#I promise I’ll work on being more unhinged

[britany1997]

A secret to my funny tags are: that's just me✨ my little weirdo self✨ being weird and silly babbyy!!!

But really if you wanna be I guess "Funny" in the tags just don't think, just say the wild shit! Would a normal person confess to wanting to suck Marko off through his jeans hole in his chaps?? NO!! but I'm not normal!

And also it's a joke of that meme of, "Your mom sucks me good through my jorts" meme I saw a lot and it stuck with me!

Just silly things, random unfilted thoughts a lot, wildness, me being me!!! It's good! Hell make slightly fixed references!!

Let the tags be an extension of you!! Let them be apart of you!!

You’re so sweet for this🥹 I adore you

Unfortunately bestie, I am a chronic overthinker, but imma try!!!!

[plasticfangtastic]

Anybody else won't do. ch. 1

A Homelander x Ashley fanfic

A/N: this is a short little project I promise UwU.

Tags: Romance, fluff, Homelander acting like himself aka slightly unhinged behavior, dadlander, slight spicy not really smut.

Sypnopsis: Both Homelander and Ashley give their complicated inter-personal relationship some thought.

Chapter One

To say that Homelander was an anxious parent was an understatement, the moment he became completely certain that Ryan would never leave him, that nobody would oppose him any longer when it came to being in his son’s life– he found himself becoming utterly paranoid that he would wake up one morning and find him gone, regardless...

It was too quiet and it frightened him.

Ryan was the first ray of warm sunlight he had ever felt on his skin, his very essence had lifted him from a cold abyss and returned him to the land of the living by virtue of simply existing near him, he wanted his child close and safe, yet the anxiety that invade him was both eerily familiar yet disturbingly alien when it came to his well being. This anxiety gnawed on his flesh down to the bone and suckled on the marrow like a sinner on mercy’s tits, sleepless and restless nights became routine, listening to his son’s sleep just a few doors away from him aid him sleep until he would wake up frightened that he would not be there, his night’s weren’t dreamless and by God he begged the faceless bastard above to grant him darkness if it meant never dreaming of his son behind that thick metal door all alone with nothing but a blanket, with him unable to help him, unable to breakdown the door, unable to scream as they took him away, unable to even move as they prodded and burned his body relentlessly.

His son’s voice grew hoarse and quiet as he cried for him.

And every violent awakening left him shivering, only calming down when his ears picked up on his heartbeat.

As much as he loved his work, he no longer had any interest in it, not truly, he adored the adulations and the worshiping of crowds but they took time away from him, away from precious moments he could share or miss.

But he understood he had to keep a distance from the child, he had been overbearing once and the boy had lashed out, it nearly tore him apart… to think that Ryan would hate him made him understand pain that made bleeding seem cute, so he agreed to a lot of things that never sat well with him but he accepted with a smile because if his son wanted a sense of independence and normalcy he would be damned if he refused to provide it.

But he was still a little boy.

He couldn’t always be alone, that would be neglectful at best.

It had started as a simple suggestion, Ashley and Homelander were discussing work matters regarding appearances on future presidential rallies when the issue of booked dates clashing with school events came into discussion, distance wasn’t an issue– he could fly and pick him up from school but even then he would’ve to come back to the rally for a couple more hours and had this not been Neuman’s reward for a job well done, he would’ve blown them off.

“I can take care of him if you like, Homelander.” She had said almost mindlessly.

There really wasn’t a security personal qualified enough or a nanny trustworthy enough in the world that he could trust Ryan with, but for some reason this little ginger muppet had been an odd exception, it had been easy to handover the child towards her in the past, when his mind had been more clouded, it had been easy to just… he wouldn’t say trust… but accept her as a choice.

He offered an unusual smile, not sardonic or ironic, just a simple smile.

“I’ll ask Ryan if that’s okay.” His voice had been quiet.

Ashley watched him leave, his eyes as tired as her whole body was exhausted but she watched him leave with his mind somewhere she couldn’t fly to.

That night in the middle of dinner, he looked at his son nervously.

“Hey buddy… I got this rally I have to attend in Idaho and it is a really big deal but it falls on Tuesday and you have your little club activities so… would you rather me pick you up from school and you can stay with dad or… would you rather–” the words got caught in his throat, he genuinely didn’t want to give him the choice but he had already expressed finding these events beyond tedious so he swallowed that frog and kept going– would you rather Ashley look after you after I pick you up from school?”

“It’s okay dad, I don't want to bother you when you’re working. I can stay with Miss Ashley.” He spoke in a tone that seemed perfectly chirpy.

Homelander nodded with a tight lip, mortified at the thought that Ryan had ever believed he could be a burden to his father, but glad his boy would be so considerate.

“Okay. Good… good”

It begun a routine he’d never wanted, admittedly Ryan had become fond of her, she was like the aunt he never had, she soldiered on despite her exhaustion and was always willing to listen to the kid, and for all her initial concerns Ryan was an okay kid, with every afternoon she’d spend with him she began to see that he was not an extension of Homelander, he was not terrifying, or menacing, he was no cruel dictator in the making… just a normal child… he was indeed stronger and at times unable to control his anger but it wasn’t the ire that stained Homelander painting the boy but just the damaged that came with inexperience and powers that took discipline– nothing unusual for superpowered kids, nothing she wasn’t familiar with at this point… he was sweet and inquisitive and even in his tantrums he was manageable.

Not something she could ever say about Homelander. 

It was easy, he would stay in her office to do homework, or she would stay a couple hours or minutes in Homelander’s penthouse until he was able to come back.

It made her feel special to know that Homelander would trust her with such a task, boosting her shattered confidence somehow, for he trusted nobody with his son, no fellow member of the Seven, no bodyguard, no teacher, or nanny… just her.

Homelander didn’t necessarily see it positively.

Yet he liked knowing he could still rely on her, that she wasn’t growing lazy and that regardless of how busy her schedule was, she would ultimately prioritize him above all else, it made him glad to know she still understood her position.

That she still saw how important he was to her life.

Ryan school could be a menace at times, too many teacher conferences he was required to attend and PTA meetings he had signed up for without realizing how demanding the fuckers could be, not to mention how their perception of him swung like a pendulum if he failed to live to the other mom’s expectations, here he was in a meeting discussing an upcoming sports day that he had no real intention to partake in, he would graciously offer a donation if it meant he could leave the actual volunteering to these lesser folks, not that Ryan would be allowed to compete... after all he had an advantage and no doubt these very same witches would complained if he won all the awards, it wasn’t anything of note happening until one of the familiar mom’s had approached him, a tubby little thing called Kimberly, she was just a new to the tribe as he was– she was meek and shy thing and her big brown eyes never looked up from the ground,  for she stood out just as much as he did in this school it seems.

“I’m surprised your wife isn’t the one coming to these meetings.” She said softly, handing Homelander a pamphlet for next week's bake sale– "you must be so busy, this must be a pain.”

“It's no problem and I am not married.” He said sharply trying to force a cordial smile as he took the note, remembering that he signed up for the bake sale and had to bring some nut free muffins by next week… not that he would cook any of them of course– you’re okay with handling my stuff, right?”

“Oh yeah I’ll take care of selling your muffins… wait… if you aren’t married then who’s the red-head that comes to pick up Ryan?”

Those eyes light up eager to find out more, Homelander was tempted to ignore her and find a quick excuse to run away but he could hear there were other moms and dads pretending they weren’t listening in, also curious as to who the familiar redhead was.

“Ashley.” He hesitated saying assistant or nanny for she technically was officially neither– we go way back.” he spat trying to say something normal.

He might’ve meant for it to sound dismissive and casual as if the whole world should know who this Ashley in particular was, who she was to him but that did very little to satiate these people, if anything it was how casual he was that fuel their imaginations.

The rumor mill even reached Ashley as she picked Ryan one afternoon and caught the cheeky glances of one of the other moms, her hawk -like stare examining her as if she was about to dissect a frog, unknown to her they were picturing them together.

It went on for weeks, it seems for when the odd days she would pick him up there were a couple eyes sets watching her closely, evaluating her, talking loud enough that she finally caught wind of what was being whispered.

She sat mortified on her car as their driver was caught in traffic, Ryan had wanted a detour to go to a bookstore and pick up the latest volume of some manga him and his friends were into at the moment, even as she walked alongside him in Barnes & Nobles she might as well had been a zombie moving on auto-pilot, not realizing she had made it back to the tower until Homelander had ran towards Ryan to hug him, he spoke that’s for sure and she certainly mumbled something back, but Homelander just shrug her off and left with his kid who eagerly wanted to talk to him about pirates.

Ashley stared at the man’s cape swaying behind him, wondering what in the hell he had been saying about her, for those strangers to have come to the conclusion they were a secret item.

Admittedly she did pick Ryan up and had appeared near each other publicly, not to mention they worked together holding similar positions to one another… the fact that some people assumed she only got where she was by fucking Homelander had made her ill, the man had tormented her to the top that was true, but it would’ve been a lot easier and bearable to exist if she had simply been his fave fuck-buddy and not his fave punching bag.

“You know one of my friends asked me if Ashley is my mom.” Ryan looked away from his book watching his dad mindlessly flick channels for something to watch– are you dating auntie Ashley, dad?”

Homelander let the remote fall to his side, his mouth dropping slightly ajar.

“No!” He flunder, shaking his head horrified at the thought– why would they say that!?”

Ryan looked disinterested looking back into his pages.

“It’s because mom’s not around…” His little hands crinkle the sides of the book– my friend’s parents are divorced so he says it's normal for kids to only have one parent.”

That stabbed at him like a hot knife, as he turned to pretend to watch his screen he was flooded with childhood memories of sitting in a small room before a projector, hundreds of vintage pictures of the quintessential American family, he certainly thought he was enough… he had his son and the nice pretty house… he was thinking of getting him a hamster or a dog for his birthday… it was close to perfect… but there was a piece missing that a bitchy brunette refused to be back in the day and now left it with an incomplete puzzle it seems.

As he watched the city move beneath him, as his son slept peacefully he let his mind wander off, thinking of the bitches running their mouths feeding people the idea that him and Ashley were an item.

It made him laugh.

It made him laugh until he caught Ashley staring awkwardly at her master across the room, the cameras had stopped rolling, he offered some pretend pleasantries to the show host as he readied to leave– he caught her intense stare, examining him… no undressing him.

He was intimately familiar with that stare.

First time he had noticed her presence… truly acknowledge her, he had very much undressed her– a stranger rubbing shoulder with Madelyn was not to be ignored, she had no gang markings, physical signs of obvious mental conflicts or illnesses that would become burdensome to both Madelyn and the company in the long term.

He’d followed her and learn she had a painfully average routine, her only vices being cheap alcohol and the occasional blunt but nothing harder than that (that wasn’t prescribed of course)… nothing that would get her in real trouble and she was smart enough to not show up to work high, keeping it as a weekend activity. Homelander admitted that was part of the appeal, she was dutiful, sufficiently intelligent, fairly young, and spoke her mind– perfect for molding and shattering.

Their gazes clash and for an uncomfortable second they both can’t stop staring at each other.

She would admit to none… that she found him good looking– who didn’t? He was classically handsome, tall, charming, had pretty blue eyes and before that terrible event with Blindspot she even thought of him as nice. Yes he was odd and Madelyn sometimes made strange faces and gestures when discussing the man, her discomfort should’ve been a massive red flag… and now after all the blood, guts and screaming… she still somehow found him good looking.

Ashley can admit that she wanted to make him proud, that she gained some confidence in following his example, that there was something enjoyable in being in his shadow… She was far more tolerated and liked (if that’s the word) than A-Train and The Deep… and now she was trusted with his most precious possession.

Her lips make a nervous grin, her feet moving without input, it's now instinct to answer his wordless call.

Both talk about work pretending not to notice the cumbersome air between them.

Not to notice how they both looked at each other when the other turned around for too long.

Homelander for once recognized while she was oblivious to it all… that he paid her too much attention, that he knew more of her than she of him and now as he noticed that bitchy smile and fake voice escaping her plump lips as she spoke to some producer that clearly was irking her... that he sure didn’t hate her.

tagging a fellow homeash enjoyer, hope you like it @ultrasoniccarousel

[renata-has-thoughts]

W/c: 3.8k Pairing: Top Male reader and bottom Will Graham

Includes: Housewife Will, needy Will, consent, rough/unhinged sex, oral (reader receiving), anal sex, praise, one count a self-indulgent movie ref (guess it and I’ll love you forever), obligatory stag metaphors for Will, brief aftercare, taller reader.

A/n: First post to this account. Will likely post this on ao3, which I’ll link when ready. Feel free to request something, especially seeing as I’m getting my footing with a new blog. This isn’t my best work, I will admit, but it’s something to get started with, y’know? Whatever. Enjoy!

No matter how hard he tried, Will would never be the first welcome you had when you returned home in the evenings. That honor was always taken by your dogs, hoarding around the screen door in a cacophony of yips and barks as a greeting until they flooded around you when the door opened. As they were already in formation the second your tires touched the gravel driveway.

You entered and pet each dog lovingly, soaking up their attention in a reminder of the safety and warmth of your home. This homemaking was mostly credited to Will, though. He was the doting stay-at-home husband after all. With your salary, you could support both of you easily, lending Will to pick up the domestic responsibilities, which he absolutely loved. What he wouldn’t say is just how much pride it brought him being your husband. Being the one standing so patiently in the entryway behind the dogs, ever awaiting you.

After giving each of the dogs their share of affection, you smiled brightly at Will and he approached you, mirroring your expression.

“Good evening,” He said, your proximity shrinking as he stepped before you. He leaned his head up-you being taller than him-to kiss you quickly and softly. In the process he loosened your tie for you. You frowned teasingly when he drew away.

“Good evening to you, too, love. That’s all you’re gonna give me?” You joked, grabbing his waist with one hand.

“I guess I can provide some more,” He shrugged, mocking nonchalantly. He assumed the same tip-toed stance, closing his eyes to let you press your lips into his in a kiss that was longer. Your noses bumped briefly-Will giggling at that-before sliding side by side as your tongue entered his mouth. While you did that, your other hand grabbed right below his ass to lift him closer to you, resulting in a hummed noise from the back of his throat. You pulled your mouth away from his, noticing his intention to speak.

“Is it that kind of night?” Will asked, referring to your promiscuous actions.

You pressed your forehead against his, smiling in the face of his curiosity.

“Later.” You responded, then let go of him slowly to turn around to the coat and shoe rack, doffing either articles while you heard Will return back to the kitchen on whatever he had planned.

That was the other thing about Will’s role. Given he’s been in it for almost a year now, he’s rendered himself an excellent cook, often preparing his own catches from the river. Something about that was so wholesome to you.

“What’s for dinner?” You asked, making a beeline for your designated recliner in the living room.

“Something new,” Will called out. You could hear the sizzling of food from where you were, a promising noise that made your mouth water. You picked up the remote to flick aimlessly around stations, the smallest of your dogs finding a place on your lap as you did so.

An overwhelming feeling of gratitude washed through you. Wonderful dogs, a fulfilling job, a smart and beautiful husband, a cozy home, how could you have been so lucky? You stroked one of your many dogs’s fur absentmindedly as you reminisced.

You ended up on an early 60s comedy movie, and finished your search to sit back and watch. It was some satire on war with Slim Pickens as a supporting character, which didn’t really narrow it down at all. As obscure as it was, it was something to pass the time while you awaited dinner. You became aware of how hungry you were, and you picked up on the shuffling of footsteps in the dining room before Will had even called you in. The dog on your lap sprang up as she heard Will return to the kitchen, which you laughed at. Will insisted on feeding the dogs before you both ate. Otherwise the younger, more rambunctious ones had a tendency to beg.

You smiled, hearing Will’s coos and praise towards the dogs as he filled their bowls, the clattering of kibble into metal another melody of home.

Soon enough, you felt Will’s hands on your shoulders over the recliner, kneading slowly as he rested his chin on the top of your head.

“I didn’t know you liked Kubrick,” he mused, referring to the movie.

“I didn’t even know it was him. Just channel surfing, y’know?” You replied, reaching your hand to clasp his, “are you a fan of him?”

“Not exactly. I just movie hopped a lot when I was younger. During the summers I’d buy a ticket to one movie early in the morning, then spend the rest of the day sneaking into others,” he explained softly, tracing circles on the exposed skin above your shirt collar, “I became well acquainted with different directors and actors that way.”

“Look at you, Will, such a mischievous boy,” you teased, turning your head up to look into his eyes with a glimmer of humor.

“Yeah, I was a real delinquent,” he played along, both hands moving to cradle your face. “Dinners ready.”

You slipped out of his grasp and stood up, stretching off the weight of the work day, and followed him to the dining room. The evening sun was setting outside the window, caressing the treeline. It made the already autumn-crimson trees more aflame and golden. You felt its warmth on your back as you sat down on your end of the table, watching Will retrieve a serving bowl from the kitchen and return with it, the contents steaming.

“I decided to try something different tonight,” he explained, setting the bowl on the table before scooping some vegetable stir fry onto your plate.

“This looks delicious, sweetheart,” you said earnestly, eyes still fixated on him as he served himself and sat down. The sunlight complimented him in a way that was, for lack of a more powerful word, ethereal. “So do you.” You added.

The lighting did no good in hiding his flushed face, even as he distracted himself by pouring a glass of wine. Unspokenly, he passed it to you after, you purposefully grazing his fingers as you took it from him in a lingering touch.

His reddened face persisted. It was adorable how you could keep him so flustered after years of being together. His beauty still amazed you, too.

Dinner proceeded. You made it a point to groan and almost exaggerate your head tipping back as you took your first bite of the stir fry.

“God damn, you know how to cook,” you sighed. Will chuckled into his wine.

“Thank you,” was all he mustered.

When you first met him, he had no comfortable affability. He never would’ve laughed at an offhand compliment. You were proud of how much you’d changed him for the better, or rather, he allowed himself to be vulnerable and genuine around you. Either way, you loved each other.

“How was work?” Will asked, initiating a routine evening conversation.

“Same old, same old,” you shrugged. “Did I tell you I changed my work computer’s wallpaper to Macey?”

You could hear Macey’s collar jingle from the living room, like she perked up from hearing her name.

“Do they let you change your wallpapers there? I thought they didn’t like that.” Will asked.

“They don’t.” You clarified, exchanging a sly smile between one another.

“My husband…is such a law-breaker,” Will joked between sips of wine.

“You know it,” you responded, letting a gentle silence fill the room as you both continued with your meals. A minute passed, and you added, “how was your day?”

“Good. I painted the west side of the fence out front, it was getting a little worn.”

“I noticed, it looks a lot better.”

“Yeah. I had a coupon for the hardware store from buying all those nails to fix the shed roof last season, and figured I’d put it to good use.”

“Nice going, honey. But don’t ever feel like you need to cut corners in expenses. I’ve got us both covered.”

“I know, I’m just not used to it, even after all this time.”

By then both your forks were crossed over empty plates, and Will made a move to get up, but you gestured for him to stay down.

“I’ve got the dishes. Take the wine and I’ll meet you on the porch, alright?” You assured, standing and stacking your plates.

“You’re too good to me.” Will sighed, taking the glasses and half-finished wine.

You kissed his forehead, and mumbled, “no, you’re too good to me.”

-

By the time you joined Will on the porch, the sun had set completely. You wiped your sink-damp hands on your slacks and slid next to him on the bench, naturally slinging your arm over his shoulder. In your other hand, you took the wine glass he offered you with a small ‘thanks’.

There was no light pollution this far out of town. Even with lingering rays just over the horizon, the stars were already visible. You knew all the constellations in the sky because of Will.

Neither of you made a rush to start a conversation, which meant it was completely silent outside. There were rarely ever cars out here, and when there were, they were too far away to be loud.

You didn’t always need words to bond. Wine and crisp autumn air was all that was required.

His head rested on your shoulder, and you pulled him closer. He was warm against the slightly chilly wind. The hand he wasn’t holding his wine with found purchase on your knee, gently inching upwards, massaging.

He had gotten to your thigh, and you muttered, albeit playfully, “you’re playing a dangerous game, love.”

“I don’t mind a risk,” he shot back with an equally low tone.

“Is that so?” You said, and when he didn’t respond, “be careful of what you wish for.”

Gently, you took his wine glass from him and set both yours and his on the outdoor table of your side. His eyes keenly observed your movements, more like a conscious stag than a scared one.

You met such lovely doe eyes and drew him flush to your side with both arms, right hand on his lower back like a warning, left hand on his chin-index finger below, thumb atop-tilting it upwards. You kissed the spot of his neck, just below his ear, just below his jawline, and he had no chance to stifle a downright sluttily abhorrent moan. You felt his skin heat up with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t you ever fucking apologize for turning me on.” You whispered back against the shell of his ear. With that kind of reinforcement, he let go of any shame and rutted against you.

“I-I think we should take this inside, please,” Will requested. While you wouldn’t mind the slight chance of the world seeing you make love to him, you understood and respected that he was a bit shy of anything past holding hands in public, let alone moaning outwardly into the night sky.

“Of course, dear,” you agreed, making your way inside, holding the door for him. The dogs were asleep, so you had no roadblocks crossing the house to the bedroom.

Once the bedroom door was closed behind Will, you took either of his hands in yours and pushed your body weight against him, pinning him to the door.

Now he looked like a deer in headlights.

You could feel his erection against your inner thigh, just below your own.

“Fuck, I could devour you, Will,” you groaned, nipping along his neck. He emitted a series of uncontrolled lewd whimpers, his head thrashing to the side in an unconscious move of submission.

“You’re such a pretty boy, ‘m so grateful to call you my husband, not a day goes by where you aren’t beautiful,” you rambled, breathing hotly into his neck, heaving with soft moans, “I love you in ways I can’t articulate, Will, and by god I need to fuck you until you quite literally can’t anymore,” you kissed his throat, “until you say stop, that you’re shaking,” you licked along part of his jawline, “until you’re crying with lust,” you bit his lower lip, “until-“

“I know, I get it, please,” Will cried, and you prevented him from saying any more by licking your lips then crushing them over his, wasting no time lifting his head up and shoving your tongue down into his mouth. He eagerly took it in like the compliant husband he was. Equally lovable and needy.

He really didn’t have much room to move in the position you had him in, but enough to use the door as leverage to slide up impossibly closer, frotting each other. You retracted your tongue from practically down his throat to moan.

“You want it that badly? How do you want it?” You groaned. Will looked away, and said just barely audibly,

“I want to be used, l-like a whore…”

“Fuuuck…” was all you could drone. Will was especially hot when he let down all defenses like this.

Your self control couldn’t be supported any longer. With your hands in his, you staggered back so you were sitting on the edge of the bed and he was in front of you.

“Knees.” You mustered, letting go of his hands to undo your belt. He obeyed, making quick work of removing his shirt and undoing his own belt all before you took off yours. Your belt ended up somewhere behind you on the bed, and your shirt was unbuttoned all the way. You went to unzip your pants, but thought better of it. Your hands slid over to Will’s head, taking hold of his hair and guiding his head to the fly of your jeans.

“Unzip it with your mouth.” You ordered. You held back the need to thrust towards the heat source of his mouth when he did as you asked, taking the zipper between his teeth and dragging it down slowly, his clouded eyes meeting yours through his lashes. You swore under your breath, fighting to keep your composure. Will went the extra mile and gripped the sides of your thighs, putting pressure and sliding his hands down, with it your slacks, until they were around your ankles. You shook it off to the side, and tilted Will’s face up to yours.

“So good for me,” you muttered, barely audible.

Your dick felt hot and confined still in your boxers, and Will held up a hand, hovering above the waist band, wordlessly asking permission. Again, keeping yourself from losing it, you nodded briefly. He eagerly hooked a finger inside, and dragged it down until you could kick it off your ankles.

The exposure of your dick only made things worse for your composure. You wanted to fuck him right then and there, no hesitation. You breathed shakily in, and asked,

“How much can you take or want, love?” You pushed some of his hair aside in a tranquil display of affection, despite the situation. Will’s eyes never left yours as he gazed up, sitting obediently between your legs, bare chest heaving, face dangerously close to where it felt like all the blood in your body was rushing to.

“I’ve had this-“ Will began, and mouthed around inaudible words before continuing, “-want, as I stated earlier…uh-I want you to use me. Not necessarily in a gentle way. If it so pleases you, I-“

“Spit it out, Will,”

“Fuck, okay. I want…I need you to choke me with your dick. Fuck my head until I’m drunk on you,” one of his hands palmed his erection, clearly finding pleasure in everything he said, “p-please, down my throat, even if I gag or cry, oh, shit, please,”

“As you wish, pretty boy.”

With both your hands on either side of his head, you rammed your hard cock into his mouth, moaning unabashedly loud at how hot he was. Will, although muffled, moaned nearly as loud, relishing your dick already down his throat.

“Tap my thighs if you can’t take it,” you ordered, and with the ground rules set, roughly began thrusting into him. You moved his head with your thrusts, feeling your body spark every time he groaned.

“Yes, oh god, yes,” you growled, speed increasing with animalistic tendency.

Will’s moans were unpredictable and frequent in between a few suppressed choking sounds. He inhaled sharply through his nose, eyes fluttering and struggling to stay on yours. Your husband looked ruined already. His hands rested on your thighs, and you slowed, furrowing your brow as if to ask if he was alright, but he shook his head and pushed it back around you, with a raspy voice, “more.” It was a high-pitched beg, a carnal desire vocalized.

Any restraint you harbored broke with an echoing snap in your mind.

You were brutal, each thrust milliseconds apart. He hollowed out his cheeks, making every move tight, warm and wet. It was all a blur, and when your head wasn’t thrown back with the weight of low moans, you met his pliant eyes. They were beginning to water, matching the gloss of his spit-covered lips sealed around you. His nails were digging into your thighs, the only thing keeping him grounded while you fucked him without anything merely resembling mercy.

“Damn, you feel p-perfect…shit…” you breathed between noises of pleasure. “I should’ve known you were such a whore, needing to be put i-in your place like a slut.”

A tear escaped from one of his eyes, trailing down to his chin before multitudes more followed. His fingers splayed and anchored on your thighs gripped harder.

“Oh, that’s it, show me how fucking,” you inhaled sharply, “-fucking ruined I’ve made you.”

You were so hazed over in the bliss you couldn’t even tell how his whimpers got louder, only halting when he tapped your thighs. Your hands on his head loosened, guiding him off gently.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry, shit, are you alr-?” You began, worried for him, suddenly concerned.

“-I was about to cum,” Will interrupted in a whisper.

“Speak up, love, I can’t-“

“I was gonna cum.” He said louder, avoiding your gaze. He was humiliated.

You faltered. Hesitated. It was quiet for a beat.

“You were about to cum without your dick even being so much as touched? Do I have that right?” You clarified, opting to tease him darkly.

He could only nod.

“Well, I don’t want to waste that. Neither of us do, correct? Let me make you orgasm properly. I think you’ve earned it.”

He nodded again, this time with more force.

“On the bed.” You ordered. He rose off his knees, but you pushed him back down by his shoulders, and added, “climb onto it, like you’re desperate.”

He whimpered. He obeyed, crawling onto the bed beside you, quickly assuming position in the middle, sprawled out and panting as he waited impatiently.

You sat before him, hands swiftly gripping his calves and tugging off his sweatpants, with the force of nearly tearing them, and grinned when you saw he was already halfway to cumming, per say. Part of you couldn’t tease him. You loved him, after all, and he looked so pitiful and pained like this.

“Legs over my shoulders, doll,” you moaned, grabbing your dick and giving it another few pumps, secretly enjoying the faux lube of his spit still all over it.

He seemed to really like that idea, and pushed himself closer to you, begging something unintelligible while he hoisted his legs to rest on your shoulders.

Fuck it. No more foreplay.

You thrust into his ass at once, your teeth clashing together and eyes tightening when the pleasure enveloped you so suddenly. Will was worse at hiding this, easily devolving back into a noisy and compliant mess.

“That’s it, I know you can take it…take it…” you groaned.

He swore uncontrollably under his breath, some clear ‘shit’, ‘damn’, and ‘fuck’s, others complete blabbered nonsense, seeing as you were, well, fucking him senseless.

You underestimated how turned on using him would get you. It was like your body was overtaken by the force of a rabid beast, craving nothing but Will. Your gorgeous, submissive husband, still wearing his wedding band through all of this. You moaned when you thought of that. Him being yours. You still weren’t used to the honor.

Your hands gripped the sides of his hips, slamming him into you, as you did he, with sloppy but precise pacing.

“Made for me, made for me, fucking made for me,” you repeated like a perverted mantra. You caught a small ‘made for you,’ whispered from Will.

You took one of your hands off his hips and slid it down onto his own dick, chuckling at how hot it was. Your strokes on him were languid in contrast to how ruthlessly you were taking him.

There was no doubt in your mind he wasn't appreciative of you jacking him off during what was already a pleasing experience, seeing as he was moaning to the volume of near-screams.

“Oh please, oh please, I’m gonna cum! Please! Please!” Will cried.

“Go for it. I-I’m gonna cum with you, alright? Let’s…Let's cum with each other. Can you-can you do that?” You mustered amidst your deep, all-consuming thrusts.

“Yes, yes, oh fuck yes, I’ll cum with you! I’ll-I’ll-!” His voice rendered into a gasp and loud, shaky moan as he shuddered and came, open-mouthed with his head thrown back. He was as good as dead to the world, his cum covering your hand and parts of his lower stomach.

You weren’t long after him, seizing and cumming with deep, sporadic slams inside him. You fucked yourself through every last second of your orgasm, feeling your head spin. All you could think of was ‘mine, Will, mine,’ repeated in succession in your head. Bliss. In its purest form.

You tried not to collapse on top of him, crushing him, but despite your best efforts you were spent.

“Fuck.” Was all you grunted, catching your breath before lifting yourself up and out of Will. “You alright?”

“More than,” Will sighed, eyes dreary, but content.

“Stay put, alright? I’ll get you a towel.” You said, getting up off the bed, paying a glance and smiling over to him.

“I don’t think I can move for the rest of the night, so don’t worry about me going off anywhere. I love you.” He returned your smile, and promptly closed his eyes to drift off into much needed sleep.

-

Even though you guessed he couldn’t hear you, when you returned to clean him up, you chastely kissed his forehead and returned the declaration of love in a lithe whisper.

-

End

-

Reposts and comments make me hard fr

[machiavelliann]

My Favorite Things about The Batman (2022)

This is a list of all the things I liked about The Batman, after watching the movie four times in two weeks. Overall: fucking loved it.

The Ambience

Gotham City being so gothic. Really weird city landscape. The only parts that made me think NYC were the “Time Square” neon billboards at the beginning, and the bridges – which makes sense since it is an island city. Felt more original than just a nondescript miscellaneous Big City

At the end, Catwoman says she might try living in Bludhaven. Love the mention of other cities!

It felt so comic book! Like there was a super complicated plot, lots of different players, surprises, never being able to be fast enough. And like when the whole city floods? That is peak comic book. I loved it. All of it starting on Halloween? Loved it.

Felt like a super hero version of Seven – detective plot, thriller, danger, and super heroes. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Three hours and it never felt like I was waiting for a scene to end. It just kept going.

Love the return to the more real-world villains. My favorite arcs will always be mobsters and fucking lowlifes, over aliens from another dimension (which is where I get so kind of tired of Marvel movies, even if I like them). But the evil when it's just guys, just men being fucked up and doing fucked up things. Deep inhale. I like gritty shit.

Themes

Juxtaposition of light and dark – he is in the shadows, and yet you can see everything. The beginning scene where he fights the thugs in the subway (you just hear his boots slowly approaching and then he appears out of nowhere); the scene where the lights go out in Penguin’s club and he’s fighting off the thugs to get to Falcone & Selina; the flare!! So good.

Long-lasting impacts of trauma! 

BRUCE AND ALFRED. “God… I thought I’d mastered all that…” Learning that fear of losing someone isn’t a weakness to be overcome

Flare at the end. Vengeance shifting to the promise of hope. He isn’t the shadows. He is the night, but even the night turns to day sometimes. Batman becoming the beacon of god! Damn! Hope!!!! MY Batman. Jesus Christ. 

Learning that being the shadows won’t get him what he wants (hello, Batman as wildly vacillating between beating the teeth out of a guy’s head and then escorting a little kid home to his mother) (that scene from JLA Animated where he rescues the little girl from the burning building – that’s MY batman)

Bruce being RIDICULOUS

Year Two, so he’s been working with Gordon for months now. The implicit trust between the two of them already. Gordon calling him “man” – “come on, man”. Don’t know his name, don’t need to, all ya gotta know is he is a good man. That works both ways. 

The lenses were SICK – and with how fast he watches them, the facial recognition built-in. Sick toys. New stuff too. 

His complete disregard when Selina is undercover in the Below 40 club within a club – like he has no disregard for his life, so he forgets that other people do. 

Waking up in the GCPD precinct surrounded by cops. “I’ll get you on assaulting an officer.” “Actually you can get me on assaulting three.” Jackass. I love him. 

GREAT SCENES:

Penguin calling Batman “sweetheart.” This asshole. Mega asshole. I loved it. Fuckin’ dick. 

The UNHINGED car chase. 1000s in property damage. That explosion definitely killed ten people at minimum. Penguin just talking to himself like “this guy’s crazy!” The Penguins is gloriously greasy.

WHEN THEY’RE WRONG ABOUT THE FLIGHTLESS BIRD. And Penguin’s like “you idiots don’t know fkin Spanish?” “Don’t know the difference between EL and LA??” “NO HABLA ESPAÑOL FELLAS???!!!!” And Bruce just being dead silent and then going “U-R-L” (face palm). The fact that he and Gordon figure it out right then and there while Penguin’s still tied up next to them

Thumb drive. So like there were several moments where it was objectively funny and no one was laughing?? I felt like a serial killer giggling at Gordon’s face when they used the thumb to get a print to open it up. And then Gordon being like “Jesus that just sent all those emails from MY account. Oh christ good lord. I’m gonna get fucking fired” 

I know men are stupid, particularly greedy men with power and ambition… but really… you’re going to tell all your dirty secrets to the girls who work at a mobster’s lounge? That really… it just really doesn’t add up lol. Like I get that while it’s Penguin’s place, it’s basically Falcone’s overall – and because they work for Falcone, they feel safer. But man, like they just met Selina and the DA’s dropping all this knowledge? Some people never learn. The DA was just SOOO pathetic

When they’re up there and Catwoman wants to kill Kenzie, and they’re all listening to the voicemail… and Bruce is ashen because he just learned that this is the man that his father went to for help, even if it didn’t ultimately turn out the way Falcone sold it as, and Falcone probably killed his parents; and Catwoman sobbing because she’s listening to her father murder Annika… THE PARALLELS. Kill me now. Catwoman silently crying as she heard Annika’s death? Tears in my GOT damn eyes. 

And then there's Gordon just standing there like oblivious like “Ha HA! The puzzle has been solved!”

Kenzie saying. “No. We work for him. You think this election matters? Falcone’s the mayor. He’s always been the mayor.” Fuck. Damn. 

Falcone being responsible for so much death, the Wayne's, Catwoman's mom, Annika, so much is on this man's shoulders. But it's never just him. There's always something more.

When Batman is leading Falcone out of the club and it’s like someone went and turned off all the music and turned on all the lights just to watch his walk of shame…. And like literally no one stops them lmao.

When Falcone’s getting arrested and he goes “don’t you know you boys in blue work for ME?” 

Penguin being like “ME? Shoot FALCONE? After I literally pulled a gun and threatened to kill him? BULLSHIT” 

Riddler as a fkin Reddit Discord f boi. Like QAnon incel bs. Worked really well.

My Theories

I was 75% convinced they were going to kill Bruce. Or like, not dead, but dark -- he's out of the picture, no one knows where he is -- and it isn't like in the Nolan movies where he retires, it's like Bruce and Batman are legitimately missing and no one has any idea where the fuck they are. Like before they revealed Riddler as pure incel obsessive boi in the Arkham scene, I thought he could be a darker version of New 52 Zero Year arc. If they were going to set up a sequel, I was picturing Riddler 1) floods the city 2) straight up takes over the city 3) turn the city into a weird u/dystopian green world where all the survivors are just like stuck, and Riddler comes over the intercoms every day asking people to solve his riddle or be thrown to their death. And like... Bruce is missing. And it takes a LONG time for him to come back. Like that would have been a cool set-up for a sequel -- Batman goes dark, the city has to react, and then he shows up in the sequel. (I like what they did -- I like the hope, and the growth potential, but that's where I thought they were going with it).

Falcone & Thomas Wayne: So like, I get the explanation. But I still wasn't 100% convinced. It was logical, but I think it needed more to sell it. Like I need more explanation for how they knew each other; bc even though Falcone has a lot of power, that was 20 years ago before he started using the renewal fund to get everyone working for him. So was he more low level back then? Or #1 in charge but not as murderous and obviously a criminal yet? Like what is the backstory there? I would be happier if I had that.

I can’t believe newly-elected Mayor Real wasn’t a bad guy lol. I was so ready for them to reveal some super crazy backstory. And then it turned out that not only was she good, but she was like actually good. Like on election night when she found out she won but before the Riddler bois showed up, she had the deceased mayor and his son with her, even after all that horrible stuff came out about him. That was a class-A act right there. It connected well to the theme of "there are good people in Gotham" and "hope is real" (haha Real get it) and "there is more than vengeance"

At the end, when Catwoman and Batman are talking... and Catwoman recognizes he isn’t in a place to commit to anything; Bruce knows it's true but he's still unable to stop yearning for what could be. Lot of room to build a relationship in future movies. Like they barely know each other, but wow what an explosive way to begin the relationship. I don't want Bruce and Selina together unless they have a decade-long cat-and-mouse game beforehand, lots of sexual tension, intense grappling, will-they-won't-they.

Interested to see how they handle Selina afterwards. Like I guess she’s gonna have to get a whole new suit, bc everyone saw her face lol. Gordon, those cops in the rafters of Gotham Square Garden, Batman. She better get a new look lmao.

[transpersian]

Deep Cover

(copied from my twitter thread)

Alright. I got my unhinged time. Back to being regulated and strategic.

Apologies for my manic state over the past couple of days. For the past 2.5 months, I leaned into my most subservient, self-hating, self-blaming state from my past to make her feel in control.

It broke me.

I’m not here to hash out my history of trauma, but let’s just say I’m used to being in survival mode. I let the part of me that still felt for her grow like a weed, trying to carefully prune it so it didn’t overtake everything else. I gave her that power with careful limits.

The guilt I felt was real; I don’t want to do this. I want her to stop. But until she does, it’s necessary.

Alongside my love, the dissonance of guilt led to many, many breakdowns. I have friends who sat with me for hours in those calls as I lamented what Poppy could have been.

Add the additional stress of my strained trust and relationships with friends, including a half dozen that cut ties completely.

Add the viciousness people constantly spit at me anonymously on Tumblr.

Add my whole-ass personal life, which is its own nightmare of complications.

This has been hard, especially because I didn’t expect it to last more than two weeks. Especially when Poppy genuinely started to trust me. Defend me against her friends. Against Zena.

She promised she wouldn’t abandon me again and she didn’t. That’s particularly potent w/ BPD.

I still handled things.

Part of me worried that if she offered to run away from all this with me, I would’ve been tempted. People would finally be safe from her and I’d be in the toxic relationship of my nightmares.

But my principles kept me true. My love for Hela kept me true.

To help keep those feelings in check, I’d regularly read back through the documentation I was still working on. Especially Spawn’s screenshots.

I’ve literally worked myself to tears dozens of times to keep focus on what I’m fighting for.

Was this healthy? Nah.

But it worked.

I don’t need everyone to agree with what I did, or how. I just hope everyone at least sees that it’s not something I just do casually. This was a dark art, learned from many years of surviving people like PZ. I had to break this shit out like John Wick’s buried stash.

I was deeply uncomfortable with how good I was at it. I started to feel bad about it a few weeks in. I used that guilt to feed into my facade. The lines began to blur more and more.

I wasn’t going to betray my people, but I started to lose it for a while. Actual derealization.

I did accomplish useful things in there, but I can’t share them for fear of endangering them. Just know that I’d do it all over again. It was worth it.

I have a wonderful support network. Beyond just trauma bonding, I love these people. I trust them with my life.

But that last push, that desperate series of attempts to get Poppy to accept even one tiny bit of responsibility… that broke me.

Her saying that my love for her wasn’t real unless I betrayed my friends? That hurt. Telling her that she’d destroyed me and her “I don’t care?” God.

I leaned into the crazy on that last conversation because, frankly, I wanted to. I wanted to let all of the rage and fury and madness that I’d felt over all of this out.

Not just what she’d done to me. Everyone. Dozens.

And it felt good, y’all. It felt good to get theatrical.

So when I finally came out of it… that energy carried over.

I became the crazy ex-girlfriend they said I was, just for a bit. My strikes were still pointed, but yeah, I dove into the vibe.

Sorry about that.

It’ll take time to heal properly, but I’ll be okay. Survived worse.

Point being, I just wanted to make a statement discussing my recent behavior. I’m not proud of it, but I don’t regret it.

I’ve been so controlled with my emotions about all of this for so long. Please forgive me this indulgence.

I went under right before people started finally listening. It was kind of intoxicating to say things publicly and finally get so much support and visibility.

But if I’m going to continue being a prominent voice in this whole debacle, I need to be better, and I will be.

I am.

So… back to work. Back to healing.

Thank you for trusting me. It means the world.

It’s so fucking good to be back. 💜

[khazadspoon]

Black Sails

An Interaction between Jack and Silver perhaps?

I don’t think I’ve ever really written these two together in the same scene? Interesting.

————

One thing Jack truly enjoyed, besides being with Anne or having respect, being told he was good at his job and actually doing his job, was knowing things. He liked secrets, knowing something other people did not. He enjoyed talking with someone and thinking ‘I know more than you.’

Perhaps it was a power thing, holding something over an adversary and waiting for the right time to use it. But mostly, he thought, it was just that he enjoyed knowledge.

And, most likely, he was vain and a little bit selfish. He liked having things other people did not. Anne’s trust, for example, was something few people had. Jack had it in spades. Yes, Charles trusted him at times, but that came and went. When he did have Charles’ trust it was a little like Anne’s - a sweet, heady knowing.

Now, sat with a man-turned-myth, he felt a little of that feeling. He had met John Silver before he had become ‘Long’. He’d seen the man with shorter, more carefully curled hair, beardless and youthful, all his limbs intact. He knew that Long John Silver was not quite as intimidating as the story of the man made out. Most of the time at least.

“And what do we get out of this?” The man asked, crutch leaning against the table. His voice was calm, the dismissive tone carefully curated. Here was a man who valued story and myth almost as much as Jack.

“You get an equal partnership-” the word provoked a raised eyebrow and Jack raised his hands, “an almost equal partnership, if we are to be honest, and a connection in Nassau you didn’t have previously. Surely that would be amenable to your captain.”

Invoking Flint’s name was always a dangerous game. The man was rarely present, he was unhinged and as changeable as the sea some claimed he controlled, but his echo was always there. Background noise that ruffled collars and whispered in the ears of men who were too afraid to speak his name.

“I’m sure it would. But I’m not bringing this to him without details.”

Jack sighed, a little dramatically, and reclined in his seat. The tavern wasn’t full but there were plenty of people milling about, waiting for anything that would bring a bit of excitement to their day. “I haven’t got all the details. I will, once Max gives me more than her dismissive French attitude, but once I do…” He smiled, crooked and disarming, the smile that had made plenty of others give him the benefit of the doubt. Silver, it seemed, wasn’t immune to it either.

John appeared to ponder the idea. A partnership, not entirely equal but still beneficial, and stroked one hand over his rather unimpressive and patchy beard. He nodded slightly and picked up the metal flagon. He took a drink. Jack watched as his eyes scanned the room, taking in the details only men like them, seconds to their more impressive masters but still giants in their own ways, could see.

“Alright. I’ll relay the information. The… offer. If Flint accepts I’ll contact you. If not,” he shrugged, the gesture somewhat dismissive but full of unspoken words, “we’ll have to see what can be done.”

“You and I both know any foothold on this island is precarious.”

“Indeed we do.”

“And if Captain Flint wishes to remain important here, he’d do well to listen.” Jack took a mouthful of his own drink and let his words leave their mark.

Long John Silver, with all his hidden depths of secrets, was not as unknowable as his legend would make out. Jack could see his mind working, could see his intrigue and his interest as clear as day. This was a man Jack could work with. Flint was another matter, but between the two of them he knew they could bring the man round.

“I can’t promise anything.”

A laugh, one Jack hadn’t known he would make. “When can we ever make promises we know we can keep?”

He watched a genuine smile take over John’s face. There was still a boyish handsomeness there, despite the lines and tired bruises on his face. Jack could appreciate that. “Never. Not really.”

“Then we have an understanding.”

“We do.”

They didn’t shake hands. It wasn’t that kind of deal, not a firm thing, not one that needed physical affirmation yet. But in time he thought it would. Written or shaken on, it would.

[blackacre13]

Hiii, can you do one where Lou's overwhelmed with work and Deb tries to talk to her abt it but then she snapped, leaves her for several hours making the other one worried and kinda hurt. Then she comes back home with flowers and gifts feeling guilty with her attitude, soft smut afterwards(?) thankss

x.

There was a light tapping on the door and Lou looked up through messy fringe with an exasperated sigh. If April had the audacity to bring her the wrong numbers again she swore…

“Baby?” A soft voice murmured instead, an undeniable Debbie Ocean choice of heels making their way into the room, toe first after nudging the door open. The brunette’s head peeking around the door.

Lou’s sigh stilled in her throat. She would always rather see Debbie than anyone else. But at the same time, it only reminded her of her growing pile of responsibilities, a lack of follow through from everyone she had asked for assistance or delegated a task to, and if Debbie was showing up then that meant…

“You missed dinner,” Debbie smiled sadly, closing the door behind her.

A large takeout bag landed on top of the blonde’s current stack of paperwork with a thud. She couldn’t help the grimace that ghosted across her face. The last thing she needed was the grease from spicy egg rolls on tax forms and liquor licenses.

“I thought I’d bring dinner to you,” the brunette grinned, dragging a chair up to the other side of Lou’s desk before she moved to shimmy off her coat. Her hands were already on the paper bag, undoing the staples. “And pending how much work is left to be done, maybe a little bit of dessert. Here? Or at home?”

“Debs,” Lou sighed, frustrating dripping out of her mouth before she could stop it. It was sweet. Really. It was. Romantic, even. And she bet she could guess every last item in that bag down to the extra pair of chopsticks in there because she always managed to pick them apart into the world’s weakest kindle when she was stressed. And Debbie knew that.

She could have said thank you. Or said exactly what she was thinking. But her jaw was unhinging without her say and she was spitting venom at her partner, her own words unclear to herself. Just the occasional bites of “damnit” and “out of time” and “in the way”. And all she could see was the hurt in Debbie’s eyes and her clenched jaw to keep from letting her from lip quivering as she nodded, backing up slowly.

“Yeah..you’re right…I’ll just—“ but Debbie didn’t finish the sentence before she back treaded out of the office. And even though Lou didn’t actually catch it, she knew her fiancée was shedding a rare Debbie Ocean tear.

She had fucked up. Majorly.

She growled at the bag of Chinese food and cursed at herself. “This is your fault, Miller.”

The door burst open and April stumbled in, shoving several file folders at her, looking like she was about to vomit.

“I’m sorry. They all look the same and I didn’t want to bring you the wrong ones again and I—“

“Don’t.”

“Please don’t fire me,” April squeaked.

“Fire you?” Lou raise a brow, chuckling dryly. “You look how I feel, kid. Breathe. Help yourself to a drink. And then go the hell home. We’ve done enough tonight. It’s nothing that can’t be done tomorrow. There are more important things.”

“But I thought you said we had to—“

“April,” Lou smiled. “Go. It’s fine. Promise. Send everyone else too. I’m headed out in a bit.”

“You okay, boss?”

“I will be,” Lou sucked in a breath. “Just have some crow to eat.”

“Is that what’s in the bag?” The younger woman smirked.

“That’s your dinner,” Lou grinned, chucking it at her. “Go home. Eat. Go the fuck to sleep. Your boss is an asshole. Now that’s an order.”

“You got it,” April grinned with a laugh. “Make sure you actually get home tonight.”

“I will,” Lou promised. “I just have a list of I’m an asshole but I love you errands to run before I beg for the love of my life’s forgiveness for simply being an amazing woman.”

“Isn’t that usually more a Debbie task?”

“We alternate,” Lou winked.

[roxy206]

Lost In Scott’s Eyes With Trixie & Katya — 09/05/2023

watch here | listen here

Listennnnn I am so damn behind & I am usually big on catching up in order but I simply MUST watch this pod episode today!! Also I’m fighting the urge to fall asleep before 8:30pm so I can’t make any promises that this post won’t be unhinged

Katya looks so cuuuuuute stoppppp

Okay but the background decor 🥺

Well, who’s here to fuck me?

I think you can though! — I love her so much. The laughhhhhh

This honestly just might turn into me gushing about how much I love these two idiots & how much I’ve missed themmmmm

Ohh, shut up. Shut up. Shut up, you whore

Omg Trixie bringing up SVU … you know what, what I was going to say could be an entire post on its own so nevermind

I don’t think we should touch each other at work — I know what she means but out of context this is so funny bzzt bzzt

High key curious what this training was though because it sounds way more comprehensive & useful than any training I’ve had at any job

My job as a drag queen is to give you that moment where you see queer sexuality screamed into a microphone … to offset the rest of the 23 hours a day when you’re in straight spaces where it’s like, y’know? Don’t let them know you’re gay, they might burn you at the stake

I find I’m more entertaining off camera than I am on We all think so

Yesterday I was at your house off camera. Was it yesterday? Two days ago?

I was like, god she is funny — 🥹

Please send help because why does it make me so fucking giddy that Trixie is asking Katya about something so mundane as CORD MANAGEMENT. It’s just so fucking domestic

Are you pursuing a romance? No, sex

Oh my god, this face, this face

You give that heart away & you know you can take it back on your own terms — !?! !!!

Katya presenting Trixie with the award 😭😭😭

Why is Trixie giving Katya a gift 😭

I am so sorry to my neighbors for the amount of screaming I have done during this episode already

I’m so horny for this

I thought this was your color but I guess it’s a little brassy

It gives Good Burger It gives bad burger. It gives horrible burger

Stoppppp both of them defending that the other is just outright hot PLEASE

Oh! I’m gonna love this! — 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

Perhaps it was a gesture of friendship & love? — what if I cry. What if I cry.

THE BIRD BOOK 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Oh my gosh. I’m gonna love this

I’m having feelingssssssss

It’s really amazing & I really appreciate you — WHAT IF I CRYYYY THIS IS SO FUCKING SWEET

I am about to lose it over this candle 🥹

I’ve been vulnerable

I also need to tell the people about what happened when you came over on Saturday — fucking loving this hanging out for enjoyment & friendship era

No but Katya always being the one Trixie turns to when she’s having a rough time 🥺🥺🥺

I need to come over & cry — 🥺🥺🥺

I said, come right away, I’ll get the tea ready She said, I’ll come get you — 😭😭😭 come on

Trixie is really fucking going through it with s2 huh

That stuff doesn’t work on me anymore. I just wouldn’t put myself in those situations

You made me watch Dune the other day

Not Katya saying “mid”

I think you’re right I know I’m right

Pleaaaaase Trixie teasing Katya 🥹

Oh my god the pod is my favorite fucking thing 💕💕💕

[silverloreley]

One of the most tragic parts of the Fantaghirò fandom being so small that it’s functionally extinct is the lack of unhinged content. Like metas and AUs and fanmade spinoffs (there are so few! and so hard to find!) and, most importantly, it never emerged before the Fantaghirò/Romualdo/Tarabas poly. It’s always just two of them! But nope, it can 100% work as a poly, damn it! It practically writes itself!

Hear, I’ll have to say it now.

Romualdo is like, bisexual to the bone. He doesn’t even realize it, but we know. he fell in love with a pair of eyes and the only reason he panicked and needed to know they belonged to a woman was because same sex marriage was not a thing in his era and it was his only shot. But he’s the one who said Tarabas is handsome. Sure, Fantaghirò told him “you’re not ugly“, but Romualdo was the one who went all “damn, such a handsome man“. So yeah.

I don’t even need to say that Fantaghirò must have been a tiny bit in love with Tarabas by the end of the third movie, I think we all were. She wouldn’t give up on Romualdo, but if there was a chance to get both? Eh, I think the odds are good she’d take it.

And Tarabas basically knows nothing of love before the movies, I don’t think he knows that loving a man is an option for the same reason he didn’t know loving at all was an option for him. Give them enough time together and he’d totally fall for Romualdo just as hard as he fell for Fantaghirò, I swear.

When? Oh, well, since you asked (no one asked, it’s me talking to myself because I have too many ideas and I may forget them all by the time I am free enough to write them properly so I’m putting them down now and you can read them and add stuff if you want, okay?)

Third movie. All the stuff happens, but when Fantaghirò tells Romualdo all the story, he sort of goes “wait, so he’s out there alone?“ and tells her they should catch him before he gets too far, which she tries to prevent because sure he must be thinking they should punish him and stuff and starts an accorate defense at which Romualdo smirks more and more and says “you promised to marry him so we must“ “must what?“ “marry him“ and they happily go.

OR: A little more cunning and unhinged Fantaghirò hears Tarabas’ marriage proposal and doesn’t panic. She accepts quietly enough, making it all quicker, so by the time the storm twins come around to tell her the Black Witch walked back from their deal, they’re already married. And she doesn’t panic here either, she just looks at Tarabas and goes “well, what are we waiting for? we have to go save our husband“ in the sense that she totally decided they are now in a poly and Tarabas married both her and Romualdo (since, you know, she must have been married already at that time!) so they must go together, much to his confusion. And when she shows up in the kingdom with this tall scary wizard following her like a confused puppy no one quite beats an eyelash because, eh, that’s Fantaghirò, the woman who went around dressed like a man, with a goose in her satchel, befriended the White Witch and talks with her horse, what’s a wizard in all of this? So, yeah, Romualdo wakes up and finds himself with not just his wife but an adoptive daughter and a wizard husband who has no idea how to function like a regular person. He sort of takes pity of Tarabas (because yeah, he may be angry for about ten minutes but he’d listen to the whole story and he’s too kind to kick him out) and they navigate the strange arrangement a lot better than anyone, them included, could expect.

Or: Fantaghirò disappears at the beginning of the cursed fifth movie, right? So, obviously, Romualdo must have done everything he could to find her and that involved asking for Tarabas’ help who, uh, dropped Angelica in a corner and went (sorry, girl, I just don’t like you). Long trips all alone, adventures together, it sort of makes them closer and closer. And when they find Fantaghirò (who may or may not have been faking her attempts to love Aries, your pick), she sees what’s going on with half a glance and is actually happy she can keep them both (or three, if we want to add Aries. I’m partial to him, he’s a funny one although not as the main love interest here, he would have been perfect in another story).

And, okay this was unhinged, I’m going back to my corner.

[gummybugg]

Writer Questions Tag!

Thanks for the tag, @tabswrites! Find her post here. I did do this tag at some point, but I wanted to restart!

I'm gonna leave this as a fully Open tag. If anyone wants, they can say I tagged them!

...

[1] What is your absolute all-time favorite idea you’ve ever had?

Forcing myself to write more via peer pressure & to maintain a highly Positive blog to foster confidence in my writing. But also, I would say my wip Crater City, because I just like going Wild writing it. I don't have to hold back my imagination, I just use whatever comes to mind create a new path. I promise it's not as chaotic as that sounds because there is a sound plot, but I give a lot of wiggle room. Very refreshing, and it's a stark contrast to writing essays all day.

[2] Is there a question you’ve been asked in the past that really stands out to you, and you still think about sometimes?

Not a question! But! Every time there’s a song playing and my little sister says “I’m assigning that song to your character.” (And then I tell her it’s on the character’s playlist already, ehehehe) I’m just very passionate about my characters, that’s the moral of the story :’)

[3] What is your favorite part of being a writer? What parts could you take or leave?

I’ll hit you with the double-edged sword called “I got the best idea for a scene at 3 am but I’m sooo tired, but it’s sooo gonna be worth it!” (Yet I never regret doing it)

[4] What is your greatest motivation to write/create?

Probably writing stories that are a culmination of my favorite stories. At least, that's what Crater City is so far. Not a copy, of course, but if all of my favorite apocalyptic/sci-fi media had a child, that's what it would be!

There’s a handful or 2 of some sci-fi webtoons I really adore reading! I would recommend books too, if only I could read them in a timely manner. Comics are just easier for me to consume for the time being.

[5] What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever read or been given as a writer?

Write what excites you and don't worry too much about if others think it's cringe. I’ve seen so many reddit threads of people asking if they can put [insert trope] in their writing, and I wish I could just scream at them: DO IT! IT’S YOUR WRITING! DO WHATEVER YOU WANT! You know there’s gotta be some people out there who’s interested in your story if at least one person you know is into it (You).

[6] What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing?

I wish I knew I didn't have to live up to the same expectations my family/others have for my writing. I'm an adult & can write whatever I want! I don't really feel the pressing weight of expectations to please others through my writing as much anymore, unless it's some form of commission/assignment. My characters can be gay, mentally ill, what have you, and I'm lucky I get the freedom to write them how I please.

[7] What is your favorite story you’ve written to completion? Link it if you’d like and can!

I wish I could but alas, I struggle to finish my thoughts in day-to-day life.

[8] What is your favorite out-of-the-box quote?

From one of my English professors, grading my essay: “This analogy doesn’t work here.” Here’s another one: “?????” They’re so silly, I swear.

[9] Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so, and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

At some point I said Darcy, but I’m feeling spicy today and I’m gonna go with Frasier today (both from my wip Crater City). I think everyone in that story is controversial because I kind of made everyone Unhinged. Well, as they say, “Oops, my bad.”

Anyway, the law isn’t the most important thing to Frasier, as he will do anything to make sure he gets his way. At some point (or maybe not yet) I mentioned how Blair and Elijah are lowkey like Frasier’s godchildren, so you can guarantee he’d use his mayor-assistant powers to make sure they’re safe. Many of the Crater City characters (except Darcy, I think) don’t really care about others outside their relationships, so the traumatic consequences of murder and destruction aren’t at the forefront of their minds.

It really makes me ask myself sometimes what defines a villain. Darcy is running around trying to save humanity by any means necessary (even to the point of merging humans with machines), while the rest of the cast just wants to live selfishly in the moment because they’re not promised a tomorrow. Truly interesting how things are developing. I think it makes them more human, but what do you think?

[10] If you, when you first started writing, met you now, what would younger you think?

My younger self would be surprised I had the potential to get this far. Sometimes it’s very hard to begin writing again, but as soon as I just start, I remember what it’s like to have fun writing!

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

MAY 6TH "WHO DIED AND LEFT YOU IN CHARGE?”

Rope | Surprise | Warehouse || @themerrywhumpofmay​

(TCW: implied intimate whumper, threatening, restraints, semi-failed mission, implied gang/mafia trope, man handling, kidnapping)

“We both know he’s not coming up with the money, so we brought you a collateral,” A minion announced to the boss, throwing a squirming, restrained Whumpee onto the desk in front of them. The trek through the warehouse and into his office had been grueling, with them flailing around the whole time. 

“Who the fuck is this?” Whumper asked in irritation, “I said I wanted his kidney, or his money.” 

“This is his partner.” 

Whumpee thrashed in their multiple bindings but had been folded like an umbrella and wrapped with every rope and wire they could find in their home.

 Once they’d broken in and restrained them, the rest was easy work and they’d tied them up like bulk carpeting, wrapped around every flexible joint.

They muffled against their gag when their hair was yanked backwards and a man in a dark suit was chuffing on a cigar and examining them. 

“So you’re little man’s S.O, huh? Didn’t think he’d be the type to actually pull ass but I’ll give, you’re pretty in the face, not like the last one.” The boss mocked in surprise, giving a slow, ‘friendly’ push to their jaw with his fist like they were college buddies. 

“I gotta admit, she was a real ugly bitch, especially when she cried. God, killin’er was prolly a favor I did for your mans.” Whumper looked over towards the men that had kidnapped them and flicked his head towards the door, instructing them silently to leave and the knob clicked behind them. 

“Now listen doll, I don’t wanna do bad things to you because you’ve made some poor relationship choices, I’m not that kinda guy.” The boss slowly took a seat back in his chair and flicked out what Whumpee had only seen made into mock combs; a switch blade. 

Just the sound made their gut churn and they’d fallen still on his desk, not wanting to suddenly anger the man holding a knife. However, when he started to cut duct tape off of their feet and untie knots; they felt the smallest burst of relief in their chest. Even more so as strands of itchy fibers were sawed off and untwisted from their body parts. 

“So as long as you’re good and you listen to the boss, I won’t have any old reason to hurt’cha. I’ll even be a good guy and let you keep your clothes as a little luxury to the cause.” Whumpee couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not but the more freedom they felt, the more they listened to him and he could tell they were obliging by fear alone; even after he’d freed their mouth. 

“I just need that rat-fuck of a boyfriend of yours, to give me my goddamned money.” Whumper stabbed the knife between their knees and hit the desk; forcing a flinch from the unpredicted, plausible pain. They squeaked and Whumper laughed. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I guess that wasn’t very nice.” He teased, taking the knife back out to flick back inside itself and nest back into his chest pocket. In the meantime, they saw the strap of an underarm holster. No doubt the gun inside was ready to fire. 

Once Whumpee was freed, they waited patiently, watching him lean back into his chair and roll closer. They stayed on the desk and only positioned to look towards him, on edge that they’d make the wrong move and he’d have a reason to take back his self-appraised words. 

“P-Please don’t hurt me.. I-I didn’t know he was involved in anything like this, I promise.” They offered earnestly and he shook his head, reaching out to give a heavy pat to theirs and sweep hair across their scalp. 

“You don’t look like the type, sweetheart, that’s why I’m being good to’ya. You can lighten up a little, I’m not unhinged.” He assured and they slowly positioned to sit on the surface, until he reached his arms out like he was welcoming them closer to him instead. 

The only way closer was to his lap, tall, long legs perched nearly even with the height of the cutout in the desk. He had to be enormous standing, they hadn’t paid attention prior. 

“C’mere doll, sit on the boss’ lap and I tell you a story, you know like it’s the holidays.” He assured, seeing nothing dubious or wrong in the position, nothing in comparison to how they felt. 

The sight of the weapons on him, made them think twice about hesitation and so they took his hands with trembling fingers. The transition was smooth and they sat on warm thighs in an instant, dipping more comfortably than they’d expected. 

“There you go, not so scary, huh?” He asked, another heavy hand pushing hair off their face and they were starting to realize he was just a rough character. Mindless to the weight he put into things, even while trying to be gentle.

“Now I’m not going to pretend.. Like this ain’t gonna be hard for you, to be stuck here, but I’ll take good care of you...” They heard it coming, before he’d ever said it. There was a price, if they didn’t want to die or get hurt. His first statement had been about organ robbing so they still, weighed every option they had in their mind. 

“If you take good care of me, peach.” He gave a pinch to their cheek, dragged a thumb across their lower lip. 

“So we gotta deal, cupcake? You listen to the boss and the boss’ll erase every memory of that fuckboy you used to know.” 

There wasn’t much choice, when he pulled them further onto his lap and they felt metal scrape into their calve. Cold steel. Another gun on his hip. 

“Y-You’re the boss... right?” They stammered at first, solidifying their guts as they swallowed in fear of their agreement. Quickly though, they saw his lips curling into a smirk and they finished their sentence; just to try to kiss enough ass to survive. 

“The boss makes the rules, in my book.”

[pashminalamb]

First of all I wanna say that I’m sorry for disappearing like that. Especially at the worst time too. I really did not expect so much to happen while I was gone. But that’s not an excuse though I promise. But yeah. Tumblr. Is very much being super annoying rn. I can understand the frustration because all the effort and time you put into something just for it to not work or backfire or fall short sucks. A lot. It hurts too. And it’s just overall exhausting, emotionally and in general. I didn’t even know tumblr could shadow ban you like what the heck. But honestly this might be a little bit of a good thing. Ao3 is super chill and has a bunch more options for writers in all aspects as compared to tumblr. Tumblr is becoming much like the new systems everywhere where the most liked content or the most popular content is uploaded first and what not. It’s really exhausting sorting all that out , I know, I’ve tried. But whatever you decide to do know that you have my full and complete support Belle!!! I honestly don’t where or when or how often you post fics I’ll be reading them as soon as I find them all the same. And even if you decided to take a break or go in a hiatus or just not write for a while I’d still be here you know? This is just me reminding you that you’re human too and yes I came for the fics but I’m staying for Belle. Let me know when you start posting/make your ao3 account so I can find it love. Take breaks!!! Drink water!!!! Eat somethings!!!! Rest love!!! I’m not the only anon that wants you to be happy and healthy and well-rested you know? How are you? Like how’re your days going? Is uni going well? How’s the gym? Reply when you can but only when you want to and feel like though okay? Take your time okay sweetheart? I’m not going anywhere anytime soon love ❤️❤️❤️.

- ✨ anon

Please don’t apologize cause you have nothing to be sorry for love, and it really isn’t that big of a deal tbh starry!♡ You had exams and those priorities come first.

It does make me sad that everything i worked for isn’t going so well, but at the same time I wanna look at it the positive way. Maybe it was a way of saying ‘Belle take a break.’ Or a way of saying that ‘You need to get off tumblr cause your content isn’t meant to be here.’ It does hurt when my work is not recognized cause all this is my own content. No one inspires me to write these. Just my ass pushing myself and my followers telling me that they like my work is what drives me to make these, and maybe cause I read them sometimes to comfort myself.

Me ranting under the cut and I'm gonna really different that what I normally do cause this is my uncut and unhinged opinion - which can probably make you dislike me as well

Honestly, this place isn’t cutting it for me anymore. Followers come easy but the number of likes I get speaks a lot about their support (most of them. Not all), you’re not gonna believe it, but when I wrote false south, I was sad to see the number of likes go up. Like sure, I wrote it for the sake of angst, but people just really like writings with a lot of sex here- not shaming anyone but it can’t be all about sex right? Not all works are smut, but like 98% of the top posts are. And my writing isn’t just about smut… it’s to do with capturing everything human. and being completely blunt about the system, i write smut to see how many likes it makes compared to my other works. It's a selling point to make more followers and likes than genuinely enjoying the experience of it. And I get bored of it very easily after some time which is why i write longer fics so that it can be the best of both. But now I have a pref for heavy plot, cause that's where most of my real writing lies. Erotica constantly gets boring and i don't want to write it all the time. (and sometimes you have to force yourself to do it just so you can keep up with other authors as well cause this is like a pressure field of writing tbh) And cause of that my content is not meant for this space. And it was getting on my nerves to see that “writings” with "Twitter links". Like literally twitter links. Something that you’ve not even created on your own, gets more likes than an author who has put in effort into their writing and it really shows. It's one of the reasons I stopped reading fanfiction here. And another thing that bothers me are some of the other authors and readers who want to white-knight characters and impose drama and discourse along with hate. I'm much better off without that and I know the worth of my writing in comparison to that. Not to mention, some of the characters are so... misinterpreted. Like first, we're writing for anime characters, second... most of them are japanese. And if you study about japanese culture or did more research, they're not very open to the idea of PDA. In europe and america, things are different with pda and people are more open. But in Japan? things are very different cause they don't show much pda. but then again. its fanfiction and anyone can write what they want cause its not published work and its a form of therapy to some while for someone else it offers a lot of comfort as well as expressing fantasies and wanting to do new things but not in reality.

Speaking for my work - My plots are heavy, thought through and that’s where the quality of writing kicks in. Works with quality on the other hand are difficult to find here. So yeah, I'm moving to ao3. I'd rather my content be seen and discovered late than being hidden. And besides, I'm not the only author to get shadow banned. There are many others who have gone through the same thing and they've taken to ao3. And I'm really happy that you're staying for me, Starry and thank you for the support you're giving me. I honestly didn't think that people would wanna come back and talk to me on my blog (which is something i'm fine with as well) but I'm very surprised that some of you do want to interact 0)^^(0 And I'm really thankful for that. So thank you starry and everyone ♡ it means a lot to me.

i'm thinking abt a username to use so that I can start posting my works on ao3... i already have my account but I was thinking about starting a new one so that I can start over. and the first thing to be uploaded is ocean hues. I'm doing great! Just tired and feeling blue a bit this week about my account being shadow banned but at the same time kinda relieved cause I'm moving out- sorta. Gym's going well too! I got shoulder cuts (i'm really happy with the progress). You're really sweet yk that? ♡ *pulls cheek adoringly*

[waka-chan-out]

Do you enjoy being on tumblr anymore?

i actually really appreciate this question. i’ve been thinking about it a lot, and i do really like tumblr. i like the community. i like posting. i’ve met some really great friends through this platform. i just can’t bring myself to post lately. i know i kept saying “after this happens, i’ll be posting more,” but that after hasn’t come. i love writing and i think fanfiction is an integral part of how i practice and how i grow as a writer. but it’s such an ordeal for me, if that makes sense. i can’t sit down around other writers and just pump out smut. that just feels strange. and it feels like it distracts from my other priorities sometimes, such as my larger writing projects. there’s no way i’m deactivating or stopping posting. i have too much content on the back burner to just give up on it. i do still view every project as my little baby and i know people enjoy it, so i want to share it. i do think my priorities have shifted a bit. i’ve grown out of many haikyuu characters and now feel the need to write for some that unfortunately aren’t as popular. but i think my fanbase is diverse enough to allow for that. i absolutely adore writing for obey me, for example. so if you’re here for haikyuu only, it will still be around. that is the entire point of this blog, after all. but that won’t be all i post.

i have two other points as to why i haven’t been around. the first is that i have recently been diagnosed with ADHD and i’m realizing how much it impacts how i operate. many, many, MANY of my WIPS are so backed up in my drafts to the point where they’re hard to find. this is obviously my fault and the solution is to simply clear out what’s there and organize my life, but i think anyone in my position knows how hard that is. it’s like cleaning your room. you want to do it and you know it’ll make life easier and you’ll finally find that thing you’ve been excited about using, but it’s so hard to take the step. these aren’t excuses for my lack of activity, but they are an explanation. i’m on medication and i’m still getting accustomed to that. i’m also moving into my own place soon because i got my first real genuine full time job. the place has great hours and i’ll have a lot of time at home to do the things i love rather than what i feel obligated to do, so i’m going to do better working in a few hours every few days to sit down and work on my writing, whether it’s for all 1.4k of you beautiful, unhinged people or myself and my writing career. i hope to turn this around soon.

the second reason is both simple and controversial. it also makes me feel like a bit of an asshole. my content is genuinely just not that popular. and that’s not to say i’m disappointed with the follower base or notes i have on any given post. i’m beyond grateful for everyone and everything, truly. but i’m in a space now where i cannot bring myself to write much besides dom reader and fluff, or at least porn that’s very heavy with backstory and plot. if i’m being completely fair, i think at least one of my more plot heavy things will get a fair amount of attention (atsumu angst i love you baby and i promise i’ll finish you soon), but even so, that kind of content is just not very popular on tumblr. the obvious ‘solution’ is to move my longer works to AO3, but it doesn’t stop the kinda gross feeling of seeing that there are paragraph long drabble on here with 7k notes and i poured hours and lots of love into a longer post with 2 reblogs. NOTES AREN’T EVERYTHING. i know that. i’m more than aware. but there’s such a fantastic community around those popular posts that i miss so so dearly. getting asks or messages about what i write is the best feeling thing in the universe. i don’t write because i want attention. i write because i want to see the kind of content that i’m posting, and it gets me excited to find other people that have been wanting the same thing. so even though notes aren’t the most important thing in the world and i’m so, so beyond passionate about writing, it makes me want to spend my time daydreaming or sharing my thoughts with a few friends rather than putting in that enormous amount of effort. i hate it, but it’s how i’ve been operating lately. it doesn’t help that i’m living at home too. any burst of inspiration is stopped by a “meg it’s time to eat” or “meg, mom needs you.” i love them but god, i wanna write about slutty idiotic fake people.

i hope you don’t mind me using this as a chance to stand up on my soap box and give you all excuses, but i’ve been feeling the need to post about this for a while and i’m so so happy to be getting it off my chest. i only ask for your patience and appreciate you sticking around. i love y’all. truly. and i’m excited to see where things go from here.

[writing-protocol]

Sleep

Exhausted through to his bones, Shiro swayed as he climbed the stairs up to his apartment. It had to be somewhere south of four in the morning, and he’d been up nearly thirty hours straight by then.

The only thing he wanted was water and sleep.

Red met him at the door.

In the dim, flickering light — the bulb above Shiro’s front door needed replacing — the shadow lounging by the railing looked almost unreal. A crimson ghost haunting his welcome mat.

“You don’t look so hot,” the vigilante told him bluntly.

“Is that your way of telling me I need sleep?” the detective muttered as he fumbled around with his keys. “Just got done dealing with the aftermath of a forty-car pileup on the interstate.”

Shiro let out a frustrated hiss when the key didn’t work the first couple of times. His hands were shaking, which didn’t help. “Stupid sticky door.”

Red took the keys from him and unlocked the apartment with a little applied force. “Come on, big guy. If you’re arguing with inanimate objects, you need sleep.”

Shiro’s brain didn’t quite keep up. How did Red know that? “You came back. I didn’t know if you would.”

“Of course I did. In you go.” Red put an arm around Shiro’s waist and steered him bodily into the apartment. “Better.” He shut the door behind them with a well-placed kick.

“You’re strong,” Shiro said, exhausted and loopy from too much coffee and not enough food.

Red helped him toward the bathroom. “I mean, yeah. Strong enough to carry you, that’s for sure. You’ve seen what I can do.” He let go of Shiro only long enough to grab the detective’s bag and toss it easily onto the couch. “Shower. Now. Then rest.”

Sighing, Shiro grabbed the edge of the sink and steadied himself. Red had held him for mere seconds, and already he missed the vigilante’s warmth at his side. Just awake enough to remember how to get through his nighttime routine, the detective grabbed his toothbrush.

“You don’t have to wear the suit in the apartment if you’d rather not. I know what you look like.”

Red stepped back to give the older man privacy, facing the bedroom as he tried to guess where Shiro kept his sleep-related clothing. “If I could take it off, I would. But I need the remote for that, and borrowing it… is difficult.”

Shiro was discovering he liked being handled. “What do you mean?” he asked, not really processing. “You’re super strong, right? Can’t you just tear through it or something?”

“It would be a laughably pointless garment if I could damage it somehow,” Red pointed out. “The quicker you shower, the faster you can lie down.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Shiro yawned loudly, jaw practically unhinging. “Pajamas?”

“I’ll leave them by the door.”

“Will you still be here when I’m done?”

Red gave him a single, pronounced nod. “Promise.”

He closed the bathroom door and went hunting for those pajamas. His senses remained on high alert, noting the sound of running water and hyper-vigilant to any unusual sounds.

Tonight, he had more time than he otherwise would have, and he wanted to spend that time with Shiro.

Fifteen minutes later, the detective emerged from the bathroom. He looked utterly endearing with damp hair and half-closed eyes. “Are you spiderman?”

Seated on the bed, Red raised his head and made a distinctly puzzled sound. “Like the guy from the comics?”

“And movies, I think.”

“Yeah. No.” The vigilante laughed and added, “I wasn’t bitten by a radioactive spider or whatever.”

Shiro dropped his work clothes in the laundry basket and sat down next to Red. “Thanks for sticking around.” He almost tripped over his own feet in the process.

The vigilante hummed thoughtfully before pushing Shiro down onto the bed. “You need to lie down and close your eyes,” he deflected, pulling a thick comforter over the older man.

Shiro couldn’t remember the last time someone had tucked him in. “Stay?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, Red. I’m sure.” The detective patted the empty side of the bed. “You can chill or whatever. I don’t mind. I trust you.” Already halfway to dreamland, he added, “Saw you on TV yesterday.”

Red chuckled, turned off the lights, and walked around to the unused side of the bed. “Was I cool?”

“Uh, yeah. I was impressed.” Shiro yawned again as Red lay down beside him on top of the covers. “You smell like smoke.”

That got an amused bark of laughter out of Red. He lay down on top of the covers and stared at the off-white ceiling. His head settled on the unused pillow.

“Things were on fire.”

“That’s an understatement.”

"Still better than mildew and seaweed."

Horrified, Shiro asked, "When was that?"

"The giant slime thing. Remember?"

"I would much rather forget," the detective muttered. "That... that was gross." He was thankful not to be part of that cleanup effort.

“Sleep,” the vigilante said with a note of command in his tone. “I won’t be here when you wake up, but I’ll come back some other time.”

He couldn’t stay too long without rousing his handlers’ suspicions, but the springy, soft mattress felt great compared to Red’s regular bed. He didn’t want to get up just yet. Red’s room — cell — at the lab was sterile and unbearably empty in comparison.

“Good night,” Shiro muttered with another oversized yawn.

“Night,” Red whispered and closed his eyes. Something like hope stirred in his chest.

By the time Shiro woke the next morning, the vigilante was gone.

All that remained was the scent of smoke in the air, rumpled bed sheets, and the malfunctioning light bulb on the kitchen counter.

"Replaced with a new one," read the neatly-handwritten note next to it.

Click on the Vigilante tag if you want to read more.

[euthymiya]

“we’re just friends but…” ft. wriothesley, neuvillette, alhaitham, and kamisato ayato

aka the moment genshin boys realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re not “just friends” and maybe, just maybe, they’d like to be more. perhaps some day in the future they’ll tell you. part two of confessions here!

contains: female reader in all (nicknames such as madame and my lady), fluff, pining and realizing of feelings, wriothesley: mentions of fighting, blood, and injuries (pankration ring), reader is a doctor, neuvillette: mentions of being a mother figure to melusine’s (lots of melusine features!), reader works at the palais and can bake, alhaitham: drunk alhaitham, reader can cook, ayato: implied assassination attempt (canon typical yashiro commissioner life lol), reader wears a dress in and is very minimally attacked by an assassin while with him, ayato is as unhinged and low key crazy as ever, these all end with unresolved pining but they’re all very fluffy and hopeful i pinky promise

“we’re just friends, but when i see her touch anyone else, it makes my skin crawl. shouldn’t she only touch me?” — WRIOTHESLEY

you’re just doing your job, he tries to tell himself. wriothesley knows that with your line of work, not touching anyone would be next to impossible. the fortress is blessed to have such a dedicated and knowledgeable doctor to help out the head nurse, and it’s admirable that you’ve given up broad daylight and a position at any respectable hospital in fontaine to tend to patients down here.

it’s admirable, and wriothesley appreciates it more than anyone else.

but the mind thinks what it thinks, and his can’t help but think how wonderful it would be if the only shirtless man you had to cleans wounds of was himself. not that he gets many wounds—he prides himself in his ability to knock an opponent out before they land a hit, but if someone were to be shirtless on the examination table with your delicate hands dabbing at small cuts, it should be him.

he stares daggers into the small gash his gauntlets seem to have made in his former opponent, watching as you gently clean the blood with careful precision. a part of him faintly registers that he should feel bad—as the duke, it’s his responsibility to make sure he never injures anyone in a good natured tournament, but this time was an accident. and he does feel bad. just not worse than the unexplainable weight at the bottom of his stomach that makes him feel almost nauseous. why does he feel nauseous?

“you’re all good to go,” you hum softly, “i would tell you to be careful next time, but i don’t think this has much to do with you as it does with other factors.”

you shoot wriothesley a pointed look as the man shrugs on his shirt, a dazed look on his features as he thanks you over stumbled words. wriothesley’s jaw tightens—it’s clear as day this patient of yours appreciates much more than your talents as a professional.

“it was an unfortunate accident,” wriothesley mumbles, “i’ll have to be more cautious next time, my apologies.”

“all good, boss,” the man waves off, and with a polite nod to you, he’s off. finally—wriothesley doesn’t think he could’ve left any faster.

“how can you hope to lessen patients in here if you’re the one sending them over?” you turn to him, making wriothesley fight back a small frown.

it must show anyway, because you giggle and poke his cheek as you walk over, speaking in between those melodious laughs as you tell him to stop pouting.

“i’m not pouting,” he scoffs, like the sentiment is preposterous, “and it was an accident. honest.”

“yes i know, your grace,” you tease. hearing such a title doesn’t usually do anything to him, but hearing it from you makes his heart flutter a tiny bit, in a way that makes the ends of his nerves tingle and the palms of his hands sweat just a bit. “but you should be more careful with those gauntlets next time, you know.”

and then, against his every expectation, there’s a gentle and steady hand on his face, cradling it ever so slightly as you tilt his head and inspect the small bruise forming on his jawline.

“you’re hurt too,” you say in concern.

wriothesley, if he wasn’t so busy trying to still his beating heart, would have laughed at the way your face seems devastatingly worried. he would have teased you at the way the sight of blood didn’t manage to crack your steady and firm composure, but somehow, the sight of a small patch of discolored skin has.

“nah, it’s just a small thing,” he waves off, “he caught me off guard after i noticed the blood. nothing i can’t handle.”

“let me ice it,” you insist, “i don’t want it swelling.”

“i’ll be fine, doc,” he chuckles—but he finds himself pausing when you look at him almost upset. has he really upset you? he’d never want to, especially not over something so trivial.

so he sighs, walking over to the table before letting himself take a seat.

“you should take care of yourself more,” you sigh, “i see now what sigewinne means when she says you don’t look after yourself like you should.”

“ah,” he grins, trying to avoid your knowing look when he winces a little at the action when a dull ache builds in his jaw, “i suppose my refusal to drink her…unique beverages have caught up to me.”

you laugh, a sweet and innocent sound that makes something under his ribcage tickle. your hand is back to gently cradling his cheek as you tilt his head again, angling it to hold a small ice pack to the small bruise.

“you seem tense,” you say thoughtfully, “don’t feel so bad. i’m sure those guys give themselves worse in the ring here and there.”

wriothesley feels bad, he really does. he would never purposely injure someone when he’s meant to be the warden that keeps things peaceful. the memory of you tending to the man sitting in his place just a few moments ago brings back another wave of bitterness, one that’s much more fleeting this time when he tells himself that now that he’s replaced the man with himself, things aren’t so bad.

it hits him then—with your hand on his cheek and an ice pack to a comically small bruise that you fuss over, that something in him craves more than just your touch when he’s injured. it hits him that anyone can be in his position, sat in front of you as you treat minor wounds with delicate care. he doesn’t want to be like anyone, he thinks.

he wants more—something he can only have for himself. something that’s crossing the line of this comfortable friendship you’ve seemed to build.

“hey,” you say softly, pulling him from his thoughts. your thumb traces the scar under his eye as if to ground him. something tells him you don’t do that for other patients, something a bit more intimate than a doctor would be with a normal patient. “what’s wrong?”

“it’s nothing, doc,” he hums lowly, eyeing you softly before he closes his eyes and lets out a soft breath. “you think my injury will be okay?” he asks with exaggerated concern.

you snort, shaking your head as you quip, “you’ll live. i hope.”

he chuckles at that. one of these days, when he’s a bit braver and a touch more in tune with his emotions about you, he’ll tell you how he feels. maybe he’ll have your touch outside of the clinic that way, something more personal, something more intimate.

“we’re just friends, but she makes me wonder what it’s like to have my own family with her. is that normal?” — NEUVILLETTE

melusines are beautiful creatures. innocent and kind by nature, and certainly small enough that it only makes them seem that much more fragile. neuvillette has always had a soft spot for the species, from the way they cheerily call him monsieur neuvillette, to the way they happily skip over to him each time they approach him.

the people of fontaine are fond of melusines too. he’s happy with the sentiment—he knows more than anyone else that things weren’t always this way. but somehow, watching you like this, smiling endearingly at the melusines in front of you as you let them pour more water into your cup, he can’t help but find more solace in this moment than any other one.

“madame,” sedene calls, “it’s lovely you could have joined us today.”

you chuckle, sweetly petting her head and taking a sip from your glass as you murmur, “it’s certainly a pleasure. though, i hope i’m not intruding, monsieur,” you look at neuvillette with a polite smile.

“no, of course not,” he returns the gesture, “on the contrary, we’re delighted to have you today.”

neuvillette regularly allows the melusines in his office in the afternoon. it starts one day when they insist he take a break, entering his office and pulling out sweets and tea to enjoy (he only drinks water, but they happily finish what he does not have.) the tradition is born ever since, a daily routine to allow himself a short break, one filled with the excited chatter of small creatures he so fondly looks over as they snack away surrounding his desk.

you happen to walk in today, with files in your hand meant to be dropped off to the iudex, pausing as you take in the sight of tiny paws reaching over his desk to grab madeleines as they chat happily. suddenly, there are one too many small voices insisting you join among the chief justice himself, and soon, you find yourself with a chair pulled over for you, sitting between sedene and neuvillette.

it’s nice, he thinks, having you join. your company is refreshing to witness as you happily indulge the melusines in their chatter.

“madame?” blathine calls, pulling a soft hum from you as you turn your gaze to her, “would you join us tomorrow as well?”

you giggle fondly, taking a small bite from a madeleine as you think for a moment. “perhaps if my schedule is free and monsieur neuvillette is not too busy…”

“i assure you it’s of no trouble to me,” he insists, “this is a bit of a…routine activity,” he chuckles as he eyes the gathered crowd around his desk.

“then i’ll certainly make time,” you grin. he feels himself soften, an unrecognizable twinge of excitement settling into his bones at the words. of course, neuvillette looks forward to the company of the melusines daily, but the added news of you joining seems to make his heart swell in a way he doesn’t normally find happening.

before he can ponder why that is, another voice captures his attention.

“madame, will you make macarons again if you join us? it’s been a while since we’ve last tried them,” kiara asks excitedly.

neuvillette watches as something brightens in you at the question, your lips tugging into a wide grin as your eyes crinkle at the edges. you nod, looking affectionately at the little heads surrounding you as they stare at you hopefully.

“if you would like, of course. i’m happy you enjoyed them.”

“you’ve baked for them before?” neuvillette asks curiously.

you open your mouth to speak, but it’s hardly possible to utter a word when so many excited voices cut in before you can.

“oh yes, madame brings us sweets whenever she makes them!” aeval chirps.

“the strawberry ones are simply divine!” he turns to elphane as she tugs his sleeve, “you must try them, monsieur.”

“the chocolate ones are my favorite. madame, would you bring those too?” liath looks hopeful, brightening as you nod sweetly.

“i hope it’s not too much trouble,” sedene looks up at you, and with another chuckle, you pat her head once more as you shake your head.

“of course not,” you say fondly, “it’s a wonderful pastime, in fact. i’ll certainly bring them tomorrow.”

“be sure not to bring too many sweets yourselves then,” neuvillette says seriously, taking a sip of his water, “you don’t want to have too much sugar and make yourselves sick. and drink plenty of water. it’s good for you.”

you look at him amusedly at his words, tips tugging wider as you say, “it seems as though you’ve taken over a fatherly figure, monsieur. it’s unexpectedly endearing, i must admit.”

“madame! madame! would that make you like a mother figure too, then?” veleda’s words make you choke on the sip of water from your own glass, pulling a surprised blink from neuvillette himself.

you both fleetingly stare at each other from the corner of your eyes before you look down, chuckling nervously as he clears his throat, hoping the flush he seems to feel coating his cheeks is not too apparent.

“well, if you would like to consider me as such, i don’t mind,” you say carefully.

the melusines giggle—for such endearing creatures, neuvillette finds they can be mischievous in their own right as well.

“monsieur, what do you think of madame being a mother figure?” blathine asks innocently, blinking up at him through doe eyes.

“i, well…it’s certainly wonderful you find comfort in her to feel—”

“does that make madame your wife?” aeval squeals, “oh, monsieur, i thought you’d never find someone!”

this time, he’s certain there’s a dust of red coating his cheeks as you laugh softly, eyeing him in a mix of sympathy and amusement.

“now, now,” you call, “monsieur neuvillette and i get along, but our relationship is strictly professional.”

he watches as the melusines giggle behind their tiny paws. he’s certainly aware of their playful schemes, but perhaps…perhaps a small part of him doesn’t mind the thought of you in a romantic light—he’s certainly not practiced in such emotions, but there’s a squeeze in his heart as he thinks about how easy it is to feel like a family with you.

his hand itches to reach and squeeze yours under the table as you laugh happily with the creatures, and faintly, he wonders if this is normal—your words are true, are they not? the relationship between you is strictly professional isn’t it?

he takes a sip of his water, unsure of what the rapid beating of his heart indicates anymore.

“we’re just friends, but i show up to her house every time i’m drunk. that doesn’t mean anything though, does it?” — ALHAITHAM

you open the door before he can even knock. his muddled brain should register that he should be embarrassed by that, but he’s too busy trying to keep his balance as he looks at you.

“oh haitham,” you chuckle, shaking your head, “i was wondering when you’d show up.”

“’m late?” he slurs, making you look at him in amusement as you gently grab his wrist and pull him in.

“did you have fun? you never stay out this long even at the tavern,” you murmur, gently helping him settle down on your couch.

there’s a glass of water waiting for him, one you delicately place to his lips and help him drink from as you sit next to him. even drunk, alhaitham can feel the searing burn of your thigh pressed against his—a heat he doesn’t mind, but it fogs his senses even more than they already are.

“beat cyno in tcg,” he says between sips, “i won.”

“good job,” you snort, “did he take it well?”

“no,” he laughs—it’s a giddy thing, one he lets out a bit more freely than his normal self would.

alhaitham is like that when he’s drunk: free and loose and something on the edge of vulnerable in a way you never get to see him. you smile at him, watching as he slumps back and sighs softly, rubbing his eyes.

“’m hungry,” he murmurs, making you roll your eyes fondly.

“i know,” you nod in amusement, “you practically eat my fridge whole every time.”

in the morning, alhaitham will be embarrassed. he’ll wake up on your soft couch and register that he’s done this again (most couches break his back, but yours somehow feels homely. soft and warm and smells like you to the point that he thinks it’s better than his own bed). he’ll tell himself that it won’t happen again next week, and that he’ll drink in moderation and force kaveh to bring him straight home—but somehow, just like the week before, he lands himself on your familiar couch, waking to the smell of coffee hitting his nose as you make it the way he likes.

it’s not a bad thing to get used to, in all truthfulness. but he’s no fool, he knows exactly what’s slowly developing in his stoic little heart, and he doesn’t think this build up of familiarity is helping his case any further. he doesn’t know if the build up exists for you either—maybe you’re just a nice enough person and good enough friend to let it all happen every week. just happy to give him a safe place to sleep the alcohol out from his system.

if he had a rational thought in his brain, maybe he’d ask you. blunt and to the point as he always is. but then again, even blunt and rational alhaitham gets bested by emotions every once in a while. especially the kind of emotions that are dangerously possible of being unrequited.

but regardless, rational alhaitham is out of the equation for now. right now, drunk, tired, hungry, and irrational alhaitham has taken over. he’ll have to worry about what drunk alhaitham does tomorrow when he’s sober, not right now.

“did you make my favorite?” he asks hopefully, almost childlike in the way his eyes peer at you as they wait for your answer.

they brighten when you nod, grinning as you say, “yes, i did. i always do, don’t i?”

“yeah,” he sighs contentedly, closing his eyes as he pulls the soft blanket you keep just for him over his body, a half-hearted attempt at covering himself as you slowly rise from his side.

the phantom linger of your thigh against his makes him realize he misses the touch, even if it clears his mind from the fog just a little to not be so near you.

“wait,” he says suddenly—you pause. he doesn’t know what’s compelled him to say that (he doesn’t know what compels him to do anything he does around you, but he’s here in this situation for that very reason, so there’s not much to be done there).

“yeah?” you say softly, waiting for him to speak.

“just…” he pauses. why did he stop you? is it because he has something to say? or is it simply because he knows as soon as you feed him dinner, he’ll pass out on your couch, and you’ll retire to your room for the night, and there will end the fleeting moment of having you all to himself? “just stay, that’s all,” he ends up saying.

archons know he’d never say that sober. it’s surprising enough as is when he’s drunk, but you don’t let the shock settle for long—endearment is quick to take over.

you snort before shaking your head, settling back down beside him as you whisper, “you’re the one who said you’re hungry.”

“i’ll eat later,” he frowns. you’re laughing at him, aren’t you? he should be embarrassed, maybe. but that touch of your thigh is back, and he can’t think straight enough to keep his sense of humility in tact.

“you know,” you murmur, delicately pushing back slightly sweaty hair from his flushed forehead, looking at him with enough care, he might think you feel the same if he wasn’t so drunk—but he’s simply too out of it to really understand what emotion your gaze holds. “if only you were as bold sober as you are drunk.”

he leans into your touch, closing his eyes and pressing into the warm embrace of your palm against his skin. it lingers—you don’t pull away any quicker than him, and the result is just a step closer that will only be two steps back by the morning.

still, the both of you enjoy it all the same.

“i’m bold all the time,” he insists.

“i wouldn’t say that,” you huff in amusement. “you don’t really speak your mind around me.”

“i do,” he argues, “i like coming here to you. you’re warm. and so is this couch. and your food’s good.”

“yeah?” you giggle, letting your fingers brush over his hair some more. he hums, nodding as he closes his eyes, yawning.

“mhm,” he barely gets out, “it’s the best part.”

“of what? drinking?”

“no,” he shakes his head, “of…of…i don’t know. just the best part.”

it’s the best part of my week, he’d tell you, if only the words could form on his tongue. he’s too blanketed by the embrace of your warmth and sleep to actually say them.

“tell me all this when you’re sober,” you whisper, tracing a thumb delicately over his cheek before you pull away, pulling the edges of the blanket along to cover him properly. he protests at the loss of your touch with a quiet sound, but sleep pulls him into its clutches quick enough that it doesn’t last too long. “maybe then, i’ll believe you when you say you’re bold all of the time.”

“we’re just friends, but i’d kill just about anyone for her if they so much as look at her weirdly. i can get away with it, can’t i?” — AYATO

ayato thinks if anyone manages to assassinate him one day, then they should be allowed to get away with it with no consequences. by now, he’s confident enough that he’s honed his abilities to be sharp. so sharp, that anyone who manages to so much as touch him is an opponent who has earned to get away with their crimes.

you, however, do not apply to this sentiment.

anyone who so much as touches you, in his eyes, is worthy of far worse than just consequences. he thinks the shogun herself could not hope to save them from his blade.

but for now, there are other pressing matters than to pursue the individual who has managed to attack you on your evening stroll with him—he’ll have the shuumatsuban swiftly investigate and handle the culprit accordingly. for now, he’s more concerned with you.

“are you alright?” he asks gently, helping you stand as you slowly take his outstretched hand. there’s a small quiver in your hand as it clasps his, and his jaw grits slightly at the fact.

“yes,” you breathe quietly, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. ayato can detect it instantly, however. he’s good at reading anyone, but especially you. “i’m alright, my lord,” you reassure.

he frowns, for more reasons than one. “ayato,” he corrects, “no need for formalities.”

“oh, ayato,” you chuckle softly, despite the earlier distress in your features, “as much as you don’t care about appearances, i mustn’t be caught addressing the yashiro commissioner so…improperly. what would people think?”

“that you’re deeply familiar to the yashiro commission,” he says simply, “as you are. it’s only the truth.”

you hum, dusting off the dirt from your dress as you inspect your clothing of any tears. ayato keeps his hand securely on yours, and it doesn’t seem as though he’s looking to let go in the current moment—you don’t necessarily take it upon yourself to remove yourself from his grasp, either.

“well, that was quite the surprise, wasn’t it?” you try to poke fun at the situation, a light attempt to diffuse the clear tension in his brows and shoulders.

ayato doesn’t answer, only taking you in carefully himself, running his eyes up and down your figure as if to make sure there are no injuries for himself. he’s still as pristine as ever, you note—although, it’s not as though the attacker was even close to touching him. he’d retaliated faster than you had even registered there was someone else in your vicinity.

the thought makes you realize how accustomed he must be to assassination attempts—a thought that makes your face drop.

and it must be apparent too, because he asks, “why the long face, all of a sudden?”

you flush in embarrassment. he’s cunning as always, that one. always one step ahead and so good at reading you, you might think he himself holds the pen that writes your every move in crisp, clear scribbles.

“nothing,” you mumble, sighing softly as you shrug, “i suppose it only just dawned on me how effortlessly you evaded such a fate. it must be a normal occurrence for the yashiro commissioner if you’re so…prepared.”

“ah,” he grins, slightly amused as he chuckles, “i suppose it is, yes. nothing to concern yourself over, on the contrary. i am very well prepared, indeed. however, i hadn’t prepared well enough for this stroll it seems, my lady. you must forgive me—next time, i’ll have the shuumatsuban keep an eye out as well.”

“i feel safe enough in your company alone, my lor—ayato,” you correct yourself as soon as you notice the smile drop from the corners of his mouth, “but i can’t help but feel regretful that it’s normal for you to assign additional help to ensure the safety of those close to you. it shouldn’t be necessary for you to be so cautious simply for holding people dear.”

“and do you feel as such?” he teases, “that i hold you dear?”

your face feels hot to the touch, you think, heat creeping to your ears as you look away and clear your throat. ayato is a quick witted man, his words as sharp as ever, meant to apply pressure to the weakest of points.

you’re no exception, it seems. though, he has a bit of a softer approach with you.

“w-well, we’re certainly not strangers,” you huff, “if someone as busy as the yashiro commissioner sets aside time to take an evening stroll with me, i would hope it’s safe to assume we’re quite dear friends.”

friend is starting to seem like a generous word. ayato is a good man, respectable and compassionate enough that he can maintain such a powerful position free of any corruption. but he realizes that respect and compassion are difficult to maintain when it comes to someone harming you.

he wonders, for a brief, fleeting moment, if he could be trusted to keep a calm composure if he were to come face to face with whoever attacked you in the future.

he thinks there’s a large chance that the answer is no, and he’s oddly not bothered by the idea at all.

“i do hold you quite dear,” he says kindly, voice softening an octave, “it is why i must ensure your safety. rest assured, events like today’s won’t happen again.”

“i hope you put as much energy into your own safety,” you counter, “i think inazuma would suffer more greatly if anything were to happen to you, rather than me.”

“i would disagree,” he says with an amused grin, “what disarray the nation would befall if the yashiro commissioner was grief stricken, don’t you think? unable to perform his duties.”

“would you grieve me so deeply, ayato?” it’s your turn to tease, stepping closer as you eye him with playful mischief, “would my absence alone call for the downfall of the nation? then it would only be proper of me to look after myself more carefully, if that’s the case.”

“yes,” he says softly, hesitant for a moment as though admitting as such is enough to admit the more…complicated feelings in his heart. “there is nothing i wouldn’t do to ensure your safety.”

he says the words a touch too seriously—it shocks even him. surely, if limits simply don’t exist if it comes to you, friend is not a term deep enough to truly describe what you are to him.

he wonders if friend feels as much of an injustice to your relationship to you as it does to him.

“i would grieve you too, ayato,” you admit, squeezing the hand he never pulled away, “would you keep yourself safe just for me?”

“do you doubt me?” he chuckles, raising an eyebrow, “i’ve never failed thus far, have i?”

“perhaps not,” you hum, stepping closer, “but just to be sure.”

“then for you,” he carefully pulls you along, falling back into step with you as his hand keeps yours still firmly in his grasp, “i will ensure my own wellbeing just as sacredly as yours.”

someone revoke my access to the word “fond” this instant. i think i got whiplash from how often i used it but i literally don’t know what other word describes “fond” as good as “fond” 😭 anyway!!! kamisato “i would draw my blade to the shogun herself for my love” ayato!!! what a man!!!

[possessivedesires]

ok so how about a darling that has been in a coma lets say because they were in the hero course and they got seriously injured in a mission or something and like i don't know 10 years later they wake up to see everyone grown up and are hero's now and their yandere being perhaps Shoto, Bakugou, Deku and Kirishima {all separate}. How would they react to their darling waking up all confused because they look twice as tall as they used too?

I had a lot of fun with imagining pro hero students. Just 🤌 I refrained from one of them having their villain arc- even if it was tempting😫

Shoto

He was making his way in with a new bundle of flowers because he noticed the old ones he had gotten was beginning to die. But the flowers fell to the ground, petals crushing as he stared at your open eyes. “You… you… please tell me I’m not dreaming…”

He whispered, quickly making his way over to the side of his bed. His chair that he always sits in was already pulled up to your bedside, hand reaching out to grasp at your palm. The smile jumping to his lips when he felt your confused squeeze. “Shoto… you… how…?”

You didn’t understand. The last time you remember him was the high school. Now he’s a grown man, duo tone hair cut short with a fade undercut. Even a piercing on his ears as he smiled at you happily, eyes sparkling at knowing you’re awake. You’re here with him.

Even his size was twice as big, muscles being shown off by the blue muscle tee he was wearing; hands rough from years of hero work. Thumb rubbing along your palm and bringing it up to kiss your palm of your hand. “I’ve waited so long for you to wake up. I’m never letting you leave me again.”

You shivered at the cold look in his eyes, the silent promise you could see. There is no way that Shoto would ever go through that again, he’ll kill before that happen. You worried about his words, but it’s not like you’ll be able to do anything against him. You’re weak from your coma and he’s got 10 years of active pro hero work under his belt.

Katsuki

“Damn it! If you were doing fucking jobs then they wouldn’t still be hurting!” Katsuki exploded again on the nurses. He believe that you’re hurting in your coma, it’s the only thing he can think of and it torments him. “S-sir- dynamite! They’re awa-“

The poor nurse didn’t even get to finish that sentence. It clicked in his head, pushing past the nurse and slamming open the door. Wild red eyes immediately locking onto your confused e/c. It felt like his heart stopped, feeling like he could finally breathe again. You’re awake, you’re looking at him.

“Katsuki…?” You questioned, remembering that spiky blonde hair. He grinned at you, the lip piercing moving as he made his way through the room. Door closing behind him as he dragged the chair next to your bed; reaching out to cup your cheeks. Watching you being able to react this time, thumb rubbing over your skin and leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “Ever pull that shit again teddy bear and I’ll make you regret it…”

He whispered gruffly. You wondered where that classmate of yours went to… Now was the man twice his size, unhinged and unstable red eyes. All swirling with the plans to keep you forever locked away now that you’re awake, going to refuse any harm to come to you. Whatever that form may be.

Izuku

He was in your room when you came around, fluffing your pillow and fixing your blanket to make sure. Much to his surprise and excitement, you made a sound of confusion. Which means you’re awake.

Poor you didn’t understand why you had someone holding your shoulders gently and rambling about how excited they were to see you. Green eyes brightening when they saw your e/c, green messy hair still in curls; but pulled back into a messy bun to show his face. There were more scars along his arms that was seen from his dark green tank top he was wearing.

He smiled, your eyes traveling up to see more scars over his collarbone and even a few on his face. Izuku was wearing his gloves as usual, hating the feeling. He wanted to touch your skin, wanting to feel your softness. But knew he couldn’t do that with how sensitive his nerves in his got. Any the slightest breeze now gives him serve pain, all from his quirk.

But he regrets nothing; it was all in the means to protect you. The gloved hand pressed against your cheek, leaning against forehead against yours. Tears slipping down his cheeks. “I’m so so happy to see you look at me.”

“H-how long…?”

“Too long baby, too long.”

Kirishima

He sighed, hand rubbing your head softly before making sure the flowers looked nice. Everyday Kirishima spent his time in your room, after his patrols and ever free time. He’s made your room look cozy, watching you to feel safe when you woke up.

Making sure to keep everything perfect for you; frowning when he noticed of the flowers wilting. But glass shattered when Kirishima quickly turned at the sound of your raspy voice, accidentally knocking over the vase. But that didn’t matter to him. No… What matter was that you were looking at him with confused wide eyes.

You didn’t understand… Who was this man? Long spiky red hair pulled into a ponytail, large muscles shown from the red gym tank top. This guy’s a walking brick wall! You were confused at seeing those sweet red eyes, that bright sharp fanged smile. Wait… sharp fanged smile… “Ki-kiri-?”

“Hey baby, hey. Ah, I’ve missed you too. It’s okay, you don’t have to say a word; your throat must be hurting.” He shushes you, large rough hands cupping your cheeks and placing a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. “Don’t say a word, I got you.”

He whispered, voice gruff and deep. Though, he wished to ones above that this wasn’t some cruel dream- wanting to keep you in his arms and kissing your lips softly. Ignoring the way your weak arms tried to push away his brute strength; as if that would happen. Not after you being asleep for 10 years.

“Shhh, shhh, don’t struggle pebble. Don’t want you to get hurt, yea?” He whispered against your lips before standing up. His hand placed against the doorframe as he looked back at you. “Don’t worry, I’ll come back with the doctor and then we can go home~”