#this is probably full of mistakes i can't type

[eluntara]

i still don't have internet so i didn't manage to set up a carrd as intended :c for now, though, the relevant information is here

i. tyrande was the only daughter of fahlorn and ayla whisperwind. despite the peaceful times, her parents died when she was still young — attacked while outside the borders of azshara's realm. she was looked after by an aunt, mytaena blackstar, her mother's sister. she learned to hunt from her aunt, and quickly proved to be quite skilled at it. none of her family was highborne, neither were they talented with the arcane.

ii. she knows the stormrages since childhood, and anyone who knew them as children would describe the trio as attached by the hip. wherever one of them was spotted, you were certain to find the other two soon after. they were her best friends, her closest friends, the only ones who knew her entirely and completely with no barriers whatsoever, and she loved them both — though given their more similar nature, illidan and tyrande were likely often leading the way into trouble with malfurion trailing after.

iii. when it was time for them to choose their paths, tyrande had no doubt it was priesthood she would choose. her choice was not made out of unyielding faith as much as it was because that was the path that suited her purpose. both a protector at heart and hopelessly incapable of staying outside of action, she sought the sisterhood of elune — to protect others. specially the ones she loved. while malfurion found himself similarly at ease in druidism and wishing the other two to follow him, she never had any true interest in the druidic arts. illidan, the one who remained lost as to which path to follow for longest, would have received nothing but support and reassurance from her. when he found his calling in the arcane, she was as content for him as she had been for malfurion.

iv. the sisterhood took adapting to. it was the first time she didn't have illidan and malfurion with her, and she felt their absence greatly, but she did make new friends among her sisters fairly easily. tyrande showed great affinity for the moon goddess from the start, having a stronger bond to elune than many other, older priestesses. while most rejoiced, there were those envious of her, specially when the high priestess, dejahna, took her under her wing.

v. always worth noting the sisterhood of elune is not like human priest orders. their role in the war of the ancients was so significant because they were both elite troops and healers. they were trained for combat as well as for healing, and tyrande was a skilled hunter even before becoming a priestess.

vi. on the thorny subject of the love triangle: i don't? really see it? as a love triangle? tyrande cared for both of them as friends. she didn't love either of them romantically irrevocably, and if any of the two, i feel she leaned more towards illidan than malfurion, but more importantly, there was a lot of pressure on her related to her making a choice because they were adults and everyone expected her to pick one of the two as her mate. regardless of the choice she'd make, that would have featured heavily on why she chooses at all. still, i think she was closer to illidan, and that this is part of why she only chooses malfurion after the war. in many ways, illidan removed himself from being a choice because tyrande wouldn't agree to the lengths he went for his goals — considering, back then, she still had faith in a better path being possible that did not require the sacrifices he would make.

also relevant to note that i think, in many ways, she feared for him, and that i think all throughout the war tyrande would never have turned her back on him, as seen in the fact she does try to reach out and help him find another path when magic addiction takes its toll on him. which is not to say she didn't care for malfurion, only that i don't think they understand each other as innately as her and illidan did. malfurion is more distant (be it because his concerns lay elsewhere, because he doesn't know how to deal with his crush on her, or whatever other reasons) and often sees things differently (he's critical even of the priestesses fighting, in the books, which is :| ). but ultimately he was also the "safer" choice, still someone she cares about, still someone who knows her better than almost anyone and who she'd trust with everything she has. there's no stating the depth of her hurt when, having trusted that, she's left on her own after the war, without anyone she cares for who really knows her, with him purposefully choosing to leave even though she asks him not to.

vii. which ties into the fact she never ever wanted to be a leader, not even within her own order, much less of her entire people. she was thrust into this role unwillingly, and she embraced it because she loves her people and wanted to protect them. ultimately, though, being high priestess and being without the two people she had always had in her life who she was closest to, and having to deal with war and adversity, all of that hardened her greatly. tyrande was always passionate and decisive and even stubborn, her determination and intensity often leading her to act rashly. but she's not unwise, nor is she uncaring, even if she can be quite ruthless when it comes to protecting her own.

viii. shandris is her daughter. it doesn't matter to her at all she's not her biological daughter, and the fact malfurion was asleep for thousands of years, as well as that he doesn't seem to get that initially, suggest to me that regardless of their relationship as a couple shandris... isn't as much their daughter as she is tyrande's daughter.

ix. i think her distrust of magic following the world almost ending due to her people's misuse of it is in part why she feels betrayed by illidan's actions and decision to try to recreate the well of eternity. that said, while i think she agreed with his punishment being imprisonment, i don't think she would have supported how it was done. maybe it was an oversight on her part, but i think it's also a very emotional reaction, that she didn't want to see him after that. he was her closest friend, and she closed up in face of that disappointment. she left it in other people's hands, and she never doubted malfurion would ensure illidan would be treated fairly, even if that was not what happened.

for ages, she's unaware of whether he's alive or dead. the lack of visits on her part, even after thousands of years, strikes me as odd; specially with how lonely she feels while ruling her people alone. i do think the state of his imprisonment, as well as his status, may have been kept from her — either by maiev, malfurion, or both. in wc3, she seems surprised to find his prison, and she doesn't know what the door to it is until she's told, after which she immediately says they should release him. when she orders the wardens to do so and they refuse, tyrande outright kills them to free him. and while her words suggest illidan is meant to be used as a weapon, i don't think she'd have wanted to free him for that reason, and rather that that's only what she uses as excuse. she wouldn't have killed her people to free him if she didn't care. deep down, it was also about freeing her friend, which is obvious in how much faith she has that illidan will show he has more than earned his freedom.

x. she rebuilds the sentinels to ensure her people will have enough of a defense, specially after they renounce the magic they relied on for so long during azshara's reign.

xi. have i mentioned how lonely she is after the war of the ancients when she doesn't have her closest friends and people look up to her as a savior and holy person and not just a person and she has no one she can rely on while everyone relies on her. have i mentioned how lonely it is, how much it hurts, that she has to remain strong and confident because that's what others need of her. because. that's an important thing.

xii. the differences between tyrande and malfurion are greatly exacerbated when he and the druids are awakened after the long vigil. when she says 'Long ago, I swore to protect this land, Malfurion. I never had the luxury of sleeping through times of great peril.', it's sharp and it's honest. she's aware of the druids' strength and the emerald dream's importance, but she's had to deal with hardship all this time in the real world. and there's also resentment, for sure, towards his choice to leave her when their people needed them to rebuild and she had needed him most. like... that five minutes later he's trying to forbid her from freeing illidan doesn't make it better, 'only the goddess may forbid me anything' etc.

xiii. when illidan inevitably chooses to become even more demon to fight the demons, she isn't sure she made the right choice in freeing him. i do think she has a hard time believing all that change doesn't change who he is, but i don't she hates him for sacrificing his very soul to protect their land. i think she doesn't understand completely, and i think she grieves. she does think her friend is lost.

xiv. she's so distrustful of orc and humans. she'd work with neither given the choice and it's really only desperate need that makes her willing to work with thrall and jaina.

xv. when illidan comes back attacking maiev and malfurion goes deal with him, tyrande 100% goes too because she feels responsible, since she freed him. but honestly she's team fuck maiev all throughout ksndfkjsdnfkjsn and if not for malfurion interfering, i do think she'd have tried more forcefully to stop maiev from pursuing illidan after he saved her and things were okay ish between them.

xvi. while this changes through the years, tyrande is deeply compassionate. she's not someone who ignores those in need. it's why aiding kael was an obvious thing for her to do, regardless of what maiev thought.

xvii. tyrande was in stormwind when teldrassil was first attacked. her immediate desire was to go and join the battle, and the only reason she did not was due to a plea from the messeger that first brought her the news. she was asked to stay instead and receive the refugees of her people, so they would find at least one familiar presence to welcome them. nevertheless, eventually she did go to teldrassil to aid those who yet remained.

xviii. her choice to spare saurfang would be regretted later, but it was rooted not only in the orc having spared malfurion's life, but that he was one of the main generals leading the attack. at that point, she knew at least a portion of her land would be lost, and she hoped granting mercy to him would in turn lead him to have the horde show mercy on any of her people who didn't leave teldrassil in time. that the world tree would be burned was unthinkable to her, even in a dire moment like that.

xix. tyrande has led her people through great loss before, but by this point she is fundamentally changed, and the cruelty that act showed only makes her more merciless. she knows the night warrior ritual is dangerous, and that it'll have a great cost, be it her life or her very soul, and she doesn't care. she'll gladly pay it, as long as it gives her the power to get the justice for her people no one will help them achieving.

xx. the night warrior is initially presented as one of elune's own faces, a warrior facet that the goddess' followers associate with bravery, but others, like malfurion, look at with fear. later, maiev describes the night warrior as the incarnation of the goddess' wrath. when tyrande makes the ritual, she calls upon elune for justice, vengeance and certainly no lack of fury. i do think she resents elune for not protecting her people and teldrassil, and i think tyrande resents it even more because elune continues to heed her requests immediately while letting her people die.

xxi. either way, i don't think those are fundamentally incompatible portrayals and hold both to be true, as there are reasons for the different views on what the night warrior was. but from that point onward, i don't follow canon. i'm not at all interested in the narrative it was too much power for her to handle or that harming people who severely harmed you is being just like they are. what i will write the night warrior as is a corruptible force, which tyrande is only able to use in the first place because of her attunement to elune and the fact her own feelings were already well aligned with the goddess' wrath. however, the change inevitably enhances those feelings, as well as makes her inevitably bound to spill the blood of the enemies of her people. it is a darker turn, and one of which there's no going back, but it does not cause her to lose herself entirely. she is still capable of great love, even if not of the same compassion she displayed in the past. but then again, would that change in face of what she suffered, even without the night warrior change?

xxii. were elune to reveal she purposefully let the kaldorei die to help sb in shadowlands, tyrande would renounce her deity entirely. as of bfa she already had big issues with elune, and that would be the last straw. purposefully letting her people die is grounds for god killing tbh

xxiii. anyway i need better structured/more in depth stuff for where she'd be currently, but the tldr of it while i'm mobile bound is that she remains the night warrior, elune is on thin fucking ice, and the night elves would have either left the alliance officially or fractured further, with those under her leadership leaving the faction behind. the alliance did nothing in their hour of need, and helped the horde deal with yet another problematique warchief instead. tyrande will not forgive that, and shandris alone cannot make amends. both factions only brought her people trouble and she wants both sides dead for the most part. she would maintain good relationships with gilneas, as well as some of the other races, but humans and forsaken alike can disappear from the face of azeroth for all she cares

xxiv. i think there is something of supernatural in her after becoming the night warrior, in a very 'vengeance spirit' esque manner, except she's alive and bound to an entire people. i like to think it did make her a sort of eternal being that will always watch over her people and bathe in the blood of their enemies, but that's just a thought for now

[neocrias]

Hiii, how are you going?? (I hope fine).

I was thinking about this a few days ago and didn't hear back, but how do you think SVT members would try to flirt? Like, in a more sensual way, you know??

Hey, sorry for the delay, busy schedule and stuff... We weren't sure if this was what you wanted, so we did it like this. You can send another message if it's different from this.

How does svt flirt

warnings: descriptions; headcanons; gn (mostly) reader self insert;

pairings: svt x gn reader

gender/aus: fluff; slightly suggestive

Scoups

He's a total show-off. During the meeting, gathering, party, or whatever you're at, he just won't let you look at anyone else, because he'll make sure he's saying something, looking or being more attractive. Cheol will flex his muscles if it makes you pay attention only to him, and when (not “if”, when!) he catches you looking at him with those hooded eyes, he's gonna raise his thick eyebrows in pure arrogance. Seungcheol can't help it, he knows how he looks like, and he'll always use that in his favor.

Jeonghan

Probably, if Jeonghan is really invested into taking you tonight, he'll start making sly comments. "Oh, poor you, not really enjoying the party, hm?" "Bet you'll enjoy something else more..." or maybe just "I could give you some fun". I mean, being a bit mischieveous is one of the things he does best, so he's absolutely playing that game when it comes to flirting too. Probably plays a lot with his own hair in front of you. Probably is going to play a lot with your hair, too.

Joshua

Slight eyebrow movements, inumerous hand gestures, a lot of leaning towards you. Joshua is just a master of body language and he will certainly make good use of that when he wants you. Of course you'll notice when he's suddenly very close, almost towering over you, but it'll be so subtle that you won't be able to point out when exactly that happened. That, combined with his swift hand gestures as he speaks, as well as the soft tone he's using with you will do it. At this point, it's just natural for him to flirt like that.

Jun

Will absolutely use his good boy persona to get it. I'm talking gentleman acts but full of an unusual confidence that makes anyone's heart flutter. He will do all those manly acts such as opening your bottle and the door of the car, and he will certainly say some romantic things, pointing out how incredibly beautiful you are. Jun might as well just pull up a Romeo card out of his sleeve and say that your eyes are sparkling and all that stuff. Next thing you know, you're in his bed. Guess all that smooth talk worked on you, ha.

Hoshi

Do you like stereotypes? Well… I love it and will follow Hoshi’s biggest stereotype. he will take you dancing and will make sure your bodies are as close as possible. You will be able to feel his breath hitting your neck and Hoshi will make sure to brush his lips against your cheek to make you shiver – I won’t even mention how tightly he presses his hands against your hips…

Wonwoo

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Wonwoo is a romantic guy. BUT he’s also a low-key guy. I don’t see Wonwoo being the biggest fan of pda, so maybe he’ll slip his hand into your back pocket, pulling you closer to him, your shoulders bumping against his as he subtly nuzzles into you and leaves a peck or two on your cheek and shoulder. You’ll know he’s needy the moment you feel his arms snake around your back.

Woozi - (edited)

Don't ever mistake Jihoon's quietness with lack of attitude. He's the type to be certain about what he wants - and who he wants. So, when trying to flirt, Woozi will probably be very direct and straightfoward. He'll also stay close to you, making you feel his whole presence - and is likely to give you compliments throughout the night, from the most subtle to the most heartstopping ones.

Dokyeom

He'll wrap his arms around your shoulders, pulling you against him, and he'll leave lots (LOTS) of kisses on your face. At first, they'll be spaced out pecks on your cheek, but little by little they'll become more frequent and will move down to your neck and shoulder. Dokie seems innocent, but he knows exactly what to do and where to kiss to get what he wants, and he'll smile brightly when he sees your eyes flutter.

Mingyu

He's into the physical type of flirting, so if Mingyu wants you, he's gonna make you know it. His hands will grip your tights pulling you closer to him. His fingers will run along the thin skin of your thigh, scraping his nails to make your skin crawl and give you goosebumps. He'll do this until you show him that you're just as needy as he is, so it won't be hard for you to agree to go home early.

Minghao

I think Minghao might pull an intelligent and collected act in front of you. Of course he wants to impress, and he knows it'll do. He'll start saying some incredibly smart things, and he'll love to see your slightly admired face as he explains something - because it'll mean it's working. Or, if you're able to keep up with his sharp and precise comments, he might as well just fall in love at the spot. Either way, he's getting it.

Seungkwan

You'll know Seungkwan wants something when he starts teasing you more. He'll pinch your waist, push his knee against yours, and stare... He'll try really hard to irritate you because (according to him) you look beautiful when you're angry and when you get tired and finally make a move, the make out sessions always get... better.

Vernon

I'm a strong defender of the Vernon whispering type of flirt. He just knows how to scan the room and he'll know when is the right time to take you quietly and subtly to the side, soft touches and an attentive glare as he licks his lips. When you're both out of others' sights, he'll lean in and whisper softly in your ear. Maybe some "you look so beautiful tonight" or maybe a more direct "should we go somewhere else?". It's effective, it's discreet, and it's hella sexy. Just like him.

Dino

I think Chan might be the type to directly flirt, like, be really honest towards the fact that he wants you. However, he won't do the chasing. As soon as he makes himself clear, he'll give you space and wait for you to reciprocate. He just loves to have you going for him, and to know that he made such an impact that he just left you there, overthinking and wanting him so much that you ended up taking some initiative yourself.

[oriistar]

How about headcanons for how Wyll, Halsin, Gale, and Astarion would react to his shy gn crush confessing to him?

Reactions To A Shy Reader Confessing

Wyll, Halsin, Gale, Astarion x GN Reader

(separately)

Warnings: None, all fluff!

Wyll:

First of all, I'll just start by saying Wyll is such a sweetheart. Like actually such a cutie.

He's definitely a romantic! So if you get all flustered trying to confess your feelings for him? He'd be smitten with you.

Wyll is definitely the kind of guy to lay out his feelings outright.

He doesn't see a reason to hide them so honestly he'd probably end up confessing to you first if you're too shy!

But if you are the one to approach him? He's floored.

Watching you stumble over words or even try to just beat around the bush instead of outright telling him how you feel, he thinks it's adorable.

The way he's looking at you doesn't make it any easier either.

He's got this awestruck look on his face as soon as he realizes you're trying to confess.

Literally looks like he's just been shot with Cupid's strongest arrow it's so cute.

So as you're trying to confess he's just staring at you with eyes full of so much love and although its sweet, its also kind of intimidating for someone as shy as you!

How are you supposed to focus on choking out your confession when he's looking at you like that?

You can't for real, giving up midway through or he's gonna have to take over and let you know he feels the same way.

Although he'd love to hear you make it through the whole confession, he's very understanding of how nerve-wracking it can be!

Don't worry, he loves you so much already he'll just help you coax out your feelings later into your relationship because he is DEFINITELY asking you to be his partner right then and there.

Halsin:

Halsin is pretty old.

He's open about the fact that he's had many past lovers and committed partners.

He can smell your feelings for him a mile away. (Probably literally, the fuckin animal)

He's absolutely no stranger to confessions and he's probably so used to people approaching him to say they're attracted to him in some way.

So when you finally work up the nerve to confess your feelings for him, he watches you with a very amused look.

Of course he would never make fun of you! But he can't help but find it entertaining to watch you be so shy about it.

Despite all of his experience though he definitely gets butterflies in his stomach when you start with your (very rehearsed) confession.

He likes you a lot, adores everything about you, so when you're flustered and stumbling over your words he can't help but think about how precious it is.

Halsin is a very big man with very protective instincts. If it seems like your nerves are working you up an awful lot through this, he's definitely the type to scoop you into a hug and reassure you that you're not making a fool of yourself.

Although the hug would probably fluster you so much more than the initial confession.

He's patient too, so he won't cut you off or save you from what you're trying to say.

He'll stand there patiently with his arms crossed and smile lovingly at you while you clumsily say it.

He finds it very endearing, over all absolutely in love with all of your awkwardness.

He's also silent through the whole thing which, if you struggle to look him in the face while confessing, you might mistake his silence for rejection or expect him to have a disappointed look on his face.

Definitely doesn't help that now he's accidentally making you think the worst.

But don't worry, he'll give you the best bear cuddles of your life after he lets you know he feels just the same way of course.

Gale:

Ugh the love of my life!!!

Gale gets a lot of bad rep but he's such a gentleman, I love him.

I wouldn't say that Gale is shy like you but he's definitely a little hesitant to admit his feelings at first.

He's very much an 'all or nothing' kind of guy so if he's planning on confessing to you then it'll be properly planned out.

Honestly a little bummed out if you approach him first but only because he had this whole speech and stuff planned for when he finally decided to go all in LOL.

Absolutely overjoyed that you feel the same way though!

He's got a lot of self confidence issues (when I catch you Mystra 👊)

So seeing you all shy and nervous to tell HIM that you LIKE him? He's on cloud 9.

Might feed his ego just the slightest bit.

He's just shocked that you like him, let alone like him enough to be nervous to tell him.

He'll listen to your entire confession and commit it all to memory, no matter how many times you get sidetracked due to your nerves.

He doesn't care, he's just too thrilled that you actually like him the poor man.

I wouldn't say that Gale doesn't have any game, he says that he's had lovers other than Mystra so that must mean that he pulls at least a little bit.

He's definitely awkward about relationships at the start though.

He doesn't know if it's too much too soon or if he's not being forward enough with his wants. Definitely an adjustment for him.

I feel like his sheer excitement definitely has him pulling you into a tight hug, which he'll apologize for after since he didn't ask permission first.

He'd definitely want to spend the rest of the day with you after and will pout like a puppy whenever you have to go, poor thing.

Astarion:

We all know that Astarion is a little shit.

Right out of the gate he's teasing you relentlessly.

Due to his own trauma, he'll think you're trying to hook up with him before he thinks you're just confessing your feelings.

Definitely flirtatious about it and very much trying to make you even more of a nervous wreck than you already are.

Probably asks you if fucking vampires is some kind of kink of yours, which you'll scramble to deny and it'll totally make him smirk all smug and shit.

When he realizes you're actually just telling him that you genuinely like him, his attitude changes.

Astarion is very familiar with being used but to have someone like him for him? He doesn't really know what to say.

He's embarrassed and his face is already flushing red as he hears you out.

His heart is absolutely swelling with affection though.

He's liked you for quite awhile but would never dare to tell you in fear of rejection or the fact that you might just want a sexual relationship with him.

He'd probably get pretty shy about telling you he feels the same way too.

He thinks it's so sweet watching you stumble over your words.

I honestly feel like he might end up on the verge of tears, his eyes always look so wet in game when he's saying something genuinely affectionate to Tav.

He's not fully comfortable with casual physical touch but he might gently hold your hand after it all and run his thumb over your knuckles.

Generally very soft with you for the rest of the day but don't think his sass is all gone.

After your initial confession he'll probably ask you if you're actually sure that you love someone like him 😭

If you're lucky and your nearly fumbled confession touches his heart deeply enough, he might apologize for how he teased you when you first tried to tell him how you feel.

All of my writing is original work created by me. Please do not repost, translate, or alter them in any way.

[akaneoxo]

Breaking Dishes

Summary: You send your boyfriend Sukuna a text you instantly regret.

MDNI

WC: 1355

You bite your lip nervously eyeing the door to the shared apartment for probably the fifth time in the last fifthteen minutes. You fucked up. You fucked up badly. Half of you wishes you had a time machine to correct your mistakes. Like really wished. There are no sorries when it comes to your boyfriend. He believes strongly that whenever someone says something they mean it. He isn't wrong. You meant it in the moment, but certainly not now. You only said it to get him angry. The bratty part of you is still relishing in the fact you got a rise out of your usually level headed man. Your level headed man that was definitely on his way to fuck your shit up. 

You check your phone again to see no new notifications. Just the last message he sent before you squealed and tossed your phone on the bed. Standing up and walking into the kitchen you shakily pour a glass of water just to give yourself something to do. It was a petty argument. Of all the things. The fucking dishwasher is what you decide to argue about. Not barely seeing each other for the last two weeks (only in passing), not the endless late nights out, not the lack of phone calls and communication. The fucking dishwasher.

You've reminded him time and time again just to unload the dishes, He remembers to do everything except that. Cooks you dinner before heading out to work, stuffs your messenger bag with your favorite snacks before you head to your classes, takes out the trash and even folds your laundry from time to time. You probably shouldn't have even got as angry as you were in the first place.

Is it that fucking hard to unload the dishwasher Sukuna?

You watch as within the minute your message is marked as seen and within that same minute three dots jump rhythmically as he types his response.

On my way to fix that rn.

You know he's not talking about the dishwasher. 

He's talking about your attitude.

You nearly jump out of your skin when the lock on the front door turns. You suddenly hate the open layout of your apartment, Wishing there was a wall that blocked out the living room. You make eye contact with him as he locks the door behind him before stalking into the kitchen. Clearing your throat you push back some of the flyaways from your messy bun suddenly feeling cold in your pink slip nightgown. You try to damage control as he clears the living room in long unhurried strides.

“Uhm im sorry. S-shouldnt have lashed out like that. I-”

You think he's reaching for the dishwasher but he grabs you by your hips and pins you over it. The cool granite makes you shiver as he rests his weight against  you. You squeak when he pushes your legs together tightly. You try again.

“Kuna i'm really sorr”

“I dont give a shit how sorry you are” He sighs out boredly before pushing your short nightgown over your plush rear. You gasp when he squats down without warning. Warm palms on your ass spread you so far your nether lips separate and your pussy is on full display for him. “I wanna know how sorry she is about that fucking attitude.” 

You moan loudly when a familiar pierced tongue finds your clit. Tracing it lightly before he presses a wet smooch against your folds. Instead of giving your clit the attention it so desperately needs he turns his head and kisses your left thigh. You try to spread your legs and he chuckles “Mmm keep your legs closed baby” he speaks into your pussy before turning away again and kissing your right thigh. You feel him smile when you shuffle your legs a little closer. You can't help but be a little fidgetly. He has your pussy spread and hes just-

“Fuck”

Tongue fucking you. 

You try to reach for anything to keep grounded as he groans into your slick. Moving his head with tongue. Alternating between burying his tongue into your cunt and placing wet open mouth kisses around your entrance. Rising on your tiptoes and whimpering when an arm locks around the front of your thighs pulling you more fully into his face. Moving his tongue in and out your hole at a fast pace. And there's still no stimulation on your clit but it's okay. If he keeps this up you can cum like this. One of his hands is sliding up between your thighs. You barely pay mind to it too busy grinding your ass into him finding a rhythm where your practically fucking his face. He pulls away from you watching your hole clench around nothing. Desperate to be filled. His eyes drop down to your clit. Swollen and almost pulsing with need. 

Smirking he slides the hand in between your thigh higher watching you pathetically rub your clit against it. It's not really enough to get you off but it's still entertaining to watch you try. You let out a frustrated groan before stomping your foot and he checks that fast by unexpectedly sliding two fingers into your cunt and just as quickly they're gone. He thinks he knows exactly what you need when you let out a frustrated huff. 

“Quiet the temper tantrum for such a needy fucking pussy sweetheart.”

There's a loud smack on your ass before he pulls back spitting on pussy before standing. You whine when you hear him unzip his jeans and there's another smack on the opposite cheek. The pierced head of his cock finds your entrance and you feel tears spring from your eyes as a hand settles on to the back of your neck.

Your cheek is pressed into the cold granite with a squeeze. Mouth hanging open in a silent moan as he sinks into you in one fluid stroke and stills. Trembling you reach a hand behind to rest on his stomach. Freshly manicured french tips curl into his black shirt and pull him into you  because forget the trash-dishes you just missed him and his dick. You really didnt give a fuck about the dishwasher. Leaning over you Sukuna chuckles at your senseless tears. 

“Your such a fucking brat you know that?” He murmurs into your ear as you still try to adjust to him. You can barely hear him over the sound of your own heart beating so loudly. You can feel the blood rushing to your cheeks because he's not moving. He's just watching you struggle to take him. Sukuna kisses your ear before his tongue traces your upper ear. Bringing it into his mouth and sucking it loudly- exactly how you wished for him to do with your clit that's still pleading for this kind of attention despite being so full. He straightens back to his full height. “Texting me bitching about dishes when all you really want is some fucking dick.” He's pulling back slowly, dragging his cock out of your cunt before snapping back into you. Your entire body jerks when he repeats it over and over again. Continuing his pace until you can feel yourself climbing right back to that peak he so rudely denied you a few minutes ago.

A hand tangles itself into your messy bun before dragging you up so that you make eye contact with the ceiling. “My poor little girlfriend huh?” he makes an exaggerated pout at you before grabbing the hand that is still tangled in his shirt. “No one to fill her little pussy for a few days and starts acting bitchy instead telling me she misses me.” 

As loving as your boyfriend is, it's times like this that he reminds you of how mean he can be. 

Confused, you let him guide your hand down to your clit before rubbing slow circles around the bud.

“Gonna make you wish you played with this pussy tonight instead of me princess.”

Likes, comments, & reblogs appreciated 🩵 TY for reading ^.^

[lovelytsunoda]

the way you kiss me works each time // lance stroll

summary: sexual innuendos and a scrabble board make for a flirty and cosy afternoon

pairing: lance stroll x wife! reader

warnings: 18+, no smut but it’s very suggestive and very flirty (while being cosy at the same time!!)

notes: can be read as a part of the ‘welcome to wherever you are’ verse or as a stand-alone, returning to an idea I had in part two (spill the wine). there's something about this whole concept that just makes me weak in the knees.

the sun was low in the sky as it threatened to dip behind the clouds. the breeze was gentle, coming over the balcony of the villa where the newlyweds were staying, overlooking the ocean as they basked in each other's company.

a scrabble board was spread out on the table in front of them, the low hum of the tv from the sitting room playing an italian travel programme. they had spent the day on a walking tour of capri, before spending the afternoon in an authentic italian pasta making class, and were now relaxing their tired bodies with cold drinks and a game of scrabble.

"and i play 'clever' for eleven points." she hummed, laying the tiles down and connecting them to lance's previous word.

"nice one." lance grinned, taking a sip of his mocktail. "but i think my word is better."

the grin on his face was palpable, a giddy sort of excitement radiating off her husband as he shook the wooden tiles in his hand, rearranging the letters on the board, until, lo and behold, lance stroll had played the word 'penis' for seven points.

she giggled, hiding her face behind her hand. the smooth australian lilt to her voice was like a symphony to lance's ears. "you are such a dork."

the board was full of such words. lance had gotten the brilliant idea that cleverly played scrabble tiles could be considered a way to flirt, filling the board with words like 'penis' and 'boobies' as if he was a teenaged boy again.

all in all, y/n actually found it very endearing. it was the kind of thing that had her heart swelling with love, her limbs going all funny. the kind of thing that reminded her just how much she loved her husband, and just how loved she was by the people around her.

"it's your play, my love."

resting her chin on her closed fists, elbows against the patio table, she looked down at the wooden tiles in her possession, brain scrambling to make words with what was pre-existing on the board. next to the table, her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a picture from her wedding day, just two weeks ago.

"hang on, it's kirk. i should probably answer. you know how he worries."

having lost her dad when she was very young, it was her connection with kirk, one of her father's closest friends, that got her through some of the lowest points in her life. and naturally, like any good father figure, kirk worried about her more than he needed to.

while she typed back a response, she could hear lance rooting around in the velvet bag that held the remaining letters, before getting fed up and dumping them out in the lid for the box.

"babe, you can't handpick the letters you're switching." she laughed, looking up from her phone, the reflections of her text screen refracted in the lenses of her glasses.

lance put his finger to his lips, jokingly making a shushing sound. "go back to texting, i need a minute. just wait."

rolling her eyes, she sent kirk another message before turning her phone off and leaving it facedown on the patio table. "come on, lance. i'm winning and i've got a really good word to play."

"but i think i've got a string of better ones." lance smiled triumphantly, pleased with himself as he placed the cardboard box lid on top of the board.

inside, a dozen wooden tiles were arranged to spell out (with many abbreviations and mistakes) wil u have sex w me

"oh my god." she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as her body shook with good-natured laughter. "oh my god!"

"i wanted to spell it out on the board during the game, but alas, i am not that smart, or good at scrabble." lance mused, reaching across the table to clasp her free hand in his. "so...will you say yes?"

"of course i'm saying yes." she laughed, uncovering her mouth. "this is the cutest way you have ever tried to get me into bed with you."

lance wasted no time at all in crossing the table and scooping his wife into his arms, twirling her around as they both laughed, before crossing the balcony to venture back into the suite.

"wait! we can't leave our shit outside, what if it rains?" y/n whined, trying to put her feet back on the ground. "let me go back outside, i'll meet you in the bedroom."

"alright, alright." lance rolled his eyes, placing her back on the ground. "but don't take too long, if i get too comfortable i might fall into a pasta-induced coma!"

still laughing to herself, she crossed over to the balcony and haphazardly packed up the scrabble board and her cell phone, taking a large swig of her drink before clearing the table and moving everything inside, closing the double doors behind her.

true to his word, lance was waiting for her in the bedroom, shirtless underneath the cotton sheets, with a rose between his lips, body seductively draped over the bed.

"i love you." y/n laughed, reaching for the rose. "but i'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to put real life flowers in your mouth."

"there's tape over the bit i was biting." lance shrugged, allowing her to take the flower and place it on the bed side table. "i know how you get about these things."

"shut up." she laughed, playfully jabbing him in the shoulder. "i'm serious. i'm glad you're in my life. you make me really happy."

she didn't wait for a response, although she knew lance would return the sentiment tenfold while they were lying together in the half-light, and again when he brought her breakfast in bed in the morning. she pressed her lips to his, kissing him softly, yet deeply before she reached up to take her glasses off.

"ah," lance said, grasping her wrist. "glasses stay on. don't you know the sexy librarian look is back in style? they look beautiful on you."

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @httpiastri @clemswrld @userlando @diorleclerc @thatsdemko @scuderiamh @cartierre @lorarri

[cutiecusp]

Forbidden Fruit.

Ex husband! Simon Riley x reader.

A text shapes your life forever. You just don't know it yet.

TW: mentions of cheating/divorce. Smut. PnV, pining, edging, power play, dom!Simon. Probably the smuttiest I've ever written.

You text your ex on a night out. He picks you up on his motorbike, feelings, and more ensure.

You swipe on your phone, idly killing time. You were out with the girls, celebrating a birthday. You post a few snaps on social media, and flick your phone off, the glassy screen reflecting your make up you spent forever on.

Straightening up your dress, you signal to the barman for another fruity potion. You were about three deep, and the vibes were immense. You felt the weight on your shoulders, but you paid it no mind as your favourite songs thumped over the speakers.

Cocktail in hand, body moving under the fluorescent light you dance with the girls, your cares and worries begin to hide at the bottom of your glass.

Your lipstick stains the straw as you finish your drink, you saunter over to the bar on your heels as you sit back to your seat.

Your phone notifies you of a reply on your latest selfie, you take it out of your bag, frowning as you focus on the screen.

'Look good enough to eat, doll. 💀'

Simon... your ex-husband, who you could never quite cut out of your life with one of his signature comments. You type a reply.

'Forbidden fruit is always the sweetest 🍑'

You put your phone away and dance to a few more songs before heading to the bathroom. Reapplying your lipstick and fixing your hair, you look at yourself in the mirror.

You see the shadow before you hear him. The smell of cigarette smoke and the cologne you brought him for his birthday fill your senses.

'Think it's cute to tease me, sweetheart? What, not getting enough cock as a free woman?' Simon says gruffly in your ear, his hands slowly wrapping around your waist, titling your head up to look in the mirror.

"How did you?-" You pause.

"The location of the club was on your photo, love. Didn't I teach you to be more careful?" He cuts you off with a rough kiss to the temple.

"Think you've had enough fun, anyway... text the girls, let them know I'm taking you home."

You can't find it in you to protest as he runs his hands down your sides. Simon was like a drug, addictive and powerful, and it was hard to get out of your system.

You take out your phone, and does what he says, before clasping your hand in his.

"One more night." You say, more to yourself than anything as he leads you out of the club.

His only response is a grunt as he takes off his long sleeve shirt and wraps it around your waist.

"No one sees you but me. Get on." He urges you onto his motorbike, clipping your old helmet on, securing the strap under you chin before pulling it so his face was close to yours.

"No more games, my mistake was signing those papers while I was deployed." He says softly.

"You want one more night with me?" He asks plainly, his onyx eyes dark with desire. You nod dumbly, mesmerised by his gaze on yours.

"Words, sweetheart. Tell. Me." He asks again.

"Y-yes, Simon. I want this." You stutter out. Your once sweet Simon had been completely taken over by *Ghost* his work alter ego who you'd heard so much about, but he never subjected you to until now.

He started the engine and lurched forward, forcing you to wrap your arms around his leather cut. Stifling a laugh, he sped off into the night.

Arriving at his flat, you set down on steady feet as you cross the road to his front door. You lean in to his shoulder, and allow him to escort you through the front door.

Your breathing heavy in your chest as you stop him from removing his helmet. You wanted the full fantasy.

"That's alright with me, love. You can look at your make up running down your pretty face in my visor as I ruin you." Simon smirks.

You blush as the effects of both his words and the fruity drinks take over your senses.

"Knees, love. Show me how much you want this." He commands, pushing your head down as you kneel in front of him.

"So pretty for me." He coos, as he steps between your parted knees.

"My boots need shining, you know what to do." His gruff voice sounds deeper through the helmet.

You look up at him, your reflection reflected in the carbon plastic, you poke your tongue out in a matter of mock defiance, before lowering yourself on his boot. Your sensitive core pressed against his laces as your rock your hips against the material, soaking your thin bikini bottoms. You let out a little whimper as the pressure feels so damn good against your needy folds.

"Good girl." Simon commends you, as he brushes your hair back from your face with his skeleton gloved hand.

You nod and rock your hips a little faster, chasing a high you know only he can give you.

"You feeling good, baby?" He asks, his hands in your hair.

With an affirming nod, you mumble out a thank you.

"Sorry, couldn't hear you. I know you could be louder than that."

"Yes, Si. Thank you... Feels good." You admit. You hate and love how he makes you feel. Your need bubbling up in your throat as you are ready to declare anything he wants, if he just lets you-

"Stop, love." He pulls your hair so you are looking up at his blank face, hidden by the helmet.

"When you come, I want it to be on my cock. Be a good girl and get it out for me." He strokes your jaw.

"Let's put this mouth to good use, eh?"

You fumble with his belt, eventually pulling it away and unzipping his jeans. You see his size, against the fabric and your mouth waters.

"Please. Si. Let me.." You beg, your eyes unable to look away as you take out his cock from his jeans.

Your mouth enclosed over the tip of his length, suckling and rolling your tongue over the sensitive flesh. You feel smug as you hear him hiss, pulling on your hair as he bucks his hips against your mouth.

"Fuck, love. I forgot how good you feel around my cock" He says, looking down at your face, your make up beginning to run down your cheeks as they hollowed in and out, as if you were putting on a show for him.

You let out an amused huff as you take him deeper, rocking your hips against his boot slowly as your mouth takes him to heaven and back.

Eventually, he pushes you down to the floor, off his boot. You moan at the lack of pressure against your clit

"Get on the bed." He orders, his body betraying his cool exterior.

"On your bloody knees, ass up for me."

You scramble on the bed, your legs jellified as you assume the position he requested.

"Gonna make you feel good, baby. You want that?" You nod, anticipation running through your body in waves.

You feel a sharp sting on your ass as he brings down his gloved hand on your flesh, wet with his own arousal.

"Words. Sweetheart." He repeats, his voice thick with desire.

"Yes, Simon. Make me feel good." You give him your permission, as he pushes your dress over your hips, tugging your bottoms down, exposing your wet folds to the air.

"Such a pretty pussy, love. She's been neglected, hasnt she?" He asks, running a finger through your sensitive flesh.

You mumble a yes, when another slap hits your ass.

"Louder, love. Hasnt she?"

"Yes. Si!" You agree, tears in your eyes at the sting of his hand on your sore skin.

"And I'm the only one that can make her feel better, isn't that right love?" He presses, his finger breaching your walls.

You rock your hips against his hand, almost chanting his name at this point, anything to relieve the pressure building in your lower stomach.

"Y-yes, only you." You slur, completely drink on emotions.

"No one like you, Si." You admit, as he pulls away from you.

"You want this?" Simon asks one last time.

You wanted to tear your own hair out. You were desperate for him to fill you up, make the ache go away for a little while, why was he hesitating?

"Fuck yes. Please, Si, please." You beg, looking into his helmet, your face wet with tears, your make up tracing lines down your face, your lipstick on your chin. To you, you've never looked messier, but to him, you've never looked more beautiful.

He lines up his hips with yours, pressing his length home, sheathing himself in your warmth. You both let out a hiss, as pleasure caresses your spine, and fleets over your body in waves.

You feel his gloved hand wrap around your throat as he pulls you back onto his cock.

"You like rough, sweetheart?" He asks through clenched teeth as his hips snap into yours, knocking the breath out of you with every thrust.

You barely manage to get out a reply as he picks up the pace, pushing your head into the pillow as he pounds into you from behind.

Your moans drown out his as he hits your spot over and over again.

"Keep making those noises for me baby." He urges as you feel the wave of an orgasm approaching.

He stifles a groan as you clench around him, your walls suffocating his cock as he feels you getting close.

"Gonna come for me, baby?" He taunts, as his pace is hard against your body.

Your eyes close tight as it hits you, a white flash behind your eyes as you reach your climax, your pussy tight around him as wave after wave of pleasure courses through you, your toes curling in pleasure.

"Too much.." You gasp, trying to come down from the high.

"You have one more for me. Don't you?" He reaches over your hip and teases his hand over your puffy clit.

"Wanna come with you, baby." He insists, as you feel another orgasm rip through you, and you feel Simon stiffen, as you feel his spend inside you.

He rips off the helmet and pulls you down onto the bed, onto the bed. He removes his gloves with his teeth, and collects a little of your arousal on his fingers and licks them clean.

"You were right. It does taste sweeter."

A/N thank you all so much! This was a labour of love, totally wrote it at the bus stop, hoping no one would read over my shoulder. It's not been proof read, but I kinda love how bossy he is here.

@misshugs @frudoo @thevoiceinyourheadx @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @yesornowaitidontknow @shadowdark00

[thekissofaphrodite]

SOMEONE REQUESTED THIS I CANT HELP TO MAKE IT!! IT'S SO SWEET!!

(I accidentally added the OG post on Queue and can't get it out, but thankfully, I took a picture of it)

Voiceless

Luke Castellan X Daughter of Apollo!Reader

Summary: The only thing that Luke Castellan loves in this world is his girlfriend and her angelic voice.

Warnings: Kissing, Cursing, Kinda toxic relationship??!

Author's Note: Hello guys! Another request for the day, I'm typing this on my phone since I forgot my laptop, Oh well, please forgive me for any grammatical mistakes and typos! My keyboard hates me 😍

——

The Camp Fire singalong ended an hour ago, but that didn't stop You and Luke, He had his head on your lap, breathing in and out as you ran your hands through his soft curls. The bonfire had little to no embers, but it still kept you two warm.

"Can you sing for me?" Luke whispered, His Hazel eyes met your brown ones. Apollo's children were always the lead singers from singalongs, Especially you, You had an angelic voice and campers liked it, so did Luke.

Not caring that your throat was a little sore, You nodded and started singing.

Boys, workin' on empty

Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?

I just think about my baby

I'm so full of love I could barely eat

There's nothing sweeter than my baby

I'd never want once from the cherry tree

'Cause my baby's sweet as can be

She give me toothaches just from kissin' me

Flashback

Luke sat in the mess hall, His palm gingerly nursing the side of his cheeks, He had a rough day, Apparently, a new armour that like commissioned from one of the children in the hephaestus cabin still wasn't ready, and he wasn't able to use it. But it was Capture the Flag day, so he used his old and cranky armour, which displeased him.

You noticed from afar, Your halfsiblings chatting loudly, So you had enough, Grabbing your tray, you walked towards Luke, sitting on an empty Hermes table (Since his halfsiblings left, It's better to leave than to mess with an angry luke), The Hermes boy barely touched his food, he was rather poking it.

"Hey" He was greeted with your soft, melodic voice from behind, His mood changed from annoyed to cheerful. His eyes softening as he watched you sit beside him.

"Hm, how's your day?" He hummed whilst brushing a strand of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

"I should be the one asking you that—" Then, He felt something touch his lips, It was your fork, with a slice of blueberry pie, He tasted some of the cream, He tried to fight the urge to open his mouth since he didn't feel like eating.

"C'mon, it's bad if you don't eat, You don't wanna end up in the infirmary with one of my halfsiblings ranting about your presence." He looked at your eyes, there was a glint of hope that he'll actually take a bite.

He can't resist your eyes, Those eyes with much hope looking at him.

So he did, He opened his mouth and let the flavours sink In.

He did eat that night, with you feeding him like a baby.

—

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

Flashback

Luke was injured, You don't know how or why. He just appeared infront of the Apollo cabin, There was a deep gash in his forearm, One of the archers from your cabin accidentally shot him an arrow, You assumed that He and Chris were probably not paying attention while they walked pass by the archery area.

"I got you something." He breathed, waiting for your reaction.

But still, He managed to appear in front of you, despite your protests that he must be brought to the infirmary, He kept a brave face, holding a messily made bouquet of flowers.

"Oh Luke..." You threw yourself onto his arms, making him stumble a little, He chuckled.

"Now let's get you into the infirmary!"

—

Boys, when my baby found me

I was three days on a drunken sin

I woke with her walls around me

Nothin' in her room but an empty crib

And I was burnin' up a fever

I didn't care much how long I lived

But I swear I thought I dreamed her

She never asked me once about the wrong I did

Flashback

"Luke? Luke!" The dark-haired boy jolted awake, His eyes meeting the stormy skies whilst the raindrops hit his face.

"Hey baby," He groaned, His orange CHB shirt stained with mud, He slept on it after all. Then you remembered... The party in the Dionysus might have gotten a little wild...

"Luke, you smell like— Booze." You tried not to gagged at his scent, But he just brushed it off, Tumbling as he tried to got up.

"Let's get you inside, Some of my halfsiblings are away, so it's fine taking a fellow camper" You muttered while giving all your strength to carry him. You felt kinda embarrassed, Luke, Your boyfriend had carried you multiple times effortlessly, but now, you can't even take steps.

After what felt like an internity, you reached your bunk and flopped luke on it, His eyes sleepily drifting off again, but this time, your face was the one he's dreaming about.

—

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

Flashback

Luke was now in the infirmary, sitting lazily on a stool while your half siblings rushed to get medical supplies to heal him.

"Y'know, this is just a small scratch baby, you're making this a big deal." You turned your head to his direction so fast, you could've sworn you almost gave yourself a whiplash.

"Luke, Your forearm is literally dripping with blood, caused by an arrow. AN ARROW!" You bellowed, Everyone in the infirmary looked at you like a lunatic, some patients even muttering curses at you for interrupting their sleep.

"Still, I got you flowers, didn't I?" His grin made you melt, but the sight of his injury made you frown.

But you can't be mad at his handsome face.

"Yes yes, You did I love you for that, now Where's Ella? We need to give you an injection"

"INJECTION?"

—

My babe would never fret none

About what my hands and my body done

If the Lord don't forgive me

I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

When I was kissing on my baby

And she put her love down soft and sweet

In the low lamplight I was free

Heaven and hell were words to me

Flashback

" I can't believe you'll do that!" You screamed, tears streaming down your face. Your red dress, once nicely ironed, was now crumpled. It wasn't even midnight, and you two were fighting again. Over a boy.

"Because that pathetic excuse of a bastard deserved it!" He Yelled, His voice booming inside your cabin.

"He's just having a normal conversation with me! you're the one who's deranged!" You cried, Luke couldn't stand the sight of you crying, so he kissed you, it wasn't a passionate one, it was a possessive one, with his strong arms gripping your wrists, pinning you into the wall.

you pulled away for a second, His lips still near yours.

"I hate you" You whispered, His lips touched yours again, smudging your lipstick.

"Show me how much you hate me"

You could've sworn you saw him smirk before kissing you roughly again.

—

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

Flashback

"I'm sorry baby, please let me in" Luke whispered as he peaked through the small crack on your door.

"You can't come and go as you please," you said, your voice cracking, You tried not to cry, You love him , but you can't just keep supporting him after all the things he'd done.

Now, he was carrying a duffle bag, full of stolen artefacts from the Gods. You were God fearing. That's when you realize it when your father, Apollo, had punished your mother, blinding her using his powerful Ray of sunlight.

"You'd do this for me, honey.." He whispered desperately, but you just shook your head.

"I'm sorry..."

"No no no! Y/n! Y/N!" He screamed as he watched you walk away.

—

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

Flashback

You sat in the edge of your bed, still sobbing silently, Your halfsiblings gave you pathetic and sorry looks, but none of their pity could make you the same.

The God you admired the most, Your own father had taken your voice as a punishment, or that's what oracle said. Apparently, you had offended him by your blasphemous acts using his sacred song. Now you were voiceless.

"Baby?" Luke's voice greeted you.

You looked up at him, Your eyes glistening with tear as you ran into his arms sobbing violently.

"Shh...I know sweetheart.." He rubbed his hands behind your back, Kissing your temple at the same time.

As the dark haired boy comforted you, He smirked secretly, You were so easy to manipulate, with your doe eyes and your sweet smile, As you slowly fell asleep in Luke's arms, A rose necklace sat inside his pocket, Ever so beautiful, with your own voice trapped inside it.

A/N: HEY, GUYS! So this is a request! I used the 'Work Song' by Hozier, Every lyrics has an indication of the reader and Luke's past, I kinda wanna give them a toxic relationship, so....🫢🫢 I do hope you liked this!!

I apologise once again for any grammatical errors since my keyboard hates me ❤️

[tealvenetianmask]

Blitz is dyslexic (petty post about why I'm right with proof from recent episodes)

Disclaimer: I don't have dyslexia, so I can't speak from personal experience, BUT neurodivergent people tend to find each other, and I've been very close with a few people with dyslexia, to the point where I've extensively edited their writing. I've also learned quite a bit about dyslexia while working in the education field. Okay- let's go.

I hear way too often (yes, I'm referencing a certain youtuber here) that Blitz can't have dyslexia because we sometimes see him reading and we sometimes see him writing without errors. So when he shows spelling and grammatical errors in his texts and notes to self, that must just be him being rude/trying to be cute/being lazy.

And if the errors were just slang and abbreviations, maybe the people making those arguments would have a point. But they're not. And I'm convinced that he has dyslexia. So what gives? Why the inconsistency (assuming it's an intentional choice on the part of the writers)?

Most dyslexic adults CAN write correctly with extra effort. It's just harder. In the learning disability world, we sometimes call it self- accommodating. With any disability, that means doing work that neurotypical people don't have to do in order to overcome the obstacle that the disability poses- and often, no one else sees that work or understands that it's necessary. For people with dyslexia, that often means that they have to check and double check their writing.

When YOU AND I (if we're both non-dyslexic people) write casually and don't put in effort, our spelling is going to be mostly correct. And if we use slang and abbreviations, it's a choice. When someone with dyslexia shoots off a quick text, it's going to look messy, and they'll probably only do it in a text to someone they're comfortable with. THAT IS THE DIFFERENCE.

Let's look at some recent examples from Helluva Boss.

Blitz is writing notes to himself here, so he doesn't have any need to make them presentable. Cute inside jokes with himself are possible (i.e. the horses and nicknames that we sometimes see), but the spelling mistakes here don't really make sense as jokes. They also wouldn't be easier to write than the correct words for someone who isn't dyslexic. Mok(backward S)ie isn't shorter than Moxxie, and remembr isn't much shorter than remember. The spelling is also phonetic, which fits with how many people with dyslexia spell in initial drafts. He just isn't watching for and correcting his mistakes, because why would he in this situation?!

Okay, different situation . . . the apologies. I would argue that Blitz IS putting in physical effort here, even if it's not emotional effort. He brings entire gift baskets full of his favorite foods for the people on his apology list after all. Here's what he writes to the DHORKS:

I think "sowy" IS meant to be cute here. It's not phonetic after all. He put a little effort into drawing them a cute little horse too. And then the cherubs . . .

I think this is pretty interesting. Blitz actually bothers here to fix his spelling mistake. He spells everything right on the inside too, even though he's telling these guys "fuck you." Notice that he runs out of room and has to write sideways. And notice the nice block letters on the front. In terms of why he's trying so much here, well, it's to prove to Stolas that he can put effort into apologizing to people, isn't it? And that means that the unintentional errors get fixed!

Now, Blitz tries to text an apology to Stolas (and obviously stalls for emotional reasons), and we see him typing it in real time,

Yeah . . . it's a combination of shorthand and just plain old misspellings. He's focused on choosing the right words, not on getting the spelling right, and it's impossible to say he doesn't care at this point. Someone who has an easy time writing correctly spelled text might use some shorthand, but just like we saw with Blitz's notes to self, they wouldn't likely intentionally misspell completely unnecessary things, especially when trying to come off as genuine.

Sigh. I rest my fucking case.

If you'd like to see my thoughts on that text conversation from Western Energy, go ahead and click on the link- it isn't really about dyslexia, and I do actually think that Blitz is pretty literate in spite of his disability and limited education, but it does explain why I think the conversation goes the way it does.

[kurokens]

In The Middle | Satosugu

anime/manga: jujutsu kaisen

character: gojo satoru & geto suguru

words: 798

pronouns: they/them

request: none

notes: probably an overused prompt but idc sue me, i needed to write one of my own. im a sucker for misunderstanding. i haven't written anything in such a long time, it's been a while im sorry, satosugu have been on my mind for a while, and i needed to write something with them because i love them so fucking much. it's gonna be a series, so hopefully i dont disappear after one part lol... later on it might be specific on some insecurities bc i need it and i thought well let's just share it with the world and other who might need it. sorry for any mistakes T-T

not proof read

song rec: SHE'S - In The Middle

genre: hurt comfort, fluff, slowburn, a little bit angsty, poly?

warnings: bad english not my first language, satosugu are in a loving relationship, misunderstanding, pinning, a lot of pinning on satosugu's end, reader is so oblivious (is that the right one?), insecure and self conscious reader

You've always told yourself you weren't the type to live with anyone, you liked your quiet and your peace. Alone in your little bubble, without a soul to disturb it. And yet, here you were awoken by your roomates lover quarrel in the room next door, for the hundredth time this week.

"Don't you love me anymore? Am I not enough for you?" a whiny voice whisper-screamed "Satoru, my love, it was a dream, it was all in your head." an exhausted voice replied

"So what?? It doesn't mean anything? Are my feelings not valid?" Gojo huffed.

"How are you so dramatic so early in the morning? Let's go back to sleep come here.", Geto carefully lifted the blanket so his boyfriend could go back exactly where he belonged, asleep and quiet in his arms.

Such occurences weren't new to you, you could even say there were your daily life, that's why you laughed hearing the bickering couple, and turned around in your bed to try and fall back asleep while their muffled voices could still be heard in the background. This was without counting on what part of their conversation your brain decided to pick up on next. "I dont know for how much longer I can do this Sugu.." Satoru sighed. "Me neither love, but there is nothing much we can do about it.They live with us." His black haired lover replied. "I know, ugh I know, but it's getting so much harder everyday. Seeing them is becoming unbearable. I can't stand it anymore, we need to do something." He went on. "Shh, I know, I feel the same. But we can't just drop this on them all of the sudden and expect it to go well." The oldest reasoned.

Your heart shattered on the other side of the wall, now sitting against the headboard, an unstoppable flow of tears falling down your face. You were a bother? You thought the three of you were friends, shit, scratch that, best friends. And yet, yet, this was how they felt about you. Fuck fuck FUCK You needed to calm down, it's okay, you're okay. It must have been a nightmare, yeah that's right, a nightmare. Your brain loved playing tricks on you, waking you up in the middle of the night with the most vivid and realistic nightmares ever, enough to send you into full blown meltdown. Nothing to worry about, it was just a nightmare, nothing else. That's what you told yourself and yet when you woke up you couldnt shake this weird feeling in your stomach. You contemplated staying in your bed all day and avoid your roomates but that would be silly to ignore them for something that was potentially just a dream. So you shook the silly feelings away and got out of your bed, made your way to the kitchen to make some breakfast. Your two roommates were already there, being lovey dovey in each others lap and the weird feeling made its way back into your stomach. "Hi there." You greeted tiredly, only to be met with an echo of short hms, and not even a nod to accompany the cold greeting. The lack of acknowledgment not helping with your already overthinking mind, you decided to take a quick breakfast and just leave them be. It could just be a coincidence, nothing to worry about haha, right? Or so you thought, because you were back in your room mindlessly scrolling through tik tok when you once again hear the muffled voices of your roommates. Your brain screamed at you to put your headphones on and drown out their conversation, but you couldn't get yourself to do it, and you decided to listen to them, to at least finally be able to know whether or not you dreamed what happened last night. And maybe you shouldn't have, but what else could you do now but listen to the cruel words of the ones you once considered your best friends. "Suguru, we need to do it soon. I can't even handle looking at them in the eyes anymore, let alone utter a word to them. We can't keep going like this." Satoru complained. "I know 'Toru, I know, but you need to understand it's not as easy as you think it is." You heard the black haired man answer. And it was enough for you, you needed to get out of there. You obviously were no longer welcomed here, and the sooner you left, the better it would be, for both parties. So inbetween tears you picked up a bag and threw some spare clothes and anything that you could think of in your frenzy state before you ran out of there, determined to never come back, at least not for a while.

here u gooo!! sorry i've been away for a while, i've been finding it hard to write and staying focused, but i missed it so much, especially for these two. i'll try not to take too long to write AT LEAST a second part, but would love to do more than this bc i want it to be extremely slown burn and a little bit angsty krkrkr

part 2 is here!!

[tomoeakatsuki]

So, there's a thing I've noticed about Karl Urban's Leonard McCoy.

But it's better starting from the beginning.

I found this gif from the third film, and I've noticed that Bones wears a ring - but since when? And he wears it even in the other film? It's a mistake?

The answer is yes, and no.

(Probably some screenshots won't be so easy to see, sorry for that)

Star Trek 2009

At the start of the film, when he's a broken man and a cadet he doesn't wear any rings.

Or, until he wears the red uniform. Because right after he puts on the classic blue uniform in which we see him like for always.

He starts wearing this silver ring, flat on top, and wears it until the end of the movie.

Star Trek: into darkness

Again, at the start of the film he doesn't wear any rings, most because of the disguise he's wearing, I think.

(It can be seen here, but I assure you he isn't wearing any rings)

Then, when he's again in his blue uniform, he wears it again, but this time a different type of ring.

This like, all flat? I don't really know what it's called. Sometimes more silver, sometimes almost black, it depends on the light.

Star Trek: Beyond

Here, from the beginning he wears the ring.

(I know the photo is dark, but zooming on the hand you'll see the reflection of the low light on the ring)

And, he wears for the rest of the film.

And at the end, when we have that much bro moment between him, Jim and Spock? Well.

It's hard to say because his hands are not shown (the typical close up shot) or it's his other hand, which he uses to hold his drink and we have a full picture, his hand is in his pocket. So yeah, I can't really say if he's wearing a ring or not.

But he wears a necklace, never seen before.

It can't only be a coincidence, but something planned.

A theory is that Karl Urban decided to make a tribute to DeForest Kelley (the original Bones), who usually wore a ring on his pinkie all the time. That ring was his mother's wedding ring, and after her death he used to always wear it because it was his only memory of her - this thing has given quite a few problems in the production of the first film, because Gene Roddenberry wanted him to remove it but the answer he received was "Or me and the ring, or neither."

But honestly, I think it's only a part of it. Yeah you do it for an accurate reproduction, but. Why doesn't he wear it every time? And why at the end there's that necklace (that thinking about it he could have always worn it under the uniform, but at the beginning of the first film he doesn't wear a necklace)?

I have only questions, not answers.

To boldly go, pals.

[therethatstar]

phum and peem are truly so funny.

because phum's type is literally a dude who kicks him in the balls. who side eyes him on the regular. who has a default 'angry kitten' face every time he looks at him. who kisses him after he shows appreciation for his time. who doesn't really talk sweet so phum goes out of his way to reiterate that he normally doesn't like sweets anyways. who continues to 'act' annoyed at phum's presence but will let phum kiss him again and again. who has a specific tone reserved just for phum. who babies the shit out of phum, little does he know he's healing phum's inner child. who is so so so forgiving of phum. who is always ready to listen to phum, to hear him out. who is patience with him. who is more than ready to love phum as he is, so unconditionally. who is willing to figure all of this out together with phum.

and peem's type is essentially a guy who pisses him off. who makes him so angry that he's starting to question his type, because why does he find this guy attractive. who is pretty shitty with words and pull assholes moves too. who is quick to recognize his mistakes and immediately apologize for it. who doesn't excuses his wrongdoings but simply admits that he was wrong. who will continue to say sorry simply because he cares a lot about peem's feelings and he'll do it a million times if that is what it take for peem to forgive him. who is a child at heart despite the tough guy act he tries so hard to put on. who cares a lot about other people but doesn't quite know how to show it. who thinks people probably only stick around him because of money so it becomes his first resort to offer to people he cares about. who gets childishly jealous but will never actually admit it. who is quite bold with his words but also immediately gets shy and insecure about them. who retreats back into his shell the moment he lets that insecurity takes over. who goes completely soft for peem under EVERY circumstances. who is willing to put himself out of his elements just so he can spend more time with peem. who always tells peem that he enjoys spending time with him. who keeps repeating to peem that he values peem's times. who fucks up at time but is always willing to learn and to be better. who just wants to be whatever the best version of himself that he can be because peem deserves no less than that.

but also…. both of them would rather jump of a cliff first and maybe chew on glass a few time before they will verbally express their feelings for each other. they’re down to just keep making out tho. and down to maybe probably most definitely cuddle all night in a room full of their friends. because they’re totally and certainly not gay for each other and DEFINITELY aren’t like head over heels in love with each other or anything. pff.

idk. they're just very neat to me. and they're so entirely perfect for each other. and i can't fucking believe a gmmtv romcom is making me feel THIS much about two fictional characters.

[vcill]

Headcanons when you bombard them with kisses 💖

Lucifer:

For Lucifer I feel like it would work 2 ways:

1. He probably gifted you something that he absolutely REFUSED to let you have before.

2. Or for once, he let some shenanigans slide.

Obviously this rarely happens so you must be his favorite in some type of way.

When you do give him a kiss attack I highly believe it'll be like that one scene where mammon ran into his shower just to hug him.

Definitely feels flustered but also a HUGE sense of pride washes over him since he was the one to get this treatment.

(But mostly flustered)

Will try to act stern and tell you to stop/slightly push you off when he really doesn't want to.

But best believe baby boy will do this wayyy more often.

Mammon:

Would be sooooooo cocky about it

Probably just came to your room and said you "owe him" from him having to watch over you

Either that or he feels like he deserves a reward for giving you a gift he totally got on his own and did not steal from a random demon.

Either way, he's expecting SOMETHING.

So while he goes on and on and on and on about how The Great Mammon is so considerate and kind, you took that moment to surprise him with his gift.

Baby was so flustered, he kinda just froze there and started sputtering his words.

Would be silent for a good moment before going full tsundere on you. From asking what the big deal was to he obviously he needs more for all the things he's done for you.

Over all would not stop smiling like an idiot and would come up with the tiniest of excuses for you to give him a kiss.

Leviathan:

You two would probably be playing video games together and you got stuck on a really hard level.

Eventually you gave up, thinking you would never be able to beat it. But fish boy was able to do it for you and unlock all the items you wanted.

When you gave him a hug, he was so confused that you would ACTUALLY want to touch him.

But OOO boy when you gave him those kisses.

He was more pinker then ruru-chan

Would probably compare the moment to a manga/anime scene and say you two were exactly like the characters.

Afterwards, he wouldn't expect you to do it again but the reactions he has when you do is the absolute best.

Satan:

You were in his room reading the new book of a series he was absolutely obsessed with.

You made a mistake of asking him a question about one of the characters, and just like Lucifer's lectures, he went on and on and on.

It was cute seeing him rant on about his favorite book, but the amount of time that was passing wasn't.

It didn't seem like he would stop anytime soon so you had one special idea.

Man stops in the middle of his sentence and just states at you, trying to figure out your deepest darkest secrets while doing so.

When you ask him if that was ever in the book, he says no but having a real life experience is wayyy better then reading about it.

It'll take him a little while to realize why you did so, and when he does figure out he'll be a little offended.

So as a punishment, he kisses you till you can't breathe. Which seems 100% fair in his opinion.

Asmodeus:

With Asmo being an influencer and all, there's no doubt he'll receive a bunch of new products to try. And recently, a new collection of lipsticks and lip glosses have arrived.

Of course he can't decided which shade looks better on him, so he asks you to help him decided.

Problem is, there's probably over 100 shades to test out, and that's gonna be a real tiring process, so why not spice it up?

You take the first lip gloss and apply it to your lips and give him a kiss on the cheek, then another with another shade and so on.

Definitely was surprised by it but did not at all mind, even suggested he try some on you.

Let's say you guys do a little more then test out lipstick but no one is complaining.

Beezlebub:

You were in the kitchen baking and of course beel smelled the delicious aroma.

He walked in and begged to have a lick of the spoon and bowl, maybe just give him the whole bowl, how needs baked goods anyway? We love salmonella!

Definitely got some on his face.

You try to wipe some off with your finger like a mama would, but he moves away pouting just like a kid.

So you stop and catch him off guard by kissing it off. Each kiss had a little lick getting the batter off of his face.

Beel was so shocked but quickly got an idea.

He got some of the batter with his finger and spreads a little on your face; before you could say something, he does the same thing to you and not both of you are a little messy.

Will absolutely get more and more messy until there's no more batter left and you guys practically ate it before it even got the chance to touch the oven.

Belphagor:

It would be late at night and the both of you would be ready to sleep.

You both say your goodnights, but something about sleepy boy just won't let you have the last word.

So it goes "Good night, Belphie." And "Goodnight, y/n." Over and over again.

Getting really sleepy, and a little cranky, you decide to end this one and for all.

While Belphie said goodnight for the 100th time, you gave him a big dramatic kiss, the one where it's a big smack with it and said goodnight; but you didn't stop there.

For every kiss it was a goodnight until you knew for sure you won.

And for once, he was absolutely speechless.

Eventually, you both fall asleep but best believe that's the only victory you would have cause in the morning, he is gonna let you have it.

But if you dare even once to bring it up, he will pull a Lucifer and lock you in the attack so no one will ever find out how you made the belphagor shut up.

[melodic-haze]

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Arlecchino (GI) x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Pet play, using a hidden vibrator in public, reader with a cock/strap referred to as the former, ROUGH sex, spanking, a lot of painplay actually, blood cuz have you?? Seen her nails????? What the hell, overstimulation, dumbification 🫶

☆ — NOTES: I haven't actually played Genshin since the eternal Ayaka timer lol but anyway I got carried away I think LMAOOO I just have a huge thing for authority figures who are all subby for me 😞 I might do an aftercare continuation post idk

☆ — PARTS: Part 1 (you are here), Part 2, Part 3

I really need to put a collar on this woman and call her my personal attack dog

This tall, scary woman who wields a SCYTHE, this Harbinger slash one winged fallen angel with crosses for eyes, this person who people call 'Father'???? Imposing as hell, very much the type that you can't look at in the eyes or else you're probably marked for death next.......but who could EVER expect that all that would go off and crumble down at the mere sight of you with a collar on your hand, a smile on your face and the intent to reduce her into nothing but your personal little pet?

Intimidating? Oh, please. Maybe she'd cut everyone else, but she wouldn't dare do that to you! Not even when she has a vibrator stuffed in her pussy. What's she gonna do realistically, hurt you? Oh no no no she wouldn't dare do that, you've done nothing wrong, could NEVER do anything wrong so whyever would she do that to you?

You've always wondered how Arlecchino could ever balance on those shoes of hers, with the way her heels narrow down into practically nothing by the time its length reaches the ground.

It's an impressive feat, being able to balance on such technically impractical footwear.. especially when the wearer has a small vibrator stuffed in her cunt, controlled by none other than you and the equally small device resting in your pocket, ready for you to use when you felt like it.

And you did exactly that—as the Harbinger went to talk to some person about whatever it is (you never really cared about the current semantics), you dug into your pocket idly, innocently, even, but the both of you know full well that it was anything but.

Despite Arlecchino keeping a straight face, you know the effect was immediate; you could tell from the slight stumble and the quite-literal split-second glitch that you miss when you blink. Unfortunately for her, though, the third-party hadn't blinked so she's left to scramble for an excuse as you watch on nearby, utterly delighted.

Eventually you see her excuse herself early, making it appear as if whatever they were discussing didn't seem to work. And who would ever question Arlecchino, of all people?

You.

"Well, now," you begin with a raised eyebrow as you watched your approaching lover approach you with a surprising amount of grace, wondering how she's kept herself steady with those heels of hers, "I thought you were going to take longer. What happened?"

You see her eyes stare at you, the red crosses within them practically burning so bright it's as if you were so close that you could touch the sun and burn... Though instead of looking away like a normal person with a sense of self-preservation, you dared to flash her an innocent smile as if you were utterly clueless, but both of you knew VERY well that that was, simply put, pure and utter bullshit.

She licks her lips before answering, "I have.. rescheduled for the discussion to continue when his pr-- ..proposal has been polished to the standard I require. We can return to-- ..!"

Her breath hitches, and she moves on to sit down swiftly and cross her legs in a futile effort to keep the toy still within her, though that turns out to be a mistake as you increase the intensity even further. Her mouth practically drops open before she looks down and covers her mouth as she grabs onto your wrist, nails digging and causing you to wince, though it doesn't keep the smug look on your face from increasing.

You narrow your eyes, as if utterly unimpressed by her antics, as you speak only for your lover to hear, "Flaking on your responsibilities just for you to get some relief sooner rather than later? Okay, then." And she hears, sees you laugh, and you both know that she knows she's crossed you, "Let's go home."

The only thing your pet Harbinger could really do was nod.

She need need NEEDS to be treated roughly for her to feel things bc tbh she probably has a high FEELING threshold in general. And like she's insane but that's another thing

Pull on her collar, her leash. Actually no pull on her HAIR there's a reason why she has it in a low tail 🤨🤨 pull it use it to direct her where you want her and she'll do whatever it is you require for her to do

Please do absolutely spank her, put her in her place, urge her on. Pain is a great stimulant, and is a great teacher 🫶

Needs she NEEDS you to hold her up as you pound at her without stopping, vibrator still in her cunt and being pushed deeper into her over and over by your cock and she doesn't tell you to stop either bc she's telling you to give her more, please!!

This deadly woman is asking you, pleading you, begging you for you to absolutely ruin her!!! But nonono you can't let her have what she wants when she's been uncharacteristically not doing her job like she's meant to so you pull out of her and immediately turn off the toy inside her and she looks at you with such shock that it's so strange to see on this ever-so-composed-and-strict member of the Fatui. But at the end you don't really care as you start up the whole process again after waiting for long enough, even switching your positions and paces and everything

Once you deem it enough and that she's basically at her limit, you decide to grant her.. mercy. Fuck her until she cums and she cums HARD, her nails reducing the sheets into damaged tatters of fabric and leaving bloody claw marks and bites on your skin as she writhes and twitches and glitches violently (you'll take care of it later, you reckon, but right now do you really care?) before she settles down.......

But you don't stop. Nononono you don't stop not at all!! This IS what she wanted, right??? Being fucked so hard until she's all dumb and forgets everything she has to keep track of in that brain of hers, make her forget that she's supposed to be this scaryyy Harbinger who could kill you in the blink of an eye, reduce her into nothing but your obedient little puppy desperate for a powerless mortal, of all things. That has to be humiliating, it SHOULD be humiliating when she has all that power, but she doesn't care. Not now, not ever.

Not when it's you :33

[pomeness]

Yapping about Kaiser (again)

No because I was thinking about Kaiser's narcissistic traits and how fucking SPOT ON they are its insane.

The hierarchy. The fact kaiser thinks in hierarchies. And its shown pretty explicitly via that one panel of noa and isagi on the stairs and Kaiser looking at them from below after his delusions got shattered.

That + him perceiving(!) Ness as a dog because he is inferior in his hierarchy scale.

And this is such a dismissed trait yet it's The most important when it comes to how narcissistic people navigate interpersonal relationships.

There's always someone inferior. There may be someone superior, too. Unless you're delusional enough. Then you're actually God.

And to think Ness is the main enabler* of those "delusions", esp when it comes to grandiosity, another narcissistic trait Kaiser displays.

*specifying i am not victim blaming Ness

Without Kaiser taking advantage of his fragility, without Ness grabbing onto the single spark that Kaiser had shown him (via... calling him a loser? Lmfao), the kaiser-centric system in bm would not exist.

So Kaiser went from being dismissed by the whole team due to his antisocial behavior/inability to navigate the "human" world to being praised non-stop and considered the fundamental player in their team.

Considering how Kaiser has never received love or recognition beforehand, he got lost in it and got greedy. Kaiser pre chara development is just your local feral stray cat who you adopted and now believes he is the king of the house. I seriously do not blame him for that ngl.

(Esp since he Is a good player. So his delusions werent actually that delusional yk.)

He does think he is The shit though, except at the time he was a v static player. He got too comfortable in the security of ness' passes, too dependent on it, which made his game more predictable and didn't let him evolve to reach his full potential.

I think, with time, his grandiosity may fade a bit, since to me it was strictly linked to Ness and the kaiser-centric system used by BM. That + it is a double edged sword, since it actually slows you down into becoming your better self. If you alreadythibk you're the greatest, there's not much room left for development.

And Kaiser is smart and is actually quite self conscious enough to not fall in past mistakes, not now that he has finally gotten the grasps of how to become a better player. He is a pro when it comes to survival, after all.

So yeah, grandiosity is def not Kaiser's main trait imo. The hierarchy, his callousness and his sadism (his malice) are probably more "pronounced" in his personality, although neither callousness nor sadism are inherently linked to narcissism.

Now, as I just said, sadism is common in people who display narcissistic behaviour but its not inherently narcissistic. It may be linked to antisociality, as well as trauma or repressed rage.

Kaiser, who's been unable to react to his father's abuse for YEARS, has, in fact, more than a decade worth of repressed rage. Except – once again – he does not rebel to whom he considers stronger/superior in his hierarchy.

In this case he sorta acts like your typical bully. Can't react towards an "authority" so he picks on weaker/inferior people. Kaiser feasts on them. But of course, there's no satisfaction into crushing npcs, yk. Hence all that disney villain type of monologue about how Isagi was finally big enough to devour (gay methinks, but thats not the point). Again. Big enough to get the sadistic satisfaction of crushing him but not too big, at least in Kaiser's mind.

(Except karma is a bitch and so is Isagi.)

Also. Can I say that I love how when Kaiser is not masking, he is the literal definition of the person standing emoji. Which is kinda funny but its actually so fucking real. Whoever has experienced dissociation, depersonalisation or derealization knows the drill. And dissociative disorders are sooo so common when it comes to trauma, esp when it comes to physical abuse. Kaiser's perception of his own body is probably so messed up. He got beat up till he bled like almost every day. Kaiser's body was for his father to use as a punching ball for YEARS. Since he was a CHILD.

So, of course, the second kaiser got actual autonomy on his body (for the first time ever!!!) he asked for a tattoo. Because now he gets to customise it as a way to make it his own.

It's his body now.

Also, his lack of empathy/callousness absolutely comes from trauma. Living in a violent environment, being forced to use your reptilian brain 24/7 does not do well to a child, and definitely doesn't help the correct development of certain parts of your brain when it comes to emotions. And Kaiser is still on survival mode.

Tbh. Kaiser's cptsd is severe and deeply intertwined in his personality and how he acts and lives. Even the hierarchy trait is strictly linked to his childhood: eat or get eaten. His father treated him like an extension of himself, a worthless object.

His ability to read people and to recognise Ness as easy prey probably comes from when he used to steal from people. You know, you need to learn quickly how to spot certain patterns and find the perfect victim to rob. He is used to analyse and read people. He just lacked the ability to manipulate since his experiences with people were limited.

I'm gonna be honest he would be a difficult patient to properly diagnose, considering his backstory. C-ptsd is the only thing I'm certain of.

((I think if his mental state ever becomes a nuisance in Kaiser's plan to become his best version, he would resort to therapy.))

((Much to think about but now im tired so i will end this here))

[sehodreams]

S: in which wonbin thinks he can do better.

Inspired from @//riizeblr and the question an anon did on their blog! Ego!wonbin

TW: noncon then extremely dubcon and noncon again, terms that can be triggering for plus size people, dark!wonbin, dark!riize, manipulation, p in v, no protection

Like always I wrote it on my phone so there's probably (definitely) mistakes.

Wonbin thought you weren't special at all, yeah sure, he thought you were cute as fuck and that your cheeks were so pretty he could pour all his cum on them, but he also thought that you weren't enough.

He was too good for you, too pretty, too talented, too successful. You were just his manager, and while he worked with gorgeous idols every day, he couldn't ignore you there in the room.

You weren't even his type, he used to like small skinny girls that were nice to show around. You were his height with heels and you were bigger everywhere, and when he says everywhere, it was everywhere.

You had those plump legs and that soft tummy that blouses showed. Always wearing those ugly smart pants that did nothing for your figure when you wore blazers.

But when you and the boys were alone, when you took off the blazer and left your soft hair fall in your shoulders and your tops showed your gorgeous, full tits, he couldn't help but watch you move around, as if you were a goddess.

And he had to kill those feelings, he just had to, it was embarrassing for him to get caught by the other members even looking at your direction when he definitely could do better.

Why you? Why?

"Wonbin, please, I'm talking to you" you said exhausted "you have to eat something, you're gonna faint in practice"

He shrugged, why would you care so much about him? Yeah, you were his manager, but all the other managers just made sure he had food in hand in case he felt like eating, no one cared if he slept and ate properly, they just wanted him to be pretty.

"Bother someone else" he said and continued looking at his phone. You rolled your eyes, left his cup of cut fruit and then walked to Anton, giving him another one.

He heard you laughing with Anton and got mad, why were you paying attention to other guys?

He wanted to pull your hand, take you to another room and fuck you until his cum dripped out of your pussy while you were talking to the others. He had to mark you, but mark you in a way only he knew you were his, no one else had to know, it would kill his reputation.

So, when everyone was drinking in the restaurant and he saw Sungchan get a little to handsy with you, hugging your arm and smiling while asking you to let them stay one more hour, he lost his last string.

"I don't feel good" he said, and he knew you would react immediately to that. You quickly left Sungchan aside and walked to him.

"What's wrong? Did you have vodka again? You know you can't hold your liquor" you said tired. He nodded, acting drunk but laughing on the inside.

"I'll take him home, I'll come back for you guys in an hour, and that's all, nothing of one more hour" the others cheered and you both were quickly in the car, you driving while he was on the seat next to you with a bag on his hands.

"Please don't throw up, we'll arrive in a second" Wonbin was so happy he couldn't hide his smile, he kept his head down to not show you his victorious grin.

You arrived in what felt like 2 min, you carried him on your shoulder and then, after opening the door, you left him in the couch and went for a glass of water.

You were trying to give him the water when he grabbed the glass, took a chug of it and then left it in the little table next to him.

"Better?" You asked while taking off his shoes.

"No" you lifted your head to look at him, weird out by his serious voice tone. He didn't lost a second and used your confusion to kiss you, he grabbed your head with force and didn't let you get away even when you clawed your nails in his hands.

"Stop Wonbin, you're drunk!" you said loudly when he pushed you to the floor and grinned himself on you.

"Can you at least shut up?" he choked you. Even when you cried harder he kept with his kisses. "Why are you crying? You should be grateful anyone is kissing you, you should be begging me to not stop" he kissed you again and you bit his lower lip woth force. He groaned of pain and his hand tightened on your neck.

That didn't stop him, he took off your ugly pants with one hand and cupped your pussy angry. "Fuck you're so soft" he pushed two of his finger into you, you couldn't help but moan, even when you didn't want to. "That's right, you like that don't you? So pretty, only for me, I'm the only one who thinks you're gorgeous, so why are you refusing me?" You listened his words and stopped moving. And if he was right? You thought. What if he was the only one who saw you differently?

He saw you thinking his words and smiled.

"You were made for me, I'm the only one who's allowed to touch you, God, I'm the only one who wants to touch you, do you think there's anyone out there who will look at you this way?" He moved his fingers inside you, making sure the palm of his hand was wet. He licked his palm and gave you the sweetest smile he had ever given you. "You're mine, right?" He asked you, you wanted to refuse, you wanted to scream, but if he was right? You kept repeating that in your head. You knew no one else saw you as pretty, you didn't think you were ugly, but he was the only one until now who actually showed his interest, even if it was in this way. "Say you're mine" he ordered.

You felt the tears fall down your cheeks and when he softened his grip on your throat you talked. "I'm yours"

Wonbin had the biggest smile you had ever seen on him, victorious, successful.

He pulled down his pants enough to free his cock and rubbed the tip into your clit. You closed your eyes and moaned. "The prettiest moans and the prettiest pussy from the prettiest girl" he said, almost whispering, into your ear before sinking into you. He wasn't that big, you could've easily taken him, maybe it was because you were so vulnerable, so you cried a few tears and clenched your hands. He gave you a peck on the lips. "My girl"

He fucked you slowly first, you felt yourself enjoying it after some time, his hips touched yours deliciously and you moaned into his lips. He liked to kiss while fucking, and you liked to not feel used for a second.

Fuck it started to feel so good for you in a second and you felt terrible as a result, sick, but still earned for his dick to keep moving. He just had a way of making you forget the nauseas the sex and guilt made you feel.

He touched a spot that made you close your eyes and moan. That dick made you lose any coherent thought your brain had, replacing it with fog and tears of pleasure. Because you wanted that, right? You wanted to be with him, right?

"I'll fill this sweet cunt, do you want it there? Or where do you want it?" Oh, he gave you a choice? So sweet of him. You sighed, you didn't want him to cum inside, he wasn't wearing a condom and you weren't taking your birth control.

"Not inside, anywhere, but not inside, please" you begged. He laughed.

"Did you really think you had a choice?" He whispered and moved his hips harder, you were too stimulated to hear his words and trusted him to not cum inside. But he did what he wanted, like always, so he came inside when you got tighter while having your orgasm.

"You're so gorgeous filled with my cum" he kissed you, and you believed him, maybe you looked better filled with his cum.

His body fell over yours, you felt his breath next to your ear and you just stared to the ceiling, not believing what had just happened, a bit broken. He, on the other hand, was rejoicing, feeling like the king of the world.

You both heard voices from outside the door and rushed to dress. You didn't want the boys to see you so vulnerable, and he didn't want the others to see he fucked you.

"I brought them home" Shotaro said with a smile, he seemed tipsy but fresh and went to his room. "Thank you Taro" you said and grabbed your purse. "Wonbin is sleeping, please don't make too much noise" Wonbin had ran to his room and you were alone in the living room. "Good night boys, I'll go home" you left the apartment in a rush, you just wanted to go home and wash yourself. The others were too drunk to notice how weirdly you walked, and Wonbin was smiling in his bed, hearing you close the apartment door.

This was just the start.

[moondirti]

12. PUSH COMES TO SHOVE

CHAPTER TWELVE OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter eleven / chapter thirteen ⇀

summary: you cross a line you can't turn back to. miguel takes you up on a joke.

explicit (18+) | 5.6k words warnings: smut, female masturbation, sexual fantasies (including unprotected p-in-v, breeding, biting, paralysis, bondage, aftercare), everyone is bad at feelings, insecurity, fear of heights, mentions of death notes: nothing i wrote sounded right so i just had to publish before i decided to scrap it all and reqrite

It’s a shameful, awful thing to do. 

One with no excuse for it – not really.

You were just bored. Pent up on an endless routine; familiar people, recurring places. Your night and day mirror images of one another. Even in the post-apocalyptic landscape of your old home did you have something to do with your spare time – wandering wrecks and cleaning the devastation left in the wake of your mistake. 

But here, visiting an Earth where the expectations for your stay had never been clearly defined – where you can go, who you can talk to, what freedoms you’re permitted – you’re technically no more enriched than a prisoner, peering listlessly from their window at the bustling lives outside. And with a track record of dragging chaos along no matter your intentions, you’re much too afraid to push the hang fire state in which you live in. 

So, containment or self-sabotage, it doesn’t really matter. Not when both have the same, invariable conclusion. This. Dangerous boredom; the type that always, always feeds into thoughts of him. 

They’ve gotten worse too. Of late, your previously honed scorn and resentment for the futuristic spider-man has ebbed into something more… mellow. Understated. It’s a peculiar condition, hard to name. Fuzzy in the places it once stung and barrelling down an unmarked path. Confusion, maybe. Indecision. And while your chest twinges with the not knowing of it all, you’ve already decided that you hate this more than the antagonism you felt before. At least it had been logical, founded on a bank of valid evidence, with bruises and scars to show for it. This is bolstered by nothing; vague impressions of his smirk and strict approval. A pulse between your legs. Sweaty palms before seeing him, wondering what state you’ll be greeted with. 

(You always hope it’s washed, snugly dressed and wounds tended to. He’s in a significantly better mood when refreshed, you find. Enough of a difference from post-fights to make you wonder whether you’ve ever known him at all.)

And it’s pathetic because Miguel has a life where you don’t. You’ve disproved your theory on his marital status, but that doesn’t change the fact that this is his home. A world where every possibility is open to him – walks in the park, ice cream from a quaint corner shop, a group of highschool friends, maybe, who he sees on occasion. Kids – you’re certain of that, the reality imbued in everything he does. The man has to be the father of at least one darling angel, someone he can dedicate all his work to. He’s too committed not to be. 

So, every hour he spends outside of your meetings, he’s probably off doing something worthwhile. Daycare pickups. Stopping crime. Running a building full of spider-folk. And you–

Well, that’s the mortifying point. 

You’re here, leaning against your shower wall, soaked to the bone while two fingers work your cunt. And you’re thinking of him. 

Broad shoulders, packed with ineffable strength, curving down to tree-trunk arms. They man-handle you in the best of ways – clamped around your thighs, upturning you onto his plump, magical fucking lips. That mouth had been expert, quick or slow when need be, much like his touch. He’s good at working them in tandem to make a mess of you, searching for devastation somewhere in your core. He’s good at finding it, at rendering you pliant enough to spill it onto him. 

Are you crossing a line? 

It’s been pseudo-professional so far; sex in favour for another milestone crossed. Encouragement on the only degree you respond well to. But now you’re fingering yourself to mere notions of him, alone, for no reason other than what his imagined presence does to you. 

Fuck. You’re perverse. Worse than that. There’s no verbiage available to capture how depraved you are – you’ve just never gone through this before. Everyone you’ve ever wanted, you’ve taken and promptly abandoned the next morning. One night stands. Fleeting flings. No one has ever stuck around long enough to make things complicated. 

Of course he would, though. You have to laugh at the irony of it. Miguel’s always made life hard for you, whether intentionally or not. And now he’s taken root in your mind, forcing you to face all its flowering consequences. 

Like how he simultaneously sates you and leaves you wanting more. You’ve had his fingers and tongue – a great deal more than you can attribute to yourself in the past year. And they’re great, brilliant. But it isn’t enough. Not when you’ve seen his cock; thick-set, throbbing, splitting your jaw open with brutal efficiency. He was big and eager and much less restrained that day than he has been since you established your new dynamic. He’d come closer than he dared to before. 

Or again.

(Whatever’s changed, you’d give everything to reserve it. To feel him – not down your throat, but in you. Mushroomed head spearing you open, imprinting itself on your walls. Ramming your cervix, made easy as his large hands fold you into a mating press. The position would give him the added benefit of watching you come undone, every miniscule expression laid out to spur him on. Or maybe he wouldn’t like that – maybe he’s the type to grab your hair and pull your head back so his tongue can lather over your neck. 

You’d take whatever you can get, no hesitation.)

Your index and middle sandwich your clit, scissored open as you rub the swollen bud. Blood rushes downward, fattening under pressurised pleasure. The wet smeared on your thighs is slippery, much too slick to be a product of the hot water beating down on you. It points to what you already know; that, no matter what you do to scour it off, all you’ll ever be is a wanton idiot. 

Vapour latches onto oxygen, the bathroom air growing suffocating, humid, heady with the scent of sex. Nerve ends prickle at the drag of pruned skin, your orgasm on a never-ending approach. No matter what you do, you can’t seem to beckon it. You’ve been here for far too long, cycling through every trick in the book, testing sweet spots that’ve become accustomed to another’s manipulation. You’ve pinched yourself, used the shower head until its pipes hissed, stuffed your slit full and curled forward, looking for that patch of spongy tissue. 

None of it works. Nothing helps you see stars, unable to drag you to the heavens you’ve reached with your mentor. 

(Wanton idiot is a tolerant title, too lenient for you. At least one would be able to satisfy themselves.

But now, in the wake of your frustration, you’re reduced to a roll of drenched cotton, numb to everything but the fire at Miguel’s fingertips.)

Still, you try. You anchor a foot to the faucet, plastering yourself on the glass pane that separates the shower from the rest of your bathroom. It’s frigid, a stark contrast to the water heating your flesh, and the temperature drop strikes your senses awake, flooding you with new vigour. If it’s possible, the proof it offers to your fever – the gooseflesh that erupts at your waist or the blurry line between where sweat begins and soap-buds end – only eggs you further, hardening the truth to startling clarity: 

You’re crossing a line and drawing it out with a frustration that benefits no one. Cum, that’s all you need to do. To finally be done with it and put this whole blip behind you. 

Spread open, your hand returns to your cunt. You’re wet enough to do so without fuss, the fingers that had been at your clit plunging in until they’re sheathed to the knuckle. It’s a tight fit, walls greedily sucking you in, vacuum-sealed and clenching. The stretch burns and you find solace in it, the tender skin of your hole straining to accommodate another digit once the two find their rhythm. 

How much better would his dick be? Would it cleave you apart like his fingers do? You imagine it so well, the reverie blossoming like second nature. 

(Miguel, planking above you, hair flopping onto his forehead after being ruffled out of its usual push-back. It’d be a sight of your own doing, your nails combing through dark waves on their way to his shoulders. He’s marked you several times over now – claw wounds above your wrist and a deep scar on the back of your arm. Would he let you mark him, in turn? Scratch red lines down his muscled back, rolling as he fucks into you. Or suckle his neck, leave it purple and angry to pay back for the punctures at your collar? It’s been weeks and they’re still there.)

Your free hand finds them, smoothing over the pocks left by his fangs. The heel of your other presses on your clit, kneading the sore centre. It buckles with the abuse, pouring into your rising orgasm. The tide promises violence for when you eventually let it loose.

(In this crude fantasy, he isn’t much of a masochist. He gets irritated with your wandering hurt, turned off the pursuit in pumping you full of his seed. Maybe he pins your arms over your head, holds them down with ease to get you to stop. But he needs his palms free, your bouncing tits all-too tempting not to squeeze, so he uses his webs to bind you to the headboard. Or–)

Your core grows sloppier with every passing second. It weeps, slurping whatever you give it – the feral force of your fingers. Your knees tremble. Your pelvis aches. The amalgamation of your effort knots your organs together, weaving an impossible pattern out of desire and desperation.

(– he bites you again, injects you with venom so you stay nice and still for him regardless.)

God, it’s perfect. It’s the tart, slightly-salty pour of caramel over toffee pudding, topped with vanilla and the memory of his paralytic essence ballooning through your veins. It’d been cold and graceful, so bloody efficient you wonder how he didn’t think of it as a means of incapacitation sooner. Perhaps it’s tough to measure – how much is too much before you kill your victim, or something along the lines. But back then, despite hating no one more than he did you, he kept you alive. 

Would he risk it again, if you asked? 

Does he think about you? Like this, when the day drags and there’s no adequate excuse to see you through it. You quiver with the thought. Holed up in his own bath, spacier than yours, pumping his cock slick. He wouldn’t trail it out. Miguel has his own life, and if you somehow manage to worm your way into it, he’d spill himself quick. Not for disgust – it’s clear that he’s at least attracted to you. No. Just because he’s a better man than you can hope to be. 

Rough around the edges but decent. Moral.

(There it is again – the apollonian. If he’s the olympian deity for the Sun, of truth and prophecy and order, then you’re Dionysus while you bring yourself to ecstasy, caught on the tip of his sharpened arrowhead.)

You groan, letting your head fall back as your efforts gain traction. The bottom of your stomach lurches, making way for the combustion taking space in your chest. It sputters, gorging on a kindling flame, and travels downwards to the pocket between your gut and pubic bone. The fulfilment borders on painful, skinned raw by your relentless assault on it. Once-warm water adds to the overstimulation, turned bitter by its prolonged use. Hair clings to your brow, obscuring your eyesight. Your orgasm snowballs, knocking everything in its determined path.

(And afterward, wrapped up somewhere in your pipe dream, he would empty himself inside you, drunk off the pleading whine that clawed its way out from your throat. He’d made you cum several times – the only addition you can guarantee would be fact – but it wouldn’t end there. Not while you remain still, all wandering eyes and diving comedowns, looking at him in your peripheral. 

He’d linger, his cum dribbling out of you in thick globs, waiting by your side as the paralysis wears off. Gaining control of your body would be a slow process, as it was before, and he’d have a wetted towel to clean you off in the meantime. The room would remain quiet – founded on that same limbo state from after he ate you out – and neither of you speaking a word until you nod off, drowsy and properly fucked. If only to exchange hummed goodnights. An appreciative pat on the head, maybe. Detached praise, stunted communication.

Because even in your wildest fantasies, Miguel does not stoop to kiss you.)

You’re a wreck when it finally hits. Seized muscles release, disgorging the built-up tension of the last hour. You cum – not as powerfully as you might’ve done had he been here – though that’s trivial. He’s present in your mind, praising you through it, working you despite encroaching sensitivity. And you break down not at the thought, the sheer salacity of it all, but to the tenderness you can only imagine. Unrestrained. Given freely. Not because you earned it, but because you're worthy even when you haven’t.

A sob captures your lungs. Your skin prickles. 

Phasing right through the glass partition, you fall backward to smack your temple on the edge of your sink. A throbbing pain immediately engulfs the site. Black speckles your vision.

And if it isn’t the perfect illustration of your concurrent dopamine crash, then you’ll be damned. 

Curse him.

“You… You’re kidding, right?” 

You don’t necessarily need an answer, but you ask to give yourself a distraction from the anxiety torrenting through you. With the way he leans on the glass railing, self-satisfied against the backdrop of Nueva York at noon, you can glean every bit of genuineness from his expression alone.

Miguel gives a vague gesture to the rooftop you stand upon. “You said it yourself.”

“First of all, no. I said I would climb up buildings, not jump off one. Second of all, it was a joke. I hope you know what a joke is, O’hara – otherwise I have a list of situations that make much more sense with hindsight.”

“I’m not asking you to jump off.” He ignores your barb, pushing off the edge to usher you closer. Your heels dig into the ground, an obstacle proved to be done in vain when his hand skims the small of your back. The heat of it penetrates your shirt, weaving its way to your dimpled flesh like it knows how much you crave it. One would think he’s burnt you with how rapidly you move to brush it off, and by the end – whether you like it or not – you find yourself peering over the palisades to the four-foot drop below. Bile spikes the back of your gullet. 

“Are we here to sight-see, then? It’s an apartment complex, nothing special about that.” Breathing, you try to suppress the nausea that overrules your systems. The descent isn’t that high – about fifty feet, give or take your own height – but that does nothing to combat the fear gradually creeping up your nerves. 

“Very funny.” He says, rolling his eyes at something you refuse to see. You’ve no energy to decipher it, either, zeroed in on the task expected of you. “Leaving your room got me thinking–” 

“That’s dangerous.” You snap. 

The man must be used to your little tantrums by now, for he continues like you hadn’t interrupted him, delineating the perplexing logic that lured him into thinking this was a good idea.

“– about what you meant by your suggestion. You’d pitched it instinctively.”

(‘If you promised this earlier, I would’ve climbed up fucking buildings to earn it.’

You remember. Somehow, it infuriates you that he does too – that even raptured in the throes of pleasure, his tongue buried between your folds, he’d been stewing over ways to better you. It pokes a fresh sore spot – like the maturating bruise on your temple, consequence of your scene in the shower – that reminds you you’re not good enough.)

“Okay, smart ass. Since you think you know everything, allow me to explain to you the definition of hyperbole. I was–”

“Exaggerating, yes. But I figured, to make that specific example during such… unsober circumstances, it must’ve originated from a sincere place.” He joins your observation of the street below, flicking over the trimmed bushes, surveying for wandering pedestrians. He’d picked somewhere secluded – a neighbourhood two blocks down from HQ, whose residents are likely employees at the bustling base. If anything, it explains their absence at twelve o’clock on a weekday. “So, here we are.” 

You blink up at him, incredulous. He still hasn’t explicitly stated what he wants you to do. If this conversation had taken place on the ground, then perhaps you would’ve caught on quicker. Find your way to the top, just like he’s implying. As it stands though, you’re teetering on the crown of a stubby building that still seems too tall given your aversion to heights, with nothing but a stubborn spider-man and a locked stairwell for aid. It only dawns on you now why he made the conscious decision to close it after coming up here – to prevent your cheating.

Another strike towards his lack of faith. Charming. 

In the bout of bewildered silence, Miguel sighs and spells it out for you.

“I want you to scale down the side of it.” 

You could choke on your heart with how high it skyrockets. 

“With what?” You squeak. The protest is weak, ungrounded as your bones start to give out. You’re not sure whether it’s mental, your brain tricking you into distrusting your body, or if you’re truly about to collapse. In either case, your distress threatens to unman you. Sickening. You’re green to your stomach.

His eyebrows raise, humoured. It’s a call to land on the solution yourself – like it’s obvious, like you’re not losing yourself just picturing it. 

Quaking, you return to an age-old mantra. Miguel doesn’t know you, no matter how good he is at reading the bits he’s privy to. You’ve never highlighted to him the extent and end of your abilities – and yes, that’s partly for lack of understanding them yourself. But as it so happens, you do know a few, indispensable attributes; ones that should be considered before you’re made to defy gravity and saunter down the face of a wall. 

Like how you can’t control your powers, the reigns ever-elusive, slipping from your grip whenever you actively try to run them. Or that your super-strength and enhanced healing are fickle things, arising only in impractical episodes. How your spider-sense is unpractised, severely underutilised by the mundane life you lead, and, perhaps most relevantly: 

“I have no webs to harness me.” You emphasise. “And my hands can’t stick to surfaces to make that a negligible factor.”

He listens, contemplative, digesting the latter piece of information and what it means for his lesson plan. 

“If they did, then I wouldn’t have been in nearly as much trouble at that quarry as I was, hanging on with just my fingers. But…” You wave your palms at him as if to punctuate your point. “Unfortunately for me, I’m normal below the wrist.” 

“Below the wrist.” He repeats, picking up on the contrivance in your choice of phrase. Cringing, you scramble for an excuse, looking to get off the road he leads you on. It’s frenzied, unbecoming of this arrangement. You’ve learnt to lend your begrudging trust to his methods, their validity proved over weeks of training – but something about his current tone, the interrogative way with which he singles out faults in your diction. It sends you back to an era where all you worried about was his pursuit, about a capture made inevitable by your clumsy side steps. 

You won’t forget, either. At the pinnacle of it, he was ready to step on your hold to a crane and send you plummeting to supposed death. 

(If push comes to shove, would he force you to descend this hurdle – worried about a more forgiving yet just as terrifying end, given you should trip and lose pace on the right-angled wall?

But then you think of food shared over a makeshift dining table – navigating the new peace found between your legs. He’d allowed your skipping class. He took concern for your health in spite of it – and you’re reminded of another thing. One more constant, there since the beginning too. 

Miguel O’Hara does not want you dead. 

That, at the very most, is consolation that he won’t throw you off this ledge.)

“My feet can, from what I’ve tested. I can tread on steep slopes and hang upside down. Just… not very well.” You elaborate, then feel the urge to grant him less room for argument, just in case. “I don’t know what kind of scientists you are, O’Hara. A biologist, maybe, which would explain a whole ton, but take it from me. Physics won’t agree with this. You’re asking me to walk down a wall completely perpendicular to the ground, reliant on a weak abdomen and capabilities I haven’t taught myself to use properly.” 

And when your words run their course, feeding into the husk of an alarmed echo, you can’t stop warmth from pooling behind your cheeks, or when your pulse flutters, feeble as the flap of a baby bird’s wings. You’re dangled over a branch you’ve known your whole life, nest torn out from under you. A condition of your own doing, of course, seeing as he stays quiet, compliant to your rant. 

A moment later, he adds. “Geneticist.” 

“Huh.” 

“I was a geneticist.” The nugget of background he offers flares like a treaty, a temporary campaign for goodwill. And, as if intentionally building upon your theory of armistice, Miguel tips away, popping out your personal space. The afternoon breeze hits you then, chillier without his immediate presence. You don’t voice your wish for him to come back. “Why haven’t you?” He seeks, testing his luck now that you’re placated.

It works. 

“Pushed my potential?” 

He hums in the affirmative.

“I have. It helped nothing but my upchuck reflex.” You evoke. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten my doomed history with hard drops. We don’t work well, particularly not when you’re around.” Beyond the quarry, he’d witnessed your misfortunate swinging around Earth-15 too. You’d phased right through his arms, bound to solidify before splattering onto the pavement below. It’d been peaceful then only because you had so much less to lose. “Besides, I don’t see the point. I won’t be going back home to fight crime, in any case. And scaling apartment complexes won’t magically lend me enough virtue to want to return.” 

When he speaks next, it’s tacitly, an intrusion to jog your memory like you did his, however subtly. “You’re okay now, though.” He says, and implies a truth too heavy to audibly assert. I caught you. Every time. The understanding lingers, oscillating between you two, before he starts again. “But I get it.”

You scoff. In turn, he sounds his question – hm? – rumbled deep from within his chest. If you focus, you can sense the way it vibrates the particles separating you.

“I doubt it, is’all.” 

“That’s condemning.” 

“Please, as if you need the ego boost.” Ducking from his scrutiny, you rest your elbows on the glass lining the rooftop to look out on the cityscape before you. It glitters, contemporary blue architecture slated on fields of green. This world is utopia compared to the many you’ve visited; amongst them, you’re hit with the vivid memory of your own – peppered with red fires under a perpetual cover of smoke. Blown to unrecognisable bits by a product of your ignorance. 

You swallow to shake the tangent off. He’s still staring at you. You can feel his solemn study, dimmed from its previous challenge, severe enough to penetrate the marge of your skull. 

“Are you really going to make me say it?” 

He shrugs, not in the least bit teasing. It’s the straw that finally breaks your back – the integrity he regards you with. Sighing, you smother your pride before it can change your mind. 

“Fucking look at you. You’re like… the peak of spider prowess. All muscle and righteousness. And I don’t even know where to begin, scared to even cash in on the powers I've been handed. What kind of hero is nervous of heights, for God’s sake.” 

The admission escapes as hushed, warbled by string-plucked insecurity. You don’t attempt to assess his reaction to it, following the motions of a cirrus cloud instead, swaying like tufts of hair on a cerulean scalp. It makes his next course of action jarring – frightening for all you don’t expect it. 

Miguel’s hand appears before you, face down so the digital suit-patterns on his palm are exposed. You half-think he’s offering you hold it, or wants to pinion you to something before he pulls you off the roof. But his body turns to overlook your side, and with a sudden schwip, his talons protrude from the pads of his fingers. Before you can fully process it, you stumble back, phantom pain pounding where he once gripped you with them.

He notices it, though doesn’t comment on your misgivings, waiting patiently until you steel yourself and return to your post. He must be used to the hesitation. 

“Do you know what these are for?” 

To claw run-away anomalies – you’re compelled to say, but decide against the low blow. You shake your head no. 

“I didn’t either. Not when I first developed them. They seemed inconvenient and hard to handle. Got in the way of everyday life.” You struggle to picture it. Miguel, younger, troubled with defects he never asked for. Did it hurt, you wonder – the ingrowth of fangs and talons? 

Does it still? 

“Biology isn’t a lesser science though, despite what certain physicists may believe.” He continues, raising a brow at you. You can’t suppress the sheepish expression that threads the corners of your mouth. “I remembered the spiders I worked with, what features of theirs might come to be represented by this. The fangs I realised the purpose of much faster.” 

“To paralyse.” 

“Right.” His gaze flicks to the slip of neck exposed by your loose collared shirt, finding the bite marks bridged over your clavicle. You’d been good at ignoring your masturbatory fantasies thus far, yet at his cue, flashes of them occur to you. Your knees knock together, timid that he can perhaps smell the shame on you. “My claws weren’t so obvious. Not until I met another spider-man who could climb walls. It occurred to me then, the microscopic setules on the end of spiders’ legs. They create an electromagnetic charge with any molecule at their nanometric radius. And while he, like many others, gained a figurative interpretation of it, I got something more literal.” 

“So, they adhere to anything.” 

“No. But they help me hold on.” Miguel corrects. “I’m not guaranteed proper fixture, so climbing buildings – scaling any surface – is a labour entirely dependent on me.” 

You trail over his wide shoulders – the top heavy form you’ve spent so much time revering. You’ve never so much as considered why he’s built so differently from other spider-heroes, burly in contrast to their lithe figures. (For good reason, maybe – you would’ve assumed incorrectly as recently as three minutes ago.) It’s not to set himself apart, or being that he was blessed with it. But because it was necessary. Pure proof of the effort it took to hone his skills. 

Guilt is swift in sweeping you off your feet; you feel foolish for ever suggesting it was talent that got him to this point. And–

“That’s… tough.” Is the only response you can conjure. 

It’s so stupid you want to punch yourself over it. Miguel, on the other hand, just chuckles. A brief huff from upturned lips. 

“Sure.” He takes one last look down the verge of the rooftop before turning his back on it. You keep facing forward. “The crux is – we don’t always see the point of things, or why they are the way they are. Sometimes, we might even refuse to when all seems unfair. But the second mark of a hero, as I’ve come to know it, is having the courage to address them despite your ignorance. Firmness of mind when confronted with danger – or, in your case, a burden of great difficulty.” 

And piece by piece, it starts to come together. The small revelation of his backstory as nothing more than an allegory. His bringing you here, to start from the top and not the bottom, instilling in you the fear of falling. And what it all means – courage being the point of this little exercise, a step up from resilience now that you’ve proved your tenacity. Priming you for the eventuality of returning home – a burden of great difficulty.  

“Of course you’d turn this into a philosophical seminar.” You deride, rubbing the wariness from your expression. “And here I believed we were bonding.” 

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” He says. You don’t have it in you to disagree, searching for the pluck to get this over with. Yet what he adds next takes you completely off-guard. “You don’t have to do this.” 

A compromise – you thought you’d have to fight for one. 

“I’m a few plank-sessions short of having the core strength to walk down a wall.” You circumvent, not ready to admit your failure. 

Miguel nods, yielding now that he’s gotten his opinion on the matter across. Nothing about him betrays disappointment, but you somehow still squirm, distressed at the very notion that you let him down. 

As he breaks away, you catch sight of the platforms protruding from the windows below you, and a haphazard idea forms.

“But… if it’s courage you want, then maybe we can start smaller?” You raise, worrying the inside of your cheek. It’s rushed, not expertly planned through, but he cocks his head, and you’re forced to toss it out now that he’s all ears. “I can hang from the bottom of a balcony – upside down – until I’m better at trusting my powers over gravity. And, y’know, there are still the odds that I fall, just onto the deck below and not four stories. Less fatal that way.”

There’s hardly a spark of deliberation before his eyes narrow, cheekbones projecting with a smile. It has to be your insatiable itch for praise, consequence of anything over what he actually thinks – but a bright glint streaks upon those red pupils and, remarkably, it feels a lot like pride.

(You’ll take what you can get.)

“Yeah. That works.” He approaches, sinking closer once more. It’s warm again and you stand self-assured, regardless of the trepidation still bubbling within you. “I suppose not everyone has a death wish.” 

“Wishful thinking on your part, maybe.” You taunt. “Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but you’re stuck with me for the time being.”

What feels like hours later, your head throbs violently, and under the novelty of it all, you learn of three new things. 

One – an observation most idle yet, embarrassingly, the first to be made – is that Miguel looks just as handsome the other way around as he does proper side up. Elevated, too, given that you’re finally at his level like this. Staring him down, nose-to-nose, able to capture his face outside the forced perspective that comes with being shorter. He occupies the balcony below while you stand, hang, on the belly of the one above. There’s a tiny, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mole by the corner of his mouth. He’s still smiling at you. 

Two – a facet you haven’t stopped imprecating since you started, one that technically isn't even new to you – is that, while your external body seems to defy gravity, fastened in place by your feet, your internal systems aren’t granted the same luxury. Gallons worth of blood pools to your brain, distending the soft tissue until it weighs like lead on your crown. You never thought your organs would be this heavy, especially the ones that stack on top of your lungs. Your stomach, liver, kidneys, intestines. They make it hard to breathe. You can barely feel your hands anymore. 

And three – perhaps your proudest realisation yet – is that this isn't so bad once you get the hang of it. Sure, your mentor is a few paces away, ready to grab you should you spontaneously collapse. And if he didn’t, then yes, the worst that could come of it is a broken arm. You certainly need more practice before you test it on taller heights, and you don’t think you trust your abilities yet to walk down building planes, but– 

It’s easy. Bodily effects aside, it’s easy. Supernaturally so. In a way that bends every one of Newton’s laws and you’re left reeling trying to string together mechanical equations that could make sense of it. The tension between you and the ceiling and how great it must be to combat your weight. The equal and opposite force perpetually acting against gravity. 

Because you’re upside down, despite having no cable or chain to keep you situated, no hooks on your heels. You’re stuck to a surface by just the soles of your shoes, and when you walk around, lift one to put in front of the other, you stay fixed. You don’t – can’t – fall.

(Secretly, you thank him for pushing you to this stage. The euphoria of it is just enough to supersede any nausea you worried about before.)

“How’s that?” Miguel asks, tone low and smooth like velvet. Something tugs your heart – your arteries, perhaps, shrivelling around it.

“Weird. Great. If I didn’t feel like throwing up, I’d stay here forever.” 

“Try to refrain from projecting it on me.”

“Copy that.” 

“But,” He says, tipping his head so he can assess you the right way around. “You’re doing it.”  “Yeah.” You giggle. The bloodrush must be making you loopy. You’d have never been so animated on the ground. “I’m doing it.”

chapter thirteen

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