#//but I mainly wanted to use the tags today because- I see you Anon

[serpulalacrymans]

My neighbors keep replaying the same song…

When I do it I keep the volume down… This is just annoying..

[ginnsbaker]

Bulletproof

Summary: You're the only Avenger who sleeps in a cell. | Series Masterlist

Word count: 2.9k+ | Tags: Mild Angst, Fluff, Sharing A Bed, Enemies to Lovers

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Requested by anon:

could i maybe request wanda x r where the whole team kinda mistreats them and wanda is especially bad. & r saving wanda on a mission, with this: wanda: “How'd you know you were bulletproof?" r: "I didn't. I just knew that you weren't."

Author's note: Thank you to the anon who requested this :) Not sure if this is exactly how you wanted it, but I had fun writing the battle (my first time!) Hope you don't mind I took some liberties ;) Takes place before Civil War.

--

“You don’t have to be so mean to them,” Natasha tells her. 

Wanda's eyes narrow as she continues to fixate on you, her glare seemingly willing the daggers to find their mark. You can sense the energy of her powers tingling in the air, but she maintains control, stopping the daggers just short of their target.

“They need to know what they’re up against,” Wanda retorts, her accent slipping through in a rare moment. “If they’re going to be one of us, they have to prove themselves.”

Natasha moves to stand between you and Wanda, her body language calm but assertive. “They will, in time. But not like this.”

You can feel your heart pounding, but you refuse to let Wanda see any fear in your eyes. Your choice to leave your former life and join this team wasn't made lightly, and you won't be intimidated.

“I'm right here,” you say, stepping forward. “And I'm not going anywhere. If you want to test me, do it properly.”

Wanda smirks, and the daggers drop to the floor, clattering loudly in the silence. “Impressive,” she says, almost as an afterthought.

Steve Rogers, observing from the sidelines, steps in to defuse the situation. His authoritative presence commands respect, and his voice is steady and even. “That's enough for today. We're a team, and we need to start acting like one.”

He looks at you, his eyes filled with understanding but also a hint of caution. “However,” he continues, his tone shifting, “You'll still be sleeping in the cells.”

Your heart plummets, each word from Steve feeling like a blade to your chest. Being sent back to that room, devoid of windows, with only a tiny bed and a comforter too thin to ward off the chill, feels like a betrayal every time. You've spent nights there, shivering and reflecting on your decision to join this team, yet still, you find yourself confined.

“After several months of captivity, even cooking your dinner, you still don't trust me?” you ask, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice.

Steve's expression softens, but his resolve remains firm. “It's not about trust,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a weight of experience and pain. “We've been crossed so many times before, mostly by former HYDRA agents.”

Like you, he doesn’t need to say.

You understand the logic, but it doesn't make the reality any easier to swallow. The sense of being an outsider, the cold isolation of the cells—it wears on you.

Wanda, who had been silent up to this point, suddenly speaks up. “Maybe you should just leave then. If it's so unbearable, why stay?”

The room goes quiet. 

A thousand retorts spring to your mind, but you swallow them down, unwilling to escalate the situation further. The temptation to throw back that it's rich coming from her, considering she's also a former footsoldier of HYDRA, is strong, but you bite your tongue. 

You look at her, stunned by the bluntness of her suggestion, but also recognizing the challenge in her eyes. 

Her words strike deeper than she may realize. Leaving isn't an option you've entertained, mainly because there's nowhere for you to go. No one left in your life to turn to. This makeshift “family” despite their reservation and distance, is all you have.

-

The days that follow are marked by a subtle but relentless isolation. 

In the training room, Wanda's partnership becomes more aggressive than usual. Her powers lash out without warning, her critiques sharp and cutting. You hold your own, but the lack of camaraderie is palpable. Each comment she makes stings, and with every barb, you feel more and more alone.

At meal times, the rest of the Avengers seem to be in their own world, deep in conversation, sharing stories, laughing. You sit at the end of the table, your presence barely acknowledged, a shadow among them. Your attempts to join in are met with curt replies or indifference. You try to brush it off, believing that you should be used to rejection by now. But no matter how much you tell yourself that you're accustomed to it, that you've developed a thick skin, the pain is still there, raw and fresh.

Mission briefings are no better. Your opinions and insights are consistently overlooked. You contribute where you can, but your ideas are dismissed without consideration. You are a tool, a means to an end, not a part of the team. The realization gnaws at you, festering in the pit of your stomach.

Casual encounters with the team become equally disheartening. Tony passes you in the hallway without so much as a glance. Natasha avoids eye contact. Bruce mumbles something noncommittal when you try to engage him in conversation. Steve's assignments are devoid of the warmth or encouragement he shows to everyone else.

Your cell becomes a constant reminder of your status, metaphor for how the entire team treats you. 

You’re both just a weapon and a first-aid kit at their disposal.

Wanda is relentless, her words sharp and her gaze cold. You have no idea why she treats you worse than any of them, why her manner towards you has turned so hostile. You don't understand why you get under her skin without even trying, why she seems to target you with a venom that feels deeply personal.

You were expecting that Wanda would be the one to understand what it feels like to be an outsider, given that you both share a common history as former HYDRA agents. 

As the days turn into weeks, the isolation wears you down. The walls of your cell seem to close in, and a growing determination to prove yourself begins to take hold. 

You'll show them all that you're more than just a disposable weapon.

But underlying that determination is a gnawing doubt, a fear that no matter what you do, it will never be enough to earn their respect, their trust, or their friendship. It's a lonely road, and for the first time, you begin to wonder if Wanda's earlier suggestion might hold some truth.

Perhaps it would be easier to leave.

-

It’s not like you know the extent of your abilities, but they bring you along the most dangerous missions for one thing:

Your healing ability.

On top of your martial arts training, you provide a sense of security to your teammates, knowing that you'll be there to heal them if they get hurt.

Now, you find yourself on one such mission, infiltrating a den of underground supers. These aren't ordinary criminals; they're mercenaries hired to carry out the dirty work of high-ranking government officials. It's a treacherous job, one filled with unknown risks, and you've been paired with Wanda for the operation.

As you and Wanda are attempting to escape, things take a turn for the worse. You find yourselves cornered in an alley, your escape route cut off by a group of armed thugs and a few individuals displaying unnerving superpowers.

Wanda takes on those with special abilities, her eyes glowing red as she unleashes her powers in a flurry of attacks. You, on the other hand, focus on the armed assailants, wielding two-handed pistols with expert precision. Bullets fly, and bodies fall as you both fight for your lives.

But in the midst of the chaos, you notice something that sends a chill down your spine. Snipers, perched on a nearby rooftop, taking aim at Wanda. Even with your healing abilities, you know that a precise shot to the head would be fatal.

“Wanda, get down!” you shout, but she's too engrossed in her battle to hear you. Your mind races, knowing that you have only seconds to act. 

Without a second thought, you turn and run towards Wanda, your body moving on pure instinct. Bullets whiz by your ear, but you keep going, your focus solely on reaching her before it's too late.

You leap into the air, positioning yourself between Wanda and the snipers just as they pull the trigger. 

You hear the distant release of the bullet, muted but deadly.

The world seems to slow down as you brace for the impact, only to feel the bullets bounce off your skin.

You land, unscathed, your mind reeling from the realization that you're bulletproof. But there's no time to dwell on it.

Wanda looks at you, her eyes wide with shock but also gratitude. “How did you–”

“No time!” you cut her off, urging her to keep fighting. “We have to get out of here!”

Wanda's eyes flare with a vivid scarlet as she zeroes in on the snipers in the vicinity. With a flourish of her hands, she uses her powers to locate each of their positions. A pulse of energy emanates from her fingertips, reaching out to the snipers' weapons, and within moments, the firearms disintegrate into dust, leaving the men defenseless.

Seeing an opening, you reach for Wanda's arm, your grip firm but not rough. There's no time to waste, and you start pulling her towards the exit, half running, half dragging her to safety. Her breath is warm on your neck, her body close to yours, as you weave through the maze of alleyways, your heart pounding in your chest.

Once you're at a safe distance, Wanda turns to you. “How'd you know you were bulletproof?”

“I didn't,” you admit, still in disbelief, and much to Wanda’s horror that you almost got yourself killed for her sake. “I just knew you weren't. And if those bullets got to you, I wouldn't be able to heal someone who's already dead.”

Wanda stares at you, her eyes searching your face as if she's trying to see something… deeper. Her lips part, like she wants to say something more, something that's just on the tip of her tongue but won't come out.

That's when you realize that you're still holding her arm, your bodies so close that you can feel her heartbeat. A flush of embarrassment washes over you as you become aware of the intimate proximity. Wanda clears her throat, a delicate, almost shy sound, and you immediately let go of her arm.

The silence that follows your sudden step back is heavy and awkward. You can't help but glance at the spot where your hand had been moments ago, still feeling the ghostly sensation of her arm beneath your fingers.

You look at Wanda, and she's looking back at you, her eyes wide and filled with something you can't quite name. 

And then, without warning, Wanda starts to laugh.

It's a soft, bubbling sound at first, almost as if she's surprised by it herself. Her laughter grows, becoming louder and more contagious, and you can't help but stare at her, your mouth agape, wondering if she's lost her mind.

“What's so funny?” you finally manage to ask.

Wanda wipes a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “I was just thinking,” she says, her nose scrunching, something you haven’t seen on her and you find it quite… adorable. “You're like a shield now. As effective as Steve's vibranium one, maybe even more so.”

The absurdity of the statement causes you to finally join in her laugh, and your heart seems to flutter at the sound of Wanda's glee.

“I don't know about that,” you say, trying to sound modest but unable to keep the smile off your face. “Steve's shield has a bit more style.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Wanda teases, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “There's something quite stylish about being bulletproof. And practical too.”

Was that a compliment?

You shake your head, still smiling, your previous awkwardness forgotten. You're not only pleased at the first light banter you've shared with a teammate but also smiling at something else, something that stirs deep inside you and that you're not quite ready to confront.

Your crush on Wanda Maximoff.

-

The toll of the day's event is weighing down on you and Wanda, but like every mission, you're required to report the details of the mission–successful or not. Your muscles are sore, your mind is weary, but the mission was a success, and you can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

Arriving back at the Avengers compound, you follow Wanda into the debriefing room where Steve is waiting. Wanda explains what happened, how you discovered your newfound ability, and saved her life. Her voice is filled with respect and something more, something warmer, as she recounts your bravery.

Steve's face lights up with pride. “You both did well today. I'm proud of how you handled yourselves out there.”

You exchange a glance with Wanda, waiting for something more, perhaps some acknowledgment of your change in status within the team, or even an upgrade to your sleeping quarters. But instead, Steve simply nods, his face turning serious. “Dismissed.”

Wanda's face falls, and you feel a sharp pang of disappointment. You start to retreat towards your cell, the cold, windowless room that's been your home for months, but Wanda's voice stops you in your tracks.

“Wait a minute, Steve,” she protests. “After all that's happened, after all Y/N has done for us, don't you think it's time for a change? A real room, perhaps?”

Steve looks between you and Wanda. You hold your breath, hoping for a reprieve from the isolation you've been feeling.

Finally, Steve sighs, his face softening. “Wanda, if it were up to me, Y/N would have their own room already. But it's not that simple,” he explains, his voice strained. “I still need to place an official request with Tony. He's the one who approves these things.”

You can hear the frustration in Steve's voice, and you realize that he's fighting for you, in his own way.

“Fine,” Wanda says, crossing her arms. “But this needs to be done quickly, Steve. It's not right.”

“I agree. I'll talk to Tony first thing tomorrow.”

As you turn to leave and retreat back to your cell, Wanda's hand on your arm stops you, and you look back at her, surprised by the action.

“Come with me,” she says. Without another word, she leads you towards her quarters. 

Your heart quickens at her words, and you follow her, trying to process what's happening. 

Is she really inviting you to stay in her room?

Once inside her quarters, the reality of the situation sinks in, and a nervous tension takes hold. Her room is filled with personal touches–little trinkets, photographs, her clothes all over the place–that provide glimpses into a life you've only seen from a distance. You feel like an intruder, momentarily paralyzed as you take in the intimacy of her space.

Wanda seems to pick up on your hesitation, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. A smirk plays on her lips as she teases, “Don't look so terrified. I won't bite.”

You chuckle at her remark. “Well, that's a relief.”

Wanda's eyes sparkle with amusement, and she moves further into the room, gesturing for you to follow. “Make yourself at home,” she says. She then goes to the closet and begins to pull out a spare pillow and blanket. “You'll be staying here with me until we sort out a room for you,” she says.

“Thanks, Wanda,” you say softly.

Without further comment, you move to make your bed on the floor, your movements deliberate and slow as you try to give her space and respect her privacy.

“What are you doing?” Wanda asks, her eyes widening as she realizes your intention.

“I'm just getting ready to sleep,” you explain, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I'm quite tired.”

“No, what are you doing on the floor?” she clarifies, a hint of disbelief in her voice. “You're sharing the bed with me.”

“I wouldn't want to impose,” you say, though the offer is tempting.

“You're not imposing,” Wanda assures you, her eyes sincere. “You've earned a proper bed, and I trust you.”

The word 'trust' hits you like a wave, and you feel tears pricking at the back of your eyes. 

Blinking them back, your voice cracks a little as you reply, “Thank you, Wanda. That means more to me than you know.”

“Good night, Y/N,” Wanda whispers, turning on her side to face you.

“Good night, Wanda,” you say, just as softly.

You both settle on the bed, and with a flick of her wrist, Wanda uses her powers to switch off the light.

The softness of Wanda's bed is worlds away from the harsh, unforgiving mattress in your cell. You find yourself sinking into the plush comfort, every muscle in your body releasing the tension from the dangerous mission earlier. The scent of Wanda on the pillows only adds to the incomparable comfort they provide. The difference is staggering, and it contributes to you falling asleep much more quickly than you have in a long time.

In the middle of the night, you're stirred awake by the feeling of Wanda rolling closer to you. Her arm finds its way over your stomach, and her soft snores fill the room. Being ever alert, the small action wakes you, but as soon as you realize it's just Wanda, a smile forms on your face.

You lie there for a moment, taking in the warmth and the gentle pressure of her hand. A soft blush creeps up your cheeks as you place your hand over hers to keep it there.

You've become more than just teammates.

You've become friends.

And maybe, just maybe, something more.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience. 

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream. 

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel. 

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside. 

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement. 

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either. 

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day. 

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price. 

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear. 

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks." 

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke. 

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes. 

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things. 

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to. 

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you." 

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not. 

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed. 

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young. 

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant. 

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick. 

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car. 

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh. 

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for. 

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old." 

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had. 

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan. 

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his. 

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away. 

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in. 

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good… 

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point. 

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest. 

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects. 

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…" 

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple. 

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want… 

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying. 

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already. 

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…" 

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull. 

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth. 

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago. 

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway." 

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed. 

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap. 

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too. 

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?" 

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say. 

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes. 

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart. 

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?" 

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco. 

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not... 

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong. 

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in. 

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream. 

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?" 

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise. 

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel… 

And Alaska. 

[unluckilyimnot]

hiîi can I request prompts 7+20 with SAE and kaiser (separate)??

also can I use 🎀 as an anon?? I loveee your work!!

7 - "I thought maybe we will kiss tonight" + 20 - "You'll always be my favorite" with kaiser (hurt to comfort) and sae (fluff)

m.list | rules | prompt list

Note: hiiii I did it exceptionally, it's normally close but maybe I'll open it if I feel courageous

Of course you can !! Anyone can feel free to ask for an emoji or to be tagged when I post ♡

Sae 

When Sae walked into his apartment, it was past midnight. He's been gone all day and wasn't expecting anything when coming back home. 

You both got used to his changing schedule and the time when you used to wait for him was long gone. 

He never expected to see you fast asleep on the couch, a plaid on you and the TV still showing the rerun of Friends. You never really liked it but here you were, badly sitting and breaking your neck.

It didn't take him long to notice the dry tears strains on your checks and a million rushed through his brain. Yet, he'll know nothing until tomorrow. Nothing about your day, what you ate or why those tears were there in the guest place. 

Taking a seat next to you, he laid his forehead against yours, not holding the released sigh in the back of his throat anymore. “I thought I'll get to kiss you tonight.” 

He knows he's absent lately, a lot more than you can handle. And he's so deeply sorry to do that to you. You don't know how bad he tries to get back to just see you awake, before bed. 

You don't know how bad he misses you all day and wants to spend just an evening with you. Because seeing you will always be his favorite part of the day.

Kaiser

Your relationship with Michael was complicated. Call this a situationship if you want, but it was mainly because of the press you weren't together. It would be a scandale if they found out. 

What you never expected is Michael to be so jealous when it touches his co-workers. You've met some, being in the model industry, and he never made a fuss about it. Before today. 

“Please, what are you mad about ?! We're doing our job !” you yelled at him, gripping your hair because sighing loudly. 

Your quota had already expired for the day and he was ignoring you. That's all it takes for you to grab your jacket and start your leave.

“I thought we could have a chill night together. Watching a sappy movie, maybe kissing midway since it would've been shitty but you decided to be an asshole. Thanks.”

His silence was loud. His back was facing you and he didn't even glance in your direction. The anger was slowly replaced with sadness as you exhaled slightly to hold back your tears. 

“Why are you always like this when you're my favorite, huh ?” 

“I'm scared you're gonna leave me for someone else.” He confessed under his breath, you almost missed it. It made you lay your bag on the counter again before taking a few steps closer to him.

“Why would I? It's by being like this that it can happen Michael…” 

“I know but I can't express it another way!” He snapped at you, aiming to push you away but you were out of reach. Instead your gaze falls in his glossy eyes, breaking your heart. 

You didn't forget how mean he was, never, but you couldn't help but hold him close to you. Even if he rejected you at first. 

He's hard to deal with, but deep down you know he's only hurt and scared, and that you have to help him with that. 

Let me know if you liked it!

Reblog are appreciated ♡

[fanaticsnail]

This is probably asking for much more than you already do and considering the dreaming of you prompt are mainly one shots for characters totally understand if you don’t do this but would you consider writing a pt2 or at least an ending for katakuri’s one. Recently read it, love it, can’t stop, thinking about it

Please🥺

I got you, anon. I wanted to have them see each other, at least. He didn't get to talk with them like the others in his NSFW fic prior, and I wanted him to have a happy ending. You're making me work today!

Elegia

Masterlist Here,

Word Count: 970+

Synopsis: After the events of Elegia with Tot Musica and Uta, you awaken to the looming figure of Katakuri standing above you. You apologise for the events that transpired, asking forgiveness for putting his siblings in danger, and only have respect meet you in your wake.

Themes: Katakuri x afab!reader, sfw, feelings, fluff, mentions of battle, mutual respect, mutual pining. Part 2 for Dreaming of You (NSFW) Here, One-Piece RED fic.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

Waking up alone and isolated from your crew was not the way you anticipated your time in Elegia to conclude. A vicious battle between the demonic presence of Tot Musica, under the command of the siren-song of Uta, was not what you envisioned for your getaway. If you knew this is what awaited you, you would have especially taken more consideration in inviting your new friend Brûlée along with you to the island. 

Looking to your side, you noticed her form remained unmoving and unconscious as you stirred from your position lying in the grass. You immediately crawled over to her, your lethargy weighing you down and prompting your movements to be slow and staggered. 

Just before you managed to reach her, you felt a presence behind you and a large hand placed on your shoulder. You slowly winced up, your mind in a haze as you turned your gaze towards the presence. 

Charlotte Katakuri crouched down beside you and looked at his unconscious siblings just beyond you with an unreadable expression in his eyes. In his mind's eye, and in your own, you were all engaged in a vicious battle to take down the entity in perfect unison: you within the dream-land from the sing-sing fruit, and the reality combated by him externally with the Red-Hair pirates. 

You felt him in your eyes, and he felt you in his; both your observation Haki working in perfect synchrony to take down the demon and save the civilians and marines only there to enjoy Uta’s music. He placed a little more pressure on your shoulders, pinching the muscle beneath his wide fingertips. In unison, you spoke immediately in a hurried tone. 

“I’m so sorry, lord Charlotte,” you bowed your head and began to utter your sincere apologies to him, “If I knew this is what was waiting for us when I invited Brûlée here to the concert with me, I never would’ve-,” you started your hurried apology, only stopping when you focussed on his words.

“-I have never experienced fighting alongside such a skilled Haki user before. Observation and armament alike, you are truly a revered warrior,” he complimented you, shifting his grip on your shoulder to caress your cheek with his large hands. “Your grace on the battlefield and protection over my family did not go unnoticed here.” 

Your breath hitched, darting your eyes between his before looking down to the bodies of his unconscious siblings. Shaking your head away from his grip, you slowly sink to your knees and bow your head to him further. 

“I deserve no such praise, my lord,” you admit to him with a soft quiver in your tone and your mind racing with the aftershocks of adrenaline, “This is the second time your sister Brûlée has been injured because of me, and Oven did not fare much better.” Katakuri collected your chin beneath his fingers and angled your face up to gaze into his eyes. 

“They are unscathed,” he searched within your expression and thumbed over the apple of your cheek, “And they are unharmed physically.” He leaned forward and lowered himself down from his crouched position to kneel in front of you. “I am grateful for your friendship with my sister, please do not ever apologize to me for it.” 

A weight lifted off your shoulders as you darted your eyes between his, feeling something within his orbs suppressed below the surface. You dart your eyes down to the fur shroud covering his lips before returning to gaze up into his hazel-colored orbs. 

“Thank you, lord Charlotte,” you hang your head once more, choosing to honor him further with a low bow. He chased your gaze by lowering his head and angling his chin down, the shroud loosening over his lips and revealing a soft, toothy smile. 

“Please call me by my name,” he smiled further, both of you not noticing the two other Charlotte siblings stirring beside you and glancing up at you. You sighed, a small and shy smile rising to your lips, as you looked down to view his sharpened teeth and eel-like jaw. A soft rosy blush of shame and embarrassment grew on his cheeks as he noticed your gaze down on his lips. 

Wincing away, he retracted his hand and attempted to relift his shroud back over his lips, halting when he felt your gentle hand reach forward. You looked between his eyes, slowly adding a soft amount of pressure on his hand and softly urging him to reveal his face to you once more. 

“Would…” you began, searching his now revealed face with more purpose and a soft flush rising to your nose, ears and cheeks, “...Would you like to stay with me a while, Katakuri? Just until your siblings regain consciousness?” Katakuri looked beyond you to where Brûlée and Oven were looking at him, immediately falling to their backs and closing their eyes to feign unconsciousness. 

He smiled a soft, knowing smile and leaned forward, prompting your hand to raise from his hand up to cup his cheek. 

“I would like that very much,” he whispered your name, pressing his forehead to yours and closing his eyes upon impact. 

The connection between you was strong and powerful, short sparks of ignition tingling between the press of his head and the flames of new beginnings rising in your heart. You both raised soft smiles in unison, in view of his ‘sleeping’ siblings, and your crew now catching up with you in your place on the island. 

Katakuri now knew it was not only a possibility to have his dreams potentially become a reality with armament haki, but you may feel affection for him as he did feel for you. Breathing each other's air and holding one another close, you felt at peace and hopeful of what new beginning these sparks meant for the both of you.

[cupidspup]

question 15 from the agere questions !! :D

Hello anon! :D Thank you so much for asking!^^

Today's question is:

"What platforms do you usually go to for agere content? (Tumblr, Pinterest, Instagram, ect)"

To answer your question yes I do go to different platforms for agere content :3

When I first started out as a regressor I always went to instagram because it's honestly all I knew at the time as a 12-13 year old kid :> I mainly went there to see thise cute lil text post scripts of cgs and their littles and it made me so small!

Buuuut then many years later I made a friend who isn't in the community but said they read fics on Tumblr! And I was like "omg?? Wait??? I never thought of fics on other websites other than wattpad" (which I'll get to later) so! I went onto here maybe 1 or 2 years ago and I started reading! And I saw how a bunch of blogs would post a bunch of other things and just ✨️🎀✨️

Tumblr is definitely my main and holy grail for agere content

AND I BUILT THIS FYP FROM THE GROUND U P, BRICK BY BRICK

I know a lot of people make moodboards and all that stuff as content but I wanted more agere content for everyone! Which inspired me to make more and more fics! (Since I already post other fics on Twitter x]) I love that I post fics and I love that people enjoy them so much it warms my heart so greatly that people enjoy me and my content QwQ🩷

Now, speaking of fics I know it's probably not necessarily on the list BUT

I do go on wattpad for this one mha agere series and it's so so good and I love it it's been with me for like 2 or 3 years and it's EVERYTHING (I'll drop links if anyone asks I promise)

I also love to read the agere fic of a close friend of mine on AO3 too!

As for Instagram, I do still use it and have it!! Although I usually just use it to either look at art or shop for little gear! I am happy to say that at my grown age I have managed to build up a collection and have favorite shops to buy from x) BUT!! My cg and I are starting up our own Instagram profile together soon!! And I'm so excited!! ^^

I hope this answered your question anon and I hope it wasn't too long either 🧍💀

Tysm again for asking and please do ask some more!! I love doing these and I love talking to people so please flood my inbox with stuff :3🩷

On a different note, for anyone who would like to interact often but wants to stay anon, would you guys like a emoji tag thing so I know who's who (to an extent?) Please let me know in the comments! ^^

[timetravelerpyrite]

Uh, hi.

My name is Pyrite, I go by he/him mainly… don't mind she/her though. Newly found out I like Pup/Pupself pronouns too.

I'm 30. (B-day is November 16th, if that matters to anyone.)

//Current Arc: None rn!

//Finished Arcs: Fool's Faller, ABSOLute Panic!

Anyway, not too important, I just kinda found this site and realized 'Oh, there's some people like me here!' so here I am I guess?

Don't expect me to be friendly.

I don't bite! I'm trying to make more friends, but don't shove too much at me at once please.

I don't like staying in one place, it makes me anxious, no I won't tell you why. I was running a lot because of my Ex, she and my bio fam wants me to come back, but I won't, I'm actually tying to get use to staying in one place now.

Most important thing, I'm a Time Traveler and Dimension hopper, how the hell am I both?

I caught a Celebi (He/She/They) by COMPLETE ACCIDENT so now I'm kinda stuck with them, and I kinda got adopted by a Dimension hopping Iron called Iron Eclipse (It/Its)… no, I do not expect you to know what that is.

Call me a fake if you want, I don't care, just try not to hold me down in one spot, got it? Wow I don't like this part the most, why was I such a jerk in my intro??

Anyway, I might visit ya if I feel like, I have two adopted (not legally but who gives a shit) sisters @queen-of-the-phantoms and @pokedexcamp! I'm dating @silveredfeathers and living with him and his wife (and now my Girlfriend-??) @trainerlynda.

Adding an addendum: Sometimes we, his Irons, connect to his phone to be able to post. We are;

🐉: Iron Rage. (She/Her)

🕊️: Iron Serenity! (He/They/Fae)

🌋: Iron Eruption. (He/Him)

🌑🌈: Iron Eclipse.

⌛: And sometimes I steal the phone, I'm Chronos his Celebi.

🍞: Thanatos types sometimes too, she has rather broken English so it will likely be autocorrected to hell and back, please tell her if it gets a word wrong, from what I can tell she wants to understand (She/It)

//Open ask games!

Pelipper mail and malice.

Ask an invasive question.

//Magnifying glass ask game!

See his dreams and nightmares.

//A post for you to give me permission for him to hop to your character's dimension! (Either on purpose or by accident.)

//Ooc info under the cut!

//Ooc. This is a sideblog! Unreality. Mod is an adult and goes by she/her he/him pronouns All art I use is my own (Or made for me)! I follow from @theshadowqueenofthedistortion, more info about me on my main! This blog is not settled in one dimension at the moment, so expect conflicting area info. Here's some of my other accounts as well!

//Semi-Serious blog, I will participate in active silliness and also write serious stuff. Will sometimes touch on death, abuse and a few other things, I will tag the serious stuff with their appropriate tw/cw tags.

//I will not ship with anyone who isn't my BF (and myself, but that's a note for later), just for my comfort. This boi does n o t stay in one place, if he goes to visit someone he will get there himself/he fell into that universe by accident.

//Magic anons are allowed! But I am picky.

//I am very open to crossover stuff!

//This guy is very much centered around Future Paradox pokemon! He's not gonna know all the Pokemon's names and will call them 'Irons'. The Iron names are VERY much headcannons unless talking about a cannon Iron.

//When he's on the move things he says aloud will be under

[Voice to text active!] where as when he's actully writing it will be under [Pyrite is typing...]

//What the tags mean.

//Shadow Mod Speaks: Mod speaking.

//Mod Reference: Me and/or Zorana making references for this account

//Shadow Art: Art by me that isn't a ref/finished.

//Pyrite info: Self-Explanatory. For both IC and OOC.

Little Hops: His post/response tag.

Warping Reality: Closed and/or serious RP. I will also use this tag when responding seriously to something.

Where am I today?: When Pyrite is mainly talking to himself.

The Pokemon tags: They are for each respective Pokemon/Iron

Magic Anon Things.: Stuff with magic anons.

Triangle Terror: Pyrite dealing with the truth triangles. He can't turn them off, so hehehe.

[kaarijatits]

about reblogs... first of all I absolutely love your's and everyone else art or anything they create and share and I'm super thankful for having a chance to see it 💚

one - what other's have mentioned before is general social media usage where 'like' is the primary reaction.

two - is a bit personal... it's how I feel and maybe I'm the only one, but for me it's that I'm terribly afraid of being perceived (that's why I'm on anon :'l ). Kä's community seems like a very tight and very talented group of friends mainly having conversations in the tags, and I often feel like if I don't have anything neat to say - then I'm just barging into a friends group uninvited.. even if I know it's completely unreasonable and not true. It's very hard to shake off the feeling that if I reblog too much, OP will look at me and think "ahhh this weirdo again". So I'd use likes instead, because mostly no one notices who gives likes so it's much easier, but then it seems everyone hates likes so I stopped leaving them too (´･･`)

what I wanted to say maybe for some people it's not that they don't appreciate the art and the effort, but more internal lurker struggles that make it very hard to react appropriately?.. (I'm trying to work on that)

hi anon, thanks for sharing your thoughts with me <3 makes me so happy to know you enjoy my art <3<3

i made that post because i'm just a small blog, so i get it, but then i saw art from -in my opinion- popular artists with several notes that are mostly likes, i thought it was just the kä fandom. I come from a huge fandom where 1k notes post are very common, and today i checked again and the proportion of rb and likes are similar (or worst? 200 rb and 800 likes 🥴), so... it’s just how tumblr works i guess

However, on tumblr what keeps a post alive are reblogs, but it’s fine if you don’t like something or just ignore it, we can’t expect to everyone to love what we do, but sometimes (more than i'd like to admit) i think “maybe is not good enough”. Personally, when people share their thoughts in the tags, it makes me so happy (I always read what people say on my art, it’s one of my favorite things to do, but i rarely respond because i don’t want to be annoying 💀...)

Being afraid of being perceived is something i can relate to, sometimes it feels like everyone here are friends but you... but tumblr is make for reblogs and silly tags, you can talk whatever, interactions are completely fine, rarely I've seen people getting mad because reblogs 🤔

If you reblog a lot from me, definitely i won’t think your weird, of course i’ll notice you but i'll think fondly of you 💕 because you enjoyed something i made, and sometimes when people say that my art cheer them up a little, it's one of the best feelings...

and well don’t worry too much about it, if you don’t want to say anything in the tags is okay you still can reblog, with a little heart or emoji or simple nothing <3 and if you don't want to reblog at all is valid... first of all, take care of yourself and what is more comfortable for you <3

[mirabellemoira]

Im sad. I thought i finally found people who agreed on Jace being soft and loving and demi instead of sleeping around and having casual sex. This happens all the time with Jace writers. Why does everyone want to read him being a whore?

People are allowed to read what they want, it is not yours or my place to police that.

If you all could use your critical reading skills you’ll see the only time I ever (non sarcastically) referred to reading fics that have a different characterization than the one I write was in the tags when I said, “#do I read the fics where Jace is characterized differently than me? mostly no”

For some reason that became warped into me being a daily consumer. I don’t have time to be a daily consumer, I’m practically posting a chapter every day at the moment, do you think I have time to read as well on top of everything else? And even if I was a daily consumer of the smuttiest playboy-est sluttiest Jace characterization of all time: why does it matter?

Am I required to submit every fic I read to the committee to be approved lest you all be disappointed in me and go away weeping? Am I required to let you all peruse my following list so you can tell me who I should unfollow for having a characterization of Jace that you don’t approve of? Why does it matter?

And pray tell why does it matter when I’m still going to write with the characterization I always have?

Are you scared I’m going to be corrupted or something? I’m genuinely so curious at this point because this is ridiculous

I love soft, loving Jace. I love demisexual Jace. I love sexually repressed Jace. I love wifeguy Jace. It’s what I like to write, it’s mainly what I like to read, but I’m not going to restrict my reading just to what I like to write because that’d be stupid.

So lastly, I have a couple more questions. Feel free to really think about them before you send another ask.

Why are you sad? Why is so it upsetting to you (and to all the others because I’ve blocked at least 6 anons today over this nonsense) that I refuse to badmouth other writers in this fandom?

Why is it so upsetting to you that I refuse to put people down so you, some nameless faceless person in my inbox, can feel morally superior?

If you like reading soft, loving, wifeguy Jace then you’ll stop the stupidity, because every moment I have to spend writing these responses is a moment where I’m not writing fic that actually contributes something to this community

What are you contributing, anon? Other than your negativity, do you contribute anything at all to this community? Or are you just a leech on it, sucking it dry till it’s dead? Do better.

[olderthannetfic]

À propos OCs: Do you or your other followers have original characters that exist outside of the context of a specific story you are working on? And if so, do you talk to other people about these characters often or at all?

I have approximately 100 OCs that exist within different universes (2 to 20 characters per universe). I occasionally doodle some if them and rarely ever write anything about them down, but I spend a lot of time watching them act out their lives and/or major plot points in my head. When I was younger I did original RPs, wrote a webcomic and some web serials, and would talk to my readers or other authors/artists/RP partners about the characters and their stories, but nowadays I pretty much never mention them. I might post art of them and caption it with “drawing [name] for once lol” and I’ve recently started tagging posts with my OCs names or their canons, but that’s it.

One time, a very nice person on here found one of those tagged posts and asked me about the OC and I was seriously stumped because I didn’t really know what to say.

I guess that’s another question: If you ever ask people about their original characters, what kind of responses are you looking for?

I eventually gave a quick rundown of his background and life and how it related to the post, but despite being asked for this information, and then some, I still felt like I was being annoying and embarrassing myself. I’m not used to people caring about my characters outside of a specific story they are reading (and I’m admittedly a lot more insecure about my creative work now than when I was a kid/teenager).

I say all this as someone who loves seeing other people’s original work and standalone OCs, so I understand that the interest can absolutely be genuine. Personally, I prefer reading public posts and meme fills, looking at OC-centric meme/aesthetic collections, and buying OC “merch” and art books to private conversations about them, so I don’t have much experience in the latter.

In a recent ask, an anon mentioned buying fanart; do you guys buy more fan art (if any) or art of original characters (if any)? If you buy OC art, is it usually just for aesthetics or are you interested in the characters themselves, even if they aren’t part of a story you are a fan of?

While writing this ask, I was mainly thinking about OCs in original works or RPGs, but my questions apply to fan characters too. …Wait, do people still differentiate between OCs and FCs? Or was that never even a common practice in the first place?

Lots of questions from me today, lol.

--

I tend to make characters in the context of a particular story, though if I like them, sure, I might rework them for other things. RP isn't really my thing. I do daydream, but that tends to be either very private and raw or the step before writing a story or making a specific concrete artwork with those OCs.

OC vs. FC was only in certain parts of fandom. I'm vaguely familiar with it existing, but it isn't something I've usually encountered.

For me, an interest in OCs is exactly equivalent to an interest in asking some published author about a character in their work. If someone's good enough, I may even like their OC better than the canon characters and go seek out fic in other fandoms where they used that OC. Any artwork is a chance to fall in love with new characters... But for me, yeah, it's very much about that work.

I don't find character creation sheets interesting or useful, including when I develop characters for something I'm writing. Even if one isn't literally using one of those sheets, you know what I mean: some people develop characters a lot and see where the characters take them. I see a plot I want and make characters who would naturally fit in it. I create only the level of backstory I need for that work. Maybe one or two stray details don't make it in, but I don't know what my characters eat unless it's relevant. I don't know what their first pet was called. Yadda yadda. I find that knowing all that makes the characters feel flatter in the final work than if I knew only "The one in blue who likes martinis" or some other couple of characteristics they need to stick in the mind in the scene where they appear.

I don't think in that RP way where the character is a separate entity from the artwork containing them.

--

I buy art that I find pretty and want on my wall. Now and then, it's from something specific and I do like showing off that I'm into that thing. The aesthetic might imply things about my tastes or values. It might be more than just "this object is abstractly nice looking in a way with no cultural connotations". But art is definitely for decoration for me. If I don't have wall space or it doesn't go with my decor, I don't get it.

[shadowgamerhalo]

Hello there, welcome to this blog. I am Shadow and here's what you need to know before interacting.

-As of 2023 I am 21 years old, introvert, genderfluid aroace polyamorous lesbian , norse heathen witch, who has unspecified neurodivergences and disability.

-Personally I'd sum up my personality as chaotic, tired, and socially inept. I have trouble with social interactions at times, either forgetting how to interact with people normally, low spoons, or my social battery is dead.

-My vocabulary changes from fanciful wording to the weirdest slang. Example. Whilst I enjoy the yeeting of my blorbo around my cerebral cortex, I am up for putting them into the salad spinner for their uwu crimes. You stick around on this blog, and you will find more of that I assure you.

-My genderfluidity is a mystery to even myself sometimes, so I tend to go by they/them for simplicity. I'd say I'm still figuring out what some of my genders are, though I'd say none of them fall strictly into masculine or feminine categories, even if I like more feminine or masculine pronouns at times.

-I use the term lesbian cause it feels right. I am not attracted to men in the slightest. Edit: changed cause well, figured out identity stuff. Aroace, short for aromantic and asexual. I also am polyamorous. For anyone curious I am single, mainly because I don't know how people flirt and talking to people is hard.

-I am in many fandoms, that it has become a game of what fandom I shall fall into next. That also means my brain is full of so much fictional knowledge that I wonder if I will run out of space in my brain.

-This blog had gone through several changes over the years I've had it due to many reasons. This change particularly is me deciding fuck it, my blog means I can do whatever the fuck I want. I am nice and apeshit I suppose.

-The blog will contain mainly things I decide to put on it, whether if I like it, helping boost it, tagging potential for mutuals, and sometimes for chaos. An example of that last one would be scheduling 'thank the gnome it's friday' for a couple fridays just for kicks.

-If I send you asks, expect chaos or compliments, sometimes both. I like being a little gremlin on here, just now I am being more open about it. I have sent things of this nature on anon back when I was in my shy era.

-I have two sideblogs which are much more fandom centered. I used to keep them hidden cause I didn't want people to know I had them, but now I am letting myself be the feral nerd I am. @monkiesgobrrrr is lego monkie kid centered, and @starscreativity101 is murder drones centered.

-Asks in my inbox are more than welcome, expect inconsistencies as answering asks depends on my mental health and energy levels.

-If you see a reblog with the tags that I am eating your art or going feral because of it, that is my way of showing my love for it. This also applies to writing and edits.

-When I make stuff on here, I prefer reblogs over likes, and I want someone to go feral over it. Commentary is welcome as long as it doesn't derail the post.

I have a kofi page for editing and proofreading services. It's $16 per 500 words. Dm for more details on here or on kofi, response times may vary.

[emsylcatac]

i’ve been in the mlb fandom for a while but relatively new to using tumblr specifically for mlb, and today i stumbled onto the less-than-fun portions (ie: the salt). i don’t really know who to ask, as i don’t really know any mlb tumblr users but what are the popular salt tags that i should block because i really don’t want to stumble on it again and any help would be very much appreciated <3

Hey there anon ♥︎ sorry you had to stumble upon it.. :/

I suppose all the kind of salt tags are to ban, so usually it's:

#ml salt #salt #miraculous salt

Then, you can also ban any tag including salt on characters you love, mainly the most recurrent ones are: #adrien salt #marinette salt #class salt #alya salt or the variants with #adrien hate #adrien bashing #marinette hate #marinette bashing #alya hate #alya bashing, and you can also add the same tags combination with their last names for extra security.

But really you should ban any tag involving characters you like with #[name of the character] salt / hate / bashing

Same with the ships, if there's a ship you like and want to avoid the salt on it, block the tags for it like #ladrien salt #ladrien hate

There's also some tags that often smell a lot like there's salt underneath such as #marinette deserves better #adrien deserves better or tags involving Lila

Another kind of famous salty tags to blacklist is everything that has to do with maribat. While they claim that now some fics aren't salty, it's not the major part of it so if maribat ain't much your thing anyway don't risk it and block tags like #maribat #daminette and all.

Sadly, some people don't tag their salt at all, either because they don't consider themselves being salty but just "critical", or because they don't care enough for that. So what I do to avoid stumbling upon salt on Tumblr, and I've got to say that this year my experience's been mostly good (unless I got unlucky cause someone reblogged something from me and decided to be salty or cause I went to AO3) is this:

Follow people you're sure aren't salters, that means checking their blog for any of the main salt tags and scrolling a little bit to be sure before following

Unfollow people who start to become too salty

Never go into the main tag. It's sad but it avoids you a lot of bad takes

Try not to follow too many people who focus on fandom salt. While they're not salters per say, some are obsessively looking to the main salty blogs to counter it and by doing so make you see what salty things are being said that you wouldn't have seen otherwise. Some aren't obsessively stalking salters but still at war enough to dampen your mood, especially cause then salters will come pocking at them. It's ok to indulge a bit in fandom salt from time to time and it can be freeing, but if it's the main reason the blog exists, save yourself the trouble to be honest

[Edit]: and one last thing, don't hesitate to block blogs you encounter having negativity or salt even if you've never interacted with them!

Personally I weirdly enough only have the #ml salt tag blacklisted and not all the others I've listed, and with that and what I just told you above I've managed to make my experience pleasant enough and avoid most of the salt 😊 hope it'll help you anon!

[franklyshipping]

Straight Up Revenge ~ A Markiplier and Jacksepticeye Ego Fanfic

HERE WE HAVE ANOTHER EPIC ANON PROMPT CONTAINING OUR BELOVED DR SCHNEEPLESTEIN! Except this time, he might end up on the receiving end! LET’S DO THIS!

TAGGING: @schneeplesteinthetickledoctor @dr-schneeple-switch and @darkipli-ler

Dr Henrik von Schneeplestein was a good doctor, a great doctor . . . but he was also a goddamn little shit. Schneeple adored looking after any ego who came to him, and took taking care of people very seriously. However, he also had a habit of using medical excuses to justify being silly and cheeky with his fellow egos. Recently, under the guise of “improving posture”, every time Schneeple caught sight of someone slouching or sitting unhealthily, he would tickle the hell out of their neck and back to get them to sit up straight. Though sometimes too, he would do spontaneous, fleeting tickles at the back of someone’s neck when he was passing them by, before just smirking at them and walking away. Now . . . certain egos had had enough. And when I say certain egos, I mean Darkiplier.

Dark had many responsibilities that required him to be sat, working with video editing, typing up briefs for content, all the financial paperwork for maintaining the manor and everyone’s odd and unique grocery habits. Plus he had to admit, he did often slump in bed after a long day and watch goblincore TikToks – but if you tell anyone he WILL hunt you down and make you regret it! Anyhow, this meant that Dark was one of the most prominent slouchers, and subsequently had become Schneeple’s main target. Schneeple in fact adored the reactions Dark exhibited when he teased the back of his neck or skittered up his back. He though it was so cute and hilarious that Dark was ticklish like that! However, Schneeple was soon going to discover that you don’t tickle Darkiplier . . . without there being consequences.

Schneeple had just been wandering the manor, in a little world of his own, when a hand on his shoulder made him jump and whirl around. However he laughed, putting a hand to his chest when he saw it was Dark.

‘Dahark! My goodness, you spooked me!’

Dark chuckled to himself, tilting his head at Schneeple. He didn’t move his hand from the doctor’s shoulder as he spoke.

‘My apologies. I wonder, are you busy today doctor?’

‘Not at all! Are you alright, are you well?’

Dark smiled. He admired how instantly Schneeple was looking to see if he could care for Dark in any way. Luckily Dark was in perfect health, feeling wired and energetic . . . excited to execute his little plan of revenge.

‘Oh I’m very well, thank you. I actually have something I want to show you in my office, if I may. I think it’s something you’ll appreciate.’

Schneeple was instantly intrigued, and smiled at Dark as he nodded.

‘I would love to see! Please lead on! What is it?’

Dark found his eagerness quite endearing as they started walking together. Dark let his hand drift down from Schneeple’s shoulder to his upper arm, which he gave a soft squeeze as he replied musingly, his eyes gleaming.

‘It’s a surprise.’

Schneeple giggled at Dark being cryptic. He liked that . . . but that was mainly because he rather liked Dark. A lot. Hence why Dark was very often his target for tickling . . . because the doctor craved being able to see his handsome smile. Schneeple refocused now though as Dark led him into his lavish office, shutting the door behind them. Dark then led the doctor up to his desk, and the doctor froze, blushing and gulping at what he was saw behind Dark’s desk. Dark smirked, his grip tightening on the doctor’s arm.

‘I thought that you, an advocate for good posture, would appreciate a device such as this. What do you think?’

Dark purred, whilst Schneeple was speechless. When Dark’s chair should have been, was a contraption. It was somewhat like a chair, whilst also looking like a restraint device from the medieval era! Schneeple shivered at the sight of it. It was a leather seat with cuffs on the chair arms, and chair legs. The person seated would have to sit up straight so their shoulders would be pressed against the support . . . and then strapped in. Meanwhile, there was a restraint that would click comfortably around the head to keep the person in place. Schneeple suddenly realised what this was, and realised that he was screwed.

‘I-I . . . D-Dark I-’

‘Lost for words? That’s understandable. It’s difficult to know how to describe it . . . until you’ve experienced some time in it.’

Dark growled and the doctor yelped when Dark, using his incomprehensible strength, pulled Schneeple to the chair. The doctor’s struggles were futile as Dark strapped him into it fully, and before the doctor knew it he was immobile, forced into sitting up straight in a chair which left him entirely vulnerable; I should point out too, that the chair had no proper back to it. Schneeple couldn’t even turn his head by a millimetre! Though, Schneeple was by no means uncomfortable, with each restraint being appropriately padded. Dark smirked down at him, and started to roll up his white jacket sleeves.

‘How does it feel doctor?’

Schneeple gulped, getting chills as it really hit him that he was at Dark’s complete mercy. Or lack of.

‘P-Please Dark, I-I’m sorry for always tickling y-you I-I just-’

‘Oh so you admit it!’

Dark interjected, making Schneeple shiver as the domineering man’s eyes flicked to black for a moment. Dark was still smiling though. A feral, determined, evil smile, which came closer and closer to Schneeple as Dark leant in towards him.

‘Do you know how embarrassing it is, hm? To be constantly tickled and caught off guard in PUBLIC? Do you have any idea how many of the others I’ve had to tickle torture, just to make them swear not to tickle my neck in passing?’

Schneeple gulped. Just thinking about Dark tickle torturing everyone else was enough to give him goose-bumps. Schneeple was speechless with nervousness, which satisfied Dark hugely. He always got a rush whenever he got to intimidate someone, and Schneeple looked so very cute. Nibbling his sweet bottom lip, looking up at him with his big, pretty blue eyes. Ahem. Dark had finished rolling up his sleeves now, and then did something that made Schneeple blush redder than Lucifer’s chosen lipstick. Dark sat in his lap. Schneeple gasped as Dark got himself comfortable, and he could feel his breath on his face as he teased.

‘But now . . . it’s time for you to have your reckoning.’

Schneeple whimpered, his eyes widening as Dark raised his hand . . . and trailed his delicate, pale fingertips down the side of his sensitive, exposed neck. Schneeple bit his lip as he beamed, already letting out little titters as he stammered.

‘Ohonono p-plehease noho dohon’t doho thihis!’

Dark grinned wolfishly. Oh how he’d longed to hear the doctor’s giggly begging. He traced and teased up and down the side of the doctor’s twitching neck, enamoured at how the doctor couldn’t do anything to stop him.

‘Oh you poor thing, does this tickle?’

‘Yehehehes y-yehehes!’

Schneeple babbled, tensing and flinching as his nerves were teased relentlessly. He honestly couldn’t remember a time when someone had tickled his neck this much! It was often skated over, given a few teases here and there, but it had NEVER been tortured like this before! Dark could see that Schneeple was amazed at his own ticklishness, which he thought especially cute.

‘Poor little Henrik. All stuck with nowhere to go, with nothing to do except giggle your ticklish little heart out.’

Dark teased, letting each syllable roll off his tongue as he now tickled both sides of Schneeple’s neck. His nails were deft and light and made the doctor let out the most desperate squeals. Schneeple’s face was red, and he kept trying to move his head, but it wouldn’t budge one bit!

‘Plehehease! Ohohoho gohohod Ihi cahahan’t mohohove!’

Dark chuckled, grinning broadly as his dark eyes gleamed.

‘Is it maddening? Is it torturous?’

Schneeple gazed up at Dark pleadingly, giggles and squeals interspersing his desperately adorable reply.

‘Ihihihit’s soho bahahad oh god plehease lehet me mohohove!’

‘Let you move? Ohh but that would take all the fun out of it!’

Schneeple let out a loud whine, tears building in his eyes as he started getting incoherent, which Dark took as a sign to give him a little break – he didn’t want him wrecked immediately after all! The tickling stopped, allowing Schneeple to pant and catch his breath as Dark smirked at him. He thought the doctor was so pretty. He reached and stroked his hair a little, crooning at him.

‘Aww, is it all too much Henrik? Are you just that ticklish, hm?’

Schneeple whined at the teasing and averted his eyes, managing a little nod. Dark laughed warmly as he watched the doctor start to pout. So he decided to teasingly tickle under the doctor’s chin, making Schneeple squeak and immediately grin again. Schneeple looked up at Dark, and thought he was going to melt and combust at the same time when Dark then winked at him. Then, just when the doctor thought things couldn’t get any more flustering . . . Dark shifted closer. Schneeple’s breath hitched as Dark got chest to chest with him, his arms wrapping around him in a half-hug as Dark’s lips rested against his ear. Schneeple then shuddered when Dark’s hypnotising baritone swirled in his ears.

‘Oh my dear doctor . . .’

Dark rested his fingertips against Schneeple’s back as he huskily whispered.

‘. . . that was just the beginning.’

Suddenly Dark’s fingers were spidering softly up and down the sides of Schneeple’s vulnerable back . . . which was a major tickle spot of Schneeple’s. The doctor yelped and burst into giddy laughter, wild snorts leaving him as his eyes widened; he couldn’t even arch his back to get away!

‘AHA-! NOHO NAHAHAT THEHERE!’

‘Ohh this seems like quite the tickle spot. Tickle tickle tickle Henrik . . .’

Dark replied, delighted that his hunch had been correct. This is often the case: if you want to figure out where someone is most ticklish, have a look at where they tickle others the most, and you’ll often find your answer. Dark had noticed that in addition to tickling people’s necks, Schneeple had a habit of targeting people’s backs too; needless to say, Dark was delighted that the doctor was so ticklish there. Meanwhile, Schneeple felt like he was losing his sanity.

‘PLEHEHEHEASE AHAHA IHI CAHANNOT TAHAKE IHIT!’

Schneeple had tears trickling down his cheeks as he laughed madly, letting out bursts of cackles in between bouts of endearing belly laughter. It felt like electricity was flying through his entire body, it was so maddening! Plus, the fact that Dark was so close and giving him no wiggle room made it all the worse! Schneeple had been tickled many times by many people, but this was honestly the most intense experience he had ever had.

‘Oh dear, you poor little thing. Hmm . . . what will you do for me if I promise to stop?’

‘AHAHANYTHING OHGOHOD AHANYTHIHING YOHOU WAHANT!’

Dark chuckled lowly, still dancing his fingertips up and down Schneeple’s trembling back. It was thrilling to feel the doctor’s every flinch and twitch, and he relished in all his uncontrollable mirth. For Dark, all of this was utter heaven. Dark hummed musingly.

‘Mmm, that’s very dangerous of you to say. You know I have quite the imagination.’

Dark then scratched the small of Schneeple’s back, and Dark had to admit that he was shocked at the huge shriek that Schneeple let out! This was a definition of a death spot for the poor doctor, so much so that he could hardly form any proper words!

‘AAEEEEEHAHAHA NAHAHAH DAHAHAHAAA!!!’

Schneeple honestly thought he was going to go insane. Dark grinned ferally, his eyes flicking to black with his malevolent joy.

‘Are you quite sure you’ll do anything, hm?’

Needless to say, Schneeple didn’t have to hesitate with his answer to that question.

‘JAAAHAHAHA BIHITTEBITTEBITTE!!!’

Schneeple exclaimed in his natural German, making Dark beam as he realised he had truly broken the dear man. He chuckled as he stopped tickling, leaning back a little from Schneeple as he let his aura stretch out and undo all the restraints keeping Schneeple in place. The doctor was gasping residually and blinking rapidly, his mouth wide with his smile as he looked up at Dark.

‘Ihi-. . . aha . . .’

‘Shhh, shh my dear Henrik. Catch your breath.’

Dark purred soothingly, and brought the doctor into a warm embrace. Schneeple giggled and melted into the hug, nestling into Dark’s chest as he closed his eyes and mewled. Dark’s fingers played in Schneeple’s hair, soothing the doctor even more as he calmed himself down. All the while, Dark praised him, which made Schneeple feel like he would never stop blushing.

‘You took it so wonderfully Henrik, and I must say I think you have the most wonderful laugh I have ever heard.’

Schneeple giggled at the compliment about his laugh, and looked up at Dark bashfully.

‘Reheally?’

Dark smirked, and curled his finger under the doctor’s chin as he replied warmly.

‘Really.’

The doctor squeaked and scrunched up cutely, making Dark laugh . . . he was so in love with this man. Then, Dark couldn’t help himself. He cupped Schneeple’s face, tracing his cheek affectionately with his thumb as he gazed into the doctor’s eyes. Both men were silent, their chests rising and falling in sync as they looked at each other. Schneeple’s heart began to beat faster and faster. He loved this man . . . and finally, he was ready to tell him.

‘Dark I- . . .’

Schneeple trailed off for a moment, before taking a deep breath, and smiling up at Dark as he whispered.

‘I just want you to know that I’d promise you anything . . . e-even if you weren’t tickling me.’

Dark blinked in shock, his mind processing the bashful doctor’s words. Then, Schneeple watched as Dark stood up and took a step back . . . before offering the doctor his hand. Schneeple slipped his hand into Dark’s, and yelped when Dark yanked him to his feet, wrapped an arm around his waist, and kissed him. Schneeple thought he was dreaming, but when he realised it was real he honestly thought he’d never felt so happy. The doctor playfully tugged Dark close by his lapels, making the suave man chuckle as he gave the doctor’s sides a gentle squeeze. It really just goes to show how tickling can sometimes lead to the most beautiful things.

WOOOO HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DO WOOOOLUV YOUS!!

[anystalker707]

I'm here, love

Pairing: Ray x [fem] Reader Word count: 1 916 Genre: Comfort / Fluff Summary: Reader isn't handling it well when she goes with MCR for a tour for the first time, but Ray is always there for her. TW: Anxiety attack

Requested by anon

Tour has been going on for some time already, almost a month, but it actually feels like forever. All the agitation can be really immersive, turning the attempts of keeping track of time difficult, even more since we mostly follow a nighttime schedule due to the concerts. We’re almost always heading to a bar or club after the concerts, so it’s basically falling asleep at two in the morning to wake up at noon or something in the best days. Certainly not the best thing.

Today is thankfully one of the break days in which the guys don’t have any concert and we arrived to the next city earlier than usual, what means we’re lazing around for most of the time.

“…because he’s not here, duh!” Ray’s voice becomes audible as he leaves the bus, grinning as looking back at it and shaking his head after Mikey says something, though I’m not able to understand any of it. Only a small smile remains on his face whilst he approaches me, taking a seat on the ground with me. “Hello, love,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

“Hi.” I smile, pecking his lips, and put my phone down.

“What are you doing?” He raises an eyebrow, looking around for a moment like if trying to find what kept my attention until now.

“Nothing, really,” I say softly, leaning my head against his shoulder. “Do you want to go do something? I wanted to, but didn’t want to ask while you were busy with the others.” The thought of interrupting the four’s talk and probably attracting all that attention wasn’t exactly appealing, I’m secretly thankful he finally left the bus.

“Aw, you didn’t have to wait for all this time.” Ray’s eyebrows furrow lightly as he pecks my cheek. “And we could go look for a café or a restaurant, how does that sound? It’s almost lunchtime, after all.”

“Sounds good!” I smile, liking the opportunity of spending some time alone with Ray.

He seems just as happy as standing up and offering me a hand, which I take to help myself standing up. “So, how are you feeling? With the whole tour thing, I mean.” Ray wraps an arm around me when we start walking down the parking lot, concern laying under his apparently normal expression.

I hum, looking away for a moment. “Oh, yeah, I’m alright. I’ll let you know if I need anything, thank you.” I press a kiss to Ray’s cheek, trying to demonstrate my appreciation despite the subject making me tense up a bit.

Ray is more than aware of my problems with anxiety, already having helped me through its ups and downs, and both of us already predicted how the whole tour thing would interfere on it, mainly because it’s my first time tagging alone during one. We already had a hard time before the tour itself – I got too panicked at the whole thing since I barely knew how it would work –, hence he’s been worried and making sure of always checking on me.

Truth is that I’m not as alright as I’ve claimed to be. The tour has already reached my nerves and I can already feel this familiar buzzing under my skin, threatening to intensify, making me lose it yet again. It, however, won’t happen; I’ll not let that happen. Ray won’t even know.

We’re soon walking into a restaurant, the smell of food filling the ambient and, somehow, it feels good and bad at the same time. Not a surprise, since the anxiety usually has me either eating compulsively or not eating at all, so I think my body decided it’ll be better if I stay inside that bus for hours with an empty stomach, right?

We take a seat and place our orders – I balance my choice between something that my body won’t reject and Ray will not complain about, what seems to work.

“Y’know,” Ray breaks the silence between us, “what have you been thinking about watching us live?” He glances at me, expectant. His question doesn’t fail in making me smile since he’s probably referencing how I used to keep bugging him with questions about the tour concerts.

“Awesome, of course!” I grin, letting my eyes fall to my plate as I drag the food around for a bit. “It’s just amazing, I love it, seeing you playing is just…” I shrug, feeling my cheeks heat up whilst Ray breathes a chuckle, but I’m unable to look at him just yet. When I do glance at Ray, he’s grinning. “You know how much I like it.”

“I just wanted to check,” he says smugly – I snort, shaking my head playfully.

“Already regretting bringing me with you, tho?” I raise an eyebrow, finishing to eat and leaning back on the chair.

“Never!” Ray says indignantly, shooting me a look. “I’d have taken you with me before if I knew you wanted it that bad!” He pauses to take a sip of his drink. “Like, I missed you an awful lot and the tours tend to be fun. Though there are a few problems, but…”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” I press my lips together and nod as he does the same.

We sit in silence for a moment, only until Ray finishes eating and soon calls the waitress. She grins as coming closer, a block of notes in her hand and a pencil on the other. “Well, you two have ordered for…” she trails off, mumbling under her breath as scribbling a few things down on her paper before grinning and handing Ray the bill; he nods, reaching for his wallet. Meanwhile, the woman looks at me, wide eyes looking at me from up to down with that fake excitement. Okay. What’s wrong? Maybe she’d judging my clothes? Or that I’m with Ray?

I try to ignore the woman, turning to Ray. “Hey, I was thinking we could—”

“Keep the change,” Ray tells the woman as handing her the money, ignoring me. Fuck. “And do you know any convenience store or café nearby?”

The two engage into a conversation and maybe it’s the instability and stress due to the whole tour-anxiety thing or whatever, but I can feel my heart heavy due to it. My plan is to continue there, of course, leave with Ray so we can spend mor time alone with each other, a plan that I give up on as soon as feeling a sting in my chest. I just stand up and leave.

Why did Ray ignore me? What did I do wrong? He got tired or annoyed, perhaps. …Or, yet, I’m just overreacting. Hell, I know Ray wouldn’t do that to be in purpose because he is usually so loving.

A sigh escapes my lips as I glance back and I really want to come back – I would, if I wasn’t so far from there already. It’s the best to just give him some random excuse later.

Holy fuck, but, honestly, everything only went downhill from the moment I decided to tag along.

First of all, I panicked at the sole fact I was going to come with them to the tour then got extremely awkward during a whole week and half, barely talking with anyone asides from Ray – what got Mikey annoyed at some point, what I’m sure of even if everyone denies it. And then we went along with all the minor events, like me being the last one to get back to the bus, almost getting lost in the venue and simply being unable to talk to anyone asides from the band and the staff, among other inconveniences.

Everyone must be more than done with me, to be honest. And there’s still a whole other month before we can go home, I don’t think I’ll be able to go through all of this with the mess I am.

I sigh in relief at seeing the bus and am about to walk inside it when Gerard show ups out of seemingly nothing, looking around, but his attention quickly falls on me. “Oh, (y/n)— Hey, were you crying? Something happened?”

The question makes me freeze, just now noticing the tears threatening to slip from my eyes and consequently making me feel like all of my blood instantly drained to my feet. “I-I—” I stutter, unfortunately simply unable to finish the sentence, and end up just running away from there, going to an isolated spot of the parking lot to calm down. I don’t want anyone seeing me having another attack, make them even more annoyed and attract all that attention.

Air just escapes my grasp, seemingly impossible to continue in my lungs for longer than a few seconds whilst the tears simply do not stop, even if I don’t even want to be crying or anything, fuck off.

I take a seat on the grassed area, under a tree, and bring my hands up to my eyes.

Cleaning my mind is just impossible, I just keep thinking about how everyone is going to be shooting me these stupid concerned looks when I’m back to the bus and how I’m only going to continue being another source of stress to them during the rest of the tour. Ray should’ve just left me home as usual and—

“…(y/n), listen to me, (y/n)! I’m here!” Ray’s voice cuts through my thoughts and I can feel his hand around my wrist, the other one on my back. “Hey, baby, it’s okay. C’mon, breath with me,” he says softly before starting to set a breathing pace I can’t help but to stick to.

Hell, when did Ray even get here?

I’m getting better when my breath hitches in my throat at the thought I’m only annoying him and I can’t help but to let out a weak sob his time. Ray only starts to rub my back. Even if I’m crying, I do feel better than I did earlier, now slowly becoming more aware of my surroundings while all that filled my mind moments ago were these awful thoughts along with all the panic and worry.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper shakily, bringing my hands down to bury my face in the crook of his neck, trying to synch my breathing with his.

“You don’t need to be sorry, love,” Ray says softly, thumb running along the back of my neck in a weirdly soothing manner. “Don’t be ashamed of it or anything, this whole thing is really stressing. Even us had problems with it at first, so everyone understands how you must be feeling.” His voice helps me calming down, giving me something to hold onto to keep myself in reality asides from his touches.

“Thank you, then,” I reply, my voice still tight.

“It’s okay. I do it because I love you.” Ray pulls away lightly and smiles at me. His hands cup my cheeks, warm against them, whereas he wipes my tears away with his thumbs. “And I want to see you fine, okay?” He presses his lips against mine in a light kiss I’m thankful for. “Let me know about it the next time you feel like this, please.” A quiet sigh comes from him as he furrows his eyebrows at me, worry obvious there. “Are you feeling better now?” I nod. “Really?” he asks and I nod again, pecking his lips like if to prove it. “Okay…-“ he smiles, relieved, “-…how about a coffee now, hm?”

[thisnoodlewritesao3]

Hello thereee!! I hope i could participate in your event:

Kuroo

-A timer for when they shall first meet

Fluff

Most importantly, CONGRATS ON 100! 🎊🤍

I am so sorry for how long this took me lovely lil anon, ya know, I am but a fool and just could not brain the words for this. Ugh, I do love Kuroo but the struggle is real.

Thank you for participating!!!!

----

“You are a brat.” Akaashi mumbled to himself. You couldn’t even be mad at him, because he was right. The only reason he was saying this to you now was because you had previously been a brat - that was why you were sitting next to him and Koutarou on a coach to their Summer training camp, happily swinging your legs.

You were just bored, finished all your Summer homework and had nothing else to do. So, like any normal younger sister would do, you asked Kou if you could tag along to his camp under the promise that you’d do some managing. He hesitated, and then you said something that sold him on the idea.

“Well, it would be really nice to have the number one ace in all of Japan teach me how to play volleyball.” You sighed, tracing your finger around the rim of your glass.

“Sakusa isn’t going to be there though.” His hair deflated a little, looking at you with wide eyes.

“But Kou,” you said, meeting his eyes. This was your hook, line and sinker. One of these days, he’d figure out your trick. But that day wasn’t today, “you’ll always be the number one ace in my eyes.”

“I know.” You glanced down at the time on your wrist; your eyes widened a little. When had it gotten so close to the time? It was so easy to forget about the clock on your wrist - slowly counting down to when you’ll meet your soulmate - that when you did finally pay attention to it, it was quite jarring. “2 days.” You mumbled to yourself - but Kou heard it, because of course he did.

“Maybe you’ll get to meet your soulmate at the camp!” He called out, wrapping an arm around you.

In your opinion, Akaashi was the reason where Kou was the chaos. It was no wonder that people thought you’d get along with your brother’s second year counterpart better. Alas, you didn’t. According to him, you schemed too much, a little too sly. How you and Kou turned out so different was always beyond everyone.

Akaashi quipped, “I wonder who the unlucky soul will be.” And you could only laugh. He was right, as much as you hated to admit it.

----

Being a manager wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. Well, you didn’t really have to do half as much work as you thought you were going to have to do (Fukurodani does have two managers, after all). You mainly just helped out here and there with whatever some teams needed, focusing more on helping out in the kitchen.

Yukie and Kaori - they’d insisted you call them their first names - maybe, it was because you were Koutarou’s sister - started training you in how to be a manager. They didn’t stop, not even when you insisted you weren’t here to actually do anything helpful. They only briefly let up when Shimizu - a manager from Karasuno - said she had some other work for you.

That other work was only delivering melon to the teams, but you’d take that work over being taught how to be a manager any day of the week.

“Thank you.” You beamed up at the older girl. She smiled back down at you as you walked into the gym.

You were too busy being distracted by her smile that you didn’t hear the yelling of two boys, not until Shimizu pulled you to the ground by the back of your shirt. Two boys leapt over you and rolled gracefully - almost like they’d done this too many times.

Miraculously, the watermelon survived the fall.

Koutarou was at your side quickly, “Y/N, are you okay?” He almost looked like he’d cry, but you shrugged him off and sat up.

“Maybe whiplash, maybe a concussion, maybe death.” You said, rubbing your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out.”

As you were pulled to your feet, you heard them talking about you. “Woah, Bokuto, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.” One of the two boys said. You inwardly snickered because, despite everything, Koutarou didn’t have a girlfriend. Volleyball was his one true love right now. That and he was staying dedicated to his future soulmate.

“No!” Kutarou called out, starting his spiel about how he isn’t going to date before his soulmate arrives, and whatever. You’d heard it too many times to care. Though he did abandon your side so that left Akaashi to help you to your feet.

You mumbled out a thank you to him, barely managing to regain your balance.

“She’s your sister?” Someone squealed, and they turned their attention to you.

“Yep, Bokuto Y/N.” Kou wrapped an arm around your shoulders, snatching a piece of watermelon from the plate you held.

They all looked at you for confirmation and you unravelled yourself from your brother's grasp. “Yep.” You said, turning away from them.

In the corner of your eye, you saw the time on your clock countdown from 5.

You were frozen in place. Not out of excitement, or fear, or anything. Just because it was a little shocking.

Maybe in some other timeline you were jumping with joy but, unlike Kou, you didn’t have any feelings either way towards your future soulmate. There wasn’t any denial to meet them, or any sort of pure love. In fact, you’d rather your soulmate got to experience life before they decided to stay with you. You didn’t want to hold them back from their dreams, whoever they may be.

Of course, there was still that twinkle of excitement. It was only natural, you were going to see your soulmate, who wouldn’t be excited?

In perfect time, you looked up and met eyes with a black haired boy wearing the Nekoma uniform. He was standing next to Kenma - who you had met two days prior - his eyes met yours and you could see the wave of emotions in his face. It was almost funny to watch. Soon, your expression shifted from amazement (not because he was attractive, although you wouldn’t deny that) to pure amusement.

Only Akaashi had noticed this moment, and he was smirking. You didn’t even need to face ehim fully to see that. Kenma was sharing a smirk too, so you could only assume he had realised this.

“Hey, Koutarou.” You tapped on your brother's shoulder, making sure you had his full attention before you pointed at the boy whose hair resembled that of a rooster - he started walking over, so you hoped he would be in ear shot.

“What’s up.” He whipped his head around to you. As funny as the sight was you needed to keep a straight face.

“Who is that?” Koutarou looked at the black haired boy and grinned.

“That is Kuroo Tetsuro.” He said just as the boy in question arrived. “Why?” He hummed, looking you directly in the eyes with a look that would have been terrifying to anyone else. “Is my baby sister in love at first sight?” He gushed, squeezing your cheeks a little too hard.

You shoved him off and rubbed your cheeks. “No,” you said bluntly, “he’s my soulmate. He’s got weird hair though, but I guess we can work on that.” You shrugged, eyeing him up. “They made hair gel for a reason.” Koutarou was shocked, to say the least, but Akaashi was pulling him away before he could tackle you for answers.

Kuroo looked down at Kenma with a shocked expression, the younger boy only turning his attention back to his PsP.

“You’re a little young to be my soulmate.” Kuroo rubbed the back of his neck.

“Who said we had to start dating now?” You asked, glaring lightly.

He cleared his throat and nodded slowly. Then he flashed you a smirk and you instinctively rolled your eyes, “I thought you’d fall for me ‘cause of my looks, ya know?” A little cocky, but that was fine.

You snorted and covered your face, trying not to laugh directly in his face - it really was a struggle. “As if,” waving him off, “have you seen Kou’s friends? I’m used to being surrounded by hot guys. I don’t really care what you look like.”

You weren’t a hopeless romantic, and you’d come to find out that neither was he. And sure, you didn’t start dating the moment you met each other like most soulmates do, but you were content with being friends for a while. Slowly, when you were both older, more settled, less reckless, you decided to take the next step. Sure, you weren’t perfect, but neither was he. You loved him nonetheless, and he loved you.

----

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Why We Don't Need A Xena Anytime Soon

submission from anon under the cut!

anon, one time i asked the tag who they would cast as callisto in the reboot and almost got chased off this site witch pitchforks

i really like all the points you hit on, and i'm here for it--i think xwp is an artifact of its time, and attempts to reframe it in a different context is just... not gonna be the same thing

as a franchise, it's also got so much cultural foundation, look at my mans karl urban in star trek, celeborn is borias in lotr (also feat: blonde karl urban), and so many costume designers/special effects teams that largely did move on to lotr roles, like goddamn

You know for as cool as it would be to see now because they would totally go hard on Xena/Gabrielle...I'm actually glad a XWP reboot hasn't happened yet. Please allow me to explain why. First and foremost, the majority of TV writers do not seem to hold the skills needed to write Xena they way she truly is - she is a VERY violent person so not get that wrong, but she has the ability for good also. She is not going to spend 3-5 episodes being guilted over killing someone if they deserve it and it would better everyone else (see Green Dragon), she will murder them and explains to you for a half an episode why she was right and then move on and it's on you to accept it or not because she's made her peace. She is someone who understands the multiple ways you can hold power over others and yourself and ways to exercise both each day. She's gruff but also has a soft spot in her! She is extremely layered and I don't think again 99% of writers today could do her justice the way Rob and company did her. Secondly, while most pitches assure the upfrontness of Xena and Gabby I feel like that's kind of their one horse being focused on and the series was more than just the one big relationship. You also need to tell us how ancient lore will play in and if you're going more realistic (grittier) or keeping the campy with some light grit nature. Are you going to explore the layers to situations or just have cliche good and bad guys? Are those who are from the original series going to be in the original key or some over the top version? Yeah Callisto is crazed with grief and so she is prepare to murder everyone and anyone but she's not crazy; Xena killed her family and burned down everything she had ("Hercules" Terminator storyline is not cannon to XWP), she's got a right to be upset with her and thus begin her quest to bring her down reputation wise and eventually physically. On the topic of Callisto, and by extension Xena, how many actresses can really balance what Hudson gave us with the crazy eyes but sane tone to what she was saying? I'm not saying it can never be done I'm just saying it's going to be hard to find an actress who can do that line well. The same for whoever would play the iconic title anti-hero because Lucy has become SUCH a legend along with the character I would not envy who has to fill those shoes. At best you have like a handful of actresses now who could probably do this but they will be older actors and we all know they'll want someone who's in their 20s for a reboot because honestly if anyone over 30 was in the role just get Lucy back. Ha It makes me wonder how all the characters would be treated - would Ares be some masognistic villain to show he's bad or would they actually have him clearly horny for Xena yes but it's because he knows she can do things and she happens to be a woman and he likes women so it's a turn on you know? Would Aphrodite be some comedic ditz only or actually allowed moments of emotional intellect where her words save the day? Does Hades always double cross the main characters because he's "the devil" or do they have him like the original where he will work with you if your pitched deal is a good one for him/he owes you a favor? Would the reboot balance both comedy and drama or be one or the other mainly? Would it be action heavy because it's an action genre type show or would they allow for character exploration like the original did at times? The original "Xena: Warrior Princess" balances everything so well that I think it's almost impossible to redo now and have it live up to the original. If they went homage versus reboot that would serve them better I think if they could pull off a repeat of the series. I also don't think it'll happen because while Hollywood loves to copy things now days, so in that respect they'd jump all on it, XWP came out in the mid 90s when shows were kind of doing original content and Hollywood right now especially feels allergic to originality so for all the pitches made to have the series return I don't think it will ever happen really; even if it did

it wouldn't be a network show like the original and that then means things like Showtime or HBO or even SYFY would say no because they're into their own original products and SYFY has the rights to show the original episodes so it's just cheaper for them. Is there room with a homage to improve the series legacy? Sure! We could have an actual good Rift where instead of fighting over kids behaving badly we get Gabrielle having to come to terms hardcore with is Xena someone she really wants to be with when she sees her dark side; take the Green Dragon event again - Gabrielle did not support Xena killing him because of some old debt because she knew it would set Xena back on her redemption path and she really believes theirs other ways than killing so you could have Xena tell her the truth or Gabrielle just feels it and it's like "Is this who I really want to follow? Is she really trying or is this violence who she really is?" and you could drive that into Najara's plot where she's the "good Xena" but Gabby realizes she's doing it for the wrong reason and at least what Xena did helped arguably for awhile so it's the lesser of the evils and they reunite and you can explore how you don't always agree with others but it doesn't mean you can't love them still. It's the old "I don't agree with your choice, but I don't hate you" thing. You could even make it over Callisto and how Gabrielle can understand her rage but say Xena isn't that person now and Callisto says something like "Is she?" when Gabby says she's a good guy who's changed before adding "Or is that just the person she is when you're looking?" and so each time Xena does something questionable Callisto's voice chimes in her head to a point where you reach a Green Dragon situation and Xena still does what she does and Gabby has to come to terms with it. Maybe this is a redo of her spiritual journey minus the Christian visual representations and in the end again she goes back but she understands a bit more of the person she thinks she loves then so she isn't as much of the puppy/desperate to leave girl we first see. That's a way better Rift than rape baby killing people and Xena flipping because Gabrielle wouldn't let her kill what she thought was a helpless child! Could a homage give us an actual battle of the gods if they repeated the Twilight arc? Yes. That plot was pushed into too few episodes for it to be presented the way it fully needed to based on lore. Would an homage now give us in your face, clear as day Xena/Gabrielle? Yep! This is only good though if it's not the only thing the show is brining to the table because there is more LGBT representation out there now so it's not like they would be the go to place like they were in the 90s. Could a homage give us a better ending? 100%! I love what you put out there over all Xena team but that end has issues to say the least; I don't care if you kill Xena, I debate to this day if death isn't her actual redemption for all that's happened, but if you kill her be in the Greece area and for a plot we've seen coming for awhile or whatever the series end season has been on not some random new story that's set thousands of miles away! 😡 So yeah I'm not saying a "reboot" doesn't have merit or a place in TV future I'm just saying the original did a lot so well it's going to be hard for a homage to really do the legacy justice without true care for the product. You can't just hire any old random group of staff members to do a series like this and have it be what it was...the original was so well done because the crew cared - from the stunt teams to the writers and actors, they literally put all their hopes and dreams into this and it shows the passion. Xena is not some girl trying to be a male hero - she's jacked physically because she's on a horse most of the time and that works your thighs, she swings a 20lbs sword 90% of the time and if you do that you two would probably have arm muscles, and she's tall because genetics. She's broody not because that's a male only trait, she's broody because some of her actions

are bothering her now and she's not sure how to fix them because people hate her for what she could do and thus don't give her a chance without Gabrielle to hype her up first. Just because society has tried to genderize certain traits because the majority of one sex does them doesn't mean the trait itself is a gender; Xena is not trying to be some stoic male lead you envision now, she's just badass like that because it's who's she always was. The show is not some comedy with beats of drama trying to be cute, it's a drama which at times had comedy because if they didn't laugh at somethings which happened they'd die from stress. Don't get me wrong, personally, I am a fan of a grittier Xena because it might explore even more character aspects but it can't be HBO After Dark levels of just violence and despair either because that's not honest to the source material. If it was all comedy or all drama it would feel like something was missing. You can't just set up a plot like Callisto and have it either fade into the background or be wrapped up in 2 episodes...well maybe you could wrap it up faster than the original did but you'd miss so much and yeah I just don't know if a creative team today could do justice to the original. "Xena: Warrior Princess" is such a lightening in a bottle show and it doesn't get the respect it deserves because most just see the camp and thus tragically miss the level of depth these characters had...they miss the nuance performances some of these actors gave; they down rate it on LGBT scales for being subtext which is to a point fair but when you think of all they achieved during the 90s to show as much as they did...there's couples now which could do more on shows and do less! Forget the LGBT stuff all together even for a moment and remember a white female title lead character's other big love on the series which she literally went to Hell to save was a black man...not a lot of that happening in the 90s folks! They crack comments about the stunts...I'm sorry tell me again how realistic it is on your show that a car flips 20 times after hitting a rock or how it's totally believable instead that 5 bad guys would stand around waiting to jump into a fight with the hero one by one instead of just shooting him. Some people want to dismiss the series a just a lesbian show forgetting how it showed young women you can stand up too and your opinion matters just as much...the series showed women getting sh*t done because women too can get sh*t done. Xena didn't defeat Ares regularly because that's just how the show went, she did it because he thought with his d*ck at times and she used that to her advantage because while she's physically gifted she also knows the value of mental strengths too and she thought her way out of things also. Gabrielle especially was a mental escapist for trouble showing there's more ways than just punching to achieve goals; this was another level of diversity the series offered watchers! XENA is so much better than people give it credit for and I would want any reboot or homage to only come out if it put as much passion into the project as the original did, bare minimum I'm going to need you to show up with 98% care and passion because it's a reboot not a repeat so this allows them to change some things such as being open with X/G but on the whole almost coping the original wouldn't be too bad a path. Again edit some things to go better such as the Rift but yeah the original is a classic for a reason and it's not just because a bunch of lesbians keep talking about it. Xena is 25 years strong because it treated female characters with respect and allowed them to effect things not just stand in scenes and say a line or two to suggest they're tough, it shows a layered anti-hero who you could argue may really be a villain at the end of the day people still aren't sure because the writing was that good and complex and showed the reality of a human being who went through those things and depending on where you stand in relation to them she is one or the other or maybe even a bit of

both...I can't tell you a male or female character like that now that brings that level of debate to them, and it's still strong because the creative team believed in their vision for the characters (instead of going out of their way to no homo the series they got more blatant and just clever in how they hid it so it go on screen without censors shutting them down; instead of dressing Xena up in a dress to show she's a woman they kept her exactly how she is because she is a woman an a piece of clothing does not define her gender)! There's SO much to explore still today with the original and be thankful for and inspire to with it soy yeah if they bring it back I'm going to need them to do it with the right mindset or I'll keep just enjoying my DVDs thank you. Long post I know but it kept coming out the more I wrote until I finished. 🙂