#keeping this out of the x reader tags

[dancingdonatello]

hi next fic ideas for ao3 … your vote will probs have no impact but i am curious to what’s more popular

if anyone… wants more details… i’m such a yapper hehehe e (<—- psycho)

[luckycharms1701]

Oh, please, I must know now… Donnie during mating season??? :D I’m loving ur writings about this :)

alright you thirsty purple fans, it’s time!

sidenote: i am. so glad. that people are enjoying these. they’re a lot of fun to write!

double sidenote: i have added a link to my masterpost to all my bayverse mating season headcanons! you can also find them here

sooooo donnie. he's a freak in the sheets, you cannot change my mind. so especially strong spicy warning for this one 🌶️

Donnie is extremely matter of fact about mating season. The first time he brings it up with you, he’s more nervous about your answer than he is shy about explaining what it entails. (You couldn’t hear the words, but you did hear him muttering to himself before he came up to ask you. You suspect it was a pep talk.) He is very thorough when explaining mating season in general and how it affects him in particular. You are grateful and also a little turned on by the time he’s done.

Before you were in the picture, Donnie used to work himself until his system overloaded and he passed out during this time. Now he finds himself working a lot less, because he has you to focus on. He appreciates that you make him spend more time on leisure and don’t let him overwork himself. He also appreciates that you do let him work at least a little when the desire hits. Getting to cuddle with you is a surefire way to get him to rest when he needs it though. As long as you’re nearby, he’s happy to do whatever.

Donnie is a talker in general, but it gets ramped up to 100 when it’s his season. Unless his mouth is busy doing… other things… it’s basically a 24/7 stream of consciousness fest. Mostly it’s about you. How much he loves you, what in particular he loves about you, how exactly he wants to make love to you. His morning star, his starlight, his celestial beauty. Sometimes, though, he’ll interrupt himself to talk about something that just occurred to him about one of his projects. It never fails to pull a laugh out of you and make him rub the back of his neck in (adorable) embarrassment.

He enjoys physical affection and often seeks it out from you, and this holds true during his season. He won’t whine or get grumpy if you don’t want to be touching him all the time (*cough* like his brothers will *cough*), but he does prefer if you’re in contact with him somehow. He enjoys watching movies with your head on his lap and your hand in his. He especially likes it when you're on top of him.

Donnie is used to just taking care of himself whenever necessary, AND he is used to handling delicate things during his season. So there is a lot of gentle manhandling when the time comes. You can't do anything particularly engaging because he will come up and interrupt you whenever to have sex. IF you are wearing clothes at all (not often), you cannot wear underwear or pants, at most a skirt. That way he can just lift it up and enter you whenever the urge hits. He is especially fond of doing this when you're sitting on his lap while he's working (... "daddy's little cockwarmer").

Having you around does not mean that all of his toys go unused, oh no. He is very considerate, and would rather resort to them when you're getting rest. (He got your permission to stare at you while you slept and he used his toys. So considerate.) He also came up with some new toys that the two of you can use together. Having toys custom designed for your pleasure? Well. It really adds to the experience of mating season.

He likes to take his time and study you. He is always coming to you with a new experience he wants to try. He does get a lot of pleasure out of trying new things, but he mostly just wants to know how you'll react. He is intimately familiar with your body and how it reacts, and he wants to see if those reactions hold true when different stimuli are applied. His prodigious brain is always working. He particularly likes when something catches you off guard and a surprised gasp comes out of your mouth.

Donnie is not overtly possessive, even in his season. But there is always one hickey very carefully placed somewhere noticeable that you can't cover easily. He knows just how much force to use to leave an imprint of his hands without hurting you more than you enjoy. And if he catches someone looking at you? You will probably be walking a little funny the next day. When he ties you up (he enjoys tying you up. a lot.), he'll take a minute to sit back and observe you, pleasuring himself to thoughts of how you belong to him the same way he belongs to you.

When his season is over, his favorite thing to do is cuddle with you while the both of you sleep it off. He won't leave the bed, not even to work, until he deems you fully rested. (He will work in bed while you sleep on his plastron though.) His second favorite thing to do is bathe you. He takes his time to make sure every inch of you is clean and cared for. It's a lot like going to a spa, because Donnie did a lot of research into spas so that he could replicate that experience for you. And if you give him a little pampering in return? You'll get to hear him chirp and churr in complete satisfaction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

head bonks: @yorshie @avery73 @justalotoffanfiction @thejudiciousneurotic

[ohbo-ohno]

blatantly inspired by tlou but currently thinking about a zombie apocalypse au where reader is lost and alone, no one to help her and no clue where to go, and she stumbles into this random trap in the forest, ends up in a pit in the ground. she just sits down there feeling sorry for herself cause she thinks there’s no way she’ll ever survive now that she’s trapped with no way out :(

and then here comes ghost, checking to see what set off one of his traps and he sees a pretty little thing, teary and dirt-covered. she’s clearly helpless without him, and he might be a little heartless but he’s not just gonna leave her down there to starve. so he helps her out and takes her back to his base <3

[lovesickeros]

☆ decadence divine [ act I ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, neuvillette, furina {☆} notes yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings yandere content, stalking (implied), kidnapping (implied) {☆} word count 2.3k

ARLECCHINO

Arlecchino was wont to leave social gatherings to her subordinates– the private meetings were where she thrived. It was so much easier to lure your prey into a trap when you didn't have prying eyes and ears waiting for the barest hint of blackmail.

She clicked her tongue in distaste, her eyes narrowing beneath the mask of the fox as she set down her cup sharply. It was difficult as it was to draw them from the safety of their bubble– at the slightest hint of danger, her quarry would run. A chase would be fun, but she couldn't risk getting caught here. The political nightmare it would cause..it already gave her a headache. She had to be discreet.

They weren't making it easy, however.

Which is why she never liked crowds. But this chance didn't come by every day. She wasn't going to simply let it pass by because of a little danger. She'd have them eventually, it was just a matter of how. There were already numerous of her own lingering in the crowds, hidden beneath the masks that every patron bore. It was difficult to stand out amongst the flurry of masked patrons constantly shifting around the room, moving from one conversation to another, gliding from one dance partner to another.

Her heeled boots clicked sharply against the tile as she stalked through the crowds, keeping a wide berth yet always lingering nearby– she was sure they could feel the vague sense of being watched, but with the huge crowds..her lips quirked into a grin with the barest flash of teeth. There were a great many ways to break them in– she'd spent a great amount of time and mora to get anything she could for blackmail, if she so wished. She had the backing of the Fatui as well if she played her cards right– it wouldn't be difficult to convince them that they were a valuable target, and none of them would dare to question just what she did with them afterwards.

Perhaps a bit of play, first. Test the waters. She was familiar with playing the polite gentleman, despite her status as a Fatui Harbinger. Stage something for her to intervene, perhaps, to look the hero. The look of shock when she revealed the wolf beneath the wool..she could see it already. That wide, doe-eyed look as they realized the monster they've followed blindly like a lost lamb..she was beginning to see the appeal.

All it took was a few hushed words and subtle signals before the tiles started to fall in place, her hand gliding along their lower back as she leaned over their shoulder with a thin, predatory smile. She'd have to organize for the agent to be released later, her eyes following as the Gardes dragged him out of the room in a flurry of curses, but for now..she tilted her head to peer down at them, polite and almost apologetic.

"You aren't too startled, are you? Now now, there's no need to look so..scared, poor thing. I won't let another lay a hand on you," She cooed in a sickly sweet tone, the husky rasp of her voice whispered in their ear like dripping honey. "You have my word. Now, why don't we get you some fresh air? Come. Allow me to escort you."

Her lips pulled into a jagged grin at the relief in their eyes– the blind lamb following the shepherd as it led them into it's maw. Just a little longer, and she could finally have her own caged bird– a pretty thing to admire, to protect, to possess.

Something no one else would ever touch again. Something hers.

NEUVILLETTE

Neuvillette was not one for parties. The intricacies and delicate handling of public relations he oft left in the capable hands of Furina, rather then himself. It was only at her behest he even attended at all, but he still felt rather..out of place amongst the bodies constantly shifting through the ballroom like a constant rush of water from one end to the other, no rhyme nor reason to the flow. The only thing that kept him afloat among the tides was the mask of the deer obscuring his face– even if it was exceedingly difficult to truly hide himself among the crowds, most passed over him without second thought.

Though he had to be honest with himself, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it to Furina despite her insistence that his attendance was mandatory. He had his own reasons for coming– selfishness that left a sour taste in his mouth. It was purely by chance he'd seen the briefest glimpse of them prior, and he..was intrigued, that was all.

He refused to let his thoughts linger on the sleepless nights he spent prying every piece of information he could from loose tongues and obscure documents, every moment he managed to squeeze in between trials spent lingering in their most favored locations– cafes, stores, restaurants, the like.

Now a masquerade.

He tried not to let the guilt gnaw at his conscious, but it lingered like an age old scar that still ached.

So he relegated himself to simply residing in the further corner, nursing a goblet of water like a fine wine, trying not to let his eyes stray to the brief glimpses of them through the ever moving bodies filling the center of the room, dancing like puppets in music boxes.

Still, his hand twitched in an instinctual desire– a need to clasp his hand in their own, to touch his lips upon their knuckles, to indulge in a moment of reprieve and unshackle himself from the mantle that bears heavy upon his shoulders. He seeks reverence, worship, but not of himself– but towards the one who had drawn the eye of the dragon amongst the waves of humans he'd seen come and go for a great many years.

No one could compare, he is certain. None have left him as breathless, as hopelessly infatuated, as the one who made him wish only to kneel at their feet in senseless reverence until he could no longer speak. A hopeless man, indeed, if he has never even truly met them.

Instead he's spent his time prying into their life from the shadows. Caution, or simple cowardice?

He dares not ponder.

Yet in his ceaseless pondering he'd blocked out the world without, failing to notice the figure stepping up beside him until their hand brushed against his elbow– just the briefest touch, but it had his pupils narrowing and his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. That touch..bliss. It left him breathless and lightheaded as he tilted his head to regard them, his lips parting in a shaky sigh. They are as beautiful as he remembers– even with their face obscured beneath the mask, he would never forget them.

"Greetings, Monsieur– I hope I didn't frighten you too much." Their laugh made him feel rather faint, just the sound of their voice making his hand tighten around his cane. "..Not at all. I was simply lost in thought." He admitted apologetically, trying to reign in the urge to cup their face between his palms. A dangerous thought. He didn't want to scare them off when they'd provided him a priceless opportunity.

"My apologies, you must have needed something. It was rude of me to have been so absorbed in my thoughts to have ignored you." He continued, gently turning to set his goblet down– offer them his full attention, be a gentleman. The words rang in his skull like a ceaseless alarm, blaring and rattling his thoughts as he gently took their hand in his own. It was a split second decision– an indulgence, but he could simply not help himself. Even with his gloves between them, he felt like he was going to lose his composure just from such a brief touch..

He truly was a hopeless man before an altar, praying for a salvation he intends to bury deep beneath the waves– to keep it hidden in the darkness of the depths that only he can reach. A selfish man, he must be, to even think of it, but it is an itch that he cannot scratch. A need that must be satisfied. He cannot allow any hands but his own to tend to them, to know what it feels to touch them, to hear their voice and see their eyes as he prays– prays like a man starved, devotion born of desperation.

"I hope I did not make you wait too long." He smiles, soft and affectionate, like the bloom of spring beneath the winters chill– yet just as deadly, only masked by the sweet fragrance of flowers.

He had waited too long.

No longer.

FURINA

Furina was right at home amongst the crowds– where the masks obscured the identities of most, it was impossible to not recognize the charming banter of the Hydro Archon beneath the mask of the lamb as she graced the masquerade with her presence, speaking with a silver tongue to any who would listen. A truly enthralled audience fitting for the grandest of performers in Fontaine.

But her eyes lingered not on the people who's praise dripped from their lips like honey– yet so very bitter upon her tongue. Even the mask obscuring her expression did little to hide the longing that had her visibly deflating like a popped balloon. She hated all the eyes on her, really– it was suffocating. She was only putting on a show in the foolish hope that they'd finally pay attention to her. Just her luck, she supposes, that instead she's had to throw herself straight into the role of Archon without a pay off..

They hadn't even spared her a glance! It would be infuriating if not for the fact she couldn't even keep her composure just seeing them across the room. They didn't even have to look at her and she could feel the heat rush to her ears as she forced another smile at the crowd gathered around her. It was unfair how easily they could fluster her without even knowing it– her heart was thumping so hard against her ribcage she felt like it might burst.

Her only solace was the fact none of the patrons seemed to realize she'd clocked out of the conversation, her thoughts and eyes lingering on the distant figure– what a lovestruck fool she makes..it was a chance encounter she'd seen them during one of her outings. That was all it took to enthrall her, evidentially, try as she might to have ignore it for months.

They never left her mind for longer then a day, in the end, and she had to face the fact they had managed to enrapture her so deeply she felt like a newborn lamb learning to walk whenever she so much as thought of them. What an embarrassment! She..she was the Archon, she had a reputation to maintain, she couldn't be seen fawning over a human.

But oh, she still longed for it, beneath the veneer of a God. She'd watched them more times then she'd admit even to herself, wishing to find herself in place of those who'd hands were cradled so casually in their own– to hear their voice, their laughter, as often as she pleased..like a fine delicacy she so badly wished to taste, yet so far from her reach.

Would they think her pathetic for her infatuation? She pursed her lips at the thought, trying to bury the sour mood beneath her faux image of the Archon. Yet it lingered, and with only the quietest of excuses, she slipped into the crowd like a ghost– she needed to leave before she did something..stupid. Neuvillette would surely have a few choice words with her if she did, and she was inclined to avoid such a fate.

She..she just needed a moment to collect herself was all. That was it. She could go back to playing Archon for a little longer, she just needed a moment to herself. At the very least, the balcony had been regarded as off limits so late into the party– which gave her an opportunity to slip out of the public view for the briefest of moments. A welcome reprieve– she was starting to feel suffocated amongst the crowds.

Perhaps on instinct, she reached for the mask, lifting ever so slightly away..only to let out a startled yelp at the touch of a hand on her shoulder, the mask slipping back into place far too easily. It made her lightheaded, even now, but she dared not to dwell on it.

But when she turned sharply on her heel to chew out the person who'd followed her and had the gall to scare her..oh, she was done for, her ears flush with heat. The brief glimpse of their eyes beneath the mask, the curl of their lips as they smiled– her heart stuttered in her chest, and she was certain it had stopped all together when they clasped her hand.

"Y–you.." She wanted to be angry, to brush them off and leave with her rationality in tact, but the warmth of their hands on her skin rendered her speechless. She was no better then a fish on land, struggling to fill her lungs with air as she drew in a shaky breath. "Ahem, you caught me off guard. That's all. Surely you do not make it a habit to sneak up on people?" She huffed in indignation, trying to mask the fluster that threatened to break through her carefully crafted facade.

Ah, what a cruel twist of fate..she'd slipped away to escape their allure, but here they were, dragging her back into their orbit without even knowing how deep her infatuation ran. They were alone, too..it was a chance she wasn't sure she'd ever get again.

Maybe, just this once, she could do something for herself rather then everyone else.

She buried her guilt, the fear– buried it beneath the need to be seen.

"But if you want to make it up to me.."

[caroldantops]

indentation in the shape of you || valcarol

ship: valkyrie x carol danvers

summary/request: carol shows valkyrie her new suit. valkyrie doesn't like it.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: smut (18+ only), kinda pwp, the marvels spoilers, strap on use, jealous sex, daddy valkyrie, dom!val, sub!carol

a/n: if you're seeing this coming from a ship tag hello! i usually write reader insert so if you go to my blog looking for more of this ummm. sorry.

masterlist | ao3 link

“I’m glad that they seem to be adjusting well. Fury tells me that they’re working on restoring Tarnax’s atmosphere, so hopefully they won’t have to stay in New Asgard for too much longer,” Carol tightens her fists at her side, tension in her body clear as she stands in front of Valkyrie’s desk. 

“Oh, no worries. Having them is no bother at all. Though I’m sure they’re eager to get off Earth,” Valkyrie hums as she swirls her dagger.

Carol insisted on coming down after fixing Hala’s sun to check on things, something that didn’t surprise Valkyrie in the slightest. What did surprise her was her sudden costume change. Her suit was different. Less saturated, emblem bigger on her chest. Valkyrie didn’t like it. It didn’t feel like the Captain Marvel image that she’d grown used to. 

Plus, this one’s torn in places. Cheaply made. Not fitting for a hero who flies into suns. 

Carol is rambling on about something to do with one of the Skrull families as Valkyrie analyzes this new suit. It does hug her hips nicely. Form fitting around the waist that she’s grabbed and pulled against her many times before. 

“What’s with the new get-up?” 

“What?” Carol’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt. 

“This,” Valkyrie points her dagger at Carol. “Different suit.” 

Carol looks down at her suit. Valkyrie holds back a chuckle at how she almost looks surprised by what she’s wearing. “Oh! I got a new one.”

“Clearly,” Valkyrie laughs. “Come closer, I wanna see it.” 

Carol scrunches up her brows in confusion at Valkyrie’s sudden interest, but chalks it up to that warrior mentality. That woman loves some good battle armor. She walks around the desk to stand in front of Valkyrie, awkwardly holding still as she inspects the suit, running her hands over the material and poking a finger through one of the tears that ripped during the fight with Dar-Benn. 

“Seems cheap, doesn’t it?” Valkyrie sneers. “My armory could make you something ten times as sturdy. Where’d you get this shit suit from?” 

“It’s not shit,” Carol huffs. Valkyrie raises an eyebrow at her and pulls her finger down, making the rip bigger. “Hey!” 

“Why aren’t you answering me, hm?” Valkyrie knows damn well where this suit came from, she could tell from the moment she touched it. She just wants Carol to say it. 

“Aladna. Prince Yan--”

“Oh, a gift from your husband.” 

Before Carol knows it, she’s being tugged flush against Valkyrie. From her standing position, she towers over her even more than she usually does, but she gulps because she knows who’s in control here. 

Valkyrie knows that Prince Yan is no more than a friend to Carol, but both of them know just how much the idea of Carol being technically married makes Valkyrie’s jealousy blaze. 

Especially when she comes around with the gifts he’s given her. 

“Val--” 

“You know, I’m surprised it looks so dull, given that Aladna’s traditional clothing has more colors than a pride parade.” Valkyrie grips Carol’s waist, fingers digging into her sides. It would hurt if Carol didn’t have super endurance. But it’s enough to make the message clear. 

“It’s fine, I’ll probably go back to my old one anyway.” Carol refuses to make eye contact with her. She can’t let her know how much this is affecting her right now. 

But gods. 

It took Carol a long time to find someone who could make her feel this way. Someone who could make her feel safe rather than terrified of giving in to their control, their dominance. 

It just came so naturally to Valkyrie. Carol supposes that’s why she can’t stay away, comes running back when her thoughts get too much for her to bear and she just needs them shut off. 

Like now. 

“Don’t look away from me,” Valkyrie says firmly. Carol bites her lip and meets her gaze again. “Good girl. Bend over the desk.” 

Carol briefly considers asking why, but at the moment she can’t bring herself to fight Valkyrie’s little game. She moves some stuff out of the way and bends over the desk. She does her best to steady her breathing as she feels Valkyrie’s hands run up the back of her thighs. 

“You’d think that Prince Yan would give his princess a sturdier suit. You know, I bet I could just…” 

Riiiiiiiip.

 “Valkyrie!” 

Valkyrie laughs, giving Carol’s ass a slap as she admires what she’s done. Just as Valkyrie suspected, she was able to poke into one of the tears and fully rip a hole right through the crotch of Carol’s suit. Her cunt is exposed, the pale skin of her ass peeking through the top of the tears as well. Valkyrie steps forward, hips flush against Carol’s ass. 

“Feel that, princess?” Carol groans. “Use your words.” 

“Yes, sir.” Carol gasps as Valkyrie grinds the bulge of her strap into her exposed ass. She tries hiding her face to conceal how flustered she is, but Valkyrie won’t tolerate that. She’s tugged up by her hair, Valkyrie’s lips brushing against her cheek as she speaks lowly to her. 

“Does your husband ever do this for you?” Valkyrie doesn’t expect a response, just chuckling at Carol’s whines. “Does he know what a needy girl you are?” 

“No, sir.” Valkyrie unbuckles her belt, pulling out her strap and nudging the tip between Carol’s already damp folds. Carol shudders, pushing her hips back against the sensation. 

“Greedy, greedy thing. Already trying to fuck yourself on my cock.” Valkyrie stands up straighter, but doesn’t release her grip on Carol’s hair, knowing the stinging in her scalp makes Carol as compliant as can be. “You’re getting spoiled, princess. Gonna have to ask nicely for what you want.” 

“Please,” Carol asks softly, voice pitched high as Valkyrie rubs her clit with her strap. “Please, sir. Please fuck me.” 

“Hmm,” Valkyrie releases Carol’s hair and runs her hand down her back, feeling the strong muscles of her back quiver under her touch. “Dunno, that’s not very convincing if you ask me.” 

“Please, daddy, I need you to fuck me!” 

Valkyrie laughs and sinks her cock into Carol’s weeping pussy. Carol lets out a guttural moan, only overshadowed by the wet noises her cunt makes as Valkyrie pounds deep into her. She grips Carol’s hips, pulling her back against her to meet her rough thrusts. 

She loves having Carol like this. The all-powerful Captain Marvel, destroyer of armies and savior of the universe begging for her tight pussy to be ruined by her, shivering under her praise and degradation, weeping in her arms after she’s been thoroughly fucked. 

Carol must have been particularly pent up today, because it doesn’t take much longer for her to be on the edge, a few strokes of Valkyrie’s fingers over her clit and some whispered praises of “Good princess, let go for me. I’ve got you” send her into a shaking mess as she comes. 

She mumbles something incoherent as Valkyrie flips her over, pulling her up to curl against her chest. “What was that, baby? Can’t hear you when you’re mumbling.” 

“Thank you,” Carol sighs. 

Valkyrie smiles softly, kissing Carol on the tip of her nose and rubbing her back. “You that tired after one round?” 

“Not tired, just…tired.” 

“Ah, yeah. That really cleared things up.” 

“Shut up.” 

[utterlyazriel]

azriel with a mate who’s messy enough they always manage to have something scruffy with their clothing— a collar untucked, a tag poking out, a belt twisted around at the back.

azriel always adores how they never seem to notice. he adores even more the chance to get closer to his love, always silently and politely tucking in tags or smoothing out wrinkles without being asked to — loving how his mate jumps in surprise at his touch but it soothes away into affection in half a moment when they realise who it is <3

[poisned]

Doodles I drew of my fanfic that'll never see the light of day, probably. I've been rotating this in my mind and spewing word vomit onto my document for too long now I had to do something to get it out.

I love Lucifer to the moon and back, but holy hell do I want to see him STRUGGLE.

Morningstar!Reader my beloved

[kangaracha]

CATSKIN for @feelbokkie

prompt felix + twisted fairytale (catskin)

TW for blood, minor character death, mentions of sexual assault, medieval type violence

word count 4444

---

I.

When first you meet, it is like two stars colliding - like the sun and the moon dancing around each other in the sky, and love at first sight is a dream for foolish, insipid children and you know that to be true, but...

Maybe in this moment, you forget. Maybe you see his face, warm against the cold ice of the cape that falls over his shoulder, or maybe you watch the soft curve of his mouth as he laughs at something his brother says, standing so subtly apart from the crowd that no one notices they are there. Maybe your eyes meet across the room, sun-warmed brown to striking blue, and time stills and the dance stops and your heart thinks that here and now, nothing else could matter but the taste of his name on your tongue and knowing what his hand would feel like in yours.

But this isn't real. The ballroom is crowded, and he is a familiar face you have never met, and you are a stranger with the moon draped over your shoulders for the night. The band strikes up a dance, a lively rhythm that swings fast and slow, and you are swept into the rush of the current, your feet moving in a pattern that they know from heart. Your hands are still stained with coal; you take every suitor's hand palm-down, hiding the black stains that won't quite scrub from already-dark skin, and you waltz without meaning until pale, slender fingers take yours and hold them tight, tugging you from the dance before you can be passed on to the next partner in line.

"Wha-" you begin, and then you look up into the eyes you've dreamed of for days and months and years and forget what you were going to say at all.

"Sorry," he says, and drops your hand with all the haste you'd expect someone like him to once he looked close enough to see the lie shivering beneath your skin. "I just wanted to know your name, before I lost you in the crowd."

Love at first sight is a story mothers tell to put their children to sleep at night, and you have lost all your senses because in that moment, your mouth opens as if to answer him.

"There you are," a voice says behind you, too sweet to be any you know; and an arm loops through yours, and here is Hyunjin suddenly, jewels dripping from his brow and a fire burning in the back of his eye where only you know what it is for. "It's so like you to wander off. Come on; our friends are looking for us."

"Before you go-" says the mouth you'd seen laughing from across the hall, the prince it belongs to reaching out a hand - but you are already gone sliding away through the crowd that fills his ballroom from wall to wall with more dazzling finery than you've ever seen in your life.

"That was close," Hyunjin breathes in your ear, and there is the voice that you recognise, liquid fire and undertones of dark shadow. "You're supposed to avoid him, you know."

"I know," you mutter and allow yourself to be swept away, all thoughts of love and the sun and the electric feeling that had jumped from his hand to yours swept to the side.

II.

The king likes the ballroom to be full and the people to be colourful, and he likes the crowd to be lively.

The wine flows freely for the last day of the summer, the lords and ladies stripped of their cautious humours and careful tongues. Their laughter is raucous as you slip out into the garden, the sun pulled over your shoulders in lengths of fine silk that cut away the cold wind that bites at your exposed skin. Already, the trees have begun to turn and the grass is wet with the season's rain; you stand in the centre of an autumn scene and watch the leaves flutter and fall, the light of the lanterns glittering from your skirts and the swirl of beading across your breast, woven from the finest gold.

"It's you," says the man beneath the tree; and when he steps out into the light, dressed again in pure white, you forget to pretend that you hadn't seen him, or that you'd simply come out here to breathe in air that wasn't stifled by the laughs of a thousand other people. "I was looking for you, you know."

"Were you?" you ask with the curve of a smile, your tongue loosened by the quiet of the cooling night and the seclusion of the garden. "Or could you just not find someone to dance with?"

You'd seen him earlier, standing at the edge of that floor. Gently turning away the hands of countless maidens in gowns that dripped in jewels under the guise of speaking to his brothers, searching the crowd with his eyes at every moment he thought that eyes weren't watching him. The guilty smile that plays on his face says that he knows exactly what you are thinking of; the step that he takes within your reach says that he isn't going to hide it. "Maybe I was waiting for the right person," he says, and then his cheeks turn pink in embarrassment, his eyes sliding momentarily away from yours.

"You'll waste your entire night if you think like that," you tell him lightly, and then you glance over your shoulder at the doors to the ballroom - to give him a moment to himself, you tell yourself, and pretend that it wasn't because you thought you felt the creep of Hyunjin's watchful gaze over the back of your neck. There is no one at the door though, no one watching through the backs that are turned to the glass. Only he can see you here, the sun standing in the middle of the night's darkness.

"I never got to ask your name the last time I saw you," he says; and with a start that jolts up your spine like electricity, you turn back to him. 

"I never got to ask yours either," you say, in lieu of the answer that you cannot give him. Never mind the danger of him recognising you too closely after this night - if he mentioned to Hyunjin the name of a girl he'd met in the garden, if Hyunjin knew what you were doing between the tasks you'd been given...

"Everyone knows mine," he scoffs; not because he thinks so highly of himself, but in the reluctant acceptance of someone who had never known a moment of privacy. "You can't have come to the woodlands knowing so little."

"And what if I didn't?" you question, playing along on this string of a conversation rather than letting him turn it back around to the question he'd really tried to ask. "What if I'd simply come here to enjoy the night, and seen a man across the room that I thought I'd like to know?"

His smile grows wider, his eyes softening. You like the way that smile looks on him. "Then I'd tell you my name is Felix," he tells you. "And I'd probably ask you to dance before we met like this, out here in the garden where no one is looking. And it probably wouldn't be such a scandal if we were seen either."

"That doesn't sound like as much fun though," you say. "Isn't it much more interesting to meet like this, than to have it all planned out?"

"Are you someone that likes trouble?" he asks, head tilted to the side in question; and the words seem cautious, probing, but he draws in closer again anyway, enough that his hand can brush yours in the folds of your dress.

"Maybe I am," you tease, your heart fluttering and jumping around in your chest like a nervous rabbit. "Aren't you?"

"I think I could be," he says, and his hand brushing your chin is followed by his lips brushing yours; and it is only a question, a stepping across boundaries that promises to rescind immediately if you push him away, but love at first sight is a dream and you think maybe, in another life, you might have been a terribly indulgent dreamer.

You kiss him with all the certainty that had driven you to this point, this garden and this night and this man, and his lips are soft and he smiles too much, and his hands are hesitant to wander, but you've already tried hot, heady passion and men who take what they want. Soft is new, and questioning sends a shiver down your spine, and you think this is a better man. 

And then you stop because you remember, but you play it off as the toll of the bell startling you from a daydream. "I have to go," you say, which is true, and then, "I hope you find someone to dance with tonight," which is not.

"Will I see you again?" he asks; and it's notable, you think, that he doesn't reach out of try to stop you. That he accepts on face value that you are telling the truth and that, even though his eyes say they want you to stay, his mouth would be rude to ask.

"Maybe," you say, the word drawn out like honey dripping long and slow from your tongue. "If you have another ball."

He laughs, his eyes squeezing closed with the pain of it. When they open again, you make sure you are gone from his sight.

You're pretty sure you dropped something like your heart there in the courtyard, but you don't dare to go and get it back. Not yet.

III.

You're cutting through fine hallways of tapestry and stone from the garden, your basket filled with vegetables and your face streaked in dirt. You aren't supposed to be here - a scullery maid shhould be in the dark spaces between the walls, scurrying up and down steep and spiralling stairs, but you're late and the cook is a stone-faced woman with a tongue made for lashing, and you hadn't thought-

The prince stops to look at you, confusion furrowing in his brow as he stares at your face. Recognition; except that today you are hiding under the brown of the dirt and the mantle of wild fur, cobbled together from the backs of many animals but none so fine as te ermine that lines his coat. 

Your heart sinks even as it pounds in alarm at the thought of him finding out what you are and where you've come from. It is a disaster if it happens, surely, but at the same time - maybe you'd tricked yourself into thinking that he remembered you the same way you did him. Or maybe he had tricked you, with the way he'd so quietly given you his name in the garden, the earnesty with which he'd nearly asked you to stay.

"Your highness?" Hyunjin asks at his shoulder, dressed all in his own princely regalia, and Felix turns away. And for a moment you hate Hyunjin, as you slip to the side of the hall where your feet should be, out of the way; because how could he be so beautiful, and so detached and so true to his beliefs that he could play the prince, and you are so suited to fur and treachery that you stand here a maid?

"Sorry," Felix says, to Hyunjin and not to you, and pretends to move on. You can see his eyes flick back again as he leaves though, trying one last time to see past the furs and the dirt, to place where he has seen you before.

You can see Hyunjin's too, piercing when they look directly at you. Warning, that you are overcomplicating things. That this is all about to be a mess, and you are no longer prepared for it. 

Your ire rises again. You know what has to happen, and what he will do to facilitate it, and you know your own roll. You know it all has to end. Who is he, to think you can't carry through on a promise? Who is he to doubt you?

IV.

The final coat is made of feathers plucked from the birds of the sea cliffs, tawny brown and ochre and cream. Hidden in the tunnels of the castle, Hyunjin tucks a sprig of samphire into the curl of your hair, picked from the edge of the world before you had left and wrapped carefully in paper made for preserving these kinds of things. A piece of home, brushing up against your ear every time you turn; a signal to those that you have let in the back door that you are a friend, in case you are caught in the havoc.

"What happened to your hands?" he asks as he steps back to look at you, his own lifting your wrists so that he can see the black marks on your fingers.

"There was grease on the gate lock, to stop it sticking," you reply. "It doesn't wash off like blood does."

He drops your hands just as fast as he'd picked them up, his eyes scanning the feathers again. As if it was this coat that you'd worn when you'd taken a knife to the man at the gate, as if he would find evidence of the blood on your hands smeared across the vanes if he only turns you this way and that. Silly of him, really - the edge of the fur coat was the one that bared the stains. The fur was made for the work of the hands. The feathers were only sent as a signal, a draw of the eyes, dropping in the path of your feet as you walk towards the ballroom.

"Stay away from the prince," Hyunjin warns you, his attention turning in the direction of his own path to the party. "He's looking for a particular girl that he saw last time. He'll have eyes everywhere."

"Not on the ground though," you answer, shaking out the coat and watching a feather of mottled brown drift to the floor. You ignore the way that your stomach dips at the mention of a girl. You neglect to mention that the girl he's looking for might be you, and the rouge brushed across your cheeks and the glitter of gold on your eyelids will only draw his eyes. 

You should have worn the dirt and hidden in the shadows, but that's not how they had prophesised it. The witches had whispered of a feather coat and a dress made of the sun and a moonlight shawl, and you'd been the one foolish enough to wear them, and no one in those rooms had been able to resist the magic of them, least of all the prince.

"Time to go," Hyunjin says as the bell tolls seven, and with one last look between you, you turn your seperate ways. 

You don't know where his heart resides, but you know that yours is in your throat. You hope that he survives the night. You hope that whatever he came here for is worth what it is going to cost.

V.

At the moment the ballroom bursts open, the black soldiers streaming in from every entrance, you are looking at the prince.

You hadn't meant to. You had taken Hyunjin's advice, as much as it grated at you to do it, and you had avoided him, skirting around the edges of the room while he searched in all the wrong places for you, dropping your feathers where the feathers wanted to fall and hiding in crowds of garish colour that sniffed and sneered at your coat of soft brown; but even though you don't wear the sun or the moon, you still orbit around him and him around you when you are in this room, and to stay away from him was-

Impossible, in the moment when you turn and there he is, right on your tail like the hunters following the birds to their nests in the cliffs, willing to jump from the rocks just to collect the eggs that might hide below. Except that he wasn't here to steal from you, or to catch you in his hands and tame you - he only thinks that you are beautiful, or that he could love you if only you gave him a chance.

And then the feathers ruffle and shift in the breeze, and the doors open, and the room fills with the men of the sea, axes and knives glinting in their hands and white teeth snarling within their faces.

Eerie silence falls as the room stutters to a halt, the shiny, red-faced aristocrats turning to stare at the army that have entered their sanctuary. The first one falls by the main entrance, his wine arcing through the air as he tumbles to the ground under the sharp blade of an axe; and then they scream, and they move in every direction, and in the maelstrom of silk and chiffon and eyes of horror you lose sight of the prince.

Slipping across the room is like fighting upstream against a raging river, ducking between bodies and around blades that don't have time to see the samphire behind your ear. You fade away into the one hallway you hadn't marked with a feather, disappearing into the black of the walls and the twisting tunnel down to the kitchens where just moments ago maids had scurried out to deliver the feast, and your heart breaks at the red-suited body that tumbles in on your heels, the eyes of a man in armour of beaten iron that take in your feathers and your face and turn away, back to the bloodbath, but you can't go back. You can't save him. 

And then a gutteral cry echoes down the tunnel, and a body blocks the light that flickers from its entrance, and there he is, your prince. His eyes are scared and his mouth open as he gasps for breath, the little knife he'd used on your countryman held in a white-knuckle grip in front of him as if he thinks he might need it again at any time. Blood splatters the front of his snow-white coat, tarnishing the pearls and sinking into every fibre of the cotton and wool that holds it together.

"It's you," he gasps between breaths, the words reverberating from the stone walls. "I found you."

"You-" you begin to say, but the words are lost in the storm of thoughts that cloud your mind, the race of scenarios that you can imagine coming from this unfateful meeting, this turn in the story that was never anticipated. Every step has been told to you up until now - the coats, and the feathers, and the rush of men into the ballroom that leads to the fall of a kingdom - but no one said a word about this. About him, the prince, the hands that now cup your heart to their chest, and the knives at his back as he stands there, just one step shallow of safety.

You think too much about what has happened and what could happen next, but you don't think at all when you reach out and grab him, dragging him down the tunnel and into the darkness, where only sporadic lanterns burn to guide the way. Around this corner and then that, down a staircase so steep that countless girls have broken their necks tripping on its uneven stones, into the warmth and light of the kitchen, where the smell of the pig roasting over the fire fills the air and the stack of pots waiting for you to wash them later in the night teeters towards the ceiling, stacked in one corner by several pairs of careless hands.

No one is here. They'd timed it deliberately for the arrival of the feast, when the attendants of the ball would all reconvene from the corners of the palace to the ballroom to fill their already ample stomachs. Incidentally, this meant that the kitchen staff were all in attendance too, arranging dishes under the watchful eye of the cook, which meant that when you tried to hide a prince in the kitchen-

"Wait," he says, dragging back against your hold on his arm. "Wait, I know a way out of the castle. I can take you where it's-"

"No," you cut across him before he can finish, and you tug at him again, dragging him step by step towards the maid's quarters. "They're in the hidden tunnels too. There's no way out."

He's so surprised that he forgets to resist you, his body going slack with his jaw and his feet following you across the room. "How do you know that?" he asks.

You don't dare to look back at him as you enter the room you share with the other girls, as you open the little chest-of-drawers that holds everything you brought with you (but not everything you own) and you pull out the clothes you wear day-to-day - grey trousers and a cream shirt slowly staining brown, and the coat of a thousand furs, its edges stained with fresh blood. "Put these on," you order him, shoving them into his arms without looking him in the eye, and then you turn your back.

"I wouldn't punish you for pretending to be from the court," he says to your back as he changes, the white jacket thrown to the dusty floor and then his shirt and breeches. "Or for knowing whatever you know. You saved my life." His boots are too nice to be a servant's, but yours won't fit him; you reach for Alice's old pair while he is busy, set neatly at the foot of her bed, and hand them to him when he is done, picking up the clothes he has discarded instead.

You saved my life too, you should say of the man he had killed, to keep up the illusion, but the lie seems wan in the face of the truth you are going to have to admit to him by the end of the night. You stalk past him instead, headed to the fire with the truth and the lies still sitting sour on your tongue.

The shirt and pants burn easily, the leather of the boots slow to sink between the logs that fuel the flame. You hesitate a moment before throwing the coat in after them, eyeing its precious pearls and hand-woven patterns of leaves and swirls. A silver brooch pinned to the lapel catches your eye; your thumb runs over it, feeling the careful details its maker has pressed together and the chips of diamond that embed its surface.

"That was my mother's," Felix says behind you, a certain grief hidden in the stiffness of his voice. "But you can burn it if you have to."

"I don't have to," you reply, and you work it free of the fabric with delicate and practised fingers. The coat feeds the flame; the brooch pins onto your dress, just above your heart.

 "Pretend to be a servant," you say as you turn to look at him. Your hands reach out to fix his coat, to smear the soot from the fireplace into his golden curls and down his cheeks. "I can't keep you alive if you're a prince, but if you're just a boy from the kitchens-"

His hands catch yours as they slip from his face, the ash that clings to your skin staining his as he grips them tight. "Who are you?" he questions. "What have you done?"

Tight-lipped, ashen-faced, you look up into his eyes - pale blue to forest brown, liar to honest truth. "I'm the feathercoat," you say, as if he will understand the words of a fable that people only whisper over the sea cliffs and the raging storms of the ocean. "I'm the one that brings the woodlands to their knees. I'm-"

Your voice chokes in your throat, your fingers growing numb from the force of his grip on your hands. There's a knife still tucked into his waistband - there's a knife behind him, stuck by its tip into the surface of the cutting board. You only have your feathers, and the excuses that stack up in the back of your throat; that the witches told us it would be so, or your land is the only gift my father will accept in place of a marriage to that man, or haven't you seen the way your father encroaches on our cliffs? Haven't you seen the way your farms destroy our hills and valleys and pollute our river? But those are all reasons that blame someone else, and you are the one that stands here, and the grease from the gate stains your fingers, not theirs-

"I loved you," he says, and he lets go of you like he has been burned. "I saw you across the room, and I thought no one could be so beautiful, and you can't even tell me the truth when-"

A shout echoes down the hall you'd escaped from, the rattle of armour and the thunder of heavy boots against the floor. "Wait," you say to him, a hand suspended in the air between you. You're afraid to touch him, when he could reach for that knife - when he deserves to see your blood run, for what you have done - but you can't let him run to his death all the same. "Wait until we live, and then I'll tell you, and then you can kill me. But wait. Take my hand and wait."

He hesitates, his eyes wary like he doesn't believe you, but the man on the stairs shouts again, calling for someone to follow him, and the fear shoots right into his heart and his hand slides into yours, his pulse fast but his fingers cold. 

"I don't want to kill you," he says, like a promise you can't believe he will keep. "Just keep me alive, and when the sun comes up, tell me everything. Please. I don't have any reason to kill you if everyone here is already dead."

"I will," you reply, and this is a promise that will be kept, whether or not he reaches for the knife when the light of the dawn comes. "I love you too, you know. I didn't mean to hurt you."

And yet, you have. And yet, the guilt and the feathers eat you alive.

---

PERMANANT TAGLIST

@amyyscorner @kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @keepswingin @rylea08 @puppysmileseungmin @thatonedemigodfromseoul

[floptopus]

Best public statement Lando Norris could make rn:

[grumpy-detective]

please, not to kinkshame or whatever the term would be, but if you are gonna post rpf fics, DO NOT post it in the main tags of the creator/person

[brunette-bitch77]

JJK x reader: lack of representation

i don’t post on this acct (i just scroll & read fics) but I’m sick and tired: WHERE are the transfem reader fanfics?? where are the MTF reader x (character) stories??

Its like every time I wanna read a fic with my fictional men (toji fushiguro, gojo, nanami, tengen uzui) I ALWAYS have to read the words “pussy” “cunt” etc. when I know damn well I’m pre-op and FAR from getting any operation done. but I can’t read gender neutral fics bc of how girly I am & how I want my pronouns used, and I obviously can’t read male BC IM TRYING TO BE A GIRL, and it ends up being a wild goose chase that just leads me back to cis female fics.

like I don't squirt due to being biologically unable to, but I also don't have a flat chest bc im a trans woman, so I'm stuck in gender neutral limbo!! and god knows how WONDERFUL that is for my gender dysphoria!!!!

like do transfem readers just not use tumblr?? do they all go on AO3?? I dont wanna force people to write fanfics about MTF readers if they’re not comfortable with it/dont know anything about what MTF people go through, BUT I JUST WANNA CUDDLE W TOJI WHILE NOT PRETENDING IM CISGENDER!!

if any writers wanna write about mtf readers w their big, handsome boyfriends, you would literally be the most amazing people ever!! and if anyone knows any fics like that then please point me in their direction 😘😘 (please DM me any fics please 😭 I cant keep going around & requesting random pages)

I could write essays about how frustrating it is for transfem JJK fanfic lovers. sorry if I came off aggressive--I'm just sick of this, and I need to get the word out there:

TRANSFEM READERS DESERVE REPRESENTATION!!! AND WHILE WE'RE AT IT, READERS OF ALL TYPES OF GENDER IDENTITIES & EXPRESSION DESERVE SOME LOVING TOO!! I need all my asexual, genderfluid, genderqueer bitches to stand up!!!!

(I'm literally this close 🤏 to either losing it or becoming a writer myself)

[becca-e-barnes]

Becca Sweetheart, I'm just thinking about Lee with a housewife kink but also with a breeding kink. Like the though of him coming home to you (perhaps you've made him a nice dinner after his long day at work?) and spending the evening showing you exactly how he's going to make you a mommy. I just think this man would go crazy to see you carrying his child.

🍑 Anon

My head hurts and the only cure is some filthy breeding from Lee 👀

Lord, I have to say, I love the thought of Lee wanting to start a family as soon as you both can, I feel like it suits him really well?

And I adore the thought of him coming home from work some evening, totally unable to hold back. He's seen you standing at the stove wearing a pretty little sundress he picked out for you, his dinner is ready and waiting but it's the last thing on his mind in that moment.

"Hi baby! How was your day?" God, you're so bright and chirpy, the most genuine smile on your face because you're just genuinely happy to have your husband home again. It makes his heart soar and his dick harden and it just reminds him how perfect you are.

"It was fine, sweetheart. Is it okay if we let dinner simmer for a bit?" He shrugs off his jacket and sets his keys on the counter, bypassing your lips in favour of sucking on your neck instead.

His mouth is hot and insistent because clearly, this has been on his mind all day. "Y-yeah, that's fine." Your voice is barely louder than a whisper when his teeth start nipping at your skin.

"You stop takin' those birth control pills like we talked about?" Fuck, of course you did. You haven't taken your birth control in about 2 weeks after a lengthy conversation that this would probably be the best time to start trying for a baby.

"Yeah, Lee. Haven't taken any in a while." You hear him groan against your skin at the confirmation, his hands squeezing your hips over your dress.

"Good. I'll maybe give you your little baby tonight. How does that sound, huh? You want me to make you a mommy?" Oh, that sounds far too thrilling and truthfully, it's all you really want.

"Please. Please give me a baby." He groans again, low and desperate. He's more than happy to. In fact, he needs nothing more.

It doesn't take him long to scoop you up and carry you to the bedroom, laying you down on the bed before layering his body on top of yours, kissing you with a passion he wasn't even aware he was capable of. Something in him needed this more than he realised. His sweet little wife was fertile and desperate for a baby. For his baby. And everything in him wanted to ensure he gave you one.

"You better take a good look in the mirror over the next few months, honey." He pulls back and takes his belt off, barely registering that you'd already begun working to undo the buttons of his shirt. After a second, both are discarded. "Won't be too long before you start showing."

You didn't expect to like this the way you do. It's almost indescribable because this isn't just some spur of the moment idea or some filthy little fantasy. It's the start of your family with the love of your life and somehow, that makes it even hotter.

"You think I'll look pretty like that? With my belly all round, carrying your baby?" Shit, he can't control himself when you say things like that. With very little fuss, he flips the skirt of your dress up, tugging your wet little panties to the side, sliding his dick into you with a groan.

"You'll look fuckin' gorgeous like that. Maybe I should keep you that way. Just fill you up with baby after baby. You'll never need those birth control pills again. I'll keep you waddlin' round the house with a baby in your tummy. Swear you even feel different. Now this little pussy's fertile, I swear you're wetter for me. How's a man even meant to pull out of that? You've got Heaven between your legs, sweetheart."

Neither of you last awfully long but you couldn't be expected to. After he's done feeding you dinner, he's got all damn night.

[cloudshapedpatch]

writing a cute Reth x Reader, will be publishing soon 👀

[cosmica-galaxy]

Kk the cartoon versions reacting to the babies that belong to their game versions and the player

Hank: Cartoon-Hank is nothing short of confused. He wonders HOW he managed to fuck a higher being AND produce a weird hybrid-looking offspring as well. He can't lie, though. Seeing a little baby in a kitten onesie was...really adorable. He probably looks at them a lot and admires them from a distance. Since his game-counterpart is VERY protective of the baby and does not let anyone else touch them. It doesn't stop him from sneaking around sometimes just to play or nuzzle the little one while the other Hank is off elsewhere. It's probably the only thing that cartoon-Hank has cared about in a long time. That is...if you don't count blenders. Deimos and Sanford: Sanford is stunned and confused in a familiar manner, but easily warms up to the idea of being a dad. He may be much more stern than his game-counterpart, but he's still a softie in some ways. Listening to the twins laughter is enough to make the heart in his chest flutter about. He's also rather surprised that he and his Deimos BOTH got into a relationship with the Player, and somehow managed to make twins that have different fathers. It's a curious thought that makes him blush whenever he delves into...certain aspects of it. Deimos on the other hand is elated and happy to play with the twins. You know that video of the baby being confused and getting passed between two identical twins, in which one of the twins is the dad? The Deimos duo tend to do that regularly and the poor offspring of Deimos is just confused. To which the game-Deimos just laughs at the poor baby. Neither of the Deimos duo smoke around the babies and each one makes sure there's someone to watch over the babies when the other needs a break. Both of the cartoon-versions aren't concerned about being parents. While it may have caught them off guard at first, both of them seem to be longing for something deeper and these little tots just seem to scratch that itch that's buried deep inside. You just gotta hope they don't get TOO attached or you may wind up with FOUR partners! Doc: Doc is both intrigued and flabbergasted. Cartoon-Doc was already just beginning to learn about the future, parallel worlds, and the Player's abilities. Now he has learn about the fact that the Player was able to produce hybrids with grunts?! AS WELL AS GIVE THEM GODLIKE ABILITIES!? He's a bit overwhelmed, especially when he realizes that it's HIS child.

How in the hell did he manage to smooth talk a god-like entity into having his offspring?? It takes a bit for Doc to steadily come down from enduring this sudden bombshell, but once he recovers, he finds himself playing with the little one from time to time. Poking their cheeks gently and messing with their little tuft of hair in a way that makes them squeak joyously. The thought of parenthood is enough to make Doc stay silent for a time, but the more he thinks about the Player and seeing what became of his future relationship with them...parenthood didn't seem all that intimidating anymore.

[captainofthedauntless]

Icicle Fingers

2012 Leonardo x Reader blurb

Info + Warnings: Set during Christmas. No gendered language, pronouns, or Y.N used for Reader.

Commentary: Wanted to explore a happy, playful, relaxed Leo. Set post S5 (not including the finale.)

Leo, in an attempt to be a gentleman, was waiting by the ladder when you slipped through the manhole above. Given the blinding daylight that announced your arrival, waiting there was the closest he could get to picking you up from your apartment and walking you to the Hamatos' home; it was his way of being polite.

It had nothing to do with the fact that he wanted a few moments alone before the festivities properly kicked off.

…Probably.

"Hey there," he called warmly, pushing off of the wall he'd been leaning on. He moved to the side of the ladder, subtly bracing himself to leap into action should you slip. "How was the walk?"

"Cold. Speaking of-" you reached the bottom, feet on solid ground, and Leo felt the tension drain from his shoulders- "why aren't you under a heater? I know the way to the lair by now, you know."

He chuckled, reaching out to take some of the gift bags you had hanging from your arm.

"Hey, hey-" you started nervously, shifting backward to dodge Leo's extended hands. "I know those are icicle fingers- don't you dare-"

Not his original plan, but since you brought it up… "Look out," he warned playfully, voice low, "gonna back yourself into a corner."

"You wish."

He darted forwards and grabbed for your waist; predictably, you leaped to his right, and he smoothly twisted on his heel and caught you before you could make a break for it.

You shrieked as he tugged you to his plastron, tucking his face into your neck and nuzzling in as you laughed over the rattling noise from the bags.

"Caught you."

"Yeah, yeah, very fancy- Leonardo!" His winter-chilled fingers slid up under your layers, pressing to your torso and making you squirm in his arms. "You frozen basta-"

"Language!" he reprimanded, grinning into your shoulder. "It's Christmas."

You twisted to catch his eye with an incredulous look. "Says the guy freezing me!"

"No vulgarity required for that, thank you."

"What happened to peace on Earth? Good will towards men?"

"My hands were cold," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your jaw. "And really, since you have the luxury of being warm-blooded, you're the one that should be considering goodwill."

"I'll show you goodwill," you grumbled. "You're getting two mittens- stuffed with coal."

"Now that's the spirit."

You wriggled again. This time he loosened his grip, standing up straight as you turned in his arms to face him.

Your playful glare didn't last long, replaced by a soft smile that made his heart swell as you reached up and twirled the tails of his mask between your fingers. "Hey."

"Hey," he leaned forwards again, dropping his eyes from yours to the fingers tangled in his mask resting on his shoulder. He brushed his lips against your fingertips. "You look amazing, by the way."

"So do you," you mumbled. "Are those new wrist wraps?"

"Yeah, actually. April gave us our gift early."

"They make you look even more handsome than usual."

He smiled bashfully, looking back up to meet your gaze. "Thank you."

You pressed your lips to his briefly before stepping back, sliding out of his arms. "C'mon, fearless," you wrapped an arm around one of his, "let's get going before someone thinks you got yourself kidnapped. Again."

[tachimichishrine]

Okay sooooo I’ve been reading your stuff for a couple of days now and IM OBSESSED I love the way you write tachi so if it’s okay, could I request an x reader where the reader is a weapon’s engineer? bonus points if she’s a chemical engineer by profession IF YOU WRITE THIS THANK YOU SO MUCHHHHH have a great day

<AKH TYSM??? giggling isn't a strong enough word i'm rolling on the floor blushing,,, sorry for the long build up and it had less tachi appearances than i intended agagagagagh I hope this is what you wanted, have a lovely day darling ♡>

"blown away"

⫭◦⨝◦⫬

tachihara michizou x fem! chem eng! reader

warnings: none :) just fluff n plot, slight cursing n intended lowercase

a searing sting, ringing in ears, ash fluttering all in the surroundings; the world has become a wasteland, and you were nestled warmly in the safety of a suit designed to handle the radiation from the outside. you watched the blocks of metal melt lopsidedly, a displeased tsk accompanying your scowl at the failure. they were not meant to come apart so easily.

"goddamn it!" you yanked the zipper that lined your chest, tearing it off until the oversized suit was open enough to slump off. with a fury that caused every man watching you to clear their throats, become incredibly interested in a speck on their shoes or take a step back out of fear, you pulled off the costume and threw it to the ground. you even spat on it, grumbling vexedly, "that should've worked."

the admiral looked at you with a raised brow, clearly not impressed by your childish reaction. you couldn't care less; this was your one chance of hitting it big. you were hired by the government to create a chemical similar to sleeping gas capable of only targeting the enemy, except they didn't quite want their enemies to take a nap. you had a logical solution, and worked on it with your team for months; today was the demonstration to show all the important men what their money had been funding.

yes, what you did was despicable. you created weapons of mass destruction, turned simple assortments of molecules and rearranged them in a way that could turn a solider inside-out. however, the scope was beyond you; you simply made the tools, and their use was not up to you. many of your colleagues knew about the kind of iron stomach needed to work in this field, and no one ever said a word. you had a cadaver which you mutilated during trials of reactions with the flesh, and not a single person looked each other in the eyes during the tests. yet you all knew that you were more powerful than those who wielded the codes, those who held the guns and those whose whispers into a phone could turn an entire city to rubble. all because you had the ability to create such horrifying devices.

this one had been working up until today's demonstration. it was a highly pressurized container that, when detonated, would slowly disperse in the air and corrode everything except the metal blocks you coated in the other substance that would negate its effects, cancel out the reaction and subsequently keep the bearers intact. however, something seemed to have happened and the bearers were very much not intact.

you were now stripped of the protective gear, walking in the toxic chemicals freely like it was a breath of fresh air. the colonels and officials gawked at you from behind their protective screen, to which you snapped out of your fury and chuckled, seeming almost embarrassed. you didn't know which ones were up to date on abilities, but you decided that it wasn't your job to explain to them that you have the gift of immunity to toxic substances. the suit was a decoration, more than anything, designed to be worn by the rest of your team who were sulking behind you at the disappointing results.

"[_____], knock it off," one of them placed a hand on your shoulder and tried to bring you back to reality. "we were monitoring the conditions, so we'll just have to take a look to see what caused the error."

you scowled, not wanting to admit that they were right. with a shrug to get rid of their hand, you excused yourself and walked over to the pressurized door that separated you from your clients. you threw it open, your clothes starting to fray at the exposure (quite slowly, given that your sweat was doing a pretty good job at protecting them from the chemicals), and stormed inside. the man who'd initially approached you for this job - a nameless colonel, a man whose face you could barely remember - was walking away, disappointed. you didn't like the feeling of failure, but this added insult to injury.

yet, you barely had a choice to follow him and explain that this was a one-off, that your process and methodology was sound and would be peer-reviewed if it wasn't highly politicized and you could publish your work. you left everyone behind as you walked the hallways of the facility to find him.

of course the place was a maze. every hallway looked identical, every door and every room the same and god forbid you put a map somewhere. soon enough, the layout had engulfed you whole and there was nothing you could do to stop it except continue walking and hope you would get out, never mind find the admiral.

you caught a glimpse of a strongly built man, tuffs of white sprouting out the back of his head and you called out to get his attention, given that the way he was walking made it appear that he knew where he was going. he turned around; it was a living legend.

a chance encounter led to you babbling like a fan girl about how incredible the fukuchi ochi was, and he seemed to be enjoying the praise because he walked you down to his office and offered you hard liquor at 2 in the afternoon. you told him that alcohol didn't affect you (your body treated it like a toxic substance and isolated it from your system), but he thought you were exaggerating and challenged you to a drink-off. your day was already ruined from what had just happened, and you figured that this kind of opportunity doesn't come around every day.

you told yourself that it didn't matter and pulled yourself a seat with a grin.

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turns out you were one lucky bastard.

even though you clearly beat him at his challenge, he seemed to take a liking to your spirit and heard you out when you explained your current situation. he must've made some calls or talked to some people, because your funding had not only not vanished the next day, but you were told it was tripling. you had a hard time convincing your coworkers that you didn't give the admiral one hell of a blowjob to make this happen.

you didn't dare venture through the facility and risk being locked out in an area where you didn't have clearance, so you just politely asked around for fukuchi's location in order to properly thank him.

it took a while, but you were told to head to some kind of training grounds at the back of the building. the place itself was mostly underground, given that most of the research happening was highly classified or highly controversial, so you were slightly surprised to find out people actually used the first floor. your clearance didn't let you get in, but you laundered around the door pretending to be on a phone call long enough for someone who did have clearance to open it and be careless enough to let you waltz in behind them.

once you reached what amounted to the backyard of the government facility, you saw fukuchi sitting down lazily, a hand waving around messily while he energetically said something at the two men who were doing alternating pull ups on a bar and a little girl who was doing one-handed push ups while smiling widely at him.

you stepped outside, a little uncertain of what you were intruding on given that it seemed like they were soldiers, but the entire group seemed to be painfully unorganized. despite this, you were set on thanking the old man for what he did, so you took another step.

a man was running towards you on the left, the sweat dripping down his arms and face signaling that he's been running for a long time, and you only heard his footsteps too late. he was zoned in and you were zoned out; your bodies collided and soon enough you were laying on the ground while he teetered on one foot and managed not to follow you downwards.

however, he looked pissed. "who the fuck are you?" he held his hand out, and a pistol levitated from who knows where to snap into his grasp, then pointed at your face.

an ability user. you put your hands up in a sign of innocence, reaching to your government id and pass to explain to him that you worked here and were just looking to talk to fukuchi in regards to your project. he didn't seem convinced.

"look," you sighed, slowly getting yourself up and dusting off the dirt from your clothes, "I didn't mean to run into you, so why don't you just let me walk on over there and talk to the guy?"

he glared at you as you did, and the other three soldiers (you presumed they were, even though you couldn't explain the little girl) noticed your presence and gave you about the same reaction as the redhead did. you regretted coming here, and told yourself that you would just thank fukuchi and get the hell out of here.

you waved at him cautiously, and began to thank him for getting you your funding.

he didn't know who the hell you were.

you knew he was drunk, but it was a logical assumption that he would at least remember your face vaguely, or would've made those calls while sober. apparently this wasn't logical, and right now you were ready to evaporate into the atmosphere and never return.

your brows were furrowed in confusion, and you stammered your way out while trying not to provoke the other people watching you. "I'm so sorry for disturbing you... ahem... hey, how's it going... I'm just gonna walk 'round ya ahah... uh... sorry..."

you ran out nervously before the redhead could point his gun at you again.

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"oh my god, it was awful," you blabbered to your colleagues, recounting the story in vivid detail while burying your face in your palms and bending your torso onto the table. you had a chalkboard up with your new data, and screens were displaying models and atomic structures, since you were three days after the disastrous demonstration and still couldn't figure out what went wrong. "he looked at me like he'd never seen me in his life."

"you sure you didn't just hallucinate the whole encounter?" someone snickered, and you threw your empty coffee cup at them.

"yeah, it happens to me all the time when I forget to sleep for a few days. trust me, it's a sign of greatness."

"oh, shut up," you chuckled, glad you were taking your mind off of things. you all collectively decided to pick up another project in the meantime to show that you were indeed real engineers and could actually do your jobs properly. it was some kind of rocket launching mechanism, and you couldn't do your part until the basic concepts were made so you were just lounging around with the rest of your team, making paper airplanes and throwing them around.

so, you were doing absolutely nothing when the same man from yesterday walked in through the door.

he was wearing a uniform, unlike previously when he was wearing some more breathable clothes for training. he wasn't sweaty and breathing heavily either; in fact, he seemed to clean up quite well. you barely registered his face last time given the circumstances, but it didn't take very long for your posture to fix up and for you to try and fluff your hair in a reflexive response to how nice he looked. the solider seemed to be evaluating the room, your coworkers and you, then cleared his throat.

"your id said you worked in the weapons manufacturing division," he stated as some kind of greeting. you shot looks to the people sitting next to you, who got the hint that this was the guy you were talking about from before. you smiled at him as to not seem like you were guilty of something.

"yeah, I'm [_____]," you restated, hesitating between getting up and offered him your hand or just staying where you were. the latter felt safer, and you just gave him a short introduction of your team and what you did. "once again, I didn't mean to barge in yesterday, it was a misunderstanding. sorry about that."

he shook his head, a little relieved once he confirmed that you weren't some kind of spy or something. you noticed that he was a little more mellowed out while in uniform, almost like he was just angry yesterday because of all the running he did. you stared a bit too long at his features and let him say something you barely registered, turning around to leave.

your body acted alone and you sprouted up to your feet to follow him. "wait, your clearance isn't going to work here, let me-"

the door unclicked on its own and he shot you a coy smirk before leaving.

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your leg bounced nervously as you sat down at an empty desk in an office that wasn't yours. weeks had passed, and the admiral was starting to value your team a bit more now that you had a few concept designs that proved valuable. for some reason, though, he called only you to come and meet him face to face.

that was nearly 30 minutes ago.

you didn't care much for punctuality, but people like him typically did so why on earth were you waiting so long? you couldn't leave, not when you had no idea what the meeting was about. so, you waited patiently and tried your very best not to explode out of your skin.

finally, a knock at the door that was ajar behind you. your head whipped around, and it wasn't the man you were expecting.

"commander fukuchi," you stated, shocked. "I thought my meeting was with..."

he laughed heartily as he took a seat, throwing himself onto the chair so vigorously you thought it would snap in half. "oh, don't mind him. I was told that since I left such a strong recommendation for you, I should hand-deliver this message."

you addressed the first part before the second. "you were told, sir? so you really don't recall us drinking together in your office?"

he laughed again, and you smelled the faint sweetness of alcohol on his tongue. figures. "another thing you shouldn't worry about, [_____]. I'm sure I meant what I said," he added with a nonchalant wave of his hand in the air.

trying not to let your 'don't meet your heroes' moment show too much, you mimicked his laugh and asked the second part of your question. "you mentioned hand-delivering a message?"

the message was actually an assignment: his military division called the hunting dogs were having trouble with their transportation pods. you thought this meant they had a car or something that was totaled, but no, it was an actual transportation pod. he led you out of the room to bring you up to some hangar where you saw the metal contraptions.

he did a really bad job at explaining how they worked, but the concept felt pretty self explanatory when you inspected it. fukuchi told you that some higher-ups are on his back to stop destroying these every mission, and he admitted with a chuckle and rub of the back of his neck that he and his subordinates don't take very well to having it malfunction.

you told him that you would take a look at it, and he burped as an affirmation and strolled out rather happy.

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the project lasted a few weeks.

it was a hinge and wiring problem, things anyone with half a brain could fix in less than a day, but something stupid happened on your first day walking into the hangar to take a look at it.

the man from before was there.

he didn't seem like he wanted to be here, but it was just him so you assumed he was here on some kind of assignment, just like you. you greeted him with the same smile at the previous time, and he didn't bother to return it. he explained that he was here to help you get this thing fixed.

"are you... an engineer?" you raised a brow, careful with your words given that you knew nothing about him except that he was part of the deadliest military division in the country.

his reaction was hard to decipher, a scoff accompanying it when he flicked his wrist upwards and the transportation pod floated up in the air. "no, that's why I'm here."

ferrokinesis. you'd be lying if you said the ease with which he controlled such a large mass wasn't impressive, but it wasn't your place to irritate him even more by talking. you nodded an apology then got back to assessing the device.

you asked him to flip it onto its side, and he did. after you asked, you paused, realizing you still didn't have a name to call him. tachihara, he told you. your lips curled up and you told him that it was nice to finally put a name to his face.

the next day, you tried to speak with him more as you took down measurements in order to create the model and reprint the defective parts. only, he didn't seem to want to talk to you about himself at all, and you hit a dead end.

you kept trying.

it was a mission within a mission, a side quest to this assignment if you will, but you were determined to get to know him. you considered every time you got him to mildly chuckle to be a huge victory, and every word he said was another point for you. you still spent every other day working with your team on the defective toxic gas device, but this project was hand-delivered to you by a man who didn't give you a deadline or a budget, so you considered it a freebie to do anything you want for as long as you wanted. you decided just to redesign the entre thing, and the bonus of spending time with tachihara made it even sweeter.

instead of flat out asking him on a date, you settled for hanging out in the huge hangar, just you and him for hours. he admitted once that it was a nice break from all the weirdos in the hunting dogs, and you just laughed and told him that you liked the little escape too. sometimes you got him to give you feedback about your designs since he would be using these pods, and other times you just tried to scooch your body as close as possible to him while he told you about his most interesting spy missions.

by the time you couldn't stretch out the project any further, you got him to bend the metal plaques into the final shapes you needed and decided that maybe you really should ask him out.

you didn't. you just dropped the final designs onto the desk of your boss and went home regretting your decision.

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you and your team finally got your device to work.

it was something about the concentration, about how you failed to account for the room pressure and how it would vary with the consumption of one substance into another, and you felt triumphant when, this time, you left your protective suit on and watched certain blocks of metal stay intact while others melted into nothingness. you walked over to the ones that were dissolving to run your fingers through it, what was once solid turning into butter as you raked your fingers through it. you gave your coworkers, who were watching from behind the screen this time, a thumbs up which they barely caught from the way they were jumping up and down and hugging each other from glee. the government officials seemed impressed, and it was hard not to burst from the feeling of pride at your success.

they greeted you once you traversed from one side to the other, telling you just how much this will serve the country and save millions. honestly, you knew that they couldn't care less about saving millions, and so did you; you were just happy your product worked.

you were even happier when you saw tachihara watching the entire thing from the corner, smirking at you with his arms crossed over his chest.

almost floating over to him, you asked him about a thousand questions about why he was here, how he knew that you'd be here, what he thought of the demonstration and if he'd want to go out on a date with you.

you had a whole lot of wins that day, but the one that had you smiling into your pillow that night was a three letter word.

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"sssh, shut up, we're gonna get caught!"

you giggled even as you sealed his mouth shut with the palm of your hand, bodies pressed up against each other as you hid inside a janitor's closet.

tachihara was showing you around the entire facility, since you kept asking him about how he had clearance to go anywhere and everywhere without needing a badge. the first date, you took him out, but ever since then he's been showing you spots around the facility that no one ever goes to, ranging from the inaccessible roof to a very sketchy basement spot in which he said privacy was needed before kissing you for hours on end.

this time, you were venturing around a spot where neither of you were allowed and you'd heard footsteps coming from around the corner. you pulled him with you into the closet and could barely contain all of your giggles. he whispered that you were doing this on purpose, and you just pressed a kiss to his forehead as a response.

"you know," you said softly while waiting for the footsteps to disappear, "I never asked how the pods went."

"oh, teruko and tecchou destroyed it anyways," he chuckled. "you were given an impossible task, we all knew it from the start."

"well, thanks for letting me know now," you giggled and your hands rested gently at his hips.

you never thought you'd fall in love for any of the heartless government pawns that worked in the building, but no one could build a weapon so powerful over your heart than him.