#why can't things sort themselves out on their own

[edisacornball]

I first got into fandom because I had a very specific idea of what I wanted (modern day high school portal, NOT AU, but the main character has amnesia, so the OC isn't quite sure if they're actually a fictional character or if she's just obsessed) but I couldn't find a single story at the time that fit what I wanted. So I sat down and started writing it myself. And you know what? It kinda sucked! But still had so much fun. Both writing it, and then sharing it around with my friends, because we were all teenagers who kinda sucked at writing.

Plus the more I wrote, the more I realized I kinda had a bit of a knack for it deep down after having a librarian for a grandma and being an obsessive reader. And just the experience of seeing another side of how stories work was fun, too. And all that fun meant I kept coming back to it and getting better.

I'm also an aspec writer. I also get frustrated not seeing the sorts of stories I want to read. Though the stories I want aren't what the original anon wanted, because I personally love stories where people fall in love. I just wish more stories depicted a deeper connection. Guess what! It's pretty obvious why I want that, because I usually end up writing reflections of my own relationship with my husband! I wanted representation that felt like it fit me, shocking.

But the thing is, is people are always going to write a reflection of themselves, not you. That's all they really can write, even if they include. Art is a beacon we send out into the world to try and connect. It makes sense why it hurts when it feels like you aren't seeing any beacons that are one you want to answer. But you can't make anyone light that beacon for you. You just can't.

Being the one who reaches out is a lot of responsibility. It's understandable why you might be scared. But your options are to sit and wait until you see what you want (and accept that you might never see it) or to start creating what you want to see.

And the funny thing is, once you start trying to show everyone else what you want to see, you start getting more and more people who see themselves in the reflection you've made of yourself. And then they often go out and start creating more because someone finally gave them the words to understand what's going on in their own head.

About "create what you want to see". It's always free game to shit on aspec wanting to be included in fandom isn't it? "Let people have fun" maybe everyone should have fun. Maybe it's ok to want more fanworks you'd like instead of being told that you should do it yourself especially if you don't have the skills for it.

This is amazing how you guys can't think for a second that there's people different than you with different idea and that they have the right to feel saddened to feel excluded.

Oh sorry. It make you think about fandom beside shipping right?

I'm assuming this is in response to the discussion around Fandom Problem #9008.

[alexjcrowley]

And if I were to drop on here just to say that I Love To Travel from The Frogs by Stephen Sondheim is Frodo-and-Sam-at-the-beginning-of-their-journey coded?

[pythonmoth]

cw: flashback, sort of. military inaccuracies. lots of cursing. implied sexual activity but nothing explicit, this pov is just bloody shameless. blood, war, canon violence. author is projecting their own friend group, who cares. everyone's a little shit, including reader. mention of past gaz x price. (author is giggling at this).

simon x f!reader. poly tf141. father figure price.

word count: +6.4k

EDIT: if you read this the day I posted it (monday), I've edited a few details by midnight. nothing too important.

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If anybody had told him he would go through this a few months ago, he would've laughed at their faces.

He's too busy for this mess, really. He goes on a solo mission for a whole month and when he comes back all he knows is that his favorite lass is hospitalized and that Ghost and Soap were involved, and that it's John's fault. He had thought "well, they definitely broke her now", and had laughed in his mind at his silly joke, and then the soldier in front of him told him what had actually happened.

"Tortured. Nails all gone. Capt'n Price ordered it. Big mess".

Not even an hour in since he comes back and he has to see that bastard get away with it, and leave you with the physical consequences of it all. It was enough to make him burst a fucking blood vessel. He couldn't possibly smack John —he did once, and it did not go well for him—, but fuck, he was absolutely tempted, and he genuinely felt no sympathy for his team.

The rest of the lasses are worried about you, bombarding him with questions, but they have nothing to do with it and he does not have the time to stop and talk, so he just lifts a hand and doesn't bother replying as he sidesteps them.

He'll find the time later on.

After he got the doctor to clear a bed for you, he barely had the time to do his entire paperwork. He works quickly so he can be there with you. He can only eat and work, treating the minor injuries he got, work again, and as soon as he's finally free, he goes to the clinic. He can see Ghost and Soap waiting anxiously by the door. Your door.

Kyle sighs as he gets closer. He can understand their feelings, but he honestly can only feel annoyed at their stupid display.

Hell, if they were so worried, they should've refused! The Captain could've chosen anyone else. He knew it was hard and that they had orders, but if he had been here, he would've seriously smacked everyone.

If you had to be tortured for whatever reason, why the hell do it themselves? Isn't that fucking ridiculous?

This team is the most important thing for him, and they simply accepted to torture their favorite lass —the one they've been dating for a year, no less—. Kyle just can't understand that. If the torture had to happen, as the Captain was ordered, they should've refused and forced him to choose someone else.

Everyone's fucking stupid, really.

Not you. It's not your fault that you're surrounded by complete dickheads.

Not wanting to startle them, he makes sure to make noise with his boots, and grips their shoulders to silently force them to sit down. Ghost and Soap are a goddamn mess, both of them trembling, on edge. They're quiet, more than he thought they'd be, considering what they did, but seeing them like that, the guilt clear in their eyes and body language, Kyle starts calming his own anger down. They weren't in the mood to be yelled at, and he didn't feel like lecturing them either. It's enough for him to see how tightly they're holding hands, knuckles white, for him to try and make them feel worse.

He would, but he isn't an asshole either.

With nothing left to do but wait, he sits there next to them, waiting as the Captain's muffled voice comes from inside your room. Just a few minutes later, he comes out, and the three of them bolt up. Kyle's heart trembles slightly as he sees you on the bed, your back to the door.

"Sergeant Garrick" the Captain calls, and Kyle is a little surprised to hear how happy his tone actually is. "She's hungry. Would you mind bringing something? She's okay with you being there".

Kyle nods, patting Ghost and Soap's shoulders in sympathy. Just a tiny bit.

He rushes to flirt with fight the lady at the mess hall, securing a good meal for both of you. He couldn't eat because he was so worried about you, so now that you're awake and okay with seeing him... hell, he'll eat whatever the kitchen lady wants to give him. He'll even take those disgusting rolls of rice the lady loves making.

Anything for you, really.

Half an hour later, hands full with food, he gently knocks on your door. When you don't respond quickly, he peaks inside. "Hey, it's me. Come in peace. Brought you food".

"Gaz" you cry out, rushing to stand up. Kyle feels his heart drop to his feet, eyes wide, and immediately jumps forward, nearly dropping the food in his haste to catch you when your knees give out, hissing in pain as your feet touch the ground.

"What are you getting up for, you idiot?" he scolds, his arms under your armpits to keep you up —it's easier than he remembers from past missions, and he does not like that—, biting the bag of food between his teeth as he helps you to the bed. "Dumbass. Come on".

To keep himself from crying at the sight of your weakened state, he tells you about how he fought the lady at the mess hall, setting the food on the floor only after making sure you're comfortable. You stare at him in silence but he's fine with that, making sure he only touches your arms and shoulders so he doesn't accidentally hurt you.

"You look like shit" you mumble, interrupting him. Kyle looks down at you and, with his heart full of warmth, he grips your nose between his fingers, shaking your head slightly.

"Missed you, too. Now, come on, let's eat. I'm starving" he says, not giving you a moment of silence. He's glad you don't fight him as he helps you settle properly in bed so he can sit next to you. With quick hands, he places the food between the two of you so it's easier to eat.

He talks about his mission, exaggerating it just a tiny bit. He didn't take seventy men down, he took only like... thirty. He also didn't dismantle an entire Cartel on his own, but he did kill anything he saw moving in one of their safe houses and managed to capture the leader alive when she was running from the back. He had a grin on his face —he didn't add that little part— as he managed to shoot her on the leg to slow her down.

He also doesn't tell you his heart was pounding with excitement when he saw the panic in the sicarios’ faces, wishing he could hunt them all.

Just that, really.

Halfway done with his own food, he realizes you're just listening to him talk and haven't eaten more than a single bite. "Weren't you hungry?" Kyle questions, his voice a little muffled as his mouth is stuffed with food.

"I guess. I don't know" you mumble, your shoulders slumping even further.

Kyle reaches out to steal a piece of chicken from your plate and takes a bite, munching happily as he starts talking again, mouth full. Gratefully, you don't realize he slowly starts feeding you the bites he steals, filling your mouth and watching you chew.

He can't have you fall asleep for another three goddamn days without taking a bite, so when he manages to trick you into eating more than half of your meal, he relaxes.

He has no intention of treating you like a victim, even if part of him wants to just cradle your face and protect you from whatever is gonna happen in the future. He doesn't think you're weak, you're just... hurt, so he stays the same. At some point of his rambling, your head lands on his shoulder. Kyle watches you sleep, his lips curling up as you drool on his uniform. He gently moves the food from the bed, making sure you stay comfortable resting against him.

Careful not to wake you, he lowers you on the bed and gets the rough hospital blanket over your shoulders. He tries to step away so you can rest properly, but one of your warm hands curls around his wrist in your sleep, so Kyle just drags a chair with his foot very carefully, and sits right next to you until he also falls asleep, his head on your bed.

You sleep for so, so long he's nearly afraid he gave you food poisoning.

Dr. Wilson catches him on his way to the bathroom, and sends him to wake you up. He takes just two minutes for himself and rushes back to your room. As he gets closer to you, your arm squishing your face as you drool against it, he smiles. You're snoring, your eyelashes sticking together, and you look so ridiculous he can only stare for a little moment, cursing himself for not bringing his phone. He never uses it, but now this is a wasted opportunity.

Eventually, he does wake you up, helping you prepare for the exams they'll have you take.

The art of tricking you into eating... he's a master at it, already. It brings him no happiness to use tricks but it works, and he'll take it for now.

While the medics check on you, he catches up with John.

Ghost and Soap are nowhere to be found, probably in the smallest corner in the barracks drowning in their own misery, but John looks like he wants to either kill everyone or himself. Maybe both.

"I know I fucked it up" John tells him. Kyle watches as he pours himself a drink, which... he technically shouldn't, but neither of them says anything about it. "This is my responsibility. Hell, if she decides to leave the team, I won't be bloody surprised."

Kyle keeps silent, the resentment towards his own team slowly building, even if he tries to bite it down. It's hard not to be angry at them. They didn't even give it a single day, didn't even wait for him to arrive. This whole situation is just bullshit.

"At least we can agree on that. That's a first".

"Can I ask you to—"

"I ain't convincing her that you weren't absolute dickheads and didn't rush the situation, John" he cuts him off. "You fucked up".

John gives him a warning look, but only sighs, nodding and gulping down the rest of his whiskey. "Well, then. We've got work to do".

On the third day of you being awake, Kyle is there when the Captain tells you you're leaving the next morning. He doesn't miss the way your shoulders tense slightly whenever you look at Ghost and Soap, or how your eyes go warm whenever you look at him. If this had been another time, he would've been jumping up and down just because you're looking at him this way, but right now, it's slightly... hurtful?

Maybe that's not the word.

Annoying, definitely, in a way. He doesn't want to be a replacement for Ghost and Soap, and Kyle knows you're not that kind of person, but maybe you're doing this subconsciously. A traumatized mind can do a lot of shit to a person. He just wished…

Something else. Perhaps.

That night before you leave, he is the only one who stays with you, as he had the past few days. Kyle's just surprised you decided to actually share the bed instead of having him sleep on the floor. He totally eats it up, however, smiling brightly as you giggle, glad that his good energy is making you happy before sleeping.

With your head nestled against his chest, your arms gently curled between the two of you as he holds you lazily, one of his hands caressing your hair, he wishes he could stay like this. You seem so peaceful, so distantly different from the person he saw a few days ago that it's just perfect right now. It's comforting and warm, and as you two relax, the conversation slowly turns from idle gossip to a bit more serious, finally reaching Ghost and Soap.

No. Simon and Johnny, he corrects himself.

"You don't have to forgive them. Fuck them. I hope you remember that" he mumbles against your hair. Kyle makes no attempt to subdue his anger, not wanting to hide that from you. "Maybe you'll learn to understand why they had to do it, but that doesn't mean you have to be cool with it".

"And I'm not" you mumble back, shaking your head as you shift, looking up at him. "It's hard to just... look at them and not think of it. It happened like a week ago, anyway, so I can't be blamed. Right?"

"Fuck no. I'd say you give them hell a few months" he reassures you, nudging you slightly. It's enough to bring a smile to your face. Kyle keeps his arms loose around you, as you keep on shifting, restless.

"I don't know. I understand, I guess. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same in their position, but... I don't want to think about that right now".

"Of course" Kyle hums, his hand gently rubbing on your back. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

It's warm, and it's nice. Your breathing is slowly calming down and he knows it won't take long for you to fall asleep. It is pretty late, after all. He's lost in his head for a while, wondering if he should take your things to the truck while you're asleep or if he should do it in the morning when you're getting ready to leave. It takes him a moment to realize you're staring at him. Kyle raises an eyebrow, playfully poking your back.

"What do you want? Is there something on my face?" he asks, moving so he can look down at you properly, his eyebrows furrowing, a feeling of worry growing in his chest.

When he shifts, trying to get comfortable as your eyes follow him, you surge forward, pressing your lips to his.

Kyle's heart stutters a bit, his eyes slightly wide as he looks at you when you pull back not even a second later. His body is frozen, half lifted from the bed.

"I'm sorry. I'm really-"

He cuts you off.

Of course he'll cut you off if you look like you're about to burst into tears if he dares flinching away.

It's a soft kiss. There's nothing but calm and affection in it. Kyle's fully aware of why this is happening, of the need for comfort that's definitely growing in your brain. He keeps it gentle, even if your breathing is ragged, even if your arm wraps around his neck. He sooths you with it, and he hopes it helps. He's okay with it.

Kyle welcomes it, calming his heart. He... also doesn't mind it. In the slightest.

Its only when he cradles your face, feeling the warm tears over your heated cheeks, the kiss slowly becoming salty, that he pulls back. He holds you closer, letting you cry into his chest, pressing another soft kiss to your hair. It takes a while for you to calm down, but Kyle just holds you through it, caressing your back, your hair.

It's you who breaks the comfortable silence.

"Are you angry?"

"What? No. Why would I be?" Kyle asks, genuinely confused. Your question feels so anticlimactic he nearly groans.

"Because I kissed you?"

He hums, his hand never stopping where it's caressing your back. "No. I'm not mad. It was a good kiss." You groan instead, hitting him on the ribs with your elbow. He laughs, patting your back so you settle against him again. "Nothing wrong with kissing your mates".

"Shut up!"

"Fine, fine. Well, look" he sighs, reaching out to the lamp so he can turn it on and look at you properly. "I think you needed that, and maybe I did too. I don't think I'm a replacement, either. Or am I?"

"No!" you shriek, your face heated.

He won't tell, but his shoulders relax as you reassure him. Kyle doesn't mind kissing the nerves out of you, but he's glad to see the genuine glint in your eyes.

"Then that's fine. Just kissing the mates goodnight".

"Garrick!"

"All I'm saying" he says, grinning down at you, and placing a hand on your head, "is that a kiss can just mean that. Did it feel good? It helped?"

You purse your lips, frowning at him. "Yeah".

"Then that's alright. Don't question it much".

"Should've asked. I'm sorry".

That makes him grin, his chest warm. "It's cool. Just don't do it in front of the rest. They wanna kiss their mates, too, but they need alcohol for it".

"What? You'd be embarrassed?"

"No. You would be, though".

"Why? It's not like- ugh!"

He playfully grabs your face, not letting you move, and kisses your cheek loudly, making you laugh for the first time since you woke up. He manages to keep your good mood, not letting you dwell on whatever that kiss could've meant. At some point, he can't keep up with your energy, and slowly falls asleep, his mind filled with contentment, and warmth.

Saying goodbye to you for nine long months was one of the hardest things he's done. Kyle doesn't like being near Ghost or Soap or the Captain when there's a big hole missing. It's their fault you're missing, and he knows his annoyed looks convey that. He's professional, but it takes him a while to get along with them again. Mostly, he's forced to.

Ambushed.

During a mission, they get caught in enemy territory. Kyle's not sure how it happened, just that it was just too fast for anybody but him to react as two cars suddenly burst from fucking nowhere. He manages to jump out of the way, but the rest aren't so lucky. When they drive away at high speed, no doubt suspecting they're all dead —or will be, anyway—, Kyle gets up and checks on the rest, knowing they have to move. If they want to survive so close to the enemy's base, they need to rush.

"Fucking hell, they got your leg" Kyle grunts, helping Soap up. His bulky leg is dripping onto the ground, his uniform soaked in just a few minutes, but he looks focused. Maybe a little too much, but that'll have to do.

John has a wound on his left shoulder, but he can walk for now, so it's only Ghost and him that ain't hurt. It's their job to find quick shelter so they can treat Soap and John before rushing back to their camp. It's not easy but Kyle manages to find an abandoned small house that isn't armed to the very core with bombs. They all ignore the old bodies in the place, especially a smaller one in the back.

It's impossible not to take a moment, all of them freezing as the clothes of that smaller body rustle with the harsh air. Suspended in time, however the kid met their end.

In silence and not wasting another moment, they walk inside as carefully as they can.

Kyle and Ghost do their best, treating Soap and John for an entire night, but they can't stay there. So they risk it. Ghost drags John, who looks extremely lightheaded from the blood loss, while Kyle carries a bloody Soap on his shoulders. It's a long, long walk back to the camp, especially with the enemies so close.

Kyle says goodbye to you in his mind.

You should be here with the team, but he's also glad you aren't. At least you get to live on.

Fortunately, he gets the opportunity to feel silly for being so worried not even two hours later when they make it to their hidden camp. Once they're all in their jeep, however, he sees Ghost slowly passing out, just now noticing his uniform was darker than usual.

That's fucking blood.

"Do I have to do everything in here?! I'll skin you all if you die!" he growls to himself, knowing the rest aren't even conscious or interested in his anger. Kyle pushes the jeep to it's limits, the team bouncing off the seats slightly, and the hot air making his eye twitch.

It takes him a few hours to be back, worried out of his mind. He's the only one who didn't get hurt, and that's fucked up. He gets to help his team but at what cost? If they die, that's on him for not being fast enough, for not being good enough at his work. For being too focused on his own safety instead of looking out for his team.

Ghost's side is fucked, Dr. Wilson tells him. Of course, she doesn't use those words, but that's pretty much what she means. John's shoulder wasn't actually damaged, there was no fracture, but he lost a lot of blood. Same thing with Soap. It had been a close call, in any way.

Kyle spends the next five days making sure Ghost is comfortable, the drug-induced comma he's forced into fucking up his planned Months of Hatred. He really had planned on pulling faces at them when not in immediate danger, on going as far as ignoring them, but because he had been pissed at the three of them and his mind didn't instantly click to treat them as a priority, they're all hurt. He wasn't good enough and he will never forgive himself for that.

Because of him, you could've lost them all.

Dr. Wilson insisted he doesn't have to be here, but he can't just leave them alone again.

The sunlight coming from the windows, he sits right next to Ghost, rubbing his own face in profound desperation. He doesn't have the heart to text you. He wouldn't even know how to tell you in person that your dear Ghosty and Johnny got hurt, but texting or calling is not his strongest skill so it's out of the question. He would only make you worry even more.

Besides, you weren't talking to them, as he'd gathered from their conversations, so he doesn't think you'll miss them much.

At least, he forces himself to think like that.

By the time Ghost wakes up, the first thing he asks for is his phone. Kyle only gives him a look but he quickly brings it. He gives him space, knowing he'll probably want to be alone when he texts you. Kyle hears his grunts of pain stopping, and then his voice going all soft.

Ah, a call, then.

Pretty soon after Ghost recovers, by the fourth month of you being away, one night Soap suddenly rushes over to the Lieutenant, and Kyle would be damned if he didn't understand the little tears clinging to the sergeant's curly eyelashes. Really, he doesn't even feel guilty anymore. They both seem so happy, now out of danger, the love of their lives is texting them back and he's actually very happy for them.

Even John seems a lot better, seeing these idiots happier.

No matter how hard Kyle tries to fight it, he loves these idiots. Even the people closest to you might hurt you, and you'll hurt them sometimes.

It's been nine months.

Despite his better judgment, Kyle's managed to text you every now and then, and, even though it pains him greatly, he takes your calls if you text him beforehand. At least two days before so he can be ready for it. Kyle would rather die than to willingly call someone; if it's not an order, he just can't be bothered. But this is you, after all. Kyle makes an exception for you.

Now that everyone's getting along a lot better, nearly the same as it used to be before this whole bullshit situation, Kyle does spend time with them, having drinks by the bar or just in John's office. Everyone clearly needed that, because they get drunk ridiculously quick. Including him, honestly.

"Ya know, I've never asked" John begins, sipping his whiskey as he turns to Ghost and Soap. "How did y'all get together anyway? If you're gon' be explicit, I don't wanna hear it, though—"

"None of your business" Ghost grunts, taking the mask off, since it's only them. It's not like it's the first time, anyway.

"Shut your mouth" Soap says, waving a dismissive hand to Ghost. He sips his whiskey and grins at John. "It was pretty funny, actually".

Kyle remembers that day perfectly.

Over a year ago, he had realized the moment you and Ghost first started dating. It wasn't super obvious, nothing really changed, not even when you thought nobody was looking, except maybe that Ghost was extra touchy. He also pretended not to see the little marks on the Lieutenant's back whenever they changed.

Good for them, he thought.

The little dates you shared weren't a secret, either. Whenever you had the time, Kyle saw you walking into the common area to watch a ridiculous movie, or a show, or whatever. He could barely hear it from the kitchen if he happened to need a drink, anyway. All he knew is that, at some point, Soap joined the movie nights.

At first, Kyle thought it would be a problem because, to him, it was painfully obvious the sergeant had a thing for Ghost, but if you two were together... where did that leave poor Soap? Eventually, Kyle himself ended up joining a few movie dates, out of boredom really, and, one night, after enduring two long hours of the heaviest sexual tension he's ever felt and trying to pretend he wasn't more interested in whatever was happening behind him instead of the actual movie, he just drops on the carpet and pretends to sleep as he listens to you talk.

"Dunno... is it wrong?" you murmur after a while, sitting on the couch right behind Kyle.

"Hell if I know" Ghost grunts back.

The silence is thick with something, but Kyle would rather die than to get up and miss whatever is happening. He breathes slowly, but not so much that he doesn't seem to be asleep.

"Every time he looks at you with those silly eyes I kinda just wanna..."

"Smooch him?" Ghost snorts quietly, earning him a smack on his arm. "What, you wanna kick him instead?"

"Both, I guess" you admit slowly, and Kyle can't help but grin.

Really, the army is fucked up. Everyone's together for so long that the lines between romance and friendship sometimes get blurry. Hell, Kyle himself had a thing with John for nearly a year. That did not happen, if anybody asked them, and they never brought it up after they decided to break it off. They're still a little petty, however.

The credits roll slowly, an obnoxious song playing as Kyle listens to Soap's soft snoring where he's curled next to him in the carpet, by Ghost's feet. It's funny, though, he's sure the sergeant is also pretending to sleep. Soap's one hell of a snorer. That's cutesy snoring.

He calls bullshit.

Sure enough, when you very quietly admit that you wouldn't mind if dear Simon was interested in little Johnny, and Simon admits he's actually smitten by the sergeant, Johnny sits up so quick he nearly kicks Kyle in the face.

"Wait, say that again".

And when their conversation turns a little too serious, too bloody personal, Kyle stops pretending and absolutely bolts away, earning a few snickers from the three of them.

Little shits knew he was listening.

The road to your house is a little too... exciting. You've been talking to all of them by texting and calling, and they could see how much you've improved in therapy. The therapist wouldn't tell the Captain much, and he told them even less, but you were doing better, and that's all that matters to them. Soap's nearly bouncing off the seat, Ghost's hand on his thigh to keep him still. Kyle's riding shotgun and the Captain's driving them. Unfortunately, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole, and they all have to sit through the Captain's music for the whole ride.

It isn't so bad, but it's something Kyle's father would listen to.

... He decided not to think too hard on that a long time ago.

The city is pretty calm, and Kyle likes that. He can tell the rest are excited to be back, both because of you, and because this is the smallest city they've ever been in —where they didn't have to kill anybody, that is—. Not even fifteen minutes into the city, the Captain is already parking outside your house.

Kyle goes first, knocking on your door, the Captain right behind him, his steps calm, but he notices the other two faltering behind them, as if scared, hesitant. He can't blame them at all, it's been a while they since also saw you in person, but right now, he's only focused on seeing you again. Your face through the screen isn't good enough, and he's terribly excited.

He has to knock twice, but as soon as he sees you he wraps his arms around your middle, grunting happily to feel your weight back in place, no longer too light. He carries you further into your house so the rest can get in as well.

"Hey, sweetheart. Looking good" Kyle hums, beaming at you, pressing a soft kiss to your cheekbones before letting go of you.

He watches as you say hi to the rest, but there's something in your behavior that has him sharing a look with John, and when Ghost takes his mask off, Kyle can see the worry in his face as well. Okay, so they'll go slow. He meets Soap's eyes and they both nod. They'll be as careful as possible, not wanting to startle you at all.

That proves a challenge.

With everything happening to you, and probably triggered by their presence in your safe place, your home, you're snappy and terribly annoyed at everything they do. Not him directly, but you can't handle his touch, so Kyle keeps his hands to himself for now.

And, naturally, he had to take the initiative yet again. Everyone's so goddamn awkward, so watching a movie is way better than just staring at each other in silence. Soap and the Captain offer to buy snacks, so that leaves him with Ghost and with you.

Yippee, seriously.

Fortunately for him, you're less anxious now that there aren't so many people in your home and immediately crave his touch. He hugs you and checks on your fingernails, making sure you didn't anxiously bite them off again.

Kyle kisses your cheek, your hair, making sure you're feeling better, and grinning down at you when you give him grateful smiles. He barely notices Ghost shifting, uncomfortable. If he said he doesn't feel guilty, that'd be a lie, but you need him right now, so he doesn't stop to explain Ghost what's going on. Not that he knows himself... not really, anyway.

A while later, the Captain and Soap are back, and you're looking so much better. You're enjoying your sour candy, making Kyle eat them to giggle at his despair —he hates those things—. Soap and Ghost throw some annoyed looks in his direction, but you don't seem to catch them, probably protecting yourself from any kind of anxiety by just focusing on Kyle alone.

But then, Soap kinda fucks up.

Getting more crisps from the kitchen, he accidentally drops a plate, the shattering sound making even him flinch. You get up so fast you end up smacking Kyle on the face in your haste of getting away. He pauses long enough to watch Ghost hesitate, and then rushes after you. Kyle finds you easily in the guest room. You're on your knees, shaking so much he wonders if you're breathing at all, and he can see your hands gripping the rough carpet. He dives for you, not closing the door in case you panic even more and hugs you tightly.

It's like you can't process his words for a few moments, until you suddenly go limp on him. Kyle's deeply worried for a second, but then you're speaking and he feels his heart beat again.

Now, he won't lie and say he doesn't feel a little, really, just a tiny little bit used when you seek his lips again, but he puts aside his own feelings to give you what you need. It's not about him right now, it's about what you need.

So, really, imagine his fucking surprise when you shut his smart ass with a proper kiss. He's so startled he can barely keep up with you, his mind spinning with contentment. Maybe he's enjoying this a little too much, but just this once, he decides to indulge himself.

Your warm hands cup his cheeks, the kiss deepening so much that Kyle can hear the harsh smacking of your lips as they sloth together. With his arms around your middle, pulling you closer and closer until your front is completely flushed against his, your hands find the back or his neck, of his head, and he sort of... just melts. Kyle let's out a shaky exhale that makes you pull back for a moment.

He stares at you with half-lidded eyes, feeling your nails dig slightly onto his skin. "I'll be damned" Kyle mumbles quietly.

Neither of you do or say anything for a long heartbeat, only breathing each other in, staring.

Then, he just can't hold back. And apparently, neither can you.

Well, fuck him. What the fuck.

It's only after a while, when neither of you can breathe anymore and the fierce need seems to slowly melt away, that Kyle finally pulls back, panting heavily against your shoulder, a hand gripping your hip. He's seriously fucking glad you have the decency not to question why he's shifting away from between your legs even if he doesn't let go of you.

He doesn't think he can stand that question right now.

"I'll be damned" Kyle murmurs, repeating himself.

The only thing that keeps him sane right now is that you burst out laughing, clearly flustered. He laughs, his cheeks aflame as he helps you up.

When the whipped cream touches his face, he just can't stay still anymore, his mustache quivering as he holds back his laughter. These ridiculous kids don't hold back at all, filling his face with whipped cream and placing more and more gummy bears on top. Finally, he opens his eyes and stares directly at you, your giggles stopping immediately as you rush to stand up, trying to escape him.

Price grips your arm swiftly and pulls you closer, holding you against him as he uses your face as a napkin, rubbing the whipped cream all over your cheek and hair, your screams of delight filling your house, the rest joining immediately after, even Ghost's amused huffs make it to his own ears.

Its a little messy, but he can only grin brightly, seeing you happy enough that you're no longer avoiding Ghost and Johnny. He doesn't bother questioning why Garrick is all over you. Really, at this point he's just happy you're content.

After a few hours of playing around, of getting teased for pretending to be asleep, you invite them to sleep over.

Price wasn't expecting that, but he doesn't say no. Neither do any of the other idiots, not that it's a surprise, and, while the others get ready to sleep in the guest room, their voices loud and actually happy for once, he gently pulls you aside over to the kitchen, away from possible eavesdropping.

"What's up?" you ask, your hair still a little wet where you had to wash it, just like his damp beard. Price grins down at you.

"Are you okay?"

"Hm? I am. Why?"

You look so confused as to why he's asking such thing that he almost believes you. He does, just a little bit, mostly because the therapist did tell him you're doing better now.

"You panicked on me just now" Price says anyway, his eyes inviting, hoping he doesn't scare you off again. However, you only give him a small smile.

"I was terribly anxious I was gonna be scared of you, that I ended up... kinda forcing myself into being scared? If that makes sense. My therapist's been helping me realize a few things" you mumble, rubbing the back of your head.

Price places a hand on top of your head and nods. "As long as you're okay. If you change your mind about us sleeping here, I'll drag them out".

The smile you give him, the dismissive wave of your hand, tells him enough. Still, he waits a little bit.

"It's fine" you reply. He blinks when you flick his nose, actually grinning. "I'll also lock my door, and I have a few knives under my pillow. That helps".

"Fair".

It's pretty late when Price hears Garrick walk into the guest room, even if they're all still awake. Ghost and Johnny only give him a look, but say nothing, carrying on their conversation as usual. They've been looking a lot better than they had when they left before the whole whipped cream prank, so that's something positive, at least.

As Garrick gets closer, Price sees the little gloss on his lips and he has to bite back a smirk.

Kids these days, really.

You had excused yourself after a while, yawning for nearly an hour until you decided to just go to bed. Garrick followed after you not even ten minutes later.

He didn't know what to make of it, didn't know if he felt annoyed or not, but Kyle gave him a not a word look, so Price only gives him a smirk.

Well, then.

Now with everyone curled on the bed, legs half-dangling from the mattress, Price sighs loudly, making the rest turn to him.

"If I lose my team over this... new generation's type of relationships or whatever the fuck is happening here, I will skin you all alive".

"Noted".

"Copy that".

Ghost only looks at him, and shrugs, flipping onto his back before closing his eyes. "Price and Garrick fucked".

That makes Price gap in complete disbelief, turning to look at Ghost when Johnny bursts out laughing, Kyle burying his face in his hands. "Why are you even saying that? That did not happen, don't know what you're talking about. I just think it's ridiculous to—"

"Oi!" Price snaps at him, frowning, feeling just a little bit offended. He doesn't even want to know how the hell Ghost knows.

"I saw you with her" Ghost says instead, cutting over Johnny's laughter. Price sighs, turning to Garrick, who's staring at the pair. "We both did".

Johnny sighs deeply, his laughter dying out, one of his arms under his head. Everything is quiet, Garrick's breathing slow, his face unashamed but a little guarded. Eventually, Johnny speaks up. "It's cool".

"Is it?" Garrick asks, blinking at the two of them.

"If she's happy, it's fine" Ghost replies instead, rubbing his face.

"Doesn't mean we'll stop fighting for her, though".

"Fine by me" Garrick hums, shrugging.

Price stares at them in complete silence, listening to them talk about this as if they were discussing the fucking weather. Shaking his head, he turns his back on them and pretends he can't hear the slowly warming tone from Johnny when he talks to Garrick.

Ah, he should retire.

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

im having the time of my life, birds are tweeting outside, the woodpeckers are going insane, my cat's on my lap and my old pup is by my feet, tf141 is a loving polycule (price is like a father to reader so not w her, but the rest? *shrugs*) and im tired of pretending it isn't.

gaz calls price "john" when he's either pissed, worried or content.

» why gaz (nearly) taking down an entire Cartel isn't as ridiculous as you might think it is: that's happened here in México before.

there is someone we call "El Marino Loko", a crazy mexican marine; he and his team didn't care for sicarios' human rights. they would beat them up, would force them to wear women's clothes, would make them kiss each other, humillation in general yk how it is. they never took prisoners :) the government and the mafias themselves wanted that marine dead, but he disappeared.

he's still alive, as someone's personal guard but nobody truly knows *twirls hair* there's no way to know how many sicarios he killed, but he and his team killed hundreds if not a thousand (or more). that's pretty hot, if you ask me.

anyway, since it's just gaz I couldn't say he killed a hundred alone, but definitely a few. follow me for more interesting facts that emilia pérez could never tell ya lol

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @kukavittu @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @rayrayyio @diseasedclitoris @alex1011sdzfgh @thebumbqueen @hyunjaebaby @jillvalentinesrealwife @sodavrr @kneelforloki @vioxsoo @l4vstrr @leon-thot-kennedy @t3a-bag @dotmistbird @littlezarp @eclipsedcherry @codeseven @babydoll-143

[vapekingg]

You and Eddie have this running joke.

Or at least it started as a joke.

Once Corroded Coffin started to take off, it was hard to not get jealous. All those pretty girls throwing themselves at him at every show. They'd wait at the merch table or near the back door where the band smokes their cigarettes. Even with you hanging off of his arm, they were relentless.

So Eddie started finding you before they could find him.

You liked being in the crowd during their sets. Some of the guys' girlfriends would sit sidestage, some of them would stay in the green room, but you preferred the energy of the show. Eddie always made sure you were front row, center stage. That way he could always find you.

He made a big deal out of it, too. Pointing you out every night during their last song and handing you a VIP laminate that would get you backstage. To all of these new faces, you were just another face in the crowd. It became a thing amongst their fans. Who would be the lucky girl tonight?

But it was always you.

Because you're his favorite groupie, aren't you?

That's what Corroded Coffin's security team started calling you. Jokingly, of course. But it's carried over.

"You know why you're my favorite fucking groupie?" Eddie hisses close to your face.

You can't respond. He knows you can't respond. If it weren't for both of his hands wrapped around your throat, then because he's got your legs folded up against your chest with your ankles next to his ears. Eddie's thrusts are relentless, his cock punching into your guts with brutality, and you can't make a fucking sound.

"Because you can fucking take it," he continues, punctuating the last two words with particularly rough assaults.

Your face is getting warm from the blood pooling in your head. Your brain is pounding in your temples with each stroke of his thick cock against your slick inner walls. You need to scream, but the wail trapped in your lungs sits right below Eddie's fists at the base of your throat.

"Oh, you have something to say? Didn't lose your voice screaming my name all night?" His voice is beginning to sound far off beneath the sound of your own heart thumping in your ears. "Fuck, you feel good. Squeezing my cock, baby. Don't worry, I'm gonna let you sing."

Your throat is released and Eddie's fingers slide beneath your head, weaving into your hair. A rush of air enters your lungs, and then you hear your own foul sounds.

The sound of begging, of pleading, of crying for him to never stop, to give you more.

"Please, Eddie. Please, harder, harder, harder!" Are the only words you can remember.

And you expect Eddie to mock you. He usually does, and it's usually the final nail in your coffin. What you don't expect is the tightening of his ringed fingers against your roots. He holds your head in place and spits on your face, silencing you for only a moment.

"You know this is when you're the prettiest?" Eddie says between gritted teeth.

With the blood flowing back to your brain, you begin to hear everything again. His little grunts and moans hidden by heavy breathing, the slapping of his sweat slick skin against yours, the creaking of his tour bus bunk bed. It all comes together like some sort of symphony of filth.

"When you're all fucked out. Makeup fucked, sweaty, my spit dripping down your face. You'll be even prettier with my cum leaking out of this pussy."

Your back arches into him at the mention of Eddie filling you up. He doesn't do it often. You're careful most of the time. But on special occasions... the risk is worth it.

Eddie laughs at your response, his cock pumping into your cunt faster.

"That what you want? Me to fill you up?" He asks mockingly.

That knot in your abdomen begins to tighten. Eddie's hips rut against your sensitive clit, stroking it in time with each thrust.

"Then everyone will know you're my favorite groupie, huh?"

Eddie's hips hit your core, his cock buried to the hilt, and he grinds his waist against your clit. Stars dot your vision. Every atom in your body shivers on the edge of oblivion.

"Won't they?"

[quipxotic]

So many people are watching these first three episodes of Andor Season 2 and not understanding the point of the Cassian storyline (spoilers below obviously).

Cassian is an amazing pilot. That was established in Season 1. He struggles with the tie fighter he's stealing because it's experimental and so very different than what's gone before it. It's also because the intel on its systems he was given to study before the mission was wrong! He tells Kleya this in the third episode. All of this is also why the rebel cell members who take him prisoner at the drop off point have no hope at flying it. Those scenes are meant to power scale Cassian's capabilities against your average rebel fighter.

And yes, the rebel cell members are played for laughs, but those scenes are also meant to give us insight into the state of the rebellion before the formation of the Rebel Alliance. Fractured. Unprofessional. Lacking in trust, resources, and internal structure. These individual cells aren't all like Saw's crew, which is drawn from people with prior insurgency or military experience. In some cases rebel groups are probably made up of just regular folks who hate the Empire, but don't know what they're doing and are rightfully paranoid about security because there is no standardized training or formalized Rebel Intelligence to provide information security. We know Cassian is going to be a Rebel Intelligence officer, so it's a good bet he's going to play a major role in fixing some of these issues going forward.

Those scenes are also meant to show us how much Cassian has grown as an operative since Season 1. He's calm and in control even after his capture. When it becomes clear he can't convince them he's not a Imperial test pilot, he starts taking steps to secure his own survival and probe the cracks in their relationships and trust among themselves. He points out things they should be doing, things he has learned from experience. He makes sure he's hydrated, even if there is no food. He questions who is in charge, which helps brings that conflict to a crisis point. He watches and waits for his chance to make a successful escape. Early Season 1 Cassian was too much of a hothead to have the patience for that sort of thing.

Plus, this season is also about the history of the Yavin 4 base, the place where the Rebel Alliance is born. It'll be interesting to see if Cassian, after this experience there, is the one who suggests Yavin 4 as a location for the Massassi Rebel group, one of the precursors to and members of the Rebel Alliance.

[maiko-san]

Catnap + Dogday x Reader ( Part 1 )

Part 2 >>>

Relationship : Fluff

Reader : Female, age 20.

Plot : You are one of the Playcare employees that looks after the Smiling Critters and makes sure all the mascots are in good shape.

The very first day you were assigned to the Playcare, you didn't expect the mascot to be huge and very tall. Hell, even taller than Huggy Wuggy themselves!

You were nervous to be around these mascots but it was your job to keep them at a top notch.

Dogday, the leader of the smiling critters was the first to greet you. His personality is as bright as the sun necklace around his neck.

The others follow his lead and greet you with smiles on their faces, welcoming you to the daycare.

Well, except one.

Which was Catnap.

The purple cat mascot is high up on one of the buildings, watching everything from above and his eyes looking down at you, judging you from afar.

For the first week, you monitor the smiling critters and their behaviours. The others are fine interacting with the children, except for Catnap who prefers to be on his own.

You tried to get the cat to do his job but the mascot refused to listen to you. Which was frustrating.

You were amazed that the technology in place is far more advanced and the mascots in this Playtime Co. have their own personalities like a real person would which was..... intriguing and at the same time.... terrifying.

According to Dogday, Catnap used to be very friendly but he had been distancing himself from the group recently.

He never knows why.

The supervisor told you that Catnap was the most troublesome in the group and they said to keep an eye on the cat and make sure he does his work and doesn't get in any trouble.

It would take time for you to properly work with him. So, you respect the mascot's boundaries and try interacting with him slowly.

Day by day, you make sure to visit him first every time your shift starts. you greet Catnap with a 'Good morning' and 'How are you doing?'.

The cat only stares at you with a swishing tail, you set down a bag of croissants and look up at the mascot.

"Hey, Catnap! If you're hungry, you can have these croissants! Eat it while it's still fresh, okay bud. You can't work with an empty stomach!"

"......"

Again, he just stares at you.

You also learn that these mascots are able to consume organic matter which again shocks you, so you always sneak in some food from the cafe for all the smiling critters, in secret.

The smiling critters began to like you and saw you as their favourite out of all the employees.

Things go on normally in the daycare, the smiling critters keep themselves busy with the children ( that you weren't allow to interact with )

You spend your time in the office and look through the papers. When you were about to take a sip of the hot drink from your cup—

"Hiya, there! Mrs. (L/n)!"

"Oh, f—k!"

You jump out from your seat and some of the hot drink spilled onto your pants causing you to curse under your breath.

It was Dogday.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!"

The dog apologises for startling you and offers you a handkerchief that magically appears out of thin air.

You said you were alright. You turn to ask what makes Dogday come to your office.

The smiling critter just said he wants to see you, saying to you that you have been coup up in your office for hours now.

You were grateful that he was concerned about you but you told him that the papers kept you busy.

"Sorry, bud. I just have a lot of papers to look through. Ya know, I have to keep all of you in shape"

"I see. Thank you for caring and taking care of us angel........unlike the others—anyways!"

Dogday whispers the last part which cannot be heard clearly by you.

"Do you need help with anything? I'm free! I can help you with everything and as a leader of the Smiling Critters, it is also my job to help you too!"

Dogday offers a helping hand, his tail swishing as he awaits for your answers.

You told him you do need help sorting out the papers into the folders which the dog excitedly said yes.

He sits on the floor next to you, since how tall he is. You point out the paper that he needs to sort out in the correct order.

Dogday have trouble picking up the papers with his large hands. You couldn't help but stifle at the sight, yet he managed to find a way of picking up the paper without crumpling it.

After a few hours passed. The bell rings loudly, signalling it was recess time.

You stretch your limbs and stand up from your chair, you turn to Dogday who already finished sorting out all the papers.

"You did a great job there, Dogday. Thank you!"

"Hehe, no problem Mrs. (L/n)! Glad to help!"

"Just call me, (Y/n). Dogday. No need to be so formal and besides I'm not THAT old..."

"Alright, (Y/n)!"

You yawn escape your mouth as you rub your eye, a nice nap is the only thing that comes to your mind after a long hour of paperwork.

Dogday notices how tired you look.

"A good nap will make you feel energetic afterwards!"

"Yeah, it does. I'm going to the staffroom and sleep there. You can go back to the playcare, Dogday"

But the orange dog didn't leave and instead picks you up which surprises you.

Dogday held you close to his body and said.

"No need! You can sleep here with me!"

His arms wrap around your smaller body, your face buried into his chest and his fur smells like vanilla. Which was comforting....

Before you know it, you already drift off to sleep.

"Sleep well, angel...."

Next day.

Following the same routine, you visit Catnap again but the cat was nowhere in sight.

You call out for the feline and you hear a loud thud behind you. Hot breath tickles your back which causes you to quickly turn around to see the purple cat staring at you with beady white eyes.

You hold out an apple pie to him, which the cat takes and devours with a wide open mouth.

"I want....more"

"Huh?"

"More....sweets..."

It was the first time you heard Catnap speak, his voice was deep and distorted.

You now have learned that Catnap likes sweets. Which gives you quite an advantage over him.

"Yes, you can have more sweets.....If you do your job"

You told the cat which he grunts roughly in return.

"You can request any kind of sweets you want in return, I promise. Just as long you do your job as a play care attendant"

Catnap seemingly thinking about the deal that you had offered to him. The sweets seems to get to him since he never gets to eat such food....

It was tempting and he finally agrees with you.

"Okay..."

With that simple okay, Catnap begins to do his job in the play care to Dogday's delight.

After the shift is over, you give Catnap his sweet treats as you promised.

"Haha! See, it wasn't that hard, right! You did a great job there, Catnap! If you keep doing that, I might bake you a cake!"

You praised the feline mascot with a bright smile. Which causes the feline to look away slightly.

The feeling of praise makes his heart flutter with warmth.....

It was a very long day at work and you bid the smiling critters a good night before you leave the playcare.

Unknown to you, some of the higher ups have noticed how well you do with the Smiling Critters.

You are safe....

For now....

A/n : There will be more interaction with Catnap in the next chapter! I am aware that Catnap is Theo which is a child!

I am not sure who resides in Dogday and he might be one of the employees of the playcare since he knows so much.

Relationship between the three would be fluff. If romance, it could be focused on Dogday maybe...?

Well, it's up to you guys.

[hard-core-super-star]

(they long to be) close to you [W.Maximoff]

pairing: baker!wanda x college student!reader

summary: after months of pining after the lovely owner of westview's best cafe, you finally get a chance to get to know her better.

warnings: none, just fluff and pining; MILF!wanda because my hand slipped; is cute tension a thing?; gay panic; bad flirting; mentions of stress and tense family dynamics

wordcount: 1.8k

a/n: this idea came from a brief conversation with one of my favorite people [@katehopecore] and i wasn't able to get it out of my head so now it's here! and it'll probably end up as a series because i can't help myself. anyway, hope you enjoy <3 [oh AND, the cranberries version of this song is the best one, you can't change my mind]

part two | part three | part four |

* * * * * * *

Life in Westview had become a weird sort of predictable by now. Same routine, same people, same comfy booth at the best café in town.

Ironically, you didn't even live in said city. At least, not anymore. There was a time in your life when you'd known nothing except that small town in New Jersey and the neighbors you'd seen your whole life. It was easy, familiar, and so comfortable it became uncomfortable.

And so, to your parent's dismay, when you graduated from high school, you'd decided to leave. You chose to go to college in New York, trading the world you knew for a shining, new, incredibly loud, alternative. As overwhelming as the change had been, it was everything you'd wanted and more.

That being said, you still came back home as much as you could, more out of routine than anything else. At first, you'd left your visits reserved for holiday breaks and three-day weekends. When things got busy at school, the last thing you wanted was to be cooped up with your parents, avoiding their questions and listening to them rant about the neighbors.

Things had taken a turn, however, when you'd accidentally stumbled across Wanda Maximoff and her quaint, yet cozy, café. The lovely owner had moved into town right when you were graduating high school, so even though your parents had attended the house-warming party, you'd never met her.

Maybe that was why you were so drawn to the space. Why your feet carried you there instead of your usual hiding spots. Well, they were technically study spots. At least that was what you told yourself, even though most of the time, you were just looking for an excuse to get some fresh air away from your childhood room.

You weren't sure how it happened, but somehow, Wanda's bakery had become your safe heaven. The one place you could always run to for a warm pastry and a comforting smile.

Okay, maybe you were more fond of the beautiful owner than the fantastic coffee and pastries, but that was beside the point.

What truly mattered, at least right now, was the fact that you'd chosen to leave New York for the weekend, swearing you were going to study and prepare for your midterms next week. Of course, that was easier said than done.

Especially when you'd spent most of the morning drooling into your coffee since Wanda was working the counter today. She had no business looking as good as she did in a flannel and suspenders, her lovely red hair falling into soft waves over her shoulders.

It was a little comical how unaware of the effect she had on other people Wanda seemed to be. It was almost like she was in her own little world. One filled with croissant recipes and the weirdest ways to keep an old espresso machine from breaking down.

She was the most enchanting woman you'd ever met and she didn't even know it. Didn't even notice the way all the teenage boys that came in tripped over themselves for a second of her attention.

As much as you wanted to make fun of them, you were just the same.

Except more mature…at least, you hoped.

You're in the middle of another study session, the most recent drink you'd ordered forgotten on the table among the chaos of notebooks, books and of course, your struggling laptop, when you hear footsteps approaching.

You don't look up from your textbook until you hear the sound of a plate and a glass being placed on the table. A question is on the tip of your tongue when your eyes meet Wanda's. There's a softness in them that speaks volumes.

"You've been here for a while," she says with a small shrug. "I thought you might be hungry."

It's only then that you fully realize what she's placed on the table. A glass of water with a few slices of lemon and a plate with a warm ham and cheese croissant. It's not the most extravagant of meals by any means but, considering the growling of your stomach, it's exactly what you need.

"Thank you," you mumble, your voice coming out slightly hoarse. "This is really nice of you."

"Oh, it's nothing, sweetheart." The warmth that spread across your chest stops you from seeing the blush on her cheeks. "Just a little something to keep your energy up."

You're not sure what compels you but you close your laptop and move your stuff out of the way. "Would you like to sit for a little? You've been working hard all morning too."

A small smile tugs at the corners of the older woman's lips. "I shouldn't but…I'm sure the boys can manage for a few minutes."

You sneak a glance up at the counter, watching as the young boys behind the counter scramble to help the working adults preparing coffee orders. Even though you don't want to pry, a question falls out of your lips once you take in the similarities between the two boys and the woman sitting in front of you. "Are they…your sons?"

Wanda nods before you can think too hard about the embarrassing question you just asked. "Yeah, Billy and Tommy. They come help out on the weekends before going to their father's for a few days."

Thankfully, you were barely reaching for your water when she said that, otherwise…you might have made an even bigger fool of yourself by choking like an idiot. That being said…you still didn't push down the urge to keep asking questions.

"You're married?"

"Was married," she corrects. "Things didn't work out, but we share custody and are still good friends. It makes it easier on the boys, I think."

It's hard to hide the smile that starts spreading across your face. You hate how instantaneous it is, how insensitive it makes you feel, and more importantly…how relieved you feel. You barely know this woman, and yet here you are, wrapped around her finger so tightly that you can't stop yourself from hoping there's a chance.

A chance for what? Only time will tell, you suppose.

"Do they like baking too?" You ask as you dig into the croissant, steering the conversation away from something that might make you gay panic.

Your question makes her laugh, the sound sharp with surprise yet filled with warmth. "Oh no, the second they see flour anywhere, they start throwing it at each other."

"Can't say I blame them. I probably wouldn't be much better."

"That's disappointing," Wanda teases. "I was looking for an apprentice."

You giggle in response and concentrate on not appearing too flustered. You're not sure you succeed, though, considering the way the older woman looks at you. "I would if I could, midterm season doesn't give me much free time."

"An even better reason to give baking a try," she replies. "It's what I do when I'm stressed."

"So you decided to open a bakery? How does that work?"

She shrugs. "Divorce is stressful."

All you can do is shake your head and laugh again, feeling warmth bloom in your chest as she joins you. You're pretty sure you can get used to making her laugh like this.

"I might have to give it a try then," you say once your laughter dies down. "It sounds much better than what I've been doing."

"Which is?"

"Ignoring my problems and drinking too much coffee."

"Oh."

To ignore the soft concern in her features, you go back to eating. Thankfully, she doesn't press you or ask any more questions. She simply sits with you, keeping you company and helping you stay grounded.

It's…nice having her with you, you find. Even though all she's doing is sitting with you, her presence is calming. Comforting.

And maybe you should unpack that, but you'd rather not ruin the peace that's settled over you.

Wanda seems just as comfortable as you, since she doesn't move from her spot until she's sure you've finished eating, and she's coaxed you into finishing the glass of water. Even then, she isn't in much of a rush. At least, until one of the twins (you're still not sure which one is which, since you're too embarrassed to ask) tells her the oven went off and the newest batch of cookies is ready.

The smile on your face falters some at that and the older woman must notice because she turns back to you with a certain sparkle in her eyes. "Would you like to come help? I know you're probably busy but-"

"Yes." You rush the words out before you can second-guess yourself. "I'd love to."

Her surprise turns into glee and before you know it you're putting your things away and following her into the back. Somehow, even though the entire café always smells sweet, the aroma coming from the ovens is magnificent. You're not sure how you're going to help her without eating half of the batch.

She seems to read your mind because she motions for you to sit on a counter while she takes the cookies out of the oven. You're more than happy to watch her work, munching on whatever sweet treat she hands you to keep you from getting bored. You're pretty sure it's impossible to be bored in her presence but you don't mention that.

Some time passes before Wanda speaks again. "Sorry, I'm usually better at multitasking."

You instantly shake your head. "It's okay, I don't mind the quiet. It's nice watching you work."

"You're too sweet," she says, looking up at you with a mock glare.

You stifle a laugh as you notice the faint streak of icing on her face. "Actually, I think you have me beaten."

Her eyebrows furrow, more out of confusion than annoyance, though. "What's so funny?"

Instead of answering, you slide off the counter and reach out to wipe the icing off her face. There's still space between you, but it feels suddenly small…like if you just stepped forward…

The sound of the oven going off again stops you before you can do something truly idiotic.

Your hand drops as Wanda turns. "You should help me decorate this next batch. My hand's a little tired."

You have a feeling she's not at all tired, considering this is her passion, but you see the offer for what it is. A chance to spend more time with her.

"Deal."

It's not until almost an hour later that either of you acknowledge what happened. The soft touch and the even softer looks exchanged.

It's subtle, like the smell of her perfume that starts lingering on your clothes.

"You know, if you want to come back tomorrow, I would appreciate the help."

And you do.

The next morning. And the next Saturday. And the one after that.

You come back each and every weekend until you accidentally carve out a space in her heart reserved just for you.

[sincerelyneo]

will you be reposting the jeno fic you had on your old blog? it was my fave 🥺

here it is <3

fireproof | l.jn

“‘cause no body saves me baby the way you do”

💿now playing: fireproof by one direction

❯ summary: Your brother Jaemin loves throwing parties when your parents aren’t home — but you hate it. In an attempt to escape the loud music and sweaty bodies you try and head out. But there’s no way your brother’s best friend, Jeno, is letting you wander around the streets so late.

❯ pairings: jeno x fem!reader

❯ genre: smut, brother’s best friend, college!au

❯ words: 8.4k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, masturbation, minor mentions of drug use, drinking, marking, slight protective brother jaemin, begging, spanking, mentions of marking, unprotected sex (don't do this!), oral sex (m/f receiving), fingering, reader uses she/her pronouns, jeno fucks his best friend’s little sister.

a/n: i changed the title hehehe

This party fucking sucks.

You’re not even drunk. The vodka is watered down, you're sure of it. Your friends ditched you about half an hour ago — disappearing with some of the guys they had been speaking to and seeing. 

"Come to the party with us, they said." You mimic to yourself into your plastic cup. "It'll be fun, they said." 

You scoff taking another swig but pull your face at the awful taste that lingers in your mouth. There are better things you could be doing on a Saturday night, you think. You’re almost positive you saw a new show released on Netflix today. Or better yet, you could be reading some sort of erotic novel that would spice up your Saturday night more than this shit.

But the thing is, this party is at your own fucking house.

Your brother is throwing it. 

Every time your parents go away for one weekend he can’t help but jump at the opportunity to trash the place. You don't see why he can't just have a few of the boys around, have some beers and then call it a night. But no, that isn't exactly Jaemin’s style. 

Of course, he has to invite a bunch of random weirdos that seem to be snorting cocaine off of every surface in this house, and smoking whatever kind of weed they could find. And sure, you’re not impartial to a good night but this... this is not your idea of a good night.

At all.

Sighing, you push through the masses of people, seeing the sweaty bodies that are dry humping one another or eating each other's faces off so much you feel like you’re going to throw up at the sight. 

Stopping in your tracks, you reach into the back pocket of your denim jeans to pull out your phone, seeing that it is half-past midnight. If you know Jaemin — and you did — this was only the beginning of the night. The party is definitely far from over.

Fuck sake.

You put your phone back in your pocket and continue to manoeuvre around the bodies in the hallway. Your stomach growls and you think about how you're drinking on an empty stomach. The only thing open at this time is a Mcdonald's but you don't necessarily want to be that person that sits in McDonald's by themselves on a Saturday night. 

Still, you head for your front door and try your luck at an escape. As you reach your hand out to grab the door handle you smash headfirst into a body. Well to be more specific a chest. A hard chest.

"Ow, fuck!" You lift your hand up, rubbing your forehead.

"Sorry little Na, didn't see you there." You immediately recognise that voice. The deep slowness in which he talks. It’s the only voice that has a straight hotline to your core. 

Yeah, you couldn't ever forget that voice.

You stop rubbing your head and slowly look up, following the lines of his muscled chest that you can see through the tight white t-shirt he's wearing with a pair of denim jeans and converse. Yes you had already checked him out tonight, but you’re only human. And when your eyes meet that sharp jawline, hollowed-out cheekbones and those damming brown eyes, you involuntarily clench your thighs together.

You shun yourself because you know you can’t have him. And that’s the reason why you hate him. 

He's your brother’s best friend.

Lee fucking Jeno.

The worst man on this planet. for many reasons like for one he’s insanely hot. Like too hot. Who on this planet even needs to be that hot? But to make it worse he knows he's hot. Girls are always flying off his arm fueling his ego. He's also selfish and arrogant. 

But the reason you hate him the most, the reason you despise him so much, and avoid him at all costs is because of the burning need — it's past being a want it's a fucking need — to just devour him. Every part of you screams out whenever he is in the same room. 

And you hate it.

You have zero control over your words and actions with him — and he knows it with how much you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of him over the years. Your cheeks tend to grow red without your permission, and oh does he love to point that out.

Ever since your brother brought him home in his first year of high school, they have been inseparable — and you’ve been madly in love.

Well, you’re not in love with the boy. You just, you know, want to rip his clothes off. And let him fuck the living daylights out of you.

"Aw, there they are." He distracts you from your thoughts. 

His eyes are burning straight through you. As if he can tell what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling. And right now, you have very infuriating dampness in your panties that wasn't there 30 seconds ago. 

"Those rosy cheeks, are they for me, little Na?" You swat his hand away as it attempts to reach up to caress your cheek or some stupid shit like that.

"Stop that Jeno!” You snap at him, getting angry is your default with him.

It the perfect remedy to keep him away from you, so you don't do something stupid like fuck your brother’s best friend

“Please just get out my way.” 

"Such a pleasant girl, aren't you?" He winks. 

He fucking winks, and your pussy screams in delight. If you were any other girl, you’d be swooning right now. You’d be on your knees begging for it. 

Well, you won't be on your  knees for him.

Ever.

Especially not tonight.

"Just get out of my way, Jeno,” you push him rather hard. 

You knew it wouldn't make him budge if he didn't want it too but he dramatically moved out of your way of the door. You yank it open and dart through onto the front lawn. Halfway down the driveway, a sharp tug on your arm spins you around and you’re  faced with Jeno... again.

"Fuck sake, what do you want?" You shake your arm out of his grip but he doesn't let go. 

You give up, huffing and dropping your shoulders. The two of you are just staring at each other, so much so that you didn't even realise how close you really were. Your chests are almost touching, there is a hair width between you. And due to your height, if you looked forwards you’d be looking at the bottom of his neck, right where you see him gulp before meeting your eyes again. They seem to burn into yours, suddenly growing intense. 

He is the first to look away but he doesn't just look away, no. You watch as his eyes flash down to your lips. Your breath hitches, he sees that and when he looks back to your eyes again, he flashes you a knowing smirk.

Motherfucker. 

"Come back inside." He says as he throws his head to the side, signalling to your house.

"No," you all but stomp your foot.

"You're such a fucking brat, you know that right?" He growls, closing that gap so that your chests touch. There’s an electricity running through you, begging for him. 

"I'm not a fucking brat, I just don't want to be here at this shitty party!” 

You don't break his eye contact, chests still touching. He can sure as hell feel each heavy breath you take and probably every beat of your heart that seems to have sped up since he moved closer.

"Just go inside, go to your room, anything. Just don't fucking leave, your brother would have my balls if I let you go out alone this late at night.” 

You roll your eyes at the mention of your brother. You love him, you really do, but hearing the word brother leaves Jeno’s lips reminds you exactly why he’s even here.

It’s not for you — it’s for Jaemin’s sake. 

"I don't see why either of you care, you've got plenty of booze and girls to keep you occupied to not even notice me gone,” you stand your ground, trying to tug your arm once again but he still won't let go.

However, he has loosened his grip so it isn't so harsh, but it's still locked around your wrist. In fact, you’re sure you feel him drawing little circles on the inner skin with his thumb and that thought alone has you squirming no matter how much you try to ignore it. 

"I think I'd always notice when you're not there," Jeno says under his breath, his face lowering to yours. 

If you didn't know better then you’d think he was about to kiss you. But that can't happen. Can it? 

Everything but your core is saying no. Your whole body is screaming to open up your mouth and say please. But you ignore it — you always do— and try to keep a brave face. But as he gets so close, too close, your eyes automatically flutter shut.

You expect his lips to graze yours but they don't, instead, you feel his cheek against you , only faintly, as his lips skim your ear lobe.

"I think I'd always notice when you're not there because there won't be some childish little brat moaning about not getting her own way." 

Your eyes shoot open as he pulls back, laughing at your flushing cheeks. Your eyes narrow as you finally tug your arm hard enough this time that he has no choice but to release you. 

"I do not moan about not getting my own way and I am not childish nor a brat,” you sneer at him. 

"Sure,-" he huffs, laughing, crossing his arms over his chest. "Whatever you say." 

"Why can’t you just go inside and leave me alone,” you cross your own arms over your chest. 

"No can do." He stands there like some sort of bouncer, you look to your right and see the path only a few steps away. He watches you and says a low, demanding, "Don't." 

But you do it. 

You spin on your heel and run for it. But you only make it two steps before two large arms are wrapped around your waist from behind and you’re being sprung back into a hard chest. Jeno’s one arm sits tightly around your waist, his fingers digging into your hip and you squirm against him. To stop your wriggling, his other hand flies up to grab a hold of your throat, tilting your head back to the rest of his shoulder. 

His eyes flash to his hand around your neck and he takes a deep breath that causes his eyes to flutter shut. Then you feel something growing behind you causing your own eyes to grow wide. He leans forward, lips skimming yours barely. 

“I said don't." It sounded more like a growl than anything and a small whimper escaped your lips. "Are you going to walk inside or am I going to have to carry you?" He whispers still close to your mouth. If you lifted your head slightly, you’d be kissing.

"I'm not going back inside." You sternly reply, he just laughs and his hold loosens on you. 

But he doesn’t free you. Instead he throws you clean over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. 

“Put. Me. Down. Jeno." You scream, hitting his back, but he doesn't listen. Carrying on heading back inside your house. 

Your cheeks are bright red and you stop your attack on Jeno’s back and decide to clench his shirt in your fists and hide your face in it.

"What's going on here?" You hear Jaemin’s voice and your head flies up.

"Your sister tried to escape," Jeno says laughing, bending down to lower you to the ground. 

When he stood back up, you were so close your bodies touched again, your breasts rubbed against his firm chest and your nipples stiffened. His eyes glanced down to them and they darken, then he looks to you again and grabs your shoulders, spinning you around to face your brother. You automatically lifted your arms up and over your breasts to cover the obvious arousal.

"Come on Y/N, you know you can't be walking around aimlessly at night." Jaemin chastises you.

"I'm not a child Jaem," you roll your eyes with a shake of your head.

"So what? Grown ass people still get kidnapped!” 

You groan, I'm going to my room." 

You push past him and head towards the stairs. You turn around seeing Jeno’s smug face knowing he’s got his own way about you coming back inside.

But you won’t give him the satisfaction. You’ll  just sneak out the window and have your perfect escape. He won't know. 

Not like he’ll come to check — right?

You spin on your heel as you hear the sound of footsteps following behind you. Jeno’s there, eyes locked on your ass until he sees you looking back down at him and then cocks his head to the side and smiles innocently. 

“What are you doing?” You spit. 

"Just making sure you actually do go to your room." He flashes his infamous eye smile that has plagued your dreams since you first met him. "And that your windows are locked. Don't want you running away now do we?" he winks at you.

He’s so irritating!

With a huff, you turn around and storm your way up the last couple of stairs, making sure your stomps are extra loud. You can just hear Jeno snickering behind you and that only rattles you even more. When you reach the landing you turn immediately and head to the last door of the hallway and pull it open, stepping inside of your bedroom. You go to slam the door shut but a sneaker covered foot stops in between preventing it.

You immediately roll your eyes and groan. 

"Leave me alone Jeno." You groan, leaning up against the door with your back, pushing it.

"Let me check your windows then I'll leave."

"What kind of request is that?” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. 

"Just let me."

"No."

The two of you enter a stare off — one you both know he’s going to win. And he does, because you don’t even let two whole minutes pass before you’re huffing out a “Fine.” 

He makes his way over to your window, making sure it's locked, then he chuckles, drawing your curtains too. The only thing lightening the room was your bedside lamp that you had an awful habit of leaving on. That, and it was the perfect deterrent to make it look like someone was in there, keeping strangers from having sex on your bed.

“All done?” You ask, breathy. 

He smirks, his eyes flashing to your lips again and you swear to god if he does that one more time you’re either going to kick him in the balls or jump on him and kiss him. 

You force yourself to take a step back and take a deep breath which makes him laugh.

"Well goodnight little Na, don't go sneaking out because I will know about it." He walks off to the door and before he exits you say,

"And how would you possibly know that?"

He looks over his shoulder, his eyes flash up and down your body, "I just will,” he winks then closes the door behind him.

You huff out and stomp your foot like a child. God you needed to grow a backbone and stop letting that idiot mess with you. 

Storming into your bathroom you slam the door shut. You strip off your clothes and turn on the shower. Whilst waiting for it to get up to temperature, you sigh. 

"Let me just lock your windows for ya." You pull a face copying him. "Want me to check that for ya?"

Once you’re done in the shower you climb out of it and dry yourself with a towel. 

"He's so fucking annoying ugh," you say to yourself as you pull the bathroom door open and saunter into your bedroom naked. 

You don't even check to see if anyone was in there, too busy ranting about him. And when you feel the cold draft of your bedroom it makes you realise you had just walked into your unlocked bedroom naked. Immediately, you covered your body remembering the party going on downstairs; but on first glance, it appeared no one was in there. Still you quickly grab your oversized grey t-shirt from the end of your bed, throwing it on over your head, but skipping your underwear. 

Your room was fairly simple with white furniture, a wooden floor, soft pink bedding, a few cuddly toys. The bed lies against the far wall, opposite the door and you leave your lamp on to have a little bit of light to help you sleep. 

Trying to fall asleep you flip over so your back faces the light. You try a few different sleep scenarios but everything keeps going back to Jeno.

And the way his hand gripped around your neck. 

You flip over again, keeping your eyes shut, yet, Jeno just waltzes into your mind continuously. Like he won't leave you alone. You feel so much anger coursing through your blood, yet you have this strange pulling into your core. 

You need to give attention to it — so you do. And as soon as you slip your hand under the covers, the fantasies start rolling in. Jeno’s arms around you, grabbing at your waist, your hips, your ass, your breasts.

Your breath hitches.

His tongue in your mouth, along your skin, tracing your neck and stomach, then between your folds lapping at you. Your eyes shoot open as you clench your thighs together and immediately feel the wetness.

It was just too much to ignore. This wasn’t going away. You already knew that. 

You just needed some relief and then you’ll be free for the night. Jeno never needs to know and it’s not like you haven’t done this exact same thing before over him. 

Your right hand finds your centre first, sliding between the folds and instantly feeling the slick wetness there. Slowly and sensually, you begin moving your fingers in a circular motion. Eyes closing instantly, flashes of Jeno now being played before you.

In your mind, it was no longer your hand but his. Rubbing your clit, sending shivers down your spine and causing a small panting moan to escape you. 

Your left hand begins clutching at the sheets and as you feel your nipples peak and rub against the soft material of your shirt, you have no choice but to swiftly move your hand up and under to take hold of your own breasts and squeeze. You moan again as you begin to work your fingers faster over your clit.

Now in your head, Jeno stood before you shirtless. Seeing the ripples in the muscles of his abs, he flexes his arms, making you grow weaker. But you always felt like this whenever you saw him shirtless at the pool, or the beach. 

And you couldn't deny how fucking sexy he was — you wouldn’t?”

"What’re you thinking about?" 

You pause instantly, back arched, orgasm growing close and eyes squeezed shut. You can't decipher whether that voice was in your head or in real life so you just grow still and relax, trying to pretend it didn’t happen. 

Your breathing which was already heavy, grows even more so, this time with panic and worry. You don't want to open your eyes, scared of what you might see because you recognised that voice.

At least, you’re really fucking hoping Jeno’s voice is all in your head, because you’re seconds away from orgasm.

"I asked you a question." 

Your eyes fly open. He’s definitely not in your head. 

Ripping your hand away from your clit, you pull the other away from your nipple and force yourself into a seated position with your hands splayed behind to hold you up. You scream on instinct, he doesn't so much as flinch as he stands at the end of your bed. 

His eyes are dark, head low and looking up at you through his lashes. He has that smirk on his face, and his hands are fidgeting, rolling his fingers against his palm. Your eyes roam his body as your scream continues and you wish you hadn't, only because your scream turned into a moan as you spied his hard erection pushing against his jeans.

You gasp and look back at his face. 

"What're you doing Jeno?" You whisper-shout, even though the party downstairs would make it difficult for anyone to hear you anyway. 

Still, you didn’t want any party goers walking in on a flustered you in bed with Jeno and his very large, very prominent erection, standing at the base. 

Fuck. It's so big. You can tell from how it's breaking at the seams of his jeans to be let free. Your mouth waters at the sheer thought of his dick — wondering what it looks like, how it feels in your hands, in your mouth — how it tastes. 

Fuck no. Absolutely not. 

You shake your head, trying to rid the thoughts and ignore the fact your core is pulsing right now, begging for one last touch so you can explode into orgasm. You really fucking needed it.

"I asked you what you were thinking about?" He says lowly, and it causes your breathing to still.

“H-how long have you been standing there?" You whimper. 

He shrugs, “That doesn't matter, what does matter is-" he moves his head up, looking you dead in the eyes as he cracks his neck and then his fists in each hand. "-What you were thinking about whilst touching yourself? Was it me?" 

He smirks again and you stood up, throwing the duvet off of your legs. 

"Not a chance," He says sternly. You look at him again, face paling. 

"What do you mean, no?" you ask, cocking your head.

"I mean don't you fucking move-" His tongue came out to lap at his bottom lip as his eyes moved down your body, down your legs. 

You instantly went to grab the duvet again but he grabbed it first, ripping it from the bed and throwing it across the room. You get down on all fours, crawling to try and get it before him. 

"Jeno!" You exclaim, reaching your hand out for it but it was too far away. You look up at him on all fours, and from this angle... God. You gulp. 

"Give me my cover."

You try to wash away every fantasy of being in this position before him but you can't ignore the way you need his hard cock, seeping at the tip and begging for you to lick it, to suck it. 

Stop. No. Not now.

His hand comes to the side of your face, pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear and you shiver at the touch. 

"Lie. Back. On. The. Bed." He commands.

Your eyes flutter shut for a moment and then slowly, you move to follow his command until you are back down on the bed. You keep your legs closed and hands on your stomach. 

You weren’t sure why you’re listening to him — obeying him . But something in you, some instinct is just screaming at you to let this play out, see what he wants.

"Touch yourself." He says and you blanch, your eyes growing wide and you sit up again, but one stern look from him has you lying back down again. "Touch yourself and tell me what you think of, how you feel, tell me everything Y/N."

Your name. He never bothers to call you that. Usually emphasising how you’re his best friend’s little sister with the nickname he’d given you. But honestly, you’re thankful for the nickname because hearing your actual name from his lips, all nasally and sensual, sends you spiralling. 

It makes you putty in his hands. And as for your hands? Well, they slowly spread your legs wide revealing your soaking wet cunt to him. You keep your eyes pierced on him, watching how his breath hitches, eyes glued to you. The way he automatically grabs his cock through his jeans and squeezes is like a reflex. Closing his eyes only briefly before they're back on you, on your core. 

You feel yourself growing red, the heat of embarrassment consuming you whole as you slide your hand down your stomach. As soon as your fingers make contact with your clit, your hips are bucking off of the bed and your back starts to curve. Building up your arousal doesn't take long. You were already half there, teetering on the edge. 

Except this time your eyes lock onto Jeno’s for real whilst your fingers are moving, soft moans leaving your lips. You spy his own hand on his cock, he hasn't pulled it free but he moves his hand back and forth over his shaft. You can see the way his arms tense as he moves and watches you.

You throw your head back with another moan. Seeing him stood there isn't enough, you need something more. You need him climbing on top of you, replacing your fingers with his. His hot breath against your neck as he rubs you harder and faster. 

"What are you thinking about?"

"You." You say breathily.

"What about me?"

Your eyes shoot open to stare at him, he looks tense and flustered. Just as bad as you. His hand stops moving on his cock and you make a mental note that he might've been close. Too close. And this might be over too soon.

"Your fingers on my clit, rubbing me," you throw your head back as the fantasy flashes again. 

"Yes, and what else?" He growls. 

"Your mouth." You breathe again.

"My mouth, huh?" He bites and your fantasy continues. 

"Yes. Everywhere." You cry out, orgasm seconds away. "Your mouth on me, about to- God, Jeno I'm gonna cum,” your back arches, hips bucking, fingers moving so fast and rough. 

"Look at me." Your eyes fly open at the command. "I want you to cum whilst looking at me."

And you do. The sheer dominance radiating off of him is the final straw that has you crashing down. 

Your orgasm rips through you as your hips lift so far off the bed. You moved your fingers through your orgasm, riding it out but finally, your hips fell back to the bed and you let out a heavy breath.

Before you could even open your eyes again, you felt two large arms wrap under your thighs gripping your hips, and suddenly you’re yanked to the end of the bed. Your eyes snap open, and your head lifts up as you spy Jeno on his knees at the end of the bed, his mouth centimetres from your dripping pussy.

"J-Jeno,” you mumble, just the sight of him has you moaning. 

You’re not sure if getting yourself off in front of him was the moment you both decided to cross the line; but now him manoeuvring between your legs, you knew you definitely had. Regardless, you know now you aren't ever going back to the dynamic you had before. 

"I’m gonna make those fantasies come to life baby.” 

He doesn't miss a beat. His tongue comes out and swipes a long lick up and through your folds. All common sense leaves your head as you fall back against the bed. 

"God, you taste so good. I fucking knew you would." 

He’s thought about this? You know you have. 

He repeats the motion again, this time focusing on your clit, making sure to run a smooth stripe along it, circling it only slightly, enough to have you wriggling. One of his hands splays over your stomach, holding your hips down. 

"I want you to cum on my tongue. I want to taste every drop of you,” you gulp, looking down at him between your thighs. You don't miss the dark pupils in his eyes and that daring look, the one telling you to follow his instructions. 

"Jeno, oh my god,” you cry out, your head flying back as his mouth attacks your clit. He sucks it in, flicking his tongue all over in a frenzied motion. 

You know he knows all the right ways to make a girl squirm. And you are fucking squirming. All over the fucking bed, you’d be breaking free from him if he didn't have his large veined hand holding your stomach down. Your stomach is now on show. Your t-shirt has risen up to just below your breasts and you see the way his eyes watch the movement as you move about, tits bouncing around.

And as if he can hear your thoughts he says,

"Take your top off." 

You do it without question, lifting the hem and throwing it over your head. Now you’re laying there completely naked. His hand that was on your stomach comes up and takes hold of one breast, instantly taking your nipple between his fingers and you hear him, no you feel him, moan into your pussy. 

The vibrations cause you to cry out, hands knuckling the bed sheets. 

"You're so fucking hot Y/N, God." He murmurs before attacking you again, his mouth working wonders.

And that tongue. You’re so close. You can feel it. 

Then you feel as he slides two fingers into you. Jeno curls his fingers inside of you, hitting some sort of sensitive spot, and as soon as his fingers massage that area inside you and his mouth returns to your clit, you explode.

You don't even know if the music downstairs would cover your screams as you fell into ecstasy. His hand on your breast doesn’t  move, but the one that had been hooked on your hip moves to splay against your stomach holding you down as he laps at you, riding you through your second orgasm until you couldn’t take it anymore. He pulls his fingers out, then his mouth away from you at just the right time.

You lay there spent. Completely. 

Eyes fluttering open. Jeno stood between your legs looking down at you. His cock looked painful in his jeans. You had once felt exhausted and ready to fall asleep but as soon as you saw his erection you shot up in your seat. You immediately fumble with his jeans until his hand comes to your jaw, pulling your head up to look into his eyes. He stares for a moment before blinking, taking a deep breath.

"You don't have to- I didn't do that for you to-"

"I want to. I want this." You nod eagerly,"I want you.” 

You lick your lips and it's as if something snaps in him, that moment of care vanishes and he lets go of your chin.

"Well then, suck my cock,” he says, standing there and you do as you’re told.

You unfasten his jeans, pull them down and then his underwear. His large erect cock springs free instantly and without a second thought you take hold of him in your hand. Your hands look tiny against his dick. 

You move your hand slowly up and down his cock, and notice how his thighs tense, then his stomach and you follow your eyes up until you meet his face. His head is hung low, eyes dark and hands clenched by his sides. Keeping your eyes on his, you lean forward and spy the precum, flicking your tongue out and taking it in to swallow down with a moan that makes him grunt. 

You moved so that your face was closer to his balls, then you stroked your tongue all along his length, and felt the way he flexed beneath your muscle. There’s a cocky smirk covering your face when you move back to the top and suck his tip into your mouth.

"Do you like sucking my cock?" He asks, his hand threading into your hair to start pulling on the roots to yank your head backwards. 

"Do you like it when I suck your cock, Jeno?" You flip the question with a smile the power in your hands. You continue working him and he flexes his hand in your hair.

"That's how you wanna play?" He grins at you.

You pretend to think for a moment, "I’m not playing anything." You move your head closer down his length, licking  another long stripe hearing how he curses under his breath and thrusts his hips towards you. "I just want to suck your cock." 

With that, you take him into your mouth, sliding down until you reach your limit. You can't take him whole, he’s way too big for that, but you take what you can. He coughs and splutters a bunch of inaudible words, but you just pull back up and repeat the motion, continuing to take him back into your throat. 

His hand stays threaded in your hair, keeping a rough hold so that you can't pull away — not that you wanted to.  

You love every second. Even as you feel him tensing, his hips moving as he thrusts into your mouth. You look up through your lashes to see his head thrown back as he moans out and hisses every so often when you drag your teeth along his cock. You can tell he likes it as the precum coats your tongue. That and the way he doesn't tell you to stop. 

"Do. That. Again."

And you do, watching his head fall forwards."Such a pretty sight, my cock filling your mouth. What do you think your brother would think about this?" he smirks and your face falls pale.

You almost stop sucking his dick but he doesn't let you, slamming his hips forwards so his cock hits the back of your throat.

Your brother.

Not a thought you want to think about right now but it is something you needed to consider. This was his best friend. You’d finally gotten the man so forbidden, always out of bounds. The whole time you didn’t know that he wanted you as much as you wanted him. 

You moan uncontrollably, and it must send vibrations along his cock as you feel it twitch in your mouth, his thrusts become sloppy and his grip on your hand grows tighter. 

"Fuck, Y/N, I'm gonna cum." He grits out. "Are you gonna let me cum in that pretty mouth of yours?" 

You look up at him. You can't speak so you try to nod. 

"God, you’ve always been the death of me," He thrusts several more times as you slide your tongue all over his length and tip. 

You do it a final time as you take him to the back of your throat, gliding your teeth along him which must've been his undoing as you felt the hot steaming cum splatter against the back of your throat. 

You pulled him out your mouth slowly. Even as he is softening he is still thick and large. You kitten lick the tip as he hisses, causing him to loosen his grip in your hair and you sit back, making sure to obviously gulp so he knows you swallowed every last drop of him. Leaning forwards, his hand comes to your chin and he moves his mouth so close to your you think he might kiss you but instead he says,

"Good girl." 

You hate the way those two words made you clench your thighs together. You thought the two orgasms were enough but no, you’re ready for more. You need more. 

He’s quick to remove his shirt, and as he lifts his arms his abs flex. You are point-blank gawking at him standing before you, making him smirk. 

That snaps you out of it. Remembering you are sitting here, soaking wet and naked before him. You crawl back on the bed and then realise you have no duvet so you have to pull your knees to your chest and cross your arms over your knees to cover yourself. 

He watches you, laughs and then shakes his head. He then moves, shoving off his jeans and underwear the rest of the way off until they both land on the floor.

"Wh-What are you doing?" You ask stuttering, thinking he should actually be getting dressed to leave.

"What do you think I'm doing?" he asks. 

Can't he ever just give you a simple answer? 

Then you notice how his cock has sprung to life again and his hand moves to touch it. Moving up and down the length as he cracks his neck.

"You're h-hard again?" You stutter, eyes glued to the impressive size of him. 

"I'm always hard for you baby." He winks and for once, it didn't make you want to punch him. 

"Jeno, we can't." You shake your head.

 You’re already way past the line. Sex would destroy the whole scale. Still, the idea of him, his cock inside of you, whispering filthy things in your ear... it isn't something you can ignore. 

"You want it." He says point blankly. 

You gulp and remain silent. He moves onto the bed, kneeling and then crawls towards you until he is over you. His hair has fallen over his eyes — so fucking hot. "I know you want it, why try to deny it?" He cocks his head to the side, smugly.

"I-I'm not." You fidget. 

“Yes, you are." He ducks his head low, burying it in your neck. You feel his warm breath and your heartbeat rackets so loud. "You don't want to want me to fuck you,” His teeth graze your neck, sending you into a panting mess as he sucks and bites. 

He then pulls away and laps at the mark you know is there, the one he put there as a reminder tomorrow when you come to your senses that you did this.

"So I’ll ask again. What do you want?" He looks down at you, plump pink lips swollen and wet from his constant licking and biting them. 

You’re going to let your brothers best friend fuck you. And you’re going to love every second of it.

Not wasting another moment longer to think, you grab hold of his neck and lift your head whilst pulling him to you to smash your lips together. There’s heat, fire, and explosions of electricity. 

Your hands claw at his neck, his back, his sides. Anything to pull him closer. His crotch, his hard cock, grinds against your soaking hole and you groan out whilst continuing to kiss him. Both so desperate for each other. His hands skim down your body, kneading your breasts, your hips. He grabs hold of anywhere and everywhere. 

His lips detach from yours, giving you a moment to see how swollen they are before they're attacking your neck. He peppers kisses along your jaw, not sweet kisses but hard and sloppy kisses. Sucking and biting the skin causing your back to arch into his chest, pushing your breasts against him, making him moan. He thrusts his hips forwards, his cock sliding between your folds, hitting against your clit making you quiver.

"Fuck, we really shouldn't be doing this." He continues kissing you down your neck, reaching your collar bones that he also decides to leave marks on. 

"Jeno please," you cry out. Both of his hands move to your hips to hold you still. 

"Please what baby?" He smirks before moving lower to take one of your nipples into his mouth.

"Fuck Jeno,” you cry out as he flicks his tongue over the bud, biting it harshly so you cry out again then soothing it with a soft warm suck.

"Please what baby?" He repeats. 

"Fuck me. Now!”

"And what about your brother?" he brings him up again and you roll your eyes. 

"Stop bringing him up," You moan as he takes your other nipple into his mouth, repeating the process.

"He'll kill us if he finds out." he grins.

"Then he can't find out," You pant out of breath as Jeno moves.

His face is so close to yours that your lips are only just touching, his chest is pushed against you and his cock sits lodged between your folds. You try to shift to gain some friction against your clit but his grip holds you still. His eyes flicker across your face then he says,

"I won't tell if you won't?" His lips caress yours in the faintest of movements. You flick your tongue out to wet your lips, but in the process he bites onto your muscle making you wince then moan, "What do you think, huh?” 

There’s no room for discussion — your body won’t let you. 

"I won't tell if you won't."

He doesn't miss a beat once he gets your approval. His lips are on yours as his hips thrust forwards. His cock thrusting inside of you, tearing you open as you pull your mouth away to cry out.

"Holy fuck."

He stills once inside you, making sure to push as far as possible until his pelvis meets your skin. Your legs wrap around his waist instantly.

"You feel so fucking good." He breaks from your kiss to breathe. "I always knew you would but this-" he looks down to where you are connected and he thrusts further, trying to get deeper but he can't possibly. "-this is better than anything I could've imagined." 

"Move, please." You grunt trying to lift your hips to encourage some movement. His eyes fly open, dark and daring. 

"Beg me." He smirks and does a tiny thrust, a teasing thrust.

"Fuck off,” you pant, trying to do it yourself but he uses his hips to pin you to the bed.

"Beg." He smiles and cocks his head to one side. "Me."

You hated his arrogance. But fuck, you want him so bad. So badly that you will beg.

"Please fuck me, Jeno." He pulls out of you and you suck in a deep breath.

"Again." He grins now. 

You can't bear to look at him but looking down means watching as he holds just the tip inside of me.

"Please. Fuck. Me." You pant, half moaning, begging for him. 

He thrusts so hard into you, you wince and moan out in pleasure. He hit so deep inside that you’re sure you’ll bruise.

"Anything for you, Y/N,” he whispers in your ear before sucking and biting on the lobe. 

Then he's pulling out and thrusting into you. Again. And again. And again. Harder and harder each time. Faster and faster. You lose your breath, becoming a big ball of pants and moans — just like  Jeno.

God, the sounds he makes. You’ve never heard someone so vocal before, but fuck it's hot. The small grunts he makes when he fucks you, the groans when you clench around his cock and feel yourself building. He moves his hands under your ass to lift it, plummeting into you from a new angle, going so much deeper.

"Your pussy is so tight. Fuck,” He says between thrusts, and gritted teeth. 

He seems to have found a weak spot right under your ear that has you clenching like mad around his cock. And he loves it. 

"How have you just been there in front of me this whole time? How have I stayed away from you?" He seems to be asking himself because he doesn’t press you for a reply. 

He removes his lips from your neck and sits back on his heels, his cock still inside of you, slowing his thrusts and he lifts your legs up, moving them over his shoulders. His head moves from side to side, placing a soft kiss on each ankle and for one second. You’re dumbfounded as he looks at you, a daring smirk written across his face. 

He wraps his arms around your thighs, locking your legs in a straight position against his chest on either side of his head, and then he begins pounding into you again. However this time, he moves one of his hands to your centre, his thumb moving closer to your clit. You feel how it grazes your nerves. He strums it once. Twice. Three times then you're wriggling around like a mess, back arching off as your orgasm tears through your body and you explode into euphoria. Again.

He rides you through it, fucking you as you clench and squeeze around him. A string of curse words come out of him, you feel him so close but he doesn't cum. He stops stroking your clit as you batted his hand away, you didn't realise you had been clenching the sheets with white knuckles until you relax your hands and feel a cramp in your palm.

Jeno slows his thrusts until he stills inside of you, his chest is moving up and down with each of his heavy breaths. You move your legs off of his shoulders, enjoying the movements as your legs feel strained too.

But as soon as your feet hit the bed, he grabs you and flips you so you land on your stomach. He pulls your hips up and slides into you again.

"Fuck!" You scream as he slams into you unapologetically. One hand holding your hip, the other trails along your back as he begins fucking you from behind. He leans over you, still ploughing, and comes closer to your ear.

"I always wanted to fuck you like this, you are always strutting around showing off, your ass? Do you like teasing me?" 

You don't even know what you like right now. Mind too focused on needed Jeno to fuck you any way he pleased. 

He grins, then shoves your head back down into the mattress, straightening his back and fucks you harder than you think you’ve ever have been before. You couldn't keep up with the movements, head a complete daze from all of the orgasms that he had given you.

You come to a conscious mind when a hard slap lands on your ass, it makes your pussy throb so he does it again, and again, rubbing over the area and soothing it before doing it again. Each time it makes you clench around him. 

"Jeno," you cry out between thrusts.

"Yeah, baby?" His voice sounded so much deeper, which told you he was close. That and the way his thrusts grew random and unstable.

"Want you to cum in me," You moan, clenching the sheets again. 

"I'm not wearing a condom," He grits through his teeth. 

"I'm on the pill,” you manage to say between heavy breaths. You needed him to cum in you now. 

He shakes his head, "Last thing I need is to get my best friend's little sister pregnant." And that was that because he thrust a few more times, then pulls out, and instantly, all over your ass and back you felt a hot liquid splatter about. 

As soon as his grip left your hip you fell straight down onto the mattress, and your body was thankful for it. Everything hurt. He'd destroyed you. Fucked you, well and truly. And you couldn't stop the smile on your face.

"I'll go get a cloth." He said through some heavy breaths then climbed off of the bed and went to your bathroom. He emerged a moment later, used the warm cloth to clean up his mess although you notice him take a minute to look at it.

"Admiring your work?" You asked him through a laugh, he looked at you and shook his head chuckling. 

"Trust me, if I could take a picture I would,” he wipes it away. Then he returned to the bathroom to throw the cloth in the hamper but as soon as he stood in the doorway of you heard three loud knocks on your bedroom door. 

"Y/N? You in there? Have you seen Jeno?" 

You shot up in bed, suddenly not tired or spent. Jeno’s eyes grew wide too.

You lifted your finger to your lips and gestured to Jeno to stay in the bathroom. He didn't hesitate as he shuts the door. 

Jaemin would fucking kill him and you, without a doubt. Only moments ago you had his best friend’s cum covering your ass. 

"One second," you shout,  jumping out of bed and grabbing your T-shirt. Then you rush over to the door, paint on your best sleeping face and yawn whilst opening it. 

"Oh, you were asleep?" Jaemin stood on the other side, hands braced on either side of the door frame.

You fake another yawn. He looks behind you and you turn too, fearful Jeno was standing there but then you spied your duvet cover on the other side of the room. Jamein frowned and looked back to you. 

"I was hot." You shrug. 

"Shit sorry," He quickly says. "I just can't find Jeno anywhere.” 

"He’s your friend not mine.”

"I don’t understand why you two hate each other," He rolls his eyes and you can't help but scoff at the irony. 

Hate wasn’t exactly the word you’d use for the guy that was just 8 inches deep inside of you. 

"Well, he's probably off getting high or fucking some girl.” 

“Better not be in our parent’s bed again,” he huffs, and your eyes go wide. “Fuck, he better not be doing it in my bed either,” he says to himself. 

And with that, he storms away heading for his room. Chuckling, you shut the door and Jeno emerges from the bathroom, a towel now wrapped around his waist and he stands there facing you. 

"That was close."

"Too close." You sigh. 

He dresses himself as you climb back in bed, getting your duvet back on and covering yourself with it. He walks over to the door and pulls it open, peeking outside to check the coast is clear, then once he does he turns to look over his shoulder at you.

"Our secret?" He says.

"Our secret." You nod and he steps out, not looking back and shuts the door.

You lie back on your bed, head falling into your pillows and laugh. 

But then you shake your head processing it all, moving your hand to cover your mouth, looking at the ceiling. 

You just fucked your brother’s best friend.

[robotlyra]

So I heard good things about the movie Conclave, so as a dutiful little post-Catholic weirdo with lingering baggage, I gave it a watch and was thoroughly entertained. I highly recommend it.

But one of the reasons why it's been getting so much discussion is that people keep comparing it to Drag Race and making it out to be this campy drama full of gossip and machinations. And while those elements are there, and I certainly endorse taking that approach to analysis, I also can't help but wonder. I wonder if the reason why people are clocking it as a glam gossip drama is because they don't have enough lived experience with Catholicism, and its most vociferous adherents that they can't clock the sincerity when they witness it.

There is a mundane hierarchical jockeying aspect to it, and that cannot be denied, but the true fascination in the experience, the creeping horror of it, is to see dudes who have completely convinced themselves of their own self righteousness that they believe Performative Humility is Genuine Submission to God's Will. There's a bit that carries through the film that says "nobody who acts like they WANT to be pope SHOULD be pope", but that unto itself is a form of performance. It's the most insidious kind of grandstanding because it's the kind that can convince the performer themself that it's genuine. It can make them think: "I've eaten enough humble pie to prove I'm a good person, so I don't have to continue the work of self examination."

In my opinion, that sort of performance has less in common with high glam ego-driven drag competition, and more in common, say, with online political posturing, the contest to appear most sociopolitically aware and self-flagellatory. To prove how good one is by being loudest about confessing how bad one is. And maybe some people aren't ready to make that connection because they don't want to believe that old dudes in church are capable of the same kinds of mental gymnastics to pursue their own self-interests as the most liberated, educated, and media savvy online commentator.

[wetpussyju1ce]

the smallest Omega in town takes on the biggest Alpha.

+18 mdni

Alpha!König x Omega!fem reader

note: reader is described as skinny. small wrists and bony knees. shorter than the 141.

John's pack was known to be extremely loyal and fiercely protective over each other. They were nice though, friendly and liked to mingle with other packs and families in the village.

They were also extremely close to each other and in tune with each other's needs. And that's how the pack found out that König, their big, awkward Alpha, needed a bit of help when it came to ruts.

He usually spends them alone, much to his packs disagreement over those arrangements because it can't be good for you, it can't! Then they decided to take matters into their own hands and try to find König a rut partner. It was a very serious matter for them, they coaxed König out of details and descriptions about what he likes. They know he doesn't really have a preference if they're Alpha, Omega or Beta. So that's a good start.

He likes them pretty, soft around the edges and smaller than him, which could be literally anyone in the whole village considering his sheer size.

And that was about it.

So Johnny, Kyle, Simon and John went to work. Looking for willing unmated wolves to spend König's ruts w him. Surprisingly it was easy to find willing partners, they know König, have seen him around and the idea of being impaled on his knot was attractive to quite a few of them.

But the real problem started when König asked for a try-out, before his rut hits, because he knows that a knot of his size could be considered a weapon. And he doesn't want to feel the rejection and hurt during his rut when he realises his partner can't take him, or are scared of hurting.

So they accepted, all of them, pretty Alphas, shy Omegas and tiny Betas.

And it didn't go well, they all believed it could be achievable, like how big can he really be? Body-horror big, apparently because what the fuck.

Oh and König knew to anticipate this. The gods made a joke out of him when building him in his mother's womb. They gave him everything it was to be a perfect Alpha, and gave him the biggest knot that no Omega, or Alphsa/Beta could take. It was ridiculous.

He lost hope and decided to busy himself with rut preparations, stocking up one of their many cottages deep in the forest, away from everyone.

His pack was sad for their sweet Alpha, it pulled at their heart to smell his upset scent. he scented sad and defeated and they really wanted to try harder, to make it all better.

it got to a point where they had no idea what more could they do because obviously nobody could take his knot without causing themselves injuries. and their Alpha can't be alone forever, surely??? I mean, that's a bit dramatic but he obviously craved that type of connection and bond with someone. he can't knot his fist and someone's thighs, forever, it wasnt enough!

and when all hope seemed lost their doorbell rang.

and there she was. the tiniest Omega they've ever seen. well, she wasnt that small, but compared to them, she sure as hell was, dainty and skinny too, bony knees and tiny wrists. she was standing there, wearing a pair of shorts, boots and a t-shirt under a flannel, she looked like she just finished gardening, dirt stuck to her knees and caking her boots.

"Hello?" Simon greeted, confused.

"Is König in?" She asked, looking up at the taller man.

"No, why?" Simon raised a brow.

"Oh and I'm here for the rut partner try-out, thing. if that's still happening." She said, shrugging, all casual.

Simon's mind screeched to a stop, did she say try-outs?? is that how everyone in the village saw it as?? what in the hell??

"What the hell are you talking about?" Simon said, utterly confused.

"What? Did he find someone?" She tilted her head to the side, confused.

"No, no-- Just, what makes you think you can take his knot? You're fucking tiny." Simon went straight to the point.

She smiled, kind and unbothered, "I know he's big, I heard all sorts of things, but I believe I can help, and if it works, I'd also like an arrangement out of it, a heat partner if he'd be willing."

Simon feels like he should slam the door on her face. Just to save her guts from absolute and sure destruction by König's cock because no way in hell would she be able to take him. but then the Omega looks sure of herself. not cocky. just looks friendly and honest and she looks ready to help.

Simon maybe should have asked her to save her guts and go away but he doesn't. he let's her in, not knowing that she has spent years of her heats trying to shove as much of her toys inside her as possible. she doesn't even mention the fact that she ends up fisting her cunt every heat cycle. or when she has a heat partner w a knot, that knot ends up inside her alongside a toy at the same time.

the Omega ends up meeting König, says she would like to help. he disagrees at first because he's not in the mood to take her to the hospital, he really really doesn't want to hurt her. but then she begs him to trust her w the sweetest face he's ever seen, lets him scent honesty all over her and he agrees to give her a chance.

König n the Omega end up talking abt gardening and the sellers at the market and the prices these days. they quickly bond over growing vegetables and their shared dislike for that one guy that sells strawberries and swears that they're that naturally huge (and they're not even sweet, what the hell??)

they agree on a date, and a time, they would try to see how it goes before König's rut hits, and if everything goes alright, they'll spend it together.

when they meet, König's weary, she's not, calm and happy as a clam. she asks him to trust her, and it starts off easy, she holds his hands and König shivers because his are literally giant mitts compared to hers. she sweet talks him into relaxing, she sits on his lap and they start talking a little, then she goes ahead and kisses him and he realises very quickly that he likes that, he really does, her lips taste sweet and her scent is so sweet and delicious.

König's alpha quickly realises that this may actually work and he gets excited in record time, tents his trousers and gets his mouth on her tits, it takes no time for her to start leaking like a broken faucet. König's hand are slippery between her legs and he's about to pass out at the intensity of it all. she's everywhere around him and all he can do is suck on her breasts and purr.

then he gets a finger inside her tight and warm hole. it's wet and feels soft. then another goes next. and another. all the while she's making all sorts of noises, clawing at him, and the more fingers he can push inside her the more he's awed and amazed because for someone so tiny and fragile, she sure as hell can take so much inside her.

König wants a better view so he gets her on the bed, laying on her back and absolutely hammers his fingers inside her cunt, watching her stomach bulge everytime he drives his fingers in.

he's about to lose his mind at the sight alone, and then she cries, squeals and squirts all over his hand and arm.

König then gathers her in his arms, chest to chest, gets his arms under her legs, as they're pressed against her body, practically folding her in half, carrying all of her weight in his massive arms like she was just a doll to him, and finally dips the head of his cock between her pussy lips. he starts to push further in and she's moaning, clawing at his neck, he gets halfway in and he's sweating bullets because she's so tight and she's pulsing around him and yet, he knows she can take more. and he was right because he keeps dropping her on his length until it's all inside, to the root, and she wails, comes again, shaking in his arms and König is losing his mind, his knot swelling in record time. when he comes, he's dizzy and he's heaving like he ran a marathon and he hasn't even thrusted inside of her just yet.

they make all sorts of noises when fucking. it's animalistic. König sounds like he's about to pass out and the Omega sounds like that's what she's been waiting for all of her life. It was filthy, intense and so fucking loud that when Gaz was sent to check on them, as they used one of the many cottages John's pack owns, the moment the smell hits his nose, he freezes and turns back around, he does not want to be anywhere near them if that's how potent their combined scent is.

at least he knows they're having a great time. so he goes back, well, more like runs back to the house, a little bit scared and excited because finally their Alpha got to knot someone!

and when all that's said and done, and the Omega and alpha come back to the shared house the next day. König is out of it, nothing but statics behind his eyes while the Omega looks content, eats everything she's offered by König's pack, starved. but winces once in a while when she moves in a certain way. she scents happy, and König scents confused but content nonetheless. and that's everything his pack wished for.

[saintshadow]

PICK A CARD - Uncomfortable Truths

P I L E O N E

Quit putting your trust in things you know don't work. I heard showmanship. The way youve been approaching this connection or situation is egotistical at times. You can be someone that tends to put up a front because you're scared of being seen as weak or vulnerable. You're very tactful & can also be highly skilled in deception. I heard something about reality weaving, you weave your reality very powerfully. Be more mindful of your words when you get angry. When it comes to YOU they aren't just words, you influence the essence of the occurrence of life in every word you speak and every tear you cry. Could be Latino or indigenous in heritage, I also heard Slavic! Give up on what doesn't serve you I heard. Your ancestors are very impatient because you keep avoiding this lesson. If you don't relent soon you're going to look back at this eventually and just be like 😬. While you may think you're operating from a higher perspective right now, there are times you don't & there are times you don't actually hear or understand others the way in which you believe you do.

P I L E T W O

You're actually very lovable. Needing help isn't a reflection of your weakness, it's a reflection of the fact you're wise enough to grasp that sometimes you don't have all the answers. You're veryyyy intelligent & deeply intuitive but you tend to silence yourself for the sake of others. It's like the prospect of standing out really makes you anxious at times. You think about your desire to be seen and acknowledged and then remember what that means for you socially and get the ick 🤣 This pile is giving Taurus energy 🤣 you need to relax more often, youre so serious that sometimes you miss out on the joys of humanity. Even though some things aren't always forever doesn't mean you can't enjoy them for what they are. Learn to indulge without emotional consequences. Also some of y'all would benefit from changing from some kind of diet? Or also from doing some sort of yoga or somatic practice that focuses on clearing anxiety from the stomach.

P I L E T H R E E

You have an envy & projection issue. I feel like a lot of this group Lowkey compares themselves to others frequently or grew up in a way as a child that never made you feel justified in standing up for yourself. So now, you at tiiiimes perpetuate this pattern in your day to day life on a subconscious level. It's a program in your mind, and it's why you feel upset a lot of the time. You may feel like you hold such grudges because you forget how valuable your own perspective and self validation is. You're very self critical and can get frustrated when others succeed. Like you almost fear being outshone by others. A lot of neglect wounds here too, where some of you expect others to go above and beyond for you but you treat yourself horribly. You are very cruel with yourself pile 3, be more kind and be more loving. You deserve to treat yourself with respect.

[felassan]

Lucanis and Crows snippets, under a cut due to spoilers.

How would Viago and Teia react to a Crow Rook being romantically involved with Lucanis? "Teia is going to plan the wedding, and insist that Viago give Rook away at the ceremony. Viago will sigh dramatically, lecture Rook about it, and then spend a week picking out the right gloves to wear." [source]

If Illario wasn't locked away, how would he react? "Under any circumstances, Illario would be upset since it's a whole lot of attention that's STILL not on him. He would definitely get drunk at the reception and tell the same two most embarrassing stories about Lucanis over and over until Viago knocked him out and put him upstairs." [source]

With Rook romancing Lucanis, is it possible that Spite could become affection or benevolence? "Spite's basic aspect is defiance. He can be more or less difficult depending on influence (rebellion vs. vindictiveness, etc), but at his core he's always going to be a spirit of "NOPE"" [source]

Lucanis' mother was the heir apparent to House Dellamorte [source]

Does Spite have any kind of feeling about Rook? "Spite is fond of Rook in his own Spite-like way. He and Lucanis agree on the point of trusting Rook over and above other people or themselves. He does go to Rook for help with Lucanis, after all." [source]

For the Lion King reference in Murder of Crows, Mary Kirby went to the cinematic animators and described it as Illario's "Scar at Pride Rock" scene [source]

User: "I cut Lucanis' hair and shaved his beard and I almost feel like I should apologise to him" / Mary Kirby: "Now he can't tell himself from Illario, and you've given them both a complex." [source]

Teia and Viago were half-written by Mary Kirby and half-written by Luke Kristjanson [source]

Lucanis likes his coffee black [source]

Would he judge your coffee order? "As long as it's not boiled, or instant coffee, or whatever that stuff from a can is, he's fine with it. Or at least, he will only judge you silently for it." [source]

What kind of treats does Lucanis like? "Sweet, because it goes better with his coffee. Savory, if somehow he is NOT drinking coffee at that moment." [source]

Lucanis grew his beard and long hair while in the Ossuary. "He hasn't exactly had a haircut in a while." [source, two].

Would Lucanis make Powerpoint presentations about jobs or to talk? "No, he doesn't want to talk to anyone, let alone explain things and present them. That's 300% an Illario thing. That man has a powerpoint to introduce his powerpoint about why you should listen to his powerpoint." [source]

"Lucanis would never be on social media. He'd be on YouTube watching videos of people restoring rusty cutlery with no dialogue until four in the morning." [source] Could he tell when content is manufactured? "Yes. And he gets upset and finds Bellara or Neve (whichever is unluckier) to rant about it." [source]

Lucanis' favorite stove burner? Right front [source]

"Spite doesn't have any concept of physical appearances. It looks the way Lucanis sees himself. Lucanis is never relaxed, even in casual wear." [source]

Along with Lucanis Mary Kirby also wrote Spite [source]

Mary Kirby wrote Illario, Luke Kristjanson wrote the Crow faction quests [source]

Lucanis' perfect date night? "I'm gonna be honest: There is a non-zero chance it would involve assassinating somebody and getting coffee, and I'm not entirely certain which would come first." [source]

Lucanis "has so much [trauma] to sort through, and he could really use some help. Like, a Marie Kondo level of help with that." [source]

What sparks joy for Lucanis? "Coffee, paella, wyverns, knives, REDACTED, book club, REDACTED, revenge..." [source]

Lucanis is older than Illario by a few months [source]

How did Spite feel watching Lucanis fumble after the near-kiss moment with Rook? "Confused. Spite, like most demons, doesn't really get emotions outside its domain. Not doing something that someone clearly wants you to do should make you happy! I mean, honestly, what's better than that, except maybe revenge?" [source]

Did Spite interact much with Manfred? "We wrote a bunch of interactions between them, though I have no idea how many made it in." [source]

Update:

What are the names of Lucanis' parents? / "I didn't give them names, and in the event that Lucanis comes back in a later game, I don't want to hand out info that might just get contradicted by his next writer. (If I don't answer a lore question for him, this is probably why. I don't want to write checks someone else has to cash.)" [source]

What is Mary's take on Spite's possible involvement or lack thereof in Rook and Lucanis' relationship? / "Honestly, I don't know, and that's a question his next writer might explore? Where do your pent-up feelings of frustration go when you're happy? What does an emotion like defiance even understand about love? (I think that's fun to think about, but your mileage may vary.)" [source]

[esamastation]

ladyjazzhands: Ezio x Shen Qingqiu, somehow

There's a foreigner staying in the Warm Red Pavilion, who speaks not a word anyone can understand. Shen Qingqiu hates him on sight.

He's everything he loathes in a man. Leering and smarmy, with unkempt short hair and beard, armoured like a rough barbarian, with the manners and body language of one used to throwing his weight around, he dominates every room he is in. Shen Qingqiu can't see why, but somehow every courtesan present seems drawn to his presence and he's never seen without a woman or two under his arm.

Well, he does see why. The low, purring words he speaks to the ladies of the brothel might fall all but to deaf ears - but money speaks its own insidious language. Even though his coin is strange, it's plentiful and heavy and always easily parted to his adoring audience as the foreigner teasingly lures the courtesans to him with the foreign coins dancing nimbly on the backs of his knuckles.

They play for him, they introduce him to the local food and wine, and then they take him up stairs for more, and Shen Qingqiu wants nothing more than to see them do to him what they'd done to another barbarian, not long ago. There's nothing quite as satisfying as seeing rough men being thrown out of a window by a group of giggling women.

Alas, aside from looking strange, speaking language no one understands and acting like the worst sort of letcher, the foreigner has done nothing but favour the ladies of the Warm Red Pavilion and clearly they intend to only adore him back.

At least, until his coin purse would run dry.

"How long has he been here?" Shen Qingqiu asks the Madam, as the owner of the brothel joins him for tea.

"Oh, Ai Qiao? He arrived here this morning," the Madam says, as one of the younger courtesans pours for them. "Though he appeared in town sometime yesterday. No one is sure when, exactly - but he made his presence known late afternoon, in the market - where he attempted to find someone who spoke a language he understood. Which he did not find."

Shen Qingqiu narrows his eyes. "He's far inland, to be without a guide or a translator," he mutters, considering. "How did he end up here?"

"Oh, he found his way here - he might've seen one of my girls running errands," the Madam muses and gives him a look. "Does Xiao Jiu know him?"

"No," Shen Qingqiu says and sips his tea. He doesn't know the man's style of clothes either - and more damningly, he doesn't know his language. Though Shen Qingqiu hasn't ever had the time to truly dedicate to learning other languages, he is confident enough to say that he at least knows most human languages by sound. The cadence of Ai Qiao's speech alone is completely unknown to him, never mind the sound he makes, the words he speaks.

There are few things he can deduce, if somewhat begrudgingly, about the man's attire. Though the style is absolutely nonsensical, it's not without finesse - the armour was not just well crafted but to some extent artistic, with floral designs hammered into the metal. The leather straps of it are well made and well maintained and the man's clothes are clearly well tailored and well kept. White like that, on a warrior - there's only so many people Shen Qingqiu knows who can wield a sword and keep white clothes clean, and all of them are immortal cultivators.

It could be indicative of a wealthy warrior without much experience. There were many rich idiots out there who clad themselves in even more extravagant armour that would never see battle, showing off their wealth and claiming bravery where they had none. Except…

Shen Qingqiu clutched onto his cup.

Even outside the aura of mortal danger around the foreigner, Ai Qiao's armour isn't without a scratch - in fact, beneath it's shine and polish, it's quite well worn and battered. And then there is the man's armament - which is… extensive. Sword, crossbow, numerous throwing daggers, bombs… never mind the things hidden in his sleeves, whatever they are. All which the foreigner wore with casual confidence even Liu Qingge would find unnerving.

The man is a killer, there is no doubt in Shen Qingqiu's mind - if not a murderer. And he is currently in congress with who knows how many of Warm Red Pavilion's girls. Even with all the training Shen Qingqiu had given them, and all the weapons he'd done his best to supply with them… none of them are fit to face against a trained killer.

The Madam looks at him, and sees right through him. She smiles knowingly, but is kind enough to not draw attention to his white knuckled fingers or his clenched jaw. "I will have the girls prepare a room in the back," she says. "Will Xiao Jiu play for us tonight?"

"This one will," Shen Qingqiu says. "Let me know when the foreigner falls asleep."

-

The foreigner doesn't fall asleep. For more than two sichens he partakes in the women of the pavilion before making his unwelcome presence known in the hall where Shen Qingqiu is playing the qing. The man saunters in confidently with his armour askew and his knife belt loose, his hair a worse mess than before, grinning with great satisfaction.

"Li-mei," Shen Qingqiu says under his breath to his most recent student in the brothel, a fifteen year old girl who's watching him play intently. "Go see to the girls he left behind."

The girl bows and slips away to take the hidden ladder upstairs. In the meanwhile Ai Qiao is already being attended to by another courtesan at loose ends, who takes the man's arm eagerly and leads him to a table - and to an expensive bottle of wine.

Shen Qingqiu continues to play, keeping his glaring to a minimum while watching the foreign killer. Though it's clear he can't understand a word Ding-er says, they get along just swimmingly, as the man teases her into giggling with his low words and appreciative touches.

Two sichen with who knows how many women and the man still has an appetite for more.

Shen Qingqiu plays, keeping his posture proud and his movements elegant, not letting his worry or disgust show. He doesn't relax until young Li-mei returns to him to tell that, "They're sleeping - all of them," with a giggle. "I think the patron wore them out!"

It takes effort not to verbally express his abhorrence and keep his fingers moving smoothly over the strings. "All of them - how many of them did he have?" Shen Qingqiu demands with disquiet.

"Four," Li-mei giggles.

Incredible - no, impossible. The girls of Warm Red Pavilion might not have the stamina of cultivators, but they have more stamina than to be laid low by a mortal man. Shen Qingqiu narrows his eyes, still playing, and asks, "And they were all… well?" Had Ai Qiao knocked them out - had he struck them, drugged them?

"They looked quite snug and comfortable to me," Li-mei answers, amused. "And the patron left enough coin to cover all their services."

Shen Qingqiu casts a look towards Ai Qiao, who's now listening to Ding-er speak, smiling even though he can't understand a word and urging her on with his hums and murmured encouragement. His fingers, Shen Qingqiu notes, are gently stroking the edge of her collar, where her hanfu leaves her shoulder exposed. The touch is as covetous as it is appreciative. One could even call it proprietorial.

It's nothing he's not seen hundreds of other men do to the women of the brothel, and he's not stupid enough to interject - this is their occupation, and men like Ai Qiao is how they make their living. And a man like this, lustful and generous in his lustiness, is exactly the kind of customer a brothel loves - one who showers several girls with coin and doesn't hold back. And yet…

There is something about this one Shen Qingqiu cannot stand. At first he thinks it's the beard, the attitude, the foreign manners, the way he can't even sit properly. The low tone of his voice, the smarmy smiles he gives everyone, how freely he expresses his desires despite the language barrier. But no.

It's the look in his eyes - dark, shrewd, calculating. It sends cold shivers down Shen Qingqiu's back.

Ai Qiao would be out of the brothel by morning, Shen Qingqiu swears, even if he had to throw the man out himself.

-

Ai Qiao is plied with wine and snacks but doesn't let himself be drawn into a bedroom - instead he sticks to the main hall, chatting nonsensically with Ding-er and then with many other of the women who find themselves at loose ends as the night wears on. The courtesans take turns trying to teach Ai Qiao new words, giggling uproariously at his horrendous pronunciation as he struggles over sounds his own language clearly lacks.

Shen Qingqiu keeps playing and watching and gritting his teeth as the foreigner lets himself be humiliated by the giggling courtesans that have once more begun flocking around him, seemingly as entertained by them as they are by him. Every now and then someone would find their way in his lap and the man would dote upon them, but beyond that he seems satisfied in simply being there and enjoying their company.

And he refuses to tire and go to sleep. He outlasts all the other patrons, who either get ushered into rooms or outside once their coin begins to run out. Ai Qiao's purse remains quite heavy, even with all the coins he's so happily shared with the girls around him, and so he keeps going and going - until finally the hour grows so late that even the women, used to late nights, start tiring.

Shen Qingqiu himself would be asleep by now, if this was a normal night - but he is still on high alert and Ai Qiao doesn't even seem drunk anymore, bidding the sleepy ladies fond good nights with kisses to their hands and some more coins in their palms. Infuriating man.

"Xiao Jiu," the Madam murmurs, coming to his side. "It's late."

By which she means, most of the patrons of the brothel are asleep, and she doesn't want him to play anymore lest he wake them up.

With a slow breath, Shen Qingqiu brings his last piece to a conclusion and then rests his aching fingers on the qing strings. "Very well," he says. "This one shall have some wine now."

Giving him a look, the Madam sighs. "He's been the perfect quest all night," she says quietly. "You need not be so wary. All is well, I promise."

Shen Qingqiu doesn't bother to answer and with a shake of her head the Madam rises and goes to seek her own bed for the night, trusting her women to care for the last patrons they have - namely, Shen Qingqiu and Ai Qiao. Scoffing after her, Shen Qingqiu takes his time going over the Qing and easing it into its case before accepting the bottle brought to him by Ling Ji, one of the older courtesans present.

"Xiao Jiu played beautifully, and for so long," the older courtesan comments while pouring for him. "It has made this a lovely night."

Shen Qingqiu accept the compliment with a nod and distractedly accept the cup - and by then, Ai Qiao is watching them, his eyes considering, his lids low. In an instant Shen Qingqiu is back on the very end of his already frayed nerves, his face growing hot with fury - and, to his utter revulsion, Ai Qiao smiles at him.

Most of the girls are yawning around the man now, and with more kisses and coins bestowed to their hands, the man bids them goodnight - and then he rises. With clear intent and that confident swagger he'd entered with, Ai Qiao approaches the dias where Shen Qingqiu had been playing and is still sitting - and it's plainly obvious what the man's purpose is. He's still smiling - and then one he's smiling at is not Ling Ji.

Shen Qingqiu goes from hot to cold and then back to hot as his fury blazes into pure rage.

Shen Qingqiu rises to his feet in outrage and, clearly delighted, Ai Qiao bows to him - completely wrong and all too theatrical, swinging his arm strangely. The man says, "Ezio Auditore da Firenze, mia cara signora," clearly an introduction. "È un piacere conoscerti." And then he tries to kiss Shen Qingqiu's hand.

Shen Qingqiu throws his wine at his face before he can.

-

And Ezio absolutely took it as a challenge, haha.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM NORMAL PEOPLE *  assorted dialogue from the book by sally rooney, some lines slightly changed to suit a roleplay format, adjust as necessary

i'm not a religious person, but i do sometimes think god made you from me.

i have a sense that real life is happening somewhere far away, happening without me, and i don't know if i will ever found out where it is or become part of it.

no one can be independent of other people completely.

life offers up these moments of joy despite everything.

he probably won't come back.

what we have now, we can never have back again.

for me, the pain of loneliness will be nothing to the pain i used to feel, of being unworthy.

we've done a lot of good for each other.

people can really change one another.

you should go. i'll always be here. you know that.

generally i find men are a lot more concerned with limiting the freedoms of women than exercising personal freedom for themselves.

most people go through their whole lives without ever really feeling that close with anyone.

life is the thing you bring with you inside your own head.

even in memory, i will always find that moment unbearably intense.

i have never believed i'm fit to be loved by any person.

yes. that was it. the beginning of my life.

it's funny the decisions you make because you like someone.

your whole life is different.

i think we're at that weird age where life can change a lot from small decisions.

if people appear to behave pointlessly in grief, it's only because human life is pointless, and this is the truth that grief revealed.

i don't know what's wrong with me.

i don't know why i can't be like normal people.

it feels powerful to put an experience down in words.

people are a lot more knowable than they think they are.

there's always been something inside me that men have wanted to dominate.

i want my life to mean something.

a lot of the literary people in college see books primarily as a way of appearing cultured.

that's the only part of myself i want to protect, the part that exists inside you.

there's something so corrupt and sexy about it.

i wish you didn't have to go.

i wish you could stay the night.

life offers up these moments of joy despite everything.

literature moves me.

it almost sounds sexual.

you learn nothing very profound about yourself simply by being bullied.

it's time you'll never get back.

time is real. the money is also real.

we've done a lot of good for each other.

the snow keeps falling.

hopefully i have changed, you know, as a person. but honestly, if i have, it's because of you.

he does have immaculate taste.

it's not like this with other people.

[name], would you ever fuck off?

you lean in expecting resistance, and everything just falls away in front of you.

i would lie down and die for you at any minute.

sometimes, someone will make eye contact with me, like a bus conductor or a person looking for change, and i'll feel shocked that anyone can actually see me.

we could be in a room full of people and my eyes would always meet yours, just to find that you had already been looking.

there's something comforting about it, something good about feeling sort of numb, detached from it all.

it was different with you, didn't have to play any games with you. it was just real.

no one is ever gonna hurt you like that again. everything's gonna be all right. trust me.

i love you, and i'm not gonna let anything like that happen to you again.

we have done so much good for one another.

[yokelish]

Solas sees himself in Rook is the lie in Veilguard I cannot get over.

"Solas sees himself in Rook, perhaps even things he doesn't like to acknowledge", they said. There are no two people more diametrically opposed than Rook and Solas. Outside of Rook doing that thing that pissed off a bunch of people in some sort of authority over them, there is nothing between the two to connect them. All their parallels are utterly superficial.

Well, they are both leaders! Solas lead armies, agents, spies against seven powerful mages with armies, agents and worshipers of their own. He had to be ruthless, to sacrifice, forge alliances knowing he'll break them, to manipulate. His friendship with Felassan suffers because it's exceptionally difficult to be emotionally open with a person you give orders to, who you know might die in your name, for your cause, willingly. Solas know it. That's why Felassan writes about how Solas is planning something and is not telling anyone, even his closest friend. It's nothing good. Both know that and neither can do anything about it because there is massive wall between them made of their complex relationship, their cause, Solas' devotion to Mythal and his vengeance for her murder. Solas cannot be a true friend to Felassan just as Felassan can be a true friend to Solas. Love and care are there there but there are things bigger than them and their relationship at play. Solas had to go along with the Dread Wolf narrative even if he hated it. Rook has to prove they are a really good guy to factions and therapyspeak their team of professionals into working under a lot of pressure. Rook suffers none of the consequences of leadership unless they utterly ignore their companions' side quests. What does Rook lose? Their moral codex? Not once did they have to do anything morally questionable. Their relationships? Hardened mechanics is utterly meaningless in the narrative. Since Hardened mechanics is the only thing that was brought from Origins, it's fair to compare it to Origins: Neve is not Leliana who becomes ruthless and thinks murder might actually be an answer to many questions; Lucanis isn't Alistair who accepts that he must become First Talon. What does Rook lose? One companion who willingly sacrifices themselves.

Solas made choices. Stupid ones, yes, but choices. His actions had terrible consequences. Rook is not active in the narrative. They only react. The choice between cities is so in the moment that it isn't about what Rook is willing to sacrifice, what terrible consequence they are more likely to accept, it is not about "all choices are terrible and you have to choose" but reacting to having to choose at all with very little information based on your companions 3 seconds explanation before they ran away. In inquisition, the choice between mages and templars is also quite early in the game. But it influences how you meet Cole and Dorian, it influences who comes to attack Haven, which enemy you are more frequently encounter in the world. Antivan Crows and Rivain apparently have business dealings going all the time, about supplies and Antaam, but after a dragon attacks Treviso, the Lords of Fortune do not offer a dragon hunter (who is big Crow fan) to help out their assassin business partners and consequently Rook. No, it's on Harding to find the dragon hunter. They see a blighted dragon in D'Meta Crossing, hear Ghilan'na speak through it, and not even say that this might be a big fucking problem very quickly and no one nearby knows how to handle it. It's after a city gets blighted that Solas is telling you to find a dragon hunter. Thank you, dear, but I knew that 6 hours ago. Rook somehow didn't tho. The choice between the cities is utterly superfluous, influencing only your gameplay (which companion can't heal you, which city's side quest get cut, which merchants aren't available) rather than the world. Minrathous is no better for fending off Elgar'nan in the end whether you save it or not. UNFORTUNATELY, due to AMA and John Epler, they resolved the artificial moral quandary of this choice as well. Because the Blight in Minrathous will calcify and die at the end of the game, the blight in Treviso will not. Thanks, I hate it. Though the Archon you choose is very much aware that there are blighted gods with an equally blighted dragons but no preparations for any war marches, attacks, sieges will be made. Antiva doesn't reconsider its governance after having a city invaded and blighted. You chose Treviso? Cool. MInrathous' blight will die at the end, Dorian will become Archon and outlaw slavery and cults. Crows rule unchallenged. You chose Minrathous? New Archon is outlaw slavery and cults, your blighted mage will be just fine, Crows rule unchallenged, not a single Talon is blighted. Sad about Treviso, though, that place might just have to be Chernobyl of Antiva.

Solas had moral complexity. Rook doesn't. Varric handpicked the goodest, goofiest little guy to go against a morally dubious ancient being (MW Rook seems to have committed some cultural taboo but don't worry that will not influence how Emmrich views you. MW is EASIER to gain rep with instead of harder. Strife being that way about VJ Rook who saved lives of their people is nonsensical because Strife sided with helping a human mage instead of cutting off said mage's limbs to free himself. LoF background is nonsensical. Why a bunch of pirates give a shit what nobles think? Because trade? They trade fucking lost treasures, not freshly caught salmon. If not those guys, it's gonna be the other guys. Every nation has insufferable rich people who like to put "exotics" into their home decor.) WHY Varric picked the goodest, goofiest little guy in Thedas to stop an ancient mage who fooled an entire organization (and possibly his lover) a decade ago before disappearing into mist that Spymaster of Inquisition couldn't find him until he wanted to be found makes no sense. The man who has lived and actively participated in the shit happening in Kirkwall and Inquisition. The man who fucking lies for a living. Yes, Varric is a overall a good man, but he isn't the paragon of goodness, far from it. It's not Varric who approves you helping refugees in Inquisition. In fact, Varric approves of Inquisitor deciding to let soldiers to fend for themselves. Varric greatly approves of bullshitting your way through thing, including lying, and protecting what is yours. Hawke was never the goodest guy, they are either a smuggler or merc he hired to go through the Deep Roads. Without committing to either choice presented in DA2, Hawke was presented with moral choices where either pick can be dubious. Hawke had to have picked either mages or templars. A bunch of people who are without a doubt dangerous. Or an order who will commit atrocious crimes because they can get away with given that the crime is against a mage. Hawke had some sort of relationship with the guy who bombed the Chantry and either executed him or let him run, either choice without being canonical presents a moral quandary of its own. Varric writes books about how underhanded tactics, lying, spying, and manipulation with a dose of blackmail can actually be for the benefit of the greater good if done with right intetions. But by choosing Rook, it's like Varric thinks that goodness of Inquisitor is what gets one through Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, and not ruthlessness, self-service, and a lot of Varric's own favourite hobby - lying. Why Varric you meet in DA2 and Inquisition picks Rook? Well, he CALLS Rook clever and adaptable, but all Rook's cleverness is bulldozing through obstacles and killing obviously evil guys. Rook is stubborn, determined - no doubt. But Rook isn't clever, cunning, or crafty. They prioritize saving life in droves, which is something that would be on Varric's mind IF Varric was to believe Solas was a heartless bastard with no regard for the damage he causes and we know that's NOT what Varric believes about Solas.

Solas has to fight against his downfall - pride. I genuinely don't know what Rook has as a flaw they struggle against. Their compassion doesn't get them in trouble, they don't get tricked or betrayed. But Solas puts them in prison! Yes, but the reason Rook gets caught isn't due to Solas's trickery but because they can't do shit in the moment. They just fought against Ghilan'nain and her darkspawn puppets alone while trying to free their companions, get knocked on the head a few times, hangs upside down like cattle while their friend gets skewered. How Solas gets them into the prison is TACTICAL. Rook is weak, Rook is tired, Rook is vulnerable, and the Veil is thin so he can actually reach through. It's not trickery. But Rook and Co couldn't shut up about Solas' inevitable betrayal so the payoff is due in whatever way possible. Solas thinks he alone can fix what he has broken, he alone has to face Elgar'nan because many ancient grudges and regrets are knotted up in there. Solas turns on his friends because he thinks what he must do is the thing he must do or all is lost (elven immortality, magic, spirits, knowledge, the world he knew and its history). He thinks he alone knows better than anyone. Partially because he is one of the very few beings who lived since it all began, before the world was changed by the Veil. The Prison sequence wants you the player to believe Rook carries the responsibility in some internalized way, but it's not fucking written in any way until this point, so why would you consider it an issue Rook has to actively face and has struggled with and not just an excuse to have Solas out? My brothers and sisters by the Maker's grace, Leandra scolding Hawke for their sibling's death was more scathing than choosing a whole damn city to be left to burn.

"I've molded you into someone the prison can accept in my place". How? You've done nothing. We had like 4 conversations. 3 of which you spent telling me about the Evanuris, the Blight, their dragon thralls, and how much you fucking hate Elgar'nan. Solas says nothing that changes Rook in any way, how they view their leadership, their actions, or themselves. I think the prison will accept anyone with a formed frontal lobe, honestly. Solas makes you say "I'll do whatever it takes" in the dialogue! Again, that attitude Solas tries to push on you is: a. fucking necessary? you have immortal beings with pet dragons and almost unlimited power to fight against. b. the attitude is more embraced by your companions than Rook. c. Rook is never pushed into doing anything morally questionable or even debatably interesting to reach their objective. Not once is Rook saying "i don't want to do this, i hate to do this, but i have no choice." Rook doesn't even have to lie! Not fucking once!

Tricking someone doesn't make you right. It's one of the things Rook and Solas will discuss. And regardless of anything, Rook will go Shiro Emiya "just because you are correct doesn't mean you are right" on Solas's ass. And that's good. It shows that Solas is shit with introspection just like Elgar'nan and Ghian'nain are. It shows why he is stuck in the prison. On the other hand, his fucking murals are shows very nicely why he is stuck in the prison: he immortalizes his regrets that he wishes to forget instaed of working through them. And by bringing the point of trickery without engaging with what it actually menas to trick... It creates a problem. Well, two problems, actually. A. Where the Solas you meet in Inquisition and Trespasser and when can we get him back? Where is the man who tricked a whole ass organization, played chooms with a Seeker of Truth, Qunari spy, published liar, Spymaster of the Divine, and most ruthless diplomat? Never once does Solas feel superior or above the people he tricked there. He is in fact very fond of the Seeker of Truth who not once found truth on her own (I love you Cassandra). He is very fond of the Antivan diplomat who cheats, lies, manipulates, blackmails probably even better than he did as Dread Wolf and he doesn't feel any superiority for having outplayed Josephine. The reason Solas is the trickster is because it's his only weapon. He was never as powerful like Elgar'nan or Mythal, doesn't have a bunch of other somewhat powerful egomaniacs standing for his cause. Wits, trickery, deception are his only damn weapon, were his only damn weapon for centuries. That's why he is so good at it. The problem of Solas isn't in being a fucking trickster who thinks he is right because he can outsmart you, Veilguard, it's that he goes about solving the problems he creates the same way he goes about making them in the first place: alone, through deception. His trickery is a double edged sword and he constantly cuts himself, refusing to lay it down. He alone tricks the Evanuris into containing the Blight with their life force. Boom! The Veil. He lets the Venatori get his orb and bring it to Corypheaus, thinking he outsmarted them all and soon will unlock his orb and tear down the Veil he created. Boom! Corypheus lives, there is hole in the sky! So he slithers his way into the only force he thinks can fix what he just fucked up - the Inquisition - through deception, alone. That's his torment nexus. You tried and you came close, Veilguard, I giveyou that, but you slightly misrepresented the issue. B. The other problem is that Rook never has to trick anyone. Not even their enemies. Rook can never truly testify for the claim "outsmarting someone doesn't prove you were right" because they never had to. Rook is never confronted by the idea that tricking someone might actually good, put you on that high horse and it can be hard to get off. So Rook's words are just lipservice and not proven experience or tested issue.

"Solas sees himself in Rook". Only if Solas views himself as an insufferable goodie-two-shoes fool who thinks in straights lines and is about as easy to trick as a toddler.

[mashandmartinis]

I've been thinking about BJ and Trapper and their respective relationships with queerness and masculinity, framed in their respective relationships with Hawkeye in particular. And it turns out I actually have a ton of headcanons about this, so uh, prepare for some headcanons-slash-analysis.

I'm of the opinion that Hawkeye and Trapper have definitely have slept together, probably regularly, but aside from an added physical aspect, their relationship never mutually developed into romance. Hawkeye and BJ, on the other hand, have never touched each other more than we've seen on the show — but they were deeply in love. And I'm fascinated by how Trapper and BJ might react differently to their own relationship with heteronormativity and how that intersects with their relationships with Hawkeye in particular. So, uh, let's explore that under the cut because this turned out a biiit longer than anticipated.

First Hawkeye has Trapper, right? Trapper, with his big brown eyes and a goofy smile, married but definitely not too serious about that whole monogamy business — not while he's in Korea and, let's face it, probably not at home either. Trapper, who's passably straight and probably is, for the most part, except for this Thing he has for his best friend Hawkeye (because he loves the man and they're in a war, for god's sake, and really what difference does it make if you and your best friend help each other get off regularly? You share a tent anyway. You're both guys, there's nothing to be seen or touched down there that you can't find on your own body. It's cool). Trapper is queer — but to me his queerness feels isolated to their circumstances, a sort of war-enhanced stretch of his pre-existing not-all-that-picky high libido. It's easy for him to expand his definition of fuckable from "any pretty woman who's willing to slip into the supply closet with me" to fit Hawkeye, who rejects traditional standards of masculinity, and therefore isn't A Man so much as A Guy.

The war is separated enough from everyday life and heteronormativity, and Hawkeye is separated enough from stereotypical masculinity, for Trapper to feel comfortable moving from best friends to best friends who fumble around when no one's watching. It's just an extra element of play, something they both enjoy doing to themselves and with other people, so why not do it with each other too.

However, I feel like once Trapper returns to the States, to his wife and his life and heterosexual standards all around, it's easy enough to forget about Hawkeye as a sexual partner and once again run after the first attractive woman he comes across. Trapper loves Hawkeye as a friend, sure. But I think part of what allows him to sleep with Hawkeye with no reservations whatsoever is the fact that he's never been in love with him, and, owing to the fact that his identity is still solidly founded in heterosexuality, sees no dangers of falling in love either. Hawkeye has been a partner in crime, a partner in the OR, a partner in bed — but he's never been a romantic partner. So when Trapper moves away from Korea, Hawkeye's just a pleasant memory. A friend of circumstance. A great friend, sure, but mostly he's something to remind Trapper of how war is a different world with different rules and standards that don't apply to the real world. Proof of the fact that exceptions can be made in certain places at certain times, but they don't carry over to the rest of your life. I think Trapper switches easily both times: he adapts very quickly to the fact that sex with Hawkeye is great and doesn't think too much about what the fact that they're both men implies. But the switch back to his heterosexual (if still non-monogamous) life is just as simple.

BJ, on the other hand, is deeply repressed and most likely gay. His queerness most definitely isn't related to the circumstances. Considering the environment he grew up in, he very possibly already did gay things with other frat guys without realising they were gay, because everyone else was just as repressed and attached to their ideals of heterosexual masculinity as BJ is. However, he has never encountered someone like Hawkeye before — and Hawkeye's rejection of traditional masculinity clearly rubs off on him over the course of the show, even if BJ does remain A Man more than A Guy.

Where Trapper is fleetingly aware of the fact that what he's doing with Hawkeye is probably more than a little gay (and doesn't give a shit because he's certain that he's not more than a little gay, outside the context of the war. Trapper is comfortable in his own identity) BJ has no idea what's happening to him. He falls in love with Hawkeye and spends the entire time marvelling over the fact that (platonic!) same-sex friendships can be this close. Closer even than the relationship between a husband and wife. Wonders how holding a skein of yarn for Hawkeye as he knits somehow feels more intimate than anything BJ has ever done in the bedroom with Peg. Chalks all of it up to the wonders of male friendship and bonds forged during the war. BJ is attracted to and actively falls in love with Hawkeye, because he is queer but doesn't have the emotional capacity (possibly doesn't even have the vocabulary) to recognise this in himself, because knowing the environment he's from, he's most likely been raised on lies and denial and repression.

Hawkeye sees through some of BJ's lies. Hawkeye is the first to hold him as he cries. How strange is it, then, for him to have these feelings that he's never felt for someone else before? When he's never been more emotionally intimate with anyone in his life? BJ sees the evidence but cannot, or refuses to, connect it to its source (namely: his queerness) and rather chalks it up to circumstance. They're war buddies. They went through hell together. How strange is it, then, to feel this overpowering and indescribable love for the man he clung to from the very moment he got off his plane? It's not queer; it's simply what happens when you put men together and have them live through the horrors of war hand-in-hand.

Hawkeye's relationship with Trapper was playful and physical. His relationship with BJ, though not physically intimate for aforementioned reasons (repression), is far more intimate than he has ever been with Trapper — because this time they're both in love, even if Hawkeye is the only one who knows it.

In a sense I don't think Hawkeye's relationship with BJ could've developed the way it did if it hadn't been for Trapper. There are many more reasons at play here and I'd probably have to write another post to properly delve into those, but I think part of the reason Hawkeye was able to let BJ in so easily is because he was already left emotionally vulnerable because he felt abandoned by Trapper. BJ, in turn, had just been drafted and was logically also very upset. A mutual vulnerability that allowed them to connect on a level that especially BJ might have recoiled from, had the circumstances been different. War essentially pushed BJ into Hawkeye's already open arms without BJ having to face why Hawkeye's arms were open in the first place, and what his falling into them says about both of them and their relationship.

Trapper returns home essentially unchanged in his perception of his own queerness, save for the fact that he now knows what it's like to sleep with a guy. BJ returns entirely changed but oblivious to it, still convinced he's straight and wilfully, slightly oblivious about Hawkeye's queerness, but somehow feels like he just went through the divorce of the marriage of his lifetime. He should be happy to be home in his wife's loving arms, in their very own bed, and yet— and yet—

Trapper and BJ are two sides of the same coin, both fulfilling one half of a partnership for Hawkeye one after the other. One physical, one emotional, with neither of them able to take on the other half — Trapper because he simply doesn't feel it that way; BJ because he's still not ready to face the truth by the time they have to part.