#and they’re all chill with me seemingly

[mariacallous]

Everyone, it seems, wants a piece of Moo Deng. The baby pygmy hippo is barely two months old and already famous. So beloved on TikTok, Instagram, and X is Moo Deng that workers at Khao Kheow Open Zoo, the place in Thailand where she was born, are doing all they can to keep up with her fans’ appetite for more. They post videos, photos, updates. They also welcome thousands of visitors a day and find themselves having to defend Moo Deng when tourists throw shells at her while she’s just trying to chill.

Moo Deng, a name that means “bouncy pig,” has probably been all over your timeline lately—on Sephora makeup tutorials, on X’s main feed. She was born in July and in the past few weeks has become the Internet’s New Favorite Animal. A tradition almost as old as the internet itself, Favorite Animals—Maru, any of the dogs on the shiba inu puppy cam, those two llamas who just happened to run free the same day everyone was trying to decide what color The Dress was—come into the public consciousness seemingly out of nowhere. Some, like Doge, stick around; others disappear, or simply outgrow their cuteness, within a matter of weeks.

All of which makes capitalizing on their fame a matter of some urgency. It seems heartless to think of animals this way, but if their owners don’t, someone else will. Perhaps that’s why zoo director Narongwit Chodchoi told the Associated Press this week that the zoo has begun the process of trying to trademark and patent the hippo to avoid her likeness getting used by anyone else—a smart move considering Moo Deng mugs, T-shirts, and other merch are already popping up online. Income from these efforts, Chodcho told the wire service, could “support activities that will make the animals’ lives better.”

Moo Deng might need it. Fandom is getting a bit out of control these days. As pop stars like Chappell Roan have amassed online and offline fame, they’ve also had to use their platforms to ask for space from boundary-less fans and stalkers. Social media celebs like Drew Afualo, on whose podcast Roan appeared to talk about the subject, also tell stories of being approached in public by people who simply know them from the internet.

It may seem odd to compare them to Favorite Animals, but the ways in which people feel entitled to their time aren’t that far apart. Everyone wants something for the ’gram, even if that something is a living being with its own sense of agency. One of Moo Deng’s most popular TikToks has 34 million views, and zoo staff have had to limit her visiting time to five minutes on Saturdays and Sundays to keep too many people from trying to get content of their own.

Trademark protections may be the best way for Moo Deng’s caretakers to ensure others don’t cash in on her viral fame. When Jools Lebron made efforts to trademark her “very demure, very mindful” meme, one of the hurdles that emerged was that it’s hard to claim ownership of a phrase. As Kate Miltner, a lecturer in data, AI, and society at the University of Sheffield’s Information School, told me at the time, memes with audiovisual elements, like Nyan Cat or Grumpy Cat, are easier to register. “People will invariably try to make money off of viral or memetic content, as we've seen time and again,” Miltner says when asked about trademarking the baby hippo, adding that the Cincinnati Zoo has already done this with Fiona the Hippo. “It's smart of the Khao Kheow Open Zoo to (at least try to) ensure that they’re the ones that do so.”

Lebron seems to be figuring out how to market her moment, and Moo Deng’s keepers seem to be doing the same. Being online in 2024 means living in a state of near-constant vulnerability. You could get hacked or turned into a humiliating deepfake. Having a public opinion on a video game or The Acolyte could turn your mentions into a hellscape. And that’s what happens to filthy casuals. When you’re an ascending pop star or a baby hippo the weak spots multiply, because the world always seems hungry for more of you. It’s possible to protect yourself, even monetize yourself, but you can lose yourself, too.

Like Boaty McBoatface, Moo Deng was named by the internet. The zoo held a poll on social media. Unlike McBoatface, Moo Deng is a living thing; she’s a member of an endangered species and needs protecting. Moo Deng is more than a meme.

[victory-cookies]

nothing like a little friend drama to spice up the morning. lord

[crossbackpoke-check]

V random but I’m in my Brockpetey feels could I listen to your 46 60 playlist!!

of course!! the first playlist i mentioned in the tags is actually not mine—it belongs to ash @notthequiettype and is a soundtrack to their wonderful fic Lake Rules (go read it if you haven’t already!!! highly recommend!!!)

annnd this one is my personal brockpetey vibes playlist

happy listening!!!

[kikyoupdates]

Otherworldly Attraction ⭑˚🔮⭑ 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

yandere!jjk x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

You don't know how or why, but you've been isekai'd into the world of Jujutsu Kaisen. Although your first instinct is to stay away from the plot, you've been blessed with an abnormal amount of cursed energy, and for better or worse, you find yourself sucked into the storyline. You decide that you may as well use your newfound powers for the greater good, and if you're lucky, you might succeed in rewriting some of the characters' fates. But it turns out that your presence in this world is an even bigger deal than you first thought, and soon, everyone wants to make you theirs.

story masterlist | next

What the actual fuck.

You blink, absolutely dumbfounded. There’s some kind of grotesque, insect-like creature in front of you, buzzing obnoxiously as it flaps its wings. It bears the appearance of a fly, at least somewhat, but it’s much bigger than a normal fly, and its face looks like it came straight out of a low-budget horror movie. 

The point is, it’s not normal. It's not the kind of thing you’ve ever seen before. At the very least, not in real life. 

And yet, you’re the only one who seems to notice it.

“...I keep telling you, it’s weird,” a girl mumbles, scratching her neck impatiently. “I can’t get rid of it. There’s this chill that follows me around no matter where I go, and my shoulders feel weirdly heavy lately. I even went to a chiropractor to see if it would help. I feel so gross these days.” 

The fly-like creature is hovering closely above the girl, a disturbing smile plastered across its already unattractive face. It’s literally right next to her, and not only her, but the other girls that are gathered around. They’re all just talking like nothing’s even going on. Completely blind to the abnormal presence that lurks nearby. 

You’re the only one who can see that yucky-looking thing. How does that make any sense? How is it even possible for something like that to exist in real life? 

Actually… where are you right now? 

Once again, you blink. Something utterly strange is happening. The last thing you remember is going to bed, in your perfectly ordinary bedroom, so how in the world did you wake up in the middle of what appears to be a field? 

You’re at a school, by the looks of things. But certainly not the school you’re used to attending. It seems like you’re even wearing some unfamiliar uniform, and it would make sense for this to be a dream, but by all accounts, it’s way too realistic. 

Pinching your cheek doesn’t help. The scenery refuses to change, and sure enough, the creature is still hanging above that girl. It even lets out a shrill, high-pitched laugh (which she of course doesn’t hear), almost as if it’s taunting her.

You’re not sure what you should be doing right now. This is all one hell of a mindfuck, if you’re being honest. But that creature can’t be good news, and even though you’re admittedly pretty scared, it seems like you’re the only one who can see it. You’re the only one who even realizes it’s here. 

Swallowing your apprehension, you take a deep breath and approach. 

“Excuse me…?”

You call out to the group of girls. There’s no easy way to break this to them. How do you bring up the fact that there’s some weird creature in the vicinity? If they can’t see it, there’s no reason they’ll even believe you. They’ll probably just think you’re crazy or something. 

As it so happens, though, you aren’t required to recount some absurd, seemingly nonsensical tale. 

You’ve barely taken two steps forward when all of a sudden, the creature sharply turns its head in your direction. 

And then it screams. 

Just like its laugh, the sound is high-pitched and wholly unpleasant. You’re not even sure what prompted that kind of reaction, since it seemed pretty chill up until this point, but now, it’s trembling like a leaf in the wind. 

You’re worried that you might have triggered it somehow, and that it’s going to attack you, but that doesn’t happen either. It turns out that the scream it just let out wasn’t one of aggression, but rather, fear. 

So, it flies off before you can get any closer, and the girl who was complaining until just a few moments ago suddenly blinks, expression brightening.

“Whoa, wait,” she mumbles in disbelief. “It’s… it’s gone. I think I feel better now. No way. It’s actually gone! I thought it would never end!”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just all in your head?” one of the other girls frowns, visibly unconvinced. She then turns towards you. “Oh. Sorry, were you talking to us just now? I didn’t really hear what you said.” 

“Uh.” 

You’re not sure what to say. The whole reason you came over was so you could warn them about that weird creature, but it disappeared in the blink of an eye. It screamed right as it saw your face—which is kind of offensive, honestly—and then it flew off like no one’s business. 

A bit hesitant, you try asking, “Sorry if this sounds weird, but where are we right now?” 

Now it’s their turn to look dumbfounded. You can only imagine how visceral their reaction would have been if you’d actually brought up the weird fly creature. 

“What do you mean where are we? We’re… at school, where else?” 

The girl gestures all around her, as if it should be obvious. Granted, you deduced as much, but that wasn’t really what you were asking. All of this is just so ridiculous. How in the world does a person manage to go to sleep in their own room and wake up someplace they’ve never been before?

The group decides to walk away, probably because you weirded them out with your stupid question, and you can even hear them whispering amongst themselves. 

“Why’d she even ask that all of a sudden…?” 

“I don’t know. She transferred here just recently, right? Maybe she’s still getting used to things. It was kind of weird, though.” 

They keep talking about it as they leave, probably not realizing you can still hear them. Whatever. You’ve got bigger fish to fry right now. As things stand, you woke up god-knows-where, and you just saw some freakish creature a second ago, so you’re starting to worry that you might be going insane. 

The only explanation is that this has to be some kind of dream. A lucid dream, perhaps? That’s what they call these kinds of things, right?

This is way too freaky, though. Can I make myself wake up? I really don’t like this. It gives me the creeps. 

You desperately try to force yourself awake, but regretfully, it doesn’t work. And you’re not even given much time to speculate on the issue any further. 

A soccer ball comes flying at you and hits you right in the face.

It hurts. It hurts like fucking hell. In fact, it hurts so much that you’re knocked flat onto your back, groaning as you cradle your poor nose, which feels like it’s just been split open. 

“...holy shit, are you okay?!” 

You can hear a student running towards you, but since you’re lying on your back convinced you’re about to die, you don’t pay it much mind. The immense amount of pain you’re feeling is absurd. Even for a lucid dream, isn’t this too much?

However, things are only about to get weirder. 

Like way, way weirder. 

“I’m so sorry!” the same student apologizes. It’s a boy, by the sounds of it, and you hear him drop to his knees beside you. “I swear I wasn’t even trying to kick the ball that hard! I barely even used any force!”

From afar, another student chimes in. “Even when you hold back, you’re way too strong, Itadori! Is she dead? You killed her, didn’t you?”

Did he just say… Itadori? 

For just a moment, the pain subsides, and clarity overtakes your features. You manage to squint your eyes open and find a boy staring down at you. A boy with bright brown eyes, and spiky pink hair styled in an undercut. 

A boy that you’ve most definitely seen before. 

Your jaw drops open. There’s just no way. This is… Itadori Yuji? The protagonist of Jujutsu Kaisen? A fictional series, which, by definition, means he doesn’t actually exist? 

Yet here he is, fussing over you and looking immeasurably guilty for having just kicked a soccer ball in your face. And even though you keep trying to tell yourself that this is a dream, it’s getting harder and harder to deny. The sensations you feel—the pain, the confusion, and the excited fluttering in your chest—are impossible to ignore.

It all makes sense now. That weird creature you saw earlier was a cursed spirit. That explains why those girls didn’t even notice it. Ordinary humans normally can’t perceive curses. Most of the time, they’re completely unaware of their existence.

You realize how utterly absurd this is. People don’t just wake up and find themselves sucked into their favorite anime. No matter how badly some fans might wish for it, this kind of thing just doesn’t happen.

Or at least, it’s not supposed to.

“Wait, your—your nose is bleeding!” Itadori exclaims. “I need to get you to the infirmary! Can you walk? Or should I carry you?” 

He appears frantic, which of course he is, since he’s a good guy. He’s the kind of guy who always cares about others. A guy with a big heart, a friendly demeanor, and a penchant for justice. Truly, the perfect protagonist. 

…so, is this seriously happening right now?

“I-I’m fine,” you try to insist. “I just… need a moment. And then I’ll be okay.” 

Itadori seems entirely unconvinced, so you suspect your nose is probably bleeding even more than you fear. Right now, you honestly couldn’t care less, though. Your heart is pounding relentlessly. The excitement and awe you feel can’t even be put into words.

“I’ll take you to the infirmary,” Itadori says again. He resists the urge to outright pick you up into his arms, and after a moment’s pause, he offers you his hand instead. “Here. Try standing up. If not, I’ll carry you there, okay?” 

It’s difficult just to form a response. You’re overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of his presence. The fact that you’re face to face with someone you never thought you’d be able to see in person, let alone speak to. 

But even if it seems hard to believe, even if it makes you want to question your sanity, this is real. This is actually happening. 

And so, you take his hand—changing the course of your life as you know it. 

story masterlist | next

Enjoying the story so far? Read more on Quotev or Ao3!!

⊱.⋅follow + post notifications on for story update announcements or join the author's discord!⋅.⊰

Check out the author’s library!

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

When in L.A

Summary: while on a walk with your boyfriend, the both of you experience a horrible interaction with one of Jacob’s supposed fans.

Warnings: r is referred to being Australian but ofc you can change it :)

Wc: 574

A/n: decided to post a fic before i officially start school again tomorrow 🥹

enews

Liked by jacobelordiupdates, elordifan, and 3,098,261 others

Jacob spotted with his girlfriend y/n out in LA today!! The Aussie couple were playing around with their dogs while Jacob took a few photos of her :)

view all comments

user1: oh to be her 😫

user2: she’s so so pretty and seems so sweet ahh

user3: I wonder how they met lol

↘️ user4: pretty sure they knew each other since they were at school in Australia 😂

user5: did not know she was Australian? Omg what?

user6: when is it my turn 🥲

user7: thought he’d be dating someone famous but oop

↘️ user8: didn’t know celebrities had to only date other celebrities?

~

You and Jacob amble through the streets of Hollywood hills, the chill energy of the neighbourhood surrounding you as you take your dogs Layla and Freddie for a walk.

You’ve been friends since high school back in Australia and only started dating around 2 years ago when you visited LA and caught up with Jacob. And it was only a couple months ago you moved across the world to be with your boyfriend.

You weren’t foreign to the recognition Jacob garners, fans occasionally approach for a quick chat or photo, and for the most part, it’s a positive experience for the both of you.

A young woman, probably in her early 20s, spots Jacob from afar, her eyes widening with recognition. She hurries over, her excitement palpable. The two of you stop as he comes up, “Hi Jacob!” She excitedly greets, her phone ready for a selfie.

Jacob flashes his signature smile, “Hey, how’s it going?” The fan smiles widely, her full attention on your boyfriend as you stand to the side, “Great! Can I take a photo with you please?” She asks, “Yeah, sure.”

The fan, seemingly disregarding your presence, abruptly hands you her phone. “Take the photo for me,” she demands, her tone leaving no room for refusal. Caught off guard by her directness, you manage a surprised “Uh, sure.”

Even you could tell Jacob was caught off guard by her rude behaviour, his eyebrows slightly knitted. You reluctantly take the phone and frame the photo as the woman poses with Jacob, her hand around his waist as he respectfully hovers his hand on her back.

She glances at you with a dismissive look, as if you’re merely an accessory to the moment. “Make sure it’s good,” she commands, refocusing on Jacob as he visibly becomes agitated.

Despite the awkwardness, you snap the photo with a forced smile. The fan snatches her phone without a word of thanks and strides away, disappearing from view.

Jacob, sensing your discomfort, lets out a sigh. “She seemed nice” His voice laced with sarcasm as you chuckle. “They’re not usually like that, trust me.” He remarks, irritation evident in his voice.

Jacob puts a reassuring arm around your shoulders, “Don’t let it get to you. I didn’t even really smile in the photo,” He says with a cheeky grin as you couldn’t help but laugh.

~

Later that day, Jacob takes to his instagram page that he mostly posted work related things, and shared a photo of the two of you with your dogs, along with a thoughtful caption.

jacobelordi

Liked by yourusername, alexademie, sadiesoverall, jacobelordiupdates, and 8,038,297 others

Hey everyone! I don’t usually post things like this but it needs to be said. I love meeting you all in public, and I’m always grateful for your support. However, let’s remember to be respectful to everyone, including the people I’m with. Shoving phones in someone’s hand, demanding for them to take a photo and being rude isn’t cool. Let’s keep it a positive experience. Much love to you all!! ❤️

view all comments

yourusername: 🐶💗

↘️ jacobelordi: love you!

↘️ user1: awe 😭

rachelzegler: so glad you’re bringing this up!!

alexademie: PREACH 🙌

user2: I seriously don’t understand people who call themselves “fans” and do disrespectful shit like this

user3: Is this about the incident that happened today??

↘️ user4: yup. It’s all over Twitter and tiktok rn

↘️ user5: the “fan” is getting slandered so hard rn

user6: wait I’m so confused. What happened?

↘️ user7: basically a “fan” came up to Jacob and Y/n and demanded y/n to take the photo for them and she was just overall rude

user8: so funny how Jacob isn’t even smiling in the photo 😭

↘️ user9: HAHAHAHHA I WANNA SEE THIS PIC

↘️ user10: it’s on TikTok!!

[wonysugar]

puff, puff and pass | ot4 aespa

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ. high for this — the weeknd

synopsis : your dream blunt rotation, except you’re the blunt.

pairing : yoo jimin, ning yizhuo, aeri uchinaga, kim minjeong x fem!reader

genre : smut, porn without plot (sorry)

tags : high sex, aespa kind of gangbang reader to be quite honest—, objectification, reader is referred to as ‘it’ like once, oral sex, vaginal penetration, joint rolling tutorial included brought to you by jiminjeong xx, i’m joking, don’t do drugs yall

warnings : heavy use of drugs, like, they’re all high as hell help (more specifically marijuana) both fem!reader and aespa are intoxicated in this

word count : 1,4k(??)

a/n : the fact that i was basically finished with writing thisa while ago and the only thing stopping me from posting it was the fuckass moodboard.. AND EVEN THEN IT ISN’T EVEN ALL THAT I HATE ITTFJHHFJEJF anyways, here’s some food MWAHH love you sugarcubes<33

“come on, you’ve been at it for ages— pass it already.” complained ning, her voice all whiny. 

from those words alone, a normal individual would think that the five girls in the room, including you, were doing a blunt rotation of some sort. or perhaps you all were just participating in a chill activity that consisted of passing around an object for entertainment, nothing harmless.. right?

well.. yes! you’d be right in assuming that it was, in fact, a blunt being passed around originally. that is, until the other girls (intoxication clearly having taken over the good parts of their brains) thought it would be a great idea to pass something else, another object, one that’d cure their boredom in the middle of fucking nowhere. 

that said object turned out to be your very own body.

“ohh my god shut up—” was what aeri moaned, sharply inhaling air through her teeth as she fucked her cock deep into your mouth, the tip touching the back of your throat with every thrusting motion she made. you were on all fours in front of her, fitting all of her into your mouth, watching your head bob up and down her long shaft effortlessly as you took all of her rigid length like the good slut you are, it made her lose control of her senses. “fuck y/n i’m so fucking close—“

then, to both you and aeri’s surprise, right as she was about to finish all over your mouth, your hair was suddenly pulled on from behind. “ah-ah, too late, it’s my turn now.” was what you heard ning say from behind you in a singing tone, visualizing the kind of annoying smile she had on her face whilst saying that to aeri. 

you winced at the sharp pain you felt on your scalp from such a tug, which was then immediately replaced by the overwhelming sensation by the feeling of ning’s dick sliding up and down your wet slit, teasing your entrance with her tip. 

in response to having you pulled away from her at the moment of her sweet release, you saw as aeri’s face contorted from one of pleasure to one of frustration very quickly, despite her seemingly sleepy eyes due to the ridiculous amount of cannabis she ingested, and keeps ingesting. “i wasn’t done, asshole.” exclaimed the half-japanese girl, clearly upset that the chance to cum all over your pretty face got taken away from her and delayed for another short period of time.

ning simply laughed at her before swiftly sliding her cock into your wet, wet cunt. you moaned loudly, as being in a situation such as this one while simultaneously being high just made you feel everything way more than you usually would. it was like all five of your senses were invaded with different, filthy things, and all of those things contributed to making you feel so, so good. you felt mindless, only present to please those that were freely using your body.

you loved every single second, as dehumanizing as it was. perhaps that’s what made it so arousing.

“please— i’m doing her a favor. she knows this dick fucks her the best, right, doll?” you looked back at her with hooded eyes, unsure what to respond.

while yes, ning knows how to use her length, you were quite frankly blinded by the drugs at that moment.

all you really wanted was dick, regardless of how you got it.

so, you mindlessly nodded, “stick to jerking off and watching how it’s done, ‘kay?” is what added ning, earning another annoyed groan from the other girl in response, before the latter sat down on the couch before you. with that, each second that passed was an increase in speed for the girl on top of you, your back to her stomach.

“can you guys stop bickering already? it’s like, ruining the vibe.” said what sounded like jimin, her words were slow, clear and enunciated.

that’s when you caught a glance of her and minjeong, sitting on the other corner of the dark room. they, on their side of things, were rolling yet another blunt, minjeong was focused on intricately filling the folded paper with the marijuana whilst jimin held the filter for her, aligning its edges perfectly with the edges of the paper before rolling it, twisting the end of the joint and eventually lighting the latter. 

“and can you roll that shit quicker? it’s getting boring having ning do everything.” snapped back aeri, a bit louder so that the two relevant girls could hear her above the music, clearly annoyed. obviously, ning heard and grinned at her mockingly, earning an eye roll from her.

“we’re working on it, be fucking patient, girl.” replied minjeong.

what differed her ways to handle you and ning’s was mostly the gentleness that was employed with you; aeri was rough, sure, but she also prioritized your comfort above everything else when you were sucking her cock. ning, on the other hand, was fucking you like she had a point to prove, she’d thrust into you in an almost animalistic way, also making sure that she could hear every single dirty noise that came out of your mouth. 

not like that was hard to do anyways, with how loud and shamelessly lewd you were being for her. 

with that being said, you weren’t exactly surprised when you felt her fingers lock your jaw into a tight grip, making you face the couch aeri was sitting on. the chinese girl dug into your skin with her long, pretty acrylic nails, leaving very visible red scratches on your stomach as she got closer and closer to her climax.

“you’re so tight, baby..” said ning with a groan, huffing and puffing into your ear with each pump of her dick into your walls, all of it causing you to moan out incoherent words. “oh fuck, i think i could do you for hours on end—”

when you actually concentrated on the girl in front of you, you noticed how no longer upset she seemed about being denied her orgasm, but more so impatient to have you all to herself again. she watched you attentively as she stroked her own dick, wishing she was the one to stretch your pussy out instead of it being done by the annoying and cocky girl that was behind you, ning. 

those two are very close, so it’s very natural for them to take basically everything as a competition.

then, as if to prevent you from looking anywhere else other than her, aeri quickly stood up in front of you and grabbed ahold of your hair, rougher than usual, before impatiently teasing your already agape mouth with the head of her cock, slapping it against your desperate lips before bucking her hips into your mouth, inserting it effortlessly. ning was still behind you, pounding you just as mercilessly as she’s been doing this entire time.

you came, repeatedly, at that. what else could you have done when you were being fucked stupid by two different dicks at once, both at different speeds and intensities? obviously, it didn’t take long before they came inside of you, too. aeri’s warm juices filled the entirety of your throat, forcing you to swallow every drop of it as she pushed her cock down deeper, while the chinese girl's dick was buried deep into your wet, swollen cunt, the perfect view of your spread ass obviously playing a huge part in her orgasm.

teamwork at its finest! especially when the two other girls are finally walking their way towards you, stumbling in their steps, all giggly and jittery from the weed, clearly excited to make you take a puff out of their freshly rolled and lit-up joint. too fucked out to have at least one remotely coherent thought, you let them ruffle your hair and get a tight grip on it to make you face minjeong’s pale hand, holding the blunt in between her fingertips.

still recovering from aeri’s thick load in your throat, you didn’t even notice how jimin had her phone camera above you, filming you from practically every angle before locking your jaw in a tight grip, laughing and caressing your lips with her thumb.

“come on, pretty slut,” she said, her voice just above a whisper, “take a hit.”

and you did, you took multiple, even. you felt yourself lose every ounce of sobriety left in your body with every inhale you took of the joint, if you even had any. so much so that you weren’t even fazed by sometimes having it suddenly replaced by one of the girls’ dicks at times and even forgetting that all of that was getting recorded by jimin. 

once that blunt was finished, they simply thought it’d be funny to have you crawl around on the floor like a desperate little whore that’s trying to get her throat used like it deserves to be, you took them, turn by turn, getting their mixed loads all over your mouth and throat, turn by turn. 

unfortunately for you, you couldn’t remember what it was that happened afterwards, all you know now is that your head hurts like a bitch and that your legs feel like you went to the gym for a week straight with no breaks. 

with that information, it was needless to say that you definitely got passed and used around by the other girls like you wanted for the rest of that long and hazy night.

[poisonlove]

The Tour | w.a

Wednesday Addams X Fem reader

"People are like plants: it’s not the amount of light they receive, but the kind that determines if they bloom." - Anonymous

“I don’t want to do it, Enid,” Wednesday hisses through gritted teeth, casting a cold look at the blonde in front of her.

“It was my turn last year! Can’t you do me this favor just this once?” Enid responds, her tone a mix of sweetness and desperation, her eyes pleading with her roommate.

I decide to look away, letting my attention wander around the room’s decor. I had just arrived at Nevermore Academy, and the headmistress had assured me that someone would show me around. But it seems she had asked the wrong people.

I was born with two powers: super hearing and the ability to read minds. The latter I try to avoid as much as possible; it feels like invading people’s privacy. But with super hearing, there’s no way to turn it off. All I can do is try to distract myself by focusing on something that captures my attention.

One of the main reasons I avoid using my powers is the discomfort of hearing what people think and say about you. Discovering what others are hiding can be devastating, and...

Oh, look. There’s a hand walking by itself.

I raise an eyebrow in confusion, but a slight smile escapes me at the unusual sight.

“Is something amusing you?” Wednesday Addams asks with a hint of venom in her voice. I look up, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment as her dark eyes lock onto mine with a chilling intensity.

Her body is rigid, her posture upright, and her head held high with an unshakable pride.

As soon as I meet her gaze, a strange sensation crosses my mind. Then, a phrase materializes in my thoughts: I don’t like this girl. The feeling of discomfort replaces my initial embarrassment.

Enough, Y/N, I think to myself. Stop reading thoughts.

“Sorry, she’s just like that...” Enid interjects with a nervous smile, shooting a sidelong glance at her friend.

“No, it’s fine,” I quickly reply, trying to mask my discomfort as I set my suitcase on the floor.

Wednesday huffs with a hint of annoyance and gracefully walks over to her desk. She grabs the bag that was on the chair and, before leaving the room, gives me one last look that makes me wish I could disappear. Then, without a word, she steps out of Ophelia Hall.

“I think you should follow her,” Enid suggests with a small smile.

I give her a small wave, almost as a thank you, and hurry to exit, trying to keep up with the small but surprisingly fast Wednesday Addams.

Wednesday walks ahead of me, her steps light but purposeful, as I try to match her pace. She doesn’t look back or check if I’m following, but her silence is a clear signal that she expects me to keep up.

Wednesday stops in front of a large wrought-iron gate that leads to a circular outdoor space. In the center stands an old and somewhat eerie fountain, with five paths branching off in different directions, forming a sort of pentagon.

“Welcome to the Pentagram,” she says in her usual flat, unenthusiastic tone. “This is the heart of Nevermore Academy. From here, you can access all the main areas of the school... and encounter the different ‘categories’ of students.”

I stop beside her, observing the area. There’s a strange energy in the air, as if something darker lurks beneath the seemingly tranquil surroundings.

Wednesday turns slowly to face me, her dark eyes boring into mine with an intensity that makes it hard to look away. “Here at Nevermore, we’re not all the same,” she explains, gesturing vaguely towards the paths around the fountain. “There are vampires, of course. They’re not as charming as in the movies, but they consider themselves quite superior.”

She indicates one of the paths with a slight nod of her head. “Then there are werewolves... Enid is an example. Unlike vampires, at least werewolves have a sense of loyalty, though their pack mentality can be... irritating.”

Continuing, she shifts her gaze to another path. “Mermaids,” she says, with a note of slight disdain in her voice. “They’re natural manipulators. They can control minds with their voices, but they’re very appearance-conscious. Never trust a mermaid. They have a talent for deception.”

She takes a brief pause and then gestures towards another corner of the courtyard. “And then there are the Gorgons. Not exactly Medusas, but if they look you in the eye without their special glasses, you turn to stone. Literally.”

I watch her closely, trying to discern if there’s a hint of irony in her tone, but her face remains impassive.

“Finally, there are those who don’t fit into any specific category,” she concludes, looking up at the dark sky above us. “The anomalies. People like me.”

“What do you mean by ‘anomalies’?” I ask, intrigued.

Wednesday stops and turns to face me, her black eyes shining with an intensity that makes it difficult to look away. “Anomalies,” she begins, “are people who don’t fit into the predefined groups of Nevermore. They don’t fall into common categories like vampires, werewolves, or mermaids. They are... different in ways that our classification can’t always explain.”

She looks at me with an expression that suggests how little she understands my curiosity. “They are individuals who possess unusual abilities or characteristics that defy the usual labels. Some may have strange powers, while others simply don’t conform to expectations.”

Her words leave me with a sense of wonder and a touch of unease. “So, students who don’t belong to any of the main groups are considered anomalies?”

“Exactly,” Wednesday confirms.

I remain silent for a moment, reflecting on what she has said. “Then I suppose I belong to this group.”

Wednesday gazes at me with attentive eyes. There’s a subtle shift in her expression, as if my question has finally piqued her interest. “What powers do you have?” she asks, her voice softer, almost interrogative.

My heart beats a little faster. I’ve never liked talking about my powers, but I can’t avoid this conversation. “I can... hear thoughts. And I have super hearing. Though I try to avoid using telepathy, out of respect for others’ privacy.”

As soon as I say this, I notice a slight stiffening in Wednesday’s shoulders. Instinctively and somewhat awkwardly, she raises her hands, bringing them near her head as if to build an invisible barrier around her mind for protection. The gesture is oddly endearing, a contrast to her usual unflappable demeanor.

“Are you reading my thoughts right now?” she asks, with a calm exterior, but her guard is clearly up.

“No!” I reply quickly, also raising my hands as if to demonstrate my innocence. “I never do it intentionally... unless it’s an emergency. I really do respect other people’s boundaries.”

Wednesday watches me for a long moment, scrutinizing every detail of my face as if trying to decide whether to trust my answer. Then, slowly, she lowers her hands, although she still seems cautious.

“It’s... an annoying power,” she comments finally. “It’s not very common here. Nevermore students tend to be very protective of their secrets.”

I lower my gaze, feeling embarrassed. “I know. That’s why I try not to use it.”

Wednesday gives a small nod of approval and, without adding anything else, turns and begins walking towards one of the paths in the Pentagram. After a few steps, she stops and looks back at me.

“Are you going to stand there staring all day, or do you plan on following me?” she asks in her flat tone. “The tour isn’t over.”

I take a deep breath and hurry to follow her. It seems that Nevermore still has many secrets to reveal... and Wednesday has no intention of slowing down for anyone.

Wednesday continues to lead me through the corridors of Nevermore, passing by groups of students chatting or hurrying to their destinations. She doesn’t seem to notice anyone around her, walking with a decisive and assured stride, expecting me to follow without question.

After navigating various narrow passages and dark staircases, we finally arrive at a pair of imposing dark wooden doors. Wednesday opens them without hesitation, revealing a vast hall filled with towering shelves brimming with books that seem as ancient as the school itself. The soft light adds an almost mystical touch to the environment.

“This is Nevermore's library,” Wednesday says in her usual flat tone. “A place many students use as an excuse for making out in hidden corridors or, worse, for reading poorly-written romance novels.”

I can’t help but smile slightly. “That’s not really my genre,” I reply, admiring the massive collection of books. “I prefer something more... stimulating. Like mystery or horror.”

Wednesday stops abruptly and turns toward me, with a slightly curious expression. Her dark eyes scrutinize me as if trying to determine whether I’m serious or just trying to impress her.

“Interesting,” she murmurs with a faint smile.

She gestures for me to follow as she makes her way through the library and heads toward the exit.

“So,” she begins in a measured tone, “if you prefer mystery and horror, who are your favorite authors? I hope you don’t just name the usual clichés.”

I sense that she’s testing me, seeing if I truly have an authentic knowledge of those genres. I think for a moment and then answer confidently. “Shirley Jackson, for example. Few manage to capture the hidden horror in everyday banality like she does.”

For a moment, I see something change in Wednesday’s expression. It’s uncommon to see her surprised, but it seems that the name I just mentioned has struck a chord with her. Her lips curl slightly into a barely perceptible smile.

“Shirley Jackson,” she repeats, as if savoring the name. “Finally, someone with good taste. We Have Always Lived in the Castle is a masterpiece of unease and despair.”

I can’t help but feel a bit satisfied for having passed her test. Wednesday continues to observe me for a few more seconds, then turns and resumes walking. Although she doesn’t say anything, there’s a new dynamic between us, a sort of mutual respect that wasn’t there before.

“Follow me,” she says finally. “There’s still much more to see.”

Wednesday continues to lead me through the school with her determined stride, guiding me down a long corridor that leads outside. We cross the courtyard and head toward a separate building, surrounded by climbing plants and well-tended shrubs.

“This is the greenhouse,” Wednesday says as we open the glass door. Inside, the greenhouse is a tangle of exotic plants, some with an unsettling appearance, with flowers in unnatural colors and leaves that seem to move on their own. “Here, the rarest and most poisonous plants are cultivated. Mortality biology, as I prefer to call it.”

As we observe a plant with leaves that shift slightly as we pass, Wednesday turns to me. “The greenhouse is managed by Professor Thornhill. Many people like to spend time here, but only a few truly understand the lethal potential of what grows here.”

I nod, a little intrigued and a little unsettled. The air is thick with intense scents, some sweet, others sharp, but all decidedly... strange.

Wednesday doesn’t linger longer than necessary. “Let’s go,” she says, quickly exiting as if the greenhouse is just one of many stops of the day.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, we arrive at the Nevermore gymnasium. We enter, and the atmosphere changes dramatically. The room is vast and well-lit, with walls adorned with ancient swords and shields, and fencing equipment neatly arranged. Some students are engaged in intense fencing sessions, maneuvering their swords with extraordinary skill, while others are working out with exercises that combine agility and strength in almost supernatural ways.

“The gym,” Wednesday says with a tone that reveals her disinterest. “Here many seek to refine their combat and fencing skills. It’s a place of competition and discipline. Personally, I prefer to exercise the mind rather than the body. However, if you like the idea of facing others in duels and tests of strength, this is the place.”

I watch the students training fervently, their swords glinting under the fluorescent lights, and the fluid and precise movements of their techniques. It seems like a dynamic and competitive environment, very different from the other areas of the school.

Wednesday continues to walk, passing by the ongoing training. “It’s not my ideal environment, but every corner of Nevermore has its purpose,” she adds, casting a distracted glance at the room. “Don’t worry if it doesn’t seem like your kind of place. Many students feel at home here, but there are others who prefer different spaces to express their abilities.”

Although this part of the school is vibrant and full of energy, it’s not the kind of place where I would feel comfortable. But, as Wednesday says, every place has its role, and Nevermore seems to have a spot for every type of person.

Wednesday gestures for me to follow her again, and we head toward another room. As we enter, the smell of food immediately hits us. The large space is crowded with students talking among themselves as they line up to get food or sit at long tables.

“The cafeteria,” Wednesday comments, observing the environment with an almost disgusted air. “Where the common people eat and socialize. If you’re lucky, you might find a quiet corner. But don’t expect much in terms of culinary quality.”

I can’t help but chuckle at her comment. The chaotic atmosphere of the cafeteria makes me feel a bit uncomfortable, but at least it’s warmer compared to the greenhouse and gym.

“We won’t stay here,” Wednesday says quickly, leading me out again. We move toward a quieter, more serene part of the school.

Wednesday guides me down the corridors of Nevermore, her pace steady and unyielding. “So, you’ve seen almost everything,” she says, breaking a silence that had only been interrupted by our footsteps. “If you have any other questions, now’s the time.”

Taking advantage of her openness, I ask, “I’ve noticed that everyone wears the purple uniform except for you. Why?”

Wednesday raises an eyebrow and gives me a scrutinizing look. “The purple uniforms are standard for all students at Nevermore. They represent a sense of belonging and uniformity. However, my black attire is a personal choice.”

Her answer seems a bit cryptic, so I continue probing. “But is there a specific reason you wear black? It’s not a rule, is it?”

Wednesday smiles slightly, an expression that could be interpreted as a kind of personal satisfaction. “Black is a manifestation of my style and preferences. It’s not so much a rebellion against norms as it is a statement of individuality.”

“I see,” I say, reflecting on her comment. “So it’s a conscious choice that reflects your personality.”

“Exactly,” Wednesday replies with a tone suggesting that the conversation might be closing there.

“Do you know where your room is?” Wednesday asks, raising her gaze with an impatient question.

I raise an eyebrow and reply with a subtle smile, “It’s practically yours.”

Wednesday looks at me with intensity, as if evaluating my answer. “I know, but I have to go somewhere else, and I’m not sure if you know how to get there.”

“I can find it,” I say calmly. “Thanks for the tour.”

As I look at her, I notice her eyes fixate on me with a penetrating intensity. I take a moment to observe her closely. Her figure is petite and slender, but she exudes a presence that fills the space around her. Her black hair is neatly styled in two braids that fall down her back. Her pale face is dotted with subtle freckles that seem to peek timidly above her nose and on her cheeks. These small details add an unexpected dimension to her austere beauty.

Her dark eyes are like two deep wells reflecting an eerie light, and her thin, well-groomed eyebrows accentuate her detached expression. She wears the black school uniform, which fits perfectly with her elegant figure and stern demeanor. Her movements are fluid and measured, imparting an aura of control and authority.

In her mind, I catch the thought: I don’t know if she’s reading, but this girl is really interesting. My cheeks involuntarily flush.

Wednesday, noticing my embarrassment, tilts her head slightly to the side and adds with a faint smile, She’s cute when she blushes

I try to look away and calm the redness on my face, feeling a mix of embarrassment and curiosity. “Again, thanks for the tour,” I say, trying to keep my composure.

Wednesday gives a nod of approval and resumes walking, leaving me with thoughts about her words and the impression of how Nevermore can be both fascinating and enigmatic.

[ginnsbaker]

Bulletproof

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

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

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Requested by anon:

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like you, he doesn’t need to say.

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

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

The room goes quiet. 

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps it would be easier to leave.

-

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

Your healing ability.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, without warning, Wanda starts to laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was that a compliment?

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

Your crush on Wanda Maximoff.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is she really inviting you to stay in her room?

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Wanda,” you say softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You've become more than just teammates.

You've become friends.

And maybe, just maybe, something more.

[dollwrites]

𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 — 𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐢 𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!consort!reader, pillow humping, voyeurism, overstim, dub con for like a minute, fingering, forced orgasm, degradation, all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading <3

𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 ∣ consensual by landon tewers

“Again.”

you suck in a breath through your teeth, and stifle your own sound of incredulousness— another one? gripping the pillow in both hands and digging your knees in, straddling the fluff, you grind your bare core into it. you’d already soaked through, and your body was quivering, thighs wanting to push the pillow from between them and snap closed. you’d already cum so many times. “Are you sure?” you whisper, breathless, and roll your hips slow to ease back into the stimulation. leaning back, you put your naked figure on display for him to watch as you squirm. your eyelids are heavy, but your eyes flicker to him. “You don’t want me to do anything for you?”

Obanai was perched on a chair in the darkened corner, shadows dancing over his partially concealed features, but his eyes twinkle as he watches you. you couldn’t even be sure he was enjoying the show you were working hard to put on— he hadn’t shifted once, and his draping sleeves didn’t shift as if he were palming some secret erection. he was just staring. silently. and when you’d cum, you’d moan his name, roll your eyes and arch your back, and his only response would be one word. “Again.” he hadn’t even bothered to touch you, keeping his distance since he’d first crept inside.

“I’ll do anything for you,” you purr, batting your lashes, hoping that you could escape this looping orgasm hell by getting him off, instead. “Use my hands? They’re very soft.” you bite your lip, humming soft when your throbbing clit rubs against the damp fabric, “I could suck your cock. Make you cum with a single flick of my tong—“

“No.”

your lips purse, but you didn’t want to look too disappointed. Obanai hadn’t been one to visit you, not like the others did, and you started to feel like maybe he didn’t like you. that’s why you’d been overwhelmed with excitement to see his form darken the doorway of your bedroom, but an hour later and all he’s done was stare, seemingly unblinking, from the shadows as you fucked a pillow.

“Nothing?” you shift, trying to rub yourself slower, limit the amount of friction. “You can have me however you want, you know.” truth be told, you wanted to hold back from another climax, unsure if your body could handle another. you couldn’t force yourself through another one, but he was glaring at you.

“You’re stalling.” he mutters. “I said I want you to cum again.”

you grip the pillow tighter, rocking your hips a little faster, but still careening to avoid the rasping of your sensitive clit into the plush. “I… I’ve cum three times already.” you counter. you’d given up trying to hide how careful you were being. “I don’t know if I can—“

he stood up.

he stood up and your breath caught in your throat. your hips stutter, because he’s across the room in the blink of an eye, standing before you, and you’re suddenly speechless. regardless of his stature, Obanai was intimidating. his gaze was impossible to read, and he was so damn quiet. you hadn’t had a chance to spend any kind of time to get to know what he liked or what he disliked, but you could tell by the chilled glare he was giving you now that he didn’t like being talked back to.

“I— I’m sorry…” you whisper. you had no idea what he was capable of. you were suddenly nervous to be alone in this dark, quiet room with him.

would he hurt you?

your heart was pounding against your rib cage so violently it hurt, and you were certain he heard it, too. without a word, his arm outstretches, stuffing his hand between the pillow and your sex. you yelp in surprise when he cups it. his touch isn’t as rough as some of the others, and his slender fingers seek your clit, gliding over it like twin serpents until your eyes are rolling back and you’re writhing in his palm. “O—Obanai—“

“If you won’t give me another willingly,” he murmurs, his other hand clamping down on your chin and angling your face up towards him. your lids flutter, lips slack, “I’ll take it from you.” his eyes are zeroed in on you as his first two fingers, now slick, hook inside, and his thumb presses hard on your button. you moan, thighs trembling and clamping against his forearm, “You’re going to let me rip it out of you. And however many I want after that. If I want to see you cum again and again, so you’re too exhausted to do a thing but lay there and take it by the time the sun comes up, you’ll just have to endure it. I can have you how I want, isn’t that what you said?”

you nod, obedient, with one hand grasping his wrist. you didn’t try to pry it from your cunt, not that you thought that you could if you wanted to, but the grip was keeping you grounded. “Yes…” you groan, all your nerves screaming as your stomach knots up, “fuck, yes…”

those lithe digits spread inside you, stretching against your fervent clenching, and you dig your nails into his wrist. “That’s how I want you.” his voice is husky and heavy with lust, and for the first time tonight you can hear it. his other thumb runs over your bottom lip, and you’re all too quick to take it into your mouth, grazing it with your teeth, forcing your eyes back open to look up at him, though you were wincing as you teeter on the edge of the most powerful climax thus far. he doesn’t pull it from you, or push it deeper into your mouth, instead allowing you to use it as you pleased, as he did with your core. “So sensitive you can’t even keep your eyes open, shaking and needy and positively pathetic. Cumming as many times as I decide.” you nod, again, vision blurry as he pumps his fingers knuckle deep. it felt like he was tickling the knots that were bunching up inside you, teasing them to force an unraveling.

“T—take it, then,” you beg, words slurred as you nibble on his thumb, “It’s yours… please, please!”

it certainly wasn’t your proudest moment, crying out for him as you tremble and come utterly undone, eyes rolled back and tongue lazing out to taste his digit. your walls clench his fingers, spasming so erratically that you weren’t even sure if he’d be able to withdraw them until the waves of convulsions stopped. you aren’t even able to stay sitting upright, and collapse forward, slumping with your face buried in his midsection. your other hand grips his clothes, babbling your slurred gratitude.

Obanai doesn’t move back to avoid your clinging, nor does he slow down— driving his fingers home at the same pace and forcing you to ride out the euphoria until you’re wrecked with aftershocks and panting.

you’ve no doubt drooled over his uniform when he finally pries his thumb from between your teeth and pushes you back. you sit back on your bum, the absence of his fingers leaving your weeping core feeling sickeningly empty. “Open your mouth.” you do so without so much as opening your eyes, and you taste yourself when he shoves his fingers inside. “Are you too sensitive to give me another?”

you nod, sucking each digit clean. thank goodness, you thought. he’s going to give you a break. maybe you impressed him.

“Good. Lie on your back and spread your legs,” he orders and your stomach does a flip realizing that he’s nowhere near done with you, “I want to fuck another one out of your tender cunt.”

[gilverrwrites]

I know they’re not an older man per se, but lately I’ve been thinking about Jason or Dick having a good cop-bad cop dynamic with Slade, where Slade is just incredibly mean to you but then Jay or Dick is there to coo sweet words at you

I know the obvious here is Bad cop Slade, good cop Dick or Jason. And I love that. Good cop Dick especially is MWAH! 💕 and I absolutely need to write actual smut for this, anon you beaut! Like Slade pistoning into your puffy, swollen, cum-filled sex, calling you ever name under the sun. Spanking your red raw ass, and calling you weak when you start to sob. But its okay baby, shh, shhhh. Dick is underneath you, kissing your tears, stroking your hair telling you how good your doing as if he's not contributing to your overstimulation, fuck!

But I implore you to stick with me here when I say, AK! Slade and Jason - bad cop, WORSE cop.

Specifically: AK!Jason/Bat!Reader/Slade

As per, Slade is loyal to the money, but this is definitely a darker portrayal of Jason.

Warnings: Dub-con, swearing, interrogation kinda, choking, restraints, humiliation. No smut, but maybe I’ll write an extension.

The first thing you notice is the smell, you're underground somewhere for sure. Then you feel the cold, a chill across your warm skin, making your hair stand on edge. From that, you register very quickly that you’ve been stripped down to your underwear.

Appalled, you shoot up, reaching to cover yourself but only manage to make it an inch before cold, hard metal cuts into your body. You're tied to a chair by a multitude of pressure points that both hurt and rouse something salacious.

Shit. Shit shit shit. You can’t believe you fucked up this bad. Bruce had told you to get out of the city but you’d refused. You had to be on your top game but you’d fucked it, caused more problems.

Accessing your surroundings your eyes dart around the room until then fall on your captor. Deathstroke is sat a few feet away, leaning back on his chair, seemingly examining something on a tablet. It's hard to tell, the one eye hole in his mask shrouded by shadow. You hadn’t expected him to be at the militia checkpoint. He’d taken you down easier than you’d like to admit, but you’d put up a fight. Tooth and nail. So seeing him so relaxed without so much as a chip in his armour is a little disheartening.

“Trackers in your suit, right?” His deep voice echoes through the room, making you jump. “I would’ve just patted you down, but the boss man didn't want to take any risks.”

His head turns, and you can feel his eye raking across your bound and exposed form. “Not that I'm complaining.”

You recoil into yourself, disgusted by his blatant perversion, and the warm flush it sends through your body.

“Tell your ‘boss’ to come face me himself.” You spit between gritted teeth. His response only adds to your unease.

“Don’t you worry, pet. He’s on his way.” It’s infuriating, the name, the way he words things so tenderly but laces it with obvious, sickly amused derision. If you could feel any smaller, that would do it. “And between you and me, I get the feeling he’s pretty excited to get his hands on you.”

As if on queue, the piercing sound of an opening door creaks behind you. Despite the squeaky warning, you nearly jump for a second time when it slams shut once more. Heavy boots forebodingly stamp against the concrete floor. As much as you want to, you refuse to crane your neck to get a better look. It’s all you can do to maintain even a little bit of power.

“Well, well, well.” The modulated voice is even more sinister in person. His hand grabs the back of your chair, pulling you back a few inches, no doubt just to prove that he could. To instil fear. He leans over you, close enough that the cold metal of his helmet brushes the side of your face, but still, you refuse to look at him. “If it isn’t Baby-Bat.”

“Don’t call me that.” Your venom surprises you. You haven’t heard that nickname in years and it brings out a visceral reaction. It’s what Jason used to call you in jest. Baby-Bird and Baby-Bat, heroes in training.

“Or what?” He challenges, shaking one of the wrist shackles, as though you’re not already well aware of your less-than-ideal predicament. “You’re in no position to be calling any shots, babe.”

“Not for long. Batman will save me, he’ll save the city.” He has too. “You won’t get away with this.”

“Ha.” Deathstroke’s sneer is dry. When you look over to him he gestures his head toward the top dog but you remain resolute in your refusal to look at him. “I’d keep that name out of your mouth, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Wh-“ The words are cut from you before you can get them out. The Arkham Knight, either pissed at your pitiful attempt at a power play, or the mention of Batman's name; lifts you and your chair completely by your throat, turning you mid-air, then placing you back down, precariously balancing you on the seats back legs before getting in your face. All the while his tight grasp on your neck never waivers.

Face hidden, tall, broad, he’s an intimidating sight. The whole display makes your heart race.

“He…” Red-hot rage drips from every word, and you feel your body temperature rising to meet it. “Can’t. Save. Shit.”

The sound of his ragged breathing is amplified by whatever tech he’s using to distort his voice. Each pant sends a shockwave through your body. And you press your legs together to suppress its effect.

“Get fucking comfy.” He barks as he releases you and stands back, watching as you heave for air and teeter wildly before willing the chair to balance on all fours. “Cause he’s not coming for you. Nobody is.”

“Case in point.” Deathstroke finally approaches. It takes his long legs less than 5 steps to reach your side. He stands about half a foot taller than the already gigantic Knight. The way in which they both tower almost impossibly tall makes you tremble, and you’ve no idea if they notice. You can’t stand the added authority they possess simply by being clothed and masked while you sit practically naked for them. Fear is one thing, you can handle being afraid, you’ve been trained for that, but their deliberate show of power, how they make you feel so fragile is awakening something you don’t know how to curb. “Take a look at your hero.”

A screen is thrust into your face, a live feed of a rooftop somewhere in Miagani Island. Batman is on his knees, fists pounding the floor. His mouth is moving but you can’t lip-read him from the angle. Clearly, he’s not okay. This isn’t like him, he must be dosed up on something. In the depths of your brain you know he’ll overcome it, he’ll save Barbara, you, everyone. But you can’t deny how dire things are beginning to look. The doubt must show on your face because The Arkham Knight's robotic voice lets out a short, cold laugh.

“Now you’re getting it.” The wicked pleasure he gets from teasing you is ten times worse than Deathstroke’s blatantly false niceties.

“W-why am I here?” You internally curse yourself for the way your voice breaks. It sparks you to muster a little more spunk as you keep questioning them. “You could have killed me, why didn't you? What do you want?”

“Bring us up to speed on what he knows.” Deathstroke poses. “His new hideout.”

“How he’s getting his gear patched up.” The Knight continues. Neither are looking at you, having turned the tablet back to themselves. “We know you know.”

When you don't respond The Knight slants his helmet upward to consider you, slowly cocking it to the side as you stare him down.

Eventually, Deathstroke follows suit. You wait until the device is tucked away, until you're certain you have their full attention to speak. “I won’t give in that easy.”

You keep your chin up as they turn to look at each other, but despite your bravado, you flinch when Deathstroke sharply drops into a crouched position. The rough fabric of his tactical gloves scratches the soft skin of your inner thigh as he wedges his fingers between your legs. You’d been pressing them closed, hiding how their interrogation had inadvertently been siring your arousal, but he pries them apart, shattering what little dignity you had left.

“Looks like he owes me another 10.” He nods at you before he turning back to the man in question. The Arkham Knight returns the look. Assholes, they’d bet on you. Now they’re having a silent conversation one in which you are the subject, but aren’t important enough to be privy to. Humiliating.

Finally, Deathstroke removes his hands, tracing them along your torso as he saunters behind you but before you can clasp your thighs back together The Knights boot comes down on your crotch, in a fast, precise motion. Pressing hard enough to make you keen and squirm. The chair rocks unsteadily beneath your withering.

“I thought you were better than this Baby-Bat.” No voice distortment can disguise his zeal. Something in the back of your brain suspects he’d been expecting, even hoping for this. And while you certainly hadn't been, you can't deny the sick intrigue you feel for whatever they have planned.

In shame you turn your head, screwing your eyes together as though blocking them out might make it all disappear. The grate of Deathstroke’s gloves on your face keeps you in the moment however, keeps your moral compass spinning.

“Gettin’ paid to break a cute thing like you.” He sounds wistful, gruff voice sinfully musing in your ear as he forces your head forward once more. “That’s a good day's work.”

“And you will break.” The determination in the Knight’s tone, the loudness of it has you peeking through your lids at his mask which is now inches from your face. Fear and excitement invoke a shiver that runs down your spine. “We’ll make you come apart, piece by piece, and we’ll enjoy every second.”

[bouquetface]

PAC: First Date.

Topic is first date. May have already happened or will. Not necessarily with your future spouse.

As always, I will be specific not going to appeal to everyone. Not every reading you come across is meant for you. Take it as entertainment.

Photos of Dom Fike because I’ve been feeling nostalgic.❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

1. 2.

One.

This relationship will begin through technology. Maybe an instagram DM. I don’t really believe it will be through a dating app. This is due to there being confusion at first. You may be unsure if they’re trying to talk to you romantically or in a platonic way. I see you going to someone in your house (roommate, sister, or mom). Reading some of the texts out loud and asking their opinions.

Whoever you tell may advise you to be careful. There is something about this person that makes them doubtful. It could be they have a mischievous appearance or persona. They may be a gemini rising. Attractive and seemingly popular. It can be unclear when someone like this is flirting or joking around.

Fairly quickly, they’ll ask to meet up. Somewhere local and in public. The setting of the date and casual way it was asked is making you overthink. You may think a proper date is something like going to the movies, going to dinner. Not meeting up at a random time during the day. It’ll be a sunny day. You may be given a loose idea of what’s going to happen. Like “i want to see you” “meet me at _____ since we’re both free”.

The lead up is going to make you nervous. It may be the advice/conversation you had about this person earlier. There are more nerves than usual for a meet up. The way they asked may make it still unclear if it’s a date or not. You could go back and forth with yourself on whether it’s a date or hanging out.

When you do meet up, the first comment made will instantly relax you. They may say something about your height. Physically, I believe they’ll be very lanky. It could be your lanky as well or you’re notably shorter. You two will end up walking a lot that day. You may get drinks or a small treat along the way. Seems you two are just exploring the area & talking.

They’ll be very curious about you. Asking lots of question, teasing/joking at your answers. They may ask questions off topic or change topics a lot. A bit scatterbrained but it keeps the conversation moving. At the same time they’re very detached. It doesn’t seem like they take life too seriously. They respond to things with humour or logic. Logic over emotions kinda person.

It really seems you are very nervous or confused. They don’t pick up on it at all though. They have a playful nature but you’ll still be confused at their intentions. I am not sure if this makes them a red flag or not. I don’t know if you tend to overthink things normally, or if their personality is making you react that way. Their chill & kinda stoic nature may not work for you.

It is the first date so it does take people time to open up. All their questions for you, does suggest they have a desire to get to known you on a deeper level. Yet, I will be honest this first date seems more like a hangout, kinda low effort so if that doesn’t appeal to you, this next date may be a let down. Keep in mind though it’s the first date and seems like the first ever meet up. Of course, they’ll be a bit on guard if they just met you. At the end of the day, it’s up to you to decide.

Two.

The two of you will be in a more private area than the first pile. Despite being alone with person, you’ll feel very comfortable. This might be someone you already knew before going on a date. Maybe someone from the past that you haven’t seen in a while. You could have gone to school together.

It could be dinner at a restaurant. Yet, the comfortable & private energy is making me believe you could be at yours or their place. They may walk you to your door and you invite them in. They may take you to their place after the night. Perhaps, you invite them in to watch a film.

This is very random but they definitely went to the barber a few days before this date to get cleaned up. You may really like the way their hair looks. They may have had a glow up since the last time you saw them. You could be wearing something very sexy. Black or red. Omg pile 2, this could be someone who felt friend zoned by you in the past.

Your look that night is driving them crazy. The scorpio card coming up is making me think you knew what you were doing when you put on that outfit. The fireworks card literally says “Loving Passionate Intimacy”. Whether it gets sexual that first night or not, the feelings are definitely there. It feels like a dream come true to this person. You are their fantasy come to life. They may have been secretly admiring you for a while.

4th of July is coming up so possibly for American readers, there could be literal fireworks. The reading is still strongly indicating an intimate vibe. You may sneak off together, end up alone watching fireworks. I literally pulled the fireworks card and am now hearing fireworks. I’m in Canada, and apparently my neighbours couldn’t wait until Canada Day (which is tmr). Crazy coincidence. They began and (have seemed to) stop at this pile.

Unlike the first pile, I believe very strongly you will want to see this person again. There is no doubt in my mind. You two are very attracted to each other. Not all the piles indicate a future spouse. For someone reading this, it definitely is the first night with your future spouse.

[azsazz]

In Storm

Rancher!Cassian x Reader

Summary: You want a baby and Cassian looks all too good in his flannel.

Warnings: Conversation about having a baby.

Word Count: 1,098

Notes: The Cassian era is era-inggg

_________________________________________

Rainy mornings are your favorite.

The sky cracking open and letting her feelings loose means that you get to sleep in, that your husband’s warm body holds you tightly as rain patters the windows in pretty songs. It means gentle calloused hands roaming your curves, soft breaths as he mouths against your skin. It means a slow and sensual fucking with a steaming hot bath following, where you can lean back into the comfort of Cassian and rest the day away.

But rainy mornings are not his favorite.

You find your husband standing in front of the large windows of the living room, staring out into the expanse of land you get to call yours. Yesterday’s flannel hangs loose around his broad shoulders, unbuttoned from when he’d hastily thrown it on to examine the conditions of the farm under the onslaught of rain. His hair is tousled, not yet thrown up into a haphazard bun the way he does when he works up a sweat from milking the cows or fixing the fence. His feet are bare, just as yours are, the hardwood flooring holding a chilled bite to it as you near his side.

Stepping up next to Cassian, you gaze out the window as well. The weather hadn’t called for a storm but the springtime is unpredictable. The horses graze in the pasture, seemingly unaffected by the drizzling skies. Their coats are dark with water but they’re getting on with their days as if the sun is shining brightly. 

Lightning cracks the sky and Cassian grunts, displeased. You can see it in the downwards slope of his mouth that he’s unhappy with the fact that he hadn’t brought the animals in yesterday, when he knew he smelled the metallic tang of a storm creeping in.

“They’re animals,” you try to soothe, “They should be used to it.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the stallions,” Cassian responds, not even sparing you a glance as he stares at the horses. “But my mares shouldn’t be out in this storm. Especially not Carrington. Ol’ girl can have that foal anytime now and she’s only out in the rain because you were adamant she needed ‘fresh air.’” His voice pitches at the end in a terrible impersonation of you and you scowl.

“So now it’s my fault?” you ask, incredulously. Cassian lets you sidle up to his side anyway, slipping between the opening of his flannel and his bare chest. You nearly growl with delight because he’s so warm. Turning your head, you press your lips to his pec. “You’re grumpy when it rains.”

“‘M grumpy because there’s chores that need to be done,” Cassian sighs, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I should go out there.” 

Out there looks miserable. The trail leading up to the barn is muddy, puddles of rain scattering the path. The rain has kept its steady pour since you’d come down here to find your husband, and if you think he’s grumpy now, you know he’d be absolutely miserable after working out in the rain all day.

“Or, you can stay in here and we can spend a little time together,” you drawl, trailing your fingers along his chest. His muscles clench the closer to his waistline that you get. 

His hazel gaze cuts down to yours, “Last night wasn’t enough for you?” Cassian muses, eyes sparkling in the way that you know you have him. 

“Won’t be enough for me until I look like your best girl Carrington out there, nice and full with child.” 

Cassian’s fingers still from where they’re tracing patterns on your hip. “You really want one, don’t you?” He asks softly.

You shrug. It hasn’t been something you’ve talked about much, a child. Cassian is busy running the ranch and ever since Rhysand and Feyre moved closer to the hustle and bustle of the city to raise Nyx, you haven’t had anyone to really talk to besides the mares. And they just whinny and snort at everything you say. 

“It would mean extra hands around the farm,” you try to play off, cheeks heating. You slide from his side, eager to dispel the conversation your husband surely doesn’t want to have at this very moment. Not while Carrington is getting rained on, Gods forbid. “What do you want for breakfast? Pancakes? An omelet? I just gathered the eggs yesterday morning so they’ll be nice and fresh.”

“Hey,” Cassian calls gently, snagging your hand as you try to dip away. He tugs you back to his chest, bushing some of your sleep mussed hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear so he can caress your cheek. His hazel eyes search yours, and the frown tugging his lips downward makes your heart ache. “Don’t walk away from me, sweetheart. You want a baby?”

Your eyes well with tears the longer he stares at you. His brows are pulled tight as he waits patiently for your response. The emotion in your throat is thick, but you nod, voice coming out raspy with it when you answer. “More than anything.” 

Cassian nods a little, taking in your answer. His throat bobs but he’s agreeing, nodding firmer. “Then let’s have one.” 

Your entire body locks up at his words. You didn’t think it would be so easy to convince him. All you had to do all of this time was ask? Surely, that is not the case.

But Cassian would be so wonderful with a child in his arms. He’d love them just as perfectly as he loves you, as he cares for the animals of his ranch. You’ve seen him with the foals and chicks and lambs. How he holds each one with care and parades them around the ranch, kissing their little heads and talking to them in soft voices. He’s made to be a father, even if he doesn’t know it himself.

“We’re trying to have a baby,” you breathe, clutching onto him. An all-consuming feeling rushes through your body, nerves perhaps, because holy shit, you and Cassian are going to try for a baby. “We’re trying for a baby!”

Cassian grins, mirroring your excitement. He pulls you into his arms and you lock your legs around his waist immediately, diving down to capture his mouth against yours. The kiss is exhilarating, hot and sensual as they both of you settle into the feeling that maybe this time next year, it could be you giving birth instead of Carrington.

You could not be more excited for the adventure you and your husband are about to embark on.

[clovermae]

Taking Chances

🍀 Pairing: Sugawara Koushi x gender-neutral!Reader

🍀 Genre: Fluff

🍀 Word Count: 911

🍀 A/N: Posted on AO3 here! And inspired by this TikTok! Takes place during the training camp arc! Enjoy! 💚

“Come on Suga, you’re the last one up here. Let’s go eat,” you call out from halfway up the hill, a towel in one hand and a chilled bottle of water in the other.

“‘m tired, Y/N,” he huffs, chest heaving up and down as he tries to steady his ragged breathing.

“And that’s exactly why you need to eat. Let’s go.” A few moments pass, and Suga shows no signs of moving. You sigh and trudge to the top of the hill. A slope like this is nothing under normal circumstances, but with the hot sun beaming on your skin in this blistering summer heat, you find yourself struggling to reach your destination.

“Wow,” you pant, “You all are amazing, being able to run up this hill all day today.”

“You don’t have to rub it in,” Suga mumbles, tilting his head just enough to flash a pout in your direction. You chuckle and approach his exhausted figure, crouching to pass over the towel and water. “Thank you.” A single bead of water trickles down the side of his mouth as he gulps down the cool liquid.

With a hefty sigh, his eyes focus on the drifting clouds— some fluffy, some wispy, all glowing in front of the setting sun.

“Lay with me Y/N.”

“Huh?”

“Here.” He pats the empty patch of grass next to him, a tranquil expression on his face. Until his lips twist into a smirk, and his suddenly playful eyes rest upon your tense figure. “What did you think I meant?”

“N-nothing.” It never ceases to amaze you— the way Suga is able to fluster you in one swift motion. You feel a familiar warmth spread through your body. Whether it’s from the weather or his actions is beyond you.

The warm grass tickles your tense figure as you stretch out next to him. Despite the many thoughts swarming in your mind, the atmosphere is comfortable. The assaulting sun begins its descent, leaving an orange glow in its wake. The song of the cicadas is replaced by the soft chirping of crickets. The blistering heat is ushered away by a cool wind. The chatter from the camp fades as they all retreat to the dining hall.

All that remains is you and Suga.

Your heart flutters at the thought, and you cast a glance to see any indication of how he may be feeling. His breathing finally steadies out, eyes closed, seemingly taking in the nice weather. You don’t miss the furrow in his brow, his tight grasp on both the towel and the grass, and the way his lips are pulled into a thin line.

“Gah, I’m so frustrated!” he groans into the air, shattering the quiet settled between the two of you. “I always hit Asahi whenever his bad vibes come out, but sometimes they’re hard to ignore.” You hum to let him know you’re listening. “The Spring Tournament. It’s our last chance to make it to Nationals. We can’t just rely on the first years. I need to get stronger.”

“You’ll get there Suga. You have to be patient.”

“I hope so.” His eyes flutter open again with a wisp of worry laced in them. His empty hand fists the grass in between you. “But what if I don’t? What if all this effort is for nothing and we remain nothing but fallen crows?”

This is the first time Suga has been honest with his feelings. Your heart swells with joy knowing he trusts you enough to be this vulnerable.

How should you respond to this situation, you think to yourself. You consider hitting him as he does Asahi. You also consider offering simple, comforting words. And then your mind drifts elsewhere, causing your heart rate to spike once more.

This chance will never come again. There’s no waiting for the perfect moment. You have to create it.

With a trembling hand, you slide your fingers across the seemingly infinite space until your fingertips brush against his. You hear a gasp fall from his lips as your fingers graze the mountain of his thumb until it settles on the back of his hand. You can’t bring yourself to see his reaction, fearing the worse. Your nervous gaze darts to the trees facing the opposite direction of him.

All the words you wished to say before are gone in the blink of an eye. The thoughts in your brain are far too incoherent— too scrambled— and everything seems to fade, save for the warmth beneath your palm. But even that is swallowed up by the regret encasing your quivering and retreating body.

At this moment you want to run away.

A faint chuckle rings in the air. You finally have the courage to glimpse at Suga, who grins in your direction. His hand flips underneath yours, gingerly tangling your fingers together.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

With those words, the storm surrounding you both has disappeared, leaving behind a rainbow of happiness in its wake. The smile on your face matches his and you both settle into the cozy silence between you two.

“We should probably go soon shouldn’t we?”

“I’d like to stay here just a little longer, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.” With your eyes locked and hands joined, neither of you have the will nor desire to pull away, basking in the sweet aftermath of the risk you took.

Taking chances isn’t so scary after all.

[foli-vora]

Congratulations on your follower milestone! That is amazing! 💖

May I please request a Rick Flag fic with “The first time you smiled it felt like the universe aligned.” and I would love for you to rip my heart out (since that is an option 😊)

Thanks and I am so excited to read all of these upcoming fics!

My sweet angel, thank you for your never ending support and love, and thank you for the request! I'm sorry for the major delay getting this done, but I hope you enjoy me ripping your heart out and squishing it under my slipper 💖

hear me

rick flag x suicidesquadf!reader

word count: 1k warnings: ANGST SUPREME. sad ending. swearing, blood, bullet wounds, death, sad sad sad. rick is cheesy & sad. SAD. ANGST. genuinely teared up writing this bye.

They lied. Everyone who had toed that line between life and death, they fucking lied. There was no bittersweet flash of memories before your eyes. You didn’t have a lot, but shit—there’s gotta be something worth showing you, worth reliving, before you close your eyes forever.

The minutes pass, you feel the growing chill along your limbs from the steady flow of blood from the various bullet holes in your torso, and still—nothing. Not a goddamn thing. 

Just Rick.

Rick bolting across the sand with your name falling from his lips. You can’t hear it, there’s a distinct shrill ringing in your ears that seems to be drowning out the chaos around you, but you see the movement of his mouth, the strain of his throat as he yells.

He comes to land on his knees next to you, a shower of cool sandy grains flicking up and dusting your black tac shirt. It glistens under the light of explosions and gunfire, and you briefly wonder in morbid curiosity how much of your blood stains the beach beneath you.

“Jesus. Oh, oh darlin’—”

You hear him then, his broken and strained mutter cutting through the surrounding ambush.

“Hey Colonel,” you rasp with a barely there smile, a sticky hot trail of liquid leaking from the edge of your lips, “how’s it lookin’?”

Those pretty doe eyes dart over the destruction of your body, his hands ghosting over your wounds in what feels like hesitation, anxiety. Which ones can be smothered with a cheap and easy dressing? What one needs the most pressure applied?

Going by the rate your body seems to be numbing, cooling in the breezy night air, they’re all pretty shit. At least there's no pain. Shock, adrenaline - whatever the fuck it is, you're thankful for it.

“Fine,” he mutters, rough gloved hands instead coming to rest on your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the coarse sand and half dried blood splatters covering your skin, “you’re gonna be just fine.”

“Damn,” you breathe heavily, brows briefly coming together, “I never thought I’d hear you lie to me. None of that shit. No, no.... you gotta make it something good, Colonel.”

Confusion pinches his pretty face through the pain, and you give another strained smile.

“The last words I’ll ever hear—make ‘em… they gotta be good.”

“Don’t talk like that, you hear me? You’ll be fine. Backup’s comin’. They’re comin’, and we’ll get you patched up, and you’ll be right to back to bein’ a pain in my ass, okay?”

Oh, sweet soldier.

No.

It doesn't work like that.

They don’t send help for people like you. Suicide Squad, remember? It’s in the name. You knew what you were signing up for. He knew what you were signing up for. This is it. You’re just another classified file thrown through the shredder at the end of the day.

You blink tiredly up at him, “No one’s coming, Flag.”

He shakes his head in firm denial, strong jaw rolling in an effort to remain cool and collected.

“No, they... they have to.” 

“Somethin’ good, Flag,” you remind him quietly, a heaviness now seemingly coming to rest along your limbs.

Is this it? Can’t you just have one more minute? One more minute of him crowding your vision? You don’t need a last minute life montage, not when he’s here, not when he’s carefully dragging you further into his warm embrace.

Please, just a little longer in his arms.

“Okay… okay. The—the first time you smiled, it felt like the universe aligned.”

“Oh, fuck me,” you splutter with a sudden roll of remaining energy, chest heaving and lungs screaming as you choke on a weak chuckle, “that’s a… a new low, even for… f’your s-soft self.”

“Thought you’d like that,” he drawls quietly with a grin.

It’s brief, tainted with agony stricken tears, and falls from his face the second it stretches his lips. No, sweet soldier. Smile. It’s okay.

Maybe… maybe this is why your life isn’t flashing before your eyes. It’s because it’s here—he’s here. You didn’t really have anything before this, before the Squad, before Rick. You were merely a shell of a person in your cell, angry with the unfair world and the hand you’d been dealt from childhood, but when he came along?

He gave you a chance, saw something in you no one had before. He provided you with the Squad, with friends. He got you out of your cell and into the fresh air with a new outlook. He trained you, laughed with you, ate with you in the crappy mess hall despite the frowns from his co-workers.

He saw you.

He saw you for everything you were, not for what people thought you to be.

“Think you’re the… the closest thing I’ve e-ever felt to love, Colonel. Thank you.”

It’s a decent goodbye, you decide with the final beat of your heart, slackening in relief and embracing the call of the abyss with a leftover curl still tugging at your lips. Better than you’d been led to believe you deserved, better than what Waller threatened you with.

You got a good ending.

He feels the weight of you in his arms, sees how unnaturally still your chest has fallen and how your eyes seem to stare just past his shoulder. It shakes him to the core. His heart beats at the base of his throat and he can’t help but call out to you one more time, despite knowing you’d never answer.

“Darlin’?”

You can’t be gone—not yet.

You can’t be gone, because you didn’t get to hear him say it back. He needs to say it, he needs you to hear it. He murmurs those three little words over and over, breathing them into your skin wherever he can reach, willing you to stay just long enough to hear them, long enough to know you were loved.

You need to know you’re loved.

Bile builds in his throat at the thought, but he has to leave you behind; alone, broken and bled out on the sandy beach for a sweep team to deal with later. He wonders as he runs through the dense jungle, but he’ll never know if you did manage to hear his broken, tear filled I love you’s.

He hopes with everything in him that you did.

[cosmerelists]

The Most Annoying Things About Living on Roshar

Notice that I said annoying. I’m not talking about real problems like, uh, slavery and war crimes and a broken social system and etc etc. I’m talking about things that I think would just kinda be annoying about living in Stormlight Archive.

1. You can’t tell little white lies about how you’re feeling.

Thanks to those pesky emotion spren always showing how you’re REALLY feeling! As illustrated here: https://www.tumblr.com/taravangians-storming-balls/716486386153291776/me-if-i-lived-on-roshar

2. If you’re Alethi or Alethi-influenced, you have to be religious to get food variety.

Are you a woman? Sweet food only! Are you a man? Spicy/savory food only! Want the food of a gender not your own? Looks like you need to join the church! 

Like...what?

3. Nothing is fluffy.

Outside of Shinovar, everything on Roshar is a crab. Crab-dogs, crab-cows, crab-bugs, crab-crabs, you get it. Which is great if you’re an animal who wants to be protected from the constantly dangerous weather, but bad if you’re a human who, like me, wants to pet things that are fluffy. I just feel like petting an axehound isn’t quite the same.

4. If you’re an Alethi woman with naturally hot hands, life sucks.

Now, I wouldn’t understand this myself, since I have icy hands forever, but some women have hands that naturally run hot. And yet those same women must, if they’re Alethi or Alethi-influenced, keep one hand covered at all times. That must be torture for Lady Hot Hands.

5. If you’re an Alethi man, you can’t kick back with a nice book.

At least prior to Dalinar, Alethi men could never just, like, chill out with a lovely book...at least, not without joining the church. And just because many men didn’t realize their loss does not make it any less sad. 

6. “We’ve gotta get you a spren.”

Adolin is like the last main character to not have a spren. And I remember when someone said something like “We gotta get you a spren!” to Adolin in the same “jovial” tones as people keep saying, “You need a girlfriend!” to Kaladin. And that’s a lot of pressure. I think it would be annoying, especially to people who just don’t want to join the Radiants thank you very much.

7. You can’t share funny undertext with your guy friends.

If I were reading a book aloud to one of my guy friends and there was a funny undertext, I would be legitimately bummed that I was forbidden to share it with him due to a seemingly worldwide ladies agreement to hide the existence of the undertext from men. But, like, what if it was really funny?

8. The anxiety of constantly leaking Stormlight.

Gems constantly leak Stormlight, and they can only be renewed during storms. People are fairly casual about this in the books, but man, that would make me SO anxious, especially during the Weeping when apparently it’s just expected that all gems will just sort of run out. Like, in my actual life, if there’s a power outage, I’m there huddled like a little ferret nervously checking my phone battery every few seconds, watching the battery percentage tick slowly down and fretting about how I can’t recharge it until the power comes back on but who KNOWS when that will be.

...Okay, so maybe this one is just me. 

[puppyluvfics]

NSFW Alphabet | Goo Gunil

Goo Gunil | WC: 1.2k Genre: smut Summary: nsfw alphabet game thing idk Warnings: this is just. PURE filth. I'm sorry. (No im not). NOT proofread, just straight up rambles. A/N: writers block is kicking my ass forgive me pookie bears ALSO! X is excluded bc i will Not be writing about him in that kind of detail <3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s literally an angel idc, he would constantly ask if you’re okay and remind you to breathe and give you back rubs T-T AND omg stop he would be so quick to wipe you off if you hated feeling messy like that and he’d make sure the towel was warm and that you weren’t cold after. He gives me the vibes of someone who would give you kisses all over, like after he’d wipe something off of you, he’d kiss that spot to remind you that he’s so thankful and finds you so stunning. ALSO I feel like he’d be the kind to dress you, either in your own clothes or in something of his so you were swimming in it and comfy.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I mean. Come on now. He’s an arm guy,,, I feel it. Something about you gripping onto his biceps drives him nuts. I also feel like he would be really into like. He would be into hips and/or thighs… like something about how he could easily dig his thumbs into your skin without doing any real damage other than surface bruising… yeah… 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Now… hear me out on this. It could go one of two ways where he’d either really like to come all over you and make a mess of you OR he’s a “swallow it” kind of guy… either way, it’s going to involve holding you down in one way or another

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

So who’s going to beat my ass if I say I think he likes to edge himself… that is all.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

You can’t tell me this man hasn’t gotten laid… look at him. Is he a sex god? I do not think so. BUT he for sure knows his way around and he gives me the vibe of not being scared to be told to switch it up if what he’s doing doesn’t feel good for his partner.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Man’s a classic guy, I fear… missionary 95% of the time, only switching it up when you want to

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I think he could go both ways, but leans toward serious… I dunno! I think he likes to make a big deal about it every time and take his time.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I’ll keep it brief - trimmed and neat <3

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

^^ Like I said, he takes his time for sure… foreplay? Oh, it’s happening. Teasing? Forever. He is putting his mouth ALL over you, worshipping you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcannon)

And if. If I say he likes to jack off in front of a mirror… then what?

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He gives me such vanilla vibes, but ig cumplay if anything… breeding maybe?

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He’s an at home/in private guy, don’t even joke yourself… he wants you all to himself and he wants you both to be so comfortable 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He’s a man so. Everything. LOL no jk but fr I think he really likes dirty talk and like. Sultry things that aren’t totally obvious, like you walking around in lingerie and “accidentally” showing it to him when you bend over, or asking him to touch you in a seemingly chill way only to find you aren’t wearing anything underneath, yknow?

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

He’s the least hardcore guy, I’m sorry. Yeah, he goes all out on stage but I think when it comes to sex, he’s so gentle and caring and sweet but still like… not a dominant, at all, but powerful. He doesn’t get off on obedience, you get me?

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

LOVES giving, I just know. Idk if I’d call him a munch per se, but I can just see him being the type to lay between your legs and make you come AT LEAST once before you even touch him. Also loves receiving! Somewhere between sloppy blowjobs and cock worship… yeah he’s gone.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Somewhere in the middle, for sure. He’ll speed up when you’re close, and he’ll go tantalizingly slow when you’re whining and begging for more, but he’s a rhythm guy…

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Big no, methinks. He likes aftercare and taking his time, but that doesn’t mean he’s against starting something he can finish later, like edging you a few times or rubbing you through your panties just to get you wet and needy.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I think he’d try almost anything once within reason. Nothing extreme, obviously, but if you brought up the idea of trying a new kink or position, he’d be down to try it once, maybe twice if he liked it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

GOD forever. Hours. This man takes his time, you cannot tell me he doesn’t. He would love to leave you fucked out, even if it means he only comes once or twice.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don’t think he’s against them, but they’re not the first thing that come to mind… he seems the type to find you fucking yourself and then want to “show you how it’s really done” you feel?

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

I mentioned earlier how I feel like he’d love to tease you when you whine, and I stand by that. When your thighs are pressing together and your hips are bucking and you’re grabbing at him, he’d slow down and taunt you, making you use your words, just because he likes to hear you and know the effect he has on you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s loud but only for you. What I mean is that he is going to be SO in your ear calling you pet names (lovingly or degradingly, tbh) and grunting, but he’s not putting on a show of it… he wants you to know what you do to him and how good you feel around him and how much he loves fucking you dumb.

W = Wild card (a random headcannon)

LISTEN. I cannottttt stop thinking about him wanting his partner to sit on his face and eat them out through their panties… like… not all the time but I cantttt get it out of my head.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He’s down when you’re down! He’s never going to pout about it if he’s in the mood and you’re not, but he would ask you to understand if he disappeared for a bit to take care of it, yknow? But whenever you’re in the mood… he is so on it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Not that shortly after, tbh. I think he’d be too protective and have too big of a desire to make sure you’re okay and clean and feel safe and loved and reassured, he’d only sleep after you fell asleep.