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#if you do use it as a springboard

elodieunderglass · 7 months

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changes and trends in horror-genre films are linked to the anxieties of the culture in its time and place. Vampires are the manifestation of grappling with sexuality; aliens, of foreign influence. Horror from the Cold War is about apathy and annihilation; classic Japanese horror is characterised by “nature’s revenge”; psychological horror plays with anxieties that absorbed its audience, like pregnancy/abortion, mental illness, femininity. Some horror presses on the bruise of being trapped in a situation with upsetting tasks to complete, especially ones that compromise you as a person - reflecting the horrors and anxieties of capitalism etc etc etc. Cosmic horror is slightly out of fashion because our culture is more comfortable with, even wistful for, “the unknown.” Monster horror now has to be aware of itself, as a contingent of people now live in the freedom and comfort of saying “I would willingly, gladly, even preferentially fuck that monster.” But I don’t know much about films or genres: that ground has been covered by cleverer people.

I don’t actually like horror or movies. What interests me at the moment is how horror of the 2020s has an element of perception and paying attention.

Multiple movies in one year discussed monsters that killed you if you perceived them. There are monsters you can’t look at; monsters that kill you instantly if you get their attention. Monsters where you have to be silent, look down, hold still: pray that they pass over you. M Zombies have changed from a hand-waved virus that covers extras in splashy gore, to insidious spores. A disaster film is called Don’t Look Up, a horror film is called Nope. Even trashy nun horror sets up strange premises of keeping your eyes fixed on something as the devil GETS you.

No idea if this is anything. (I haven’t seen any of these things because, unfortunately, I hate them.) Someone who understands better than me could say something clever here, and I hope they do.

But the thing I’m thinking about is what this will look like to the future, as the Victorian sex vampires and Cold War anxieties look to us. I think they’ll have a little sympathy, but they probably won’t. You poor little prey animals, the kids will say, you were awfully afraid of facing up to things, weren’t you?

#this is the sort of observation I make here that people #go off and write their thesis about #so while I’m not expecting to be the first or cleverest person to say this #if you do use it as a springboard #tell me if you get a good grade ok?#I’ll be tremendously proud of you #like if you take a shitpost and use it to craft deep attentive thought on something important #I just think that’s probably the most noble use of a human brain #it makes me want to take off my hat and slam it to the ground in inexpressible emotion #it’s a cowboy hat btw #and I say something like GOLDURN IT THAT KID SURE HAS DELIVERED.#ok so don’t deny me this #especially if you correct me after a long research journey #GOLDURN IT THE KID IS RIGHT!

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feralthembo · 2 months

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i wish food pantries would understand that half the shit they give out arent things you can eat without other things. our can openner doesnt work right now, so i cannot eat any vegetables or fruit we get. we dont have milk, so the mac n cheese they give us is useless. no butter or eggs so we CAN make pancakes.... if we want to eat sad fried wheat paste......

food pantries arent solutions theyre bandaids on bullet holes.

#It Speaks #do NOT use this post as a springboard for advice on how to poverty properly #i did not ask and i will block you

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tricitymonsters · 20 days

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This has been sitting in my brain for about a week, but I've been offline so I haven't been able to send it in lol.

How would Amir react if the MC revealed that they were from a affluential family as well AND they had also ran away from that life. Maybe they changed their last name (or whole name) and have been living in secret in the city. Just imaging an MC living in a tiny apartment and not taking advantage of their family's wealth. It's THEIR apartment and THEIR money. How would Mori and Akello react to this too?

OUGH sorry this has been siting in my box for a while, current ask count is like 80 something >:3

I think at first Amir might have a liiiiiiittle extra suspicion simply because of the complex and often treacherous nature of highly affluent, old money families. He'd be interested in working out if MC's connections in their current life might benefit him or pose risks simply because he's kind of a calculating motherfucker like that. He might get close to MC to sort of scope things out. If they managed to hide their background from him he'd be pretty impressed by how much they must of cut off to be able to sort of fly under the radar. There might be an unpleasant moment where he feels a little vulnerable learning that MC might know more about his backstory than he wanted HOWEVER, i think ultimately he'd get over it and there wouldn't be an lingering obstacles to him and the MC getting close. He might actually be able to open up a little quicker about his insecurity in being raised totally outside the borders of "normal society" and surely there would be lots of commiserating about high society drama and expectation. Amir certainly understands the struggle of having to buy your own independence and when family gifts come with traps and strings attached.

Mori would understand maybe better than a lot of people would give him credit for. By no means ABSURDLY wealthy, Mori's dad is a pretty successful businessman and could certainly give Mori a more comfortable life than what he has now. However Mori really looks up to his accomplished father and doesn't want to be "taken care of" or a "burden" or unable to deal with his own struggles. Basically, one of his deep dark fears is being someone his dad has to worry about. So even though Mori steals Monsters from the gas station and has a different part time job every week, he can respect the need to be independent a lot, especially when it means giving up an "easier" life to do it.

Akello is definitely the RO who would be the most innately suspicious of that, for two reasons. First, Akello's family worked INCREDIBLY hard to put him through college- his grandparents and his parents saved conservatively for a long time to get him the best they could, and Akello himself worked his ass off at various jobs and at earning scholarships/grants to get all they way into a graduate program. He's not the first in his family to go to college (both his parents have undergrad degrees) but it really took a village to help get him these opportunities. So just by default he's kind of innately suspicious of the kind of wealth people are born into that lets them skip this, especially considering like... upper 1% generational wealth kind of nonsense. Secondly, for Akello, family is like. Pretty ironclad. It's hard for him to fully wrap his head around familial estrangement just because its been so ingrained into him that family (and by extension community) is what you spend your life working to protect and provide for. It would take something truly TRULY heinous to estrange Akello from his family (immediate and extended) and frankly even his demon deal and supposed "death" isn't enough to keep him from helping from the shadows, you know? But that being said, Akello's a rational guy and can examine his own biases pretty reliably. He'd be much more inclined to judge an MC like this based on their own merits and after like the initial shock period, would take MC at they're word that they don't have Affluent Asshole Disease and/or want anything to do with their Kardashian parents.

#I hope this provides more juice for you anon #Mori and akello have complex relationships with wealth tbh so there's kind of an adjustment buffer there #i mean i it wouldn't be fair to say amir doesn't but his is definitely a weird situation #because while he used his parents money as a springboard to get away from them #he definitely started his sex work business with every contact he could steal out of their communications #super wealthy clients gave him plenty of targets to seduce and as he got better at his succubus ways he was able to sort of capitalize on i #and then of course leaning into dom flavors just opened him up to very loyal and very wealthy niche clients so #he's doing a decent job maintaining his wealth but in actuality he has a tiny fraction of what his parents have access to #thank you for asking!#amir #long answer!!

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murdermitties · 9 months

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you’re doing name games? :0

Yeah!

It's kinda indefinitely open, send in some names or one, if I get inspired enough by the name I'll make a design outta it for the asker.

I do them whenever I feel like so there's often huge gaps between them. There's no first come first serve, it's just whichever name gives me something to work with

The ask can also start or end with an 'X' and it'll be answered privately, just in case people feel uncomfortable being off of anon since I won't accept anons for name game

#kat murmur #ask #only one ask per person #you can add more than one name but I'll only do one design #if you've sent in before and I've done it you may send in another #if you're unsure if I've received your ask or not you may check in #and I'll answer privately #sorry I'm using your ask as a springboard for new people that might not know or remember the rules of name game!

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volot · 2 years

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gonna take this moment to be a little transparent and also apologize for being awful at holding conversations / being hard to reach lately.

my mental health has taken a really hard hit after some deeply troubling and fairly triggering medical news hit my offline life that's completely flipped everything upside-down, and a lot of it is in a very stressful waiting period, so my social battery has been at an all time low. there are days that i'll forget to respond to conversations thinking i have already, there will be days where i just can't manage conversation worth my weight in salt and i don't want to give people half-baked responses, and sometimes even just being around, so i'm just not around or even on discord for days at a time. somedays i'll tell myself 'i don't have the energy to respond to this right now, so i'll reply later because i don't want to leave them hanging'; but then later turns into longer and i get self-conscious about it and start stressing myself out. if it's been a long time since i've responded, i fall into this fit of feeling like... nervous that the other person won't be interested in the conversation anymore, or is upset / angry with me because i took forever to respond, or things like that. something i think that would help with this is letting folks know like 'hey, i'm not in any good mental place to talk right now, but i just wanted to let you know i've read this and i'll get back to you once i feel better, okay?' which is honestly on me to start doing, and i'll definitely be taking those steps going forward.

i've contemplated taking a hiatus, and right now i'm still in a vaguely floating 'well see' territory because i'll have too much time on my hands in the following months, and writing has always been an escape for me, but if it's for the best of my mental health i will.

but for now, i just want to voice that like, if i've ever been hard to reach, i promise, it's not you at all. i'm not disinterested in you, and i'm not disinterested in our plots or conversation; you've done nothing wrong to annoy me or put me off. if i had a problem with anything i would tell you right away rather than hold my tongue, because communication is very important to me. i look forward to every interaction and every conversation with the folks here -- this community is a good community, and i love a lot of folks here and am endlessly blown away by the depths of life everyone brings to the rpc and their writing. lately, my brain just makes everything hard, and my exhaustion is a pain in the ass when i want to talk to people.

if you're ever nervous or afraid maybe you've put me off, or you've annoyed me, or i'm not interested, you can come to me any time and check in. i don't mind questions like that at all, and i'd rather know if i've made someone feel that way so i can apologize, reassure, and put an ease to their worries right away. i know how rough that anxiety can be, and it's on me to at least help put it to rest so you guys can rest easier.

i love you guys, thank you for your patience and sticking with me. ♡

#this is admittedly something that has been weighing on me for a long time and i've been unsure on how to bring it up #so i'm glad that this gave me an opportunity to. i don't like to talk about my problems online because i feel like i'm being a bother by #doing which is why i havent brought up what's going on outside of like 2 people's dms. if you want to know you can message me.#but i just wanted to use this as a springboard to apologize and explain what's going on because i recognize that this stuff can make #people worry or get anxious and i dont want that #anyway this is an entire stream of consciousness im not sure what to tag this as...#ooc.#uhmm #vent /#<- to be safe?#medical tw

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vaspider · 4 months

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While I'm writing things that I've been intending to write for a while... one of the things that I think that a lot of people who haven't been involved in like... banking or corporate shenaniganry miss about why our economy is its current flavor of total fuckery is the concept of "fiduciary duty to shareholders."

"Why does every corporation pursue endless growth?" Fiduciary duty to shareholders.

"Why do corporations treat workers the way they do?" Fiduciary duty to shareholders.

"Why do corporations make such bass-ackwards decisions about what's 'good for' the company?" Fiduciary duty to shareholders.

The legal purpose of a corporation with shareholders -- its only true purpose -- is the generation of revenue/returns for shareholders. Period. That's it. Anything else it does is secondary to that. Sustainability of business, treatment of workers, sustainability and quality of product, those things are functionally and legally second to generating revenue for shareholders. Again, period, end of story. There is no other function of a corporation, and all of its extensive legal privileges exist to allow it to do that.

"But Spider," you might say, "that sounds like corporations only exist in current business in order to extract as much money and value as possible from the people actually doing the work and transfer it up to the people who aren't actually doing the work!"

Yes. You are correct. Thank you for coming with me to that realization. You are incredibly smart and also attractive.

You might also say, "but Spider, is this a legal obligation? Could those running a company be held legally responsible for failing their obligations if they prioritize sustainability or quality of product or care of workers above returns for shareholders?"

Yes! They absolutely can! Isn't that terrifying? Also you look great today, you're terribly clever for thinking about these things. The board and officers of a corporation can be held legally responsible to varying degrees for failing to maximize shareholder value.

And that, my friends, is why corporations do things that don't seem to make any fucking sense, and why 'continuous growth' is valued above literally anything else: because it fucking has to be.

If you're thinking that this doesn't sound like a sustainable economic model, you're not alone. People who are much smarter than both of us, and probably nearly as attractive, have written a proposal for how to change corporate law in order to create a more sensible and sustainable economy. This is one of several proposals, and while I don't agree with all of this stuff, I think that reading it will really help people as a springboard to understanding exactly why our economy is as fucked up as it is, and why just saying 'well then don't pursue eternal growth' isn't going to work -- because right now it legally can't. We'd need to change -- and we can change -- the laws around corporate governance.

This concept of 'shareholder primacy' and the fiduciary duty to shareholders is one I had to learn when I was getting my securities licenses, and every time I see people confusedly asking why corporations try to grow grow grow in a way that only makes sense if you're a tumor, I sigh and think, 'yeah, fiduciary duty to shareholders.'

(And this is why Emet and I have refused to seek investors for NK -- we might become beholden to make decisions which maximize investor return, and that would get in the way of being able to fully support our people and our values and say the things we started this company to say.)

Anyway, you should read up on these concepts if you're not familiar. It's pretty eye-opening.

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makoodles · 3 months

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ミ stay for something

🍓 pairing: kyle 'gaz' garrick x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, ex-boyfriend!gaz, unprotected vaginal sex, lack of communication, jealousy, 'just the tip' trope, sex with feelings

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

You hate wasting a Friday night on a first date, but you had genuinely high hopes for this one. You had made such an effort, too; pretty sparkly eyeshadow, strawberry-flavoured lipgloss, a new little black dress.

You look good. You feel good.

It’s just a shame that the guy is a bit of a moron.

He talks about himself a lot over dinner. Like, so much. You sit and smile and pretend to listen, your gaze wandering, and wonder if he’s going to ask any questions about you. He does (eventually), but they’re short and perfunctory and he seems to just take your answers and use them as a springboard into his next topic of discussion.

It’s a little tedious, but hey. First dates usually are. You weather it, your polite smile turning a little stiff as you sip your wine. Truthfully, you have ulterior motives here.

You’re not proud of it, but you don’t think you can handle the dry spell you’re going through anymore. You crave touch, affection, some kind of connection. You’re okay with being single, but god you’re so hungry for intimacy that it’s led to you agreeing to a date with a guy that you honestly wouldn’t have normally been into just for the chance of getting some action.

Ben is a nice enough guy, and he’s certainly good looking; neatly groomed hair, straight white teeth, a nice physique. He’s in good shape, though you can’t help but subconsciously compare him to—

No, you think sternly to yourself, Don’t do that.

When he leans into you at the end of the date and asks in a low, sultry voice if you want to continue the night with him, you agree a little breathlessly. God, it’s been a long time since you were touched.

Your place is closer, and you can’t help but feel a little illicit thrill as you lead Ben back. You never usually bring guys back to yours, especially not on the first date, but you’ll be the first to admit that you’re needy tonight.

The weather is getting colder as winter creeps its icy fingers through the air, but you’re wrapped tight in your coat and kept nice and warm as Ben wraps an arm around your waist, kissing heatedly at your neck as you try to open your door.

You giggle, the wine from dinner making you all loose and happy and eager. You tilt your head to give him more of your throat, and he eagerly takes the opportunity to introduce teeth and tongue as he kisses the line of your neck. You fumble with the key, clumsy as your body heats up.

When you finally manage to turn the key and get the stupid door open, Ben grabs you by the hips and spins you around so that he can pull you into a proper kiss. The guy might have been a dull conversationalist, but you’re delighted to find that he’s a good kisser.

The two of you stumble through the door, your arms locked around his neck as he holds you by the waist. It’s a little embarrassing how eager you are for a guy that you really aren’t even all that into, but you guess that’s just where desperation has gotten you.

“Shit,” Ben hisses when you nip at his lip. “Fuck, you’re so hot. C’mere, take this off.”

He starts tugging at your coat, and you pull back just enough to shrug it off, letting it drop to the floor. He lets out a throaty sound of appreciation, before grabbing at your waist again and leaning in to trail another set of hot kisses along your neck and shoulder.

You tilt your head back, thunking lightly against the wall, and your eyelids flutter at the nipping kisses along your sensitive skin.

“Oh, god…” You breathe, blinking your eyes open again.

But then… you pause. For the first time, you notice that the lights in your entryway are on. Why are they on? You hadn’t turned them on when you came in, and you know that they weren’t on when you had left.

Ben is still groping eagerly at your hips, one hand reaching around to squeeze at your ass, but now you’re distracted, on alert. Your eyes dart around, and fall on a pair of Adidas Superstars set neatly by the front door, and a big puffer coat that’s been hung up on the hook in the hall.

Oh no. No fucking way.

As if to confirm the path your thoughts had just taken, your eyes catch on a figure in the doorway to the living room, leaning casually against the doorframe. Just watching.

A scream catches in your throat, and you grab Ben by the shoulders in an attempt to stop him. He doesn’t seem to understand, because he just keeps squeezing at your ass, pulling your hips closer so that he can slot between your legs and grind against you.

The brief spark of arousal that shoots through you when he grinds his hard-on into the seam of your cunt through your underwear is significantly dampened by the awareness that someone is already in your home, watching you, and you already know who it is.

“Hey, baby,” Kyle fucking Garrick says, lifting a mug patterned with little cartoon cats to his mouth. “Had a nice night out?”

“Jesus Christ–” You hiss, shoving at Ben’s chest. This time, the push isn’t needed, because Ben has rocketed up straight at the sound of another man’s voice in your house calling you ‘baby’.

“What the–” Ben starts to say, his brow furrowing into a bewildered frown when he catches sight of Gaz standing in the doorway watching you.

“Kyle, what are you doing here?” You snap, mortified. You grab at the bottom of your short little dress, pulling roughly at it to try and make sure you’re not flashing anyone.

Gaz watches you, amusement shining in his dark eyes. He’s not even trying to hide the way his gaze is drawn to your legs, lingering where your dress has ridden up your thighs. He sips his tea, a poor attempt at concealing his smirk.

“Home from deployment earlier than expected, love.” He says, calm and casual as if he hasn’t just broken into your goddamn house to destroy any hope you had of getting railed that night. “No time to find accommodation. You don’t mind, eh?”

Ben’s head is swinging between the two of you, his expression blank as he tries to work out just what exactly is happening. He’s straightened up entirely, the presence of Gaz obviously putting him on edge. You can’t blame him for his confusion; Gaz is currently looking at you like he wants to fucking eat you alive, and you’re beginning to get hot and flustered under his stare.

“Are you–” Ben starts, his head still on a swivel as though he can’t decide who to address. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

Gaz doesn’t even bother to reply at once. He sips at his tea, and tilts his head as he lets his eyes wander over Ben lazily. It doesn’t seem like he’s all too impressed by what he sees, though he’s smirking as though he’s amused.

“Sergeant Kyle Garrick.” He says at last, with a nod.

You huff. You know what he’s doing – he never introduces himself by his rank unless he’s trying to make a point.

Ben goes stiff. He’s still pressed against you, and you can feel every ounce of tension down the line of your body. It seems like he’s just now clocking Gaz as a proper threat, and you take a breath as you realise that he’s about to split and leave you here.

And sure enough–

“I– Listen, I don’t know what’s.. what’s going on here, but I don’t want any trouble.” Ben says, finally pushing himself away from you. He’s holding his hands up by his shoulders as though he’s being held at gunpoint, and you roll your eyes impatiently at his dramatics.

“No trouble, mate.” Gaz says, his voice still cheerfully amiable. “Door’s behind you.”

“Gaz–” You hiss, incensed, but it’s pointless.

Ben is already scrambling to open the door, heedless of the way you grasp onto his coat in protest. You sigh heavily as he tumbles out into the cold night, and the door slams shut behind him so loud it makes your head hurt.

You stand alone in your entryway, shivering a little in your tiny black dress and heels from the icy breeze that was let in from Ben’s escape. Your jaw is clenched tight, and you take a deep, deep breath as you turn to face your ex-boyfriend.

Gaz is still watching you, his deep brown eyes staring at you from beneath his long dark lashes. You try hard to ignore his expression, which is unmistakably hungry.

“You look good, baby.” He says, staring pointedly at the way your breasts are all pushed up in your tight dress.

“Don’t call me that.” You grumble, teaching down to unbuckle your delicate heels. You cast them aside and kick them over so they’re laying beside Gaz’s runners.

Gaz just snickers, turning to follow after you when you march your way to the kitchen. Irritation is burning hot in your veins, your lips pursed as you struggle to bite your tongue. It’s so fucking typical that the exact night you try to have some cheap, meaningless sex with some stranger, Gaz has decided to land right into your home. It’s like he has a fucking radar for when you’re about to get laid.

“You could have gotten a hotel.” You snap over your shoulder as you make your way to the kettle. It’s already hot, but you flick the switch again anyway.

“Nah. They’re all booked out. Busy season, you know.”

God, he’s so full of shit. You both know he never even considered staying anywhere other than with you, just like the last few times.

Still, you persevere.

“You could have stayed with one of the guys.” You say, turning around and folding your arms over your chest.

Gaz glances down, and you realise that you’ve inadvertently pushed your breasts together and up. You hastily drop your arms again, and settle instead for planting your hands on your hips.

“Could have,” He admits, leaning against your kitchen table in a way that’s infuriatingly casual. “But they never offered.”

“Neither did I–!”

Gaz doesn’t even seem to hear you. He just steps towards you, reaching to grab an empty mug from the cupboard above your head. The movement brings him so close to you, close enough that your next inhale is scented with his fresh-sweet cologne, the one you always loved, and you find your eyelids fluttering as your muscles relax without your permission. He smells so familiar, so comforting. You hate it.

“Go get changed,” He murmurs, keeping his voice low like he knows the moment is delicate. “We’ll watch a movie.”

You’d love to get fired up, to shove him or curse at him, but it’s all you can do to find the strength to step away from him instead of melting into him. You’re pretty sure he deserves an ass-kicking for this stunt of this, but you decide to pick your battles. Or at least, to postpone them.

You waver another moment, debating over whether you should try to get the last say, but Gaz has already turned away to continue making the cup of tea that you had started. Recognising that the moment has passed, you huff a sigh and march out of the kitchen, making your way to your bedroom.

It takes quite a bit of wiggling to get out your dress – it might look good, but there’s an inordinate sense of relief when you finally tug it over your head and feel as though you can breathe unimpeded again. You unclip your bra and toss it aside, rolling your shoulders and sighing as your breasts are freed.

Once you're dressed again in a worn-out massive t-shirt that drowns your body and some loose sweatpants, looking decidedly unsexy, you pad to your bathroom and start washing your makeup off. Now that you’re alone, that disappointment and frustration is settling in properly. Ben might have been boring, but if his kissing was anything to judge by, you might actually have had a perfectly enjoyable night with him.

Bare-faced and dressed for lounging in bed, you trudge back downstairs to your ex-boyfriend. It’s far from the way you wanted to end your night, but you’ve resigned yourself to your fate. You can hear the muffled sounds from the television as you make your way downstairs, and you redirect yourself towards your small sitting room.

Gaz is sat sprawled on the couch, his legs spread wide as he makes himself comfortable in your home. Something twists in your stomach at how comfy he looks, as though he belongs there. He looks around when you walk in, though your footsteps are quiet and muffled by your fluffy socks.

You look far from sexy right now in your ugly old loungewear and bare face, but Gaz brightens up at the sight of you.

“There she is.” He crows, though there’s something soft in his gaze that you can hardly face. “C’mon, love. Want to pick what we’re watching?”

You just look at him tiredly. He’s as handsome as ever; the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. He must have come straight here once he’d gotten back from deployment because his eyes are dark and exhausted and stubble is a little more overgrown than usual. You hate that he’s able to come into your space like this so easily – like he’s never left.

“Gaz–” You start to say, but you’re cut off when he reaches for your hand.

He tugs you towards him, and you put a knee hastily up on the couch to prevent yourself from falling flat into his lap.

“Shhh, c’mon. Just sit with me.” He murmurs, looking up at you with those damn pretty eyes.

You waver, but then you turn your head to the side and catch sight of the second cup of tea sitting on the coffee table. Gaz has made it just how you like it, and in your favourite mug too. You crumble almost instantly.

“Stick to your side of the couch.” You grumble, before dropping yourself down heavily onto the sofa next to him.

Gaz hums, and you can already tell that he has no intention of following that order. His arm is already sprawled over the back of the couch; it’s not touching you, but you have no doubt that he’ll try to before the end of the night.

He sticks on some stupid movie on Netflix. You don’t pay attention. It’s a rom-com, which is typical. He always pretends he chooses the sappy romantic films for your benefit, but you’re not fooled. You see the way he watches them with avid interest, the way his toes curl in his socks when the big love confession scene comes on screen. It’s always been something that you’re impossibly fond of.

The two of you are silent for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. Part of you wishes that it was awkward – it would be easier, you think. But he makes it so simple, sitting with him like this as the cheesy film plays in the background. You’re still a little tipsy from the drinks you’d had at dinner, and you melt into the couch beside him a little quicker than you think you would have otherwise.

“You ruined my night, you know.” You say at last, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

To your surprise, he’s already looking at you. You glance away hastily again, not wanting to make eye contact.

“Nah,” He says, and you feel his arm dip down a little. He’s cupping your shoulders now, and you should probably move away, but you don’t. “If anything, I saved you from having a long, disappointing night with some tosser you agreed to pity-date. He didn’t exactly look like your type, darling.”

“He was a perfectly nice guy.” You bite out, crossing your arms defensively over your belly in your big t-shirt.

“Nice guys don’t end the first date by groping your ass and humping you up against your wall in your own house.” He says, and if you’re not mistaken you’d say he sounds a little bitter.

You cast a sideways glance at him. He’s sitting up, watching you closely and leaning just slightly towards you. He’s so intense about the way he’s looking at you, his arm dipping low so that he’s holding you properly.

“Stop it.” You say. It hardly even sounds like a proper protest. You’re so tired, still a little floaty from the wine you’d had at dinner, and desperately disappointed by the lack of sexual satisfaction you had been hoping for.

There’s a pause, and then Gaz gives a small shrug. He pulls his arm back to give you space, but he still has that stupid smirk on his face. You can’t even be angry about the cockiness of his expression when his eyes are that soft though.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He murmurs. “I’m not being fair, am I?”

“No,” You say petulantly. “You’re not.”

He huffs a noise that’s almost a laugh, only he manages to stifle it so that it comes out as a cough instead.

“Mm. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin your big date night, especially when you got done up so pretty for it,” He murmurs, his voice low and sweet as honey trickling down your spine. “Let me make up for it. Come on, get over here.”

You hesitate, but Gaz isn’t really giving you an option. He begins to shift, one of his strong muscled arms looping around your waist as he pulls you into him. It takes you a long moment to realise what it is that he’s trying to do. He lays back on the couch and pulls you with him, encouraging you to pull your legs up onto the sofa so that the two of you are laying on your sides, with Gaz spooned up against your back.

It’s definitely a bad idea to cuddle with him on the couch like this. You’re trying to set boundaries, to make it clear that you’re just friends (if you can even call it that) after your breakup. And yet… you don’t offer any sort of protest at all.

“Relax,” Gaz sighs from behind you, and you feel his nose nuzzle against the back of your neck. “You love cuddling.”

You roll your eyes, turning your head slightly so he can see the unimpressed expression on your face.

“This isn’t enough to make up for being such a dick.” You grumble. Despite your griping, you don’t actually make any attempt to get out of his arms.

He was right, after all. You do love cuddling. It was your favourite thing to do when you were together.

But you’re not together anymore, and it’s hard to ignore the gnawing guilt that you’re letting this grow into something that should be avoided instead of nipping it in the bud. You and Gaz had broken up months ago, and it was a perfectly amicable split. You can’t even say that he was at fault for any of it; the strain of the long distance part of your relationship while he was on deployment just grew too much for you, the space his absence left filling with brambled loneliness that pricked incessantly at you. You had known what you were getting into with this relationship with him, and yet when it came down to it you got too greedy, wanting more of him than he was able to give.

Tonight was a moment of weakness for you, and though your hopes for sex may have been thwarted, you can’t turn down the soft familiar intimacy of Gaz’s strong body cradling you close against him.

Maybe it’s the wine you had at dinner, but you find your muscles relaxing a little as one of Gaz’s arms loops around your waist, his big hand coming to rest across your belly.

“Mm. I’m being selfish, love.” He murmurs, and you fight a shiver as his warm breath ghosts over the delicate shell of your ear. “This is more for me than for you.”

You’re not altogether sure that’s true. It’s certainly doing an awful lot for you right now. Gaz is in just a t-shirt, the muscles of his biceps bunching up under his bare skin as he tries to subtly nudge you closer to him.

You’ve missed being all wrapped up in the warm embrace of him; he cuddles with his whole body, the front of his thighs all pressed against the back of yours, his strong chest moulding to your back as his face nuzzles against the back of your neck. You always feel so safe when he holds you like this, like he’s blocking out the rest of the world for you. You can only guess he feels the same – he holds you that much tighter every time he gets back home from his missions.

You grumble quietly, but soon settle down. The repetitive stroking motion of his thumb over your hip is more soothing than it should be. You take deep breaths, trying to be subtle about it, because all you can smell is Gaz and his citrusy sweet aftershave and you just want to drown in it.

“You can’t keep doing this.” You mumble, though all the fight has gone out of you. “It’s not… helpful.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Gaz shifts behind you. His arm tightens around your waist almost imperceptibly, as though he thinks you’re going to push him away. But you’re being selfish now too, comfortably wrapped up against his chest.

“We said we’d stay friends,” He says at last, and he’s so close that you can feel his lips move against the back of your neck as he speaks. “Nothin’ wrong with some platonic cuddling. You should see how close me an’ Soap have had to cuddle to conserve heat when we’re out on the field.”

You huff a small laugh, which is obviously what he had been hoping for. Platonic cuddling. This certainly doesn’t feel platonic, but you can’t bring yourself to push him away. You’ve been craving this kind of closeness for months now, so you just let yourself reluctantly enjoy it. It would have been so much easier if you were able to enjoy it with Ben, with someone who meant nothing to you and wouldn’t have brought with him such a complicated web of feelings and history, but there’s a real sense of comfort in the familiarity of Gaz’s presence.

The film Gaz had chosen to stick on is a stupid one. It’s half action, half love story, with a strong rugged hero and a too-beautiful love-interest whose main role seems to be throwing out quips for comedic relief. You’ve seen a hundred versions of this plot play out in other films, though Gaz is predictably glued to the screen. He’s always loved these stupid films.

You’re comfortable enough that you fall into a light doze, uninterested in the television as you relish the heat from Gaz’s chest. He’s like a fucking human radiator, so hot that you can feel a thin dew of sweat begin to break out along your spine. It chases away the chill of the night and makes you so sleepy.

You’re almost asleep when movement from behind you jolts you back to wakefulness. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve imagined it. Then Gaz moves again, and this time it’s unmistakable.

Gaz is hard, the thick ridge of him impossible to miss as he presses against your ass. You’re awake instantly, the slight tipsiness from dinner vanishing into thin air. You’re on high alert, eyes darting back to the television to see what the fuck has aroused him, but there’s nothing of note happening onscreen. It’s just a conversation between characters, exposition setting up the next stage of the plot.

“Gaz,” You say, and your voice comes out louder than you had intended. “Stop humping my ass.”

You’re half-expecting him to deny it, but he just huffs a quiet snort, his nose nuzzling against the back of your neck.

“Sorry, love.” He says, though he doesn’t sound sorry in the least. “Can’t help it. Missed you loads.”

You can feel his cock even through the layers of your clothing, and you swallow hard. God, you’ve missed it. You’ve missed him, though it doesn’t seem like the right time to admit it. How are you ever supposed to get over each other if he keeps coming to stay with you every time he gets back from wherever in God’s name he’s been, when he holds you so sweetly and talks to you like you’re still his girl?

His hips rock into you in a movement that’s almost imperceptible, except you’re waiting for it. His hands are gripping your waist, his fingers curling into the soft flesh there. He’s always enjoyed the way your body yields to him, so much softer than the hard planes of muscle that make up his own, and it’s no surprise that he goes straight back to holding onto his favourite parts of you even as he ruts against your ass.

“Jesus, Gaz–” You start to complain, but your voice is a little too breathy to be convincingly angry.

“Stop that,” He murmurs, his lips pressing against the side of your neck. “You never call me that.”

That is true – after the breakup, calling him Kyle just seemed too intimate. It’s a name that usually falls from your lips with care, in soft whispers made for dark rooms and quiet moments. His callsign offers distance, reminds you both that what you had is in the past. Or that it should be in the past, at least.

“Kyle,” You concede tiredly. “You dickhead.”

He just hums. He knows you well enough to know that you’re not really angry; you’re not even attempting to move away from him, though you know you should. The film is mostly forgotten in the background, though you’re vaguely aware that the two characters onscreen have now progressed to confessing their love before the big final battle. You just sigh; this little romantic film moment is only going to encourage Gaz even more.

Yet still, you don’t move.

The way he’s grinding his thick cock against the swell of your ass is making your blood run hot. The pressure every time his hips roll lightly against you and the way that he uses his grip on your hips to pull you back against him is making your brain all stupid and fuzzy. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way you shift, the way you allow your bum to brush back against him. It earns you a soft little grunt that’s mostly muffled by the way he’s mouthing at your throat.

Oh, it would be so easy to slip the sweatpants that separates the two of you down, to allow him to slide into you. A little woozily, you think it would feel like he was coming home.

But to actually have sex feels like too much of a commitment, too confusing a step to take when things between you two were already muddled and confused enough. You’re almost afraid to even turn around to glance over your shoulder at him, as though making eye contact might mean you’ll both wake up and stop.

Gaz’s cock has gotten even harder, filling out thickly as he slots against the clothed groove of your ass. He’s not even touching your pussy, and yet your knickers are slick and sticky. It’s embarrassing at your age to be laying on the couch, watching a movie and getting dry-humped like a fucking teenager, and yet your skin feels as though it’s been lit aflame.

Then rustling fabric breaks the silence, and Gaz shifts a little behind you in an odd motion as the insistent pressure on your ass is finally relieved. In its absence, you’re almost disappointed.

You tilt your head, just barely turning it, just enough to see that he’s just pulled out his cock.

“Kyle–”

“Sorry, baby,” He says again, panting against the side of your neck and making you shiver. “– ‘m just too hard, getting uncomfortable. Ignore it.”

Ignore it? You think, a little hysterically. The gentle rocking of his erection into your ass was one thing, but how the fuck are you supposed to ignore the fact that your ex is all pressed up against you, still holding you by the waist with one hand as the other fists at his cock.

You glance behind you and down before you can help yourself, your self-control as lacking as ever. Fuck. You’ve missed the sight of that. He has the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, even if right now it’s flushed dark and angry and painful looking. Your mouth waters. He was obviously telling the truth when he said it was getting sore, and you feel a reluctant swell of sympathy.

“Been thinking of you for months, baby.” He murmurs, placing a wet, messy kiss on your throat. “I can’t even fucking cum properly when you’re not around, it’s not the fucking same. God, even missed the way you smell–”

As if to punctuate that, he presses his nose in your hair and inhales deeply. You know you smell like the sweet perfume you had sprayed earlier, your favourite one. You know from experience that it’s also Gaz’s favourite one. You tell yourself it’s a coincidence.

“Why didn’t you fuck someone else then? Get it out of your system?” You say, and it comes out a little harsh, a little raw. It reveals more than you want to; you feel a little ill at the thought of Gaz with some faceless girl, holding her and making her laugh, her hands touching him like you do.

If Gaz picks up on the bite in your voice, he’s kind enough to ignore it. He just huffs a quick snort like the suggestion is ridiculous, his sloppy mouthing at your neck turning into a chaste affectionate kiss that feels totally at odds with the desperate motions of his hand pumping at his cock.

“Why would I do that when I had a girl waiting for me at home?” He asks, his voice so soft with you. “Never wanted anyone else.”

Your toes curl, guilt coiling in your stomach. You hate that you feel pleased that he’s waited for you, that he doesn’t want anyone else. You’re not being fair – it had been you who had broken it off, after all. He should be able to get with whoever he wants to. Conceivably, he is allowed to. Yet you can’t pretend that you wouldn’t have been sick to your stomach if he admitted that he had.

God, you feel like such a hypocrite. Here you are, admittedly all too happy that Gaz has stayed faithful to a relationship that isn’t even intact anymore, and there he is, having just witnessed you come home with a stranger’s hands all over you.

“We’re not together anymore.” You whisper, when what you want to say is I’m sorry.

“I know.” Gaz replies, and it sounds like For now.

It’s not a surprise when the hand on your waist slips around to your belly, and then lower again as it slips beneath the waistband of your bottoms. You try and fail to suppress the wet gasp that’s pulled from your throat when his long fingers coast over the front of your knickers, finding your clothed clit with unerring accuracy.

“Oh, lace, baby?” He says, his breath catching in his eagerness before realisation seems to set in. “Oh. This was for your little date, eh?”

The guilt again, gnawing in your chest. You arch your back, simultaneously shying away and crowding your ass back up against him. It’s mortifying, being caught with your fancy underwear beneath your baggy unflattering sweatpants by your ex-boyfriend and having him know without a shadow of a doubt that you intended them to be seen by someone else.

“I was–” You start to say breathily, but Gaz doesn’t let you finish.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” He murmurs, his lips ghosting along the shell of your ear. “I know, I know. But he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve you. Jesus, he didn’t even know what he fuckin’ had, ran like a coward–”

“Gaz–” You try again. You can’t help but feel as though you need to explain yourself, like the two of you should talk this through.

“You’re so soft, Jesus Christ.” He mutters, the side of his hand rubbing at the squishy flesh of your thighs as he strokes at your clit. “Were you always this soft?”

It sounds as though he’s trying to remember, desperate and wanting. You swallow thickly, closing your eyes as that familiar pleasure licks up your spine. He knows you so well, knows every part of you and exactly how to touch you, and you can hardly believe you ever entertained letting anyone else put their hands on you.

“I got a new body oil.” You breathe, distracted by his touch. “It’s– it’s vanilla scented.”

“Yeah,” He groans, and you shiver helplessly when you feel his tongue on your neck, licking a hot stripe up to your earlobe. “I can smell it.”

His index and middle fingers are so firm on either side of your clit, rolling circles around it without actually touching you properly. You sigh, back arching, but before you can actually enjoy it his hands are pulling away.

“Wait–” You gasp, your body crying out in protest as Gaz stops, pulling his hand back out of your pants.

Gaz just grunts, kisses your neck once more, then tugs your sweatpants down. You lift your hips up immediately, thoughtlessly, and then kick your sweats and knickers off impatiently. It’s a little embarrassing, especially when the cool air hits your slick, sticky thighs and you shiver.

“Oh god, fuck,” He groans, his plush lips dragging along the sensitive skin at the back of your neck. “You’ve ruined yourself, baby.”

It’s embarrassing to admit it, but it’s true. The dry spell you’ve experienced since the breakup has been little more than a mild inconvenience for the most part, but now it feels like your body is charged like a live wire. It feels like you’ve never been touched before, and you squirm backwards in an attempt to get any kind of friction again.

“Kyle–” You start to complain, but you don’t get to finish because then Gaz is slotting his cock in between your thighs.

He groans, taking a breath as he shuffles his hips closer. His pretty, glistening cock is wedged between the soft pudge of your thighs, the head of it nudging against the wet folds of your cunt every time he twitches.

“Let me put the tip in, baby.” He says, his voice gruff and wanting in your ear. “Literally just the tip, that’s it, huh? It’s not like actual fucking, right?”

In this moment, you think you’d agree to anything to get his dick into you. You had been all kinds of wound up even before you had come home to find Gaz waiting for you, but it’s like your body had some kind of Pavlovian response to Gaz’s touch because now you’re practically panting for him.

He’s right, after all. It’s not really fucking. It means that you can maintain the flimsy thin pretence that this means nothing.

“Okay.” You manage to say, though it comes out humiliatingly breathy. “Yeah, okay, the tip–”

Gaz’s cock is pressing into you before you can even finish your sentence, bullying into the wet grasping tightness of your cunt and making you gasp.

You’ve gone long enough without getting laid that there’s a slight sting as he presses into you, but it’s overshadowed by the breathless relief. God, you’d forgotten how fucking good his dick felt inside you. He knows just how to use it too, and you wheeze slightly as he rocks an inch inside before pulling back again.

“Oh, fuck, baby.” Gaz moans throatily, the vibration of it rumbling right down your spine. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re so tight.”

“Mph,” You manage to make a muffled sort of sound against the couch cushion your face is pressed against, your mouth hanging softly open as you pant for breath.

True to his word, Gaz just presses the first inch or so inside. You almost hold your breath, waiting for the rest to slide inside and split you open, but he doesn’t. He just rocks back and forth, just missing hitting the spot inside that makes your nerves sing.

You wish, stupidly, fervently, that just this once Gaz would go back on his word. That he’d abandon his promise to just stick that first inch of his cock inside, that he’d slam home and stretch you wide and let his cock brush against the nerves just a little deeper inside you. But that’s not Gaz’s style; you know he’s not going to give you any more unless you beg for it.

Gaz rocks his hips in teeny tiny movements, just enough to have you squirming in frustration. You’re so wet that you know he could slide deeper with ease if he only just tilted his hips right, but he remains doggedly steadfast in pumping just the barest inch into you, groaning with the effort it’s taking to stop himself plunging fully inside.

“Oh god,” He breathes, sounding wrecked in your ear. “You feel even better than I remember.”

You don’t know how he can even say that when he’s barely even inside you, but no matter how much you wiggle and squirm, he just won’t slide any deeper.

“You’re such an asshole.” You slur out against the fabric of the couch, your cheek squished against the cushions. Your chin is a little wet – are you drooling?

Infuriatingly, Gaz doesn’t even argue.

“Mm.” He grunts, kissing the curve of your neck. “What’d I do this time?”

The fact that he has the gall to ask only irritates you further. You let out a quiet, grumbling noise, but his hand grips at your hip and stops you from writhing.

“Just… just put the rest of it in.” You say, craning your neck to try and look at him.

Your eyes are wide and wet, pathetically teary. You’ve been craving intimacy like this for weeks now. Maybe longer, if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s the kind of pleasure you’ve only ever gotten from Gaz, and you wheeze as your body opens up under his touch. God, you don’t know how you thought anyone would ever be able to fuck you like Gaz does.

“Mm, you sure, baby?” He murmurs, nosing against the back of your skull. “Thought we were just cuddling.”

“Don’t be a dick.” You snap, your patience reaching the end of its tether.

He just laughs, a breathless sort of amused gasp, before snapping his hips forward in one sharp movement and seating his cock inside you. Though it’s what you had been demanding, the abruptness of it startles you and you yowl, your back arching.

“Sh, sh, shh, sorry, love.” Gaz pants, before sighing in wordless contentment as his broad chest curves around your back, his strong arm looping around your belly. “Oh, fuck. Missed this so much, you have no idea. I swear you were made for me, I couldn’t fit as well inside anyone else.”

“Just– just move.” You whine, a little plaintive. It’s humiliating how desperate you are, but there’s no turning back now. “Please, Kyle–”

Gaz pitches into movement instantly, as though he’s got something to prove. Or maybe he’s just worried that you’re going to change your mind. His hips pull back then snap forward again, and again.

He’s so strong, his rhythm steady enough to rock you wildly back and forth on the lumpy couch cushions. You clutch at the fabric beneath you, gasping as his arm pulls you back and keeps you pinned against his hot, hard chest.

“Oh.” You breathe, tilting your head back with a pathetic little whimper as he fucks into you from behind, the two of you plastered together like sardines in the tiny can that is your sitting room couch.

This is just what you needed, you think a little wildly. God, you’ve been craving physical touch like this for months, since the last time you had seen Gaz. It’s galling to admit that any other man is a poor substitute, unable to fill the void that your ex-boyfriend has left in your life.

“Kyle,” You whine, searching for something. You don’t even know what you’re asking for, but Gaz is as patient with you as ever.

He just hums, leaning in over your shoulder and pressing hot, hungry kisses along your jawline where it’s exposed as you lean your head back. The arm that’s been wrapped around your belly coasts lower, until his big lovely hand is pressed against your cunt. His fingers search for your clit and find it easily, confident and familiar enough with your body that he barely even has to try to make you feel good.

Gaz coos soothingly at you and rolls your clit between his fingers as his thrusts begin to come faster and harder; he builds up a steady rhythm, one that lets him sink as deep inside of you as possible and quickly renders you speechless. The living room is soon filled with wet slapping sounds from where Gaz is pounding into you from behind, the grunts and pants and moans that both of you make rapidly drowning out the stupid action sequence playing out on the television from the long forgotten film.

Unbelievably, you feel a sweet stirring in your lower belly already. It’s with a sense of tired resignation that you acknowledge you’re going to come on Gaz’s dick, despite your original intentions for the evening. Typical.

But he’s not going to last either, judging by the strained moans in your ear.

“Shit,” He curses, and then his teeth sink into the side of your neck. You shudder, the feeling of him sucking a harsh hickey into your throat sending electric sparks racing through your nerves.

You think, judging from the desperate edge to Gaz’s humping into you from behind, that Gaz has been yearning in your absence in the same way you have for him. You’re biting on your lip hard in an effort to stifle the plaintive, wanting little moans that are threatening to spill over, but your attempts at quieting yourself are mostly unsuccessful. It makes you feel a little crazy, but Gaz doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, the evidence that you want him too only seems to encourage him.

Your eyes are half-closed as you fuck your hips back on Gaz’s cock, relishing the satisfied little cries he’s emitting into the back of your neck. You clutch clumsily at the strong arm he has wrapped around your belly, crying out yourself as the head of his cock hits that one spot inside you that makes you feel gooey inside. Your toes curl as your head tips back, your skull neatly cradled in the space between Gaz’s head and the couch cushions as he peppers kisses along the side of your neck.

The wet slapping of your bodies colliding is obscene in the quiet of the room; the stupid film still playing does nothing to drown it out. Your body is as limp and relaxed as a doll, allowing him to fuck into you from behind in a frenzy. Right now, you can’t even recall why you ever would have tried to deny yourself this pleasure in the first place.

His hips clap against your ass, those wet sounds getting even louder and more obscene than ever. Gaz is viscerally pleased with the way your ass bounces every time he fucks into you, because he moans and picks up the pace as if he just wants to watch your glutes jiggle every time his hips slap against you.

That familiar ball of tension starts tightening in your abdomen, your body winding up for a long-awaited and much needed release. It’s so typical that this orgasm feels like it’s going to be a big one too, as though your body needed Gaz to be there to guide you through it in order to achieve proper satisfaction.

But then, in a move so infuriating you almost burst into tears, Gaz pulls out and leaves you high and dry.

“No!” You blurt, and it comes out almost as a wail. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, baby.” Gaz says a little breathlessly. “Need you to turn over. Want to see you.”

As soon as you realise that he’s not trying to stop and that he’s just trying to reposition you, you’re quick to roll over so that you’re facing him. It seems like that’s exactly what he wanted, because he grins wide and reaches for your hips, eagerly pulling you closer.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He mumbles, his eyes like warm caramelised honey as they track over your face.

You’re pretty sure he’s full of shit; you’re panting like you’ve run a marathon, you’re sweaty, your hair is dishevelled, and you’re still wearing the ugly sweatshirt you had put on earlier. Yet, even still, Gaz’s genuine little compliment has your heart flipping in your ribcage.

You can’t help but think that you and Gaz are like feral little animals right now. You can barely keep your hands off each other; now that you’ve rolled over to face him, his hands are roaming over your hips and ass like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you by touch alone.

Embarrassingly, you’re no better – you lunge forward to kiss him, taking advantage of your new position, and he kisses you back hungrily.

Lying sideways on the couch like this is cramped, but Gaz uses his hand on your ass to tug you closer. Then he reaches down, long fingers gripping at your thigh before he pulls it up so that your leg is hitched over his hip.

Oh no, You barely have time to think it before his cock is pressing into you again, the slide made easy this time. Too intimate!

The panicked thought is swiftly dispelled the moment Gaz starts moving again, because goddamn this position is so much better. It’s almost difficult to tell where Gaz ends and you begin, so intertwined are your bodies. Gaz barely even allows for an inch of space. He fucks into you almost as soon as he’s pulled back, making for a fast, frantic pace that barely even gives you a chance to breathe.

You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you rock your hips mindlessly into his rough, almost animalistic thrusts. Your leg hitched over his hip means that he’s grinding into you deep, deeper than you thought was possible.

The way the two of you are fucking feels a little bit unhinged, rutting and humping your bodies together in search of mutual pleasure. It should be clumsy and graceless, yet somehow it feels good, as though your body remembers exactly how good Gaz has always treated you, as though your whole being is having a Pavlovian response to his touch. Pleasure burns in your gut, tight and hot, and you moan stupidly as Gaz pounds into you.

“Oh god.” You say without meaning to. The sound of your voice shocks you; you sound wrecked, as though you’ve been fucking for hours. It would have been embarrassing to reveal just how affected you were if Gaz wasn’t also clearly just as eager for it.

“Yeah,” He says, a hybrid of a groan and a gasp muffled against your lips as he clutches at your ass and drives into you wildly. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

You are too, you realise wildly. You’re struck by how quickly you’ve both gotten to this point. This whole encounter has been frenzied and feverish, as though the poorly stifled desire between you had turned explosive.

Gaz kisses you again, and his teeth clack against yours slightly as he licks into your mouth. It’s messy and wet, and it sends a delicious throb of pleasure shooting through your belly. He’s acting so possessive that it’s making your head spin. It should definitely be sending warning bells ringing in your head, or red alarms flashing in your minds eye – it can’t be a good thing that your ex-boyfriend is currently fucking you on your couch like he’s trying to claim you. But you’re apparently a little stupid and very weak, and Gaz has always known how to fuck you dopey and thoughtless. Instead of worry, you get the edges of an orgasm beginning to fizz in your peripheral awareness.

Your pussy must flutter or tighten around him as that lovely sweet promise of release edges closer, because Gaz moans in anticipation and his eager thrusts take on an edge of purpose. You almost protest when he breaks off the kiss, but then you realise that he just wants to be able to focus on keeping his rhythm steady. It’s frenzied and hot, and you swear the air itself is crackling as he kisses sloppily at your neck and fucks you hard.

“Love you,” He slurs in your ear, breathless. “Love you so much, baby.”

His thrusts turn more shallow and far more forceful the closer he gets. Little moans and whines escape his lips between kisses, the sounds ratcheting up in intensity as the two of you rut together.

“Tell me you love me,” He pleads, “Please— tell me you fuckin’ love me, baby. I know you do. I know you—”

You shouldn’t say it. You can’t say it. Yet his cock is fucking you sloppy and stupid, and your mouth moves before you even register that you’re speaking.

“Love you too,” You whimper like a pathetic little idiot, revelling in the exquisite feeling of him grinding against your g-spot just right. It feels so good, you know you’re so, so close to orgasm.

The ache in your abdomen persists— you clench tightly around his cock, your body straining as the muscles in your core clench, trying so hard to push yourself closer to the orgasm you know is coming. You’re so close, so so close— it burns, aches, drives you mad. All you can do is mewl, wrapping your arms around his muscled shoulders as he pounds into you despite the awkward angle.

You can feel your clit throbbing, pulsing, your entire body trying so goddamn hard to climax that you feel like you’re about to cry. You’re burning beneath your skin and all you want to do is gnash your teeth into the elegant line of Gaz’s throat, to leave some kind of indelible mark on his lovely smooth skin.

“Please, please, please— yes, fuck— oh, Kyle,” Your words come out on the breath of an uneven gasp, stuttering with each movement of his hips, perfectly synchronized.

His voice is low and hot in your ear as he pants, “Let me come inside you, baby— let me, please— fuck.”

You should say no. Every logical part of you knows that you should tell him to pull out, and yet the wires are crossed when it comes to your actual response. Your leg tightens around his waist, heart seizing in protest at the idea of him pulling out.

“Yes.” You gasp, continuing your streak of impulsive decision-making. Your own hips twitch forward in weak little humps in an effort to fuck yourself onto his cock, your clit grinding against the dark curls at his pubic bone. “Yes, inside, please–”

Your breathy, eager permission seems to give him a burst of energy. He picks up the pace, his body curving into you as his arms wrap around you in a tight embrace. It feels as though your entire world has been narrowed down to Gaz, his broad shoulders blocking out your view of the rest of the room. You cling to him, breathless and messy as you whimper like a loser, your body trembling from the toe-curling zings of pleasure that keep shooting up your spine.

“Oh, oh.. Kyle, please–” You practically sob, your fingernails digging harshly into his shoulders. “Love you, love you, oh my god, I’m gonna come–”

Gaz grunts, obviously eager as his movements grow thoughtful and determined. He knows exactly what you want, what you need at this moment. His abdominal muscles tense and flex with every calculated, deliberate thrust. There is no way to escape the length of him moving hard and thick inside you – not that you want to escape so much as a second of it, of course.

“That’s my girl, always so fucking perfect.” He snarls as your body eagerly takes every dirty roll of his hips, palming at your thigh where it’s hitched over his hip. “Fuckin’ Christ, I’ve been dreaming of your cunt for fucking months, never wanted anything else–”

It makes no sense. Absolutely no sense, that those bizarre, lust-crazed possessive words are what drag you trembling, screaming over the crest of an orgasm so intense the walls of the room white out, each sweeping pulse leaving you unable to do anything but clench and shudder and arch beneath him.

Gaz fucks you like a damn machine; he gives you long, deep strokes over and over as you’re falling apart. Your body seizes around the hot flesh of Gaz’s cock, your mind going white as your cunt spasms, your hole clamping down and pulsing with every desperate, loud moan torn from your mouth.

You feel like a sloppy little slut, your hips jerking towards him instead of away even as your orgasm washes through you and leaves your body tender and oversensitive. It feels so damn good to feel your mind washing blank and clear, not a single thought taking hold.

When the toe-curling height of pleasure subsides, you find your nerves frayed and hyper-sensitive. A plaintive whine breaks out of your throat as Gaz keeps fucking you, beginning to thrust up frantically into your twitching pussy. Your body falls limp as Gaz bounces your pliable, warm body up and down his cock as he groans into your ear.

It’s like the rhythmic tightening of your drooling, creaming cunt has him losing his mind, because he grabs the meat of your hips and begins jerking your limp body back towards him. The slap slap slap! of the impact is so loud that every slap makes your breath catch.

“Fuck. I'm—” Your hands slap clumsily at his shoulders, reaching for anything to hold on to, but he doesn’t stop. "Kyle. Kyle—" It’s just your voice, hoarse, breathless, and Gaz bearing down on you, the sound of your bodies somehow growing sloppier, messier as he fucks you and it’s uncompromising, just skirting the edge of painfully overwhelming—

He breaks, shoulders trembling, head bowed into the curve of your neck as he lets out a long, desperate moan. It’s a drawn out, rough groan that is more sob than pleasure, and then you feel him inside you, spilling red hot and wet. Your own orgasm still isn’t fully finished, rolling leisurely through you in little aftershocks, your body still tightening and shivering, and it goes on and on and on.

He holds on to you throughout, as if he’s worried he’ll blow away into the wind without anchoring himself to you. His hips slow, but don’t fully stop. He rolls his hips into you slowly, leisurely, as though he has all the time in the world as he shivers in his come down. You blink, waiting for the colour to bleed back into your vision and for the ringing in your ears to stop, and for the first time all night you’re not thinking about anything at all.

“Please, Kyle.” You slur out stupidly. You have no idea what you’re even asking for; there’s just some vague, barely formed desperation floating around your painfully blank mind as you search for something.

“Mm.” Gaz hums. It feels like he’s everywhere, his broad chest filling up your sight and enveloping you. His hands roam over your body: the backs of your thighs, squeezing as his hands drift over your ass, up and down your back, your neck, his fingers catching around the thin strands of hair and the back of your neck, until finally he settles his fingers on your cheeks.

His palms stay there, just cupping your cheeks as the two of you struggle to regulate your breathing and regain your composure. That antsy sense of desperation eases a little when he leans in to nuzzle fondly at your face, dropping sweet little kisses along your cheeks and nose.

Gaz’s chest rumbles with a low, lovely laugh, his voice gravelly from his climax. “You’re overflowing, sweetheart.”

You let out a careless little sigh, before relaxing experimentally. You can feel a gush of warm seed begin to ooze out around Gaz’s cock, spilling out of your entrance and coating his balls. You wriggle lazily, cunt still pulsing as your wildly beating heart gradually slows to a lazy flutter.

You think you should probably be panicking now. You’ve just fucked your ex, told him you loved him, then let him come inside. With no condom. God, you’re stupid. But the wave of horror you’re expecting never comes. You feel too floaty to care; you suspect if it was anyone other than Gaz, the mortification would have knocked into you like a sledgehammer.

“You’re gonna get cum on the couch.” You complain, the words coming out clumsy on your tongue.

Gaz just snorts. He makes no effort to pull out, and you have no desire to push him away. The intimacy of your sweat-slick skin pressed together is enough to take your breath away, and it’s only further compounded by the sensation of his cock gradually softening inside you.

“I’ll get it cleaned, love.” He drawls lazily, leaning in to kiss your swollen lips. “Or pay for a new one. Whichever you want.”

When you kiss him back he sighs fondly, one thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You’re still limp in his arms, boneless and spent as you wriggle greedily into his arms. His cock is still lodged inside you, and you’re sure he must be getting uncomfortably sensitive but to your relief he just moans in quiet appreciation when you try to worm your way closer.

“You made a mess.” You mumble against his lips.

You’re being a little unfair, considering your own slick is coating your thighs and Gaz’s lower belly, but Gaz has always rolled with even the most unreasonable attitude you’ve thrown his way. So he just chuckles, and you feel a little insane as you wonder if anyone else would ever be as patient with you.

“Think we both did, doll.” He murmurs fondly. He leans in and catches your lips with his again, kissing you slowly with a lazy, lewdly open mouth. One hand curls against the nape of your neck, the other hand reaching up beneath your sweater and curling possessively against your left tit, sweeping over your sluggish, sated heartbeat.

You feel practically brainless after your orgasm, relaxed and loose in Gaz’s arms. There’s something to be said for how safe you feel with him, as much as you’d like to deny it, but reality is starting to slowly sink in.

You pull away from his mouth to try and collect yourself, unable to think when he’s kissing you like that.

“Fuck.” You breathe, closing your eyes with a sigh. It’s slow, but you’re finally starting to think again. “We shouldn’t– we should have used a condom.”

Gaz’s eyes are lidded with fond amusement as he watches you quietly. His hand kneads at your breast absent-mindedly, as though he’s forgotten that he’s groping at you.

“Don’t overthink it,” He murmurs, kissing your forehead again. “I saw your box of pills in the bathroom. And I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone but you.”

You tremble a little at his admission, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You feel like you’re losing your mind. Gaz is the most beautiful man you’ve ever met, funny and sweet and always so caring. You love him, even if it kills you a little to admit it, and you don’t know how to respond to his admission that he’s been faithful to you during the long months you weren’t together.

Gaz misinterprets whatever expression is on your face, thumb stroking soothingly over your cheek again. “We can get you a morning-after pill, if it’ll make you feel better.”

You don’t bother correcting him. You’re not that fussed over the morning-after pill – you’re careful when it comes to your birth control, and Gaz had always cum inside you when you were together. The weight of his cock inside you is comforting almost, the wet slide of his cum dripping out of you makes you feel as though you’d never been apart in the first place. You wonder how you could ever have been thick enough to think that someone else could fill Gaz’s place in your life.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, Gaz’s lips twitch. “That pillock you brought home would’ve been such a disappointment, darling.”

You can’t stop your eyes from rolling, exasperated.

“You don’t know that.” You grumble, though you don’t pull away. You’re still all curled up against his chest, skin still slick and sticky from rapidly cooling sweat, your leg still slung over Gaz’s hip to keep his now-soft cock nestled inside you.

“Sure I do.” He says, and that cocky arrogance that both drives you mad and makes you swoon is rearing its head. He reaches down, and his thick fingers roll over your much-too-sensitive clit. “She missed me, gorgeous. Don’t think she would have liked some strange tosser pounding away at her with no idea how to please her.”

The way he talks about your pussy as though it has its own thoughts and feelings has you rolling your eyes again, though your cheeks burn with embarrassment. To your immense irritation, you think he might have a point. You haven’t come that hard in months, not since the breakup.

“Oh, shut up.” You sigh tiredly.

He snickers, and then shifts. It takes you a moment to realise that he’s pulling his hips back preparing to pull out. Your brain stalls, and you wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders in protest. You’re not ready to feel the invasive, aching emptiness that will no doubt throb through your core as soon as he’s not filling you up.

“Stay.” You say, and it comes out as an embarrassingly breathy little plea.

Gaz goes practically limp, as though your hoarse request had taken the wind right out of him. You’re not expecting the way he brings both arms around your waist before rolling over onto his back, hauling you up to lay over his chest. His cock remains firmly lodged inside you, though the movement has resulted in his white creamy spend leaking out onto your inner thighs.

“Not going nowhere.” He mumbles, one hand stroking over your flank to soothe you. “I’m on leave for at least a month.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Gaz hums. He must sense that this is a delicate moment, because he doesn’t make any ribald jokes about having all month to fuck you like you’re expecting him to. He just presses a tender kiss to your temple, his lips lingering gently.

Usually, you’d probably be a little embarrassed by how clingy you’re being. You had been so damn determined not to fall into bed with Gaz after the breakup, but you’re so, so weak. His stupid honey brown eyes and gorgeous dimples and crooked grin is enough to send you to your knees. You rest your forehead against his chest as he holds you close; at least like this, you can’t see his stupid handsome face.

He’s obviously pleased with the way you’re snuggling into him, because his chest rumbles as he hums in satisfaction. He’s holding you tight like he thinks you’re going to slip away the moment he blinks.

“You okay?” He asks quietly.

You don’t answer immediately. There’s no way to brush this under the carpet, or to go back to pretending at detached disinterest. If you had wanted to play this off as just a bit of stress relief, then you should have rolled away from him the second he’d spilled inside of you rather than cuddling with him on the couch. There’s no way that you can claim that this was just a case of needing to get laid; you’re still clutching at him like a limpet, the two of you intertwined so tight that it’s difficult to tell when your limbs end and Gaz’s begin.

“I’m tired.” You sigh eventually, sidestepping the conversation that you know you’ll have to deal with eventually.

No doubt Gaz notices your not particularly subtle avoidance, but he doesn’t comment. He seems quite happy to indulge your every whim; he probably wants to avoid the this-was-a-mistake-and-we-need-to-maintain-boundaries conversation even more than you do.

“Let’s get you to bed then,” He murmurs, and then he surprises you by sitting up. You’re still laid out across his chest, which means that when he shimmies up into a sitting position, you end up sitting sprawled in his lap.

You’re still speared a little awkwardly on his soft cock, the sensation of him inside you making your eyelids flutter a little. You feel satisfied, your muscles still watery and weak, and you sigh a little mournfully when Gaz finally pulls his cock out of you. You ache, a deep throb that both stokes and settles you. It’s like a comfortable little reminder that Gaz was here, and that he left his mark on you.

You can feel the way he leans back just to get a glimpse of his spend trickling down the inside of your thigh. You pout and bury your face into his throat, your arms wrapped tight around his shoulders still as you try to hide your sudden self-consciousness.

But Gaz isn’t interested in giving you a moment to hide. You feel the edge of his teeth ghost the shell of your ear before he speaks, just low enough to make you shiver.

“Let me take you out tomorrow, sweetheart.” He says, and beneath his usual cocky countenance you hear the edge of a plea. “I’ll make up for ruining your date tonight. You can wear that little dress from earlier for me again.”

You feel exposed, stripped bare as you perch in Gaz’s lap. His hand strokes evenly over your spine, waiting patiently for your response.

“I want a fancy dinner.” You mumble, your fingers curling around his shoulders. “At a nice restaurant.”

You hear a shaky little exhale, and Gaz’s arms tighten around your waist. It strikes you that he’s relieved, and you feel your heart tremble in response. The knowledge that he wants you still is enough to have your own lungs seizing in response; you can’t quite bear to wonder if you’ve been wasting time for these past few months that you’ve been broken up.

“Whatever you want.” He says it like a prayer, tilting his head in search of your lips again.

The kiss is easy, the months that you’ve been apart dissolving into nothing. You’re a little too stubborn to give in entirely and beg for him back just yet though, but you doubt it matters. You’ve already admitted your weakness for him in the middle of shagging, and you’re not stupid enough to hope that he’s somehow forgotten it. You’ve been trying so hard to shove all those feelings down deep, but you’re not too surprised that they’ve all come bubbling out. He’s got a month of leave. You have no doubt that he’s going to use that time to change your mind. You find that you don’t mind the idea as much as you thought you might; you suspect that you can be swayed all too easily.

You peek up at him, only to come face to face with his sweet, hopeful deep brown eyes. He’s not pushing, but you can see the weight of desire and yearning in every inch of his face. No doubt it’s mirrored on your own. You don’t think you could ever look into his pretty face and deny him anything.

You hum, then whisper the only answer you could ever give.

“Yeah. Okay. It’s a date, then.”

#why was it so hard to find a cute pic of him with no big fuckin union jack splashed across him #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #cod smut #cod fic #kyle gaz garrick

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doubleca5t · 2 years

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Radfems are so boring they use questions like "can people be exclusively attracted to the same sex" as gotchas instead of springboards for deeper questions like "what is sex, really, and how can you be attracted to it?" or "what is attraction? where does it come from?" Like if you're gonna ask stupid questions at least have some fun with it.

This is actually an EXTREMELY good point like transphobes in general tend to ask really interesting questions but do so exclusively as stupid gotcha setups like "what is a woman?", for example, could be a legitimate question that can be explored from a variety of cultural and sociological angles but no, the only reason anyone asks that question is to be like "haha stupid liberals don't know what a woman is 😏"

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overdecorated-furniture · 2 months

Text

Dead Parents - How to avoid them.

We are all very familiar with the notion of dead parents in fiction. For example, Harry Potter’s parents are dead before the first book even starts. Or in Portrait of Dorian Gray, the protagonist is brought up by an absentee and very neglectful grandfather. It’s a trope used again and again. And it does kind of work. It certainly allows your young protagonists the opportunity to gain agency and find their own way in the adventure thrown at them. But it’s also rather predictable. As a reader, we don’t sympathise as much because it’s such a used trope.

So, here are some of my thoughts about how to avoid the dead parents trope, and still propel your characters into the action.

Kill Someone Else.

I know, violence isn’t supposed to be the answer. But characters don’t only have close relationships with their parents. If your plot centres around a revenge quest for a dead loved one, it doesn’t have to be a parent.

Siblings who got caught in the crossfire trying to protect your MC, or an aunt/uncle they were close to being poisoned works just as well. Best friends are also a useful source of grief, and the fact it’s someone outside the family perhaps gives your MC more of a push. Equally, a significant other may work, although that is a used trope too. It might even just be a beloved pet.

Use their Morals.

People in the real world do not simply act out of revenge for the death of a loved one. Character morals can be just as powerful a motive for action, and Young people in particular are just beginning to discover what matters to them, and so it feels at its most important.

Perhaps your MC feels that the magic system in your fantasy world does not allow for people with disabilities to have access, and so uses that as their springboard. Or in an apocalypse setting, the desire to protect fellow humans against a threat may act as the MC’s launch pad for setting up a safe base somewhere. Concerns over equality, safety, climate change, government choices and even things as small as how cereal is marketed can motivate a character into changing their world/current situation.

Create Conflict.

Arguments, breakups, scrappy fistfights with someone in a back alley. Conflict is one of the spokes of a story, as it creates opportunities for moving the plot forward, and can hold the characters back from achieving their aims. Using this to start your character’s story arc makes for an explosive scene, and allows immediate sympathy with the situation they are in. Everyone argues, has had someone they care about walk out of their lives, or has at least been punched, so the familiarity of a minor but important conflict helps the reader associate with the character, as well as setting up any skills the character has or may need in order to defeat the foe at the climax of the story.

Parental Encouragement.

In a good family situation, parents will want to support their children and young people in achieving their goals. And the same can be true in stories. Perhaps your character wants to learn to play hockey, for example. Their parents can very easily encourage them to join a practice group, help them buy kit, and encourage them to play in matches. Having a supportive adult can mean as much to an MC as having said support removed, and although this doesn’t work for epic fantasy revenge quests, it does create a welcoming atmosphere for a reader.

Those are the main ones I can think of off the top of my head. Do add in comments/tags any you know of!

Happy writing!🌿

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #wip stuff #writing advice #writing tropes #writer’s musings

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dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling · 6 months

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could i request jax with a jumping spider acrobatic!reader who is very quiet but mischevious secretly?

(headcanons pls ^^)

Hehe I wrote this with my cat sitting on my back. Always, hope you likey!

Jax x acrobatic jumping spider Reader

★ Jax makes way too many spider jokes, mostly about webs which doesn't make sense because jumping spiders don't spin webs. His favorite being "what did the spider do when it broke its computer? ...Called the webmaster"

★ He likes to stand by and watch you do tricks on stage. Cheering you on from the sidelines and applauding you whenever you do a trick. And giving you a slow clap when you mess up.

★ Don't expect him to try and use the aerial cradle, tight rope or trapeze. The most he'll do is use a springboard. Unless of course you trick him or grab him to carry him up when he's not paying attention.

★ But beware, if you do that he will most definitely do something to get revenge. Perhaps put grease oil or syrup on some of your equipment?

#jax fanfiction #jax x reader #tadc jax headcannons #tadc x reader #tadc jax #tadc headcanon #tadc fanfiction #the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus headcannons #the amazing digital circus fanfiction #the amazing digital circus x reader #the amazing digital circus Jax #gooseworx

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cozage · 1 year

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Hi! I really like your writing , each of them makes me feel all the emotions.🥺💞 I have an idea for a request, maybe someone has already suggested this (sorry if that's the case) I think it will be interesting, cute and sad🌱

Monster trio, Ace, Low with fem S/O, whose body was under the control by the enemy, she did not want to harm her nakama, but could not prevent it because of a uncontrolled body. Thereby hurting someone, but not of their own free will

Sorry for the mistakes, English is not my first language :(

A/N: I’ve been sitting on this one for a long time because I knew how painful it would be to write. I only did three of them, but if you want Luffy and Sanji’s, definitely send me a request when I reopen them!

Characters: female reader x Zoro, Ace, Law

Cw: angsttttt

Total word count: 2.2k

Enemy Control

Zoro

“What the hell are you doing?!” Zoro yelled, jumping away from your swinging blade.

“I don’t know!” you cried out. “Just get away from me, I can’t control it!”

Your body suddenly changed direction, jerking you to the side. Your arms raised your sword and swing, aiming directly for Nami.

“Nami!” you screamed, but there wasn’t enough time for her to jump out of your way. Your blade made contact with her flesh, causing her to scream out in pain. Blood dripped down her arm; the wound was deep but thankfully not fatal.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed. “I can’t stop it.”

You raised your blade again, ready to strike Nami again. She cowered in fear, and you swung as if you had the intent to kill.

Metal hit metal, and Zoro stood in front of you, blades raised to defend. His good eye was scowling at you, full of confusion.

“The enemy must’ve gotten ahold of your blood. He’s forcing you to fight us to keep us occupied.”

“Just run!” You jumped back, aiming to strike Zoro.

“You are faster than all of us and you know that!” He yelled at you. “We just have to keep you occupied until Luffy knocks the guy out. It’s not that hard.” Your swords clanged together again, Zoro easily deflecting your blows.

You kicked him, using him as a springboard to push him backwards and propel you towards Chopper. You hated that your body knew who to target, and Chopper ducked as you swung, screaming in terror.

“Please, Zoro. Knock me out or something!” You sword jabbed towards Chopped again, but your boyfriend was back in front of you, defending his crew mates.

“The ability still works if you’re knocked out,” Zoro said, keeping his sword against yours.

Tears were streaming down your face. You had already hurt Nami pretty badly. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you hurt anyone else. Or worse.

You pulled away and swung again. You changed your trajectory at the last second, almost catching him off guard.

“Kill me then!”

Zoro gritted his teeth at your request. “Not an option,” he growled.

He swung his blade around to make contact with your sword, sending a shockwave through your body. He used your brief disorientation to flip his blade around yours, causing it to fly out of your hand. Once you were disarmed, he tackled you to the ground and pinned your arms down.

You thrashed against his body, and he struggled to keep you still. You were still sobbing under him.

“Nami,” you said. “How is she?”

“She’s fine.” Zoro tightened his grip on your wrists. He was trying to be gentle with you, but it was difficult when you had such strong bloodlust. “Chopper’s helping her now. Just relax.”

After what felt like an eternity, he finally felt your body go slack. He looked down at you, waiting for you to fight back against him, but you seemed to be free from the curse.

“Can I let you go?” He asked, watching you carefully.

You flexed your fingers and toes, checking to see if you had control back again. They responded to your desire, and you breathed out a sigh of relief.

“I think so, just be ready in case something goes wrong.”

He nodded and released your wrists, still sitting on your core to make sure you kept your cool.

“Nami?” you asked, propping yourself to look around for the orange-haired navigator.

“She’s fine.” He got up and offered you his hands to take. You accepted, and he pulled you to your feet. He dropped one of your hands as you stood, but interlaced his fingers with yours, holding your hand tightly.

He squeezed your hand tight, trying to comfort you. “Let's go see her. Everything’s okay now.”

Ace

“Ace!” you screamed, your fist infusing with haki as it aimed for the back of his head.

“Huh?” he turned just in time for your hand to connect with his cheekbone. The force was so intense it sent him staggering a few steps backwards.

“What the hell!?!” Ace yelled at you. “Why did you do that? That actually-”

You pursued after him, readying your fist again. “Ace, get back!” you screamed.

You punched at him again, but this time he was ready, and he grabbed your fist as you swung. “Stop it!” he cried out in frustration. “Just tell me what I did!”

“Something’s wrong,” you said, swinging your other hand. You connected with his freckled face, and he grunted out in pain.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, jumping back a few paces. He rubbed his cheek, trying to soothe the pain.

You continued towards him again, and you could feel yourself winding you for another punch.

“Can’t we talk about this?” he said, backing away from you.

“I’m not doing it!” you cried, increasing your pace to him against your will.

Ace created a wall of fire between you two, trying to give himself time to think. “Please, Y/N! What’s-”

Your screams cut off his question, and he watched in horror as you stepped through his flames to get to him. “Ace,” you sobbed. “Help me.”

Your fist drew back, ready to hit him again, and he leapt backwards as you aimed for him. He was fast, but you were faster, and you closed the gap yet again and punched, making contact with his face again.

He groaned in pain and pushed you away. He instinctively lit his fist on fire to attack, but quickly diminished it when he realized it was you he was fighting. He couldn't harm you, even when he knew it wasn't you attacking him.

“Shit,” he hissed, dodging another one of your relentless attacks.

“Knock me out!” You screamed, punching at him again.

“I’m not going to hurt you!” He could see the fear in your eyes as he continued to evade your attacks.

“You have to do something!” You cried back. You could see him debating the idea. “You won’t hurt me! Just do it! Please!”

He dodged your next attack, slipping behind you. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, smacking his hand against a pressure point in your neck, and everything went dark.

You woke up in the infirmary of the Moby Dick, the soft beeping and whirring of machines around you. Your eyes found Ace, slumped in a chair across the room, and you sat up to look around.

Marco must’ve been alerted to your consciousness somehow, because he quietly slipped into the room and smiled at you.

“You’re okay,” he assured you, seeing your panicked eyes. Marco’s voice caused Ace to stir, but he didn’t pay the fire user any mind. “You were under the influence of an enemy, but it appears that it was temporary. Whether it was time related or range related, we’re not really sure.”

“Can it happen again?” You asked, scared for the danger you could put your crew in.

“Unlikely,” Marco said, looking at your chart. “When you first came in, there was an unknown toxin in your system - likely whatever was causing your body to act on its own. But that’s disappeared now. I’ll keep testing you for a few days, but I’m not concerned about it.”

You nodded, and Marco left the room to give you and Ace some time alone. As soon as he was gone, Ace got up and walked over to your bed. He stroked your hair affectionately and planted a kiss on your forehead.

“You scared me,” he whispered.

“I scared me,” you said. “I didn’t know what was wrong with me.”

“I’m sorry I burned you.” You could see the pain and regret in his eyes from a simple mistake.

“That wasn’t your fault.” You gave him a pained smile. “It was just a bad situation.”

You shuffled to one side of the bed, and patted it for him. “Come join me.”

You’re not sure who benefited more from cuddling together, but you were thankful for his warm embrace.

Law

“Something’s wrong,” you whispered, your heart in your throat. Your feet moved without you telling them to, your hand reaching for a knife.

“Hm?” Law hummed. He still had his back to you, chopping vegetables. He was completely vulnerable and unexpecting of what you were about to do.

“Law,” you said, more urgently now. You hands grasped the hilt of the knife, and you turned to face him, raising it above your head. But he still didn’t turn around.

“Law!” you shrieked, full panic now. He only had a few seconds before you...

You swung, Law turning around just in time to see the flash of silver. Just before your knife made contact with his shoulder, something shoved you hard in the side, and you heard a groan.

“What the hell are you doing?” Shachi yelled. He grabbed your shoulders, shaking you. You could feel the knife wedged in his shoulder blade, a warm, sticky liquid flowing out from the wound.

Your knife was removed from his back and stabbed into him again, and Shachi gritted his teeth from the pain. He switched his position to hold your arms down by your sides.

“Captain, get your girlfriend,” Shachi shouted, and your eyes looked over to the captain. When you looked at him, you knew that Law was your target, but it was best to get rid of the weaker enemies first.

Why were you thinking like that? What was happening to your brain? You were scared, and you could see your own fear mirrored in Law’s eyes. This ability - your body moving separately from your thoughts - reminded you of Dressrosa, and the man you defeated there.

“It can’t be…” Law whispered, backing away from you. “That’s impossible.”

You kicked Shachi in the groin, causing him to loosen his grip on you and fall to his knees. You looked down at him, just as terrified as he was.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, tears in your eyes, as your foot whipped back and you kicked him in the jaw. Shachi slumped to the ground, unconscious, and your eyes turned back to Law again.

“Please run,” you begged him. But Law only stared at you, horrified. Even as you picked up the knife and aimed it at his skull, he just stared at you.

“Law! Do something!” You screamed again. You threw the knife at him and he finally moved into action.

“Room. Shambles.”

Suddenly, you were behind a locked gate, Law standing in front of you, safely out of your reach. Your body instinctively lunged for him, and he stepped back out of surprise, but you still couldn’t reach him.

“I’m sorry about this, Y/N-ya.” He sat on a barrel and watched you for a few moments, you desperately clawing at where he stood. Your vision was getting blurry from the tears in your eyes, but you could see that his eyes were still filled with fear.

“Go help Shachi,” you sobbed. “Please.”

Law shambled a med kit to the room you all were in, and pulled out a tranquilizer. “Stay still,” he muttered, flicking the syringe and walking up to the bars you stood behind.

“Law-” When you reached out to grab him, he quickly took hold of your wrist and flipped it over, injecting the sedative into your veins. The last thing you saw was his face, looking down at you as you crumpled to the ground.

You weren’t sure how much time passed when you woke again, but your mouth was dry and there was a blanket over you now. The events came rushing back to you - the lack of control you had over your body, the prison, Shachi.

You were too tired to move, so you balled up as small as you could on the cold metal floor and you let out a sob of despair.

You heard movement from outside of the prison, and then the soft creak of the cell door opening. Your entire body tensed, afraid of what might happen, and you squeezed your eyes shut in fear. Maybe if you didn’t see the person, you wouldn’t hurt them.

Calloused fingers rubbed your arm, and you leaned into Law’s touch. You would know his touch anywhere, and it made you feel a little bit better knowing he was so close.

“Shachi’s okay,” he whispered.

You could feel hot tears slipping past your closed eyelids and down your cheeks at the mention of the news. Relief flooded through your veins.

“You can open your eyes,” Law said, still running his fingers up and down your arm.

“What if I-” you choked on your words, unable to finish.

“You’re okay now. It was a devil fruit power that could control the person through some kind of virus. But I removed it while you were sleeping.”

Law wouldn’t lie to you, and your eyes opened to see his golden irises. There were dark circles under his brilliant eyes, a sign that he hadn’t slept in a very long time. But you could see relief flood through them now, and you knew everything would be okay, just like he said.

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months

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You wanna know what I just realized....You know how in chapters 1-4 MC/Yu kept asking Crowley to go home. But Once Chapter 5-7 they stopped asking to go home and gave up. Why? Did they just change their minds once they got friends or did they just give up on trying completely until Orthro put it back in their brain? Or Did they just gave up on asking adults period?

Oooh, interesting topic 🤔 I went back in each book to see when instances of Yuu asking about going home were brought up and (shockingly) this actually happens very little, maybe a few times max in the main story (not counting the prologue):

***Main story spoilers (INCLUDING book 7) below the cut!!***

In 1-19, Yuu does NOT ask Crowley; Crowley is the one who brings the topic up. He claims he is in the library to research a way to send Yuu home, and definitely is not reading the latest edition to a new novel before anyone else (which, come on, we all know Crowley is just giving a convenient excuse for himself). Crowley's presence here is then used to inform us of a way to dethrone Riddle via duel.

In 2-4, Yuu DOES ask Crowley when summoned to his office. Crowly then says he is busy preparing for an inter-dorm Magift/Spelldrive tournament, so he hasn't made any progress for Yuu. In 2-14, Yuu also wonders about when they will be able to go home while talking around the campus at night, but does not discuss it further with others.

In 3-6, Yuu does NOT ask Crowley; again, Crowley is the one to bring up the topic when trying to get Yuu to convince Azul to stop his shady dealings. He uses their rising food bills and all that "effort" he's putting into researching as a means to guilt trip Yuu into agreeing.

In 4-2, Yuu DOES ask Crowley if he's actually researching. This occurs because Crowley is all decked out for vacationing in a tropical destination, so Yuu of course questions whether he's doing any real work. Crowley defends himself by saying "When in Rome, do as the Romans do!" and that he's broadening his knowledge base by researching in a southern region.

After book 4, there are no new explicit or even implied scenes of Yuu asking Crowley anything about home. However, 5-33 does feature a flashback to the prologue in which Crowley is struggling to find Yuu's home on a map.

There isn't really a strong mention of Yuu going home in book 6, unless you want to count Yuu talking to Mickey through the mirror and wondering what's on the other side.

7-10 and 7-11 has Ortho to concluding that the mirror with Mickey could be a "connection" to Yuu's original world, and can thus serve as a route home.

Most discussion of Yuu going home is concentrated in the prologue (as it is an important piece of the set-up and explanation for Yuu's presence in Twisted Wonderland), as well as book 7, when the issue becomes very relevant again. There is the occasional instance of Crowley using "oh, there might be information here about a potential way home" as an excuse to rope Yuu into an event's story (ie Glorious Masquerade), but nothing meaningful ever comes from it. These are just contrivances to bring Yuu and Grim along for a more immersive self-insert experience.

If you want a boring answer as to why Yuu asks/seems to care so little about going home and stops completely by the start of book 5, I would wager it's the metacontext. Even in books 1 through 4, Yuu going home is mentioned like maybe once and then is dismissed for the rest of the book. You’ll also notice that in these instances where Yuu going home is mentioned, they are almost immediately then used as a springboard to propel the problem of the week onto them to resolve. Yuu going home isn’t a plot point for most of the main story, it’s a plot device to force Yuu into an OB boy’s path.

There is very little urgency granted to finding a way home because you, the player, WANTS to be in this magical world even if Yuu, the actual in-game character, may be uneasy being away from their friends, family, and home world. Yuu's unease is most likely not depicted or not frequently brought up because it would interfere with the player's enjoyment of the escapism to another world. These desires very obviously clash with one another. However, because the game itself is trying to tell you its story, it has to provide a reason (no matter how nonsensical it is) for there to be no progress made in the search (thus keeping Yuu in Twisted Wonderland), and that reason often happens to be Crowley's incompetence. This is not true of all iterations of Yuu (as the light novel has a strong focus on Yuuya’s anxieties about being in a new world), but it must be this way specifically for in-game Yuu since they are the most easy one for players to project into.

If you're looking for a meatier answer, consider this: book 5 is the turning point in the main story. Before book 5, Yuu seems to defer to Crowley for finding a way home. They don't really wonder or investigate into this area on their own. By the start of VDC/SDC training, it's mid to late winter, or about halfway through the year. Given that Yuu is incentivized by the promise of renovations to let the NRC Tribe boys use Ramshackle as their base of operations, I get the impression that maybe Yuu thinks they'll be stuck in Twisted Wonderland for longer than initially anticipated. Rather than an "I give up", it feels like a "boy, this is taking a while so might as well upgrade the accommodations and make myself as comfy as possible while I wait it out" This thought is helped by the fact that book 5 is also the first time when both Yuu and Crowley don't mention them going home, but also nothing disparaging or hopeless is referenced. As I've said before, we still get a flashback from Yuu which is centered on them going home, so it's clearly still a topic on their mind. It's just not consistently shown to us so as to not interfere with players self-inserting or to avoid making the gaming experience not fun by focusing on Yuu's distress or worries.

Many other significant things happen in book 5 which makes it the "turning point": Malleus reveals his true identity to Yuu, Grim finally going a little feral from the blot stones, and Yuu seeing and speaking with Mickey clearly. From there, Yuu starts thinking about the mirror and how it could lead into another world. They begin to take more agency in their own return, later confiding in their friends about Mickey and what he means for them.

Book 6 mostly glosses over Yuu going home because... well, let's be honest, there's a lot more immediately at stake with six students being kidnapped and experimented on. Yuu's focus and concern is on getting them (and especially Grim) back safely. They weren't thinking about themselves or their own situation back then, they were thinking of others.

Going home returns in book 7 because it has story significance once again. Yuu going back to their own world adds to the growing dread and sense of loneliness that our OB boy for the evening, Malleus, feels over Lilia's departure. It helps to push him closer to the brink of snapping. What's more, this contributes to the overall themes and questions that book 7 poses: those of farewells, change, and leaving friends behind. These are sentiments that Ace, Deuce, and Grim discuss in 7-17, and they parallel Malleus's own anxious thoughts. In all previous books, Yuu's own quest to get home is not closely tied to the themes of a particular book, or it simply was not relevant to mention (it would disrupt the ongoing conflict or pacing).

Finally, to more address each of the specific things asked by the asker (since I know the information in this post is sort of all over the place and might be hard to match up to each question):

[Yuu] stopped asking to go home and gave up. Why?

Yuu did not frequently ask about going home to begin with. (Again, likely because on a metatextual level, the story needs an excuse for Yuu, ie the player, being present in Twisted Wonderland and experiencing its happenings.)

At that point, it comes down to individual interpretation as to why, but personally I believe Yuu realized that the solution was more complicated than just poofing up a portal home, so they decided to make themselves comfortable while they waited for updates rather than keep asking only to be constantly disappointed. Later on, events going on around Yuu become too hectic for them to focus on their own wants.

Did [Yuu] just change their mind once they got friends?

Wouldn’t this imply that Yuu didn’t consider Adeuce and Grim “real” friends until the start of book 5??? I just don’t think that’s true; they were friends way before this point, not hanging out with each other for convenience’s sake. Why would they sit together at lunch every day? Why would Yuu try to help Ace make amends with Riddle? And why would Ace defend Yuu when Riddle insults their upbringing? Why would Yuu try to free the idiots of their anemones at the risk of going homeless themselves? Why would Adeuce use public transportation to go all the way from the Queendom of Roses to Sage’s Island because of a SOS text from Yuu? The same logic goes for the Ramshackle Ghosts, who are very friendly with Yuu and Grim. They play games with them, tell them about the school, and even do Yuu’s chores for them while they’re held hostage in Scarabia.

I also think gaining friends isn’t necessarily a strong enough reason for Yuu to renounce their old life and suddenly be committed to staying. Yes, it can be said that this could change depending on individual interpretation of Yuu—but assuming a very basic backstory, a regular person would not be so quick to forgo their old friends, family, etc. I don’t think new friendships are a significant motivator for Yuu no longer asking about home.

Or did they just give up on trying completely until Orthro put it back in their brain?

Yuu didn’t stop thinking about going home just because they stopped asking about it. Post book 4, they are shown to have flashbacks to earlier discussions of going home. Yuu hardly ever expresses thoughts about their original world or wanting to go back (most likely to not break the self-insert immersion of their character), so it’s easy to perceive this as “Yuu gave up completely/Yuu forgot about it until book 7”.

Or did they just gave up on asking adults period?

I believe Crowley is the only adult Yuu really asks about finding a way back. I doubt Yuu actually thinks all adults are as useless in this endeavor as Crowley is, but we aren’t ever shown Yuu communicating in this manner to other adults. Crowley is the only “required” adult to interact with on account of being the headmaster typically forcing you into the plot anyway. In conclusion (I know I keep bringing this point up, but it’s because I truly believe in it), this is all probably done for convenience and/or to allow the player to fantasize and imagine themselves or their own Yuusonas navigating these circumstances. They don't want to constantly keep the story gloomy by having Yuu angst about how they miss home or how badly they want to go back. They want you, the player, to enjoy the world and the people of Twisted Wonderland and never want to leave, even if it may be contradictory to what Yuu themselves fails to express in the narrative. This is 100% intentional, and it's made clear because it ties in very deeply with the themes in book 7, which is when the idea of Yuu going home becomes extremely relevant again. Book 7 creates an analogy between a digital pet that Malleus owns and how sad he is that its lifespan has to end, that the digital pet is just "fiction designed to amuse". This is also true of what Twisted Wonderland (the game) is. The player is in the same circumstances as Malleus, who is too attached to his fiction and doesn't want to let it go.

As much as the game's structure encourages self-inserting, it cannot be denied that, ultimately, the perspective of the player ≠ the perspective of Yuu. The player does not actually have to worry about never returning home or being stuck in a foreign world, at the mercy of strangers (which, if not for entertainment purposes, would be something truly terrifying to deal with). The player is glimpsing into this other world for fun and can step away whenever they want. Yuu can't.

askhdvasoydvuealalf I know this was a lot, but I hope it made sense and properly communicated my thoughts ^^

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thesupreme316 · 3 months

Note

I have had this stuck with me for a time now, wording this sucked.

So most/all AEW and WWE stars have taunts, iconic finishers, and submissions so I was thinking what if the reader used one of them ( Kenny’s V-trigger, HOOK’s redrum. Things like these) and their reaction to the move/taunt.

You can pick anyone and the number of people

AEW STARS REACT TO: You Doing Their Signature Move/Taunt

Pairings: Samoa Joe x Reader, Kenny Omega x Reader, Hook x Reader, Daniel Garcia x Reader, Dante Martin x Reader

Word Count: 728

Supreme Speaks: hey yall, sorry ive been MIA. School started and I've been student teaching, but also I'm starting to kind of lose motivation for this. but imma keep pushing through because damn it yall deserve it. but my inbox and messages are always open. please remember that you are loved, appreciated, and cherished.

Warnings: none i think. barely proofread this tbh

Taglist: @hookerforhook @hooks-martin @sheinthatfandom @triscillal @wwenhlimagines @kat04ie @batzy-watzy @cassie0sstuff

Backstory:

You are a very private person

You rarely discuss or even reference your friendships (or relationships)

But today?

You were feeling cocky and wanted to put it out on display

So during your match, while you looked at the crowd

And without another second going by….

You did the number one thing that your best friend (or significant other) was famous for

Something that was instantly recognizable

Making the crowd go wild

And the person you’re referencing grin from ear to ear

Kenny Omega

Get better king

Proud is an understatement

MOTHAFUCKA IS PRIDEFUL

Especially with how he’s out of action rn

He’s happy that that someone is keeping his memory present in the wrestling world

As soon as you hit the V-Trigger

A smile is on his face and his jumping up and down in his seat

Will not have any critiques for you

I think you would be the only person he gives blessing to full on adopt it

Especially after he see how’s the audience reacts to you doing it

Puts up instagram and twitter posts stating how proud and amazed he is of you

Will not hesitant to put those marks and trolls in their place

Hook

The smirk on his face would widened at what he was watching

He was so proud of you doing his submission the Redrum

Wouldn’t run wild or anything but anyone can see that he is so happy that you used his move

He would tease you as you come backstage

“Personally, you could have squeezed harder”

Will post about it with no captions

I find him wanting to do a tag match where both of you can do it at the same time

Get ready for Hook to do your move and or taunt in the next singles match he’s in

Just as a little nod or hint of acknowledgement

But be careful cause he’s competitive and wants to see who can do it better

Dante Martin

REMEMBER THAT SPRINGBOARD MOONSAULT HE USED TO DO ALL THE TIME

Yeah you do it

People were even amazed that you can move like that

Cause you don’t like flying

When he sees it, he immediately geeks out

“DID YOU SEE IT? HUH? THEY’RE AMAZING!”

I think he would spam on his instagram stories with videos of you doing and people’s reactions

The same night he would do your finisher to end the match

Would def tease you about it as if he was not running around screaming OMG

“Tbh, I had more height to my moonsault”

Daniel Garcia

THE DANCE

OMG THE DANCE

He is grinning ear to ear as he hears the crowd grow in cheers and excitement

Cause tbh you saw it as an idiotic move

But it makes him happy to know that he has your blessing

Would make you film a Tik Tok or reel with him while doing it

Tbh I can see him with a t-shirt of you doing it

Will now brag to his friends and ask you to “do the thing” like a proud person

Tbh will get jealous when fans say that you do it better than him

Then he forbids you from doing it

“I can’t have the student surpassing the teacher”

Samoa Joe

Once he sees you do the Muscle Buster once, he smirks but he acts like’s not proud

“Well, that was great for an amateur…”

Gives you tips about how to make it more impactful

Makes you join forces with him (almost think Athena and Billie Starks)

“Now you are ready to be a cold blooded killer…*looks at you skipping down the hall*…after some more sessions”

After you master the Muscle Buster, he makes you practice the Coquina Clutch

Once you master both, he’ll say that you are now ready for the dark side

Hates how you seem to do his finishers more seamlessly

OOOO

DON’T LET HIM SEE YOU DO THE WALK AWAY SPOT

THAT IS STRICTLY OFF LIMITS

#aew #all elite wrestling #aew imagine #all elite wrestling imagines #daniel garcia #daniel garcia x reader #aew hook #aew hook imagine #aew hook x reader #kenny omega imagine #kenny omega x reader #kenny omega #samoa joe #samoa joe imagine #samoa joe x reader #aew dante martin #dante martin imagine #dante martin x reader

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