#so commit and stop being a coward

[4e7her]

someone please tell me why blue lock is consuming my entire brain.

i have made a short prologue for the fic. shinsei ayame is my new baby girl and i love him. he is my personal way of distributing justice against isagi for making niko cry and kuon for being an ass.

it's going to be slight yan / yan tendencies, probably just more obsessive love interests than considered normal but we can blame that on everyone being trapped in a football prison. i think it makes sense

anyways i'll probably post the prologue on friday? depending on how fast i finish writing the second chapter. i think it'll go pretty fast once i get into it i've already got notes on the first episode so

[awritersbro]

The ultimate sans-serif font:

Aa Bb Cc Dd le lf Gg Hh li Jj Kk ll Mm Nn Oo Pp Qq Rr Ss lt Uu Vv Ww Xx Yy Zz

Fontmakers have to either put the bars back on the capital i or admit that this is the only true sans-serif font that exists.

[neiptune]

a simple complication

cw: 1.6k wc, female reader, miscommunication my beloved, you have no idea how to confess your feelings to the one miya twin who doesn't remember what happened at suna's party

You’ve never once felt uncomfortable in a Miya household but, as you stand frozen by the doorstep, you realize that just might be about to change.

As you take a deep breath, relentless inner monologue giving its best shot at calming you down, Osamu suddenly swings the door open and you find yourself taking a wobbly step back, surprised. One garbage bag in hand, he looks equally startled.

“Hey”, he smiles after a moment, “what are ya doing?”.

You can barely look him in the eye, which only confuses him more.

“Nothing. I mean, I wanted to see you. Was hoping we could talk?”.

“Uh, sure. Come in, I’ll be right back”.

You quickly do as you’re told, take your shoes off by the door and gingerly shuffle to the couch before your brain decides you may in fact be too much of a coward to initiate the conversation at all.

The apartment seems empty, which indicates that Atsumu is either sleeping or simply not home. You try to remember how many drinks he had the previous evening, at Suna’s halloween party, but the entire night is still such a blur. Except from one specific detail that still makes heat crawl from your throat up to the roots of your hair.

God, how could you be so stupid? It’d be easy to blame it all on the stupid drinks Rintaro kept bringing you, liquid courage, a dumb wink sent your way as he casually suggested it was time you stopped being a pussy. No, it wasn’t entirely his fault, although you should’ve guessed nothing good would come out of a halloween party thrown in the middle of January.

You were in a pretty low effort costume, clown makeup, black dress. You’re all adults now, which made you think no one would actually commit to the bit as much as they did back in high school or during college, but were soon enough proved wrong as soon as you saw Aran and Rintaro respectively in a Daphne and Velma costume. They looked ridiculous and spectacular at the same time.

The twins were the only ones proving your theory, they both arrived to the party in casual clothes and not one bit of makeup on. A shame, the opportunity to see them wear mascara or eyeliner is rare but when they do men and women are affected all the same. You clearly remember once catching Rintaro himself staring at Osamu for a little too long.

“What’s up? Are ya hungry? Brought back some leftovers from the shop, we can have lunch if ‘Tsumu didn’t gobble those down”, his voice makes you jump and your friend stops by the couch, brows suddenly furrowed. “Or not. Are you okay?”.

“Yes!”, you should be relieved, honestly, he’s acting normal. Which means that maybe you didn’t ruin anything. Are you about to? Perhaps coming was a mistake-

“What did you want to talk about?”, Osamu has always been way too good at sensing other people’s emotions, he quickly forgets the lunch proposal and sits next to you instead, close enough for your legs to be pressed against each other. You feel like you may be about to combust.

You’ve known him almost all your life, high school feels like a century ago. The Miyas came as a package deal back then, one couldn’t exist without the other, but as time passed and adulthood shaped their lives in different ways, most people thought each finally got to exist as his own person. Those people were wrong: at least to you, they always held their own individuality. It’s what made them special. It’s what made you fall in love with Samu when he was still a hotheaded teenager, parts of that immature youth still flashing through his grown up demeanor, especially when he’s put in a room with his brother.

“I just wanted to tell you I really value our friendship. You know that, right?”, it feels like you might be about to cry, the way your voice is wavering. He cocks his head.

“Why are ya being so formal?”, Osamu offers a warm chuckle.

“You know that, right?”, you insist.

“I do”, his features soften, “not sure what I’d do without you, honestly”.

You only realize you’re tormenting your fingers when he covers your nervous hands with his own, warm and solid and so much bigger. Once more, it reminds you of the previous night and suddenly you’re worried you might truly cry. The twins don’t do well with tears, every single time they’ve seen you cry throughout the years, they always comically panicked as they awkwardly tried to offer some comfort. It never worked. You wish Kita was here to save the day, just like he always did back then.

“Samu, I’m sorry”, you murmur.

“For what? Now you’re worrying me”, he squeezes your hands in his and you look up from your lap to meet his perturbed gaze.

Like a slap in the face, it hits you. He doesn’t remember. Now, this is a scenario you didn’t prepare yourself to face.

Osamu gently bumps his forehead against yours and you almost throw up on the spot.

“Hey? Care to let me in that pretty little head of yours?”.

“You don’t remember?”, you don’t mean for it to come out in such an accusing pitch but it’s inevitable.

“Don’t remember what?”.

Incredulous, you stare back at him. The front door opens once more and this time you both jump. You’re too shocked to pay attention to Atsumu entering the living room, back from a run and dripping with sweat. Samu’s hands on yours can only remind you of how it felt having them briefly take your face in them as he clumsily tried to kiss you back, or maybe push you away, who can tell? You were too drunk and clearly he was too. You basically jumped his bones in Suna’s hallway, thank god no one walked by to witness the way you ran away right after. You wish you were drunk enough to forget that too.

“Hi”, Atsumu says and you’re too absorbed by the vortex of your mortifying thoughts to notice how he awkwardly clears his throat.

“Hey, ‘Tsumu”, you say back distractedly, gaze kept on Samu’s coffee table.

“Go take a shower, you’re dripping on my counter”, Osamu barks as his brother casually opens the fridge to take out a protein shake.

“What’s for lunch?”, Atsumu ignores the order and flashes him a grin instead.

“My elbow in yer ribs if ya don’t go take a shower right now”.

“Jeez, fine. I’ll leave you both to it”.

Osamu furrows his brows as he watches Atsumu disappear upstairs with his shake and an amused grin he’s unable to interpret. It dawns on him that you barely talked to each other, which is usually not what happens. You’re disgustingly close, always have been walking the line between being siblings and something else he’s never really been able to pinpoint. He remembers once asking Atsumu if he liked you and he knows his brother well enough to be sure he was being sincere when he scrunched his face and shook his head no. Not like that.

Osamu would lie if he said he never wondered whether you could like him like that. But you’ve never been as… relaxed with him. It feels like Atsumu is the brother you’re most comfortable with and all these years he’s patiently waited for the news to drop, the relationship to start. Except it never did. He still wonders if ‘Tsumu had to friendly turn you down at some point. He still wonders if you could ever like the Miya you’re clearly less relaxed with, instead.

“What did I forget?”, Osamu gently grabs your chin to make sure you look up and meet his gaze once more. Your mouth feels dry.

“We…”, no, you can’t just say that. We kissed. Incorrect. More like you jumped him in a clearly drunken state and he was too much of a gentleman to fully push you away. It’s a faint memory, his hands on your face, and you can’t recall at all if his lips moved along with yours at some point. They most likely didn’t. And now, if you tell him, you’ll ruin everything. Maybe you should just keep quiet, be a coward and bury the whole thing in a place within your chest, inaccessible to anyone but your sense of guilt.

“We what?”, for a moment, Osamu’s exceptionally gentle tone, paired with his proximity, is inebriating enough to make you want to kiss him again. Then, something odd catches your attention and you blink a few times, surprised.

“What’s this?”, you reach to slightly pinch part of his dark hair between your thumb and pointer finger, to remove what looks like a gold grain. It’s dry and barely visible on your fingertip.

He follows your gaze and lets you go, slightly pulling back with a smile.

“Ah, that. I thought I washed it all off”, Osamu casually runs a hand through his hair a few times, “it’s temporary color spray”.

“You’re gonna dye your hair again?”.

“Nah. ‘Tsumu thought it’d be hilarious if we came to the party with a costume no one would notice. I think only Shinsuke guessed it by the end of the night and even he wasn’t so sure”, he offers a handsome grin but you feel petrified.

“What costume?”.

“We went as each other! Ya couldn’t tell us apart, could ya?”.

His amused smile slowly melts away as he takes in your horrified expression, eyes growing bigger by the second.

“Are you oka-”

“Oh my god”.

[bloomzone]

2025 : #11 - 6% Mentality : why u are holding urself back ?

✒️..It’s January . You’re all fired up about your New Year’s resolutions, right? “This is my year,” u say. “I’ll lose the weight, make the money, start the business, crush my goals.” But BFR : By the time February rolls around, you’re back to your old habits. Your gym membership is collecting dust, that diet is long gone, and that academic cb idea is still just a thought in your head. You’ve been here before iiikr

🏷️[ inspiration: dr.Michelle Robbins refers to her study of 1,000 people, showing that 94% gave up on their resolutions by February but how the 6% managed to succeed ?]

So 94% of people will abandon their goals before they even get started. Let me repeat that 94%. The odds are stacked against you, but there’s a small group—just 6%—who will do the work, face the grind, and get what they want. What separates them from the rest? They know the truth, and they do it even when they don’t feel like it.

Let me give u truth. If you want to be part of the 6%, you need to change how you think, act, and approach your goals. u need to stop being weak.

ONE take charge or shut up.

Your brain is not your friend. It’s a coward. Your brain wants comfort, safety, and the easy way out. Every time you try to do something hard—like losing weight, hitting the gym, or getting out of debt—your brain will whisper, “You deserve a break. Skip the gym. You’ll start tomorrow. One donut won’t hurt.”The reality is that tomorrow never comes. And if you keep listening to your brain, you'll never see any change. The 6%? They don’t listen to their excuses. They take charge. They override their feelings. They don’t give a damn about comfort or instant gratification—they’re thinking about where they want to be a year from now.

You need to make a choice: Are you going to let your feelings control you? Or are you going to start controlling your feelings? Take charge. You don’t want it bad enough if you keep letting your brain win.

Two get specific or quit.

Enough with the vague promises. “I’ll work out more.” “I’ll eat healthier.” Bullshit. That’s not a goal—that’s a wish. You might as well wish on a star and hope things magically change.The 6% know that vague goals don’t work. They get specific. Instead of saying, “I’ll lose weight,” they say, “I’ll eat 1,800 calories a day and hit the gym for 30 minutes every morning at 7 AM.” Instead of saying, “I want to be a high achiever,” they say, “I’ll study 2h and rest for 30 min until I get it” ..Your brain loves specifics. It’s easy to stay motivated when you know exactly what to do. But when you’re vague, you have no idea where you’re going, and no one gets anywhere with no direction.

You need to stop with the “I’ll try” and start with “I will.” If you can’t commit to specifics, then stop whining about why things aren’t working. You get what you decide to get, not what you wish for.

Three focus on the 10

You’re busy. I get it. WE ARE IN A SOCIETY WHERE EVERYONE IS BUSY..You’ve got a million things on your to-do list. But guess what? Most of that stuff doesn’t matter. You’re wasting time on things that don’t move the needle. “Check emails. Scroll Instagram. Clean your room.” Sure, they make you feel productive, but they don’t move you closer to your goals.You need to stop being busy and start being effective. The 6% know how to focus. They don’t waste time on trivial shit. They get to work on the 10s—the things that actually matter. If your goal is to get in shape, that means working out. It doesn’t mean cleaning your kitchen or sending one more email. If your goal is for example become an academic weapon is not watching how to study for exam in the last night ..

Get real with yourself pookie Stop pretending you’re busy. Look at your list. What’s the ONE thing that moves you closer to your goal? Do that first. The rest? It can wait. If it’s not a 10, don’t waste your time on it.

Forth small steps big results.

Let’s not sugarcoat this: If you want to succeed, you have to make sacrifices. There’s no shortcut. But the thing most people don’t get that You don’t need to change everything at once. You don’t need to completely overhaul your life. Start small.Take one step at a time. If you’re trying to lose weight, drink one glass of water before every meal. That’s it. But don’t stop there. Once that becomes easy, add something else: Maybe you walk 10 minutes every day. Or swap out soda for water.

The 6% get it: Small actions snowball. They build momentum. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to show up consistently.

The Challenge: 30 Days of Realness.

Pick one goal. ONE. And commit to it for the next 30 days. No excuses. Write it down. Be specific. Take charge. Get rid of all the distractions and focus on what matters. Every single day, make progress—even if it’s just a little.But if you’re not serious about this, don’t bother. If you’re not willing to do what it takes—if you’re too busy making excuses—then stop pretending you want to change. The 6% don’t have time for excuses. They do the work, even when it’s hard, even when they don’t feel like it.believe in urself and be disciplined !!

So, get off your ass, stop whining, and start doing. Because if you keep playing the same game, you’re going to keep getting the same results. But if you’re ready to be part of the 6%? You better bring your A-game. And you better be real with yourself.

@bloomzone 📇

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character 2024 — Unscripted Undefeated Bracket — Round 4−1

Propaganda

Husky (Hope's Hearth):

I would like to submit that Husky is a giant polar bear woman who is perpetually being climbed by a slightly smaller, but equally butch honey badger woman. And we all know honey badgers don't give a fuck. I'm just saying!

Did I mention Husky is also a wizard, with stats in Sexy, Battle, and Wizard? Guess which stat is her highest

Sammy Sinclair, the Scat King of Ganymede (Tidal Wave Games Podcast: SEE YOU, SPACE COWBOY...):

Don't be crass, it's scat as in jazz. Formerly known as the Sax King of Ganymede, before the loss of his prized saxophone in a debt to the Space Mafia necessitated a rebrand

PLEASE VOTE FOR SAMMY SINCLAIR, SCAT KING OF GANYMEDE!!!!!

In-character audio propaganda with Spanks Sinatra from last round.

Art of Husky courtesy of @lotsadeer.

Additional propaganda below the cut:

Husky (Hope's Hearth):

not only is she a giant polar bear woman, she has a Russian accent, is MASSIVE, fat, has huge tits, threatens people, and has a high rank in Sexy

She can crush a watermelon with her thighs. Or your head. Whatever you prefer.

She's a SPACE PIRATE on the Gilted Rose and uses her massive paws to solve problems. Husky WILL go through you. There is no stopping her.

Also did you know she's so big, a honey badger person can stand on her tits like a shelf?

She committed a successful honey heist and stole from a fascist empire. She helped save an eldritch god's girlfriend from demons who had taken over his library castle. She threatened to kill her boss, who she thought had been dead, because he was being a coward.

She's fat and powerful and deserves this.

did I mention she's a lesbian

A giant polar bear woman

This is propaganda for all the female characters. Voters please remember how pretty all women are and factor that into every single vote you make. Thank you.

Sammy Sinclair, the Scat King of Ganymede (Tidal Wave Games Podcast: SEE YOU, SPACE COWBOY...):

Don't be crass, it's scat as in jazz. Formerly known as the Sax King of Ganymede, before the loss of his prized saxophone in a debt to the Space Mafia necessitated a rebrand

Pansexual, pangalactic, personal pan pizza

4'10"; but it's not the size that matters, it's what you do with it

As a saxophonist, is good with mouth and fingers and can hold breath for a VERY long time

Say hi to your mom/dad/aunt for me

In-character audio propaganda from when he was against Lup, and an in-character cover of The Slur Song.

you know what's sexier than being an umbrella? Making da fuckin corpos so mad they cancel you.

I heard that swearing is sexy, or something

sexiestpodcastcharacter lore

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Antler Play (Demon Alastor x Doe Reader)

Did you miss me?

CW: Lightly used incorrect deer facts, ruts and seasons, insertion of an item 100% not safe or intended for insertion, light fem receiving oral, female masterbation Rating: Adult Requested by: Anon Summary: Alastor, having just rode out his rut alone is faced with the startling realization that you, a fellow deer demon in the hotel, have not just come into season but your first season since your death. Alastor is left unable to mate you due to the poor timing but finds other ways to see to your needs and trick your body into thinking the deed has been done.

ps- please don't put antlers in your whooha.

Alastor was less than pleased to have a doe join the hotel residence. He found you to be a distraction, ever so alluring and tempting him away from his tasks. That didn’t stop the two of you from bonding, however, over the shared difficultness of being deer in hell. 

Time passed and bonds deepened, though only in the privacy of your rooms. Alastor’s hesitance to have another deer in his territory shifted into acceptance and then something darker, more protective as seasons changed. Though he hadn’t expected someone who had just landed in hell to have anything in common with him, he was horrified by the tales of your father and soothed by those of your mother. 

You bonded in the stories of mistakes made, sins committed and, while you were so much more innocent and sweet than he was, you had that darkness in your heart that he knew well. Blood-stained hands touched another set in passing, neither really speaking of the trust building between you.

Alastor had early on intended to send you away when your season drew close and yet he failed to do so. Week after week, he put it off, not so much as even mentioning it to you until he was in no condition to be anywhere near you. His rut had hit him like a train, leaving him no choice but to isolate himself to keep you safe from him. The last thing he needed was to force himself, driven by biology, onto you. Worse yet, he knew if you scented him too much, you would be rushed into your own season. 

If he tried to say he didn’t know why he had let your first season sneak up on you, it would be a lie. He failed to warn you for fear that you would seclude yourself from him. It was the same reason he had failed to send you away as well- Alastor had grown attached to you. It was one thing when he was isolating himself from you but the idea of you doing the same to him caused a deep ache in his chest. 

There wasn’t a chance in hell that he would risk some other buck finding you in season and take you as his. That was a privilege Alastor intended to claim for himself. 

And he would, at the right time. 

He had put off having that conversation with you until it was too late; he realized as the floral scent of your season filtered through his door, announcing your presence before you knocked. 

Alastor had been beyond thankful that he had just finished his own long month of rut when he opened the door to your wide, teary eyes. Tall ears laid flat, twitching as a single tear ran down your cheek.

Rather than asking what was wrong, Alastor only stepped aside, motioning for you to enter his room. Timid steps, one right after the other, carried you and the heavy scent of you into his domain. The rich musk of a buck clung to the air, mixing with your scent to make an intoxicating promise of what could have been if he hadn’t been a coward. 

“Why have you been avoiding everyone this month?” you asked, voice thick with tears as you turned to face him. “Why have you been avoiding me? Is-” you wrapped your arms around yourself in a tight hug, “Is there something wrong with me?” 

“No, ma chérie, I’ve had my own reasons for secluding myself away for the month. It has nothing to do with you.” 

“Why do I feel like there is something wrong with me?” Another tear ran down your cheek. “Why do I feel like I’m going mad? Am I going mad? Is that why you- you’ve been-” 

“I should have given you warning,” Alastor said, finally braving stepping closer to you. Warm knuckles ran down your cheek, smearing the trail your tear had left on the soft skin. “This is your first year. I should not have expected you to know.” 

“Know what?” You whimpered, leaning into his touch. 

“You’re going into season.” Alastor said simply. 

“I don’t understand what that means?” Your ears flicked forward in a flair of frustration that quickly burned out as they sagged lower. 

“It means that your body is going to crave a mate, seeking breeding.” He watched as understanding washed over your face, your eyes running over his lean frame, traveling up to his antlers, still wide, heavy and thick. “Bucks in rut or close enough to it will be drawn to you, and many won’t care if you’re deep enough into your season to be willing.” 

“I don’t… You’re a buck, Alastor?” You wanted to step back, wanted to put distance between yourself and him. You couldn’t make your feet work. It felt like they had taken root in his floors as your heart flip-flopped in your chest. 

“Don’t worry,” he said, swallowing thickly. “I just finished my rut a few days ago. You’re safe with me.” 

“Am I?” you asked, struggling to breathe through the thick scent of buck. Realization of what you were smelling and why it made you feel flushed stole your breath. 

“I won’t let another buck come take you.” Alastor said, reaching out and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He pulled you to his side, leaned down and took a deep inhale of the scent coming off you in waves. 

“Alastor?” your voice trembled as fire slowly spread through you. Now that you knew what that fire was, you understood that seeking Alastor out was a mistake in itself. “What’s going to happen to me?” 

“I’ll stay with you,” he said, ear flicking atop his head as he led you deeper into his room. “If you’d like, that is. Or I can wait outside. You can stay in here through it. The scent of me will help keep others away.” 

You sat on the bed, soft blankets bunching under your hands as sweat ran down your back. Alastor’s scent surrounded you, rich, musky and driving you mad. There was an ache in your core that you hadn’t been able to banish with your hands alone. 

Hours ago, you had lost your battle with your dignity. You had been determined not to do something as scandalous as pleasuring yourself in Alastor’s room, let alone on his bed and yet you had, again and again, never finding relief from it. 

In the distance, an elk demon bugled, sending a wave of fear through you. You were a deer, not an elk, but how much did that matter in hell? In the living world, you knew the two animals could cross, though not commonly. Would the scent of your season draw him to you? 

“You’re alright, he won’t come for you.” Alastor said through the door, “I’ve brought you some fruit. The sugar will help keep your energy up. Are you decent?”

“Decent enough,” you answered, tugging the skirt of your nightgown lower. It had been just over a week that you were holed up in Alastor’s bedroom and your season had only just gotten worse.

Alastor stepped inside the dim room, closing the door behind him. Long legs easily carried him across the room, to where you sat sweaty on his bed. Even outside of his own rut, the season having passed him for the year; he felt a stirring of desire for you. 

This year, he could not take you the way you deserved, but he would ensure you remained unclaimed for the year. You would be his prize next year. Next year, he wouldn’t make the mistake of putting distance between you happen again. 

He would ensure your bodies were close enough for your pheromones to align your seasonal cycles. Next year, he would be at a point where he could satisfy your seasonal needs. 

“Alastor?” you asked as his eyes seemed to burn holes into your flesh.

He moved with a shake of his head, coming to sit next to you on the bed after setting the plate on the nightstand. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m burning up,” you whispered, face flushed from both the fever and the desire that you couldn’t rid yourself of. “It’s too much, Alastor. I can’t do this. I can’t survive this.” 

Tears ran freely down your face as you crawled over to him. Trembling fingers reached for his thigh as he looked at you. You wanted nothing more than to strip off your nightgown and spread your legs for the most powerful buck in the area. 

“Cher,” Alastor said, ear twitching as he looked down at you with regret. “I can’t, not right n-” 

There was a shift atop his head as the large heavy antler dislodged, broken free by the simple pressure of a swat from his ear. He’d been expecting it to happen any day now, knowing well what was coming when they never totally shrank back down to the small prongs after he ended his rut. 

“What?” you pulled your hand away as the antler fell between you, leaving Alastor looking decidedly lopsided. 

“It’s normal,” Alastor said, watching as you picked up the thick antler, examining it before setting it aside. “Happens every year.” 

“Will the other one fall off too?” You rose on your knees, crawling closer to the one antlered buck. 

Alastor watched you, eyes running over your face. Sweat trickled down your neck, drawing his eyes lower and lower. The nightgown you wore was loose enough that he could clearly see down, to see the way your breasts hung from your chest, moving with you as you crawled closer. 

Again, he cursed himself for the distance he had kept, knowing that he could have brought you comfort if he could only perform. 

“I’m going mad, Alastor.” You whispered, fingers reaching out for him. “I need… I need something. Nothing seems to be enough. I don’t understand.”

“Your body won’t be satisfied without the touch of another.” Alastor said simply, “You’ve got no choice but to wait it out. It’ll begin to ease in a few more days or so.” 

You swallowed thickly, shifting your weight as you rubbed your thighs together. “Can you?” 

“Excuse me?” Alastor asked, leaning away from you a fraction. 

“Can you touch me?” You asked again, tears slipping from your eyes. “You said it won’t help without another and… I trust you, Alastor.” 

“I can’t,” Alastor started, only to have your pleading cut him off.

“I want you inside of me,” you whispered, hand landing on his chest as you drew closer and closer. “It’ll help to have a buck inside me, I know it.” 

“I can’t,” Alastor said, taking your hand in his before his eyes flicked toward the discarded antler. “But lay back, perhaps we can come to a compromise.” 

You wanted him inside you and Alastor thought he had the means to simulate that feeling well enough for your season. What you needed was something physical. A shadow imitation wouldn’t trick your season into thinking you’d been taken, no matter how corporal he could make his shadows. They were not him and he was what you needed. 

“You’ll do it?” you asked, voice trembling as Alastor reached out, resting a large hand on your shoulder to guide you back. “You’ll do me?” 

“In a matter of sorts,” Alastor said, as he positioned you on your back, legs hanging over the edge of the bed. He nudged your knees apart, allowing him to slot himself between them as he sat on the floor. “If you’ll let me, I can try to take care of you this season.” 

“You have been,” you whimpered, timidly allowing your legs to spread farther apart as Alastor’s large hands ran over your thighs. “I keep needing more. I’m sorry.” 

Alastor shushed you with soothing caresses up your thighs, pushing your nightgown higher and higher until he exposed your glistening sex. Fingers ran over the damp curls as he spread you wider, slick coating every part of you, smearing onto your thighs. Though he willed it, his cock remained still in his trousers. Oh well, he would just have to make do. 

“Please,” you whimpered on the bed as his fingers caressed your slit, smearing slick and coating his claws.

Your back arched, delicious pleasure running down your spine as his claw tipped finger worked into your tight opening. Muscles fluttered and clenched around him as he worked his way inside you. As he worked, he kept his eyes on your core, watching how you shifted and rocked, always seeking more.

“More.” Your sighs nearly stole away your request as he worked his finger in and out of your slick opening. “Please.”

Alastor soothed you as he whispered praise, telling you how good you were doing for him as he worked a second finger into you, then a third. Your body struggled to stretch, wanting to cling to him as he worked you open. Red eyes watched as your chest heaved, breasts rising and falling with every gasping breath. 

Your back arched as he worked his three fingers into you again and again, wet squelching sounds filling his room. Sweet pleas for more flooded Alastor’s ears as he ran his thumb over your clit.

“More,” you panted, pebbled nipples standing out against the silken fabric of your nightgown. “I need more of you.” 

Alastor shifted, grabbing the discarded antler and eyeing it. The base was heavy and long, thick enough around it rivaled his cock… well, almost. He ran his fingers over the rough surface, examining the crown he had worn for most of the year, looking for anything that would catch or rip you.

“I have an idea,” Alastor said, bringing the antler closer to your core. 

You sobbed when his fingers left you, long threads of slick reaching between his hand and your weeping cunt. Alastor used it to coat the base, lubricating it generously as he listened to your pleas to be filled and sobs over the uncomfortable emptiness. 

“Please, I need you,” you cried out, shamelessly spreading your legs wide. Your core, sopping wet and on full display, had slick running down the curve of your ass. “I’m going to go insane,” you realized. “It’s going to drive me insane if I can’t have you inside me.”

Alastor shushed you, running the cool hard surface of his antler through your puffy folds, letting the ridges drag over your clit as your hips thrust into the air. The base caught on your opening, looser now that he’d worked his fingers into you. 

The blunt end where it had spent much of the year rooted in his skull wasn’t shaped the best for penetration. Carefully, he worked the edge of the flat surface into your opening, rotating and working it inside you as you gasped. 

“Alastor?” Your voice was unsteady as the thick steam of the antler pushed deeper and deeper inside of you. 

“How’s that feel?” Alastor asked, backing the antler out of your core a few inches before slowly pushing it deeper inside.

“F-full,” you stuttered out, breath coming in rapid pants as he worked the antler deeper and deeper, rough edge dragging against your sensitive walls. “So full.” 

“Good,” Alastor purred, pushing and pushing as the antler slid deeper, tines branching out and spreading your opening wider as he watched slick run from your hole. “A part of me is inside you. Do you feel it?”

“Y-yes,” your voice trembled as he backed the antler out slowly, just to work it back into your loosening walls. “You’re inside of me, so deep.” 

“Does that feel better?” He asked, thrusting the antler into you with a little more speed and force. “Does that soothe you?” 

“Fuck,” you screwed your eyes closed, struggling to remember how to breathe as Alastor’s hard thick length into you again and again. Pleasure fogged your mind as you whimpered at each thrust. “So good.” 

“You have to answer me Cher,” Alastor warned. “I need to know if it’s helping.” 

“Yes,” your back arched as he filled you again and again. “Fuck yes. Yes.” 

Lips kissed your thigh, soft lingering touches that ended with a string as he nipped at your skin, tasting you as he fucked into you. Before his eyes, your back arched and head lulled to the side. 

“Oh, you’re beautiful like this,” Alastor whispered as he shifted, trailing stinging kisses up your thighs. 

You moaned, the sound thick and unreserved as his nipping mouth came closer and closer to your core. How he could be fucking you, be inside you while kissing your leg, you didn’t know. The fog of your season had fully blanketed your brain. No longer were you sure how or with what Alastor was fucking you, just that he was. All you knew was a part of him was inside you. 

Faster. Harder. He fucked you with the antler without hesitation, eyes scanning over your body as he did, checking for any sign of distress. Sweat shone on your skin, reflecting the soft lights in the room. Your hair was messed, framing your face. 

The sound of your cunt squelching with every hard thrust of the antler, blunt end surely bullying your cervix filled his ears. His doe was pleased, and that stroked his pride. His doe. 

Yes, you were his doe. He was making you his. 

“Close,” you gasped as he tilted the antler down, changing the angle to allow him room to wrap his lips over your clit. 

Red eyes flicked up the length of your torso, taking in the way your stomach bulged just slightly with each powerful thrust into you. He watched as he ran his tongue over the sensitive nub of nerves heading your slit. The taste of you drew a deep moan from his chest as you thrashed on the bed, body pulling tight quickly. 

He was the first to taste you since your death. There would be no others to drink from your nectar. Alastor knew well his kind did not have the drive to mate for life, but that didn’t matter to him. He was a possessive man. Once he was inside you, none would follow. 

The flat of his tongue ran over your clit before shifting to a point, swirling around it as you gasped. He repeated the movements again and again as you moaned, hips rutting into him. You were close. He could feel each fluttering twitch of the strong muscles of your core as he drove you closer and closer to your edge. 

You came with a shriek, muscles tensing and letting go in a chaotic rhythm. Under the ministrations of his tongue, he could feel the shockwaves run through your cunt. Even your clit was twitching as he sucked hard at it. 

Reaching down, you grabbed a handful of his ear, tugging as you tried to get a break from the sensations. It was pointless. He continued as he was, licking, sucking and thrusting his hard length into you. 

It was a battle. Your body wanted nothing more than to suck the antler deeper, trying to milk it of seed it couldn’t give you. Alastor mimicked the way his hips would piston as he sought his own releases during his rut. 

Fast, wild, violent thrusts deep into your cunt, again and again. He pushed you from your first orgasm into your second as his pace stuttered. There were a few last thrusts as he worked his antler as deep as possible, mimicking the way he would seat himself inside you next year to deposit his seed. 

Would it be enough to calm your season and let you find peace? It was your first season and your body didn’t know better, yet. Could biology be so easily tricked? For your sanity, he hoped so. 

Soft sobs filled his ears as your hand fell away. The heat that had been radiating from your body cooled. Shivers racked through your frame. 

“Better?” Alastor asked, wiggling the antler inside you but keeping it seated in place while he stood. 

“Much.” You had an arm thrown over your eyes, too afraid to look at the man that you shamelessly begged to fuck you.

The bed shifted as Alastor climbed up next to you, gathering you into his arms and nestling you against his chest. As he did so, he was mindful to keep your legs splayed to accommodate the tines still extending from your cunt. 

Long arms reached down, softly wiggling and thrusting the antler still lodged inside you. 

“What happened?” You asked sleepily, finally having a mind clear enough to realize it wasn’t Alastor’s cock inside you. 

“First season,” he shrugged as he softly twitched the hard shaft inside you again. “Looks like your body isn’t sure how it works yet, and accepted my antler as a substitute.” 

“You…” 

“Fucked you with my antler,” Alastor said simply, “Yes.” 

“You’re still fucking me with it,” you realized as Alastor lazily pushed it back inside you, refusing to let it slip from your twitching opening. Each shift he made in the antler’s position, each twitch and thrust, had you gasping and arching your back. 

Alastor watched every reaction, taking in the way your pebbled nipples stood out against the silky nightgown. One strap hung off your shoulder, so close to exposing one of your breasts. 

“I am,” he smiled widely. “I’m replicating how a buck would stay seated within you after. It’ll keep you from seeking to be mated again.” 

“Thank you, Alastor,” you whispered, head turned into his neck. You were nothing to Alastor, and you had to keep reminding yourself that as you resisted the urge to lean forward, bringing your lips to his neck. “For helping me.” 

“Next year, I’ll be able to better help you,” Alastor promised. 

“What do you mean?” Your eyes grew heavy as you listened to the steady beat of Alastor’s heart, only twitching wider every time he softly moved the antler buried in your cunt. 

“Next year it’ll be my cock you ride your season out on. I’ll be prepared next year.” 

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[sxorpiomooon]

What are some lessons that you need to learn?

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Pile 1-

Work hard, work very hard do not worry about the results I understand that this sounds cliche and extremely painful but the time that you spend on complaining can also instead become the time that you spend working hard on. Sometimes you have to work hard to get opportunities as well and that's what you have to do. When we talk about working hard you need to understand that being patient and diligent with your hardwork also comes under hardwork so when I say you need to work hard I am not saying that you don't do so all I'm saying is that you have to also be patient and keep working hard unless the opportunity presents itself to you which I promise you it will. I think this pile will work hard in their young ages and then have a stable, safe and prosperous life in the future. Another lesson that you need to learn is to balance the plate sure you might have alot on your plate but that does not necessarily mean that your plate has to break it can solely be held with a better technique to stop it from breaking. Learn how to manage not to get overwhelmed when you have alot to do.

Pile 2-

Learn how to confront when necessary. Do not shy away telling yourself lies such as oh I don't have to do this oh it's not needed oh just let it go. Don't try to be the bigger person bc you are not. Learn to stand up for yourself and call out other people and their actions when needed. Learn to take a stand, defend yourself and what you believe to be right. Also learn to be brave in the face of opposition as well don't be a coward. What's that quote oh yes "If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor" the happiness and peace that you think you will receive by staying silent and not taking anyone's side will actually find you when you start taking side of the right opinions.

Pile 3-

Let go of control. I know you have the best intentions I know you cannot seem to help it but if you truly want to do what's the best, please let go of the thread a little bit. Relax your hands, breathe a little. You are a perfectionist, elder daughter giving others work but then immediately doing it by themselves afterwards because you cannot relax. Well, learn how to because it just harms you and works against you even when you have the best intentions. This pile has to learn how to breathe and let other people breathe stop being disappointed by people without even giving them the opportunity to do so I understand they might not be as competent as you but this does not mean that they are not working hard. You also have to learn to not give up too easily you might give 100% of yourself to something and then because of getting burned out/exhausted you end up walking away right when your reward is about to yield. What you can do in this sense is Instead of putting 100% in the beginning you can just put 70% so that you don't immediately lose your energy by the end. Release control and stop panicking try to balance yourself and control your demeanor. Drink water and practice breathing exercises as well as meditation

Pile 4-

More choices lead to more confusion. The more you know about something, the more confused you gets. This does not mean that you should not do your research before making a decision or committing yourself to something however it's important that you make sure that you do not just get stuck on the decision making progress instead of actually making a decision. Sometimes things are only hard because we are not sure ourselves instead of finding the piece of the puzzle outside whenever you are stuck anywhere try to find it inward. The answers are within you only. This reminds me of the leap of faith concept in spiderman. Loss of something should scare you from loving as it does to everyone else however it should not stop you from doing so. Loving and losing is as natural to life as breathing. To make a room for a new tv you first have to remove the old one just like this in order to get new better you have to first remove the old things. Remember that change is the only constant thing to life and no loss however big should disrupt your ability to have childlike wonder.

[pearlymel]

Make up— Alhaitham

*･゜ﾟSummery : Alhaitham chased after you because he refuses to leave unresolved issues between you, talking it out in his house can't be the worst idea, right?

Wc : 2.4k

Warning(s) : NSFW, fem!reader, exes to lovers, reader has committment issues, biting, unprotected sex, ōral (m! recieving), cūm swallowing, creampie, it's sweet and he's needy, petname mentioned (sweetheart).

Notes : someone get this man out of my head smh.

It was a cowardly act, really. How you ran away in the middle of breaking up with your boyfriend—well, ex boyfriend now. If he even got the message and was not left confused with a hurricane swirling his head with different emotions all at once.

You never wanted to break up with him in the first place, you were ignorant to his feelings. Overall sensitive to everything. You think the scribe deserves better than what you have to offer because you are afraid of commitment.

Alhaitham thinks he caught a glimpse of your face and figure among the crowd. And his body immediately goes on flight mode.

Eyes rapidly looking around the crowd, unable to focus on how busy it was today. He can't even remember why today has to be so busy out of all the days, then it clicked.

Sabzeruz festival was around the corner.

Alhaitham pushes past the people, his eyes searching around him for any sign of you at all, but he doesn’t see you. He starts moving a little faster, a little more impatiently.

“Move.” He nearly growls lowly when someone is in his way, pushing past them and looking around some more, ignoring the curses being thrown at the scribe.

Where are you, where are you?

There.

There you were. Standing next to one of the stalls to buy yourself a cold drink for this hot weather. Looking completely unbothered, yet he could clearly see how swollen your under eyes looked.

After a moment, he finally starts to approach you, his eyes fixated on you, unable to look away even for a second.

He stops next to you, standing right beside you and so incredibly close. He can smell the flowery scent of your perfume, and he’s so close he can practically touch you, but Alhaitham doesn’t dare to move.

You don't notice the man next you who's suspiciously close right away, but when you do turn your head to your side. A gasp leaves your lips and your drink instantly drops from your hand, his own hand acted on it's own, grabbing your wrist to pull you back. To prevent from the liquid to splash all over you.

"Careful." He gently scolds you, yet his hand is slightly shaking from feeling your skin against his. It was always comforting.

"Alhaitham?" He feels how your fingers tremble under his touch, and he feels how you look around, probably searching for a way to get away from him. Again.

“I just want to talk.” he states, his voice a soft, gentle tone that belies how he actually feels.

He’s itching to pin you against the nearest wall and tell you all the things he’s been thinking so hard about, but he controls himself.

"We already talked."

“You ran.” He replies back in disagreement, his voice a tone rougher than he intended it to be. He takes a deep breath before he continues, hoping you would notice the pain behind his words.

“We can’t keep going in circles like this, we need to talk this out properly.”

You only sigh back, your gaze shifting down to your feet. "We already broke up."

Oh he’s about to snap. He’s about to rip his goddamn hair out.

“We didn't break up.” He huffs out, and his tone is harsh and frustrated because he still refuses to believe that you don’t want him to be a part of your life anymore.

“You’re the one who ran away.”

"I get it, I'm a coward."

Archons, he hates the way you keep belittling and insulting yourself. Alhaitham can feel the anger and frustration beginning to build in him, but he’s trying his best to keep his voice level and not to start yelling at you in the middle of the market.

“Stop that, please." He begs you in a pleading tone, the pads of his thumb rubbing slow circles around your wrist.

“You’re not a coward, so stop calling yourself one.”

"I ran instead of fixing things. What do you call that?" You hiss at him, but there you go again, being overly sensitive and insulting yourself at every inconvenience.

"... Sorry."

His grip on your hand slightly tightens when you try to apologize, and he has to fight back a sigh before he can force himself to answer.

“I’d call it a ‘poor coping mechanism’.” He replies, his tone flat and almost sarcastic.

You look up at him apologetically, He can see that you’re about to say it again, but thankfully, you bite down on your tongue to keep yourself from doing so. And he’s a little grateful, he doesn’t know how much more he can take.

Alhaitham sighs in exhaustion, and he reaches up a hand to run it through his hair before he speaks again.

“We need to talk. Not here, somewhere.. private.”

Private. Surely private meant some secluded corner or outside where no people would be close enough to listen?

So why were you in his home? With Him hugging you so tightly from behind because he misses you?

“Don’t move.” He lowly mumbles against your hair when he feels you trying to wiggle away.

He squeezes his arms around your body, pulling you even closer against his chest, as close as he physically can, like he’s trying to meld your bodies together completely.

"I hurted you, didn't i?"

He lets out a low huff in your hair at your statement, a soft yet bitter sounding laugh. It hurts more than he’d like to admit, because you did hurt him, deeply.

“Yes.” He replies truthfully, not making any effort to lie to you. “You left and it hurt.”

It’s like a dream, like a vision, having you so close again after days of solitude and loneliness. After hours and days of missing you.

He takes in every feature of your face when he turns you around to face him, every inch of your eyes, your nose, your lips. The shape and contour of your face is etched into his head, all memorised. and he can’t get enough of it, and he wants so badly to pull you into another one of his bone-crushing hugs again.

"I'm sorry for hurting you. I never intended to break up." Your hand lifts up to brush the strands of grey hair away from his eyes before gently holding one side of his face.

"I swear." You look at him with determination, then you remember the words he wants to hear so badly.

"You're my lover," you say, "i need you in my life."

Alhaitham leans down to bury his face into the crook of your neck, and he just breathes in the familiar scent of your skin again. So impossibly relieved that you’re here in his arms again.

"Will you forgive me?"

“Can you promise me that you won’t run away again if we have a fight?” His hands start trailing up the length of your back, the tips of his fingers tracing the bumps of your spine as he speaks, his lips moving against the skin of your neck with every word.

“Don’t run away, talk to me. We’ll talk, and we’ll come up with a solution together.”

"Mhm, i promise." He feels you melt into his embrace, completely surrendering yourself under his touch, and he lets himself revel in the feeling of his body pressed against yours once again. It’s like his brain went completely empty of any thoughts, just leaving pure contentment and a feeling of comfort behind. And so, he lets his body do the thinking for him.

Alhaitham grabs a hold of your thighs in one strong grip, and he lifts you, effortlessly hoisting you up into his arms, and you gasp.

He hoists you up against his chest until your legs are wrapped around his hips, one of his arms curled around your thighs, and the other under your ass, supporting your weight as he starts carrying you to the bed.

One of your hands grabs at his shoulders to keep your balance, and he can’t resist smiling a little when he sees the surprised look on your face.

“Don't worry.” He reassures you, he reaches the bed with several long strides, and his grip around your thighs tightens as he lays you down on the mattress.

"I want to make it up to you," you look at him through half-lidded eyes the moment you lay down, your knee attempting to slowly rub at his growing erection, earning a hiss from him.

"Y-you don't have to, i was just planning that we cuddle—"

"Then why are you hard?" You see how his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, and he avoids your gaze shyly.

He sits on his knees above you as he watches how your start unzipping his pants, urging him to come closer until his knees were at the sides of your head as you're met with his leaky tip face to face.

It's intimidating, you forget just how big he was. You gently wrap a hand around the base, giving the tip a few kitten licks before your lips grip him snugly and your tongue flicks against the underside of his cock, coaxing low curses from the Scribe.

He can't look down, he doesn't want to. Your expressions gets him off so fast everytime, and when you cough, he involuntarily grips your hair, although still careful to not pull so harshly even when be wanted to so bad.

Alhaitham’s need increases, so is his pace. The desire to cum growing more and more insistent. He bites his lower lip, his grip on your head tightening. “Goddammit,” he manages to groan, head thrown back with his expression all fucked out as he thrusts slowly into your mouth. He brings a fist to cover his mouth to prevent himself from whimpering, to prevent himself from panting so needly like a dog,

“You’re going to make me cum.” You're doing good, better than good, he doesn’t want to rush, but he can feel the implosion building. It's about to go off, and there’s no stopping it.

But when he feels you suck him so eagerly, it makes him part his lips to moan with his eyes closed, grabbing a fistful of your hair and thrusting into your throat greedily to chase his orgasm, the vibrations of your moans is what makes Alhaitham's try to pull out from your mouth, but your tight hold around him makes him fail to do so before he spilled all of his spent into your tongue.

Although he was quick to pull out after, grabbing a tissue from the bedside drawer for you to spit out.

But when you gulp it all in front of him, his eyes widen, the tissue almost slipping from his hand. He doesn’t know what to say or feel, "You didn't have to," He wipes the corner of your lips with the tissue, dabbing your lips clean.

"i love you." You utter out, looking like an absolute angel right before his eyes. "I love you," he repeats back, pecking your lips before pushing you back gently on the bed, prying your legs apart.

Your pants and panties were quick to be discarded to the side, he stares at your entrance, wet, inviting, and a little intimidated by the size he's about to shove inside.

He gently strokes your inner thighs, kissing your outer folds, tasting your arousal, while his thumb rubs circles around your clit. He hums when you gasp, when both of your gazes meet and all he sees his eagerness in your eyes.

Your body squirms, urging him to take you, spearing that tightness with his girth. But he's patient. Oh, how patient he is. Or trying to be, at least.

Alhaitham lines himself up with your hole, and as he looks down at you, you can see the yearning, the want, the need in his eyes.

He keeps a tight hold on your thighs as he slowly, deliberately sinks into you, watching the arch of your back, listening to the low, whimpering sounds escaping your lips.

His mouth is on your neck and collarbone, nipping, kissing, leaving marks of his claim on your skin, "missed my girl,"

Your body is tight around him, and it's not easy, but the Scribe has no intention of stopping until he's had his fill. The gasps and whimpers of discomfort, the pleasure that comes after, the lust—it’s all music to his ears.

"I-i've missed you too."

Alhaitham watches as you cling to him, the words you say stirring something in him. He hands grip on your hips now, and he can't help but smile into your neck.

He's thrusting into you deeper, the feeling of your tightness around him driving him wild. It's a sweet, torturous dance you both share. Every time he thrusts, he's sure to hit the right spot, making you moan and squirm.

He lifts his head to kiss you, kissing you with fervor, his tongue dueling with yours. He could taste the bitter remnants of himself on your tongue, but he wants to taste you, feel your pleasure, and with the way your walls are clenching around his cock, he won't have to wait much longer.

Alhaitham's thrusts become faster, harder, and he can feel the familiar heat building. His hand leaves your hip, and his fingers find your clit in a synchronization of the cries of his name. He's determined to make you come.

"Cum for me, sweetheart," he growls into your ear. "Let me feel it." He wants to watch you unravel in his arms, to see the expression on your face.

And you do, almost instantly, it makes your eyes roll back to the back of your head as you hold onto him while thrusting your hips back into him.

Not long after, he couldn't hold back any longer. It’s too much, the tightness around his cock, the sight of your body trembling beneath him, the taste of your lips, the scent of you. He explodes, filling you up, his seed a testament to the pleasure he’s found.

He collapses on top of you, panting, his heartbeat racing. The room is filled with the sound of their ragged breathing, and in that moment, there’s nothing but the two of them, basking in their shared pleasure.

After a while, Alhaitham slowly pulls out of you, his eyes hold yours, the two of you naked and tangled, laying in sweat. He moves his body off yours to clean you both up. He’ll make some tea, something to calm your nerves, then you'll talk for real this time.

[alaia777]

every valentine’s day, without fail, a small note would appear beneath your window, never signed.

for years, you wondered who it could be. you tried everything—staying up late, keeping watch from your window, even sneaking outside in the middle of the night. but every time, you either fell asleep or missed them by seconds. once, you almost caught them. you saw the blur of a figure slipping into the shadows, the edge of a hoodie that looked so familiar. but it was dark, and maybe you were just imagining things.

eventually, you stopped searching. maybe it was easier that way—easier to leave it as a mystery, easier to pretend it didn’t make your heart race.

but still, every year, the notes kept coming.

“hope you smiled today.”

“the stars were extra bright tonight, just like you.”

“i wonder if you ever think about me too.”

you had mentioned it to isagi before, casually bringing it up in conversation. he’d always listen, nodding along, but whenever you tried to actually talk about it, he would steer the conversation elsewhere.

“you think they’ll ever tell me who they are?” you had asked once, twirling the latest note between your fingers.

“maybe,” isagi had shrugged. “or maybe they’re just waiting for the right time.”

“and when’s that?”

“dunno,” he had muttered, suddenly very interested in tying his shoelaces. “probably when they stop being a coward.”

it wasn’t until this year that you finally caught them.

you hadn’t been waiting for them, not this time. you just happened to wake up in the middle of the night, feeling restless. with a sigh, you rolled over, planning to go right back to sleep—until you heard something. the faintest rustling outside your window.

curiosity got the better of you. you sat up, pushed your blankets aside, and tiptoed over to peek out.

and there, standing just outside your window, carefully slipping an envelope beneath the frame—was isagi.

your heart stilled.

he didn’t notice you at first, too focused on making sure the note was perfectly placed. but then he hesitated, as if second-guessing himself. before he could change his mind, you tapped the glass.

his reaction was instant—he stiffened, his whole body going rigid. slowly, he turned his head toward the window, eyes wide, face pale like he’d just been caught committing a crime.

for a long moment, neither of you said anything.

then, in the most pathetic attempt at playing it cool, isagi very slowly shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets, clearing his throat.

“…hey.”

you blinked. “hey?”

his face turned red. “so, uh. crazy coincidence, huh?”

“isagi.”

you stared at him. he stared back, looking like he was debating whether to bolt or dig himself into the ground.

and then, because you couldn’t help it, you started laughing.

he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “shut up.”

but you only laughed harder, leaning against the window frame. “isagi, what the hell—”

“okay, yeah, fine, it’s me!” he blurted, voice rising slightly in panic. “but in my defense, i was gonna tell you! i just—i don’t know, maybe after we were, like, eighty or something.”

you smiled, warmth bubbling in your chest. “so you’ve been writing me love letters for years and just never planned on saying anything?”

his ears went red as he rubbed the back of his neck. “i—listen, it made sense in my head, okay?”

you shook your head, still grinning, as you climbed out your window and stepped onto the cool grass beside him. he looked at you, nervous, shifting on his feet.

“so, uh, are you mad?”

you exhaled a small laugh, shaking your head. “not even a little.”

his shoulders sagged in relief, and after a beat, he chuckled, soft and a little embarrassed. “so, does this mean i can finally sign the next one with my name?”

you hummed, pretending to think about it before tugging on the sleeve of his hoodie, pulling him just a little closer. “we’ll see.”

[romanoffsbish]

The One That (Almost) Got Away

Natasha Romanoff (Intersex) x ChubbyMilf!R

GN!OC (Ryan) x Fem!R (Freshly divorced)

Natasha’s not the step-dad, she’s merely the dad that stepped up | WC: 9,218

Warnings: Ryan is dickhead coded | R Ghosted Nat so she is too | Confusing Feelings | Insecurities all Around (Body / Worth) | Everyone’s Horny | Happiest of Endings Though 🥰

Smut: Natasha has a penis | Oral - Both | Multiple Positions (Wall / Doggy / Guided Dick-Riding) | Praising / Degrading | Dirty Talk | Face Slap (R) | Heavy on Breeding | KO (R) | Needy R -> Cockwarming | Switch Energy but R basically Bottoms

——

Natasha watched you intently, just like she always did, and just like every time before now she wasn't left disappointed. Well, besides that time when you married Ryan, you looked gorgeous stood up at that altar, but you were painfully mismatched. They were the first person you had ever dated, but you never truly loved them. You loved Natasha though, she knew that deep within her yearning soul, felt it deep in her bones, but alas you chose the stable familiarity over love.

Natasha told you every time you two had made love that she wanted the whole thing, but you were in a committed (open) relationship. You had a child with another, and you decided she (deserved better) wasn't ready for that sort of responsibility. So, for the both of your sakes you had stopped coming over a year ago, without a word of goodbye—like a coward.

It broke you just the same, but at least you had a distraction with your infant around. All Natasha had was the haunting memories of a genuine love and, dangerous missions, a nearly lethal combination. It was only last month that the redhead stopped being reckless, which coincidentally, is exactly when she had heard of your unexpected divorce proceedings.

Tony had very loudly, intent obvious, offered a sobbing you a spacious, well-equipped place to stay since Ryan decided to kick you out, of your house. He also got you a better divorce lawyer. When she pestered him for a why though he had refused, stating 'you'll know soon enough' in the most ominous, almost threatening, way.

The reactions to your tumultuous entanglement around the compound were mixed. Most thought you two were a great match, those who met Ryan felt this way, others felt Natasha could do better than the girl who left her hanging. Then there was Tony, who alone believed the both of you to be aloof little cowards.

Ergo his childish response. Yet here you were, at the compound she still lived in, and she still hadn't been informed... It was driving her crazy, but she kept her cool, or at least she tried to, but you made it hard.

So damn hard not to run over and yell at you, just to then kiss you breathless, then she figured she would yell at you some more; but with less clothes, and in a passionate reunification of two desperate souls.

But she stood stuck to her spot, wishing desperately that she had Wanda's handy ability to read minds...

You stood across the field in a moment of uneasy silence. Pepper had to leave in a hurry, Tony excused himself with a promise to return. So now, without distraction, you were left lost in tumultuous thought.

Ryan and you had called it quits just six months ago after you gave birth to your sweet little girl, Delilah. To the outside world they looked like a bad guy, but with one peak into the carseat hood that currently shielded your daughter from the sun, everyone would know.

Know that maybe everyone was a bit wrong here...

There was only one rule the both of you set, don't let anyone else create life with you, and with Natasha's enigmatic charm you broke it easily. Ryan was still somewhat involved with Carter, but they denounced you and Delilah instantaneously. You knew better to expect anything else, but you were too petrified of being alone with two littles to see it all clearly.

Fortunately though, Tony adored you and had set the three of you up in a cushy upscale home just outside of the bustling city. There was a park on the corner, it was your only safe haven as you waited for the divorce to finalize, it was where you processed your grief over the entire situation, and realized this was always the way life would work out. One day the redhead would be there with you, scooting down the wide, curvy red slide with Carter, and Delilah giggling in her lap.

It was an inevitability of the rawest proportions.

You couldn't stop loving Natasha if you tried, which you halfheartedly did, and she loved you without the intent to stop—fate finally felt the need to intervene.

You felt her burdened gaze the moment you entered the party, and you were burning under the weight of it. There was a blip of fear that she would never forgive you for keeping her daughter from her, but you also figured she'd understand. If you were going to work as a couple, it had to be without Ryan's interference, and they were hellbent on making sure you weren't happy even though they were with Rochelle, the supermodel.

If you so much as contacted Natasha they were ready to claim this was always your plan. Not that they'd have much of a leg to stand on, but you weren't risking them winning so much as partial custody, simply because it was just to spite you. Ryan never wanted to be hands on, it seemed they more so liked the title of being a parent and spouse, but never the actual role. If they had won you know your son would only suffer.

Disappointed was an understatement, but you didn't hold pity for yourself because everyone warned you of their immaturity from the jump. Natasha warned you everyday leading up to the wedding, she pleaded with a hurt that broke your heart wide open, yet you were stubborn, and now you are right where you deserve.

The fear of a harsh reaction held you back from approaching her, hearing an 'I told you so' or a 'what did you expect to happen?' wasn't exactly something you could handle. Even if it was what you deserved, so, you decided to leave it to her. You wanted to give her the chance to take the first step in case she was only seeking to scream at you for breaking her heart and never returning any of her calls or texts, and oh yeah, for the icing on the fucked up cake you'd baked you would have to add keeping her child from her.

Natasha couldn't focus on anything but you since you had arrived though, she actively willed you to look up at her, but she soon realized you were purposefully ignoring meeting her gaze. The ill advised thought that even when single that you wouldn't want her around broke her spirit down into nothingness.

Was she really not good enough for you?

Who was she kidding? Of course she wasn't... You were clean of a harsh origin, with a compassionate aura that bled right into your ability to be an amazing mother. Natasha wanted kids, yours specifically, but with her cold upbringing she feared she would never be what they would need, and in turn she would let you down.

Natasha didn't get to linger in her sadness for long before Maria was nudging her shoulder. "For fucks sake Romanoff, could you at least pretend to be interested in my plights?" She was reminded of the riveting conversation she'd been engaged in moments prior with a raging Maria and an instigating Wanda. Her silly relationship problems with Danvers no longer interested her when she was faced with her very own problems rooted in an extended period of longing.

Natasha rolled her eyes, and adjusted her pants to better conceal the hard on she was suddenly sporting. You just looked too good, motherhood had only ever enhanced your beauty, her purest desires for you only surplussed after your son's birth. It pained her so that you'd lived like your beauty was lost due to a miracle, and it was that night that she showed you otherwise.

The night she gave actual life to her love...

Ryan had made the first distasteful comment, it was why you were at the compound that day after all. Using the free gym six months out from your son's birth, which was fine, but you were indeed overdoing it since you had a bad back, and it was Nat who stopped you.

"Y/N, you need to take it easy, you like just had a baby," she'd tried to help, but you glared at her with angry tears in your eyes. "It's fine Nat, I need to do this. I am literally in terrible shape, I am so ug—," you'd muttered in obvious frustration, but she didn't dare let you finish your sentence. She took you right there on the mat, then again in the showers, and finally she took you to her bed and gave you all of her love.

That wasn't the start of your sinful relations, but it was the beginning of the deep lines officially blurring. Where the love the two of you felt for the other was finally released through breathy moans, soft kisses and the heat of the moment filling of your barren womb.

Every time you didn't see the beauty in your body she did, and she reminded you so well... It was not a shock to you when you saw the test; more like a total relief.

Natasha obviously knew something happened, it changed everything for her, because you and her best friend, Carter, were no longer coming around. The redhead actually sobbed on his first birthday, and she still has all the gifts she bought for him in her closet.

Wanda followed her best friend's gaze to you, and she smiled sadly. The witch was the first person you came crying to over the news, and it hurt her heart to keep this secret from Nat, but she knew that today was the day it all changed. You were going to make it all right.

Your divorce was finalized after Tony's lawyer put Ryan in their place. The open marriage was their choice, you had proof that they pushed you into agreeing, so the judge deemed your daughter's paternity a natural consequence. Now that they lost, they moved outside of city limits with their younger lover, and you contently remained in the upper-scale house, the one that didn't burden you with memories.

"Go talk to her Nat," Wanda encouraged, "Take the chance, I promise you it'll at least be cathartic."

Natasha sighed, "She's better off without me."

The redhead kicked up a cloud of dust as she sent one last longing glance your way. Her heart stuttered at the sight. You'd moved, this time her eyes found you leaning back against a table. A soft look in your eye as you watched your giggling son, Carter, clumsily chase Morgan around the field. It'd been awhile since you've been back here so you were involved in a conversation.

The grey sundress you wore was perfectly hugging your curves, and the skirt of it was flowing with the light breeze, giving her a glimpse of the silky skin of your legs beneath. It was tastefully cut, but it still allowed her to see the curve of your swollen, sagging breasts.

Natasha's eyes were focused in on the way you sucked on your popsicle though. Her cock twitched in her boxers as she saw you hollow out your cheeks, her dick longing for the oh so familiar feeling of the gesture. You mindlessly wiped away the sticky mess of artificial juices with your fingers, and her eyes were locked on them, you lifted them to your lips to suck off the sticky mess and it reminded her of that time she'd shoved hers, covered in your shared arousals, down your throat. It was the most intimate moment she'd ever shared with another, and that made her resolve fall.

The redhead couldn't stand any of it anymore, not the ache in her chest, nor her boxers, so she rushed inside the compound, ignoring the awkward stares. The door that slammed afterwards caught your attention.

Tony shoved your arm. "Go after her Y/N!"

You stared down at the stroller, admiring the peace your daughters sleeping face brought as your nervous fingers fidgeted with the strap of the diaper bag. You felt nothing but guilt after a moment though when her little eyes fluttered open to reveal a sea of familiar green. You began to wonder if Natasha would be better off without you since all you seem capable of is hurting her. All she's ever done is pour her love into you, and you actually ghosted her—the perfect woman. The longer you thought it over, the sillier your reasons felt.

Tony invited you over for this barbecue to celebrate his retirement, but you weren't dumb enough to not know why he wanted you to come. Steve, and Natasha were also retiring, the notion that the redhead was giving up this life regardless of you made your skin crawl.

Was she retiring for you? Did she know you are divorced? You knew Tony blabbed a lot, so it wouldn't surprise you if that's how she had found out.

Or was it for herself? She'd earned the right and it was a bit narcissistic to think you played any part here.

Did she have plans to find the life she wanted with someone else since you were a coward? It would only serve you right, you knew you didn't deserve her.

Tony saw the turmoil in your eyes as you picked at the foam, he gently pulled your hands from the stroller, and nodded to the door with a stern expression. "No..."

"Y/N," he sighed, ready to fight you for being a coward, but then his face fell in offense as you spoke, "You are not exactly baby proof Stark." The man scoffed, "You can't be serious, I am a perfectly functional dad!"

You deadpanned, "You are the fun dad to Pep's productive. You have her while Pepper is at a meeting and Morgan's shirt is now on inside out, she's ate off everyone's plate and if my eyes aren't deceiving me, she has a contraption from your lab. My son better..."

Tony immediately took off and you giggled, enjoying the moment of peace just before your daughter began to cry. If only Nat would have waited a minute she'd have seen you pull the tiny redhead from the stroller. It was uncanny how similar to Natasha she was.

Infuriating was more like it really, you carried her for ten excruciatingly long months, and all she got was your hair texture, lip shape, and unfortunately—temper. Everything else was Nat, aside from the blend of her skin tone, it was a beautiful mix of you both.

"What's the matter lyubov'?" You coo'd and pulled the sniffling baby girl to your chest. Unaware of the presence of your former teammates behind you. Wanda beamed at the knowledge of you learning Russian for your daughters sake, she knew Nat would likely cry at the notion too, but Maria merely gasped.

"Oh my gosh, is that Romanoff's?!" Wanda elbowed the nosy woman, at this point she wondered if Maria being the second in command for Shield was a good idea with the way she loved to gossip and tease. "Mhm..."

Wanda's hand fell on your shoulder, you were never much for staying silent, so you simply humming gave way to your obvious anxiety. "She's only crying my dear, because she knows you have unfinished business to tend to." You turned to her with a teary gaze of your own and she used the pad of her thumb to wipe them away in comforting strokes. "Hand me my niece, and go fix things with Natasha dorogoy, it'll be okay."

Delilah instantly stopped crying, her wobbly head turned slightly as she recognized Wanda's voice. The two shared excited smiles, one adorable and gummy, and the other accompanied by the faintest of wrinkles to show a long life lived. Wanda's nose was scrunched as she regarded your daughter with pure elation, and you had no qualms leaving her behind with Wanda.

"I'm sorry," you whispered as you passed her off, and Wanda wrapped her arm around your waist to offer you a comforting embrace. "All is forgiven as long as you don't fumble this time. Tell her how you feel, and let her feel it all too, she'll understand and forgive."

You nodded, offering a nervous smile then left in a hurry to get to the woman you wanted to be with for an eternity, hopeful that she still wanted the same as you.

The way to Natasha's room was quick, your muscles remembering the route without any need for a refresher. The path now forever engrained into your heart as the safest one. You pondered knocking, but then you heard the most gut wrenching sobs and felt the urgent need to push the door right open. As you opened the door though you were met with a far different sight than you had anticipated.

The sobs were ones of pure sexual frustration.

"Oh fuck!" You'd gasped at the sound of her raspy voice, the gorgeous redhead was leaning her head against the glass of her vanity as she jerked herself off with a pair of red lace panties that you'd left behind.

Natasha watched you in terror, her stomach tied in a more dreadful knot now that overpowered the arousal she needed to release. Once the shock wore off you stepped in, expression neutral as you shut her door with your foot, then used your powers to lock it.

"Y-Y/N, I can explain," she stuttered as you were silently approaching her. "How about you just let me take over instead, yeah?" Natasha nodded, her mind in a trance of sorts as she allowed you to remove her hand and use your own. The strokes you gave were feather light, but just because it was you she was on edge.

Pre-cum dribbled onto your thumb, and you used it to lube up her cock, and make your hand have a slicker surface to increase speed. You felt your panties dampen the longer you stroked her pulsing shaft, eyes locked in on the way her mouth was hung open, and her moans were raspy, melodious gifts for your ears.

"Y/N," she gritted out your name as her cock twitched with an increased warning, but you abruptly let her shaft go instead, and she sobbed without shame.

Natasha was frustrated with you on so many levels, but this had her feeling embarrassed. The way that she hasn't been able to get off without a piece of you in over a year shameful. Then when she was finally about to climax, with the real thing, you took it from her...

Again—you just kept taking, and taking from her, and now she was unsure if she had anything left to give.

"We need to talk," she rasped angrily and you nodded, but then you dropped to your knees with a wink. "We do need to talk Natasha," you purred her sentiments against the sticky red tip of her cock, reworking her mind into a haze as you prepared to give her head.

"Shall we do it now then?" You asked teasingly, but with your mouth inches from her throbbing member she could only frantically shake her head. "Later," you hotly voiced for her, you kissed her tip then licked her essence up with a soft flick through the sensitive slit.

All Natasha offered was a delayed, husky, "Mmm," too engrossed by the exhilarating sensation of your warm tongue swirling around her shaft as you slowly lowered your head until the tip of your nose brushed against her fuzzy abdomen to say much of anything else.

This was exactly what she needed. You knew it was only a matter of time before you two would have to face the reality. But, for this brief moment in time, you wanted to use your mouth to pleasure her, to soften the blow if you will, as you gave a physical apology.

After proving to yourself that you could still take all of her you pulled back and let her slick dick go with a pop so that you could admire it. While keeping your eyes locked on hers you lowered so you could lick a slow stripe up from her balls, over the underside of her shaft, flicking over the pulsing veins; building her excitement way up until your lips finally wrapped back around her head to give her some overdo pleasure.

"Oh fuck, I've missed your perfect mouth," she cried out, her hand suddenly fell atop of your head and she used all of her strength to still your bobbing so that she could fuck her cock deep down your throat instead. It was never not uncomfortable to be gagged for you, but your dampening panties gave way to the enjoyment.

Natasha felt even hotter as your excess drool pooled at the base of her shaft and slowly dribbled onto her balls. It was like every one of her senses was heightening as she felt as her auburn pubes became matted and clung to her balls. You felt it too, as they swung with each deep thrust and slapped into your sweaty skin.

There was no way the moment could improve, or so she thought, because with a firm tug on her sack, and the hollowing of your cheeks as your throat contracted around her tip she was no longer in control, her release torn from her with a throaty scream that made your arousal increase tenfold, and stain the black carpet.

The familiar taste of her was enough to bring you to the edge of glory, coupled with the way she continued to fuck your throat without so much as a thought to your needs arousing and you found yourself painfully ready to bust. Her cum was inched down your throat with every continued thrust, and you moaned along happily as you continued to suck her dry, all the way up until her member fell flaccid in your mouth.

You were nearly there, your thighs rubbed together just right, but the redhead would be damned if you were to waste your cum on her carpet instead of her readied tongue. "There's no going back after this Y/N," she rasped against the shell of your ear as she pulled you to your feet while tucking her cock back into her briefs. "If I kiss you now, then you are mine for the claiming. Understood?" You hated so much that her glossed eyes shone with immense fear and hurt.

"Do it," you pleaded, a part of you hoping that what you are going to say later doesn't change her promise; you desperately wanted to be hers for good. "Please!"

Natasha gripped you by your hips and pushed you back onto the bed as her lips met yours. Her skilled hands unclasped your bra while her tongue slowly swirled around yours, tasting herself and silently vowing to never let you go a day without being filled by her in someway. All she wanted was to be yours, and make you hers in every sense, and that included breeding you, but not before she gave you the sloppiest head.

"God, you're so hot Y/N!" She practically screamed, the need for emphasis obvious. The way she stared down at your forever changed body with admiration made you want to cry. You gulped as her eyes trailed up to yours, she offered you a loving smile but her heart broke at the sight of your petrification. "Don't lie..."

Natasha was going to kill your ex. One final mark...

"Oh my beautiful girl," she sighed, her hot breath brushed over your slick mound and she admired how your body twitched and arched at the pleasure just a breeze gives to your cunt. She placed a gentle kiss to your clit, but kept moving up instead so she could kiss the stripes that adorned the plush skin of your belly.

"You are the hottest woman around detka," she admitted without any waver in her voice, her nose nudged against the soft skin of your stomach as she wordlessly continued to admire your body and the sacrifice you have made twice now. "I can't wait to etch more of these lines, to stake my claim to your womb."

You whimpered, but something about the sound wasn't rooted in pleasure, so she came back up to hover your face. "What's wrong detka, am I moving too fast?"

You smiled sadly, and shook your head, "No, it's just.. I-I," you couldn't help but to stutter now, "The claim is already yours Natasha, and it always should've been."

You don't regret Carter, how could you? In spite of all the turmoil surrounding him, he was a lovely toddler. With a natural curiosity to keep him fun, but a cautious approach that kept him safe from the lingering dangers of the world. Your son was the definition of perfect, and was never regretted, you merely rebuke Ryan.

"How so?" Natasha challenged, and you gulped, "We divorced because Delilah is yours Nat, our daughter."

"Yeah," she sighed with a sad smile, "But this time I'll be around to help as your body changes, to take care of you as you deserve while carrying my love around."

It stunned you to see nothing but love and solace behind her eyes, she wasn't angry, she was visibly relieved. Which meant this wasn't exactly news to her.

"You knew?" She nodded, and you felt your throat go dry; of course she did, Natasha wasn't regarded as a top tier spy for nothing. You frantically moved to defend your decisions, "I-I wanted to tell you Natty, but I was so scared." Natasha kissed your trembling lips tenderly in an attempt to cut off your anxiety, and for a perfect moment there was nothing but peace.

"I understand," she eventually whispered as she parted from the kiss, "You couldn't be sure of your feelings, you were only six months postpartum when we made her." Her, Delilah, Natasha's precious mini me that she'd yet to meet and the product of a destined love.

"No," you insisted, "Please do understand that I was never confused about my love for you. Every time we made love that ring would burn on my finger like the devil himself possessed it, because the greatest sin I've ever lived was pretending not to be in love with you."

You watched her eyes narrow in confusion and sighed resignedly. "You deserved someone better, I knew I wasn't enough for you. You're a model with a heart of gold, and I'm just a—." You were both momentarily stunned as her hand made contact with your cheek. The both of you blinked back your shock, and after she saw you were okay her eyes completely darkened. "I'm going to kill them Y/N, they deserve despair for ever making you question even an ounce of your beauty."

"Natty no," you pleaded for Carter's sake, "I mean yeah, Ryan wasn't good, but they were a bad I deserved," you saw the way her eyes narrowed and your speech flinched, "I-I am trying to say that you were too good."

"Me?" She scoffed with a twist of pure disgust, "How could I ever be too good for you?! Y/N, you are —."

"You're so beautiful Natasha," you sighed, cutting her off, "I don't even mean your looks, I am appreciative for them, sure, but it's your heart that I adore."

You couldn't fight the smile that took over your face, the veins of her cock pulsed through the thin material of her boxers, felt pulsing against your thigh along to the beat of her racing heart and you knew you'd said the right thing. Natasha's eyes were welling with tears as she leaned in to kiss you, it was tender and not at all foreign, but it was a feeling you'd nonetheless missed.

She always regarded your body with love, even in the more rougher moments, when she'd abuse your body like you'd beg her to, she would whisper her hearts reassuring thoughts. Deep down she always knew you asked for what you thought you deserved, so she gave you it, but not without what she knew you needed too.

"You're so good Y/N," she practically pleaded, her eyes shed hopeful tears that dripped down your temples, "I'm blessed to be in this position with you right now, the mother of my kids," she proudly said, her subtle claim to your son made you sniffle. "You deserve to be loved just like you love everyone else; without limit."

"Natasha," you whimpered, and she pecked your lips. "You're my wildest dream come true; a sight for sore eyes, an absolutely amazing mother, with the physique of a goddess. You are a blessing worthy of worshipping, I can swear to you that there's no one more perfect for me than you detka, you are the love of my life."

"Fuck," you scoffed over a sob, "So damn cheesy..."

Natasha hummed softly, "Can you feel it?" and offered you an amused smile. You blinked up in a daze as she brushed your knuckles over her lips, and you felt her dick twitch against your skin as she husked, "My love."

Your body took her words as a sign to start working towards pleasing her, you were desperate to feel it wholly. Natasha threw an arm around your waist as her back arched, securing you to her as she thrusted up involuntarily and reached a prime point of pleasure that made you both scream, yours shrill and hers a rasp. The way her throbbing tip was rubbed raw as her briefs smeared your arousal around your clit had you both already breathless, it took everything in her not to enter you then. If not for her desperation to taste what she'd been missing she would've given in instantly.

"Natty please," you tried, but ultimately failed, her raspy voice denied your pleasure, "Not yet, I need to return the favor first, I miss having your taste on my tongue and smelling you on my lips hours later."

It infuriated your cunt, who's hollowed walls clenched with need, but in the same breath her tone turned you on beyond belief, to not only feel, but to hear just how affected she was by her lusty desires centered around eating you out alone had your legs naturally spreading.

"There's my good girl," she praised against the plushness of your thigh, her tongue laid flat as she slowly licked up the essence coating your skin on a scandalous route to the grand prize, your oozing core.

Or better known to her as paradise.

After teasing you enough, with abrasive nibbles and her tongues follow up soothing caresses she felt it was about time to give you exactly what you both needed. Her lips twitched as she purposefully breathed your arousal in, and you choked in contrast when she lunged forward and began to eat your puffy pussy out.

There was no more gentle, loving Natasha; her eyes blackened, the carnality shown she was nothing short of feral, the filthy moans vibrating you into an orgasm as her tongue lapped at your core proof enough. But, for the sake of imagination, picture as if she was actually outside right now. Forced to participate in the watermelon eating contest, her hands tied behind her back and her face hovered over the three thick pieces on her plate; she'd beat both Sam and Bucky in record time, twelve seconds—four per slice, and still have enough time to make you scream around the corner, pinned to a wall while the boys struggled to focus.

The Falcon's wings would dip when informed it took him thirty seconds, but not as disappointed as The Winter Soldier who took thirty five. Fortunately for the boys, Natasha was buried in a more fitting place, winning at life as the soldiers tied, but lost to Thor who did it in ten, followed by a burp and plea for more.

You also endlessly pleaded for more, then rather suddenly for less, but inevitably you went unheard as your thighs deprived Natasha of both air and the ability to hear. Yet she kept going, making you scream out her name seconds later, and cream on her tongue.

Natasha felt your thighs relax, and with a firm grip she separated them, digging her nails into the skin as she took in an exaggerated gulp of air. You mewled and threw your head back to avoid her scarily arousing gaze. The both of you knew she was trained to hold her breath for extended periods of time, but it was hot nonetheless for you to witness, and her to pretend.

Truthfully, you internally, always made her breathless, so she was simply emoting. After a moment of you both coming back to your senses Natasha groaned, her red tip brushed against the sticky fabric of her boxers and she was disappointed she came outside of you.

"You always do this Y/N," she groaned, "I can't even help but to fuck the air to the sounds of your cries."

"Sorry," you whimpered, Natasha watched with a smirk as your entire body shivered. Then her face dropped as she realized something, "It just wasted our greatest chance at making a baby Y/N! The first round is the most potent, so now I'll have to fill you twice."

"Delilah is only six months," you panted, your words of concern not matching the clear state of your arousal. "Yeah detka; that means we are, quite frankly, behind."

"Behind?" Natasha nodded as she avoided your gaze to focus down on the mess of her boxers as she took them off and flipped them inside out. "Detka, we don't waste, so finish your treat before you get answers." There was no hesitation as you sucked the cotton fabric clean of her, moaning and soaking through the pair.

"You want this, don't you?" Natasha asked, her confidence dimmed as the fear of rejection emerged. You spit out her boxers and shrieked, "of course I do!"

Natasha hummed, "Then yes my love," as she gently stroked your cheek before pecking it. "We're gravely behind, so let's just call this an efficient way to catch up. I'll overload you on my love, and swimmers."

"Okay," your voice absolutely breathless as you allowed her to pull you up off the bed, having accepted the hand she'd extended out just so she could pull you close and kiss you until your were both breathless.

When you were distracted enough she spun you around and pressed you into the tacky wall with her muscular frame, her hot breaths fanned across your skin and your clit pulsed. She drove you wild, evidence of that being the way that your slick dribbled down the sides of her length that curved beneath your cunt.

"Are you ready to be bred?" Her fingers fondly traced over the marks on your hips. "To be full of my pulsing cock as it busts? I promise I'll leave you beyond full."

"Mommy please," you whined and pushed back with all your might to curve her dick up and into you. "Oh, you know what that does to me detka; you're in for it now."

Natasha pressed her body up, and rocked her hips until she'd smeared enough of your slick onto her length. It was a precautionary measure to ensure you minimal pain as she never failed to stretch you to your limits.

"Fuck mommy, you're so big," you mewled as her tip barely pressed into you, the redhead chuckled and slammed her hips forward, swiftly bottoming out and causing your body to lurch painfully into the wall. "Mmm, mommy loves the way you feel wrapped so tightly around me detka, suffocating my dick like the filthy whore that you are." She sloppily pecked your cheek. "This is right where you belong."

"Wanna stay like this forever," you sighed contentedly as your heated cheek brushed against the chilled wall with each shallow thrust she rewarded you with.

"That can be arranged," she rasped into your ear as her hips began to move a bit more. "Nobody else will ever get to see you like this again," she added, her growl and grip possessive as she picked up a pace you never could keep up with. Enhanced as you were with powers, the strength and stamina were all more Natasha's forte; fucking you limp a cherished specialty of hers.

"Nobody has seen me since you," you cleared the air in a dizzy slur, and felt as she prematurely shot into you, but Natasha recovered her composure fast and continued to fuck you while holding back her orgasm.

"Because this pussy is mine," she grunted, her hips now swirled with each thrust as she sought out your sole pleasure. Hearing that you were celibate in her absence a major ego boost as she rammed her fat cock into your spongey sensitivity with each precise jolt of her body into yours and pulled out those glorious supporting moans of a job well done. "Say it!"

"All yours mommy," you cried out sharply as her finger rapidly swirled against your swollen bud. "Damn straight," she groaned as she twitched and spasmed against your quivering walls. "Fucking hell, I'm going to fill you to the brim," she groaned against the base of your neck as she hastily pounded your body up against the wall.

Her hands gripped the fluff of your hips and fully drove her pelvis into your backside so that she could push you over the edge. "I'm so close mommy, please." Natasha obliged your pleas with a swift plan, her tongue teasingly licked the shell of your right ear, "Go on then sweetheart," her free hand moved to grope your breasts that leaked nonstop with warm milk while the other hand continued to stimulate your needy clit. "Let go and drench my cock; make a mess of me."

"Oh, oh, oh shit," you shrieked as you felt the coil within you snap into jagged pieces of pleasure. Nicking every inch of your body—setting your nerves ablaze. Pins and needles lasted for a perceivable eternity as you swore and soon enough you moaned a chorus as she fucked you through the toe curling orgasm.

Natasha shifted your bodies with ease, her cock still driving into your needy hole as she carried you over to lay your front down on the bed, she kept shallowly thrusting, but her strained cock managed to hold out. Even though she wanted to stay true to her words, she continued to hold back her own release for you.

"Your moans are my favorite," she whispered amusedly against the skin of your shoulder before placing a gentle kiss there, and thrusting in deep, pulling sultry cries from the depths of your needy soul. Only to then suddenly pull out so that she could admire your bare backside while calming her need to breed you.

Her hands groped the skin of your sore ass, you whined as her cold fingers trailed over the already bruising skin, tempering the sting from her hips prior assaults. "Daddy please," you whimpered, and she dug her nails into the skin. "Stop being so impatient detka, we're making up for lost time here—be a good girl, and don't rush the process."

"Sorry mommy," you whimpered, and though she couldn't see you she smiled at the remembrance of your usual pout. "There you go," she praised, "Always so good for me baby, I promise that I will never tire of having you like this," she paused, lining her tip back up with your dripping entrance, "Spread wide open as your pretty, puffy cunt devours my shaft."

That was the only warning you had before she slid her thickness back inside of you and began to give you the type of strokes that made your spine shiver; slow, and deep enough that you could feel your guts shifting.

You whimpered softly, "Fuck, I'm already so close again..." Natasha chuckled, "I know, I can feel you trembling detka, fuck, your walls are squeezing me so tight." The redhead stilled for just a second, much to your bodies dismay too, you pressed your ass back and your cunt somehow sucked her in even deeper. It took everything in her not to bust, but she wanted to be truly levelheaded about this before she lost control.

Two kids under two was no easy feat, to be ready for a third required a sure mentality. It was your body after all, talk all she wanted of her possession of your body, that was only in part true. You were in charge of what she did next, whether that be to cum inside you, or to release her potent load onto your back. Either way she'd be satisfied, and all she really wanted was you to be happy with the overall outcome too.

"Want to carry my baby again detka?" Her lips gently pressed into the skin of your shoulder, the moment was far less sexually charged, she gently marked your surrounding skin up while patiently waiting for your eventual, labored response. "Please..."

"Are you sure?" Natasha doubled down, her cock twitched in anticipation for your final reply. "Yes," you were breathless, "Please, just breed me already! Wanna be full of you." Natasha hummed, then picked her pace up, she still reached your greatest depths, but this time she went much faster—leaving you to moan nonstop.

"Gonna fill you until I'm sure I've succeeded," she rasped confidently after a moment of nothing other than listening to skin slapping, and juices sloshing. "Then I'll fuck you from the back every month and feel the way your body changes for our fetus," she placed a sloppy wet kiss behind the shell of your ear and your body shuddered as your walls clamped down on her thick shaft. "Fuck, I heard that pregnancy makes you even hornier detka. Maybe I'll hit it every night. I'll destroy this pussy before the birth ever could."

"Fucking hell Natasha," you shrieked, but it faded into a low pitched moan as the tip of her spurting cock hit that glorious spot deep within that blurred your vision. It happened just as she pressed her wandering hand against the bulge pushing your stretched skin back out.

Your vision blacked out, your cheek pressed into the sheets harshly as the redhead continued to thrust against your pussy's tight resistance to prolong your orgasms and to also allow your walls to effectively milk her cock, ensuring maximum breeding efficiency.

When even she couldn't take anymore she fell into your backside a panting mess. "You did so good," she reassured you, her hands tight grip on your hips loosened so she could stroke your sides instead as you both took a moment to regulated your systems.

After a few moments Natasha became restless, her stamina bouncing back fast as she rose up and slid out of you, leaving behind a sticky mess of your arousals as she did; her clean sheets never stood a chance. It was a moment of total joy for her to watch as your pussy contracted, sensitive walls pushing the excess of her cum from you a sight worthy of marveling. The way it bubbled and popped was absolutely mesmerizing...

There was hardly a lull in her cocks erectness, she stood there still slightly out of breath, with her sticky member inches away from her rock-hard abs in a sweaty glow. Tension held her body captive as she picked her next move. "I want you to ride me detka, bounce on mommy's cock for a bit, suck me dry."

"Mommy, I..." you sighed, "I'm tired."

"I know honey," she coo'd as she sat down on the edge of the mattress, her nimble fingers wrapped around your thigh and teasingly squeezed. "I'll do all the work." With the promise of the needed assistance you slowly shuffled over to her, and threw your leg over her spread set, opening your slick lips back up and allowing her to slip herself back in. You moaned into her shoulder as you felt your mixed slicks gush as your core met the base of her cock at a new, delightful angle.

"Mommy," you called shyly, as if you weren't already in the midst of a raw fucking, your glossy eyes fell to her lips, and she shook her head in amusement as she chuckled, "Come on detka, take what you need."

The way you kissed her every single time was how she knew your feelings for her went beyond that of lust. It was always soft, and sensual with a sense of urgency. Sometimes she felt like you were out to devour her entirely, and if you were, she wouldn't even mind. To be taken out by your lips on hers sounds heavenly.

"Oh god," you whimpered, overrun by a pleasure only she could offer you, her hands on your hips guided you, but she let you control the kiss. "I need you all the time Natty," you panted harshly against her lips as you only briefly disconnected them. "I can't get off without you. Not even listening to your old voicemails work."

"You'll never need to again detka," she growled, hands possessive as they pulled your body back down by your hips to meet her desperate thrusts, "I'll fill you up every day if that's what you need—mhm, yeah; this pussy of mine will never have time to miss me."

"Please..." you begged as your lips left hers so your head could fly back in pleasure, and your hands clawed at her neck, leaving behind angry red lines. Natasha's breath stalled, the grip she had on your hips tightened, then she dropped you mid lift because of how dizzy she felt with the way that your walls squeezed her shaft every damn time it left your warmth. Your face fell to her neck, lips latching onto her pulse point, and with you working to claim her too she busted. The warmth of her seed splattered against your walls, again, the stream nudged your g-spot with a firm flow, joined by the harsh slam of her tip; it was all too much, and in some strange way it never felt like it was enough.

Arousal gushed all over the redheads skin, and slowly dripped down the oak bed frame, polishing it anew.

The way your combined releases ran down from her abdomen and saturated the skin of her balls made her body tense as she produced even more of her seed. Natasha hadn't stopped thrusting, in fact she flipped your body onto the bed, and sent you into another wave of pleasure, and your mind to another dimension.

It had been exactly fourteen months, and ten days since she last felt as her cock rearranged your insides so she wasn't ready to stop. Natasha panted against your neck as she kept fucking your unconscious body.

Eventually she fell semi-flaccid, and her breath was so erratic she had to stop her body from continuing to ram into you. Even if the urge persisted, you were more than fucked out, so she was mostly satisfied. There's no way her diet super soldier swimmers weren't going to fulfill their duty. If the redhead is lucky she'll get a two for one reward. She can't wait to be waiting on you hand and foot. There'd never be a night you went to bed hungry, or uncomfortable.

You'll carry her kids, and she'll carry the rest of the burdens that come with life. The redhead admired your still face, your eyes tracked behind your lids, and your even, cool breaths fanned across her warm face. This was what she believed bliss to be at its core.

Natasha gently slid right on out of you, but it didn't last long before she was sheathed within your velvety warmth again. After you awoke she'd kissed you tenderly, and as her tongue explored your mouth you reached down to pump your hand up and down her cock, it was loud and wet, your hand growing sticky with your mixed arousals and her body shuddered.

"Inside," you breathed in a fit against her lips, she chuckled in disbelief at your needy behavior, and happily guided her cock to your entrance and watched as your walls sucked her in and your wetness gushed all over. "Oh fucking hell detka," Natasha groaned as her fingers flexed against your hips, "Eto ray."

(this is heaven)

"Mhm," you softly hummed your agreement, your hazy eyes fluttered open a moment later as you cheekily smirked up at her. "That dick game is god tier Natty."

Natasha rolled her eyes, then chuckled against your skin as she happily burrowed her face into your neck. All of the lust had faded, for now, and all that was left was to soak in the fact that this was finally happening.

Nothing could ruin the moment, well, almost nothing.

Your phone dinged about half an hour later, and if not for being a mom you'd have ignored it. You lazily lifted it from her nightstand. A soft giggle left you as Natasha grumbled in annoyance at the shift of her cock that was still inside of you. The woman turned her head on your chest and peered at your phone suspiciously only to see that it was lit up with an innocent text from Wanda.

Shall I take the kids back to mine ? 👀♥️

"Tell her to wait," Natasha pleaded, then in a rush she jumped up, leaving you hollow and raced into the shower. You did as told, then followed behind, and the two of you tenderly, yet speedily cleaned the other off.

Wanda sat in the living area with Carter asleep on her bump, and with Delilah laying on the play mat below her, happily kicking her feet. You quietly moved to sit beside your best friend, and watched with a smile as the love of your life cautiously approached your child.

"Hello there moya malen'kaya lyubov'," she was so soft spoken as she spoke to Delilah that you almost didn't recognize her voice. Tears brimmed your lids as you watched the way that your daughter lit up at hearing the spoken Russian, of course Natasha noticed too.

(My littlest love)

"Detka," she whimpered, and looked up into your eyes "Do you speak to her in Russian?" You nodded and sent her a playful wink to cover your emotional gaze. Natasha however turned stone cold serious as she said: "YA sobirayus' sdelat' tebya svoyey zhenoy."

(I'm going to make you my wife)

Wanda giggled from beside you when you frowned and looked to your love with a pout. Natasha smirked this time and winked back, "We'll work on your Russian, then we'll return to that phrase when you understand."

"Oh," you chuckled softly, "I understood, I just expected a first date, then the fat diamond ring."

You turned away from your blushing lover, and scooped your son off of Wanda. "Thank you for the offer, but I'm not leaving you with my two gremlins when you already have two growing inside of you." Wanda went to protest but you leaned into her ear to whisper: "The walls at my place are soundproof..."

You walked away with a proud smirk as the women sat there with collective reddened cheeks. Wanda left a moment later with a kiss left on your daughter's cheek, and a rush in her wobble. Natasha shook her head and chuckled softly at your daughter, "Tvoyu mat' ne zrya prozvali 'Ubiytsey'" Delilah tilted her head, and Natasha was perturbed by Wanda's obvious influence.

(Your mother wasn't nicknamed "Killer" for nothing)

"Detka, where are we going?" She asked as she trailed behind you with a curious infant sat atop of her hip. "Home," you replied flatly then turned around with a contradicting grin. "You ready to shack up darling?"

"I don't know," Natasha teased, "that's a lot of responsibility to place upon a free flyer like me."

"Then I guess," you were cut off by a kiss that left you speechless, yet slightly humming as you grinned against her plush lips. "You've been tamed by a," she cut you off again with a peck and answer: "Beautiful, perfect in all of the ways that count, sexy ass milf."

"You're such a hopeless romantic," you teased, and she matched your grin with a suave lift of the mood. "I'm never hopeless with you Y/N, just soft, and absolutely, undeniably in love with you."

"Jeez Nat, keeping charming my pants off and we'll literally end up with a baseball team." The redhead chuckled, "A team of tiny assassins and witches," then sidled up to you, and slid her free hand into yours in perfect rhythm. "You're insane." Natasha swung your connected hands and grinned up like a devil. "I sure am crazy for you, so yeah, I'll claim it." She winked slowly and snorted when you glared, it was entirely heatless and she knew it.

Then to make the moment all the more special she leaned forward and smiled at your son. "Hi there sweet boy, I'm," she went to introduce herself but the nearly two year old interrupted her excitedly, "Mama!" Natasha was stunned and you elated to see it was a good thing, her eyes lit up with so much love, and she dropped your hand so that she could snatch Carter right from you. "Hey! You already have a baby!"

"You hush," she hissed playfully, then you saw her eyes glisten as he nuzzled right into her neck like she was safe and she emotionally whispered to him in Russian: "Moy ideal'nyy syn, ya budu lyubit' tebya bez ogranicheniy."

(My perfect son, I will love you without limits)

"Moya dragotsennaya Dalila, ya nauchu tebya vsem svoim znamenitym dvizheniyam," she placed a gentle kiss to her face. Then her gaze turned to you as you scoffed, "Not happening if she takes after me for once."

(my precious delilah, I will teach you all my famous moves)

"Don't worry, I didn't forget about you," she turned around and came to a sudden stop. Forcing you to nearly bump into her, but she took a smooth step back with a stupidly hot smirk on her face. "I could never." Natasha leaned in and kissed your lips with a precise tenderness. "I love you, and I plan to for the rest of my life," you blurted, stealing her thunder but she loved the sudden declaration of yours more than her own repeated ones. "I'm so glad you're the one who almost got away, because I'd forever be lost without you."

"My rodstvennyye dushi," she whispered as she pecked your tear tracked cheeks, "Ty byl moyey sud'boy," this time she was pressed against your lips. Then she pulled back with a smile as she continued to speak as her lips met her sleeping babies faces. "Oni nashe naslediye." Then she perfectly crouched without jostling the kids to kiss the skin of your tummy. "For good luck."

(We are soulmates / You were my destiny / Them our legacy)

——

[is-the-fire-real]

When I was last on tumblr, it was ten years ago and one of the biggest faux pas you could commit was incorrect tagging.

It was Literally Colonialism to use a tag that was For Certain Oppressed Groups. The actually-autistic tag was created because allistics "took over" the autism tag, and this/other tags became heavily policed by users to make sure they remained a "safe space".

I remember seeing countless posts about how autistics would never be safe if we didn't have a bubble to protect us from interacting with allistics. The same went for tags about transliness and queerness. The going approach used militarized and hyperbolic language to characterize and other folks who weren't in the community: autistics (the group I had the most direct experience with) were attacked by allistic invaders who violated and conquered autistic tagging systems.

The "Literally Colonialism" isn't a joke. I saw plenty of suggestions that to even use a tag which was perceived as being "not yours" was colonization of ideas and thoughts. To be allistic, have an opinion on autism, and tag it as "autism" was held up as being exactly the same as the behavior of empires and nation-states.

Obviously, I don't entirely agree, and don't think this particular hyperbolization is helpful for advocacy or for dialogue. But I do find it interesting how, in the decade since I was last here, it seems to (mostly) still be true that you should only use certain tags if you have a particular identity...

... unless you're not Jewish, in which case feel free to use any and all Judaism-related tags and break the system's meager functionality for Jewish people.

As someone who is using Tumblr to connect to online Judaism, it's daunting to see how many posts under "judaism" are by non-Jews screeching about Israel. Seeing non-Jews openly talk about they tag their posts with gore, rape denial, Holocaust denial, October 7 denial, and other deliberately-triggering material with Jewish-themed tags specifically to make Jewish users of Tumblr feel unsafe. Reading them telling each other about how this is advocacy, this will absolutely win the war for Gazans, and how anybody who blocks them (in order to make sure the tags can actually work as intended) is a genocidal coward. Using that self-same militaristic language to describe their activities, only instead of criticizing, they're bragging.

It's, uh, kind of fucked up.

Imagine going to the actually-autistic tag and finding nothing but a wall of allistics claiming that they've victoriously conquered the tag from those inhuman monsters pretending to have problems when other Real People are the ones who are suffering. I think we would all intuitively understand that this would be Wrong. Even if there was some supposed outward justification for being mad at certain autistics, we would understand that holding all autistics everywhere responsible for it is wrong. That breaking a community's ability to talk to each other is wrong. That trying to trigger people and then telling them to commit suicide is wrong.

And we'd also understand, or come to, that the very action of going "This community I'm not part of doesn't deserve to have this tag, I'mma take it back, or at least ruin it so no one else can have it" is an expression of privilege. It is wrong, and it is immature, and it is cowardice.

These smug, self-involved, active attempts at causing harm make no sense at all if seen as advocacy; they help no one, advance no cause, stop no Zionists (whatever that means) from expressing themselves online.

They only make sense when seen as Jew-hate.

[genericpuff]

The excessively passive voice when talking about Minthe being intended to have BPD is hilarious. "It was thought to have her written with BPD"? So weird

Honestly, once you start noticing this passive voice in how Rachel writes and talks, it's kind of hard to unsee.

Like, for starters, the BPD example. It's very non-committal, almost as if to sound like she never actually wrote her with BPD, it was just an 'idea' that she could neither confirm or deny as canon. But then you read the episode with the slap and-

It's- it's literally called "Splitting". It's about as subtle as a brick to the face. This entire episode showcases Minthe having an actual literal episode of splitting and it's plain as day to anyone who can read the title card and put two and two together. So for the wording to be so passive around her characterization... it wasn't "thought" to have her written with BPD, she was written with BPD.

Another example that sticks out in my mind of Rachel's passive writing is far later in Season 3, when Demeter reunites with Persephone and naturally expects her to come back home with her.

This line still fucking bothers me to this day. Besides the fact that it's just really poorly written dialogue, Persephone describes her being in love with Hades as if it's just some coincidental thing that happened to her that she can't avoid and not a deliberate choice she's making. "It would seem" my ass, Persephone is a coward for not being upfront and just talking to her mother like an adult by saying, "Mother, I love you, and I understand why you want me to come home, but I'm in love with Hades and want to stay in the Underworld with him." Instead the way it's worded is almost designed to absolve Persephone of any and all agency in her own decisions and active participation in her relationship with Hades by instead making it out to be just some circumstance that she can't get herself out of.

Again, this isn't quite as egregious as the aforementioned BPD scene, but it's still irritating because Rachel writes like this a lot throughout LO. And it's not just the dialogue either, entire decisions throughout the comic are flip-flopped and kept vague by Rachel so she can give herself plausible deniability over the narrative. I could come up with some of my own examples, but I think she managed to speak for herself just fine in the end-of-series Q&A that left both critics and fans of the series massively confused and disappointed:

LO is full of half-committed plotlines because Rachel herself can't commit to her own decisions. So the decisions she does make are left vague enough that hardcore fans are willing enough to fill in the blanks themselves, but anyone who asks her genuinely what her plan was, she just gives the same wordy "IDK it's up to your interpretation!" response. It's like she thinks people are asking her as just another reader who can only speculate, but she's literally the author, so why is she acting like her guess is as good as theirs?

Well, because that's how she wrote LO. That's how she's always written comics, with vague half-finished thoughts and just enough for readers to do the mental gymnastics of making sense of it all just to give her the credit for "smart writing" that she never actually did because she stopped paying attention after the first sentence. And that method of being vague for the sake of audience interpretation is fine for illustrations or anything that isn't trying to be a concise narrative, but LO did try to be that and it really shows how hard it failed in doing so when its own creator can't even come up with something slightly plausible to explain all the questions people had in the end. "There is some backstory there" but proceeds to not actually expand on said backstory. "I like to imply things without outright telling people", so do I, but the difference is that Rachel is using that as a crutch to not answer the questions she setup for her readers and then didn't resolve after five years. There's not wanting to spoon feed people the plot, and then there's literally refusing to explain your decisions when writing said plot, almost because you don't know any more than they do.

The entirety of LO is rooted in Rachel's passiveness, from her inability to answer questions concisely to every little plot point that was established and dropped throughout the comic's run. Writing a story is a series of decisions, deciding what to keep, deciding what not to keep, deciding what has to be changed, etc. and Rachel just... doesn't seem like someone who's ever been capable of making those decisions, especially when she's writing an actual long form story to the end and doesn't have the luxury of dropping it whenever it feels convenient for her like she did several times with The Doctor Pepper Show. Once she was actually held to a standard, once she was actually signed into a contract that expected her to make those decisions, she failed to and it culminated in one of the messiest conclusions to a story I've seen since Game of Thrones.

LO is kind of like Schrodinger's Cat - a plot point can be or not be whatever it needs to be so that Rachel can be either praised for smart writing she never did or absolved of bad writing that she did do. It's equally parts interesting and vague enough that whatever her readers give her credit for writing, she can give them a thumbs-up and go "you're totally right, champ!" and proceed to take all the credit of being a "good writer" from the efforts of her own audience who had to jump through a million hoops to make sense of her own messy writing.

But when she's put on the spot by those very same readers to answer for her own decisions, she can't.

Because she never made them.

Because there was never anything "deeper" going on, that's just what her style of "distraction writing" made you believe. The plot never lets you stop to think about what you just read long enough before zipping away to the next thing and distracting you with a new twist or a new character or a new plot point, and before you know it, you've gone weeks without reading about the last thing that was established you probably haven't even realized that those questions never got answered. Sometimes Rachel remembers to get back to those things and resolves them within a handful of panels, other times she forgets them entirely and just leaves them to rot in the hopes that no one ever calls her out on it. And when they do... she can just pull the get-out-of-jail-free "Welp, it's up to your interpretation!" card and get that credit all over again for being deep and insightful, meanwhile those who are rightfully dissatisfied with that answer are blanket-accused of "getting mad at Rachel for not writing the story they wanted".

To close out this ask that, per tradition, turned into an essay, I'd like to recall the famous words of fictional detective Benoit Blanc: "Look into the clear center of this glass onion... Miles Bron is an idiot!"

[sunny44]

Marriage

Pairing: Max Verstappen x ex fiancée!reader Mason Mount x Fiancée!reader

Warnings: anxiety and fights

Summary: Max leaves his fiancée y/n at the altar on their wedding day but after years of regretting what he did, by a miracle of fate (or Lando) she appears in his life again.

Next Chapter

My heart was racing as I stood at the altar, the cold sweat in the palm of my hands clashing with my racing thoughts.

The guests' whispers and expectant waiting for me to say yes, but I couldn't move.

Y/N, she deserved better than the mess I had made of things.

Just minutes before, I’ve been grappling with the weight of commitment.

Doubts, fears, and a paralyzing realization that I might not be ready had torn into me. In a painful instant, I’ve had made a gut-wrenching decision: to leave Y/N standing alone.

I could hear everyone's reactions as soon as I got down from the altar and started walking to the entrance of the church, for a moment I looked back and saw her being supported by her sister.

Everything would have been so much easier if I hadn't been a coward afraid of commitment, I wouldn't have left the love of my life in tears as I left as fast as my feet would allow.

…

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about and regret leaving her at that altar. The decision I've made that day is haunting me everyday. I was a pussy, running away from what could have been a beautiful future.

I walked into the bar with Daniel, who was talking about how excited he was to meet Lando's much-talked-about new friend.

"My God, I think you're more excited about seeing her than Lando himself.”

"Actually, I think she's more than just his friend, from the way he talks about her it sounds like he's completely in love."

"There they are." I pointed to the table where Lando was standing and I could hear him laughing and he was certainly in love with his friend.

"Hi guys, this is Y/n." He says smiling and she turns around and her smile disappears when she sees me. "This is Daniel and Max."

"You..."

"It's nice to meet you guys." She says before I can say anything and holds out her hand to us.

"Well, let's sit down."

The evening passed slowly and there was certainly a strange atmosphere when I arrived, but I think it was just me and her who noticed as Daniel and Lando were having a great time.

"Well everyone, everything was great but I have a lot of things to do tomorrow so I'll call it a night." She gets up and starts reaching for her purse.

"I'll pay for it." I say.

"If I wanted a men to pay for things for me, I'd be married." She says thickly and they look at her. "But thank you for offering."

She says goodbye and leaves and the boys carry on talking and don't even see me get up and go after her. She was holding her hand up for a cab to stop and I ran over and put her hand down and then the cab drove straight past.

"What's your problem?" She says and lets go of me.

"Can we talk?"

"No." She turns away from me.

"Please?" I ask again.

"No, I don't want to talk to you and in fact I never wanted to see you again." She says tearfully. "You have no idea how ashamed and humiliated I felt that day and how hard it was to get over you and move on. And now you turn up years later wanting to talk?"

“I want to say I'm sorry."

"No, you don't have the right to be sorry because if you were sorry you wouldn’t have humiliated me like that or at least called me and explained why you asked me to marry you and then left."

"I didn't want to do that."

"Then why did you do it? Why did you leave me crying on the church floor while you left?"

"Because I'm an idiot, okay? I was afraid of commitment and afraid that getting married at 21 was a mistake."

"And how long were you afraid?" She catches me off guard with the question. "Were you afraid on the day or had you been afraid for longer? And don't you dare lie to me."

"I was already feeling it but I didn't know exactly what it was."

"If you'd talked to me like you promised at the beginning of our relationship, none of this would have happened." She says and I feel my heart ache to see her like this. "Then I'm sorry if I don't want to hear or accept your apology."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop, stop repeating that." She started breathing heavily and talking quietly to herself and breathing badly. "I can't breathe, I can't breathe."

"Look at me." I hold her shoulders and she looks at me with wide eyes. "Copy my breathing, okay? Breathe in and out."

We stayed like that for a few seconds until she started breathing normally again but crying a lot so I pulled her in and hugged her, I could feel my shirt getting wet from the tears but after a while she calmed down.

"I'm sorry I stained your shirt." She says after pulling away and wiping the mascara stains.

"It's okay, I don't care about the shirt."

"Okay." She lets go and looks at the floor.

"Come on, I'll take you wherever you want." She agrees and follows me to my car.

She gives me the address and I drive her to her house. The car is silent until she turns on the radio and I look at her.

"I'm sorry, I should have asked." She turns off.

"You don't have to." I said, calling again.

10 minutes later we arrived at her apartment and I realized that it was very close to mine, I opened the door and she was about to leave but she took a deep breath and looked at me.

"Thank you for bringing me home."

"No problem." She gave a slight smile and went inside and I felt as if I would never see her again.

Little did I know that it wouldn't be the last time I'd see her.

This story could have a part 2 because I left the ending open so if you want more, let me know in the comments.

And also let me know if you want to be tagged in part 2 if I do.

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character 2024 — Unscripted Undefeated Bracket — Round 3−1

Propaganda

Husky (Hope's Hearth):

not only is she a giant polar bear woman, she has a Russian accent, is MASSIVE, fat, has huge tits, threatens people, and has a high rank in Sexy

She can crush a watermelon with her thighs. Or your head. Whatever you prefer.

She's a SPACE PIRATE on the Gilted Rose and uses her massive paws to solve problems. Husky WILL go through you. There is no stopping her.

Also did you know she's so big, a honey badger person can stand on her tits like a shelf?

She committed a successful honey heist and stole from a fascist empire. She helped save an eldritch god's girlfriend from demons who had taken over his library castle. She threatened to kill her boss, who she thought had been dead, because he was being a coward.

She's fat and powerful and deserves this.

I would like to submit that Husky is a giant polar bear woman who is perpetually being climbed by a slightly smaller, but equally butch honey badger woman. And we all know honey badgers don't give a fuck. I'm just saying!

did I mention she's a lesbian

Usidore the Blue, Wizard of the 12th Realm of Ephysiyies, Master of Light and Shadow, Manipulator of Magical Delights, Devourer of Chaos, Champion of the Great Halls of Terr'akkas, the elves know him as Fi’ang Yalok, the dwarfs know him as Zoenen Hoogstandjes, and he is known in the Northeast as Gaismunēnas Meistar, and there may be other secret names you do not know yet (Hello from the Magic Tavern):

I just think wizards are sexy

Art of Husky courtesy of @lotsadeer.

Additional propaganda below the cut:

Husky (Hope's Hearth):

A giant polar bear woman

This is propaganda for all the female characters. Voters please remember how pretty all women are and factor that into every single vote you make. Thank you.

[sweetheartsofpanem]

Pinecone Emergency - Soft Things Survive

Previous Part

bye i meant to save this to my drafts but accidentally posted it earlier😭

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 4.65k

series masterlist | main masterlist

Haymitch is twenty paces ahead, cackling like he just committed a war crime.

“Coward!” you yell, breathless.

He doesn’t turn around—just yells back, “Not my fault you can’t handle the truth!”

“You said my tea tasted like swamp water!”

“I was being generous!”

Your hands curl into fists. “You’re a menace to society!”

“And you’re slow,” he calls, veering suddenly left through a patch of brush.

You curse, stumble, and dive after him, leaves snagging your arms and twigs snapping underfoot. You don’t even know what this chase is about anymore—some combination of insults, spilled flour, and a dare to “fight me like a man, Abernathy.”

You don’t catch him, of course. He’s wiry and fast for someone who claims to be ancient. By the time you both collapse onto a sunlit patch of grass near the edge of the woods, you’re panting and dizzy with laughter.

“You’re the worst,” you gasp, flopping onto your back.

He drops down beside you, smug. “And you’re still laying there instead of doing something about it.”

You elbow him in the ribs. “Only because murder is illegal.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

You glance over at him, hair sticking to your forehead, chest still heaving with breath. “Why do you always have to start something?”

Haymitch throws an arm across his face, grinning. “Because you always finish it. Eventually. After a tantrum.”

You lunge for him.

Haymitch scrambles to his feet, laughter tearing out of him in broken wheezes as you jump on his back like a deranged Koala.

“You absolute gremlin—” he chokes out, trying to shake you off.

“You started it!” you shout, clinging to him like revenge personified.

“I made one comment—”

“You said my tea was swamp water!”

“Technically I said it was generously swamp-inspired.”

You dig your heel into his stomach, but not hard enough to actually hurt.

“Violent!” he accuses.

“Deserved!”

He tumbles, both of you hitting the ground in a tangle of limbs and insults. He groans like an old man, which only fuels your chaos further.

“Did I break your hip, sunshine?” you ask sweetly, breathless. The teasing nickname had stuck, you don’t even intentionally say it anymore.

“I’m going to break your kneecaps,” he mutters, face-down in the grass.

You flop beside him, laughing so hard your ribs ache. “That’s fair.”

There’s a long moment where neither of you moves—just panting and staring up at the leafy canopy above, bits of sky peeking through in soft blue slivers.

“I’m too old for this,” he mutters.

“You’re the one who ran,” you say between gulps of air. “I just… followed the chaos.”

He huffs a tired breath, face still buried in the grass. “Remind me to stop inviting myself over.”

“You never actually stop,” you mumble, grinning.

Haymitch lifts his head just enough to glance at you. His hair is sticking out in every direction and there’s a tiny leaf stuck to his temple.

You reach over and flick it off without thinking.

He squints at you. “Thanks, honey.”

Your stomach flutters like a traitor.

You study the leaves above you, willing your heart to shut up. “So,” you say, tone light, “on a scale from ‘mildly antagonistic’ to ‘full gremlin,’ how do I rank today?”

He hums, pretending to think. “You’re off the chart.”

You glance sideways. “High or low?”

“Beneath the chart,” he says solemnly. “Under the paper. In the dirt.”

“Wow.” You sigh dramatically. “And here I was thinking I was charming.”

Haymitch leans up on one elbow, looking down at you with an exasperated grin. “You’re exhausting.”

“You’re grumpy.”

“And you like it.”

You go still for a heartbeat too long—then shove a blade of grass in his face. “No comment.”

He sputters, brushes it off, and flops back beside you with a groan. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grin at the sky. “Maybe. But you’ll go out laughing.”

“Or screaming.”

“Or both.”

There’s a beat of quiet—this time not chaotic, just… easy. The grass is soft beneath you, the sunlight warm against your skin. You can hear birds somewhere deeper in the woods, the wind nudging the treetops.

You shift just slightly, your arm brushing his.

You stay there for a while, breathing in sync with the trees around you, the quiet filling in all the places where adrenaline used to be. The sun is warm on your face. The grass is prickly in that pleasant, summer-skin kind of way.

Haymitch lets out a low groan beside you, more dramatic than necessary.

“What now?” you murmur.

“Think I bruised my pride.”

You snort. “Didn’t realize you still had any.”

He turns his head just enough to glare at you. “Keep talking, honey. I’ll start charging rent for every insult.”

“You’d make more off charging per scowl.”

“Or every time you threaten my life.”

You hum. “We could pool the profits. Open a stand.”

“‘Sarcasm and Emotional Instability,’” he says. “Family-friendly hours.”

You grin up at the sky. “We’d be rich.”

There’s a beat of silence. Birds chirp somewhere overhead. A breeze moves through the grass, gentle, rustling the trees like a lullaby.

Haymitch shifts beside you, propping himself up on one elbow with a wince. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re violent.”

You glance at him, heart doing that stupid flutter thing again.

He’s not looking at you—just brushing dirt off his sleeve like he didn’t say anything remotely flustering.

You recover quickly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Wasn’t one,” he says.

You nudge his arm. “Liar.”

He doesn’t deny it.

You sit up with a sigh, plucking a stray leaf from your hair. “We probably look feral.”

“You are feral.”

He stands slowly with a groan, offers a hand. You take it, and for a second—just a second—his grip tightens like he’s not quite ready to let go.

But then he does.

And it’s just your hand again, and him brushing grass off his pants like he didn’t just make your heart skip in a way that should be illegal.

You try to steady yourself. “So. Tea and medical attention back at my place?”

“Only if I get first dibs on the couch,” he says.

You start walking side by side, back toward the trail. “You always get the couch.”

“That’s because I earned it,” he mutters. “Surviving you should come with a medal.”

You bump his shoulder gently. “You’d miss me if I stopped being a menace.”

He doesn’t say anything at first.

Then, quieter than usual, not looking at you: “Yeah. I would.”

You blink.

But before you can reply, he clears his throat and changes the subject entirely. “Bet your tea still tastes like swamp water, though.”

You groan. “You were doing so well.”

He smirks. “Gotta stay consistent.”

And just like that, the warmth comes back. Steady. Unspoken. Like moss beneath bare feet and sun through leaves. Like maybe, just maybe, this is how something real starts.

Even if neither of you says it out loud.

You don’t even know what you trip over.

One second, you’re walking with all the smug grace of someone who just survived a flirt-laced forest duel, and the next—

Your foot catches something stupid and invisible. The ground lurches. Your ankle twists sideways with a sharp, hot jolt of pain, and you hit the dirt with a breathless oof.

Haymitch stops so fast you nearly trip him on your way down. “What the hell—?”

“I’m fine,” you say immediately, hands braced on the ground, your voice far too loud and far too defensive to be convincing.

Haymitch raises both eyebrows. “Uh-huh.”

You glare at the patch of earth like it personally betrayed you. “Something was there. It ambushed me.”

“You tripped over air.”

You wave a hand. “Violent air.”

He crouches beside you with a suspicious look. “Can you stand?”

“Of course I can stand.” You puff up a little. “I’m not fragile.”

You go to prove it—shoving yourself upright with all the pride of a wounded raccoon—only for your weight to hit the wrong foot.

The pain spikes immediately, white-hot and fast, and you let out a sharp, shocked, “Okay yeah no, not fine—”

You drop back to the ground with a hiss, clutching your ankle.

Haymitch stares at you.

You stare at your foot like it owes you money.

Then you glance up, trying not to look like you’re in actual pain. “Maybe just… a minor sprain. A teeny one.”

“You’re full of shit.”

You scowl. “That’s rude.”

He straightens with a dramatic sigh, hands on his hips. “Do I need to carry you?”

Your entire face combusts on the spot. “No.”

“Because it’s either that or you crawl.”

You look down at your stupid, throbbing ankle. “I could… hobble.”

He’s already bending down again. “You’re gonna fall over and land on a squirrel.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“Only if the squirrel sues.”

You start to argue but then he’s sliding one arm under your knees and the other behind your back.

“Haymitch—”

“Don’t make it weird,” he mutters.

You go very still.

He lifts you with a grunt, like you weigh absolutely nothing, which is so rude and so unfair and should not be allowed.

Your arms immediately go around his neck on instinct—definitely not because it’s nice, or warm, or because you can feel the way his chest shifts when he breathes. Definitely not.

He starts walking. “This what you wanted, honey? Dramatic rescue, carried through the woods like a romance novel heroine?”

“If you drop me, I’m taking you down with me.”

He snorts. “Noted.”

You glance up at him, face burning. “…You better not be enjoying this.”

He doesn’t look down, doesn’t even smirk. Just says, easy as anything, “Wouldn’t be carrying you if I wasn’t.”

And you absolutely do not melt like a puddle in his arms.

You don’t realize you’ve gone quiet until Haymitch kicks the door to your house open with his boot and mutters, “You alive, or do I need to check for a concussion too?”

You jolt slightly in his arms. “Sorry. Just—mentally preparing to face the embarrassment.”

“Of falling?”

“Of being carried by the grumpiest man alive.”

He smirks. “Could’ve left you in the woods.”

“I would’ve haunted you.”

He sets you down on the couch with more care than you expect, one hand lingering at your back for a second longer than necessary before he pulls away and straightens up. “Where do you keep your first aid stuff?”

“Bathroom cabinet,” you mumble, trying to keep your foot elevated without whimpering like a child.

He’s gone and back in under a minute, dropping the kit beside you and crouching down to examine your ankle. His fingers brush your skin—light, steady, a little rough from years of work and worse—and you do not flinch.

Except you absolutely do.

“You’re twitchy,” he says without looking up.

“Your hands are cold.”

“They’re not.”

“Then you’re cold.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You want help or not?”

You grumble something unintelligible, but let him peel your sock down and inspect the damage. It’s already swelling. You wince.

“You’re lucky it’s not broken,” he mutters. “Just a bad sprain.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I’ve had five.”

You blink. “You’ve had five sprained ankles?”

He shrugs, reaching into the kit. “Give or take.”

“Doing what?”

“Mostly escaping things.”

You stare at him. He doesn’t elaborate.

Then he lifts your foot slightly and presses a cold wrap against the swelling. You hiss in a breath through your teeth, grabbing a couch cushion and strangling it.

“You could’ve warned me,” you whimper.

“I did,” he says, smug. “You just talk too much.”

You kick at him with your other foot. He catches it without looking.

The room goes quiet for a second.

You don’t know why it feels weird, except—you’re holding your breath. Because his hand is still on your leg. Because he’s still crouched in front of you, eyes focused, jaw set, brows furrowed like you matter more than you should.

You look at him. Really look.

And unfortunately, your brain picks now to go: God, he’s hot.

Which is stupid, and incorrect, and illegal.

You sit up too fast. “I can do it myself.”

He looks up slowly. “You sure?”

“Yes, sunshine.”

“Because—”

“I’m fine,” you lie, grabbing the wrap and immediately fumbling it.

He watches you for maybe two seconds before he sighs and gently takes it back. “You’re terrible at this.”

“I’m great at this.”

“You’re trying to ice your shin.”

You scowl. “It’s adjacent to the injury.”

He wraps the ankle slowly, firmly, efficiently—and again you do not melt.

Except your whole chest is warm and fluttery and weird and why are his hands so gentle, and why does he smell like mint and woodsmoke and why is this your life now—

“You’re staring,” he says without looking up.

You blink. “I am not.”

“You’re absolutely staring.”

“Shut up.”

“I’d ask what you’re thinking, but I’m not sure I want to know.”

You cross your arms. “I’m thinking that this is very inconvenient.”

He finally looks at you. “Your ankle?”

You hesitate. “Among other things.”

His brow furrows slightly. “What does that mean?”

You panic. “Nothing!”

“Are you blushing?”

“No!”

“You’re absolutely blushing.”

“You’re delirious.”

Haymitch leans back on his heels, eyeing you. “You sure you didn’t hit your head?”

You throw a pillow at him. “Out!”

He dodges it effortlessly. “Not a chance.”

And somehow, in the middle of pain and denial and all the weird feelings curling up behind your ribs, you smile.

Because he’s still here.

And maybe—just maybe—you don’t actually mind being carried after all.

Haymitch finishes tying off the wrap with a level of focus that borders on insulting. You’re pretty sure he’s doing it just to avoid making eye contact.

“There,” he mutters, brushing off his hands. “Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

You blink. “You’re leaving?”

He stands, stretching with a low groan. “I smell like sweat, dirt, and whatever horror was growing in that field. I’m going to shower.”

You look down at your wrapped ankle. “And you’re just abandoning me in my time of need?”

He points at your leg. “It’s a sprain, not a war wound.”

You scowl. “You don’t know my pain.”

He rolls his eyes and heads for the door. “Don’t move. I’ll send backup.”

You open your mouth to protest—but before you can even demand clarification, he’s already out the door.

Ten minutes later, there’s a knock that doesn’t wait for permission before the door creaks open.

“Hey, Pinecone,” Peeta says, voice half-guilty, half-amused. “I come bearing moral support.”

You blink at him from your nest of blankets and drama on the couch. “He sent you?”

Peeta walks in holding a mug in each hand. “Yup. Said, and I quote, ‘I’m not worried or anything, but she’s clumsy and might try to do something dumb. Go sit on her.’”

You flush immediately. “Sit with me. He meant sit with me.”

Peeta shrugs, handing you a mug. “Who’s to say?”

You hiss into the steam rising from the mint tea. “I cannot believe this man.”

Peeta settles beside you, casual. “I can. This is very on-brand.”

You bury your face in your hands. “I’m going to die.”

“You sprained your ankle.”

“No, I mean emotionally.”

Peeta sips his tea. “Ah. The spiral is beginning.”

You lower your hands just enough to glare at him. “He wrapped my ankle, Peeta.”

“Yes, he did.”

“He touched my skin.”

“He does have hands.”

“He smirked at me when I blushed!”

“That tracks.”

You let out a wail. “I’m going to lose my mind.”

Peeta pats your head like a tired babysitter. “There it is.”

“I thought I was doing better!” you cry, half-muffled in your hands. “I thought I was being normal!”

“You’ve never been normal.”

You throw a blanket over your face. “He touched my foot.”

“Hot.”

“Why are you like this?”

“Because you’re helpless and I’m bored.”

You collapse sideways onto the couch with a groan. “I am going to combust the next time he breathes in my direction.”

Peeta raises an eyebrow. “It’s wild that he’s the alcoholic and you’re the one making reckless declarations.”

You reach over and whack him with your pillow. “I hate you.”

“Love you too, Pinecone,” he says sweetly, then pauses. “So… how long before you admit you’re in love with him?”

You groan and stuff your face into the pillow. “Get out of my house.”

“Can’t. Doctor’s orders. I have to keep your ankle elevated and your emotional damage contained.”

You kick your good foot at him and miss.

He smiles, patient and insufferable.

You’ve gone quiet.

Peeta doesn’t press you. He just sits there, nursing his tea, waiting for whatever storm is building behind your eyes to finally crash down.

You twist the edge of the blanket in your hands.

“He’s going to get tired of me,” you say suddenly, voice flat.

Peeta frowns. “What?”

You stare ahead, not really seeing anything. “I’m annoying. I spiral. I talk too much. I insult him. He’s going to get sick of it.”

Peeta doesn’t answer right away. Just lets the silence breathe.

Then he says, gently, “He’s the one who helped you today. You didn’t make him.”

Your throat tightens. “Only because I’m a walking disaster.”

“Or,” Peeta says, “because he likes being around you and wanted to help.”

You shake your head. “No. He tolerates me. There’s a difference.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You think he ties up ankle braces and throws sarcastic insults at just anyone?”

“He’s just being decent.”

“You really think Haymitch Abernathy goes around being decent for fun?”

You crack a weak, bitter smile. “Fair point.”

Peeta leans his head against the back of the couch. “Look, I know you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” you say too quickly.

He just looks at you.

You groan. “Okay, fine. I’m terrified. Happy?”

“Not even a little.”

You press your face into your hands again. “He’s not supposed to matter this much. I’ve done so well at not letting anyone matter this much.”

“Yeah,” Peeta says, “and how’s that been working out for you?”

You sigh, sinking deeper into the couch like you could disappear into it. “I don’t know what to do. Every time he calls me honey I feel like my bones are made of bees.”

Peeta blinks. “That’s an objectively terrifying sentence.”

You make a helpless sound. “It’s your fault for feeding me cinnamon bread and reintroducing me to human emotion!”

He snorts. “Yeah, well, you’ll survive.”

“I won’t. I’m going to die of foot embarrassment and unrequited pining.”

Peeta pats your shin. “I’m sure your obituary will be very dramatic.”

You throw a pillow at him, again. “I hate you.”

“You said that already.”

“I’ll say it forever.”

“I’ll get it printed on a mug for you.”

You pout for a moment, then whisper, “I also smell awful.”

Peeta blinks. “Okay. New spiral unlocked.”

“No, I mean—I was literally running around the woods sweating and then I fell in dirt. I can’t even shower because I’m hurt now and—ugh, kill me.”

He raises both eyebrows. “Is this where I offer to help?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Ew, no. This is where you get up and go fetch your terrifyingly competent girlfriend.”

Peeta chuckles, rising from the couch. “You sure?”

You fling a slipper at his leg. “Go. Now. Tell her to bring the strong herbs and no judgment.”

“She’ll bring at least one of those.”

As he opens the front door, you call after him, “And tell her to hurry before I dissolve into a puddle of self-loathing!”

Peeta waves over his shoulder. “She won’t be surprised.”

You’re still dramatically draped across the couch with your hair fanned out like a tragic woodland creature when the front door opens again. You crane your neck just enough to see Katniss step inside, eyes narrowed in quiet confusion.

“I heard there was an emergency,” she says flatly.

“I’m disgusting,” you say, dead serious.

Her eyebrows lift a fraction. “Right.”

“I’m covered in sweat, leaves, shame, probably a tick or two, and I can’t shower because I have a limp.” You gesture dramatically at your wrapped ankle. “It’s over for me. You have to do something.”

Katniss blinks once. “Peeta said you needed help. He did not say it was going to be this.”

You let your head flop backward with a wail. “Katniss Everdeen, if you do not take pity on my pitiful soul and help me bathe before I die of mortification, I am going to haunt you forever.”

She closes the door behind her and walks slowly into the room. “And here I thought you were emotionally stable again.”

“I was. Briefly. Until Haymitch carried me like I weighed nothing and tied my ankle up like it was nothing and smirked like it was nothing—”

“Okay,” she says, setting her herbs down. “That’s enough.”

You lift your face. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Katniss sighs like this is the hardest decision of her life. “Fine. But if you start crying about your feelings while I’m helping you scrub your back, I’m leaving.”

“Deal,” you sniff. “I’ll save the emotional breakdown for when you’re brushing out my hair.”

She rolls her eyes and walks to the bathroom. “Get your towel. And for the love of all that is green and minty, try not to fall again.”

You hobble after her like a wounded deer.

There is no dignity left.

Only suds, shame, and the solemn, silent bond forged between girls who have washed each other’s hair in times of emotional crisis.

You emerge from the bathroom like a freshly wrung dishrag with damp hair and a hoodie that smells like sunshine and clean laundry. Your ankle still aches, your pride is nonexistent, and you’re reasonably certain Katniss is never going to let you live this down.

You’re both in the kitchen now, Katniss reorganizing your herbs like nothing happened.

“Thank you,” you say softly, clutching your cup of water like a lifeline.

She doesn’t look up. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“I’m aware.”

“Don’t sprain anything else.”

You salute with your cup. “Yes, Captain Practical.”

She snorts. “You’re insufferable.”

You smile into the rim of your cup. “I know.”

Your front door opens and you freeze, staring at Katniss for a second before turning your head.

Haymitch stands there, hair still damp from his shower, shirt half untucked, and an expression that’s somewhere between his usual scowl and something you might call concerned—if you were feeling generous.

“You live,” he says dryly.

“I do,” you say. “Clean, hydrated, humbled.”

He looks past you toward Katniss. “She cry?”

“Only about the bugs.”

You glare at them both. “I’m right here.”

Haymitch smirks and steps inside. “Yeah, I noticed. The dramatics echo.”

You limp back to the couch with your mug. “Mocking me in my time of need. Classic.”

“You seemed fine enough to yell about soap fifteen minutes ago,” Katniss says.

You wish so badly you had something to throw at her. “Snitches get stitches.”

“And limps.”

Haymitch drops into the chair across from you like he owns the place. “You need anything else, or can we stop pretending this was a crisis?”

You narrow your eyes. “I need snacks. And a new sense of dignity.”

“I’ll bring the snacks,” Peeta calls through the open window, “but the dignity might be a lost cause.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. “I’m never getting over this.”

Haymitch leans back, arms crossed, watching you with a crooked smile. “Oh, I think you’ll survive.”

You peek through your fingers. “That’s a bold claim.”

He shrugs. “You’ve lived through worse.”

And maybe it’s the warmth still clinging to your skin, or the way the soft light from the window hits the side of his face, but you feel your chest flutter again—stupid, traitorous, and undeniable.

You lower your hands and stare at your cup.

Haymitch glances at your ankle, then back at your face. “Pain bad?”

“Manageable,” you say. “Embarrassment, worse.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “You’ll live, honey.”

You don’t say anything.

You just sip your water and try not to think about how good he looks with damp hair and concern hidden behind sarcasm.

Katniss leaves soon after, muttering something about needing to check her traps. Peeta stays long enough to deliver a questionable batch of cookies and make one more joke at your expense before heading home too.

And just like that—it’s quiet again.

Just you and Haymitch. The room soft with early evening light. The weight of everything a little lighter than before.

You stand up from the table a little too quickly for someone with a sprained ankle.

Haymitch clocks it immediately.

You try to wave him off. “I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not,” he says flatly. And before you can argue or limp even two steps toward the living room, he moves.

One second you’re upright and stubborn, the next you’re in the air, scooped up like it’s nothing. His arm hooks under your knees, the other wrapped firm around your back, and your breath punches right out of you. Somehow your water didn’t spill.

“Haymitch!”

He doesn’t look at you. Just starts walking toward the couch like this is something you do daily. “If you’re gonna be dramatic, at least do it off your feet.”

“I wasn’t being dramatic!”

“You were limping like a dying goat.”

“I had it handled!”

“You’ve handled enough today. Sit down.”

“I was going to!”

He smirks. “Eventually.”

You scowl at him. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little,” he admits.

You don’t dignify that with a response, mostly because you’re still too distracted by the way his shoulder feels against your back and how absurdly strong his arms are. His grip is careful, steady—like he knows exactly how to hold you without jostling your ankle, or maybe like he’s done this before.

Which is an even worse thought.

He reaches the couch and lowers you slowly, gently—one hand still under your knees until you’re settled into the cushions. You glare at him as he straightens.

“You didn’t even ask.”

“I knew you’d say no.”

“That’s not the point.”

He leans down, bracing his arms on the back of the couch on either side of you. “You complaining?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Cross your arms. “Maybe.”

His mouth twitches, smug. “Uh-huh.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re stubborn.”

You lift your chin. “I’m independent.”

“You’re reckless.”

“I’m resourceful.”

“You’re a brat.”

You smile sweetly. “Still carried me, though.”

He lets out a soft snort, pushing off the couch and dropping into the armchair with a tired groan. “Next time, I’m rolling you in a wheelbarrow.”

“I’ll light it on fire.”

“Wouldn’t be the first thing you’ve tried to set on fire.”

You settle back against the cushions, trying to will your cheeks not to flush. “Still not apologizing.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t expect you to.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “You really do like carrying people around, huh?”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow. “You offering to make it a regular thing?”

You blink. “Was that a flirt, sunshine?”

He looks at you, deadpan. “If it was, you’d know.”

You go a little still.

Then quickly pretend to sip your water.

He smirks to himself, leaning back in the chair, arms crossed like he didn’t just completely short-circuit your nervous system.

You exhale slowly. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

He gestures at your ankle. “Nah. Looks like you’ve got that covered.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m throwing my cup at you.”

“You’ll miss.”

“Not if I throw it like this,” you say, holding it like you’ve just invented a new Olympic sport.

He shakes his head, still grinning. “Hopeless.”

But his voice is soft.

His smile lingers.

And your heart, stupid traitor that it is, skips a beat.

Next Part

[silver-the-pendejo]

F1 Obssesed Reader :D

Reader x Linked Universe (mostly platonic and shennanigans) Yes, I made it heacanon's :D Reader is gender neutral No warnings except the FIA Words: 1874

You grew up watching Formula 1 religiously—blame your parents. They raised you on race weekends like it was gospel. While other kids watched cartoons, you were memorizing constructors’ standings and crying over tire compounds.

Your first words were probably “box box.” Your idea of bonding? Screaming at the TV over strategy failures with your parents. Now, you’re emotionally compromised whenever Ferrari gambles on hards.

Your loyalty to teams shifts based on your favorite driver, no questions asked. It’s not a betrayal; it’s just the natural flow of loyalty to drivers, not teams. “DRS is not cheating, you coward, it’s strategy!” You’ll die on that hill. Anyone who thinks DRS is cheating is absolutely wrong, and you’re ready to go toe-to-toe with them Don’t talk to you about Stroll or Lawson. If you hear their names in a conversation, you’ll go from calm and collected to unhinged in less than 5 seconds. Your temper flares, and the chaos unfolds. And don't even think about defending them. The conversation is over as soon as those names are mentioned. Somehow, you managed to build a full F1 car in Hyrule, using a mix of Sheikah tech and monster parts. It’s faster than anything anyone has seen before, and it doesn’t even look like it should be able to move as fast as it does. It’s loud, it’s terrifying, and half the Chain is terrified of it. "What did you even make? A monster?" Legend asks, more than a little shaken. You’re absolutely that person who can’t stop talking about F1 at any given moment. The Chain might be trying to make sense of your world, but you’re absolutely ranting about Leclerc’s tire management strategy one second, and the next minute, you’re throwing out statistics from Brazil 2022 like it’s your Bible. Everyone else might stare blankly, but you’re committed to the cause. "Okay, so... Max's pit stops were... chef’s kiss."

Arriving at hyrule

The first thing you ask upon landing in Hyrule—while still in shock and half-dazed from being ripped out of your world—is: “Wait—where’s the nearest Wi-Fi? The race starts in two hours.” The words come out like a reflex. There's no hesitation, no thinking through it. Is the end of a triple header, and you’re already panicking about missing it. A blond with heavy armor, who stands near you, blinks in confusion, clearly not understanding your urgency. “What starts?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. You, already in full-on panic mode, voice cracking from the stress, explain in an almost frantic tone: “THE. RACE. THE GRAND PRIX. I NEED TO SEE IF FERRARI SCREWS UP STRATEGY AGAIN—OR IF WE GET MORE THAN 2 DNF.” You’re frantically scanning the sky, the land, every corner for anything that might give you access to anything that might even remotely resemble a way to watch the race. The panic settles in, as your eyes flicker to the unfamiliar surroundings. A group of men surround you, most of them with sword’s on them, some weird as fuck ruins and nothing that looks even remotely like a screen or a signal tower. And then the horror hits. “Oh god, there is no Wi-Fi here, is it?”

You, on the verge of tears, completely losing it at the absurdity of the situation, shake your head in disbelief. “HOW CAN THIS WORLD EXIST WITHOUT WI-FI? WITHOUT RACE COVERAGE? HOW CAN I WATCH MY BOYS RACE?!” Your brain is racing faster than an F1 car with the DRS on. You start pacing, tugging at your hair as the reality sets in: you might actually miss the race of your life. (Every race is the race of your life so you are exagerating a bit) The group of men just stares, slightly stepping away from you.

Race weekends are back

After weeks—weeks—of being with the Chain, adapting to a medieval world with zero Wi-Fi and even less understanding of modern technology, you’d nearly given up. You’d mourned every missed Grand Prix like a funeral, cried into Twilight’s shoulder over Ferrari’s probable strategy disasters, and screamed into the sky with such emotional fury that even Legend considered sending a prayer to Hylia on your behalf.

But then… salvation.

💡 The breakthrough came when Wild, bored and probably half-feral, wandered back to camp one evening with a ruined piece of Sheikah tech.

“I found this near the Zonai ruins. Think you can do anything with it?” You, already halfway into a rant about how Red Bull had to be sandbagging again, paused—snatched the relic like it was holy—and immediately got to work.

What followed was weeks of chaotic tinkering. You begged Four for help with the circuitry. You bribed Warriors into finding monster parts to enhance the range. You threatened Wild with no cuddle privileges unless he fetched more ancient screws.

And finally—finally—after your hands were blistered and your nerves shot, it happened.

The crystal blue flicker of a bootleg screen powered by Sheikah energy.

Static.

A signal.

And then—

The lights went out.Five red lights.And GO GO GO—

You screamed. The guys panicked.Twilight drew his sword. Wind fell off a tree branch. Wild dropped a plate.

Legend, deadpan: “What fresh demon is this?”

You were crying.

“I’M WATCHING THE RACE! I’M BACK, BABY!”

Wind

Thinks F1 is the coolest thing ever.

Constantly asks you to explain the rules, the overtakes, the tire strategies. He’s obsessed. He doesn’t always get it, but damn it, he’s trying.

You let him watch a replay once. Now he’s emotionally invested in every driver you support.

“Wait—WHY are they putting hards on?! Did Ferrari do the stupid again?!”

Fully joins in on your rants. He’s the ultimate hype man. Absolute chaos duo.

Time

Is constantly confused, but so supportive in the “I-don’t-know-what-this-means-but-I’ll-pretend-I-care” dad way.

“So… this driver… he’s fast?”

Nods politely when you go off on tire strategies, but he zones out after 30 seconds.

Thinks DRS is some form of ancient dark magic. You almost cried explaining it to him.

Confiscated your Sheikah stone once when you tried to stream a race during a meting with Lullaby

Legend

Hates how much he loves watching you rant about F1.

“You care this much about people driving in circles?”

Purposely mispronounces driver names just to get under your skin.

“Ler-clerk?”

“It’s Leclerc, you absolute walnut—”

But, deep down, he’s keeping track of the races just so he can fight you with actual race facts.

Will never admit he’s invested. But, oh, he is.

Twilight

Doesn’t fully understand F1, but he loves how passionate you are about it.

He listens to you ramble about constructors and tire degradation like you’re reciting an ancient prophecy.

“Ferrari did what?” he’ll say with a wicked grin, just to get you going again.

Sits next to you during replays. You scream, he nods.

You once cried during a driver radio message, and without a second thought, he handed you his pelt.

“I don’t understand it… but I’m here.”

Sky

Tried to understand DRS using bird metaphors. It did not help.

“Wait… the wings… open? Is it safe? It doesn’t sound safe—”

Always looks mildly horrified when you’re yelling at the screen. He’s concerned about your blood pressure, honestly.

Once tried to stop you from watching a race while you were sick. You nearly bit him.

Brings you tea and sits quietly next to you on race days, just in case you need someone to hold your hand when Ferrari inevitably disappoints you.

Warriors

Loves the drama. Does not care about the technical stuff.

“Wait, there’s sabotage? Political tension? Broken hearts and break walls?”

Treats every race like a soap opera.

“So this Charles guy—you love him, but he breaks your heart weekly?”

Gasps dramatically when someone retires from the race. Over-the-top reactions every single time.

Made you a jersey (after you explained what it was) with his own fake team name on it. It says “Team Handsome.”

Wild

Thinks the races are fun, but he’s here for the adrenaline rush.

You talk about “traction” and he’s nodding while doing donuts in your Sheikah kart in the backyard.

Doesn’t really understand your loyalty shifting between team's, but he respects it.

“So… we hate Red Bull this week? Cool. Noted.”

Got emotionally attached to a rookie driver once and now asks about them every race.

Hyrule

Tried so hard to understand it for you, but quickly gave up. Instead, he just brings you snacks.

Thinks the tire colors are for fun.

“Why are the soft ones red? Are they angrier?”

Watches you stress and yells “GO GO GO!” with absolutely no clue who’s racing.

Brings you a blanket when you scream at the Sheikah tablet because you’re cold and mad at Ferrari’s strategy.

Four

Once you explained “DRS is not cheating,” he immediately somehow built you a wooden model of an F1 car to demonstrate airflow.

Now he’s obsessed with F1, but from a mechanics standpoint.

He constantly asks you for more data, graphs, stats. Has a whole journal dedicated to qualifying times.

You: “Why are you like this?”

Him: “I just want to understand why your blood boils when someone pits too late.”

Once rebuilt the suspension system on your Sheikah car just to see if it would help with tire degradation. He’s in it for the science.

Bonus (a.k.a.  Unhinged Quotes)

“If I had a dollar for every time F1 broke my heart, I’d have enough money to buy Sauber and fix the team myself.”

“FERRARI STRATEGY IS RUN BY MICE. MICE I TELL YOU. THEY PUT HIM ON HARD TYRES WHEN THE TRACK WAS LITERALLY MELTING.”

“This is what Lewis meant when he said ‘Still we rise.’ I’m rising. And I’m speeding.”

“I once bit a kid who said Mazepin was better than Mick. I regret nothing.”

“Fuck Lance Stroll. That man drives like he’s trying not to spill his iced coffee.”

"I have seen Deku Scrubs with more pace. I have seen CUCCOS with better spatial awareness."

“If Ferrari just listened to their own drivers, maybe they wouldn’t finish P6 every time.”

“Every week I think Charles is going to win and every week he gets violated by a tire call.”

“Why are the only people with a working brain in the Mercedes garage the coffee machine and Toto?”

“TWILIGHT, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND—CHECO DEFENDED FOR HIS LIFE IN ABU DHABI. HE’S A WALL. HE’S A SAINT. HE’S A DAMN MEXICAN MINOTAUR.”

“My kink is pit stops under 2 seconds. If you don’t get it, you’re weak.”

“I will never forgive the FIA for how they handled Abu Dhabi 2021. If they had just given me 5 minutes with the rulebook, we wouldn’t have had half the controversy.”

“I swear, if Ferrari gets another ‘strategic’ pit stop call during the race, I’m throwing my tablet out the window. Call it a ‘technical DNF’ on my part.”

“Ferrari’s strategy is like playing poker... but with no cards. No chips. And also, they’re blindfolded.”

“If the FIA had a brain cell, it would get lost in the parking lot.”

“If I had a penny for every time the FIA messed up a race, I’d own a private jet and buy out the sport. Then, I’d fire half the stewards.”

"If I were Checo, I’d have swerved into Max just a little. Just a smidge. A friendly little love tap… at 300 km/h."

“MAX VERSTAPPEN… REFUSED TO GIVE CHECO P6… AND FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT, MAXIMILIAN? A CHILI CHEESEBURGER?”

“Max won’t give Checo DRS but he WILL look at him like he’s the last Red Bull can in the fridge. Be so for real.”

I drop this here and go bullshit my way out of class, also ALMOST END OF SEMSETEEER RAAAAH. Also yes, this is because im gonna be put in withdrawal since not race next weekend Ok i dissapear to finish my projects and to droll over my food As always inbox is open, and yes person that is there waiting rn u are next :D LU Masterlist