I did!” 

“What was his name?”

“Jeremy.”

“Jeremy what?” 

“Jeremy . . . Barnes.”

“Pssh, fake name, fake boyfriend, fake story.” 

“He was real! I just . . . can’t remember his last name right now.” 

“Blurs together with all the other guys you’ve blown, right?” 

You bite the corner of your mouth, your smirk so tight he can almost picture your toes curling. Not that he’d dare break eye contact with you now. Now that he’s got you practically pinned to the bookshelf, photo forgotten and something that’s been slinking around for the past three hours finally rolling on its back and exposing its belly. 

He knows The Look, he practically invented it, and he can’t quite remember why it’s not okay to get that from your niece and someone twenty years younger than him. Right now, the portion of his brain that can sort that’s fucked up and it’s not that hard to refrain from being a fucking creep is filled with smoke, a sort of hissing sound there that is not unlike a shaken soda begging for release. 

And dear God does he want release. But he’s willing to edge it just a bit longer, scrape that muscle as gingerly as he can before touching it where it needs to be touched.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you say softly, meekly being cowed for the first time all night. Fuck, do you have to make it so easy?

“That’s right. You don’t. Because if it were any good, you’d remember it.” 

He puts a hand above your shoulder to stop himself from sinking into you. Weed made the world feel plushy, moldable – and he just wants to lounge in the dip of your bottom lip. You look so different from the girl who showed up soaking wet at his front door. 

Your breathing hitches the closer he comes, your eyes fluttering as you watch his fingers dig into the spines of the books. 

“What’s his first name again, darling? Do you still remember that?” 

You gasp, loudly, as if his itching fingers had finally sunk in between your legs, but you’re sliding away from him and pulling out something from the shelf. Something white and something he should have fucking hidden better. 

“Oh my God, is this my senior yearbook?” 

You’re wandering over to his bed, leaving Dieter reeling, his own spell so alarmingly effective he is caught beneath it too. It takes him a moment to blink as he realizes maybe this is where you reneg and decide you don’t want to fuck him after all. 

“It’s not as weird as it sounds –,” he begins, heart in his throat, and hands safely in his pockets as he joins you near the bed. You still haven’t looked up as you flip through the glossy pages.

“Sure, sure.” 

“Look, your dad sent it to me and I didn’t even open it,” he says honestly. The package was delivered on the Tuesday afternoon when he woke up so hungover he actually thought he might die, and couldn’t bear the thought of not recognizing you in the class photo. 

Funny how that all fucking worked out. 

You hadn’t leapt off the bed, called him a dirty old man, and ran away to call the police. Which are probably good signs. So, slowly, he sits down next to you, halfway on the bed and halfway off. 

“He sent it just a few weeks ago. I didn’t really think much of it at the time,” he says quietly. So you had been on the high school’s newspaper staff, as well as being the captain of the journalism club and ran the book club. You were on the volleyball team and co-Secretary of the student body government. Here, he spent all night trying to find out what kind of person you are when half your life is waiting for him upstairs. “But maybe he sent it as, like, some sort of . . . fond reminder.”

You snort, your thumb tucked under your chin as your hand touches the memories on the page.

“No, it fucking wasn’t. He was guilt-tripping you.” 

So your dad definitely still remembered the fight all those years ago. Dieter grimaces. His gaze slides from the stock pages, to your knee, down the crease of your thigh. 

“You know, he would have made me your godfather if–,” 

“If you weren’t such a fuck up. Yeah, he told me that too.” 

You finally look at him and find him nearly out of breath, eyes wide as though he had been struck by a sledgehammer right to the chest. 

“Actually, he told me if I came around more.” 

Your face crumples, the flippancy gone.

“Fuck, Dee, I’m sorry.” You cup the back of his neck with your palm in a soothing gesture and it stirs something within him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It is what it is.” Deflection, distraction, escape.

You smile gently, thumbing his curls as your eyes roam his face, seeing right through his bullshit.

“You know, you kinda became the cautionary tale around us growing up,” you murmur, gaze searching his face. “Not sure why, though. Since you’re, like, a gazillionaire.”

Not worth it. None of it’s worth it.

“I get that. I get why he didn’t want me around. Probably best that I fucked off and never looked back.” 

The corners of your eyes crinkle, as though he had said something that didn’t make sense. You stop combing his hair and run your thumb over his ear. 

“But I don’t think you are,” you say slowly, as though you didn’t need to explain. “A cautionary tale, I mean. I think you’re . . . an inspiration. No one in our town ever fucking leaves, but you did. You got the fuck out and lived your dreams. And that’s pretty cool.” 

There’s not any hope for me, not if you knew all the fucked up shit I want to do to you. 

Don’t look at me like that. 

When he looks around for some self control, something to pull himself out of the pit he’s dragging you both in, there’s nothing. All eroded. 

Moral degradation is a smooth fucking shot. 

The yearbook drops from your lap, clatters to the ground as he takes your face with both his hands, his rings pressing into your cheeks, and kisses you so hard his lips knock against your teeth. The force of it rocks you flat against the mattress, your fingers wrapping around his wrists, grounding you to him – don’t take this back, don’t let go – and his tongue runs against your bottom lip once before your mouth opens without hesitation. He can feel that, that desperation, that eagerness to let him in, and he groans into the hollow of your mouth and you take it, you match it, just like everything else he'd given you this night. 

Your tongue rises to catch him, to guide him, to show him the places you need to be touched. He’ll get there, you little thing, so he nips your upper lip and you gasp, your body tightening beneath him. He grins – there’s so much you have to learn. 

His palm drifts away from your jaw, thumb gentle as it coaxes your cheek to the side, before he latches his lips to your neck, sucking and then a quick bite– all eased by his tongue. Your fingers dig up into his hair, clutching him to your chest as there is anything, anywhere else he’d rather be in the world. As if anyone could pry him off you. 

He dives back into your mouth, air rushing out of your nose in a silent moan, and your knee hooks out around his hips, pulling him into the cradle of your lap. You jerk back –

“Dee, you’re – holy shit –,” 

Your hips brush up as if you had somehow gotten it all wrong the first time. As if he isn’t rock hard above you. Your eyes widen as he smirks down at you.

“Yeah, baby, that’s all you. All you do to me.” 

He chuckles, dropping his head to your chest, breathing deeply, head spinning from kissing you so thoroughly. He inhales, nose rubbing against the soft material of your shirt, ideas of peeling it off you with his teeth. Your scent, it’s all at once intoxicating, mesmerizing, and . . . familiar. 

He groans, almost nuzzling your chest.

“Fuck, this smells like that nasty deodorant from 711 I used to buy ‘cause I couldn’t afford anything else.” 

You slowly open your eyes up at him, a distantly embarrassed smile curling up the corners of your mouth. You look hazy, blurred, lips flushed and pink from getting them sucked and bitten. Had he not just licked your entire mouth clean from spit, you might have blushed.

Your fingers curl gingerly around the back of his neck. “Well, you never forget your first.”

His mouth falls open. You had successfully knocked him back on his ass for a second time that night. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he husks, a grin breaking across his lips as the hand at your shoulder pulls gently at the sleeve. “This is my shirt? This has got to be older than you are.”

A small part of his brain, the part that definitely would object to fucking his pseudo-niece, goes warm at the thought that some part of him still lived in that neighborhood, was still there for all the important moments of your life. 

That is until the very active part of his brain lumbers in, quashes all gentle feelings and promptly wrestles for control of his mouth to ask you flat out if you ever touched yourself while wearing it. Not that he didn’t want to know, but if you said yes, he would have come right there on the spot, perhaps so hard his dick popped off. So he did not ask you that, but he did satisfy that part of his brain by molding his hand around your hip, so he could feel the cool fabric on the back of his hand, and your warm, plush skin against his palm. 

You like her being drenched in you, don’t you? 

You swat at his chest, rolling your eyes, oblivious to his rapidly darkening thoughts. “It is not older than me, but if it was . . . would that be a problem?”

You pick at imaginary lint on his shoulder, hips rolling just enough to indicate it better not be a fucking problem, and a smirk on your face that reads innocent and filthy all at once. 

Dieter shakes his head, grinning as he inches his wide palm up your hip, across the thin flesh of your ribs and – 

Does not find a bra. 

You had not been wearing a bra the entire night.

Your smirk deepens, your back arching into his palm, as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast, then over your tightening nipple. You moan softly, eyes fluttering, when he pinches it deftly. His jaw ticks, teeth grinding from the pleasure of watching your mouth arch open. 

It’s like you had been given a list of all the things that turned him on and you are crossing them off one by one. Like you had skinned him and read all his little nasty thoughts written on his ribs and made them your own.

Like you were made for him. 

He leans forward, the bristles of his beard and mustache rough like matches against the shell of your ear, his voice so weighty it could have been another physical thing he intended to drive into you, intended to rub against you to make you keen with pleasure. 

“It’s not a fucking problem, you little brat. Only problem is gonna be if it keeps me from watching those pretty tits bounce while I fuck you.”   

There it is. Out in the open. As if all his flirting and touching and tongue between his teeth hinted at something else besides you spread out under him. Half delirious from being so hard, he grins as he bites the bottom of the shirt – his shirt, Jesus Christ – and pulls it up and he ducks his head under the material and presses a sucking kiss into the valley of your tits. 

He likes giving head from underneath the sheets because, yes, it was hard to breathe. It was hot and stifling and everything smelled of sweat and sex and eventually his brain was forced to make a decision about what motor functions to hold onto and he made it focus on sensations until he was sure he’d be swallowed up by the cunt under his mouth or impaled by the cock in the back of his throat and if that’s how they found him dead, he’d be absolutely fine with all of it. 

Dieter Bravo – died doing what he loved. Giving immaculate, delicious head. 

The heat under the shirt is nowhere near as intense but it’s enough to make him flush with want. He licks the sweat gathering underneath your right tit, holds it on his tongue before he lathers both his spit and your sweat over your clearly-painfully tight nipple. Every touch of his makes you stutter and he can feel you unconsciously rubbing your hips up against him. 

“This isn’t going to end up on Youtube or some shit, right?” You ask above him, your voice rough as though your throat is dry. “You don’t have cameras filming this, right, Dee?” 

He chuckles with his nose rimming your left nipple. Do you have a voyeur kink? He muses vaguely. 

Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have gotten rid of that mirror. 

“No, baby, it’s not going on Youtube.” He runs his warm palms up the curves of your side as he tugs his head out from underneath the shirt. “All the videos go directly to a password-protected server in the Cloud.”

“Dee–,” you groan as he lunges forward and kisses you hopefully so hard it knocks those silly thoughts from your brain before pulling back to grin helplessly at you. 

You cannot physically describe how impishly adorable he looks with his hair mussed, his lips pink and twisted in a smirk – you cannot really do anything at all, really – but your hand slides up from his shoulder, across his warm neck and settles into his cheek. The last bit of brown is swallowed by a swelling blackness as you rub your thumb across the bottom of his lip. This thing that has been eating at you the longer you’re around him edges you on, daring you to push him just a bit further because it knows you’d just love what he’ll do. It knows more than you, but it’s not exactly smarter than you. It’s just simply fascinated by Dieter Bravo. 

Your own mouth parts, your eyelids growing heavy, as you swipe across his lips one more time before sliding your thumb into the warmth of his mouth. Eyes never leaving yours, his tongue greets your thumb, massaging the pad before licking around it like he’d swirl off the top of an ice cream cone. He sucks gently and you can’t fight the noise that comes out of you. Almost shocked, surprised that you can feel this aroused with all your clothes on and just his tongue. He drags his tongue across the back of your knuckle and the groan is louder now – you want to bite into him – and he pushes his hips into the mattress. 

“C’mere, baby girl–,” 

Dropping your thumb, he dives in again for your mouth, this time the back of his hand grasping your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you as if forgetting there was another way to relieve the tension in his gut, the spark that's fanning smoke like a brushfire into every place your skin, your spit, touches his. 

“Take– this– off–,” He pants between the hot presses of his mouth to your jaw, your neck, the spot beneath your ear that makes you keen in a new way. His hands are scrambling over yours to get the shirt up and over your head, desire almost making him panic that everything is going too fast but not fast enough – he wants to be inside of you in every way that matter – he wants you to smell like him – to breath his same air – 

He’s not so much kissing as opening his mouth over your skin, his teeth and tongue and lips fighting over themselves to get to you first. He wants to linger, wants to take his time but the pressure – he deliriously thinks he can smell you – and only when his fingers clamp down on the waistband of your shorts – he has half a mind to punish you for walking around in these things, making his sanity unwind in the hallways of this fucking place, until the only truly sane thing to do is fuck you and fuck you good – the thought is so strong, almost violent he pauses. 

He looks up to the devastation he’s left in his wake – bright, purple spots on the inside of your breasts, under your ribs, the small swell of your stomach, your chest heaving – and he watches your face. You realize he’s stopped moving, slowed in his volcanic thunderous roll down to the clutch of your cunt, and you meet his gaze. You swallow, mouth too dry to form words, so you splat a hand on his shoulder. 

"No robe. I’m not – not going to let you f-fuck me in a bathrobe.” 

He grins. Of course, you would sass him after a make out session so intense he doesn’t even care if he comes in his pants. But he obliges, pretty much willing to cut off a finger if you continue to purr at him like you are. 

“Excuse you, this is lounge wear.” He leans back onto his knees and shrugs himself out of the green robe. Your eyes flash to the triangle on his forearm and he’d be fucked to admit he didn’t get it entirely for the look in your eyes right now. Chicks always dug the tattoos. Your tits bounce as your breathing hitches. 

Not Daddy’s girl, his smoke-heavy, lust-soaked brain chants at him, not Daddy’s girl. 

God, he’s so hard it hurts. 

He goes back down, dropping himself between your legs, arms tucked up under the backs of your thighs. He mouths the inside of your thigh – a distraction as his hand, like some sort of fucked up, horny magician performs a slight-of-hand, “iiiis this your clit?” – rubs you over your shorts. You are soaking wet and he’s fighting the urge to just dig in there, suckle you through the wet spot. He hadn’t actually made someone come that way before, but now seemed like an excellent opportunity to try. 

“You know, for someone who has to couch-surf, you talk a lot.” 

He noses the rim of the bottom of your shorts, allowing a full gaze down to your ass. 

“Sorry if I’m sick of fucking boys who look like their mom dressed them.” You are breathless, shaky, unwinding at the seams and you know exactly what to say to dig right into him. 

He bites the soft place at the back of your thigh and you groan. 

“I thought you couldn’t remember any of them before me,” he purrs, watching that damp spot grow darker the longer he talks, the longer he holds off on touching you where you and him and the entire fucking world knows you need to be touched. 

Maybe you ran your mouth too, when you were nervous, overwhelmed. Maybe you laughed too loud when you didn’t know what else to do, and maybe you gave him shit because the second words stopped coming out of your mouth, you’d have to sink into whatever he was giving you. You’d have to kneel to the white lighting between your legs. Maybe you were afraid there wouldn’t be white lightning at all. 

Families share similar insecurities, after all. 

He waits until you open your mouth again before hooking his fingers under the band of your shorts. 

“Hmm, there’s actually a fairly long list of guys before you. Guys who–,” 

He sucks the skin just an inch to the right of your hip bone, just before the patch of curly hair, he sucks it into his mouth and bites so gently he knows that your brain nearly splits in half from the hairline fracture between pleasure and pain. 

You gasp and you’re already arching off the bed. He breathes across those coarse, damp curls and inhales. 

Girlsex. 

Girlsweat. 

It’s like there’s acid corroding his brain, eating away at the clamps holding his sanity together and he’s gonna go fucking ballistic if the acid doesn’t get to him first. But he wants the burn. He wants the chemical smell. 

He wants . . . to put his dick into something. 

But first – 

You’re pliable. Easy to move as he scoops your shorts off your ass – Oh, fucking Christ, there’s her entire backside, isn’t there? – over your thighs and he hurls the shorts over his shoulder. He inhales–

God, this pussy is going to kill me, he thinks or maybe says out loud before he tips forward into that black, fluttering hole. When he licks you, you both moan. 

He remembers specifically doing planks for as long as he could to build up the upper body strength to languish here for hours.

Well, at the time, here wasn’t here here, but if everything before this was practice, then he was ready for the Olympics, dick as hard as a goddamn gold medal. 

He swipes up with his tongue, licking and sucking and swirling like frosting was going out of style. Frosting, that’s it. That’s what you reminded him of. Fat, sweating, sweet frosting. And there was the cherry on top. 

He guides your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into the tops of your thighs as if to pull himself deeper into the wettest goddamn pool at the fucking YMCA. He sucks once and your hands fly into his hair. You’re making sounds that somewhat resemble his name, but they’re too high, too pitchy, too airless to be anything coherent. 

He wants to tease you about all the boys you mentioned. Wants you to go back on your word, beg for him to believe that there was no one else before him. If there was, it didn’t matter because this is it. This is the best you’d ever have. 

Even when you left him, you’d never forget – 

Disgustingly, he slurps up one lip of yours into his mouth and you cry out, fingernails digging into his scalp so hard that it hurts and sends another rush of blood into his weeping cock. He mouths up before teasing your clit again – around it but never on it – before diving back down and lapping up your other lip. 

“Dieter–,” you garble as if you know it’s filthy. He can hear your breathing tighten in your chest, feel your thighs clench around his ears, and he swears if he gets out of this with hair in tact, that’s the most he’s going to ask for –

And he french-kisses your clit.

You come, gasping, writhing, back arching off the mattress and he bares his forearm across your stomach, reaching up to pinch your nipple. 

Settle down. We’re only just getting started. 

He’s got to control himself but staring up at you, your face flushed with pleasure, he can’t quite remember what he’s supposed to do next. 

You are naked underneath him. Naked and heaving and he licks the dampness staining his mattress just to have your taste in his mouth again. This is going to be a problem, if he can’t think straight without his mouth on you. 

Oh my God, duh, fingers. 

He pulls himself up the length of your body, and his hands sink into your hair. His fingers curl around your ear as he makes you look at him.

“How are you feeling?” It’s an echo of what he asked earlier. You’re still warm but your breathing has slowed. Your eyes are open, even if they’re fighting to stay open as if you are concussed. 

“Good. Great.” You mutter, hand falling to his chest and tangling with his shirt. 

“You wanna keep going?”

Your eyes open wider as if someone rang a dinner bell and you’d been walking on hands and knees, starving for weeks. You swallow thickly, nodding frantically, and the hand leaves his chest, winding down between you and, before he can stop you, slides under the material of his sweats and strokes him. 

Your hands are like velvet.

Fuck, then what’s your cunt gonna feel like– 

Do not fucking come right now. 

“Oh, I see,” you huff, a smirk curling your mouth up, as if you had won some unnamed battle. You roll your shoulder to go aaall the way down his cock and stroke him. You think about licking your hand, but the precum leaking out of the tip of his head at a truly flattering rate is enough lubricant to keep your hand from sticking. “I can’t walk around without a bra on, but you can walk around in these thin fucking sweatpants and no underwear.”

He grits his teeth, dropping his head to his chest, trying to breath through the freightcar rattling down his spine.

“It’s my house, you little cocktease,” he pants, gasping as you run your thumb against the vein underneath his shaft. You pump him again and again and he groans low, with his eyes shut to keep them from rolling back in his head. “I can– yeah, right there – do whatever I want. Move your hand. I want to stick my fingers in you.” 

His words aren’t so crass they make your ears red, but it’s the unrestrained need in his voice. You slowly withdraw your hands and you go wipe the threads of him on the mattress as he sits up to take his shirt off. 

“Don’t. Just– gimme a second.” 

He yanks the tank shirt over his head, setting down in between your legs again and blinking like he’d forgotten where he was. He takes your hand, licks your palm as clean as something as dirty as this could ever get, and then penetrates your hole with his middle finger. His tongue slides in the crevice between your ring finger and your pinkie and when he adds a second finger below, you both can feel the moment your brain is wiped blank and your body twitches along with it. 

“Mhmm, good.” He pulls you down closer to him, fingers plucking your strings like the finest guitar. Your knees are spread wider than when he had half his body down there. He’s watching you practically drown his hand in the wetness seeping out, his other hand holding or balancing your knee. 

He hovers above you, watching you roll and writhe and beg. His forearm is strained, his hand must be soaking, and he thinks your face contorted in pleasure might be permanently burned into his brain. There is still some part of him that knows that’s wrong. He shouldn’t have the faintest idea of what you looked like, high and blissed out of your mind, while his fingers stroke and dig and pluck and rub to drag you higher and higher – 

The pad of his middle finger brushes something spongy and you nearly slam your legs shut over his arm, if it weren’t for his free hand pinning you open. 

“Dee,” you croak, head shaking, “that was – you can’t–,”

His eyes flutter at the sound of your voice so wrecked. He needs to memorize that exact spot, save it for when you don’t have enough sanity left to push back. It’s scary, he knows, but you must be out of your goddamn mind if you thought he was going to let anything bad happen to you. 

“Look at my thumb. Baby, look down.” 

You wrench your eyes open, past your quivering chest, down his long forearm, down to where the black bullseye on the meat of the space between his thumb and palm is winking at you. 

He’s stroking you with his thumb on your clit and the bullseye winking up at you. It’s eye-fucking you and that’s enough to break you. He wants to drink whatever drips out of you as your body locks up, head thrown back, and you come. You break through and his hand curls around your knee, gently, as he watches your body crescendo for the second time that night. He sucks his fingers, almost pensively, as if he is going to carve something out of you. Remake you. Split apart your atoms and rebuild you whole. Sex as an act of re-creation. 

He kneels his way out of his pants, cock pounding red, leaking, the hot center of where his want for you is infecting him like a sickness. 

Slowly, he drags one of your knees over his shoulder, half of your body hovering just above the mattress. 

He wants to ask if you need it rough or slow. He can’t be gentle right now but he does have enough awareness to keep from hurting you. But maybe you, like him, like a little bit of pain. 

He wants you on top, wants to see you sing for him, but he knows your legs are jelly. He knows there’s a white static hum in your brain and he’s so grateful for the pleasure of it. 

He rubs the top of your thigh and noses the back of your ankle up by his ear. 

“Do you want me to put a condom on?” he asks quietly, before kissing that spot below your ankle.

“Are you clean?” He’s so fucking broad and his rings pinch your skin when he pushes too hard and he’s asking for your comfort. You also want to feel every inch of his cock and you beg him to say yes. 

He nods, suddenly irrationally thankful of Paul’s monthly mandated screenings. You get the clap once, and your fucking manager never lets you forget it. 

You huff, realizing you’re so close your cunt can almost taste it. “I-I’m on the pill. A-a-and I’m clean too.” 

As if he had ever denied you anything, as if his willpower hadn’t barely lasted four hours, you tense at the anticipation of his cock. 

He’s just as warm, just as ready, so he grabs your other ankle and draws it next to your other one against the back of his neck. He sinks back just a bit on his ankles, fingers spreading you and grabbing himself and then–

It’s like getting the wind knocked out of you and getting sprayed with a hose of fire all at once. 

“JesusfuckingChrist, you’re tight.” 

He edges deeper as he sits up right, going slow not because he hadn’t unwound you properly but because if he went any faster, he’d obsess over the idea of getting rug burns on his dick. 

“Dieter, oh God–,”

Hands leaving your ankles to wrap around your thighs, he rocks his hips back and drags out his cock just as much as the both of you can handle before thrusting forward. Again.

Again. He can’t seem to fill you enough. He wants to be bigger, thicker, girthier, if only to plug you up more. 

But, fuck, your cunt is better than your hands but only because it’s so warm and wet and throbbing and he swears his heartbeat is in his ears. 

He thrusts almost lazily, dipping his head to kiss your shin before dropping it back, your toes brushing his hair. His hands greedily squeeze your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles. 

It’s like he has to recover from the shock and sensation of fucking you. It’s too good. It’s too much. 

He’s inside of you.

If there’s a relief fund for grilled cheese, he’s going to have to donate every red cent he’s ever owned. 

Your hands clench the sheets, mouth open and, yes, beautiful tits bouncing with every thrust. It’s not them hovering above him, begging to be bitten, but it’s close and he smooths his hand down from your thigh over his chest, down your hip and he kneads your breast. 

“Oh, fuck, Dee, fuck . . . you feel so fucking good.” 

I want to die in this cunt. 

“So good, baby.” 

It’s back, that pressure that connects the backs of his eyes, to the back of his gut, all the way to his pussy-soaked cock. This time he lets it build, lets it dangle out of reach, and his thrusts become faster, hurried. You jerk beneath him and let out a full whine as if he had spanked you. 

He fucks you some more this way, just to feel that tightening in his gut, before he pulls your legs off his shoulders and you whine again, this time out of annoyance. 

He has the where-with-all to smirk.

“What, baby doesn’t like it when I take away her toys?” He pants, almost feeling light-headed. You scowl at him but don’t push back in the least as he turns you onto your hands and knees. 

“It was just starting to feel good, you a-ahh–ss–,”

He jerks his hips into you without warning, fully seating you on his cock and your head drops between your shoulders. 

“If you weren’t such a brat, you’d be kind of cute,” he murmurs as he rubs his thumb over the knots in your spine, the sensation of your cunt sucking him in almost detaching him from this plane of existence. He knows you like to be teased, with his words, with his fingers, his mouth. He wants to give you everything – anything – he’s so pussy-obsessed he can feel it like ozone in his mouth.

He never wants to stop fucking you. He’s being unstable about it. 

“You like that I’m a brat,” you say and push back with your hips. The sensation does make him stutter and you take it as a win. His rings sting as they squeeze your hips. 

He’s sliding down that pressure, winding himself up so tightly in it he wants to stop breathing – 

He starts pumping faster. The sounds that echo in that room are like music to his ears.

The sheets ruffling as your hands clench around them. The jolt of the bed as it lurches back and forth.

Your moans as he fucks every thought out of your head. “Fuck, you’re so big. It’s not fair.” 

The wet slap of his thighs meeting yours. 

And it all narrows down, the universe closing to a single focal point–  all of it runs right to his cock rubbing up inside your cunt like it owns the place.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, head down. “Please – please fuck me harder, Uncle Dieter.” 

With a growl that surprised even him, he drops forward, one hand anchoring himself to your hip and the other coming up around your throat. You gasp as his fingers dig painfully into your skin. He pulls you both up right, nose in your ear and teeth tight in his jaw. 

He punctuates every word with a particularly brutal thrust that gnaws at something truly devastating inside you. 

“Don’t – fucking – call me that – while – I’m inside – you–,”

You turn your head, flush with his and the hand that’s on your throat slides up to your cheek and he holds you there, pins you there as his cock pounds the daylights out of you. 

“Say my name.” He husks. There’s something cataclysmic happening inside your cunt and he has the launch codes. 

You can’t remember feeling so full before. So up your eyes and your mouth and your ears and your heart – God, maybe there really hadn’t been anyone before him. 

“Oh, fuck, Dieter,”

“No, honey, my real name.” 

Your eyes flicker open and something in his chest roars. He’ll kiss you after this. He’ll kiss you so hard you end up on another fucking planet. 

“David.” 

The sweat on his temples mixes with yours and he wants to smear himself in your fluids. This close, his beard and mustache rub roughly against your skin and you wonder how long the burn will last after all this. You’re clenching his arm, clenching his lower back to you, you think you’ll make him bleed in half-moon cuts of blood. 

“All of it. All of it, baby girl,” he whispers to your cheek, your jaw. “Say it. I need to hear it. I need to hear it from you.” 

Your fucked-out mind spins, clutching at the memories of the past, to a name you hadn’t heard in a decade, while the man you’ve known all your life threatens to undo your sanity. You lock eyes with him, the precipice of something so large and looming, you can’t wait to be crushed by it.

“Davíd Moralés.” 

And that bastard’s cock intentionally pushes against that spongy spot and you shriek. Honest to God, yell, as you come, with Dieter wrapped up against your back, sweat streaking both of you.

“Get down,” he hisses suddenly and almost throws you off him. You land on your back, your entire body pulsing as one single organism, and he grabs his cock in time to aim it at your chest. 

He comes, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, as he sprays you with white ropes. It’s warm on your tits and you shudder through your aftershocks. You feel like you’re sinking into warmth as he keeps coming, your inner thighs drenched and dripping, and finally, he leans away and collapses on the bed next to you.

There’s ringing in your ears. 

You feel swollen all over, your nerve centers humming and firing and crackling as though someone whapped you over the head with a 500 volt electric baton. You want to keep sinking, keep drifting, keep existing in this warm, non-corporeal form. Everything feels so good here.

You had no idea you, or anyone else for that matter, could come that hard. 

“Holy shit.” 

You can’t help but grin through the short huffs of breath you swallow down in gasps. 

You want to sass him but it feels a bit like spitting in the face of God. “Yeah. Holy shit.” 

He sits up on his elbows, glancing over his side at you, the begrudgingly fantastic cock between his legs as deflated as you are. 

“Are you okay? Fuck, sorry, I got a little crazy there at the end.” 

You shake your fist loosely, with your thumb and pinky finger extended. “I don’t hear customer service calling. In fact, I think the line has been permanently disconnected.” 

You both laugh softly and his eyes roam over your face. This is why he only saw vampy women. It was easier to wake up to something almost over-the-top hot, than this. Than you, with your beautifully flushed cheeks, plump lips, and eyes that searched only for him. 

His gut twisted painfully. Okay, you nutted so hard you’re pretty sure your dick isn’t going to work for a week, now wake up. Wake up and smell the fucking arrest warrant. 

Uncle Dieter. You're his niece. 

What the fuck were you thinking? Where could this possibly go?

Instead of inspecting the small-starting-to-grow painful throbbing in his chest, he sits up and pleasantly inspects the mess you both made all over you. You follow his gaze, smirking as he intentionally smears his cum over your skin with his thumb.

“Oh, and that thing you did at the end, where you made me–,”

“Yeah?” He grinned wickedly, almost begging you to use your words, but you had been so good for him. He’d save that for later. “You liked that?”

“At the risk of sounding desperate, yes. A thousand times yes. But totally unfair and totally cheating.”

He snickers and leans down to your thighs. “Yeah, okay, Ms. I’m Not Wearing a Bra.” 

The smell of you is intoxicating and it’s drenching your thighs, the sheets below you. Maybe he could strip the bed before Maria came – oh, fuck, what if it’s in the mattress?

He hauls those thoughts out of his mind, his dick twitching uncomfortably, as he bends forward and licks the inside of your thigh.

“Oh my God, Dee, you can’t possibly be –,”

“Relax. I’m not. Just wanted to clean you up.”

He licks the drying liquid from your skin – you hiss, so very overstimulated – dragging his tongue up, never breaking eye contact with you as he slinks up your body, shoulders rolling – “Dee, wait, you’re gonna–,” and licks the cum off your chest. His own cum. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s nasty,” you murmur, eyes transfixed on his mouth as he swallows. He chuckles, finally deciding you’ve had enough for one night, and he leans forward and presses his lips on your temple. 

“I’m not ready, but it sounds like you might be.” 

He reaches back to the floor where his shirt was so casually discarded. He gingerly wipes your thighs, your hips, your stomach and chest. There’d be time for a proper wash later, but right now he thinks he’s going to pitch forward into unconsciousness in less than thirty seconds. His limbs are heavy, his eyelids are heavy but he can’t stop smiling.

You grin at him as he tosses the very used shirt back onto the ground and gets up from the bed to disappear into the bathroom. You roll onto your side, after unpeeling the bedsheets like you had done it a thousand times. When he comes back, you rub your face against his pillows and he realizes if he’s going to hoard the sheets, then he’s going to have to do the same to the pillowcase. 

“I’m not gonna wake up and find you mouthing that shirt, am I?” You ask, a smirk already cradling your lips. He huffs at you as he hands you a glass of water. You take it, gratefully, only vaguely aware that he probably did that kind of thing all the time with his other conquests. 

That thought threatens to sour your good mood so you put the glass back onto the bedside table and curl deeper into the sheets. 

He climbs in behind you, and rubs his nose over your shoulder and up into your ear, his hand spread across your hip. 

“Only if I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t mouth your tits.” 

He’s purposefully being sexy, being teasing, but there’s a question there. A request. A quiet ask that for all his thick dick swinging, doesn’t have the cojones to verbalize. 

 You smirk at him and roll back slightly to catch his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair and squeeze once. 

“Baby, I couldn’t stand up right if I fucking tried.”

He grins, eyes warm. “Wow. Even if you fucking tried?”

God, this is such a bad idea.

“Even if I fuck-in’ tried.” 

But despite all his not-at-all begging, he wakes up alone. 

He wakes up in broad daylight – the storm had passed. Too bright light streams in from between the gray curtains, illuminating the one thing he never wanted to see: your side of the bed empty. 

His heart clenches so fast he thinks he might be sick. There’s real nausea as he stumbles to his feet and pulls his pants on from last night. He’s about to rush down the stairs, frantically flipping over everything in hopes of finding a note, even if it told him to fuck off. 

You’re twenty years older than me, you fucking creep.

Just wait until my dad hears about this. 

I never want to see you again. 

Just as his mouth dries up till his lips crack, he sees something on the other side of the bed that makes him freeze in his tracks. It’s your phone, plugged into the wall. He goes over and taps the screen. The battery has only 15%. 

And then a post-storm breeze rattles the patio door handle and it opens slightly. He sees your barefoot through the cut in the door frame. 

Holy fuck, you’re still here, just outside. 

Heart now jettisoning into his throat, he opens the door to a truly spectacular morning. His patio looks down to the freshly-washed Los Angeles, the sky a cobalt blue, the air cool and faintly smelling of rain. People run and lead their dogs through the streets and for a minute he thinks he can hear the ocean. 

But what makes it truly spectacular is you. Curled up at the small table in one of his white shirts and those sanctimonious shorts. You’ve got a cup of coffee in your hand and you’ve got his favorite book, Eco’s The Name of the Rose, lying flat beneath your fingertips. But you aren’t reading. You’re looking at him.

“Well, hi there. Did you dream you missed a flight?”

He blinks. “What?” 

“You just, sort of, rushed out here, looking like you forgot something.” You frown. “Is everything okay?”

He swallows and it’s all he can do to keep from dropping to his knees and pressing his face into your lap. 

“Yeah, fine, fine. All good. Fine.” 

You turn back to the book, staring at it as if it was giving you a pep talk. Then you shut it and turn back to him.

“So, um, last night . . .” 

Here it comes. I regret it, all of it. You drugged me and took advantage of me. I can’t believe that you would–

“Was great.” 

He swears he hears his blood rushing in his ears. You smile at him, but clearly uneasy. As if you are the one second-guessing it all. 

Fuck, Bravo, put on your big boy pants.

He pulls out the other patio chair and sits down next to you. He clasps his hands, leaning forward on his elbows. His rings clink together. He nods, trying to catch your eyes.

“Yeah. It was fucking fantastic. I mean it. One for the books.”

He waits for you to say but. 

You wait for him to say but.

Neither of you do. You grin and put your coffee on the table. 

“So, in the events of last night . . . surprisingly, I forgot to charge my phone.”

He doesn’t want to touch you because he thinks it might spook you so he runs his gaze over your lovely knuckles, your wrist. 

“Sounds like, then, you might need to stay awhile.” 

You swallow, unable to contain the growing smile on your face. You duck your head and he follows you and your breath fans his face. 

“Guess so.” 

If he tells it, he says he kissed you.

If you tell it, you say you kissed him. 

Doesn’t matter though. Doesn’t matter that the coffee grows cold and he ignites something in you that you didn’t know existed.

When he finally pulls away, he’s still smiling. 

“This might be a bit weird, but . . . wanna see my other kitchen?”

The End

[half-oz-eddie]

“I didn’t know you had a kid, Harrington.” Billy’s voice surprised Steve.

“Shh. I finally got him to calm down.” Steve loudly whispered. “And he's not my kid. I heard him crying, so I came in.”

Billy wrinkled his nose in bewilderment. “Who the hell brought a baby to a house party?”

“I dunno. I came upstairs to go to the bathroom and heard a baby crying. He was in here all alone with a full diaper so I changed him.”

The baby began fussing and wailing as Steve tried to calm him down.

“My mom used to babysit a lot for our neighbor when I was a kid. Give him here.”

“Uh…okay.” Steve handed the baby over.

“Hey. Hey little guy.” Billy cooed. “What’s the matter, huh? You miss your mama?”

The baby’s face contorted in agony. 

Steve watched Billy in utter disbelief. He didn’t think a soft side of Billy actually existed.

“Pass me that little blanket.” 

Steve tossed the blanket to Billy, and he draped it over his shoulder. 

He held the baby over his shoulder, gently burping him. 

The baby let out a loud burp and spit up slightly. 

“See? Now he’s calm and quiet.” Billy looked at the content infant. “Aren’t you, little guy? Yeah, you’re so happy now.”

The baby began to smile. 

“He’s so young. He can’t be more than 5 months old.”

“I dunno who brought him or why they left him on the bed all by himself.”

“Yeah they laid him down after he ate and that’s why he had all that gas.”

“Shit. I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

“Good thing I was here, right?” Billy cheekily smiled.

Steve shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” He forced himself to admit.

“We gotta find his mom.” Billy glanced down at the baby. “He’s hungry.”

“How do you know?”

“Look at’im. He’s trying to eat his hands.”

Steve noticed the diaper bag on the bed and rummaged through it. “There’s this…Similac…ready to feed bottle. So we can just like…give it to him?”

Billy nodded. “Should be fine.”

After feeding the baby, the pair decided to go around the party searching for the baby’s mother. 

There was no ID in the diaper bag, nothing to identify the baby by name, not a damn thing. 

They asked every girl they came across within an entire hour if the baby was theirs, each one declined until they found themselves right back where they started. 

“So you mean to tell me some dumb bitch dropped off her baby at a random person’s party and disappeared?” Billy questioned. 

“Hey, hey don’t curse in front of the baby.”

“Why? He doesn’t understand what I’m saying.” Billy lifted the baby, smiling as the baby smiled back. “Right, little guy? Your mommy’s a dumb bitch isn’t she? Yes she is, yes she—“

“Knock it off.” Steve demanded. 

“You’re no fun, Harrington.” Billy scoffed.

“We should bring the baby to the police station.”

“How many drinks did you have? I’m too buzzed to drive with a baby.”

“Shit. Me too.”

“How far is the station?”

“About 15 minutes by foot.”

“Guess we’re gonna have to walk.”

Steve let out a sigh. “I’ll gather the baby’s things. You put his little jacket and hat on him.”

“Sure thing.”

The three boys left the party and started walking to the police station in the dark. 

“Not what I expected to be doing with my time.” Billy mumbled. “This kinda sucks. For the baby, at least.”

“Yeah. It does. Poor kid. Can’t believe someone just abandoned him there.”

“Anybody could’ve fuckin’ stolen him.”

“Right!” Steve agreed. “Luckily it was us that found him and not some creep.”

“Damn right.”

A silence fell upon them as they continued walking. The night air was good for the baby, who slept securely in Billy’s arms. 

“What time is it?” Billy asked. 

“Almost midnight.”

“Got a curfew?” 

“No. You?”

“Broke curfew an hour ago.”

“Hey—but—it’s for a good cause.”

“I don’t care about curfew anyway. He’s gonna hit me whether I come home on time or not.”

“What? Who? Your old man?” Steve asked, almost sounding worried. Or maybe he was being nosy, Billy assumed. 

Billy refused to answer. He shook his head and sighed softly. “Just forget it. I’m still buzzed. Guess the alcohol’s got me running my mouth too much.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Billy still refused to elaborate and the rest of their walk was eerily silent. 

They were relieved when they finally reached the police station. Billy couldn’t believe he was actually happy to see the police, but the awkward tension was too thick to even cut through with a chainsaw. 

Fortunately, Chief Hopper was working the night shift. Steve felt comfortable approaching him immediately and explained the full story to him. 

Jim took the baby into his arms, sighing disappointedly. “So the kid was just abandoned, huh? That’s a shame.”

“It is.”

“Good thing you guys were looking out for him.” Jim smiled. “Go on home, boys. If anything happens, I’ll follow up with you tomorrow.”

“I—that’s it?“ Billy wondered. 

“That’s it.” Jim confirmed. “We’ll try to find the kid’s mother.”

“What if you don’t find her?” Billy asked worriedly. 

“We’ll make sure the baby’s safe. You have my word. Now go on, kid. Go home. I’ve got it from here.” Jim promised. 

“C’mon.” Steve gently persuaded Billy to follow him out. 

The walk back to the party to get their cars was twice as tense as before. Billy walked with his shoulders tense and his fists clenched. He was obviously pissed off and worried about that baby. 

Admittedly, Steve was quite concerned as well. 

“Hey, man, we did everything we could.” Steve said, trying to offer Billy a bit of comfort. 

“I just wish we could’ve done more.” Billy admitted, loosening up his shoulders. 

Steve smiled a bit. It was comforting to know that underneath it all, Billy had a pretty big heart. “You’re a decent guy, Hargrove.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Billy responded with a smirk. 

The uncomfortable tension between them was gone, and perhaps the rivalry as well. Steve was tired of running into Billy at parties and it felt like Billy would take a swing at him any moment. 

The two got in their cars, not bothering to say goodbye to one another, because they both silently agreed saying anything more after their last words would feel weird. 

Steve pulled off first with Billy trailing behind until he took a left turn, disappearing from Steve’s rear view mirror. 

He figured that was the end of that, and hopefully things wouldn’t be so awkward between them the next time they saw each other. 

The following morning, there was a loud knock on the Hargrove-Mayfield house door. 

“How can I help you, Chief?” Neil greeted at the door. 

“I’m looking for your son, Billy. Is he home?”

Neil’s pleasant face contorted with anger. “Something the matter?”

“I need him to come down to the station and answer a few questions.”

“Hey chief.” Billy appeared before them. “Did you find her?”

“That’s why I’m here. Could you come down to the station? Steve’s already in the car.”

“Ha-hang on now.” Neil interrupted. “What’s this all about? Is Billy in some sort of trouble?”

“Quite the opposite.”

“I—just don’t think my son should be at the police station without his father present. He’s—“

“He’s 18. He doesn’t need you there. I’m sure he wasn’t gonna mention the bruises around his neck. Those weren’t there when I saw him last night. I’ll be sure to talk to him about them, though.” He informed Neil with a cold glare, leading Billy out to his car. 

“I’m fine, chief.” Billy attempted to reassure. 

“Are you?” He skeptically questioned, opening the door and gesturing for Billy to get in the car next to Steve. 

He sighed and joined Steve in the back seat. 

“Pringles?” Steve offered. 

Billy silently accepted, glaring up at Steve who looked away pointedly. 

Great. Now 2 people had seen his bruises, and one of them was a cop. This felt like a recipe for disaster. 

When they arrived at the police station, they were shown a photo. 

“We managed to identity the baby’s mother using a business card with a personal contact’s information on it. Do you recognize this woman?”

“I do. I remember fucking asking her about the baby and she got really weird. I thought she was high or just hated kids.” Billy replied.

“We have her in custody and her family took the baby in.”

“How long is she going to prison?” Steve asked.

“She could do four years, she could do no time and just be forced to take parenting classes.”

“What? Are you fucking s—Are you fucking serious? She just throws her kid away and doesn’t even have to face any consequences? Who’s to say she won’t do it again? That’s bullshit!” Billy exclaimed. 

“Hey, calm down, man.” Steve attempted to offer come comfort. “You did everything you could for that baby. His mother has to live with her mistakes.”

“And what if she doesn’t care? What if she feels like she was better off without that baby and didn’t care what happened to him?”

Steve fell silent. This felt extremely personal. Steve worried that maybe Billy was projecting throughout this entire ordeal, and that’s why he was so eager to help and got so angry about it.

Jim closed his office door and offered Billy some coffee. 

“I need you to relax, kid.” Jim said sternly. “I’d hate to have to charge you with disorderly conduct.”

“You’d seriously do that? C’mon Hop!” Steve fiercely defended Billy. 

“I don’t want to. That’s why I want him to relax. I can tell you’ve had a long 24 hours. You drank a little too much, found an abandoned baby, your father got violent with you, and now you learn you were face to face with the kid’s mother and she lied to you. I understand.”

Billy refused to meet Jim’s eyes.

“I also know Susan’s not your mom. Where’s your mom, Billy?”

Billy shrugged. “I dunno.” He mumbled. 

“I see.”

Steve could feel his heart snap. He had no idea Billy was dealing with so much, but it explained everything. It explained his anger, his shitty attitude and it definitely explained last night. He felt like he learned so much about Billy so quickly. 

“Hey, Chief? Is there anything else you need from us? Or can I walk Billy out?”

Jim asked them a few brief questions and sent them on their way. 

They stood in front of the police station and Billy lit a cigarette. 

“You wanna go grab food?” Steve offered. “I’m really hungry.”

“You paying? I didn’t grab any money.”

“Yeah, c’mon. The diner’s nearby.”

They sat in the diner and ordered some burgers. They made it halfway through their meal in somewhat amicable silence. 

“You should’ve let Hop help you. You could’ve pressed charges against your dad and—“

“And what? Go where? I’d be homeless, break up a marriage, and still have to go through a trial and be dragged through the mud. Only for a 50% chance of my dad even going to jail. And if he’s not guilty. I’ll be worse off than I was before.”

“You’re right. I’m…sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?”

“Because I—I’m stupid. I’m always trying to be there for someone and I’m always too much.”

“At least when you’re too much, people still want you around.”

“Sometimes.”

Billy scoffed. “Cut the shit, Harrington. Everyone likes you. Everyone wants you around.”

“People like you too, Billy.”

“Not in a way that matters.”

Steve’s heart continuously ached for Billy. 

“Well. I really like you, Billy. You showed me what an amazing guy you are last night. I-I want us to be friends.”

He skeptically raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Let me be here for you. For anything you need. You can knock on my door anytime. Call me up if you wanna talk or just play some basketball.”

“I guess. And…you can do the same, or whatever. Like…call me to play basketball or drink beer.”

Steve smiled. “I’m glad we’re friends.”

“You’re sappy. Shut up.”

“Are you blushing, Billy?” Steve tried to search for Billy’s eyes as he constantly looked away. 

“No. Stop lookin’ at me.”

Billy wasn’t blushing. His face was flushed from trying to fight back tears. Steve caught a glimpse as one rolled down Billy’s cheek. 

“Let’s get outta here.”

They found a quiet place in the woods beneath a tree and shared a cigarette. 

“Why were you crying?” Steve asked. 

“I wasn’t.”

“I saw you, Billy. It’s okay. Tell me what you were thinking.”

“Why’s it matter?”

“I thought we said we were friends.”

“Is this something friends do? Cry around each other?” Billy sneered. “Like some therapy session?”

“It’s something I do. If we’re friends, you can tell me anything.”

Billy sighed, flicking the cigarette butt. “Last night was really fucked up. When I found out that baby was all alone without his mom, I couldn’t stop thinking about how scared I was when my mom left me. And how…she didn’t want me either. And I don’t even know what I did wrong.” His lip trembled. “What did I do wrong?”

Steve gently pulled Billy into his arms, letting him sob into his shoulder. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Billy glanced up at Steve with his red, glossy eyes, and for some reason, he kissed him. 

The kiss was soft and gentle and not foreign to either of them, but Billy pulled away suddenly, apologizing and trying to jump out of Steve’s arms.

Steve refused to let him go. 

“It’s fine. I kissed you back.”

“You make everything sound fine!” Billy shouted, gently nudging him away. “You make everything feel like it’s—it’s gonna be okay and I can just—be like this with you. Why are you doing that?!”

“Because I like you. And everything can be okay with me. If that makes you feel happy. If you want me to.”

Billy hesitated before lying back down on Steve’s shoulder, melting into the safety of his welcoming warmth. 

“Don’t you care about other people seeing us together? Like—like this?”

“No. We’re the coolest guys in Hawkins. And if someone said something, you’d probably pick a fight with them.”

Billy laughed, finally, for the first time since yesterday. “I probably would.” He sighed. “How the hell did this happen?”

“I dunno. I guess…a really fucked up situation brought us together and we just…clicked.”

“I didn’t know you liked guys.”

“I didn’t know you liked guys either.”

“I wanna keep learning about you, if...that’s cool.” Billy's voice was soft and bashful as he spoke.

“Yeah.” Steve squeezed him a little tighter. “It’s very cool.”

There was a calm, amicable silence between them.

“Been a crazy 24 hours huh?”

“Yeah.” Steve sighed. “Wanna go to my place and sleep this off?”

Billy nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

[caesarflickermans]

thg fans, we need to talk about the "rose map".

with TBOSAS, a new Panem map emerged diverging from previous map iterations. Fans have attempted to explain the stylistic difference as either a Capitol map or an in-universe artistic interpretation resembling a rose.

however, this map resembles a popular fan-made map. let's finally address this.

[image id: two pictures of a map. the first map has been made by a fan with its social media links included. the second map is titled "history of panem". the first map has several districts marked in a circular form moving inward toward the capitol. the second map is a similar design with the same shapes moving toward an inner centre. it's red colour makes it look like a rose]

Note the resemblance of the District placements and their shapes. District 4 and its island are especially noteworthy.

the original artist has spoken out today on a reddit post. this is their statement:

Hi, I'm aimmyarrowshigh who created this map, and I just wanted to thank you for pointing out here and when it was originally revealed that Lionsgate stole it from me.  They never contacted me to ask about using my Panem map (even though it is copyrighted as part of The Panem Companion) and did not give me any credit for its use. If they wanted to use it as the TBOSAS map, I would have gladly worked with them to update it to their design specs in exchange for whatever they paid their graphic designers and an acknowledgement in the end credits! I would have been thrilled! But instead, they stole it without any regard, and they're ignoring the Cease & Desist sent by my lawyers. (I am being aided by the legal team at the OTW.)  I am so disappointed by their decisions regarding this issue, from the initial choice to use it without just... asking... or even informing me... to their refusal to admit that they did such a thing. The fact that the graphic design company quietly removed it from IG after Lionsgate got the C&D, yet they still aren't going to give any credit or compensation for its use, is kind of depressing.  I think I can probably speak for any fan artist or meta writer in saying that having one of my crazy ideas made canon is super cool, and if they had asked me whether they could use my map design, I would have said yes AND probably been a lot cheaper than whoever they paid to steal it, just because I would have been so chuffed to see it in the movie. I'm kind of heartbroken that they didn't respect it, or me, enough to just... shoot me an email. You know? I know some people will probably reply and say "it's just a fanwork" or "you made it 13 years ago, get over it" or something like that, but fanworks are made out of pure love for the thing (in this case, THG) and Lionsgate took advantage of my love for THG to earn a little more money directly (on merch) and indirectly (in the movie itself). That's gross, imo. Just because it's a fanwork doesn't mean it isn't the intellectual property of the person who created it -- and especially in the case of something like this map, which exists specifically because it DIDN'T exist in canon at the time I created it.  Anyway, tl;dr: yes, they stole it, and thank you for pointing that out so consistently. 

what to do as fans?

boycott the "rose" map. do not buy the map / do not promote it / raise awareness / share this post.

uplift fan work. support fans / share & credit fan work.

supporty aimmyarrowshigh. buy or talk about the panem companion / share the original map.

[jakeotters]

Tommy x reader (id you add Johnathan Crane reader, separate, exta I woul be so happy)

So they were childhood friends, grew up together bur one day reader confess.

He rejected Reader, for whatever reason it would be.

Like so time later he sit on readers wedding, already pissed, and when he see the kiss he realizes it should be him wis her . It should be his wedding and it should be him who she kiss in a white dress.

You can write headcanon or shots whatever you prefer

Lav ya

what if? (tommy shelby x reader)

lots of angst for this one 🥲

warnings: none

you were standing alone in his dark office. you weren’t sure what tempted you to come in here— you were acting on impulse. something had been bothering you for a while now, locked away in the back of your mind and trying to claw itself out.

“it’s late, love.”

tommy’s deep, melodic voice rang out from behind you, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“what ‘re you doing in here? and by yourself?”

tommy entered his office, lighting a lamp on the desk in the room.

you could see paperwork scattered across the desk, an empty whiskey glass with a cigarette resting in it sitting on the corner. you could tell he’d been busy, he always was. though you two had known each other your whole lives, tommy made sure not to be too detailed with you about what he did.

tommy looked at you, his icy blue eyes settling on your face, waiting for you to respond.

“just wanted to be alone. have some space to think.” you admitted.

it wasn’t a lie, you’d pulled yourself away from the roudiness of the bar. tommy knew you weren’t one for crowds or loudness. what you hadn’t intended to do was come to his office to be alone, you’d ended up here before you realized it.

“somethin’ bothering you, sweetheart?”

tommy turned to pour two glasses of whiskey— one for him and one for you.

he held out your glass and you took it, tapping your fingers against it as you thought about what to say. you wanted to be honest with him, he was your best friend after all. tommy knew more about you than anyone else. you trusted him.

“just been thinking a lot, tommy. about us.”

your eyes fell to the floor, not wanting to look at him anymore.

“us, eh?” tommy took a long swig of his whiskey, “what about us?”

you trapped yourself here— there was no going back. you had to tell him now. your thoughts were free and there was no taking them back.

“tommy, we’ve known each other our whole lives. you probably know more about me than i know about myself.”

your hand shook, the glass trembling with it. to avoid dropping the glass, you set it on his desk. tommy looked at you and you took a shaky breath before you continued, feeling his eyes on you.

“i’ve always loved you as a friend, you know that. but- tommy, as we’ve grown, i’ve come to love you as more than a friend.”

you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as your confession left you. you raised your eyes to tommy’s, hesitant to see his reaction.

but he was silent.

he was silent— his eyes bore into yours like blue orbs. the light casted a soft golden hew on him, he was beautiful. you’d always thought so.

“tommy?”

you said his name, wanting him to say something.

tommy threw back the rest of his drink, setting his glass on the desk next to yours. he cleared his throat before he spoke.

“i’m flattered, love. and you know we’ll always be friends-“

you stopped him, knowing where this was going. he didn’t feel the same way.

he could see the sadness in your eyes as they met his. he’d always seen this look when your past boyfriends had broken up with you and you’d come to him crying.

“i’m sorry, love. but you know i can’t. ‘s too dangerous, for you.”

tommy searched for reasoning— anything that would comfort you or offer you some sort of explanation.

“i understand. i’m sorry for saying anything. i should’ve known better.”

you gave him a small, sad smile before walking out of his office, closing the door behind you and leaving him to the heaviness that filled the room.

—

the memory played in his mind over and over as he sat in the pew, next to your family.

he’d gotten the invitation a month before. he’d noticed an envelope had been left on his desk. the two of you weren’t close anymore, you’d formed a relationship with a man you’d met at the bar. he was surprised when he opened it and found a short but formal letter written by you.

“my dearest tommy,

please join me and my family at the ceremony. we’d love to have you.

i’m sorry i’ve been distant the last few years. i miss you.

love,

y/n.”

his eyes lingered on your writing. he missed you too, the way you’d come to him about everything, the way your presence would light up a room, your beauty, your voice. he took a lighter from his pocket, a corner of the letter catching flame. he put a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it as he watched the rest of the letter burn.

but, here he was. in this pew, next to your family, you and your groom standing at the altar in front of him as the priest read the vows. he looked at you. you looked beautiful in your dress with your hair neatly put up under your veil. he wished it was him you were standing in front of.

the more he thought about your confession, the way he’d rejected you, the more he regretted his words. he’d regret that moment for the rest of his life and he knew it. “what if?” rang through his head, filling his thoughts. it haunted him, casting a dreary fog over his mind.

“you may now kiss the bride.”

the priest’s words echoed throughout the church. tommy watched as the man you were marrying kissed you.

it should be him you kissed in that white dress. it should be him you come to about whatever was on your mind. it should be him who got to hold you at night, feeling the warmth of your body curled against him as you sleep.

it should be him.

masterlist

[spacexseven]

GOD I am thinking so hard about yans going after a darling they previously rejected.

like. you have a crush on your coworker, [insert bsd yan here]. ur not subtle about it. ofc yan Knows, so does everyone else who watches you two interact. trouble is, they dont reciprocate. which is ok! theyre allowed to not like you! but they're also a huge dick about it which is the real issue here.

like, they do NOT let you down easy AT ALL. they might even lead you on a bit beforehand if they're the opportunistic type, paying attention to you up until you do what they want and then dropping you until they have another task lined up. they don't feel bad about it. they don't HAVE to indulge in your delusional little crush, be happy theyre paying attention to you at all! eventually they just completely shut you down. maybe you finally work up the courage to ask them out and they laugh right in your face, not able to stifle their amusement at the idea. or maybe you catch them on a bad day and your puppy-like desperation goes from being funny to annoying and they don't mince words when telling you to get lost. you're heartbroken, humiliated, maybe even a bit frightened if they said anything particularly scary in their tirade, and resolve to just avoid them as much as you possibly can from now on. maybe start looking for a new job somewhere else. 

they try to act like losing your attentions doesnt effect them at all, but they really feel your absence. they convince themselves that you're just giving them space after the… incident, but when they go looking around for you and you're nowhere to be found or you coincidentally have to leave whatever room you're in as soon as they enter it they realize that you're avoiding them. it hurts more than they'd like to admit, they find themselves seeking you out much more than they ever have before, only to be disappointed when you notice them looking at you and get visibly uncomfortable or lower your voice so they cant hear you anymore. if they ever DO manage to talk to you, you're freezing cold, all business. on your end, you're just trying not to irritate them, assuming that if they're suddenly staring at you its cuz you're doing something they don't like, but theyre completely torn up about no longer getting your attention. theyre distracted constantly by your sudden distance, no longer able to enjoy outings with coworkers if you don't attend- spending the whole time wondering if you didn't go cuz THEYRE there. now THEYRE the one following YOU around, trying to get back in your good graces in whatever way they can think of. it might start as a childish ploy to regain your attention after your ignoring them caused a blow to their ego, but the more you avoid them the deeper their feelings get. please please PLEASE stop being mad at them! they can't go on if you don't forgive them. 

id imagine it would all come to a head if they found out you were planning on quitting soon, or if they caught you going on a date with someone else in the office. they WONT lose you. they cant.

I think most characters could work with this, but especially dazai, akutagawa, jouno, chuuya, and kunikida (he wouldnt do anything out of malice hed just accidentally be pretty harsh turning you down and then feel like an idiot later.). maybe fyodor and gogol too, with some tweaking. this kinda came out a garbled mess sorry haven't slept in like 3 days lmao.

- 🩹

my friend please get some sleep :< like Seriously you are going to crash very hard at this rate i didn't get to elaborate on a lot here 'cos i wanted to write a little bit for everyone (dazai, chuuya, jouno, techhou, ranpo, akutagawa, kunikida, sigma, nikolai and fyodor) but if there's any particular group/character anyone wants to hear about send me an ask and i'll gladly ramble on and on :>

i can see either dazai or jouno doing this intentionally, genuinely liking to watch you look embarrassed and even teary-eyed at his blunt rejections. whether it's because they really couldn't care less about you or because they were just bored, they lead you on and go on to embarrass you publicly, effectively humiliating you and breaking your heart over and over.

consequently, these two also are hit the hardest when you start ignoring them. this probably happens when your carefully crafted confession is callously crushed, receiving jeering words and scornful laughter in response, and you decide you should move on from the toxicity these two carry.

jouno can sense you sneaking out the room when he enters and he pretends not to notice, but dazai straight up stares at you in a look you might even think of as betrayal if it wasn't such a crazy thought. both of them are beyond furious by your sudden withdrawal and badly concealed attempt at avoiding them. what, did you think you could hang around them for so long, smiling through all the insults and 'jokes' and then decide to one day turn around and drop them like you weren't just following them around every corner the week before?

they latch onto you with an overwhelming fervour, following you into every room and into every meeting, even the one they're not supposed to be in. mess around with your files on purpose so you'd have no choice but to come to them and ask for your things back, manage to grab themselves an assignment with you as their partner, even sit right across you during your lunch break. it's like you can never escape them, no matter how hard you try.

just try quitting, or trying to cling onto someone else. just you try, and it'll be far from an amiable ending. they're both extremely cunning and determined, and it won't end well for anyone ecept themselves.

kunikida, akutagawa and chuuya are the type where they didn't mean to be harsh but because they are so flustered/confused they end up coming out very coldly when they tell you to scram or just stop blabbering. you were only trying to be conversative by mentioning the new café downstaira and asking about their weekend, but either because of the stress of work or their inability to deal with your questions of genuine interest and helpful comments, they usually end up responding rudely. chuuya for one is known to scoff and briskly walk away while you're busy talking, hoping you don't notice his flushed cheeks after you complimented his hair. akutagawa's go to response is to just stare at you and wait for you to trail off, thinking he either did not want to hear you ramble on or he just spaced out, and quickly leave. kunikida...depending on the time of the day and how much of dazai's work he has to clean up after, it's either a resigned sigh as you continue talking (he enjoys your company after a long day, although he'll never admit it) or a sudden, angry burst of words you can barely make out.

confessing to either three is awkward, but in the unlikely scenario that it does happen, despite your belief that they barely tolerated you, they're secretly thrilled but unable to respond, leaving you dejected and them panicked. regardless, when you decide enough is enough and you should probably stop bothering them when they don't seem to want you around, they immediately try to stop you.

for chuuya, this means suddenly transforming into the helpful senior, scaring away other employees who try to dump their work on you and people who try to befriend you, as long as they want to talk to you. your unimpressed reactions only spur him on, deciding if you had nobody else, you'd finally come back to him. for kunikida, this is more subtle, taking on your workload and leaving completed forms and files at your desk, placing an energy drink nearby or someting of the sort. he isn't so reckless as to scare away everyone around you, hoping you'd realize you might have misunderstood him because he was always stressed out and come to befriend him again, as he's smart enough to know frightening you away by coming on too strong is not the best way to go. akutagawa might struggle with the subtle approach, but he tries, really. he starts lingering around you, following you silently in an unintentionally creepy way, even when you go to get something to eat. he hopes thta by sticking around you long enough, you'd recognize his intentions as good and not...anything else.

tecchou and sigma initially wouldn't realize why you kept staring at them and immediately look away when they notice. they're confused by your sudden attention on them, not recognizing the glimmer in your eyes as growing attraction and the pep in your step as enthusiasm.

eventually though, it registers, and they're over the moon. i can see both of them being pleasantly surprised, and even if a romantic relationship isn't in their plans at the moment, they like and appreciate you as a friend. still, after you keep smiling at them and asking them to accompany you for lunch, seeing you do that to anyone else is...unsettling, at the least. especially because they know what kind of intentions these other people have.

suddenly, tecchou's glare feels extremely dangerous, almost like lasers burning into the back of whoever's got your attention, causing them to awkwardly excuse themselves and leave you alone once they catch sight of his intense stare. and sigma (he's a higher up here) is piling on an insane amount of work to your companion, happily accepting your invitation to go out to eat every day of the week, now that everyone else was conveniently so busy.

nikolai would actually entertain your feelings, more so out of boredom than anything else. it's easy with him, he catches on pretty quickly—the obvious interest in your tone when you talk to him, the way you hang on to every word like a devoted worshipper, the little gifts you had on hand for him—he'd be a fool not to notice! (he kinda is one, but that's besides the point) you won't have to worry about confessions going south or a cold rejection. nikolai showers you in affection from the start, treating you warmly, laughs with you and is always there by your side.

it almost comes naturally when you admit you like him and he only pulls you closer with the arm he has constantly around you. don't be fooled though, despite not having any 'actual' feelings for you yet, he is unbelievably possessive. if you are upset about anything and decide to sulk and ignore him, nikolai is happy to annoy you endlessly until you either give in and forgive him, or if he sees you trying to busy yourself with anyone else, he's quick to come up with a lost of creative ways to get the outsider out of your relationship with him.

with nikolai, there's a lot of spontaneous skipping out on work (that you miraculously never get in trouble for), unplanned adventures and general good times until, of course, someone else tries to meddle. maybe it's a nosy coworker who firmly believes workplace relationships are unprofessional, or a newbie who stupidly ignores the obvious signs of nikolai and you being together; whatever it is, you won't have to worry, nikolai will swifltly remove all the obstacles.

eventually, he decides that life is a lot more fun with you, his partner in crime, always by his side. this is when things will really take a turn, and you start to realize he's a lot more unhinged than you would have thought previously...

ranpo is a bit of an interesting one...he knows you like him, even if you do a good job at hiding it. he obviously takes advantage of your feelings, purposely trying to make you jealous just to see you all riled up, and asks you to do things for him knowing you wouldn't deny him.

he's so proud of himself, as though he charmed everyone around him, and doesn't hesitate to poke fun at you for liking him. not as maliciously as dazai and jouno, but mean enough that it has you blinking in shock at the way he rudely declares that he was out of your league, skipping away to eat some snacks.

obviously, when he acts so high and mighty, you'd think he would be pleased by you finally taking his advice on "focusing on work instead of staring at him with hearts in your eyes" (not like he was doing anything productive most of the time), but it's the opposite. he notices your absence almost immediately, and imagine his shock and humiliation when you, who was supposed to ttail him around like a puppy, happilly eating out of his hand, were now deciding these boring work files are more important than him.

somehow they even placed the intern that just started with you for training, and now that's all that you're focused on. showing the newcomer around, chatting with them, offering your help with tasks—it was like ranpo ceased to exist and it infuriated him. similarly, if you started spending time around/with someone else from the company (cough nikolai cough), it would annoy him just as much if not more, knowing exactly what kind of intentions they had.

ranpo turns his annoying abilities to the max, now being the one to follow you around everywhere and whines at you to pay attention to him, asking you to feed him snacks and also trying to feed you in return, demanding you accompany him for lunch so he doesn't get lost, and anything else to monopolise your time. eventually, even if you stay strong, whoever you spend your time with now can't handle ranpo's overbearing and unavoidable presence, driving them away. (it helps if he's like a valued employee here too)

fyodor is the type to not do anything about your crush, not until you become useful to him. he'll entertain it, sure, staring back at you with that disarming smile and curious eyes, brushing his hand against yours for a moment too long when you hand him things, sitting right next to you when you ask him to come over and look at something—he knows the hold he has over you and he loves it.

he thinks it's cute to see you so entranced and in awe by him, and he genuinely enjoys your company as he recognizes your genuine work ethic and passion, but even then he doesn't exactly hold the same feelings for you. this is him acting to keep you onterested because he knows someone who is so in love with him despite not really knowing him is a pawn he shouldn't lose.

maybe one day you realize you'd rather not ruin a good friendship by involving your feelings, but trying to distance yourself won't be fruitful and busying yourself with another person would only lead fyodor to threaten their livelihood and even their lives. fyodor is a very jealous and possessivs man, even though you're not dating, he still doesn't like the idea of anyone other than him using you and doesn't want to risk you forgetting him.

generally, though, nobody tries to mess with fyodor, because while he's all amiable and charming to you, to everyone else he's intense and brooding; unapproachable. he has this look that makes everyone feel inferior, like he thinks of them as pathetic creatures—which he does, but you...he could make some use of you yet. he's impressed by your strong will to be by his side for so long despite receiving no sign that he might like you at all...maybe it's time he rewarded you tor your devotion?

[thatonedaydream]

Don’t really wanna be Elevator Buddies (Sephiroth x Reader)

A/N: Part 1 here. im suffering sufficiently at my current job that im leaving that i think i can write something because i need an outlet and i also want sephiroth to make it better. also, i am so much older than when i wrote the first part; as such, my writing probably reads a lot more different - better, worse or same is up to you. to those who have requested a part 2 and have waited literal years (its been 4!!!!!), i love you, i'm so sorry its so late.

★★★★★

Staring at the message in your work inbox, you suddenly couldn’t summon the effort to care. Your mood instantly dropped and you needed to leave your desk. You kept your headset on as you wandered towards the small staff kitchen under the guise that you were still connected to a meeting and listening in, when really you just want to block people out. You didn’t want to be perceived.

You just wanted out.

ShinRa Inc wasn’t known as the best place to work, but the pay was good and it was better than any other options you had. 

The coffee machine rumbled as you waited for it to process your order. You didn’t even want to drink the cheap, watered down stuff, you just didn’t want to be at your desk looking at that stupid fucking request. There wasn’t much that could get your out of these kinds of emotional troughs bar one thing that seemed to always work.

You felt the vibration of a notification from your phone in your pocket. Knowing what and who it was probably from, you eagerly checked the new message that had come through. It was just a photo of blue sky with some clouds—the tops of greenery you didn’t recognise lined the bottom. It was very abstract and out of context, but you were used to it now.

Putting aside your misery for the moment, you typed out a short response.

I can’t beat that. This is my view.

You took a photo of the ceiling above you. Stark, stale and claustrophobic in comparison to the natural sky you were given. You sent it off and only a few seconds later, received a thumbs up in response. It made you laugh.

Sephiroth was a terrible at texting sometimes, but it was endearing in way.

When you had first traded contact details a little after The Elevator Incident, it had taken a while before anything was sent from either of you. You were too scared of bothering him and he was more than likely too busy or just didn’t know what to send. It also felt like trading personal IDs was crossing into an entirely different friend territory that wasn’t as nonchalant as impromptu elevator conversations.

The messaging ice was broken when, one day, you got a single image of chocobo out in the wild with no context. If you didn’t have Sephiroth’s ID saved, you would have wondered if someone had messaged the wrong person. Your response was a quick ‘I love chocobos, they’re so cute!’, and your reward several hours later was a picture of a sweetly sleeping chocobo in a stable.

Sephiroth was a man of very few words, but he still found ways to communicate with you and that honestly made you feel… Well, you weren’t sure you wanted to admit what you were feeling too much. You knew you had feelings for the man, that you were attracted to him, but those feelings had no where to go. You couldn’t tell him.

For many reasons, you just couldn’t ever tell him about your ever growing affection for him.

You just couldn’t.

You wandered back to your desk, completely forgetting about the coffee you had made in the kitchen. The message from the 1st Class Soldier perked you up way more than the caffeine would have anyway. You scrolled through your requests again and sighed. It was probably going to be another late night in the office. Maybe you’d just call in sick tomorrow.

You worked a few more hours, eyeing your phone and hoping for more messages, but none came. Sephiroth was often the one to initiate conversation as you still felt like you would bother him if you sent something first. Still… You kind of really wanted to talk to someone—to him, specifically. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to send one message?

Picking up your phone you opened up your chat and tried to think of something to say. You typed out several things, but kept deleting them. ‘Hello’ felt too formal, ‘Hi!’ seemed too chipper.

Is something wrong?

The message popped up before you could send something yourself.

!!! No! I was just about to message you. How are you?

There was a pause—and then a short voice message.

▶• ıll— “Are you sure you’re alright? Was there something else you wanted to say to me?”  

You could hear the smile in his words and you flushed upon the realisation that he must have seen your stupid three dots pop up and disappear constantly in the chat. You playfully hissed your own voice note back, 

▶• ıll— “Ohhh shut up, I just didn’t want to bother you!” 

Putting your phone down, you peeked over your divider and looked around to see if anyone else could hear you. It was fairly late in the office, way past usual business hours, so you could see some screens still lit up around the  space, but there wasn’t anyone near you.

Your phone pinged a few times, indicating new messages. Some more photos, but this time of more a familiar sight—the Midgar cityscape.

I’m back.

It had been awhile since he had left on his last mission. You were glad he was back safe, not that you’d tell him that now. You sent off a quick, mildly motion blurred snap of your desk and sent it off.

?

A question mark? A question mark to what? The photo wasn’t that blurry.

It’s my desk.

Are you still working? It’s late.

Ohhhh… You cringed; it was late. Honestly if you didn’t procrastinate with absolute loathing and low morale earlier in the day you probably could have been home already, but you couldn’t push through the negativity.

Yeah, its been a rough day.

You waited for a response, but none came. Sephiroth went inactive spontaneously during your conversations, so it wasn’t surprising. Instead you put your phone down and continued on a project that was behind on its deadlines. Technically all of them were behind, but this one you at least had the energy to push through for now.

An hour later your phone pinged a couple times. A photo of the elevator you used everyday to get to up to your floor and:

Time to leave.

You stared at the message, biting your lip. Even if you wanted to leave, there was still things to be done and—

Do I have to drag you out?

▶• ıll— “Okay! Alright! I’m packing up, hold your damn chocobos. I’m leaving now.”

Who knew Sephiroth could be so pushy? During the long elevator ride down to the lobby, you wondered if maybe he only showed this side of himself to people he trusted or cared about. The thought made your stomach flip.

It could also have been that people never really gave Sephiroth the opportunity to be himself. It was an upsetting thought. He was the 1st Class Soldier, a warrior that couldn’t be toppled, a man way above the norm. Untouchable. Distant. You knew what his public image was like, but still somehow you couldn’t fathom how people couldn’t consider that there was another side to him.

The side of him that you always got to see.

The same Sephiroth that you saw was waiting for you as the elevator doors opened. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He stood by the empty reception desk with his arms crossed, looking out the front entrance. When he heard your footsteps he turned to face you almost immediately. The man’s expression would have seemed stoic to others, but you recognised the warmth in his mako-infused gaze.

What if you were the only person he looked at that way? You held your smile steady even as your heart argued with your head to accept that maybe that’s what you really wanted.

It felt like Sephiroth’s gaze only intensified as you approached him. “...You look awful.” His voice was low, quiet, but still teasing. There was a chuckle in there too, somewhere in his deep tone. Sure you had heard it recently in the voice message, but it wasn’t the same as hearing him speak to you in person.

“That’s so mean, Seph. Not even a proper greeting for me? Wow.” Even though you were exhausted, you automatically matched his manner. “You look…” Oh, you couldn’t tell him how you really felt about how he looked. There were so many adoring and affectionate words, yet somehow still not enough. “...Like you?” You finally sputtered out after filtering all the other things that your mouth wanted to say.

The 1st Class Soldier gifted you with a short laugh and you struggled to hold back the burst of emotions that bloomed in your chest. “You are so mean to me.” This interaction wasn’t like the others. This didn’t feel like the light playful chats in the elevator. When did these interactions change? When did all the same words that you used to use before suddenly mean something different?

Sephiroth suddenly leaned closer towards you, a small smirk crossing his lips. “I am nice to you.” The way he spoke was next to a purr, “Did you want me to be mean?” It felt like the mako glow in his eyes brightened for a moment; he was close enough that you could see specks of the otherworldly green in his irises.

You wanted to die on the spot. He was not flirting with you, no matter how much it felt like it. No way. However, before you could stop yourself, you replied quietly. “...I like it when you’re nice to me.” The look on Sephiroth’s face melted into something else—something just as warm, just as intense, but something so much more genuine and it immediately scared you. Before he could say anything more you let out dismissive laugh. “Phew, I am a lot more exhausted than I thought. I-I should probably get home.”

Maybe the fear was reflected in your expression. Sephiroth fell back into his usual cool and stoic demeanor and you wanted to apologise—it was hard not to feel as though you had just ruined something important. Casual conversation you could navigate. This? What was this?

Of course you’d find a way to make a bad day worse. Of course you’d ruin a good thing. Of course you’d—

A large hand pressed into your lower back and guided you forwards, interrupting your downward spiraling thoughts. When you looked up at Sephiroth beside you, he simply watched and waited for you to take the lead. Nothing in how he looked at you had changed from when you had first exited the elevator. “There’s a car waiting for you outside.” That voice you so adored, was steady and warm and sure. Still the same.

Quietly you stepped outside with Sephiroth in tow. He opened the car door for you, nodding to the driver who did the same in return. You sat in the back seat, with the soldier leaning outside on the vehicle, looking in to make sure you were comfortable. 

“...Bye Seph.” You really did sound tired.

Sephiroth didn’t respond right away, but the silence wasn’t as heavy as the one inside the lobby. He placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head. “Goodnight.” You knew there was something else he wanted to say, but he held his tongue. There was another pause before he shut the door for you.

You leaned back in your seat and let the butterflies run rampant in your belly, let the buzz run through your veins, let it hum through your body. You covered your hands with your face. It felt like there was still something left to say, a conversation left unfinished.

From outside the ShinRa building, Sephiroth watched as you were driven away out of sight. He stood there, holding what he really wanted to say to you in his throat.

It was frustrating for him to know he could physically conquer any fight, any conflict, except for whatever he could see going on in your eyes. Did you know that he could see you becoming more and more tired with each interaction you had? It frustrated him to no end knowing that people took advantage of you and your time and your efforts. Idiots. Fools. 

How could he put into words how you made him feel? Sephiroth was no good at words. He just wanted to keep you safe. He just wanted you not to be tired. He just wanted you to always smile when you saw him—a smile that said you were genuinely happy to see him. Not the 1st Class Soldier, but happy to see Sephiroth himself.

The man snapped out of his reverie as his phone pinged with a message. A voice note from you.

▶• ıll— “...I missed you, Sephiroth. Welcome home.”

Sephiroth stared at the screen of his phone.

And then he replayed the message, just to hear your voice again.

[curtsycream]

My Heart Lingers in Italy

In which James Potter visits Italy for a school trip just to meet two girls that change him forever.

This is pretty short but it is only my first installment of this series if you want to call it that. It will be part of my summer project for my writing. So updates may be a bit slow but quality over quantity right? Anyway I hope you enjoy, it wasn’t beta read this time I wanted to get it out before I rewrite it completely or just scrap the idea. Also when they trade IDs it was supposed to be for Line and such like that but couldn’t find a face social media maker for that one, so yeah also English is not my first language so if my grammar or spelling is off I apologize in advance.

“Lily, where are we going?”

The two girls held hands as they weaved through a crowd of tourists. The streets of Verona normally weren’t so packed but it was tourist season. Smiling Lily tugs Y/N forward as the two girls walk, “Remember you said you’d go to Piazza San Zeno with me. I explicitly remember telling you last week when you were busy talking with Sienna.”

Y/N smiled broadly, “don’t tell me you were jealous again. You know you never have anything to worry about, she just wanted to know if I would be applying to universities outside of Italy. I told her I’m going wherever you go,” she whispered.

Ducking her head down Lily tried to use her hair to hide her reddened cheeks. “You’re so annoying sometimes, come on!”

The two girls, one smirking and the other blushing made their way to the open flea market. It was packed with locals and foreigners alike. Y/N waved to any and everyone she knew running different stalls. When Lily stopped walking she bumped into the shorter girl’s back.

“What’s the hold-up, Donnina?” Y/N glanced up to notice a group of teenagers. All about the same age as the two of them. But what stuck out the most was a group of boys playing around near a booth. Their playful nature was animated and rather funny.

Grinning she wrapped an arm around Lily’s shoulder, “oh I see it’s those tourists. They’re rather cute I’ll admit,” she commented.

“What do you think about that one?” Lily asked pointing at a bespectacled boy with dark hair.

Squinting Y/N finds herself analyzing the boy from his charming behaviors to his handsome looks. “Attractive,” it was simple but for someone like Y/N, it meant a lot.

Lily and Y/N knew each other inside and out better than most people did. So a simple compliment from Y/N meant she wanted to get to know him too.

“Should we talk to him?”

“What about that thing we rushed here for?”

“Aldo will be here next Sunday with the book I want to look at, should we talk to him?”

The urgency in her voice was clear, it hinted at her fear of passing up on what could be a once-in-a-lifetime deal. Nodding her head Y/N nods her head in his direction, “Let’s go.”

Pulling Lily along she smiled softly when standing in front of the boy. Up close he was much more handsome than she gave him credit for.

James was listening to Remus explain the difference between the two books in his hands to Sirius. He knew Sirius only did this to rile him up. Looking away from his friends he noticed two girls walking towards him. One was short and flushed and the other tall and grinning.

He would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel something. They were opposites of each other yet they looked so good together. Like that of sunshine and rain where together they equal out to rainbows. A balance is what they represent one that he wanted to be a part of. It was a strange feeling but it felt meant to be.

“Ciao,” he said without thinking.

The tall girl smiled with a laugh, “Ciao.” While the shorter one looked away before looking back at him with a smile, “Ciao.”

“I, I didn’t really pass Italian just enough to end up on this trip,” he explained. He felt as if he had to as if he owned them something.

“No it’s fine, we know English. Your accent British?” The tall one asked with just as much interest as a puppy. Her accent is thick as she speaks fluently and confidently.

“Yes, I guess the accent was very obvious,” he joked.

“That among other things,” the words from the shorter girl made him grin. Her voice was lithe sneaking up on his ears with agility. While the taller girl’s voice felt like velvet wrapping around his eyes blinding him with mystery. Both were opposite but equal in the effects they were having on his senses.

“Oh, what are these other things?” He asked leaning forward enough to smell figs and jasmine on her. A floral and fruity scent that made him lean back some.

“If I told you so easily it wouldn’t be as fun,” she told him.

“She’s always like this if you’re wondering, you’ll have to pry her secrets from her cold little hands to know.” The glint of amusement in the taller girl’s eyes was evident. Just like the smell of mint and lemon when she stepped closer to whisper that to him. The crisp and citrus scent was exhilarating like a cool breeze sweeping over him.

“I’ll keep that in mind for the next time we meet,” he tells her.

The confidence in his tone was enough to cause Y/N to look away. Lily found herself squinting at him, “who said we would meet again?”

“I can’t say for sure but I hope so,” he says. “You’re both really interesting.”

“We’ve said less than five sentences each,” she tells him. All he did was shrug a look of certainty on his face. His expression revealed it all as if he knew they would.

“Then let’s trade IDs?” He asked them.

“How do you even know we have the app?”

“I don’t, but I’d like to hope you do, red.”

Laying in her bed whilst looking up at her ceiling Lily sighs. Sitting up she glanced over at whom she deemed her other half. The other girl was sculpting something with clay her headphones probably blaring some loud music.

Each time Lily tried to sleep her mind would wander to the bespectacled boy they met. His charisma was refreshing in a way she had not expected. Though she denied it on the trip back home she did enjoy his company.

His words so easily teased and left her cheeks red. She couldn’t understand how he so easily did so. Before she could think longer about the British boy she felt arms snake around her waist. A head resting on her chest, “What are you thinking so hard about, Donnina?”

Weaving her fingers through the taller girl’s hair the ginger sighs. A look of contemplation on her freckled face. “That guy…the British boy. He’s not easy to forget,” she uttered.

Mulling over Lily’s words she agreed, “I get that..he’s very charismatic in a way. But under all that, there is this heart tug where you can’t help but enjoy his company.”

“Exactly!” Lily exclaimed as she brushed hair out of the other girl’s face. Her finger trailed down her forehead and along the bridge of her nose. “I wonder if that’s normal…to feel that way about someone you just met.”

Humming softly Y/N’s fingers ghost over Lily’s sides before resting on her hips. “Maybe it’s a British thing? To be so charming and have people eager to see them again.”

“I thought that was the French?”

“It’s all relative, or how do people say Greek to me.”

Lily snorted shaking her head, “I think this is why you shouldn’t skip out on your literature classes.”

“Why would I stop when I have such a beautiful tutor to teach me when I don’t show up for classes?”

“You’re such a flirt.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way, donnina.”

Verona was beautiful at night, James remembered Remus telling him it was the city of Romeo and Juliet. A lovely Italian city where lovers can go and enjoy the sights around them.

Lover or not he had to admit that the city was more than he expected. The town with its medieval architecture and the meandering Adige river. It was hard for him to stop looking out of his window as the moon reflected perfectly upon it.

He could hear Sirius and Remus’ hushed tones within the room. The two had spent the day with James although James made it clear he was okay alone. He didn’t want to ruin the time his friends could have in such a romantic place together.

But he was grateful, sighing he glanced down his eyes finally leaving the river. People were still walking about outside conversing. he expected the nightlife to not be as active. From the morning and afternoon being busy with bustling marketplaces, piazzas, shops, and gardens. But from the way people were chattering and laughing it seemed there was more to the city.

For some reason he found himself watching a duo of two women. One tall and the other short both of them laughing and clinging to each other in their drunken state. He wondered if they did similar activities, or rather he wondered what they were doing now.

A small ding left his phone, his hand dived into his trousers pocket to retrieve it. A message from Y/N appeared on his phone, eagerly he opened it.

Typos are on purpose because they are messaging in English. To better clarify when it’s just Lily and Y/N speaking together it will be in Italian. I’ll better indicate that in the next installment, but Y/N is terrible at English but she tries. I’m such a sucker for this trio already.

[mako-neexu]

ughhh sitting here thinking. that it took dantes, both his chaldea version and inside guda version (both different but they are essentially the same) to combine for him to be able to carry out the Avenger Ordeal Call. in which would make guda understand what Avengers are, as a whole and why they exist in the first place.

because all this time, its that they have constantly called them over, understood their feelings as their own person when its been reiterated time and time again that a lot of them are simply made up of rumors, made up of what-ifs, they are victims in which they carry flames that would demand of retribution even at the cost of pan human history. but guda didnt focus on things like that. their nature is that of someone who understands and empathizes. to them, they are people just like anyone else. they are not tools, they are much more than what fate and the world dictates them to be. they are more than flames that would just burn and simply be Servants who would follow what they're born for.

so in order for an understanding to be reached, (because Chaldean said that "that" point of view of guda's is a distortion and is not "correct" to the human order thus barring them from approaching phh) the meaning of "Avenger" - of why it exists in the first place as Extra Class - must be achieved by becoming an Avenger, or simply tasting the path towards one.

so dantes became one: Chaldea Count + Prison Tower Count and in the pseudo-tokyo, they "split" and gain new titles.

"Black Shadow" / Count of Regret [or of Worry/Lingering Affection]

"Count of Monte Cristo" / Count of Determination

side note too that Chaldea Dantes is not necessarily "Black Shadow" and same goes for the other. its more like... both the Pseudo-Tokyo Danteses are both Chaldea Count and Prison Tower Count but it doesn't matter really because they are "both and neither" at the same time.

this here is also used as discrepancy between them and pronouns are really helpful at that. (the way im realizing just now that this applies as far back as ogawa heim/knk event....and we see in nerofes event in 2017 since that was his first appearance post-prison tower the very apparent difference between them in the pronoun usage...)

in Id chapter, Count of Determination also used "watashi" (with sometimes a furigana of 'ore' if it was mostly him) when referring to "both" of them. but he still uses his regular オレ though depending on what he says. afaik Black Shadow didnt use his "own" pronoun which i admit was really thought of when they made Id chapter www

anyways im digressing... what i want to focus on is that they became one, and split again and became "Determination" and "Worry" for guda which just makes my heart ache...it took changing himself from the inside, cutting off pieces of himself just to create pseudo-tokyo, the ten million inhabitants, as well as summoning and empowering other Avengers to both help guda and challenge them as Trials...

because in hurting someone you care about, it has to have that steel of determination and resolve. you have to be strong in the face of hurting someone you love and care so deeply because this is for their sake. even if it should cause them so much pain in their heart--which would naturally affect your own-- you have to have that determination to make sure they go through all of these trials even if they break, have that determination to which they care about will be able to achieve the end of their journey.

and in worry, that worry remained from the beginning. the black shadow that resides under the Master's feet, watching with bated breath as "both" of them put guda through these trials in which they have faith that they would overcome. there definitely is faith... but still that shadow is the 'worry' that represents "both" of them. which is why 'Worry' summoned Salieri and Jalter as starting Servants without the requirement of a command spell. Said to be "sweeter" to guda because of the leniency.

still, they're the "same" in the end. and therefore they care about their star a lot.....