#he has to watch enough of that in the future

[honeybeegashii]

Feral Devotion

⋆˚꩜｡Note: My first time posting something like this. But this fandom needs more Yautja x reader content. Please bear with me as I improve more in the future

Summary: Used as bait for the Elder Hunters. Instead of the intended hunters, you caught a different hunter interest. Despite not understanding each other, the warrior became fiercely protective.

You don’t remember being taken. Not exactly.

Just the after.

Heat like breathing inside a furnace. Metal walls and no windows. A hiss of hydraulics and something moving just out of sight. Bigger than anything on Earth. The air here tastes wrong. Heavy. Wet with ozone and blood.

Your wrists still ache from the way they strung you up, bait on a hook for something ancient and cruel. Tech-slick cuffs, research collars, chemical fog burned into your skin. You were never meant to survive. Just scream loud enough to lure something out of the trees.

Pheromones, they said. You’re appealing. Not because you’re beautiful—but because you’re biologically interesting. Like a scent that sets off alarms in a predator’s skull. You’re the kind of soft that makes instincts break down and violence feel holy.

But it wasn’t the elder hunters that found you.

It was him.

Didn’t expect the Young Blood who found you first. Young, yes. Raw, yes. But deadly. Already decorated in the blood of creatures older and meaner than he had any right surviving.

You remember the scream of something dying. Not yours.

You remember the drip of blood onto the metal floor, the snarl he made when he sliced you down from where you hung.

He didn’t kill you. He should’ve.

But instead, he touched your hair. Strange and clumsy. Just the very tips of his claws. He watched you the way humans watch lightning, awe and danger, like getting too close might kill him. And then, he took you.

Scooped you up in those terrifying arms like you were a prize. A trophy. A thing to be carried off and hidden in the dark corners of a starship.

You were unconscious most of the journey. The air too thin. The gravity too heavy. But sometimes you woke up long enough to see him, kneeling beside you like a shadow, fingers twitching near your face. Like he wanted to touch. Like he didn’t know how.

He doesn’t speak your language. But you feel what he means when he looks at you.

He wraps you in fabric stripped from his own gear. Tucks you into the warm belly of the ship like you’re an egg he means to hatch. He growls at the others who come too close, real warriors, Blooded ones. They snarl back, laughing, until he nearly kills one of them. Over you.

They think he’s gone feral. You think maybe he has too.

He shouldn’t have touched you. Should’ve left you strung up like a carcass. Should’ve let the others take the kill.

But he didn’t. He claimed you.

And now you live in the eye of a hurricane made of muscle and blood and devotion that doesn’t make any sense. Now you sleep on the pelt of some slain beast in the belly of his quarters, under the eye of a warrior who’s too young to know better and too wild to care.

You were bait. Meant to be hunted. But he got to you first.

And gods help you—he won’t let you go.

Next Part

[your-bait-and-swich]

Random Date Everything characters NSFW headcanons

Characters featured: Hector, Parker, Lux, Dunk

Ageless/minors DNI

Hector

His favorite part of sex is not actually the sex itself it's the foreplay before anything.

He loves to tease your body by gently moving his hands around your body, and soft kissing anywhere he can like it's some sort of worship. He tries his best to make you squirm and relishes it

This might be a surprise, but most times he doesn't like being a bottom yet he doesn't like to be a dominant top either. He's definitely a soft top wanting you taking the lead, and tell him how to please you

That's not to say that he minds being a bottom but he prefers to help you

Definitely not avoid to be kinky specially if his God wants it. He loves doing anything and everything he can to please you

Except for pain and degrading. He would never even let himself insult you let alone hurt you. the most he'll do is biting and very light choking. Phantom choking basically.

He's actually very silent during sex, and masturbating. The vents aren't really that private you know

Most you'll hear in sex is small panting, and whines but he'll give you more noise if you request

Probably goes without saying, but he loves when you're somewhat demanding. Don't be too cruel about it, but he does love someone that knows what they want

He also wants to know he's doing well. Please praise him for anything he does right for communication sake, and his praise kink

He love's adding temperature play anyway he can to your love making

If you were cold/hot he would make purposeful effort to make his body the opposite so when he touches you, you would feel all the more

Subtly raise the heat slowly forcing you to strip more and more

Occasionally when you're in the middle of sex he'll use the grate on his outfit to blow one thing of cold air to shock you

Aftercare is a must every time. He does not let himself rest until you are clean and taking care of

Lux

(Not sure where to put this but I did give them a dick despite them not having a confirmed sex I think so keep that in mind I guess. I'll keep from doing this in the future tho)

I hate them *proceeds to make these anyway*

When they said you guys only have sex when they wants to upload something on Fans Only they means it. It's hard to convince them when they're not in the mood especially so when they're in the middle of a stream

But if you convince them mostly by sucking up to then they'll end a stream like "I guess that's it for today's stream luxxies! Make sure to check Fans Only soon byeee!~"

Recordings, live and photos are a given.

And if you're lucky enough even outside of Fans Only "Don't count on it"

They're most definitely a grower. A absurdly nice grower bigger than you'd expect. Along with that they're very smooth not having any body hair.

They moans like a pornstar. It's unclear if it's for the recording or they're just like that

Very into exhibition. They don't mind anyone watching honestly they're into it frankly. If they're in the mood it's happening no matter what

Also slightly masochist very into hair pulling and one or two nice slap on the ass

Obviously mostly a bottom, but if they feeling particularly devilish they'll top

When they top they do it to prove a point/a punishment

Favorite "punishment" is you choking on their dick for sure

They love too cum on your face then lay their dick on your tongue. It just makes you so pretty for their Fans Only

They'll say stuff like "good girl/boy/slut" in a condescending way to you after taking these punishments

You will at least have to have a threesome once with some other person Lux choose

Parker Brandley

Good fucking luck buddy

First you got to win that love dice roll and now you need to somehow make board games sex related or it's not happening

Lucky for you strip poker does technically count. Maybe not a board game but it has clear rules and if Uno counts this can count to. He will not let you get away with using this all the time tho

Despite how stingy he can be with it he's very easy to work up. Just a little too much skin and/or touching a certain way can give him a boner instantly

He's quite nervous. Being awkward, and fidget quite a bit for your first time, but he quickly gets into the groove after a bit

When you finally get to the stage of actually doing something he's a feral animal with it

Massive switch! He doesn't really care what way it goes

Bottoming he's very noisy, and reacts very intensely. Unless you gag him the whole house is going to hear his semi screaming

Topping intense, and quick. Boy does not waste a second he acts like it's the end of the world as a plows into you speeding up.

Still a delightful mix of serious and a bit goofy during sex "Ohohoh~! Holy fucking shit!"

When he's more comfortable he'll probably confront you directly for his wants. "Whoever wins tops" he says putting a board game in front of you abruptly.

If you do cheat he will deny having sex outright tho

Nothing sexy like orgasm denial just straight up denying sex maybe for multiple days depending how pissed he is. You only get orgasm denial privileges when you play rightfully and you try to distract him in the game because it's only fair then

He's secretly not really so secretly a pervert his eyes widening cartoonously if you wear a skimpy outfit. Looking over your body secretly whenever he can (it's very obvious)

I feel in my heart of hearts that he is a thighs guy and he wants to be crushed by your thighs so badly

Dunk Shuttlecock

Let's just say it up front and right here you have to tell him if you want sex. He will not and won't catch on to hints or innuendos

His mentality on sports is similar to the mentality he has with sex. He just wants it to be enjoyable doesn't matter how fast, slow, intense, goofy, as long as your both having a great time

Tho if you ask him to give you it to you rough oh he sure will but the chance of you accidentally getting a bruise from it and him apologizing after is higher then maybe preferable(depending who you are) but it's a small risk for a unbelievably great time

However regularly he still has pretty good pace at least enough to make you a little weak after

His stamina is crazy willing to do like 3 to 4 rounds if you're up to it of course. He'll makes sure not to exhaust you too much taking decent breaks in between rounds to get yourself prepared

He's doesn't take sex not all too seriously grinning like a goof, and sometimes giggling

If you're the ticklish type he would definitely tickle you randomly during sex just to hear your laugh

He would be so into funny role play sex. Porno quality stuff as you both try to keep a straight face

Think of stuff you typical would expect like jock and cheerleader, jock and nerd, ect ect. Maybe even a pizza delivery thing too

He's not against a little exhibition. Sometimes grabbing you by the wrist to go somewhere more quiet

Something something shake weight joke

Eats pussy like a champ I know he does. That's not to say he's not good with a dick too [insert shuttlecock joke]

Naked yoga into sex. That's it

Quite a big fan of cockwarming while cuddling in between rounds or after sex

He's naturally a top and prefers being top too but if you ask him cute/sexually enough he'll gladly take the back seat

[hellowoolf]

something, somehow, someday

chapter 4: close to you | prev | next | series masterlist

series summary: you know you will love satoru for the rest of your life, but when you wake with his cursed energy in your navel there is no option but to flee. what future is there for a child of a god? at 18 satoru is without you, and you make off with a piece of him you hoped he'd never meet.

pairing: secret baby daddy!gojo x reader

tags: secret child trope, angst (lots), eventual fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort, a lot of yearning :P, chapter specific: SMUT, unprotected piv, creampie (sorry), fingering,

a/n: thank you guys for your responses on the poll! this one is more than double the average length of the other chapters (~8k) and i plan to keep that convention from here on out. i hope you enjoy this one >:)

18+! minors dni <3

~~~~~~~

it is a funny feeling, YOU find, making your life new with a thing so familiar. to open your door so often and find satoru standing there, letting him bring food and splaying himself on your couch, walking with him in the heavy mist at dusk, it fills your lungs like smoke, the nostalgia thick and cloying. you remember all of it, it comes back to you embalmed.  

but the differences between now and your time together in high school demand your attention in equal measure. your son, for one: though it’s impossible to find the sight of him with his father unnatural given how obvious their relation is. with their backs turned they move the same, too, something between them irrevocably tied. you had forgotten the way satoru wrought blades of grass between his fingers when he laid in it until you had to clean both their palms of chlorophyll.

nonetheless your affection for satoru is much more hulking a thing than it ever was, supplanted by the tangible aftermath of the ways you used to love him. when takara lets him pick him up, grips to his collar as satoru balances him on his hip, you are defenseless. the softest parts of you win out. 

still, neither you nor satoru make any attempt to name the arrangement you’ve come upon. he is resolutely your child’s father and has stepped into that role with grace, and there are artifacts of your intimacy—his hand on your lower back, brushing your hair from your shoulder blades, an almost kiss, once—but mostly you let the joy of your child consume your time. 

and it shouldn’t bother you. you remember feeling so certain in high school that letting him fuck you was enough, that to love him quietly was a privilege. you suppose you still mostly believe that. but there are moments when takara is asleep and satoru lingers in your kitchen, and the want flares bright then. you are at a loss watching him leave with that look on his face, like he’s afraid you’ll ask him to stay and terrified you’ll let him leave. you sometimes wait a moment before locking the door behind him.

jujutsu tech stands like a graveyard around you, so full of memory the buildings almost sag. you haven’t been back here since the night takara came to you.

“oi!” satoru bellows from across the courtyard, hand high and wagging. 

takara holds a grip on your pant leg, one blue eye peeking out. you feel him loosen a little when he sees his dad, and then refasten when megumi and tsumiki emerge behind him. 

when satoru first suggested you both come to meet them you had hesitated. you were honest; there was something final about this last introduction. there would be nothing else left for each of you to keep separate from the other, your lives entirely reconnected. satoru had laughed at you in that way that makes your heart turn, and that sound was all it took for you—weak to him—to agree.

satoru comes rushing to takara, scooping him from behind you and holding him to his side. takara screeches, half afraid and half delighted. tsumiki walks to you without hesitation, little hand held out for you to shake. 

“it’s nice to meet you,” she says. her smile is soft, a little secret, but you can tell she is pleased with herself for her manners. you smile back.

“it’s nice to meet you, too.” 

she looks up at takara in satoru’s arms and waves. takara is frozen, too shy to move, so satoru takes his chubby wrist and waves it a little. tsumiki giggles. “they’re like twins.”

you lean in a little conspiratorially. “i know. i carried him for nine months and have nothing to show for it.”

she giggles behind her hand before turning to her brother. “don’t be rude,” she admonishes.

megumi cannot hear her, it seems. he’s watching takara paw at satoru’s shirt, turning in his hold as gojo points to the various buildings to explain what they are. to himself, or maybe to you, megumi whispers: “it’s so freaky.”

tsumiki scoffs lightly and goes to elbow him but you can only laugh again, louder this time. he may not be related to satoru but he was certainly raised by him. “you are exactly as satoru described,” you admit.

megumi furrows his brows and crosses his arms. yes, so furious, satoru had said once. “how exactly did he describe me?”

“as a little shit,” satoru offers, one palm now cupped over takara’s ear. megumi’s mouth falls open a moment before making a fist with each hand and bringing them in front of him. satoru only rolls his eyes and uses his knee to knock his arms out of place. megumi practically growls something about i’m really gonna do it someday and tsumiki taunts back at him: you’re such a liar!

oh, but that look on satoru’s face, he is so pleased. his eyes squint with it, you can almost see the satisfied breathing of his cursed energy, satoru is happy. it makes you beam at him and his breath catches when he sees it. 

takara wriggles out of his grip and stations himself at your legs again, but doesn’t hide this time. tsumiki is completely enamored, cooing again, “hi, takara!”

takara sucks in a little breath. “hello.”

tsumiki claps her hands together and looks up at you and gojo. “can we show him around? please?”

“what is there to show?” satoru asks.

“the training room, our old bedrooms, the koi fish—”

your eyes widen. satoru’s gaze flits to you, frantic, and you smirk, the tiniest thing. the koi fish? you mouth. satoru’s cheeks flush pink as he shakes his head slightly, but the damage is done, he knows. tsumiki is still listing menial places across campus.

you squeeze takara’s shoulder. “what do you think, bubba?” he looks at you, owlish, and then at tsumiki, before nodding. she takes his hand with a pleased squeal and the three putter off together.

satoru stands boyish before you as you straighten again. he tends to keep his blindfold off around takara—whether to keep from frightening him or for a more profound reason you don’t know—but he is bared to you without it. he knows exactly what you’ll say, lifting a hand as he turns and starts towards his office: “don’t.”

you skip to catch up with him. “oh, no, i think i have to.”

“i’m just a friend to nature.”

you howl. “you’re just as dishonest as you always were.”

he doesn’t dignify that with a response, pushing into his office and letting you inside. the walls are a dark wood, mostly bare save for the few bookshelves bloated with old novels and records and manila folders. a handful of pens scatter across the desk, like he’d needed to finish a sentence urgently before standing. there’s a record player on the windowsill, fuzzy with dust but clean in places around the arm. it looks like he’d used it recently for the first time in years. most of all it smells like him, mint and cedar and sugar, and you almost double over sick with it. 

satoru settles into his chair as you trace a finger along the spines of his books, his eyes igniting your back but you refuse to turn, you want him to watch. “you’ve done a great job with them,” you admit.

“you think so?”

you just barely twist your head over your shoulder to show him the sincerity on your face. “of course i do.”

he runs a hand through his hair. “they seem to like takara.”

you turn fully now to lean your back on the shelf. “everyone likes takara.”

he chuckles, fond. “yeah, i guess so.”

the sounds of this place are so startlingly the same, you think. the serenity is strange and charged, but nonetheless campus was always quiet enough to hear the wind through the leaves. you hear it now as you flip through mission files and reports: special grade, special grade, grade one, special grade, suguru geto. you put them down.

“is it weird to be back?”

you nod, gesturing around the room. “i’ll admit i was hoping for more of a welcome. is nobody else here?”

“yeah, i asked them to give us the afternoon so takara wouldn’t be overwhelmed for his first time.”

you pout, mainly to bare your lip to him but there is truth in it, too. “nobody wanted to see me?”

satoru shakes his head. “i wanted you all to myself,” he admits. and it’s teasing, easy, he says it like it doesn’t cost him anything, but you know he is like you: he almost never says something he doesn’t mean.

“how did they react when you told them?”

“that i have a son? kept a secret by his villainous mother?”

your eyes narrow but you’re grinning as you respond: “yeah.”

he cocks his head and kisses his teeth. “yaga said he was disappointed in you.”

“for leaving?”

“no, for letting me…” he smiles, wolfish for a second before it fades into something friendlier, “for giving me the opportunity.” you laugh, a bark of a sound, halfway humiliated. you nod him on. “and shoko was the one who found you, so, there wasn’t anyone else to tell.”

your hand finds your arm and you squeeze your bicep once, twice, swallowing around the tragedy in his confession: that all the people you used to know here are gone somehow. you hadn’t visited haibara’s grave since you left; nanami helped you lug a stone out by the stream and you grew flowers around the base, yellow pansies and red carnations. you remember kento pointing to them in a flower language book so you could conjure them properly, remember the promise you made not to tell a soul what they meant. 

the memory must show on your face, because satoru says then, “i still water those flowers you made by haibara’s grave.”

you smile at him, watery and real. you add on, “and feed my fish,” and he laughs like a surrender. 

you move to the record player just behind him and he swivels his chair to follow you. something seizes in your belly at the feeling of him scrutinizing you, the weight of his looking a leaden thing against your skin. you thumb through the few vinyls resting in the window before stopping on one. the words stick to your teeth like honey but you spit them as best you can: “this is mine.”

you hear satoru stand and look over your shoulder. frank sinatra’s close to you: the sleeve is long stained and yellowed, waterlogged in one corner, but the record inside is pristine. 

you remember the first time your grandmother taught you how to play her gramophone. her hands guided your smaller ones across the pavilion, down to the plateau; it was old and rusted, even then, something she’d bought second hand as a girl. but she had collected hundreds of records, they made piles throughout her home, and every afternoon you selected one to play. close to you was her gift to you when you entered jujutsu tech.

of course, you never had a record player. all three years it sat unused on your desk, a remembrance, still smelling like the tatami from her living room. she had told you once that sinatra taught her how to speak english, which you mostly believed; her english vowels opened with the syrup of the american east-coast, and she held each word a moment too long, like it took a great deal of effort not to sing them. 

you run your knuckles along the sleeve, feeling the still-familiar places where the gloss has faded and the paper catches. you hardly notice how close to your back satoru has drifted until he reaches around you to remove the record and situate it on the player. you freeze, his looming figure warm around you, his arms brushing your shoulders as he fiddles with the tone arm. you hope he can’t feel your heartbeat through your spine, but it rushes so deafening in your ears you cannot discern either way.

it could happen to you crackles to life from the speaker and you feel like you’ve been swallowed by space, on the cusp of a wrinkle. you wonder whether time has really suspended around you or if it’s only this, this song and this man at your back. your breathing is uneven and satoru does not step back, head craned a little to bring his chin closer to your shoulder. 

slowly, almost self-consciously, he braces each hand on the sides of the windowsill, keeping you surrounded. 

“it’s been so long since i’ve heard this song,” you whisper. the melody chimes and swings around the violin and you cannot help but tilt your head back a little into satoru’s chest, overcome with the ghost of the music as it hangs above you. satoru lets your weight lean slightly into him, unmoving.

“i hope it’s okay that i took it.” his voice rumbles through your bones before you hear it. you nod and it scrapes against his sternum. the friction stirs something in him, you think, because then he’s bringing a hand to your stomach, fingers long and splayed across your entire torso, and he rests his cheek fully on the back of your head. it would almost look like you were dancing if you began to move, but neither of you seem willing to risk it.

“do you ever wonder what it would have been like?”

you don’t need him to clarify. “all the time,” you confess. the sun moves behind the clouds outside, and you catch a moment of the both of you in the reflection. 

his hand tightens around your middle, holding you against him. the song threatens to end but he keeps his arm banded around you. “are we friends now?”

you laugh softly. “i honestly don’t know.”

he nods before bringing his other hand to your chin. he spreads the pads of his fingers, feeling the shape of your jaw, looking for something, for you. “would you let me kiss you, if i asked?”

“yes,” you say, but it comes out more breathless than you intend. your thighs press together and you’re sure he notices with how his hips cage you in, but he only hums, removing the hand around your chin. 

“it’s a bad idea,” he breathes, but still his nose brushes at the juncture of your neck and your shoulder. you shudder and nod. it is. 

and despite how badly you want him, you do not turn and demand it. it’s so precarious now, and with satoru in takara’s orbit you cannot run again, a chain fastened from your rib to his. you know fucking him would be a reckless idea now, but god, he presses one, slow kiss to the bared skin of your shoulder and your body remembers him. his hips press just slightly further into your ass as he sighs onto the same spot, his breath cooling the heat of his lips where they branded you, his cock alive and right there. but the both of you know it: you are cowards. he untangles himself, and you let him sit back in his chair before moving.

~~~~~~~

SATORU is certain now; you are going to kill him. his grave will be beautiful, he thinks, flowery and green and alive with your energy, but his autopsy will have your name all over it, your lipstick.

he supposes, for his part, that much of your proximity is his fault. a stronger man wouldn’t have stayed in your apartment past takara’s waking hours, used his hands to guide you on the sidewalk, held your hips to his cock in his office windowsill earlier today. and satoru has lived a life of self restraint, has been a shackled man to his own whipping post, but he has found himself helpless to the feeling of your body on his skin.

he had been so irreparably hurt when he saw you in the park that day, or at least it had felt that way at the time. something grew in him then, a tumor with teeth, and he was certain it could never feel the same with you as it once had, that he would withhold something precious from you forever in some lasting spiteful act of defiance. and nevermind the fact that even hours later he moved to hold you, could barely restrain the instinct to kiss you again, was never even angry: for about 24 hours, satoru was sure that he would never be in love with you again.

but even the sharp canines of that wound have dulled with weeks of your presence. the smell of you on your couch when he lays on it, the afternoon scenery of you playing with takara in the park curtained by your vines, your laugh in his office, by your door, in his head. you are an apparition haunting him, one he can touch, and it’s killing him. 

and he knows he should not pursue anything with you. he knows you know this, too. your nebulous reconnection is unsteady at best—a strange amalgam of your old intimacy and the people you’ve become—and access to takara is too important to him to risk. and neither of you would say this, but the fact of your leaving in high school remains a reminder that at any moment you are capable of disappearing again. it’s something satoru always loved about you, actually. you make your own life wherever you step. what a beautiful thing you are. 

he feels ridiculous for thinking of you as often as he does. but how could he not? he visits at least daily to spend time with his son and you are always there, a vision. he sees you in takara, too, his little love. when he tries to explain how to use limitless, takara bears down into himself, thinking to the point of exhaustion. he has gotten that from you, satoru knows.

but it wasn’t a conscious thought that satoru has begun falling back into love with you—or, really, that he has plummeted into the well of it—until today, seeing you laugh with megumi . tsumiki had pointed at you from behind your back: she’s so pretty! and he had nodded without thought, proud as if you were his to boast for. and then, your teasing voice nipping at his heels as he brought you to his office, he realized that he was yours. he should have known some time in the thousand minutes he’s spent feeding your koi.

the smell of your cooking wafts into your living room as he reads to takara on his lap. you’re humming that song from earlier, it could happen to you, and the domesticity makes him beam like an idiot. yes, he thinks, that’s about the most succinct way to put it; he is an idiot for you. takara points to the page and reads a sentence himself.

“yes!” satoru encourages.

“don’t yell,” takara says, patting satoru’s leg as though he’d worked himself up.

“yessir.”

“come in to eat!” you call from the kitchen. takara scrambles to the sound of your voice and satoru is no better. the three of you settle to the table, takara’s legs dangling in his chair, and satoru knows he shouldn’t but he presses his foot to yours under the table. you give him a look, fleeting and knowing, but you don’t move. takara eats exactly the way you do, and satoru wonders whether you’ve noticed.

“what time do you go into work tomorrow?”

“i’m opening, actually, so i’ll head to the cafe early,” you grumble. “i’ll take my lunch break at 8 to take takara to preschool.” 

satoru shakes his head. “i don’t have any missions until the afternoon. why don’t i take him?”

“i don’t have an extra key for you.”

“he could sleep over,” takara offers, barely looking up from his food. you look startled by the suggestion, at first, and satoru is sure he looks much the same, but when the shock subsides he cannot help the little grin that tugs his lips up. you cock your head minutely, but he’s known you long enough to know you mean: don’t push it. 

“bubba, there isn’t enough space,” you explain. 

you had told satoru early on that you started in a one bedroom, fixed a nursery in most of it and fit yourself on a twin bed in the corner. when the owner of the cafe retired, though, she had let you have the place. you made enough now to scrape by with two bedrooms; satoru remembers how dignified you were to recount the whole thing, how hard it was not to kiss you when you smiled in your own self-satisfaction. 

“why can’t he sleep in your room?” takara asks. satoru smiles bigger, nudges your foot under the table. 

“because he…can’t.” you’re becoming flustered now and it only thrills him more.

“i really would like to take him,” he offers, though the sincerity is cut with the sound of his smirk.

you run your hands over your face, mumble out a little groan that softens into a hum at the end, but still your foot doesn’t move away from the press of satoru’s under the shadow of the kitchen table. 

“don’t you need to get home to megumi and tsumiki?”

satoru is beaming like he’s already won. he has. “they have a sitter.”

your head tips back as you say, mostly to the ceiling, “fine. but you’re sleeping on the couch.”

and truthfully he doesn’t mind much at all. he is voracious for more time with takara, for more time in your space, for benign moments you might take for granted. he wants to brush his son’s teeth at night and fix his hair in the morning. he taps your foot one more time: thank you. and you nod, almost imperceptibly: you’re welcome. 

~~~~~~~

as much as YOU might have resisted it, there really was about an hour or so when letting satoru sleep on your couch seemed like a good idea. it felt, if you can admit it, easy, the both of you moving around one another as the evening twilight overtook the windows. and it was so plain to see on takara’s face that he was pleased, too, to have you both here. sitting on the edge of his bed together as you tucked him in, watching his first few moments of sleep, made space for a new sort of intimacy. when satoru reached for your hand in the dark you did not pull away.

of course, you regret it now. maybe you’ll regret it forever. by the time you’re brushing your teeth you know you have made an error of cosmic proportions. some time between settling blankets on the couch and joining you in the bathroom satoru had unbuttoned most of his shirt and removed his belt, sidling next to you at the sink with the spare toothbrush you gave him like you weren’t a moment from dropping dead on the counter. you’re too afraid to look at yourself in the mirror; you already know your cheeks are red, that he can feel the rush of your blood in your jugular from inches away. 

“you seem uptight,” he says, though it comes out foamy around the toothpaste in his mouth.

“i’m not used to having people over.” you can’t look anywhere but the porcelain of the sink, too petrified of what you’d say if you looked at him in full. you remember this afternoon in his office and shift on your weight a little.

“you don’t have a lot of sleepovers?” he asks through a grin.

you’re so focused on not making eye contact with him in the mirror that you answer him honestly. “i don’t have any.”

you hear his toothbrush stop. he spits in the sink before leaning on it to face you. “what do you mean you don’t have any?”

you take a deep breath before turning. god he’s so pretty, even more stunning like this, a little unspooled. “what do you want me to say? i’ve never had anyone else to take care of takara. it’s not like i can…” you don’t even know how to end that sentence.

the teasing look leaks from satoru’s face slowly. he asks you with more earnestness than you think you can stand: “have you not had sex since high school?”

it’s not even fully out of his mouth before you’re pushing past him and out of the bathroom but he is relentless behind you—he always was—and you feel him an inch from your back as you walk towards your bedroom door.

“wait a second—”

“satoru, i’m not talking about this with you.”

“no, but i’m being serious.”

“so am i!” you turn at your door and try not to shudder at how close he is. his eyes glow in the low light, a man made of comets.

“i just,” he huffs a little, “i feel bad, i guess.”

“what?”

“well you—you’ve been taking care of takara alone all this time and you haven’t gotten…you haven’t gotten to do—”

“satoru, i don’t need your pity about my sex life, okay?”

“but that’s my point! it’s not just about your sex life, it’s—it’s everything.” he ruffles the back of his head, almost embarrassed, you think. “i feel bad that you’ve been alone all this time.”

you kick your heel against the door behind you to ground yourself. “it’s my fault, isn’t it?” and it comes out a little small, more pathetic than you’ve ever heard yourself. satoru buckles with it.

“baby,” he starts, and you think his hand flexes to reach for you, but you put your palm on his chest to keep him in place. he hasn’t meant to call you that, you know, the endearment from years ago clawing back, finding purchase on his tongue. his heart murmurs like a bird behind his shirt.

“listen, i—i don’t need you to pity me for a decision i made. especially because i don’t regret any of it.”

he breathes out quick, almost angry, but you know not at you. before either of you can stop him, he holds your wrist to keep your hand on him, thumbs your pulse on one side. he does this a lot, you think. you wonder if he knows that you can feel his heartbeat, too, through the pads of his fingers. and there’s a moment, among the sounds of your breathing and the creak of the floorboards under his feet, when you think it is all over, that you’ll let him kiss you against your door. earlier today you felt like a coward for denying him, but that self-flagellation has waned. no, it takes a great deal of courage now to press your hand more firmly into him, to not rise onto your toes and suck at the skin under his jaw.

“goodnight, satoru,” you whisper, and shut yourself into your bedroom before you lose your resolve.

the night is cruel to you. it feels very much like sleeping with a black hole in your living room; you cannot ignore the thought of him draped over your sofa, body too long to fit comfortably. even with your eyes closed you can feel him from a room away. 

you toss under the covers, try to at least become entangled enough in your sheets that you cannot rise from your bed to check on him. you hope he’s fallen asleep by now, that you’re the only one left in this apartment awake.

being alone in the dark gives you more time to think, more time to resolve a decision you cannot yet name. you have been so insistent that to become ensnared again by satoru’s pull would be a mistake, let him leave you at the windowsill, stiff armed him at your door. you wonder whether any of it matters in light of the fact that you are utterly in love with him. of how much consequence could the physical distinction be now? in truth, you can’t tell whether you are freeing yourself from an obsolete stipulation or looking for any reason to abandon it.

in the blue midnight streaking through your curtains you can admit to yourself that a part of you, the fleshy part that wants for things, is simply too afraid that you need satoru more than he needs you, and to reconcile that is a task too treacherous to ask of yourself. what of the moment when, slick with sweat and the smell of sex, you move to kiss him again and he turns away? it’s all hypothetical, of course, but still it plagues you like a memory. and you suppose you have no reason to fear it at all; he has made clear enough that he wants you. 

it almost feels ridiculous to pine so excruciatingly over the father of your child. you’ve already done all of this before, no less as a teenager, and somehow now, a self-actualized adult, you hesitate and turn your knees in. you flip onto your other side with a huff. you’re only in a tanktop and shorts but you feel like you’re suffocating, or worse: something from inside of you is threatening to come loose.

you wonder whether he’s waiting for you in your living room. what a horrific thing to wonder. 

you creak open your door slowly and pad out.

it looks like satoru has given up on sleeping already. he’s sat upright, head tipped over the back of the couch and legs spread, an arm hanging over his eyes. you know he can hear you—you think he might have heard the moment you decided to come out—but he waits for you to address him.

“satoru,” you whisper. at last, he lifts his head, eyes sleepy but undeniably pleased to see you. he pats the spot next to him on the couch as he assesses your mild state of undress and you settle there, facing him. “i can’t sleep.”

he shakes his head. “i can’t either.” though he doesn’t look all that displeased, certainly not as he bends over to collect your legs and drape them over his lap. you let him. you let him drag one enormous hand up your bare leg, too, and he stops just below the knee but still you watch as goosebumps follow his fingers. your body is traitorous but you can’t find it in you to mind.

“when did we get so weird, huh?” he asks you.

“how do you mean?” “sometimes it feels like it used to feel,” he thinks about how you may take that a moment longer, “when we used to be friends.” you nod slowly. “sometimes it feels like i don’t know you at all.” 

honesty looks so pretty on his face. his eyes are slightly narrowed but they’re no less auroral, his lips slightly swollen on the bottom as he bites them between breaths. he points at your nose. “and sometimes, you make that face at me, and i—fuck i mean what am i supposed to do with that?”

you scrunch your nose. “what face am i making?”

“i mean you look—jesus, i don’t know.” he runs a hand through his hair, mussing it further, before continuing, “i just wish you wouldn’t keep thinking in your head.”

you can’t help but laugh softly, bumping your foot into his stomach. “where else am i supposed to think?”

he flails at the sound of your giggle but his lips turn up. “i don’t know! i just spend so much more time now wondering what’s going on in your head. i want to know.” and then, to devastate you further, you imagine, he adds: “you used to tell me.”

you slide a little further into the couch, lay more of your legs’ weight on his lap. he lets his hands drift up to your kneecaps now. “okay, satoru,” you relent. “what do you want to know?”

“you’ll tell me anything?”

“i suppose that’s what i’m offering, yeah.”

he grins. “okay…” he taps his finger on his chin and you snort. “are you still afraid of me being in takara’s life?”

“a little. i’m afraid for both of you. but he…he loves you now, i think. ultimately i’m glad he can know you.”

“what about in your life?”

“what about it?”

“are you glad i’m in your life again?”

you smile, wry. “i think so. even though you torment me and make me spill my secrets.”

he puffs his chest and tugs your legs further into him. you’re almost in his lap, a few inches from it, but whether you notice is a question he decides not to ask. “do you still trust me the way you used to?”

“yes.” you do.

“do you still like me as much?”

“in what way?”

“all of them.”

“you’re greedy,” you whisper.

something punches from satoru’s lungs but you cannot discern what comes out. he says only: “yes, i am. answer me.” 

with a defeated breath you shrug. “yes.” 

his hands have both stalled on your knees, each thumb an omen breaching the threshold of your thigh. your skin twitches, you think, but you can’t look away from his face. he looks like he’s released one foot over the edge of some decision, you can see one teetering moment in the air, and then the resolve sets in.

“do you know how much i still want you?”

your heart kicks. “no,” you confess.

his hands remember themselves again, gripping up your legs higher, higher, now with purpose as they swing around his hips and move you to his lap. straddling him you can feel how hard he is already and you’re certain he can feel your wetness through your shorts, the slick is humiliating and so much. you whine a little and it comes out through your nose. his cock twitches.

“not today in my office?” his right hand cups the back of your neck. “not an hour ago?” your chest rises and falls, stumbling over itself. “you don’t know?”

and you have no faith in your voice now so you only shake your head as much as his hold will allow. he presses his hips into you just once, a fleeting indulgence you’re unsure if he even intended, but you whine again and it looks like it hurts him. 

“let me show you, baby,” he coos, but it’s desperate, too, a prayer into your lips as he brushes his nose against yours. “just one more time.”

you haven’t even finished nodding before you’re kissing him, both of you groaning into the other at the sheer relief of the feeling, his hands grabbing for anything he can reach: around your back, your tit, the globes of your ass to grind you down against him. the fabric of your shorts catches on your clit as it swells and you moan something awful in the back of your throat.

he kisses you like all six years apart demand it, like he can feel how long it’s been in the truest sense, like all at once the wanting has frayed his nerves and your lips cauterize the veins. he bites your lip to make you gasp, taking the opportunity to lick into your mouth as it opens.

you grind your clit onto him again, rubbing little circles on his tip through your clothes and he pants with the pressure. 

“satoru,” you whine, and he ruts up, harder.

“oh, say my name like that again,” he pleads, lips trailing down from your lips to your neck. his tongue streaks hot against your skin, sucking and biting and grinding you onto him like his cock is inside you already.

“satoru,” you repeat, and it comes out clearer without his tongue on yours but just barely. 

“fuck.” he rips your tank top off before attaching to you again, leaving hickies in the hollow of your throat, down over each breast, before taking a nipple into his mouth and laving his tongue there.

your moans almost come out like hums, all strung together, and he preens at the sound of them. you can feel the damp spot on his pants growing as you spread your slick, each wet kiss on your chest demanding a new wave from you. 

“i don’t even need to prep you, do i? you’re already so f–fucking wet,” and he punctuates it with a gyration of his hips that would have made you scream had he not clamped a palm over your mouth. 

you’re almost deaf with the rushing sound of blood in your ears but still you crane to hear him, each filthy utterance a precious thing you covet as he ruts up into you. if you were in your right mind you might find it funny that the experience of dry humping him feels so profound but as it is you can think only of the feeling of his veins through two layers of fabric.

despite how he may have goaded at you he brings one hand down your navel and under your shorts, feeling through your folds and spreading the honey of you further. your mouth is fully dropped open but his hand is large enough to cover it.

“oh, baby—yeah, that’s it, grind on it—you’re dripping for me.” he says it in that pleased way that makes him sound like an animal. you roll your hips onto the pads of his fingers and pleasure shoots up your spine at the rub of them on your clit, around your entrance. he circles his middle finger once before sinking it in and you keen. he holds you still with his other arm, nose pressed to your ear now as he whispers in it.

“f—fuck this pussy is so fucking tight.”

your hole flutters and sucks his digit in and he revels in the grip as he fucks you on it slowly. you try to bounce yourself faster but he squeezes your middle again, bites your pulse as it bumps in your neck. he murmurs there: “let it last,” using his hold to swivel your hips on his hand. your nails grip to his shoulders, surely making marks through his shirt but he lets you, frenetic and buzzing like he gains as much from touching you as you do.

the heel of his palm presses up onto your nub and you bow into him further, and he takes the movement to press another finger alongside the first. something searing and hungry licks up your spine, you’re close already, but there’s no indignity in it. you tug on his hair to bring his face to yours again, pulling back from the hand clamped over your mouth to lick behind his teeth, moaning into his mouth. “cum for me baby, come on,” he encourages.

your eyes squeeze shut as you come undone, heat spasming around his fingers as you soak him to the wrist. “fuck, f–fuck, that’s it,” he curses, mainly to himself, you think. you’re only half-lucid as you come down but you feel him pull his fingers from you and lick them clean, groaning softly around them.

“fuck me, satoru, please.”

his hair doesn’t move as he nods, stuck now to his forehead damp with sweat. neither of you have the patience to remove anything else, simply tugging your shorts to the side and his cock from his pants before you’re dripping right over it. his tip catches on your entrance and you both go half-boneless with the feeling.

when you sink onto him you feel a little like you did in his office earlier in the day. like time has stopped, or maybe like it has all arrived at your fingertips, like you’re everywhere. you remember this feeling, a little bit, but it’s also undeniably new. the stretch burns but you hardly feel it, taking no time before sitting on him to the hilt. your head drops to his shoulder, little pants into his neck, and he lets out a shaky breath.

“fuck you’re so fucking tight, baby, this pussy was made for me,” he chokes into your ear. you each have a handful of the other between your fingers, the lines of your palms tattooing him even through his uniform he still has mostly on. you hope his brand you the same.

all it takes is one, slow pull of your hips before he’s rutting up into you again, not so much ruthless as intense, deep and pregnant with meaning and so precise you wonder whether he’s using his six eyes to assess the inside of you. with one hand he holds your face to his ear to consume your moaning that way. you whine and when he shudders, bucking harder, you whine again.

“o–oh, these sounds are mine, this pussy is mine,” he stutters. the squelch of your cunt sucking him in seems to only encourage him, and you make yourself wetter just hearing it.

“it’s so good, satoru,” you whine.

he laughs softly, manic, “yeah?”

and you only wail quietly again. with each snap of his hips you thrust yourself down, clit throbbing and catching on the little white scratch of his pubic hair, and his other hand, still handled on the plush of your ass, rubs you harder as you move. you vaguely hear your little ah! ah! ah! but mostly you can feel the pleasure building again, can feel the vein down the underside of his cock as you wring him harder.

“hah–i won’t–fuck–i won’t last if you keep squeezing me, baby.”

you only feel encouraged, sliding deeper, revelling more in the slip of your slick as it floods out of you.

“ah–-i’m close, i’m close,” you breathe.

“fuck yeah, i wanna feel you cum on my cock, let go for me.”

and you do. have you ever really denied him? your mouth drops open in a silent scream as your hips buck wildly, the pleasure seizing you from the inside out. satoru moans feeling you ride your high, panting into your ear, “tell me to pull out.”

you shake your head, little smile creeping over your face as he fucks you through your high. “isn’t the damage already done?” you ask breathlessly.

and he can only laugh for a second before his hips stutter and still, pulling you into him like he wants to crawl inside of you and live in your stomach

“fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”

his cum is so hot as it fills you, and so much, your own orgasm jolting you again, exulting in the feeling. 

he drops his forehead to your shoulder now, sweat of your collarbone meeting the beads on his hairline. the sounds of your breathing mix, too; your cum and your hands and your warmth, all of it intertwined with his, maybe forever. he kisses you one more time, sated now, along a hickey he’d left on your neck before. you return one to the corner of his mouth.

he doesn’t say anything when he sits up straight again, supporting the wings of your shoulders with his hands. there is only that look on his face, a cousin to the one you saw the first day he found you and takara, but so recognizably relieved this time: everything is different now.

~~~~~~~

sss taglist:

@emochosoluvr @por0u @vraiao @voidfulcrumdilemma @vaniyeiszero @missingnozw @crowroakchi @seikamuzu @anonymous-3846 @asahinasstuff @kunisnaomi @bl6o6dy @meanderingwistera @lilac-heartz @acowboykisser @miiikooooooo @missingnozw @heiranni @sadmonke @alicebleu @sanchann @splinx04real @lolllllllllllllliiiiiii @eggrollforyou @updated-version @yaurss @khaleesihavilliard @mizzowizzo @mierins @eolivy @spencerreidisagorgman @dahliadaenerys @cantchooseanctbias @fallenfromgrxce @theclassbookworm @liestel @jiasdream @maddy24207 @valoriya @19catspiledontopofeachother @hbhbhbhbhby @bijuu-naginata @jv5t4g1rl @bobagang @thraxpatty @muscovitechick

[quietplace26]

Hey, I love your Furina!MC stories. I wanted to know if it's possible to write about a stronger and more confident Furina!MC. Like she knows how unjust and unfair her world was back home and she can't stand watching it happen in Fontaine. So with the knowledge of knowing the future and giving the middle finger to Focalors, she decides to take control of her story and baecome someone who has the power to speak up about this injustice and changes the outcome of Fontaine. Just really want to see a Furina!MC that doesn't care about Focalors wants her to be or what anyone thinks of her

You don't have to do this if you don't want to

Yeah, sure? I can try?

Note the reason Furina!MC lets Focalors get away with lot of stuff is because, well, she's in the poor bean's head? And one my hcs is Focalors is a master manipulator. She'll use words and dreams to break down Furina!MC to listen to her. And dreams that involve Focalors HURT.

But enough of that. Confidant Furina!MC time!!!

The first thing MC did when woke up as 'Furina' and heard Focalors give the order to rule Fontaine was go "Who the fuck-", "Where the hell-", and "Bitch! I'm not your puppet!"

And proceeds to give Focalors a mental middle finger before stomping towards Fontaine.

Fine. If this is how its gonna go, then it's going HER way and not the scaredy cat hiding in some stupid hunk of junk-

This Furina!MC refuses to be called 'Furina' despite Focalors yapping in her head demanding her to be called that. Her name was MC, both in her first life and this one.

She writes her own story, and in this story, she refuses to be a copy of Furina.

She cracks down on the laws of Fontaine, not even bothering to wait for Neuvillette who wouldn't be there for another 100 years-

She tosses away useless ones and puts in ones that actually make sense.

Like what do you mean that stupid law about 'It is forbidden to release any flying. objects during the first three days of each month-' actually exists currently?!

And when Neuvillette, or well, Leviathan as apparently his true name was, arrived, MC actually got physical with him because she didn't like his attitude.

She punched him, then tackled him to the floor, startling him so badly as he wasn't expecting this tiny speck of female to actually attack him.

With his shock, MC manages to pin him to the floor, her arm pressing down on his neck as she snarls into his face, telling him to submit or so help her-

She honestly expects to be thrown off, even a snarl back, considering who and what he was, but all she gets is wide pretty draconic, lilac eyes slowly blinking up at her, mouth open in a gawk.

He stares at her as if she was something mind boggling... ethereal.

MC just tries to ignore how damn pretty he was before asking if he was going to be a good, or if she needed to kick his ass more.

When he nods, MC smiles, finally getting off him, leaving the poor dragon still laying on the floor. His eyes still wide as they track her movement.

Unknowingly to MC, she had awoken a beast.

Her putting him in his place, making him submit- it did something to him. Did something to his instincts as a both a dragon and Sovereign.

Usurper she may be, but he didn't feel her use a speck of his power, only brute strength as she had him pinned to the floor like a naughty hatchling.

...It honestly made him compare her to a feral female dragoness who was showing her authority-

And that alone was a very attractive quality to Leviathan. This female could put him in his place. Him! The Hydro Sovereign-

Simp mode activated.

Besides this incident, Leviathan surprisingly slid into his role as MC's new Ludex without much fuss.

MC did find it odd when he started leaving gifts for her like seashells and fresh fish though... Ah, he must be trying to be friendly!

Badass as she may be, but noticing romantic gestures, not so much, lol.

But she gets it... eventually! only takes about 200 years but she gets there!

When the Melusines came into existence and Neuvillette asked to bring to Fontaine, MC had everything taken care up. Having already made laws for them 100 of years earlier and finally she could bust them out!

The laws were secured; they made it clear that Melusine's were not to be touched or harassed, that they were NOT creatures of the Abyss as MC had personally check them herself since she could sense abyss energy.

And if there's even a hint of the Carole situation about to happen, cue MC coming in with even more laws and punishments.

No Melusines were dying under her watch, damn it-

Basically, by the time canon timeline comes around, Fontaine both loved and feared MC.

She was strict with rules, not afraid to get her hands dirty, and will punch someone, if need be, but everyone in Fontaine knew, KNEW their Archon loved them.

Wriothesly is a good example of this as he still remembers meeting MC years earlier after finding out what his foster parents were doing, and when none of the guards seem to listen to him, finding his pleas as nothing more than the lies of a needy child-

The Hydro Archon appeared, and she listened to him. She listened to his whole story, about if she didn't do something, then HE will.

All MC does is ruffle his hair, saying everything will be find before asking for a Melusine to take him over to Palais so the personal doctor there could check over Wriothesley.

Wriothesley, before he left, was given the hilarious sight of his Archon tearing into the guard who originally brushed off Wriothesley's words, and the boy knew she would save him and his siblings.

And she did! His foster parents were immediately sent to the Fortress of Meropide... only they never make it. The ship transporting them capsized, and his foster parents were the only deaths.

And while it was never confirmed, or denied, Wriothesley had a feeling the accident wasn't an accident. That MC took care of his parents herself.

Because everyone knew she loved children, and HATED abusers.

But alas, no one says anything.

And as canon slowly makes itself known, MC sighs as she catches sight of the famous Traveler talking to Lyney in the distance.

She smooths out her outfit, flicks her hair, fixes her hat, and then stalks over to the still distracted Traveler.

Time to get this shit done. Hopefully by the time the prophecy was done, and Focalors gone for good, MC could finally go on vacation with her husband. Hm... Maybe she could convince him to travel to Liyue...

Tagging: @platinumrosetail, @arn9tails, @bloodytea, @esthelily

[karikitdemonrp]

Kari sniffled, looking into her papa's eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks as she just sniffled and listened. She looked down for a moment, processing what the hero said and gave a nod while her eyes narrowed a bit in thought. "I... Think I get it." She muttered, voice still slightly trembling as she spoke. She looked back at the projection and sighed. The child slowly backed away from Hawks and went back to look at the journals again, one last time.

There she read a few more journals from her mother. A few from when she was pregnant with her siblings.

"Today is September 29th, I gave birth to my little boy Kitearo a few days ago. It's been exhausting but he's worth it. Lynx has been a huge help in taking care of our son. I looked into Kite's future and I saw he was going to have a lot of siblings. Not my first choice honestly. If you asked me five years ago I would have said two or three kids would be enough, not seven. But it feels right at the same time. While I saw his whole life unravel I couldn't help but feel helpless... But a part of me knows it can't be messed with, even though I want to save my son from an early grave. I'll have to wait until all my kids are born to get the full picture."

Kari frowned, figuring out pretty quick that her mother knew the whole time, or at least had an understanding.

"It's Febuary 23rd. Flo and Fino are a few days old now. I got a bit more of the picture since seeing Kitearo's future. They meet a similar fate. It hurts, but seeing them work hard to protect their youngest sister, a little girl with white hair, something isn't adding up. I know I can't stop it but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt a whole lot."

"It's been a rough few weeks, Shade has been a bit of a handful. Always curious but always quiet which is a bit unnerving. Sure she cries and makes noises but she's more quiet than not. The doctor says she has nothing wrong with her but I still worry. I was able to see into her future. Lynx has his work cut out for him that's for sure. So far I know all my kids and my husband die on the same day, doing the same thing. I can't say for sure where I am but I can make a few guesses. Again that little girl with white hair makes a big appearance. I'll name her Kari. Kari Kana Lee Himura, long name but it looks like it suits her. When she's born I'll hopefully get all the answers and try to write them down."

"Another pair of twins. I'm not super surprised, Lynx had twin younger brothers after all so I think that runs in the family. That and I saw them while looking into their siblings' futures. These two look mirrored, it's kinda cute. I've named them Boom and Beats cuz the symbols on their cheeks are cute music notes. They are the loudest that's for sure, it's funny. I've had so many kids and all of them are so different even though they're under the same roof and have me and Lynx as their parents. I know why they look so different and why their quirks are different, it's a side effect of my quirk after all. But their behaviors and personalities aren't tied to it, I don't think. It's so fascinating to watch them grow and develop... I know I probably only have a few more years to live. I've concluded I die in child birth when giving birth to Kari. I know I'll be leaving behind my family and my friends... But I noted that my nephew is the one responsible for the deaths of everyone, under the control of my sister given his pupils... Something isn't adding up but I'm guessing Kari develops my quirk. If that's the case then she needs to exist. It strengthens our quirk and hopefully she'll be able to help others like I did, in someway. Though that's her choice and I don't want to force it onto her. I'm glad dad talked me into writing that one entry about my quirk, I hope she can read it one day so she can meet me... Well, a snap shot of me. It won't be the same I know but it's better than nothing. I just hope she doesn't hate me or get mad. It's kind of a selfish reason but there's so much going on... I just hope she understands."

Kari sniffled, rubbing her eyes. "I... I don't hate you mom." She whispered after a few moments of silence, hugging herself. "I just wish I knew you." The child gulped and moved to look back at the journal about All of the Above and began taking notes. "But yea, I'm glad grampa talked you into writing about your quirk too... It's gonna help me a lot." She muttered then looked at Hawks. "You think we can go somewhere I can train? I... I wanna try doing this thing mom talks about. I'm not sure if I can get back into that weird mind space thing but... But if I can maybe you can meet my siblings, well a snap shot of them... This is kinda confusing." Kari puffed out her cheeks then went back to writing. "But we don't have to do it today if we can't."

Hawks didn’t speak at first. He just let Kari cry. He didn’t try to hush her or pull her away. He dropped down to one knee so she could lean into him easier, wrapping his arms around her small frame like he could shield her from every painful word she had just read. His wings even curled in slightly, a quiet gesture of shelter.

He held her gently as the sobs came out in waves—her pain wasn’t small, and it didn’t deserve to be treated like it was.

After a long moment, his voice finally came—soft, steady, low enough it didn’t try to overpower her crying but just… sat with it.

“I know, kiddo. I know it hurts. It’s not fair. None of this is. You didn’t get a choice in any of it.”

He tightened the hug slightly, one hand cradling the back of her head.

“But I need you to hear me when I say this next part, okay?” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his own golden ones steady and full of something more than just compassion—it was conviction. “She didn’t die because of you. That’s not how this works. She died for you. And that’s something only someone who loves their kid more than anything in the world would do.”

His thumbs gently wiped her tears.

“Your mom knew the risks. She was a top pro. She wasn’t someone who walked into things blind. She fought to bring you into this world anyway, Kari. That means she wanted you here. She made a choice—and that choice was you.”

[rhettrosunsets]

Hospital Bed's And Confessions - Porch Swing And Promises Series| Girl Dad!Rhett Abbott X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Rhett Abbott X Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff! So much fluff!

Summary: Rhett has been terrified of what type of dad he's going to be since the moment you told him you were pregnant, but when the nurse hands him your daughter for the first time, he has a realization that begins to heal him.

Masterlist

Porch Swings And Promises Masterlist

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: No use of Y/N, no description of reader, Pregnancy, Rhett doubting himself as a parent, Hospitals, Birth, mentions of Rhett's own upbringing, mentions of Rhetts doubts about being a good husband.

“Rhett Abbott! You aren’t going to break her. I promise you, she’s a lot stronger than she looks, Baby.” You told Rhett softly, your eyes full of love as you spoke to him, trying to calm down his never ending nerves.

Rhett had never been at just good at standing still. It was something you had always teased him for. He was never able to stand in one place for long, always needing to do something, walk around, be productive.

He'd been pacing the hospital room for the last twelve hours you'd been in labor, so worried about you and worried about his daughter. But he felt cemented to the floor the second the nurse turned around and placed the tiny, squirming bundle that was his daughter into his arms.

He’d thought about this moment since the moment you had told him you were pregnant. He'd worried about it enough that he felt he had aged five years alone within the last nine months. He had dreamed about this moment. He'd dream about what your combined futures would look like from now on.

Truthfully, he wanted to run from it and also run towards it at the same time. Nothing had made sense to him after you had told him all those months ago, he felt like the world's biggest contradiction for the emotions he was dealing with on a daily basis.

He’d lay awake on sleepless nights when you couldn’t seem to get comfortable and would cry into his shoulder about how tired you were and how your body ached, while one hand would rest over your growing belly. He’d whisper all his hopes and fears to you, the future, what you wanted from it, what type of parents you were going to be.

He remembered promising you on a particularly bad night when you sobbed into his arms for hours due to your aching back and nausea that you just couldn’t seem to curb, that he’d build you that wrap-around style porch you’ve always wanted and dreamed about since he first met you. He told you he'd put a porch swing out there so your little family could sit out there and watch the sunrises and sunsets, something you've always wanted.

But nothing, absolutely nothing could've prepared him for this moment right here. She was so small, almost her entire body being able to fit in one of his hands, as she was wrapped in a plush white blanket with small yellow ducks on it, making her seem more like a babydoll than his daughter. Her little face was red and scrunched up from crying, but as soon as he held her close and near to him, she settled into his chest and her little body went still as she stopped her frantic squirming. And just like that, he knew the rest of his life would forever be changed by the little bundle he was holding in his arms.

His knees nearly gave out, as his throat tightened, while his heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest. But she was finally here, all the months of crying, the months of planning, the months of you two building your perfect house. The hours of labor done to create her nursery. The hours he spent holding you and comforting you while you felt anything but yourself.

She was finally here, and she was the perfect mixture of both of you. When he looked down at her, his thumb coming up to trace her tiny face, it hit him hard. “I don’t deserve you or your Momma” he whispered in such a soft tone, like he was petrified he was going to startle her. He didn’t mean it in the way people say when they’re overwhelmed with emotions and just blurt something out, no, he meant it like a truth he carried in his bones for years since he met you that day in the coffee shop and fell in love with you.

He’d spent so many years believing he’d screw this part of life up. Telling himself that he’d never be a good dad because he didn’t know how too, because he didn’t have a good example himself. He didn’t believe he was cut out to be someone’s example of what a man and father should look like, he always said that he was too rough around the edges, that he’d be too quick to run at the first sign of a problem, that he'd just end up hurting you in the long-run.

But now, here he was, standing with you in the quiet hospital room, holding his daughter, his little girl. The word echoed over and over again in his head as he shifted her slightly, one hand cradling the back of her head, supporting her as he peered down and looked at her tiny form in his hands.

“Hi, Sunshine” he said, his voice a bit rough, as his eyes welled up with tears. “I’m your Daddy, babygirl” he watched as her little mouth opened in a sleepy yawn, while her small fingers curled into tiny fists resting against his chest.

“I didn' know I could love someone I just met, this much” he muttered quietly before sitting down slowly on the edge of the hospital couch, still staring at the small bundle in his arms.

He could see you resting nearby, exhausted but watching, and it broke in him again, because you looked at him like he was enough, like he could do this and like he’d be good enough, and what broke him the most, like you trusted him to be good enough.

He hadn’t known a love like this existed, it wasn’t like the love he had for you. That type of love already had its own place carved into his chest, and has had a spot there since the moment he met you. A big you shaped hole that he's had since he moment he first saw you. That love was steady, strong, warm, gentle and quiet. It felt like you wrapped around him, you telling him everything would be okay even when you didn't know if it would be, the moments of you two running off laughing like little kids, the moments where you’d pull him into the rain just to watch him smile as you danced around, the moments when you looked at him like he was your everything.

But this, this love was something else entirely. This love felt like terror and admiration. He felt the most instinctual kind of protection that made him feel like he’d throw himself in front of a train if it meant your daughter would never know a day of being hurt. This was something so pure and intense, that it frankly scared the hell out of him.

She blinked slowly peering up at him, her dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks. She had your nose, and your eyes. He knew that she had him wrapped around his finger entirely, just like you do, and she wasn’t even an hour old.

“I ain’t perfect, Sunshine. And m'gonna mess up, probably a lot.” He said as he swallowed hard. “But m'gonna try, every single day and gonna try my damndest to make sure you never go a day without knowin’ that you’re loved. You’re not gonna grow up wonderin’ if you’re good enough. I promise you that babygirl. You and u’re momma are the two most important things in my life. ”

 Her little face scrunched up before relaxing as he rocked her gently, his heart pounding as he kept whispering to her “I’m gonna teach you how to ride if you ever wanna learn, and m’gonna teach you how to change a tire. And I’m probably going to cry the first time you put on those little boots your momma and I got you and they actually fit.”

He leaned his head down until his forehead rested lightly against hers. “I’m scared outta my mind here, Sunshine. And I feel so out of my depth.” he whispered, his eyes stinging as he managed to choke out a soft “But I’ve never wanted to be good at anything more in my life than I wanna be good at being your Daddy, and being a good husband to your momma.”

She gurgled softly in her sleep, and he laughed quietly while the tears in his eyes finally fell. Your hand reached out, gently touching his arm. You were smiling, obviously exhausted, but smiling like Rhett has given you the world, and he turned toward you, looking at you like the rest of the world had disappeared besides you and your daughter. “She already adores you” you hummed out exhaustedly “She’s gonna be a daddy’s girl, I can just tell.” 

Rhett looked down again at the tiny human in his arms, the tiny little girl that the two of you made. “I love you two more than I thought was ever possible.” He kissed her forehead, as he looked at you, the tears streaming down his cheeks. And In that moment, Rhett Abbott, the rodeo cowboy, the deemed troublemaker, the youngest son of a rough family who had more to deal with than anyone knew? Well, right now in this hospital room he wasn’t any of those things, he was just a husband, and a Dad.

And he’d never been prouder of anything in his life than his two girls.

Taglist: @darkwhisperswolf

[lamambanegro]

all work, all play

pairing: mob!bucky x f!reader

Summary: A few weeks after learning the truth about Bucky’s empire, you’ve slipped into his world almost without realizing it. You spend most nights in his penthouse. But today, you want more than his protection, you want his attention. And he’s too focused on a call. Until you push just far enough.

tag/warnings: Mob AU, power dynamics, dirty talk, spicy tension, dom!bucky, established relationship, power dynamics, oral (f receiving), light exhibitionism, soft possessiveness, obsession coded,  reader is impatient and bratty in the best way

gif by buckybarnesj

You don’t knock anymore.

It’s not a conscious decision, not the first time, not even the fifth. But after a few weeks of living mostly out of your overnight bag and into his dresser drawers, the guards stopped batting an eye when you walked past them with no announcement. They know you. You know them.

You sleep in New York mob boss Bucky Barnes’ bed. You eat dinner at his table. And lately… you’ve started to see the world that spins beneath his fingertips.

So when the clock strikes 5PM, you pad barefoot down the long hallway to his office, an oversized sweatshirt slipping off your shoulder, hair still damp from the shower, you don’t pause. You just open the door.

He’s on the phone. Suit jacket off, black button-down rolled to the elbows. Gold watch on his wrist, fingers twitching like you’ve learned they do when he’s listening but not pleased. And God help you, he looks dangerous. Sharp-jawed, calm-voiced, ice-cold while issuing orders that could change the future of the city. He doesn’t look up right away, but you see the flicker of recognition when the door opens and he knows it’s you.

You curl against the doorway. “Hey.” A flick of his gaze, quick and sharp. He holds up one finger. Wait. But waiting has never been your strong suit.

You step inside, quiet. Purposeful. You round the desk slowly, your fingers grazing along the polished edge. And when you get behind him, you lean down and whisper just loud enough for the mic to not catch it, “You’ve been on calls all day.”

He mouths something at you that looks like, ten minutes, but you don’t believe it. You’ve learned that when Bucky is locked in like this, ten minutes means a lifetime. You’ve also learned that he looks unreasonably good when he’s annoyed.

So you decide to keep pushing. 

The office is all glass, mahogany, and leather. Everything is tailored and precise. You trail your fingers along the edge of his desk as you circle, but he doesn’t break conversation. Doesn’t even twitch, just tracks you with a glance, as if he already knows what you’re about to do.

You climb gently into his lap. He sighs once, low and rough.

“Yes,” he says into the phone. “Run the numbers again. No, not later. Now.”

You rock your hips once against his thigh, slow. Your bare legs tangle with his slacks. His muscles twitch under you. You smile, pressing your mouth to the corner of his jaw. Bucky doesn’t move. Doesn’t touch. His voice stays flat and cold.

“I don’t care what he said. It goes through me first. End of story.”

You grind again. His fingers flex where they rest on the arm of the chair. Still not touching you. And that’s the problem. He’s not touching you.

You drag your lips down his throat, trailing little bites along his neck just above his collar. “Baby,” you whisper, all sweet and spoiled. “I’ve been waiting all day.”

He shifts slightly beneath you. Adjusts his chair. You feel the press of him growing.

“I know,” he murmurs, not to you. Into the phone. His eyes slice toward yours, warning sharp. “Then tell him I’ll burn the contract and start over with someone else. Don’t test me.”

You straddle him now fully, arms sliding around his neck, sweatshirt riding up over your hips. You press your core against his hardening length, grinding lazily, a taunt.

He’s still on the phone. Still doesn’t touch you. But you see it now. The sharpness in his jaw. The flush rising down his throat. The unrelenting tension in his thighs. So you lean close, and in a voice that only he can hear, you murmur:

“Please, Bucky. I just want you to ruin me a little. I’ll be good after.”

His eyes darken. Something vicious flickers behind them. He ends the call without a goodbye. And then? He moves so quick you barely register what's happening.

You don’t even have time to squeal before your back hits the desk. Papers scatter. A pen rolls to the floor. You’re panting now, legs already parted, and he’s still fully dressed.

“You couldn’t wait ten minutes?” he growls.

“Oops,” you whisper, shameless.

He leans over you, hands braced on either side of your hips. “You know what happens when you act like that, baby?”

You nod. Wriggle a little.

He shoves your sweatshirt up, eyes locking on the curve of your thighs. No bra. No panties. Of course not. You’d planned this the moment you saw him pacing earlier, sleeves rolled up and hair pushed back. You’d wanted to get fucked across his desk. And you’re about to.

“You think I don’t know when you’re trying to get your way?” he asks, voice low and dangerous as his fingers finally touch, gripping your thighs, spreading you wider. “You think you’re in control?”

“No,” you whisper, breath catching as he pushes two fingers against your slit, slow and firm.

You’re already wet. He smiles.

“I’ll make sure you remember that.”

And then he sinks to his knees. Right there. In his suit pants. On the rug. His guards are probably stationed right outside the door. A few steps down the hall. And Bucky doesn’t care. Because the moment his mouth finds your core, you stop caring too.

He devours you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever taste. Tongue circling your clit with deliberate, punishing rhythm. Fingers teasing, then pushing just inside until you’re arching off the desk, sweating, moaning.

He groans into you when you cry out his name.

“Bucky!”

He works you with his mouth like he's starving, like you're the only thing that's ever tasted good to him. Your hands scramble against the smooth wood of the desk as your orgasm crashes over you.

You come hard. Shaking. Loud. You sob his name again as your body clenches around his fingers, wave after wave pulling you under. He stands, slow and smug, licking his lips as he looks down at you, ruined, panting, spread across his desk. Your eyes flutter open. He leans in.

“Still impatient?”

You nod, weakly. “Always.”

His grin is wolfish. “Good.”

He re-buckles his belt, then taps the desk next to your shoulder. “I have one more call to make. We’re not finished.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

And just like that, he’s already walking out the door, phone in hand, leaving you wrecked, dazed and panting on his desk. 

Business calls.

But so do you.

[jackalopc]

What do you do when the proverbial prince of gotham throws a couple grand worth of fine liquor on one of the most powerful crime bosses in the city and leaves the party? You follow him out and introduce yourself, of course.

inspired by this post by @bruciemilf including their fancast for harvey because um obviously it's perfect (and also a fair bit of influence from the a wild battinson series by @emo-batboy because i'm obsessed with it and it's canon in my heart).

UPDATE: NOW POSTED ON AO3 TOO, you can find it here!

It's early autumn; which means it's the start of the rainy season in Gotham (or rather more rain) and of Harvey's latest semester at Gotham University (GothU, affectionately). Harvey isn't entirely sure how he ended up at this shindig, if he's being honest, and the person who even invited him as his plus one has vanished. He's in law school but he's still only in pre-law, he hasn't even made a name for himself yet as some sort of future threat.

(It's still early enough that about 50% of students he's going through with are still starry eyed and haven't entirely given up on the idea of making Gotham a better place.)

The weird intersection of various gangs, businessmen, politicians (corrupt or otherwise), and local celebs is there on full display; and Harvey just wants to get the fuck out of there, but he has no idea where his ride is and frankly he's a broke law student he does not have the money for a cab all the way back into central Gotham from where they are.

But then, something catches his eye-- or rather, someone:

Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne had recently crossed the threshold into being the richest man in the world (just surpassing the much older Lex Luthor), with the biggest company in the world (again surpassing Luthor's own corporation), and the closest thing Gotham has to true and actual royalty.

The same Bruce Wayne that was also in two of Harvey's classes this semester at GothU for reasons he did not understand.

Harvey is admittedly, briefly entranced. Sure they share classes and like him, Bruce attends every single one, but Harvey is pretty sure he's never been this close to the man still (or maybe it just feels closer compared to the large university lecture halls). Heads turn whenever and wherever Bruce goes; and it wasn't just because he was so unfathomably rich or because nearly all of Gotham was protective of the young man. From adorable child, to cute (if sullen) pre-teen, and now into an attractive (if sullen) young man-- Bruce was hot. Sure, in a kinda funky have we confirmed he's not a Victorian vampire way but honestly maybe it was just the classical Gotham influence that made him read that way.

Harvey, even in his trance, can tell that Bruce Wayne looks uncomfortable. He can't tell if it's the social interaction or the people he's surrounded by, but either way Bruce didn't look happy to be there really. Harvey can't help but find himself compelled to watch the billionaire, because he knew the public reputation of Bruce Wayne (generous to a fault, prince of gotham but king of social anxiety and awkwardness, person you could trust to leave your small children around); but what was he like at these weird little parties where it was almost all folks who were deeply corrupt and entrenched? Was it all just a persona? Would he start doing that weird haughty laugh a lot of these other rich fucks seemed to do?

Harvey was still one of those starry-eyed pre-law students, he wanted to make a real and lasting change in this godforsaken city. Bruce Wayne held the most power and influence here. Would he be an potential ally, or Harvey's biggest obstacle?

A figure was suavely bee-lining towards Bruce, the crowd parting way for him. Harvey didn't see who the person was until they stopped before the prince, and Harvey nearly dropped the expensive, crystal glass in his hand. Carmine Falcone. Not one of his lieutenants, not some people just associated with the crime boss, no. Falcone himself. Christ, what did I get dragged into? I'll pay another semester worth of tuition if it gets me outta here--

"Bruce, my dear boy! I'm soo glad you decided to join us," Falcone practically croons, and approaches with two glasses in hand. Harvey thinks he see's a slight twitch to Bruce's eye, but the man's expression doesn't change really even with the man's arrival. Falcone pushes the fresh glass of alcohol into Bruce's hand, then swiftly and smoothly wraps a long arm around Bruce's shoulders.

Harvey watches as Bruce looks from the glass, as if trying to determine it's contents then up to Falcone, eyebrow slowly arching. Harvey can't hear everything, the crowd just barely too loud. But Falcone starts steering Bruce further into the party. Right, I need to stop gawking and find my ride--

Harvey gulps down the last of his drink, though the taste makes him want to gag. Maybe he's just not sophisticated yet enough to appreciate the morbidly expensive alcohol. He hastily sets the glass down on the nearest passing waiter's tray, and starts to look for his ride.

The search brings him closer to Falcone, which isn't thrilling, but necessary in order to sweep the room. Harvey mentally swears because the place is huge and he's probably going to have to go room by room and--

"-- my boy, just think of the potential!" Falcone's voice floats so easily over the crowd, and the guy makes Harvey's skin crawl but even he has to admit the man has his own weird ass charisma. Harvey's attention is drawn back, involuntarily, to the crime boss and Bruce Wayne. The younger man hasn't touched his drink, if Harvey had to guess; and Falcone is staying practically plastered to his side. The younger man looks so so uncomfortable and frustrated? Annoyed? Mad? It's hard for Harvey to place, because somehow Bruce Wayne also continues to look sullen and exhausted.

The crowd around Falcone is a delicate balance of men and women clearly are comfortable around him; and people who were trying to find a way to get near while not incur the wrath of his many bodyguards. Then there was Harvey, who wants nothing to do with anyone here thankyouverymuch. Harvey scans the area one last time, not finding his so-called friend; his eyes land briefly at Bruce again before he starts to turn.

"-- I mean... you're father--" Falcone can't finish his sentence and Harvey turns back just in time to see Bruce Wayne splash the insanely expensive alcohol directly into Falcone's face.

Besides a few gasps, it goes quiet in the immediate area and quickly radiates out. Everyone is shocked, including Harvey, but he also is amazed byt he sight of Bruce. He looks as unimpressed by Falcone as he is angered. Bruce says nothing, and Harvey watches as he turns on his heel and starts calmly leaving; politely placing his glass on a waitresses tray on his way out.

Harvey has no idea what compels him to do so, but he follows the billionaire out.

"Wayne! Mr. Wayne!" Harvey calls as he jogs to catch up; the man has a surprisingly fast pace and while a crowd will part for the prince, it's not about to make way for some punk pre-law student they don't even know the name of.

Bruce Wayne stops, steps away from the gleaming black car that's running. His famous butler by his side, umbrella open above their heads.

Both men look to Harvey, curious and expecting, as he skids to a stop. Harvey realizes he didn't think far enough ahead, and swallows thickly. Thankfully though, Bruce speaks first.

"Harvey, Right? Harvey Dent?" Bruce says and Harvey blinks.

"You- wait, you know who I am?"

"Sure," Bruce says easily, like his name is worth remembering to a man like him. The rain is still falling, steadily and soaking Harvey. "You're the only one saying stuff worth listening to in those classes," he adds.

Harvey blinks, and he's glad the light is shit in the overcast weather, because his face warms at the acknowledgement. "Oh..."

"I didn't expect you at a place like this," Bruce says, voice curious as he watches Harvey closely in a way that makes him want to squirm a little under the scrutiny. It's not malicious feeling, though--- Harvey thinks it seems more curious, than anything.

"My friend dragged me here, didn't tell me what was going on..." Harvey admits.

Alfred leans in and whispers something to Bruce. Bruce nods, not taking his eyes off Harvey. "Would you like a ride home, Mr. Dent?" Alfred asks.

They don't go directly to Harvey's place, and Alfred doesn't even drop Bruce off first. Instead--

"Bat Burger?" Bruce asks, as he settles fully into the seat next to Harvey. "I'm starving."

"Oh! Uh, sure?" Harvey blinks, and then looks down as Bruce pulls out a towel of all things, from-- somewhere? and offers it to him. Harvey takes it, starting to dry off how best he can.

"Alfred?"

"Of course, sir," Alfred says easily from the driver seat ahead. "So, what glorious exit did you make this time, Master Bruce?"

Bruce makes a strangled noise, scoffing. "Who says I did anything?" He replies, and Harvey stifles a laugh-- not because of the denial so much as the billionaire sounds like a kid trying to hide the mess he just made.

Harvey can see in the rear view mirror Alfred raise an eyebrow.

"He threw his very expensive drink in Falcone's face," he provides and Bruce sends him a scowl but it has no bite and he's even smiling a little.

"Oh, Bruce, really?" Alfred chides like an exhausted parent.

"Don't worry, it was expensive, not good," Bruce says in his defense; and Harvey laughs.

to be continued? maybe? IDEK.

[the-cookie-monster-tm]

tomura needs control, after being used for so long by the people who were supposed to take care of him, he needs it, thats why he so obsessed with the destruction of the world, especially the hero world.

dabi needs to relinquish his control, while still feeling like he has worth. this comes from him having to rely on himself for so long, training himself, learning how to live on his own, all while being looked down on.

now, if tomura fucked dabi the way he deserves, both of them would be engaging in a fulfilling dynamic that gives them both what they need which is control for tomura, and being wanted while not having to take control. this would help a lot of their personal problems and they would learn to heal, together

once they get together they would become the ultimate power couple, and personally i think tomura would realise that yes, he wants to destroy, but he also wants to rebuild and create something of his own, something better, a society where him and all his associates can live freely and happily, and the false society of heros is exposed for the sham it is

this would also fulfil the desires of the rest of the league. toga, being accepted. twice and spinner, the same. dabi would get his revenge and the downfall of heros, his father exposed as the scum he is, and compress, well i dont know what compress wants, i havent watched mha is forever lol

now they have an actual goal, something more substantial than just destruction, but how, you say, do they get there?

i feel as though with this new understanding of themselves, they will become even more powerful, tomura will be able to eject afo from his mind, and use him to weaken the heros, as well as becoming more powerful as he understands himself. an unlocking of quirks of sorts.

dabi would have something to live for, tomura, and he would start to take care of himself more, not just enough to burn out endeavor and himself. this would make him more powerful in the long term, and he would be able to do more damage to the heros

toga, spinner, twice, and compress would be fighting harder once they know they have a substantial future to look forward to, and more hope that they can get there. they would have more faith in dabi and tomura, and more drive

essentially, if dabi and tomura hooked up, they would become too powerful for anyone to stop, no one else in the league would die, the heros can suck dick, LOV for the win :)

i think like... 99% of the problems in the mha universe could have been fixed if tomura railed dabi

[vxnillabxn]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ xavier x gn!reader ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ fluff aaaaall the way ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚i just love his bunny eyes so much omg, he's so pretty it hurts

just imagine a lazy sunday morning, —truly, nothing out of the usual between xavier and you—. soft breathing, the blankets reaching the floor, your legs tangled together and the faint noise of a funny video you're both watching on his phone. you laugh. he just smiles, soon averting his gaze from the screen to look at you: all messy, with your disheveled hair and his shirt comfortably enveloping you in his fresh detergent scent.

you point at the bunny throwing a tantrum on the video, chuckling as the soft, white and fluffy creature stomps its paw. xavier isn't looking though, way too engrossed in your lips curling up and your crinkled eyes. you smell like him, you enjoy what he loves doing the most (sleeping), and you have the brightest smile ever. he soon hums quietly, trying to get your attention.

you, however, are too busy giggling. and that's not good. he needs your attention. he needs your eyes on his, at least briefly. when you insist on watching the video, that's where he has to step in. he swiftly pulls his phone away, making you frown. before you can even protest, there they are. his big, bright azure eyes meeting yours. his lips are pouty, and he stomps his feet against the mattress. it isn't harsh; you only hear soft thumps, but those are enough for you to melt. he tilts his chin downward, and his eyes appear bigger... needier.

such a spoiled, breathtaking bunny of a boyfriend.

you sigh and give in. how could you not? you cup his cheeks lovingly, finally rubbing your nose against his scrunched one in what you two call a "bunny kiss". he pulls you closer, humming in satisfaction with that soft, calming tone of his. soon enough, he's kissing you from your forehead to your chin, returning to your lips to give you tiny yet slow pecks.

he travels to your eyelids, brushing them with his thumb before kissing them too. he adores your eyes. he adores when you look at him. why? you always ask, yet he vaguely answers. he just says they're cute.

if only you knew he loves it when you look at him. if only you knew he could see the whole galaxy reflected in your gaze. if only you knew he would rather stargaze by looking at the stars shining in your eyes than looking at the sky itself. if only you knew how much he also loves looking at you with his azure eyes, because then, just then, he can finally and confidently say he's seeing his future.

and his future is you.

[nobylerdoubt]

I’m pretty sure everyone has already noticed and pointed this out but I still want to anyway but when things are back to normal and Mike and El are trying to be a normal couple, besides making out they don’t exactly have much going for them in terms of chemistry, shared interests, or just having a strong connection in general that doesn’t tie to trauma from the supernatural events, like what would they’re future even look like together if you throw away the whole getting married young and having children that these weirdos in the fandom keep fantasizing about.💀

It's true - let's look at everything Mike and El have connected over over the course of the series - besides physical touch.

Season 1:

Ted's Lazy Boy

Finding Will

The TV?

Bullying? (Where Mike tries to hide that he got bullied, El reminds him friends don't lie, and says she understands.)

El sticking up for Mike and Will by humiliating and beating up said bullies.

Mike assures El that she's not the Monster.

El saves everyone's life and disappears, Mike feels bad about it.

Mike likes that El needs him (he feels useful) and El's powers are sick as hell. El isn't interested in Mike's toys or games, and When El takes an interest in Nancy being pretty/Nancy's things, Mike disagrees but tries to remain polite.

Season 2:

💀

Bitchin

El being alive

Snow Ball?

Mike doesn't even know El is alive. And while he longs for her - to make sure she's okay, wishing she were here - El starts to develop a one-sided idea of what relationships should look like based on soap operas she watches at home. Mike planted the seed of the idea in season 1, but El was the one who watered that seed and made it grow.

Season 3:

El being alive

Um

uh

well...

Mike and El spend this entire season making out, fighting, or in Mike's case, half-heartedly trying to get back with El. Mike has to basically be held by the shoulders by Lucas and steered toward the right direction, because he knows so little about El and her interests and who she is as a person, individual from their relationship - that he has no fucking clue how to make things up to her. Aside from a hastily admitted "I love her" - these two have nothing going for them this season. I mention in this post that a huge part of the reason El gets back together with Mike at the end is in an attempt to keep something normal in her rapidly changing life.

Season 4:

El being Mike's "superhero"

It's even noted at the beginning of episode 2 that Mike isn't super interested in any of the activities El has planned for them. The only moments were Mike feels more determined in their relationship is when he's trying to defend her from her bullies and later the cops - and it's not enough. He fails. Mike needs to be needed and she doesn't need him. And when she does, he fails. Mike iterates multiple times throughout the season that El is a superhero and she feels inadequate because she doesn't have her powers and isn't a superhero anymore. But Mike doesn't actually want El to be a superhero. HE wants to be the superhero. Aside from that the only coupley moments this season are when both of them are trying to pretend nothing is wrong and everything is normal.

Meanwhile there is someone else who is constantly talking to Mike about things they connect over. Who makes Mike smile with fantasies of playing DnD and Nintendo for the rest of their lives...

[hypexion]

Like before, Series 15 of Doctor Who only having eight episodes is bad for it. Series 14 just about held it together, but that's because the finale didn't strongly hinge on the Doctor-Ruby relationship. In constrast, the Doctor-Belinda ends up being a big deal. The problem is that said relationship does not develop in a way that actually makes sense or feels organic.

Let's review the Belinda situation in each episode:

The Robot Revolution - Belinda is kidnapped to another planet by evil robots sent by her ex-boyfriend. She watches a woman who trusts the Doctor implicitly die right in front of her. By the end, she's not fond of the Doctor and his dubious ways, and wants to go home.

Lux - Belinda gets caught up in a fight with a malevolent god, on her second "adventure". She immediately admits that the Doctor's life terrifies her. In return, the Doctor says he might not be able to get her home. Overall, she is still not thrilled.

The Well - Belinda literally almost dies, because getting shot in the chest is the only way to save her from a parasitic monster that would otherwise drive her mad. She is directly confronted with her mortality, and is again terrified.

Lucky Day - Belinda isn't really in this episode.

The Story & the Engine - Belinda has apparently mellowed out enough to be okay with the Doctor visiting his buddy instead of proceeding with getting her home (tangent: how does this make sense in the Mother Belinda timeline?). She laughs at a guy and seems to have gotten over her previous worries. There's the hook that she sympathises with the Doctor's need to find a place where in fits in, but that would be more effective if she were already warming up to him.

The Interstellar Song Contest - Belinda spends most of this episode believing that the Doctor is dead, and thus she is permanently trapped in the future. In the Mother Belinda timeline she presumably has an even worse reaction. Then she sees the Doctor torturing a genocide survivor, and still ends the episode by saying she thinks the Doctor is cool. This should lead into the nadir of Belinda's relationship with the Doctor, but instead it gets brushed off and woah finale cliffhanger.

Stepping out of the reviewing for a moment, and I think it's already clear that Belinda undergoes a sudden personality shift between The Well and The Story & the Engine. Part of this is probably just poor management where the "not hyped about the Doctor" aspect of Belinda's character wasn't passed onto the non-RTD writers. But it still ends up mangling the overall character progression. If you want Belinda to start liking the Doctor, there needs to be an episode that can make that happen.

Moving on:

Wish World - Belinda... isn't meaningfully in this one. She's been hollowed out to act as one of Conrad's perfect housewives, a fate that is both horrifying and yet somehow very boring. Other than having a bit of a scream, Belinda does nothing proactive, being pulled around by the plot. When she "betrays" the Doctor to the doubt police, it's because she's playing out a role. Rather than, say, her having a subconcious distrust of the Doctor because of all the bad times she had travelling with him.

The Reality War - Belinda remains hollowed out, her entire character being compressed down to "Mother". After sitting half the episode out, she's suddenly super buzzed to be hanging out with the Doctor and having his fake baby. You know, the guy she watched torture someone the last time she was actually herself. Although Belinda might still be in wish mode while Poppy was around so Real Belinda is even less in this episode. Then finally we get Mother Belinda, a character who didn't exist until the Doctor invents her (theories to the contrary are wrong).

Overall, Belinda has a highly disjointed "arc" if you can even call it that. She doesn't develop, but rather shift between several characterisations, and it's rather jarring. And the worst part is, you could probably fix it with two more episodes, and wouldn't you know it, Belinda isn't in one episode, and is replaced with a puppet in another.

There is too much trying to happen in Series 15 compared to the actual amount of time to make it happen. (I'll even tick everyone off by saying Flux worked out better than this, and that only had six episodes while originally being planned for ten.) I also think the episode ordering adds to the problem, as Belinda gets the worst end of adventures with the Doctor first, which should be enough to put anyone off. But no before the finale even starts she's suddenly cool with the Doctor.

I suppose the conclusion is that Belinda ends up being more of a plot device than a character, which is bad. I don't even know what else to say because this is really more of a rant than an "essay".

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

2025 General Election: “Special Story”

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies. Spoilers ahead.

When I woke up that morning, the first thing I saw was Ranmaru's beautiful sleeping face.

My heart skipped a beat as I felt his arm wrapped around my back.

(Oh, right.)

(Last night, I ended up staying in Ranmaru's room.)

Even though we live in the same castle, we usually sleep in separate rooms.

That's exactly why mornings like this feel even more special.

(Still, I'm so nervous.)

(Just watching him sleep like this is enough to make my heart flutter.)

Even though Ranmaru and I were lovers now, our relationship was still fairly new.

Ranmaru: "Mmm. Lady Mai?"

Mai: "G-Good morning!"

Ranmaru: "You're already up? You can sleep in a little longer, you know?"

Ranmaru: "You were working late last night. Come on, close your eyes."

(Waah...)

He gently patted my back with practiced affection.

(Wait—what did he just say?)

(I wasn't working late last night. Is he still half-asleep?)

Confused, I looked up at him from within his arms—and our eyes met.

Then, suddenly, his eyes widened in surprise.

Ranmaru: "Am I dreaming? You look different somehow. Like you're not the you I know."

Ranmaru (Future): "I see. So you're the you from ten years ago."

As we talked and tried to make sense of it all, the shocking truth came out.

Though his appearance was exactly the same, it turned out he was Ranmaru from ten years in the future.

(Now that I think about it, yeah, he does feel a little different than usual.)

(And I kind of need to believe that, or my heart might explode.)

Like it was the most natural thing in the world, he sat me down in front of the vanity and began brushing my hair.

(He didn't even give me a chance to protest—he moved so naturally, like he's done this a thousand times before.)

(This must be something we do all the time in the future.)

His gentle, careful touch warmed me inside, though I couldn't help but blush at how intimate it felt.

Ranmaru (Future): "What's wrong? You look nervous."

Mai: "Um, what do I usually do? Do I just sit here quietly?"

Ranmaru (Future): "Hmm. You're mostly dozing off."

Ranmaru (Future): "You tend to sway sleepily, so it actually takes a bit of skill to get your hair right."

(Wait—am I really like that in the future!?)

Mai: "I'm definitely relying on you too much."

Mai: "I should probably start working on that so I can keep it together in the future."

I said it to him through the mirror, and Ranmaru chuckled softly.

Ranmaru (Future): "Hmm? You don't need to, you know."

Ranmaru (Future): "It just means you feel safest by my side now."

Ranmaru (Future): "So I want you to stay just the way you are."

(Ah…)

He gently ran his fingers through my hair, smiling sweetly.

Mai: "I must be really happy."

Ranmaru (Future): "Hm?"

Mai: "I just thought—my future self must be incredibly happy."

Mai: "To be treated so kindly and loved so openly by someone I love is amazing."

Mai: "Thank you, Ranmaru."

I thanked him on behalf of the drowsy version of me from the future—but for some reason, he sighed.

(Huh? Why did he sigh?)

Ranmaru (Future): "Geez. You're just as cute as you were ten years ago."

Mai: "----!"

Ranmaru (Future): "But the me in this timeline has only just started dating you."

Ranmaru (Future): "Even if it's still me, I probably can't go through with the usual 'finishing touches' just yet."

(Finishing touches? It's just my hair. What would he even need to hold back for?)

Confused, I turned around to look at him, and he gave me a playful wink.

Ranmaru (Future): "Curious about what the finishing touches are?"

Ranmaru (Future): "Well, let's just call that a little something to look forward to in the future."

Ranmaru (Future): "I think the 'me' from this time is about to wake up, so I'll leave the rest to him, okay?"

Mai: "Huh?"

The moment he said that, Ranmaru quietly closed his eyes.

When he opened them again—slowly this time—he puffed out his cheeks in slight annoyance.

Mai: "R-Ranmaru?"

Ranmaru: "That's right. I'm the version of myself who's dating you in the present."

Ranmaru: "And also the me who saw everything that happened between you and future me."

Mai: "Wait, seriously!?"

Before I could process it, Ranmaru wrapped his arms around me from behind, pulling me into a tight embrace.

Ranmaru: "I was supposed to be the one sharing a sweet morning with you—not him."

Ranmaru: "But since he left the final touches to me, I guess I'll let it slide just this once."

Mai: "You knew what he was going to do?"

Ranmaru: "Of course. I mean, he is me."

Ranmaru: "And when it comes to doing something for you—I know exactly what I'd do."

(Ah…)

He turned me around and pressed a soft kiss to my lips.

The warmth of it faded quickly, replaced by a tender gaze that made my heart race.

Ranmaru: "I love you with all my heart."

Ranmaru: "I hope today gives you plenty of reasons to smile!"

(Ranmaru…)

Mai: "You know, I was wrong about what I said to future you."

Mai: "It's not just future me who's lucky—present me is just as happy, too."

Ranmaru: "Heh, of course you are. I wouldn't accept anything less."

Still laughing, he gave me another kiss—this one playful and affectionate.

The way he touched me, so much like the future Ranmaru, made me realize just how deep and lasting his love truly was.

[simp-for-love]

Mattheo sees his child for the first time

A/N: I was just thinking about dad Mattheo, and, oops, a small blurb? Drabble? Idk, just something came out.

Warnings: Brief references to trauma, emotional vulnerability, cursing words

Word count: ~670

The room hums with quiet voices and shuffling feet, but Mattheo hears none of it. Just the pounding in his ears. Just the weight of his own breath.

He stands there like a statue, leather jacket still on, fists clenched at his sides. His gaze is locked on the bundle in white. He just can't take his eyes off them. So fucking small. Wrapped in white, silent in the nurse's arms. Breathing. Alive.

And his.

He doesn't go to them. He can't. His feet might as well be cemented to the floor. Because if he gets too close, if he touches them...

The nurse says his name, soft and coaxing. Asks if he wants to hold them.

He doesn't answer. He just can't.

He was never a fearful man. On the contrary, others were afraid of him. But for the first time in a very long time, Mattheo Riddle is afraid. He is terrified.

Not of blood or death or the enemies who whisper his name like a curse. Not of Azkaban. Not of his family legacy. Not even of the darkness that claws up his spine.

No — he's afraid of this.

Of that tiny life.

Of touching something so clean, so pure, so impossibly untouched by the shadows he drags behind him. Terrified that his hands — hands that have broken bones, cast spells meant to harm, written blood-soaked promises — are not worthy. That if he just touches this child, something in them will break. That his darkness might seep into this little, perfect thing and ruin them forever.

You watch him from the bed, exhaustion in your limbs but love and soft understanding in your eyes. He can feel it, warm and undeserved. It burns worse than any dark magic spell.

He's done too much. Hurt too many. He never thought he deserved you in the first place. Not really. That's been his guilt to carry since the first time he let you sleep on his chest, wondering what kind of broken soul lets someone like you near. But this, this is even worse.

He's not supposed to have this.

Not you. Not this baby.

Not a future.

But your gaze, your love for him — it always tells him otherwise. That he's more than enough for you.

Then the baby stirs and opens their eyes.

Dark hazel, just like his.

It hits him like a Bludger to the chest, like a punch to the gut. Like someone took every shield he's ever built and shattered it in a second. His knees almost give. He swears, quietly, under his breath — a broken, soft sound.

They have his eyes.

Fuck.

They're beautiful. Perfect. And they're his. Part of him. A piece of something good buried beneath all the ruin.

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Just this low and dull ache in his chest. He doesn't know how something can be so small and still make him feel bigger than anything he's ever felt.

A nurse carefully steps forward and places the baby in his arms, and Mattheo panics, truly panics. He stiffens. Every muscle locks. He's holding them like they'll shatter if he breathes too hard. His heart's pounding, loud enough he swears they can hear it. His breath hitches unevenly.

This baby weighs almost nothing. But in his arms, they might as well be the whole fucking world.

He's held cursed artifacts, ancient grimoires, treasures men would kill for. But none of it has ever compared to the impossible weight of this tiny child in his arms. Not because they're heavy — but because they matter. More than anything ever has.

They make a small sound — not a cry, just... a soft sleepy noise.

He nearly falls apart.

You whisper his name. "Mattheo."

He looks at you with something wrecked in his eyes. Then back at them, like he can't believe that it is real.

The baby sighs against his chest, warm and trusting. Their hand twitches, curling loosely into the leather of his jacket. And he just... stands there.

Shaking. Silent. Changed.

"Shh, I've got you," he whispers, the promise rasped into the soft crown of their head. It isn't a threat, not this time — it's a vow. One that's heavier than any oath he's ever made.

[iceemochaa]

Sitting At The Bar With Eoin And Paddy

Pairing: Eoin/ Reader/ Paddy

A/N: Eoin survives because he deserves to be with Paddy!

Word count: 818

You should have known that sitting at a bar in a room full of military men would be overwhelming.

The loud music, sweaty men singing off tune and shouting over the band. Jumping up and down with a glass of alcohol in hand should have been a no brainer— Oh! and hearing Paddy complain that his drink isn’t strong enough is just too much.

Why did you come here again?

Eoin sits between you and Paddy but you can still hear his loud ass voice close by, leaning over the counter to “ask” the bartender why This lovely establishment doesn’t have any other variety to his liking.

That was you paraphrasing it.

“Are yer fucking stupid?” He shouts, grabbing the glass cup from the bartender's hand and throwing it down on the floor. “Is this entire fuckin’ place filled with soft arse alcohol?”

“Paddy…isn’t that overkill?” Eoin sighs, leaning back into the counter with his elbows resting on the edge. He’s not disappointed or embarrassed— Paddy always gets like this when he has too much to drink, it’s more like he’s confused on why Paddy is upset. They always drink here when they come back from their deployment; The tables and chairs haven't been changed out, that leaking ceiling by the bathroom still drips from time to time and the drinks are still the same.

He finds it almost funny in a way, that regardless of what goes on during the ongoing war they can still come back to some normalcy.

Paddy turns around to sit back in his chair, fixing the collar on his uniform before getting annoyed and releasing the top button, too hot and very annoyed already.

“Uh…no?” Paddy says with a hint of confusion, like what he’s doing isn’t a problem.

Since people enable Paddy to act like a massive cunt to local civilians, he will never try to change his attitude regarding that fact. Eoin tries, truly, with soft spoken encouraging words and a pat on the back when Paddy just can’t seem to wrap his head around it.

You on the other hand? You think he needs a nice, good, punch on his pretty face. Something to twist his head around so he’s walking backwards for days. Rattle him so bad that maybe he’ll start reciting poetry from his ass instead.

You hope you're the one to do it.

Eoin brushes his knees against yours, your thoughts interrupted, a slightly concerned expression riddles his face. You think about how cute it is that Eoin cares about you, almost like an older brother when it counts. Then you wonder how he ever got involved with someone like Paddy Mayne. The complete opposite of a gentleman.

You give Eoin a slight smile, a reassuring squeeze on his knees to signal that you were fine. You could enjoy it better if a certain someone wasn’t terrorizing the overworked employee but so far, it’s fine.

After a while, the time slowly dragging itself, you feel a yawn brush against your throat. It’s already midnight and the soldiers are slowly disbanding but still going strong with their mini karaoke sessions. You're glad that they have so much energy and somewhat light in their eyes at this moment. The future is too uncertain for anybody to know what will happen. For now, they enjoy what they have.

Soon enough the hype dies down and people linger to listen to some soothing jazz music, a couple of men heading out to go home and possibly enjoy their last moments in a real bed until the next deployment.

You figured you should leave too.

“I should go.” You say, turning towards Eoin who is patting Paddy on the back for some reason. You won’t ask why, too tired and frankly, didn’t care to know.

“You haven’t even touched your drink.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Sure you don’t.” Paddy chimes in from nowhere.

“Does he ever shut the fuck up?” You sigh out loud, eyes rolling to the side, but it’s definitely meant for Paddy.

“So, she speaks!” He laughs, the sound makes your ears hurt. You can’t help but watch Paddy reach over the counter, the bartender too scared to tell him that he isn’t allowed to do that and pulls out a green bottle. Looks like Italian wine? You're not too sure but Paddy stands, a sinister grin painted on his lips and his eyebrows raise high up.

“Can’t speak when someone constantly thinks he’s the center of attention.”

“Oh? A real jokester in our midst,” Paddy says with glee, “When did yer balls decide to drop? Say, last night? When the moon was half up and the sky-“

“—There he goes again, another shitty poem.” You sigh once more, a headache brewing at your temple. Paddy’s nonsense is close to making you snap.

“I kinda wanted to see where this one was going.” Eoin smiles.

“Trust me, you don’t .”

[yellowhollyhock]

Round 4 of turtlecage25 has concluded!

On Friday June 27, the semifinals will take place.

Rise Leon v Archie Raphael

2003 Leo v Mirage Leonardo

The final contenders will then be allowed a weekend to prepare, and on Monday June 23

The last match determines the ultimate Champion!

Let's see some highlights from this last round!

Closest Fight:

03 Raph v Rise Leon

Biggest Landslide:

Archie Raphael vs IDW Mikey

Sibling Moments:

2003 Raph and Mikey had a good long talk about losing, winning, sportsmanship and family loyalty. Not that I, uh, listened in on their private conversation. That would be unethical. They both had some things to learn and ultimately both just really needed each other's support and forgiveness. I mean I'm guessing. We don't bug the rec rooms here. Anyway Donny got there just in time for the celebratory hug and was very confused.

Rise Leo explained his plan, and Raph has softened but Mikey and Donnie are more angry now. I'm sure it'll be fine.

2007 turtles are very excited about Mirage Leo's victory. His brothers are sitting with them, seeming to take the support of their teammate as an allyship.

Funny Moments:

... There really wasn't a lot of goofing around this Round. Archie Raph and IDW Mikey were having a good time! They probably had some really funny banter that I'm not clever enough to write--I mean, uh, that I didn't hear. Because the fighting arena also isn't bugged.

Loser Shout Out

03 Raph let's gooo! He really kept Leon on his toes. And this especially should be lauded because opponents who get into your head and make you wear yourself out was his exactly weak point in the show. He kept his head a good long while and very nearly won! In the end he wanted to go talk things out that have been sitting for a while more than he wanted to win.

btw don't forget about Mirage Raphael. He got out in Round 1 and has since been watching every fight like 'I could take those guys. I'll take 'em all next year.'

1987 Donatello! He's so pleased with himself for how far he did come and how close the fight was, he hardly seems upset about losing. He's signing autographs and annoying his brothers with stories (they were literally watching the whole time). He did say, and seemed sincere, that he's surprised none of the others made it that far, especially Leonardo. They're both fighters to keep eyes on in the future.