#I have no idea how to put it all together coherently but it’s so infuriating

[starlooove]

I hate when i can like. I can’t even call it thinking but conceptualize shit that I can’t put into words

#something about white teens taking black culture #and call it alt #and white adults hating said culture with a passion #and instead of the appropriation it is it gets called shit like millennials vs gen z or whatever #And the topic of convo #THE BLACK PPL THEYRE STEALING FROM #are never actually recognized #like the girls making vids about their ghetto phases #the buns they styled to emulate tied up box braids and the accents they put on and the nails and the lashes etc #and their parents hating it #and them getting it as they grow and see their little brothers saying rizz gyat and sagging and wearing chains that turn their necks green #And the convo being about how each generation gets ‘worse’ bc they associate or culture with bad things #And the kids act like they’re appreciating or being trendy but it’s not true bc they act a certain way when they copy us #I have no idea how to put it all together coherently but it’s so infuriating #and it’s never ‘it’s so embarrassing that I used black culture as a costume’ #it’s always ‘I can’t believe I was so ghetto and trashy lol’ #like they think we’re trash bc that’s what they act like to copy us #they think we do it for the same reasons they do #ugh #like everyone’s going after that woman who called white culture clean and collected or whatever #but that’s how a lot of y’all think subconsciously #and it shows in our interactions #even if YOU don’t realize it the black people around you do #matter of fact the poc around you do #has anyone noticed that they’re specifically copying black Brits now? #like theyre always on AAVE but after fucking up afrobeats Jamaican culture it feels like they’re collectively going to the black Brits #that could just be me tho idk

[paradoxcase]

John 5:4

THE TOWER HAS BEEN REACTIVATED

So I guess that is for "Earth" and then "Alecto" and then "Harrow". It's interesting that this little secondary story does not actually tell us anything about where the name "Alecto" came from. Was it a name that John gave to her? Or one that she gave herself? Given John's obsession with the name Gaia, I would have thought he'd pick that

You've proven over and over again that no one should trust you with anything, dude

Harrow mentions "waking up" as being a separate thing from resurrection again later, but it's not clear what this means at either point

Are you telling me that John made them forget everything just by doing something physical to their brains and Mercy the anatomy expert who definitely figured out what Harrow did to her brain after only a few months never figured this out in 10,000 years? I cannot believe that

This makes it sound like the other planets were already populated before John destroyed everything. So how did those people die? Did just killing the planets cause that to happen? Did John kill all the people on the planets in addition to the planets? I figured that at least the technology to make the other planets habitable had come from after the start of the 10,000 years, but apparently not even that was invented during John's regime, the whole society has just been completely static the whole time. This is straining suspension of disbelief here

There's no way they decided they wanted to do whatever John did with Alecto, because until the end of Harrow the Ninth, all of the Lyctors thought Alecto was just someone that John resurrected who came back wrong, they didn't realize she was Earth, and they definitely didn't realize she was John's cavalier, that was the whole point of the reveal at the end of the last book

So confirmed that John only created the Lyctors so that they would be roped into fighting the resurrection beasts for him. And then he talks about ripping his fingers from his hands and throwing them to the resurrection beasts, but what he really means is sacrificing his friends so that he can continue on

Oh my god, I don't think I've ever been this mad about someone misinterpreting a bible story before. The whole point of the flood story was that God said, oh, no, this was a terrible mistake, I'm so sorry, I promise I will never destroy the world again no matter how bad it gets. The point was not that the world was evil and needed a "fresh start", the point of the story was that destroying the world just because there are some evil people there is wrong. And like, this isn't a one-time lesson in the OT, either, it comes back again in the Sodom and Gomorrah story when God wants to destroy the cities because there are some bad people there and Abraham has a big argument with him and argues him down to agreeing to spare the cities if there is even one good person there other than Lot and his family. This was like, character development for God, he went from someone who destroyed the whole world because of some bad people and he is learning and relenting and getting some perspective from Abraham. And then later you have the story of Jonah, where now it's Jonah who wants the city destroyed, and God is lecturing him about why that's not right. Like, to the extent that the OT, which was written by like four or five different people with very different ideas of who God was and then frankensteined together by an editor hundreds of years later actually has a coherent narrative and consistent themes, this is pretty consistent. How does someone who grows up with these stories fail at understanding them so badly? How is it possible for someone who probably has advanced degrees to have such shit reading comprehension? This is the most infuriating thing John has ever said in these entire last two books

So this is what she meant by "where did you put the people" at the end of the last John chapter. I would guess the answer is either that he actually consumed all of their souls for power somehow, or that their souls are somewhere generating power in some way. I guess this probably won't be answered until the fourth book

The "tower" that's been menitoned... but it doesn't seem like this is meant to be Canaan House, as people have indicated on previous posts, and at least in this case it seems to be something that's in the River, or maybe she is just travelling through the River to get there?

Also, since this is the last John chapter, I have to ask, for poll-making purposes: Is it ever clarified in this book or elsewhere which country was the one that hired John to puppet around their dead head of state?

#the locked tomb #nona the ninth

[atlabeth]

night owl - sokka x fem!reader

summary: when things get too overwhelming, your boyfriend is always there to pull you back, no matter how forcefully he has to do it.

a/n: this is for @missmorosis​​‘s 400 follower event!! go follow her and check it out if you’re a writer as well:-) ngl this is kinda self indulgent because im also dying of school rn i need a sokka of my own. also i did not proofread this, i think it adds some spice to life not knowing if this is coherent or not

wc: 907 

warning(s): stress over school and one (1) curse, but other than that it’s pure fluff 

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

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

You considered yourself a fairly smart person. 

You had earned a scholarship to get here, you took hard classes, and your friends came to you for help from everything to school problems to just general every day things.

But for a “fairly smart person”, you made a lot of bad decisions. 

You knew that taking on a part time job wasn’t a good idea when you already had so much going on. You knew that taking 8am’s wasn’t a good idea when you were already a night owl. You knew that saying yes to that night out with your friends wasn’t a good idea when you had a huge paper due in two days.

(It was worth it, though.) 

You knew all of this before you decided to take on the world, but dammit, you were still allowed to complain. Besides, getting anywhere in the world required sacrifice — if your sacrifice entailed having more caffeine flowing through your veins than blood, then so be it. 

Making up for your mistake of wanting a social life was proving to be much more difficult than you planned — you were on page seventeen of a twenty page paper, and you were stuck in a rut. You had written and rewritten the same sentence more than twelve times; it was like your brain was going on strike in protest of what you had put it through. 

The lights in your room suddenly flicked on and you blinked rapidly to get used to the sudden onslaught on your eyes. You had been staring at your computer screen for so long that you were sure the document was burned into your irises, and this extra brightness was not helping. You squinted and looked to the doorway to see who the perpetrator was, and despite the mix of sleep deprivation and deliriousness you were experiencing right now, the corners of your lips quirked up in a small smile.

It was none other than your boyfriend. You were a bit surprised to see Sokka up at this hour — he took hard classes as well, but he was better at managing his time than you were — but just seeing him made you feel ten times better. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Sokka asked as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Work. This paper is due tomorrow, and I only have a couple pages left until I’m done. Why are you awake?” You countered playfully. 

“‘I’m awake because my girlfriend doesn’t know what a proper work-life balance is,” he answered, though there was real concern in his voice. “How long have you been working on this for? It’s three thirty, you have to be up in four hours.” 

“All day,” you managed through a yawn. “I’m almost done, but I’m just- I’m stuck on this one part, and it’s infuriating.” 

He hummed in acknowledgement and walked over to you, draping his arms around your shoulders and giving you a light kiss on your temple. “Have you ever thought that you can’t focus because you’ve been staring at this screen for eight hours?”

You closed your eyes and leaned into his embrace, feeling the most at peace that you had this whole week. “I mean- it has crossed my mind, but I’m fine! As soon as I get past this sentence, it’ll be smooth sailing. I only have three pages left, I can survive off of four hours of sleep.” 

“Alright,” he sighed. You thought that Sokka had conceded until you felt his arms around you, and you squealed as he lifted you out of your chair. 

“Sokka!” You laughed, swatting his arm in a very low effort attempt to get free. “What in the world are you doing?” You tried as hard as you could to inject some form of anger into your voice, but you couldn’t be mad at him in such a ridiculous situation.

“Sometimes I need to take things out of your hands, and apparently your sleep schedule is one of them,” he grinned. He was carrying you bridal style through your apartment, your arms now looped around his neck for support. 

“Excuse me? I am perfectly capable of maintaining—” your own claim was foiled with the interruption of a yawn; even your body was against you at this point, “— a proper sleep schedule.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” By now, the two of you had reached your room and Sokka gently set you down on the bed before climbing in next to you. You turned your head slightly to meet his eyes — you were always captivated by the oceans that were held in them. “Just trust me. You trust me, right?” “Of course.” 

“Then believe me when I say that not being sleep deprived does wonders for the mind,” he chuckled. You leaned forward the slightest bit and pressed a kiss to his lips, already finding your way into his embrace. 

“Okay,” you murmured, nestling your head into pillows and humming contentedly at the warmth he brought you. “Just this once.” 

And laying there, together with Sokka, it didn’t take too long for you to fall asleep. Just before you drifted off, you felt him press another kiss to your hairline, and you smiled unconsciously. Your mind couldn’t be farther away from the task that you had been so feverishly working on just minutes prior. 

That paper could wait until the morning. 

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

perm taglist: @dv0412 (i can’t tag you for some reason) @siriuslyslyslytherin​ 

send an ask if you want to be added to any of my tag lists! 

#morosis’s 400 followers bus ride #atla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #avatar: the last airbender #atla fic #atla blurb #avatar fic #avatar blurb #writing #sokka #sokka fic #sokka blurb #sokka avatar #sokka x reader #sokka x you #sokka x y/n #sadie writes

[sukiglycerin]

birds (not) of a feather || keigo takami.

* pairing: hawks x fem pro-hero!reader

* genre: canonverse(???), terribly indulgent smut, pwp, enemies w benefits

* words: 3,111

* warnings: i just packed a shitload of kinks into this, dom!hawks, sub!reader, daddy kink, dirty talk, semi-public sex (a bathroom), quirk play aka feather play (not tickling), reader is kiNda a brat, fingering, orgasm denial, cum eating, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (pls.,., wrap it before you tap it irl), degradation, breeding kink, humiliation, dumbification, creampie, aftercare (duh), i’m so sorry for this i’ll finish my sfw angst thing now

* a/n: inspired by this text post... oh god, this is filthy. apologies for the slightly late update, but here it finally is!! @toishi is an absolute angel for proofreading this at like 1 in the morning. i hope you enjoy this! if you liked this, feel free to request anything you’d like to see from me <3

there was something about hawks that was infuriating. you couldn't tell exactly what was the breaking point; his messy hair, his plush smirk, or his eyes. his eyes, typically glazed over with a mixture of cockiness and devil-may-care hawtiness, were perhaps the most charming part to him, if you asked any fangirl. the markings around them only made him prettier, but infuriatingly so; and when you put together the entire package of 'hawks,' you got an extremely punchable person. 

yet sometimes, during extremely rare instances - perhaps when the light hits him just right or when one of his feathers is placed just perfectly - the word 'punchable' is replaced with 'fuckable.' and when you say fuckable, you mean him fucking you. it only aggravates you more.

you can't recall exactly when you started hating him or exactly when you became fuckbuddies (well, more like fuckenemies), but what you can recall is that the closets at hawks' agency are unreasonably large. not that they can't be used to your advantage, on multiple occasions (especially when hawks ruts). you're sitting next to hawks as some entrepreneur attempts to sell his ideas to market heroes and gain more profit. none of the pro-heroes sitting in the room seem particularly engaged. you're practically falling asleep; hawks' doodles on your notepad keeping you awake. you can't exactly complain, though the doodles take up space on an otherwise blank page, it's entertaining. you're far past gone being alert, however; your eyelids droop one last time before you see an oddly phallic shaped doodle behind your eyelashes. goddamn hawks.

"really?" you hiss at him, pushing his hand away.

he shrugged, lazily smiling. "you like it."

"like what? lewd imagery in my work notepad?"

"no." his voice drops an octave, fatally gravelly, "my cock."

you flush at his obscene language. "don't-" you whisper, but you're cut off by hawks' muffled giggles as he points to another one of his doodles. a rooster. you purse your lips. ever-so immature, hawks.

"yeah, but i bet you like the first one a lot more, don'tcha, chickadee?" his pet name has your brain stuttering. "you like my cock so much, hm?"

"fuck you, hawks," you breathe.

"you can try, feather." his voice is dripping with cockiness. "i bet, even in professional times like these, you think about my cock. in business meetings, you look so professional, so serious, but little does everyone know - you're dreaming about my cock stretching your tight little cunt out, making you scream my goddamn name. i bet you salivate just thinking about my cock fucking you good, hm? isn't that right, chickadee?"

you huff, not meeting his eyes as you search for a witty comeback. your silence gives hawks' ego a boost; he smirks wider.

"you know it's true, huh?" he purrs. "you think of me wherever you go. in public, filing paperwork, when you touch yourself in bed... you just like it so much, you're my slut. who knew the nation's favorite pro-hero would drop to her knees to the sight of anyone's cock?"

"yeah, i touch myself whenever i think of you," you mutter saltily under your breath. you ignore the growing arousal in your panties at his provocative words. hawks goes quiet, eyes wide.

"more specifically, i rub my temples because i get a headache because you're so damn awful."

"well fuck, dove," he chuckles. he leans in close to your ear. "maybe i'll give you something to think about."

a shiver curls itself down your spine. "hawks-"

he hushes you, jotting something in your notepad. he excuses himself from the room, leaving a feather laying on his seat in place of him. you read the note. "women's bathroom, down the hall to the left. no one uses it."

a pump of adrenaline fills you; your heart skips a beat.

once you slip out, your heart plays a game of jump rope, the rhythm filling your ears. down the hall, to the left... you wonder what hawks has in store for you. your brain recreates images of past escapades you engaged in with the man; a quickie in his office, another in an alley, and once, him fucking you just before a meeting. your panties grow damper, unable to mask the anticipation you feel within yourself.

"hi, sweetpea," hawks cooes as soon as you enter the restroom. "fancy seeing you here."

"you invited-"

"hush, i didn't give you permission to speak, did i?" he snaps. "good girls who behave are rewarded."

a whimper slips out of you, and you nod.

"safeword, birdie?"

"sunflower."

"good girl." he hums. "so obedient, once disciplined... maybe i should do this more. i bet you'd like that... being such a slut when anyone could walk in." "hawks..." you start, but he doesn't have it.

the hero stalks toward you. if eyes could kill, you'd be murdered within seconds; his irises are dark, pupils blown, and a shadow has fallen over his face. he looks predatory like this - truly living up to his name. it's graceful, the self-control he assumes whence walking toward you. 

said self-control is completely abandoned as soon as your bodies meet. you're completely enraptured in his shadow as the man loomed over you, his wings contributing greatly to the effect. he's the predator, and you're the prey. 

his arm separates your neck from the wall, his hand clutching the back of your head. the free hand moves itself to caress your jaw in a strangely gentle manner, while his knee pushes its way in between your legs, making your upper thighs into a home. his hand nudges your head forward towards his, and then you're kissing him with such ferocity it's animalistic. tongues clash and you're no longer sure whose spit is whose; it dribbles down your chin the way blood drips from the thirsty lips of a vampire.

hawks growls - he actually growls - while he hastily unbuttons your top and slips his tongue into your mouth. you shamelessly grind down against his clothed pant leg, careless that your wetness will leave a stain. 

he pulls away, a string of saliva snapping between you and leaving you two gasping for breath. 

"fuck, fuck, baby bird," hawks wipes his mouth with his sleeve. his lips are swollen, their colour resembling a cherry lollipop with a sheen of gloss. damn, he's pretty. you never realized how good-looking a guy in a suit could be. his eyes are darker than a raven's, and it looks as though he'll devour you whole. 

"come." hawks gestures for you, walking towards the sinks and large mirror above them. as soon as you near a foot from hawks, he grabs you, one hand on your waist and the other on your throat. 

"look at you..." he tsks, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. you're completely disheveled, hair a mess and eyes blown dark. your top is wrinkled slightly, your breasts peaking out through the unbuttoned gap and your skirt pushed up.

"so messy already..." the hand on your waist moves up and squeezes your breast, tweaking a nipple through your bra.

"you just fucking melt for me, like a good whore," he says.

oh, how you hate how easily hawks can win you over.

"fuck you," you scoff half-heartedly. "are you gonna fuck me, or not? we don't have all day."

"won't be a problem, lovebird," he says breezily. "judging by how much you fucking soaked my pant leg, i could have you coming undone without my cock even touching your dirty cunt.

you glance at his thigh, which has a blatant dark spot on it, and feel your heart race in humiliation. you can only stay silent, knowing he's right. the sensation in your core is painfully obvious to you, as if taunting you more.

"obeying now?" he teases, a wicked smile gracing his face. "bend over the counter, sweetpea."

you huff, obliging. hawks deftly moves his fingers, unbuttoning your shirt. you shiver, your hot skin colliding with the cold, unforgiving marble. 

"spread your legs - good, good, like that..." his breath tickles your ear, "you like how the air touches your sopping pussy? how exposed you fucking feel, all spread out for me when anyone could walk in? me, the number 2 pro-hero..." god, he was so cocky it was infuriating.

"shut up," you grumble.

"what?" his voice is sharp, cutting clean through the air. "is that anyway to treat your daddy?"

you fucking hate the title. you hate how hawks harnesses it as his own, how he so personifies the word - how good it fits him, sounding like sugar off his lips.

two of his fingers meet your clothed folds. "answer me, birdie."

"n-no," you squeak out. 

"no, who?" he spits.

"no, daddy." 

you inch your head up to look in the mirror, and hawks is smiling. 

"what to do with you, what to do with you..." he sounds gleeful, sadistic undertones tinting his words with a faded rose red. so pretty, yet so painful. your head goes back down onto the counter, your cheek pressed against it.

"naughty birds deserve punishment, don'tcha think?" 

you can't find it in yourself to form a coherent word; instead, a clumsy moan falls from your lips. hawks' fingers press harder against your cunt; you're sure they've gotten at least a little damp.

compromised in such a position, your senses make you suddenly aware of your surroundings; the way the counter digs into your hips, how the coolness is starting to fade under your body. you're aware of your every breath, the fluttering in your stomach every time hawks presses your clit. you're aware of the inherent eroticism of your acts, and how you don't really hate hawks; no, no, no - how he just infuriates you.

he's the ideal hero, in your eyes - laidback, charming, and yet so skilled at his work. it amazes you. one can only strive to be so multifaceted, and it explains his status as number 2 hero. you work so hard, yet he can achieve all the things you dream in half a heartbeat.

"let's get these out of the way." hawks, hooking a digit into the band of your panties, forces them down in an instant. you instinctively clench at the air which meets your nether lips, your juices leaking out of them like a honeyed nectar.

"so messy," hawks comments. "can't even control yourself without your panties. you like being such a slut for daddy, huh?"

you grumble in protest.

"huh?" his index and ring finger plunge into your pussy, making a loud squelching sound.

"d-daddy," you blurt a moan out, falling apart on his fingers.

"that's more like it, feather." hawks sets a moderate pace on your pussy, curling to hit your sweet spot. the noises from your cunt and mouth fail to cease, and you throw a hand over the latter to muffle your whimpers.

you start to feel a burning sensation rise in your stomach; a toe-curling, warm feeling like sunlight shining in the morning.

"daddy, daddy, hngg- i'm so close."

you're so close to the sunlight, to being showered in the blissful heat. just one more stroke and-

you're suddenly empty, and the light starts to slowly recede.

"daddy!" you complain, shifting your legs and rubbing your thighs together. "bad birds get punishment," he shrugs. "though i must say... you like it when i bend you over the counter, huh? your little pussy is dripping all over it for me, and i've barely touched you... i bet you're getting off to this right now; when anyone could walk in, huh? filthy slut. you're already begging for more... hm, maybe i should make you lick up the mess you've made..."

"d-addy, no, i've taken my punishment, please let me cum..."

hawks sounded indifferent, as if he were merely studying his nails. "beg for it."

"wh-" you clench your hands in your skirt. you do not particularly enjoy begging - for anything or anyone. despite the pulsing in your cunt, and how hard it is not to give in, you don't want to give hawks the satisfaction of winning. "p-psh, didn't really need your cock anyway..." you grumble. you exhale quietly, calming the adrenaline pumping in your blood from the loss of your orgasm.

something in him changes, and a scarlet feather tickles your lips. you're confused; what does hawks want you to do?

"suck."

you exhale in confusion, blowing the feather away. "suck?"

you crane your neck up at the mirror to catch a glimpse of hawks. he looks deadly - there's no other way to put it. his eyes are sharply trained on you, his wings buff and towering over him. you think you see a bulge in his pants, straining for freedom.

"well?" the feather dusts your lips once again, teasing you to trap it in between your lips. your head drops, falling against the counter. you open your mouth, and the tip of the feather rests on your tongue. your lips close around it, and you hesitantly suck. you're not sure what you were expecting; it's a feather, soft and flimsy in your mouth.

you jolt at an indistinct tickling feeling against your clit. you look back, feather hanging out of your mouth, to see hawks leaning back on a stall. he's not within reach to touch you, so...

"hng!" the foreign object presses your clit. the pressure strengthens against your tight bundle of nerves, and you can feel your slick drip out of you even more. a feather; though hawks made the consistency a bit more solid. the feather pushes against your pussy like a seesaw, making you reach for your high. you shut your eyes tight, lost in the feeling and desperate for release. the feather drags up and down your cunt, eliciting lewd noises, while your lips are clamped shut around the feather in your mouth. saliva pools in your mouth the more the feather teases your wet sex, and the familiar build of tension starts in your stomach. you yearn for the heat returned in full, to be so fulfilled in pleasure, and you rut against the feather in an attempt to reach your climax faster. the stimulation is suddenly gone, leaving you crying out.

"look at this," hawks sneers. a single, wet feather, dripping in a substance far thicker than water hovers in front of you. "open your mouth."

the feather slips out, and is replaced with a salty tasting one.

the taste of your arousal fills your tongue, and before you're given time to dwell on it, you feel warmth pressing against the back of your thighs. there's a clanking of metal, a shuffle of fabric, and you feel the tip of hawks' cock pressing against you.

"look at you, baby, so desperate for a fuckin' feather," he rasps in your ear. "should i show you how much better my cock is? hmm?"

you nod dumbly, the feather bobbing with you. 

"fuck," he groans, pushing himself into your depths. "so wet, so- slick- goddamn baby bird, you like it when i stuff you full of this cock?"

you hum a noise against the feather in your mouth, agreeing. he slipped into your pussy smoothly, lubricated by the abundance of your slick. once in, snuggled in deep, something in the man's composure snaps; he thrusts mercilessly, pounding deep in you. his fingers hold your hips, bruising them, you're sure - and the pain is sweet, a sick lolly against your tongue. 

"fuck, fuck, daddy's gonna fuck his babies into you, betcha'd like that, huh?"  you can't articulate your words properly with the feather in your mouth, but you attempt to agree. he doesn't care, continuing with his degradation.

"you're gonna give me my chicks, huh? be my bitch," he pants heavily. god, you can just imagine how he looks; hair falling onto his sweat-matted forehead, his eyes completely lascivious. a wanton moan spills from your mouth, and the feather falls, but hawks doesn't make notice of this. he continues to slam into you, pace unforgiving, burying himself to the hilt inside of you. squelching noises fill the bathroom, echoing off the walls.

you can only moan and clench around him unintelligently. 

"look at you... all fuckin' stupid and obedient, all for daddy, hm? so willing to let daddy use you as a cumdump, daddy's personal- fucking- cumslut- but you like that, huh? your pretty pussy's clenching around me. you like being talked down to, don'tcha? such a dirty slut. look at that, you're drooling."

two of hawks' fingers shove themselves into your mouth, and you salivate around them. it's messy, you know, and spit trails down your chin.

"look at me, chickadee," he commands. you crane your neck to look at him, eyes wide. "fuck, so slutty," he grunts. "you really like this, don't you? fuck- exposing your fucking cunt to every guy, huh? being used as nothing but a filthy fucktoy?"

you shake your head rapidly in disagreement, cheeks heating up. 

"no?" he chuckles darkly. "just my fucktoy, then?"

you reluctantly nod. 

"my stupid lil baby... so pretty with daddy's fingers shoved in her mouth..." he coos, and a surprising, fuzzy feeling emerges from the praise.

his unoccupied hand reaches down in between your thighs to stimulate your clit, rubbing fast circles against the bud. warmth pools and ties a knot in your stomach. the sugared indulgence of release that you'd so craved comes into view; the knot tightening and tightening and you feel fit to burst.

"c-cum for me, baby bird, cum for me, y/n," he stutters, making a guttural sound in the back of his throat. the fingers in your mouth pull out, falling onto your hips. the tight knot bursts into violent fireworks of ecstasy; your cunt gushes around hawks' cock, convulsing madly. the pleasure shatters you, and everything becomes a haze. you go limp against the counter, thighs shaking. you're not sure how much time has passed - hawks had been fucking you through orgasm, and, at one point, came as well.

"hey, feather," he whispers gently to you. "you did so well for me..." he strokes your back, making a plethora of calming coos and humming sounds

"did so well," you mumble. 

"don't worry about anything, dove, i've got it all handled."

your thoughts are all fog, and you allow yourself to lean into hawks. this is one of the rare times you're vulnerable completely to him; at his mercy, after a particularly hard session. rather, it's one of the rare moments that your true feelings are revealed; how your hatred is baseless, built on jealousy and attraction you deny.

not that you'll admit it.

#hawks x reader #keigo takami smut #hawks smut #keigo takami x reader #bnha smut #bnha x reader #hawks #keigo takami #hawks headcanons #luna's writing #bnha headcanons #hawks imagines #keigo takami headcanons #keigo takami imagines #bnha drabble #pro-hero au #bnha oneshot #oneshots #hawks oneshot #hawks drabble #hawks fluff #bnha x female reader

[midnightwhispers12]

So, I have this idea in my head, and I’ll never write it out into a coherent fic, but the basic outline is:

The story starts with a montage of Stiles doing his caretaker-shtick - grocery shopping, cooking healthy meals, washing dishes, cleaning up the pack’s shared spaces, planning ahead for who needs to be where at what time, making sure everyone has everything they need, doing laundry, reminding the ‘wolves to schedule themselves off when they inevitably forget what day the full moon is again, etc, etc.

But.

The thing is? Stiles hates it. He HATES it. He started doing this stuff for his dad after his mom died and his dad disappeared into the office and a bottle of Jack, but it was always an obligation of the “if I’m more useful and less trouble, maybe he’ll want to spend time with me more often” variety. Their relationship eventually got better again (mostly), but if Stiles stopped doing the household chores, they just didn’t ever seem to get done. And eventually, they’d be out of food for the second week in a row, or he’d run out of clean clothes, or bathtub would be growing the mold that aggravated Scott’s asthma again, and Stiles would give in and just take care of it. And after enough times of trying to subtly shift some of the responsibility back onto his dad, and it failing every time, he just quit trying. It was less infuriating to do just do it himself.

When he moved in with Derek, some small, unspoken part of him was hoping that things would change. And, in Derek’s defense, it’s not like he just immediately refused to do anything around the apartment. But Stiles had a long habit at that point of just doing what needed done, and not waiting for someone else to do it. So he’d pick up groceries on his way home from work or class, and it wasn’t like he was going to intentionally not get the bananas for Derek’s nasty protein shakes while he was there anyway. He’d do his own laundry, and throw Derek’s laundry in too, because there’s no need to waste water on two half-full loads.

And slowly but surely, almost without even realizing it, he was back to being responsible for ALL the household chores. It only got worse once the pack filtered back in to living in Beacon Hills full time as they finished their degrees. A pack meeting needed to happen, so who was responsible for planning it? Stiles. Who was in charge of knowing when everyone was available? Stiles. Who had to clean up when the pack showed up uninvited and left their living room and kitchen in shambles? Stiles.

It’s not like he got to just stop taking care of his dad’s house either. He didn’t do as much anymore, but he and Derek had dinner at his dad’s at least every Sunday evening. They used to bring take-out over, but after the Sheriff gained 20lbs and got chewed out by his doctor for his cholesterol levels, Stiles went back to cooking for all of them every Sunday. Which turned into bringing groceries over for the meal he intended to make, because John didn’t have what he needed in the house. Which turned into bringing over a week’s worth of groceries, because the pantry and fridge were completely bare. Which turned into meal-prepping for the next week after dinner, while his dad and Derek watched whatever ESPN was showing, because seriously, eating fast food six days a week was just beyond unhealthy. And if he wanted space to cook, he had to do the week’s worth of dishes piled up in the sink. Plus, he always wound up cleaning whatever bathroom he used if he needed the toilet while they were visiting, because... gross. At least his dad seemed to be doing his own laundry now?

It doesn’t happen all at once, of course. Things build up over time, so slowly he doesn’t notice taking on one more task, and one more, and one more. No one likes doing chores, right? But someone’s got to do them. Someone has to plan ahead for the pack. If he sees that something needs done, it’s best to just go ahead and do it and get it over with, right?

Until one day, he’s just exhausted. It doesn’t make any sense, because he slept a full 7 hours last night, work is no more stressful than normal, there’s not a murderous monster of the week trying to kill everyone, nothing is wrong - everything’s actually been going surprisingly well for a while now. But Stiles is still completely and utterly wiped. Maybe he’s coming down with a bug or something? Since it’s Saturday, he decides to just take it easy and hopefully he’ll feel better tomorrow.

Derek comes over and scratches his scalp, taking a beyond obvious sniff of him (weirdo werewolves) when he sees there’s no breakfast happening, but just kisses his head and gets himself a bowl of cereal when he doesn’t smell anything amiss. The pack comes over and someone throws together sandwiches for lunch, and then they order takeout for supper. His dad shows up after his shift is over, and really, it’s a pretty typical Saturday, other than Stiles staying on the couch most of the day, instead of being up and moving around constantly. By midnight, he still doesn’t feel sick, which is good, and his mind and body both feel a little more rested. But he’s still somehow... existentially exhausted, maybe? Or something like that anyway, he doesn’t really know. It doesn’t make any sense!

But then he gets up to go to the bathroom and refill his water bottle. He looks around, and sees the clutter around the living room - the scattered pillows and blankets, magazines and books, cups and popcorn bowls, crumbs everywhere, water rings and greasy fingerprints on every flat surface. He walks into the kitchen and sees the sink completely full of dishes, the countertops piled with empty takeout boxes and trash. His foot actually sticks to the floor when he takes another step, where apparently someone spilled something and didn’t clean it up. The half-bath off the kitchen is occupied, so he shuffles toward the bedroom, and sees the laundry basket piled high; he usually does laundry on Saturday mornings, but he didn’t get to it this morning, and clearly Derek didn’t either. He finally makes it into the master bathroom, and sees Derek’s wet towels from this morning thrown on the floor.

As Stiles takes care of business on auto-pilot, he thinks about needing to go to his dad’s house tomorrow - planning what to make for the week, picking up groceries on the way there, cleaning the kitchen, cooking supper, cleaning up, making meals for the rest of the week to put in the fridge, cleaning up again, probably cleaning the bathroom.

He thinks about all the other things he’ll need to do tomorrow here at home - laundry he didn’t get done today, cleaning the living room and kitchen where it was left a mess, which means dishes, trash, sweeping, mopping, and picking up all the clutter, at least. Then MORE meal planning and grocery shopping because he didn’t get that done today either. The pack decided earlier that they wanted to go to the beach next weekend, so that’ll need planned - who’s driving, where they’re going, food and drinks to buy and pack, sunscreen, towels, after-sun gel (because werewolves always say they can’t burn, but then they do, and they WHINE, it’s so ridiculous), extra clothes because someone always forgets, talc powder and wet wipes to get all the sand off before they get back in the car, umbrellas, toys to make sandcastles (and enough shovels that the giant children won’t fight over them), a volleyball for the net... so many things. And if he doesn’t plan ahead for it all, and gather everything they need, then no one will, and it’ll be a miserable trip full of grouchy ‘wolves.

The more Stiles thinks about everything that needs done, the heavier the invisible weight on him feels, and he finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed, feeling more tired than he did when he woke up this morning. Derek walks into the bedroom, apparently to change out of his tight jeans and into sweatpants for the last movie of the night, but he throws his jeans down on the floor NEXT to the laundry basket, which is RIGHT THERE.....

And something snaps in Stiles. The proverbial straw has officially broken the camel’s back, and he’s just DONE. He can’t remember the last time anyone else did a chore, or cleaned up their own mess. He’s not entirely sure how everything got to this point, but he’s abruptly furious enough to make sure it doesn’t continue on this way.

Derek trails off from his last sentence, looking over at Stiles when he smells the boiling rage coming off of him, and follows after Stiles as Stiles stalks back out into the living room to glare at all the people gathered there, werewolf and human alike. One by one, the pack notices the steam coming out of Stiles’ ears, and fall silent in apprehension. Stiles is irritated and annoyed pretty frequently, but this level of anger is rare. What’s the deal?

The deal is - Stiles is on strike. They are a bunch of full grown adults, and as of right now, they’re going to have to pull on their big wolf undies and start acting like it. He is DONE acting like their parent, and he’s not going to do it anymore. If they want to eat, they’ll have to cook. If they want to eat nothing but fast food and die of a heart attack, that’s their choice to make. If they want to live in filth, so be it. If they have a miserable trip to the beach because no one planned ahead and packed the necessities, well, it sucks to be them. If they schedule themselves to work on the full moon, that’s their own problem, he’s not warning them or fixing it for them anymore. He’ll be getting a separate laundry basket for himself, and if Derek wants clean clothes, he can wash them himself.

They want to know what happened to family/pack taking care of each other? You know what, what DID happen to that? When’s the last time anyone attempted to take care of something for HIM? When’s the last time someone else saw something that needed done, and just did it? Or do they even SEE the things that need done anymore? No, because they’re too used to Stiles just taking care of it, and they don’t have to think about it. But this system has turned them all into spoiled, ungrateful brats, and he’s not enabling that anymore. He’s just not.

At first, the pack thinks Stiles is just being overly dramatic, Derek had warned them he wasn’t feeling well, after all. But over the next few weeks, they start to notice. Things just aren’t getting done. Who was responsible for this before? Oh yeah, Stiles. Why don’t they have want they need? Oh right, Stiles stopped packing for anyone but himself. It’s just little things here and there at first, but they add up quickly.

Meanwhile, Stiles has given himself permission to quit carrying the mental load for everyone, and he’s stopped trying to take care of every single little thing for a giant group of people, and he’s feeling so much more relaxed than even he expected. Yeah, it’s a little strange not cooking for Derek, but they had a long talk about it the day after Stiles exploded rage all over everyone, and Derek sees where he hasn’t held up his end. Stiles staunchly refused to do any household caretaking for the next month, and Derek agreed; they’re going to talk about it when the month is up, and decide then how they can fairly divide their responsibilities. No one else in the pack has even tried to talk to him about it, not even his dad. They did show up for Sunday dinner like usual, but when Stiles refused to cook or clean the kitchen so someone else could cook, they wound up just ordering from the local pizza place. Stiles felt a little guilty as he watched his dad eat greasy pizza, but he reminded himself over and over that his dad was a grown man who could make his own decisions.

It takes time for the pack to feel normal again, and Stiles sometimes feels a little guilty about that too, but Derek is on his side, so it’s bearable. Derek is the one that had to clean up the mess the pack left when they all stormed out the night Stiles went on strike, after all. Slowly though, one by one, the pack members come to Stiles and each one quietly apologizes for taking Stiles for granted, for not appreciating everything he did for them. Over time, they all begin to take up more responsibility for the pack, and as a result, they feel more invested in the pack too. They become less a group of people thrown together, and more a cohesive unit. Stiles does start contributing again, but he’s careful to only take on his share. And he has to take some deep breaths to not burst into tears the first time a pack member comes over with a haul of junk food for movie night, and they actually thought to bring him Reese’s cups and Twizzlers, his two favorites.

He thought life was good before, and it was. But this? This is better.

#sterek #teen wolf #fic outline #more than I thought I’d wind up writing? but still not a real fic #and I don’t THINK I’ve read this exact plot line anywhere but I’m also very aware it’s not a super original idea #it’s probably completely OOC but i don’t care #because chores suck and one person shouldn’t be responsible for all of them #everyone should contribute

[officerjennie]

DIY Porn: Bard Tested, Bard Approved

CW: Smut, bondage, gags, toys, some D/s, DIY porn

Rating: E

Summary: Dandelion and Jaskier have the brilliant idea to make their own porn when the internet fails them, so Dandelion gets tied up, gagged, and fucked. But it seems they might have gotten the roles mixed up by the end. WC: 2.7k+.

A special thanks to @jaskierswolf Bard Peddler Extraordinaire for doing their peddling job so well <3

This was a sight Jaskier would never forget.

Dandelion was kneeling in the floor for him. They’d cleared out the center of the room just for this show, having had to push much of their stuff out of the way, leaving only a floral rug for him to kneel on. Jaskier couldn’t help but lick his lips even as he tried to focus on the camera, setting up the tripod at just the right angle to capture the scene that they’d gone over several times before their night had begun.

It had been wonderful luck that the two’s kinks lined up so beautifully. But the internet, as vast and wondrous as it was, could never seem to satisfy exactly what they needed. It had been Dandelion’s idea to make their own pornography when site after site gave them nothing, or at least what it gave was subpar to what their fantasies had crafted for them - and Jaskier had jumped on the idea, more than willing to run the extra mile to see the poet tied up and gagged with his body begging for him.

And that’s exactly the pretty picture Dandelion was for him at that moment, splashed with color in the viewfinder, red silk rope running all across his body and making Jaskier’s fingers itch to get back on his skin.

But he had to wait, just as Dandelion did, because as much as he really wouldn’t mind doing this all over again he was desperate himself to see exactly how pretty they could be together.

It took some doing, figuring out the right angle. And maybe Jaskier took his time just so Dandelion had to wait longer, the poet’s cock leaking precum that dripped down onto the rug below him, jerking movements attempting to gain friction, his body occasionally spasming in that way that told Jaskier his beautiful poet was clenching around the plug stuffed up his arse.

“Going to be good for me, love?”

He was finally ready. Coming over to brush the blond curls away from Dandelion’s face, to see those beautiful blue eyes glistening with tears from want, the gag in his mouth preventing him from saying anything - and at that moment Dandelion was all the more beautiful for his silence.

It was sometimes infuriating how good Dandelion was with his words. They were both masters of their art but Dandelion - oh Dandelion could reduce Jaskier to nothing but a sputtering mess, his eloquence leaving him speechless, taking coherent thought away from him whenever the poet saw fit to do so. Jaskier loved his poet but for this he needed control, craved it, and there was no way to maintain it if Dandelion could speak.

Convenient, then, that his dear friend wanted to relinquish control so badly.

“You look beautiful like this.” Jaskier leaned across his back, pressing against his bare flesh with his still-clothed body, skimming a hand down his friend’s chest while breathing in his ear. He felt the poet shudder under his touch, felt the whine that desperately wanted to escape his lips but was held back by the gag. The robe was wondrous to feel tied around him making Jaskier’s heartbeat pick up its pace as his hand traveled down, down towards the patch of blond curls he knew waited for his fingers at the base of Dandelion’s cock - and another desperate whine tried its best to be heard.

“Tied up all pretty for me,” he breathed as his fingers found their way through the blond curls, teasing, not touching the aching cock that would have begged for his touch if it could. Dandelion jerked under him, his eyes watering further, pink splashed across his cheeks and chest, and Jaskier had never more than then wanted to know what pink tasted like. “Bet your hole is just begging for the real thing, isn’t it, dearheart? Gods but you’re going to be tight, I know you are, going to clench around me and eat me right up.”

A choked sound came from his friend and Jaskier was once again so grateful his friend couldn’t speak, knowing it was only the gag that kept Jaskier in control - and his control was already such a weak thing. He was weak for his poet, always drawn to him, consumed by him.

Jaskier licked his lips as he leaned back to admire his handiwork again. Red rope tied around him in pretty little knots that he’d spent an egregious amount of time learning to perfect. And really, he knew they weren’t perfect quite yet, could see where he’d struggled when the rope wouldn’t work with him. Some of the knots were a little too loose, some a little too tight, some not quite aligned perfectly with the others. But fuck if it hadn’t been hot to gag Dandelion and tie him up, the poet not even able to laugh as Jaskier struggled and cursed while working the rope around him.

Which is exactly why the gag had been stuffed into his mouth first, and the ropes had come next.

All in all, though it wasn’t the perfect job, Jaskier had done well. Practice had paid off, all of the books he’d poured over trying to find the best technique, the best pattern to tie his friend into. And Dandelion looked good in red; he licked his lips again, his hand running up his friend’s back between his shoulder blades, wondering what other colors would suit him.

They would have to do this again. For the video, of course. Jaskier’s eyes flickered over to the camera, checking that the red light was blinking, that it was still recording. There was no way they’d make the perfect video the first go around, but fuck was it going to be glorious to watch himself take Dandelion apart. All those times they’d fucked in front of a mirror had been fucking wonderful but memories alone could only get him so far when he was by himself.

And there was a thought that had his cock twitching in his pants. Filmed in front of a mirror, without Dandelion talking his brain senseless. Gods but he needed that.

He had to shake his head, clear his own thoughts, force himself to live one fantasy at a time. When his hand reached the long blond curls he wrapped his fingers in them, smirk on his lips as he got ready to put on a show for them, the future audience.

With a rough tug, he yanked Dandelion back, reveling in the whimper it drew from him. But before Dandelion could properly adjust his weight Jaskier was shoving him forward, forcing Dandelion to put his pretty little arse on display for him. It was impossible to form words when he slid his hands down to spread his cheeks apart, catching sight of the light blue plug that kept Dandelion worked open for him, his hole pink and slick from where he’d prepped himself before he’d even come over.

Jaskier couldn’t- he just couldn’t with this man. He had to bite back a whimper himself, knowing just how gorgeous Dandelion looked purring around his own fingers, his curls mussed up from how he’d grip his own hair, the way his whole body flushed as he gasped and drove himself wild with pleasure. Was there truly any way to ever think around this man when Jaskier knew him so well?

“Bet you want to beg me to fill you up, don’t you?” It was faux control that colored his tone, his words more breathless than they should have been, the urge to touch finally winning as his fingers found the end of the plug. Dandelion quivered around it as he took hold of it, spinning the toy inside of him, Jaskier’s hips gently rocking despite himself as he heard the muffled whimpers and moans it drew from his poet. “Want to beg me to fuck you, spill in you, fuck darling you’ll be so gorgeous leaking my cum.”

Jaskier could barely keep his eyes open at the thought, pulling the toy out just the smallest bit and pushing it ever so slowly back in. And he knew Dandelion would be writhing if he could, would be talking and moaning until Jaskier’s brain was nothing but static and the desire to please him - it was already slipping there without the aid of Dandelion’s voice, and it was infuriating in the best of ways.

There were not enough words in the lexicon to describe how Dandelion looked at that moment. Bent over and needy, wanting, leaking precum wiggling pitifully in his binds. The plug working slowly in and out of him and driving Jaskier crazy as it did, his own hips unable to stay still knowing how that tight hole would feel around him, how well he could fill it and fuck it. And he needed it desperately, to fuck his Dandelion like the poet wanted him to.

Gods but he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d wanted to tease Dandelion for a while, leave him wanting, but it didn’t feel right leaving him clenching around a plug when it should be his cock. Jaskier had meant to drive him crazy edging him, had wanted to suck his aching cock and have Dandelion sobbing from it but he wanted to fuck him, please him, be good for him.

The ties to his pants could not come undone fast enough. He didn’t bother taking off his clothes and just fished out his cock, a whimper quivering his breaths when he had it in hand, and he almost forgot the plug was in the way when he went to rub it between the poet’s ass cheeks. It could probably be played off like he’d just been wanting to tease him but Jaskier wasn’t sure, and couldn’t quite think straight, the fuzz in his mind taking the words away as he felt the other’s hot skin around his cock.

The plug had to go. It dropped heavy on the rug next to them, and Jaskier had to fight to keep himself from thrusting into him hard. Had to fight to remind himself to go slow, that this was meant to be a show, a performance - he was good at those, good at performing, but the world was slipping from him and he couldn’t quite remember why it was so important to put on a show.

When the tip of his cock popped past the ring of tight muscles, Jaskier thought he might lose control. Curses dripped between breaths as his hands shook, one clenching on Dandelion’s hip, the other soothing his friend’s back - and he’d entirely forgotten that he’d been meaning to speak filth to him, to speak in commands, because all he could do was moan and stammer out in starts and stops over how good Dandelion felt around him.

All of his control was spent pushing slowly into him. Working his way to the point where they rested fully against each other, where he felt the whole of his length being clenched rhythmically by his poet. His breaths were trembling things, small noises whimpered out here and there, his eyes hardly able to focus past the feeling of Dandelion around him. Dandelion, his Dandelion, who was doing his best to get him to fuck into him and Jaskier had ever found him the most difficult person in the world to say no to.

How could he say no then?

There was a rhythm to his thrusts at the start. Slow out, fast in, his hands hardly able to keep themselves still on Dandelion’s skin. He felt every inch he could reach, at first just because he could, but then his fingers found the spots that he knew made Dandelion tremble. The poet’s thighs had always been especially sensitive and though it was difficult to caress them in just the right way as he thrusted into him Jaskier tried.

But the heat was consuming him. His mind was hazy. His words made no sense - and really he wasn’t sure if he was speaking words at all anymore, lost in the desire to make Dandelion feel good, to be good for him, his fingertips finding the rope at the poet’s thighs and a yearning built up in him.

There was no rhythm then. Jaskier couldn’t help himself, laying against his friend’s back, hearing the muffled moans and suddenly finding his own too loud.

Dandelion was gorgeous, all tied up in red. Left wanting, left to his mercy, but Jaskier wasn’t thinking on that anymore. All thoughts of the porno they were filming had left his mind so far behind he couldn’t even remember they were doing it, his hands greedy things as they felt around Dandelion’s body, feeling the rope and wanting and yearning to know.

He was whimpering, shaking against Dandelion’s back, and Dandelion wasn’t whining anymore. Every clench of the tight muscles that were wrapped around Jaskier’s cock was purposeful, every one of them sending his thoughts scattering further until his mind was nothing but static and desperation - and the last coherent thought he had was that of course Dandelion found a way to be in control even when relinquishing it all over to him.

As his hands roamed Dandelion’s body, his fingers desperately feeling the rope, it felt wrong that his own arms and legs had such freedom. As his whines and whimpers grew higher in pitch the room felt so full of them, the air so empty of that voice that usually spoke him through to the edge and beyond, so void of those words that could so easily make him a begging mess of please and more. When he spilled into him, he cried out, babbling and fucking his seed deep inside of Dandelion - and all he wanted was to feel Dandelion’s cum inside of him, dripping out of him, down his thighs as his own cock was left untouched and aching.

Jaskier couldn’t stop shaking against him. Even after the high of his orgasm left him, even as he laid against his back, he shook, wanting, needing - he needed so much but he wasn’t sure what he needed, but Dandelion would know. As soon as that truth was known to him he was reaching out, fumbling with the gag in Dandelion’s mouth, needing to hear him speak.

“That’s it, pet,” Dandelion gasped out the moment the gag was gone, and relief washed over Jaskier the instant he heard his voice. It was safe, it was warm, it was right, and some of the shaking went away. “What a wonderful mess you’ve made the both of us, such a beautiful job you’ve done. Now, why don’t you take this rope off of me. Think you can manage that for me, darling?”

Jaskier would attempt anything in the world if it was for Dandelion at that moment. It took a while, his fingers and hands couldn’t stop trembling, but as Dandelion talked him through it Jaskier slipped further and further until he was nothing but a man in Dandelion’s lap, a mess for Dandelion to fix, to lead and guide, and to use as he wished.

“I think we might have made a bit of a mistake in our planning, darling.” Dandelion kissed the top of his head and Jaskier whimpered, already hard once more, feeling Dandelion’s aching and neglected cock pressing against his thigh. “Think we might have to try again. Would you like me to tie you up this time?”

Jaskier had never wanted anything more in his life. He needed to feel secured, held down, needed to hear Dandelion’s voice when he couldn’t make any sounds of his own, when his world would be naught but Dandelion’s voice, his command, his hands, his body.

They had gotten it very wrong their first time, but they were both more than happy to rectify that wrong - and Jaskier, after this was all over, after he was sobbing around the gag in his mouth and dripping Dandelion’s seed, desperately trying to clench and keep it all in, after Dandelion took him apart and put him back together with skilled hands and a dangerous silver tongue-

-after all of this was over, when they’d sit back and enjoy the footage played back on Jaskier’s laptop, he’d be forever grateful that the camera had been rolling the whole time.

--

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

#jaskier #dandelion #jaskelion #jaskier x dandelion #dandelion x jaskier #jaskier/dandelion #dandelion/jaskier #the witcher #fanfiction #mywriting #lemony #my summer bingo #jaskilion

[aestheticsfandomsandmore]

In vino (beer) veritas

HE TIAN X MO GUAN SHAN FAN FIC.

Don't expect too much, really: I’m Italian, so I probably made a lot of mistakes (you can report them, I would be glad). There are few descriptions for the same reason and so this story could be a bit repetitive. There is not a proper ending. Maybe I’ll just leave it like this, maybe I’ll continue the fic some other day.

I posted it on AO3 if you want to read it there.

________________________________________

Mo Guan Shan hasn't heard from He Tian since the previous evening. Almost twenty hours have passed and he hasn't come to school. He's a bit worried, if he has to be honest with himself. The damn guy hasn't even texted to annoy him with random stuff, while he usually doesn't let him breath without interfering.

So Mo goes to his house. He's embarrassed, he's mad at himself for his dumb choice, he has no idea how to justify that choice to He Tian, especially when he's so damn sure the guy will give him a smirk and start assuming things, like that he cares about him. Whether it is true or not, Mo would always deny it until the end of times.

Still, the door of his loft is right there in front of him and he knocks, hoping for an answer so that he can stop worrying for that asshole.

However, the moment He Tian opens it, he only worries more and more.

The tall boy, always so handsome, with fucking perfect hair and fancy clothes, is now looking like he just jumped out of a hurricane: his shirt is wrinkled, the zip of his jeans is down (don't look, don't look, don't look), his dark hair are disheveled and his eyes are red and wide open.

“Ehy little Mo~ Wha-What ya doing here?” he asks him, so visibly confused that Mo wouldn't be surprised if he just fainted, right where he was.

“Stupid, what... what are you up to, what's goin' on?”

“Little Mo is worried about me?” even in that state he still manages to grin and to sound annoying.

“Move” Mo orders and the moment he gets in the loft he feels a bit shocked: a bunch of empty bottles of beer (at least five or six) are lying on the floor. He Tian is drunk. He turns back and looks at him. “Ohi, what is all of this about?”

He Tian closes the door and chaoticly walks toward the table before sitting on a chair. He laughs. “What do you mean?”

Is he fucking with me or what? Mo thinks, almost getting agry. “Why did you drink so much? Are you okay?”

“Suuure thing.”

Mo sighs. How much patience must he have with this guy?

“Okay. Let’s go to bed, shall we?” Mo Guan Shan reminds himself of how the doctors spoke to him when he happened to be in a hospital: like the things he was about to do were going to be a group thing or shit like that. He tries the same with He Tian, hoping it will work.

He Tian lets Mo putting his arm under his own armpit and then puts his around his neck, but it’s more like he’s grabbing it, like he’s trying to hold on to him.

“Okay, we’re moving.” Mo says and meanwhile counts more carefully the bottles of beer the idiot has drunk: eight. Eight fucking bottles. What the hell was wrong with him?

He carries He Tian to his bedroom and puts him under his sheets, but the right moment he tries to walk away the other boy clutches his wrists and pushes him to the bed as well.

“Ohi, the fuck-”

“Stay here for a while, c’mon~ You came all the way to my flat juuuust...” he seems to be struggling with making a coherent phrase. “... just to leave immediately?”

He can’t really say he is wrong, but he doesn’t want to stay either. “You’re wasted. I didn’t certainly come to babysit you.”

“You don’t have... to do... anything... just stay.”

He looks so weak and vulnerable, so different from his usual self.

He won’t remember anything anyway tomorrow, Mo thinks. “Whatever.”

He stays. He lays down on his right side and stares at He Tian. His eyes are closed but he is smiling. “Nice” he says, clearly happy he is going to stay.

“Why... why were you drinking so much?”

He Tian doesn’t answer. Mo almost thinks he fell asleep, but then he says: “I really want to kiss you.”

Mo winces. “What the bloody hell-”

“I won’t kiss you. Don’t you worry.” He Tian promises, his eyes still closed.

“Of course you won’t you chicken-”

“I don’t want you to cry again.”

Mo baffles. His heart starts ricing faster and faster. “What...?”

He Tian opens his eyes and looks at him with no smile of any sort. “You freaked out last time I kissed you.”

Mo blushes and gets furious. “Yeah - and whose fault is that?”

“Mine.” He Tian answers immediately. “I know it’s mine. I- I know.”

“Good.” Guan Shan says, but he’s actually pretty surprised He Tian admitted it so easily. He expected him to mock him and start making jokes about how he reacted back then. 

They stay silent for a while. Then He Tian asks: “Am I... still... disgusting to you?” His voice is so low and depressed Mo could almost burst into tears.

“I-” he swallows, super nervous. That was uncertain territory for him. Such honesty from He Tian demanded just as much from him as well. “No. You are not.”

He Tian looks relieved. “Really?”

“Yeah. Actually... you never were.”

Now he looks shocked. “You didn’t mean it?”

“I meant it when I said it” Mo replies. “I was fucking infuriated, He Tian.” Now he’s getting angry again, just by the thought of that moment. He felt so ashamed he just wanted to disappear from the face of the Earth. “But... I never really thought you were a disgusting person, I just thought you did a disgusting thing.”

“I get that” He Tian says. “I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have forced you. Sorry.”

An apology, Mo thinks. He Tian apologised before, but always with a smart smirk on his face or his hands on Mo’s body - never sounded very convincing. Now he is talking from the bottom of his heart and Mo believes him. “Okay. Apologies accepted.”

He Tian smiles. 

Mo smiles as well. He won’t remember any of this. He caresses his cheek with his thumb and He Tian shudders, almost as he punched him in the face. He stops immediatly, realizing what he was doing. “Okay. Now get some sleep, idiot.”

“Will you wait for me to fall asleep?”

He sounds like a kid. He was never good with kids. Way easier to go along with their insanity rather than question it. “Whatever. Now sleep.”

-

The morning after, the hangover is right there waiting for him to wake up in the most embarrassing way possible. His knees are pushing against his arms, his toes are crisscrossed, he smells like shit and he probably looks even worst. But none of this matters the moment he understands Mo is sleeping right next to him. 

His first thought is that he’s still dreaming. It has to be a dream. Mo never stayed over the night and even if he managed to make him do that Mo would have never slept in his bed. Too risky. 

But it takes him just a few moments to realize he’s not dreaming at all. He gets up, way too quickly - his head hurts. “Shit”. He goes to the bathroom and takes a cold shower. He wears something clean and takes his time to get back in the bedroom, scared that he just imagined things and he won’t find Mo in his sheets just where he left him. But he does. He’s still there. 

He Tian smiles and takes a moment to appreciate that scenario, wishing it would happen again and again, every morning, preferably after a night of rough sex and sweet cuddles. Or just sex. Or just cuddles. Anything, literally anything to have Little Mo in his bed as often as possible.

“Ehy, Sleeping Beauty, rise and shine~” he pats his head and ruffles his hair, foreshadowing a bad reaction coming from the boy. 

It comes. Guan Shan slaps his hand and gets up, a bit uncomfortable, and then rubs his eyes, still sleepy. “’Morning dick head.”

He Tian grins. “Is there an actual explanation for which you slept in my bed? Not that I’m complaining.”

“I see you went back to yourself” Mo replies, annoyed. 

He Tian doesn’t say anything. Went back to himself? What did that mean? “Uhm... what?” he asks, trying to sound entertained. 

“You don’t remember, do you?”

Okay, now he’s feeling a bit scared. What did he do? What did he say? “What should I remember? Did we have fun last night?”

“If you find funny getting wasted and unable to walk on your own towards your fucking bedroom, then yes, it was massive fun.”

He Tian laughs. He expected way worst. “Okay, so you took care of me, Little Mo~?” 

He draws closer to him, but Mo stops his approach by grabbing his wrists and says: “I didn’t plan to stay the night, but since I did... I guess we should talk.”

Talk? Like, a proper chat? Offered by Mo? Was the world about to end? “Uhm, okay? What do you want to talk about? Our future together?”

“Can you be serious for one fucking second?”

He Tian blinks. What the fuck happened last night? “Sure.”

He lays down on the bed waiting for Mo Guan Shan to do the same. He stares at him and then sits. “I- I have some questions for you. And then, if you have any questions... for me... I’ll answer. I mean, I’ll try, at least.”

He is palpably nervous and the way he’s speaking is a total surprise: things like that never happen between the two of them; it’s always He Tian the one who brings up more weighty topics for them to discuss. “Okay. Go ahead.”

“Last night you told me...” Mo lowers his head, “that you’d like to kiss me.” He blushes.

He Tian is not surprised at all. “Well, is that a brand new information for you?”

“Cut the sarcastic crap out, thanks.” 

“I’m not being sarcastic! I mean it: was it honestly shocking for you?”

Mo still doesn’t look at him in the eye, but he shakes his head. 

“So what’s the question?”

“I was going to ask you if that were true, since you were drank, but apparently it was.”

“Yeah. What else?”

“You also told me that you won’t kiss me, even if you want to, because you’re... basically scared of my reaction. Is this true?”

Okay, he didn’t see this coming. “I-” he needs to think before answering. “I... kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“It’s just- I want to be sure you want that too.” He really means that. He never said that aloud. He never admitted that truth to himself. Heʼs waiting for someone’s permission to do what he wants. It is a weird and new concept for him. He knows that, being a kiss something that involves two people, it should just be normal to ask before doing anything. But he isn’t used to, anyway. 

“You never seemed particularly interested in what I wanted.”

Now, that sentence gets him mad. “Look at me.” he orders.

Mo does that and he looks more confident than ever. He’s almost proud to see him like that.

“What’s the point of this?”

“Wait. I have another question.”

He Tian rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

“You apologised. For what you did. And... you asked me if I still thought you were disgusting.”

He Tian would blush if he wasn’t the way he is. “And what did you answer?”

“I- Wait, did you mean it?”

“Uhm?”

“Do you actually feel sorry for what you did?”

“I apologised to you when I was sober as well, did you forget?”

“You never apologised for something specific.”

He Tian is getting impatient, but he still says: “I’m not sorry to have kissed you, I’m sorry I made you cry.”

That answer makes Mo mad - well, of course it does. “I cried because you kissed me. Because you’re a piece of shit.”

“Call me what you want” he is getting heated as well, “but you didn’t cry because I kissed you: you cried because I didn’t ask you and you were surprised and you didn’t want to accept that you liked me. You still don’t, by the way.”

Mo tries to punch him but He Tian’s faster and blocks him right away, switching positions and standing onto him on the bed. 

“You have no idea what’s going on inside my head! You shit head, you have no right to tell me why I was crying!” 

Mo screams, trying to free himself, but He Tian is holding his wrists with his hand and impeding his movements with his legs. 

“Okay, hey, chill, calm down, please.”

It takes a while for Mo to actually stop moving. He grumbles and bites his lips. He Tian lets go of his right wrist to make him stop, touching his mouth very gently. “Don’t ruin it” he whispers. 

Mo blushes and turns his head. 

“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that - I’m sorry.”

Mo blinks and looks at him doubtful and hesitant. 

“But now let me ask you a question.”

“Shoot it.”

“Why are you doing this? You could have just made up an excuse for staying here the night, as always, relying on the fact that I forgot everything. Why didn’t you?”

Mo observed him for a while and then said: “I- I wanted to know the truth.”

“The truth?“

“Yeah.”

“Little Mo, you asked him if I wanted to kiss you, which you already know I do, you asked me if I was sorry, which I had already said I am, and you wanted me to confirm a sentence which I pronounced when I was drunk - and so, completely honest.” 

Mo looks pissed. “Listen, it wasn’t all this clear to me when I decided to talk to you, okay? You don’t have to play Mister I know-it-all, you’re already annoying enough.”

He Tian laughs. “Whatever.” He lets go of the other wrist and moves his legs away, still remaining on top of him. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”

Mo seems confused. “Which one?”

“Am I still disgusting to you?” he asks this with a tiny grin, but he’s actually desperate for an honest answer. He knows Mo doesn’t find him disgusting, but to hear him saying it is a totally different story.

Guan Shan snorts. “No, you are not. Happy now?”

He Tian smiles. “Very.”

“Asshole.”

They stay like this for some time. He Tian is almost leaning towards his lips, when Mo interrupts the silence. “Oh, right! Why the fuck did you drink eight bottles of beer?”

#19 days #fan fiction #19 days fic #19 days fan fiction #he tian x mo guanshan #he tian x mo guan shan #mo guan shan #he tian #tianshan #tianshan fanfic #old xian #my fic #i'm italian so please forgive me #i know this probably sucks

[liberty-barnes]

Done Wondering

Jock!Tom Holland x Female!Reader

Highschool AU

@danicarosaline requested: Hi pretty!! i saw your requests are open so may i please request a jock Tom x reader! Tom is a big softy and the captain of his football team and reader is a tough ‘not taking shits from anybody’ type of person? Like Tom gets in an argument with a team mate and he’s being all nice and calm about it but reader thinks his team mate deserves a good punch in the face so she punches him and it shocks the entire team and Tom himself even though he expected it!!

Warnings: F L U F F, not sure that the football talk is 100% accurate, all I know about American football is that Tom Brady's a quarterback, their jerseys are cool and apparently I'm supposed to cheer for the Pats? (yeah, that's my dad's fault), B99 references (i fucking love that show), cursing, a bit of violence ig

Word Count: 2.3k words (why can i not write short things?)

Estimated Reading Time: 9 minutes

A/N: so sorry it took so long to get this out! also, i got waaaaaay to invested in this... oopsie

Masterlist

You ran across the field as people all around you celebrated with only one goal in mind: kiss your boyfriend.

You and Tom had been dating for almost seven months now, to many people's surprise. The entire school thought you'd be together for a week tops, but you surpassed all their expectations by becoming the longest standing couple in junior year (not that it was hard, high schoolers change partners like discardable gloves). 

Tom was one of Sunset High's best and brightest, loved by the teachers, captain of the football team, and the object of many's affection.

You, however, were nothing like that. You hated sports (everyone knows art's better anyway), social interactions were your personal little slice of hell, and everyone was too scared to approach you since you threatened to gut Charles after he accidentally forgot to give you back your pencil.

All in all, there was no way you two could stay together.

There was no way you could even make a friendship work, let alone a romantic relationship.

But then there was that fateful summer night...

Your mind ran at a thousand miles an hour as you rocked in the park's nest swing. The stars looming over you were the only thing keeping you from spiraling, and after an hour of watching them, the peace in your mind was crumbling.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

You sat up on the swing and looked to your right where stood a sheepish-looking Tom.

"It's okay, I should probably leave anyway..."

"No! I mean, it's okay, you were here first I didn't mean to disturb you."

You cast your eyes down until he spoke again.

"You go to my school, right? (Y/n)? We were in the same English class in freshman year."

"Yeah, I think so... I'm surprised you remember me, we didn't have any classes together last year..."

He huffed out a laugh and leaned against the support beam, hands in his pockets.

"It's kinda hard to forget someone like you. You stood up to the teacher on the first day after he yelled at a kid and spent the next year having actual coherent debates about the books that most of the class never even read, let alone understood. You're kind of amazing."

You ducked your head once more to try to cover the blush on your cheeks, biting your lip.

"Thanks."

He nodded and took a deep breath, then sat in front of you and pushed so the swing was rocking softly, always catching it before it hit his face.

You giggled a bit and sat criss-cross applesauce, back straight, your mother's words permanently etched into your brain.

"So, what are you doing alone in the town's most secluded park at midnight?"

"Oh, you know, questioning my life choices, freaking out because in three weeks we're going back to school while simultaneously feeling stir crazy after having nothing cool to do all summer, regretting ever being born, the usual. What about you?"

"Getting crushed by everyone's expectations, feeling constricted cause I have to set a good example for my little brothers, freaking out cause I have no idea what I want to do with my life, the usual."

A comfortable silence settled between you.

"Do our lives really suck or is it just the teenagers in us that dramatize everything?"

He huffed out a laugh.

"I don't know, tell me your story and I'll let you know."

You scooched to the side and patted the now empty spot on the too-small swing so he could lay down next to you. Looking at the stars seemed like a better idea than looking at him.

"I never really liked school, people are jerks, cafeteria food is disgusting at best, I have no friends -not that I care about that, I'm better off alone. Still, it's better than being home. When my father isn't working in his study, he's berating me about getting better grades, even though I'm a straight-A student, not that he cares enough to actually know that. My mother's usually either gossiping with her other rich friends or telling me to correct my posture, dress better, act like a lady, it's infuriating...

"My older brother, the only person in that family that I genuinely like, left for MIT today, so I guess I'm just now realizing that I'm really... alone. I'll have to suffer through my father's lectures about getting high grades and act like someone I'm not so my mother doesn't take away everything I love until I "learn to act like a respectable woman". Jake used to get them to lay off me, but now he's not here. Sometimes I wonder why they even adopted me if I'm such a bad daughter. It just sucks."

You felt his hand twitch next to yours and his eyes on your face.

"Your turn."

He took a shuddering breath before speaking.

"My parents are amazing, they really are, they only want what's best for me, but sometimes it's a little much. They constantly remind me of going to training, doing my homework, studying for tests, and even though they always say it's okay, I see the disappointment in their eyes when my grades lower even by a single point.

"My little brothers look up to me a lot, and they're always telling me how much they want to be just like me when they grow up. I know they mean it in the best possible way, but it's just that much more pressure. I just... feel the need to always be the best at everything. The best football player, the best captain, the best student, the kindest person in that school, most helpful... it's all a bit much."

This time, it was you who were looking at his profile while he gazed at the stars.

"It's okay to feel overwhelmed, Tom. It doesn't matter that they have the best intentions, they're still putting too much pressure on you and you deserve the chance to relax."

He turned towards you and for the first time that night, you realized just how close you were.

"You're not a bad daughter just because you have different interests. I, for one, think you are a strong and independent woman who doesn't need to change because of some mere peasants. You're a queen... You deserve someone that'll treat you as one."

Your breath caught in your throat as you locked eyes with him.

"Wanna make a deal?"

You nodded tentatively, though at this point you'd probably agree to murder someone as long as he kept looking at you that way.

"I'll be your friend, give you something to do whenever you need it, save you from your asshole parents and remind you of just how awesome you are every day..."

"And in return?"

"And in return, you'll say stuff like what you said before when I get too stuck in my head, save me from my so-called friends when they're being jerks, and come to every practice with me so you have something to do and I have someone to make silly faces at."

"I'm pretty sure there are a thousand girls in that school that would kill to have you make silly faces at them."

"Maybe so, but they aren't you. A lock of your hair is worth more than all of them combined."

You bit your lip and smiled.

"Okay."

"Cool."

"Cool."

He pecked you softly on the lips before he lost his nerve, quick and fleeting, feather-light but strong enough to leave fires in its wake. You pulled him back and gave him a slightly longer kiss before setting your head on his shoulder and going back to stargazing, now with someone to keep you company.

Three weeks later, you walked into school hand in hand and haven't let go since.

"Tommy!"

You jumped into his arms, ignoring the smell of sweat and how it would probably cling to your clothes.

"You did so good baby!"

He kissed you straight on the lips, not minding his teammate's wolf-whistles, having grown used to them already.

"I had a pretty good motivation."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm, my girl told me she'd bake me cookies if I won this match, and I really like her cookies."

"Sounds like you have a great girlfriend."

"The best."

You kissed him again and he smiled when he felt the fabric of his spare jersey adorning your figure.

"Yo, Holland!"

You forced apart by Teddy's call, one of the newer players. Since you went to every single practice, you knew that Teddy was being an ass lately, always wanting the glory, never passing the ball to his teammates. If it weren't for Tom's skill as captain of the team, he would've cost them most matches, including this one.

"Why didn't you pass me the ball?"

"Pardon?"

"That last play, I was free and you passed the ball to Harrison even though he almost lost it. You should have passed it to me, we almost lost because you want to make your useless bestie feel included!"

"Johnson was closing in on you, if I'd passed it to you, we would have lost for sure. Passing it to Harrison bought me the time I needed to get out of danger. It was purely strategical, you would know that if you paid attention to your teammates instead of playing all on your own. Haz is an amazing player and I don't treat him differently just because he's my best friend. I'd like you to apologize to him, please, it's not kind to insult your teammates."

You admired the fact that he managed to remain calm and collected throughout the whole conversation, looking like the embodiment of 'I'm not mad, I'm disappointed'. You, however, were not having such an easy time keeping your cool, hands firmly clenched at your side.

"The hell it was! You just feel threatened by me because you'll never be as good as me, so you never pass me the ball, it's ridiculous!"

"Okay, buddy, you need to back the hell off and close your mouth before I punch it shut."

His eyes flickered to you and he rose a brow mockingly.

"Oh, your little slut's standing up for you know? I always knew you were a chicken, guess my theory's been pro-"

You cut him off with a punch to the nose, smiling when you heard the satisfying crack of his bones and his howls of pain.

A collective 'ooh' came from the crowd, and they took a few steps back (excluding Tom of course, who was only looking at you with wide eyes).

"What the fuck?"

"I warned you, didn't I?"

You smirked evilly as Teddy was pulled away by the coach to check his injury.

"You're a bitch!"

"Baddest of them all, sweetheart. Have a fun time at the hospital!"

The whole crowd had gone silent by the time you turned back around, seemingly satisfied with your vengeance.

"What?"

You tilted your head in confusion at the awestruck looks on the team's faces.

"You broke his nose!"

"Uh-huh."

"With just your hand."

"Uh-huh."

"Since when are you so violent?"

You were actually kind of offended at that.

"I know that I bring you guys snacks after practice, but do none of you hear when I threaten other people? It's a daily occurrence."

The rubbed their necks sheepishly.

"Well, you see..."

Haz started, seemingly measuring his words.

"You're kind of like Rosa from Brooklyn Nine-Nine. No one actually knows what you're capable of, no one thinks you'd actually kill someone, but we're also kind of too scared to test you, so we just... wonder."

"Well, when you're done wondering, go take a shower so we can go celebrate, I'm hungry."

They all scrambled away in a chorus of 'yes ma'am' before you turned back to Tom with a smile on your face.

"You didn't have to punch him, you know?"

"Yeah, but I've been wanting to for weeks now."

He huffed out a laugh and kissed your forehead.

"How're your knuckles?"

"A bit sore, but I'm pretty sure that if we put some ice it'll be good, the rings took most of the impact."

You wiggled your hand, showing off the array of rings covering your fingers in what you deemed to be an aesthetically pleasing way.

"I love you, babygirl."

You kissed him, smiling into his lips.

"I love you too. Now go, shower!"

You patted his butt and laughed at the look he threw you, standing next to the field while you waited for them to get out.

Their coach came to stand next to you and you smiled at him, having taken a liking for him. He was a good teacher and treated the team well.

"Coach Jeffords."

"(Y/n)."

"What's the verdict?"

"Nurse says it's broken but we'll only know the full extent of his injuries after he gets examined at the ER. He's on his way there as we speak."

You nodded.

"You'll be pleased to know that he's been taken off the team and suspended for a week for unruly behavior. His parents aren't going to press charges since they feel it's deserved."

You smirked evilly.

"I'd advise you to watch out for Pembroke. He's starting to become a nuisance. If he keeps it up, he might be next."

He nodded, fighting back his smile even though you knew damn well he agreed.

"I'll do my best."

"And I'll do mine."

"(Y/n)! Ready to go?"

You nodded in goodbye at the coach and walked over to a freshly showered Tom, interlacing your fingers.

"Always."

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Taglists: (if your name is striked through it means for some reason tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you)

PERMA TAG 

@jeezkiddo @beananacake @yoinkyourheart @averyfosterthoughts​ @onebigolemess​ @samoney69​ @agirlwithpointlessideas​ @ddaawwssoonn @inhumanwithpowers​ @imagineshere-forall​ @stiles-banshees​ @orowit​ @spideynut​ @deathofmissjackson​ @ephemeral-limerences​ @write-from-the-heart​ @cardboard-ben​ @my-alignment-is-bisexual​ @mendes-marvel​ @shawnsnovel​ @inthecornerchair​ @lovelynerdytraveler​ @niallssweetheart22​ 

ACTORS/RPF TAG 

@bubblegumbarnes​ @sofiaconlaz​ 

TOM HOLLAND TAG 

@tomsirishgirlx​ @dreaming-lia​ @markleehee​ @juliebean247​ @gypsystuf​ @quechulitaaa​ @theoretical-theo​ @bubblegumbarnes​  @sofiaconlaz​ @underooling​ @hannahholland1811​ @bellaaa321-blog​ @parkerpetertingle​ @emily-louise-hynes @clara-licht​ @ekelly2015​ @inlovewithmobtom​ @quaksonhehe​ @danicarosaline​ @arts-ismything​ @peachyafshawn @tutuabby28​ @sovereignparker​ @tokhalaxoxo​ @cathwritestragediesnotsins​ @incorrect-things​ 

#tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff #tom holland #jock!tom #jock!tom x reader #high school #high school au #mcu #avengers #marvel #mcu spiderman #peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #harrison osterfield #haz osterfield #fluff

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Foiled Intentions

Russingon, 2215 words, M

On Ao3

Maedhros was behind the door, which at the moment appeared more impenetrable than the gates of Angband. Fingon stood and waited, a tiny part of him still hoping that Maedhros would open the door without him knocking. Maedhros knew he was there, Fingon was certain. But he wouldn’t, he would never open the door. He would pretend he couldn’t feel Fingon standing on the other side, his heartbeat loud enough to count as knocking. He would put another brick on the wall he had started to build between them almost as soon as he was able to think coherently.

If Fingon didn’t talk to him now, there was no telling when he would have another chance. Maedhros would leave for his camp, which was in the middle of packing, then they would ride to the East, so Maedhros could put physical distance between them too. Fingon couldn’t let it happen, not without trying to talk to him. He knocked.

The moment of waiting stretched as the endless night had over the Ice, and then Maedhros said: “Come in.”

He was getting ready for bed, leaning against the headboard with a book in hand, his hair bound in a bun on top of his head, the sleeves of his nightshirt loose and flowing. There was a sudden tremor in Fingon’s knees, so he bit his lip and centered his gaze on the headboard to avoid distractions.

“Were you looking for something?” Maedhros asked mildly.

“For you,” Fingon said, already frustrated by the dismissive tone.

“Well, you found me.” He didn’t sound very pleased about it. “What did you want? But make it quick, please, I am tired and I still have a council and a ride to my camp ahead tomorrow.”

He didn’t even offer Fingon to sit. He intended to do what he always did – to offer empty phrases, to feign weariness, and to send Fingon on his way. But not this time, Fingon wouldn’t let him.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, slowly lowering his gaze from the headboard to Maedhros’s eyes.

“I presumed we had discussed everything at the meeting with your father today.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What else is there to talk about?”

“Drop the pretenses. You know what I mean. I am not going to leave until we have talked about us.” 

Maedhros gave him an indulgent smile. “Oh, Fingon. Are you still on about that? I thought we had agreed that it was a bad idea.”

“We haven’t agreed on anything. You decided that it was, and even that I had to guess because you never told me. You just started to distance yourself from me, and you did it so stealthily that at first I didn’t notice.”

His voice didn’t quiver, but from the way Maedhros’s smile faded, Fingon knew his cousin had noticed the effort it took him to hold steady.

“I hate seeing you so miserable,” Maedhros said.

Those must have been the first sincere words Maedhros had spoken to him in months. Fingon decided to answer him in kind.

“You hold my happiness in your hands,” he said.

“Not a very secure place,” Maedhros said, raising his right arm.

Fingon didn’t flinch. “You know what I mean,” he repeated.

Maedhros ran a hand over his face. “You are determined to get what you want, aren’t you? All right, then.”

Without waiting for Fingon to confirm or deny the claim, he rose smoothly and stood before Fingon, too close for comfort. Fingon made to step away, but Maedhros’s hand was suddenly at the hem of his breeches. 

“What are you doing?” Fingon asked when it was already too late, when he was naked from the waist to the knees.

“Can’t you guess?” Maedhros asked.

The only indication that Fingon wasn’t the only one affected was the color that rose along Maedhros’s neck. 

“Sit,” Maedhros said.

He put his palm on Fingon’s chest, and Fingon dropped down on the bed. He opened his mouth to say something. He didn’t know what, but surely he had to. But then Maedhros knelt before him, squeezed his knee, lowered his head, and Fingon forgot all the words.

It lasted for an eternity, and simultaneously it was just a moment not long enough to blink. Fingon was hyperaware of everything – the coarseness of the woolen blanket under his fingers, Maedhros’s bun brushing against his stomach, Maedhros’s mouth on him – and at the same time, he was lost, absent from his own mind, drifting somewhere unreachable. He was nailed to the bed, he wouldn’t be able to move even if the world broke right at that moment, and yet he was rushing upwards with dizzying speed; or perhaps he was falling down; there was no way to tell, no sense of direction, nothing.

Someone was patting his thigh. He opened his eyes and saw Maedhros sitting on the floor in front of him, a teasing smile on his red lips. Fingon’s own lips were smarting. He must have bitten them to pieces. A few strands of Maedhros’s hair had been freed from his bun and had fallen down his face. Fingon must have done it. He recalled the softness of Maedhros’s hair in his hand but couldn’t remember the action of touching it. 

He found himself smiling back carefully, still not willing to trust this sudden turn of events but hopeful that it was for the better.

“Happy now?” Maedhros said. 

Even sinking underwater after stepping on a treacherous piece of ice hadn’t frozen him so swiftly and suddenly. If only Maedhros’s words had been taunting or resentful. But they were genuinely meant, and it was worse.

Maedhros’s face fell. “You are not happy,” he said. Slowly, he moved back on the bed, sat on it cross-legged, and stared at Fingon. “Tell me, then. Tell me what will make you happy, and let's finally be done with it. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” Fingon said shallowly, mechanically, as if compelled by an external force. "I want all of you. I offer you all of me. I want you to be mine, and I want to be yours. But...”  He licked his lips, cracked and wounded from biting. “If you do not want it, then neither do I. I don't just want you to make me happy, I want you to be happy too.”

“Fingon,” Maedhros said in a voice he hadn't used since Valinor, the one he saved for when Fingon said something endearing but entirely impossible.

I wish there would be a way to grow wings and fly like a bird, Fingon would say, I wish I could hold a star in my hand, I wish we could go away together, I wish your father would accept mine. And Maedhros would smile and say Fingon in that voice of his. And even though it was a denial of his wish, it was still a tender and fond one, so Fingon would sigh and bask in the particular flavor of tranquil happiness he felt whenever he was with Maedhros. It didn’t make him happy now. Now it made him livid.

“Fine!” he said, scrambling to his feet. “If you are so determined to make your own existence miserable, who am I to stand in your way? Wallow in your guilt and self-pity as long as you want. I will disturb you no longer.”

He turned to leave, but Maedhros caught his hand. A startled gasp left Fingon’s lips, and he stood still, heart pumping a furious, knife-sharp hope through his veins. 

“What?” he said.

“Don’t leave angry.”

“What?”

“I don’t want you to leave here still angry with me. It was not my intention to antagonize you. I hoped you would understand.”

“What is there to understand?”

“Fingon, you have seen as clearly as I have that our closeness brings you nothing but misery. To chase that closeness again is counter-logical, suicidal almost. I cannot allow that.”

“So our closeness just now that you initiated, incidentally, was what, a hallucination, a fluke?”

“I hoped that would be enough for you, and we would put an end to this.”

Fingon snatched his hand away and rounded on Maedhros. “Are you serious? Who do you think I am? Do you even realize how condescending, how insulting that sounds?”

“That wasn’t—”

“Your intention, I know! Nonetheless, it was what it was. Stop it. Just tell me you don’t want this, and I will leave. I will understand. I will know it’s not what you want, and I will adapt. No reasons, no justifications, no explanations of why it would be a bad idea. Just tell me your heart doesn’t want me. Can you? Can you do it?”

“Fingon,” Maedhros said patiently, as though Fingon was a child and not even a particularly bright one. 

“Stop it!” Fingon exclaimed. “I know what I want. I know what it means. Did you really believe that you could throw me a bone and be done with it? Is that who you think I am? Is that all I am to you? I just want to talk to you about us, not even about us, about anything except strategy and politics without you pushing me away in that infuriating way of yours that screams for everyone to hear that you know better. For all your humble act, that’s awfully arrogant. I did what I did knowingly. I want what I want knowingly. You didn’t force my hand in Alqualondë.   

“No,” he cried before Maedhros would interrupt him to object. “You didn’t. I did it by my own free will. I crossed the Helcaraxë because I wanted to. I reached Thangorodrim because I wanted to. Not everything is about you, you know? Can’t you respect me enough to treat me as anything else but a reckless youngster chasing after his fleeting desires? Even now, after everything that happened? Why does your opinion in this matter prevail over mine when it’s about my feelings and my desires? Why are you so sure you are right, and I am wrong? Why do you think I don’t know what I am choosing and you do? If I asked you if you truly believe yourself so wise, you would spare no ugly word to disparage yourself. And yet here you are, acting as if I know nothing and you know everything.”

His voice was threatening to break, so he stopped shouting. In the silence, the only sound was his harsh breathing. Maedhros had his eyes shut tightly, and Fingon worried that he had gone too far. Then Maedhros sagged against the pillows and raised his head to look at him.

“You are right,” he said.

The shock of those three words almost knocked Fingon out. “What.”

“You are right. I treated you irreverently. I was condescending and insulting, and I am sorry.”

Fingon hated that he couldn’t tell if Maedhros spoke true, or if Fingon had just bullied him into surrender. He had done that before, during Maedhros’s recovery. Had had to do that for Maedhros’s own sake, had pestered him to eat, to sleep, to accept medicine so stubbornly that Maedhros often had just said yes, so he would be left alone. 

He couldn’t ask, though. If he did, Maedhros would just deny it, even to himself. 

“I am sorry for shouting,” he said instead, sitting on the bed.

“You had a point.”

“Still. I shouldn’t have.”

Maedhros smiled weakly. “Apology accepted. Do you accept mine?”

“What does it mean for us?” Fingon asked cautiously.

“What do you want it to mean?”

“What do you intend it to mean?”

“Fingon,” Maedhros laughed. “After your impassioned speech about knowing what you want, I would think you would be bolder.”

“Fine,” Fingon said. If he wanted Maedhros to trust him, he had to extend the same trust to Maedhros and accept that his words weren’t just the weary response of someone who didn’t want to be yelled at anymore. “I told you what I want. I want you not to push me away if your heart desires me. No matter what you believe is sensible or right, if your heart tells you so, I want you to let me be yours.”

“All right.”

“All right? That’s it?”

“Well, I still don’t think trusting my heart is a good idea. But that’s what my mind is telling me, and I don’t trust it either. So I will trust you as I should have done from the beginning. Does that sound reasonable to you?”

Fingon sighed. “Not really, but I’ll take it.”

Maedhros thought for a moment. “Good enough,” he said. “Well? Do we have an agreement then?”

“We do.”

“And if my heart wants to have you in my arms, should I listen to it?”

“You should.”

“I’m going to trust you on that.”

Fingon tried not to smile, still disoriented from the sudden change and not a little angry, but it was so hard when Maedhros was smiling, when Maedhros was reaching for him, when Maedhros was wrapping his arms around him, leaning his head against Fingon’s temple and pressing his lips to his jaw. He stopped fighting, releasing a breath and with it all the remaining anger and worries, and then turned his face to catch Maedhros’s lips. 

#fingon #maedhros #russingon #silmarillion #here's my fic for april #it's not the one i thought i'd write #but i still did it so i'm happy #pretty self-indulgent i have to say #yes this is the clown fic #i actually thought if i could do maedhros's line in comic sans #i don't know what's with me and making my otp argue #at least they make up in this one? #zwc fic

[panharmonium]

@dreamersscape​ please forgive me for tagging you in a post to respond to your comments; tumblr’s reply feature is hard to have an extended/coherent conversation on, and I’m so excited to talk to a kindred Naruto spirit that I knew I was gonna write too much for it all to fit in that space XD

re: hinata - Oh my gosh, YES, my sister and I were so frustrated by how they just completely never addressed that moment again.  I wasn't surprised, because it's been clear from the beginning that this show doesn't really care much about women, so the female characters' storylines getting dropped or never explored in the first place is pretty much what I've always expected, but it's still infuriating.  

Honestly, the only good thing about this show's general disinterest in women is that it means that I don't place any blame on in-story Naruto for never addressing what Hinata did for him, because I know the fact that we don't see him dealing with her confession isn't actually intended to communicate anything about his reaction/non-reaction/level of investment; it's literally just a function of the fact that the writer doesn't care about her story.  It's the same way I feel about how we see so much less one-on-one time between Kakashi and Sakura - her lack of screentime with him isn't something about which a person can credibly argue "Oh, this means Kakashi doesn't care about her enough and he's a bad teacher etc etc," because the imbalance isn’t a deliberate writing decision we're supposed to analyze for characterization.  It's a reflection of the fact that the entire show is super sexist. XD

re: danzo: It’s one thing to have your villain believe himself to the hero of his own story, and like, another to have Danzo basically tout having darkness in your heart being a great thing and encouraging it’s presence/cultivating it - lmao YES!  And honestly, this is why I actually find Danzo LESS infuriating than the Third Hokage.  Like, Danzo is Super Evil and every time he exploits another child I want to watch him die all over again, but at least he like....owns his horribleness?  Whereas Hiruzen is the biggest hypocrite on the planet - when I rewatched the Shonen Jump stuff a while back (my sister and I took a little break prior to Season 11 and rewatched some old stuff), I couldn't stand listening to Hiruzen go on and on about how the entire Leaf Village is his family and it's his role to protect all of them etc etc, because like - he literally covered up the genocide of Sasuke's entire family and let the perpetrator remain in power (and that was before I even knew about all these other crimes he allowed to go unpunished!!!)  Danzo may be the Worst, but at least he's not pretending to be anything other than what he is.  Hiruzen is still acting like he's everybody's sweet old grandpa, and that makes me even more angry than Danzo's straight-up horribleness.  (And I do agree with you, they definitely lean harder into the "Lord Third is amazing" stuff pre-Shippuden, I just still feel confused about what the show is ultimately trying to say about him because we haven't gotten an explicit enough condemnation of his choices yet, and I feel like it's way overdue XD )

re: minato - Hard agree that Minato is an enigma.  I don't feel like I fully understand him either - and not in a bad way, just in the sense that he's hard to read.  The toughest thing for me to parse was always how distant he seemed with his students, which was surprising to me at first, because he'd been built up as sort of this "ideal shinobi" figure for such a long time, but to me, an ideal shinobi teacher looks more like...well, Kakashi, to be honest.  And it took a while for me to reconcile with the fact that Minato and Kakashi really do just relate to their students very differently.  I think Minato has always been a soldier, and I think he sees children as soldiers, too - not in an evil way at all, just in the sense that this is how the shinobi world works, and how it has always worked.  It's not a "wrong" way to perceive shinobi kids, in the context of the story's universe.  And so when things happen to those kids, he absolutely cares, but it's also sort of just a grim fact of life for him.  It's like when Kushina tells him she doesn't want to make Naruto a jinchuriki, and she asks 'why do we have to do that to him, why does he have to suffer that way for the sake of the balance of power between nations,' and Minato's response is “Because our family is Shinobi.”  That was a really telling moment for me in terms of how he sees the world.  It's not something I'm interested in condemning him for, like you said; I don't think the story is ever asking us to do that, it’s just a philosophy that's very different from how Kakashi sees things and what he thinks children's experiences should be like.  

I guess what I ultimately think (from the material we’ve seen so far, at least) is that Minato seems to perceive the loss of his students as something that Kakashi is struggling with, not something he himself is agonizing over.  It’s a very sad thing that happened, of course, but it’s just part of the way their world works/a function of the times they live in.  It's not something Minato is tormenting himself about.  Whereas I think that if Kakashi ever lost a kid, it would have killed him.  And I don't think this fact is in any way supposed to paint Minato as a bad person.  He's not!  All it means is that there is a generational difference between the world Kakashi and Co. are trying to create and the world Minato always knew, and people like Minato are doing the best they can with the framework they have.  

I do like the guy a lot - and I wonder what he might have been like if he had lived to see a permanent peace established.

re: little Yamato - oh boy, those episodes nearly ended me.  I am already very, very, VERY weak for Kakashi and Yamato’s friendship, and seeing Kakashi rescue Yamato from that horrible place (literally and metaphorically) was too much for me to handle.  Kakashi’s silhouette replacing Danzo in Yamato’s memories of being rescued from Orochimaru’s lab - that slew me.  And the way Danzo tells Yamato “you have no past, no future, no name” juxtaposed with Kakashi introducing Yamato as Tenzo because he remembers from three years ago how Yamato once rebelled at being called Kinoe and yelled “MY NAME IS TENZO” - Kakashi just using that chosen name without hesitation, without question, without needing to be told...it all ties back into the recent thematic throughline the show is working with about Identity - the importance of the Tailed Beasts having names, Kabuto’s desperate and misguided search for “who and what he is,” Itachi reclaiming his true self by undoing the reanimation justu and declaring “I am Itachi Uchiha of the Leaf Village,” Obito claiming that his real name doesn’t matter anymore, that he’s Nobody...it’s fantastic how they’re pulling all this together.

re: Kakashi and little Naruto - oh man, the feelings.  I agree with you that Kakashi was in no place to be dealing with this, but certainly under different circumstances I think he would have loved to be a part of baby Naruto’s life.  I actually think the reasoning behind “let’s put Kakashi in a situation where he’s in close contact with someone bringing new life into the world” is sound - I think that would be a really good thing for him!  Just not in the sense of “you’re Kushina’s personal bodyguard, so if anything happens to her and the baby you can blame yourself for it.” XD  Like...Minato could have invited Kakashi in for dinner sometimes, instead of having him constantly stand guard under their window???  If it had been more “we care about you and we want you to be a part of our family”....ugh, that would have been amazing.  Kakashi is already SO good with Naruto (who is NOT by any means an easy kid to manage) - he just has such good instincts about how to talk to that kid and teach him in ways that work WITH Naruto’s particular brand of high motivation/low frustration tolerance, ping-pong emotional extremes, explosive energy levels, zero impulse control, and an inability to process more than one thing at a time.  Handling Naruto effectively would be a challenging project for any teacher, never mind taking care of Naruto and two other kids, but Kakashi is a natural at it.  It would have been awesome to see what Kakashi was like with Naruto when they were even younger...though the Feels might knocked me out.

[also, you mentioned Naruto and Obito - I cannot even tell you the Extremest Agonies I was in when the big reveal happened and I had to hear Naruto blankly go “who is he” - utterly clueless, without the faintest idea that he’s looking at the person who shaped his entire moral philosophy.  The amount of things that these kids don’t know...that fact that Naruto has been quoting this very person all his life and making all his major life decisions based on the lesson Kakashi relayed to them on Day One - Obito’s words - oh boy oh boy I was not capable of handling that even the littlest bit.]

#*high fives your brain right back* #feel free to gush about this show anytime - i am right there with ya! :D #replies #naruto #pan watches naruto

[a-mended-pact]

Chapter : Seven

This chapter is Reader and Spencer finally discussing what's going on. It's a little angst but a semi happy ending.

Taglist is open. 🥰

Part 6

This one is definitely one of my favorite chapters I've written so far.

Word count: 3,121

I am currently experiencing heavy writers block so I would love to know your thoughts or theories!

If you have questions for the series please message or send an ask.

Requests are open

I ended up walking out of the room and I could feel myself shaking. I was infuriated. I had been so upset with everything that happened between Spencer and Cat that I couldn’t see straight. Maybe I was being overly emotional but to be fair I still haven’t slept yet. Spencer had followed me out but neither of us made it far before I saw Ethan sitting in the break room talking to Jj. I glanced at Spencer then back at him. ‘He deserves to be in a cell, not in our break room. You and I both know that.’ He sighed and nodded knowing damn well now was not the time to fully argue with me. My hands were sore. I needed a release from the stress of the past couple of days. I would much rather the endorphins get released by Spencer and I tangled within the sheets.

It had been sometime since Spencer and I had been intimate due to work and me just not being in the mood because of the recent changes in my medication. We hadn’t openly discussed what had been going on with us to anyone on the team. At least I didn't. I wanted to keep things to myself. I had always suffered with dark thoughts and bad coping mechanisms. It wasn’t until Spencer pointed it out when we started living together. That it wasn't pointed out to me. He had spoken to me about it as gently as possible because he understood it was a sensitive topic that could either make me sob or be deeply upset with him and push him away. 

It luckily ended in me trusting his judgement and he set me up with a psychologist. Within a month of therapy they decided I needed meds for my issues. Mood stabilizers, Antidepressants and anxiety medication. It took a lot of trial and error for us to find the right ones that worked for me. I was lucky enough to have a person in my life to love me through the changes I had to experience during that time. I unfortunately suffered from a hazy mind. If I get too focused on something I tend to forget to take all of the above. Spencer always kept a track of when I took them. He’d message me when I needed to when we weren’t together no matter what. 

Of course he couldn’t when he was kidnapped. So here I was having a hard time processing everything I needed to. ‘You need to go home and sleep, eat and take your medication my love.’ As he spoke he cupped my face and rubbed his thumb over my cheek. I couldn’t help but notice the way Ethan looked at me with envy from the other room when I wasn’t staring into Spencer’s golden irises. A part of me felt like Spencer was just trying to get rid of me but I also knew he needed to come home and rest too. I can’t imagine he actually got any while he was kidnapped even if he was presumably only with Ethan. 

I grabbed his hand and held it to my face as I leaned into it. I didn’t care that I had to stretch out my freshly made wounds. If anything the pain was a nice distraction from the whirlwind my mind had become from the ticking of the hours that had gone by. ‘Please come home with me. Ethan will be taken care of and it’s not like the Kitten can get out of her cell. Please.’ His eyes softened as he heard me speak and he went to shake his head no until Emily spoke up from behind us. 

‘Both of you are going home. Neither of you have a choice in the matter. Everyone here has gotten rest but you two. The rest of the team and I can handle this by ourselves for a little while. Go home you two.’ She spoke loud enough to cause a scene and I couldn’t help but wince as everyone stared. ‘She’s right you haven’t eaten a proper meal Y/L/N in days’ Rossi commented from the peanut gallery. I pulled Spencer’s hand away from my face and squeezed it tightly. I hated being called out by anyone that wasn’t him. He has learned how to do it without making me feel guilty over the past couple of years. Right now all I felt was guilt. Guilty over the fact that on top of worrying about Spencer they were worried about me as well. I was such a screw up I swear. ‘ I agree I think I saw you resting your eyes maybe 10 minutes before you headed to the vending machine for an energy drink because the coffee wasn’t working for you anymore.’ Luke commented as he brought me my cardigan that I had draped over my chair at my desk. I sighed as I looked at him. 

‘Guys we are going. I promise.’ Spencer spoke as he began to pull my hand lightly to lead me away from everyone. ‘Don’t forget to put him in a holding cell.’ I said as I pointed at Ethan as his eyes never seemed to leave Spencer and I. I locked on to his gaze and followed his line of sight. Correction: it wasn’t on both of us. It was only on Spencer. 

I squeezed his hand harder than I probably should have. I didn't care. Ethan was truly creeping me out at that moment. Why was he staring at my husband like a child that had their favorite comfort item taken from them as a punishment.  Perhaps in a way that's what I was doing. I knew the moment he and I left they would treat him like an unsub as they should. He'd get no special treatment because Spencer wouldn't be around. I was giddy at the thought and let out a small laugh as I walked out of the building with him in tow.

-----------------

I felt a weight leave my chest when Y/n asked me to shower with her. I logically knew it was probably because she couldn't bring herself to actually wash her hair or even herself.  I was just thrilled over the fact that once our front door was locked into place she didn't turn around and snap at me about what happened between Cat and I.  I knew what I let happen bothered her greatly. We've spoken about it before many times.  I knew this time though I had almost opened Pandora's box. Perhaps I had only placed the key into it instead. 

Still pulling her into my arms as the hot water washed over us was enough to make me sob into her freshly washed hair. I never wanted her to doubt my love for her. Yet here I was showing attraction to two different people and that wasn't fair to her. Sure it hadn't been spoken about nor did she know about the relationship Ethan and I shared when we were much younger. She had a right to know. I knew that. I also knew now wasn't the time to mention it.

I felt her put her full weight into me as the water droplets rolled down her soft skin. She seemed so fragile.  We seemed so fragile.  Maybe I was overthinking. Maybe I was making up scenarios that would never come. Her hand inched up tracing the wound on my chest underneath it's bandage. I tried not to wince but no matter how gently she caressed it with her fingertips it still stung like it did when it was given to me mere days ago.

'I can't believe he did this to you.' Her voice was barely a whisper as if she too were afraid it would shatter the solace we found behind a mere shower curtain.  I caught her hand in mine and placed it over my heart. I leaned in and kissed her as gently as I could muster. She returned it in kind but I could tell she had more to say. So of course I let her. 

'He hurt you Spence and all you've done is protect him. I want to understand but I can't seem to wrap my head around why you'd protect a man that did such awful things to you.' As she spoke I remembered why I let him get away with it. It was simple. I couldn't remember who had actually hurt me. If it were him or Lindsey.  I never coherently saw her. I only saw him and I felt like that was deliberately done. 

'Sweetheart, do you trust me and my judgment on the matter?' As I spoke I pulled away from her to turn the water off and grab a towel wrapping her up in one first before I grabbed my own to dry myself off too. I watched in awe as she dried off and her breast jiggled as she did so. I had to turn my gaze away. Now was certainly not the time to be trying to bed my wife. I would be lying though if I said I didn't want to distract myself from everything that had happened these past few days.

Her and I both needed rest. She needed to eat first to take her medicine.  That was top priority not my raging lust for her. 'I do. I just. I don't know there's things I don't know that I need to know before I make my final judgement on the situation. All I know is that my husband has been sexually touched, kidnapped and tortured in a matter of days and there was nothing I could do to change the outcome besides not walking out of the bureau when Cat touched you through your slacks!'  

I could hear the frustration in her voice as she pulled on her panties and one of my t-shirts from college.  I watched her as she quickly left the bathroom to head into the kitchen. I quickly slid on my gray sweats and rushed after her. I didn't like the idea of her being alone when she was angry and not in a great state of mind. 

'I'm sorry.' I pulled her into me as she began to make herself toast. I placed a kiss on the junction between her neck and shoulder. 'I should have stopped the whole thing sooner. I just kept trying because I was certain if I did she'd slip up but she never did.' 

By now I knew how Y/N's mind worked. 'Spencer you didn't stop her because you didn't want to. Whether you understand your attraction to her or not. You've always wanted to sleep with her. You yourself told me so when we were just friends. Don't start lying to me now about things' She pulled away from me and took the toast and her glass of water to the couch.

I realized then that she had actually made me some toast as well. I turned around to grab my own glass of water and her medicine. I sat beside her and sighed. 'Eat first then take your medicine. If you are feeling up to it I'll tell you before we go to bed tonight. Everything you need to know and probably things you'd rather not hear but as my wife and my best friend you have the right to know everything.' 

She nodded as she bit into her food. Tears were silently streaming down her face already. I knew right now that it wasn't because of me. Not fully anyway she was just overwhelmed.  

We ate in silence. I handed her; her pills and she took them without complaint. If anything she seemed rather numb to everything around her.

'Maybe telling you should wait.' I said as I pulled her to me. 'Thank you for not fighting with me about taking your medicine.' I kissed her cheek. 'I'm proud of you and how well you've held yourself together while I was gone.' She wasn't codependent on me per say but praise was always something I gave her. Especially after mom started to pick fights with me about her medication.  Y/n was a walk in the park for me compared to her. She always felt bad that I needed to take care of her when she wasn't in her right state of mind. 

To be honest though I love taking care of her. She was perfectly capable of doing anything and everything on her own but she trusted me enough to shut her brain off for a bit and let me take the reins for a few hours or even days. Right at this moment was one of those times. It's not like I didn't have days and times like her where I shut my mind off as well because I did and she would baby me and look after me like I am her at this very moment. 

'I'd rather you tell me right now. I don't have the urge to fight or to do much of anything.' I nodded as I pulled her up with me and led her to the bed laying down with her and holding her from behind.

'First and foremost. I am in love with you with every fiber of my being. I don't ever want you to doubt that but I'll understand after I tell you everything if you do but I need you to always remember I will choose you without hesitation, without question.' She nodded after I was done. My fingers traced up and down her hand as I held her as close as possible. 

'I'll always be your best friend first. Then your wife. That was something I told you on our wedding day and I plan to stick by that choice. I only ask that you stay remaining honest with me. I can't stand not knowing what's going on in your mind. As long as we stay honest with one another I know that we can make it through anything.' She pulled my hand up to her lips and kissed it and I couldn't help but sigh in relief. She was more than I deserved and I don't think anyone would ever understand how much I didn't deserve her.

'I'm not sure if it was Ethan that hurt me. I know he was the one to kidnap me but other than that I don't believe it was him. He would never hurt someon-' I stopped myself as I was searching for the right words. I could tell she was waiting with baited breath. 'Ethan would never hurt me like that would most likely be the proper word to say.'

She nodded 'You're holding back love. Just say what needs to be said.  I can take it.'

I bit my lip and exhaled. 'Ethan wouldn't hurt me like that because he has been in love with me since college. We um.. he was- i-' I was struggling trying to form words. The past Ethan and I had together was a good one but he was also my first heartbreak. 

'He was your first love huh? It's okay Spence we all have a past. Some of us just don't stay close to those from it.' As she spoke she rolled over to face me with a soft smile on her lips. 'Keep going. It's okay.' I know all of her wanted to cup my face but she restrained herself and just made due fiddling with my wedding band on my finger. Which is something she always did when we were having a deep conversation. I knew as long as she was playing with mine and not her own that we were okay.

`We were friends for a long time before him and I became intimate with one another.  We always sorta stepped around the subject but one day after class he asked me out on a movie date. One thing led to another and I was in his room and we- we slept together.' She nodded again telling me to continue as her eyes stayed on her moving fingers. 

I made a face. It's not the fact that I didn't want to tell her it was just the fact that I didn't know how. 

'We dated all of college and then we separated when I joined the academy. I made it and he didn't.  We grew apart. One thing led to another and I caught him in a very intimate position with someone. He claimed that the other person involved was the one that started it. He didn't have time to react before I walked out.' 

I didn't dare look at her. I knew it was dumb of me to still be so hurt by what happened between him and I but I was. I trusted him deeply even to this day but I just couldn't let go of the way it looked like that wasn't their first kiss. No matter how many times he proved to me that it was.

Her hand moved to cup my face as she kissed away the small tears that I was shedding.

'I'm sorry he broke your heart Spencer.  You didn't deserve that.'

'After I left we never fully spoke again. I never gave him the time of day. Not fully.  We'd talk as friends and we'd talk for cases such as where Jj met Will but other than that I just shut anything to do with him out.'

I looked at her finally, my vision blurry with unshed tears and she looked at me and smiled softly at me. 'The truth is I was in love with him.  After him I fell in love with Maeve. Then I met you and it's like everything started making sense again.  I'd be lying if I said I wasn't drawn to you originally because in some aspects you reminded me of him.  I think that was one of the reasons I first realized I was attracted to you.'

She pulled me in suddenly and kissed me sweetly on the lips.  'I love you Spencer. You and the things that make you, you now. We need to talk about Catherine but I'm getting very very sleepy and all I want from you right now is for you to let me drown in you and pretend for a small amount of time that these past few days haven't happened.' 

I pulled her into me and held her as she buried her face into my hair.  'I love you Mrs Reid more than you will ever be able to comprehend.'

With that we both fell asleep for the first time in 4 days. 

Taglist:

@sassymoon @rainsong01 @onlyhereforthefanfics @itsdars

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer x reader #spencer x you #unsteady keys #spencer x y/n #spencer x reader insert

[weirdlyhornyforegos]

Actor Mark x reader

Anon: now let me know if this request is too vague but uhhh. but uhhh. can I top the Actor? lemme (consentually) wreck his shit p l e a s e. ah no strong pronoun preference; gender neutral i.e. they/them is 👌 but however you want

Anon: Hey! I hope you are doing well; this random idea popped into my head, but how would the egos react if their S/O spoke a foreign language, like French? Do you think it would turn them on at all? (Also, if you are interested/have the time, could we p o s s i b l y get a lil story based off of it with any ego of your choosing?)

MINORS DNI! Dude, mood honestly. I combined these two requests cause I could ;) And a super big thank you to @roncemorte​ for translating the French!!

Ever since you found out about Mark’s love for French, you had practically been vibrating with excitement to use it for, or rather on him.

But you have to wait; wait for the perfect moment to strike and fluster him the most. 

Which tonights fancy dinner party at some rich directors place turns out to be the perfect setting for.

You and Mark are just taking a little break from socialising with other people, simply standing together while you people watch, your arm slung across his back and holding on his hip. You plant a kiss on his cheek, he just hums in response as he watches some sort of drama between two female guests play out.

“Chéri, vous êtes éblouissant ce soir, je pense même que vous pourriez voler la vedette aux étoiles.” The reaction is almost instant as Mark realises what language you just spoke to him. His head whips around and the look in his face is one of great surprise.

“You speak French?”

“Oui, mon cher.”

“I could tell there was a yes in there. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Oh, je ne sais point? Peut-être pour voir votre magnifique réaction? I am going to speak it for the rest of the evening, let us see how long you will last.” You briefly brush your lips against his.

“Mon amour, vous allez être dans tous ces états à la fin de la nuit, je vous le promets.” You can tell Mark is already getting a little flustered, a small blush creeping up above his collar. 

Which means it’s the perfect moment to yell out for an old friend, leaving Mark to himself and his own thoughts.

Throughout the night, you keep whispering sweet and wonderful things in Mark’s ear, never stopping by him for long.

“Mon amour pour vous est sans limites.”

“Je vous aime plus que tout au monde.”

“Je pense que tu serais ravissant à genoux mon amour.” 

“Je veux vous embrasser à vous en couper le souffle.”

“Pensez-vous que je pourrais vous mettre dans tous ces états sous moi ce soir?”

You keep going, as Mark gets more and more flustered, and more, and more red. 

Eventually, you’re yanked into a bedroom as you walk by on your way back from getting another drink. 

Mark presses you against the door as soon as it is closed behind you, not caring that some of your drink sloshes over the edge of the glass. His lips are on yours within an instance. You let him dominate the kiss for a moment before he pulls back.

“You are infuriating.”

“So are you, you made me spill some of my drink.” You shift your drink over to your other hand, licking away what you can of your drink from your wet hand. Mark groans at the sight, hiding his face in your shoulder.

“You know what the fuck I mean.” You grin, putting a hand under his chin, tilting his head up.

“Oh, vous voulez dire comme ça ? Il vous est difficile de paraitre normal près des autres lorsque je parle ainsi?”

“You’re evil.” Mark kisses you again, and you hum into the kiss. When his hands start to wander, you stop him with your unoccupied hand.

“Not here. Je veux vous ramener à la maison pour pouvoir vous prendre correctement.” Mark groans, and you grin, getting off the door so you can drag him out into the party once more.

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

When it’s finally time to leave, Mark is so eager to get home that he barely says his goodbyes before he is out the door, you in tow. 

You had walked to the party since you do not live far away, which is now torture for Mark. 

His grip on your arm is strong, and he’s more or less trying to drag you home faster. You’re having none of it, purposefully slowing him down with your hand on his.

“Slow down, mon amour. Je ne vais pas vous baiser plus vite.” Mark does slow down, but you can tell he is impatient.

As soon as the door is closed behind you at home, Mark is dragging you once more, now towards the bedroom. 

This time you let him, even letting him push you down on the bed, and straddle your hips as soon as you’re fully in it. He tries to lean down to kiss you, but you lean up and stop him with a hand under his chin.

“Mon amour, slow down. Je veux que vous preniez le temps d’apprécier cette nuit, non pas vous hâter.” Then you let him kiss you, his arms going around your shoulders, and yours around his back.

Mark is insistent, pushing you into the mattress with his kisses. He shifts a little so he’s laying between your legs, rocking his hips into yours, arousal obvious against you. 

You moan as he moves down to your neck sucking and biting as he goes. A particularly hard nip send your hands flying into his hair, tugging.

“Je suis heureux que tu saches te servir de ta bouche, mais maintenant c’est mon tour.” Without any more warning, you flip the two of you around, pressing Mark into the mattress beneath you.

“Unfair.” You grin, leaning down to let your lips hover just above his.

“Pas vraiment.” You kiss him, starting to take his jacket off. Once Mark realises what you’re doing, he’s more than aboard, helping you shed his layers until he’s naked underneath you. 

He tries to tug at your clothes to get them off as well, but you stop him, covering his hands with yours.

“Patience.” Mark pouts, but lets you guide his hands to his sides. Kissing him, you move from his lips, to his neck, down his collarbone, across his sternum, barely grazing over his stomach before your lips are on his cock.

As you let your lips brush teasingly light against his cock, his hands tangles in your hair. Looking up, your eyes connect to his as your mouth hovers over his cock.

“Stop being a tease.”

“Non.” At least he understands that fully, throwing his head back with a groan as you start up your actions once more. Your own hands pushes at his thighs, holding him open for you as you ghost over his cock. 

You let your fingers briefly brush against his balls, making him draw in a sharp breath in anticipation for your touch, but you let them fall lower instead. You’re not going to do anything without lube, but it’s fun to tease him what you could if you had any.

You start to lick along Mark’s shaft, just small touches of your tongue. His cock twitches with each one, and there are small noises escaping him all the time. His hands in your hair mostly stay still, it seems he has realised he’s not going to get his way just yet.

Finally, finally, you take the tip off his cock in your mouth, and Mark moans. You suck slightly, and the hands in your hair tightens. 

Your fingers are still moving around and teasing him lower down, which Mark seems to have had enough off, as suddenly a bottle of lube hits your shoulder, bouncing off it and landing on the bed next to Mark’s knee. 

You take his cock out of your mouth, which he frowns at.

“What?” 

“If you’re going to tease me, at least do it properly.” You grin, placing a kiss against his thigh.

“Oh, is someone getting impatient?” 

“Yes!” Mark tugs at your hair and you groan, putting both your hands on his thighs once more.

“All right, all right. Je vais m’occuper de toi mon amour.” Mark groans and lets his head fall back.

“Still playing dirty.” Another kiss at his thigh as you take the bottle of lube and open it.

“Toujours et à jamais.” You put your mouth back on his cock, sucking briefly at the head before taking a little more in your mouth. Your now lubed up fingers wander down to Mark’s hole, and you slide one in. 

Mark lets out a satisfied moan at finally getting somewhere, and rocks down.

You decide that he’s not getting it so easy, setting a deliberately slow pace, with both your mouth and fingers. He’s getting it all, but not at once. Sometimes he has to have patience.

As you add another finger with your first, you go down as far down as you can on Mark’s cock. This causes him to not know if he should rock down or up, so he tries to do both. You keep him from choking you with moving your hand from his thigh to his hip. 

Moving back a little, you start to move up and down on his cock, sucking harder at random intervals, so Mark doesn’t know when you’re about to do it.

A third finger soon joins the others, as you can hear Mark start to get closer and closer to the edge underneath you. He’s letting out these breathless little moans that you love, mumbling a few broken ‘please’, and ‘more’ inbetween all the other wonderful noises he is making.

As soon as he is close to the edge, you pull back completely. Taking your mouth off his cock and the fingers out of his ass, Mark’s eyes slams open, looking down at you. 

You smile at him as you untangle his fingers from your hair. 

“Je vais te baiser maintenant. Any objections?” You tilt your head, and Mark’s furiously shakes his head.

“No, please, I, I need-” Mark seems lost for words, stopped so close to coming. You lean down to plant a quick kiss on his lips before getting off the bed.

You take a few minutes to undress and prep yourself, during which Mark is all whines and pleading noises, barely forming any coherent sort of sentence. 

But you get what he wants, so when you get on the bed again, you crawl between his legs. His hands grabs a hold of your (now finally naked) shoulders to drag you into a kiss. 

You let him, as his hands wander to brush against your own arousal, which makes you draw a sharp breath and break the kiss.

“Putain, comment fait ta main pour que je me sente aussi bien?” Mark grins a smug grin, not even knowing a word you said, he knows he’s having an effect on you.

But then you’re pushing his hand away, slowly sliding into him, which transforms the grin into a loud, drawn out, moan. You pepper kisses along his neck and collarbone and neck while he adjusts, you’re sure he can feel the smile on your lips against his skin. 

His hands go to your hair again, tugging.

“Fucking move, I, ah.” You hum into his skin, starting to make a hickey as your hips start to move. Slowly, slowly, not giving him what just yet.

“Faster, you tease!” 

“Non.” Mark uses his hold on your hair to yank you into another kiss, lips desperate and hot where they meet your own. His tongue soon comes out to play, and you respond in kind.

You know what he is doing, trying to get you to speed up without realising it yourself, but you know him too well for that.

Plus, you knew he was very close to the edge just moments before, and you don’t want him to come just yet.

So your hips remain slow, barely moving as he claws at your back while you kiss. He only breaks the kiss so he can start to beg, which is a lovely sound you find.

“Please, hell, ah, I.....” You move to kiss at his collarbones as no to leave your mouth unoccupied while he is running his.

“You... Ah.... I, fuck, hard to think like thi-!” You grin, letting your mouth close around a nipple. Mark gasps, and bucks into you, rubbing his by now weeping cock against your stomach.

“I swear, you, ah! Just, just.....” Mark pants, tugging at your hair

“Just?”

“Just move!”

“Alright.” Clearly Mark hadn’t expected that answer, as he draws in a sharp breath. You draw your hips all the way back, leaving you barely inside of him, before you slam your hips into his. Mark moans loudly and sharply, and you set a brutal pace. 

If faster was what he wanted, that was what he was going to get.

Your thrust are hard and fast, pushing Mark upwards with every thrust. His hands have moved to your shoulders, gripping hard. 

You’re sure you’re going to have a few interesting bruises later. You don’t mind, it’s all worth it to hear the noises he is making below you. He’s moaning and whimpering, getting utterly lost in the sensation.

On a particular well aimed thrust, you seem to find his prostate, as Mark or less startles in your grasp, gasping loudly.

“Please, do that again!” In an obliging mood now, you do just that, managing to hit his prostate again on the next thrust. Mark gasps again, and pulls you down for a kiss. It’s messy as all hell, uncoordinated and harsh, but it makes your lips light up with stars.

You’re getting closer and closer to your own edge, and you can feel Mark doing the same, shaking slightly, bucking down on you and up into to get friction for his cock against your stomach. 

Breaking the kiss, you move your mouth right next to his ear.

“Jouis pour moi.” Even if Mark doesn’t know the words, the French in his ear is what ends up sending him over the edge underneath you. His come splatters over his stomach and yours.

You’re not far behind, only needing a few more thrusts before finding your own release. You collapse on top of Mark, making let out a little surprised grunt.

You lay there for a few minutes, just catching your breath together. You almost can’t be assed to clean up properly, but you know you should, so you get off Mark and the bed with minimal protest from him. 

You leave the room briefly to get a towel for Mark, cleaning and fixing up yourself a little at the same time. 

When you get back, Mark is almost asleep, sprawled out on his his back, one arm above his head, the other resting on his chest. 

He looks like such a beautiful mess that you have to stop in the doorway just to admire him, and to try to stomp down your own already reignited arousal. 

Mark looks over at you then, and by the grin on his face he knows how much of pretty picture he makes. Sweaty, normally neat hair all over the place, his own cum covering his stomach. 

Moving away from the doorway, you walk over, his eyes on you the whole time. Getting on your knees on the bed, you start to gently clean him. Mark sighs, closing his eyes, and seems  to more or less melt into the mattress.

“J’aime te procurer autant de plaisir.” Mark lets out a little groan, and you think if he was a little less tired, he might be interested in round two. 

Instead he just lets you clean him off with the towel, chuckling as you throw the used towel on top of your clothes. You can’t be bothered to leave the bed again, and you have to wash them anyway. 

Laying down on your back, you pull the covers up so it’s covering the both of you while Mark twist around so he’s snuggled into your side. He yawn right next to your ear and you giggle, putting and arm around his back.

“That thing you kept repeating, what did it mean?” Mark’s voice is sleepy, low, mumbly, and barely audible.

“Which one?”

“The Mon A-something. You said it a few times.” You smile, turning your head to kiss his hair, he lets out a sleepy little hum.

“Mon amour.”

“Yes, that one.”

“It means my love.” Mark mumbles something, before trying out the words for himself.

“Mon amour..... Mon amour.” It doesn’t quite sound right in his mouth, the pronunciation is off, but it sounds lovely anyway. 

“Yes, that you are.” Another kiss to his hair.

“Now go to sleep.”

“Alright.... Mon amour.” You snort.

“I’ll help you get it right in the morning.” Mark lets out a little laugh, and not long after, the both of you are fast asleep.

#actor mark x reader #actor mark fic #actor mark fanfiction #actor mark #actor mark wkm #lemon #actor!mark #actor!mark x reader #actor!mark fic #actor!mark fanfiction #my writing #reader insert #this is a loooonggg one btw

[diaco1968]

Showing Obedience

Chisaki Kai x reader

I don't really know if it needs any warning. Nothing really happens. But I guess a little hint of a future blowjob? 😅

The fact that your line of work left you with no such luxury as pride didn't really stop you from feeling extra humiliated under his sharp golden eyes. You were forced to kneel down on the floor with one of the bigger men holding you down with a hand on the back of your neck. One hand. Holding you down by the scruff like a helpless little kitten. Pathetic. You looked up at the big guy annoyed "is this absolutely necessary? It's not like I can go anywhere right now..." he glared down at you, the long gashes on his arm stinging just through the sheer anger your words recreated in his mind. You might or might not have put up a nasty fight... "shut up whore!" He hissed down at you raising his fist to punch you, on what you assumed was your jaw, again.

"Hojo." The guy with the golden eyes and the edgy bird mask spoke up, making 'Hojo' tense and drop his arm back, looking down. Who you assumed was the bus has been sitting on the black leather couch in front of you for a while now, quiet, calculating. You knew you were in a grave situation right now with no where to run to. Gathering up the little courage you had left you looked at him, not sure if you kept the intrigued expression at bay or if he saw it plastered on your face looking like a child in a haunted house. His expression was unwavering.

"I am Chisaki Kai the head of Shie Hassaikai. It's safe to assume you know what has caused you this... unfortuante circumstances. Correct?" For a second the thought to play it off as dumb crossed your mind but, there was something about his eyes... some 'no bullshit or you will regret it'...they looked almost predatory. So you sucked it up hating how small your voice was as it came out "... correct..." he didn't move at all. "That's great, it will save us both a lot of time then." He leaned forward resting his arms on his legs and putting his latex covered hands together. The general getting to business pose. "You should pay the fee of doing 'illegal business' in Shie Hassaikai territory, cash or your life." You tensed doing your best to keep from stuttering "I-if I did have money ... I wouldn't be stealing in the first place...". He started leaning back again "your life it is then." Hojo's grip on the back of your neck tightened significantly almost shattering your composure "I-... I can... there is... c-could you..." fuck... you didn't even know what to say if even could form a coherent sentence at all.

He ever so slightly raised an eyebrow at you and you took in a deep breath to calm your nerves and to have a second to think "there s-sure are other ways to pay? Right?!" He didn't seem all too interesed. Almost not at all "do go on." Hojo's hand relented in his grip and only then did you realise one of your hands had shot up and clung to his wrist in desperation, dropping your hand immediately. "I could work it off and pay you, I just need a little time..." "to jump more people on the streets that we secure the safety of? I don't think so." You shook your head vigorously "No no!... I can work for you! I just... I swear I am useful! Specially in your line of work! Almost took out this guy on my own, didn't I?" You bargained desperately and pointed at Hojo making him growl.

Chisaki's eyes briefly glanced at Hojo's ripped and bloodied arm. He also knew that Setsuno had been brought back unconscious, bruised and beaten. He wondered if you didn't know how you injured him or if you didn't even count him in your achievements. He knew what your quirk was but never saw it first hand. And the fact that even after all that there was not a drop of blood or a speck of dust anywhere on you intrigued him a little. 'How neat'. Only a small bruise forming on the side of your jaw where Hojo had punched you. "You are probably not as fit as you think for this line of work." You felt your heart drilling painfully against your chest in fear and opened your mouth to protest but he cut you off before you managed "it needs absolute obedience and loyalty. How do I know you have it in you?" You blinked in confusion. How do you make someone you just met trust you anyway... you felt like he was not really into you getting away with this conversation with your life intact and to be honest you did already feel kinda defeated. Little did you know how actually 'into you' he was. "... I will obey you no matter what. I'll do whatever you tell me," and that was where you doomed yourself to his iron clutches "... but as to how you'd know that I'm loyal... I have no idea. I don't think swearing would cut it for you." No, he wasn't. He appreciated the way you thought and your honesty about it. He knew however just how to put your former declaration and your inflated pride to the test. As much as he didn't really want to do something like that so publicly, to you or to himself, he deemed it necessary. You were a solo petty thief after all, he should teach you the etiquette of working for the Yakuza. "You will do what ever I say, then?" He nod his head to Hojo. Your eyes shot up as you felt his hand leave the back of your neck. Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes met his sharp ones, already guessing where this was headed to. No way out now, great job. "...I will." You said meekly. You couldn't help but imagine he was probably smirking evily at you under his mask. Cause if the rest of his face was as expressionless as his eyes, it was gonna be a problem. Getting no responese at all infuriated you unbelievably. "Come." He leaned back again and parted his knees a little gesturing to the small space in between them on the ground before draping his arms over the back of the couch getting comfortable. You had to bite back a snarky remark on how that method of testing didn't take any time to come to his perverted mind. You gulped after taking in the expressions of the rest of the gang members in the room as you hesitantly started to rise to your feet.

"No need to get up." Your jaw clenched, eyes shooting up at him rage flashing through for a second before you looked down at the ground, crouching and getting back on your knees. "You wanted to say something. Eyes on me. Say it." You closed your eyes before sighing quietly and looking back up at him. First time ever his eyed were shining with an actual excited glint. "I was gonna say..." Damnit he was challenging you to make one wrong move. Or in this case say one wrong word. "Yes, sir." The way the mask moved up ever so slightly you could almost see the shit eating grin that formed under it. Despite that you kept your eyes on him as you crawled your way over and nestled in between his legs, with your hands on the ground like a good dog careful not to touch him anywhere with any part of you, looking up at him expectantly. He didn't expect you to even get this far, so he decided to push you further. "Oh would you look at that, can't touch anything as long as your hands are so filthy." He looked down on you, literally now and figuratively. "And say they were clean, what would I need to touch?..." you asked dreading the answer. Amused by the way you talked back to him without actually talking back, his latex covered hand came down to tangle his fingers in your hair, pulling you roughly closer, your chin resting on his clothed crotch, lips flush against his abdomen as you kept your eyes on his, 'just like he had said'. Maybe you made the mistake of opening your mouth and softly moving your jaw a little downwards just to feel and test if the bastard was getting excited by his little show of dominance. His pupils dilated pushing your face down, giving you more than enough to 'feel' as you felt your cheek rub against what you assumed was his 'half' erection letting out a strangled "oof!" from being pulled forward like that. "Just as before I see it safe to assume, and correct me if I'm wrong, you know exactly what you're supposed to be doing there."

#chisaki kai x reader #chisaki x reader #overhaul #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia

[jedimordsith]

Why do you hate the Hemingway app? I used it at one point and found it unhelpful, so I’m curious why you don’t like it

Important disclaimer: I sincerely appreciate that writing apps of all kinds are available. Especially free and obviously well-intentioned ones. That said, I am required to use the Hemingway App for my job and it routinely makes me want to stab someone, which is precisely what predicated my earlier post on the subject.  My complaints are as much social commentary as they are frustrations with the actual app, so please take the following with a bucket or so of salt. 

Reasons Why I Hate The Hemingway App 

1. Its rules are apparently $%^& arbitrary. So let’s just kick it off with the biggest problem, shall we? Sure, there are a couple of basic rules about sentence length dictating whether your sentences are “hard to read” or “very hard to read”. But after that who the hell knows?? 

I have personally watched the program change the grade level of a piece when I: - Hit the space bar - Deleted half of a word - Typed half a of word - Deleted/typed the second half of a word - Moved a sentence, unchanged, from one three-sentence paragraph to another While I am sure that there are complex algorithms managing how the program ranks things, those algorithms have no actual or discernible connection to coherent writing. This is not only infuriating, but it also makes the app stupidly hard to use. (See #5)

2. It discriminates against parts of speech with a legitimate use (passive voice, adverbs) with no exceptions. If I start ranting about the fact that adverbs exist for a reason and that most of the nice connecting words that give your writing flow are adverbs we’ll be here forever. Instead, let me give you a nice, simple example of why this kind of arbitrary discrimination drives me nuts. I recently wrote an article about domestic violence. Specifically, what charges you can face for domestic violence, what the difference between charges is, and what the penalties are. Because of the way the law works, there was a lot of occasion for sentences like “if x criteria, you will be charged with y.” “Be charged with” is the correct legal phrasing for how that works… but Hemingway flagged it as “passive voice” every time, thereby “failing” the article. I was able to reword enough things to make it work, but the end result was less smooth, less concise, and overall worse writing than if I’d just been able to use the standard industry terms.

3. It contributes to the dumbing down of the populace. Look, I’m all for accessibility. I believe that anyone who needs to look information up should be able to find it in an easy-to-read format they can understand. But we also know that people live up or down to expectations and that exposure to new words in context can help people learn and expand their brains and vocabularies in healthy and empowering ways. So what, exactly, happens when we as a society quietly dictate that nothing posted for public consumption online can be above a 9th-grade reading level? (Which, I should point out, is already lower than what would have been expected of 9th graders a couple of generations ago?) The answer: nothing kriffing good. Do you have any idea how many new words I’ve learned reading books and even fanfic written by people with stellar vocabularies? Do you know how many readers I’ve had leave me overjoyed comments because I used words like “gelid” in my fic? People don’t need (or want) to be treated like they’re stupid. There’s a difference between writing ostentatiously for no reason and writing intelligently but accessibly at a 10th- or 11th-grade level… but not with Hemingway. 

4. Following its rules often makes writing worse. Compound sentences exist for a reason. Often, they make it possible to put together two ideas in a fluent way that neatly and powerfully expresses ideas and makes connections… but not in Hemingway, because they’re almost always necessarily so long that they rate as “hard to read.” This is true even when trying to break the idea down into separate, shorter sentences completely bastardizes the whole thing and turns it into repetitive-sounding gibberish. Along the same lines, it’s not uncommon to need to break a sentence listing several related things into a bulleted list instead in order to come in at the right grade level — even when that screws up the mental and visual flow. Similarly, cutting out your connecting words because they are Evil Adverbs makes writing choppier and less pleasant. 

5. It’s hard to use. Ideally, Hemingway should be like Grammarly in that you apply it to whatever program you’re working in instead of having it be its own thing. But that’s admittedly minor. My real beef is this: it doesn’t give you any information on WHY it ranked something the way it did. I have spent entire days of my life at this point trying to mangle a perfectly good piece I’d written to all the other required standards in a desperate attempt to make it hit a 9th-grade reading level. About 90% of the time, it is a completely random change that makes it work. I can zero out everything Hemingway measures and sound like I’m talking to a toddler and the rating doesn’t budge. I randomly add a space somewhere and BAM. Done. It makes no sense, it is infuriating, and it wastes insane amounts of time. But there are no guidelines, no hints, nothing to tell you what moves the needle on the algorithms. You just have to guess… and guess and guess until you stumble on the right answer. 

Finally (and the whole reason I’m ranting about this today), it’s inconsistent. I can literally work on something in the app, copy/paste it back to the other program I’m working in, then copy/paste it back and get a different rating, even though nothing changed. It’s freaking maddening and I just want to boot the entire app into the sun every damn time it happens. 

[wildandsexyjacks]

Borderline

Pairing: Oh Sehun + Reader

Genre: idek maybe a little angsty at first + lovers to exes to lovers again AU

Word count: 1,4k

Warnings: rated M for the fun stuff. it’s not explicit me thinks but, um, it’s there so read at your own discretion

“He’s staring at you.” your friend whisper-shouts, leaning on your shoulder so you can hear her over the heavy bass thundering in your ears.

You don’t need to ask who the he she’s referring to is because everyone always knows when Sehun and his group of celebrity friends arrive by the commotion it causes. You also don’t need to look to know exactly where he is, as they always claim the same spot in the VIP lounge on the second floor. He’s probably resting his forearms on the top of the balcony railing, double scotch in hands, staring down at the dance floor looking utterly unimpressed. It’s been like this every weekend for the past two months.

You don’t need to look, you don’t want to and you shouldn’t, but your eyes betray you just the same. It’s been like this for the past two months too.

Sehun looks gorgeous in tight pants paired with a dark dress-shirt and the blue Gucci coat you gave him for Christmas last year. When he sees you looking, he raises his glass and shoots you his classic white-teeth-crescent-eyes smile. After raising your own glass, you down its content in one long gulp and turn your back to him to resume dancing with your friend.

Every weekend. Every fucking weekend he’s been doing the same damn thing. He comes to your nightclub knowing you don’t like it, stares, stares, stares, and then he leaves. You should be used to it by now, but it still hurts to think of things that could have been, so you force yourself to not look back again.

After five songs, you’re starting to get thirsty, so you go over to the bar to get yourself another drink, right at the same time as Sehun walks down the stairs. He strides in your direction and leans against the bar counter, trying to get your attention.

Well... That’s a first.

“What are you doing in my club?” you ask, fixing the strap in your dress so you don’t have to look at him.

“It’s my birthday,” he explains, giving you a weird look.

Right.

Fuck.

“Congratulations.” 

Sehun nods towards the dance floor.

“You’re a great dancer.” while he waves a hand at the bartender, you entertain the thought of smashing his head against the counter for being so full of himself. he was the one who taught you how to dance, all those months ago. It’s how you ended up in bed together for the first time. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Just as you’re about to reply, the bartender - a new guy you hired a few weeks ago - takes one look at Sehun and frowns.

“Everything okay here, boss? Is this guy bothering you?”

Sehun looks insulted, but you just wave a dismissive hand.

“It’s alright, he’s a friend.” you tap your fingers on the bar counter “I’m thirsty, Han. Mix me an Orgasm, please.” then you point to Sehun, giving him a crooked smile “He’s buying.”

After the bartender gives you two thumbs up and turns on his heels to prepare your drink, Sehun scoots closer, raising one perfect eyebrow.

“Am I?”

“Buying?”

“A friend.”

You open your mouth, then close again, not knowing what to say. It’s a difficult question because Sehun was never a friend. At least not just that. He was Chanyeol’s friend, then he was a one night stand, then after a week of one night stands he was something else. After a month, he was almost like a boyfriend... And everything was great for several months. For over a year, actually, up until mid-february, when he hinted at possibly wanting to go officially steady. You freaked out, and he became an ex.

Han-the-bartender saves you from having to reply by setting your drink on the counter and sliding it in your direction. You take a sip while he watches you expectantly then nod your approval.

“Thank you.” you turn around to go back to the dance floor, looking at Sehun from over your shoulder and shouting to the bartender  “Put it in his tab.”

You manage four steps before Sehun catches up and grabs your arm.

“Look, you know I can’t stay down here for long, can’t we at least go somewhere to talk?” you stare at him in silence, unmoved, until he goes all out, pouting adorably to strike where it hurts the most “Please? It’s my birthday.”

Biting your lip, you avert his gaze. This is not a good idea. 

Not a good idea at all.

“Sure, why not?” you shrug.

Next thing you know, you’re in the storage room, sitting on a pile of boxes of Grey Goose, Sehun standing between your parted legs as he kisses a thorough line down your neck to your collarbone. His fancy coat is long gone and you’re currently unbuttoning his shirt with skilled fingers, all the while listing the reasons why you’re not a good match.

He’s a famous actor, a celebrity, a public figure with a reputation to maintain. You’re a nightclub owner and a party girl. 

He looks chic and cool but in reality, he’s a hopeless romantic while you’re almost pathologically afraid of commitment. 

You’re both too busy to make a real relationship work. 

If you keep this up, it’ll hurt a lot more when it inevitably ends.

“Come on, Y/N.” Sehun snakes a hand up your thigh under the skirt of your dress, reaching lace underwear and making you squirm with want “I know you like me too. Stop being so pessimistic, let’s give it a shot.”

While he keeps moving his hand, you pull his hair, shaking and panting, with only half a mind to tell yourself that you knew this was a bad, bad idea. Sehun has a way of making you beg with minimum effort, and both of you know he’s got a steady ground to bargain over anything while touching you like that.

“That’s not- oh god- That’s not the point.” 

The pile of boxes is barely holding up and the wall scratches your exposed shoulder blades in an uncomfortable way but you can’t bring yourself to tell Sehun to stop “The point is that- yes, right there- it’s not going to last.”

“I already told you, you think too much. Let’s worry about that later, if the moment ever comes. Right now I just want to make you-“ he kisses your lips, your cheek, your neck “Come on, baby, let it go, I got you.”

He keeps the pace impossibly slow until you’re begging like you knew you would, like you know he likes. With that same infuriating smile, he drops to his knees, puts your legs over his shoulders and in a second he has you seeing white. While you catch your breath and struggle to form coherent thoughts, he kisses your inner thigh, mumbling soft words against your skin until your legs stop shaking.

Before you have the chance to get up, though, the bar manager barges into the room, catching you and Sehun in a rather compromising position.

“There you are!” she exclaims, and you both jump to your feet, knocking down half the pile of boxes you were sitting on “Oh! Oh! I’m sorry.” she then turns around, covering her eyes after finally realizing what exactly she just interrupted “Sorry, it’s just... Mr. Oh, your friends are looking for you. We’re closing soon, so...”

Sehun’s already buttoning up the few buttons you managed to undo, looking down, embarrassed. You grab his wrist to check the time on his watch. 5:38 a.m.

“Right. Right, um, thank you, Yumi. We’ll be there in a second.”

“Of course.” she’s still trying to avoid looking in your direction “Do you want me to send someone to, you know... The vodka.”

You assess the puddle of alcohol at your feet and can’t help but feel a little sad - two boxes of fine vodka, going down the drain. Then there’s Oh Sehun by your side, still embarrassed and trying not to laugh, looking the cutest right after making you find god just a minute ago.

Fuck the vodka, you don’t regret it at all.

“Sure. That would be great.” you smile at Yumi’s back “Thank you.”

“No problem!” the bar manager blurts out, then all but runs off.

As soon as you’re left alone, you break out laughing. Sehun wraps his arms around you and hides his face in the crook of your neck, body shaking with silent laughter.

“I’m sorry.” he murmurs after a second.

“Oh, don’t be.” you shrug “I’m putting this in your tab too.” taking Sehun’s hand, you drag him out of the storage room “Now how about we go back to my place and you can convince me some more?”

“Convince...? Wait.” he stops walking “So you’re considering it? Giving it a shot?”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you are being pessimistic.

Maybe it’s worth a try.

You look over your shoulder and smile, tugging at your joined hands.

“Ah, well. It’s your birthday, right?”

-

so... i got carried away lmao

happy birthday to the most handsome man in this entire world and maybe others, king of eyebrows and pacific-wide shoulders.... greek gods only wish they’d looked as good as osh

additionally, the exos have spoiled him rotten but let’s be honest: it’s what he deserves

#oh sehun #sehun #sehun scenario #sehun au #sehun fanfic #sehun imagine #exo fanfics #exo scenarios

[eisforeidolon]

1/2 I remember when you used to do episode summaries/critiques & I have always liked them. Is there any chance you will be doing the last couple of eps? As a Dean fan who doesn't ship destiel who found it unsatisfying it is super frustrating seeing any and all negativity about the finale either be written off as ship wars, or see actual posts which started okay boil down to that in the end. I'd really like to hear your views on it INCLUDING the good. I thought I was prepared for this direction -

2/2 I thought I was prepared for them to kill everyone but the manner they chose to, the vagueness about any time skip, everything vague in an attempt to please more people, the obvious cost of COVID restrictions... all took the heart out of it and just left me feeling empty. Given the history of the show how are we supposed to take heaven as peace at face value for Dean 'my peace is helping people' Winchester? To me Sams life just looked sad -and it didn't celebrate their legacy at all :( 

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

The completionist in me really does still want to do it, so it’s possible.  However, the part of me that’s not a glutton for punishment keeps putting it off, because there’s so much about the back half of the season that was infuriating enough secondhand and almost nothing I’m really looking forward to. 

I also find it frustrating to see the vast majority of negative discussion revolving around the same old ship war crap, because my secondhand impression is that while I don’t think the underlying ideas are inherently bad, the execution of them in the episode was largely typical Dabbernatural - big punchy scenes barely strung together to make a coherent narrative and shallow as a flat surface - it all kind of falls apart if you think about it for more than a minute. 

I’m not mad about it in the abstract because I expected Dabb to produce something even worse.  Say a finale that still managed to be all about Jack or his Wayward Sue squad (which is what I suspect any kind of attempt to celebrate the Winchesters’ legacy would have turned into in his hands).  Both the Winchesters’ accepting death now and Dean being content in heaven for me feel completely arbitrary.  If they’d really leaned into that timeskip and made it clear years had passed with no major world ending catastrophes, I think it might have worked.  As it is, Jared can say he thinks it was years, but if you have to rely on actor commentary that just shows it’s not in the text.  Like, Chuck is no longer in power so suddenly the Winchesters have learned to let go, when supposedly them not being able to was what kept thwarting his plans all along?  Even putting aside how ridiculous it is to categorize ToddlerGod!Jack as a categorically awesome replacement, smells like arbitrary authorial fiat to me! 

Then there’s the whole issue where heaven is supposedly just Good Now.  There’s no motivation, no change, and just being able to interact with other souls supposedly makes up for that?  What if the souls you want to interact with don’t want to interact with you, or even if you love them there were fundamental conflicts between you?  That just magically disappears ... somehow?  If it’s something about the atmosphere of heaven that just makes everyone magically content, how is that compatible with the whole theme of fighting for free will?  Again, the word of the episode: arbitrary. 

Although I actually think having Sam’s life being sad was the right choice, even if it does make it a competition as to which Winchester’s end was worse.  If Sam had just gotten over it and moved on, it would have been even more similar to him leaving for college or hooking up with Amelia and just living in happy denial.  I.e. it would be even less different from previous times Dean was out of the picture for a while and feel even more ridiculously This Is The End Because The Show’s Over.  It would also feed even more into validating those that don’t like Sam reading it as Dean having to Learn A Lesson about letting Sam go (again) while Sam is just relieved Dean is not going to come back and make him feel guilty for moving on (again) and I don’t remotely think that’s the actual intent.  Which having some of the dialogue in Dean’s big speech involve tearing himself down to build Sam up while Sam just stands there mute is already doing enough for, thanks.  I also think focusing on Dean’s death and absence to such a degree keeps the narrative on the brother’s relationship together, rather than ultimately turning Dean into a prop for Sam’s story - which would have really bummed me out. 

The saving grace that I think makes it acceptable rather than a complete flop for me is leaning into what made the show go 15 seasons in the first place - J2′s chemistry and acting chops.  Even just having watched clips, I feel like the episode actually let them - and their characters - have moments to really shine for their own sake and it feels like it’s been too long since that was last true.

#anti dabbernatural #spn ending #fandom issues #Anonymous #askboxery