#but i got real tired real quick of reading the same things over and over

[justarabidlittleyingzhao]

Went on reddit last night, looked for LBFaD discussions.

I'm tired. I'm angry, but I'm also tired.

Gonna rant in tags.

[simgerale]

me after attempting to get back into sims and realizing i had a lot more to do than play the game

[kentopedia]

nanami kento, who hates dating, and didn’t do much of it in his early twenties. but now, he’s almost thirty, watching all the people he works with settle down, have kids, and he thinks he wants that. so he might as well try.

so satoru sets him up on a few dates — friends of friends, he calls them. and at the end of every one of the dinners, kento goes home empty, exhausted, because he knows what they want is not the same.

still; he thinks maybe he’s being a little self-destructive, maybe too picky, maybe he just got so used to being alone. with satoru’s insistence, he gives all the women another call, invites them over to his apartment.

the first time was a disaster… kento had barely set the dinner on the table before his cat had hissed at her, scratched her down the arm in a thin gash. and though it did draw blood, it was hardly enough to warrant that reaction.

he didn’t even try to stop her as she picked up her bag and left, huffing like she’d been morally offend. kento, though, could only smile to himself in amusement.

because maybe kento was a poor judge of character, a man who was secretly hoping nothing would pan out — but his cat could certainly tell the good from the bad.

it became a little game to him, after that. seeing if anyone could win his pet over, and if they could, perhaps they were the one. his darling animal was a fickle thing anyway. a bit too defensive, quick to bite anything threatening after years on the streets.

naturally, no one came back twice.

he was close to giving up, accepting his solitude because he was tired of empty conversations over dinner. but then, he ventured out over the weekend to a new coffee shop, during hours he normally didn’t spend out of his home, and met you.

though you only talked for a moment, kento felt like maybe he’d known you in a past life. a part of him thought maybe it was strange, the way he kept coming back to talk to you, catching you at the end of your shift to see if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime.

by the second date, kento started to think you could turn out to be his best friend.

by the third date, kento wondered if soulmates were real.

on the fourth date, almost two months later, an appropriate time to get to know someone when you were as reserved as kento, he invited you over for dinner. it was, perhaps, the final confirmation he needed to let himself be with you.

he let you through the door, smiling softly as you told him about the book you were reading, and hung his coat on the rack. a moment later, you stopped, distracted, hands covering your mouth in a gasp.

“kento! she’s the cutest cat i’ve ever seen, you didn’t even show me pictures!” you exclaim, and, a few feet away, crouched down. “look at her pretty eyes…”

“careful,” kento said, “she’s not very—“

but the cat approached your outstretched hand, sniffed once, before letting you scratch her under her chin, purring loud enough for kento to hear across the room.

“shes such a sweetheart, you told me she was mean!” you smiled, making a cooing noise as you threaded your fingers through her fur. “kento’s a liar, isn’t he… you’re so precious.”

a few moments later, she snapped her jaw at you in a biting motion, and you only laughed, withdrawing your hand. “alright, i get it, i won’t bother you anymore.”

though she still brushed against your legs, just as she did kento’s, and seemed to communicate some sort of message to him.

“do you want any help cooking?” you ask, tucking your hair behind your ears. “i’m a disaster in the kitchen, but—“

“sure,” kento said, his chest tightening as he blinked back at you, only in his apartment for minutes and already looking as at home there. he wondered if it was possible to fall in love so quickly. “but only if you want to.”

[delphi-shield]

:// sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ғᴏʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ / ʙɪʟʟʏ.ʙᴜᴛᴄʜᴇʀ

Billy Butcher x Reader smut, hurt/no comfort wc: ~5.2k mdni read on ao3 digging the worms out of my brain real quick since i finally caught up with the boys. idk i think i worked through something personal with this, so like, that's a win for me.

summary: Butcher knows better than to be fucking around with you, but there's 50 quid in it for him if he gets you to call him 'daddy'. Easy money.

content: s4 spoilers, dubcon, butcher's pov, an exorbitant amount of kessler in the first half, age gap, general sleazy behavior, handjob, finger fucking, piv, pussy slapping, some just the tip action, blowjob, mentions of titfucking, degradation, general objectification, public sex, not proofread.

“Makes you realize men have nipples too.”

The bar is packed for a Wednesday night, but Butcher already knows exactly what Kessler is talking about. You’re a ditch lily, sitting tall in this shithole. He turns his head away, pretends he doesn't see the way you lick up a trail of spilled cosmopolitan from the side of your glass, pink tongue parting your lips, eyes half-shut. 

Fucking typical. Kessler could sniff out daddy issues and sadness from a mile away, and he was lethal at half that distance. He could have them wrapped around his finger in the time it took Butcher to take a piss.

His eyes linger. A thing like you doesn't belong in a dump like this. This is the sort of place girls like you stumble into at 1 AM, survey the crowd through the haze of cigarette smoke, and wobble right back out onto the streets, take your chances with the elements rather than the haggard, unfriendly crowd that hunches over their drinks.

Butcher likes Midwest 10's. Begs Kessler to stop ogling barely legal co-eds, says he's not some sleazy cunt in a John Hughes film. He can lie all he wants. If it makes him hard, it makes Butcher hard. 

He glances sidelong at your face. You've got this Christmas-light bright smile that makes his dick jerk. Kessler’s more than under his skin. He’s in his veins, in the same blood that raises his cock up like a goddamn bicycle pump when you lean over the bar, arms squeezing your tits together.

"You could probably fuck 'em." Kessler tips his head to the side, eyes locked on your cleavage. His eyes narrow, lips pursed, evaluating your chest and charting a course for his dick to travel.

"Shut up."

"Huh?"

Fuck. Your tip your head to the side from two seats away, brows pinched together. Cute, in a lost little lamb kind of way.

Butcher's eyes cut to Kessler. He's cocked it all up now. The sly, punchable grin on Kessler’s face turns him back to his drink. He drains his glass and gestures for another. If he doesn’t look at you, if he keeps drinking, this all goes away.

"Nothin'. Don't you worry about it, love."

That should be the end of it, but you’ve clearly got something wrong with you. You fiddle with your purse, pluck up your courage, and drop yourself onto the barstool next to him. Whether you’ve got no sense of self-preservation or you’re just that damn oblivious, he doesn’t intend to get to know you well enough to find out. Butcher's strained smile doesn't do much to smooth the worry lines away.

Kessler chuckles, leans back and props his elbows up on the bar. Cunt just wants to watch him squirm.

"No," Kessler corrects, drawing the word out. "I want you to get some pussy."

His eyes dart over to Kessler, looming over you, hands ghosting up your arms to squeeze your shoulders. He blinks rapidly, rubs at his face, tries to play it off like he's nervous or tired or whatever the fuck but when he looks down, there's your tits again. Butcher lolls his head back to the ceiling. Laugh it up, you fuckin’ cunt.

And Kessler does. Makes a show of slapping his hand on his thigh, head knocked back, grinning toothily.

He tries to ignore you, but you’re straddling that stool next to him in your little skirt and ordering another cosmo. This isn’t the kind of bar for cocktails, and he knows without even seeing the bartender’s eye roll that he hates you.

It's none of his business. He ought to keep himself sat there drowning in his drink ‘til last call and past that, make them throw him out on the street, give him a reason to swing first. It's a better idea than messing with you.

The bartender drops your drink off in front of you and turns before the words ‘thank you’ leave your glossy lips. Another sickly pink cocktail with a dried out lime dropped on top. Butcher can’t help himself. He’s got a soft spot for the clueless.

“Cheery bloke, isn't he?” He says, casting a sidelong glance at the bartender. He taps a finger against the bartop, inclines his head toward your cocktail. “That the only drink you know the name of?”

Your cheeks warm. You hide it behind a hand, turning your face away from him to laugh.

“What? No. I just think they taste good.”

Kessler snorts. “That’s a fat load of shit.”

Butcher agrees. His mouth twists into a half-hearted smile. He slides his glass over to you. 

“Try it,” he insists.

There’s hardly a passing thought for your own safety. You look between his scotch and his face and seem to decide it’s safe to take drinks from strange old fucks in bars. Your fingers brush his when you take the glass, warm and soft - sticky. You must be more sloshed than you look, must keep spilling your drinks. Hell, for all he knows, maybe this place does make the best cosmo in the city. Maybe the bartender just hates your ass because you keep making a mess.

You don’t even ask what he’s drinking. (Maybe this is all a grift, he thinks. Kessler’s at his ear, chuckling - she ain’t bright enough for that.) You lift his glass and leave your lipstick behind.

“Oh my god.” You sputter, pound a fist against your chest. It makes your tits bounce. Fucking miracle your shirt is containing those things. “That tastes like ass.”

“That is the highest quality scotch this bar serves.”

“It tastes like someone put a cigarette out in a glass of whiskey.”

“It’s a shit bar.”

You laugh, head tipped back, nose scrunched - the works. You’re too tipsy for it to be on purpose. Being cute comes naturally to you. Must be how you’ve made it this far.

You pass his drink back and scoot your cosmo closer to you, spilling it as the glass skips over the pock-marked countertop. Butcher snorts, dabs it up for you with his sleeve. He’s starting to think his theory about the cosmopolitans might hold true.

“Well, here, a trade’s a trade.” He takes your drink by the stem (fucking amazed they even have martini glasses in this place) and pounds back a mouthful.

It isn’t that bad, but he makes a show of scrunching his nose and shaking his head. He slides your drink back over to you and mirrors the way you had clung to your drink.

“You’re kidding,” you laugh. “It’s better than yours. I don’t know how you drink that.”

“I’ll keep my liquid ashtray, thanks.”

Your eyes are all lit up when you smile, but it emphasizes the raw edges, the puffiness that lingers. Rough night for you, by the looks of it. Not like he’s having much of a better one.

There’s no harm in it. No harm in showing you what a proper drink tastes like, broadening your horizons and helping you both forget what a shit hand you’ve been dealt. He buys you a drink on the condition that you try something that isn’t a cosmopolitan. You can hardly stomach a whiskey and coke. He orders you a fernet and coke for shits and giggles, expects you to spit it out like all the rest, barks out a laugh when you declare it’s tasty, notes of lavender drawing you in. Notes of lavender - Christ, what fucking suburb did you pop out of? 

He introduces you to more drinks, leans closer with each empty glass. You're new here, you tell him. You tell him your name, too, not that he remembers. Got stood up on some shitty date. He knows it’s got to be shitty because what idiot in his right mind would take you here, of all places?

By the time he orders you both shots of Rumple Minze, you’re pressed shoulder to shoulder. Your hand splays against his chest, head leaning against him. You lift his shot to his lips for him and he’s too drunk to find it childish and irritating. He downs it and does the same for you, watches you extend that pretty neck to drink it down.

“I’ll get you a cab,” he slurs, rocking unsteadily to his feet.

“I already called an Uber.”

Jesus. It’s a struggle not to roll his eyes. Fucking kids. Allergic to one night stands, couldn’t take a hint to save their life. Even Kessler is on his side, his head thunking against the bartop.

It's for the best, he thinks, trying to curb his disappointment. He's got shit to do. Ryan to worry about. Kessler's a right cunt, pushing him to you. He hasn't got the time to be fucking about. This entire thing had been a waste of time, too busy trying to get his dick wet to make the most of what he’s got left.

Butcher stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat, steps back, ready to split and stumble his way back home. He nods quick and sharp, tight-lipped smile to keep his frustration locked behind his teeth.

You show him your phone, make him squint to see what he’s supposed to be looking at. “My Uber is still a couple minutes away, so…”

Kessler picks his head up from the bar. He's a bloodhound for pussy. He picks up the leading edge in your voice before Butcher’s even done parsing your words.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Kessler drones. “You can’t even get it up, can you?”

“I’m damn well going to try.”

“What?” You laugh, swaying on your feet.

Butcher wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you against his side. “Nothin’. Don’t you worry about it. I’ll keep you company. Make sure no nasties try to get you.”

The cold outside is bracing. You wrap your arms tight around yourself and this time Butcher’s too drunk to pretend he isn't staring at the way your tits press together.

It’s your idea. Really. The way you look up at him, the way your lips stay parted while the pair of you pace the sidewalk. You wrap your hand around his bicep and squeeze, eyes drifting slowly to the side, to the alleyway just a few strides away.

See? It’s your idea, honest. He drags you behind a dumpster, pins you to the wall of the alley, and shoves his tongue down your throat, yeah, but you moan so fucking loud and drag him closer. It takes longer than he'd like for your hand to stop massaging his chest and start fondling his cock, but you're a sweet girl - don't seem the type to do this too often. Need some guidance.

Butcher lays his hand atop yours, wraps your fingers tighter around his bulge. Your breath hitches, your eyes flicking down to your hand, mouth popped open - got this sweet, vacant little look in your eye.

He'd bet real money you go dumb for cock.

“$50 says you can get her to call you ‘daddy’,” Kessler pipes up, leaning against the wall next to you. He tips a cigarette into his mouth, cups a hand around to light it, and Butcher swears the light from his zippo gleam in your eyes. He doesn’t doubt it. Seems cruel, though, especially when he can’t remember your name.

“What was your name again?”

It takes a bit for you to get dick off your mind and fish around for your name. You mumble, make him lean in close and tilt his head to get you to say it again, clearer.

You're the obedient sort. Pick up on cues so easy. Don't even make him ask for it again. He pats your cheek, smirk creasing his face.

By your side, Kessler flashes a crisp $50. He plucks it taut, fans himself with it, makes a real show of being a dick while you try to take Butcher's out of his pants.

At the end of the day, 50 quid is 50 quid.

“How ‘bout you ask daddy for permission, sweetheart?”

Your mouth moves wordlessly.

“Please?”

He clicks his tongue. “That’s real polite. But it ain’t what I asked for, is it?”

“Can I please play with your cock, daddy?”

“Better.”

Kessler slips the fifty into Butcher’s coat pocket while you fumble with his belt and free him from his pants. You lay his cock in the seam of your hands, cupping him like he’s a gift on two legs. You stroke him reverently, look up at him with big, thoughtless lamb eyes.

Your heart’s in it, but you’re too reserved for his taste. He grips your hand in his and guides you down his cock, shows you when to squeeze, when to twist your wrist, how to flick your thumb over the slit of his tip.

He can never make it last when he drinks. Should have warned you before he came on your pretty skirt, but you’ve got a natural talent for stroking dick. He keeps his groan locked up tight. It rattles through his chest and he leans into you, crushing you against the wall of the alley. His hips stutter and rut into your hand, still wrapped around him, coaxing every drop from his tip. You still toy with him while he tries to catch his breath. He’s got to push away from you with a mumbled “Christ, all right, that’s enough.”

It’s like he’s taking your favorite toy away. You pout up at him, hand still molded for his cock by your side, by the skirt his ruined with his cum. He almost gets an apology out, but you drag a finger through his mess and bring it to your lips, make a show of licking it up.

His chest aches. He isn’t sure if it’s the tumor or his heart desperately trying to pump enough blood down to his dick to get him up again.

Butcher crams two fingers into his mouth and scrapes the dirt from beneath his nails with his teeth. The rest is a blur. He knows that he kicks your feet apart, traces your slit through your panties before he pushes them to the side and finger fucks you until your head snaps back against the wall. It’s quick, messy - leaves his forearm soaked. He’s not so sure that was real, but he’s too drunk to figure it out, too gone ask.

He tucks himself back into his pants. You set your panties back in place, skirt still hiked up to your ribs. You slip a little lower down the wall, panting. He stops you before you can slip all the way down, pats your cunt, and tugs your skirt back into place.

“Let’s get you a cab, eh?”

That’s the last thing he remembers clearly. You’d missed your Uber, had to take a cab with him anyway. He remembers you leaning against him, tucked up against his side, hand stroking his chest. He’d pet your hair - soft as lamb’s wool - and whispered nonsense against your head just to get a laugh out of you. After you get out, the whole thing’s blank.

When Butcher wakes up at 2 PM the next day, choking on his own vomit, he can't find the 50 quid. He turns his jacket inside out searching for it. A scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it falls from his jacket pocket. He doesn’t spare it more than a glance and keeps digging for his wallet.

Lambs lose their appeal after the flying cunts nearly bit his cock off.

That farm had been dirty business. Wicked stuff, the kind that doesn't wash off. This work always has been, but this time the blood doesn't come out from under his fingernails. He tastes bile every time he breathes. The copper twang of blood trickling down the back of his throat is the only chaser he gets anymore.

He doesn't think of you often. He knows it'd break your little heart to hear it, have you looking up at him with those ‘fuck me, I'm sad’ eyes and that little girl pout that makes him feel every bit the lech he is. You’re a sweet thing. Vacant, just like him. It didn’t take long to piece that together.

You’re easy and malleable, quick to fit yourself around him in whatever way he demands. He liked that about you at first.

But when he calls on you at three in the morning for a quick lay and you answer the door in a full face of make-up, hair done and wearing the sort of nightgown that no one actually sleeps in, all he feels is distaste.

You let him crowd you against your couch (a neutral color, no blanket in sight, your living room just as blank as the rest of you) without so much as a ‘hello’. You hook a leg over his hip. No panties, he realizes, eyes locked on your drippy cunt, already flushed. Been touching yourself to the thought of this. He warms a little at the thought.

Butcher wedges his knee between your leg and grinds. Any warmth you’d kindled with wet pussy dissipates the moment you moan so goddamn loud, the sound hollow and plastic. He keeps his leg still, flexes his thigh for you to grind on. His jaw tightens. He nearly shoves his fingers in your mouth to keep you from making those stupid fucking noises.

You let him twist you up however he wants, more a posable toy than a person. He pushes you further along the couch until your back arches awkwardly against the arm. You don't protest. Of course you don't.

His thick fingers trail down your slit, part your slick folds for his inspection. He sways back on his haunches, admires the pretty way he's got you arranged, pinned open on his fingers for him.

He brings his hand down sharply on pussy once, twice - and the third time directly to your clit is just because you kept making that annoying fucking noise. That nasally, porn-star whine that drills him between the eyes and makes his hard-on flag. The way you twitch and jerk at each hit might be genuine but that fucking noise drives him up a wall. Christ, there's got to be something about you that's real.

Pussy’s real. Can’t fake that, he thinks.

“Stay right there,” he says, a bite to his voice when you try to shift against him again. If you could just lay there and take it - is that so much to ask for?

He guides himself to you, hips rocking experimentally. You suck his head in and his chin dips to his chest. He groans deep. It turns to a growl when you raise your hips. He lays his forearm against you, pressing you down - and that moan might have been real.

“Can't you do fucking anything right?” He snaps. His hips push forward, bullying himself deeper into you. You suck a breath through your teeth, your hand bracing against his forearm. “I told you to stay right there.”

A spark of indignation flickers in your eyes, flash-fire flushed out by the same pitiful little lamb wool you pull back over your eyes. Makes you look all downy, plush and fuckable - he's fished more respectable shits from the toilet.

You’re a good girl for a few more shallow thrusts, lay there just like he wants while he works himself to the hilt. He finds his rhythm sloppily, one knee propped on the couch, the other foot planted on the floor. Your tits bounce with every thrust and he’s stupid enough to take his hands off of you, trust you not to move while he gropes at your breast.

Immediately you rise to your elbows, try to arch your back deeper. He’s positive you’re trying to mimic some video, down to the exact angle of your spine, but your heart isn’t in it. His cock butts against your walls, shallower than before, the pleasure that had been tearing through his blood coming to a screeching halt. He hisses through his teeth, grinding out his frustration.

“Don't –” his shoves you back down, hand flattening against your cheek and pushing your face into the couch. Feels fucking awful any other position. “–fucking move. Don't fucking move. Trying to cum. Goddammit.”

Your hands curl into fists by your head. You hide your face, press it deeper into the cushion and he presses your face deeper to help you. The noise you make is pitiful, but at least it's real.

Fucking hell. Now he’s completely out of it. You’ve gone and fucked up pussy for him. He didn’t think that was possible. He can’t find the angle he needs, can’t get back to that gummy spot that make his vision blur.

He pulls out and flips you onto your stomach, ignoring the little whine you make. You don’t raise your hips - god forbid you take a fucking hint - so he sits you up for him and wedges his dick back in. It only takes a few thrusts for him to realize this is worse. Tighter, dry, chafing his dick like goddamn sandpaper.

“Your cunt shrivel up or something? Feels fucking terrible.”

He snatches your wrist, pulls your arm back at an angle that makes you cry out, and fills your palm with lube. Can't even get wet on your own. Fucking Christ, he's got to do everything for you. Even has to curl your fingers around his cock, drag your hand back and forth until you final get the big, swinging fucking hint and jerk him off.

He meant to stuff himself back into your cunt, but at this point your hand will do. Six one way, half a dozen the other. At least your hand doesn't chafe.

You’re silent now. Small mercies. The only sounds are the slick of your palm working him over and his labored breaths. Your hand is clumsy at this angle, but he’s not going to risk letting you move and fuck it all up again.

Once he’s close, he drops your hand and flips you onto your back again. A big hand presses your knees apart, opens you up for him. You're still so pliable, even if the sheen is gone from your cunt. You try to fix your hair. If he notices the tears brimming your eyes, he doesn't say anything.

He lines himself back up with your cunt, dragging himself through your folds. Your knees knock closer with each pass of his bright red tip over your clit. He taps it once with his cock, expecting another produced moan to rattle the walls, but you only whimper, your thighs trying to close around him.

Butcher smirks. He pumps himself into you, keeps himself shallow - just the tip past your puffy lips. 

You whimper, try to shuffle down and take more of him. Butcher’s hand grips your face, squishing your cheeks so hard it stings.

“Don't you fucking move,” he grits out. You used to take instruction so well. Now you've gotten all up in your own head. Nobody likes an uppity bitch, he ought to make you see that.

What he really ought to do is make you get down there and jerk him off. Your hand is still slicked, but you'd probably piss yourself at the chance. Instead, he pushes your knees damn near up to your ears and barks for you to hold your own legs. Your hands curl around the backs of your knees. There you go. Figuring it out again.

His hand strokes his dick quick and hard, one hand dedicated to keeping himself just inside you. It doesn't take long for him to cum. It’s a slow burn that seeps up through his belly, lattices up his ribs and congeals in his chest, makes him ache and cave over your body while his hips sputter. He squeezes himself dry, pumps his cum into your pussy until it flows past his tip and seeps down onto your couch. 

Butcher lingers over you, catching his breath. He’s already gone soft, his cock dropped out of you. He sits back against the opposite arm of the couch, splays himself out while you curl up.

Something burns in his chest - remorse, maybe. You’re all curled up against your couch, cheek cushioned on your arm - won’t look at him, don’t paw at him or lean against his side, don’t even reach to clean yourself up.

His head knocks back to the ceiling. He can’t be bothered to pull answers out of you. He reaches for the tissue box on your coffee table, plucks a handful, and cleans himself off.

He tosses the box back to the coffee table and shoves his boots back on, barely taking the time to lace them up properly. He scoops he coat up from where you’d shucked it onto the floor, buttons himself back up, and you still haven’t moved. His eyes linger on you for a moment, brow set low.

Can’t be bothered, he reminds himself. He runs a hand through his hair and makes for your door, boots thunking heavily against your floors.

“Can I see you again?”

You’ve managed to pick your head up when he glances back at you. You sound so desperate it's pitiful. His lip curls. He runs a hand over his head, looks anywhere but you.

Christ, even your apartment is blank and devoid of personality. He hadn't noticed it before, too consumed with the need to get between your thighs. He shrugs, and gives you a lifeless smile.

“We'll see.”

Butcher closes your door behind him and hurries down the hall. He turns the corner to see Kessler’s cheshire grin greeting him in the dark of your stairwell.

He ought to get right with you before his time comes. He isn't proud of the way things ended. Butcher’s a right bastard, but he isn't blind; he'd seen the look on your face, the hopeful shine in your eyes dulling when he'd left you there without so much as a ‘cheers, love, thanks for the rub’.

He doesn't bother texting you. He's already posted up outside your apartment. Giving you a heads up would only give him time to pussy out.

Besides, you're home. He knows it. You’re piss-easy to track. Home to work, work to home, same route, same time. It will be easy to knock on your door, get his closure, and slip out of your life for the last time.

It should be easy. He’s had harder conversations with people who meant more to him but he keeps staring at your door, trying to will himself to knock. He’s not that weak yet. He can still raise his hand.

Butcher turns to leave just as you open the door. His shoulders tense when you call out to him.

“Billy?” You blurt out. There’s genuine surprise there.

“I just thought I’d –” He turns to catch a glimpse of you and it sends him headlong into silence.

You look a right mess. No face isn’t done up, an oversized t-shirt draping off your shoulders. Your pajama pants are fluffy, snowflake print - tackiest thing he’s seen in a while. 

You duck your head down, trying to catch his eye. 

“You okay?” You hook your thumb over your shoulder. “Want to come in?”

He doesn’t. Not even a little. He wants to rip the band-aid off, forget he ever met you and let you get on with your life - whatever it is you do. But you step to the side and fix him with a weak little smile that he thinks might be real, and his feet take him in through the door.

It’s a nice place in the daytime, he realizes. Natural sunlight, open floorplan, your shelves crowded with plants and knick-knacks he’s never seen. You offer him a drink, laugh when he says water and fall quiet when he insists.

You hand him his drink and collapse onto your couch. Your legs kick up onto your coffee table, and for the first time he realizes your socks are fuzzy, too. He looks around, scans you from head to toe. Is this the right place? He keeps picking at his nails, trying to free the grime from under them.

Once you realize he’s baffled, you’re merciful enough to start the small talk. It’s awkward and stilted - his fault, his answers halting and quick. You give him grace, sip on your drink. Your laughs never quite reach your eyes, but you scoot closer to him on the couch anyway.

“Why are you really here, Billy?” Your hand settles on his thigh and curls inward.

It’s not how he wanted this to go, but he doesn’t stop you from sliding your hand higher while he chokes on his words. You’ve got his belt undone by the time he manages to string a sentence together.

“I've been a right cunt to you.”

“Mhm.”

“You don't got to put up with it, yeah?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Got your whole life right ahead of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Fucking Christ, could you give him more than a noise? A few moments ago you’d held a conversation with him.

His irritation is snuffed out by your lips wrapping around the tip of his cock and sucking hard. Your hand pumps his shaft, twisting your wrist on the way back up. Good God, you learn quick.

Butcher could spoil you rotten if he had the time. He could get you whatever you wanted - if ever you wanted for anything. He cups a hand over the back of your head, encouraging, not guiding.

You’re methodical. You let your hand work what your mouth won’t reach, fondle his balls with the other one. It’s clinical. You’ve committed the moves to memory, when to swirl your tongue, hollow your cheeks, when to moan around him, when to look up at him with those tears straining at your waterline.

He finishes quick, his chest heaving. You pass him his water while you reach for a tissue box. He drains it and nearly misses you spitting his cum into a tissue, wadding it up and tossing it into the bin.

“I haven’t got much time left,” he says, breathless.

Your brow creases. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, your lips swollen. “What?”

“I’ve got this –” he gestures nebulously with a hand, like he’s trying to pluck the right words out of the air. “– thing. In my brain, see? Inoperable. So, if I up and vanish on you, it ain’t personal.”

You stay silent, stone faced. He wishes you’d say something. Even one of the irritating platitudes people like to parrot would be better than this. Your eyes harden. You purse your lips, breathe deep, and stand from the couch.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Billy. It was good to see you.”

Butcher’s still trying to catch his breath. He tucks himself back into his pants, a mess he’ll clean up later, and rises unsteadily. You don’t reach out to help. He makes another nebulous gesture towards you, his hand quivering.

“You want me to..?”

“Nah. Don’t strain yourself.”

He stuffs himself back into his coat, watching your eyes linger - maybe realizing for the first time how much slighter he’s looking. Butcher pats your cheek gently as he passes by.

You don’t ask to see him again. For your sake, he hopes this is the last time.

[trulyumai]

Oh, Mr Mosses (Series)

Part One: (Author Note towards the end!)

Synopsis: You were fine with the job, the steps were easy enough but the secret of the D.D.D was getting harder and harder to contain. Each night a new entity would enter the building, each with its own horrific look and intentions. Just as you debate on leaving, a new resident has entered the premise; Francis Mosses who is absolutely entranced by your being. Not only that, it seems his “mimic,” is obsessed with you too.

Will you be as smitten of them as they are of you? In the end, who will you choose? Only time will tell.

Oh, Mr. Mosses I

It was simple: check the ID, match the numbers and appearance, ask them questions to form an alibi, push the red or green button. Yet, as she stared at the blood soaked neighbor, she reconsidered her options; the job at hand. He was scratched, bruised and covered with layers of dried blood.

The smell seeped through the glass somehow, spoiling her thoughts and pushing away any rhyme or reason. She gagged, carefully covered her mouth and started her task at hand. 

“Mr. Peachman,” She began, a cough flooding her senses, “The… blood, are you okay?” 

The said man did nothing but stare back, his unwavering eyes were bloodshot and wide. Finally letting a cough escape her she glanced towards the lockdown button, until a bloodied and battered hand slammed against the window in front of her. 

“I'm real,” He said. “I'm REAL, REAL REAL REAL,” 

“Mr Peachman-” “REAL, REAL REAL,”

Quickly she pushed the lockdown button, a metal screen blocked her vision from the man and she quickly slid her fingers over to the dial, calling the D.D.D as quick as her shaking hands would let her.

“Hello, yes, there's an intruder on the base floor, no, yes he is sealed, okay thank you.”

The wait was the worst part. How eerily silent everything got and then a knock. Three taps were signaled on the metal casing to let her know the job had been done, the neighbor had been confiscated. 

With a sigh she leaned forward, just until her forehead pressed against the wooden desk, scratching it lightly with each intake of breath she let in. It was hard, keeping this from the other residents. Sometimes they would ask, question why there would be random alarms, random screaming. She would start to sweat, always responding with the same thing. “Ah well we are in a busy city, afterall,” most of them would take that answer, although hesitantly. 

There was a new face amongst the regulars, he was quiet she noticed. Most of the time she wasn't on schedule when he ran through, but she would see glances of him from time to time, always leaving before her shift. In all white he had a somewhat of a thin build, his shoulders were strong, firm against the buttoned up shirt that he seemed to wear everyday. His eyes were tired, more so than hers and she wondered if that was because of his job or him. 

The night had started off bleak, a neighbor came in with sewn up eyes and a mouth, she didn't even attempt to ask it a question before shutting down the doors and calling the D.D.D. They didn't do as clear a job as they normally would, splatters of blood littered the wall in front of the main desk and she winced. She'd have to clean that up later. 

Rubbing her temples she let her eyes close, maybe within the month she could afford to quit, to move and find another job, another life. Maybe she coul-

“Mmm. Hello.” A deep and somber voice broke her out of her thoughts, with a jolt she glanced up, only to be met with tired eyes and a light frown. “Ah, hello Mr,” She glanced at the schedule

“Mosses,” he muttered. 

“Mr. Mosses, yes, it's nice to meet you, I always see you around but, it seems are schedules are always the opposite.” She was rambling, a bad habit she found when reading and comparing ID numbers. 

“Yes, it's nice to meet you.” Seeing nothing wrong she finally glanced back up to meet his gaze. 

“Everything looks in order Mr. Mosses, you're free to go!” She smiled, slotting the paper through the thinly made entrance.

“Mmm, thank you.” Without meaning to, his fingers collided with hers, his fatigue was weighing on him and he could feel his face flush with embarrassment. With his paper back in his wallet he shuffled awkwardly before returning his gaze on the woman. She was pretty, he noticed, too pretty for a place like this. Her hair perfectly framed her face, her eyes, although tired were beautiful, he couldn't stop himself from staring until a clear of her throat broke him of the trance.

“Are you okay, Mr. Mosses?” He winced, he hated that name, although it sounded pretty coming from her lips.

“Francis,” He whispered, unable to break free of her, her arms, hands, neck, jesus those-

“Francis,” She smiled. He swore he could die happily right there, in that miserable outfit with his miserable job, he could go happily as long as he could look at her. 

“Have a good night, hope to see you soon!” 

Walking away he felt shame, said nothing but nodded his head as he mashed the elevator button. All he did was stare like a freak, someone like her would never be romantically involved with him. He’s a milkman for god's sake, and yes, they're still around.  

Walking to his floor he swore right then and there, he would change his whole schedule if he could just see her for seconds at a time.

A/N:

Hi everyone, I hope you liked the first part to the series! I love this game and it’s mysterious neighbors so I wanted to take a shot and write about everyone’s favorite milkman. I’m trying to write him to be obsessed yet in love, I don’t want it to be overwhelming or weird. A quick warning this series will get more heated and violent, as the mimics do have murderous intent.

Thanks for all your support and the next part will be up soon! Much love, TrulyUmai

[bakudekublogblog]

happy bakudeku day!!

bkdk post-canon fluff !! manga spoilers

[READ ON AO3]

It happens while on break out on patrol. Izuku watches the sunset from their usual spot on the rooftop, the wind teasing at his curls and a stern, serious set to his mouth. Uh oh. Well, it’s a good thing Katsuki has dinner and a surprise.

“Oi,” Katsuki gruffs. He tosses the bag of chips at him. “Think fast.” 

Izuku pivots, lightning quick, and snatches the bag out of the air just before it can smack him in the face. Nice reflexes. Fuck, Katsuki really is down bad if even something as small as that gets him going. His boyfriend is just so fucking sexy it drives him nuts. Izuku inspects the chip bag and ah, there’s the smile Katsuki loves so much. 

“Wow,” Izuku says. He turns it over and reads the back. “Been a minute since I’ve seen one of these.” 

“Didn’t know they still made ‘em till I spotted ‘em,” Katsuki admits. 

A brilliant stroke of luck, really. It’s the same brand they used to get all the time together as children. Katsuki had spotted them in the check out line as he was grabbing them onigiri to tide them over until they got home. Izuku tears the bag open and wrinkles his nose. 

“Oh god,” he says, laughing a little. He procures one neon-orange chip out and examines it critically. “Were they always this color?” 

“Fuck if I know,” Katsuki says, following suit and wow, okay that is pungent. He blinks several times as cheese dust assaults his face and Izuku giggles. Oh well, they never really bought these for the actual chips anyway. Katsuki shuffles through them to get the little silver packet with their prize. Izuku pops the chip into his mouth before retrieving his own and sending Katsuki a significant glance. 

“Together?” he asks. 

Katsuki’s heart softens. Fuck, he’ll never get tired of hearing that word, not after he spent so long ensuring it. Izuku grins. 

“On three,” he says. “One, two—” 

He tears his packet open before he actually says three, even though he’s the fucking one who wanted it to be on three in the first place. Katsuki hurriedly follows after with a huff of irritation. Katsuki cracks into a grin at the first hint of green.

No way. No fucking way. How—? It must be a brand new batch. Izuku had only been officially added to the roster about a year ago. The Deku on the holographic card beams up at him cheerily and fuck, Katsuki’s heart is a tender, aching thing in his chest as he admires it. Izuku, in a bag of Heroes chips, exactly where he should be. He looks up at Izuku, smiling, smiling, smiling. 

“I got a huge nerd,” he announces proudly, turning the card to show him. 

Izuku blinks up at him, glances at Katsuki’s card, and then his face crumples. He turns away, hiding his face in the palm of his hand. Katsuki takes a step toward him, already shushing and ready to soothe him-- Izuku waves a hand. 

“No, no, I’m—” Izuku cuts himself off, laughing. He holds the card he’d received to his face. “Oh my god.” 

“What?” Katsuki asks, stopping short and frowning. “You know I love huge nerds.” 

“That’s not—” Izuku shakes his head. Is… is he tearing up? He dabs at his eyes with his big, chunky gloves. He looks at his feet and his lashes cast long shadows down the curves of his freckled cheeks. “It’s just funny.” 

Katsuki frowns, feeling a little pinch of concern. “What?” 

Izuku gives him a shy little smile. He turns his card toward him, and Katsuki’s own face smirks back at him. 

“I got the love of my life,” Izuku says, sniffing. 

Oh. It punches Katsuki right in the gut. Wait, really? There’s no way. Katsuki double checks his own card just to be safe, but no, it’s real. Izuku’s laugh is somewhat choked. 

“Did you plan this?” Izuku asks, weakly. 

“No, no I—” God, Katsuki wishes he did. That would have been the romantic gesture of the century. (Well, besides funding Izuku’s suit maybe. Katsuki will admit it’s been very hard thinking of a way to top that .) It would’ve been the perfect set up to propose, dammit. Katsuki supposes he still could, but of course he didn’t bring the ring with him out on fucking patrol. He snatches the card out of Izuku’s hand and holds them side-by-side. Deku and Dynamight, both halves of the Wonder Duo. 

“Then it’s destiny,” Izuku concludes, misty-eyed and smiling. 

“Guess so,” Katsuki gruffs. He laughs too then, a soft snort of disbelief. “What are the odds—” 

“Of this happening twice?” Izuku finishes for him, all fond amusement. He shakes his head. “I dunno.” 

“That’s fucking crazy,” Katsuki says, handing Izuku’s card back over to him. 

“Mmm,” Izuku says and there’s a faraway look in his eyes. He touches the face of card-Katsuki with one tender finger and hey, what the fuck? Why is he touching the card tenderly when he’s got the real thing right here? Katsuki looms into his space, pressing a hand to the small of Izuku’s back, drawing him close, and pressing kisses to his temples and his cheeks. Not because he’s jealous of a piece of shit plastic-card, that would be fucking stupid. Still, it’s a relief when Izuku turns to meet Katsuki’s kisses with his mouth. 

“I love you,” Izuku murmurs. He wraps his arms around Katsuki’s neck and kisses him deeper. “I really, really love you.” 

He tastes like artificial cheese and damn it’s a good fucking thing they already collected all the cards worth having, because there’s no way Katsuki could have justified buying anymore chips when they taste this bad. Katsuki pulls back and wrinkles his nose. 

“Yeah, they tasted better as kids,” Izuku agrees. He boops Katsuki’s nose gently and Katsuki nips at his finger, just missing with a click of his teeth. “Kacchan?” 

Somehow. With that word alone, Katsuki immediately knows. A gong of dread thrums through him, his eyes widen. No. No fucking way. Izuku pets his arms up and down. 

“Kacchan, my love,” Izuku begins. “I’ve been thinking.” 

Katsuki has to stop this, he has to stop this immediately. But the shock of it steals the breath from Katsuki’s lungs and stops his heart in his chest. Izuku is smiling at him so sweetly it feels criminal to break it. Katsuki can only gape and let his gaze flicker over Izuku’s face over and over again. Izuku takes his hands in his own, bringing them to his lips. 

“I know it’s kind of sudden,” Izuku whispers, already tearing up. “But I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And this— it just feels like it’s a sign you know? Even— even the universe thinks we belong together.” 

Oh god, it’s fucking happening. Katsuki’s knees are jelly, his breathing harsh and short. 

“And I—” Izuku continues, so sweet and almost shy. “I really do want you more than anything, Kacchan. You’re the best thing in my life, the greatest partner I could ever ask for, you’re— you really are the love of my life, Kacchan. You always were. I’ve been chasing you my whole life and— and having you, you being mine is— it’s more than I ever imagined I could have. And then you gave me my dreams back.” 

Fuck. Goddamn him. He’s really doing this. Right here, during patrol, on some random rooftop. It’s so not fucking romantic. It’s also the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to Katsuki. Fuck! 

“You’re everything to me,” Izuku says, soft and dreamy and fucking perfect. His eyes are so big and green and full of love that Katsuki feels like he’s fucking drowning in them. “You’re everything I want. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. Kacchan…. Kacchan, will you marry me?” 

God. Even knowing it was coming hadn’t prepared Katsuki in the slightest. Izuku’s sweet voice, his sweeter words, his kind eyes so full of love. How the fuck did someone like Katsuki end up with an actual angel? This soft, loving, perfect creature who has just gifted himself to Katsuki. It’s like Katsuki’s heart is breaking sweetly and all his love inside is bursting out of him. 

“Fuck,” Katsuki wheezes. He’s definitely crying. This is so fucking embarrassing. Of course Izuku has to do this. He just has to beat him at everything, doesn’t he? He can’t even let him fucking propose, he’s just gotta beat him to the punch. Fucking asshole. He’s such a dickbag for this. 

“I know, baby,” Izuku says, rubbing his shoulders soothingly. 

“I have a ring!” Katsuki shouts, groaning and tucking his head into the crook of his elbow. “Goddamn, impatient little—” 

Izuku’s giggling is downright giddy. 

“Kacchan!” he cries. “You do?” 

“Of course I—” Katsuki seizes Izuku by the shoulders, then shakes him a little. “Of course I have a ring, you goddamn menace. I was gonna— I dunno, take you to dinner or something! Do something nice!” 

Well, hopefully he would have thought of something better than just dinner, but now Katsuki supposes he doesn’t have to. Izuku is grinning too brightly; his eyes are full of a thousand stars. He takes Katsuki’s face in his hands. 

“Put it on me then,” Izuku demands. “Put it on me and make me yours.” 

Katsuki sweeps him up into his arms and kisses him harshly, desperately. The metal of Izuku’s suit digs into Katsuki’s ribs as he crushes their bodies together, their faces are slick with tears, and Izuku still tastes like those god-awful Heroes Chips, but it’s perfect. Together , Katsuki thinks with a greedily little relish. They’re going to be together for the rest of their lives.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Pretty like the sun

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n the follow up chapter AND This is pretty like the wind series spin offs. This can be read as standalone all you need to know is that Azriel has two adoptive kids with OC - Zofie and Axel. Future stories related to them might include stories specifically decided to Azriel hence why I am taging it as Azriel story too. Don't come at me please. ✨

warning: none? A bit of fighting, blood.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Zofie's pov:

She had been beaming all morning. Not only had it been the best sleep of her life, but there was something so surreal about waking up in the arms of a man you had the biggest crush on. There was a moment when Zofie was sure that it was her sleepy brain playing a trick on her. That Nyx wasn't there with her. They weren't actually in the same situation. Limbs tangled. But Nyx's arms, which had quite a firm hold on her hips, felt all too real. His breathing did, too. So did his messy hair and slightly pouty lips.

How did one look so adorable in their sleep? Mother, he would be a frowning mess if she called him cute. But he was, and Zofie had to try really hard to suppress the giddy excitement that bubbled in her chest. Nuzzling back into the crook of Nyx's neck, she breathed in his scent. Feeling her body melt into it. Oh, how she missed him when he was away. How oddly lonely she felt. Truth be told, Zofie didn't have many friends. A couple of younger priestesses that Gwyn was teaching, yes, but they practically never talked. So... not friends. But Nyx had always been so keen on getting her attention. She was weary of him at first. He was the most talkative kid she had ever seen. But then Zofie only had a handful of traumatized sanctuary toddlers to compare him to. His bubbly side chipped away with the years, though. More often than not, the smile that was plastered on Nyx's face was nowhere near the smile he used to give her when they were younger.

"You're the cuddliest person I've come across in my entire life," Nyx grumbled, opening one eye to look at her. "So, if I pulled away now..." Zofie muttered, but Nyx's grip on her tightened immediately, "Don't you even think about it?" His morning voice was raspy and, oh, so delicious. "Got you," Zofie breathed out, shaking her head. He never denied her touch. She could watch him roll his eyes at Feyre kissing his cheek, but the next minute he would be right next to Zofie, his fingers subtly reaching for her as their palms brushed against one another.

"Do you think if I don't open my eyes, we can pretend that we don't have to go back?" Nyx muttered, and Zofie could sense the dread in his tone. "Your mom probably misses you a lot," she said softly. "Cause Ma always cries when Axel comes home, so I'm sure the high lady would..." "Don't." Nyx's whole body stiffened. Zofie frowned as specks of red fell onto the sheets. He was mad. Or frustrated, at least. "Did something happen?" Her voice grew weary, and Nyx's face grew ashamed. Hands pulling the girl back to his chest, "Promise it's nothing; I'm sorry, just tired," he breathed out. She didn't say anything after that. Letting the silence stretch over them both.

"My... The high lords are hosting a ball", and Nyx sounded as if this was the most dreadful thing he had to make himself think about once again. Zofie quickly cut in, "You don't want to go?". Nyx huffed, "Something like that." She never really understood if the high lords of the night court enjoyed the festivities themselves. Rhys, Nyx's dad, was a charmer, always quick to tell a joke. His grin never failed at balls and parties. But Zofie had caught him once. Head in hands. Messy hair. Wrinkled shirt. It was such a difference compared to that beaming smile she had seen on her high lord's face only moments ago. "Well, Axel and I will probably be there if our parents are going," Zofie breathed out, hoping to ease some of the tension, but Nyx simply shook his head. "I have a feeling it's the lordship shit," the heir growled before explaining even further, "Preppy parents in desperate need to marry off their children to form bonds between courts."

And here it was. This was the thing Nyx hated with a burning passion. All he wanted was to be normal. A young man still so full of life not some crystal gem for everyone to drool over. He cringed and frowned at all the titles people threw his way. And Zofie... Zofie hated every single female who felt entitled to come and touch him, pull at his hands, and rub at him like cats in heat. "Oh, Nyx," she breathed, her fingers carefully brushing through his hair. His fingers grazed her wrist tenderly. "Everyone is making such a big fuss over it too," he admitted as Zofie nodded in agreement. No wonder he was stressed. Especially if he was also to be left alone. Only with nobility to keep him company all night long.

"Bitch your way through it," Zofie muttered, and Nyx let out the most genuine chuckles she had heard in a while. But it had also died down as quickly as it started, "Will you tell me why you were by the river last night?" Zofie knew this was coming. Nyx had a hard time letting go of the topics he wanted to discuss. And he had been more than clear that he was going to get the answer out of her about this. So fighting this...

"I have a sister," Zofie breathed, her eyes falling to the crisp white sheets on the bed. Nyx shifted slightly, his hand dipping beneath the blanket to run soothingly up her thigh, "I hear a sad note in that," he muttered. And Zofie hated that. She hated that she was still upset over something she genuinely wanted. She didn't care much about having to share her parents' attention for a while. It was everything else that ticked her off. "She's perfect", Zofie let out a deep sigh, "Has wings, no flaws. She's perfectly Azriel's". Her voice died down, overpowered by the growl Nyx had let out. "Has that asshole?", "No, no, I just... it's me," Zofie shook her head, "I felt... irrelevant.".

The room fell silent. She watched as Nyx blinked a couple of times, letting her words sink in, "Don't you talk shit like that about yourself?" His voice had an edge to it. A powerful force. "But it's true; I'm Illyrian but have no wings," Zofie muttered, turning to play with her fingers instead. Admitting her fears and insecurities felt humiliating almost. "I'll always be your wings," Nyx's much bigger palm cupped hers, giving it a little squeeze. "What have I done to deserve you, huh?" Zofie chuckled slightly, hoping to mask the sting in her eyes. Nyx crooked his head to the side. Watching her for a moment, "You didn't have to do anything. I'm the one who's lucky that you were born.".

Nyx's pov:

They had laughed through the whole flight back to the city. And the closer they got, the more Nyx dreaded it. He didn't care much about the shit he was going to get from Rhys. But it's the letting go part that pressed against his chest. He knew, for a fact, that if not tonight, then by the next morning they would be ushered back into the camps up the mountain. Yes, he was happy to learn and to earn a rank, but leaving her here felt like a dreadful task. Not to mention that they weren't allowed to write letters while they were up there. Not to mention that Nyx had a whole box of letters he had written for Zofie. Ones he had written while up there. Ones that no one would ever see.

Zofie had asked him to drop her off at the edge of the forest near the house. "Better if you don't just walk in. You know my dad," she said. However, Nyx felt it the minute Zofie's legs hit the snow beneath her. He had barely let go of her when the claws of darkness pulled him back, nearly sending him to his feet. But he expected this. Escaping the spymaster under the protection of his father's wards was one thing. The moment they were on the perimeter of Velaris, well, let's say that was Azriel's hunting territory. And that male always hunted as if he were starving.

Nyx had seen Azriel pissed more than once, but the frown on his face this time was unmatched. And accompanied by the dark circles beneath his eyes. Yeah, he looked as if he was out for blood. "You forgot yours, young man," the spymaster said through gritted teeth as his shadows roped around the princeling's ankles and wrists.

"Dad, that's enough." Zofie stomped through the thick snow, trying to get in between the two of them. Nyx wished she wasn't there. He hated it when she was there to witness their snarls. "You lost all sense of fun, uncle," Nyx said mockingly. His own hands grew dark, seizing the spymaster's dark, as cold gloominess chased all of Azriel's shadows away. "You had no right to take her like that," Azliel bit back; his wings were arched in a warning, but Nyx didn't skip a beat, doing just the same.

"No one took me," Zofie growled with a huff. And it was the way Azriel had turned back to look down at her that broke the last sense of logic within Nyx. It was the way his big frame looked toward her when Azriel snared, "I wasn't speaking to you, young lady," that undid Nyx. "Why?", he asked bitterly, "Because you forgot that she existed? The new child has already taken too much of your time?". It felt as if the whole world had stopped. Even the snowflakes seemed to have seized in their fall. "Nyx..." he said, meeting Zofie's pleading eyes. Saw her shaking her head in disapproval. But he was truly seeing red. No one had a right to make her. Make his sunshine feel small.

"What did you just say?" Azriel frowned, slightly taken back, but his demeanor was still predatory. The princeling only growled back at the shadowsinger. "Nyx for fuck sake," Zofie pleaded, panic raising to her features as she moved closer to her dad in hopes of putting distance between them. But it was for nothing when Nyx muttered, "You heard me loud and clear, spymaster." Nyx managed to spare Zofie one look. One look before his vision was interrupted by black dots as his head was wiped to the side from the impact. Zofie's shriek pierced the silence, rippling over every surface.

Nyx knew that, in a way, he deserved it, so it didn't surprise him. He had been messing with the habitat of fae males. One who had just become a father. One who's instinct to protect was on such high alert. But he had to. Had to stand up for her. "Papa, please," Zofie pleaded. Nyx wiped the warm liquid trickling down the side of his lip. Oh, he was not going to go down without a fight. "Please, let's just go home. Please, I'm sorry". Her tiny hands were grasping at Azriel's hands, trying to pull him back. "Don't you apologize for him," Nyx snarled, but Zofie's firey eyes met his as she muttered, "Shut up." Only now did Nyx notice the tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. Only now did he see the quiver in her chin.

"Zof," Nyx breathed out, but the girl had simply turned her back on him. "Come on, papa, please," she pleaded once more, and this time it was enough to get Azriel's attention. His chest was still heavy as he breathed through his anger. "If I ever catch you doing anything like this," Azriel snarled, stepping forward to look at Nyx, but Zofie pushed back, putting all of her weight against her dad. "Consider yourself fucking lucky." Azriel flapped his wings a couple of times before reaching for Zofie's hand, tugging her alongside him as the shadows swallowed them both.

Your pov:

Quite frankly, you knew something was wrong from the moment you looked up to see Zofie's pale face when Novie was born. And deep down, you knew that this insecurity that was quite clearly blooming right in front of you was inevitable. You just didn't know it would take a turn like that. Zofie had always been good about voicing her discomfort, and you had always encouraged her to speak her mind, but it seemed as if your love had been lost in the shuffle of it all.

You knocked on her bedroom door gently. It's been a couple of hours since she and Azriel got back home. Your mate, mostly thanks to his lack of sleep, assumed that you both hadn't noticed your girl not being home and, and then hadn't felt them coming home. It was the stench of anger that was dripping from Azriel that was enough to let you know that a fight must have happened. And this sort of frustration as of lately was only brought on by one person.

Without getting an answer, you just let yourself in after a while. Zofie was curled up in a ball, and the blanket Azriel had knitted for her was tightly wrapped around her. That fact must have slipped her mind, considering the fight the two have been in. Sitting down on the very edge, you let your fingers gently brush through Zofie's dark waves.

"Sweetness, why don't you eat up? It's lunchtime", you said gently, nodding towards the plate of warm food you had brought up for her. She simply shook her head, turning away from your touch. A sharp ache pierced your heart. If your children were hurting, so were you. You climbed into the bed, nudging her slightly as you moved to wrap your arms around the girl. Let her be the little spoon.

Zofie laid as still as a statue for a moment before her arms snaked around yours. "Now he will never love me again," Zofie's voice was barely a whisper, but you still managed to hear her perfectly well. "Who, baby?" you asked, running your fingers up and down her arm. She stilled for a moment before looking up to catch your gaze and saying, "Papa." A breath hitched in your throat. "Lovie," you muttered.

Zofie quickly shuffled, sitting up. "First, I don't have wings; now he thinks I'm sneaking behind his back with Nyx," she blurted out in a rush, "And I'm not, I promise." She caught your arm, shaking it slightly. You cupped her face softly and said, "There is nothing wrong with you falling in love." Her face scrunched up so hard that you almost had to laugh. "I'm not in love. I'm not", she stated. "Okay, okay," you muttered, tapping her cheek playfully.

"And Azriel loves you, Zo." Your tone was much firmer now. You understood the fears. Mother, even you still had them. Wondering why? Why had Azriel chosen you, and what did he see in you? So for a teenager to have emotions like that, "He had loved you from the moment he saw you," you added.

Zofie bit her lip as if contemplating her next words for a moment, "But his yellow is fading", she admitted. Her colors. She found comfort in them, but good things usually come with baggage. Understanding the amount of emotion there was still a hard task. "That doesn't mean he stopped loving you. Maybe the color is evolving. Shifting into something different", you said softly. You made a mental note to ask her tutor to find her a book about the colors of emotions to read. Well, one that she hadn't already devoured.

"Hate," those silent words, made your mind halt. You shook your head. "Love has different forms; you'll learn that along the way," You reached up to carefully take her necklace between your fingers. "Papa is on edge right now because a lot of things are changing. He's sensitive because he's lost so much already. Losing all of us would break him without repair." It felt like a lot to unload on her, but she had to see that Azriel's love hadn't just faltered or disappeared because of Novie. Thinking like wings, no wings, scars on no, even the blood bond didn't matter to Azriel. Zofie pinched her eyebrows. "Is he home?", she breathed, "I need to...", "He's out on his broody walk, but I'm sure he'll be back soon," you said softly, reaching for the plate and handing it to her. She was desperate to make sure that she had at least some food in her stomach.

Nyx pov:

He had lost track of how long he had been flying. Nor did he know where he was going, but regardless of his endless attempts to escape it, Nyx knew that he would have to go home eventually. A part of him hoped that Rhys wouldn't have been able to sniff this one out, but then Nyx had lost track of his uncle fairly early on. So Azriel could have already been stomping his foot in his father's office.

"Purple truly suits you." As if on cue, Rhys's voice rang out. He was seated in front of a fireplace. A drink in hand. His usual black button-up shirt hugged his skin. Nyx didn't hate his father. He hated the high-lord aspect of him. Yes, he was different from most. Mother, spare anyone from a father like Beron, but... he still valued his position a bit too much at times. Nyx simply shook his head, shifting to move toward the back patio, but his father's voice stopped him, "I don't remember letting you walk away.".

Nyx let out a bitter chuckle, "Oh, so now I am to obey you too, like a servant?" It was bitter; he knew it. But Nyx just wasn't in the mood—wasn't in the mood to deal with any of this right now. "You're my son," Rhys stated firmly, his purple eyes gleaming. "Doesn't that just suit your story?" Nyx barked back, matching his father's glare. "Nyx," Rhys said in a warning tone, but the princeling was already walking. "I'll be with Mom," he breathed over his shoulder.

The wind that hit his face as he stepped outside soothed his heated cheeks. He always loved the walk towards his mother's gallery. It had always been his favorite time of the day when the two of them would go there. Gods, did he need to clear his head. Anything. Everything. All he could think of was her. Yet... two hands clasped his shoulders, making Nyx quickly spin back, putting whoever was behind him in a chokehold.

"Well, dang, you're on edge, my man," a familiar voice rasped out, and Nyx instantly let go, pushing the figure forward. "What the hell are you doing here?", he whispered. Axel simply smirked before shrugging, even if his eyes lingered on the library door for a bit too long. "I came to see how my dad painted your face," Axel chuckled, "Pretty." Nyx simply flipped his friends off and said, "Fuck off." Yet the corners of his lips did twitch slightly. Axel always had that effect on him. It was hard to not smile around him.

"She's okay," Axel muttered, making Nyx's eyes snap up at him. Yet he refused to give in to it. "I don't care," he said simply. Axel raised one eyebrow at his friend, tilting his head to the side, and, "Right, so you wouldn't care if I told you that mom got her to eat, and she's much calmer now." Nyx's shoulders eased a bit. Eased almost immediately. A calmness like no other washed over him as he nodded in agreement.

"She asked about you." Now these words struck a chord with Nyx, and his big eyes were instantly searching for Axel. "Did she?", Nyx breathed out desperately. Axel simply chuckled, slowly shaking his head, "No, but I love proving a point." Nyx let out a growl, "I'm so kicking your ass on the sparring mat." But he couldn't help but smile now. Because Axel knew him. And in a way, this was his silent way of approving. Or at least not stepping between him and Zofie.

But Axel's eyes lingered behind his friend, and Nyx's eyes instantly followed suit. Only he caught sight of white robes slipping back inside the library. Nyx instantly turned back to face Axel. "What was that?", he questioned. Axel blinked a couple of times, "What was what?". Oh, but Nyx wasn't stupid. "That look," he muttered, motioning his hand towards Axel's face, "Are you fucking a prestress?" Axel frowned at the question instantly, his eyes finally moving to gaze at his friend, "What the hell, man, wash your mouth." Nyx chuckled slightly, but he knew deep down that the moment they were going to be better on the camp walls, he was going to get his answers one by one. Now all he needed was his sun. His Sunny and for some reason risking a black eye didn't seem that big of a sacrifice.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @sirenpearldust @historygeekqueen @hnyclover @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @naturakaashi @stressed-reader @woodland-mist @goldenmagnolias @nocasdatsgay

[itsaspectrumcomic]

Hi! 🐑🐑 anon here! thanks so much for the sheep :)))

I’m typing on my phone rn so I can type much better. Thank you for the advice!!! So here’s my Argentina thing:

I go to school here (7th grade) and we have breaks betweeen every class!!! 5-15 minute breaks! It’s illegal to not have them! It’s amazing!

i get to choose my lunch every day! I choose, I buy, and I can eat almost anywhere! I always eat the same thing (caprese roll) cuz autism and vegetarianism

speaking of which, we can eat in any of the breaks! We decide! It’s awesome!!!

no dress code! No awful suffocating polo shirts! With the worst fabric made! Just whatever I want to wear! Every day!!!

if I can’t do something, I’m allowed to not do it! I don’t have to do gym! I can sit it out! Gym is rlly hard for me bcuz I remember one day in my life when I could run for more than a minute without doubling over gasping at the end. Also, I hate it.

Not school related things now:

everyone uses their hands to talk! So I don’t get weird looks for my stimming!!! It’s incredible!!!!!

this is a ginormous one for me: THEY ARE SO BLUNT HERE. They use body language, which I can read well, and they just say what they mean! It’s such a relief!!! I can trust them!!! I don’t have to try doubly hard to figure out what they’re saying!!!! ITS SO SO SO AWESOME!!!!

also: a down point is that the greeting is usually a hug. But for some reason, here, hugs are better! They give me tons of warning bcuz I know when they’re gonna do it so I can prepare! Everyone talks with their body and it’s so much easier to understand!

Back to school real quick, we address the teachers by first names!!! No titles that seem to just distance us from ppl supposed to help us!!!

yeah, there are asshoels, but mainly, people are so nice! But in a genuine way! Not in a stupid social cues way! They are genuinely happy to see you, and if they aren’t, you know! No passive aggressive, no sarcasm (I like sarcasm sometimes but it can be annoying), just actual words!!!

wveeyone gets accommodations! The gym thing, are you tired? Or did you break your hand? Whatever! You can sit out! Do you need to doodle in class? There’s no, “do you have a (professionally diagnosed) learning disability? No? Then no.” Just yes! Sure! I love your doodles! Can u draw something for me?

Anyway, that was a lot. I’m actually fascinated in this and obsessed so thx so much for letting me info dump in your inbox!!!! Hope it’s interesting! There’s more, which I’ll add later!

-🐑🐏

Hi 🐑🐑! That all sounds great! I'm glad you've had such a positive experience there ☺️ I wish I could have got out of gym, I always found it so difficult and my PE teachers could be pretty mean 😔

[wonijinjin]

THE WEEKND SERIES: CALL OUT MY NAME - CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

author’s note: the first work of the series! i am all for strangers to more tropes so i hope you guys will have fun reading it! take care<3

synopsis: will shared fate with a stranger turn into something more, something you had never expected?

word count: 0.6k | genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, dark themes (apocalypse) | pairing: cheol x gn! reader | warnings: mentions of injury, doctors, apocalypse, death

the masterpost to this series can be found here.

the wind was blowing coldly as you reached the deserted capital, body tired from dragging it all day, not finding anyone near who could help you out. in the distance you could spot a silhouette, a human’s to be exact. “wait!” you shouted from the top of your lungs, taking all of your energy and putting it into a final call before you saw the figure turning around, running in your direction. the pain in your injured leg became unbearable and forced your knees to buckle; luckily the stranger who had arrived by your side just at that moment had caught you, laying you down on the muddy ground. “hi.” you smiled at him while his eyes widened in surprise seeing another human alive. there were not many people who survived the earthquakes or the tsunamis after the collision of the meteor. “nice to meet you.” he smiled back at you, inspecting the wound on your foot. “i guess you got this while trying to escape from the storm.” you wheezed. “good guess, sherlock.” his movements halted and he got a roll of surgical tape and bandaids out from his pocket. “so, do you want me to fix you up? you are not doing so well as i can see.” you nodded immediately, thanking him several times. “i have been searching for signs of life for days, but have seen noone so far.” he shook his head in agreement. “because there is almost no human here as of today. i’m surprised to see you here, never thought i would cross paths with someone here. everyone i know is at the same place, the mall. they gathered there, but they are starting to go crazy so i left.” he explained what he knew about the situation happening. your lack of response and the way you stared into nothing alarmed him and he pulled your body towards his so he could see your eyes. “you with me?” he swung his hand in front of your face. you nodded slowly to ensure that you heard and understood him. “good.” he thought for a moment. “must be shock which got you so quiet all of a sudden.” he finished wrapping up your leg, patting it for good measure. “can you stand?” he questioned with a warm look, one which you missed so much, after so long of not being in contact with others. “hello? i asked if you can stand up and walk.” he was crouching next to you, grabbing your chin to check your eyes again. you assumed that he must’ve been a doctor since he was looking for signs of head injury for sure, you knew this much of first aid. you leaned in without thinking, kissing him quickly. this caught him off guard, but it was so quick and sudden that it was over before he could register what was happening. “sorry, i just needed to check if you were real. i’ve been alone for a while, i wasn’t sure if it was just in my head or not.” he had a weird expression but only for a moment, then caught your wrist and lifted your finger to his face, poking it. “you could’ve just done this, you know.” he laughed sweetly, another thing you had been missing from your life. “you are right…” you whispered shyly, a bit embarrassed. “anyways, i see that you are quite lonely. you can accompany me for the time being if you want to. at least i can make sure your leg actually gets better.” you grinned tiredly. “if i’m gonna be your companion i gotta know your name at least though.” he extended his arm towards you. “just call me seungcheol.”

[nattinatalia]

Jack Harlow x Reader : LATE NIGHT LIVES

After a long day of school meetings and running errands, the kids were showered and in bed. You and Jack had just finished watching a movie and now you were just in bed scrolling through your phone.

You usually don’t do live streams but tonight seemed like a good idea just to get you a little tired.

“Babe don’t say or do anything nasty. I’m going to go live on instagram.” You warn him, as you sit up against the headboard.

“But I wanted to get nasty with you.” He pouts.

You roll your eyes, “See, don’t say anything like that.” you start the live stream and wait for people to join.

“Hi guys, it’s been a while.” You say, looking at the chat. “Oh, I have a story for you guys about something that happened today. So let’s wait for more people to join.”

“What story? What happened today?” Jack asks you, placing his phone on the bedside table.

You smile, shaking your head. “Go back to texting your fans. Let me talk to mine.”

Jack scoffs,“Babe, tell me.”

“You’ll hear it when I tell them, just wait.” You read the chat real quick and laugh, nodding.

He groans, “Let me go get something to drink first.”

“Can you bring me something too please? And not Phocus, I want actual water.”

He turns around quickly gaping at you. “Wow, not you bashing my brand.”

You roll your eyes, “Stop being so dramatic.”

He heads towards the door. “Don’t start the story without me.”

“Then hurry up.” You warn and smirk seeing him run out.

“This is going to be funny you guys.” You turn to your phone and focus on the live and start reading comments.

“Yes he really is so dramatic and unserious.” You laugh. “But that’s my man, and I’m going to stick by him.”

“Okay, I’m back.” He announces and jumps on the bed. “Here.” He hands you a can of Phocus. “We ran out of your water.”

“I know what you’re doing.” You grab the can and pop it open, making sure to take a sip in camera view. “I’m sending Neelam the invoice for this”

“I’m not doing anything.” He smirks, leaning against the headboard.

“Mhmm.” You look down at your phone. “Okay guys, story time.” You smile. “Today I went to get waxed, you know, down there.”

“What kind of story is this?” Jack asks.

“It’s a funny one so don’t interrupt, I’m telling the girlies.”

“Not what I was expecting.” Jack lays down completely on the bed, pulls the covers over his body and grabs his phone.

You roll your eyes. “My usual waxer was out today, so I had to let someone else look down there and wax me. I was shy, but HE made me feel comfortable.”

“HE?!!!!” Jack quickly turns his head towards you, throwing the covers off of him.

“Yes he.” You roll your eyes. “Anyway, he was so gentle, he was so good. I honestly didn’t feel a thing. The way he put the wax, I felt kind of- I don't know, hot?”

“Are you kidding?” He sits up. “Is he gay?”

“Jack, why would I be kidding about getting my kitty waxed? And no, he’s not gay.”

“Y/N, you just said you got horny from it.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, I said I got hot.” You’re smirking.

“Same thing.”

You read a comment from the chat and nod, “Yes, I’m definitely going back with him. He actually gave me his personal number and he told me he even does housecalls.”

“What the fuck?”

You smile, “Okay guys, I think I’m going to let y’all go. I need to sleep.” You quickly end the live, plug your phone into the charge and place it on your side table.

You lay down and notice Jack is sitting, staring at you. “What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me a guy waxed you, a straight guy at that.”

“Babe, it doesn’t matter. He was doing his job.”

“Yeah but it’s something I would've liked to know.” He mumbled out.

“Baby, are you jealous?”

“It’s not about jealousy, it’s about making sure you’re safe and comfortable.”

“Aww baby.” You push him back so he can lay down and you straddle him. “Didn’t you hear? He was very respectful, and comforting. He rubbed me the right way.” You smirk.

“You’re fucking joking huh?” He looks up at you.

You start laughing “I am.”

Jack quickly takes a hold of your waist and flips you two over so he’s now hovering over you. “That wasn’t funny, I was ready to go on YouTube and learn how to wax so I could do it for you.”

You laugh at that. “No way they show that on YouTube babe.”

“Don’t play with me again, talking about you got hot and he rubbed you the right way, what does that even mean?”

You shrug, “I don’t know, I was just reading the comments and saying them.”

He pinches one of your nipples, “No more going live late at night.”

He kneels between your legs, “Now open these up, let me see if you need waxing or not.”

“Shut up.” You laugh, but do as he says.

“Mhmm, so pretty.” He runs his finger on your bud. “I can definitely wax this myself.”

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

TAG LIST

@heavyhitterheaux @harlowsbby @arination99 @cmalass @jackharloww @minkookie95 @deannaard @jacksmoviestar @harlowcomehome @fdl305 @httpkoylinnn @xoxokiaraaxoxo @hoodharlow @automaticpeachsong @amethyst09 @aliciacat20 @allyson15 @gabbylovesreading @stefansalvatoresgf @violetdreamsworld @carma-fanficaddict @jasminxts @itsaaliyah2 @itsyagirljaz @harrycanyonmoonn @neon-lights-and-glitter @awhore4moree @toocriticalharlow @thefemalestorywriter

[uniquexusposts]

Her || Charles Leclerc

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fanfiction, fluff  Story type: novel  Part: 11/? Word count: 3089 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

Chapter 9. Night Guards

The Ferrari Factory was cloaked in darkness as Matilde's car glided to a halt in the parking lot. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the iconic factory campus.

With a sigh and a hint of exhaustion, she stepped out of her car. Nerves travelled through her body. After last weekend's situation, she wasn't sure if she wanted to continue her role at Ferrari. However, it didn't feel right to drop everything and leave after only five races. She grabbed her bag from the backseat and locked her car, walking towards the entrance. The factory grounds were quiet at this hour, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle that defined the daylight hours. The parking lot, which was typically teeming with cars and personnel, now held just a handful of vehicles.

Instead of entering the office building, she entered the factory building. She scanned her pass and got in. Matilde exchanged greetings with the guard, who was happy to see her. The man congratulated the woman on the win, and they shared a few words about the race weekend.

After a quick security check, she continued her way to the canteen. Matilde just started to get to know this building. She ran her hand through her hair and yawned. Even though she was still living in the American time zone, she was getting tired because of the darkness outside.

"You are a real warrior," Mario, the manager of the night shift, said when Matilde entered the canteen. The entire night crew looked at the team principal, who was standing in front of them. "I didn't receive a cancellation, but we didn't expect you to still show up for the night shift."

Matilde scanned every person in the room, waiting for their reaction. Would they react the same as the racetrack team? She didn't know it anymore, she didn't know who was genuine and who wasn't.

"You just had a race in America and you are already here," Angelo added, a mechanic.

Everyone looked surprised to see Matilde, but they looked grateful at the presence of the woman. They all were drinking tea or coffee, preparing for their long night at the factory.

A fragile smile came on Matilde's face. "When I say I will be there, I will be there," she said. "I'm still in the American time zone; I will be up all night anyway. Might spend it here as well."

"Well, in that case," Mario said and got up. He made his way to the fridge and took out a white box. "Unfortunately, we cannot pop the champagne now," he said and put the box on the table. "But we can celebrate it with cake." Mario opened the box.

Matilde looked at the cake, and her lips parted. Tears flowed into her eyes when she read the text on the cream. 'Congratulations on your first win!' She looked up and glanced at Mario and then at the team. "Guys..."

"Congratulations, Matilde!"

"Your first win will always be special. We sadly couldn't be in Miami to celebrate it with you, but we will celebrate it with you now," Mario proudly smiled. "It was a perfect weekend for the team, and we couldn't be more proud of everyone."

Appreciation, that was the thing she missed during the entire weekend. How come the track team didn't even bother to ask her to join the celebration, and the night team came up with a celebration themselves? "Thank you," Matilde said. "Thank you for all your hard work, we couldn't wish for a better weekend, and that is because of your dedication and work. Grazie a tutti," she widely smiled. "Grazie ragazzi."

The night team beamed with pride as Matilde expressed her gratitude. Their cheers and applause filled the canteen, breaking the silence of the late-night hour. It was a heartfelt celebration, a sign of the strong bond that existed between the night shift team and their team principal.

Matilde's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked around at her colleagues. These were the unsung heroes of Ferrari, the ones who toiled through the night to ensure that every detail of the F1 operation was flawless. And they cared about everyone within the team. These were the people who kept the operation going.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Matilde approached the cake. She took a knife and began cutting slices for everyone in the canteen. The cake, a symbol of their shared achievement, was quickly devoured as the team was insulted by this midnight treat.

"So, tell us, how was this weekend?" Mario asked curiously.

Matilde shared her experiences with the people. She told about the great teamwork, the problems that were quickly solved and how everything felt like they bonded. Matilde had shared before that things weren't going smoothly within the track team, but she proudly told how things changed this weekend. Due to her professionalism, she decided not to share the moment that broke her heart. It was something she had to deal with, she didn't want to ruin their view on the rest of the team.

"And the celebrations?" Angelo asked. "Huge dinner party?"

The team principal nodded. "Yup." Her eyes met the eyes of a mechanic who was also part of the track team, who was also picking up night shifts every now and then. "It was fun." Matilde was hoping that the mechanic wouldn't ruin her reputation within this crew.

A mechanic scoffed. "Fun for the team, yes."

Her hope sank. Matilde's face straightened, and she swallowed hard. She looked down and waited for the rest of his response.

"We had a fun dinner, indeed. Until something happened," the mechanic continued. Everyone looked at him while he looked at Matilde, who was clearly feeling uncomfortable. "It turned out that our people didn't even bother to invite Matilde to the celebration dinner."

Matilde felt a mixture of surprise and trepidation as the mechanic continued to speak. She had hoped that the incident wouldn't come to light during the night shift. As the mechanic's words hung in the air, there was a moment of tense silence. Matilde could feel the eyes of the night shift team on her, assessing her reaction.

"Yes, it is true," she began, her voice steady. "There was an incident at the celebratory dinner. It wasn't the way I had hoped the evening would go. But let's not dwell on that. What matters is that we had a fantastic race weekend, and the team's performance was exceptional." She shifted the focus away from the negative moment, choosing to highlight the success. It was a delicate balance between acknowledging the issue and steering the conversation toward more positive aspects.

"Why was she not invited?" A woman blurted towards the mechanic of the track team. "How dare you say that in front of her? This is straight-up bullying!"

The eyes of the mechanic shot up to the woman. "Hey, I am not saying this to make her feel more bad; I'm saying this because what happened was not classy from our side. I had heard that Matilde couldn't be there, multiple people asked where she was, and everyone said she couldn't be there. But that wasn't true, no one invited her. And I didn't know that," he defended himself, but also Matilde. Ever since he found out that no one had invited her on purpose, he felt extremely bad about it. "The team principal always joins the celebration dinner."

Eyes shot to Matilde, who looked hurt. "I was told no one was celebrating it because of the early flight the next morning," she replied. "I was with Red Bull because my best friend works at Red Bull, and it's my old team. And my flight was leaving in the late afternoon the next day. I wanted to celebrate it," she defended herself.

Silence fell in the canteen.

"But the champagne move... Legendary," the mechanic said. "How did you dare to do that?"

"What exactly did she do?" Mario asked. He looked at Matilde. "What did you do?"

The mechanic smirked. "At some point, we all got served a glass of champagne, telling us we got the compliments from our team principal."

"How did you know that they were there?" Angelo asked Matilde.

"Apparently, I was in the same restaurant," Matilde replied. "Leclerc texted me, asking where I was, and at that moment, I saw the entire team sitting in the back of the restaurant. I already downed two shots, and I had some champagne in my system, so I don't know what I was thinking."

Chuckles and giggles filled the canteen, causing Matilde to smile lightly. Did this mean that Matilde could feel relieved?

"This is a boss ass bitch move; I love it," a young woman said, who sat in the corner of the room. "As you should, Matilde. Show them how shitty they acted. Own it."

Angelo laughed. "I must say, it's not very professional, but I would absolutely do the same if I were you in that situation. Whoever thought that it was okay not to invite you, should get fired."

"Don't give her ideas," Mario said. He thought the situation was funny because of the reaction of Matilde, but he noticed the situation was hurting her and how she lost the trust in her team. When she entered the canteen, she reacted differently. Now he understood why. It was everything but classy for his colleagues to treat her like that. "It sounds like there was a misunderstanding, Matilde. Maybe the message got lost somewhere along the way."

The woman who had spoken up earlier took a deep breath and spoke again, her voice filled with empathy. "But that doesn't excuse the fact that we should have ensured you were included."

"It isn't your fault, Valentina," Matilde responded. "You weren't there."

"But it is our team; they are our colleagues."

"I really appreciate that. Miscommunications happen, and yeah, so be it. I will pick it up tomorrow. I was in my fault, they were in their fault, and we have to talk about it." She acted like it didn't bother her that much, but the fact that these people supported her more than the people she worked with on a daily base...

"I don't like those people anyway," the young woman said. "They all act like they are better than us; meanwhile, they are taking our credits."

"Don't mind Stella. She says what we are all thinking, but we keep it in front of us, and she doesn't," Angelo replied and looked disapprovingly at her.

Matilde politely smiled at the crew. She made eye contact with the mechanic, who stood up for her. She gave him a grateful nod, which he returned with a smile and a wink. "Anyway, thank you all for your concern, but it happened; it's in the past. Let's move forward," she said, hoping the moment would pass. "And this is told in confidence. So whatever is said here, stays here. Unless you think it is inappropriate, then you know where to find the board, and I will happily have a conversation about it." She realised she had lost the authority, she didn't like authority, but she was the team principal after all.

As the night shift began, Matilde felt a warmth in her heart that transcended the exhaustion of her long journey from Miami. She was there for them, and they were there for her.

Throughout the night, Matilde worked alongside her night shift team. They discussed strategies, reviewed data and ensured that every aspect of the past race and upcoming race was discussed. Matilde picked up some office tasks, preparing for the upcoming week with briefings and meetings.

* * *

The next day, the Ferrari office was bustling with activity. The race track team got back to work after their days off after the weekend. The team had gathered for a small inauguration ceremony, a celebration of Carlos and Charles' impressive performances during the previous race weekend in Miami. It was an opportunity to recognize their achievements and boost team morale.

As the team members gathered in the massive hall of the office, there was a palpable sense of excitement in the air. Colleagues chatted, sharing their pride in the team's success.

Charles and Carlos were standing in the room next to the hall, waiting for the ceremony to start.

"Matilde will be here, too, right?" Carlos asked Charles after not having spotted the team principal. She usually was present before everyone else was at the office.

"I don't know." A frown grew on Charles' forehead. "I saw on Instagram that she was in Denmark, for her mum's birthday or something. Perhaps she's still there."

"Weird," Carlos replied.

"But maybe she's on her way."

Finally, the double doors at the hall swung open. Charles and Carlos stepped into the room, greeted by applause and cheers from their colleagues. Their smiles radiated the joy of the moment. They waved at their team.

"Ladies and gentlemen, colleagues and friends, today we gather to celebrate the remarkable achievements of our drivers: Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz!" The spokesperson of Ferrari took the task of leading this ceremony. "What a race, boys. Congratulations."

The room erupted in applause again, and Charles and Carlos exchanged smiles. However, when the ceremony continued, Charles and Carlos missed the presence of one person. Carlos was asked to say something about the weekend. It gave Charles the chance to scan the hall once again. There was still no sign of Matilde. It worried him. Did this have to do with Sunday? He still hadn't had the chance to speak with her about what had happened, as he felt extremely bad about it, but had she given up already? Charles thought about the situation a lot, and he wondered if he could have prevented it.

The sliding doors of the entrance opened. Charles' eyes shot to the person who had entered the building. He watched how she entered the building and went through security. It looked like she had no idea what was going on. The woman was wearing grey trousers and a blue, oversized button-up shirt, her hair in a low bun. She was carrying two bags and a coat. Once she entered the hall, she came to a halt. Her eyes scanned the hall.

A sense of guilt washed over Charles as their eyes met. He pursed his lips tightly, seeing the emotions written all over her face. Her expression changed from surprise to pain. Her face told stories. Then her face showed a clear message that she didn't want anyone's pity or sympathy. A few other people noticed Matilde's presence as well, being shocked to see her.

Matilde walked towards the podium, between all the people. Anger was playing a huge role in her emotions right now, but she had to ignore it and show who the team principal was. Her eyes met Galileo's, who was standing next to the podium. His eyes widened. Matilde ignored him and dumped her stuff on the ground, next to the podium. She stepped on the podium and stood next to Charles, wearing a professional smile, but her eyes showed a bitchy look. If you were standing close by, you would notice it.

Carlos ended this speech and looked at the spokesperson. His eyes fell on Matilde, who shared a smile. He smiled back, being relieved she indeed was on her way when they were waiting at the beginning.

The spokesperson looked at Matilde. "Well, once again: thank you all for being here," he said. "Matilde, good to have you here as well."

"I was not aware of this celebration," she mumbled under her breath, not knowing Charles heard her. Matilde looked at Galileo; she would have a word with him afterwards.

"Charles, we will go to you in a second, but first, a word from Matilde."

Charles handed the microphone over to the woman next to him.

A smile rested on her face. Over the weeks, she realised how good she became at acting and putting on fake smiles. "Of course, Carlos, outstanding work. It was a faultless race from your side, an almost faultless race on our side. We had an issue, but we managed to fix it in time, so I consider it a faultless race," she said and looked at Carlos. She moved her gaze to Charles. "Charles, your outstanding performances made us all proud. The way you fought with the Red Bulls and defended was just brilliant." Matilde turned to the people in front of the podium. "And you! Each and every one of you is also the reason why the team won. If you were at the track, at the factory or at home, because of you, we put out an amazing performance. It's not just about the victory, but also about the teamwork and determination of everyone. Well done, everyone. Keep up the good work." She handed the microphone to Charles.

"I agree with everything that Matilde just said," he said and chuckled. "We couldn't have done it without the dedication and hard work of every person in this room. This win is yours as much as it is ours."

The hall burst into applause again. Matilde joined in the clapping, showing that she was there for the team. Even though she had a lot of anger in her body, she recognised this moment of unity and celebration, a reminder of what they achieved together, and what they could achieve together in the future.

After the speeches, the team mingled, sharing stories and congratulations. Charles, Carlos and Matilde posed for photos with their colleagues, holding their trophies proudly. The first celebration of the season and as a team with a new team principal were enjoyed, suddenly there were no tensions left.

Matilde stepped down the stage and collected her stuff. It was not even nine hours after the end of the night shift; she wasn't even supposed to be here for another two hours. She walked away from the celebrations, and she wanted to leave the hall, until someone stopped her.

"We have a board meeting scheduled."

Another thing she wasn't aware of. Matilde smiled. "I will be there," she said. She was open to attending the meeting two hours before she was allowed to start working again. "After I have spoken to my assistant."

"Everyone is waiting for you."

"I will be there," she repeated, taking a second to make clear that she would be there. "After I have seen my assistant," she said, looking the man in the eyes, giving him a stern nod and walked away. 

Next chapter

[gayerthanevertbh]

would you say yes? | arcadia pt. 2

pairings: older!natasha romanoff x young!reader

navigation | series masterlist

summary: after a year of despair, y/n has come to terms with her indecisiveness and guilt over her past “relationship” with the older woman. though her marriage is failing, she’s losing herself and mourns for the lost of her own first love. what she doesn’t know is that natasha sent her a letter that her husband has been keeping for over a year.

takes place in “the other woman” & “the last time” series!

warnings: angst, tension, age difference, reader being stupid, slight cheating, and mor - 18+ MINORS DNI

author’s note: wow i haven’t updated this in so long but good luck reading this! LMAO

I didn't understand why I had consented to see Natasha. I felt as though my body was awake but that my mind was in a deep sleep because I was mindless. But given that I was always that way as a kid, that's just an excuse to hide the fact that I'm gullible. I took a quick glance around me before returning to the coffee mug I had just set down on the table. What if I stood up for her? She had every right not to show up; I was the one who abandoned her in the first place. The thing is, she invited me to coffee; it's not like I asked her to join me; it was her idea.

"Would you like a glass of water?" When I looked up, the waitress had bright eyes and a tight smile on her face, and I shook my head in response. I watch her as she walks to another table, wondering what they will order for lunch. Which made me realize, I haven’t had one myself. If she ends up abandoning me, the way I did to her, I guess a sandwich in this cafe might appeal to me.

When the clock struck 12:30, I let out a sigh of disappointment and began to peruse the menu. Natasha sat across from me and grabbed the menu from my hand before I even had a chance to decide what I would have for lunch. She appeared stunningly beautiful, as usual. However, I could see dark eyebags under her eyes, which gave her a worn-out appearance. Considering how much I second-guess my marriage to Patrick, I can definitely relate to that. Yet she always appeared so... refined. So ethereal.

Natasha smiled at me with surprise.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” she tells me, and I let out a strained laugh.

“I’m surprised that I did come.”

She doesn't look at me; instead, she licks her lower lip and focuses on the table. She might have been ashamed that we were sitting at the same table as if nothing had ever happened between us. But in reality, it should be me gazing down at the table, not her. I hear her asking, “Is Patrick with you? I-I’m sorry, I just don’t feel comfortable–”

“He’s away for work,” I replied in a nonchalant tone. Natasha looked back up with questionable eyes, but I tried not to mind that. “I’m all alone for a week.”

“You didn’t come with him?”

“He’s always away,” I said with a deep sigh, taking a sip of my coffee. “I got tired of traveling.”

"But you like to travel," she said, as if she knew me even though she only knew the "younger" me ten years ago. "We went to Italy together, and you loved it."

“That was only one time though, Natasha.”

I noticed her shoulders deflate as I called out her real name and not her nickname. But in a matter of seconds, she smiles again and leans against the chair behind her back. “Right,” she coughed quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

We both ordered our food and sat quietly in front of each other; this was getting awkward, and I should never have agreed to this meet-up. But she seemed at ease with me, like a child who has been wanting a toy for a long time and is overjoyed when they finally get it. We remained silent for a while, and I could tell that her gaze was fixed on my face. She has a tendency to smile to herself before drawing nearer to the table and noting each freckle on my face. I knew that she was trying to memorize me, as this might be the last time I see her.

“You’re getting creepy,” I joked.

She laughs, scratching her nose. “I’m just happy that I get to see you, after everything that happened between us.”

I bit my inner cheek as I nodded. Should I apologize for leaving her? What happens if she sobs in front of me? What should I do? Should I abandon her again? No, I was too cruel for that. Natasha has always had a special place in my heart. And no matter how hard I try to deny my feelings for her, they will always be there - they will never go away with the snap of a finger. "I know you're hurt because of what happened," I said, looking down at her lips.

“I’m trying to move on from it.”

“And I’m sorry for leaving you again,” I said, my throat bobbing with fear and stupidity. “I’m sorry for everything, Natasha. I know my apology is not enough, but hopefully, someday you will forgive me.”

Silence had begun, and I felt uncomfortable in my seat.

After a while, she replied with a quiet voice.

"I've forgiven you for a long time, Y/n," she said, her eyes welling up with tears. "It hurt, yes, but I can't change what happened. It will always be there, and that is something I will never forget. What you did was unfathomable. I had to look for you all over town, but I couldn't find you. I'm guessing you moved in with Patrick because you changed your phone number and left your old apartment. I tried to find him, but he was also difficult to locate. I just wanted to see if I could get another chance. But perhaps I don't, and perhaps I never will. You eating with me is more than enough."

I was debating whether I should tell her I was married or not, knowing that it would break her heart. In retrospect, our situation was somewhat ironic. She was married to Maria when she fell in love with me, and now I'm married to Patrick, and she still is. And I can't deny that I'm in love with her because I've always been. But it's better to remain silent than to witness your loved one's heart full of sorrow and wonder.

My mouth began to speak, “I’m married to Patrick, Natasha.”

I could tell her face had dropped. I wanted to grab her hand, but I couldn't. She said, "Oh," then stopped talking and stared at me. I still hate myself for hurting her, especially when I told her I was married to a boy she despised.

“I’m sorry,” I said with an apologetic look. “I should’ve told you that I’m married.”

"I had a feeling you were," she chuckled to alleviate the pain. She fiddled with her fork while staring down at her own plate. "But I kept telling myself that if you were still available, I could marry you in the end if I found you."

“Y-You wanted to marry me?”

"Of course," Natasha shrugged as if there was no point in saying it. “But you’re married; I can’t do that.”

If I hadn't married Patrick in the first place, I would have been Natasha's wife. I could have been Natasha's wife if I hadn't abandoned her in the first place. And now that I was married, possibly to an unfaithful husband, I had no chance with her - no matter how badly I wanted to, I couldn't come back to her in that way. We have so much history together that it's like reopening old wounds.

“Would you say yes, though?”

“Huh?” I asked, feeling aloof in my head.

“Would you say yes?” she asked, a glint of hopefulness in her eyes. She reaches for my hand and squeezes it gently. Her hand was still calloused. “If you had never left and married Patrick, would you say yes?”

No, I can’t. I’m horrible for you, and you know that so well.

“Y-Yeah,” I responded under my breath, my chest feeling heavy all of a sudden. “Yes, I would’ve said yes.”

She sighs, gripping my hand like it's the last time she’ll hold me like this. She then suddenly let go of my hand and hung her head low. I didn’t know what else to do but sit in silence. Sometimes, I enjoy silence like this.

“Your marriage must be colorful,” she said in a whispery tone, her fingers fidgeting on the cloth table. “Full of rainbows and sunshine, huh?”

“I have a feeling he’s cheating on me.”

Natasha looks at me again, worried, but I try to reassure her that nothing bad has happened - at least not yet. "How are you so certain that he is cheating on you? Have you gone through his phone?”

"He's not that affectionate with me," I explained. “And maybe I’m the fault for this. Do you know I’m still in therapy and I could no longer get better?”

“Don’t say that, you will get–”

“But it’s true,” my voice was getting pitchier, and I saw the way people turned to see who that was. I lowered my head once more and muttered, “I could never get better, I’m forever going to be like this.”

“You know that’s not true, Y/n.”

“Maybe that’s why he’s unfaithful to me.”

"I could never hurt you like that," she says, taking my hand again and bringing it close to her lips. I could feel her breath on my skin and tried not to think about it. What happened between us still hurts me, and her doing this will only make matters worse.

But I couldn’t seem to pull away.

"You're the only girl I'll never hurt," she says. Natasha kisses the back of my hand, and I can feel the wet stain running through my veins. "If he is causing you pain, then leave him. It's pointless to stay if he's abusive to you; leave him."

“It’s easy for you to say that.”

“Nothing is easy in this world,” Natasha mumbled, kissing my hand again. “It wasn’t easy for me to forget you, and here I am being a hypocrite. I can’t ever forget someone like you.”

Natasha walked me home that day, telling me stories about her lonely life in her cold, dark house. I even asked if Lucy would pay her visits, but she only remained silent and held my hand as if we were back together. When Natasha left, I began to question whether this was even a good idea, but we never made such plans. It was all unexpected, which leaves me perplexed. So what happens if I return to her? In the end, I'd abandon her. Nobody deserved it, let alone her.

Around midnight, I decided to send her another email while watching a cartoon on my laptop. It usually helps me sleep, Patrick would call me a child but not in a harsh way. Yet, maybe I’m still a child.

Thank you for today; I honestly thought I'd never see you again. I hope we see each other again soon; I think we're good friends.

Sincerely,

Y/n.

Now I know Natasha will never consider me a friend, but I also know I will never be her lover. It took her thirty minutes to respond, and I tried to watch my show before responding. But I was enticed by her message, so I opened her email, which left me wondering.

We will meet again soon, I know we will. Thank you as well, Y/n. I can’t stop thinking about you, you know? Anyway, I’ll be sleeping now. Goodnight :)

Natasha.

My phone buzzed in my pocket as I closed my laptop. Patrick's phone number was displayed when I pulled out my phone. I had completely forgotten that I was going to talk to him this evening, and he would be upset if he found out that I had been with Natasha all along. Not in an angry way, but in a sad way. And I didn’t like that.

“Hello?” I answered quietly, laying my head against the soft pillow.

“I was trying to call you a while ago, are you busy?”

“Yeah, I’m talking to my therapist.” not true.

"Sorry about that," his voice was deep and quiet, and I almost couldn't understand what he was saying. "I'm leaving Italy in a week; I hope you're doing well on your own."

“Don’t worry,” I sighed, smacking my dry lips together. “I’m keeping myself company with my therapist.”

He laughs, “I bet. Just wanted to check on my best girl.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, looking straight at the ceiling as I thought about Natasha in my head. I was cynical. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Y/n.”

soooo... now what

[wrengrif]

I Am So Tired...

And I am meant to be writing, so I am going to pop this thought out real quick like and get back to it. I have a Romantic Spotify list waiting for me.

*Rubs Face Hard*

I have been rolling this around for about twenty-four hours, since I read @makewayforbigcrossducks post, and while it does not perturb me any less, I gotta say ... yeah. This is really how Aziraphale would play it.

He wouldn't have a plan - Crowley is the one with the multi-level plans. I still believe that is a big reason why he wanted Crowley to come with him, because Crowley can lay out a beautiful plan. It's not the biggest reason (Crowley deserves to be in Heaven), nor is it the best (Aziraphale wants them to be together without being in danger), but Aziraphale knows his own weaknesses. He thinks too much - a emotional and mental response I am sure many of us know too well.

No, what Aziraphale has is the ability to, when he connects the dots, to quickly put together an amazing counter-attack. It takes him So Long because he's doubting himself, doubting the facts, but once he puts everything together, Snap. He has it. We see this with Job. We see this at the end of the world. It may have worked with the ball - but at that point Aziraphale was completely focused on how Crowley would react, and only halfway paying attention to Nina and Maggie. Or, in fact, creepy green lights all over SoHo.

So he's going to Heaven, because there's no better option. That if he doesn't go, if he runs off with Crowley, both of them are going to be killed. And he hasn't got a plan. All he's got is a thread, a thought, and he's going to follow it to the end. This is not smart. This is actually pretty dumb.

This is just all he has.

One in a million chance, to get it right.

And for all he knows, he's doing it all alone.

I don't think he will, though. As hurt as Crowley was, and justly so, Crowley does always come back to do the right thing. Maybe they won't be talking, but they will be working together. Which makes the odds a great deal better in their favor.

Crowley is the key to Aziraphale being able to pull this off. Aziraphale knows it. Now all he has to do is gather the threads, bring them to Crowley, and together ... they can weave something together to stop the Second Coming.

That's the story, after all. Two beings from two different places who act different but at the core, are the same. Who do what's right, even when it costs them everything. Not two sides, one side. Their side.

We just don't know what that side is going to look like. It's gonna be different, I tell you that much. It has to be.

One in a million chance.

[longing-for-rain]

On sexual abuse, trauma, and recovery

I’ve wanted to post something like this for a long time, because of things people have said directly to me and other things I’ve seen. It strikes me how people who haven’t experienced this really don’t understand how it feels, both in the moment and in the aftermath.

The reason I finally decided to make this post is actually on a more positive note—I’m writing this just after I’ve had my first real date in years. My first real date I’ve had the courage to go on after escaping a sexually abusive situation I endured for nearly a year during the COVID pandemic. I’m writing this to say that even though what I’m talking about it going to sound bleak and disturbing, it doesn’t end there. We can still move on. I used to think I would rather die than be looked at sexually again. I didn’t even want to go out in public. But I’m sharing because no matter how bleak what I’m about to say sounds, I’m still here. We don’t have to stay trapped; we don’t have to stay silent.

I’ll put the rest below, and please, read at your own risk because I will be discussing heavy topics such as sexual abuse and the aftermath of that.

I’ve learned a lot over the past few years, but probably the most important thing I’ve learned is that the idea that recovery is quick and easy is a myth. The idea that it’s easy to get justice when you’re abused is a myth. Some people will probably get angry at me for saying this, but in all honesty, I wish I’d been warned. That’s the part I truly wasn’t prepared for—how isolated I would feel in the aftermath, and how the people and systems that promised to always support victims failed me. I’m tired of being told that it’s easy to simply report and move on. It’s never that simple.

The first time it happened, I was naïve and drunk and blamed myself. I just blocked it out. By the time it fully hit home that I’d been assaulted, it was too late. I had no evidence of the event and knew nothing would come of it if I reported it. So I didn’t. It was painful enough that it happened. I couldn’t handle also being accused of being a lying whore trying to ruin an “innocent” man’s life for no reason. That’s how women like me are treated when we try to say anything.

That was right before COVID. During COVID, I was mostly online and that’s how I got into fandom again. I found comfort there, especially after what I’d been through, but unfortunately I repeated the same mistake I’d made the first time—I was naïve, I was somewhere unfamiliar, and way too vulnerable. Someone took advantage of that.

I don’t really want to go into details, but I was sexually groomed and abused over the course of about a year. I didn’t realize it at first, because that’s the cruel thing about grooming. When it starts slowly, you don’t realize what’s happening to you until it’s too late. I spent hours a day at times on the phone with this person. What I thought was “advice” was really just her pushing me into places (sexually) that she knew I wasn’t comfortable with. To this day I still don’t know if it was because she was interested in my sexually or if she just liked the idea of “corrupting” a much younger woman into destroying herself just like she had.

But at the time, I was blind to it. I thought it was just a toxic friendship. I felt hurt and traumatized but didn’t understand how to express why I was feeling the way I was. I didn’t yet recognize it as abuse, and even the slightest hint of that was crushed by my abuser and her friends. She knew the community better than me and how to manipulate it—how to make me look crazy for trying to come to terms with what happened. So ultimately, I simply blocked her, deleted every account I’d been associated with her on, and thought it would end there.

At the time it seemed like the best option. But later, I realized what I’d done. Those conversations were evidence, and I’d gotten rid of them all. So now I’m suffering the same fate I did the first time. I have no evidence. I have to deal with what happened, and I can’t prove it.

I did try to speak up, eventually, as many abused women do. I got a taste of why rape has a 2% conviction rate, why this is a crime that goes so often unpunished. People who barely knew the situation got involved, because they were friends of friends of the abuser. I was called things like “shit stirrer” and accused of “disrupting the community” for trying to say something. I lost friends I thought I could trust, either because they sided with my abuser or because they were too cowardly to say anything. And nobody has ever apologized for anything—not one. I’ll be honest. I seriously considered suicide multiple times and attempted once. The aftermath was even worse for me than the abuse in some ways. I was still living under the lie that as a victim, I’d have support and understanding from my community when in reality it was the opposite. Sometimes I feel like if it ever happened to me again, I would actually end my life. I don’t know if I could go through this whole process again.

So yes, that’s why it’s isolating. That’s why it’s so painful; why “just report it” is bullshit. If you haven’t been through something like this, don’t even pretend to understand. You will lose friends. You will be isolated and ostracized from communities you thought could support you. You will watch people repost essays about supporting victims on their social media turn around and blame you for your own abuse. You will watch people use sexual harassment and abuse in ship wars about fictional characters and then participate in your real life abuse. People will make fun of your sexual abuse. People will tell you your sexual abuse is hot. People will tell you that they understand, then side with your abuser anyway, after you’ve already opened up to them.

That’s the reality. Why is it this way? I don’t know. I think a lot of it is deeply ingrained misogyny, which is why I think it’s so so important to recognize and call out the misogyny intertwined in our culture and communities. It’s what creates the environment that allows this to happen and isolated victims from each other.

This is rambling, I know, but I’m getting frustrated by some of these anons spouting off about something they clearly know nothing about. Stop treating it like some easy thing that just goes away and that people actually care about sexual trauma and victims. They don’t.

[thotsforvillainrights]

I know you don’t like writing for muscular but I am a really muscular fan and nobody writes anything for him, I’m tired of reading the same stories

If you don’t mind asking, can I get Muscular with a S/O that think he’s cheating or he thinks think the S/O is cheating?

(I may not like him, but I live to serve the small community of Muscular simps. So I'm grateful for the ask!)

~Muscular accuses S/O of Cheating~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up|drabble

-He may be pretty rough but you never really had to worry about that as much as the others would assume you did. He's always had a thing for teasing you when you two got together. It's only later down the line that he starts to realize he doesn't know his own strength. You pretty much taught him little by little to be more careful with not just you but with other people, other beings and things around him. Since then you've noticed a change in him from the way he playfully punches your arm to the way he closes the car door. He hasn't exactly given up on his tough or violent nature but he's certainly more aware of himself when it comes to you.

-Another thing is his anger. He's not very quick to anger but rather annoy I would think. He can't really dish out what he gives so all day he might get on your nerves but when you do it too much, he finds himself groaning in annoyance and trying to distance himself for a bit so he doesn't fuss at you. He's still him through and through but again, as previously mentioned, he's more aware of himself.

-The biggest issue in the relationship would be how jealous he can get with the people around you. He knows it's foolish but in the back of his mind, he thinks everyone is out to get you and he hates the idea of that. How dare the worker at the drive-thru put extra sauce in your bag. How fucking dare the mailman lingers for a few minutes over just to chat it up with you. Who does he think he is??? The coworker that texts you outside of office hours about non work related things. Muscular doesn't even real like any of the other league members spending too much time around you when he thinks about it...especially not Dabi.

-You're kind and patient with him when you see fit. You reassure him he has nothing to worry about. You love him and (depending on the reader) you'll show him in many different ways~ Still, he always finds himself struggling with his damn jealously. it all seems to boil over when you are caught in the back room with Shigaraki chatting quietly about something. Secrets? Holding secrets from him with his own leader nonetheless??? Oh he's pissed so you know you'll hear about this when you get home. For a while he's been suspecting something on the foul involving you and Shigaraki. The two of you have been chatting it up more lately and he didn't like it one bit. It's not like you ever shared anything in common with each other to begin with! This all seemed to come out of nowhere. He didn't even waste time to bring up the shared texts. He knows it's been you chatting it up with him late at night.

-He's failed to see what you were doing. Completely failed to see you'd begged Tomura for help to surprise him for your anniversary. Tomura didn't want to get involved in anything romantic like that, but agreed finally to help you. You were trying to cook up a plan to have Shigaraki distract Muscular long enough for you to set up decorations and wrap his gifts. Muscular had gotten the wrong idea completely.

-He always controlled his anger around you as best he could and even now when he was having a meltdown he still managed to grip at his fists tightly and not let them fly into the wall like he wanted to. just because he made sure not to physically scare you doesn't mean he didn't have any effect on you verbally. When he noticed your tears was when he finally came back to reality. Had he...had he said something so horrible that he didn't even realize it?

-Yes...he did.

-Guilt wasn't something he felt had any control over him but surprisingly he learned it did. This was especially true when he felt his chest swell with guilt as you sobbed/explained the situation to him. He yelled at you. He said terrible things to you and scared you when all you were trying to do was something nice for him. You even showed him the texts between you and Shigaraki as proof of your plans/actions. That guilt was eating him alive right on the spot and he STILL couldn't find the words to apologize. He hated sleeping on the couch that night. He hated even worse hearing your silently sob yourself to sleep in the next room. He would've forced his way into the locked room had he not decided to let you recover to yourself. He deserved to feel like shit. The next morning he was up bright and early (very rare for him). The first thing he did was show his humility and apologized (also very rare for him). The next thing he did was spent the next few days trying to patch things up just in time for your anniversary.

-It's odd just how crazy love can make even the most hard formed men. He swore he'd try to get that jealousy in line because the idea of losing you hurt him more than anything else he could ever think of.

[shoutascoffeepot]

Chapter four: Dawn of Judgment.

The Art of Deception: The Deadly Dance - Series

Pairing: Aizawa Shouta x Female Original Character

Themes: Mafia, psychological, gore, age gap, cultural differences.

!!!Trigger Warnings!!!: Age gap, sexual visualizations of a minor (she's almost 18), swearing, gun usage, deep talk, kidapping, controlling, smoking, drugs, graphic depictions of gore, blood, torture, dead dove do not eat.

Notes: I'm sorry I keep disappearing, I'm busy IRL even though I am almost done writing chapter 10. There are more posted chapters on my ao3 account, the series name is the same if you'd like to search it up there.

Warning: Names, places and events that happen are all fictional. Any overlapping on real life people, places or events is purely coincidental.

Also, this chapter contains unfiltered criminal and psychological behavior, please be mindful whilst reading the trigger warning list and expect the worse before proceeding. Read at your own discretion. Your mental health matters <3

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Lilith

  My hand was shaking, a roll of goosebumps ravishing my entire body and a rush of cold washed over me. Impulse was both my strength and weakness. When I would be over what particular thing I’ve done, this ice cold settles in and I’m not sure I was the fondest of it. 

  Eraser dragged us all out and per my request, he made sure Chisaki was with us yet in a different car. Eraser hasn’t said a word to me, but I read him well. Fuck I read him too well. Eraserhead may want to appear to be the most unreadable, disheartening, boss. I saw resolve, doubt, he kept quiet to think the silence was loud enough. 

  Eraser was in fact, speechless. 

  I scoffed with half a smile on my face, then my headache hit again. Did he take my vape? It has been a long time since I smoked. I preferred not to. 

  His eyes bored into my soul. My eyes met with his tired ones, he pulled yet another fat cigarette and lit it up, a puff of smoke left his lips as it glowed, glancing away out the window. Contemplating. This air around him was like electricity to me. And the memory of this morning flooded my head. Him breathing over my face, a breath rich of tobacco and coffee mixed in with his earthy spicy cologne. 

  I leaned to tower over his side. “Sumanai.”  I spoke before picking his cig and taking a hit, too heavy. It went right to my head, the ache washed away with dizziness. I shouldn’t have taken such a big breath. 

  And the car went over a speed bump. 

  I rumbled and lost balance. Yet Eraser was quick to catch his cig from my hand and press me plush against him with his free hand. 

“So much for a big girl’s puff.” His deep voice called and I dare not look at him. I can already feel the bass of his voice in my core. I could hear him take another breath and smell it as he exhaled. My hands on his chest, I pushed myself up but he grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled. 

  I gasped, looking at him with my cleavage and neck exposed. 

“Sorry for ruining the deal, don. And sorry for ruining this dress.”  I blurted, I could feel his eyes restraining from looking down at me and clinging onto my eyes. 

“Sorry for staining your suit too.” I brought my fingers to my mouth, teeth latched on the lacy fabric and pulled my black glove off. It was my right hand. Nails painted red and fingertips stained red too. He bit his lower lip and loosened his grip. 

“Black suits you.” 

“I know it does.” I responded to his comment and leaned back to my seat, closing my eyes. “My job is done. You have to let me go.” I announced, unwilling of it. 

“You’re not planning to have me dead?” 

“My job was to keep you alive during the deal.”

“How did you–?” 

“I have my ways. Now just like how fast you took my things. You shall return them.” 

“Who are you–?” 

“It’s not important now.” We reached his place and I got off, gazing over my shoulder as he followed. “I can be whatever you want me to. I am Lilith, your savior.” I smirked and he let out a chuckle. 

  Deep, vibrating chuckle. 

  I almost felt it in my core. 

  Fuck. 

  My chest.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked and I looked at him, zoning back in. 

“Nothing. Why?” 

“You dropped your smile for a second there.” 

  I grinned. “It was fun while it lasted.” 

“Even though there was nothing to–” We both spoke.  

“Last.” I breathed. 

“Last?” He questioned

What the fuck is this tension? 

“Jinx.” The muscle in his cheek flexed as he said that. I enjoyed how he looked doing that. 

“The girl.” Clearing my throat, I started. “Who’s taking care of her? I’m not legal yet.” 

“You’re not?” He seemed surprised. 

“October.” I chimed as we strolled inside. My gloved hand holding both my one heel that I was wearing and the other glove as I walked barefoot. 

“I see. An innocent girl shouldn’t live under danger.” 

“Right. Your mansion is both safe and dangerous. And I don’t suppose I’m quite the right person to take care of her.” I mentioned right when we reached my wing and the men were already inside, packing for me. When did he order them?  I went inside and gestured Shouta to follow as I went to the closet

  I picked out a bra and a pair of panties, both in fushia, alongside black cargo pants and a full sleeved black top. 

“I will have you an SUV to drive you home.” He mentioned. 

  Humming in agreement, I rolled the idea of having a kid around. I suppose it wouldn’t be too bad. I might force myself to fix my sleep. It would be.. More of an antidote. 

“Do you think keeping her with me is safe?” My eyes trailed to his face. He had the lightest of flushes with the clothes in my arm, he looked tired, eyebags growing. 

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate. 

“Even when I disagree with Chisaki, I wouldn’t be too sure one of his men won’t free him and kidnap her.” He added. 

“Speaking of.. Let me go pay him a visit, no?” I put down my clothes on the marble counter in the bathroom and came back out, putting my glove back on and leaving the heel behind. 

“Let’s drain some answers out.” I could feel the curtain draping over me again. The urge to kill. The urge to see all the pride flush away from their faces with the knock of death. 

  He led me to a spacious basement. It was undecorated. The ceiling was cement with white light bulbs hanging fairly lower than the average. The walls and floors were glazed cobblestone. Smart. Cement wouldn’t be easy to clean. The only thing separating the staircase corridor from the big room was bars. 

  Hell.

  I could hear the echoes of Eraser’s dress shoes when we walked. The room had random chairs, chains and a plastic table atop all tools used near the right wall. Unlike everything else, the tools –once I drew the knife out of its pocket– were so shiny I could see my reflection in them. I plucked one of the hairs from my own head and tried slicing it in half. The edge of the blade glided smoothly on the follicle. 

  Another set of feet walked into the basement and wails of pain alongside screeches of Chisaki’s shoes as he was forced by two men. I watched them as they chained him onto the chair. His left eye socket was empty and my heel was still in his thigh. 

“Go ahead and kill me already.” He grumbled. 

“Not until I get my answers.” I flipped the knife in my hand, gripping the handle then bringing the blade to my palm, gliding it open until crimson bloomed. I could hear the fighting and gruntles of the other men that worked for Chisaki as Eraser’s agents chained them up too. 

“Lilith–” Eraser called to my injury but I paid no attention. 

“Sh..” I put down the knife and brought my bloody finger to my lips. “You will watch, better enjoy the show.” 

  I went to the first man, recognizing him as the one who defied me. “Say, I know the people in the room know the information I need. Where is your so-called product stored?”

  My voice was soft, dreamy even as I sucked on my teeth, observing the man before me. He glanced behind me, at Chisaki. I held his face with one hand and jerked it back to meet my eyes. “You’re at my mercy.” I leaned in, inch away.  “Do not forget that and answer.” 

He quivered as I leaned away. 

“DON’T YOU DARE–” 

“I WILL GIVE EACH OF YOU SLOW PAINFUL DEATHS. DECAPITATE YOU THEN SHIP YOUR HEADS TO YOUR FAMILIES BEFORE HUNTING AND KILLING EACH ONE OF YOUR BLOODLINE.” I screamed, cutting off Chisaki’s attempt. 

“You better start talking.” I turned back to the man, beaming.

“N-No.. Please-” 

I sighed and turned back to Sho– Eraser. Eraser. “Can we get a torch lighter? I want to heat up the tools.” 

  He crooked up a brow. “Yes.” He leaned back and his man beside him went stumbling up the stairs and briefly came back as I scanned the pliers. I handed him the knife from before. “Make it red.” 

  I grabbed the plier and grabbed the guy's hand, he struggled of course but I managed to get it between my thick thighs and pulled on the nail with the tool. His guttural scream echoed through the walls of the room as blood oozed from the raw nail bed. 

“If you get a deep wound I will scorch you. So you stay alive for days, weeks, watching as I butcher you and your comrades.” I threatened.

“Look at your former leader, one silly move and he lost an eye and a functional femoral artery. He’s only awake because my pretty little SHOE is stopping him from bleeding out.” I loomed before pulling on his hair and forcing him to stumble forward, two meters away from Chisaki and forced to stare at him, sniffling like a goddamn child. 

  I waited patiently, by the sound of how his sobs got deeper I knew he’s guilty because he’s gonna fess up. 

“Sorry boss…” 

  Bingo.

“There’s a bar near the starbucks that’s by some famous spa center in Sapporo district–” 

“AHO DA-” Chisaki screamed. 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.” I let go of the guy and went up to Chisaki. Grabbing his finger with the pliers I twisted the bone of his knuckle off and stuffed it into his throat. 

“Keep going. I’ll make sure your body reaches your family.” I stood over the guy again. 

“You need to have a password to be let into the secret passage… Only Chisaki knows it.”

“Anything else I should know of?” I clicked my tongue. 

“It connects all of the cities and towns together, very convenient for traveling and hiding.” He sighed. 

“Good boy.” I patted his head. “You’ll die an honorable death, I give you my blessing to go to hell.” 

I moved away and eyes met with Shinsou who was taken aback. Where did Sho– Eraser go? 

“Get a bullet in this man’s head.” I cleared my throat and Shinsou went ahead and put the gun to the side of his head. With the gunshot the brains splattered onto the others faces. I went ahead and took the red knife from the man who’s been heating it up. Then proceeded to brand Chisakis' knuckle so he’d stop losing blood. 

“Get him a doctor for his thigh.” I mumbled before leaving the cell and heading upstairs. Where the fuck did he go? Whatever, it was none of my business now. 

  I went back to my room and turned on the shower, red footprints left of my trail on the creme tiles. Stripping down and letting the almost scorching water engulf me in warmth.  

  That unpredictable piece of work. Who the fuck kidnaps a random off the floors of the club? My chest ached; did he often do that? Kidnap, mesmerize his subject then use them before killing for fun? My visit to Japan didn’t revolve around him, in fact I was going to abandon that idea since it was undoable. 

  Yet the idea of leaving didn’t fail to make my chest feel hollow. This crazy obsession over one man had to come to an end. Stalking him for two years is enough, I’ve come to Japan, that’s as close as I can be. He’s way older and seemed like the drugs, one-fuck and go type. I hated that, so disappointing. I knew he was like that in his early years but the image of him leaving those behind as he turned thirty was a theory I managed to convince myself only. 

  That’s what I get. For fabricating a version of him that never existed. 

  When I got out of the shower I clipped on the bra, slipped into the panties, got dressed in the cargo pants and pulled my top over my head. I feel dumb, so dumb. All of these stupid men are the same, wanting a hole to fuck. It’s not like I’m the easiest to love anyways, my arms and legs were full of scars, they like to think they’re shawarmas. 

  I dried my hair and it immediately fluffed up. Then I wore my favorite pair of trekking boots.  I already miss the shower. Is that going to be the only place I feel warm? My eyes burned. 

  Why am I such a sensitive bitch?

  Leaving the bathroom, one of the Aizawa’s men stood there. “Your car is ready, Ojo-Sama.” 

“Arigato gozaimasu.” I left and made my way through to the gate, looking around, this little piece of heaven will go to some other woman, or man, whatever it is. 

  It is what it is. 

  I then locked eyes with Aizawa and he pulled me into his office, pinned me to the wall and locked the door. He seemed distraught. And I was caught off guard, my heart pounding as I observed his suave features. 

“Your name..” He panted, his face was so close. Moreso the reason I lightly rolled my eyes. 

“My name, what about it?” I closed my eyes, perhaps I can relish this moment a little. I can feel his breath on my cheek.. The heat of it gathered in my chest, and other places. 

“Noor. The light of death or dawn of judgem–” 

“Don’t.” I glared at him and pushed him away. The blood in my veins went cold. 

“I was never paid to kill anyone, I was paid to get answers. The fuckers just die because they make themselves suffer too much. And this stupid thing–” Tears rolled out my eyes, it feels like everything I’ve worked to do had come with no avail. 

“Me coming here. Protecting your fucking ass, was not a job. No one told me to do shit. I wasn’t even gonna do it because it seemed impossible to intrude. You kidnapped me and made it possible. You being alive right now is a mere fucking coincidence and I wish it hadn’t happened!” I yelled at him as he stood unfazed yet gulping this shit down. 

“Only for you to be so-” I gestured with my hands. “Charming.” I gritted. 

“Fuck. You.” I unlocked the door and left, sniffling. 

Shouta. 

  What?

  I still didn’t process one thing she uttered at me. Does that mean she knew me beforehand? Was she stalking me? How did she even know of me when barely the Japanese know of me? Also.. I was charming? That surely did bring a smile to curve at my lips but why does it upset her?

  Running my hands through my hair, I slumped onto my desk chair and called for Shinsou. The odds of this whole ordeal were slimmer than the chance of finding a needle in a mountain of hay. My attraction to her was merely infatuation and shall pass by. I ordered him to install cameras in Noor’s apartment as I skimmed through the file of information I made my men gather that rested on my table. 

  Her apartment wasn’t even under her name, it was under someone called Yin. How fucking clever. Not registering it under a family member’s name. I had access to cameras that are tiny, they don’t glow red, like a speck of dust. They should run unnoticeable. I saw the next document, it was her application for university under her real name. A copy of her IELTS, seven and a half? Impressive. 

  There was a copy of her passport. Fuck, she looked put together and… Beautiful. Looking right through the camera wasn’t she? With that sly smirk. She was Arabic after all, not european. My instincts were once again proven right. 

  Shit, I shouldn’t be wasting time running a background check. Nor installing cameras. Fuck it, I’m installing them to insure safety of the child, I do not involve myself with dangerous people who threaten my reign or make me feel inferior. Yet that scene from today replays at the back of my head, over, and over, and over. 

  Pulling nail beds out, ripping fingers off, burning the wound so Chisaki doesn’t bleed out, she knew her ways and wasn’t even legal. I couldn’t help but wonder what would push such a young person– An innocent looking girl. Into that shit. She didn’t need the money, her financial status was stable, above average even. She’s smart, and got into a prestigious university with flying colors. 

  Noor seemed to… Enjoy it… In a way.

  Even I always had someone else to do the torture, I couldn’t stand the whining. My game was at tracking people down and making illegal money. Not torturing per say… 

  What am I even thinking about? I need sleep. Yes. 

  It’s been a long day. 

  Long, eventful, day. 

  Once I reached my room, I slipped out of my clothes and let my hair free, plopping into the bed in nothing but boxers and wrapping myself in the crisp blanket. 

  Closing my eyes. 

  Turning. 

  Rolling over. 

  Stay still.

  Focus on breathing. 

  In…

  Out…

  In…

  The image of Noor’s curious eyes and glossed lips flashed in my head again. The way she took my cig, got lightheaded and how her breasts felt against me. How she flashed those pretty doll eyes at me. How she smelled when I pinned her to the door, her eyes closed and chest heaving with anxiousness, curiosity and desire. So unpredictable yet so fucking entertaining and..

  Sweet, oh so sweet.