#and to stop trying to reduce everything and everyone

[tiger-moran]

When people are unironically using the terms TMEs/TMAs or AFABs/AMABs or 'men, women and enbies' or fucking 'theyfabs'

[abdalsalam2000]

They deceived us when they told us that there is an International Court of Justice, and they deceived us when they said that they are human beings or that they know humanity, and they deceived us when they said we are with you and will not leave you. They are developing and developing and developing everything in life in order to try to reduce the death rate and preserve the lives and safety of people, but all of this is a lie. Where is all of this in what is happening in Gaza? Why does the International Court of Justice not stop the war in Gaza? Why do they not stop Israel from committing massacres? Why do they let us die? Why do they let us starve? Why do they let us be besieged? Why do they let us leave our homeland by force? Why does this indicate? Where is their humanity? Where is the International Court of Justice that they boast about? Where is all of this about the thousands of children who were killed? Where is this about the thousands of children who were wounded? Where is this about the thousands of children who lost their families, fathers and mothers? Where are you regarding what is happening to us? Hundreds of innocent citizens die daily, hundreds are injured, and dozens of homes are destroyed. Why is all of this happening to us? Aren’t we human beings like you? Don’t we deserve to live like you? We want this? We want a normal life like everyone else. We don’t want to starve, we don’t want to be displaced, we don’t want to be besieged, and we don’t want to be killed. Show some of the humanity that you claim to have. Help us, please, help us. We don’t know how long we will live, so stand by us so that we can get out of here safely.

Please donate

[faemurmur]

╰┈➤ 𝕝&𝕕𝕤 𝕞𝕖𝕟 & 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕗𝕒𝕧𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕩 𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤

author’s note: 🗒️ oh i’ve had so much fun writing this. <3 talk to me about the lads men 😫💞

-> xavier *ੈ✩‧₊˚ legs up in a V

xavier loves control. loves precision. he loves to humble you at times when he switches from the cutest, most adorable little snuggly bear to the hardest dom you’ve ever seen. the eyes switch, the demeanor switches, and you love it.

he has your legs pushed up in a trembling v, hands wrapped around your thighs like restraints, your cunt exposed and twitching, so sore and swollen it’s almost pulsing. he loves the way his cock digs into your velvety walls, slippery sounds of him pumping you full echoing through his apartment.

his voice is calm, low, calculated.

“don’t move, princess. i want to see everything. i want to see your face when you cum, when it’s xavier making you cum — and not lumiere.”

he’s slow with it—methodical, hitting that perfect spot every single time while he watches your body tremble beneath him like an experiment unraveling. your hands claw at the sheets, lips parted in ruined moans, and he just smirks. jealousy dripping, conceited and oh- so so horny.

“mm. there. that reaction. that’s the one i wanted.”

-> zayne *ੈ✩‧₊˚ cowgirl

zayne wants you on top. not always, but on the occasions when he wants to see you struggling to fit his thick, fat cock inside you. when he wants to reduce you from a big, baddie hunter, to his subby little angel who’s sobbing because her pussy feels too full.

he lays back with that lazy, cocky smile, hands behind his head, muscles golden and taut like he’s built to be ridden. head leaned against the headboard.

“go on, little one. show me what that pretty body’s made for.”

he watches every bounce. every grind. his hands slide up your waist, your thighs, gripping your ass as you lose rhythm and start crying from how deep he hits. he would wipe your tears tenderly, peppering sweet kisses — “look at you, so little and so cute for me like this. sometimes i wonder if this is what you’re made for.”

“hmm, already falling apart? and here i thought you were gonna ride me like a good girl.”

he pulls you down, sucks a bruise into your neck, and mutters against your ear

“don’t stop now. i’m not done watching you yet.”

-> sylus *ੈ✩‧₊˚ doggy-style

sylus doesn’t just fuck you. he hunts you from behind. it’s like your predator chasing you. his thick, girthy & veinny cock loves when your pussy tries to run away from it. swollen & desperate, how your body lurches forward when he pumps you full. his heavy balls slapping against your clit.

has you on all fours, back arched, cunt dripping, and one hand pressing your spine down harder every time you try to lift your head. sometimes he would hold your shoulder, muttering softly, “ah ah ah— don’t run away now, sweetie.” voice laced with that soft mockery that you love oh so much.

“no, stay like that. let me see everything.”

his pace is brutal. steady. punishing. he watches your ass ripple, your thighs shake, your mouth gape into the mattress like you’re trying to scream but forgot how.

“look at that. twitching already? good. you’ll remember this one.”

and when you whimper out “sy—sylus—please—”

“mm-mm, sure kitten. you want to be bred by me just say so…” and you do, so badly.

-> caleb *ੈ✩‧₊˚ prone-bone

caleb’s all about ownership. he wants you to know he owns you, he wants everyone to know he owns you, he wants your body, your soul, everything related to you to know & remember — you’re his.

he lays you flat on your stomach, legs spread just enough, hips tilted up & a pillow underneath as he sinks in deep, pinning you under his body like you’re his. and you’re meant to be pliant & take it.

“don’t move, baby. i got you.”

his arms are tight around your waist, face pressed to the back of your neck, lips brushing your ear as he fucks you in slow, aching rolls that make your clit throb against the sheets.

“feel that? how deep i am? how i’m not letting you go?”

he grinds deeper, and you sob, trembling from how much you’re taking. caleb’s not small, and both of you know that. the way your pesky cervix stops him from forcing more of him deeper, harder..

“you don’t have to do a thing, angel. just lie there and come on my cock.” and you don’t. you just lay there and watch him, feel him make you see stars.

-> rafayel *ੈ✩‧₊˚ mating press

rafayel wants to own your soul. he’s waited for you so long & his stupid lemurian instincts want you to so many times to feel satiated…

he folds you in half, presses your knees to your chest, and thrusts so deep it feels like he’s kissing your womb with every stroke. he really is, and in the back of his head if the position is called — a mating press. then he should be able to make you pregnant.

“you’re mine, cutie. say it.”

his hand is on your throat, his other pressed to your belly where he can feel himself inside you. you’re gasping, leaking, absolutely gone. “say you’re mine~” he almost sing songs, the way your pupils have dilated from the sheer pleasure in your nerves only makes him chuckle a little. oh he’s gone so far deep.

“look at how your body opens for me. like it knows who it belongs to.”

and when you start shaking—so overstimmed you’re crying? oh how can his cock not erupt and fill you up? over & over & over?

“let me fuck it deeper. let me keep you.”

[vinecoveredgarden]

I'm just so tired.

[kjhbsies]

Rumor Has It

navigation | main masterlist | rules

James Potter x Slytherin!reader

synopsis: James Potter is in a secret relationship with Y/N, but things spiral when someone mistakes Regulus Black for Y/N’s boyfriend and spreads the rumor around Hogwarts. How far will he go before he can’t take it anymore?

wordcount: 2, 376

note: 16+ fluff.

part II. part III.

He was in Gryffindor— the golden boy, Quidditch captain, and this year's Head Boy. She was a Slytherin— sharp-tongued, keen, and entirely off-limits.

James Potter had a reputation to maintain, and people finding out that you and him were dating would spark nasty rumors, ones that could damage both of your standings. So, one night, hidden in the shadows behind one of the castle's staircases, he proposed that you two keep your relationship a secret.

You immediately agreed. You'd never hear the end of it if someone knew, anyway.

But right now, you were perched on James's lap, your back pressed against the cold walls of an unused classroom. The boy kissed you with hunger, like he hadn't seen you for months.

"Missed you so much, love." He murmured against your lips, hands snaking at the nape of your neck, pulling you impossibly close.

You smiled into the kiss, fingers tangling on his messy curls. "We were just in the same class not an hour ago."

"Details, details," He hummed, fingers creeping dangerously close to the hem of your skirt.

Sure, the two of you shared classes. But between the rift of the two houses— Gryffindor and Slytherin— you two were only reduced to stolen glances, shared smirks behind textbooks, fleeting brushes of fingers as you two passed by each other. Moments that meant everything, but looked like nothing, especially under the watchful eyes of his rowdy friends.

The same group that made a habit of declaring an absolute hatred for your house. Who never missed a chance to sneer at Lucius Malfoy or mock Severus Snape. Who would lose their minds if they found out that James Potter, of all people, was sneaking around with a Slytherin girl.

It all happened at last year's Yule Ball after party. Everyone was beet drunk, sneaking in a couple of firewhiskey and muggle beers and alcohols. You found James pissed drunk, staggering through the rose bush before puking out.

You were just trying to get some fresh air, having been suffocated in a room full of intoxicated young adults. You found him slumped against the stone bench, suit disheveled, crown of the night askew.

"Such an unexpected act from a Slytherin like you," James threw a lopsided smirk when you handed him a bottle of water that you just conjured.

"And such an expected act from a Gryffindor like you. So reckless and annoying." You muttered, rolling your eyes at him.

You expected him to leave you alone after that. Act like nothing happened.

But he didn't.

After that night, James couldn't stop seeing you— even when you weren't looking his way. Couldn't help noticing the twist of your mouth when you read, or how you sat in the far corner of the library where the sun always hit the table just right.

You knew who he was. Everyone did. The James Potter. The boy who pined after Lily Evans for six years. So, yes, you were skeptical. You thought it was a prank. A bet. Some stupid Gryffindor game orchestrated by his infamous friends.

But then weeks passed. Months. And he kept showing up. With books. With sweets. With flushed cheeks and sincere eyes. He started learning the little things about you— like how you tie your shoelace twice, or how you hummed when you were stressed.

And eventually, you gave in.

Honestly, your dating life was surprisingly good. Shocking, even. James turned out to be nothing like what you'd expected. He was thoughtful, passionate, and stupidly charming. He made you laugh. Made you feel seen. The problem was... well, it was a secret.

You weren't famous, per se. Sure, many people knew of you— top of your year, Slug Club regular, often praised by professors. But your name didn't echo towards the halls— not in a way that James's did. Which was fine. You liked it that way.

Most people would never expect you to be James Potter's secret lover. And that was fine, too. You were secure in yourself. Let them think what they want.

But the thing that pisses you off the most was when everyone still kept teasing James with Lily. It was relentless, to say the least. You've heard about the comments. Even his friends laughed about it, like it was some unshakeable part of his identity. You knew they meant no harm— that it was all good and fun— but Merlin, it gets exhausting. Especially now that both of them were Head Students. The school seemed obsessed with watching their every move.

Still, James never made you feel less. Never made you feel like you're the second best. And you were extremely grateful for that.

Sirius Black, for all his charms and recklessness, has an absolute talent for unknowingly stirring the pot.

"Do you reckon Y/n has a boyfriend?" He whispered during Flitwick's lecture, nudging James with his elbow.

James's head snapped toward him so fast. "What?"

Sirius smirked, "I mean, I know we said not to involve ourselves with Slytherins, but I could turn a blind eye. For her, I'd even forgive Malfoy."

James blinked. He felt his left eye twitch. His internal monologue was screaming.

Over my dead, hexed, and dismembered body.

"Who are you talking about?" Peter leaned in.

"Y/n Y/l/n." Sirius said without missing a beat, eyes still glued to where you sat a few rows ahead, effortlessly answering Flitwick's question. "Slytherin's babe."

James's hand gripped his quill so hard that it snapped in two. Sirius didn't even notice.

Peter let out a snort. "Oh, you're too late."

Sirius and James both turned to him, twin expressions of horror and confusion.

"Word is, your brother beat you to it."

Silence.

"What?" James whispered, his voice unnaturally high, which earned looks from Remus, who had been listening quietly.

"Yeah. Regulus. Everyone's basically saying they're a thing now." Peter shrugged.

James's jaw dropped.

"What? Since when? How did that happen?" Sirius asked.

"I don't know, mate. Probably because he has the same face as yours but isn't annoying?"

Sirius scoffed. "Rude."

James's ears almost turned into a violent shade of red. Regulus? REGULUS?!

Remus finally cut in, trying to hush them when he caught Flitwick casting a suspicious glare at them. He nudged Peter with his foot under the desk.

But James was already spiraling. He barely heard a word of the lesson after that. He just stared straight ahead, occasionally throwing a glance your way.

After class, he wanted to march straight up to you and ask you about this Regulus nonsense. But he couldn't. Not with Sirius bouncing beside him, talking about dinner plans, and not with Peter listing why Regulus "would totally pull."

And definitely not with Andromeda swinging her arm around your shoulder, chatting your ear off, pulling you toward the dungeons with the ease of someone who doesn't have a secret boyfriend fuming five feet away.

James and you just quietly exchanged glances before parting in different ways.

"So, what do you mean by Y/n and Regulus?" James asked once they were in the Gryffindor common room. He tried to sound disinterested, like he was just trying to gossip. "He's a year younger than her."

"So?" Remus sat across from him. "Age doesn't matter. They're both adults."

"W-well, yeah, but—" James tried to explain something, but failed to do so.

"Reg doesn't even have game." Sirius still looked bothered by the thought of his own brother having a romantic interest.

Peter leaned back in the chair. "Maybe he doesn't. But he has the face. Mysterious, brooding, those dark, haunted eyes. He looks like a bloody romance lead in a gothic novel, and Y/n's the artsy type. They probably sit in the library and bond over tragedies."

"Yeah, I'm not gonna lie... they do look good together," Remus added.

James looked at him and frowned. "What do you mean they look good together?"

Remus shrugged, "She looks like the kind of girl who'd fall for someone like him— quiet, witty, and handsome."

WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. YOU'RE ALL WRONG. BECAUSE I'M DATING HER, YOU TWATS. James sat there, stewing in silence while his friends continued chatting. He barely said a word that night. Sirius assumed he was just sleepy, and Peter thought it was because of his Head Boy duties. But Remus?

Oh, Remus knew.

Later, when only the two of them were left behind, Remus caught up to James just before he went inside his separate Head Boy dorm.

"Hey," He called. "You dating someone?"

James froze.

"W-what?" He squeaked, trying to laugh it off,

Remus smiled, eyes too knowing. "Just asking. Valentine's day is coming up, after all. Lily might be expecting flowers from you. You know her type."

He winked and turned ahead towards the boys' dormitory, leaving James standing alone.

The next evening, James pulled you from the Great Hall after dinner and dragged you into his dorm, leaving no room for protest. His arm was slung over your shoulder like a possessive man, and now, you were on his bed— more accurately, you were pinned under him while he refused to let you go.

You'd barely managed to shuffle into his oversized Gryffindor Quidditch hoodie before he was already throwing himself at you like a starved dog.

He was quiet, oddly so, his arms wrapped around your waist firmly, his face buried into the crook of your neck. Ocassionally, you can hear him sniff you. He was literally inhaling your existence.

"...James?"

"Hmm..?"

Your brows furrowed slightly, fingers weaving through his dark curls— a trick you knew that would either soothe him or get him to talk. Hopefully both.

"You okay, love?" You asked, concern creeping into your voice. "You've been extra clingy tonight. More than usual. You've been practically attached to my hip like a koala."

He let out a muffled whimper against your neck, something between a grunt and a groan. Then, finally, he lifted his head and looked at you— brown, doe eyes, full pout in swing, and hair flopping boyishly on his head.

"Can I ask you something?" He said, very seriously.

Your fingers paused in his hair. "Of course."

"...Is there something going on with you and Regulus?"

Silence.

You blinked. "Regulus Black?"

James nodded miserably before burrowing his head into your lap.

"Love, what?" You asked, stunned and exasperated.

"I'm just asking." He mumbled. "People are saying things."

You laughed softly. "Okay, well, no. Nothing's going on with us. We're just friends. You know that."

James sat up. "Then why does everyone think you're dating him?"

You blinked again, trying to keep up with the sudden tempo change. His arms were crossed now, cheeks puffed out slightly, and brows drawn together like the cutest angry bear.

You bit back a smile. "I mean... maybe because we're friends and we do study together?"

"But I'm dating you!" He whispered-shouted, pointing at himself. "We've been together for months! Why is he the one everyone thinks you're snogging?"

"Probably because we're hiding this, James." You gestured at the two of you. "Like it's the crown jewels."

He flopped onto the bed with a dramatic groan. "Wormy heard the rumors. And you know he remembers everything and says it out loud like he's reading the newspaper headlines."

You lay down beside him and propped your head on your hand. "Okay... and what did he say?"

"That you and Regulus make sense. That you're both dark, mysterious, and brilliant, and pretty—"

You chuckled.

James glared at you. "And Moony agreed! He said you probably like quiet boys who look like they cry reading Wuthering Heights under the candlelight. What does that even mean?!"

You were full-on laughing now. "That does sound like Regulus."

James groaned again, rolling to his side so he could look at you. "And then Pads said you're pretty. And I almost popped a vein right there and then."

You gasped feigningly. "Sirius thinks I'm pretty? I must elope with him now."

"Don't joke like that!" He whined again.

You giggled, poking his chest. "I told you before, Regulus was just my friend. I help him with Potions, and he helps me with Charms. That's it. That's all."

James narrowed his eyes, still not convinced. "Are you sure you don't secretly like guys who brood?"

You booped his nose. "I only like you, Potter."

He huffed, a blush slowly creeping to his cheek. "...Really?"

"Yes. My sunshine, loud, chaotic boy."

James looked at you lovingly. But then, he tried to rally again, sitting up slightly. "I'm not jealous, by the way."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." He hummed. "I'm just saying. Regulus is all... poetic and quiet and mysterious and you like books and art and moody stuff—"

You raised a brow. "So... you are jealous."

"I am not!"

"You totally are." You sing-sung.

"Am not!"

"Then why are you pouting?" You teased, reaching over to squish his cheeks.

"I always pout." He grumbled, but didn't resist the affection.

"And why'd you drag me to your bed like a clingy boyfriend who lost his teddy bear?"

"Because I am your clingy boyfriend who lost his teddy bear."

"Aww," You cooed, leaning in to kiss his forehead. "My poor jelly baby."

"I'm not jelly," He said with a pout.

You peppered his face with kisses until he stopped sulking, which only took about eight seconds. You were now situated on his lap, hands cupping both of his cheeks, while his hands were on your waist, pulling you close.

"I like you, James Potter. Not my poetic, sad-boy friend. Not Sirius. Not Remus. Not Peter— although he is very entertaining."

"Thank Merlin." James sighed. "I don't think I could survive if I ever lost you to Regulus. I would become a monk."

"You? A monk? You couldn't go twelve hours without touching me."

He grinned, face buried in your shoulder. "You know me so well."

“I do. So trust me when I say you’re my favorite boy. The loudest, sweetest, most golden-hearted one of all.”

“Even if I don’t read Wuthering Heights?”

“Especially because you don’t read Wuthering Heights.”

James grinned.

And if you caught him muttering mine mine mine mine into your neck while you both fell asleep, you didn’t say anything.

But you definitely smiled the whole time.

©kjhbsies

taglist: @tamprongsobsessor

[autisticlee]

About the label thing. I agree with you. Recently I've read a book where someone argued against labels (and autism diagnosis etc) claiming that labels hold people back. As if someone who would get an autism diagnosis wouldn't act autistic if they're not labelled autistic... That author believes that if you believe in something enough it comes true so if you say you can't do something it's your fault for not believing you can do it... Like of course positivity and trying out things has it's place but some take it too far so that accepting realistic limitations is out of the picture. Like realistically there are things people just have a harder time with compared to someone who isn't autistic. Besides people who say don't make autism your personality, didn't people already have that personality before getting the label that explains the behaviour and personality type...

sounds like toxic positivity to me. which can be just as harmful as being too negative. some people really don't get that and think being realistic or honest = negativity and think toxic positivity is the Right/Only way.

but seriously. the reason I got diagnosed with autism is because I wanted to know the reason why I had autistic traits and was severely struggling in life and couldn't make them go away no matter how hard I tried. i'm not acting autistic because I was told I am lmao it's always been here

[sttoru]

hi!! could you write smut of sukuna w/ corruption kink x clingy reader? i need to see more of them 🤭🤭

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. true form!sukuna x concubine! female reader. smut, pwp. corruption kink. reader is described as clingy cute / innocent. voyeurism?// exhibitionism. double pénetràtion. cowgirl. cream pies. nicknames ‘slut, brat, woman’. combined 2 requests :3

it’s honestly your own fault. you’ve been sticking around sukuna the entire day, clinging onto him like he won’t let you experience the consequences of your own actions.

“eyes on me, brat,” sukuna scoffs, thumb and index roughly turning your chin back. he needs to see your face as he embarrasses you in front of the guests and other concubines standing around the throne.

you’re supposed to feel regret, yet you’re drowning in a state of pure lust. it’s the thrill that keeps your hips going, the ache in them temporarily ignored as you search for that grande moment of euphoria.

you can’t care less about the humans at the bottom of the stairs. they’re grovelling in fear of the king of curses, knowing their heads can fly off if they dare to look up at you two.

it’s a sign of disrespect—a sign that the king of curses can’t care less about what those lowlifes have come to see him for. sukuna’s doing so on purpose, using your clinginess to his advantage.

“hah, what a total slut of a concubine,” sukuna scoffs, leaning his head against one of his hands, elbow propped onto the armrest. this is a punishment for you, though it certainly does not feel like that. even if all attendants in the room can hear you fucking yourself silly on sukuna’s dicks.

you and those sloppy sounds of your two bodies connecting.

you try to hold back your moans, but a rough yank to your hair instantly opens your mouth again. your eyes roll back and your voice spews out. “mhh, my lord—‘s too much,” you whimper, however your body doesn’t stop bouncing on his cocks. sukuna responds by squeezing your middle while he watches his lengths being swallowed by your cunt and ass.

it’s funny how you’ve been reduced to a mess—a toy he can command to do whatever he pleases. your clinginess secretly pleases him, because it reassures him that you’ll do what’s asked of you. sukuna grins lazily, letting you work for it, “too much? tsk. weren’t you the one begging f’ my attention, brat?”

he does have a point. you nod mindlessly whilst his cocks drill into you—leaving no hole empty. your eyes dart to both sides of the throne, where two concubines are situated. you can see them tremble in embarrassment and envy.

sukuna’s showing you off to everyone and they don’t like it; none of the concubines do. they hate the fact that he chose you to show off to everyone else in the room. like you’re the only trophy he’s proud of.

the guests don’t dare to speak either. nor does uraume, who’s politely looking the other way as their master ravages his favorite little concubine. they’re used to his acts of exercising his power.

sukuna keeps a firm grip on your hair, threatening to pull your head back each time you dare look around you. “you have no shame. absolutely zero,” the king of curses says condescendingly. as if the humiliation of being watched isn’t enough, sukuna’s words add to the embarrassment you’re feeling, “cock hungry slut can’t go a minute without being filled, hm?”

your whimpers get louder and your pace grows faster. his fat tips hit your deepest parts over and over again, the stretch threatening to split you in half. you’re too turned on to care. the way sukuna’s staring at you with that menacing glare—his sharp nails digging into your skin so painfully . . . you need it all.

“this ‘s why you’ve been following me ‘round all day long,” sukuna grunts—one hand coming up to free your breasts from the confines of your robes, “y’ just needed to be dicked down.” the flicks against your stiff nipples make you tighten up around his cocks again and again.

you’re nearly screaming because of everything your senses are picking up on. your half lidded eyes catch a glimpse of sukuna’s cocky facial expression and you’re almost pushed over the edge. he’s so smug—knowing he has you in the palm of his hand.

his eyes are luring you in. there’s a hint of something so primal in there - a beast impatiently waiting to be unleashed - one that sukuna is trying his best to suppress.

“aren’t you just cute. . .” sukuna mocks with a dangerous chuckle. his thumb rubs your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth for you to suckle on.

“kehehe, isn’t that what those servants call you? cute.. innocent.. adorable,” he continues, faintly groaning at the feeling of your tongue swirling around his thumb. sukuna cocks his head to the right and your eyes follow. that’s where you spot your maids and lady-in-waiting in a corner.

you feel tears well up in your eyes from both pleasure and humiliation. everyone is seeing and hearing you being claimed by the monster of a curse you’re riding. your maids have always adored your innocence—how you don’t seem to be tainted by sukuna’s advances no matter what. it’s a first to them.

it has been a rumor around the estate for so long; you being the only concubine who can withstand sukuna’s wicked influence. you always seem to stay yourself, your cheery and sweet personality never changing. you’ve been known as the innocent one among all other concubines.

yet here those same maids are, watching your brain being corrupted by sin. you’re so sinfully enjoying how sukuna’s cocks are penetrating you. “n-no, am—fnghh—don’t wanna,” you stammer, speaking to no one in particular. your inner desires clash with your rational mind and your body seems to continue its erotic act.

“don’t you fight it, woman,” sukuna brings your attention back by thrusting his cocks all the way up inside you, balls slapping harshly against your ass. he’s proud with his accomplishments. you’re slowly but surely being tainted by him and it’s so pleasing.

soon enough, that damned innocence of yours is going to disappear. he’s going to turn you into a total slut driven by lust, for him and only him. he’s going to ruin you and your body until all you can think of is the pleasure he can give you.

your nails dig into sukuna’s shoulders. you moan loudly, losing the battle, as expected. the king of curses just knows how to make you give in. he takes great pleasure in seeing you lose yourself, with everyone watching how he strips you from that innocence.

“stupid, nasty fuckin’ thing,” sukuna grunts as the lower pair of his arms hold you by your hips. he halts your movements before starting his own. “y’re mine, ya hear?” he pounds up into you—making you mewl. a chant of his name leaves your lips. you simply cannot stop yourself.

“yes, ‘m yours, my lord!” you moan for everyone to hear. the pink-haired man grins in satisfaction and quickly plunges his cocks in and out of your holes, needing to release himself so he could fully claim you as his in front of the rest.

his dirty cumslut, his tainted and brainless doll.

sukuna wraps all four arms around you, leaving no room for escape. he presses you against him until you’re struggling to breathe. your head is pushed against his shoulder and your insides are being turned into mush. the gooey fluids drip down onto the throne and down the floor.

“fuck. not a drop goes to waste or i’m fuckin’ ya again,” sukuna warns before shooting loads of cum into your womb and up your ass. both your holes are stuffed full of white, sticky semen mixed with your own release. you desperately clench around nothing once sukuna pulls you off his dicks.

you try to reach your hands out towards him as he manoeuvres your body away once he’s finished. the king of curses pins your wrists at your back so he can turn you around on his thighs, forcefully spreading your legs like a trophy he’s showing off on his throne.

one arm wraps around your waist and his chin rests on your right shoulder. sukuna keeps you on his lap and continues to act like he didn’t just completely wreck your insides.

while you’re left in the intense moment, he seems to have moved on already.

“speak,” sukuna orders the humans who’ve witnessed the whole ordeal. their foreheads are stuck on the floor—none of them daring to look up at the sight, like everyone else.

you’re panting and your head is spinning. you’re totally spent. sukuna holds your limp body up on his lap as one hand is busy scooping the excess cum back into your pussy, not wasting a drop like said before.

one of the villagers finally speaks up, stating the reason for their visit to the estate. their voice is muffled due to a loud buzzing in your ear. you’re tired and can’t focus on what’s said either. you just want to sleep. . . in sukuna’s warm embrace, filled and half-naked, for the entire room to see as they continue discussing business as if you’re not even there.

[eviesaurusrex]

ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇɴ ᴡɪꜱᴇʟʏ | ʙ. ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱ

Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: 5 incidents in which Bucky gets proven how lucky he is to have found you.

word count: 6.7k

warnings: MDNI, fluff, mobster typical themes, illusions to violence, more fluff, cursing, talks of marriage, starting a family etc., pregnancy, phantom pain, allusions to smutty time, slight dirty talk, my Google Translator skills for all things Russian, children, not perfetly proof-read

author’s note: Am I in my mobster era now? (Please don't try to strangle me when I butchered the Russian parts. I had only Google Translator as my trusty helper ;_; Dividers are made by @enchanthings-a and @strangergraphics!

Russian translations:

малышка (malyshka)—baby

милая (milaya)—darling

“Every day I wake up next to you, I pray to the gods and thank them for the love you give me. Every day I spend with you is more than I deserve. Every day I call myself lucky that you love me back, my dear. I love you more than anything in the world, more than the world, more than life itself. You are my everything. Thank you for making me the happiest man on this planet.”

“Should I stop telling you how good you feel around me? How good you take me? How perfect you look, all filled up with my cock and already pregnant with my baby?”

Привет, папочка (Privet, papochka)—Hello daddy

Привет, солнышко (Privet, solnyshko)—Hello sunshine

The first incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was when James Buchanan Barnes—fearsome crime lord, bratva leader, king of New York City’s underworld—found himself in the aftermath of a crossfire after a deal gone south. His doctor had just arrived to check out the gunshot wounds littering his arm and shoulder, and in his opinion, everyone made too much of a fuss about it.

He was fine. He made it out with barely any scratches.

“Nine gunshots, only one bullet I have to remove. This is a new record, Mr. Barnes.”

… a few scratches; he had to give him that.

On the other hand, his entire left arm had been reduced to nothing but a pile of scrap metal, so perhaps Bucky had been hit rather badly if he took that into account. He wouldn’t because he had to be okay, invincible even. The world he was born into was a cruel one that reprimanded one’s weakness with downfall and despair, and he had to uphold the legacy that had been bestowed upon him the moment his father took his last dying breath in the same car crash that had taken his arm. He had people to protect—his associates, partners, workers, everyone that he considered friends or even family.

Topped by only one person, one woman, who sat above them all on a throne he had created for her right next to his. Not beneath him, not a step below—right fucking next to him.

Speaking of which… The commotion outside their bedroom sounded a lot like the whirlwind he deemed to be the love of his existence, and cursing above his breath, his eyes moved a second from the slightly opened door toward the doctor holding the single bullet between a pair of forceps.

“Don’t you dare step in my way.”

Her voice rushed like opium through his veins, making the mobster forget about the burning pain of holes inside his body.

“I can’t let you in there. Not now. The doctor is with him, you don’t want to see that,” Steve’s voice echoed through the hallway, probably stacked with high-towering security men. Just as high-towering as the blond was, and still, his girl did not show fear. No, not her. Never her.

A scoff was heard, and the physician beside him chuckled under his breath as he started to clean the wounds meticulously. Even Bucky showed a rare hint of emotion around other people than her when a grin parted his lips for a moment. “You’re his second. He is his doctor. I am his girlfriend. Think again if you want to continue standing in my way, Steve. I’m not above using brute force to get to him.”

Hearing that from a woman stopping not even close to all their eye levels would be laughable with any other person, but her? Everyone knew she would move heaven and hell in order to get wherever he was. He had learned this the hard way and would never dare leave her behind again, not when she demanded to tag along.

She really is a wonder.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he had spoken those words out loud, his mind starting to struggle with the blood loss and pain seeping deeper than necessary into him.

Shuffling before the door made the brunet open his eyes again. “Fucking hell, woman…” The hardwood door opened, and he could see the woman ruling his world without even starting to grasp the extent of her power over him, turning toward his second in command. “I hope you don’t kiss your mother with that mouth, Rogers,” she spoke sweetly before she finally turned, her eyes immediately finding him on their shared bed.

Worry creased her forehead, brows deeply furrowed, eyes jumping from his shoulder to his injured arm, then right to the one missing. Without another heartbeat, she rushed through the grand but still cozy room, showcasing her taste because Bucky had let her redecorate this entire fucking house as soon as she had agreed to move in with him—after much persuasion on his part. He wouldn’t have given a fuck if she would’ve decided to paint every single wall a screaming yellow if it would’ve made her happy.

“Hey, милая.” His raspy voice from all the shouting broke a bit at the signature endearment for her, and he wished to reach a hand out to her, but the lack of his arm was jarringly apparent. So all he could do was watch her carefully settling down onto her side of the bed, scooting over the mattress, a warm, soft hand cupping his cheek while the pad of her thumb started to caress his cheekbone. “Hey, love,” she returned the greeting with a smile, worried gaze flicking to Dr. Strange. “How bad is it? And don’t you dare try to sugarcoat me like Sam bloody tried on our way here. I do possess eyes, you see that, right?”

Dr. Strange nodded while preparing the stitching material. “I have removed one bullet from his shoulder. Nine shots in total. I’ve cleaned them and will stitch them as soon as the anesthetic takes effect.” Bucky could see her nodding at the doctor’s explanation and tried to nuzzle closer into the palm of her hand. “Milaya?” She finally looked down on him. “I’m okay, ‘promise. They busted m’arm, though.”

His words turned slurred, slowly but steadily, and he focused on her soft smile that was always entirely reserved for him and baby kittens. He could live with that sort of competition.

“We will talk later, but I promise I’ll take a look at your arm, and in case there isn’t anything left to save, I’ll make you a new one, James.” She pressed a gentle, loving kiss to his sweat-covered forehead. “Now relax, my love. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Her voice echoed in his ears when the drugs finally kicked in, clinging to the sound of her.

Yes, he had been smart enough to ignore his stupid rule of not letting anyone get closer than necessary. She proved him right every damn time.

The second incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was on a regular day in December. Snow fell softly outside the grand brownstone they had chosen to spend the holidays at rather than the house outside the city. His girl had wanted to finally spend Christmas in the buzzing city again, and he had ordered their things packed and moved within a blink of an eye.

Now, everyone enjoyed their little piece of heaven surrounded by their families. Yelena and Natasha had returned to Russia for the holidays, Steve spent time with his own wife, while Sam had decided to go south to see his parents and check in with a few associates while he was already there.

Meanwhile, the feared bratva mobster, leader of the darkest pits of New York’s underworld, watched his girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiancée add a few more pieces they had picked up at Tiffany’s today to their Christmas tree, humming to the soft tunes of an old record wafting through the living room. His blue eyes, usually so menacing and threatening, rested with a loving expression on the woman he had sworn to protect with his life, one arm thrown over the back of the comfy couch he had spent a fortune on—but his queen fell in love with it at first sight and couldn’t find anything better suiting. Not that she had to. The shining black Centurion Card had been pulled out of the inside pocket of his black suit jacket the second Bucky had seen that look on her face.

He would buy her anything in this world, spoiling her rotten until she’d drown in pretty things.

“I think we need more lights,” she stated in a mumble, almost to herself, before turning toward him. “Don’t we? We need more lights, yes.” And so it was decided, and he smiled at her turning back when she started to roam through the red holiday box to find the last remaining string of colorful fairy lights. “No, wait.” Lifting a dark brow, the man watched her reach for the small package he had eyed since they’ve returned instead, all wrapped prettily and neatly.

Scooting across the soft carpet toward where he sat, his girl smiled up at him, holding the small present out to him before folding her hands over his muscular thigh, waiting patiently. “It’s not your Christmas present, but I saw it and… and I needed to do this. To have something for our tree.”

Their first real tree as a couple. The past three years, they had been too busy during the holiday season, barely being at home, not to mention the little time they would’ve had to go out, find a tree, and decorate it, so it would be appreciated as it deserved. This year, however, Bucky craved the comforts of their home, and he wanted to start collecting memories like this.

He bent over to her, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, hand cupping her cheek tenderly, the little gift almost vanishing in the vastness of his hands. “Thank you, моя милая.” How in all the hells had he become so lucky in finding this woman who now grinned up at him with unabashed happiness? “Open it! Open it already!” And he obliged, feeling giddy himself as she almost bounced on her knees, unwrapping the small box and opening the lid to reveal a perfectly crafted snowflake ornament, a picture of them together in Central Park during the worst snowstorm the city had witnessed in over a decade placed inside the clear crystal. Their smiling faces, almost hidden behind scarves and beanies, angled to one another, her lips pressing a snow-filled kiss to the corner of his smiling lips.

It was perfect.

She was perfect.

Gods be damned, but in that moment, when his eyes found hers again, he felt the overwhelming urge to drop down on his knees and ask for a lifetime together. But he wouldn’t. He had it all planned out, and he used to stick to his plans. He was patient beyond compare, but not when it involved this woman before him. So instead of caving to this sensation, Bucky carefully placed the crystal snowflake onto the coffee table in front of him and pulled his girl up into his lap in one smooth motion, wrapping her in his strong arms, fingers—both flesh and metal—tangling in soft strands of hair or gripping the soft black fabric of the hoodie she wore which once belonged to him.

“Каждый день я просыпаюсь рядом с тобой, молюсь богам и благодарю их за любовь, которую ты мне даришь. Каждый день, который я провожу с тобой, больше, чем я заслуживаю. Каждый день я называю себя счастливчиком, что ты любишь меня в ответ, моя дорогая. Я люблю тебя больше всего на свете, больше мира, больше самой жизни. Ты — мое все. Спасибо, что сделал меня самым счастливым человеком на этой планете, малышка,” Bucky rasped in Russian with his forehead pressed to hers and eyes intimately locked, watching the shy smile he loved so dearly spreading on her lips and making her eyes twinkle.

“I don’t know if you have insulted me just now, proclaimed your undying love for humble me, or started the dirty talk earlier than usual, but either way, I don’t mind.” Her fingers wrapped around his chin to pull his face closer to hers, lips touching when she added in a breathless whisper, “It sounded hot, so keep talking dirty to me, love.”

Giggling, his girl accepted the tender kisses of chapped lips to her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her lips. He felt the uncomfortable pull on his skin again when Bucky smiled at her, his split lip still not entirely healed after a punch he couldn’t dodge in time. Under her care, it will have vanished until next week when the photographer planned to take a few pictures for their first Christmas postcards.

Bucky still struggled to grasp how his life had turned in that particular manner. He never thought he’d be one for domesticity and familiar bliss, but with her?

He was all in.

The third incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was when James Buchanan Barnes, invincible mob boss, returned home in the dead of night in a frantic temper, his entourage strolling behind him, accepting his orders with grave faces and solemn nods.

“Don’t let him out of your fucking sight. Track him as soon as he leaves his godforsaken home, track him inside his own walls, hell, track when he takes a piss. I don’t fucking care!” His booming voice echoed through the foyer, and with another deep growl, he handed his weapons to Sam; two remained in the holster, hugging his broad shoulders. He wouldn’t take them off, not until the threat was decimated under his foot. “We’ll do a 24/7 surveillance on him, boss. He won’t come near her,” Steve promised, knowing damn well what would happen to all of their heads if they couldn’t protect her.

Bucky bared his teeth in disgust. “You better not fuck this up, Steve.” This would be his first and only warning, and the blond knew that, so he nodded and retreated into his office, knowing damn well that sleep would be nothing but a pleasant memory for a while—he wouldn’t be alone, though. Everyone knew how their boss got when his queen was threatened by others. Those threats had already started to grow in numbers as soon as the underworld learned of their engagement, and outsiders trying everything to get in and on good graces with certain families smelled a quick victory.

How wrong they were in those foolish assumptions.

Sam watched his boss almost anxiously while he desperately tried to cool off, fists pressed against the pretty surface of a pretty sideboard she had most definitely chosen.

“I will kill him. I’ll kill them all if I have to.”

At Bucky’s deep rumble, Sam could only hum in agreement. He would be right at his back, killing all who wanted to harm anyone he cared for, especially those inside this building.

“I could reach out to our associates in Louisiana, get some more backup and gunpower. There’s this kid who’s a marvel with tech. Maybe he can come up with a discreet solution for the in-house surveillance,” Sam suggested, knowing damn well how excited Parker would be when he finally allowed him to tag along, currently bored out of his brilliant mind at college. Bucky looked up and over his shoulder, icy blue eyes resting on one of his best men—and friend. But the creaking above their heads let him pause in his answer, and both men stared up the stairs, knowing who eavesdropped at the railing.

Bucky sighed deeply. “We need to work on your stealth skills, малышка,” he spoke up and waited for her steps to pick up and for her to shuffle down the stairs. She did in a pair of cozy yoga pants, a large hoodie hanging on her form—the one he had worn before changing into his suit this morning—and fluffy socks with reindeer and candy canes printed all over them, her hair wrapped in a messy bun on the top of her head, strands framing her face. In her arms throned a king amongst pets, and white fur littered the soft fabric of his hoodie where she held Alpine close to her chest.

His heart ached at the sight of her in the best possible way.

Her eyes wide with worry—not for herself, but for him and all his men—jumped between Sam and himself as she reached the second to last step and waited there.

“I didn’t mean to, but… I heard voices and thought you’d come home, but then I heard everyone talking and it was kind of too late to go back to bed anyway, so I figured I could… learn a bit.” Bucky started softly shaking his head, his outgrowing hair tickling his cheeks. “You meant eavesdropping, малышка. That’s the word you’re looking for here,” he deadpanned, and one corner of his mouth slightly lifted at the sound of her quiet laugh, her fingers comfortingly petting the white fluff ball currently purring at the attention and headbutting her hand for more.

With another sigh, he stepped up to the stairs, raising his gaze to his all-ruling queen, and he felt the tension in his shoulders slightly disappear when her hand came up to his neck and rested there comfortingly, fingers playing with the soft strands of his dark hair. “I’ll be alright, James,” she whispered, and he wasn’t sure how she could say that with such certainty when not even he felt so sure. “We’ll be alright, I just know it. Nothing and no one will keep me from you, from becoming your wife and living a very happy life with the man I love more than anything in this world, giving him the cutest fur babies and children the world has ever seen.” Bucky sucked in a breath, and after gently putting down Alpine, he pulled his soon-to-be wife in a bone-crushing hug, wrapping her legs around his hips with ease. “We will live until we turn old and grey and can look back at all the memories we made along the way, annoying our children and grandkids with endless, embarrassing stories,” she continued to whisper against the soft, tattooed skin of his neck and yes, he could see all that and more, too.

It was easy with her to picture this picture-perfect life—and he would do anything to make it a reality. He wouldn’t stop at murder and anarchy, not when it came to her.

So when he slightly turned to Sam with his woman in his arms, ready to put her back to bed, he only needed to mouth the words, and it was done.

Do it.

The fourth incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was during one of those forsaken nights.

He woke with a startle and a groan escaping him involuntarily, the dark bedroom embracing him, a soft, warm body tucked into the expanse of his back, slow breathing fanning across his heated skin. His hand shot up with another groan leaving him, cupping the stump where once had been an arm, feeling the same agonizing pain he had felt in that car all those years ago, almost bleeding to death after a rivaling family had tried to kill them all off.

Unfortunately, he had survived—and the revenge had been brutal the moment he had recovered enough to go on a killing spree.

Trying to breathe through the crashing sensations, Bucky tried to move as quietly and carefully as possible, not wanting to wake the woman sleeping peacefully beside him because she needed all the rest she could humanely get. But the pain was blinding, the feeling of warm blood flowing down his skin so real, he could’ve sworn there was still an arm to lose, and his fucking legs were still tangled in the damn blanket!

With a frustrated huff, the mobster tried to just roll out of bed in a desperate attempt, not minding falling face-first to the floor, but the blanket didn’t budge, and suddenly, an arm snaked across his waist, and a warm hand rested on his muscular abdomen.

“D’not go…”

The sleepy mumble pierced through the agony, and usually, Bucky always obliged to his wife’s every demand, but not now. Not this time. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t crumble in front of her. She needed him to be strong and capable. He had to protect her and the little plum. He couldn’t show weakness, not even in the comforts of their own home. Word would get out, the pit of New York City would smell blood, they would come and kill her in front of his very eyes, make him watch when the life would vanish from her breathtaking eyes, taunting him, before they would end his life as well, releasing him into the bliss of afterlife where he would search for her, and—….

“Bucky? What’s wrong?”

Her voice, now sounding more awake and aware, startled and pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts, and he could feel the mattress dip and move when she sat up and scooted closer to him. “Hey…” A soothing hand started to rub over his back. “Talk to me, love. C’mon, handsome, I can only help when I know what’s bothering you to such an unholy hour.” Her teasing made him almost smile—almost. But the pain returned in full force, and his hand gripped his shoulder even tighter.

“Phantom pain. It’s nothing I can’t handle, malyshka. Go back to sleep, you need it,” he rumbled quietly, his legs finally escaping the trap that was their blanket, and the man sat up, feet hitting the floor. He attempted to get up in order to leave her to the quietness of their room, but his wife had nothing the like on her mind. She held him back and scooted off the bed. “Stay. I’ll be right back.” Blinking into the dim light of her bedside table, he reached for her and tried to get up. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Go back to—”

She shushed him gently and pressed a finger to his lips. “I said Stay. I mean it.” With that, his woman granted him a serious glance before she patted into the adjacent bathroom, one hand cradling her already quite prominent bump, and all Bucky could hear was rummaging sounds in their cabinets and a quiet mumbling.

“Your papa is a handful sometimes, little one. Prepare yourself because I need you in my corner, okay? Okay.”

Smiling through the irritating pain, the mobster waited for her to return and watched her closely when she finally left the bathroom and patted back to their bed, a bottle of lotion in her hand. “You think you need the mirror, love?” Bucky glanced at the full-length mirror in their walk-in closet shrouded in darkness and decided with a soft shake of his head. “Maybe later if it’s not getting any better,” he mumbled in defeat, accepting the loving kisses pressed to his right temple and lips. “Just let me know, yeah?” He nodded at her request, and blue eyes watched her like a hawk when she settled right next to him, on the side of his missing arm, a squirt of lotion already between her soft hands warming it up.

“I told you to wake me up if it’s happening again,” his wife scolded him quietly, her incredible hands massaging the hurting stump of his shoulder. At first, it hurt like hell, but the more she kneaded and caressed, the more bearable it got. “You need your rest, milaya,” he returned with a lingering glance down her form, eyes equally heavy with worry and love when they settled on the little bump he had grown to love so dearly, it almost hurt.

Bucky felt her eyes on him in return and opened his arm when she stopped what she was doing to climb into his inviting lap, straddling him comfortably. Taking his hand into hers, she pushed the warm skin of her husband under his shirt she wore to sleep and placed his palm right on top of the soft curve before continuing.

“Not more than you need it, too. You’re running the mob empire, not me.” Her voice reminded him softly, and he let his forehead fall onto her shoulder, eyes closed, thumb caressing the warm skin of her bump, hoping, praying, he would feel something, anything. But according to all the books he had read so far, it would take a few more weeks until he could feel the slight movements their child did inside his wife. “And you’re growing a whole fucking human,” Bucky returned and got shushed again. “Watch your language, Barnes. I don’t want their first word to be anything obscene.”

But she couldn’t fool him. He heard her smile in the scolding.

A comfortable silence settled between them, then, reminding Bucky yet again why he had felt so good around her the second she had walked into that room in the hospital, only raising a brow at the sight of six buffed men clad in black suits, armed with more guns than one human could possibly need, and him sitting in the middle of it all—disheveled, still hurting, ice cold. She had smiled, wearing those ridiculous blue scrubs, and he had spotted a splash of blood on her light grey sneakers when she had come closer, pointing it out in almost something resembling disgust. Still, she only had rolled her pretty eyes at the pitiful attempt of an insult.

She hadn’t given a single fuck about those intimidating men—including him—all towering multiple heads above her, tattooed, guns always visible, the rough Russian language floating through the room occasionally. And he had respected her for that, even though he didn’t bother to be nice at first. In hindsight, Bucky would’ve earned a beating from his mother if she had been still alive. She had raised him better than treating a beautiful, kind, intelligent, and compassionate woman like he had initially treated her. But after a while, Bucky had felt how she had snaked her way into his thoughts, catching himself repeatedly thinking about her over the course of his day, starting to anticipate the next appointment to get his prosthetic measured, built, and adjusted, always looking forward to seeing her face.

She hadn’t given a flying fuck either when he finally revealed who he was and what he did, only cocking her head to the side in question and asking him, “Will you or one of your guys kill me after our time is over?” And when he had shook his head, denying those thoughts, she had smiled brightly, before turning back to the prosthetic arm she had crafted for him. “Then we don’t have a problem. Everyone has to earn their money somehow, James.” That was also the first time anyone had called him by that name since his parents had died, and he had fallen for her right then and there, ready to kneel at her feet and surer as hell that he would make her his queen.

“Don’t count on that, malyshka. Everyone around here is using filthy language, and do I need to remind you of certain… situations where the little plum currently has to listen in? Or do you want me to stop? Мне перестать говорить тебе, как хорошо ты себя чувствуешь рядом со мной? Как хорошо ты меня принимаешь? Как идеально ты выглядишь, вся заполненная моим членом и уже беременная моим ребенком?” He felt the pain slowly but steadily subside under her knowing and well-versed hands, feeling them stop in their magic as the huskily whispered Russian words flowed effortlessly over his lips, feeling her squirm in his lap.

Leaning slightly back in order to have a better look at his face, his wife bit her lower lip, making now the feared bratva leader squirm underneath her, his hand protectively pressed into her lower back, not daring to let her fall off of him. “You are a very evil man, James Barnes,” she hummed with almost a purring edge to her voice, making him grin as cocky as possible. “You married the worst of the bunch, malyshka—and you like it. You can’t hide it, not from me, never from me. Not when I’m balls-deep it that deliciously tight…—” Her lips pressing against his made him moan deep in his throat and stop taking altogether. Forgotten was the pain of the past. It still bothered him, somewhere in the back of his mind, but her scent, her taste, the feeling of his wife against him made him forget about it.

The past was the past, and now, only the present and the future held importance to him.

Lifting her with one arm with ease, the mobster carefully moved her to the middle of their bed, hovering above her and watching her pretty face with a loving gaze. “You’re my everything,” he dared to whisper. “You both are.” He felt her hands cupping his face tenderly as if he wasn’t the killer everyone feared across the East Coast as if he was something precious even though he was broken beyond repair. “And you are ours, Bucky.” She kissed his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his lips, and his left shoulder without disgust, without apprehension, but with deeply felt love.

As if he was perfect the way he was.

The fifth incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was after a business trip to Sicily that had taken too long for his liking, even though the business was good and the newly knitted connections invaluable. But it had made him leave his family for far too long than humanly tolerable, not even the many FaceTime calls had eased the sting in his heart.

“Make sure Enzo receives the gift for his wife and put a little something for him inside as well. Perhaps the Yamazaki Single Malt?” The 55-year-old whisky sure would make a fine gift for the young leader of the Sicilian Mafia, remembering an evening here and there when both men had shared a glass of scotch.

Steve walked beside him as they left the car and made their way over the sidewalk and behind the gate of the old brownstone in the best area in New York City. The cherry trees along the road were in full bloom, and the spring breeze was pleasant enough that the Barnes considered taking them all out for a day in Central Park. Work could wait after two weeks away from them. “Sure thing, Buck. I’ll call Stark to get a bottle,” the blond nodded and opened the door for his boss after walking up the stairs before entering the family home as well, happy sounds wafting through the air already.

Bucky visibly relaxed when he heard his family without a phone between them and handed Steve the concealed guns. They had made a rule for the house, and everyone obliged happily because everyone had been wrapped around their little fingers since the day they were born.

And no one would dare to go against Mrs. Barnes.

“I don’t want to be disturbed for the next couple of weeks, so handle everything and only bother me with situations that need my explicit attention,” was the last order the mobster could get out before the sound of small feet erupted from the living room and barreling toward the foyer.

“Papa!”

“Dada! No, waits for meeee! Annie, pwease! Mommyyyy!”

Bucky laughed as his eldest rounded the corner in full sprint, her little legs carrying her as fast they could, and the tall brunet crouched down to catch her little body. The little girl, resembling so much his wife, looked at his face with bright eyes, hands pressing against his cheeks and squishing them with an adorable chuckle.

“Привет, папочка,” she greeted him shyly, stumbling over her sounds and pronunciations, but Bucky kissed her little cheeks with such enthusiasm that her insecurities vanished in an instant. “Привет, солнышко,” the father returned with a kiss to her forehead and watched the questioning expression morphing onto his daughter’s face. Her tongue poked out between her lips, eyes wandering to the ceiling, brows drawn together in concentration—just like his wife. But then, she looked at him again, leaning closer as if she wanted to conspire with him. “What does that mean, papa? Yelena didn’t teach me that word yet,” she whispered, and Bucky laughed again, feeling almost crushed by the happiness he felt at that moment. “It means sunshine, my sunshine.” It made her smile as brightly as the sun outside the windows before she waved at Steve. “Hi, Uncle Stevie. You can go now. Papa is mine; you can have him back in… a long time.”

Nodding to underline her case, the almost six-year-old looked expectantly at his second in command, and Bucky turned with her still in his arms, looking just as expectantly as her. “You heard the little lady, Steve. Off you go,” he teased, and the blond shook his head with a smile, bowing before them. “As you wish, Princess Anastasia.” The girl huffed and showed the blond giant her tongue. “It’s Anya, Uncle Stevie! You always forget!” Chuckling, Steve took her hand and shook it apologetically. “You are right; my apologies, princess. Enjoy your time with your father.”

And with that, he left for his office, leaving the two in the foyer when they heard another set of steps.

“Anya, next time, wait for your brother, please,” Mrs. Barnes scolded the little girl gently, a smile on her lips and the little boy on her arm. His son nodded, holding his stuffed bunny at its long ears. “Yesh, waits for me, Annie! Dada!” More excitement echoed through the home as the small boy started to wiggle in her arms, and Bucky rushed over to her, catching Elijah before he could plop out of her embrace. “Careful, little troublemaker,” he laughed and held him with his other arm, hearing Anya scoff quietly. He threw his wife a questioning look, and in return, she only rolled her eyes at their children, softly shaking her head and taking Anya to her.

“They had a… falling out earlier.” Anya scoffed again as if her mother understated the entire ordeal, wanting to be put back on her feet, and hugged her mother’s hips closely. Elijah leaned his head against Bucky’s shoulder, bunny pressed tightly into his chest, watching his sister. “He ruined my homework! Miss Pepper said she’s suuuuuper excited for my solar system model, and then, papa, Eli just banged his stupid bunny on it!” Angry tears gathered in her eyes, almost rolling down her pretty face. His youngest looked positively undisturbed as he watched his sister unraveling over her homework, and Bucky sighed.

“Bunny s’not shtupid. Annie’s plant-… plants-… planets! Annie’s planets looks ugly, dada. Not pretty like mommy,” Elijah stated with confidence, making the tears finally spill over Anya’s cheeks. “I hate you! You’re not my little brother anymore!” And with that, the little girl pulled away from the soothing hands of her mother, almost tumbling over the stairs as she ran upstairs, a loud bang echoing through the house when she closed her door with force.

Another sigh escaped Bucky and his wife alike, both parents looking down at their little boy who started to chew on his bunny’s ear. “Honey, that wasn’t very nice to say,” she reprimanded her son and took him from Bucky when he stretched his little chubby arms toward his mother, keeping a hand on his little back. “Annie is sads?” She nodded and kissed the dark mob of hair her son had inherited from his father, just like the blue of his eyes. “She’s upset, baby, yes. We will give her a moment to calm down before we’re going upstairs to apologize, yes?”

Elijah nodded with tears in his eyes, and the father couldn’t hold back, so he gently cupped his youngest head and pressed a lingering kiss onto the wild dark curls. “Can me and bunny asks Miss Melina fors cookies?” Smiling, she pressed a kiss to his cheek before putting him onto his small feet. “But only one, baby!” He was already on his way, chanting for cookies.

In an instant, Bucky pulled his wife into his arms, capturing her lips with his, a rumbling moan escaping him at the taste and feel of her. “Two fucking weeks are too long, malyshka,” he stated with another lingering kiss, fingers tangled in her hair. “Tell me about it. Try to manage two kids who switch between being the bestes of friends and each other’s enemy number one multiple times a day.” Taking her in more closely, Bucky could see the dark circles under her eyes and the tight muscles around her lips. His thumb swept across the dark circles, and his lips followed to kiss them better. “I’m so sorry, milaya,” he murmured with another kiss to her forehead and felt her hand hitting him against the back of his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You had to be there, and we had to stay here with school for Anya and Eli’s first day at kindergarten. We managed. I wouldn’t mind if you take over bedtime duty for a while, though.”

Bucky grinned happily at the prospect of spending time with his kids, feeling the love only a father could feel coursing through his body. “Of course, love. We’ll get you something nice on our stroll over Fifth and let the kids play in Central Park while you enjoy a book, alright? I’ll pick up a few new bedtime stories as well, so you will not even be remotely needed and can enjoy bath after bath. Would that make my wife happy?” Sighing, she leaned heavily against him, gathering strength through his strong body supporting the weight resting on her shoulders during the worst and most exhausting days—which they have had many in the past two weeks. “Sounds lovely. But don’t you dare spend a fortune on me again!” Her warning was unnecessary because Bucky would spend a fortune on his wonderful wife, and she knew that as well. “Please,” he chuckled and pressed another heated kiss to her lips, his fingers cupping her chin tenderly. “I’ll buy whatever you want, milaya. Perhaps we could even get something for us.”

He loved his wife in pretty clothes, but he loved her especially dearly in pretty lingerie he had no qualm of ripping off her gorgeous body the second she’d appear before him, reducing the masterfully crafted pieces to lacy shreds on their bedroom floor. The first time he did that, he hadn’t gotten the opportunity to pull her to bed, receiving a scolding he had gotten the last time, probably as a boy. She had been royally pissed at his antics, mourning the pretty set she had bought for their first night together. The next day, she received a delivery of all the pieces she had eyed at the shops and saved online, making her closet filled with more lingerie than a regular woman would need in her entire life.

Only that she wasn’t a regular woman with a regular man. He could buy her anything and in any quantity possible, so he wasn’t one to hold back when the urge to see this goddess of a woman naked made him growl and impatient—and even a tad jealous of the fabric touching her skin instead of his hands and lips.

“You are the worst of the bunch, Barnes. Seriously.” Exasperated, she looked up at him, her cheeks warming under his touch, and Bucky nodded with a serious expression. “I am insatiable when it comes to you, malyshka. And you thrive on the power you have over me.” Eye-rolling, she shook her head again, winding out of his arms and smacking his ass with a teasing smile. “Stop being a seventeen year old horndog and move your sexy backside up to your daughter. She’ll listen to you more than me after two weeks filled with my constant presence. I’ll see what I can save from her project, and stopping Elijah from munching on too many cookies…”

The last part was barely a mumble, already distracted by whatever thought wandered through her beautiful mind, and Bucky watched her retreating back with a smile before shrugging out of his suit jacket. Throwing it over the stair railing, he made his way to his eldest’s room, softly knocking at the door littered with pictures and posters of her favorite animals and characters—he could even see the remnants of a glitter pen—and knew how lucky he could count himself when he was allowed to enter his sunshine’s room.

He had the perfect wife, two healthy, wonderful children, and had found happiness despite the way his life had taken.

He had indeed chosen wisely.

author's note: Tysm for reading my silly little writing. As usual: likes, reblogs, and comments are so much appreciated! I love to read your thoughts <3

[spacexfucker]

Why is it whenever you bring up things like fatphobia or not wearing makeup or not shaving or anything else that society hates when people are or do, you ALWAYS have people talking about how they've had it hard bc they're skinny or they wear makeup to be empowered or they shave for themselves

Like why are you so uncomfortable to be put in a category of social acceptance? Why are you so uncomfortable being pegged as someone who conforms to conventional beauty standards? You're coming to people who get genuinely harassed and negatively effected by things like being fat or not wearing makeup or being hairy and telling us all that being thin and wearing makeup and shaving are all actually subversive and brave. And it's not? You're doing What is Expected of You. And if you stopped, many, many people - strangers even - would feel compelled to at the very least point it out derisively, and at the worst straight up deny you medical care or harass you in the street.

Tbh it doesn't matter if you're doing makeup for you. That's not how everyone else views that. They see makeup as expected. People who don't have lost job opportunities. People who don't have their abilities questioned because without makeup they "look unkempt". The only makeup that pushes the envelope is Indigenous makeup styles and things like intense goth makeup or "birthday makeup".

Shaving is expected! You are supposed to be near-hairless. Anyone who reads as femme is expected to be hairless. If you want to be femme, you have to shave. You can get harassed for being hairy in the wrong spaces. Being hairy can read as being unkempt or dirty by conventional society. A lot of racism plays into this.

Being fat in a world that constantly wants you to lose weight can straight up kill you! People don't get hired for being fat. People get harassment constantly for being fat. Fat queer and poc have some of the hardest times being fat in the world we are in. Bodies reduced to jokes by society. Living in a world quite literally not built for you in the slightest. Mocked constantly by strangers and left to languish in chronic illness until its too late to fix because a doctor would rather see you lose weight before ever trying to help you.

Being skinny, shaving, wearing makeup, are all expected of you and are often treated with praise and uplifted as desirable. So why do those people have to come onto every single post about people who fall outside social convention to talk about how they uniquely have it worse or just as bad for looking exactly how they're expected to.

This website can't even handle this shit. It's no wonder so many are struggling with not being intersexist as hell. We're stuck on Baby's First "Not Everything is About You"

[reidswhre]

can you figure me out? ; spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: you try everything possible so that spencer realizes that you are completely in love with him, but he just doesn't seem to notice it.

warnings: i had spencer from season 2 in mind, nothing dw!

a/n: I had this draft saved and I was improving it to be able to post it, I hope you enjoy it! I have a couple of requests, thank you very much!! I hope to be able to make them soon. 💗 By the way, english is not my first language, let me know any mistakes, have a beautiful day! 💘

Everyone at the BAU knew you were completely in love with Spencer Reid.

Except for Spencer.

Which was sometimes funny—most of the time it was—but other times it was frustrating. It didn’t seem logical to you how a genius with an IQ of 187 couldn’t realize that he was basically the love of your life. It’s not like you were trying to hide it or something. He’s just oblivious.

Because of this, Morgan and García proposed a little game to you.

“I bet you could flirt with him all day, and he’d think you were just being friendly,” Penelope laughed.

You lightly bumped your forehead against your desk, staying there defeated. “Don’t even say that,” you mumbled against the desk.

“Hey, hey, don’t be sad, cutie,” Derek gently lifted your head so you could see him. “It’s not as bad as it seems. He’s just… something else,” he laughed.

“Don’t say that,” you frowned at Derek.

Derek raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Hey, it's okay, I'm not offending your husband."

"He's not my husband, and he never will be if he never pays attention to me." You sighed.

"Look, sweetie, flirt with him all day, no filter." She laughed.

Derek played along. "That's right, let's see how hard it is for him to notice." He laughed too.

"Stop playing around, this is serious, don't be like that." You were quite sad.

"We're being serious too!" Derek exclaimed.

"I mean, it's what you want, right? For him to notice. It's not possible that you flirt with him all day and he doesn't notice." Penelope added. "And listen, babe, if he doesn't notice this, I'm sorry to say it, but he's ignoring you," she explained to you.

You groaned and rested your head on the desk.

After a while, you started thinking about what Morgan and Garcia had said. After all, you had nothing to lose; in the end, it was basically what you did every day. Although, of course, this was a bit over the top, but who knows if it was over the top enough for Spencer to notice.

"Hey, you." You smiled at Spencer, who was in the office kitchen making one of his coffees.

Spencer looked at you. "Oh, hey." He gave you a smile, one of those where he just closed his lips without showing his teeth. Pretty typical of him.

"Those glasses?" You smiled, trying to make conversation.

Of course, you had noticed them; how could you not? He started wearing them about a week ago, and he looked dreamy. So much so that you thought you stared at him for about five minutes straight a couple of days ago while Hotch was explaining a new case.

"Mm, the contacts were really bothering my eyes lately." He explained while continuing to prepare his coffee.

"Well, they look great on you; you look great, really handsome." You began your mission.

"They’re nothing special. I had to get anti-reflective coating because the glare was bothering me too. It’s a coating applied to both surfaces of the lenses to reduce the glare caused by reflected light." He started explaining, as he always did, not noticing your attempt to tell him he looked good.

Spencer’s obliviousness: 1 - 0 : You.

"Ah—right, yeah." You sighed and watched him leave the kitchen, giving you another one of his smiles.

Second attempt.

You were at your desks, which were next to each other, finishing paperwork from the last case.

"Are you done? It's almost lunchtime," you asked Spencer.

"I still have to finish the geographical profile," he said, looking at his papers. "But I can do it after lunch." He looked at you.

"Great! I was thinking, would you like to go to that sandwich place a couple of blocks away?"

"Oh, sure! Tito’s, right?" He said, recalling the name of the place. "Sounds great." He smiled at you.

You were a bit surprised. "Oh, really? Great—Yeah, perfect." You stumbled over your words a bit—he had just accepted a date with you!

"Great, I'll tell the others," he said as he tidied up his desk.

"Okay, sure," you replied without thinking. "Wait—what? Spencer—" Maybe you thought he accepted a date with you too soon.

"Morgan loves that place," he told you. "See you later, okay?" He smiled and left.

You sighed.

Spencer’s obliviousness: 2 - 0 : You.

You sighed again.

Hotch and JJ explained a new case to you—apparently, there was a serial killer in Mill Creek, and this other guy who called himself the "Empty Man." It seemed they had some sort of rivalry and were killing women without restraint. So now, you guys would have to travel to St. Louis to help solve the case.

Everyone boarded the plane, which took off immediately after the case was announced. Everyone was scattered around the plane, analyzing the case. You were sitting next to Reid, across from the little table that those seats have.

After that tragic and terrifying lunch, you were left thinking about the possibility that Spencer did know and was ignoring you to avoid hurting you. Maybe he just didn’t like you, which wasn’t such a big deal. But you wished that if that were the case, he would at least tell you.

"Are you okay?" you heard the voice of the man from Las Vegas next to you.

"Hm? Yeah, yeah, of course," you replied instinctively.

"You don’t seem like it," he said with a frown.

Great, now he was starting to notice things.

"Really, I’m fine. I was just—thinking," you replied honestly.

"About what?" he asked.

"About you," you blurted out. The truth was, it was now or never; it didn’t matter whether he felt the same way or not.

"Me? Why about me?" he asked, even more confused.

"You're incredible, Reid," you laughed—it was better than crying. "I’ve been trying all day to get you to notice how much I like you! And you don’t understand anything!"

Awesome.

Spencer’s obliviousness: 3 - 0 : You.

Double awesome.

"Do you like me?" Spencer said, completely clueless.

"Of course i do! Ever since I got here. And I've tried everything but—" You sighed. "You don't like me... And that's okay, I don't expect you to, I just wish you'd tell me, you know?"

Spencer let out the breath he was holding and laughed a little. "Where did you get that from? How do you think I don't like you?"

"I do?" You opened your mouth in surprise, which made him laugh.

"Of course you do," he laughed. "I just thought you were being nice to me, you're nice to everyone, I didn't think it was special with me."

"Of course you are!" You laughed.

"According to April Bleske-Rechek, the psychologist leading the task force that studied the relationship between men and women, males and females have a very different perception of the messages they receive from the opposite sex." Reid started to Reidplain as he always did. "This, especially in the case of men, leads them to misinterpret signals."

"Really?" You said sarcastically, leaning on your hand, watching him as he explained.

"Yes, which is why I thought I was misinterpreting you." He shrugged.

"Not at all." You smiled as you brushed a strand of hair off his forehead.

"We're in the middle of a case, I'd appreciate it if you two could behave," Hotch said from the back of the plane.

"Oh, right, right, yeah—I'm sorry," both of you mumbled a bunch of incoherent apologies.

Then you looked at each other out of the corner of your eye with a small smile.

Awesome.

You: 1 - 3: Spencer’s obliviousness.

Triple awesome.

Take that, silly mental scoreboard.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

When you were taken by your original world and sent into some kind of ancient China, full of demons and monsters, you weren't exactly sure why you were supposed to assist the "Destined one." Damn, you didn't even know how this.

When you find out that this destiny one was some kind of successor of Sun Wukong, saying that you were surprised was a joke.

His eyes scrutinized you; they were dark with a tint of gold when the light stricked them. He silently circled you, creating some distance between you, himself, and the other monkeys, curious about the mortals that presented themselves on their mountain.

Every time you tried to keep some distance, he was ready to close it enough to never leave his sight. What a strange situation, and what strange creature was sent to him just at the dawn of his journey.

The stories portrayed Wukong, as the name says, as a monkey kind of guy: cheerful, ready to make some jokes, who liked to make fun of people and laugh. And yet, the destined one was nothing like this trope.

He was composed, serious, and always straight forward. It was like he decided to expel every fun side from him in order to fulfill his duty.

Despite that, he showed more side to you: he was caring, trying to understand your confusion and fear while in a new world, always remembering to keep your peace while walking to make sure that you didn't get lost around. He was your protector, always ready to strike at every danger, and a good friend in the moment of agony.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't cry for these things, but... I'm sorry, so sorry."

You missed home. You never could believe yourself, but you missed your monothone and unsavory life. You missed waking up, going to walk, listening to endless hours of your boss rumbling—you missed even the crappy food of the cafeteria!

Everything seems so far away, without hope of reaching it. And you felt like trash because he was the one that was there to listen. You felt ashame, ashame of the fact that you were there complaining about what you lost while he was there fighting for both of you. You tried to cover your eyes, holding your breath to calm down, but nothing worked at all.

A stream of tears keeps on crashing down, hiccups escaping your lungs without stop.

Then, you felt his arms—two pairs of strong and soft arms, protecting your now vulnerable state from everything and everyone. His tail followed his gesture, keeping you in place and warm—so warm.

"Please." His high peech voice is now reduced to a whisper. "Don't hold it. Don't hold the pain. I can't see you like this. Please, whatever cloud your heart, speak to me."

Soon, you both became inseparable. You followed him like a shadow, carrying pills and balms, making plans with him for your next move. Damn, even Bajie couldn't believe his eyes when he saw you behind the monkey, a little afraid of the newcomer of the group.

You weren't anymore just some random mortal the Destined one had found and kept at his tail; now you were the Destined done caompanion and trusted friend. His journey became your journey, and his task your task. You both became bound by a silent vow.

"Say...why don't you choose a name? A real one this time."

"I never thought about it." He started to play with a leaf fallen from the nearby tree, thinking about your new idea.

You reached his side, holding his hand in yours, caressing the black claws on it. Once those scared you, now you wonder if a nice manicure could make them look prettier than now.

"Well, you can't let me call you Destined One or Monkey forever! You need a proper name! Something nice! ...umm...how about... Yuánfèn?"

"Um? Since when can you name people here?"

"Well," you continued, "it's destiny in Chinese, no? Like..fate!"

He looked at you, then laughed between his teeth a little. "There's no difference in how they usually call me then!"

"Yes, but...this is how I call you! So is different!"

Soon, you start to not miss home that much. You start to hope to be closer to him—to not go back. You hope that, after your honeymoon, you can stay together and that, despite all, there can be a happy ending for both of you. And silently, in his head, he hoped that too.

"May i?"

He gave you his silent consent, allowing you to caress his cheek with your so small fingers. Your lips met his own, your gesture so timid and gentle that you ask yourself if it's still a small image in your mind instead of something that you're actually doing now. He hasn't moved an inch; confusion starts to come to him and yourself, to the point that you need to stop. Now you just feel ashamed; you felt that you crossed a line, and now you don't even know if you can even go back.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

A small shush from him, his finger holding your chin and guiding you against him. This time, he's trying to mimic your gesture, a blush forming from his face to the visible part of his ears. His kiss is trembling but fierce. He waited long enough to see your still puzzled face.

"I...may don't get how you did it...Can you show me...again, please?"

You don't need to let him ask again; soon your lips smash together again, showing him exactly what's happening.

Your fate is sealed with that kiss, and there's no force on heaven and earth to undo it.

@sun-jglim

[asce-of-hearts]

Hsr yan! jing yuan with jealousy smut after a new recruit decided to talk to reader. Imagine the way he leaves bite marks and bruises all over your body in places that can never be hidden. Not him leaving a hickey on the ring finger like the jelly possessive bastard he is. Not him leaving a bite mark on the neck like it was a collar and the sly happy looks he gives when you're forced to awkwardly wear a scarf or when you have to wear a ring to cover up that hickey. I'm goin way to crazy with my yan jing yuan head cannons but all i want for christmas is yan jing yuan. So pretty plsss?

Possession

Contents: Yan!Jing Yuan jealousy smut scenario (gn!reader)

more Jing Yuan content here

TAG LIST

WARNINGS: SORT OF SPOUSE READER, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, SOFT YANDERE, OBSESSIVE AND POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, NSFW, JEALOUSY, PENETRATIVE SEX, BITING AND MARKING, HICKEYS.

You interacting with others wasn't a crime, for sure.

It's just that for the general, it's nothing short of... sacrilegious. You know your duties, and you know them well. Your arrangement isn't precisely a secret, you might as well call it marriage. You live together, you sleep together, you do everything together. Because that's what people who love each other do. And he loves it, loves you. What he doesn't love as much is the fact that you can't reduce all of your human interaction to him, and him only.

It's not unusual when you go and leave him something to eat. The beast of a man needs to keep his calorie intake intact or he comes home... cranky to put it nicely. And he loves it, it's like a proof of ownership. The nice part of his brain thinks it's a nice gesture, kindness from your behalf melts him, the other half, thinks it's anything but innocent to have you servicing him, even in the smallest ways.

So when you greet him, under him on the first floor of the commission building, he already feels something strange bubbling in the pit of his stomach. And he can't help but want to grin, instead offering you that lazy, seductive smile he often wears around you. Just as you're about to walk over to him, a spear his placed in front of your body, making you freeze in place.

"What business do you have here? And what are you carrying?" You seem puzzled, in all of your years doing this you have never once been questioned, everyone just seems to know the generals partner. So you, naturally, hesitate and stumble over your words as the knight questions you.

"Ah- Well. I just, uhm, came to deliver something to the general," You stutter, trying to control yourself, weapons make you uneasy, as uneasy as anyone else would be. "His- his lunch to be precise."

"His lunch? Why for? How am I sure that isn't poisoned?" He asks, an accusatory look crossing his eyes. And you feel nervous, words bubbling up in your throat but ultimately never leaving. Then you feel it, the soft touch, the warm hand placed over the small of your back as a tall man completely towers over you. You seem to have forgotten how tall he is, always having to look up to face him.

"I'm sure my beloved ___ wouldn't poison my food, or would you, dearest?" Jing Yuan purrs in your ear, and you and the night both feel your breaths hitching. The silence is deafening, everyone looking at you. "Forgetting about that, I think I would appreciate if you stopped pointing your spear at the vital and quite fragile organs of the stomach of my beloved spouse. Would you be a lamb about it, recruit?" He says, the menace in his words palpable. Of course he isn't familiar, it makes sense now, the fact that he didn't recognize you. A new recruit who has just gotten his station at the building. The young man quickly pulls his spear back, and apologizes with a vow. It all should've ended there.

But it didn't, of course it didn't.

Jing Yuan has you bent over his desk, the one inside his private meeting room, not the one on the front. He wouldn't be able to bear others looking at your naked skin, even as he claims ownership over you. His pace is relentless, wild, his hair sticking to his forehead as he sweats.

"Did you see the way he looked at you?" He hisses, hands gripping your hips with a bruising strength. You can't even answer, too lost in the sensation of his broad body engulfing yours as he continues to ravage your insides. His balls smacking against your ass with every thrust. "With hunger- With... with longing. Foolish, you're mine. Only I can look at you like that." He's talking to himself, then sucking another angry mark over your neck, purple and red bruise-like marks littering your skin like a sin. And you can't do anything about it, and about the way he flips you over. Now against the wall, his cock still piledriving your insides like he wants to bruise them as well. When you throw your head back, he sucks at the delicate skin of your throat, your windpipe. And he grins. "There, now everyone can see who you are, what you are. You are mine, ___. Aren't you?"

He sounds manic, detached, like a man possessed. You can only nod, cumming around his cock one last time.

"Of course you are. My ___, my only one."

hope you enjoyed this!!!

have a great/day night!!!

COMISSIONS INFO

TAGGING: @goldenglow149. @rania200527 @kitzusune @lakxcpsta @chercheryblossomsweet

@houchan @eeelieschariot @hannas16 @mokingbrd78k @janeisnotonline

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[inseobts]

hello!!! could you write one about how after a fight the crew had, zoro being turned into a kid and how chaotic it would be? nothing weird just some platonic fluff if it makes sense 😭

Baby-Zoro Chaos

zoro x gn!reader (platonic)

a/n: it's not really after a fight but I thought it would have been funnier like this lmao hope you'll like it (ฅ́ ˘ฅ̀)♡

words count: 1.0k

tags: platonic, child zoro, humor

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The argument is loud. Deafening, even. Voices crash over each other like waves in a storm, and it’s absolute pandemonium. Nami’s scolding Luffy with all the fury of a woman who has had enough of everyone's nonsense, Sanji’s throwing rapid-fire insults at Zoro, and you, poor, exhausted you, are trying (and failing) to restore some semblance of order before things spiral completely out of control.

Zoro, of course, refuses to back down, his arms crossed, his expression bored but somehow still managing to radiate pure stubbornness.

“You’re a walking disaster, Mosshead!” Sanji shouts, jabbing a finger at him, his other hand dramatically planted on his hip.

“Tch… shut up, cook” Zoro grumbles, like the human embodiment of an eye-roll.

Before another insult can be launched, before the chaos can climb to its inevitable crescendo, a blinding flash of light explodes.

Everything and everyone stops. Frozen mid-argument, blinking furiously, the crew barely has time to process what just happened before Luffy, ever the first to state the obvious, shouts “WHAT WAS THAT?!”

You turn to look toward Zoro and Sanji to see what they did, and there you instantly forget how to breathe.

Zoro is… small.

Not just small. Tiny. Miniature. Pocket-sized (not really but really close).

His usual towering, muscular frame is gone, replaced by something impossibly round and chubby. His oversized clothes hang off his tiny form like a poorly fitted costume, his green bandana slipping down over his ridiculously large, confused eyes. He stares down at his own tiny hands in horror.

Zoro opens his mouth to demand an explanation, to yell, to curse, but instead of his usual gruff voice, a high-pitched squeak escapes his lips “G-guh!”

The room is silent for all of two seconds before Luffy collapses onto the floor, absolutely howling with laughter.

“ZORO, YOU’RE A BABY! THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER!” Luffy shrieks, slamming his fists against the ground as he wheezes.

Everyone else trying to hide their laughs.

Zoro, whose sheer presence is usually enough to strike fear into enemies, now looks like a furious, grumpy cherub. He stomps his tiny foot, but instead of an intimidating display of anger, he wobbles, loses his balance, and tumbles forward in the most unceremonious, helpless little roll.

“ZORO!” you yelp, lunging to catch him, but he’s already on the floor, his tiny fists flailing in frustration.

“Grah!” he shouts, or at least, tries to. What actually comes out is a high-pitched, indignant wail that only makes Luffy laugh harder.

Luffy scoops Zoro up with absolutely zero hesitation “I’m carrying you now! You’re my new little buddy!” he announces, swinging Zoro around like an overexcited kid with a new toy.

Zoro, whose entire being is built on strength and dignity, is now reduced to a tiny, helpless baby being manhandled by a rubber idiot. His eyes are practically shooting laser beams of rage “Goo-goo, gah!” he shrieks, flailing his tiny limbs in protest.

“Oh my god, I am never letting this go,” Sanji says, wiping a tear from his eye “Look at you, Marimo. Acting like a little brat already.”

Zoro turns his furious, oversized eyes on Sanji and, for a brief, glorious moment, tries to scowl. But the attempt is absolutely ruined by the way his lip trembles.

“Gaaah!” he cries out, trying to push against Luffy’s chest. Unfortunately, his tiny hands are as threatening as wet marshmallows. The realization that he has lost all his usual strength hits him like a ton of bricks.

His face scrunches up. His frustration mounts. And then—

A wail erupts from his tiny lungs, loud and dramatic “WAAAAAAAH!”

“Oh my god, he’s... he's crying” Usopp gasps.

You rush forward and scoop him into your arms before Luffy can swing him around again “Shh, shh, Zoro, it’s okay” you murmur, gently rocking him, but Zoro is having absolutely none of it. He kicks, he squirms, he shakes his tiny fists in a rage.

Sanji, grinning like he just won the lottery, leans in “Aw, poor little Zoro. Did someone get all cranky?”

Zoro’s face turns an even darker shade of red. He lets out an absolutely furious, nonsensical string of babbling that sounds suspiciously like an attempt at cursing. His chubby little arms flail toward Sanji, but his baby coordination betrays him, and he just ends up smacking himself in the face.

Luffy loses it all over again, slapping the floor as he cackles “HE HIT HIMSELF! OH MY GOD, THIS IS THE FUNNIEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN!”

Zoro, still struggling in your hold, lets out another furious wail before hiccupping mid-cry. His tiny body trembles as he sniffles, his pride in absolute tatters.

You sigh, stroking his soft green hair “Okay, let’s focus, guys. How do we fix this?”

Nami, who has been suspiciously quiet, finally steps forward. She looks at tiny, blubbering Zoro and tilts her head “Do we even want to fix this?”

“YES!” Zoro shrieks, though it comes out as “BAAABYYY!”

Chopper, ever the doctor, has his hooves on his chin, deep in thought “It could be temporary. Or maybe it’s a curse? Or a weird Devil Fruit power?”

“Well, until we fix him, he’s our new baby,” Luffy declares, grinning “I’m gonna take such good care of him.”

“Grrr!” Zoro whines, but his tantrum has tired him out. His little head droops against your chest, his energy spent. His tiny fists clutch weakly at your shirt as he lets out a small, defeated sigh.

“Looks like he’s finally calming down” you murmur, rubbing his back.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sanji smirks “Just don’t let him near sharp objects.”

You glance down at baby Zoro, his big eyes fluttering closed as he drifts off into an exhausted nap. Even like this, tiny and helpless, there’s still something undeniably Zoro about him. Stubborn, strong, and unwilling to back down—even if his body has completely betrayed him.

Luffy grins and reaches out, poking his tiny cheek “He’s so squishy.”

Zoro grumbles sleepily, too tired to protest.

You sigh, looking at the ridiculous scene before you “We’ll figure it out...” you say, though, deep down, a part of you knows that until you do, things are going to be absolute, unhinged chaos.

But then again, when is life with the Straw Hats ever anything else?

[msfantasy-anime]

Buggy’s Daughter Is a Master of Disguise!

Vinsmoke. Sanji x Reader

Request: A If it's not too much trouble, could you write a oneshot about a fem! reader who's a Strawhat Pirate and disguised herself as a man to try and fly under the Marine's radar since she's the daughter of a well known pirate. [Maybe Crocodile or Buggy] & she has a very high bounty so she disguises herself and she has feelings for Sanji but doesn't act on them because of her disguise. The crew/Sanji could find out her true identity during Enies Lobby since CP9 have orders to take her in as well since the World Gov. has found out her identity!

A/n: I hadn’t looked at my inbox in so long I’m sorry to keep you waiting! I have been obsessively writing stories on an account for OC fantasy and been neglecting my comic and anime accounts. I did take creative liberties on the ‘finding out’ part since … I don’t like Enies Lobby (SORRY- I’m not sorry that arch sucks)

You will never forget the day Luffy asked you to join his crew.

The circus show that was your life had long since lost its appeal.

The over the top stages, smothered under yards of gaudy fabrics, where the stage lighting flicked through every colour of the rainbow until the bright spot light would land on you— the starting act to the main event being your father, Buggy the Clown. Always dressed together in ridiculous costumes ready to perform any act whether it be slapstick, comedy, dance, song, acrobats or stunts. Name any, you’ve done it.

Oh and how you loved it. Entertaining the crew until their belly ached from laughing or tears from a heart touching performance. To leave everyone buzzing for days after a good show— there was no greater high than that. Your father was certainly proud of you for it.

Your fun-loving father, would tuck you into bed as he spoke of dreams of unforeseen riches and absolute power, to become the king of the pirates! And you couldn’t think of a better man than your own father. But that was before the years carried on with little to no progress on his dream, festering bitterness, rage and resentment to surfaced.

With your father becoming emotionally unavailable, you turned to the stage, engrossing yourself to the craft of entertainment until your father began using your sacred stage to indulge his sadistic whims. What was once a place of laughter and spectacle became a theater of cruelty—innocent villagers forced into the spotlight, their suffering turned into a grotesque performance. He would howl with laughter as panic and despair bloomed in their eyes, delighting in their futile struggles. And they would look at you, their gazes burning with desperation, silently pleading—for mercy, for freedom, for their children to be spared.

You missed entertaining the crew upon the high seas, where the sea salt air would glide through your hair, as you perform a one of a kind show; where each town was an opportunity to explore and adventure to your hearts content. When exactly did that all stop?

One day it all just became too much. Abandoning your craft you turned your back to the stage— resigning yourself to being nothing more than a pirate with an enormous bounty of your head.

You’ve witness too much, done too much and done nothing at all to prevent the cruelties your father inflicted.

Standing amidst yet another crumbling town. You anticipated the familiar chorus of cries and screams of those who’ve lost everything. Another destroyed home reduced to a pile of rubble, framed photos sticking out amongst the broken bricks to further emphasise stolen spaces dedicated to families. It was a scene you’ve witnessed countless times before.

But this time, something was different.

The villagers weren’t crying. They were screaming and cheering on the straw hat pirates who are fighting in high spirits, cursing buggy and crying for those who’ve lost everything.

What new low have you reached where even other pirates are disgusted and looking down upon you and the crew for their cruelty?

Your stomach twists painfully, feeling utterly disgusted with yourself.

You hated it.

Hated what the stage had become.

Hated what it represented.

Hated who you became.

You don’t want to be you anymore, you want to be someone else. Someone who wasn’t the daughter of a cruel pirate with a massive bounty— you want to be a pirate, like Luffy. Who laughs and has fun, but never at the expense of others.

“SHUT UP AND JOIN MY CREW ALREADY!” Luffy would scream in your face mid-fight. Excuse after excuse you threw at Luffy but he was done listening. “ACCEPT IT- BE WHOEVER YOU WANT TO BE!”

That moment changed your life forever.

Luffy didn’t care what you had done- he liked you, and wanted you on the crew.

No excuses.

You didn’t have to be part of your father’s crew. If you wanted to be someone else— you could.

The stage taught you that better than anything.

So when you stepped aboard the ship Nami stole; you decided to leave that version of you behind in Orange town.

“You’re Y/n right?” Zoro would ask.

“Jester— I’m here to entertain the king.” You say, pointing towards Luffy who’s beaming a massive toothy smile. “From now on I’m not Y/n. I’m not Buggy’s daughter - I’m Jester, a straw hat pirate.” You state boldly, placing a mask upon your face.

It would be the last time you ever showed it.

“Ya’know, any decent bounty hunter can tell who you are. Even with the mask, your voice is the same, you dress the same and your blue hair is obvious. With your bounty, there are hunters that have studied you endlessly. If you actually want to be unrecognisable— you should change everything.”

“Shut up Zoro! I like Y/n the way they are!” Luffy would scold, pressing his vein popping forehead against Zoros own.

“I want to leave that part of me behind Captain— if I’m becoming a strawhat, i want my bounty to be under your name, not my dads.”

“Oh yeah— okay.” Luffy relents instantly, picking his ear as he withdraws from the discussion to sit where the sea breeze is strongest.

So you did, transforming yourself into Jester, you’re greatest disguise.

This was all before Sanji of course.

If you had known you’d might’ve gone for a feminine disguise…. Maybe then he would finally see you and not Jester— his best friend.

When Sanji first joined, you were honestly relieved he didn’t know you were a woman—especially after seeing the way he fell apart like a lovesick fool around any pretty girl.

And yet, despite all of that, there was an undeniable spark of bro-mance between you two.

It was effortless. You didn’t need words to understand each other; you could read his mind just as easily as he could finish your sentences. That bond had been forged through countless days and nights side by side—challenging him with bizarre ingredient combinations, serving as his trusted taste tester, or fighting together with an unspoken understanding that you always had each other’s backs.

There were too many memories to count—drinking, partying, eating, talking, exploring. You were the brother he never had. Someone to laugh with, someone to exchange sharp-witted insults with, someone to tease when he inevitably spiraled into his love-struck antics.

A Bro-mance through and through.

All until after the two years apart— where you returned and Sanji was just… different.

He continued to treat you with the same energy, but you struggled to keep yourself together. Feeling the inkling tenderness surfacing. A warmth for him you hadn’t felt prior.

My god— did Zoro grin pull at his lips when he caught a glimpse of your affectionate eyes lingering a little too long.

Never less you sallowed down your feelings, unwilling to allow your identity to resurface.

You love being Jester.

That’s who you are.

The afternoon sun glows a golden light on the horizon as it dips lower into the ocean. Most of the boys were on the main deck enjoying the peaceful bliss of the open sky.

Luffy lays on the deck grass, his hat loosely placed upon his face.

Zoros back leaning against the main mast, watching Chopper and Usopp fish, all whilst you and Sanji chatter up a storm as per usual.

“My sensors must be broken— I can always sense a beautiful woman when I’m near you,” Sanji says, placing a cigarette in his mouth, holding a flame to the end.

Your shoulders tense up at Sanji’s statement- unsure where to take it from there.

Usopp grumbles, not fully listening to Sanji’s nonsense as he leans the line behind him, whipping the rod forward, casting out his fishing line and watching the weight sink below the crisp blue sea water. Zoro raises a knowing brow to you, as your eyes silently scream at Zoro to turn his smug face away. “That’s kinda creepy —“ Usopp quips.

“Must be because Jesters my ultimate wingman.” Sanji cheers, throwing his arms around your shoulder.

“Yeah, Jester is definitely helping you with that.” The barking laughter that followed from Zoro made you stare silent daggers back at him.

Leaning back, you cause Sanji’s arm hanging on your shoulder to tilt down, his fingers grazing your bound chest, his hand twitches at the odd sensation.

You spring from your place under his arm, attempting to hide your flinch as jovial jumping as you bound away from Sanji.

“I might hit the showers!” You announce suddenly, dashing away from the conversation.

Chopper stares at Sanji— confused with Sanji’s earlier statement.

“Just out of curiosity—” Chopper asks tilting his head to the side. “Why won’t you flirt with Jester like you do with other ladies?”

“Huh?” Sanji cranes his neck, trying to make sense of Choppers question.

“Because Jesters the only girl you haven’t —“

“Chopper. That’s enough.” Zoro says, his stern face makes Choppers mouth clamp shut instantly. Feeling as though he said something he shouldn’t.

The damage was already done. Choppers words circulated Sanji’s brain until realisation dawned upon him in real time.

The bound chest.

The monthly tummy aches.

You always disappearing whenever a bathhouse is around— but he just figured with you being popular with the ladies since he always sees Nami or Robin pulling you along with them when they think he’s not watching…

Oh god…

“YOURE TELLING ME JESTERS A GIRL?!” Sanji just about squeals, his cigarette falling from his lips.

“Yeah what about it?” Luffy murmurs, sliding his hat away from his face.

Sanji storms over, grabbing Luffy by the collar.

“You’re telling me you knew?!” Sanji sputters, desperate to hear Luffy sound just as confused as he felt, but Luffy just stared back up at him casually.

“Of course I knew — I’m the captain.” He says calmly, pulling Sanji’s clenched fingers off his vest.

“What about you? You don’t look surprised.” Sanji accuses Zoro, shoving a unwarranted finger to his chest.

“I was the first mate remember? Jester came after me, we picked her up in Orange Town.” Zoro answers calmly, slapping his hand away.

“Does that mean Nami knows?” Sanji asks, desperately seeking out another who may have also been kept in the dark.

“Oh course— she was there.” Zoro grumbled in annoyance at swirly brows high pitched breakdown.

Sanji spins around to Usopp. “You.” He says angrily, making Usopp gulp. “Why aren’t you freaking out.”

Usopp stares off to the side, reluctantly answering. “Well… I didn’t know Jester was— but you know… I thought… I walked in on her taking a bath and” Sanji took a step back, not wanting to hear the rest.

“Listen swirly brow, save your breath. You’re the last to know— now get over it. Jester doesn’t want to make it into a big deal.”

He felt betrayed, seemingly everyone knew except Sanji.

I guess the clowns out of the box now.

How the hell could Sanji have guessed? You’re the master or disguise. The best theatrical performer, fit to entertain the king of the pirates.

He turns on his heel, storming towards your private room which even you didn’t let him into.

Approaching the door he slams it open, making you jump up at the sudden ruckus. Your head instinctively snapping towards the source of noise.

Your clear feminine face in view without a Jesters mask to shield you.

Sanji’s heart skips a beat at the sight of you. Your hair which is typically tied up and hidden away is free flowing out, your baggy clothes now tossed to the side as you were half dressed, your distinctive feminine chest unbounded, your waist dipping deeper than a man’s should and your hips wider than what a man’s should be.

You’re fully clothed, but Sanji feels embarrassed to suddenly see so much more of you than he expected.

“How could you not tell me?” Sanji accuses, his furrowed brows and his eyes remain downcast. His hands clenching to fists in his pockets. “I—“ Sanji’s voice wavers. “Suppose that our friendship was one sided.” He turns his back, walking away from you, retreating to the sanctity that was his kitchen.

It might not have been a fair statement.

And Sanji knows that every woman has her secrets— but you’re different.

You’re his best friend.

How can his friendship with you return to what it was?

“Wait Sanji!” You yell out, making him pause in his step, but he doesn’t dare to look at you. Your usual deep gravely voice is lighter and airy making his heart clench in betrayal— not even knowing what your real voice sounded like. “I’m sorry— I didn’t know how to tell you!” You defend, but Sanji didn’t move.

“I thought we were friends.” He states making you scoff.

“Of course we’re friends!”

“But we’re not! You know everything about me, but until today, I never realised you were a stranger!” You physically step back as if his words lashed you like a whip.

“Sanji—“

“Jester—“ He says your name through gritted teeth, like the words burned the inside of his mouth.

“I don’t even know your name.” He says, starring at the floor in anger. More so with himself than with you. How can two people spend this much time together and he didn’t even ask you more, to ask the right questions. Why didn’t you tell him? “Just … forget it.”

“My name is Y/n.” You say. And it was like music to his ears, the way your name sounded rolling off your tongue. “I’m the daughter of Buggy the clown.” He stiffens at your admission, his eyes growing wider. “I wanted to escape myself— start a new under a captain who deserved my loyalty and not because I’m a relative.” You say, grabbing Sanji’s arm, forcing him to face you. “I hated who I was, I hated what I witnessed and hated what I didn’t do. Captain was against it but respected my wishes— I wanted to start anew, and so I did.” You say, Sanji now facing you. “It’s not that I wanted to keep you in the dark. I just liked that you didn’t see my ugly truth.” You whisper, tears brimming your eyes.

Sanji felt like a total moron, making a woman cry.

Without another word, he pulls you into a proper hug, holding you tight as silent tears fell.

“I’m sorry— I’m an idiot.” He whispers.

“Yeah.”

“Where’s Sanji?” Nami asks as she approaches the boys lounging about the deck.

“He found out.” Luffy says, standing up and attempting to walk off without another word.

Nami gasped loudly, grabbing Luffy by the vest and shaking him aggressively. “YOU MORON! HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME! IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS CLIFFHANGER FOR YEARS AND I MISSED IT!” Nami cries dramatically. Luffy groans, his head spinning.

“Why does everyone keep doing this!” He groans again.

“Relax— he’s only just found out. This ‘will they- won’t they’ crap takes longer.” Zoro mumbles.

[dolche-tejada]

You know, I think this ending would have been slightly less of a fucking disappointment if the heroes hadn't been so unfairly favored by Horikoshi compared to the villains. I mean, seriously

Deku destroys every bone in his body multiple times throughout the story and is warned that if he continues, he'll permanently lose the use of his limbs ? Everything's fine, his body's just got used to being reduced to a bloody pulp somehow so there's no consequences for him. In fact even when he literally loses his arms to Shigaraki, he gets them back two minutes later thanks to Eri because guess what ? Her horn still works even when cut off from her body. How convenient.

Gran Torino gets his ribcage obliterated by Shigaraki ? Don't worry guys, he'll survive that despite his old age and injuries, and this to have no particular role in the plot afterwards.

Bakugo dies heroically trying to buy time before Deku arrives ? Lmao, did you really believe it ?? No of course not, Edgeshot just uses his last-minute Deus Ex Machina to save his life at the cost of his own and- Oops nope he's fine too, my bad !

Hawks murders a criminal fleeing for his life in cold-blood ? The best Hori has to offer is him completely free and in charge of the HSPC.

And no, losing his quirk isn't a real consequence for him because not only it literally played a major part in saving the world with Vestige!Hawks raising an insurrection among AFO's quirks, but also because his quirk has always been the element through which people exploited him.

Endeavor abused his family for years and completely destroyed his eldest son ? No jail time and no media backlash for that, the only blame he received was due to the heroes' failure to stop the League during the Raid Arc.

And don't even get me started on this bs about facing hell or whatever for what he's done : He's literally free and wealthy ; he has Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto, his sidekicks and Hawks on his side ; and all the difficulties he's apparently going to suffer are off-screened.

Deku had to sacrifice OFA and his future hero career to save the world ? Guess what, Bakugo invested all his time and money to make him an Iron-Man suit and now he can still be a hero with everyone else.

There are plenty more examples of this but I think you get the idea. Now let's take a look at the villains' ending :

Toya is now a piece of charcoal kept artificially alive for the few years he has left, unable to move a finger, and whose few minutes a day during which he can stay awake will be spent talking to his father who abused him as a child.

Toga, a literal teenager, killed herself to save Ochako and because she knew it's still better than rotting at Tartarus her whole life.

And not only did she die but she did by bleding to death. Let me repeat for those who have trouble grasping what I've just said : In a manga where the heroes can survive having their heart blown to bits, being impaled Kakyoin-style or smashed against buildings like a fly on a windshield, one of the main antagonists died of a fucking hemorrhage…

As for Shigaraki, after learning that his very birth and all the tragedies of his life have been orchestrated by AFO, after all this development and narrative promises about him being saved in the end... Deku just kills him.

Because despite all his speeches about saving him, it seems like the best our MC could do was beating him both physically and mentally until he crumbles to dust…

Compress on his side is apparently locked up for life and kept alive by machines too.

A begging Kurogiri tried in a desperate attempt to save Shigaraki, only to be unceremoniously blown up by Bakugo and dying off-screen without anyone giving a shit, including Aizawa and Mic.

And Spinner will now spend the rest of his life struggling with the extra quirks inside him that affect his body and mind, while having to cope with the thought that his boyfriend best friend and companions have either died alone or are locked away for life in horrifying circumstances.

Clearly not the same as with the heroes...

Now don't get me wrong, even if they suffered just as much from the consequences of their actions or the plot as the League, this ending would still be a disaster in terms of writing but AT LEAST it wouldn't reek that much of hypocrisy.

[qqueenofhades]

been seeing some responses to the many many lawsuits and other actions taken against trumpet and munkfruit that fall along the lines of "this isn't enough, it's already too late, you can't fight fascism with the law, we're all gonna die." i understand the fear, truly, but i'm curious as to your thoughts on it, as to me it seems like this sort of behavior/posting doesn't do much beyond embolden the narrative that everyone actually likes these bastards and they're too powerful to be stopped.

Welp. This is the kind of question that requires me to write a long and complex sociopolitical/critical/historical/Discourse-esque analysis that will take a while and which I am trying to do only selectively, but I'm at home on Saturday morning, I don't have anything else to do right now, and it does present me an opportunity to address some things I've been thinking about. So. We'll give it a shot.

The first thing that has struck me is that in a few short weeks, we're getting a sharp empirical disproving of two common online-leftist fallacies: one, the old "both parties are exactly the same" chestnut, and two, "the only resistance that matters is Violent Glorious Revolution" (which somehow and conveniently never happens). We had months and months of "Biden is just as bad as Trump!!!" being spread as gospel truth in online-leftist circles, and then when Harris took over, it switched just as seamlessly into "Harris is just as bad as [or even worse than] Trump!" Now, as I have said before, there were plenty of legitimate criticisms to make of Biden, particularly the Gaza policy (upon which Harris notably differed). But it's quite telling that the keyboard warriors who spent all of last year howling for The Righteous Punishment of Biden-Harris (regardless that the obvious ancillary consequence was letting Trump come to power) have either disappeared completely when it comes to dealing with the results of that rhetoric, or have switched to "everything is doomed so I guess we shouldn't bother anyway." Like. Trump is now proposing to fully ethnically cleanse Gaza and either blithely hand it over to Israel or build Jared Kushner Beachfront Resort Disneyworld, and what do we hear in protest? For the most part, crickets. These are not serious people. Their opposition is not morally consistent, and it only depends on how they can make themselves look good. I thought that Trump was somehow supposed to be magically better than Biden particularly on the Gaza issue, and that was why it was worth letting him get elected? Or something? Something!?!

I'm curious as to whether those people still legitimately think that Harris would have spent her first few weeks in office dismantling USAID, signing weekly anti-trans executive orders, unleashing ICE across the country and terrorizing immigrant communities, putting the Project 2025 guy in charge of the Office of Management and Budget, letting Elon Musk run rampant with Treasury data, nominating the likes of RFK Jr. and Tulsi Gabbard to Cabinet posts, trying to freeze all federal funding, stripping DEI initiatives, dismantle the Department of Education -- etc. etc. The thing is, as ghoulish as it is, none of this is a surprise, because it is literally what Trump and his people spent the entire presidential campaign loudly, openly, and repeatedly promising to do. However awful they were and are, they were not remotely secret about their intentions. That information was out in the open every time they opened their mouths. But too many people didn't pay attention, rationalized it away, decided that "he won't actually do that" (despite the fact that he launched a literal violent coup attempt on the Capitol the last time he was in office), or just made up their minds that Trump Will Reduce Grocery Prices and refused to listen to any information that countered that view. What do we get now? Trump laughing off the grocery-prices issue and insisting that it's "not a priority" and Musk managing to claim that the real problem is government spending, not corporate greed. Again, this was completely predictable, because y'all got willingly suckered. It was not hard to see it coming.

That said: if the Glorious Online Leftist Revolution is still coming, and by some lights we might now legitimately need it, where the fuck is it? Are they still out there banging the drum against Trump and his "let's ethnically cleanse Gaza" policy and anything else that they insisted, they swore up and down, was functionally equivalent or possibly even marginally better than Biden-Harris getting another term? No. They're either dead silent, offering weak excuses, or completely giving into "we're doomed there's no point fighting back through weak shitlib institutions that are obviously terrible and will fail" blubbering that makes no fucking sense. One, because they move the goalposts so constantly that there's not even any attempt to reckon with the last effects of their damaging bullshit, and two? As I said, where's the fucking Revolution magically coming to save us and install a perfect leftist utopia (which is never how revolutions have ever worked) and sweep away Government Tyranny? Is that only for when a Democrat is in office and you can have confidence that the government is not going to come after you in the middle of the night for talking about it? Now that there's an actual fascist in power, it's somehow too hard to resist at all, even in small, institutional, and everyday ways that are often far more effective at practically confounding the bad stuff instead of empty and useless online echo chambers, so guess we should all just give up??!

Fuck. That.

This is also why we have to talk about the catastrophic lack of information literacy and critical thinking skills in young leftist spaces. A good example is the recent migration of TikTok users to the Chinese app RedNote. It was sweet for a little while as there was cultural exchange and friendship and memes. But then, predictably, it dove hard into "ah, once again The Evil US Government Has Lied To Us and there are no problems at all in China!" I have seen posts float by on my dash that unironically claim this is the case and China is truly great and Americans should want to move there and clearly all that business about authoritarian control and mass repression was just a ruse by, again, The Evil US Government. If you are so utterly devoid of basic information literacy and research abilities that your standard of proof for "is the Chinese government repressively authoritarian and totalitarian" is "a random Chinese person on an app in a country where the Internet is viciously controlled and voicing the slightest criticism can make you disappear told me that it isn't," then for Christ's fucking sake, you need help. For one, it wasn't just the US government saying this. It was, y'know, Chinese dissidents, the entire nation of Taiwan, historians, academics, researchers, the Uyghur Muslims of Xinjiang, etc etc. If your only standard for believing or supporting anything is "the opposite of what the US government thinks," then you are perfect targets for authoritarianism. Hey, a person living under an authoritarian regime who will punish them if they speak out against it told me everything was fine! Clearly there's nothing to worry about and we should want it here in America!

Come on. Come on.

This is also the case because uneducated young leftists like to unironically label themselves "communists" or "Marxist-Leninists" as if it's cool and hip and has never been involved in anything problematic in all of history, so anything that calls itself that must be supported. Shoutout to the idiot in my notes recently who reblogged a several-year-old post just to shout at me about how historical communists NEVER worked with or collaborated with fascists, because something something The Communists Were The Pure Shining Good Guys! (Uh, nobody tell them about the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact.) Clearly, the Chinese Communist Party is good and beneficial, end of story, no more criticism or caution needed! Obviously, yes, official American policy toward China has often been driven by basic Sinophobia, and the determination that nobody can change American hegemony or unipolarity or its ability to call the shots how it pleases. But if that is the literally only criteria you're using, then yeah. If you're so unaware that "the Chinese people are ordinary human beings" and "the Chinese government is repressive and authoritarian" are statements that can and in fact do coexist, then apparently you've missed the situation you're in right now, where "the American people are ordinary human beings" and "the American government is repressive and authoritarian" is also the case. Because online leftism is essentially devoid of a consistent moral principle and will just blithely switch up to support Bad Things as long as they're being done by governments with the correct ideological label, here we are.

Anyway. This is getting long, but the main takeaway is that the "all resistance against Trump is doomed and I guess we just gotta die :(" line is now, somehow, often coming from the same people who were constantly yelling that the only hope was a Glorious Revolution against Biden-Harris, and it is somehow even stupider. So you'll trumpet about Gloriously Overthrowing The Government all the day long as long as a Democrat is in office, but the instant a Republican gets in there instead and starts acting like an actual fascist, welp, time to just shut up and accept our doom and not even bother to struggle? Please tell me how any of that makes sense. Especially when actively confounding the Trump/Musk Axis of Evil is already working. There is also the fact that the establishment-media types are supporting this narrative for reasons of their own; witness the fact that the entire US corporate media is owned by oligarchs who hastened to bend the knee and pledge fealty to Trump 2.0. They obviously also have a reason for inculcating hopelessness in you, and that the only recourse is to shut up, accept it, and let them continue to rob you blind. Because American democracy will never matter as much as money, power, and control for the Billionaire Bros.

The point is: this is a bad-faith narrative on all sides. Whether it's coming from the online leftists in their latest head-spinningly hypocritical volte-face, the oligarch-owned corporate media that wants to feed you constant Bad News to keep you clicking and worried and distracted and unable to resist, the Trumpist power that wants people to quit making this pesky stink about all their authoritarian fascist adventures, or anyone else. There is nobody who has your best interests at heart if they are telling you that everything is doomed and the only thing to do is lie down and take it. There is no logical reason you should listen to them. Go forth and keep resisting, in whatever way presents itself. Those cumulative small actions are far more effective than any Splendid Revolution that never, ever materializes, while the people who preach it just sit back and whine about how things are so bad now so clearly they couldn't. Shut up.

It is always important. It always matters. It will make a difference.

Courage, etc.