#yes i am aware that if i just read it that it will make sense

[uss-genderprise]

okay the new episode has people poking my sleeping special interest like a bear and it was about time to wake it from hibernation anyway so here are some fun facts about welsh fairies

it's spelled fairy. it's always spelled fairy. not faerie, faery, fae, or fey. fairy. please. or tylwyth teg if you want to be proper about it

fairies are not inherently malevolent. they work by their own rules that sometimes don't make sense to humans but there are rules, if you pay attention.

yes fairies will punish you for doing something they don't want you to do

they will also reward you for doing things they do want you to do

fairy rings are circles of green grass. they sometimes how up as a different shade of green than the grass around it and are generally markers of where fairies dance, as well as portals to the fairy realm. mushrooms aren't really a thing for that in welsh folklore.

string and bones and flowers are man-made and possibly supposed to bind or protect against fairies (though i haven't seen anything quite like what we see in the episode described in any of my sources) but generally breaking one of those doesn't immediately anger fairies, just lets them in to affect whoever put the ward up in the first place. that's not called a fairy circle.

changelings exist in welsh folklore. have fun with your theories.

fairies will generally let you leave the fairy world if you ask nicely. yes even if you've eaten the food and drank the drinks

however time moves differently so when you come back you might be super old and/or turn to dust the moment someone touches you

dancing is a different thing tho. they don't exactly want you to stay dancing with them until you die of exhaustion but like that's on you my dude get your friends to help you

if you broke fairy rules like kicking them out of their meadow to build a castle they will count eight* generations** and come back to turn that castle into a lake and drown everyone inside. you have been warned (repeatedly. usually by old ladies and/or bards and/or birds or sometimes just. A Voice™)

* the number of generations can and does vary but in welsh folklore it's generally 8 that's an important number, not 3 or 7.

** also the way generations are counted is. weird. idk if it's that i'm bad at math or bad at welsh or that the book i read explaining this is over 100 years old but i don't think i fully got how many generations this actually is.

oh and they only wait if you beg enough otherwise they kill you now

so basically. no getting trapped in the fairy world as punishment. they just kill you

personally i think the closest thing in welsh folklore to that old woman is a weird lady but even that isn't a great fit

yeah fairies bend time and space to always be far away from you if they want to but that's generally because they're trying to avoid you not following you at a distance

i am fully aware rtd probably couldn't care less about any of this. he definitely didn't do the work that i did to learn all this and incorporating this into your theories is probably shooting yourself in the foot as far as actually being correct goes. HOWEVER i do think it's more interesting and fun this way :) theories are gonna be wrong anyway might as well respect the culture that's inspiring them while we're at it yeah?

i will cite my sources if anyone asks but i doubt many people care to read hundreds of pages of edwardian non fiction novels just to fact check me. trust me on this guys

[redroomreflections]

Not Easily Broken Chapter 6

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Reader go through a tragic divorce

Masterlist | General Masterlist

6/10

Note: Yes,i know the picture has a watermark. it's 2 am.

W/c: 4.2k (less painful to edit!)

Rating: M (Minors DNI; angst, fluff, smut, heartbreak, heart fix? the best ending for them coming soon)

You don’t know how long you’ve stared at the blank paper. Its thin blue lines taunted you. The questions on the tiny notebook assigned to you were intimidating. You’re sitting here, at the kitchen counter, nursing a mug of tea and looking down at the paper. This is the first part of the assignment. Once you’re going to fail. There are several steps Cheryl gave to get things going for both of you. Answer the questions. Find something both of you like to do. Discuss them together. That should be easy, right? Wrong. It’s been four days and counting and you have yet to write anything. Not that there’s nothing to write. No. You have a lot to say. It just can’t be on paper. Neither of you has been good at expressing your thoughts. You’re worse. You come from a family where conflict was solved with abandonment and passive aggressiveness. Two things you do quite well. This venture into vulnerability is foreign. You’re afraid of being the bad guy again. You don’t want to address the unknown. What if even after all of this you and Natasha don’t work out?

You’ve been doing a lot of self-reflecting the past week. There’s always something in the back of your mind that says you’re ruining her life again. You’re ruining your children’s lives. Everything you worked for you ruined. This time would be different. You’re coming into this with a clear head and a fresh perspective. You want your life back. You want your wife back. You want your family. It’s not like you cheated. You didn’t step out of your relationship. You sometimes wish it were so easy. Maybe then your actions can be excused. That’s not the correct way to say it. Cheating is never excusable. You guess it would have been another way to avoid accountability. You blame yourself every day for what happened. Even then guilt is not enough. 

You sigh. Back to the questions. You hold the pencil in your hand—first question. 

“You lead separate lives despite living in the same household.” You read aloud. Wow. Okay. That’s a tough one right off the bat. It’s relevant. It makes sense considering the context. You write yes. You move on to the second question. “You mostly speak about finances or household chores. Question three you have sex less than once weekly.” You stop your reading right there. You’re three for three. If this is how this is going you’re going to be in therapy for a while. 

Were things really that bad? You wonder if Natasha is thinking the same things. 

Across town, Natasha is indeed wondering the same things. She’s just finished up her run for the morning, having gotten the kids out of the door and off to school, and now she has the morning to herself. She’s sitting on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table, as the notebook rests in her lap. She pushes her glasses further up her nose. 

“Sex less than once weekly?” She reads. ‘Sex never’. She writes. It’s true. Besides the phone sex last week she doesn’t remember the last time you two were so intimate. Well, she can. Emma’s fifth birthday party. She would hardly count that as something to brag about. While you’re skilled in the bedroom, she felt dirty afterward. She felt used in a way she wasn’t all that willing to share with you. Sex with you has always meant so much more to her. She hopes it’s the same for you. She doesn’t think about it for too long. She can’t dwell on the fact that her body aches for you. Natasha Romanoff knows her worth. She is aware she could go out and find anyone to fuck. She doesn’t have to go far truthfully. She doesn’t want that. It’s kind of pathetic and she would never admit it to anyone. 

Natasha is about to answer another question for the checklist when the doorbell rings. She glances at it, hoping that whoever it is will go away when the ringing becomes more insistent. Natasha rolls her eyes, slamming the book down against the coffee table, to go and answer the door. She swings it open, ready to give whomever it is a piece of her mind when she stops. She crosses her arms and glowers at her visitor suspiciously. 

“Romanoff,” Richard grins at her. “Don’t you look swell?” He admires her messy hair, tank top, and running shorts. He waves a file in his hand. “I have work.” He offers her one of the coffees in his and she takes it. 

“I thought we were meeting at the tower,” Natasha drops her hands from the door. She walks away without offering him a second glance. He would follow. What she doesn’t see is him checking out her ass as he steps inside. He closes the door behind with and walks with her toward the living room. 

“I thought this was much better,” Richard shrugs. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“I’m sure you were,” Natasha rolls her eyes. “Okay, give me a minute to change and I’ll be right back down. I have a couple of notes over there.” She waves her hand somewhere in the room. Though Richard is an asshole she knows he won’t do anything to put her in danger. She leaves him to his own devices to change out of her workout gear. Not that her new outfit would be much better. 

Richard stands, walks over to the couch to sit, and places the file on the coffee table. He spots the notebook she’s been writing in. It’s safe to assume it’s the one she permitted him to read. It’s not. 

“Healthy relationship checklist,” He reads to himself. “No sex?” He whistles. Wow. That’s disappointing. 

“I’m going to have to ban you from my house soon,” Natasha calls down the stairs. He quickly places the notebook back where he found it. Natasha comes into the living room in a simple blue blouse and slacks. She glances at the notebook, noting that it’s moved a few inches, and tsking. “Richard, seriously, you’re my partner. One I didn’t want. At least have the decency of giving me privacy.”

“I’m sorry I was curious,” He raises his hands in surrender. “If it makes you feel any better I haven’t done it in a while either.”

“No, it doesn’t make me feel any better,” Natasha shakes her head. “And I don’t believe you. You’re looking at a sexual harassment complaint and a broken nose if we keep talking about this.”

“Fine,” He shakes his head. “I just think you deserve better.” At Natasha’s warning look he clamps his mouth shut. “I need a consult. Fury wants the entire team on this case but we need your expertise.”

“Why would you need my expertise?” Natasha sits across from him. She takes the file, flipping through the pages before she shakes her head. “What is this?” 

“A recruitment center,” Richard describes. “Someone is recruiting young girls to be assassins. Training them to go out and do their bidding. We want to know the best way to, uh, get in there and get out.” He gestures. 

Natasha frowns. They could have very well asked Melina Yelena or anyone but her. She’s not an expert on brainwashed children. She only knows so much. Even then she provides him with an answer.

“You’re going to need to get someone on the inside obviously,” She says. “Preferably someone young. Wanda Maximoff could pass. She gets in. Find out who knows what. You protect her with your life. Make sure she feels safe at all times. Know that if it’s as bad as this film reads some of them will die.”

“That’s dark,” Richard comments.

“Well, it’s not all sunshine and roses,” Natasha mumbles. She sets the file back down. “Is that all you needed from me?” 

“Well, yeah,” Richard nods. 

“Well, I’d like to be alone in my home now,” Natasha says none too politely. She passes him the large envelope. They both stand. She walks him to the door and to both their surprises you’re on the other side. You’re a bit off-put by Richard being there. 

“I’m sorry,” You shake your head. “I stopped by to..” You trail off. 

“Y/n, so good to see you,” Richard offers you a fake smile that you don’t return. 

“He’s leaving,” Natasha makes a face at him. She wasn’t really in the mood for this nonexistent love triangle thing that goes on every time you’re all in the same space. Not that it matters to her. Richard would never be someone that is on her romantic radar. Not when she only has eyes for you. 

“Right, leaving,” Richard nods. He’s about to make a joke when Natasha punches him before he can even open his mouth. He holds his sore arm, offering her an “ow!” Before he shakes his head. He walks down the stairs and to his car without another word. 

Natasha’s gaze returns to you and the brown paper bag you have in your hands. 

“Is that for me?” She asks and you nod silently. Seeing her with Richard does things to you. You follow her into the house where she closes and locks the door. She takes the bag from your hands to set it on the hallway table. You’re not sure who makes the first move but Natasha is in your arms, kissing you, feeling you, and walking backward toward the couch. Your hands are everywhere on her body. You feel the skin under her shirt, down her sides, and her hips, as you push her gently to lie down on the couch. Your kiss is hungry and rough and full of passion. She moans at the feel of your weight atop her. She kisses you back. When your hand slides up her shirt, pinching her nipple through the sports bra she’s wearing, she rips her lips from yours to moan. Her cries go straight to your core. You’re lying here between her legs, kissing her neck now, and holding her right where you want her. Natasha enjoys your touch. It excites her. It makes her feel wanted. She raises her hand to place it over yours. 

“Y/n,” Natasha begs. She doesn’t know exactly what for. She imagines it would be so easy to allow you to take her right here. Right now. The kids aren’t home. There’s no one here to stop her. Even so, she can’t help the nagging feeling at the back of her mind. “Y/n.” The tone of her voice stops you in your tracks. You lift to look into her concerned eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask. You take in her kiss-swollen lips, her mussed hair, and her flushed skin. She looks so damn sexy. 

“You did this last time,” Natasha points out. Her voice is small and barely there. You can tell she’s trying to keep the conflict at a minimum. You give her a confused look. What was she talking about? “It’s… it’s stupid.” She shakes her head. “I can't help but notice. Every time Richard comes around you feel the need to stake your claim in some way.”

“I don’t do that,” You scoff. She gestures to the spot on her neck that’s formed into a slight purple bruise. When did you do that? You deflate, sitting up, removing yourself from her embrace. You take deep breaths. Were you doing that to her? 

“I didn’t want to bring it up to upset you,” Natasha instantly misses your touch. She fixes her shirt, adjusts her bra, and moves to sit closer to you. “I don’t want you to want me because someone else does.”

“Do you seriously think that?” You question. “Nat, baby,” You breathe. “I want you because I missed you. I want you because I find you attractive. I want you because you’re everything.” You take her hand in yours. “I don’t want you to think I’m doing it to show ownership over you. That’s not something I want.”

“I want to be yours,” Natasha confesses quietly. “Just not like that.”

“I understand,” You nod. Natasha kisses your pouting lips. You smile. The notebook on the coffee table catches your eye. “So you’ve been doing the assignment.”

“I have,” Natasha glances at the paper. 

“It’s pretty eye-opening,” You say and she nods in agreement. “I didn’t think things were that bad for us. I mean, I know, we got a divorce. I just…it puts things into perspective.” 

“It does,” Natasha runs a hand through her hair. 

“I want this to work for us,” You admit. “I’m sorry. I am. I want us to work.”

“Me too,” Natasha kisses your lips again. “Did you bring your book? We could go over some of the questions now.”

“I did,” You say as you reach over her legs to the bags you brought. You pull out the book, cracking it open to the page you’ve written on, while Natasha opens hers. “So, I’ve realized a lot of these are things we’ve done at the beginning of our relationship. We seemed to enjoy each other then. Pre-kids I guess.”

“Hmm,” Natasha hums. 

“Okay, this question,” You go to one you haven’t answered yet. “Please be truthful. Don’t hold back because you think it’s going to hurt my feelings.” Natasha nods. She could do that. “Do you feel comfortable being yourself around your partner?”

Natasha bites her lip. “I have always felt I could be myself with you. There were times I didn’t think I could. That maybe I needed to play a part to, um, make you happy.”

“I felt the same way,” You mumble. “Nat, I’m -”

“You’re sorry that’s understandable,” She shakes her head. “It’s something we have to work on. I love you for you. I’ve always loved you for you.”

“I’ve always been attracted to everything about you,” You begin. “I’ve always loved your personality. Your tenacity. Your humor. Your ability to be vulnerable.” Natasha blushes under your intense gaze. She takes her pen to write a few things before moving on to the next question. 

“You rarely hug, hold hands, or touch each other in a non-sexual way,” She reads aloud. There’s a silence that neither of you breaks. “The butt rubs stopped.” She points out. 

“What?” You look at her in surprise. “I guess they have. Was that the first indicator that something was wrong with you?”

“It was one,” Natasha shrugs. “I just thought you needed space and it’s not always a sexual thing but we stopped touching each other. It wasn’t only you. I stopped too.”

“Damn,” You curse under your breath. “We could try it now? I mean, one of our exercises was extended cuddling time. Now would be the perfect opportunity.” You offer and Natasha likes that idea. She takes both notebooks to sets them down on the table. You lie down first and she crawls on top of you. Her head rests on your chest, your arms wrap around her waist, and you simply hold each other. Your shared breathing and warmth lull you to a place of comfort. Natasha wriggles her butt, silently asking for your hands on her, and you oblige. You reach down, and your right hand travels over the slope of her soft, supple behind, before you rub. It’s tentative touches at first. Just a simple swipe of your hand before your rubs turn into kneading. You massage the covered flesh in your hands and Natasha hums. 

“I missed this,” She mutters into your chest. She peeks her head up at you. Her eyes travel from your eyes to your lips. She follows through with whatever thought she’s having and she kisses you. Her kiss is gentle and reassuring. She lingers, her lips brushing against yours before she opens her eyes again. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” You kiss her again. “So much, Natasha.” She smiles widely. She can’t describe how happy she feels right now. She’s here with you, in your arms, and there’s no other place she’d rather be. Her happiness surges to something else entirely. Suddenly all she wants is you. She kisses you again, deeper, harder, this time it’s all teeth and tongue. She sucks her bottom lips into your mouth, eliciting a moan from deep inside you and your grip on her ass loosens. 

“We shouldn’t,” She breathes between kisses. 

“You’re right,” You nod in agreement. “Though she did say we could.”

“It’s not like we need permission,” Natasha smirks. “We’ve done this before.”

You shrug. She may be right. 

“Which means I know how to get creative,” You flip the both of you over in one swift move. You adjust Natasha against the pillows, her hair fanning out under her, as you lie beside her legs. “Interesting choice of attire today.”

“It was either this or the workout gear,” She laughs. 

“It’s okay, makes it more fun,” You take nimble fingers to the buttons of her blouse. Natasha watches as you unbutton to reveal her smooth skin. “Tell me to stop.” You say but she doesn’t say a word. 

“What if I don’t want you to stop?” She challenges. You slide your fingers under her bra cap, feeling her nipple harden under your palm, and she shivers. 

“I’ve always liked you,” You joke and she nips at your chin. “I love you.” You correct and she hums. Much better. You twist her nipple, bordering on harsh, and Natasha practically jumps out of her skin. God, she’s missed this. You lean your head down, pushing the cup to the side, to suck her rosy nipple into your mouth. You swirl your tongue, alternating between licking and sucking and Natasha drops her head against the pillows again. You make sloppy sucking noises, only proving to turn her on further, as she rests a hand over your head to keep you there. “I want to make you cum.” You release her nipple with a pop. 

Natasha is a grown woman. She likes sex. She enjoys sex. She’s about to throw away all of her reservations and tell you to do whatever. You offer an alternative. You button her slacks, zipping them down far enough for your hands to reach inside and you slide in. Your fingers ghost over the lips of her panties, pushing to feel the wetness seeping through, and Natasha preens. 

“Like this then?” You say and she nods. That makes it more fun. You rake your nails over Natasha's pussy, finding the small nub peeking through the fabric, and you pay the most attention to that. Natasha arches her back and forces you to press against her deeper. “You like that baby?” You ask. “Is this what you wanted?” You ask as you work your magic through the cotton of her panties. Natasha nods her head, mouth open, eyes closed in complete pleasure. 

“Ngh,” She moans her words caught in her throat, as she rocks her hips into your fingers. It feels so damn good. This entire act may seem a bit immature but she doesn’t care. Your fingers are on her, practically inside of her, and even with the thin barrier of her underwear she feels everything. You are firm in your movements. You’re purposeful with every circling of your fingers. Your movements go from small tight circles to wide and rough as Natasha moans louder. “Yes,” She hisses between her teeth. “Yes.”She whines and you know she’s close. 

“Chase it, baby,” You encourage. “You’re so pretty like this. At my mercy.” You continue. “The perfect doll. So open and wet for me.” You kiss her bare shoulder, her neck, her chest. Anywhere you can reach. It feels so dirty here. The smell of her sex reaching your nose. The sound of shuffling and moving against the cushions is the only thing heard in the entire house. You want to give Natasha this. You need to give it to her. “My pretty girl. I want to make you my pretty wife again.” You find yourself saying and it’s the right thing. Natasha stiffens, and her left hand comes to grip your right arm as her hips thrust against your fingers. Even through her panties, you can feel the sudden gush of wetness from her. Natasha whimpers pitifully as you talk her through it. “That’s it, baby. I know. Your pussy feels so good.” You whisper closer to her ear. When she finally comes down, Natasha falls limp against the cushions and you catch her. You remove your fingers from her pants, resting them by her side, as you watch the rise and fall of her chest. Natasha opens her eyes a moment later, a bit startled by the fact that you’re watching her, and she shakes her head. You kiss her swollen lips. 

“You did so well for me,” You praise and delight in her skin turning into an even redder shade. “I liked seeing you cum.”

“Stop,” Natasha groans. You chuckle. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for your orgasm,” You deny her. “I had fun doing it. I’d like to do it again soon. Maybe with that strap, you’ve been asking for.”

“I’d like that.” Natasha nods. 

“This didn’t change things for you right?” You question and she tilts her head. “I mean to say that I meant what I said about making you my wife. It wasn’t just something I was saying to get you off.”

“It worked either way,” She quips. “I want that too. With you. Someday.”

“Good,” You smile. You trade kisses with Natasha, noting her sudden fatigue until you fall asleep in each other’s arms. You weren’t exactly intending to but you know you both need it. 

************

A few hours later you’re awakened by the sound of the front door unlocking. The kids are home. You awaken first, tapping Natasha awake, and she only nuzzles into your body further. She’s not ready to move away. 

“Unbelievable,” Yelena Belova’s voice interrupts your bliss. You both pop up to see the blonde standing over the two of you with a look of disgust on her face. “I can’t believe it.” Yelena shakes her head. 

“Mommy!” Emma and Ryan chorus. Natasha makes quick work of buttoning up her shirt and pants without them seeing. It’s Yelena who notices and shakes her head. 

“Is this why you wanted me to pick them up?” Yelena asks but then she drops Emma’s backpack onto the ground. “You know what, I’m leaving, I don’t even care.” She heads for the front door. You watch in trepidation as Natasha races after her. 

“Yelena,” Natasha calls after her younger sister. “Yelena, you’re acting like a child.”

“And you’re being stupid,” The woman insults. She turns back to Natasha with a disappointed look on her face. “You can’t think one quick fuck is going to make her stay. She left you. She left your kids. I can’t fucking believe this.”

“Yelena, that’s enough,” Natasha speaks firmly. “You don’t know what’s going on.”

“Well I have eyes,” Yelena argues back. “ I think I can see.”

“She’s my wife,” Natasha pleads with her sister to understand. 

“No,” Yelena rants. “She’s your ex-wife that broke your heart.”

“And she’s trying to make things better,”

“And just like that, you believe her? You’re smarter than that, Natasha.” Yelena scolds her sister. Natasha doesn’t speak. “Don’t call me when she decides she doesn’t want to play house anymore.” Yelena walks away after that. 

Natasha watches as her sister gets into her car and drives down the street. How was she supposed to respond to that? She turns back toward the house to see you standing on the steps waiting for her. 

“That was intense,” You comment. Natasha nods. You hold out your arms for her to step into them. She hides her face in your neck. 

“Am I being stupid?” She mumbles into your neck and you almost miss it. 

“No, Natasha,” You assure her. 

“Don’t make me look stupid,” She pleads. “I won’t survive it this time.” 

“Me either,” You hold her. 

You wouldn’t give this up again. You understand that Natasha’s family has a right to be cautious. They have a right to hate you. You could only hope that they see that you’re trying.

---> next part

[svtskneecaps]

feel like the global tasks sweep strat should probably be nerfed somehow. my thought would be, give each team an individual ten minute overall cooldown on global task claims. that is to say, a certain team can only claim one global task per ten minutes. say, deliver gas masks, and then in ten minutes you're allowed to deliver tea, and then after another ten minutes you can claim hot chocolate.

another teams would be able to claim a global task for bananas during this time, and their own ten minute cooldown would start.

(the global tasks can either keep their individual ten minute cooldown [i.e. after tea is claimed no one else can claim tea for ten minutes] or a slightly shorter cooldown, say 5-7 minutes)

when a global task is claimed, everyone is notified, right? if not, in my hypothetical, they will be.

then, a team trying to sweep six tasks at once would actually take sixty minutes to do, allowing another team to swoop in and have a chance to stop it in cinematic, entertaining fashion rather than tubbo having to grind resources and then log out in front of the merchant to counter this, which is boring for everyone (including the person delivering). plus, if a team cuts it down to the last second and ends up getting delayed, they physically wouldn't have time to make a delivery, meaning even being a BIT of a nuisance could be a viable strategy, even if you can't manage to kill; if you can STALL you could still wreck their plans.

that's my dream anyway idk i'm not a game designer. just think it would be interesting for most players

(i elaborate under)

red team would have to shake up their strategies, which is fun since they're a team that kinda has to rely more on strategy than outright brawn (overall the team's pvp can't be relied on unless they have carre or phil, as seen today when pierre, bad, and etoiles attacked phil cellbit foolish and baghera, and cellbit and foolish both died to etoiles in the attack, despite it being a 4 on 1 at the time. baghera was killed by bad soon after. phil was the one to get the kills. the first day, when blue attacked [niki, tubbo, and bad as i recall] carre got both kills)

the other teams would then still have a way to stop a global sweep since a sweep would have to start earlier, allowing not only more time to arrive at global to pvp about it, but ALSO allowing another team to swoop in and steal the goal out from under the team again

i'm gonna use it in a scenario bc i'm badboyhalo and i can't stop myself from making examples:

so, tonight, if the proposed cooldown was in place, bad and tubbo would both still had roughly 17 minutes when red team would have HAD to start the sweep process if they wanted all six global tasks: 1 hour until the server closed at absolute MINIMUM. more for safety's sake.

therefore, in this scenario, there's a lot to happen

blue team could wait at globals, knowing red will probably try this strategy, and attempt or perhaps SUCCEED in killing red. if they kill red entirely, the operation is a wash; red doesn't have to gear to come back from scratch and take out blue team, and even if they could, the travel time to return to globals alone would mean they wouldn't get all the global tasks, potentially meaning they don't take the lead. if blue team is unable to kill red and dies themselves or has to retreat, but succeeds in delaying red, red would face the same problem.

if red sends in all of the task items on one person, and that person dies, even if the rest survived, blue could loot the items from that person and would be able to either use the items themselves, if green is currently the owner, or could run away with the items, effectively wasting red's time and again, meaning they wouldn't get all tasks claimed even if they were able to overtake the runner and reclaim their items.

i'm unclear what would happen if red divided the task items between them since it seems like the person claiming the task doesn't have to have all (or any? again, unclear) the items in THEIR inventory in order to claim so long as a teammate is nearby with the items in their inv (evidence: pac's vod "voltei... o que tá acontecendo no QSMP?!" at roughly 3:00:00; tubbo claims tea and tea is taken out of pac's inventory. i don't know the limits of this strategy)

blue team also has time to swoop in and steal a global task out from under red during this time. say, if red team had claimed the task for 10 tea leaves, upping the price to 15 tea leaves, and then blue team snuck in and claimed the task and set the price up to 20 tea leaves, (since the proposed 10 minute cooldown on claims would be TEAM LIMITED; red's cooldown applying to red only and so on). if red waited until the last second, they wouldn't have the time to reclaim this task even if they did have the resources, possibly forcing them to start their sweep earlier to counter this possibility, at which point team members who had logged on earlier and are out of time by the end of the night, OR members who live in time zones that don't allow them to stay up until server close, may have an easier shot at participating in defending against a global sweep.

all of this DIRECT CONFLICT would make for good audience entertainment and heighten the stakes of an attempted global sweep, since it would practically have to be one team defending globals for an hour while they pipe all their resources into it, knowing that if they die another team could easily swipe their task resources and use it themselves (along with the rest of their gear). it makes it more interesting, while still mostly viable.

plus it would force more strategizing for red team which is maybe just a personal plus, i just really like seeing people planning both in advance and in spur of the moment. it's really satisfying to see how a plan comes together and succeeds or fails; plus, since red team is the main team using this strategy at the moment and their main draw and strength as a team is cohesion and communication this would be completely fucking riveting for me as a viewer so maybe this is just a personal thing. but i really really think it would be fun

but again, i'm not a game designer, or a qsmp player, or a qsmp admin, or honestly even really a gamer? so maybe i'm off my rocker and out of my gourd and this isn't viable or balanced in any way shape or form but YKNOW what is this blog except putting stupid thoughts into the void and seeing if this time the void spits back hate mail so. i'm folding this into a paper airplane and throwing it into the abyss. hopefully it made sense.

k love you appreciate you getting this far, have a good week!!

(i hope your team gets a win in dramatic fashion and celebrates together!!! i hope they come together and unleash a plan so spectacular it takes the server by storm!!! i hope it's so good it becomes a vod you go back to even years in the future!!!! i hope you have a good week!!!!!)

[navree]

you know, i think i've survived being a batman/batfam fan not because of elseworlds stuff like wayne family adventures or even fanworks (although the fanworks are amazing) but also because i'm simultaneously a big doctor strange fan and so when dc fucks me over yet again by making bruce be an asshole to his family without it ever leading to meaningful change or putting jason through some fresh hell for the thousandth time or trying to get me to care about tim drake when he's the most boring boy on the planet, i just go and read the current doctor strange run, because even if no one else got me, i know jed mackay got me, because he's never ever let me down and gave me clea back which i've been clamoring for since 2018

[straykats]

.

[hoshigray]

Alright, y'all, here's the plan: you're not quite aware of what Toji does for work, yet you keep quiet. But one night, the man comes home bleeding, and you can't keep your worries to yourself anymore. However, for your protection, Toji isn't ready to reveal his assassin business to you. And, in the heat of the moment, ends up saying something that hurts you instead...

A/n: (Reuploaded bc I forgot smthn) This prompt was picked from a poll to celebrate the 300+ followers milestone (pssst tysm for 450+ you lovelies :D) two weeks back. Truthfully, I don't think this is my best work after proofreading, but I did my best. Probably bc 1) it's longer than I intended, and 2) I procrastinated waaaaay too much with this. I don't even think I made sense halfway through, lol, but fuck it, we ball. Anyways, like last time, there is art drawn by me (@hoshigaby) but it'll be found deep in the fic :33

I hope you enjoy the ride and reblogs + replies are much appreciated!! Also, don't be alarmed that Y/n in the drawing looks of a dark complexion, feel free to use your imagination if it doesn't suit you. But do not edit it; be an adult and ignore it if it's not your taste.

Cw: Toji x fem!reader - arguing/yelling - fingering (fem! receiving) - mating press - Daddy kink - first Toji is sour, then he's sweet bc he's whipped for you :) - clitoral play (pressing down and a pinch) - praise - breast fondling + nipple play - pet names (angel, baby, darlin', honey, kid, mama/ma, princess, sweetheart/sweetie) - Megumi mean-mugging his father while Tsumiki and Shiu Kong tell him to do better lol - mentions of blood and stab wound; isn't fully healed so reopens.

Wc: 5.8k

"Uhh, are you sleeping on the couch?"

"Yes. Yes, I am."

"...Why??"

You scrunch your brow at your phone, looking at the two people you're talking to through the screen. "I know you're not about to get on my case over where I'm sleeping."

On the L-shaped couch lay you, cuddled up with a fluffy blanket and memory foam pillow, one hand holding your phone while another wrapped around a stuffed plushy. You were on a video call with your best friends: Utahime and Mei Mei.

Utahime, lying on her bed with a face mask, replied to you. "Oh, I'm definitely getting on your case because it's supposed to be the other way around!"

"True, but I like the couch anyways." You puff at the woman who's not satisfied with your answer. "Plus, I'm on the L-part of the couch, so it's practically like a bed!"

Your other friend, Mei Mei, chuckles at her screen. Icy blue hair pulled up in a bun with reading glasses positioned atop her forehead, probably counting her tips on her desk like she always does before bed. "My my, this is the fourth night this week. What did your man say to make you this upset?"

Memories of what happened before come back to you, and so does the exhausting irritation you've been trying to keep at bay.

It was a quiet night like this one as the rain fell hard on the silent streets. You've just put Tsumiki and Megumi to sleep and waited in the living room, watching a movie to pass the time. It was pretty late into the night when you heard the door open as drowsiness settled in. Nevertheless, you got up to greet the man you'd been waiting for coming from the entrance, but you weren't prepared for the sight that instantly woke you up.

Toji Fushiguro, groaning and leaning against the wall with his black jean jacket drenched from the rain. A hand was clenched on the left side of his torso, deep red tarnishing his plain white shirt. He was heaving in an attempt to even his breathing, but when he caught a glimpse of you standing before him, he was quick to try and play it off with a worn-out grin. "Hey, baby." His familiar deep voice was strained in subtle agony.

Worry bubbles within, and you rush towards him. "Oh my God, Toji, what happened!?" You remind yourself to not be too loud as the children are still asleep, so you rely on whisper yellings while walking him up to your shared bedroom.

Even in the room, Toji doesn't explain himself. Just silent hushes and cajoles that he's alright. "I'm fine, honey. Just tell me where's the first aid box." Pointing at the bathroom cabinet, you watch him leave your side to grab the kit. The crimson spilling from him is caused by a stab wound he reveals when he sits on the bathtub, lifting his shirt. You can feel your eyes water, imagining the pain he's going through when he hisses from putting on rubbing alcohol on the gash.

The words you want to say feel so forbidden. Your fingers fidget amongst themselves with the irregular beat of your chest. Don't say it, Y/n. Keep your mouth shut. Don't—

"Is this from work?"

Green eyes shoot back in your direction, and you immediately feel yourself sinking into a pool of regret.

Talk of Toji's occupation wasn't something you brought up much. Even at the beginning of your relationship, he didn't indulge in any insights about what he does, so you eventually quit after a few failed attempts. However, with all the nights he's come home while you sleep or the new scars you point out yet are brushed off, your anxiousness for him keeps festering. And seeing him with his own blood on his hands made you wonder how many nights he has pulled off doing such without your knowledge.

Toji's eyes go back to his wound. "Don't worry 'bout it." The stern tone of his voice has your blood turn cold. He didn't want to entertain this, especially in the wee hours of the night.

And yet you still persist. "No, Toji, I'm serious." You can see him glare at you through the raven bangs shading his forehead. A warning. But it doesn't stop you. "I'm getting worried about you."

From there was when the argument came. Every point you've made to him was shut down at once. His cold responses pierced you. Usually, you'd do what you can to avoid this type of confrontation. But now, it hurts even more when he doesn't cooperate with you, your concerns disregarded like rubbish.

"Damn it, Y/n!" Toji barks at you, seething through the physical pain as a fist bangs hard on the bathroom cabinet. "Why's it so hard for you to stay out of this?"

"Well, if you would tell me things instead of pushing me out the way, then maybe I wouldn't have to!" At this point, you're fighting the tears from falling. Your face hot with frustration, but you still speak. "Toji, I've done so much for you and the kids, and I—"

"No one told you to do—"

"Yet I STILL do!" It's your turn to yell. "I care about you deeply, same with Tsumiki and Megumi. I don't ask for much, Toji. But I want you to open your life to me just a little, even when you're hurt like this!"

His emerald eyes remain rigid despite your pleas to him. And what he said next had you still to the core. You can recall the beat of your heart corrupting your senses while the tears stride down.

"If you were goin' to be a thorn on my side like this, I wouldn't have let you be in it in the first place."

"He said WHAT!!??" Utahime shrieks after you retell the situation to your friends.

You nod your head. "I just looked at him, and he looked at me. Then I turned, picked my pillow up, and headed downstairs to this couch."

To say the dark-haired woman was livid was an understatement. "And tell me WHY this fucker isn't the one sleeping on this couch, again??"

"Even if I did tell him to sleep on the couch, he probably would say something like, 'Tch, why should I? I pay bills for this damn house,' and yadda, yadda." This is true, apart from the man being injured, so having him move would've been immoral. "Plus, I just really wanted to get outta the room, so I went ahead and moved myself out."

"So? You pay bills too, what the hell!? Good God, Y/n," Utahime shakes her head. "You sure we can't pummel this dude?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Besides, I'm getting used to ignoring him when I see him around the house. But, oh my God, guys, his kids," the phone panned down to the plush toy and the pink, fluffy blanket. "Miki saw me sleeping here the other morning and gave me this blanket. And Gumi — he's such a sweetie. He gave me his favorite froggy toy to sleep with to scare off his dad from 'bothering me in my dreams.' "

"Hmm, how adorable." Mei Mei comments. "Funny how such darlings can come from a guy like that."

Utahime nods rapidly and throws in her opinion. "Listen, Y/n, you shouldn't think you outta be in every part of that man's life. Even so, he should at least know how to compromise. I mean, come on, you take care of him, the kids, the house, and go to work with us. All of that just for you to sleep on a couch!?"

"You're not gonna let this couch thing go, aren't you?" The pale blue-haired woman chuckles again, and Utahime sighs. "But she's right, Y/n. It takes a certain kind of person to have the patience to do what you do in a relationship with a single father and two children. I'm sure Utahime would've left with all her hair out."

The dark-haired one gets up from her bed and takes her device with her, heading to the bathroom to finish her skin care. "Now, why am I the one used as an example?"

"Because you're the most vocal about a relationship that isn't yours." A sly smile is painted on Mei Mei's face after she hears a 'hmph!' from the other as Utahime removes the mask and washes her face. "My point is that you like this man — love him even. But that love shouldn't cost you to be so emotionally drained. Perhaps he understands this, except it wasn't the perfect moment for you two to express yourselves. Maybe talk to him when you two stop the silent treatment."

All you do is hum aimlessly, too wrapped in what your friend said to give a proper response. Then you yawn, your body signaling you to finally rest. "I'll sleep on that thought. Night, girlies~~" You wave and send kisses to the other two. They do the same as you leave the video call, placing the phone on the coffee table and snuggling up with the blanket and plush toy.

You try to distract yourself by thinking of what you'll do tomorrow. You gotta get up and make breakfast for Tsumiki and Megumi before waking them up, then head to the station and take the bus to work. Maybe you can finally try that new café close by with Mei Mei and Utahime for lunch. And when you return home, you should whip up something fun for the kids to eat.

Perhaps, make something for Toji since he sometimes forgets to feed himself when you're not around. Or if he's leaving for work, wish him a safe trip back home like always. And...if he's down for it...you can find the right time......to talk...about......

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The moment you closed your eyes, it felt as though you were sleeping on your own bed again. When you turn to your side, your body descends into the feeling of cold sheets beneath you. It was pretty comfy! Plus, the blanket—

Wait...Sheets?

Your eyes slowly open to the sight of bedsheets underneath you. Navigating out of the sleepy stupor, you make out parts of your surroundings to know that you're not in the living room anymore. You slowly rise up to face the door of the bedroom. Your shared bedroom.

A sudden cough alerts you, forced as if to grab your attention. A chill crawls up your spine. Oh God, no. You turn to the side to see the man accompanying his side of the bed. And there he was, Toji, lying on his side with his head resting on a hand, looking dead at you. His raven hair looked damp from a recent shower, sporting only a grey wifebeater and dark sweatpants.

"Hey," is all he says to you. No smirk and no nickname followed with the greeting. Just a simple address to you with his green eyes softly watching yours. You almost fall into their inviting spell the more you look at them.

Nonetheless, it's not compelling enough since you remember he's the man you fought with four days ago — the same man you weren't prepared to see right now. You quickly turn away from him and lift the comforter to exit the room. However, Toji grabbed your wrist before your feet could touch the floor, his grip too strong for you to pull away from him.

You avoid eye contact with him, your back facing him. "Toji, let me go. I'm going to sleep."

"Then sleep."

"On the couch, Toji." You try and pull again. Nothing.

"Fuck that, just sleep here. I didn't carry you up here for nothin'."

You shake your head as you exhale through your nose. Of course, he carried me here. "Whatever happened to you not wanting me to be a part of your life?"

The words that left your lips surprised you and the grip around your wrist tightens. You didn't mean to say them, but it was the truth because they were his own words. Or did you?

Still facing away from Toji, you're unable to see his reaction. Oh shit, is he angry? Is he going to let me go after that?

"Darlin', please..." His deep voice hushed for only you to hear. "I just really need you with me here. Just for tonight...." His hold lessens, leaving you to decide whether you should stay.

The silence is uncomfortable for both of you — especially for Toji, who has you where he wants you to be, where you're supposed to be. As seconds pass when he doesn't hear from you, the nervousness that used to exist before your relationship rises back into the pit of his stomach. And his soul drops down when you remove your wrist from his hand.

Though, to his surprise, your hand lifts the comforter up while your legs move back on top of the mattress. You lay back down with a sigh, your back still facing Toji. "Did you give Miki back her blanket?"

Toji exhales quietly, situating himself back on his side of the bed. "Yeah, and Megumi with his toy."

You hum, and the silence fills the room once more.

Toji looks at nothing but your figure next to him, watching the rise and fall of your shoulder as you breathe silently, your face nestled comfortably on the pillow. To think it's been half a week since he last saw you in this room is hard to believe.

That night when you left him really stuck with him. The image of your face covered in tears was all he envisioned, the same with you grabbing your pillow and exiting the room. After tending his stab wound, he went down to talk it out. Yet when Toji saw you sleeping soundly on the couch with dried tears painting your pretty face, he didn't dare wake you up and just went to bed.

And it was worse the following days. Not only did he have you avoiding him at every chance, but he had to deal with the judgmental looks of his children. Never in his life has he seen Megumi give him glares that meant business. If looks could kill, Toji would be finished. And Tsumiki, his sweet little girl, now pesters him about being nice to Y/n, saying he should think about their feelings and apologize.

But what about his feelings? Does no one understand that he was just trying to keep you out of business that you didn't need to fret over? He's very aware that his job is not a normal one. It's dangerous, and anyone around him can get hurt or worse. Hence, keeping you away from this part of his life keeps you and his family safe. If not knowing he's an assassin keeps you from harm's way, why change that.

At least...that's what he thought, not what he said.

Even Shiu Kong, his handler, had something to say after telling him what had happened during lunch today. "Wow. I knew you were trash, but I didn't know you were that dumb, too." The man snickers when Toji shoves a middle finger his way. Shiu lights another cigarette after discarding the one he finishes. "Well, how were they supposed to know you were watching out for them? If someone you love comes to your front door bloody and sick, whose safety are you worrying about?"

Toji says nothing to that, letting the other man resume speaking some sense into him after taking a long sig from his cigarette.

"Look. I can't promise that this angel of yours wants to stay with you after what you said. That's all up to them. But until they decide that, I hope your dumbass realizes when someone sticks with you literally through blood and pain, that's someone who cares for you to the Moon and back. Not saying you should tell them what you do, but a nice word or two of comfort is all they need. If you're not that big of an idiot, reconcile and let them know you care about them."

"...Reconcile and let them know you care about them..."

If there's one thing that Toji has trouble with, it's knowing how to use his words. It was a tiny problem in the earlier stages of your relationship, but as time flew, you could guess how much the tall man cherishes you by his actions rather than words.

The older man knows that you know he loves you. But now, when he's pushed into a position where words are necessary to portray his real feelings for you, he feels stumped.

"If you were goin' to be a thorn on my side like this, I wouldn't have let you be in it in the first place."

Toji grimaces at his own words replaying in his head. Why the fuck did I say that?

"Whatever happened to you not wanting me to be a part of your life?"

Your words ring in his mind. Why did I fuckin' say that for? What the hell is wrong with me? What did—

"Toji?"

He returns to reality, eyes moving back to your still silhouette.

"I know you're still awake, so I'm gonna ask this." Toji braces himself for whatever your soft voice muttered. "Whatever job you're doing, is it a dangerous one?"

Shit. The dreaded talk is here, and Toji cannot escape it.

"Yeah."

"Are you good at your job?"

"It's the only thing I'm good at."

You nod your head aimlessly to his answer. Then you turn around to face the anxious older man. The moonlight peaking through the window blinds illuminates your face beautifully while Toji's breathing slows.

"I don't think that's true," you continue to answer. "You're good at being a father to Tsumiki and Megumi. Not the best, but a decent one nonetheless. You're also good at caring for me; letting me live with you and your family proves that. And lastly," Toji gulps with a dry throat.

"You're good at loving. You say you're lousy at it, but there's love in everything you do for me. It's there when you look at me whenever you think I'm unaware. Or when you silently grab my hand when in crowded areas. Or," a small chuckle exits from you. "When you carry me up from downstairs to the bedroom."

Toji's jade eyes lock in with yours, waiting for you to avert your gaze away from him. But you don't. You keep looking at him. You keep spoiling him. This type of recognition is something Toji never thought he deserved, so you giving it to him so effortlessly makes his growing guilt eat him alive.

"I care about you so much, Toji." You shift closer to Toji and bring a hand to his cheek, causing the man to lift his brows. Your face is only a few inches away from his. "What happened yesterday really scared me. All I could think about was the wound and all the scars you have. Where they all came from and how deep they are. Or......you never coming back."

"Baby..." Toji absently refers to you with a sweet name, placing his big hand on top of yours on his cheek. He lets you finish.

"I know you can't guarantee coming back to me unscathed, but I just want you to promise me something: please let me know you'll be okay. When you're gone, I can only hope you make it back home safely. So, just promise to not get yourself killed." A sheepish smile is used to ease the serious tone. "Even if I'm not in your life, I'm sure Tsumiki and Megumi would be pretty upset to not have you around."

Toji scoffs. "Trust me, I'm sure they'd leave me the moment you step out the door." That makes you laugh, and it has the man swooning hearing it. His hand moves to your cheek, and you allow him to stroke it with a thumb. "And I wouldn't blame 'em. Havin' such a beautiful and loving angel slip through my fingers?"

"Toji..."

"I'm sorry for what I said and scarin' you like that. If you aren't here with me, as part of my life and all, then I don't think I can't make a promise like that. You're too good fr' me, and I'm sorry if I didn't seem to appreciate you until now."

And you know he's genuine with his plea, his green eyes gauging your reaction to see if he's worth another chance. All you do is sigh and lift yourself up, wipe his wet bangs from his forehead, and kiss it. "Not the best apology, but I accept it."

He drones, relishing the feeling of your lips on him again. "So, are we cool, kid?"

"Yeah," you peer down at him with a smile, and he does the same. "We're cool. However, if you ever yell at me again, don't be surprised when I pack my bags."

"Oh yeah?" Toji raises a brow. "I'll be careful, then."

"You better." Hushed chuckles are shared to comfort the silence, enjoying the closeness between you two that felt like forever to have again. Just the two of you with you giggling above him and the light from the window cascading an ethereal glow to your features. Your teeth shied behind pretty lips, lips he wanted to kiss.

And you catch him looking. You notice him wanting you, needing you. Just as much as you need him. You slowly lean down to his face, planting your soft lips on his rigid pair.

Toji's surprised by the action for a moment, but he moans into your mouth and pulls you into him closer. The kiss starts off nice and slow yet quickly changes to one filled with passion and desire. Teeth clashing, tongues exchanging, sweet moans paired with aroused groans.

As you two are lost in each other's lips, Toji carefully maneuvers you on your back with him on top of you. Your legs find purchase around his waist as he rocks into your core, rocking your hips together in a steady rhythm by the second.

His hand snakes down to your lower region, fingers brushing past your pajamas and onto your panty-covered vulva. The intrusion has you breaking the kiss with heavy breaths filling the silent, moonlit room. He busses your chin down to your neck as shaky mewls slip out your mouth.

"Haaah, Toji, we shouldn't. It's late—Hmmm..." Your whimpers don't stop him from pulling your pajamas and undergarments off.

"It's okay, sweetheart, lemme make it up to you." He says in-between kisses on your clavicle, pulling up your shirt to reveal your bare chest. His free hand fondles a breast before his mouth goes for the other. "Let Daddy take care of you..."

The sudden combination of his thick fingers intruding between your nether folds and his mouth sucking and licking your sensitive nipple has you whining in bliss, your hand gripping his wet raven hair resulting in a satisfied groan from the older man. Toji missed this — missed you — close to him, under him on this bed.

One finger plays with your wet chasm for a few moments before it's inserted inside. A shriek is let out as your cunt adjusts to the digit. "Mmmph! Oh God, Daddy, your fingers...Ahhh!"

A soft 'pop' leaves from Toji's mouth when pulled back from sucking on your nipple, his tongue lapping around the sensitive nob. "What's that, mama? My fingers feelin' good?" You nod rapidly, but that's not the answer Toji's looking for, so he bites on your nipple gingerly yet hard enough for you to jolt. "Daddy wants your words, angel."

"Yesss, yes, your fingers feel soo good," You mewl to him, and Toji chuckles dangerously low while rewarding you with another digit in your slick-coated hole. His abrupt middle finger joins his forefinger in attacking your velvety walls, and your voice shifts higher in ecstasy.

The sounds of Toji's tongue licking around your nipple coincide with the squelches between his fingers and your gushy slit. Your brain starts to short-circuit.

"Ahh! Ahhh! Daddy, I can feel—I'm gonna," Toji's fingers pick up the pace. You're so close to release, you can feel it.

"Gonna be good and cum on Daddy's fingers, right, baby?"

"Mhmmm, I wanna co—Oh, Jesus, I wanna come. Hoooooh..."

"Then go ahead, princess. Mess 'em up." Toji comes up to kiss your forehead as his fingers go irrationally fast, and a thumb sneaks to press down on your unattended clit. With a choked cry, you spasm and cream on his thick digits. He watches you finish, loving the image of your head pushed back on pillows and your body arching towards him.

He dismisses himself from you once you're done, licking his fingers of your essence and taking off his wifebeater and pants. The image of his free cock has you biting your lower lip in anticipation as you discard your shirt to the bedroom floor as well. When you look at Toji, you notice the bandaged patch on his left side. He sees you glimpsing, quick to ease your concerns. "I'll be fine, darlin'. Won't go too crazy." Looking at his scarred body in a new light, you nod and follow his lead.

Toji carries your legs up to move to the right of his shoulder, situating you two into a mating press. His dick aligns with your glossy cunt. Precum meets slick and lubricates the two sexes pushing into each other. Toji coaxes you. "Too tense, ma. Relax fr' me." You prepare yourself with even breaths, and the man pushes into you with each exhale.

The head of his cock enters, a cry departs from your lips, and Toji hisses with the tightness of your slit. His hips go slow, making sure your walls accommodate every vein and dent of his dick as it ventures deep within you. Hits to your G-spot have you babbling incoherent prayers, gripping the sheets under you.

When his cockhead finally meets your cervix, you sob his name in rapture. Toji smirks, dialing the pace of his thrusts up. "Mmmm, Christ, yr' tight pussy. So fuckin' perfect fr' me."

Every stroke prompts a euphoric moan from you, drool escaping your lips as your mind turns into putty. The noises of his pelvis smacking on your ass feel so wrong to hear, yet you can't help but grip around Toji's girthy length. It gets worse when he presses his entire body weight on you, forcing you to take his cock and abusing your tender cervix with every deep rut.

As for Toji, he's enjoying seeing you writhe and pant under his bow. The corner of your eyes sprinkled with tears, your mouth wailing in euphoric chants, the way your cunt clamps around his dick when he grinds his hips deep onto your come-covered folds. He can never get enough of this, enough of you, driving him so fucking crazy.

"Daddyyy, I'm gonna—Ahhaaaa!!" Toji's now going at an erratic cadence, his cock churning your insides as his heavy balls slapping your folds being the only things you can listen to. Your whines get higher and higher while chasing your climax. "Cu-cumming, I'm gonna cumm—Ohhh!!"

"Hnngh! Oh, shit, fuck, fuck. Me too, kid, me too," Toji groans into your ear. God, his deep voice makes your brain mush. "Oooooh, want me to fill you up, mama?"

Your head nods frantically, tears now staining your face. "Yessss, please, Daddy!! I want it!" Toji hears your pleas and smashes his mouth into yours, moans swapped between lips with tongues daubed in saliva. A hand is moved down to your clit, pinching the spot between Toji's forefinger and thumb. And your pussy tightens around his cock one last time before you peak onto him.

The fluttery spasms of your walls clenching around Toji have him finish in three deep strokes, spurting his seed inside you before he relaxes his heaving body on yours. The kiss breaks with you two huffing and panting, the final moments of your high finally depleting out of your nude bodies.

His green eyes take in your dazed expression, calloused fingers wiping your tears away. "How's that for an apology?"

"You pervy old man," You chuckle to yourself, so out of breath. "You're more of a man of action anyway, so you pulled through. "

"Hehe, I'll take it." He cups your jaw with his big hand, your eyes locked in with his. "I love you so fuckin' much, baby. Sorry for ever making you think otherwise."

You blink once. Twice. Your hands come up to his face, and a finger swipes away black bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead. "I love you too, Toji. I would've left your ass if you weren't."

Toji smiles and leans in to kiss your swollen lips with his scared ones; however, a sharp pain stops him, prompting the big man to yell out. Worried, you try to assess what's wrong. Then you see it: the blood-stained bandage on his left side.

A gasp catches his attention, and Toji turns to what you're gawking at. His body freezes, seeing the trail of blood exit from his reopened wound.

"Ahhhh shit..."

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"Well, well, well," Utahime smirks at you through the screen. "I see you're not on the couch anymore."

You smile sheepishly as you lie on the pillows and headboard of your shared bed. Tsumiki and Megumi huddle beside you, napping blissfully around your presence under Tsumiki's pink blanket.

"Yeah, we made up last night." To avoid disturbing the children, you reply in whispers.

Mei Mei hums. "I see that. I assume you two had a nice talk about it?" You open your mouth, but no words come out. The two women quirk up a brow.

"Oh? I take it that there was more than just talking." Utahime chimes in, her smile going ear to ear while your eyes avoid the screen. "No wonder we didn't see you at work today. The dick so good it saved your relationship, huh?" She laughs at you hushing her up for using crude language while the children sleep. "Well, happy you two figured it out. But don't think I won't come over there and beat his ass the next time I see you on that couch."

"I second that," Mei Mei agrees. "But Uta can do the beatdown; I'm more interested in what he has in his wallet."

"Not much, I'll tell you that." you correct your friend. "I'm the one who takes care of his finances for safe-keeping."

"Well, that makes things easier for me."

The three of you laugh through your devices. Then you hear heavy footsteps drawing closer from the stairs. "Oop, he's back now. I'll talk to you guys later!" You hurriedly wave and kiss your friends goodbye before ending the video call. The bedroom door opens, and there he is.

Toji flashes a quick smile at you before it vanishes once he sees his kids nestled around you. "I was hopin' to get some alone time with you."

You giggle as you brush Tsumik's hair away from her pretty face. "You're back early. Is your wound okay now?"

"Hmph, yeah, thanks to you pushin' me out the way and grabbin' for the first aid kit." Toji pokes fun at you for the event from last night, where you immediately pushed the brawny man off of you and ran for the tools necessary to treat his open injury the moment you saw blood. You chuckle and watch the tall man climb into bed. "Doc said it should fully heal within a week or two. Why the squirts here?"

"They were happy to find me back in the room for a nap, so they joined me and kept me company." Megumi snuggles close to you for warmth, and you pick him up to your chest.

"Well, they're takin' my spot."

"I don't think they care."

Toji pinches your nose for your snarky remark, and you wriggle out of his fingers with quiet chuckles. His hand then cups your face and pulls you to face him, his emerald eyes softly gazing into you.

"You know I love the hell outta you, right?" His deep voice sounds sweet to the ears. You purr into his hand. "And I hope you know I'm the same for you." He nods. You smile.

He hesitates for a split second, but Toji leans close to kiss your tender lips. Only for a tiny hand to come smacking him in the face, halting him from further movement. To the shock of you both, Megumi was back awake, sending a mean look at his father.

Toji groans in annoyance. "What was that for, brat?"

"For making Y/n sad." Megumi keeps his hold on you secure as he and Toji mean-mug each other. Queuing Tsumiki from her slumber, defending you from her father. "Apologize or stay away!" The little girl warns the older man.

You're quick to break up the mini-fight amongst the Fushiguros. "Alright, kids, no need to worry about me. Your dad already apologized to me by promising to take us out for dinner tonight." Childish faces beam in delight while Toji shifts to instant puzzlement. "Now go get ready and put on your shoes!" Tsumiki and Megumi do just that, rushing out of your shared room and to their own.

When you can't hear the pitter-patter of little feet anymore, you feel big strong arms haul you into Toji's embrace, attacking you with tickles. You try to squirm your way out, but it's no use when he uses his body to cage you in. "Who told you to make promises on my name, huh? You tryna be bratty with me, kid?" He grins at your ticklish suffering.

"Then don't you—Oh God, stop!" It's difficult finishing your statement while fighting back laughter and screams. "Don't you ever yell at me again!"

He stops tickling you, thank God. You catch your breath as Toji looks at you under him with a proud smile. "I don't plan on it, sweetie. Now c'mere."

Toji finally has his lips placed on your soft ones, and you happily return the favor by wrapping your arms around his neck to pepper him with delicate kisses. But the romantic atmosphere vanishes when the children come and dogpile on Toji after hearing your ticklish screams, forcing the older Fushiguro off of you to deal with his kids with tickles of their own.

Observing the children laugh and squirm under Toji's merciless fingers, a soft smile adorns your face watching the domestic display before you and thinking how lucky you are to witness such a thing. Well, that's before all three of them turn to you and bring you another ticklish horror.

And despite the torture, your screams and giggles are filled with pure joy and contentment, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

[percervall]

it's a bad idea (fuck it, it's fine) — part 1

Summary: your housemates give you an offer you can't refuse. What's the worst that could happen? Pairing: Jenson Button x fem!reader, Fernando Alonso x fem!reader, Sebastian Vettel x fem!reader, Mark Webber x fem!reader Warnings: smut, dirty talk, mild degrading, oral (m and f receiving), face fucking, fingering, slight nipple play, hinting at m/m, mentions of free use, *gasp* and they were room mates Word count: 1.9k

Part 1 of the Fuck It series

The arrangement was, frankly, absurd. Had the offer come from anyone other than Jenson, you would have kicked them so hard they wished you had punched them instead. Part of you hoped he would have forgotten what he had said while heavily under the influence of too much champagne, but luck was not on your side. 

"Have you thought about my offer?" Jenson asks, innocently blowing on his coffee, making you choke on air. 

"The offer in which I pay my rent by, wait let me check my notes. Ah, yes, 'fucking you'," you reply, voice a lot steadier than you feel. Because truth be told, it had been impossible to not fantasise about getting railed into next week by him- by any of them. Oh, you were well aware of how much your life had become the plot of a rom-com ever since your landlord decided to be an absolute greedy bastard. Become a live-in house sitter for 4 millionaires they said, it'll be fun they said. Liars.

"Oh come on, it'll be mutually beneficial," Jenson argued. 

"Proud of you for using your big boy words, pretty boy but how exactly is this gonna end up in anything other than disaster?" 

"He's hungover and a himbo, why are you bullying him?" Mark mutters, voice still rough with sleep as he literally picks you up and unceremoniously plops you down on top of the counter. There are days where you curse your small stature and his strength, especially when it leaves your brain stuttering to process getting manhandled. 

"We'll set rules. All I'm saying is we're all adults-.." You can't help but snort at that. "Fine, whatever. I'm just saying that I've seen the way you look at them, seen the way your eyes flash with lust and I am pretty sure some truly filthy fantasies, and I know I can speak for all four of us when I say we would love to help you realise those. Also, we don't need your rent money and this is just so much more fun." Well then. You just got read for filth before even having had your morning coffee. Fuck him for seeing right through you. 

"Where's your sense of adventure, nena?" Fernando comments, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Right next to my 'I survived Multi-21' t-shirt," you mutter. It's a low blow, but getting bullied into sleeping with four drivers makes it hard to think.

Mark shoots you a look, eyebrow raised. 

"The mouth on you," he comments, "Seb was very apologetic. Made it up to me in the best possible way. In fact, I should make you apologise to the both of us the same way, sweetheart. On your knees." He whispers the last part in your ear and you cannot contain the whimper that comes out at his thinly veiled threat.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being made to kneel and take cock like the good little girl you are, hm?” 

“Mark-..” You have no idea how to respond to that and keep your dignity in tact. You try to look away but Mark takes your chin between his forefinger and thumb.

“I asked you a question sweetheart. Are you gonna be a good girl for us?” His thumb tugs on your bottom lip and all rational thought leaves you as you nod. 

“Mm, knew JB was right about you. Takes one to know one, I suppose.” You can hear a muffled what the fuck’s that supposed to mean? from the living room as Mark helps you down from the counter. You hadn’t even noticed the McLaren teammates had left the kitchen until just now. 

“On your knees, sweetheart,” Mark nudges you and you sink down onto the floor. The small kitchen runner is the only thing protecting your knees from the cold hardwood floor, but the prospect of sore knees is quickly forgotten now that you’re at eye level with Mark’s crotch. You can clearly see the outline of his hardening cock against his shorts and it has your mouth watering. Mark chuckles as he notices the hunger in your eyes.

“You’re lucky Seb is out for a run. Or maybe I’m the lucky one, getting to fuck this mouth all by myself.” The whimper you let out is involuntarily as you eagerly watch him hook his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, pushing them down far enough to free his cock. You scoot a little closer, taking him in your hand, tongue darting out to lick away the bead of pre-cum. Mark hisses, head thrown back and that’s all the encouragement you need to suck the tip into your mouth. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, sounding absolutely wrecked already despite you not even having done anything yet. 

“You said something about fucking my mouth?” Mark looks down at you, pupils completely blown and he grins so wickedly, it leaves you breathless. 

“Are you absolutely sure sweetheart?” As you nod in response, he gathers your hair into a ponytail in his fist, angling your face. “Alright then. Tap my thigh twice if it’s too much and I will stop, okay?” 

“Okay,” you parrot, and move your legs apart ever so slightly to stabilise yourself. Mark drags the tip of his cock across your lips and you open up for him. He slides in, careful to not immediately choke you. You relax your jaw as much as you can, but god it’s been so long since you last did this. Mark sets a slow rhythm, letting the both of you adjust. Looking up at him through your lashes, you can see how he’s trying to hold on to the last shreds of self control, and well. That just won’t do. 

“Mark,” you say, slightly out of breath as you pull back, “you taunted me with using me. So for the love of God, fucking use me.” Mark chuckles and the sound has you aching. He tightens his grip on your hair and slides his cock back into your mouth. Resting your hands on his thighs, you close your eyes as he finally delivers on his promise. The sounds are obscene and if you had a functioning brain cell left, you would have been concerned about the two of you doing this in the kitchen, but as things stand, the only thing you can focus on is Mark’s throbbing cock inching down your throat. Forcing yourself to open your eyes, you look at him as you swallow around him. 

“Fuck. Fuck. I’m not gonna last, sweetheart,” he groans, pulling back. You hollow your cheeks while taking deep breaths through your nose, pulling another string of curses from the Aussie. You can feel his cock throb as he grunts above you.

“Gonna-.. Fuck.. So good, you feel so fucking good..” he mumbles, and throws his head back as he comes. 

“You better not swallow, Schatzi,” comes a voice from the doorway. Who are you to disobey? Mark pulls out carefully, tucking himself back into his shorts while Sebastian helps you up from the floor. He carries you bridal style into the living room, placing you down on the couch next to Fernando. 

“Show Nando, baby,” Sebastian all but coos and you carefully open your mouth. The underlying relationships? Questionmark? between your housemates makes your head spin, but judging by the way Fernando’s eyes darken, Sebastian knows something about the Spaniard you don’t. 

“Can I kiss you, nena?” he asks and all you can do is nod. Fernando cradles your cheek, pressing an almost chaste kiss against your lips before he runs his tongue over the seam of your lips. The moan he lets out as he tastes Mark on your tongue has you throbbing. When you break apart to catch some air, Sebastian leans closer and licks away the few drops of cum that spilled when Fernando kissed you. Am I dreaming? you can’t help but wonder. Out loud apparently.

“Very much awake, doll,” Jenson grins as he kneels in front of you, “Something tells me you’re absolutely soaking. Mind if I give a hand? I do so love making people come with my mouth,” he adds and you’re quick to raise your hips so he can pull down your panties, much to Jenson’s amusement. He pushes your oversized shirt up higher and parts your legs. Sebastian moves your face so he can steal a kiss and you moan into his mouth as Jenson drags the flat of his tongue over your oh so sensitive clit. Their hands are everywhere it feels like. You’re pretty sure Fernando has one up your shirt, teasing your nipple while he kisses your neck. Jenson’s are curled around the inside of your thighs as he holds you open for him while Sebastian has one hand on your cheek as he kisses you; the other mirrors Fernando’s. Needing something to hold on to, you bury a hand in Jenson’s hair. He sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning against your cunt as you tug. Breaking the kiss, you throw your head back with a moan of your own while you grind against Jenson’s tongue. 

“Need.. Fingers.. Please, Jenson, need your-.. Fuck, oh God..” Despite your incoherent state, Jenson understands what it is you’re asking of him as he carefully slides two of his long fingers inside of you. Sebastian and Fernando manage to strip you of your t-shirt, both of them taking a nipple into their mouth. 

“I’m so-.. So close.. I’m gonna cum, please can I cum?” you whimper. Fernando mutters a yes against your skin and something snaps; Your back arches as your orgasm hits you and for a moment you forget how to breathe. The loss of Jenson’s fingers makes you whine but your housemates more than make up for it when Fernando grabs his wrist in order to bring Jenson’s fingers to his mouth, moaning as he tastes you. 

“Just as I thought, you taste delicious nena,” the Spaniard comments with a grin. These men will be the death of me, you can’t help but think while Seb accepts the glass of water Mark hands him. The German driver helps you take a few sips as you slowly return into your body. Something tells you that this only scratches the surface of their underlying dynamics and you are dying to delve deeper.

“Told you it’d be mutually beneficial,” Jenson jokes, pulling you from your thoughts. 

“God, I hate that I’m saying this because your ego is fucking big enough as is-,” you start only for Jenson to interrupt with a that’s not the only thing that’s big, doll which makes you roll your eyes.

“I was gonna agree to your plan, idiot. You proved your point. Twice over. I- eh.. I can see the appeal,” you continue before downing the last of the water. The four men share a look that you can’t quite decipher and it makes you wonder: just what did you exactly sign up for? You pull your shirt back on, suddenly very aware of the fact you’re naked, needing something to act as a barrier between you and this crazy idea. 

“How about we discuss the details after breakfast? Don’t know about you, but I am starving,” Mark breaks the silence. You nod gratefully and let Sebastian pull you to your feet. A part of you is excited to see where this.. arrangement will lead you, but you’re also apprehensive that you might be about to bite off far more than you can chew. 

Welp. Here we go I guess. Updates are gonna be slow on this, so please temper your expectations. Ideas have been brain stormed, things are brewing in the ol' noggin, I just gotta write it 🥲

Massive shoutout to @curiousthyme and @feralnando for helping me brain rot about this and for holding my hand while I descent even further into chaos. This whole part was written while listening to Hozier's Too Sweet and Ethel Cain's Gibson Girl on repeat, so feel free to do with that information as you please

Please let me know what you think. Your comments, likes and tags mean the world to me 💜

taglist

@2pagenumb @dannyramirezwife @daydreaminlewis @emlynblack @forza55 @jaimeleannavanlloman @mehrmonga  @szobosz @raizelchrysanderoctavius @whoreforeveryon

[jals-stuff]

Some Rayne brainrot...

this is some stupid (and a bit horny??? no? yes? i don't know) stuff that went through my mind last night

MDNI PLEASE! this spawned in my head, no context

warnings: female reader, rayne is ooc and pervy, he is staring, dubcon (bit steamy at the end), bit of swearing, bit of horniness, mentions of boobies and peen...

i am very sorry, i wrote this with 0 hours of sleep. barely proofread. enjoy

Rayne Ames. The Divine Visionary, the Sword Cane.

If you watch animal documentaries, you are probably aware that cheetahs can stay in the same position for up to sixteen hours without moving at all…

Well, it so happens that Rayne’s facial expression is like a cheetah. He somehow always looks like you’ve told him a really bad pun, and he’s judging you for it (not funny, did not laugh). He probably even has this face on while he sleeps, eats, showers, and probably even while he decides to please himself. 

And yet, despite looking annoyed every second of the day, despite looking like the unfriendliest guy in the whole Academy, he looks absolutely stunning. Anyone would agree that Rayne Ames is a feast on the eyes. And you, as his seatmate in class, aren’t one to deny this.

.....................................................................

It was your last class hour for today and you couldn’t wait to go back to your dorm room and rot in bed like the absolute lazybone you were. Changing out of your uniform was now an emergency, as the shirt you had picked today was somehow way too tight for you.

Being clueless with basic things such as laundry had its pros and cons. Sure, your clothes were smaller now and you could barely fit; but it made you look incredibly sexy! …or so you kept telling yourself. Maybe you were just trying to cope with the fact that you were incredibly bad at basic human tasks.

You made your way to the classroom and got your notebook out. 

Today’s subject was pure theory, and you would’ve fallen asleep if you didn’t have the most scrumptious distraction sitting right next to you. You spent the hour doodling, taking notes whenever you paid enough attention to do so, and mostly throwing quick glances at your seatmate, Rayne, who was way too focused on the soporific theoretical experiments your elderly professor was passionately explaining, to pay attention to you.

When the old man turned around to write something on the blackboard, Rayne finally turned a fraction of his attention towards you. Of course, this happened during the minuscule amount of time you weren’t looking at him, and he took notice of a few things.

First of all, your notes were an absolute mess. Instead of trying to keep them consistent, you had picked a few words the teacher said, and chose to throw them into an adventure with other words, picked at different moments during class, resulting in an abomination that wouldn’t make sense, even to you. But you wouldn’t know, of course, since you never read your notes anyway. 

He would give you bonus points for the adorable little bunnies you had been doodling for the majority of your time in class, though.

Secondly, you seemed like you were about to sleep, but given the way you were taking notes, everything sort of made sense. Not your notes though, only the fact that you weren’t invested enough to stay awake.

Third of all, your shirt. He wished his eyes hadn’t lingered for such a long time on it. Why was it so tight? “Is she so dumb she can’t even do laundry?”, he wondered to distract himself from the fact that the button that kept your shirt closed around the chest area had the strength of a thousand lions. 

His eyes moved back to your face, and at this very moment, you chose to look at him. Your eyes met, and his expression was, as always, unreadable. Was he bored? Upset? Annoyed? At this point you were pretty sure he didn’t know any better. But it seemed a bit different this time, you could’ve sworn you saw his lower lid twitching slightly. 

You decided to turn your attention back to the teacher— or at least pretend to, for a while, and it lasted for a whopping fifty seconds. Efforts had been made! You deemed yourself deserving of a little treat, and an attempt was made to look at Rayne once again.

His eyes were still on you. Now it really felt like he was upset. You were used to his icy glare but it was getting a little uncomfortable, and so, as one does, you had a great shitty idea. You decided that stretching your back could maybe help you release some of this discomfort, and your button, may it rest in peace, gave up on its sole task of keeping your shirt closed. 

You couldn’t tell where it went at all. In fact, you didn’t even notice, but you did feel a little more comfortable now that your chest area was no longer being compressed, except it was in a literal meaning now, and not just figuratively speaking. You could still feel Rayne’s eyes on you, and decided that you wouldn’t look at him for the rest of this oh so boring class.

What you hadn’t noticed was that his eyes were no longer on your face, but rather on the missing button’s previous spot. “Is she so dumb she can’t take care of her clothing?”, he wondered to distract himself from the fact that he could now clearly see your bra. 

He could see that one mesmerising spot where your breasts were pushing in a wondrous effort to get out of their insufferable lace prison. In fact, pretty much anyone could’ve seen it if they had turned around, but it seemed this professor was either hypnotic or soporific because everyone was staring in his direction. 

You were then blissfully unaware of the fact that Rayne was now leading an internal battle. He had to get his eyes off of your cleavage, for your breasts were not the only things screaming for freedom anymore. Ah, perhaps Rayne was also bad at laundry, because his pants felt increasingly tight the longer he stared at you.

Divine Visionary or not, he was but a man, and what power does a man hold when presented with sweet bosoms? None. That’s right. He tried to think about anything else. Rabbits? His little brother, Finn? The concerning relationship Lance had with his little sister? The way alcoholism thrived amongst the ranks of the State police? No matter what went through his head, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

He had to do something about it, and you were probably not escaping this one.

.....................................................................

As soon as the bell rang, he closed his coat as much as he could, and grabbed your arm before you could leave, and this time you could tell he was pretty upset. Why? How could you know? You didn’t know anything. Had your head not been attached to your shoulders, you would’ve probably lost it already. 

Instead of giving you any sort of explanation, he immediately dragged you with him. Your life felt like a movie that was playing in front of your eyes. My time has come, you thought, but… not quite.

You found yourself in Rayne’s dorm room, locked in with him. His roommate wasn’t there, and it was clear this crime would leave no witnesses. 

It took him half a second to remove his coat and— oh. You were suddenly in Egypt.

Everything was there: the stone hard pyramid, the Sphinx (that seemed ready to pounce on you), and the heat. Oh boy, the heat. As a very refined lady (yes you are), you brought your hand to your chest in indignation, and oh, how distraught you felt when you realised that your beloved chest button was nowhere to be seen. It was all starting to make sense.

Without a word, he pushed you against the wall and his lips met yours in a rough, steamy kiss. Your whole body felt like it was on fire; his toned chest was pressing against yours and breaking your buttons further, his clothed erection was slightly rubbing against your clit through your panties and his hands roamed your body hungrily while his tongue left no corner of your mouth unexplored.

It was all a lot to take in but it felt so intoxicating, the way his large hands held onto your hips to keep you from squirming too much underneath his passionate touch, and how his teeth were grazing against your lips while a mixture of both your salivas dripped from the corner of your mouth. 

His body was grinding against yours like waves on the beach, and both your breathings were becoming increasingly noisy. Only after long, delicious minutes of this make-out session did he break the kiss, panting for air, as he looked into your eyes with a lustful gaze you were now used to seeing.

It wasn't your first time pushing his buttons like this, and it certainly wasn't your last.

“You did it on purpose, admit it.”

Whaaat, you? Pfffft, never! But… let’s just say you’re not usually that bad at doing your laundry.

.....................................................................

smol reminder that i am very bored and i also take requests for mashle, hsr, genshin, jjk, elsword, tower of fantasy...

xoxo

[seulszn]

Listen I love TLOU and the fandom very much but a lot of people (not calling anybody out) need a reality check and need to grow up. I wanna say my two cents on things that bother me in this fandom.

1. Boycotting for Palestine

I have seen multiple times on multiple occasions where people would sit on their phone and complain about why writers are “flooding the tags with this boycotting bullshit” and honestly all I have to say is your super childish you can’t take a hour or a week out of your day to raise awareness on a important topic that is affecting millions of people? Your so horny so down bad for pixelated characters that you don’t care about the innocent children, women and men that are dying in Palestine? The boycotting isn’t gonna stop just because you want your needs filled, the boycotting isn’t going to stop because you think it needs to, it’s not gonna stop until Palestine is free. And if you wanna read things that bad then read nobody is stoping you but a take into ignition that if a writer is spreading awareness then don’t be ignorant and say stupid shit

2. Less Sex and more angst or other genres.

Listen I love Abby and Ellie just like everyone else and I read a lot of smut about them but does that all y’all see when y’all look at them? As sex objects? Like I’m not saying that you should stop writing smut for those characters but write other things to that don’t involve smut, like angst I see a lot of people under that tag say how they wish writers would as write other things that isn’t just smut and majority of the time when they say that they get hated for it. It lowkey gets boring reading fanfics where the whole plot is smut, smut, smut. And again I’m not saying to stop writing smut but please for the love of whatever you believe in write other genres.

3. Black inclusivity

As a black writer and a black person TLOU tag isn’t inclusive enough. I know you must be thinking “Why are we speaking about this again?” Because I’m honestly so tired of how uninclusive the fandom is like I said before Ellie dates WOC if you don’t know what WOC is it’s Women Of Color all of Ellie’s girlfriends where WOC now I’m not saying you can’t write for Ellie as a white person and I’m not saying that never did all I am saying is once again all of Ellie’s girlfriend where POC

Riley was a Black African American who Dated Ellie

Cat the girl who wasn’t mentioned alot but is in the game is Asian American who also dated Ellie

Dina is a Jewish (Mexican, Middle Eastern ) American who dated Ellie

Also yes we know when the reader is white coded so don’t try a put that you don’t mention when race mentioned cause you do and we can tell when you do “She’s Petite and cute with her long blonde hair” or whatever you bitches be saying we know when you guys aren’t inclusive the whole point of fanfiction writing is to be inclusive is to make sure that readers can see themself in your xreader so if your putting all these “white things and then labeling your story as “the readers race is not mentioned” or that OC stuff that y’all do then just label the story as a white reader or a OC reader

4. Futa, trans and masc

Now here I’m gonna discuss two or three things starting off with Futa and Trans. Now I don’t know when “Futa” or “Trans” Ellie and Abby came from but a lot of you readers need to understand and learn the difference between the two because they are both very different things.

Futanari: is the Japanese word for hermaphroditism, which is also used in a broader sense for androgyny. Beyond Japan, the term has come to be used to describe a commonly pornographic genre of eroge, manga, and anime, which includes characters that show primary sexual characteristics from both females and males. In today's language, it refers almost exclusively to characters who have an overall feminine body, but have both female and male primary genitalia (although a scrotum is not always present, while breasts, a penis, and a vulva are). The term is also often abbreviated as futa(s), which is also used as a generalized term for the works themselves.

Transgender (often shortened to trans) is someone whose gender identity differs from that typically associated with the sex they were assigned at birth. Some transgender people who desire medical assistance to transition from one sex to another identify as transsexual. Transgender is also an umbrella term; in addition to including people whose gender identity is the opposite of their assigned sex (trans men and trans women), it may also include people who are non-binary or genderqueer. Other definitions of transgender also include people who belong to a third gender, or else conceptualize transgender people as a third gender. The term may also include cross-dressers or drag kings and drag queens in some contexts. The term transgender does not have a universally accepted definition, including among researchers.

Mind you I am not transgender I am nonbinary but I see a lot of transgender people speak up about how offensive it is to write a character as Transgender but it’s not really transgender but a Futanari remember a Futa is a character who is assigned a gender at birth but just has extra sexual parts like a penis.

Now another thing that bothers me is how y’all Masculinize Masc Lesbians as if they still aren’t women themselves like every time I read a fanfic with Ellie or Abby or even Vi and Sevika from Arcane you guys like to ignore they fact that they are also women themselves like it’s not gonna kill you to give those characters feminine compliments there shouldn’t be a reason why your calling these women “handsome” or other Masculine compliments and also a lot of Masculine women where makeup it’s not just a feminine woman thing. Masc Lesbians are women they aren’t men so stop treating them as if they are men and ignoring the fact that they are women

5. the Innocent childish reader gotta stop.

They title says enough I don’t think I need to say too much but a lot of y’all get innocent and corruption mixed up but a corruption kink is When you find the idea of "corrupting" someone, mostly in a sexual way, like taking virginities or introducing people to stuff like bdsm etc. It's the idea of having someone "pure" do "bad" things under your influence. And innocent is not corrupted or tainted with evil or unpleasant emotion; sinless; pure. not guilty of a particular crime; blameless. (From the dictionary)

Y’all need to understand yes not everyone knows what sex is but everyone knows what a vagina is what a penis is, what a orgasm is and what sex is but they may not knows what happens when you have sex so making the reader what y’all call innocent isn’t innocent it’s honestly to me perverted cause the only one who would say something like “my cunny feels weird 🥺” or that “what is sex 🥺” is a child. Children don’t know what sex is children don’t know what pleasure or orgasms is and when y’all say “the reader is a Bimbo” is also funny cause Bimbos know what sex is as well yes they may be stupid but they aren’t slow so before you make a innocent reader please think “am I making my reader act like a child or am I gonna make her really innocent like how regular grown ass adults act?” so don't get not knowing and "innocent" mixed up

6. The stories where they have sex inside a church also gotta stop

Now I’m not a Christian but these stories are honestly really bad and are Blasphemy a lot of people have come out and said that they don’t like the fact that people are writing stories about church in a sexual way like their shouldn’t be any reason why your characters are fucking inside a church, that’s like stomping on someone’s dead grave. You guys do shit like this and then wonder why Christian’s don’t like us. Religion isn’t something to be sexualized it’s not something to be playing with either this idc how much you hate Christianity you can be a Atheist, or Catholic or Jewish but please for the love of whatever you believe in don’t sexualize people’s religion.

That’s all I can think of at the moment if I think of more I’ll of course make a part two to this but don’t take anything I said here to heart it’s just my blunt honest opinion on things in this fandom and if I get hate for this 🤷🏾‍♀️

[luvvyouforever]

matchmaker, matchmaker - azriel x reader

↳ mor drags azriel to velaris's resident matchmaker, only for him to fall for her instead of his potential suitors.

↳ no major warnings apply! just some fluff and cuteness. not grammar or spell checked. sorry hehe

↳ requests are open! check bio.

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azriel and mor sat at a cafe table in the heart of velaris, steam rising from the tea cups in front of each of them. this was not an uncommon occurence by any means and the pair frequented the many shops and restaurants throughout the town. however, this time, there was an air of tension between them which caused their waitress to carefully place their drinks away from the edges of the table.

"you're telling me you won't even consider seeing her? do you know all that she's done for velaris, az?"

"she's just high fae, mor. she's not some prophecy teller that can see mating bonds between people. i don't understand what she could even do for me."

ah, yes. the topic of conversation was azriel's love life and mor was desperately trying to convince the spymaster to see her friend, the matchmaker of velaris.

what azriel was saying was true. she did not have some special power that allowed her to see the invisible string connecting mates. she could not look into her mind and pull out the best partner for someone. she just knew how to read people and how to do it well. she was responsible for a lot of the matches in velaris, even predicting nesta and cassian long before anyone else could.

"you're lonely, azriel. i can tell! you want to dance with someone at rita's and have a date to parties just as bad as anyone else. you just won't admit it," mor declared. her voice softened and she continued, "i want what's best for you, az. we all do. will you see her for me? please? even if nothing works out."

azriel sighed and took a drink of his tea which was still too hot for his mouth. damn mor and her awareness of the people in her life. and damn him for the way he'd give in to her so easily. "fine," he mumbled. "i will try. but no promises."

that next week, azriel came back from a trip to the mortal lands and immediately, mor was at the door to his room, badgering him about the meeting she set up for later that day. she declared that he could not reschedule or miss the meeting and that he should dress in something nice.

begrudgingly, azriel took a long bath to make sure he looked and smelled fine enough to get a potentially good match from mor's friend. he chose more "normal" clothing as instructed by mor and flew down to the bright townhouse fast enough to reach the door just as his appointment was set to begin.

she surely sensed him because before he even got the chance to knock, she threw the door open and greeted him.

"azriel, right? spymaster of the high lord's court," she said sweetly. "i am quite honored to have you in my home."

azriel felt too awkward for his own good and just nodded with as polite of a smile as he could muster.

"come on! come on!" she ushered him into her home which was brightly decorated in all sorts of eclectic decor, a lot of it being hearts and other love motifs. "can i get you anything?" she asked. "water? tea? snacks? wine?"

"no...no. i'm good, thanks," he said, quieter than he meant to. his eyes raked over the matchmaker, finding her to be a lot younger and more spry than he imagined. mor spoke so highly of her that he thought she must be ancient, having made matches for velaris since the dawn of time. she was also quite beautiful and the way she spoke caused some odd feelings in azriel's chest that he didn't like. his shadows noticed his attraction to her too as they whipped around his chest before hiding behind him, sometimes whispering things in his ear.

"suit yourself," she joked. she sat down on a large armchair and gestured to the matching one in front of her. azriel obediently sat down and watched her moves. she pulled out a frilly notebook from a drawer along with a pen. "has mor told you anything about what i do?"

"not really," azriel admitted. "just praises your name and forces her friends to come to her." the matchmaker laughed and azriel felt incredibly proud of himself for making her laugh.

"well, i just want to know a couple things about you. nothing crazy. just your inner thoughts and desires. and i take that information and compare it to other people and see what comes from it! simple, easy, and usually pain free but i have a feeling you may be a little more introverted than most." azriel shrugged in response. "so, my first question is what are your must-haves in a relationship?"

azriel fiddled with the hem of his shirt as he thought about the question. nobody had ever asked him that before and he honestly hadn't even thought about it. "um...someone who's nice. understanding, i guess. i have a lot of responsibilities in my job so someone who doesn't mind that i'm gone a lot," he thought for a second more. "what do people usually say?"

the matchmaker thought for a moment. "well, i would say my must-haves are patience, kindness...someone who's fine with staying inside," she paused and smiled, "definitely has to own some kind of awesome ancient sword or blade that i can play with."

azriel clocked her statement as a joke but some part of him, deep down inside, wishes that he had truth-teller displayed on his chest for her to see. he was patient, he was a homebody, he was...relatively kind. oh god...what was he thinking?

"all jokes, of course. but really, it's just anything you want in a partner. maybe you want them to be strong and abrasive and can hold their own. it's all up to you, azriel."

she moved on to the next question, which he was very grateful for. this one, however, was harder than the last. "what are you looking for here? do you want me to hunt down your potential mate? do you want something fun and casual? committed? i can do it all."

azriel felt like she was stripping back his layers, one by painful one. all to find someone he can kiss. this was crazy! and he didn't even know her name. "i don't really know, honestly. i...i guess my mate but that seems hard considering it could be anyone. i don't really desire anything. mor just made me come here."

she leaned forward and her big eyes seemed to look into his heart. "i know that's not true, azriel. everyone wants something. you have this...look in your eye that tells me you really want this to work out, that you want to believe in this. you just have to be open with me, 'kay?"

azriel let out a breathy chuckle. "how can i open when i don't even know your name or anything else about you?"

she thought for a second before nodding in agreement. she laid the notebook down on the side table and leaned back. "fair, i guess. my name is y/n, i have lived in velaris all my life, i enjoy pastries, reading, and tea, i started matchmaking as a silly way to keep my friends and i entertained until it started working too much to be a coincidence. i spend all my time finding love for other people but haven't found the one for me. ironic, isn't it?" she smiled at azriel. "there. does that make you feel a bit better?" he nodded. "good. now, let me repeat my question."

azriel and y/n continued their conversation, knocking out the questions she had prepared with relative ease. he felt comfortable opening up to her and being honest about his desires for love. he was completely unused to expressing his feelings like that but it came to him easily in her presence. the way she easily leaned in, eyes focused and gaze unwavering...it did something to him.

eventually, though, the questions ended and azriel knew he had to leave her home. he stalled on the last question, having her reword it over and over even though all she had asked was what his habits at home were like.

"well, azriel, thank you for answering all my questions. from here, i will start comparing your answers to other people i've met with and i will reach out to you with your first match up. you'll tell me if you're interested and if you aren't, we'll move on to the next!"

azriel panicked internally at her words which clearly signaled the end of their conversation. he rose at the same time as her but subconsciously placed his body in front of hers so that she'd have to step around him to leave the room. "so, do i come see you again at all? or...or is this it?" he cursed himself for sounding so awkward.

she laughed. "you can if that is what you prefer. if you want to talk about your dates and how they went then i don't care to. did you enjoy this a little more than you anticipated?" she joked.

he nodded and scratched the back of his neck. crap...crap, crap! he had to do something, right? she was single, she said so. but is it wrong to ask the matchmaker on a date? after she poured so much work into finding him a match? he thought for a second, eyes trained on her. in his ears, his shadows whispered encouragingly. this is it...come on!

"is everything okay, azriel?" she asked innocently.

"so i know that this whole thing was to find me a match but i actually really enjoy your time and i think you're beautiful so would you want to go on a date with me instead of sending me on dates with people that i couldn't care less about?" his words came out at lightning speed and he was pleasantly surprised that she understood everything.

a blush came to her cheeks and it matched the pink and red hearts around the room. "seriously?" she asked. he shyly nodded. "i'd love to. tomorrow night? you come by?"

he breathed out a sigh of relief. "yes, tomorrow night. thank you."

the two of them made their way to the door.

"so, no matches at all? not even helga down the street in the butcher shop? she's been looking for someone for yearssss," she said in a sing-song voice.

"cauldron, no. i want you." he was shocked at the confidence that leaked through his words. she blushed again and rose on her toes to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

"i'll see you tomorrow. tell mor that my services worked, if you'd be so kind." azriel flew off then with no intentions of telling mor anything that happened.

[perfinn]

you're out of touch, i'm out of time

aegon ii targaryen x reader

wc: 3.3k

summary: you have a tendency to pick up strays, but when you pick up the king of westeros (who was supposed to have died hundreds of years ago), things begin to get a little complicated

cw: NSFW, f!reader, aegon being a creep (shocker), aegon being deeply pathetic (also shocker), aegon is drunk or possibly hung over, attempted sex (aegon begs for a handjob but doesn't get one)

read on ao3, divider by saradika

You’ve always been too nice. You’re aware of this unfortunate fact, though you staunchly refuse to admit it’s a weakness. Has this trait left you without necessities from time to time because you gave them to someone who needed them more? Yes, but you sleep better at night knowing that that homeless girl had sturdy new shoes, even if you had to walk home barefoot. You can always handle a bit of discomfort if it means improving someone’s day marginally. It’s not as though you’re without any sense of self preservation– you know when to say no, or when to walk away. When someone is out for their own self interest, or just plain dangerous. 

You’re smart about it. Mostly. Sometimes, though, your sympathy gene takes over, and you approach the danger because you feel there’s more beneath the surface. So far, it hasn’t put you in any troubling positions. Still, first time for everything. And as you stand on the edge of the pavement, toes of your shoes swinging down into the gutter as you sway back and forth, you wonder if you’re about to break your successful streak.

There’s a man in the busy city street, raving and desperately trying to get someone’s attention. Usually, he’s the type you’d regretfully ignore for your own safety, but he seems different. He doesn’t seem like the usual King’s Landing crackheads. He’s dressed too nice, for starters. Strange, yes, but still nice. In fact, it looks to be better quality than anything you own. And he’s young– which isn't uncommon in this situation, but it always makes your heart ache when they’re young. 

He looks desperate, terrified, and as another person ducks their head and walks past him, you feel yourself moving toward him. You don't know why. Maybe because you know if you leave now, you’ll not sleep tonight for the sheer guilt of passing him by. He spots you making your way over and turns to you, seeming to hope against hope that you’re going to acknowledge him. 

“Hi,” you say in a calm, even voice. It's a tone you’ve gotten quite good at. You’re not professionally trained by any means, but these things generally come with the territory. “Let's get you out of the road, okay? You could get hurt.”

“What the fuck are those things?” He demands of you as a car stops to let you take him across. You wave your thanks to the driver, who looks mildly disgruntled, and take the young man gently by the arms to get him onto the pavement. “Where are the horses?”

You know he must be confused, so you’re gentle with him. “There's no horses,” you say, still holding his arms as he finally looks away from the disappearing car and into your eyes. He looks so deeply afraid, but you notice he does take a moment to look you over. You let him, trying to see the best in him and hoping it's just curiosity. It doesn't matter right now anyway, you tell yourself. “Are you okay?”

“No!” He snaps. “Course I’m not bloody okay! Where am I?!”

“You’re in King’s Landing,” you say. “Let's get you somewhere quiet, okay? Are you hungry?”

“This,” he laughs in disbelief, looking around. “Is not King’s Landing, I know what King’s Landing looks like!”

“Okay,” you nod. “I believe you. Let's go sit down, I’ll buy you something to eat.”

The man looks at you with what you think is an offended scowl, but the offer of food does seem to intrigue him. “And wine?”

“No,” you say, and he deflates. 

He scratches at his chin, but nods in agreement. “Yes, fine.”

You smile, a bit of relief easing the worry in your ribs. Sometimes people won't cooperate, or they’ll turn you away when you say you won't buy them booze or give them money outright. This young man seems to be content enough without wine, so you wave your hand and lead him down the road toward the nearest fast food joint. 

He follows behind you, panicked eyes still looking around as though he's never seen the world before. It's not wonder, but something close to anger, indignation maybe. You make it to a diner you like, opening the door for him. He's clearly astounded by the ugly cacophony of colours inside, but you can't blame him. You don't come here for the aesthetics. 

“Go sit down?” You tell him gently, framing it like a suggestion as you point to your favourite booth. He scowls, but does as bid. 

The teen behind the counter takes little notice of your strange company. It's King’s Landing, he's probably seen something ten times as strange already today. Once you’ve paid, you join your new stray, sitting down across from him and folding your hands on the table. 

“So, what's your name?” You ask him, and he looks away from the bustling street outside the window to stare at you in what you assume is disbelief. 

“What’s my name?” He echoes, leaning slightly over the table. “Are you serious?”

You blink. That’s… not a question anyone’s ever been mad at you for. You learned quickly which questions to steer clear of to avoid pissing people off.

He scoffs, leaning back in his seat and tapping a dirtied fingernail against the peeling surface of the table. “Aegon,” he says, almost experimentally. Like he's testing the waters. 

You nod politely, and tell him yours.

He stares at you. “Nothing? Aegon? You’ve not heard the name Aegon?”

“Well, of course I have,” you say, confused smile pulling at your lips. “It's a common enough name. I think I knew a guy in school named Aegon–”

“You have been to school?” Aegon asks, eyebrows shooting up and a laugh spilling from his mouth. He leans back, dragging his hands over his clammy face. “Have I been drugged?!”

You’d put serious money on that being a resounding yes. 

“This is crazy,” he says, leaning forward again. He says your name slowly, glancing around before his eyes land on you. “Can you tell me what's going on?”

You bite your lip, thankful when the cashier calls out your order number. You rush to get up and get it, fearing you may be way out of your depth this time. He talks like he’s never seen the world before, and his comment about you having gone to school… none of it makes any sense. You’ve never even had the thought of dropping someone off with someone who’s better equipped to handle problems of this magnitude, but Aegon has you really considering it. When you return with the tray of food and set it down, Aegon has the specials menu in hand and is squinting at it. 

“I got you what I usually get,” you say, setting the tray down and placing his wrapped burger in front of him, leaving the fries on the tray. “Aegon, I want to help you, but I’m at a bit of a loss.”

“That certainly makes two of us,” Aegon says, unwrapping the burger curiously. “What meat is this?”

“It’s beef,” you tell him, unwrapping your own. He watches as you take a bite of yours, and he nods as though in satisfaction before taking a hefty bite of his. “Aegon, I want to understand what’s going on in your head. Can you just…”

You’re not sure how to say it, really. It’s invasive, and you don’t want him to feel like you believe he’s crazy, or lying.

“What’s your deal?”

He chews slowly on his burger, eyeing you suspiciously. “My deal,” he echoes, lips turned down in a scowl. “Is that I’m the King of Westeros.”

You nod slowly, biting into your burger so you don’t have to answer right away. You hope if you stay silent long enough, he’ll feel compelled to keep talking. 

“King Aegon,” he says slowly, like you’re the deluded one. “Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, Protector of the Realm, all the rest. Are you serious?”

You swallow your mouthful and nod. You’re not particularly well versed in history, but the titles ring a bell. It’s some sort of messiah complex, you’d wager. Trying your best not to seem dismissive, you pull out your phone. “Let me see,” you say. 

“What’s that?” He asks, leaning forward and trying to snatch it from you. You move it out of his way, yelping softly in contrition. 

“My phone!” You say. “I’m just looking you up, Aegon.”

“You’re what?” He says, looking horrified. “Give me that!”

“Dude, no! Let me just–” You stand up from your seat to be out of his reach, hurriedly typing the name he’d told you into the search bar. “Look, I know the name Targaryen, that’s the Conqueror's name!”

“Yes! Aegon the Conqueror!” He cries. “You’re finally making sense!”

“What? No, I mean Daenerys!”

“Who!?”

“Aegon, sit back down!” You snap, and he pauses in his pursuit of your phone, stunned into silence by your firm tone. Slowly, he returns to his seat, picking up a fry to eat it. 

“Only because I want to,” he says childishly. 

You frown at him, shaking your head before looking back at your phone as it pulls up the results for your search. 

‘Aegon II Targaryen, also known as Aegon the Elder, was the sixth Targaryen king to sit the Iron Throne, succeeding his father, Viserys I Targaryen, as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.’

The search pulls up a picture as well, one of those terribly done paintings from the dark ages. It’s hard to say whether the Aegon in front of you looks much like the one in the painting, but he does have the same pale blonde hair and violet eyes. He’s a lot more pathetic than the portrait, too. He has the qualities of a wet cat, and you hate that it’s somewhat endearing. When you keep scrolling, you find a painting that can’t have been contemporary. This is a more detailed portrait, likely from half a century ago, where Aegon is covered in burns and lies dead in a carriage. 

You look up, meeting the wary eyes of the confused but un-burned man before you, and slowly sit back down. You know that he isn’t actually the king from nearly a millennium ago, but there’s an uncanny quality about him that makes you want to doubt the logical truth. His clothes, for one. You don’t know many homeless guys with such fine embroidery on their clothes. And there’s his features… you know them to be Valyrian, but rarely does anyone still pop up with the stark blond and violet irises. You remember well enough from your high school history classes that the Targaryen dynasty had those features.

“What does your little brick do?”

You blink, looking down at it and pulling up the contemporary portrait – part of you tells you not to show him the other. He scowls at it, but nods. “Seven hells, that’s not flattering. Where did you get this miniature? You have this and yet claim not to know me? What game do you play?”

You sigh. He truly doesn’t understand, does he? 

“Aegon, what year do you think it is?”

He rears back and regards you with more suspicion. “129 AC,” he says.

“And what were you doing before this?” 

“I will not tell you that,” he says. “You’re one of Rhaenyra’s spies, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know who Rhaenyra is,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, Aegon, I’m not a history buff.”

“History–” He stops, and goes deathly silent for a long moment, as though the whole situation is finally processing for him. You wonder if it’s the stench of wine that hangs off him explains his slow processing. “What year do you think it is?”

You tell him the year, even tack today’s date on for him. He stares are you, and you can see his brain buffering yet again. 

“Seven hells,” he murmurs. You find you share a similar sentiment. 

He picks up his burger and begins to eat it slowly. He’s silent for a long while, eyes seeming far away as he contemplates. You try not to stare at him, but it's no easy task. 

“This is going to sound crazy,” he says after a long while. “But I believe I may have travelled… through time.”

“I’d say so, yeah,” you respond. At this point, it's the only explanation. You’d usually say something about eliminating all the impossible options, but that just doesn't work here. Time travel is impossible, or it should be. And it's possible Aegon is just suffering from a deeply intense messiah complex. But that doesn't seem right. Your instincts haven't led you wrong before, you’re not about to ignore them now. 

“What am I going to do?” asks Aegon.

You want to tell him you’re going to try to find a way to get him back to his own time, but you’re struck once more with the image of him burned and twisted, dead in a carriage. How can you send him back to his fate knowing his grisly end?

You take in the man in front of you, this historical figure you’d never heard of until five minutes ago, and bite your lip. “We’ll figure it out,” you promise him. “You… can stay with me until we do.”

That’s probably dumb, and you’ll probably regret it. But not more than you would regret leaving him out on the streets.

“I suppose,” sighs Aegon like he’s spoiled for choice. You get up to ask for a bag for your food, glancing back as Aegon chews sadly on his burger. 

You get Aegon back to your place, and he wanders into the flat ahead of you. You watch him go with a soft huff, rolling your eyes. If everything else hadn’t convinced you, his attitude is proof positive that he’s from the past. He has all the entitlement of a prince and none of the consideration of those around him that modern men have (sometimes) gained. 

Your flat isn't much, two bedrooms and mostly paid for by your university. You had a flatmate for a time, but their sudden withdrawal left you without anyone and the school doesn’t seem to have noticed. Aegon can stay in the empty room until you figure him out. 

Aegon’s standing in your living room, staring in wonder at the decor you’ve collected over the course of your degree, at your television, maybe he’s just looking at all of it. He’s turning in a slow circle, eyes narrowed. 

“This is very nice for a commoner. Very strange, but it is not… disgusting.” He pauses in his assessing, looking between you and the ridiculous tapestry you purchased one night after far too many drinks. “Who is this man?”

“Oh, he’s this guy from a movie,” you say, not really processing that he won’t understand what a movie is. He stands there, dumbstruck, while you go to put your leftover food in the fridge. 

“A what?”

“Just… don’t worry about it. There’s going to be a lot for you to take in, but with any luck you won’t be here too long.” You come back over to him, taking him in. He looks out of place standing here in his king’s threads. “Let me get you something to wear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” he says, shifting and taking in your clothes. “Where is your father? Your husband?”

“My father is in my hometown, and I don’t have a husband.”

“You live without a man?” He eyes you suspiciously. “A whore?”

“Okay,” you say, gently grabbing him by the shoulders and walking him over to the sofa. “Sit here, I have some men’s clothes lying around. Do not move.”

Aegon huffs, rolling his eyes and sitting back with folded arms. You wonder, as you go into your room to find something for him, if he’s heard the word ‘no’ very much in his life. It wouldn’t seem that way, but sometimes the way he reacts to you telling him off leaves you thinking otherwise. He’s a bigger mystery than you’ve ever faced, but something tells you he’s worth it.

You emerge after a while to see him flicking through the book you’d left on your coffee table, frowning. He looks up when you enter, setting the book down. “Your home is peculiar,” he informs you. 

“I know,” you say, handing him the soft clothes you’d found. “Student housing is kind of a lottery. You can get changed in the spare room, if you want. I’m going to go shower. If you get hungry, your leftovers are in that big white box there, okay?”

“Yes, yes, whatever.” 

You watch him enter the near-empty bedroom and shut the door, heaving a heavy sigh before you go off to your own room. You don't shower. Instead, you pull out your computer and set out to learn all that you possibly can about Aegon. 

What you learn twists your stomach into knots so tight you feel that they would trap the nausea that grips your throat from escaping. Aegon was no saint, no, but what you find is that his life is steeped in tragedy. If he believes himself to be king now but remains unburned by his cousin’s dragon, he must be near the end of his life; but the worst of his troubles have yet to begin. 

It is strange to think of the pathetic and bratty man in your flat as growing into the role of a king, if one could say he ever did. He seems nothing but a lost young man, unloved but for the power he afforded his Hightower family. 

The reports on him are so extensive and exhaustive that an hour has passed before you realise you haven’t been disturbed. You get up from your desk, wondering if Aegon has somehow wandered out of your flat and back onto the street.

When you open the door, you’re greeted by the sight of your kitchen cabinets strewn open, and your cheap bottle of vodka now empty on the counter. Aegon is sprawled on your sofa, cradling a novelty ceramic beer mug you won in a pub quiz in your first year. 

“Seven hells,” you mumble, going over to him and snatching the cup from him to be met with his whining protests. You sniff the cup, nose scrunching in disgust at the acetone-y smell. “Not even a mixer…”

Aegon looks up at you, trying to reach for the cup and whining your name. At least he changed into the sweats. The King’s Landing University jumper rather suits him, actually. 

“Please,” he says, looking even more closely akin to a wet cat. He seems on the verge of tears. “You’re pretty, do you know?”

“I’ve heard,” you say, setting the cup down on the coffee table and turning to him.

He grabs your wrist, tugging you closer with surprising strength considering how sloshed he is. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. He almost sings your name. “Will you get me off?”

“Wh- Aegon!” You snap, tearing your wrist away. “No!”

“Please! Just your hand, you’ve got such soft hands!”

“Aegon,” you hiss. “No. You’re drunk. Even if I wanted to, that wouldn't be okay. You don't know what you're saying.”

Aegon pouts at you, falling back against the sofa and letting out a soft hiccup. “That doesn't make sense.”

“Maybe not in your time,” you say, grabbing him a blanket and laying it over him. “Gods- just- just try to get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning when you're fully sober.”

“I’ll die before that,” he says, snuggling up to the soft blanket with a ridiculous cartoon of a wolf on it. Another of your decor purchases you thought would be hilarious in the moment. You grab his cup and pour what’s left of the vodka into the sink before gathering up your remaining bottles and vowing to take them to the cabinet in your room with a lock. 

“Maybe. But if you vomit on my carpet, you’ll be paying the cleaning bill, your grace.”

[ladykailitha]

Paper Hearts Part 3

Thank you for the lovely response to this story, it makes me warm and fuzzy inside.

This chapter is just 2000 words of Wayne and Eddie being sweethearts to Steve.

Part 1 Part 2

****

Eddie led the way through his trailer to the kitchen past Wayne, who was sitting in his armchair reading the newspaper, a defeated Harrington limping behind.

“What did I tell you about bringing home strays, Ed?” Wayne huffed, a small, gentle smile on his face.

Eddie shook his head, his curls flying. “I’m just watering and feeding this one before I return it back to its owners.”

Harrington blushed and ducked his head. “I got lost.”

Wayne’s eyebrows shot up. He looked over at Eddie who nodded his confirmation.

“This is my Uncle Wayne,” Eddie introduced them. “This is Steve Harrington, Uncle.”

Wayne’s eyebrows stayed raised. Of all the people Eddie could have brought home, he was pretty sure this was the biggest surprise.

“You got your car?” he asked.

“This dumbass was out running around with his head in the fucking clouds,” Eddie scoffed.

Wayne’s glance at Harrington was far more appraising. He looked him up and down, taking in the sweat on his brow, the limping, the slumped shoulders, and vacant expression.

“You do that often, son?” he asked Harrington, folding up his newspaper.

Harrington just shrugged. “I like running to get out of my head.”

Wayne licked his upper lip slowly, calculating. “Uh-huh.” He looked over at his nephew, who had his hands on his lower back and staring at the floor. “There is some leftover beef from Sunday.”

Eddie jumped excitedly. “Yes! That would be perfect.”

He loped over to fridge and pulled out a Tupperware container. He set it on the counter. He got out two plates and a glass. He filled the glass with water and handed it to Harrington.

“Don’t worry, princess,” he huffed. “Our water comes from the same place as yours does.”

Harrington rolled his eyes. “I’m not worried about you poisoning me.”

“You’d be the first,” Wayne said with a chuckle.

Harrington furrowed his brows and looked between them in confusion.

“Surely,” Wayne said in amusement, “you’ve heard about Ed’s reputation going to that school of yours.”

Harrington shook his head. He looked down at his feet. “I mean, I hear rumors and shit, but I really don’t believe that he chased three freshmen with a hunting knife.”

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “You would pick the one rumor that was actually true.”

Harrington’s head snapped up. “What? Why would you do that?”

Behind him the microwave beeped and Eddie hurried to get their food out. He piled on the food and handed it to him.

“Because they were trying to buy drugs off me,” Eddie muttered as he handed Harrington a fork.

Harrington blinked at him a moment and then nodded. “Is there an age that you do start selling to high school students?” His eyes went wide and looked at Wayne in panic. “I mean, if you were selling drugs. Not that you do or anything.”

Wayne chuckled and shook his head. “I am more than perfectly aware of my nephew’s side business, thank you. I wish he didn’t have to do it, but he hasn’t had a lot of choices in the legal employment racket, not for someone like Ed. But sometimes a couple of grams sold is the difference between not having to chose to pay the water bill or the power bill.”

“Uncle Wayne and I set down ground rules when I started dealing,” Eddie huffed. “One of them was not selling to anyone under the age of sixteen.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

Harrington ate his food in silence.

“Do you need to call your parents?” Wayne asked. “Won’t they be worried where you are?”

Harrington shook his head. “They’re going to scream the same amount if I was five hours late or on time. I’d rather just deal with it the once thanks.”

Eddie and Wayne shared a worried glance over his head. Eddie was far too familiar with that nugget of parental discipline, because that’s exactly what Al would do with him.

“You ready to go, Stevie?” Eddie asked as he set their now empty plates in the sink.

“Don’t worry about cleaning up, Ed,” Wayne said. “I’ll take care of it while you take him home.”

Harrington blinked up at Eddie after he used his given name. “Oh, yeah. Of course. Thanks for dinner and the water.”

Wayne nodded. Eddie led the way back out to the van.

“All righty,” he said, pulling his door closed. “You’re gonna have to give me directions, pretty boy.”

Harri–Steve blinked at him for a moment. “I thought everyone had been to my house at one point or another.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, dude?”

Steve just curled his hands on his lap and then mumbled directions.

Eddie cursed himself in his head. He had gotten the other boy to come out of his shell a little bit while they were talking to Wayne, but now the lid had slammed shut.

Because Steve was right. Even though he only invited the popular kids, his parties always exploded way past the original guest list. But Eddie had avoided it when it was Steve’s place though. Dealing at Hagan’s or any of Steve’s former pals was easy enough, his van fit right in with all the vehicles no problem. But in Loch Nora? Yeah... that was like showing up to a funeral in torn up jeans and smelling strongly like booze.

“Let’s just say my van is a little more conspicuous in Loch Nora,” he said after they had driven in silence for a couple of miles.

Steve’s head snapped up. “Oh. Shit. Yeah. My neighbors might not call the cops on any of my parties but they would absolutely be on the horn if they saw your van parked anywhere on the street.” He picked at his nails. “I keep forgetting shit like that.”

Eddie risked a glance at the other boy, whose shoulders were rounded against being bullied.

“Dude,” he huffed, “the whole fucking school saw what you looked like when you came back after tangling with Billy that kind of damage leaves lasting affects. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Steve scoffed. “Asshole fucking cheated. Took a plate to my head and then just started wailing on me. Probably would have killed me too.”

“So what stopped him?”

“Being tranq’ed by his step-sister,” he snorted. “She was visiting a friend of hers. One Billy didn’t approve of because of the color of his skin. Billy threatened to kill the kid, so I hit him. Would have won, too, if he hadn’t fucked me up with the plate.” He took a deep breath. “Anyways, they had some tranquilizers because one of their parents were having trouble sleeping. She grabbed one and jabbed it into his neck.”

“Pretty brave thing to do,” Eddie conceded. “Sounds like there were two badasses there that night.” Then he shook his head. “So you got the shit beat out of you for defending little sheep and Wheeler still went for Byers? I don’t know, man, sounds like she wouldn’t know a good thing if it bit her in the ass.”

Steve huffed out a breath of laughter before he caught himself. He hid his smile under his fist. “Something like that, yeah.”

They pulled up to his house and Steve let out this strange little pained noise. Like it was relief and disappointment all rolled into one. A sound Eddie was far too familiar with.

“My parents aren’t home.”

Eddie looked over at him in curiosity. “How can you tell?” Because yeah, the front lights were off and the house seemed quiet, Eddie knew these houses were big enough that if there was a light on in the back of the house, it couldn’t be seen from the road.

“The garage is closed,” Steve huffed. “They only close it when they leave. They have to show off to the whole neighborhood the cars they drive.”

Eddie blinked at Steve in confusion. “Aren’t they worried someone will steal their car?”

Steve shook his head. “It’s insured, plus they don’t believe anyone would rob them in their fancy house while they’re home.”

Eddie looked up at the large house, so big it could only really be called a mansion. “Are they stupid or arrogant?”

“Both.”

“Look, Steve,” Eddie said, stopping him briefly. “I need to apologize and every time I see you you distract me. So I’m just going to come out and say it. I’m the one that shoulder checked you the day you hurt your hand.” He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed dramatically.

“You see, you had this far off look my uncle gets sometimes and the best thing to do is make a noise or bump into him. Just something that reminds him that his not where ever his mind is and that’s in the present. But I heard these assholes saying that they got their kicks out of kicking your stuff and stomping on your hand and I realized that it was my fault that happened and I’m really, really sorry.”

Steve stared at him for a moment. “Oh. Hey, it’s not your fault, you were only doing what you thought would help. I wasn’t spacing out or whatever. I was just feeling sorry for myself over a stupid holiday. But apology accepted, I guess.”

Eddie nodded, feeling a little bit better about it.

Steve hopped out of the van and he turned back to Eddie. “Thanks for the ride, Eds.”

He slammed the door behind him and walked up to his big, dark, lonely, still house and Eddie felt a small pang of something like pity for the guy. And wasn’t that a kick in the teeth.

When he got home, Wayne was waiting up for him.

“Did that boy get into any trouble when he got home?” were the first words out of his uncle’s mouth. Not so much as a ‘hello’ or ‘by your leave’.

Eddie shook his head. “They weren’t home. I don’t know if they went out to dinner without him or if they just went on one of their infamous business trips.”

Wayne cocked his head to the side. “What’s so infamous about them?”

“They leave so often,” Eddie murmured, “that Steve is pretty famous for the ‘rich kid, empty house’ trope you see movies these days.”

“He’s got friends he can stay with, doesn’t he?” Wayne pressed.

Again Eddie shook his head. “He blew up his friends group awhile back, called them all assholes and bullies over some chick. Then the chick broke up with him over the eldest Byers boy.”

Wayne patted the spot next to him on the sofa. “Tell me about this Harrington kid. You used to all the time, ranting and raving about something or another that he did and then you just stopped.”

Eddie flopped down on the sofa with a heavy sigh. “Like there wasn’t anything to tell after that, you know. He just faded into the background. Gave up his title of King of Hawkins High and then Friday happened.”

“And you found out he was being bullied,” Wayne finished. “I see. That’s got to be rough to go from being surrounded by people to not having anyone there for him.”

Eddie threw his head back onto the back of the sofa and let out a loud groan. “Like it’s my thing. Picking up the lost and the lonely. But this one comes with a lot more baggage than the others and I’m not afraid for me or the rest of my friends but...” He buried his fingers into his hair and screamed.

Wayne nodded. Eddie befriending Steve could make things worse for him and not better. But inaction might hurt the boy in the long run.

“Maybe do something for him that he doesn’t know it’s you,” he suggested to his nephew. “That way he knows he’s not alone, but your reputation won’t make things worse for him.”

Eddie frowned for a moment and then his eyes went wide. “Oh! I think I know exactly what to do!”

Wayne smiled at him. “I figured you would.”

****

Part 4

Tag List:

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

2- @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie

3- @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

4- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

5- @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

6- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

7- @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

8- @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @swimmingbirdrunningrock

9- @croatoan-like-its-hot @lolawonsstuff @moonshadows-13 @lololol-1234 @dotdot-wierdlife

10- @slv-333 @ravenfrog

[sweetandsavageautistic]

(CW: Cringe, Autism Parents stuff, drunk mention, infantilization)

So I don't have a degree in Graphic Design, but I do have a sense of general aesthetic. I figured that it's April. Let's rate, and potentially verbally tear apart and drag through the mud, some autism shirts and graphic designs, and I'll probably do a part 2, these scores are only semi-arbitrary: First up is this:

Already off the top, I am confusion because it seems to read "I wear puzzle cousin autism awareness". Sounds like whoever made this was drunk.

Puzzle pieces, ew.

The red, yellow, green, and blue look like the shades you'd see in elementary school, so that seems pretty infantilizing.

Autism Awareness, I am very much aware of my existence.

Final Score: 0 out of 10. Designer, go home; you're drunk.

Next we have this:

This one already has a slight advantage over the first because it's at least coherent in terms of the message.

Elementary school colors, but make it extra tacky.

Puzzle pieces; don't try to bullshit me by putting the autism awareness banner over it, I can see the other indents that make them puzzle pieces.

Once again, I am well aware of my own existence.

At least it's a smaller design.

Final Score: 0.5 out of 10, and that's being generous.

Next one's not a shirt, but it still counts:

No blue so thank God for that.

This is up to personal preference, but to me, the person-first language is giving "I need to be reminded that someone is a person."

Puzzle pieces. Ew. Don't BS me, I can see them.

Walk down Autism Lane. (it's right below the word LOVE) Sorry, but we don't allow ableists on Autism Lane; you need to be a premium member and to be a premium member, you need to not be a dick.

The pumpkin disturbs me for some reason, and not in the Halloween way; I mean, it just straight-up disturbs me.

Final Score: 0.5 out of 10. Bury it in a shallow grave.

Just found this one:

It's easy on the eyes at least.

No tacky elementary school colors.

No puzzle pieces.

The bunny's cute, but this also seems very infantilizing.

Person first language is a no for me.

Why are all of the is lowercase, but the others are uppercase?

Final Score: 5 out of 10. Not great, but not terrible.

Here we have simple:

Elementary school colors, but credit where credit's due; it's not terrible on the eyes.

Why is blessed on there three times?

One big-ass puzzle piece.

"Autism blesses" Yes, because being bullied by my peers, being indirectly told who I am is wrong, having the worst time making friends, always feeling like I'm never truly part of a friend group, being confused when some adults got mad at me, not having anyone to play with at 4 years old is an absolute fucking blessing. /s And that's the tip of the iceberg.

"Fun", "Sweet", "Cute".....it's the infantilization for me.

Final Score: 3 out of 10. No further elaboration.

Then there's this monstrosity:

I call this color Patronizing Paraprofessional Blue, aka the tackiest shade of blue ever.

It looks like something one of those older white suburban millennial moms would wear. Like something a Karen would wear to one of those autism walks or one of those social skills teachers who talk in that slowed-down patronizing kindergarten teacher tone with that fake-ass smile, no matter how old you are. You know the one I'm talking about, right? Yeah, they'd wear this.

Puzzle piece. Light It Up Blue. Ew.

We all know what organization this supports.

Final Score: -10 out of 10. Burn it.

Let's get in a good one to counter that abomination of a shirt and end part one on a higher note:

Nice simple design with a black background.

No tacky elementary school colors.

Identity-first language.

Really counters the....what the fuck would it be called? The UwU autism parent thing? ("I am his voice, he is my heart," "See the able, not the label," etc,.) It counters that.

The light sparkle around "a bitch" is chef's kiss.

Final Score: 11 out of 10. Perfection.

[insomniumstella]

spice & honey

bucky x baker!reader

summary: cinnamon buns and wickedly strong coffee must be the only reasons James Buchanan Barnes visits your bakery daily, despite the inconvenience of driving to a small town on the outskirts of Upstate New York. right?

warnings: first dates and crushes (absolutely classified as warnings), mead consumption, a curse word or two, soft!bucky

word count: 4,565

author's note: i've been watching Gilmore Girls a little too much lately (hence the little easter egg). on another note, autumn is my favourite season, so prepared to be sick of James attending harvest festivals and drinking apple cider 🍂🥧🎃

all the stories i've written

September 21st marks the official arrival of Autumn. Though the weather has been rather cheerful lately, today’s air is much crisper and heavier with the promise of looming rain. The streets of Eldermont remain far too green to your dismay, but Spice & Honey—the bakery you’ve owned for the past five years—is rich in shades of marigold and copper. A wide assortment of mugs, mostly in various shapes of pumpkins, and spiced teas, line the shelves, while the fresh jars of apple butter are neatly stacked alongside the register. Besides the usual treats, the glass display teems with seasonal favourite pumpkin tarts and apple cider donuts. 

The everlasting chatter of customers and soft sounds of a vintage record you scored at a neighbour’s garage sale just last month saturate the space as you place the second batch of cinnamon rolls on the counter. The clock reads 10:57 AM, and though you’ve been attempting to conceal your excitement, Vivienne could sense it the second you stepped through the door, teasing you about the very special visitor who’s always in need of sugary buns and black coffee at exactly five past eleven. 

James Buchanan Barnes is a regular customer, you often argue. The nervous babble, flustered movements, and beaming smiles convey otherwise. And so yes, you might have a little bit of a schoolgirl crush on the freakishly tall, muscular brunette who brings in the latest editions of The Culinary Canvas magazine each Monday and notices the smallest of changes in your recipes. Just maybe, you reluctantly ponder when your thoughts inadvertently wander to that charming grin and baby blue eyes every time you knead the dough for his adored treat — a dessert once reserved for Autumn suddenly available year around. 

“Staring at the entrance won’t make time pass quicker,” Vivienne whispers, arranging butterscotch cupcakes by the pumpkin tarts. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper back, covering the pans with aluminum foil. 

Perhaps hiding the pastries, a favourite amongst Spice & Honey shoppers, is not the best business decision, but Eldermont is merely a small town in Upstate New York. If it wasn’t located a thirty minute drive south of the Avengers compound, most people wouldn’t be aware of its presence in the first place. And besides, everybody in Eldermont is connected to everybody — the town holds no secrets, including the pastries you keep warm and frost fresh. 

“The tall, dark, and handsome man,” she points out, “still has a few minutes. Perchance the preparations of Eldermont’s Annual Harvest Festival made it trickier to find parking.” Vivienne turns to you with a mirthful grin, the cupcakes resting perfectly positioned in the glass case. “You should invite him. Heard Brad brewed an incredible batch of apple cider mead this year.”

You sigh, snatching the golden tray out of her grasp. “I’m not asking Bucky out.” 

“Ah! Bucky!” The woman’s grin widens. “Forgot his name for a second.” Shades of mischief dance in her tone as she marks Elijah’s, the eccentric owner of Marigold Meadows flower shop across the street, special order of fifty maple bacon BLTs as completed. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Only that you mention Bucky at least seven times a day.” 

“Seven’s oddly specific,” you note and swiftly, “also I do not,” disagree.

“Bucky smelled great today,” Vivienne mocks your voice, the grin you’ve come to love—and hate—remaining on her features. “Should I add apple to the cinnamon rolls? I wonder if Bucky would enjoy apple cinnamon rolls with brown butter and maple icing unless he’s a creature of habit. Maybe I should suggest a sprinkle of nutmeg in his coffee to test the waters first—“

“Vivienne,” you groan, yet she persists.

“What’s the worst that could happen? Bucky could say no. Bucky could also choose The Sugared Whisk. Bucky wouldn’t. I adore their croissants, but the coffee is terribly weak, and even their tea selection is mediocre. Indigo should include spiced teas. And sure, Luke's doesn't offer spiced teas, but Luke’s sells great coffee and danishes, except the danishes are only available on Wednesdays.” She recites a recent monologue of yours, and if you weren’t mortified, you’d actually be quite surprised at Vivienne’s ability to remember conversations as if they happened minutes ago. 

The doorbell chimes before she has the chance to finish, and you’re highly unsure of whether it’s a saved by the bell kind of situation or if you’d rather the floor magically swallow you whole. 

“Good morning.” James smiles, and it’s then that you decide you’d rather the floor split open because you’re awfully flustered by his entrance despite secretly anticipating the moment since the sun arose. 

“Hiya, Bucky,” she returns the favour, secretly nudging your side. “Have you ever been to the annual Eldermont’s Harvest Festival?” 

“Cannot say I have,” he chuckles, breaking eye contact between the two for just a second to glance at her. 

Though you’d never admit it aloud, those eyes, baby blue on sunny days and resembling the ocean on the ones of rain, cross your mind more than a pair of eyes should. This infatuation borders on obsessive, you often contemplate. James Buchanan Barnes is an Avenger for heaven’s sake, and you’re almost sure a man of his maturity and composure wouldn’t agree to a date with a baker, a clutz one at that. It’s not that you’d want to, nevertheless. The two of you have a great thing together — you serve coffee, he survives on coffee, and if time allows, the lighthearted conversations you have bring colours to otherwise monotone days. 

“The decorations, the food, the people are phenomenal.” You might have to assign the redhead to kneading duty if she’s heading to that territory. “This beauty right here could take you on a real good tour. Eldermont is gorgeous this time of year.” Enjoy kneading bread, Vivi. 

“Is it?” James grins, his stare flicking between you and Vivienne.

“Drop dead,” she reiterates, “much like the women.” 

“Vivienne,” you suddenly cut in, “the coffee station is out of paper cups. Could you bring some from the back?” 

She gives you another grin, less mischievous and more understanding, nodding at Bucky before she disappears into the kitchen. The heavy wooden doors create a boisterous sound once they close, and you couldn’t be happier for a distraction because you cannot look at the brunette just yet. The bakery is sweltering, and your hands are sweaty, and, if it wasn’t evident you’ve been nurturing a crush on James, Vivienne practically plastered a HEAD BAKER IN LOVE WITH SERGEANT BARNES sign out front. 

“The station’s out of cups?”

“Yes!” You glimpse behind the shoulder, deciding to keep the lie alive. “Spice & Honey gets busy during the afternoons, and we run out quickly.” The words leave your mouth rushed and a bit muttered, but the effort is there. “Black coffee and a cinnamon bun?”

“It’s a habit,” his smile is as charming as always. James hesitates for a beat, observing you locate the plastic to-go containers. “The festival Vivienne touched on, have you ever been?”

The atmosphere stills for an awkward second as you gawk at him. “Oh, sure,” you answer at last, praying her babbling wasn’t too obvious because you couldn’t fathom Bucky choosing The Sugared Whisk. “Every year since I was four. The festival’s great. Brad brews the best mead, and Johnny, the mayor, is comically strict about the decorations, so it’s all pumpkins, and string lights, and festive garlands,” you mumble, scrambling for the pan and cream cheese frosting. “I’ve even heard whispers of fireworks this year. It’s next Saturday if you want to drop by. Cassie bakes the best apple pies.” 

“Better than yours?”

“I don’t serve apple pies,” averting your eyes to study the grinder seems like the best decision to avoid his piercing gaze. 

“I’m sure they’d be the best if you did.” Bucky beams, leaning against the counter as he observes you make coffee. 

“Thank you,” the expression of gratitude melts into somewhat of a question despite your best attempts at keeping your voice level, “but the pies I bake often turn out horribly wrong. The apples were overcooked, and the dough raw last time I tried.” 

“How undercooked?” 

“The trash can enjoyed most of it.”

James laughs at that, the sound of it hearty and endearing. “I’m sure it found the pie delicious.” If he’s flirting with you, you can’t tell, and you don’t exactly want to, for expectations are the fool’s hope. “If you’re not terribly busy during the festival,” he speaks after a protracted moment of doubt, “I’d love to take you up on that tour Vivienne mentioned.”

“Tour?” The man in front of you must almost all but hear your heart pounding rapidly inside your chest.

“The tour of mead, pies, and decorations.” 

“Oh?” You tinker with a couple napkins, peering at him. “I’m not sure I could give you a real good tour, I’m barely a guide, believe me. I got lost in that new Target on Cedar Lane, and I cannot understand maps, and—“

“I’m asking you out on a date.” Bucky chuckles at your flustered visage, baby blues never once breaking the eye contact. 

“Shit,” the curse word leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and you silently reprimand yourself for the rash impulse of colourful words. “Alright.” 

The sergeant titters at your sudden reaction, a shy smile dancing on his lips. “We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable. I just thought we might have something between us, chemistry of sorts, and that it might’ve been fun,” he briefly pauses, eyes wild and roaming around your face. “It’s just that Vivienne mentioned Eldermont being gorgeous in the fall, and it got me thinking that I’ve never truly experienced it, because the only thing I visit in this town is your bakery, not that it’s the only place worth visiting—“

“Bucky—“

“There are many stores I should probably check out, and Samuel’s birthday is in a couple of days, which is convenient. I wouldn’t describe Sam and I as the best of pals, but Steve likes him, so I should probably get him a gift.” 

“Who’s Samuel?” You ask puzzled, but the flustered soldier standing before you continues to ramble.

“Something small to indicate I remembered but not necessarily care. Something that screams I’m not a total jerk, but you are for reminding the whole compound that your birthday’s on the twenty third. A wooden statue of a bird. Sam likes birds, particularly Redwing, though Redwing’s not technically a bird. A wooden bird statue would certainly insult him, so it’s settled — the plan is to visit Artists & Wood on Land.” 

“The shop’s name is Woodland Artistry,” you correct with a gentle smile. 

“Right!” James clicks his tongue, studying your softly amused features. “We should probably forget this conversation happened. It was a stupid idea too—“

“Yes,” you interject. “I mean no.” Surely, this scenario is a strange dream that wicked mind of yours created to punish you for the sins you assumably committed in every single one of your previous lives. It’s the only possible explanation for the sergeant’s flustered behaviour. “I would absolutely love to go on a date,” you say and pinch the flesh of your thigh for reassurance, but the scene remains as it was, “with you.”

Gently placing a twenty on the counter, James gleams at you. “I’ve never actually given you my number, have I?” 

"No," you shake your head to indicate disagreement, pinching the flesh of your thighs once more. “Only the pleasure of our little chats,” the response makes you wince. The pleasure of our little chats? Something’s definitely wrong with me.

Chuckling, James grasps one of the pens you keep by the cash register and scribbles down a series of numbers on his receipt. "If I don't reply, Steve must be holding me hostage.”

"Duly noted," you grin, folding the piece of paper to tuck it into the back pocket of your denim shorts.

He stands there for a second as if absorbing the situation. “Good. It’s a date, then.” he smiles in the end, taking the coffee and the plastic box, and peeks at you behind his shoulder. “And keep the change, please. These treats of yours are more than worth it.”

A timid smile spreads across your lips at the compliment before you sink your teeth into the soft of your bottom lip, observing the soldier scramble out of the bakery, the phone in his flannel jacket ringing for attention.

“Next time,” the redhead appears beside you once James disappears out of sight with a final wave goodbye, “you should give the man coffee and buns on the house," Vivienne nudges you, "both of them." 

A surge of warmth rushes to your cheeks at her innuendo. “It’s great you suddenly possessed the ability to teleport and all, but the dough back there won’t knead itself.” 

“No,” she gasps, and you only laugh at her realisation, turning to help the next customer. 

It’s a date.

The evening of Eldermont’s harvest festival is pleasant, neither too blazing nor cold, but despite the temperature and the appropriate sundress you’ve chosen for it, you’re on the verge of fainting. I cannot faint on our first date, you think and decide it’s the man next to you’s fault, really. The smell of his cologne is too addicting, the hints of pine and cinnamon in his aftershave too intoxicating. James is a gentleman, which you expected and appreciate, but it’s overwhelming, the way he holds your hand to lead you through crowds and attentively listens to your overdrawn stories about the origins of pumpkin carving. Heavens help me.

“Have you checked out the corn maze yet?” Brad asks cheerfully. He’s surrounded by large beverage urns and stacks of disposable drinkware. “Mary mentioned Elijah’s still in there,” he chuckles, pouring two paper cups full of steaming apple cider mead. “The fool must’ve gotten lost or something.” 

“Must’ve,” you glance at him, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a half smile. “Happens every year.”

“The two of you should go,” Brad speaks once again before smiling at Bucky. “It’s a great first date activity.”

James chuckles, and you wonder if he regrets asking you on a date. The small town you call home is ludicrously close, and if Vivienne didn’t spill the beans to Mary as she promised, Mary must’ve spread the ‘rumours’ around herself. The town’s beloved bookshop owner is an incredible woman, but she loves to gossip, and you should’ve expected the second person after Vivienne to consistently insert themselves into your dating life to jump to conclusions. Though the situation isn’t precisely comfortable for you, it must be worse for James. Whilst he has never outright mentioned, the soldier has important reasons to stay under the radar. Bucky has witnessed a lot, horrors you’ve even heard about on the TV, and currently, every resident of Eldermont is aware that James Buchanan Barnes is on a date. With a local baker, nonetheless. Participating in acorn tossing and harvest bingo and conversing with Brad Monty about all kinds of sneaky activities couples get up to in the corn maze. You're certain that James is bound to vanish without a trace due to the town's antics if your diffident and often rather awkward behavior hasn't already scared him away. The anxious parts of your brain have even compiled a mental list of today's disasters: 

Johnny wiped his sweaty hands on Bucky’s jacket, realising the blunder only to mumble “I love this jacket, Sergeant Barnes”, and pretending he wanted to initiate a hug before he disappeared.

Cassie offered you a sample of pecan pie, which you eagerly tasted due to Bucky’s “If I had to choose the second best pie after apple, it would be pecan” comment, and completely choked on. 

Vivienne located you in the farmer’s market to say “hello”, and persuaded James to purchase a pair of beaded bracelets, the two of you had ridiculed moments earlier, for “every first date needs a souvenir to remember it by”. 

James guided you to Mary’s bookstore because you conferred a series of rare hardbacks Mary hides in the back for special customers, and the older woman steered you towards a selection of intimacy guides. 

Indigo, The Sugared Whisk owner, pleaded with James for Captain America’s number in the middle of a busy intersection and discussed his “timeless looks” for the next couple of minutes until a car almost struck the three of you. 

Elijah phoned you in distress, panicking about “having to live out his best years in a smelly corn maze”, which disturbed the sergeant and resulted in an “Elijah will find the exit eventually” monologue on your side. 

You accepted to take a photo of a tourist couple, accidentally dropping the wife’s phone and shattering the screen because James stood so close, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. 

“Thanks, Brad,” you fumble with your wallet, hastily placing a ten on the stand. “See you around.”

“Doll,” Bucky doesn’t move once you attempt to remove him from the nightmare that is the situation the two of you found yourselves in. It gives you a second to evaluate his expression, and much to your surprise, his features are as soft as ever. James is blushing, too. “I wanted to pay for that.”

“You paid for the apple pie,” the words slip past your lips mumbled because the only thing you can truly concentrate on is the fact James is blushing. Blushing as a result of Brad’s stories about couples so in love they simply cannot be bothered to locate the labyrinth’s exit before proving their emotions to the world. Couples that could be the two of you. Possibly. A sane person shouldn’t rush to assumptions unless they earned the sweetest nickname from a dream of a man. You’ve never paid much thought to whether you would enjoy being called a ‘doll’—you do, but you would probably adore every label he’d choose. The notion steers your head toward unexpected and dirty waters, and you couldn’t be happier for Brad’s decision to chime in.

“Cassie outdid herself this year,” he nods. “I’m most definitely going to dream about that blackberry pie tonight.” 

“Yes,” James agrees never once breaking the eye contact with you. “The pies were delicious, and it was my pleasure to pay. It was me who demanded a tour.”

“You may pay for the maze then,” you smile at him, “but leave the ten — I’m not that great of a tour guide, and I’m afraid of the dark.”

“Dates should be fun,” James suddenly speaks. “We could’ve skipped the labyrinth.”

The corn maze is high and intimidating, but Bucky’s presence and the soft glow of an orange sunset manage to silence your fears a bit. The passages are almost entirely empty except for the two of you, and each corner you take makes your heart jump at the possibility of encountering spooky surprises. 

“This is fun,” you reassure, taking a sip of mead. James shoots you a look you cannot truly decipher, but you decide the meaning is somewhere between worried and teasing. “It is,” you hesitate for a beat. “I just keep remembering the haunted corn maze in Greenwood. They have scare actors there, who jump out of the bushes when you least expect it and completely startle you. Vivienne took me there last year, and I cannot shake the memories.” 

The expression on his face melts into sympathy. “If it’s any consolation, I would protect you against all the zombies and monsters this maze might throw at us,” he speaks before, “not that it has any,” adding. 

“If theme’s anything to go by, I think we’re OK,” you chuckle at his offer, referring to the cutesy signs and charmingly painted pumpkins scattered throughout the labyrinth, “unless Johnny decided to include a couple gory scenes at the end, though it’d end worse for him than it would for me.”

“Johnny The Mayor?” 

“Johnny The Mayor,” you take yet another sip, nodding. The beverage is barely warm twenty minutes into the attraction, providing only the comfort of a soft alcohol tipsiness. 

“He’s a charming little fella,” Bucky notes, and you don’t have it in yourself to deny the statement. “I’ve never experienced someone initiating a hug by wiping their hands on my jacket.” 

“Sorry,” you offer sheepishly because what could you say after an occurrence so bizarre. Everyone in this town is strange? James must’ve caught on to the fact by this time. 

“It’s alright, and besides, I now have a humorous story to recount at parties, which is a first,” he gleams at you. “It may come as a surprise, but I’m not usually the life of it.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You shift to gaze at him before emptying the cup of mead to steady your nerves. 

“I don’t promise to answer,” James grins, fiddling with the beaded bracelet, “but yes.” 

“Who’s Samuel?” 

“That’s your question?” He laughs as his flesh arm slithers to rest upon your waist. At least you think it’s his flesh arm. The man wears gloves whether the sun shines or the rain pours. You’ve seen pictures, though, and read stories of The Winter Soldier in possession of a metal arm. Neither raise concern, not for the reason you’re smitten with Bucky. Rather, because James was manipulated and stripped of free will, and if heaven would descend, perhaps because that metal arm is sinfully attractive. It’s a thought forbidden to be mentioned aloud, for the gloves are a large indicator he’d enjoy staying silent about the matter. “Who’s Samuel?” 

“Yes,” you sputter. The butterflies his simple action caused you don’t mention. “I want to hear about this Samuel. I’ve been informed he likes birds, especially Redwing, who’s not technically a bird?”

“The Samuel I was babbling about is Sam Wilson. The Falcon, if you’re a fan of CNN,” James teases, steering you into the left pathway of the maze. Despite your instinct to choose right, you stay silent. “Redwing’s a drone of sorts Sam uses on missions, and, this is a direct quote, for surveillance. I despise the thing.”

“If we get lost, forget the second date,” you playfully threaten. Though the coziness of his body pressed to yours is intoxicating, it does nothing to ease the goosebumps painted on your skin, and as the sky bleeds in shades of crimson and purple, the sun melts into the horizon, teasing you for forgetting a sweater. “I would’ve categorised holding a grudge against an object as below you.” 

“If the shoe fits,” he chortles, leading you down a long passage before abruptly stopping. Hesitating for a beat, he drapes the flannel jacket you’ve come to love on the man around your body. The garment is red and weighty, and it smells of James. The gesture makes your heart swell with admiration, but you ignore it. Dates should be approached with a blank slate because expectations are easily shattered. “I shouldn’t deliver Steve that woman’s phone number, should I?” Bucky’s arm finds your waist again. 

Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, “on the bright side, Indigo is quite a pleasant woman,” you verbalise the thought. James observes your expression, baby blues studying the same features he cannot resist thinking about at nightfall. Blood rushes to his cheeks at the notice of your fingers on his lower back, the heat of your skin piercing through his charcoal henley. “She’d certainly treat Captain America right. On the downside,” you pause, “Indigo is the exact opposite of Steve as the media portrays him. Come to think about it, both of us are.”

“How so?”

“The media portrays supersoldiers as courageous, but Indigo and I once had to call Luke to get rid of a teeny spider. Steve’s active in politics, whilst we often skip the town’s meetings—“

“Eldermont holds town meetings?” James chuckles, subconsciously drawing you in closer.

“Once a month, always on the first Tuesday,” you gleam at him before drawing in a deep breath to calm your violently beating heart. “Last time, we discussed the very pressing issue of Halloween decorations. Johnny insists every business on the main street must participate in the festivities. Indigo and I escaped out the back before the mayor could finish his speech. At the least, Steve would’ve stayed in that meeting, and at the most, he would’ve managed it.”  

“People do say opposites attract.” 

“Heard that before,” you agree. The loose strand of Bucky’s auburn hair tempts you to tuck it behind his ear, but you halt the impulse of committing such a ludicrous decision. “It must be true because you drink coffee black, and I prefer lattes. You have cinnamon buns for breakfast, and I, if time would be gracious enough for breakfast, would choose danishes.” 

“The jury’s decided, then.” The corners of his mouth quirk up into a lazy and wickedly attractive smile, and, you almost wonder if Bucky’s aware of the effect he has on your body because if he isn't, your buckling knees must’ve given it away. “Opposites do attract.” His wildly confident attitude is a new discovery, but you decide you like it. “It would be a shame to ignore matters of the universe.” Confidence is a good shade on him. 

“Is this your way of asking me on a second date?” You tease the man, memorising the pink hues veiling his cheekbones. 

James guides you around the corner, observing the corn maze’s exit, and halts his movements. “Only if the lady agrees,” he shifts to stand before you, catching your forearms in his gloved hands, “which I’m sincerely hoping she does.” 

Resting your arms on his shoulders, you gift yourself a quick moment to explore his features — the stubble gently lining his sharp jaw, the little scar above his eyebrow, and the red lips you, despite hiding it, wanted to kiss since he first visited Spice & Honey. “The lady would love to go on a second date.” 

“Good,” an emotion you cannot comprehend waltzes in his eyes, but, for the sake of your composure, you abstain from thinking it could possibly be lust. “The gentleman is looking forward to it.” There's an argument happening inside him, you can sense it by the way he keeps drawing you closer until the space between your bodies is virtually erased, but retains his posture straight and almost rigid. The weight of should he or should he not lingers in the air around you before James catches your stare and smiles timidly, shattering the flicker of hope you have for him to kiss you. You don’t exactly yearn for him to kiss you. In theory, kiss-less first dates are a great idea, paving the way for deeper conversations and a closer bond. They build anticipation. Anticipation is good, you ponder for a second, but all you can truly focus on is whether James would taste like apple cider mead or the sugary desserts you two savoured earlier. “The night is still young," he speaks, the tone of his voice light and reticent. "It would be a shame to end the date this early." 

“Luke’s open if you want to grab a quick dinner,” you say with a grin, stepping away from him. “Though we should probably exit the maze first.” 

“Yes,” Bucky laughs and extends his arm towards the light at the end of the passage. “Lead the way, pretty lady.” 

[yorsgirl]

Guide me?With Pleasure

Sukuna x Fem!Reader (ft. Yorozu)

Synopsis: Better than being hostile to the other woman, have her fall for you. Lowkey, have your boyfriend jealous as well.

Tropes: Established relationship

Warnings: Strong language, suggestive, cheating(maybe?) implied stalking, smoking, jealous!Sukuna(cause he's a adorable baby), Reader is kinda hateable, kinda toxic relationship, this series or wtv is almost satrical so just give the logical side of your brain a rest and enjoy, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n.

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: I am so scared to post this after that mega fucking blunder but whatever this was promised so here it is :)

Credits to @cursedvibes for making this post which helped me characterize Yorozu in this one.

Previous (recommended to read)

You had every quality of being the perfect boyfriend. But you were born as a girl.

Don't believe it? Let's rewind back to last Friday night.

Leaning against the wall in front of Yorozu's dormitory, you patiently wait for her while scrolling through your phone. Your watched ticked - 7:05 PM Given, it is significantly earlier than the perceived dinner time in your area. However, only dinner isn't in your list tonight. Could've worked with only a dinner but no, that's like bare minimum. Like come on, if you are taking out Yorozu on a date then you were determined to make it a memorable one.

Laughable, indeed it is. Who could've guessed? You were taking out the woman-the one considered to be the other woman in your relationship - on a date.

Life has a funny sense of humor.

---》《---

"I was hurt," You proclaim with a furrow of eyebrows.

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused." You snicker, stepping up to the black-haired woman who gazed at you with a perplexed look. "But why didn't you text me, sweetheart? I was waiting for, you know."

"Stop calling me that." Annoyance laced her tone. "I don't even know you-"

"We are classmates."

"Doesn't fucking matter, I am not interested."

"Now, that hurt for real." You state, keeping your fist over your chest. "Its fine though, I don't mind. I just wanted to let you know the details of our date-"

"I am not going on any date with you. Now leave me the fuck alone." She turned on her heels, moments from sprinting out from your vicinity.

"Hey, wait-"

You had no plan on letting her leave so quick. It was difficult enough to locate her in your vast college campus. Like damn- you didn't know none of your subjects matched with her except ecology but you had switched it to additional so you it was seldom you attended that lecture. (Just enough times to fulfil the attendance quota). However, this time you attended it in order to meet her.

"What now?" She glanced back, a glare directly aimed at you; making you swallow a lump.

Two thoughts rang in your mind at that second.

First - damn, that's scary.

Second - damn, that's hot.

You sighed, clasping your hand behind your back, "See, its fine if you don't want to go on a date. Why don't you keep it platonic then? Like friends-"

"You're not my friend."

"I can be." You sheepishly smile causing her to roll her eyes. "Come on, it won't be that bad."

With an irritated scowl, she asks, "Will you stop bothering me if I say yes?"

"Can you exempt a pick-up line or two in between?"

"That's it. I am leaving."

"Wait, wait- fine. I will not bother you again."

"You swear?" She tilts her aside.

"I swear."

"Fine."

---》《---

Fine, you agree you were overbearing. While sinking into the sheets that night and playing the day's events on repeat, you got second hand embarrassment at your persuasive attitude.

You keep your phone inside your purse once the sound of a door opening reached your ears. Mesmerized would be an understatement. Your eyes widened, lips parting as you stand watching the girl walk out of her dorm.

Yorozu didn't dress up in anything extravagant. Just a casual outfit with a touch of make up. Man did it not enchance her features? You were aware she was beautiful but now- you were wonderstruck.

God, women are the prettiest.

"My, you look gorgeous." You state breathily, almost transfixed by her.

"Not for yo–"

You hold a red tulip before her face – halting her speech. A smile graces your lips as you tilt your head aside, "I know but there's no harm in stating the obvious, is it?"

Yorozu accepts the flower, gazing at it with suspicion and mild awe. The soft, honey-like fragrance hits her, she raises an eyebrow, "What's this for?"

"A pretty flower for a pretty girl."

"You said you wouldn't flirt."

"As I said, stating the obvious. That's not flirting," You shrug, putting emphasis on the particular word. Offering her your hand, you asked, "So, shall we?"

She looks at you skeptically then at your hand before walking towards the exit on her own; without a word.

Her attitude is in sharp contrast to her face.

(Could you blame her though? You coerced her into this outing the first place.)

You sigh, running up to her then falling on step. The cool evening air hit your skin, strands of your hair blowing with the wind – you push the ones back which clouded your vision.

You can just hope this doesn't turn negative.

.

Fifteen minutes into this, none of you speak a word.

In your defence, you don't know what to say; besides, striking up an ideal conversation on your own isn't your forte. Yorozu doesn't make the effort to converse with you either, glancing at the streets or up ahead. It's kind of awkward however not completely. You can thank the cars and bikes speeding on the road to cut through the tension.

Tension... that reminds you of someone else and that someone else didn't make the effort to call you one single time. You grit your teeth, inwardly fuming at the lack of concern. Sure, you told him all about this little plan of yours and all he was like - enjoy.

Seriously? Enjoy?

No, not his problem. Just mine to keep any ounce of expectation.

You sarcastically thought, throwing silent profanities inside your mind. Until you hear Yorozu speakp, "Where are we going?"

You hum, stealing a glance at her. Tipping your chin forward to the end of the pavement, you answer, "Somewhere you'll like."

"And if I don't?"

"You will."

She looks at you, raising an eyebrow. "You sure are confident."

"Why? Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Sure, sweetie." You pinch your lips together, stifling the chuckle on your lips.

Twenty minutes later, which includes a ten minute bus ride, both of you were arrived at your chosen location. You smile as the establishment comes into view.

"Here we are."

Yorozu halts just beside you, her eyes widening when the realization dawns on her. "This place–"

"Mino insectarium," You say, clasping your hands behind your back as you take a once over at the sign board in front of it. Turning to her, you continue, "I heard from a friend of yours that you are interested in entomology, so–" You trail off, shrugging. "Do you like it?"

Surprise betrayed Yorozu's features. She stares at you for a second; at the insectarium the next, then back at you. She doesn't speak at first and you are left on the verge to contemplate on your own if this was a good enough place.

The doubts clear out when a grin cracks on her lips, the corner of her eyes crinkle. Her eyes gleam under the streetlight; that's the moment you realize just how pretty this woman looked while smiling.

"I love it." She affirms, the enthusiasm in her tone doesn't elude you.

"Told you."

"You did."

"Now," You start, running your fingers through your hair. "I am a novice in case of insects–" You take that she understands what you're implying when she nods. You try your luck again. Holding up your hand.

"Guide me?"

"With pleasure."

Yorozu takes your hand this time, tugging you towards the entrance; you struggle, trying to keep up with her excitement. 

That smile doesn't leave her for the rest of your date.

.

Two remarkable things happened in this date.

First: You learnt that Yorozu just isn't interested in insects. She's fucking obsessed.

And mind you, that obsession turned enthusiasm is what raises Yorozu's rank in your book. She walks you through with every little knowledge she has of these little creatures; from their habitats to their intricate nervous system and more. You can agree sometimes you lose do track with all these informations but- but its still fun. (Like did you know some some larvae of fireflies are predatory and they mimic other fireflies to attract and consume them?)

Don't you just love it when people talk so passionately about subjects they love?

Second: You earned a nickname.

This stems from when you both walked into the beetle section.

"You're like a beetle, you know."

Caught off-guard, you pivot towards her; she's looking at the mentioned creatures. The varieties take up a wall, each with a different colour, shape and size – placed on a wall in such a way that it creates an illusion of a larger beetle.

Creativity never goes out of style.

"Why do you think so?" You ask.

"Why not? You resemble them."

"How?"

"You are stubborn, just like beetles."

Alright, that was a low blow.

You might need time getting used to her bluntness. For now, that marks as negative and you were seconds away from pushing her down the ranks in your book until she started speaking again.

"They are highly adaptive to any habitat, one of the reason they are one of the largest species," She pauses and turns to you. "This adaptability can turn into stubbornness but it also comes with resilence with the factor of transformation to turn the situation which favours them."

You blink at her. Once. Twice. "You think I am all that?"

"Seventy percent sure."

"And thirty percent unsure. That's still high to prove you incorrect."

"May not." She muses, turning to the insects again.

You aren't sure what to say and she doesn't make it easier with going into all these details.

A chuckle escapes her, "A part of you will be all that to me. Like c'mon you got me to come here with you even after a couple rejections, that's a proof in itself."

"Well uhm, thanks." It comes off more as a question which you don't want to be. Though a part of you does feel contended. At least, she has a good image of you now.

"Would you mind being called Atlas?"

"Atlas?" You raise an eyebrow. "Like the book of maps? Where does that come from?"

She shakes her head, "No, not that Atlas. Atlas as in, the Atlas beetle. Largest known beetle, visually beautiful and strong as hell. Everything which you are."

Time for you to be shocked cause did she just call you beautiful? And strong? And stubborn? Damn this woman... You can't help the laugh that leaves your lips soon after. She really has a way with her words.

"So... may I?" She asks again.

"I don't see why not." You reply after your laughter dies down. "Atlas, has a nice ring to it."

"Glad you like it, Atlas."

That's your new nickname.

Nothing significant occurs after the visit to the insectarium.

All you do is have dinner in a pretty modest restaurant then walk back Yorozu to her dorm. Though, the long thirty minutes walk seemed shorter than it should have.

When you bid her farewell, Yorozu is one step ahead as she side hugs you and tells, "Thank you."

While you're walking away from her dorm, you've a stupid grin on your face too.

.

"Atlas. What are you? Some book?"

The familiar voice catches you off guard. You swiftly turn on your heels and yes, there he is. Leaning against his bike while holding a cigarette between his pointer and middle finger.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You question, narrowing your eyes as a scowl makes it's way onto your face. You've only crossed a couple of blocks from the college dormitory and lo and behold, you find Sukuna.

He takes a generous puff on the stick before blowing out a chunk of smoke. For reasons, he refuses to look at you, carmine eyes fixed on the lighted tube. He speaks, "You sure had fun in your date."

"Well, uh yeah. It was good–"

"Right." He scoffs. "Got a new nickname too. Absolutely adorable."

His sarcasm doesn't elude you, your eyes narrow as you put two and two together, stepping up to him. "You were stalking me?"

"That's another way to call it." His lip quirks up.

"Like what?"

"Like," He muses, standing up straight. "I prefer the term a curiously observant bystander."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, pressing your lips in a thin line as your hands fold over your chest. There's a lingering emotion on the back of your mind which you can't put your finger on except it treads the line between annoyance and amusement.

Sukuna drops his cigarette before stomping on it and turns towards his bike. He swings his leg over the vehicle, getting on top of it. "There," He jerks his thumb back, indicating you to get on "Or you can just get drenched in the rain."

Just then a flickering light shines all over the area, the next second, a thunder roars through the sky. The best and most rational decision would be to go home with him. But did I mention that you will show defiance just for the sake of it?

"Mhm, no thanks." A sarcastic grin gets plastered on your lips. "Yorozu's dorm isn't–"

You don't get to finish your sentence before Sukuna puts (borderline pushes) a spare helmet on your head. His eyes narrow, hatred burns within them, jaw clenches then unclenches as he faces you. "Get on before I make you."

What's with that tone?

Confusion plagues you and you are about to question but he beats you to it.

"And," He pauses, "Don't you dare utter that bitch's name from your mouth again."

Asshole. Nah, you are not hearing any shit about Yorozu now. Now when she's on your‐ alright, if not a friend, at least she's not on your hate list now.

"And don't you dare call her a bitch now. She has a name for your information."

"Protective, are we?" He scoffs, raising an eyebrow.

"And what's the problem with that?"

"Everything." He states, tipping his face aside, he signals for you to get on again. "I will use force if I have to." He warns.

Your lips twists down. Something is definitely wrong with him. You could feel it.

From somewhere, the part of your brain associated with intelligence starts working and everything clicks in place.

Does he not sound jealous?

Suddenly, the urge to strangle someone is converted to the urge to stifle your laughter. Only a week ago, it was you in his place being jealous of the exact same person.

Oh, just how the tables have turned.

With a snort past your lips, you decide it's best to just give in today.

"Sure, your highness." You tease, before fastening your helmet as Sukuna starts the engine of his bike. You climb on the vehicle, grasping him abdomen tightly. A heat creeps onto your cheeks when the firmness of his chiseled skin pokes on your fingertips over his shirt. However, all of those fleeting thoughts are pushed away as the cool night air hits your skin and Sukuna speds off.

Another lightning struck across the sky. Fortunately or no- better word would be thankful.

Thankfully to Sukuna's skill and precision with the mechanism of his bike, both of you reach home before the relentless downpour could start.

"Switch off the freezer." You say, "I will plug out the TV." He follows through and so do you with your mild responsibility.

The night commences as another ordinary for both of you.

On the other side of the city, a woman sits aside a window sill, watching the rain drizzle on the glass as it slids down.

She holds a red tulip tenderly.

.

Bonus scene from your date with Yorozu

"Before I forget, Sukuna is my boyfriend. Can you not cling onto him?"

"Didn't you say you liked me?"

"Well about that–"

"Do you have a slot open for a girlfriend?"

Tags: @toffeebrat

[lupinmoonlight]

Hi! Could you write an alpha prof!remus x omega reader in heat. He gets her to his office after lessons to offer help and she agrees to spend the night( breeding kink)

Masterlist AO3

Alpha, please.

Summary - You are an omega about to experience her first heat. Professor Lupin offers to help and you end up getting railed in the Shrieking Shack (3,416 words).

Warnings - teacher/student relationship, omega verse, alpha!remus, omega!reader, breeding kink, unprotected sex, dubious consent because reader not very in control, age gap, my grammar (english is not my first language), not proof read.

Notes - Throwing this here and RUNNING AWAY. I am SO sorry for the delay, I was hit by a bus (jk lol i'm just burnt out). On a serious note, this was my first time ever writing something in the Omegaverse. Sorry if it sucks :( Thank you to everyone for your patience. I will eventually get to your request!

He noticed your scent before noticing you- a wave of pure, unadulterated omega scent that struck him like a physical blow, a visceral assault on his senses. The classroom, usually a blend of various scents, was now entirely dominated by this scent. Your scent, one of an omega on the cusp of her first heat yet blissfully unaware of it but one that Remus, an alpha, sensed with every fibre of his being. It was rich, sweet, intoxicating, awakening a primal need he had learned to control years ago. An almost uncontrollable need to own, to mark, to protect, to make his. 

As an alpha, the presence of an unclaimed omega, especially one as evidently oblivious to their own nature as you, was concerning. Why were you there without suppressants? How could you not know what was about to happen to you? It was dangerous. Both for you and for any other alpha around, yet there you were, looking as calm and serene as if it were just another day. 

You took a seat at the front of the class, your eyes glued to him. He was tall, commanding, exuding the authority and confidence of an alpha and you hated to admit how much it drew you in. Deep down, you were not interested in following the traditional roles of your status. You didn't want to submit to anyone. The thought alone filled you with dread...except right now. 

The class began and Remus found himself incapable of focusing on his carefully prepared lecture, distracted by the powerful need for something he didn't even allow himself to entertain. It was like all his senses were heightened. He could hear everything, feel everything. Too much. 

The lecture drew to a close, and you began to slowly pack up your belongings, your mind unconsciously reluctant to part from your professor. He made you feel so- 

"Y/N, may I have a word with you before you leave?" Remus asked. His voice was calm but it held an underlying urgency that he hoped you wouldn't notice. 

You looked up to him, your eyes wide and innocent, and in that moment, it felt like you would've done anything this man asked you. What was wrong with you? 

"Yes, Professor Lupin?"

He cleared his throat, attempting to appear casual. 

"Y/N, I... uh, I need to discuss something somewhat personal with you, and I apologize for the discomfort," he began. 

Your brows knitted in confusion, your posture tense. "Something personal, Professor?" 

He paused, gathering his thoughts, carefully selecting his next words. "I've noticed...that is, I've sensed...that you might be approaching a significant time that's inherent to your nature as an omega." 

Your expression shifted from confusion to embarrassment, unsure where he was going with this. "I- I'm not sure to understand, Professor... what do you mean?" 

Remus hesitated, his instincts as an alpha to protect and take charge clashing with his respect for you and your autonomy. "It seems that uh... you're about to experience your first heat, Y/N. It's a critical time for an omega, and it can be very dangerous if you're not prepared or aware." 

Your eyes widened, your embarrassment escalating into fear. "My first heat? But... I- I didn't know... I thought I had more time before... before that happened," you admitted shyly. 

Remus nodded, trying to appear comforting despite the turmoil raging within him. "It's unpredictable at times, especially the first one," he assured you. "It's imperative that you have a safe place and proper care during this period, especially considering that... well I assume, considering you haven't been on any suppressants." 

You looked away, uncomfortable. "No... no I haven't."

"That's okay. That's why I'm offering to help. I can provide a safe place for you, ensure that you have what you need to get through this safely. It's not ideal... but I cannot, in good conscience, let you face this alone." 

You suddenly wanted this very much, despite your habit of fighting your inner nature at every turn- no. You were not going to be a weak, vulnerable omega who needed an alpha to protect her. You could manage. You would manage. This was no big deal. 

"I can handle it myself, Professor," you said, trying to sound confident but failing pretty miserably. 

"I understand, but I assure you, my intentions are solely to offer protection and support. I wouldn't suggest this if there weren't a genuine need." 

At that moment, you weren't sure if he was just very good at being persuasive, or if your pathetic omega nature begged you to bend to his "protection". 

"Are you sure?" the question coming out more as a challenge. 

"Yes, I am. It's my responsibility as your professor and as an alpha to ensure you're safe," he affirmed. 

"O-okay, fine." 

"Just come to my quarters at the end of the day. I'll have everything prepared for you. We'll make sure you're as comfortable and safe as possible," he instructed and this time, his tone was firm, leaving no room for you to argue back. 

You simply nodded and made your way out of the classroom. The conversation had left you disoriented. Your lifelong determination to maintain independence and resist alpha authority was now clashing with an inexplicable trust in your professor. 

You had never expected your first heat to come so suddenly. You thought there would be signs to prepare you, like most other omegas. But no. It was just there. And what was more embarrassing was that it wasn't you who found out first. It was an alpha. And your professor, at that. 

You seriously considered not going to his quarters that night. Not because you were scared or didn't trust him, but just for the shame you felt. That shame, however, was quickly overshadowed by fear. You knew what could happen to unclaimed omegas who were in heat and who didn't take suppressants. Not all alphas were as kind as Remus. Some of them were vile predators ready to pounce on the first vulnerable omega they smelled. Somehow, you knew- rather inherently felt, that Remus wasn't like that. 

Swallowing your pride, you made your way to Professor Lupin's quarters, your stomach an absolute mess from the strange blend of anxiety and odd sense of security. 

Remus was already out by the door, a small bag in hand, a gentle smile, albeit somewhat anxious, expression gracing his face. 

"Thank you for coming, Y/N. I know this must be overwhelming," he said, trying to keep his voice soft and reassuring. 

You nodded, not sure you could trust your voice in that moment. 

He offered a small smile, then gestured for you to follow. "We're not staying here. I have a safer place in mind." 

You obeyed silently, following him through the corridors and then outside, the only sound being the small vials of potion clinking in the bag and the soft thumping of your feet on the wet grass. 

You had no idea where he was taking you, but it didn't matter. In that moment, you were quite literally trusting him with your life, and you hated that. 

Stopping before the Whomping Willow, Remus motioned for you to wait at a safe distance, and you watched in awe as he expertly pacified the violent tree, revealing a hidden entrance to an underground passage. 

Without questioning him, you proceeded in silence, making your way through some damp, sketchy tunnels. This was definitely not how you had expected to have your first heat and your need to be with him was growing stronger and stronger. In normal circumstances, you should have been scared, terrified even, following a grown alpha to Merlin-knows-where, but you actually were starting to feel desperate, aching for something you couldn't explain. 

You finally emerged into an old, creaking building, full of dust and looking like it was about to fall apart. Despite this, fresh blankets were laid out on the bed, candles provided a soft light, making it look somewhat comfortable. 

Remus carefully set down the bag of potions and turned to you, looking a bit sheepish. 

"It's not much, I know. But this place has been a refuge of sorts during my time here as a student... it's secluded, away from prying eyes and other... influences," he explained, deliberately vague about the deeper reasons. 

You looked around, taking in your surroundings. He was right, this wasn't much, but it was safe. "Thank you, Professor Lupin." 

"Please, call me Remus here," he insisted gently. "I'll let you settle down. I'll be just next door. If you need anything, just call for me."  

"Thank you, Remus." 

In the adjacent room. Remus sat rigidly, every muscle tensed, focusing on every breath, attempting to anchor himself to his resolve. He was battling his own nature, his instincts, usually so well-contained, were now threatening to overwhelm him, fuelled by your potent scent. It had been years since he'd felt such a primal pull, and he had never acted on it. So he sat, focusing on deep, steadying breaths. it was all he could do to maintain control. 

Meanwhile, you were beginning to experience the torturing onset of your heat. It was a violent assault of unfamiliar sensations, confusing, intense, leaving you feeling profoundly alone yet achingly in need of something- something, specifically Remus. The room felt too large, too empty, yet suffocating. 

Unable to bear the isolation and the escalating ache, you called out, your voice echoing a desperation you barely understood. "R-Remus... Remus, please... I don't know what's happening to me." 

Remus hesitated at the door, his hand clenched around the frame. "Y/N, I'm here. Tell me what you need," he encouraged.  

"I need... I need... I feel like i'm losing my mind. I need... I don't know," you stammered, your confusion and need radiating from you in a way that tugged relentlessly at Remus' instincts. 

He stepped just inside the room, his expression a mix of concern and fear- for you, for himself, for the line he was terrified of crossing. "I know, I know. I understand. It's your heat... and it's strong. But I brought something that might help," he said, retrieving a vial from the small bag he had brought. "Drink this; it should ease the symptoms." 

You took the vial with trembling hands and drank the potion, your eyes never leaving his as he sat cautiously at the edge of the bed. 

"Why is this happening to me like this? Shouldn't the potion work immediately?" you asked, panic evident in your tone. 

"It should, but... your heat seems to be very strong. Let's just wait for a moment. I'm here." 

"Remus... it's not working. Please, I need..." 

"I know what you need, Y/N. But I can't give it to you. We have to wait it out. It's going to be alright." 

This wasn't going to do. Being far from him was painful. Being close to him without getting what you needed what torture. You needed him in a way you had never needed anything else before. You needed him to consume you, to take you, to mark you, to breed you. 

"Alpha, please," you whispered without even meaning to. The moment the words left your lips, Remus froze, his heart racing as every fibre of his being, of his soul, responded to that word. It was spoken with such raw need that it resonated with the very essence of his being. His resolve shattered, not out of defeat, but out of an overwhelming need to fulfill his role as an alpha. 

Before you could react, you were flipped onto your stomach, the sound of a low growl reaching your ears. You were not even in control of your body anymore. Your instincts were controlling you, and you desperately raised your hips, presenting yourself to him in the most intimate way. 

The sight made Remus' blood travel south immediately. Already hard, he yanked down your trousers before unbuckling his own. You raised your hips higher, whining pathetically, desperate for him to take you. As he looked down at you, his cock throbbed with need and he knew then, there was no going back. 

"Please, alpha," you begged again, your voice trembling. "I need... I need you." 

"Fuck..." he growled, reaching down to position himself at your slick entrance. "I'm sorry," he started, his voice trembling, "this is the only way I know to help you." 

You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the pain and pleasure that would soon consume you. "Please," you whimpered, "I need this." 

With a grunt, Remus pushed himself into you, your bodies connecting in a way that was both deeply intimate and primal. You gasped at the intrusion, your body trembling as you felt him filling you. 

He felt you tighten and tense as you tried to accommodate his size, your body reacting instinctively. "Relax," he instructed, his voice a low rumble. "You need to relax. Let me take care of you." 

His words, the authority in his tone, something deep within you responded. You forced yourself to relax, even as you felt his girth stretch you. He hissed in pleasure as he felt you accommodate him, your tightness almost too much. 

"That's it, good girl," he rasped out, one hand coming to rest on your lower back to steady you. His hips snapped forward, burying himself fully within you. 

You moaned, your entire being blissfully consumed by the feeling of fullness. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, staying very still within you. 

You could only nod before another desperate plea escaped you. "Yes, alpha... please, more."

At that, he allowed his instincts to fully take over. His hands gripped your hips painfully, and he began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful. A part of him was urging him to be gentle, but the other part, the alpha, was screaming at him to take what was his, to claim, to mate, and it was too strong to resist. He needed to feel you beneath him, to lose himself in the pleasure of your connection. 

You clung to the sheets, your nails digging into the fabric as Remus continued to rut into you. Your body rocked with every thrust, and soon enough, the pain began to fade, replaced by a blissful warmth that spread through your body. He knew he was taking a risk. A huge risk. But he couldn't help himself. He needed you, and you needed him. 

"Fuck, Y/N," he grunted as he continued his relentless pace. He leaned over you, his chest against your back, your bodies moulding together as though they were made for each other. "You feel so good," he growled low in your ear, his voice deep, rasping, reflecting his unending hunger. 

Each of his movement was sharp, controlled yet desperate, a constant rhythm of push and pull and he delved deeper into you, the pulsing throb of him only heightening your pleasure. 

"Alpha... alpha, please... I- I'm going to-" you tried to say but your orgasm tore through you with such force that you lost your voice. Remus didn't slow down. If anything, feeling you clench around him only fuelled his punishing pace. 

"I'm going to knot you," he announced. "I'm going to fill you up. Mark you as mine," he continued breathlessly. "I want everyone to know you're mine, to see you swollen with my seed, to see you bear my mark." 

You whined, barely able to hold yourself up from under his weight, but you managed to keep your hips elevated, desperate to be filled, to be marked, to be owned. 

His movements became jerky, sporadic as the wave of his release began to crest, each thrust of his hips pushing you further down into the mattress. "Take it," he rasped, "take my knot," his voice a harsh whisper against the shell of your ear before his teeth latched onto the soft skin of your neck, imprinting his mark on you. 

You moaned at the mix of pain and pleasure as his hand traveled down your arm, tangling your fingers together and with a final, deep thrust, he surrendered to the pleasure, his body shuddering as he came inside you. His hips flush against yours, his body draped protectively over yours as he poured himself into you with abandon. Finally he stilled, grunting as he felt the knot at the base of his cock start to swell. 

The sensation was foreign, somewhat painful, and you tensed, almost instinctively trying to move away. 

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay," he tried to soothe, still panting from his intense climax. "Stay still for me. It'll subside soon, I promise." 

He remained on top of you for a while, the knot locking you together, securing a powerful and intimate bond between you. His fingers stroked your skin gently, before he carefully maneuvered you to your side, spooning you protectively as his knot was still deeply lodged within you. 

"I know, it's okay. I'm just making you more comfortable. I've got you," he soothed as you whimpered from the movements. 

You stayed like that, your bodies intimately connected, until the knot subsided enough for Remus to pull out. You whined at the sudden loss and the wet warmth spreading between your thigh. 

As he felt you relax into him, Remus gently kissed your temple before carefully disentangling himself from you. With a flick of his wand, the wet feeling between your legs disappeared and a blanket was draped over you. 

Turning to the potions bag, Remus retrieved a vial, his hands slightly trembling as he grasped the small bottle. 

"Y/N, can you sit up for me?" he asked gently, offering his hand to support you. 

With his help, you managed to move into a sitting position, your movements languid, utterly exhausted from what had just transpired. Remus handed you the potion, noticing your confused expression. 

"This is uh... it's just a precaution... to prevent any unwanted consequences," he explained, uncomfortable from the intimate implications of his words. 

Your cheeks flushed with a hint of color as you took the vial, your fingers brushing against his in the exchange. 

"Oh, I... thank you." 

"I know this looks like... perhaps I had planned for this to happen. But I promise, it is not the case. I simply keep this sort of supply for any students who may be in need." 

"I trust you, Remus. And this was bound to happen, one way or another... and I'm glad it was with you." 

"Well, I... erm. It's important to stay hydrated, especially after this. Here," he said, trying to change the subject. 

You laughed softly, accepting the water from him. He had this way of knowing exactly what you needed before you even knew yourself. You were actually thirsty, and the cool liquid helped soothe your parched throat. 

As you sipped your water, a sudden sharp pain caused you to reach for your neck, your fingers brushing against a fresh, deep red mark. You looked at Remus with questioning eyes, seeking an explanation. 

Remus, visibly uncomfortable and with a hint of regret in his eyes, cleared his throat before speaking. "That's... that's a mark. My mark," he began, struggling to maintain eye contact. 

"In the heat of the moment, it's something an alpha can leave on an omega. It's a claim, a deep, instinctual reaction that seals a powerful bond. I didn't mean to- I should have controlled myself better." 

Your fingers lingered on the mark, your initial shock giving way to a different emotion, one of a surprising acceptance and even a hint of joy. "Does this mean... are we mates now?" 

Remus nodded. "Yes, it does. And I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't intend for this to happen this way. You're a student. I should have been more careful, more in control. But please know, I will take responsibility. I will take care of you, support you, and I promise, I won't be overbearing. I'll-" 

"Remus, stop," you interjected, amused by his words tumbling our in a flustered rush. A smile crept onto your lips, a sense of deep contentment washing over you. 

"I'm not upset. In fact, I'm...happy," you confessed. 

Remus looked up, surprised. "You are?" 

"Yes, I am. To be marked by you, to be your mate... it feels right, despite everything. I don't see myself with any of those young inexperienced alphas..." 

"Young inexperienced alphas," he echoed. "Are you calling me old, miss?"

"Yes, maybe I am..."