#years and years and years looking with no results

[cameronsbabydoll]

BEFORE YOU NOTICED — CHAPTER ONE

WARNINGS — chronic illness, psychological distress, emotional neglect, power imbalance, themes of isolation, and blood

you wake to the taste of rust. it’s faint, like a penny left too long in your mouth, but it’s there when you swallow. your tongue probes the back of your teeth, searching for a cut, a reason. nothing. you roll over, and the pillowcase crinkles under your cheek. there’s a stain, it’s small and red, almost like a crushed petal. your breath catches. you tug the case off before rafe stirs, his arm heavy across the sheets, his face still slack with sleep. you ball the fabric in your fist and slip from the bed, bare feet cold on the hardwood.

the washing machine hums in the laundry room, a low drone that fills the glass mansion rafe built for you both. you toss the pillowcase in with the towels, pour too much detergent, and watch the water churn. it’s fine. it’s nothing. a nosebleed, maybe. you’ve been stressed, haven’t you? the city’s too loud, the air too dry. you press your knuckles to your lips and tell yourself it’s fine.

in the bathroom, you stand at the sink, the one with the gold faucet rafe insisted on because it looked “timeless.” you brush your teeth, the mint sharp enough to burn. when you spit, the foam is pink. your stomach lurches, but you lean closer to the mirror, inspecting your reflection. your hair’s still perfect, smoothed from last night’s blowout. your skin is dull, but it always is this early. you’re still pretty. you have to be. you rinse the sink until the porcelain gleams, until there’s no trace of red.

you google it on your phone, fingers trembling as you type “blood in spit causes.” the results load slowly, the wi-fi flickering in this high-rise cage. stress. allergies. dehydration. you skim the benign ones, the ones that let you breathe. you don’t click on the others, the ones with words like “chronic” or “terminal.” you close the tabs, delete the search history, and set the phone face-down on the counter. it’s nothing. you’re fine. right?

rafe’s gone by the time you return to the bedroom, his side of the bed already cooling. a note on the nightstand, scrawled in his sharp handwriting: late meeting. don’t wait up. you trace the letters with your fingertip, the paper crisp under your touch. you fold it neatly, tuck it into the drawer with the others. he’s always late now, always chasing something bigger—deals, status, a version of himself he hasn’t caught yet. you don’t mind. at least you tell yourself you don’t mind.

you spend the morning in the garden, the one you planted when you first moved in. it’s tucked against the glass walls of the mansion, a small rebellion against the sterile lines of rafe’s world. the forget-me-nots are wilting, their blue petals curling at the edges. you kneel in the dirt, your silk robe—the one he bought, still tagged—slipping off one shoulder. you water the flowers, your hands steady even as your chest aches. it’s just a cough, you think, when it comes again, sharp and wet. you cover your mouth with your sleeve, and when you pull it away, there’s a speck of red. you fold the fabric over, hide it in the folds of the robe. no one’s here to see. not anymore at least.

you shower after, the water is scalding, as if you your trying to burn the rust from your lungs. you scrub until your skin’s raw, until the mirror fogs and you can’t see yourself anymore. you wrap your hair in a towel, paint your nails coral—the shade rafe mentioned once, three years ago, when you were still new to each other. you sit on the edge of the tub, blowing on your fingertips, watching the polish dry. it’s chipped already, a tiny flaw at the edge of your thumb. you’ll fix it later. you always fix it.

the day stretches, empty and gleaming. you wander the mansion, your footsteps echoing on the marble. the rooms are too big, the furniture too sharp, everything chosen by a designer rafe hired because he wanted it “perfect.” you touch the back of a chair, the leather cool under your palm. you wonder if he’d notice if you moved it, just an inch. but you don’t try.

you cook dinner, something simple—herb-roasted chicken, rafe’s favorite. you set the table for two, the plates, the wine glasses catching the city lights through the floor-to-ceiling windows. you light an old candle, the flame flickering through the light. you sit down and wait. the clock ticks past eight, then nine, and suddenly your stomach twists, but you don’t eat. you just sip on water, your throat tight, and tell yourself it’s fine. he’s busy. he’s always busy.

at ten, you cough again, harder this time. you stumble to the sink, gripping the counter as your body shakes. the blood’s thicker now, a clot that stains your palm. you stare at it, your breath shallow, your pulse loud in your ears. you turn on the faucet, watch the red swirl down the drain. you scrub your hands until they’re pink, until the water runs clear. you dry them on a towel, fold it carefully, and tuck it into the laundry basket. no one will know.

you sit by the window, the city sprawling below, a glittering maze of lights and noise. you’re high above it all, untouchable, the wife everyone envies. your hair’s still perfect, your nails are done, your smile quiet when you practice it in the reflection. you’re still pretty, even when you bleed. you have to be.

rafe comes home at 11:47 pm. you hear the door, the jangle of his keys, the heavy tread of his shoes. you stand, smoothing your dress, the one you wore for him last month when he said you looked “nice.” he’s in the kitchen, loosening his tie, his jaw tight from whatever meeting kept him. you step into the light, your heart stuttering as he glances up.

“you’re still up,” he says, not a question. his eyes skim over you, quick, like he’s checking a box. “you look tired.”

you smile, the one you’ve practiced, the one that doesn’t waver. “just a long day,” you say, your voice soft, the way he likes it.

he kisses your cheek, quick, mechanical, like he’s clocking in. his lips are cold, and you smell the city on him—smoke, cologne, something sharper you can’t name. he moves past you, already pulling out his phone, scrolling through messages you’ll never see. “food’s cold,” he says, glancing at the table. he doesn’t sit.

“i can heat it,” you offer, but he’s already shaking his head, heading for the stairs.

“not hungry. long day.” he pauses, half-turns, his profile sharp against the city glow. “you should sleep. you don’t look good.”

you nod, your throat tight, your hands clasped to hide the tremor. “okay.”

he’s gone before you can say more, his footsteps fading up the stairs. you stand there, the candle still burning, the chicken untouched, the wine glasses empty. you blow out the flame, the smoke curling like a ghost. you clear the table, wrap the food, wipe the counter until it shines. you cough once, softly, and check your palm. it’s clean. for now.

you climb the stairs, the mansion too quiet, the air too heavy. you pass the bedroom door, rafe’s already asleep, his phone glowing on the nightstand. you slip into the bathroom, open your makeup drawer, and pull out the bottle of pills you hid last week. you don’t take one. you just hold it, the plastic cool against your skin. you’ll call the doctor tomorrow. or the day after. there’s time. there has to be.

you slide into bed, the sheets crisp and cold. you curl onto your side, away from rafe, your knees tucked to your chest. you think of the garden, the forget-me-nots, the way they droop under the weight of their own petals. you think of the silk robe, folded in the closet, waiting for a day he’ll notice. you think of the blood, hidden in sinks and sleeves and pillowcases.

you close your eyes, your breath shallow, your heart a quiet drum. you’re still pretty, you tell yourself. you’re still the wife worth coming home to.

you dream of red petals, falling.

[fishyfish2090]

The term "apex predator" is somewhat outdated as the biology world has had to restructure how we look at food chains multiple times in the past few years In addition to the taxonomic structure of many random extinct and extant species. Cheetahs are not "big cats" like lions, tigers, or leopards; they are instead part of Acinonyx. Cheetahs are the only surviving descending group from this as the "cheetah-like cats" didn't survive.

On the topic of anxiety, the idea of cheetahs having anxiety was due to cheetahs being stuck in zoos with not enough space to have their speedy zoomies in addition to the constant threat of humans watching them. This has resulted in many zoo cheetahs needing emotional support animals, usually dogs.

Also, in the animal kingdom it is more weird if you don't commit infantcide on your kids or others, especially eating them. As the parents produce less kids per birth, the rate of infantcide of secondary offspring rises significantly. Something the biology community will refer to as "keeping an heir and a spare". With cheetahs, they will often grab the strongest kid (or the nearest one if they don't have much time) and will bolt with the child in their mouth. They aren't super attached to more than two kids at a time normally when trying to balance fitness.

Thanks for coming to my tism-talk

blows my mind that cheetahs are apex predators. that is the single most anxious creature I have ever seen. at any given moment a cheetah is exactly one stubbed paw away from bursting into tears. that is a sad dripping wet animal, and it's at the top of the local food chain? babygirl what happened

[halfway-happyyy]

home to you {jack abbot}

synopsis: it takes a traumatic event for doctor jack abbot to realize he's through being casual about his next-door neighbour.

no warnings, straight fluff, scattered use of the nickname kid. this is the direct result of thirsting over this HOT old man for the past month.

“I’m not looking for anything serious at the moment.” 

Jack Abbot had breathed life into those words with his lips pressed against your neck, their vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure up the length of your spine, and to what felt like every nerve ending in your body. His hands, and the extraordinarily skilled fingers that belonged to them, roamed every inch of skin you could spare, and the neural pathways that sent signals to your brain to speak were absolutely not firing on all cylinders, because it took you a ridiculous amount of time to murmur, “well that makes two of us then, because neither am I.” 

And yet, while neither of you were actively looking for anything serious, the right side of your bed remained occupied by the weight of his body most mornings.

He held his cards incredibly close to his chest, and most of what you knew about him (which still wasn’t much) was information he had dropped for you like breadcrumbs. He’d been married; and though his wife had fought bravely, she succumbed to the disease which had ravaged her in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time. He had done two tours with the military, which had done nothing for him, except to permanently part him from his right leg and to leave him with an intense desire to work in emergency medicine. He was a creature of the night in every sense of the word and had jumped at the chance to take a position as the night shift attending physician at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. This meant that at seven in the morning, when you were debating about getting up and ready for work, he would just be coming off of the night shift. 

When you considered the way in which you first crossed paths with him, you still cringed. Over a year ago, you’d been battling a persistent craving for oatmeal raisin cookies. You had everything set out to make them minus the cup and a half of white sugar needed, and was at a loss for what to do considering the early morning hour. Enter your mysterious, hardly-ever-seen next-door neighbour. You had heard the sound of his key turning in the lock and waited a couple of minutes before plucking up the courage to go over and knock on his door. You doubted you’d ever forget the first time you really got a good look at him. He, in his navy, blood-spattered scrubs, and the black stethoscope still around his neck. His salt and pepper hair which still held traces of its original copper, and the five o’clock shadow that stubbled his devastatingly handsome face. 

“I’m so sorry to bother - I would have asked 708 but she’s on holiday at the moment and I really just need a cup of sugar if you can spare it.” 

He’d cocked his head to the side, mild confusion giving way to mild amusement. 

“Sugar?” He’d rasped.

You nodded. “I’m making cookies and I just ran out. The store doesn’t open for another hour and a half.” 

“What kind of cookies?” 

You’d felt the blush seep into your cheeks before you murmured oatmeal raisin. 

He nodded approvingly. “I can spot you the sugar, if you promise to save me a couple of cookies.” 

“Yeah, I think I can manage that.” You’d grinned. 

“We’ve got ourselves a deal then. Wait here, I’ll be right back.” 

And, the rest was history. 

Jack had exited the elevator just as you were locking up. He propped himself against his door for support and offered you a small, tired smile. 

“Rough night?” you asked, despite the fact that you could tell just by looking at him that his shift had been a brutal one. 

He nodded. “Lost a vet last night.” 

Oh.

He rid the emotion from his throat with a short cough. “Not a single scratch the entire time he'd been over there, and a drunk driver nails him.” 

Your heart sank. 

“I'm so sorry, Jack.” 

He offered you another sad, fleeting smile and shrugged a shoulder. “That's the job, right?” 

“What are you going to do now?” You asked.

He released a breath of warm, pent-up air and shook his head. “Try and sleep. I've got an appointment with Carson in a couple of hours, which I'm looking forward to.” 

The silence lingered on a little while longer before he asked you what your plans for the day were. 

“I’m waiting to hear back from a friend if she needs me to go to Pittfest with her or not.” 

He lifted his eyebrows. “Fun.” 

“Maybe,” you laughed. “But being surrounded by a bunch of drunk, loud, barely legal people isn't exactly my idea of a great time.” 

“That’s fair,” he breathed. “But take care of yourself if you do end up going, yeah? You’d be amazed at how fast dehydration can set in.” 

“Alright, Doc. I'll watch out.” 

He fished his keys from his pocket and turned back to you. Whatever he wanted to stay was still lodged in his throat, as if he were mulling over whether he should say it or not. 

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? Before my shift starts? That is - if you're not slummin’ it with the barely legals all day?” 

You couldn't help the smile that bloomed on your face. 

“Yeah, Jack. I'd like that.” 

He grinned down at the ground before turning back to you and nodding his head. “Alright. I’ll see ya then, kid. Take care.” 

“Yeah, you too, Jack.” 

~

You woke with a start to the incessant sound of your phone ringing and a slick sheen of perspiration covering every square inch of your body. You glanced at the clock beside your bed and cursed the glowing red digits. 4:15 pm. Not much time to get ready before you had to meet up with Jack. You reached for your phone and gasped when you saw the number of missed calls you’d had from him. Taking a deep breath, you pressed his name and leaned back against your headboard for support. 

He picked up on the first ring. 

“Jesus kid, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the last half an hour. Where are you? Are you okay? Are you safe?” 

His tone was thick with worry and entirely foreign to you, and it made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. 

“I’m fine, Jack. I’m fine. I’m at home, I just woke up from a nap.” 

He hesitated a beat before rasping, “you didn’t end up going to Pittfest?” 

You shook your head. “No, Maggie found a more enthusiastic partner to go with her.” 

You heard his audible sigh of relief even over the crackling static. 

“Oh, thank god.” 

Swallowing hard, you finally managed to ask him what on earth was going on. 

“There’s an active shooter at the festival. I’m headed back to the hospital to help. Please, please stay home. Don’t leave for anything,” You were too stunned to speak. “I gotta go, kid. Promise me you’ll stay where you are.” 

“Of course, Jack. I promise.”

You’d given up on watching any news about the festival an hour in, the anxiety too much to bear. Maggie had contacted you around six to let you know that she and the person she’d gone with were both safe and back at her house, which was an immediate weight off of your shoulders. To keep your thoughts from turning to Jack, and how his colleagues were faring, you hunkered down in bed with a book you’d been in the middle of for ages. It did not help. Nothing seemed to scratch the surface of your mounting dread, and so for the second time that day, you closed your eyes and willed yourself to sleep. 

When you woke a while later, the sunshine that had been so prevalent before you’d drifted off had vanished entirely, giving way to an inky darkness. It was nine-fifteen PM, and you’d received a single text message from Jack from half an hour before that simply read - on my way home. Your shoulders dropped and you released a breath of air that felt like you’d been holding since the moment you spoke to him on the phone. It didn’t matter if you were up for the rest of the night now, all that mattered was that Jack was alright, and that he was coming home. 

You wandered out into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, and as you stood at the stove and waited for your kettle to boil, a knock at your door shook you from your reverie. 

You weren't entirely surprised to find Jack on the other side, and you let him in wordlessly.

Once inside your front hallway, he dropped back against the wall for support and took a long, tight breath. 

“You scared the shit out of me today, kid.” 

In the low, warm light provided by the lamp in your hallway, you could see the blood that spattered his scrubs. The crimson drops that had landed on his shoes, and God only knew where else. 

“I know,” you breathed. “I'm sorry.” 

He hoisted the cammo backpack from his shoulders, cleared his throat, and asked if he could get cleaned up here. There were layers to the question that remained unspoken - can I get cleaned up here because my apartment is so quiet, and so lonely that I can barely stand it. That I've been surrounded by calamity all day and all I need is just a few quiet hours with you. 

“‘Course you can, Jack. There are fresh towels in the cabinet beside the washroom.” 

He emerged a little while later, naked entirely except for a pair of black boxer-briefs. As he stood in the doorway of your bedroom, you watched in unconcealed awe as the water droplets he hadn't managed to towel off raced each other down the smooth planes of his freckled chest. 

“Do you require a formal invitation?” you quipped. 

Jack shook his head wordlessly, and pushed himself from the doorframe to join you. He sat perched on the edge of the bed, removed his prosthetic, and swung himself in beside you. 

“Is this okay?” He whispered, once the dust had settled. 

You turned to face him then, and in the sliver of pale orange light from the crack of the door, you could make out every freckle on his face. Every smile line (there were so many), and every miniscule scar was on spectacular display for you; a frontrow seat to the worlds most wondrous man. In the year that you two had spent dancing around your feelings for one another, you had grown so fond of his face, and of the strong, sure hands that spent so much time repairing, and helping people.

“Yeah, Jack. This is okay.” 

“Can I tell you something?” He whispered.

You swallowed hard. “Yes.” 

“Today made me realize that I have absolutely no interest in being casual about you anymore.” 

Oh, shit.

“There was a period of about five seconds today where I let my thoughts travel to the absolute worst scenario where you were concerned, and to put it plainly- I couldn’t bear it.” He cleared his throat. “And if I’ve learned anything in the past eight years, it’s that I have to be transparent with the people I care about because life is so fucking short.” 

It occured to you that this might all be coming from a place of adrenaline and fear. And while you wanted nothing more than to be with him, you dreaded the possibility of him making a mistake or rushing into anything because of that.

“Jack, I need you to know that this is all okay - that if this is all only ever what it’s going to be between us, I can handle it.” You reached toward him to trace a fingertip down the bridge of his nose. “I know how I feel about you, and if this is all that you’re capable of sparing right now, I'll still happily take it.” 

He shook his head. 

“In the year that you and I have known each other, you’ve never asked for more. You’ve never waivered under the insane hours, or the emotional baggage a guy like me tends to accumulate, and you deserve more.” He reached for your hand and brought it to his lips, deliberately brushing each knuckle. “I want to give you more.” 

“Okay, Jack.” 

He quirked an eyebrow. “Okay?” 

You nodded and leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips.

“You’ve laid it all out on the line for me, and I want it, I want you.” 

And as you watched a slow, sleepy smile tug the edges of lips skyward, happiness warmed inside of you like sunshine through a stained glass window.

[freak-accident419]

party 4 u

Rocco Gauthier x Reader

Summary: You attend a frenemy's pool party, only coming because your boyfriend Rocco was invited and wanted you to tag along. He doesn't know you're uncomfortable with the host because you didn't want to seem like the obnoxiously jealous partner. With only a few drinks to impair your judgement, you finally tell him what's wrong. Ensuring that you don't doubt him like this ever again, he finds a convincing way to reassure you. (Riff Raff Rocco x GN!Reader)

Word Count: 2.8k

Content: 18+ Smut, MDNI, gender-neutral reader, gender neutral language for reader, Lewis Pullman's Character Rocco from Riff Raff 2024, few uses of Y/n, graphic depictions of smut, pool party, jealousy, missionary, penetration (no specific genitalia for reader), creampie, reader is a bit insecure in here, random made-up side character for the sake of the plot, half-inspired by Charli XCX's 'party 4 u', I haven't finished the movie so I'm sorry if he is slightly ooc

Taglist: @funkyfable Happy reading! <3 Reblogs, comments and likes are much appreciated!

-

You didn't even want to come here in the first place.

As you looked around the colorful fluorescent lights that were reflected across the pool's surface, you felt like you were being judged. Watched. It made you feel so self-conscious.

Rocco was your boyfriend of several years. He loved and cared for you like any man should for his partner, except he was blind to one predicament you faced.

Your friend group was complicated. Well, not the whole group, but just one person in it. You didn't really get along with Leah. You tried to, you swore it, but it was just not meant to be. Complimenting, conversing about things you had in common, and friendly smiles just didn't seem to work. The primary issue was her crush on your boyfriend. She specifically despised you for dating Rocco, as you entered the friend group late as a result of becoming his partner.

She liked Rocco. Who wouldn't, though? He was charming, sexy, and incredibly sweet. You didn't blame her for crushing on him, after all she probably knew him longer than you did. However, respect goes both ways. She would flirt with him shamelessly, as if you weren't already his. And that terrified you. Leah was different. To you, she was prettier. Funnier. More extroverted and outgoing than you were. She could easily steal his heart with her charms, taking him away from you.

You never spoke to him about your concerns, however. You didn't want to seem like the typical jealous and insecure partner with major trust issues. Even when she would drunkenly admit to you how much she feels that she deserves your boyfriend more than yourself, you still felt like you didn't have the authority to call her out. You didn't want to be obnoxious. You didn't want to seem insecure. You didn't want to lose him.

So you stood there on the patio with your hard seltzer in hand, watching the two interact in the hot tub with the rest of your friends. You could see them laughing, joking, and it made your heart burn more than your throat did from the alcohol.

You didn't want to be here because of this. It was Leah's party, celebrating God knows what, and she invited Rocco. You even tried to give him excuses not to come with him, but he insisted, practically begging you to accompany him. Of course, you felt like you couldn't tell him about the whole Leah-wants-him-and-hates-you situation, so you eventually gave up on refusing. You were only here at this stupid party because of him. Not for her. Not for whatever the hell she was celebrating. But for him.

Your feet were sore. You hated distancing yourself like this, just standing here and being a witness to an imminent crime of thievery.

As the evening progressed, you drank enough alcohol to be more tipsy than before. From afar, you continued to see her flirt with your boyfriend, and you couldn't do anything about it. You felt glued to the ground. Stuck. As if your throat was restrained by barbed wire and your lips were sewn shut. It wasn't right for you to talk to Rocco about your concerns. You were just being dramatic. It wasn't a big deal. You were being a stupid, jealous, insecure partner. And if he found out about these feelings, he would break up with you and run into Leah's arms.

You couldn't handle watching this anymore. Her touching his shoulder, their shared laughter. Dammit. You dried your feet as you walked back inside the house.

After snickering at a joke, Rocco turned his head and noticed you disappearing inside. He barely interacted with you tonight, feeling both guilty and needy. Earlier, you told him how your migraine weakened any desire of entering either pools, so he didn't question your isolated state. But enough was enough, and he missed you. So he stood up, excusing himself out of the bubbling jacuzzi.

Inside, you gripped the handle of the refrigerator, opening it to find a bottle of water. Before you could take the cap off and hydrate yourself, you felt a pair of warm, large hands grasp your waist, as well as peppered kisses on the back of your neck. Rocco's chin rested on your shoulder, letting out a soft hum. "How're you feeling, baby? Better?"

You sigh in relief, enjoying the short-lived comfort of your boyfriend's affectionate embrace. "I'm fine," you answer quietly, finally sipping some water before placing it back in the fridge.

"Are you sure?" He presses a kiss to the side of your neck. "You look like there's something on your mind, babe."

You knew he wasn't the one at fault, you knew he was concerned for you, so you should've been kind to him. But just thinking about how he and Leah interacted with each other in the hot tub compelled you to be cold towards him. "I said I'm fine," you repeat indifferently, walking away from his arms.

Rocco huffs irritably, rushing after you. "Y/n. Don't be like that. Come on, you've been quiet and distant all night, what's wrong?"

"I told you, it's nothing," you run a hand through your damp hair in exhaustion, entering one of the guest rooms as you wished he would just leave you alone.

Suddenly, he grabbed your wrist gently to make you look at him, his deep blue eyes burning through yours. "I know when something's up, I'm your boyfriend, for fuck's sake. Just be real with me. Please," he nearly begs, eyebrows furrowed in desperation.

“Rocco, there’s nothing—”

"No, no, don't give me that 'nothing' bullshit—"

"I'm telling you the truth, there is no—"

“Y/n—"

“I’m serious, there’s nothing—”

“Goddammit, Y/n, just tell me what’s going on!”

“It’s Leah!” You exclaimed, the alcohol in your system and the intensity of the moment making it easier to confess. You felt a tinge of instant regret, knowing that Rocco would disapprove of your jealousy, and therefore be tempted to break up with you. Your eyes shut tightly in shame, sighing from fatigue. However, that scornful reaction you were expecting just didn’t happen.

Rocco pauses silently. "That's what this is about?" He mutters, searching your eyes for clarity.

“Yeah... I just..." you mumble before raising your voice, beginning to pace back and forth, "She likes you! And hell, everybody in our friend group knows that! And I really, truly, desperately tried getting along with her, but she's always hated me, and that’s because I’m dating you! And—and I don’t want to seem like the paranoid, jealous partner, but god, if only you heard the things she told me when you weren’t around!”

You finally ceased your pacing, standing in front of him with glassy, bloodshot eyes. “I didn't want to tell you all this because you would think I'm jealous and possessive, and then you would leave me for her... Hell, I'd get it if you did. For starters, she's known you longer than I do. She’s pretty, and charming—”

“Y/n—”

“And funny, and cool—”

“Y/n—”

“And I just can’t be at her level, so I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for—”

Rocco silences you by pressing his lips against yours in a brief, yet strong kiss. His face was close to yours as he spoke, "You're always gonna be good enough for me. Shit, you're way too good for me. If anything, I don't deserve you."

His hands were still gripping your shoulders from the kiss. “Look, I know that Leah likes me. It’s fucking obvious. I just figured that as long as she was respectful about our relationship, then we can keep being friends. But clearly, she hasn’t been, and I’m glad you told me about this. I’ll go talk to her soon. And if shit goes down, we’ll stop hanging out with her—the both of us. Okay?”

You frown, feeling a shameful pang of guilt. "I don't wanna be the reason your friendship with her is ruined, I don't—I don't want to affect your relationships just because you're with me."

"Baby, she's always been kind of an issue. I dealt with it in the beginning because I thought I could see past it, but clearly it's affecting you. And I don't like knowing how she makes you feel, directly or indirectly. You said she tells you about her feelings for me?"

You nod hesitantly, recalling the conversations you had with her. "Yeah. I mean, sometimes she would even make jokes about her stealing you from me—"

"Babe!" He exclaims, almost chuckling from how ridiculous that was. "Are you serious? You should've told me about this, I didn't know she says these kinds of things to you behind my back!"

"Yeah, well, that's why I didn't want to come. Just being around her makes me feel, I don't know... shitty about myself. I only came for you," you explain reluctantly. "I didn't want to seem paranoid and jealous to you, so I kept all that to myself. She knew I thought that way, too, so she always felt permitted to say anything about you to me... Riling me up on purpose."

Rocco huffs in exasperation, rubbing his forehead. "Fuck... I'm so sorry, baby, I should've seen the signs... I should've—should've—"

"Rocco, it's okay—"

"No, it's not! I didn't know how terrible she was treating you! Whatever bullshit she fed you, it isn't true." He cups your face. "Baby, I would never leave you, not for anybody, let alone for her, okay? There is no one else in this world that is more beautiful, funnier, and intelligent than you. I love you. You're everything to me, you know that?"

"Yeah," you mumble, your faltered response not convincing him.

He scoffs, looking back at the crack of the slightly open door, then at you. "Do I seriously have to prove it to you?"

"No, no, I do know, it's just..." He silences you once again with a deep kiss, his hands dropping to your waist with a light squeeze. You kissed back without hesitation, feeling him back you up against the door so it slammed shut behind you. He expertly locks the doorknob beside you before grabbing you by your thighs to lift you up, laying you down on the bed.

His lips don't leave yours as he undresses you and himself, which was a simple procedure due to the skimpy nature of swimsuits. He was used to seeing your naked body after having sex with you multiple times over the years, but he couldn't help but run his palms down your skin as if experiencing it for the very first time.

Rocco's lips traveled to your neck, leaving wet kisses there. You giggled softly at the ticklish sensation, in which he smiled, crashing his lips against yours once again. He was in love with the sound of your laugh. In fact, he was in love with everything about you. Obsessed, even.

Your eyes shut gently as you sighed deeply, feeling his hand reach between your thighs. You loved the way his warm, slender fingers would caress your flesh, knowing every place and stroke that made you feel good. He smirked to himself as he felt his fingertips dampen when they came in contact with a specific area.

With the smallest time possible in making you wait, his fingers finally slipped into your warmth, making you moan softly. You could never grow tired of that liberating feeling of Rocco's fingers stretching and exploring your tight walls. He didn't just use his digits to prepare you for his length, but he also wanted to simply please you. He enjoyed massaging your velvety insides, fingertips reaching the places his cock barely grazed. And he knew it drove you wild.

"I'm all yours, you know that?" He mutters, nipping your neck before his eyes looked into yours.

You were too much focused on the pleasure to fully comprehend his words, only nodding in your dazed state. When his words finally reached your brain, you sighed, "mm—Mm-hm..."

A soft whine escaped your lips as his fingers left you, Rocco now positioning himself between your legs.

The shocking thing about Rocco was that his favorite position was missionary. Well, not necessarily shocking, but ridiculously unexpected. Everyone he could have told would be surprised to hear it, considering it was too much of a vanilla position for a guy like him. It was Rocco, for fuck's sake.

The 'why', however, is essential. The main reason why Rocco loved missionary was because he got to see your face every time he made love to you. The wrinkle in between your furrowed eyebrows, the way your eyes went half-lidded, the way your lips parted to let his name leave your throat. It was the most intimate position he could be with you, and he didn't give a flying fuck if that made him a vanilla loser. Sure, he was always open to exploring the most wacky and kinky positions with you, but nothing could top missionary. Compared to every angle you two experimented with, missionary made him cum the fastest. It was just so good to see every single facial expression caused by the pleasure he brought onto you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as his hands propped himself on the mattress. Rocco kissed you passionately on the lips before you felt his girth stretch you open, making you let out a lustful gasp. Your hands gripped his forearms as you feel his cock enter completely inside you. He could never get over this feeling. Your body was incredible, and never failed to make him feel amazing. He was obsessed with every aspect of you. Obsessed with making love to you.

Rocco grunted as his hips pulled back halfway just to push against you again, starting to thrust at a steady, back-and-forth pace. You loved the way his length moved in and out of your hole, making your insides flutter.

"Fuck, baby... You feel so fucking good," he murmurs under his breath, "there's no way I could ever think of leaving you, fuck no..."

Eventually, his pace increased to the point where the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the small bedroom with every thrust. The loud, wet plaps turned Rocco on, driving him to move faster. Both of you were pretty vocal, and you usually were when it came to sex; something your friend group would complain about if they ever had the misfortune of being in the area. As Rocco slammed into you roughly, the bed creaked repeatedly, its frame hitting against the wall.

"This bed sucks ass," you snicker under your breath, making him chuckle in response.

His hands moved from your hips to your limp wrists, holding them in place on each side of your head against the pillows. You whined softly, enjoying the control he had over you. Being under him was always a moment you indulged in.

Rocco's movements never faltered, his cock hitting deep spots that made you cry out his name. You felt yourself closer to the edge every time his length would piston in and out of you. Sensing how close you were with the way you pulsed around him, he released one of your wrists to bring his hand down, touching your sensitive flesh. Your body nearly spasmed, moaning louder than before as these overlapping feelings of pleasure drove you to the edge.

"I—I'm close," you whimper, clenching around his thick girth.

"I know, baby, I know," he mumbles, burying his face into your neck, "me too."

You both panted and breathed heavily, letting out lewd groans of arousal. Rocco's thrusts began to stammer, growing unsteady the closer he got to his orgasm.

"Fuck," he huffs, desperate to cum at the same time as you, "oh my God..."

"Mmm," you whine, out of breath, "I'm cumming, I'm cumming—"

"Fuck!" Rocco groans, spilling deeply inside you as you cum at the same time, your tightness gripping his cock. The sensation drove him insane as his release concluded with brief, remaining spurts that coated your walls. He held you tight, pressing his body close to yours, still snug inside of you.

He loved being inside of you. He loved cumming inside of you. He felt like it meant something much more than sex or lust. Like it meant something greater.

He slowly pulled out, huffing in disappointment at the loss of your warmth. He kisses your lips deeply, continuing to hover above you, tasting you sensually. His tongue parted your mouth, carefully slipping inside to move with yours. Your taste was addicting. The two of you had then made out for a long, breathless time, a passionate way to come down from your highs.

Soon enough, the kiss ended as Rocco finally rolled off of your body. Unable to function without your touch, he brings you in close with your head resting on his bare chest. You heard his heartbeat, unintentionally adjusting your own breathing to sync the rhythm.

His lips touched the top of your head, lingering for a bit. His palms stroked your bare shoulder and bicep affectionately. “I love you so much, baby...”

You kissed his chest gently, overwhelmed with reassurance and satisfaction.

“I love you too.”

[fic-girlie]

Okay but hear me out...

Joel x F!reader smut where the reader is this fiercely independent baddie who Tommy basically promotes to be the "Sheriff" of Jackson, and Joel just gets so turned on watching her lay down the law

Sheriff of Jackson

Pairing: jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader Summary: You’re Jackson’s fierce sheriff, and Joel can’t resist the fire you bring—on and off duty. Warnings: smut, explicit sexual content (+18), dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, p in v sex, slight aftercare, cuddling, softdom!Joel

The badge doesn’t even shine. That’s the first thing you notice when Tommy hands it to you. It’s dulled by decades, maybe a leftover from before the outbreak, maybe something they scavenged and buffed just enough to give it some ceremonial weight. Still, you pin it to your jacket with a half-smirk and a scoff, because you never cared much about the way things looked. You cared about results. About order. About safety. And apparently, Tommy saw that in you too.

“You’re a damn natural,” he’d said that morning, after you’d handled a drunk rancher trying to pick a fight with two teenagers over stolen eggs. One look from you, and the man backed down—muttered something about “not wantin’ trouble,” even as his breath reeked of moonshine and arrogance. Tommy didn’t miss that. Nor did Joel, standing just behind him, arms crossed, jaw clenched, eyes burning with something you didn’t quite read until much later.

You wear the badge like armor. Not for the protection—God knows you don’t need that—but for the authority. And people listen when you speak. They look when you walk by. And Joel… Joel watches.

He watches you when you stride across the Jackson square with your spine straight and your boots echoing, eyes scanning the town like you’re counting every soul who lives in it. He watches when you take charge during a supply run gone wrong, barking orders into the radio with blood on your cheek and a pistol in your fist. And he definitely watches—tonight, especially—when you corner two smugglers from outside the walls trying to swindle a young couple in broad daylight.

“Step the fuck back,” you growl, shoving the shorter man against the stall. “You think just ‘cause we’re civilized here we’re soft?” You click the safety off with a practiced thumb, your pistol angled low but steady. “Wrong town.”

Your voice is calm. Cold. Unshakeable. And when they scramble, eyes wide and hands up, it takes every ounce of Joel’s willpower not to drag you behind the stables and show you just how fucking sexy that was.

Instead, he waits. Like he always does. Until the town’s quiet. Until the night creeps in and the streetlamps flicker.

You find him on your porch, leaning against the post like he’s been there all night. That familiar dark jacket, that mouth twitching around a smirk. You know that look—have seen it simmering in his eyes since Tommy gave you the badge. But tonight? Tonight it’s boiling over.

“You like watchin’ me lay down the law, Miller?” you ask, biting your lower lip, voice laced with playful venom.

His grin cuts deeper. “Darlin’, if you don’t get over here and let me put my hands on you, I might lose my fuckin’ mind.”

You don’t remember shutting the door. Don’t remember backing him into it or how your hands found his belt buckle like muscle memory. All you know is the way his breath caught when you grabbed him by the collar, yanked him down, and kissed him like he was something you earned. Because he is. This isn’t the slow, cautious kind of affection that’s passed between you over quiet dinners or long walks through the patrol routes. This is years of friction—raw and pent-up and finally fucking crashing. His mouth is hot and desperate against yours, his hands even more so, already tugging at your belt, cupping your ass hard, pulling you flush to the thick, throbbing heat that’s growing fast against the front of his jeans. He groans into your mouth as you grind into him, rolling your hips slow, deliberate, like you're proving a point. And you are. You’re the one in control. You’ve always been.

“Shit, baby,” he breathes, dragging his mouth down your jaw, rough stubble scraping your skin as he latches onto your throat, sucking hard enough to bruise. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me…”

You only smile, fingers slipping between your bodies to unzip his jeans, pulling them down just enough to free him—and fuck, he’s hard. So thick and flushed and already leaking, veins bulging, tip angry-red as it presses against your stomach while his hips buck involuntarily toward your hand.

“You want the sheriff to handle this?” you whisper against his ear, stroking him slow, watching his eyes flutter half-lidded as your fingers wrap tight and slide slick down the length of him. “Want me to make you beg?”

He doesn’t answer—not with words. Just this feral sound in the back of his throat, a low groan that vibrates against your skin as he hauls you up, one arm under your thighs, the other gripping your ass so tight you feel his fingerprints burning into you. He carries you like it’s nothing, like you're weightless, and tosses you down onto the mattress with a thud, following fast, shoving your pants down your legs with single-minded intensity.

“You think you’re in charge,” he rasps, eyes devouring you as he spreads your legs open wide, dragging two rough fingers through your soaked slit like he’s checking just how ready you are for him. “But look at you, baby. Drippin’ for me. Fuckin’ ruined already.”

“Joel,” you warn, voice breathless, hips arching into his hand.

But he smirks, slow and dangerous. “No, no, Sheriff. You made the rules today. Now I’m gonna break ‘em.”

He dives down without another word, burying his face between your legs like a man starved. And holy fuck—his tongue is wicked. Wide and slow at first, licking through your folds with heavy pressure, tasting you like it’s the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth. Then sharper, faster, his tongue flicking over your clit while two thick fingers curl up inside you, pressing against that spot that makes your vision blur. Your back arches off the bed, and your hands tangle in his hair, pulling hard, but he just groans into you like he likes it rough, like he wants you to lose control completely.

And you do. You come fast, embarrassingly fast, hips jerking, thighs clamping around his head as you cry out his name, the pressure breaking all at once in waves that crash over you, hot and endless. He doesn’t stop. He licks you through it, lapping up everything you give him, until you're twitching and gasping and shoving at his shoulders, your voice raw.

Joel sits up then, beard soaked with you, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark with hunger and triumph.

“C’mere,” he growls, crawling up over you, his cock dragging along your inner thigh, leaving wet streaks of precum in its wake. “Gonna fuck you so good you forget every damn thing ‘cept my name.”

You reach for him—both of you frantic now, hands everywhere, mouths locked, teeth clashing—until he finally lines up and pushes in. Slowly. Torturously. Inch by thick inch until he’s seated so deep inside you it feels like he’s splitting you open. The stretch burns in the best way, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body adjusts around him, tight and pulsing and full.

“Oh fuck,” he hisses through his teeth, head falling to your shoulder. “So tight, baby. So fuckin’ wet for me.”

You roll your hips, urging him deeper, and he growls—growls—before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in with enough force to rock the headboard into the wall. Again. And again. Each thrust is punishing, perfect, his hand gripping the back of your thigh, holding you open for him as he ruts into you like he’s lost all sense. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer and a curse, like he doesn’t know whether to worship you or wreck you.

And you love it.

You love how fucking wild he gets—how all that stoic silence from town turns to desperate filth when he’s inside you. He’s panting, sweating, cursing under his breath, whispering shit that makes your stomach tighten and your toes curl.

“Been watchin’ you all fuckin’ day,” he groans into your ear, hips slamming into yours, the sound of skin on skin obscene and loud. “Bossin’ people around… tellin’ ‘em what to do… thought about bendin’ you over the council table, baby. Thought about makin’ you come with my cock in front of that badge.”

You whimper at that, and he knows what it does to you. His hand snakes between your bodies, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts. And it’s too much. The angle. The pressure. His voice. The thick heat of him pounding into you, stretching you open, filling you so deep it feels like you’ll never be empty again.

You come again, harder this time, crying out as your walls clench around him, milking him, dragging a broken sound from his throat as his rhythm falters.

“Fuck—fuck, baby, I’m gonna—”

“Inside,” you gasp, clinging to him. “Want it, Joel. Want all of you.”

And he does. With a hoarse, choked groan, he spills into you, hips jerking through it, filling you with hot, endless waves of release, his whole body shaking with the force of it. He stays buried deep, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling with yours, both of you wrecked and trembling and perfect.

You lie there for a long moment, still joined, legs tangled, your hand smoothing the sweat-damp curls from his temple.

“I ever tell you how fuckin’ hot you are when you’re in charge?” he murmurs, his voice a low, contented rasp.

You grin, wicked and satisfied. “Say it again.”

He kisses your neck, slow and reverent. “You’re the baddest woman I’ve ever known. And I’m never gonna let you walk around town lookin’ like that without remindin’ you who you come home to.”

“Good,” you whisper, tugging him in for another kiss. “’Cause the sheriff takes what she wants.”

[au-roulette]

AU Roulette Challenge 2025

What is AU Roulette? A casual fic-writing challenge encouraging authors to play around with different types of alternate universe stories, which will be randomly assigned to each participant regardless of the fandom they sign up with. The goal of the challenge is to encourage creativity and get authors to write fics with premises they might not otherwise have considered, with varying difficulty levels of participation for writers of all experience levels.

How does it work? Writers will be able to sign up from now through the end of June with a fandom of their choice. At the start of July, each participant will be assigned three AUs from a masterlist using a random number generator. Each author will then have the choice of completing the challenge one, two, or all three of the AUs. Any fic exceeding a 500-word minimum will be considered a completion, so long as it employs the AU premise. The fic-writing period of the challenge will run for a month. Fics can be posted at any point during this time, and authors will have the option of having them added to an Ao3 collection for the challenge if they desire. They can also be posted to tumblr using the tag #AU Roulette 2025

What kind of AUs will be included in the challenge? The AU Roulette challenge will focus largely on popular, staple AU types with broad applicability to any fandom or relationship type. For example, a possible result might be something like a Time Travel AU (encompassing all the possible subsets, such as fix-it time travel, time loops, or other tropes under the same umbrella), but more restrictive AU types like a Soulmate AU that make assumptions about the author’s interpretation of character relationships in canon have been intentionally kept off the AU masterlist. The official list of AUs will be shared halfway through the month of June, with 36 different prompts on the list.

What if I get an AU type that doesn’t work for the canon I chose? Limited re-rolls will be allowed on a case-by-case basis. You are also encouraged to be as creative as you want with your interpretation of your assigned AUs, which may help with making them fit. The goal of this challenge is to encourage weird, creative fanfic, not to have every author who rolls the same result write cookie-cutter versions of the same types of stories. If you were to get a Coffee Shop AU, for example, there is no requirement that the coffee shop in question be a real-world 21st-century Earth Starbucks. In fact, deviating from the mold is highly encouraged. So long as you can make a case that you filled the loose premise of your AU type, you will get credit for having completed it.

Can I participate if I am not a writer? AU Roulette is a fanfic writing challenge, so official sign-ups are for those interested in writing (regardless of skill level or experience writing AUs). However, if you are interested in the challenge but not in writing fic for it, consider having a look at the #AU Roulette 2025 tag or the official AU Roulette 2025 collection on Ao3 once authors have begun posting their stories. If one of them really speaks to you, it might be a nice gesture to draw a piece of art, make a playlist, or create some other fanwork inspired by the fic and share it – in which case you would also be more than welcome to use the official tag!

(Authors are of course also welcome to do this for their or other participants’ stories, too.)

How do I sign up? Fill out this form with your email and fandom of choice.

Looking forward to seeing the AUs everyone creates this year!

[burningember0802]

Three's Company

Pairing: Robby x Abbot x Reader

Warnings: sexual content (nothing super explicit but gets more than PG13), cursing (let me know if I forget anything else!)

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: Ahhh so I wrote this today after the idea banging around in my mind for a couple of days and me being upset with the lack of Robby x Abbot x Reader fics where Robby and Abbot are also boyfriends. So here's the result of me speed writing this today. Started this not expecting this to be super long and now it's way longer than I expected and will likely be a series because there's way more to write about these three. If you guys like this and want more please let me know! Also let me know if you guys want an actual smut of what happened during their weekend together?? I didn't want to jump in with immediately having smut haha

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a rare occasion that you went out to the bars with your friends, usually opting to stay home in the comfort of your apartment but tonight was different. Tonight you had been dragged out to a bar with a couple of your friends to celebrate you starting your new job the following Monday. Your friend Katie claimed she wanted to force you to relax and let loose one last time before you were stuck drowning in long shifts as a 3rd year resident at the emergency department nearby. You agreed with a groan, putting on a cute little dress and dolling yourself up, at least using the opportunity to feel good about yourself. 

That’s how you found yourself in the same bar as Michael Robinavitch and Jack Abbot. You were on the dance floor with your friends, moving to the beat of the music, letting it fill your bones as the two men sat over at the bar sipping on beer. Robby and Abbot had decided to go out after a long week of work to relax, as a date of sorts. The two of them had started seeing each other officially about 8 months ago when Jack finally broke down and confessed and Robby couldn’t help but admit his mutual affection for the man before him. So the two of them officially became a thing, going on small dates, staying at each other's apartments, etc. No one in the hospital knew about their change in relationship besides Dana because she clocked something had changed the moment she saw them interact for the first time after everything. Nothing could be hidden from her in the Pitt. 

Both of the men were bisexual and weren’t scared to admit that to each other, both still seeing women as attractive despite their love for each other. They never thought of doing anything outside of their relationship or opening it but it was something they both knew. So when both men noticed the way their eyes kept finding your figure in the crowd of people, unable to be enamored by you. By the way you sway your hips, you throw your head back when you laugh, how you feel the music with your whole body, the smile on your face, just you. The two men glanced at each other, having an unspoken conversation with just their eyes, as they had done many times in the ER, both acknowledging their attraction to you. 

A little while later you came up to the bar to get another drink, your cheeks flushed from dancing, a small smile on your face. You stood next to where the two men sat nursing their beers, giving the bartender your order before leaning on the counter while you waited. You couldn’t help but have noticed the way their eyes had followed you throughout the night, having caught it a couple times. You weren’t weirded out by it oddly enough. “Do you guys always stare at women at bars like that?” You said as you took your drink from the bartender, glancing at the two men next to you as you took a sip. Jack was the first one to speak, a small smirk gracing his face. “Only ones who look as pretty as you do, doll” He says cheekily. You can’t help but chuckle with a blushing smile. “Does that usually work?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. “This is the first time we’ve tried, hoping we’ll be 1 for 1” Robby says, finally speaking up with a smile, placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder. 

The three of you continued chatting and flirting for a little while longer, your face tinted a dark shade of pink the whole time, much to the two men’s pleasure, before they asked you to go home with them. You felt brave tonight and decided to say fuck it and said yes, quickly texting your friends that you were leaving and not to wait up for you before leaving with the two men. As soon as the three of you got back to Robby’s apartment as it was the closest you were all on top of each other, lips on each other’s, on each other’s necks, hands anywhere they could reach, the three of you just desperate for each other. The rest of the night was spent with the three of you tangled up in the bed together in various positions, moans reverberating against the walls of the apartment. The three of you fell asleep tangled in their king bed together once everything was finished. You had woken up very early in the morning, close to 5 am before the sun even came up and snuck out of bed with the two men and out of the apartment. You weren’t usually one for one night stands and you’d never done anything like this before and it honestly scared you, so you left, hoping to be able to ignore it and leave it behind. 

Fate had other plans though. Bright and early Monday morning you walk into PTMC, ready for your first day as a new transfer in 3rd year resident, anxiety already settled deep in your stomach. As you walk into the ER the smell of antiseptic and the fluorescent lights bombard your senses. You see Dana at the nurses station already, getting ready for the day shift. You walk up to her with a smile as she sees you and grins, coming to give you a hug as she was an old family friend and had put in a good word for you to get your residency spot here. “So glad to see your face and be working with you kid!” Dana says with a smile as she wraps her arms around you. “Me too, glad to be here.” You say, grinning back. She catches a glimpse of a hickey on your shoulder from your weekend adventure barely peaking up from your collar as she pulls away. “What’s that hun?” She says with a knowing smirk. “It’s nothing Dana, we’re not talking about it, I ran into a cabinet.” You say rolling your eyes as she shows you where the locker room is so you can put your bag away. “Don’t know what cabinet makes bruises that look like a mouth but whatever you say kid” She says with a laugh as she walks away. 

A minute later you walk back to the nurses station where Dana’s waiting for you. While you’re at the nurses station chatting with Dana, waiting to meet your attending, Robby and Jack come down from their routine chat on the roof during shift hand off. As they both come out of the stairwell they see you at the nurses station wearing scrubs and an ID badge on, so there’s no denying you’re the new resident they were told about. “You’re fucking kidding me…” Robby mutters under his breath, glancing at Jack who had a similar look of disbelief in his eyes. They pull themselves together enough to be professional as they approach you and Dana at the nurses station. “Ah, there they are. These are our night and day shift head attendings!” Dana says with a grin, gesturing towards Jack and Robby who both have a polite smile plastered on their face. “Dr. Robinavitch will be your day shift attending and head of the emergency department, everyone calls him Robby though,  and Dr. Abbot will be your head night shift attending.” Dana continues, not feeling the tension and shock between the three of you. You just nod with a polite smile stuck on your face. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, new 3rd year resident.” You introduce yourself with a professional and polite tone, shaking both of their hands, trying to act like this weekend didn’t happen and you’re not spiraling in your head right now. The two men shake your hand and respond with a ‘nice to meet you’ with the same tone as you. You were glad they seemed to be on the same page as you for the moment of not imploding your job because you guys had slept together over the weekend. 

Robby and Jack walk away a second later, Robby walking Jack towards the door so he can leave and get some rest before his next shift. The two men talk in tense whispers. “What the fuck do we do?” Robby says, his whisper tense and riddled with anxiety. “Fuck if I know, I guess we can ask her how she’d like to handle it but for now just act like it didn’t happen and stay professional until then?” Jack responds, his voice just as tense but calmer than Robby. Robby nods, running his hand over his face, letting out a sigh. Jack and Robby say their goodbyes in the quiet empty ambulance bay, giving each other a quick kiss before Jack leaves. 

Robby walks back into the ER, his shoulder tense with anxiety. He decides he needs some caffeine before he starts work if he is going to get through this shift. He walks into the staff lounge to find you already in there making a cup of coffee. He pauses at the table, not saying anything, not entirely knowing what to say anyway. You had noticed him out of the corner of your eye the second he walked in, too observant not to. You poured the fresh coffee you made from the pot into two small foam cups that were in the lounge next to the coffee maker. You walk over to where Robby was standing silently at the table, too lost in his own thoughts to notice you moving, placing one of the cups in front of him. “It’s fresh, black.” You say softly before walking back to the counter to add cream and sugar to yours. 

He grabs the warm cup, eyes wide, taking a long sip from it and letting out a sigh after. “Thank you…” He says quietly, the tension between the two of you unable to go unnoticed anymore. “I swear I didn’t know…” You say quietly from the counter, your back still facing him as you finish making your coffee, anxiety evident in your voice. “I know…we didn’t either…it’s no one’s fault.” He says letting out a sigh, running his hand over his face again out of habit. “We can talk more about it later, the three of us, how we want to handle it and all…” Robby offers. You finally turn around, cup in hand, leaning against the counter, your soft eyes meeting his. “Yeah…that sounds like the best idea most likely…” you say softly. “But obviously as far as work goes, it might as well have never happened, it won’t change anything with how either of us will treat you on the clock, promise” Robby says, hoping to offer some comfort. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.” You say offering a small smile before making your way back to the ER floor, ready to hit the ground running your first day.

[estro-boi]

while the correct argument has already been made here by the previous addition, i want to add a little context because idk how many people know how bad it is here.

the short version is that we're in the eye of the storm right now and there's a floor rushing up at us that nobody in power is able or willing to recognise. the next government is going to be much, much worse and this kind of fascist policymaking is just handing them a loaded gun before they even make it through the door.

the long version: in the 1980s, the labour party was in extremely bad shape. neoliberalism (figureheaded by thatcher here and reagan in the us) was ascendant and the party's traditional support coalition of trade unions, socialists and left-liberals was vulnerable. beginning with the leadership of neil kinnock in 1983, the party underwent a transformation to cut off its own left wing, abandon its socialist origins and move rightwards economically. 14 years later this transformation resulted in the leadership of tony blair, who won a landslide victory in 1997 and cemented the party's ideology for the next decade or two. people who adhere to this ideology are called blairites, or the labour right.

in 2015, following iraq, afghanistan, the 2008 financial crisis, a couple of embarrassing defeats to the conservatives and massive public spending cuts leading to a widespread disillusionment with politics-as-usual, jeremy corbyn was unexpectedly elected to lead the party. after he lost in 2019 (having been ruthlessly opposed by the blairite faction of his own party for 4 solid years), the labour right retook control with the primary mission of making sure that this could never happen again.

their strategy, masterminded by a particularly odious little freak named morgan mcsweeney, was simple: purge the left and appeal to the center-right. if you said the word palestine, if you talked about trans rights, if you were economically left of thatcher, you were gone.

depending on who you ask, this strategy worked. labour retook power last year and this was presented by the true believers as a total vindication of blairism, just as it was in 1997. the only problem was that if you actually looked at the numbers, labour hadn't gained any support at all. the conservatives, horribly unpopular by this point, lost massive swathes of their base to nigel farage's ukip sequel reform uk. labour's gains were solely a product of this right-wing split and the lowest turnout in 20 years. they didn't win, everyone else just lost.

if you pointed this out at the time, you were generally regarded as a corbynite party pooper and ignored. they won and we lost and that was that.

fast forward a year to now: labour, having branded themselves as essentially a more competent conservative party, is floundering. having promised nothing and delivered less, they've been haemmorhaging support for a while.

as well as the left, who they spent 5 years proudly kicking in the face, they lost a lot of arab and muslim voters over their support for the genocidal war of extermination in gaza, to the extent that supposedly safe seats were lost in 2024 to independent candidates who ran primarily on antizionism.

their embrace of transphobia similarly cost them support in the LGBT community, with this year's pride festivities banning all political parties as a result.

their fanatical opposition to anything resembling left-wing politics has painted them into a corner and consequently led to incredibly unpopular public spending cuts.

their strategy hinges upon the idea that for every one of these whining corbynites/muslims/homos/poor people they lose, they gain more from the right. their rhetoric on taxes, on immigration, on gender, on worker's rights and on crime is all meant to appeal to some imaginary bloke who hates foreigners and loves the pub.

what this looks like in practice is a party which has alienated every single one of its core constituencies in pursuit of voters who see more appeal in reform uk. the current polling bears this out: reform, a relatively new far-right fringe party with only five mps, is currently on course to take the largest slice of the vote share and, best case scenario, command such a massive presence in parliament that the government will fold to them on everything. i'm not rly one for blindly trusting opinion polls but like. look at this shit.

barring a massive turnaround by a labour government which seems incompetent at anything besides alienating voters, or the resurrection of a flatlining conservative party capable of decisively splitting the vote again, every bad thing you've seen out of here in the last decade is about to jump up several gears.

even if you're dumb enough to not oppose the medical mutilation of prisoners on principle, consider who's liable to be calling the shots once this dogshit government finally dies. why on earth would you want to hand them something like this voluntarily?

[spectrum-color]

Do you ever think about how funny it is that Fitz is the most scrungly man alive (affectionate) and he apparently has such irresistible appeal that women (and occasionally men) throw themselves at him left and right? His attempt to discourage a marriage match by making himself look bad only resulted in the girl being more interested! Some rando tried to baby trap him while he was a wanted fugitive covered in terrifying looking injuries! His ex took him back after he faked his death and didn’t notify her or their shared child, whose existence he was aware of, for 15 years! There are multiple people carry a lifelong torch for him, including the Queen of the Six Duchies and the White Prophet of his age! He inspired songs and poems!

Meanwhile he claims that a wolf knew him better than his wife of 25 years, is so bad in bed that he disappointed a woman who explicitly had a fetish for his magic, spends a disproportionate amount of time lurking in the walls, was basically raised by dogs, and exclusively talks about his thoughts and feelings in diary entries that he subsequently burns before anyone else can see them.

[steelheart-redux]

Steelheart Redux: Year 1 Retrospective

I meant to post this yesterday but forgot. Oops. Anyway, June 1st marked the official first full year of Steelheart Redux! For me, at least. While the comic didn’t go public until September, those who have been here since the start remember that I uploaded all of chapter 1 at once. That work started in June, so I consider that the comic’s effective birthday.

With that disclaimer out of the way: what a year it’s been! In 365 days, I drew 153 comic pages. That’s about 0.4 pages a day— a little shy of a page every other day. Granted, those numbers aren’t an even spread. I made all of chapter 1 in three months (68 pages) and then had to take a break for a while because of wrist strain (wonder how THAT happened…) and then the amount of backlog I had fluctuated wildly for a while. Some days I have more time and motivation than others. It happens.

Quite honestly, I’m mainly happy that I’ve stuck with the project. My worst fear was that I’d get a month or two into Actually Doing The Thing, then get bored, demotivated, and give up. Luckily, my brain has allowed me to stick with Redux with a level of consistency that is frankly unforeseen from me, and I’m just as motivated as I was a year ago, if not more, thanks to people's interest. I’ve said it before, but the reception to the story already regularly blows me away. I went into this with the expectation that it would take years for the comic to gain any real traction, if it ever happened at all. But here we are, a year in, with tens, if not hundreds of regular readers across multiple platforms. It’s an honor I don’t take lightly, and as I’ve said, I’m so, so grateful for the trust and support.

Looking back, the comic started on wobbly feet. That’s something I knew even at the time and had to make my peace with. Steelheart Redux is my first original story project, first long-form comic (first colored comic longer than a few pages, tbh), and first time I've ever really left the title of "fanartist" behind for longer than a month or so. I knew I was entering uncharted waters and that whatever I made, I'd later come to see as 'bad', or at least, not executed as well as it could have been. Unfortunately, the only way to get that experience and improve is to do it bad. So I did it bad!

STRUGGLES:

Chapter 1 is way too long. Not in terms of content, but in terms of page count. For some reason, I was utterly allergic to the idea of putting more than four panels on a page. While I do like the pacing of it, and the sort of slow ease-in to the world and the setting, I made way more work for myself than I needed to. I definitely could have cut at least 10 pages by compressing things without seriously hurting the pacing, and it would have saved me a lot of trouble. Figuring out how to "trim the fat" and get to where I'm going as fast as possible without making things feel rushed is still something I'm working on, but I'm a lot more intentional about things now that I know it can cost me time and physical strain. You can see the font size slowly shrinking throughout the comic's run as I pack more in, lol. Honestly, it kind of works.

I have various other nitpicks. I'm sparing myself from the general "I don't like how I drew that"s in terms of anatomy and such, as those are just an inescapable result of improving as an artist and not worth getting in the weeds over. I will raise my eyebrows over some lighting choices-- I went out of my way to plan out a way to make the nighttime section of early chapter 2 read as "night, but not dark", and then the entire bit was annoyingly dark as hell. Trying to get the purple DRACO to visually stand out from the concrete there was obnoxiously difficult. I don't think it's bad-- I like the 'scribble background' gimmick I came up with to save myself from having to do backgrounds there, for one thing-- but I don't think it would have killed me to brighten up that section a bit. Something to keep in mind for later.

Speaking of backgrounds. Maybe it's too early to say, but at least right now, changing the background style was a game changer. That was one of the largest time sinks of early pages, adding 2-3 hours to every page that had at least one or two backgrounds. They were doable, but tedious, and as time went on, I found myself enjoying them less and less, instead of more and more as I'd hoped. You can see details start to disappear as a result, as backgrounds stopped being a "fun worldbuilding element" and "visual element of the page" and became just "something I had to draw to get the page done". Changing the style to a much looser one has brought the fun back, and made it much easier to pack in all the details I actually enjoy drawing without getting bogged down in "is the perspective exactly right". I've written posts before about making things easier for yourself if you're doing a long-form project; this is honestly my best example.

GROWTH:

I feel like, looking back, I can see myself become a lot more confident with drawing various things. Steelheart Redux is filled-- intentionally and not-- with things I'm bad at drawing, which has forced me to improve at those things sheerly through unavoidable repetition. Mainly, this includes backgrounds, mechs (still can't get me to draw cars though LOL), full bodies, and profiles.

It's also interesting to see the way I draw characters change. Going into the comic, I'd already been drawing Arthur for years, but making pages forced me to really lock in his design and get comfortable with drawing it. While it's not too different in terms of content, it has a different 'feel' now. This, too, I know is inevitable, and honestly something I look forward to.

I've become a lot more confident in doing these things, which makes making pages less intimidating and lets me experiment more with layouts and angles I might have otherwise been afraid to try. It's nice! It shows in a lot of the end of chapter 2, which is one of my favorite parts of the chapter. I was worried about hitting those emotional beats, because they're setting up for a lot and really needed to feel meaningful, but I think I landed them alright. My character writing is still something I worry a bit about-- there's a lot of subtlety to these guys and this story I worry I won't be able to get across in a more visual story-- but that's something for me to increasingly focus on going forward.

Away from the comic, I've also improved a lot as a 3D modeler. My robot rigs have improved, and I have much better human bases to work off. I can also slam out a layout for a scene much faster, which is a nice time boost to my workflow.

Overall, despite the hurdles and rough edges of some of the early stuff, I'm incredibly proud of everything I've produced. This is the first time I've ever put my heart, body, and soul so thoroughly into a project like this, and I'd like to think it shows.

While we're still in somewhat of the early stage of the comic's story, I'm hoping I've made a solid foundation for myself. I'm so excited for what's to come, and hoping I can execute it even better, year by year.

[bonediggercharleston]

Misrepresenting my point, I said cheating was easier than ever and more common, not that it was rare before AI . The easier you make something, the more common it becomes because difficulty is a barrier. In the case of getting others to do work for you, it requires material or social capital, which many won't have or know how to employ because they would have to admit academic inability to someone else. AI is how ever commonly advertised as a program that can do your work for you by its creators and has a lot of hype going around it, so it is easy to use and well-known. The computer follows your orders discretely and unquestioningly. It is a question of degree, not of existence.

2. True, I criticized your example but the example was obviously the center point of your argument and I used it to show why it is a flawed tool (following prompts creates blind spots, asking direct questions leads you to only using direct approaches which limits out of the box thinking, other tools produce equally good results without the externalities of AI). How many of those sources in the prompts were real? LLMs hallucinate sources all the time.

3. Scholar isn't really capable of being "infallible" or "fallible" as it is just giving you academic resources with the fitting keywords you entered, it is your job to suss out whether they are suitable for your research, which you say you do with the GPT results as well, so no difference to you. Offering other search terms is really helpful to explore other avenues, but that is done via regular algorithm not an overly expensive AI, and additionally you can quickly change the search terms tailored to your preferences. To get rid of answers you realize are not at all in the field you are looking for, you can add more specific key words and even exclude terms like programming by typing -programming in your example. No need to run high power consumption calculation centers for that little trick that google had for almost 25 years.

And yeah, some papers having similar names, but again, you can change keywords, and also, they are talking about the similar topic. That does not mean the content is the same. They will also contain sources which can lead you to more material. You assume they will all be the same, let's have a look at page 14

Looks like specific examinations on labor availability in specific regions, the effects on minor powers and case files of companies at the time. Seems like interesting results for a deep dive, but not the stuff you would want on the front page, which would have the larger overviews on the topic. So we can't say that google scholar does not give us diverse sources even within a single search, quite the opposite in fact.

You frankly do not know which technology will be the one to achieve a breakthrough, and pointing out previous breakthroughs is just extrapolating from hindsight. For every success there are many, many failures: Steam-powered cars and electric cars are over a hundred years old and they failed when they first appeared, so did wireless electricity, radium toothpaste, monorails, flying cars and blockchain technology.

Smartphones did not receive this backlash, they were recognized as really cool thing. Apple was the new cool because of the iPod after floundering in the 90s and the iPhone hit at the right time. It expanded our abilities as we were able to have a supercomputer and communication device in our pocket. Just because some people poo-poo'ed it then does not mean the criticism of AI atrophying mental capabilities nowadays is wrong. The brain needs to be used to stay sharp but GPTs , much like social media, actually counteract that.

Here is a real-life industry example: code-bases have gotten worse.

People have predicted this.

Experienced programmers have experienced this.

An LLM does not give you the ability to do something you couldn't do without google except write large amounts of text in very short time. So you lose the ability to write and plan essays, i.e. structure arguments. Say you had a structure in mind and told the AI to use it: It does wording for you, a thing that will also not improve because you don't practice it. Instead of your voice it will be the average voice of every single human on the planet. OPs argument is that she became a better thinker by challenging herself and that GPTs externalize thinking, so humans lose their ability to mentally grow. LLMs seem like a useful tool at first but I have not seen a single profitable use case, and the people who put a lot of money into it expect to see some money back in the end. How much will you pay chatGPT to give you ideas for essays instead of just looking on google or DDG? If you never practice brainstorming, you will become dependent on a computer to think for you. If you don't memorize many little facts, you will never make those connections out of the blue. Don't outsource the thinking out of your brain, even for brainstorming, research and structuring.

"what did students do before chatgpt?" well one time i forgot i had a history essay due at my 10am class the morning of so over the course of my 30 minute bus ride to school i awkwardly used by backpack as a desk, sped wrote the essay, and got an A on it.

six months later i re-read the essay prior to the final exam, went 'ohhhh yeah i remember this', got a question on that topic, and aced it.

point being that actually doing the work is how you learn the material and internalize it. ChatGPT can give you a short cut but it won't build you the the muscles.

[ild-rllrcstr]

The Second Seat part 3

Lando Norris X You (female driver) / slight angst / 2.9K

part 1 / part 2 / part 4 / part 5 (final part coming soon)

Summary You worked your way up to Formula One, contracted with McLaren, defying all odds. You play the team game: humble, strategic, and willing to follow orders, even if it means sacrificing podiums so Lando Norris can be the world champion. Every lap you sacrifice, every time you hold back, the world starts to doubt your talent. Lando sees it all. So he makes a choice: to give you the race, the recognition you deserve, and maybe his heart. You came for the drive, but you stayed for something more.

Warnings swearing A/N I realised the link for part two was not attached properly for some reason, but it's now properly fixed! I almost cried writing some paragraphs in this part, just so you guys are ready. Also, I did see the requests, I'm still planning this story and see if I finish this first or cut in some requests but I promise it won’t take long!

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

After Monaco, something changed. The dynamic between you and Lando shifted. Cold, quiet distance. The last real conversation you had was on Charles' yacht that night in Monaco.

Since then, it was like you existed in parallel, orbiting the same team in different spheres. You showed up to meetings, sat across from each other in the McLaren briefing room, occasionally exchanged professional nods in the garage, but the easy banter, the occasional teasing, the warmth, it was gone.

Everyone noticed, and they tried not to act weird about it. Since the little Eureka moment enlightened by Lewis, it was also frustrating for the others to watch you two, but it was no one’s place to interfere. They don’t know how to.

Lando stopped expressing his frustration, just hitting the throttle harder, hoping to gain more advantage so you don’t have to be in more unfair situation anymore. But his bottled-up frustration was not helping much.

The media feasted on the tension. Rumours spread, questioning your ability, your place in McLaren, your results. Headlines swirled with loaded language: “McLaren’s Strategy: Sacrificing One for the Other?” “Rookie Dragging Down Constructors’ Fight?”

You said nothing. You just kept showing up.

Lando kept winning. With each race, his championship lead stretched further. He was leaving everyone behind, Max, Lewis, Oscar, all of them chasing his shadow. On paper, it looked like a dream season for McLaren. In reality, everyone knew it was a one-man show.

And you? You were stuck in P8 in the driver standings. Good spot for a rookie by historical standards, but in the fight for the Constructors’ title, you were dead weight. The math didn’t lie. The team had made their choice: this year wasn’t about the team. It was about getting Lando his championship.

You spent all summer as a moving roadblock for Lando, holding up competitors, defending track position with worn tyres just long enough to buy Lando clean air or a perfect pit window. Over and over again. The tactics that once felt strategic started to feel like sabotage. It was a quiet humiliation. One lap at a time.

It not only frustrated you but also Lando. He was winning, but he couldn’t celebrate the way he used to. There were no cheeky grins in the cooldown room, no energetic podium leaps. The media said he finally matured, but he was just drained, emotionally, and guilty, even.

The worst scenario came at Silverstone. You dreamt about this race ever since you drove, and it was equally important for McLaren to shine at home. 

But the strategy calls came again. You stayed out longer than made sense, blocking a charging Racing Bulls train. Your tires were gone by Lap 40. Lando took the win, you dropped out of the points completely, P11. Your worst finish all season. 

The crowd roared. Papaya flags flew. The pit wall exploded with cheers, all for Lando.

You slipped out before the cameras came. No press. No interviews. Just the back paddock tunnel and the hum of post-race chaos echoing somewhere behind you.

There were no pats on the back in the garage afterwards. Just nods. 

“Nice job out there.” Someone mumbled as you came out of the cockpit.

You didn’t respond. Nice job, it must be a joke. Because what part of it was a nice job?

On the screen, Lando stood on the top step of the podium to a sea of British and papaya flags… while you sat in the driver’s room with your helmet off, staring blankly at the data. Nothing was going inside your brain, you know all the numbers by heart, it seems useless to look further anymore. 

You weren’t angry. You were tired. Bone-deep tired. And somewhere deep in your gut, you realised something painful:

You hadn’t been racing for yourself in weeks. You were just... managing the traffic.

You saw Lando in the debrief. He gave you a long look. No words. No fake smiles. You saw the flicker of devastation in his eyes, matching yours hidden deeper.

You saw each other's frustration. But neither of you knew how to fix it.

A little part of you started to feel like perhaps Lando was right. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

Two months later, September’s Monza was still blazing with the Italian heat. The goal was still Lando’s championship. For you, the more you are to the end of the season, you more you’re making peace with yourself and accepting the frustrating situation. You get in the car, get instructions, and execute. Like a robot, not expecting much.

30 laps in, Lando was fighting with Lewis for P1. Both overlapped the slower cars by 1 lap and were going through the traffic area. The competition that was happening between Esteben and Nico was only making them harder to overtake. An unforeseen contact between the two slower cars caused Nico to slip, slamming off Lando’s right wing, also spinning Lando off the track. The day was wrapped for Lando and Nico. Here comes the safety car.

“Y/N, box now, after the safety car, switching to Plan A, start pushing.”

Standing P6 holding the traffic, you were oblivious of what was happening on the other side of the track. The announcement from your engineer was unexpected. You boxed, and when you came out, you saw the papaya car on the side of the track as you passed by. Lando saw you pass, the adrenaline within him started to pump, he realised something and was more thrilled than he should be at the situation.

“Is he alright?” you asked your engineer, more worried than you sounded. 

“Right wing’s slammed off, but he’s all good.” 

Shook off the thought, that’s when you realise it was the opportunity you were waiting for all along. You were P6, Lando’s off, with the gap reduced by the safety car, you have all the chance to do something here.

You breathed, pacing your breath for the rhythm you needed, each lap with the safety car, you adjusted, you were feeling your car, it was there on your side, both of you were ready to show what you had long been hiding all season.

Lando got back to the paddock, insisting on sitting through the rest of the race before heading for a medical check and the media zone. He didn’t even take a glance at his right-wingless car. His eyes were fixed on the screen, on you. The whole team was, with their breath tightly held. He went next to your engineer to check the more detailed data, and both of your engineers were on the same screen now.

By lap 43, you’ve overtaken Kimi and Charles, standing at P4 with 10 more laps to go. 

The crowd was buzzing with excitement, broadcasts were fixating on the small gap between you and George in front. Charles was not far behind. 

Lap 51,

Lap 52,

Lap 53.

You were fast. You were smart. And most importantly, you were free for once. It was purely you. You got the perfect last turn you’ve been practising forever on the sim, full throttle, and you ran through the finish line. 

You continued the track after passing the line, slowing down, you’ve got nothing in your head, it was filled with dopamine. For once, in a long time. You felt like yourself, noises were completely out of your ears, until you heard screaming from the radio.

“P3! Y/N! P3! You fucking did it! Fuck yes! I told you she can do it! That was a fucking brilliant race. I told you to stop putting her on that stupid Plan C.” That voice, it was not your engineer, it was Lando on the other side of the radio.

“What?” You still couldn’t comprehend what you heard until you were pulled to the Parc fermé with a P3 plate in front of your car. 

Cameras swarmed to your side, flashing, even stealing the spotlight from Lewis’ P1 and Max’s P2. You slowly climbed out of the car, still couldn’t believe it was real. The media were bombarding you with questions, and you stood still in your car, dumbfounded. You didn't even know how to react. 

Lewis realised you’re in shock and lent you a hand to pull you out of the car. He gave you a big pat on the back, and you saw the crease at the end of his eyes through the helmet. He’s not just happy for his win, he was also happy for you. Max came to congratulate you, even though he was not happy about not being able to surpass Lewis. The papaya team of engineers and mechanics in front of you are roaring with cheers, this time not because of Lando, but you. 

Someone helped you out of your helmet, you pulled off the balaclava and looked around, panting from the excitement. Among the papayas, you spot one white. Lando looked at you with the biggest smile you’ve seen on him in months. He stood there and then looked at you, and your eyes focused on his. For a second, the noises were gone. The cameras, the crowd, all gone. It was just the two of you, a small, fulfilling moment for the two of you. 

“I told you.” Lando mouthed silently with his finger pointed at himself, then at you.

Suddenly, your eyes blurred, and warm tears were sliding down your cheeks, but you also had a smile on, this time a real one, not the good actress smile. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

In the cool room, you still couldn’t stop crying, Lewis asked the staff to give you some time in the washroom to freshen up a bit. 

“That was well earned, Y/N, great great job, be very proud of yourself. You’ve been patient, and it’s time you reap what you’ve sown.” Lewis warmly smiled at you as you calmed down and came out of the washroom.

“Those were amazing takeovers, that last turn was clean and fast like you’re on a straight line.” Max was impressed watching the replay on the screen, and you know that was rich coming from him. 

Standing on the podium got your eyes tickled with tears again. You held your trophy, hands shaking. You clutched the trophy tighter, the metal grounding you in a moment that felt too big to hold. 

The champagne stung your eyes, but not as much as the tears.

As the anthem played, you stared out over the crowd, not just at the fans of McLaren, but at the girls in the grandstand who were holding signs up for you. The ones who saw you. The ones who now knew they didn’t have to ask for permission.

Tears slipped down your cheek again before you could stop them. And for once, you didn’t try to hold it anymore.

The press room was buzzing. Flashes everywhere. The journalists were excited, the questions came in fast, but for the first time, they weren’t tinged with doubts about you.

“Y/N, this is your first podium in Formula 1. You’ve spent most of the season supporting your teammate. What does today mean to you?”

You took a breath.

“It means… everything.” You paused, breathing in. “I’ve always said I was grateful for the opportunity, I am and will always be grateful, but I won’t lie and say it’s been easy. Today… it felt like the team trusted me from the entry of that safety car. I wasn’t just there to support someone else’s win. I was given the race and freedom. And that’s all I’ve been patiently waiting for.”

Lewis, sitting beside you, nodded quietly. “She drove like a lion today. It was beautiful to watch.”

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

The debrief ended, and engineers scattered, screens shutting down, everyone’s ready for the small break before Azerbaijan in two weeks. 

You were in the hospitality waiting room, showered, and packed. You were in your casual sundress, sitting on the couch, holding your trophy on your knees, staring at it and your own reflection on it. You were still processing the moment. 

“It’s been five minutes that you’re staring at it, it’s not going anywhere, you know.” Lando was leaning on the wall, not far away from you. He’s watched you for a while, but you clearly didn’t notice him. He looked tired, but he had that boyish smile on him.

“I was waiting to see if they’ll take it back or something.” You smiled and mumbled, focusing back on the trophy.

“They won’t,” he approached. “No one will ever again, over my dead body.” You looked up at him. Behind the tireless, his eyes were full of pride and emotions that were overwhelming. Then it was watering. 

“Why are you crying?” you burst out in disbelief. You knew he was emotional, but not in this way. 

“I didn’t get my podium, that’s why,” he joked and smiled even though he was still crying.

And then your eye ached, and you started to cry again. 

“Not fair, it took me so long to stop crying! And then here we go again!” You both laughed at how ridiculous the state of both of you was.

When Lando was wiping his tears, you approached and pulled him into a hug around his neck. He froze, not expecting it.

“Thank you, Lando. Thank you for believing me when no one else did. I knew you were trying to lead better so they don’t have to put me in Plan C, and I’m sorry for being so stubborn. Thank you so much for trying to stand up for me.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist tightly, sniffing. 

“I fucking told you. If this is how you’re going to finally fight, I’mma DNF all the races until the end of the season. Lewis is still large behind.” 

“We know you won’t, we know you still want that championship.”

“ I do.” Lando rolled his eyes, smiling.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

Later that night, you found yourself getting a call from reception again for Mr. Norris’ request to visit. 

“Why do you always make the call? You know my room number.” You opened the door, looking at him weirdly.

“I thought it’s more polite and it gives you a heads-up.” He’s already changed and freshened up. 

“You still have… exactly 30 minutes before we have to leave,” he continued, looking at his phone for the information, bad memory.

“For what?” You asked, pretending again, not knowing. 

“Sir Hamilton put me on a mission to ensure you show up at the party. I’m on duty tonight,” he joked.

You shut yourself in the toilet for a good 30 minutes, coming out readied. But when Lando saw you, knocking the air out of him. He was not mentally prepared. You were in your mini sundress rather than the usual maxi ones. Lando wondered how many of those you have. Since Monaco, even though he was frustrated with you, those dresses you were wearing were doing something to him. Tonight it was refreshing, different, but he still liked it. The hotel light was thankfully not too bright lit so you didn’t notice the slight flush on his cheeks. 

Shit Lando, you’re flushing like a 12 year-old. He told himself, calming himself down all the way to the villa outside Monza.

It was the first time you entered a room with all the familiar faces, some engineers, some mechanics, some friends and families, but there was no competitiveness in the air. 

Lando walked in beside you, beaming like he had taken P1. He was the first one to grab drinks and pull you into the middle of a small circle, already laughing and telling stories. George, Pierre, Alex, Charles, Max, Everyone looked up as you entered.

“Oh shit, it’s McLaren’s rising queen,” Max teased with a grin, “Do we need to bow?”

“Careful,” George added lightly, “She might overtake you next.” There was no beef, no matter what happened on the track in the afternoon. Everyone laughed.

You stood a little awkwardly, unsure how to react, until Lewis walked in from the kitchen and immediately hugged you and left an arm slung around your shoulder.

“There she is.” His smile was wide, his eyes twinkling. “No one here deserves this night more.”

Charles and Pierre smirked, quickly glanced from you, Lewis, to Lando. The two whispered on the side. Lando’s eyes never left you, his grip tightened on his drink. 

The music picked up. Glasses clinked. Few drinks in, Lando had a drink in one hand and was already dancing terribly, unbothered by the rhythm, pulling everyone into it. 

He came to where you were sitting next to Lewis and grabbed your hand. “Come on. You’re coming with me to the dance floor.”

“I can’t dance.” You said shyly, but did not resist the pull by him.

“You just outdrove half the grid and got that trophy. You can do anything.”

You laughed, finally letting yourself be dragged in. Lewis smirked, seeing both of you from behind. He exchanged a knowing nod with Charles.

For the first time since the start of the season, you weren’t holding your breath. You weren’t calculating tyre strategy in your head, or checking who was watching. You were just there. Laughing, dancing, celebrating. With your peers, as one of them.

Lando didn’t leave your side the whole night. Every time someone congratulated you, he nodded like he’d known it all along.

At one point, Charles passed by, raising a brow to Lando looking at you with the stupidest smile on him. You were too busy talking to the others.

“Mate, I thought you DNFed today.”

Lando just raised his glass, a bit tipsy. “I did.”

“But you look like you won today,” Charles smirked.

“Didn’t I?” Lando looked at Charles quickly, his eye lingered back at you. 

Charles laughed and shook his head, heading to confirm the little gossip with Pierre.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

[mother-na]

Yandere Hawk! Hawks X Reader X Yandere Snake! Dabi

Summary: Keigo and Touya save you from starving and take you for themselves, putting lots of hybrid babies in you. Keigo is verbally affectionate but physically crass, Dabi is verbally crass but physically affectionate.

Warnings: Virginity Loss, Vaginal Sex, Oral [M+F Receiving], Animal Traits, Dubious Consent, Oviposition, Overstimulation, Occasional Painful Intercourse, Breeding, Edging

MDNI

Purebred humans are rare nowadays. Many years ago, when humans became close to extinction, humans used animal DNA to infuse fetuses resulting in hybrids. Quickly, the hybrids became the norm.

Most people went for practical traits, protect from extreme temperature or traits that made something stronger like sight or speed.

As with all things, it came with downsides. Procreation became difficult for a while but was eventually fixed with merging reproduction organs. Mammals could lay eggs if needed, fertile or infertile, and they almost always are soft to allow easier fertilization if there are two partners.

Another difficulty was the sexual dilemma. Humans had even more races now and many would only want to be around a certain kind. Many wanted to be with cats and dogs, but fewer wanted to be around insects or rodents.

With the clashing of species, humans separated and chose their company carefully. They lived secluded and only searched for others in hopes of sexual partnership. Some wanted to be partners forever and other wanted to be left alone immediately after mating. It was tough.

The toughest life to have, however, was pure human.

No human was disliked! No one disliked their traits or even had to worry about how breeding would go. Humans could take in all sperm or dispense sperm to anyone. There was never an issue and they were considered a luxury.

So how did you end up like this?

You were forced to leave your human-only shelter. It was incredibly well-hidden and the perfect safe spot from the animalistic hybrids looking to kidnap a mate. Unfortunately, humans with no impressive traits weren’t great at acquiring food. Six humans turned to five as they booted you from the safe haven.

Left to wander in a forest, starving and homeless, you were beginning to wonder how bad being a mate had to really be. As long as it was someone who mated for life, anyway. You honestly just didn’t want to be homeless and hungry. You were human so going to any market, laid miles apart and scarce, wasn’t an option. Your presence would cause a plethora of issues.

This forest, like everywhere in the world, was devoid of old human shelter. Hybrids preferred more natural homes like reinforced dens, small tree houses, and even just the grass sometimes. Like actual animals, just slightly more fancy. You had trouble imagining what to look for so you didn't go too close to anyones dens.

Your stomach was audibly crying out. There wasn’t a speck of food in sight! This is miserable!

The end of your patience was here and you prepared to give up, lie down, and die. You stayed curled on the dirt for a while, drifting in and out of sleep, the slightest thing waking you.

Driving you out from restless slumber was an unusual feather falling on your cheek. You weren’t sure where it’d come from. It was large and bright red. The strange occurrence made you believe you should go on your way, prevent meeting anyone dangerous.

Before you had a chance to scurry away from the area, you spotted a bundle of something. Satin or silk in vibrant red. It was so close to you and not there before so you knew it was intended for you.

You weighed the pros and cons. You were going to die if you didn’t find shelter. This was left by something that had feathers which, as far as you can remember, means that there's a good chance they mate forever…

Your stomach squeezed itself and you hunched over slightly. Screw it! You’d go with the bird if they need, or maybe it was just an honest gift and not some courting ritual.

You opened the bundle to reveal fruits, vegetable, a cooked chicken breast, and some bluish-black scales. The chicken breast was odd being left by a bird, but you were so starved you paid it no mind. On the other hand, you couldn’t figure out was the scales were for. They were linked together like a snake skin but you knew nothing about reptilian hybrids. Plus, birds of prey hunt snakes so it was probably just a brag.

You ate without shame, trying to free yourself from the pain of your empty stomach. There was berries and an apple and bell peppers and cauliflower. You ate and ate until your stomach hurt.

Once you were finished, you were overwhelmed with exhaustion. You hadn’t slept right in ages because of your pains but now they were subsiding. You couldn’t help but to curl up and submit to sleep.

So deep in sleep, you incidentally allowed a particular two to transport you elsewhere. Not even rising for the bickering of who’d carry you. Whether you should fly or be walked. Who’d plant the eggs in you and who’d fertilize them.

By the time you opened your eyes you were someplace entirely different. Naked.

At first, you’d thought you’d been buried. It didn’t look like a normal den. It was lined with sticks and feathers like a nest but was full of luxurious cloth to make the bed and furniture. It was a simple den, a spot for the bed, some stone furniture and storage. But, most noticeably, it was not a bird’s den, even despite the avian attributes.

You found the exit, a narrow stone pathway that you had to duck to enter. Obviously, you climbed the slope to leave. As you popped your head out back into the fresh forest air, you were surprised to promptly have pressure applied to one of your shoulders by presumably a boot from above.

“Nuh uh. Turn right back around.” A slightly raspy and stern voice spoke, scaring you right back into the den, “The bird’ll be back soon. Then we can start, have some patience will you?” You watched the boot rise out of view leisurely.

The man, who you didn’t really see, spoke down to you gently yet cruelly, like you were just some misbehaving pet. With this in mind, you prepared to make a break for it, not wanting to take the bullying.

Running up the slope and out, avoiding the stranger and his taunts entirely, you sprinted into the woods.

You ran maybe for an entire minute, proud of your easy escape from the feared hybrids, but said pride was quickly extinguished.

One moment your feet were on the ground, the next you were soaring through the air unwillingly. Your shouts were sucked up by the wind and in mere seconds you were right back where you started, in the talons of a great hawk.

The man from before, who sat on the roots atop the den, beneath a massive tree, looked at you wrapped up in the arms of the hawk hybrid and scoffed.

“Took you long enough. The feathers in your brain make you slow?” The blue eyed man spoke.

The sat man looked odd. He appeared to be a snake hybrid, and yet the reptilian spots on him looked to be crudely stapled on. It was definitely meant to be there but it doesn’t seem to want to stay. His hands, feet, and belly grew slightly blueish black compared to the rest of his pale skin.

“Nah, I was just getting back and saw her out. Why was she out?” the red winged man, quite handsome with yellow slotted eyes and golden hair, accused.

The snake shrugged, “Couldn’t be bothered. I’m not a runner.”

The hawks narrowed his eyes but brushed it off, “We goin’ up or down?” his grip increased on you, even as you squirmed.

“Do I look like I got wings?”

The snake hopped down and smoothly slithered down the den. The hawks dragged you down in addition.

“Everything will be alright. We’re very happy to have you here, we’ll take care of you.” The hawk attempted to sooth you.

You pushed against the hawk until he let you go and scurried into a corner, watching the two. The snake was removing his shirt and boots and the hawk was still trying to talk to you.

“My names Keigo, I was the one who offered that food to you. That over there’s Touya, but he’s prissy so call him Dabi.” Even with the lack of them, Dabi hearing his name certainly ruffled his feathers as he threw a boot at the bird's back.

“Don’t act all nice. She’s human. She probably had no idea what you were doing. Humans are greedy and stupid like that.”

Keigo ignored him entirely.

“Would you like something to eat or drink? I want to make sure you’re cared for before we begin.” Keigo cooed to you kindly.

You furiously shook your head, explaining as best you could how while you had a hunch, you had hoped that eating the food wasn’t a sealed deal. You just weren’t ready for children!

All Keigo heard was you knew you were accepting food, “You’ve no need to worry, we’ll take care of everything!”

You pleas were ignored as Keigo closed in and herded you atop of Dabi who’d already stripped and lied down. His heart didn’t seem in it, but at least he was willing and aroused.

Keigo crawled atop of you, sandwiching you between the two hybrid men. As you squirmed to escape, you body sliding down the two bodies, Keigo opted to basically sit on your back, locking you in place right beneath Dabi’s serpentine cock.

The serpentine cock in question was merely an oozing slit, the head of the hidden phallus peeking out and dripping. The sight made you blush. You could even smell it.

“Been a while? You look a little stuck.” Keigo poked at Dabi who scowled in response.

“I’ve never had to take it out, so yeah, it’s a tight fit.” Dabi irritatedly responded, trying to respond cooly.

“Why don’t you help out, huh?” Keigo proposed to you, trying to pull you up the extra inches you’d need to reach it. You dug your palms into the bed and refused to budge.

“She probably doesn’t even know how.” Dabi belittled you, or at least that was the intention. He seemed to hold a level of hate for humans.

Keigo sighed, “Fine. I guess I’ll have to show her. Maybe it’ll get her in the mood.”

Keigo tightened his grip on you and made sure you had a good view while Dabi found a way to, surprisingly gently, firmly hold your head in place.

Keigo licked some stripes across the whole slit, the slick connecting his tongue to the organ. He did this quite a few times, both of you watching the protruding tip, tapered, twitch and leak fluid in small weak spurts. The clear liquid dripped down Dabi’s thighs and onto the bed and you wondered what the ratio of precum to saliva was.

Finally, Keigo enclosed the slit into his mouth and sucked hard to free the cock from it’s prison. You didn’t get to see the cock slowly come up but what you did see was so much more lewd.

With a clear view of Keigo throat, you watched it oh so slowly expand as Dabi’s cock filled it snuggly. Only when Keigo’s adams apple bobbed downward to make room for the filthy dick did Keigo finally gag a bit and slide the phallus from his mouth.

Releasing the cock from his throat, Keigo didn’t bother swallowing any fluid that’d ended in his mouth, letting the concoction of fluids flow right back down Dabi’s dick.

The bed had already collected a puddle and your face was burning. Your body like fire and your core was lax without your permission. You’d never admit it but the horribly erotic display aroused you way more than you thought logical.

“What’s wrong?” Dabi teased, swiping a thumb over the side of his slit, collecting slick and saliva, and smearing it slowly across your defenseless lips, “This too much for you?”

Dabi was referring to his length. The tapered phallus had a semi-sharp tip and was fairly tall. You suspected that Keigo didn’t take out the full length but rather what he thought you could take.

“I can prepare you too, if you’d like.” Keigo offered, licking his lips with lustful eyes. You, of course, were far too shocked to respond.

Dabi rolled his eyes and yanked you by one of your shoulders with the help of Keigo who raised himself to allow you the room, “Just do it. Tell me if she’s a virgin or not.”

Trying to escape was useless as Keigo moved off you and held your hips up and firmly by the thighs. Dabi has your head pulled up beside his throbbing cock and sternly pressed against his hip and thigh, his one hand keeping your head possessively in place.

“Arch your back baby. It’ll feel real good.” Dabi growled out tauntingly. His words were mean spirited but he was rubbing whispers of strokes across your shoulders and back. He’s a rude personality, but a shockingly gentle hand.

Dabi pressed on your back, urging his previous command, and you obeyed his whims. In a most humiliating gesture, you arched your back to expose your vulnerable core to Keigo. The embarrassment of behaving whorishly was entirely devoured by Dabi’s eyes. The eye contact he imposed on you was sapping away at your resistance and filling you with the kind of desire that kept your body quaking. You were completely helpless.

Once Keigo started his tongue, you knew you were done for. Dabi massaged your back as you cried out into his hip. Everyone knew what state you were in. How this came to be was a blurred memory and suddenly all you knew was the agony you felt, being at the pinnacle of climax yet being kept from it.

Keigo’s tongue would harass your exposed swollen clit, laying the tongue flat and curling to encompass and consume the sensitive thing. If you got close, the pleasure would be forcefully subsided as Keigo’s tongue would pull away and lie kisses mere inches from it. Your orgasm so close and yet so far.

Your pussy was beginning to become sore from need. Your entrance was throbbing and pained. Your body was, quite literally, begging in agony. You got to a point that, when denied release, you’d furiously kick your legs and thrash your body. It was an instinctive response, as well as emotional. It did not get you far at all. Keigo would lock your legs beneath his and dig his finger into your side to keep you in place. Dabi would rake his fingers into your hair and hold you carefully into him.

“As cute as this display is, I’m feeling rather neglected. Let’s get this moving.” Dabi admitted before sliding you on top of him and out of Keigo’s needy grasp. His slit and squirming phallus formed a trail on your front, but Dabi seemed content with it.

“Aw what? I was having so much fun!” Keigo whined, licking what he could from his mouth before wiping the rest.

“I need fun too.” Dabi put shortly, teasingly and briefly kissing the tip of your nose before raising you lower half slightly. He aligned himself.

“Hold on.” Keigo firmly commanded, pulling you against his bent body, unlining Dabi, “I checked. She’s virgin. Do you really want her first time hurting?” You’d no clue how Dabi would hurt more than Keigo, in all his tender caresses, but you’d the sense you’d find out.

“And leave me to just spray it? Thought we agreed I’d plant the eggs.”

“We can both lay eggs,” Keigo surprised both you and Dabi, “We’ll do two round each. Planting and fertilizing.”

“We shouldn’t be cruel to the dumb thing,” Dabi reasoned, holding your face and looking into your eyes with fake hypnotizing pity, “She’d become so swollen. Unable to much of anything. What use would she be?”

“I know you’ve not the best examples in your life,” Keigo harshly mentioned, “but mates don’t need to have use. If theres something to be done, I will do it for her.”

Dabi’s flame within his eye spiked. He was mad, “If you want to talk examples, theres plenty of things to say about you as well.”

Unlike Dabi, whose body was gentle with you even in anger, Keigo was expressive, showing his infuriation through his cock.

It was like being speared by a horrible Cupid’s arrow. You were obedient before because you’d the ability to reason with the situation. Now? The arrow that was Keigo’s cock was causing every thought you’d ever had to gush out as though you were bleeding out. He’d hit the target in one stinging swoop and your whole body fell limp to unprecedented amounts of sheer pleasure. Pleasure so potent you were left utterly choked as you could only recall the word ‘No’ over and over. Completely brainless and hopelessly cock drunk. The fear of the situation was pulsing ten fold and ten times more addictive. It felt good to be scared.

Dabi was intently listening to your pitiful and quiet protests with a sadistic smile on his face. No longer needing to hold you down, Dabi focused on touching you, removing the hair from your face to look at his face once more, “Oh~, does that feel good? Why are you telling us no? You’re drooling for it.”

Indeed, as Dabi stuck a thumb into your mouth to touch your tongue, saliva was un-barricaded, slipping right past your incoherent pleas.

In and out, in and out, in and out. Keigo was relentless in his pounding. You’d felt so euphoric you’d began to wonder if the reason you’d yet to cum was because you’d never stopped. This continuous strain of breeding was keeping you at such a pinnacle that your body wouldn’t even move a finger as though afraid it’d lose the sensation of being utterly fucking pumped full.

Dabi was sucking and licking at your throat as your body lie helpless and sensually fearful, waiting to receive Keigo’s fat load into your far too willing womb. He saw your limp body and smothered you in affections possesively. When he spotted you so choked up, he took everything a step forward and lifted his callused hand to bully your completely swollen and desperate clit.

Now that was too much. You spasmed entirely and your walls, now almost molded to Keigo’s veiny phallus, slammed down to encompass Keigo. You animalistically shoved your hips into Keigo, ensuring Keigo’s thick fertile load was sprayed nice and firm into your womb.

You’d expected to not feel it, but you did. It felt at first like Keigo had some vile thing in place of sperm, but you quickly realized it was eggs. Your stomach was cramping like you were menstruating except nothing was leaving your womb, something was forcefully entering. Keigo’s eggs, small soft things for now, were being directly shot into your womb. He’d been so throughly planted within you and so sternly pressed against your cervix that you got the honor of feeling every last egg entering you. From the twitching of Keigo’s cock, signaling the eggs departure, to the oddly firm feeling of eggs slipping into your womb. You counted four. Four whole eggs were now inside you. It was uncomfortable, but not devoid of arousal.

“How many?” Dabi spoke up while you and Keigo were calming down.

“Four.” Keigo exhausted, collapsing to a seat.

“Four? How many am I supposed to put? She’ll have no room!”

“Oh she’ll have room. You snakes make your way in. You don’t gotta push. Lay as many as you want, strongest come out.” Keigo panted. You’d heard something similar. Some hybrids plant many eggs so that the weakest ones will pop in the womb. They’re all very soft shelled so if it gets too packed, the weakest ones choose to not continue growth and evacuate. All before you’d even get a baby bump.

Dabi growled and lifted you up, pulling you to place your head on his shoulder while he lifted your hips just a few inches. His squirming cock easily found its way in. Unlike Keigo, Dabi only needed a few inches to pull in and out. His long cock was versatile and could compress and express itself as long and short, fat or thin, as it wished within a certain margain. It was a wonder it still even looked like a cock, but it did, albeit a slimy black one.

Dabi paid more attention to your body than Keigo did, but then again when Keigo began he was a bit peeved. Dabi was more sensual and calm, yet was still patronizing. He purred taunts into your ear with a sickeningly sweet voice. No part of your body was unloved or untouched with Dabi. He was a snake and he’d every intention of squeezing you like one. No stone unturned. No flesh left uncaressed.

Now that Keigo wasn’t buried within you, he was more attentive. He hugged you from behind and nipped at your nape. Despite him not presently taking part, he moaned small breathes into your back.

The sensation of something worming around inside you and massaging you insides with precision was easy to ease into. You rolled your hips slightly to help Dabi with the friction as he laid kisses onto every exposed skin on yours. You felt the phallus go from thin and shallow to thick and deep. Dabi was taking his time, no rush. He was giving you time.

Dabi’s wriggling cock seemed to grow impatient on its own. As the two men slowly eased you back into the immobile sex sandwich, the thing inside you got restless. Sometime it’d flick around or twitch immensely within, like it was anticipating climax any moment.

Unlike Hawks, who completely overwhelmed you into a continuous strain of orgasms, Dabi was aiming for one nice big one from you. He reached down and massaged your sensitive clit while the two whispered naughty things into your ears.

Your legs spasmed but were unable to move and inch when compressed like you were. You’d expected and desired a clean strong orgasm which you got, but you also got something more.

You yelped in pain as your womb squeezed itself, a big cramp. Hawks only had to push a few tiny eggs in, Dabi’s cock has to enter the womb past the cervix a smidge.

You tried to squirm away fairly violently. The pain wasn’t overwhelming or anything, but it sure did hurt.

Hawks pinned your wrists down and Dabi full body hugged you. You weren’t going anywhere.

It stretched your entrance as each egg passed through Dabi’s length. It was literally pumping eggs in with all its might, so much so that the sensation was incredibly apparent. This is why Dabi made you cum, you’d feel less than you did. The initial entrance dulled by pleasure. Ain’t he nice?

Once both men had shoved their eggs securely in your womb, you were all left exhausted. You’d thought it’d be the end, yet Keigo stirred from your back.

“Hard parts over. Let’s get those eggs fertilized.” Keigo cooed, tucking your hair back.

[winters-orbit]

Now that we're at the end of mission impossible (until mcq shows cruise another video and he goes, I can do that, let's make another one), it's quite remarkable that they managed to tie together a cohesive theme from 8 movies, 5 directors, and 30 years.

And the fact that the theme is: fierce, unrelenting hope and trust especially in the face of insurmountable odds? I fear I may be thinking about this series for the rest of my life.

The first 3 ish movies are spent slowly beating ethan down. He starts out as this cocksure kid at the beginning of mi1. And then he's betrayed by his team leader who he trusts more than anything and is forced to watch and listen to every single one of them die, including Claire and Jim by the end.

He watches another imf agent go rogue (which absolutely could have been ethan in a different timeline given everything that had just happened to him) resulting in more people around him getting hurt, Nyah the most.

He tries so hard to get out, and gets a brief glimpse at normal happiness only for that to be ripped away from him as he watches his wife get kidnapped and tortured (3 does insane things for his character).

So we meet him at the beginning of ghost protocol in prison having had everything ripped away from him again and again. And now he's in prison. And yeah, we know Julia is alive, but the cruel irony of knowing your wife is alive but you can never be near her again goes crazy hard.

But the beauty of the series is that it's been slowly planting people in Ethan's life over these three movies to trust. And they're not trustworthy because Ethan already knows them. He essentially picks them randomly. Luther, selected off the list of disavowed agents ,ends up becoming his greatest and most reliable friend, his brother. Benji because he's the only one available and willing to help him in an absolutely insane endeavor to save his wife.

And we get to 4 and Ethan is back in the field with the ghost protocol team (whom I love but man are they team cringe fail). A team made up of the man who lives with the guilt of thinking he got Julia killed, a woman who is a walking time bomb due to the grief of losing someone she loved, and a man who is in the field for essentially the first time.

And Ethan takes a look at all of that baggage, including his own and says fuck it, this is my team and they are going to make it through this. And they do; by the skin of their teeth and a second left on the clock they make it. Ethan choses to trust the first full team since the first movie when all of them were ripped away from him.

Rogue nation gives us Ilsa who everyone distrusts immediately, except for Ethan. Ethan is once again betrayed by his government and so is Ilsa. And Ethan knows what that's like and thus Ilsa is part of the team.

Fallout tests that trust as Ilsa is forced to work against Ethan for half of the movie. But fallout is also one of the first times these themes are explicitly stated with "hope is not a a strategy. You must be new".

Ethan has been betrayed countless times, lost so many people close to him, and had the shit kicked out of him so many times he probably has a little brain damage. And yet he keeps getting up, he trusts and he hopes, because that's the only thing standing between them and the end of the world.

We get to dead reckoning and he constantly tries to work with Grace, to protect her, to get her out. Even though she is absolutely working against him at every turn. Anyone else would not work this hard to protect someone who is being this actively antagonist to their goals. But Ethan is not the same man as the kid who lost his team so long ago. Ilsa is ripped away from him. He keeps losing people and just keeps going, because hope and trust is all he has now.

And it's really all hammered home in final reckoning. He just had to walk away as he watched his oldest and closest friend let himself die to save an entire city and he immediately asks Briggs to, please just work with him, while actively crying because of the friend he just lost. (And no Briggs, he's actually never gotten used to losing people, ever. That's what makes Ethan, Ethan. It's BECAUSE he cares so much). He spends most of this movie really just begging people to trust him, to trust each other, to give him a chance to stop the entity despite the odds being insane. Because he's been shown time and time again, that trusting in those around you, however foolish it may seem is what saves the day in the end.

Over the course of 30 years they managed to beat Ethan down and build him back up as this character built on love and hope and care for the people around him. This doesn't even begin to talk about all the small moments of compassion throughout the series (the one in fallout with the French police woman always sticks out in my head).

The initial draw of these movies may be the stunts and seeing how Cruise pulls those off, but the heart of these stories is Ethan. A man who despite everything, all the betrayal, and loss, and suffering, simply choses to be kind. And damn what a powerful message.

[stl29tide]

Emmerdale 2025 Recap

With Ryan Hawley coming back to the show and people tuning into Emmerdale for the first time in many years, I put together a recap of what has happened so far this year and the current storylines playing out on the show. It's kind of long, but hopefully it helps for those that are jumping back in.

April: (Marlon’s daughter) ran away from home at the end of last year. She had started drinking/partying which people attributed to Ross (who has returned to the show) telling her the truth about how her mom Donna died, but in reality April ran away because she was pregnant. She ended up having a stillbirth while homeless and ended up in the hospital with near fatal hemorrhaging. While being homeless she became friends with a homeless boy, named Dylan, who is gay and a drug addict. He showed up briefly in the village and April convinced Marlon to let him stay with them. Marlon didn’t trust him and stole drugs from the vet’s office to plant them on him. Afterward he felt guilty and offered to pay for him to go to rehab. Dylan ended up covering for him with April and kept the truth about what Marlon did to himself, but Marlon ended up confessing later on after he saw April received a letter from Dylan in rehab. *This storyline is going to continue in some way as the character of Dylan is set to return.

Quick update on Ross: He returned last year and revealed that him and Rebecca had broken up, and then she died and custody of Seb was given to some aunt of Rebecca’s that she was apparently close to and no one ever knew about. Upon coming back into the village, he got into a relationship with a woman named Steph, but she broke up with him after being unable to deal with trauma she was going through. More on her family below (it does involve Aaron). Also, just recently it was revealed that Ross has a half brother named Lewis. Emma, his mom, secretly had him, but no one knew he existed. Lewis is also gay and autistic.

Valentine’s Day Tragedy: Two groups (one female, one male) decided to go out on the town, however, Mandy ended up in the boys limo and Liam in the girl’s because Liam wanted to propose to Chas. Caleb (Cain and Chas’s half brother) was driving the limo with the men and Charity was driving the limo with the women when suddenly Charity saw Noah, her son, looking dazed in the middle of the road. She swerved to avoid hitting him and ended up on the frozen lake where the ice started to crack. As a result of the accident, Liam had a serious head injury, Suzy (Vanessa’s girlfriend) instantly died, Amy (Matty’s wife and Kerry’s daughter) died in the hospital from hypothermia, and Leyla (Jacob’s mom) died en route to the hospital in the ambulance.

Jacob/Sarah: Jacob and Sarah had been dating. Jacob wants to become a doctor and has been working in the ER which he’s been struggling with. After the accident he was left grieving Leyla and decided to break up with Sarah because he doesn’t want to love and lose anybody else. (Sarah has Fanconi Anemia so the life expectancy is much shorter). Sarah was left heartbroken but then started to move on with a guy named Kammy (they’re currently not together though). She also thought she might have been pregnant when Jacob broke up with her, but she wasn’t. She has been looking into having a baby on her own though, and in doing so, she just found out she has cervical cancer. Currently Jacob is the only one that knows.

Joe Tate & Everyone: Oh boy. Joe Tate returned to the show, but it was made clear to the audience that he had some sort of illness he was hiding from everyone. Upon his return he also started an affair with Dawn, Billy’s wife. It soon became evident that whatever was going on with Joe involved him wanting something from Noah. He started giving his business bad reviews and as a result offered to help Noah by setting him up with a job in Dubai. Ultimately Noah decided to turn it down. Cue Valentine’s Day tragedy with a dazed Noah in the middle of the road. We later find out that Joe needed a kidney transplant and he had drugged Noah in order to get him tested to see if he was a match (he wasn’t). But basically instead of making sure he was delivered safely home, he got dropped off in the middle of nowhere. So Joe’s actions led to the deaths of Leyla, Amy, and Suzy. Side note about Suzy: she was in a relationship with Vanessa, but kissed Rhona’s mom Mary, who she had feelings for. Vanessa found out about this after Suzy’s death and that’s what the beef between her and Mary (and sometimes Rhona) is. Back to Joe now. When Joe couldn’t get a kidney transplant from Noah, he decided to test Caleb, who is his uncle from the Tate side. Joe tricked Manpreet (town Doctor) into giving him a sample of Caleb’s blood. Once he confirmed Caleb was a match, he had someone attack him. He was supposed to have just been knocked out but instead was stabbed. Joe stole his kidney and had his transplant. Caleb almost died but ended up surviving and was dropped off at a hospital. He knew he lost a kidney but it was thought to be from the attack and he didn’t know the extent of what had happened to him. Finally he figured out the truth, however, at the same time Joe was also figuring out that the father of Caleb’s wife Ruby, may have not left town like people assume, but was actually killed by Caleb (this is wrong - it was Ruby, more on that below, but it was close enough to the truth to where they basically both agreed to keep each other’s secrets). With that said, the rest of the town now knows the truth about Joe being responsible for what happened on Valentine’s Day because Noah found out and told everyone. Joe ended up going through a window (he was pushed by Dawn which he remembered and forgave her for, but the police’s lead suspect was Noah), so in order for Joe to avoid punishment for everything he did, he told Noah to take back his statement or Noah would basically go down for what happened to him. If Noah takes back his statement, Joe will tell the police he slipped. He also gave Noah money, so Noah took back his statement (much to the anger of everyone in town). Dawn also avoids punishment for pushing Joe, and now Joe and Dawn are in a relationship because Dawn is an idiot.

Ruby/Caleb/Steph/Anthony/Aaron/John/Chas/Cain/Moira/Nate/Tracey:

Moira had a brain tumor no one knew about that was causing her to act erratic/forget things. During one of these episodes she tried to kiss Nate, Cain’s son. Caleb saw and exposed this. This came after Caleb had, had an affair with Tracey, Nate’s wife. Cain thought something was going on between Moira and Nate again (they slept together years ago) so he kicked off. After Tracey’s affair and Cain turning his back on him for the Moira situation, Nate decided to leave town for a new job. Since then his family thinks he cut himself off from everyone, including his child as he hasn't been sending any monetary support for her which has led to Tracey being broke and even stealing money from Eric for a period of time. What they all don’t know is that Nate actually wanted to make things work with Tracey but he never got the chance because John killed him. John dumped his body in the lake which Amy saw during the Valentine’s Day tragedy when she went under the water. She tried to tell people when she briefly woke up in the hospital but they didn’t understand and then she died. The body that was discovered this past week was his, not Anthony’s, so that’ll come out shortly.

Anthony, the father of Ruby, Caleb’s wife, shows up in town and it is eventually revealed that he used to sexually abuse Ruby when she was a teenager. Chas figures it out first, recognizing the signs from Aaron’s past, and then tells Caleb. It is also revealed through a paternity test that their daughter Steph is really Anthony’s daughter and the product of incest. There are only select people who know the truth about Steph's paternity (Ruby, Caleb, Cain, Moira, Chas, Aaron, John, Steph, and Ross). Jai doesn’t know about Steph’s paternity but he does know about Ruby’s sexual abuse. Anthony and Aaron get into a confrontation and Anthony begins to push Aaron regarding Ruby and his abuse, saying how they both wanted it etc. Aaron ends up losing it and beats Anthony. He goes home and ends up taking John back to the site where they discover Anthony dead. Thinking it was due to Aaron, John covers it up, but it’s later revealed that after Aaron left Anthony, Ruby came in and was the one that killed him. The same people that know about the sexual abuse are also the same that know about the murder (with the exception of Ross and Jai - they don’t know Anthony is dead. Joe believes Anthony is dead but thinks Caleb did it because he was abusive to Ruby but doesn’t know it was specifically sexual).

Also as a side note: After Anthony first came to town, Ruby was a mess. Cain was also a mess thinking Moira was going to die during her brain surgery. They ended up sleeping together. It didn’t mean anything, but Anthony found out, told Caleb, and then he exposed it in front of other people so Cain had to tell Moira. Both couples worked it out and are still together, but the relationship between Caleb and Cain has still been strained, though it’s gotten better since Caleb lost his kidney.

John:

Showed up into town and was a hookup that Aaron met on an app. Was eventually revealed to be a long-lost son of Jack that he had after Robert’s mother died. At first he didn’t want anything to do with Victoria and planned on leaving town, but ended up staying for Aaron who he was falling for. Basically everyone thinks he’s the greatest cause he’s constantly saving people. Some people he actually helped without hurting them. Some people he hurt in order to save them. He has a MAJOR hero complex and is a complete psycho. I’m just going to give a rundown of everything he’s done that I can remember off the top of my head.

His ex-fiancée, Aiden, was in the military with him and he was “injured” on patrol when he was alone with John and ended up in a coma. We don’t really know what specifically John did to him but it’s implied he did do something to him as Aiden just recently had woken up and John was going to kill him to prevent him from ever telling anyone what he did, but he couldn’t go through with it at the last minute and then Aiden had a heart attack. He was going to let him die, but then his hero complex kicked in again and he pulled the alarm and started CPR. He’s alive but is in a coma again.

Drugged Nate to “save” him, but ended up killing him instead and then threw his body in the lake.

Drugged Chas to “save” her and then made it look like Liam’s ex-girlfriend, Ella, was responsible.

Attacked Liam from behind to get revenge on him for “humiliating” him for missing a diagnosis at work and continued to frame Liam’s ex-girlfriend for the injury.

Put Jacob into an anaphylactic shock to “save” him and to also win Liam’s favor back.

Messed with the slurry tank at the Farm in order to frame/get payback on Mack, who didn't like him, and to also “help” with the cleanup. Ended up poisoning a few residents, including his own nephew (Victoria’s son) after it got into the town’s drinking water.

After Aaron got mad that Mack said he wouldn’t be his best man anymore (everyone hated him for the slurry tank incident so he thought it would be best to not be involved in the wedding), John tampered with a trailer Moira was working on so it would collapse on her, and then got Mack up to the farm so he [Mack] could save Moira and people would forgive him so he’d agree to be Aaron’s best man again.

Also important to note that John has lied a lot. Obvious about his crimes, yes, but he also lied about Aiden to Aaron and told him he was dead and what his funeral was like etc. Eventually Aaron found out that Aiden was alive and in a coma but John basically gave Aaron a story about how he felt guilt for not being able to save him and he was never going to wake up and all this other stuff. Idk. His go to seems to be to get mad and then make people feel sorry so they forgive him. He also does NOT like to be reprimanded. For a while Mack hated John and it didn’t seem like Liam liked him either but now they both seem to be okay with him, so unfortunately there isn’t anyone left in town that doesn’t think he isn’t a good guy.

Other random village bits:

Eric has Parkinson's and was scammed out of all his money. Recently Brenda and Cathy went on a 3-month cruise, but I believe that the actress who plays Brenda is leaving the show for good so I don't think she'll be coming back. Paddy and Mandy are still a couple. Rhona and Marlon are still a couple (but boy did that get rocky for a while). Liv's former husband Vinny is with Gaby now. Victoria is single. She was dating David and then she got with his son, Jacob, for a while and that caused David to leave (gone for good). Belle is also single. She was in an abusive marriage with Tom King, Jimmy's nephew and after a long time finally got some justice with him going to prison (unfortunately it wasn't a very long sentence).

That's it! Hopefully that's enough info to know where everyone is currently at and gives enough context for things mentioned on the show.

[fiamat12]

Re: Adjacent history of likes

Looking back on the camera post of N's from last year that JD liked (in which N states that L gifted her the camera), it sparked an interest in what the adjacents were liking on N's IG, pre-contract. The results are interesting (not all inclusive, some may have been missed)...

A's likes:

Surprising that she was liking N's posts at all as they probably only had met in passing by the time the World Tour rolled around. N was not following her. Most of her likes were BTON Netflix promos/ ones that L would be tagged in. If she was really "in" w/ L, imo, she wouldn't have to try so hard.

JD's likes:

On the other hand, N & JD were following each other and he liked varied posts, not just of BTON but also of N & her other projects (i.e. BM who he knew other actors in, and MFAT) and, unlike A, he liked many many couple pics of Lukola, even the article about L alone, on DG's grid ‼️

This def supports the fact that neither were pre- planned PR. 🙄 JD is a part of N's actor friend group, and A was supposedly a friend of L's but seemed to be trying to work her way in. *sigh*