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yourdoorisunlocked · 1 month

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ᴏɴʟʏ ʜɪᴍ

𝐀/𝐍: A very late oneshot for a cute request I got, I hope it's worth the wait! I'll try to be more consistent with posting, but life is throwing me actual curveballs rn, so patience is appreciated! And my LORD the wattpad-ass songs I keep picking out for these fics are always sending me- 💀✋ Also, Reader is AFAB in this one (since the wife fantasies this man has about Reader are UNTAMEABLE LMAO)

. . .

➺ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 | 𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖, 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. ➺ 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝖉𝖔 𝖎 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖆 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 | 𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖈 𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖐𝖊𝖞𝖘 ➺ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 𝟑,𝟐𝟔𝟐

“How long I’ve waited, darling. You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me...”

. . .

There was something about Alastor that deeply intrigued you.

He always seemed to carry suave, foreboding darkness dancing upon the edges of unpredictability with a smile as sharp as a razor.

What others found unnerving, you labeled as charming and ‘eccentric,’ when it came to Alastor. You simply didn’t care about the worse aspects of him, or rather, you accepted them with such ease that it surprised even the most estranged of demons.

And though he was wary of your intentions, at first, Alastor soon recognized your unusual fascination with him and determination to befriend him as quite flattering, from such an alluring young lady like yourself. So, Alastor decided to humor you and make nice with you, since it was... difficult to have a good friend, especially with his status as an Overlord, to say the least.

Apart from Rosie - who, mind you, was occupied with her Emporium most of the time - he didn't have much else in his afterlife that didn't relate to the hotel. And though this silly endeavor was proving to be quite the source of entertainment, the issue still stood.

Those below Alastor that didn’t turn tail and run at the first sound of radio static would only test his patience, whether that be at the end of Vaggie’s angelic spear or the punchline of a raunchy joke from Angel Dust.

Suffice it to say, Alastor was grateful for your company, though he’d never admit it, and had grown terribly fond of you.

Almost attached, one could say. Though one would be skewered and sliced open before they could finish that heinous accusation.

Sure, Alastor had possibly grown a tender spot for you in his wretched, rotted heart, but who wouldn’t take a bit of an obsession liking to the tangles and locks of your hair that he could only dream of twisting around his red-tipped claws? Or the delicate curl of your lips as you lifted your face into a crooked smile that had burned itself into his memory, making his heart pound erratically within his chest?

And, ah, there you are, now. Working the coffee machine and putting a polite hand to your mouth as you yawned softly, still in your pajamas with your hair amess and your eyes struggling to stay open as they fluttered, before landing on him.

“Oh, Alastor! Good morning,” a glimpse of your small, tired smile made his heart jump to his throat as he stepped forward with his hands behind his back.

“Good morning, my dear! And how was your night?”

You brightened at the question, your smile growing. Yes. Give him more, give him more of your happiness, your smile-

“Oh, it was a wonderful dream, Al’! I can’t wait to tell you all about it.”

He leaned against the counter, preening at how his name rolled so perfectly off your tongue. “By all means, do tell, darling~."

Alastor was none too ashamed, despite his reputation as a gentleman, that his eyes were solely trained upon your lips the entire time you spoke, his smile growing in size with each glimpse of your tongue that he could manage to catch.

“Hm... That’s very nice, my dear,” he nodded along absentmindedly as you ranted animatedly, enjoying the brightness behind your eyes while you made yourself breakfast.

How tempting and sweet was the visage of you, as Alastor’s sweet, doting little wife, making yourselves breakfast and waving him off to his radio tower with your delectable, kissable smile and a cup of black coffee.

“Oh, and there was a- Al'? Alastor, are you even listening?”

Alastor smoothly brought himself from his trance “I do believe you were going on about seeing a deer, of some kind? With fur-"

"Softer than anything I've ever felt? I'm surprised you were even able to hear me over your own thinking." You glanced over at him with concern. “You’ve been spacing out like that a lot, recently. Are you alright?”

“Top of my game, my dear! Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d be worried over me~,” Alastor leaned forward against the counter, laying his chin upon his intertwined claws as he tilted his head up at you, grinning wider at your flustered blush.

“Well-! Of course, I’m worried about you. You’re my friend, after all...” you turned away, missing the way Alastor deflated at that cursed title that he’d seemed to acquire, despite being your closest confidant, your partner-in-crime, your partner, period.

But good things came to those who waited, Alastor supposed.

As the both of you continued to converse, you half-cringing, half-laughing at his onslaught of puns and ‘dad jokes,’ as you jokingly called them, a pair of excited hooves bounded down the hallway, and an excited princess of Hell jumped into the kitchen beside her tired girlfriend, who was still rubbing her drooping eyes.

“Good morning, guys!” Charlie squealed as she ran across the room, collecting the different points for her plan of Project: Redemption that she had left for you to organize overnight.

“Hey, there,” Vaggie yawned softly as she slumped into the room, and You shook your head with a chuckle. Poor girl must’ve stayed up all night, listening to Charlie’s rants about her plans for the Hazbin Hotel, since its major renovations and redesign, courtesy of Lucifer himself.

“Well, aren’t you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed? What’s got you so worked up, now?” You poured Vaggie a cup of coffee and she took it with an appreciative smile.

“Well...” Charlie looked to Vaggie, who nodded encouragingly. “My dad’s going to visit the hotel again!” She bounced on her heels, oblivious to how Alastor stiffened beside you, and you inwardly groaned.

Here we go again, you sighed tiredly as you prepared for the radio host’s snark towards the King of Hell.

Those two had been at each other’s necks since Lucifer had offered his help in advertising the hotel, and the mere mention of the Fallen Angel’s name would set Alastor off on an hour-long rant.

“Is that so?” Static thickened his voice with malice as his ears swerved backwards, pointed and alert as you followed them with a stifled giggle. Alastor never seemed to notice the more adorable aspects of his demonic nature, being a deer demon. Then again, he probably chose to ignore them, trying to preserve his image more than anything.

You took a slow sip of coffee as you glanced at his backside. I wonder if he has a tail, too.

“C’mon, Al’. It’s her dad, you can at least be a little supportive.”

His eyes widened towards you as you shrugged. “Not you, too!”

“Hmph! I thought you’d have the sense to at least take my side on this one. Have I not been nothing but devoted to you?" Alastor batted his eyelashes at you, pretending to pout as you snorted.

“Well, it’s not like he’s going to move in, right? You still technically have the hotel all to yourself,” you rub his shoulder in an attempt to sooth him, unaware of the surprised glance that Vaggie and Charlie shared.

“...I suppose you’re right. At least he won't be staying here, in that gaudy apartment of his!" He laughed, referring to the apple tower that Lucifer had built when the hotel was under re-construction.

“Um, ha-ha, about that...” the princess twiddled her fingers with a strained grin, and his smile tensed further.

“No...” your eyes widened in disbelief. There was no way... She wouldn’t!

But it’d make sense, wouldn’t it? I mean, the hotel wouldn’t be sporting that super-subtle apple-shaped tower for nothing, right?

“Ɏꝋᵾ ᵯēⱥꞥ ⱦꝋ ⱦēłł ᵯē, ɏꝋᵾ īꞥꝟīⱦēđ ⱦħⱥⱦ ƀⱥꞩⱦⱥɍđ ꝋꝟēɍ ⱦꝋ ꞨȾȺɎ ĦɆꞦɆ!?-”

“Alright, alright, take five.” You sighed and looked towards Charlie, who shifted nervously in her spot as Alastor stood off to the side with palpable anger.

“I’m sorry if it’s too soon, and I know you’ve never met my dad before, but I promise, he’s just trying to help the hotel. Just... give him a chance? Please?”

“It’s fine, I’m fine with it, but I know someone who won’t be,” with a glance towards the self-proclaimed ‘Host of the Hotel,’ you took Charlie’s hands in yours. “I’m glad that you’re reconnecting with your dad, okay? Just... warn us, next time. Specifically, warn him,” you side-eyed where the Radio Demon was scrutinizing the both of you, small voodoo sigils floating around his form with an eerie glow.

A soft smile graced her features. “Yeah, yeah, sorry, I was just so excited! Dad’s really trying, you know? And I promise, he really wants to help the hotel."

You turned towards Alastor. “Now, do you think you can settle down? For Charlie?” You avoided the word ‘behave’ for the sake of not being eviscerated on the spot.

"Hm... Perhaps, but you must promise to stay by my side the entire time," Alastor gripped your shoulder for emphasis, and you rolled your eyes and reached up his collar.

"Alright then... I guess I can manage that."

His eyes trailed up and down your figure, and all his cultivated anger evaporated as you fixed his bowtie, clearly a bit jittery yourself.

Lucifer may have had the hotel, hell, he could take Alastor’s place, for all he cared. He didn’t even want the blasted position in the first place, not before Lucifer challenged it. But the King of Hell didn’t - couldn’t - have you, and that alone was enough to pacify Alastor, for now.

He shook away the confusion that came with the sudden bout of possessiveness from the thought of you so much as sharing an interaction with the Fallen Angel and dismissed you to retreat into the shadows until Lucifer arrived.

It was 1:00 P.M. on the dot, and the doors burst open as shimmering crimson light poured into the room, and the King of Hell, the infamous Fallen Angel himself stood before the newly furnished lobby with his arms widely outstretched for his much taller daughter to embrace her.

“Charlie!”

“Hi, Dad!”

As the two Morningstars greeted each other with a tight hug, you almost gushed at how adorably similar they looked, despite the height difference.

You also noted how Lucifer immediately narrowed his eyes at Alastor, gloved hands clutching his cane in a strangling grip, as if he were restraining himself from giving the radio host a beatdown with it.

“Bellhop,” Lucifer spat without missing a beat.

“Deadbeat,” Alastor shot back with a malicious grin.

You groaned and slapped your forehead. I just talked to him about this!

“And just who might this be?” Lucifer raised a dark eyebrow towards you, and you stepped forward – away from Alastor to his dismay – to properly introduce yourself to Charlie’s father. “A first good impression goes a long way,” as your mother liked to say.

“Hello,” you smiled and gave Lucifer your name, side-eyeing Alastor as he scoffed heatedly at your misplaced politeness. But, in his defense, it truly was! There was no reason to pay any heed to that short-stacked, duck-loving ȼɍēⱦīꞥ!

“Oh! Yes, this is our newest resident at the hotel! She's been a big help, especially around the kitchen!" Charlie squealed with enthusiasm, practically singing your praises in front of her father and you blushed.

“It's nice to meet you," you held out your hand to shake his, and a soft smirk pulled at Lucifer’s pale features as he bent down at the waist at a perfect angle, laying a chaste, feathery kiss against the back of your hand. “Charmed, I’m sure~.”

The king’s eyes trailed from up your waist before making heated eye contact with you, rising slowly from his bow.

The screech of a record player from behind made you flinch, but you attempted a clumsy curtsy and ignored Alastor’s rising temper, sigils flying about from the display of unearned affection. “Likewise, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, no need for such formalities. Just Lucifer is fine, my dear."

“Oh, alright then... Lucifer.” The Fallen Angel’s smirk widened into a toothy smile that contrasted yet was quite comparable to Alastor’s terrifying grimace as he took you by the arm and pulled you along into the freshly revamped hotel lobby.

"Charlie, you didn’t tell me such a doll was staying here! I would’ve visited sooner, you know,” the king laughed, and you chuckled along awkwardly as you glanced back at your crimson-clad friend, who was seething in his place as he watched you walk beside the king's sauntering pace, pure confidence and smugness radiating from Lucifer as Charlie smiled at you apologetically.

Alastor’s pointed ears were pinned backwards, and the raven tips of his hair sharpened as his lips rose slightly above his gums in an enraged sneer.

“You know, I remodeled most of this place,” Lucifer grinned up at you while you looked around with appreciative eyes, and Alastor trailed closely behind the both of you, along with Charlie who looked up at him with confusion.

“Is that so? In that case, I really must thank you for giving the kitchen a well-needed upgrade! It’s so much easier to work my way around it, now.”

"Oho, of course, my dear! Anything for you~," he grinned devilishly up at you, chuckling at the soft blush that tinged your cheeks as the screech of radio static crackled and electrified the air.

Alastor hated it. Despised it. The way you were smiling at Lucifer like that, like you’d been friends for ages, like he’d been the one to bring you on delightful outings, make you laugh yourself sick over whiskey, pull you into spontaneous dances and be a shoulder to lean on whenever you needed it most.

Not like that you'd ever gone to Alastor in such a sorrowful state, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t the first that you’d go to for that kind of thing.

Why were you gushing over Lucifer? Weren’t you closer to Alastor? Didn't you like him better?

Oh, now this just won't do...

"Darling. A word?"

You nearly flinched at Alastor's seemingly cheery, yet short and clipped tone, clearly peeved at something, though you were completely clueless. Maybe Lucifer really pissed him off that much and he needed a breather?

Shaking off your nerves, you nodded politely and missed the way Alastor preened with approval, shooting Lucifer a smug glare as he placed his hand upon the small of your back and pushed you along towards a private spot in the middle of the hallway.

Alastor's ear turned in the direction of the two Morningstars as Charlie and Lucifer retreated down the hallway to his room. Once he was sure they were gone, he snatched your wrist and pulled you inside of a hotel room just left of you.

The door shut behind you both, and you tried not to tremble under Alastor's smoldering gaze while you stared up at him, confused by his sudden fury.

"So, care to explain why that pint-sized excuse of a king was cozying up to you?" The words shot like gunfire from his lips, his insults carrying the weight of bullets as Alastor towered over you while clutching his staff.

"I was only being polite..." you wrung your hands sheepishly as Alastor scoffed down at you, his smile becoming more of a curled snarl.

"And besides, why would you care so much about what Lucifer thinks of me? I'm still your friend." When your hand takes his in its warm grip, Alastor has to resist the urge to melt.

Because I don't want to be 'just your friend,' was what Alastor wanted to say. Because I want your beauty and laughter all to myself, I want you to be mine, you need to be mine-

"Because I-" Alastor took pause, as if the mere notion of caring about you more than he should stole the very breath from his lungs.

His claws reached up to caress your cheek, and you shuddered from the tickle of contact, keeping your gaze focused on him. "Because you're the only person who makes me question myself. The only person who I... who I want to call my own." The words tumbled from his lips, hesitant yet ringing pure truth and adoration for you, and Alastor looked away from you for a moment, unable to meet your gaze, impatient for your answer.

Slowly, scared that he'd disappear into the shadows and that glimmer of vulnerability would fade should you move too fast, you leaned forward into Alastor's touch, nuzzling against his palm.

"And... And if I happen to feel the same way? What would you do, then?"

Alastor's eyes widened slightly at the confession, and he took a slow few steps forward to push you up against the wall, his gaze darkened and yearning as his warm breath fanned against your lips.

"I'd tell you to be care of what you wish for, darling~."

Sharp, yellow teeth pricked, and soft, gentle lips sucked and kissed around your collarbones and neck, as Alastor shivered and rumbled ever so softly at the taste of you, the feeling of marking you as his own as you whimpered and shivered beneath him with want.

His shadow flew to the door, turning the lock with a definite click and trapping you inside with the man who'd fantasized of ravaging you since months ago, when a pretty little doe wandered into his office.

You moaned against Alastor, limply allowing one of his hands to hold your wrists above your head as his leg came between yours, and he rose to face you, lines of crimson dripping down the side of his lips.

Alastor's lips hungrily captured yours, and he made no hesitation to slip his long, black tongue beyond your lips and into your mouth, greedily swallowing your moans while wetness dripped between your legs, and his own made an obscene stain against Alastor's pants.

You panted as he pulled away, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck and kissing just below his jawline as he pressed his throbbing erection against you.

“How long I’ve waited, darling. You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me...”

Alastor's hands ripped at his coat, hastily unbuttoning it from his vest before he pressed against you once more, eager to have you back in his arms.

His eyes darkened down at you as you started pulling at your blouse, desperate to pull him flush against your bare skin as he leaned over you, his slender arms caging you in beneath him.

"Oh, I'm going to devour you, ma chère... Show you just who you belong to..."

He inched closer as the sound of static grew thick in the air, tickling against your arms and making the hairs on the back of your neck rise as pure, carnal desire engulfed the both of you.

"P-Please..."

The doorknob rattled.

Knock, knock.

"Hey, uh- Is everything okay in there?" Charlie's concerned voice sounded through the door, and the both of you instantly froze, Alastor's hands still hovering over the belt buckle of his pants.

"Fuck," an irritated, animalistic growl rumbled from him, and he stood up to his full height as he glanced apologetically down at you, tilting your chin up to face him.

"I'm afraid we'll have to postpone this, darling."

Alastor planted a long, heated kiss against your lips, his tongue savoring every taste of you that he could manage before he brushed out his hair and pulled his coat from the ground and back onto his shoulders.

"Not to worry..." Alastor buttoned up your blouse, his eyes lingering on your cleavage for a few more moments than normally and turned on his heel and plastered his trademark smile back onto his face.

"We'll continue our little show, later."

. . .

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Bet ya'll didn't expect that, huh? Caught in 4k smh

Ok, so there is a LOT going on rn and I'm trying my darndest to keep up with a consistent schedule (I say after going radio silent - pun intended - for a goddamn week) BUT I SWEAR THINGS ARE GOING UNDER WAY, chapter one of 'What A Dish, What A Doll' is getting a rewrite, I'm trying to finish more requests and headcanons, and the VOX FIC NEEDS TO BE UPDATED-

it's just a lot lmao, but y'all's patience is super appreciated!!

. . .

➺ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @starsformydarlingmazel, @chitter-chatter, @hazzbindarlingg, @darkangel582, @matrixbearer2024, @prosciuttosblog, @frog-fans-unite, @mysterypotatoink, @burgerflipper72, @chibikochannumberone, @strawberry-gothic, @roboticsuccubus83, @lulurubberduckie, @fangirlanxiety74, @viviannagiorgini, @localmsifan, @justtnat, @karolinda007-blog, @mglawwica, @wonderlandangelsposts, @saitisfied, @repostingmyfavs, @weirdflower2024, @montis-posts, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @theperfectmangovoid, @slytherin4ever, @i-love-jafar, @itzlochnessie, @mariaclarade-la-cruz1, @susvale, @valentique, @twismare, @robin-the-enby, @v3n7s, @forbidden-sunlight, @leathesimp, @matemor, @groovybear99, @frompeach, @moonmark98, @nyxnightshade7656, @sushigogo

➺ 𝑩𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝑩𝒚 @cafekitsune - 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫!

#alastor x reader #yourdoorisunlocked #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #possessive behavior #obsession #oooh this was so fun to write!✨#requests

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mrsjellymunson · 6 months

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The Biology Tutor

📕 Lesson 1: Female Anatomy

Continue studying: Lesson 2: Male Anatomy | Lesson 3: Human Reproduction | Extra Credit 01: Communication Skills

Pairing: Virgin!Eddie Munson x fem!tutor!reader

Summary: Eddie’s failing class, so you decide to offer two different styles of biology tuition, textbook-based and *ahem* practical.

W/C: something around 4k (I didn’t do a word count after editing, sorry)

CW: 🔞 18+ MDNI!, NSFW, PWP, smut with a story. Exhibitionism (f), mutual masturbation (m+f), swearing, innuendo, pet names, slight sub/dom dynamic, subtle size kink? Both Reader & Eddie are overage. No y/n. Reader’s appearance is not described, it can be whatever you like.

A/N: A cute little bit of biology lesson-based smut. I’m a sucker for virgin!Eddie and wanted to see if I could write him. Let me know how I did! 😄

My masterlist

You’ve had a crush on the guy in your Biology class since the beginning of the year when you first saw him ranting on a table in the cafeteria. There’s something about him that’s so different from the guys you’d usually go for. You run in completely different social circles, you with the academically-gifted ‘Brainy Bunch’ (an eye-rollingly terrible moniker coined by the we-think-we’re-so-clever jocks), and him with his nerdy friends. Despite this you find him unusual and intriguing, not to mention hot as all hell. You guess the ‘freak metalhead’ look doesn’t work for everyone, but his long hair and rebellious dark ink are certainly doing it for you. You really want to discover what’s underneath those layers of denim, leather and torn shirts, your imagination only able to go so far as you ponder his form late at night in your bed.

However, girls talk, and you’ve never heard of him being with any of them, or even speaking to all that many. For all his bravado and apparent confidence, you’re reasonably certain that Eddie Munson is still a virgin.

And for some reason this draws you to him even more.

You’re pretty sure you’ve caught Eddie checking out your ass as it’s perched on a high stool while he sits behind you in the biology lab. On days when you’re in this class you’ve started to wear your tightest jeans, and your shortest skirts (though if anyone asked you’d insist it was a coincidence).

Somehow you’ve become inexplicably clumsy (but only in this class, how odd…), often dropping your pencil and having to bend over to pick it up, occasionally chewing on the end in contemplation when you know he’s watching, much to the chagrin of your teacher.

“Never put anything in your mouth in the lab, you should all know better by now.”

You smirk at the innuendo in Eddie’s direction and he quickly looks away, ears exposed by his lab-regulation tied-back hair a little pink at the tips.

You also often ‘forget’ or ‘lose’ equipment, asking him if he’s got a spare, or could he please get you a replacement from the cupboards, which he’s always more than willing to do (giving you ample opportunities to observe his denim-clad ass as he does so).

“Damn, I seem to be one test tube short. Eddie, would you be a doll and get me one from the cupboard?”, crossing your legs and subtly ensuring the hem of your skirt rides up just a little more.

Eddie looks you up and down (result!) and agrees.

“Thanks, you really are my knight in shiny, um, leather?” You wince slightly at your clumsy comment, but he takes it in his stride, continuing the bit by replying,

“Here you go, your majesty”, bowing theatrically and presenting the glassware to you atop his forearm, making you grin.

In another lesson: “Shit, I tore my filter. Eddie, do you have a spare?”

“Anything for the Princess of Biology.”

He gives you a little smirk, and you feel your cheeks heat slightly. You can’t help gazing at his strong, ring-clad hands as he hands you the little circle of absorbent paper.

It becomes somewhat of a game, you playing the Princess and he the rescuing knight.

But for all your teasing you genuinely do actually want to help him pass the class. You don’t want him to have to repeat the year - you’ve seen him play at The Hideout and you know he’s meant for greater things.

It’s just biology, it can’t be any harder than what little you’ve picked up about that complicated game he plays, which seems to be all numbers, convoluted plots and organising “campaigns”, whatever they are. You’re sure he could pass if he’d just apply himself.

Or, perhaps, he just needs the right tutor…?

You’d broached it with your science teacher, offering to help ‘any students who were behind’ for extra credits. After he’d agreed you’d approached Eddie that same day, offering to come to his home and help him with his overdue assignments.

He was confused and skeptical at first, thinking this could all be some elaborate prank, but you were gentle and persuasive, and he’d agreed to pick you up later that day.

You’re sitting on his worn-out sofa, draped with a well loved but soft blanket. You’ve spent the last hour trying to get Eddie to understand cellular respiration (“Isn’t it just, like, breathing in and out?” “No, Eddie, this is cell biochemistry, it’s a bit more complicated than that”), but nothing you attempt seems to be working.

He’s despondent, won’t look at you, and seems resigned to his fate of never passing this particular subject, interjecting with statements like,

“Look, it’s just not going in.”

“I don’t know how to make it stick.”

“I don’t think I’ll get it, Princess, even if you beat it into me.”

The innuendo (accidental or not) is driving you crazy. As is Eddie’s lack of self belief.

You’d even tried explaining it by using D&D analogies.

“Think of the chemical reactions like individual characters interacting in groups. Like, if this particular troupe disband and some make allegiances with another, the group has different skills and attributes now, right?” But after a promising start even that doesn’t seem to hold his attention.

In fact, the more animated you get and closer you sit, the more distracted and fidgety he becomes, unwilling to engage fully with you and shifting uncomfortably.

You move further towards him on the sofa, determined to give it one last shot, and force him to make eye contact with you.

Their colour and depth surprises you as you look into them properly for the first time, noticing their rich, swirling chocolate and whiskey hues.

Your eyes briefly drop to his lips, the soft pink, plump, velvety pillows looking mightily enticing. God, they’re perfect.

Goosebumps rise on your arm as you feel his surprisingly soft curls tickle your shoulder.

Okay, you knew he was cute, but up close? Fucking hell…

You lean across your notes and over to the text book that’s on his other side. Your thighs are touching, and as you twist the side of your breast makes contact with his arm. If he looked slightly down and towards you he’d be able to see right down the neck of your tank top. You kind of hope he does.

Huffing, you prod at the book with your hand, hoping that the diagram on the page might make everything clearer. The movement makes your boobs jiggle a little.

You hadn’t noticed he’d stopped breathing and he suddenly lets out a huff of breath, covering it with a badly faked cough. His cheeks have flushed a light shade of pink.

So, you definitely weren’t imagining all that stuff in class.

Fuck it. You consider this might be the only opportunity you might get to do this, so decide to grab it. After all, academic tutelage was only part of your motivation to get him alone, and something you’ve been thinking about for a long time, one of the fantasies that keeps you up at night, pops into your head. One that would definitely get his attention. And if you can’t help his confidence academically, perhaps you can help with it somewhere else. Call it interpersonal tutelage…?

With as much nonchalance as you can muster, you say, “Um, maybe we should take a break. Y’know, relax a little?”

You scootch away to the end of the sofa, putting your back against the armrest and bringing your feet up onto the cushion in front of you. You grab a couple of throw cushions and slot them behind you, getting comfortable.

Eddie seems to relax a little too once you’ve moved away, but still looks uneasy.

God, are you really going to do this? What if he screams and runs away, or worse, tells his friends, or your classmates..? No, you’ve been thinking about this for far too long. Oh, fuck it x 2…

Feigning a stretch, you arch your back and place your hands at the back of your waist, pushing your chest, and breasts, upwards. Then you move them to the sides of your ribs, glancing over the sides of your boobs, seemingly-innocently pushing them together. You move a hand underneath one of your breasts, cupping it gently in the crook of your thumb and forefinger.

Eddie is still sitting tensely on the front edge of the sofa cushions, stealing sideways glances at you through the curtain of his hair.

“C’mon, Eddie, get comfy with me. It’ll help, I promise.”

Self-consciously, Eddie shifts himself and sits facing you, cross-legged, at the other end of the sofa. You give him a soft smile, which he returns with a slightly bashful one of his own, afterwards rolling his lips inwards between his teeth.

Okay, it’s now or never. Are you gonna be able to concentrate on this, Eddie?

You hum quietly, and almost closing your eyes you run a palm down your chest and over your belly. You drop one knee slightly out to the side, and run your hand down the inside of your thigh and back up it, eventually pushing your fingers between your thighs and cupping your mound with your palm.

You see Eddie’s eyes widen and hear a stifled choke.

Your hand moves to fully cup your breast, and you lightly trace your thumb over your hardening nipple whilst the hand between your legs begins to apply gentle pressure, making you inhale deeply.

Eddie watches you, agape, bringing his hands together and clasping one hand over the other in front of him, you surmise to disguise his burgeoning bulge.

You open your eyes a little, keeping them soft and half lidded, and gently smile in Eddie’s direction, ensuring he’s still watching you.

Using both hands to pop the button and lower the zipper on your jeans, you tease yourself by running the pretty elastic trim of your your panties between your fingertips, pulling it slightly away from you and letting it snap back onto your abdomen.

“Uh…”, he swallows hard, and you internally groan at the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing in that delicious neck, “What’re you doing..?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, Eddie? I’m… relaxing…”

Sighing out the last word, you choose this moment to slip your hand down the front of your underwear, sliding over your mound and dipping just the tip of one finger between your folds, feeling the wetness that’s already pooled there. Your forehead furrows a little and you let out a quiet, contented hum.

Eddie’s eyes widen further and his eyebrows disappear completely under his bangs, and he sounds a little like he’s suffocating.

He tries to move further away from you along the sofa, unsuccessfully however as he’s wedged against the other armrest.

“Uh, I can, y’know, leave, or you could use my room, or, I can take you home, or, or-”

He’s babbling, and looking everywhere but at you. That’s not what you want at all, and you’re also concerned that he looks so uncomfortable.

“I can stop, if you want…”

He rushes out a reply, almost shouting the first syllable.

“N-NO! Um, no, it’s okay, really.”

“Okay, Eddie, stay right there. Keep your eyes on me, I wanna give you a show.”

He looks even more shocked, jaw dropping open, and you think he might bolt. But after a moment it’s clear that despite being full of anxiety, fear and self-consciousness, his curiosity, hormones and horniness are winning out, and he fixes his gaze on you.

He manages to squeak out, “Ok-aay…”

You lift your hips, using both hands to push your jeans and underwear down your legs until they reach your ankles. You slowly splay your knees, finally exposing yourself fully to Eddie’s gaze. One hand comes back to your breast, and you pinch your fabric-covered nipple between your thumb and forefinger.

He takes in the sight before him, the soft fur around your core, your wet folds glistening in the dim light of his living room, your sultry gaze, the peaks of your hardened nipples now visible through the thin fabric of your top.

He lets out a stuttering breath as his hips involuntarily shift underneath him, trying to find some friction.

“Jeezus fuck, Princess, are you tryin’a kill me?”

You try to think of something that might help relax him.

“If it helps you can imagine that we’re still studying. How about a quick lesson in female anatomy..?”

You move your hand down and with featherlight touches trace your fingertips around your pussy.

“Now, this whole area is my vulva.”

Eddie gulps.

Making a vertical line you trace your fingers over your wet lips.

“These are my labia.”

Eddie’s lips press together and he lets out a stammering hum, closing his eyes momentarily before snapping them back open so he doesn’t miss a thing.

“Are you paying attention, Eddie? This part is really important. This-,” you inhale sharply as you trail your wet fingers upwards and make contact, “This is where you’ll find my clit- fuck-”

It feels so delicious you almost don’t manage to finish your sentence, and you let out a long, low hum. Part of you doesn’t want to stop, but you’ve got more planned. Moving your fingers down again, you say,

“And this, here? This is my vagina…”

With a smile, you watch him stare as you dip a fingertip into your sopping hole, letting out a low moan as you gradually slip it inside of you.

“You know what the g-spot is, Eddie? I can show you where to find it, if you want me to…?”

You slide your finger in further, curling it towards your front wall, almost managing to tickle that certain spot within and letting out a loud groan.

At the other end of the sofa Eddie gasps an inhale, whimpering slightly, and you see him press the heel of his hand into his crotch. The combination of his sounds and actions is making you impossibly wetter - the boys you’ve been with before didn’t do much of either, and you didn’t know how much it turned you on.

You watch his face as he stares intently at your weeping centre as you slowly, so slowly move your finger in and out a few times.

“D’you think you’ll remember that, Eddie?”

“I promise I’ll fuckin’ try, Jesus Christ…”

He swallows again, exhaling heavily.

Deciding it’s time for the main event, you bring the hand that was squeezing your breast down your body, moving your fingertips to your clit and applying gentle pressure.

“I want you to see how wet you make me, Eddie. I want you to know how much I enjoy you watching my ass in biology class, how often I’ve thought about it when I’m alone. How much I like checking yours out in those oh-so tight jean- oh!”

A particularly exquisite circle followed by a firm press on your clit makes you moan out loud. The combination of both your hands has you close, closer than you imagined you’d be at this stage. It takes much longer when you’re by yourself, and you’re surprised and excited by just how much you’re enjoying having Eddie watch you.

Eddie’s fully gripping himself through his jeans now and is breathing heavily through his nose. He looks big, and you salivate at the thought.

You really want to see what he’s been hiding inside that tight denim.

“Show me, Eddie, I wanna see you.”

Hesitantly, never having experienced anything even close to this before, Eddie mumbles,

“You, uh…?”

“I wanna see you. Take out your cock. Let me see all of you, please.”

He’s rubbing himself, and you can see how strained his jeans are, a wet stain now visible in the dark fabric.

Slowly, eyes never leaving your face and looking for any tiny indication that you’re uncomfortable or have changed your mind, he slowly undoes his button and pulls down his zipper.

His languid pace is killing you, but in a good way; you realise he most likely has no idea what this is doing to you.

He rearranges the front of his jeans, opening the fly wide and leaving nothing but a thin layer of checkered cotton covering his member. The tent it’s creating is impressive.

He watches you stare and run your wet tongue over your bottom lip.

Letting out a nervous breath between pursed lips, he pushes one hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, using his thumb and two fingers to hold his cock at the base. Using his other hand he slowly, agonisingly slowly, pulls the fabric out and downwards, gradually exposing his full member to the lights of the room and to you.

You pause your own movements and spend a moment taking it in. It’s long, with an impressive girth - you briefly wonder whether he knows what he’s packing - and it’s the prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen. Lengthy, veined, slightly curved, and thick, so thick.

Eddie watches your expression for a moment. Satisfied that you’re not freaked or about to run away screaming, he brings the rest of his fingers to join the others, wrapping himself fully in his fist and squeezing gently, causing a little bead of precum to collect on the tip.

You take in the sight before you for a few moments, then utter, completely honestly, “Eddie, in case no one’s ever told you this, you have a really beautiful dick.”

His face and neck turn the second-prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen.

“No one’s ever told me that before, Princess.” Adding, almost in a whisper, “In fact, no one’s ever seen it.”

He chuckles lightly through that last sentence, embarrassed at what he’s just admitted. The ego boost of your comments has clearly given him some confidence though, as he adds with a slight smirk, a little breathy as he runs the pad of his thumb unhurriedly over his tip, “You, uh, really think so?”

Oh, so he likes me watching him too?

You can’t take your eyes off of it.

“I really do, Eddie. It’s so pretty.”

As if to confirm your statement you resume your hand movements, adding another finger and resuming circling your clit with the other. You notice that Eddie’s started moving too, his hand moving over himself in a deft gripping and twisting motion, his hips bucking up every now and again.

For a few moments neither of you say anything, the only sounds in the room your combined panting breaths and the lewd movements of wet skin.

Your clit is swollen and supremely sensitive, and, pushing in a little further, your fingers just tickle that exquisite spot within you.

You moan as you imagine it’s Eddie’s pretty cock inside you. That he’s leaning over you, thrusting into you, hitting that spot effortlessly. Maybe even talking to you, telling you how good your pussy feels, how well you’re taking him…

Suddenly your eyes roll back in your head and your mouth hangs open, a gutteral moan emerging from your chest as you get closer and closer.

Bringing your attention back to him you mumble, hurriedly,

“Jeezus Eddie, I’m gonna cum, you wanna see me cum?”

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire fucking life.”

Eddie’s words come out in a spluttering rush and on his last word your breathing halts, your muscles lock and you cum, hard, clenching around your fingers and letting out an involuntary strangled scream.

Somewhere in the back of your fuzzy mind you think you hear Eddie let out a loud, “Holy shhhiiiit!”

You come down a little, opening your eyes and locking them with Eddie’s. You ride out your aftershocks, humming as you feel your fingers inside of you and your juices running down them. You eventually remove your fingers from your cunt, leaving its puffy wetness fully on display, and trace them around your lips and clit.

“F-fuck, Princess, that’s the hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever fuckin’ seen…”

Eddie’s red-faced and panting, his cock still very much standing to attention in his now vice-like grip, the tip an angry red and leaking copious amounts of precum. His eyes are blown dark, the chocolate rims almost completely obscured. His face and neck are flushed and he’s covered in a sheen of sweat, and he’s clenching his jaw, looking like he’s trying desperately not to bust.

“Are you ok over there, Eddie?”

“Shit, yeah, yes, I mean, fuck.”

Breathily, you ask him,

“Do you wanna cum?”

“Fuck yes, I just, I didn’t know whether you wanted me to.”

“Oh I do Eddie, I really do. It’s your turn now. You gonna cum for me? Please, let me see you lose it, show me everything you’ve got.”

He breathes out a loud sigh in what seems like relief. You like how good he’s being for you, learning yet more about yourself that you didn’t know before.

His fist speeds up as his other hand comes to hold his balls, deftly stroking and rolling the flesh. His brow furrows deeply and his lips clamp shut around a low moan. He’s staring intently at you, eyes flicking between your face and your still-dripping cunt.

Suddenly his expression turns to one resembling surprise, as his eyebrows lift and his mouth opens, a string of expletives leaving those perfect, plump lips,

“Fuck, fuck, Jeezus, motherf-, oh my-, fuckfuckfuuuck!”

His jaw drops as his abdomen contracts, and his eyes fix on your cunt as he jets hot ropes of white cum into the air and over his fist and t-shirt. There’s so much, and it seems never ending.

The sight is even better than you’d imagined it might be and your hips buck up into your hand, making you press your fingers into your clit again triggering another aftershock, and you find yourself moaning along with him.

For a few moments there’s more silence, aside from your panting and heavy breathing.

Eventually Eddie chuckles a little, and you huff a breath out through your nose with a smile on your face.

You’re both a sweaty, sticky mess, but neither of you care.

“Fuck, Eddie, that was…” You’re lost for words.

“Amazing? Incredible?” Seeing the grin plastered across Eddie’s face is easily as gratifying as all the other stuff you’ve done tonight.

You both giggle as Eddie says, “Fuck me, Princess, you’re definitely the best tutor I’ve ever had.”

Neither of you really want to move, but some cleanup is definitely necessary. Eddie takes the blanket from the sofa and throws it in the washer, cleaning up quickly in the bathroom, letting you know when it’s free and returning in a change of clothes, throwing the others in with the blanket.

As you both process what’s just transpired you share timid glances and half smiles.

You both sit on the sofa again as you start to pack up your notes and books. In another unforeseen realisation, you’re surprised at how much you’ve enjoyed Eddie’s company, and the warm feeling you get inside every time he looks at you is entirely unexpected.

You realise you’re gonna have to be the one to say something, and give Eddie a smirk.

“So, how about next time we do some practical revision on, maybe, male anatomy?”

He looks a little surprised, but certainly not unhappy at the suggestion that there might actually be a ‘next time’.

“You really wanna, uh, tutor me again?”

Nodding in the affirmative, you reply, “Oh yeah, I think we’ve both learned a lot this afternoon.”

Holding his gaze, you suggest,

“Same time next week..?”

Continue studying with Lesson 2: Male anatomy

A/N 2: I’ve been having thoughts about making this a miniseries, so please let me know if you’d like to see a second “lesson” 😉

Thanks so much for reading!

Likes are great, but please also consider supporting writers with comments and reblogs - they help fics get seen, and it genuinely means the world! 🌍 ❤️

Taglist is open!

My masterlist

#virgin!eddie munson #virgin!eddie munson x tutor!reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie Munson x you #biology smut #the biology tutor #female anatomy lesson #Eddie munson x fem!tutor!reader #stranger things fanfic #Eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson smutty fanfic #smutty fanfic

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stsgluver · 9 months

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gojo hours (aka 24/7) is so real!!!! as for prompts i have been floating around with this but secret dating but they’re 100% so obviou about it. they also have the audacity to act surprised when they are accused of dating (by students or friends)

the idea was inspired by a prompt i saw with “let’s compare hands for science.” / “what?” / “it’s not like we haven’t done anything worse.”

HE WOULDN'T EVEN TRY TO BE SUBTLE.

you were both teachers at tokyo, having met as students so you'd known each other well over a decade.

when you were teenagers it was a very much will-they-won't-they relationship and you were both so so close to it being the real thing... but then toji fushiguro happened and haibara died and then suguru left to kill non-sorcerers and gojo isolated himself to the point where the two of you would barely say a greeting to each other when in passing.

it wasn't till you came back to be a teacher (you'd left tokyo high to work as a sorcerer independently for six years after graduation) that you two began to reconnect.

and it wasn't till about twelve months prior to the present that you had finally agreed to go on a date with him.

it was an unspoken agreement to keep the relationship under wraps. gojo was terrified the second he acknowledged you to the jujutsu world he'd lose you and you wanted people to respect you for your skills as a grade one sorcerer and not be reduced to a special grade's side piece.

you hadn't out right said it was secret but neither of you were jumping to tell anyone you were official.

gojo, however, had slipped back into old habits very quickly and, even before the two of you had started your secret escapades, your students and friends around you were suspicious. anyone with a pair of eyes could see how much gojo doted on you.

he brought you pastries, stayed back with you after class to clear rooms up, and was the first to have a go at the higher-ups whenever they'd blindside you and send you on a mission too difficult for one sorcerer alone (even they were getting suspicious of your relationship and wanted to see how far he'd go for you).

yuji and nobara had been at jujutsu high for two weeks before they met you. the two plus megumi had left class in search of gojo when they'd come across him speaking to you.

there was mere inches between the two of you. satoru had even lifted off his blindfold to speak to you, head tilted slightly with his lips tilted into a smirk as you ranted about the latest instant that the higher ups had managed to piss you off.

"is that gojo-sensei's girlfriend?" yuji had asked megumi, him and nobara sharing suspicious glances.

"no. she's the second year's teacher.”

"but they're close-close.”

“i know.”

"are you sure they’re not dating?”

megumi sighed. “i don’t care. go ask them.”

so he did.

yuji’s pink flop of hair appeared between the two of you, causing you to jump and take a step back from satoru to accommodate for the student. "are you two dating?"

"hi- what- no, us?" you stammered out, pointing between yourself and satoru as you adamantly shook your head.

"yuji!” satoru wrapped one arm around the boy’s shoulders and one arm around yours, “this is yn!"

he didn’t deny the question.

AND THE COMPARING HAND SIZES?

gojo does it regularly. any chance he can get.

he love love loves your height difference.

he's 6'3 so being taller than everyone isn’t unusual for him but something about being taller than you made him giggly.

the two of you had gone to the park with the first years for well deserved ice cream (kikufuku for gojo), and when yuji and nobara begin arguing over who has the largest pinky finger, gojo found it to be the perfect opportunity to compare your own fingers.

"let's compare hands for science," satoru would wriggle his eyebrow at you, pulling back the sleeve of his uniform jacket to clearly present you his hand (and also give you a glimpse of his toned forearm that he knows you love).

you rolled your eyes, glancing to the three students that were only metres away from you doing the same thing.

"what? right now?"

"it's just comparing hand sizes,” satoru dismissed before a mischievous look appeared on his delicate features. he bent down to your height, the hairs on the back of your neck lifting as he whispered, “plus it's not like we haven't done anything worse in pub-"

"megumi's watching us.” you cleared your throat, trying to keep your composure and not make it obvious the you’re affected by his indirect recounts of particular times together.

gojo grinned, standing up tall and grabbing your wrist absentmindedly to compare sizes despite your protests. “he asked me yesterday if i liked you again.”

"what did you say?” your hand was dwarfed by his, and it always shocked you how smooth his skin felt against yours despite the years and years of fighting against curses.

satoru interlocked your fingers and pressed a soft kiss between your knuckles. “that i loved you, of course.”

#bambi asks!!#gojo satoru #gojo prompts #— toru!!#gojo x reader #gojo fluff

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obsessive-valentine · 3 months

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Yandere!Hockey-Player x GN!Reader

A peak into the darker side of out beloved ice-hockey-jock boyfriend, what he’s willing to do for his darlings happiness. TW bullying and blood from fist fight

Not to proud of this one but wanted to get something out for you guys, promise I’ll post more soon.

Even though you are now dating one of the more ‘popular’ boys in your new school, not everyone changed up their attitudes towards you. It’s been almost a month but you’re still considered ‘the new student’- trying to find your place amongst people who already know each other. And although it’s easier now with your boyfriend keeping you company most classes, when he’s not around you find it hard to fit in.

It’s one of those days where he doesn’t have many classes with you, he walks you to your class and tells you he’ll meet you outside your class for lunch. For the most part your new classmates are nice to you, you sit comfortably on a table with people who have introduced themselves and offered you a seat on the first day. And the teachers are always welcoming.

But since the start of your introduction one particular boy known for interrupting class to wreak chaos and poke fun at classmates. Recently you found yourself being the butt of most his jokes. Poking and poking waiting for a reaction. You tried to keep your head down, ignore him and let the teacher handle his childish interruptions, but it’s just seems to make the situation worse.

From behind you you felt a quick tug on a few strands of your hair demanding the test answers, you ignored him which only worsened the torment. Then you felt your chair jerk over and over, the teacher to busy to notice him kicking your chair, so you don’t make a scene. He had the gull to tug at your hair again then poke at you with a ruler harder and harder, his friend snickering beside him

After one particularly hard poke you tried to tell him off but the teacher beat you to it, sending him to the back of class after you told her about the harassment. You kept your head down refusing to see the nasty glare he was no doubt giving you.

...

Leaving class he caught your backpack stopping you in your tracks “you shouldn’t have done that” he scoffed before pulling you back further making you stumble and walking out in front of you. You didn’t dwell on the threat seeing you boyfriend at the door and walking over to him, his face looked troubled “who was that?” Having watched half the interaction “just some idiot who thinks it’s fun to annoy me”

“What’s he done?” His voice sounded unusually serious and his back straightened defensively, making you focus the sheer size of the ice hockey player and how serious he becomes before a game against opposing school team. Sometimes you forget how much of a aggressive battering ram he can be due to his golden retriever personality.

You confided in him, ranting to him about how annoying this ‘class clown’ can be as you both walked to the lunch hall. “What a jerk, I’m sorry babe, he won’t touch you again” before you can question what he means he said “you gotta tell me about stuff like this” as you both settled on a table.

...

Most days he’d drive you back home after school but today you had a training session in at the ice rink and he didn’t -so you both parted ways “call me as soon as you’re done” he smiled waving goodbye. As soon as you were out of sight he walked back towards the school waiting in the parking lot.

His pupils dilated and practically seethed through his teeth, how dare someone cause stress to such a kind hearted and innocent person, his love. You failed to see the way his hands painfully clenched into fists as you told him about the ruler and the hair tugging, how he ground his teeth and nose flared in disgust.

He now stood expectantly doing all those same things but with a deadly scowl. And there was his target walking with a small group of boys, he let them pass and walked behind them stalking them out the parking lot and to a foot path before pulling on the targets bag, spinning him around and punching him hard across his face.

“Stay out of this” he shouts as his friends come to save him, shoving one in the chest who got to close. At some point they were both on the floor, both bleeding but one much worse than the other “you touch them or even look at them one more fucking time and you’ll be dead at the bottom of a lake that same day” he growled in his year before letting go of his shirt and letting him fall to the pavement.

Satisfied he walked back to his car, his bloody hands hands smearing on the steering wheel as he let out a relived sigh. He cleaned himself up before going into his house his mother questioned the split lip and bruises, worriedly grabbing his face inspecting it “We got a bit carried away in P.E mom, I’m okay” he reassured.

He gave you a similar excuse when you FaceTimed that night, saying he and the team played a few rounds of rugby on the field after school. You didn’t question it and fell asleep on call.

...

However when he picked you up in the morning and his hands were evidently bruised you began to doubt he was telling the truth about where the came injures from. That isn’t a harmless game of rugby.

And you knew what happened when in class the boy that loves to pick on you, now sat quietly in the farthest seat from you, a violent black eye, multiple scratches and cuts. He refused to look at you, you knew why now. Seeing how bruised your boyfriends knuckles were you could only assume the damage was worse under his clothes.

You couldn’t focus all lesson, would he really do this to someone? So you asked and he apologised promising you that he went to confront him about it but you bully was the one who threw the first punch, he had to defend himself. He saw your face twist in a mix of emotions he reassuringly squeezed your hand “I’m sorry babe, I can’t stand people treating you like that I just wanted to talk -trust me please. I didn’t think it would escalate” he looked like a scolded puppy “I didn’t want to worry you with a little scuffle so I lied” he held both you hands sincerely.

You forgave him, agreeing that boys fight all the time and this wasn’t his fault. Inevitably you’d forget about the incident and choose to believe his reassurances, he doesn’t come across as someone that would start a fight (if only you knew the things he’d do to keep you happy). And once his bruises heal you don’t give it a second thought.

Your adoring boyfriend who drives you everywhere, opens the doors for you, loves his mother, cheers you on during practice and competitions, buys you flowers, falls asleep on FaceTime when he can’t be closer, who just is overall a gentleman -he couldn’t do such a thing. Your sure of it.

#yandere oc #x reader #yandere #yandere hockey player

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thegnomelord · 4 months

Note

Ahhh! The Harpy Gaz fic was so cute. But that section at the beginning has me thinking about Ghost, who is interested in reader hybrid that has a very unusual courting ritual(s).

Like, apparently, pandas have a weird hostage situation. The female runs and hides in trees while male competitors fight for her. They will follow her around and try to steal her away until she's ready to mate. It's theorized that this little battle actually stimulates the mating cycle. Similarly, female ferrets don't ovulate unless they're being mauled half to death. (Doesn't sound pleasant to me, but to each their own) my thought here would be more like Ghost's total confusion as to why you seem to like fighting him so much.

Or one of my personal favorites, certain birds and pufferfish (and probably many others that idk yet) have taken to terraforming. They'll create intricate designs and illusions with sand, rocks, sticks, bones, whatever you can think of to attract a mate. The structure they create doubles as a sort of nest. Bowerbirds are particularly keen on displaying an assortment of blue things specifically.

Ooh or shrikes, imagine Ghost's reaction to seeing his favorite food impaled on a sharp object (maybe a combat knife). Tbh, that would be a little threatening. Opening the fridge and seeing a steak or something stabbed with a combat knife and a little note saying, "For Ghost, I hope you enjoy 😁❤️"

Sorry for the little rant, I have an unnecessary amount of knowledge about animal mating rituals.

- 👑 anon

No, no, as a fellow animal nerd I find this stuff so interesting!

I think Ghost would be weirdly into the knife being impaled in his food. Especially if you attempt to feed him with the knife, like sticking small chunks on the tip and expecting him to eat off the knife. And while he acts aloof he's hard in his pants because there's something hot about you using a dangerous object so tenderly with him (also weapon kink idk)

I really love the idea of reader being some deep sea monster or of some species that has a "fuck or die" mentality. Like some anglerfish or spider sexual dimorphism thing where if you were to court your own kind they'd be like 4-5 times your size and wouldn't hesitate to eat you. So you're very crafty and your courting rituals are weird as fuck.

Like Ghost is reading up on your species mating habits and seeing you tie up your mate and if they can't get out you fuck? And if they can you die? Should he be worried? And like he's rethinking every enemy takedown simulation you two had when you needed to tie him up like; were you courting him? was he courting you? what?

Or an especially powerful monster that has a tendency to make nests out of bones, to show how strong they are. So Ghost just walks into your room to see it covered from floor to ceiling in bones of all kinds of creatures with you looking at him like a puppy lol

Or or some kind of mercreature monster reader having a ritual where they pull their mate down to the depths away from competitors, because if it's not dark and cold and you're not drowning your mate won't want to fuck, and Simon's wondering if he needs to buy scuba gear?

#gnome's tea break #cod mw2 #gnome correspondence #x reader #👑 anon #simon ghost riley x reader #monster cod au #monster 141 au

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rejectionofhumanity · 18 days

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Since my last post about this kind of blew up, I’m going to take the opportunity and talk some more about red flag lists. Specifically, this red flag list posted in an otherkin community I’m part of. I’m not targeting this community specifically, I’m targeting red flag lists as a whole. This is just the one that was easiest for me to find.

Okay, let’s break this down, shall we?

-Claims to be an object: Objectkin exist. I know we exist because I am one. I’m a calculator. A calculator is typing this. Many of us are animists and believe in objects having souls (me included). And psychological objectkin exist too. You don’t get to pretend we’re all trolls because we don’t fit your idea of what otherkinity looks like.

-Size is unusual: I thought otherkin can be anything, including fictional creatures. If someone says, “My kintype is that I’m basically a wolf, but I’m the size of a house”, what right do I have to doubt that? Just because wolves that size don’t exist in real life doesn’t mean they can’t be a kintype. This point is just stupid.

-Claims a high number of kintypes with a majority fictional: Okay, what do you consider a high number? 10? 20? 30? Whatever number you pick is going to be completely arbitrary. What makes that number the number that should separate “valid” otherkin from “invalid” otherkin? Why do otherkin with high numbers of kintypes deserve to be separated? Tell me, in plain language, what is wrong with polykin. Oh, and why you hate fictionkin.

-Claims to be able to physically shift: This one I don’t know how much I can say on, because I don’t know much about the physically nonhuman community and am not a part of that community. But I do know that clinical lycanthropy and clinical zooanthropy exist. If any member of the physically nonhuman community wants to add anything, feel free.

-Implies wanting attention: Everyone wants attention. It’s how socializing works. You give someone attention and they give you attention in return. I clearly want attention. If I didn’t, I would keep all my alterhumanity thoughts inside my head instead of having a blog where other people can interact with my thoughts. And if need for attention becomes disordered, then you’re describing HPD. People with HPD can still be otherkin. Implying otherwise is ableist.

-Reacts defensively when questioned: Yes, otherkin should be able to calmly explain their kintypes. But what if you’re demanded to explain yourself day after day, and people still don’t believe you about your own experiences? Wouldn’t it be reasonable for you to get just a bit frustrated?! Are otherkin just expected to bottle up all that frustration?

-Mentions being unable to live in society: In what context do they mention this? There are many people with disabilities who are unable to live in our current society without a caregiver. Those disabled people… can be otherkin. Shocker. I myself don’t need a caregiver, but I do need many accommodations for me to be able to live in society the same way everyone else does. That’s just how being disabled is sometimes.

Anyway, rant over. I hope this cleared up why red flag lists are BS.

#otherkin #alterhuman #nonhuman #fictionkin #objectkin #polykin

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blackteaarts · 3 months

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I staged a small ask for Wheatley in VK after the events of Blue Sky with my headcanons and decided to share with you!

The question was: Tell us about your favorite places in Eden. Did you often go outside of it?

Translation of the entire text:

Oh, what is Eden? A couple of streets, a few dozen houses, a small square and my old friend Foxglove, haha. Do you understand that the town is, so to speak, quite tiny? Yes, let’s just say, it’s not overwhelming in its scale! No, not at all! Although this, of course, is not a reproach to the city, not at all! You know, it’s very cozy and pleasant here! This small town stands out not only for its size, but...

So what am I talking about?

I don't think I have many favorite places in Eden, although it's not that I don't like it here! God forbid! As I already said, it is very beautiful and charming here! After all, this is my HOME! It's just that this place is so small that there's really nothing to tell about it...

Here though! I love hanging around Foxglove, it's nice to see it in working order and realize that I had a hand, uh... Well, not literally a hand, of course, but I definitely had something to do with making it work! She is great!

But from other places, maybe I love the rest of Eden a little? I just don't think it makes sense to stand here and rant about how much I liked the tomatoes in someone's garden, ha ha ha!

Well, if we talk about how often I went beyond it, then... Yes? At first I rarely did this, because it was unusual for me and I was afraid of getting lost (and I can do this very well), but in general, over time, I became bored sitting within five and a half streets, so out of curiosity I began to climb and city! Plus, you'd be foolish not to take advantage of the opportunity to explore the surface! Now I can move on my own! Having legs and all... That's a definite plus when it comes to exploration, isn't it?

I think I like it!

#wheatley #portal fanart #human wheatley #portal 2 #blue sky fanart #blue sky portal #blue sky fanfic #digital art

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renaroo · 2 years

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Chris Kent?

Lu <3 You always know the right characters to ask~

My beloved and special boy, my favorite little man, my precious <3

wasted potential: This is probably the most painful part of this particular prompt. Chris Kent, of all the characters I have loved over the years with wasted potential, has probably the largest amount of wasted potential. And I mean this specifically with his original context -- ever since DC Rebirth, and maybe even a little bit before but especially since then, stories featuring “Chris” (or, more accurately “Lor-Zod”) have reinvented a completely different character to tell stories about rather than talk about the stories left on the table for Chris. It’s been so discouraging especially since the original story he had was SO unique and SO powerful

they're deeper than they seem: Chris had so much going on that people don’t really see on their first introduction to him. Like ah yes, a Kryptonian child who is the child of super villains — which to be clear is the only part of him that modern writers seem interested in and is why we’re seeing such horrible versions of him lately. But the original Chris, the real Chris, was a look at children who rise above the abuse they endured in childhood. And it’s not because he’s inherently some saintly presence or knows what to do. He’s able to prove himself good and powerful because he was rescued and shown love and goodness from people who took him in. It’s a story about the importance of families who step up, who foster, who adopt. I just love it.

didn't get enough screen time: This is self-explanatory, but we were absolutely ROBBED of more time with Chris, more time with Lois and Clark as his parents, more time of the deconstruction of childhood trauma/abuse that had only just begun. There are more appearances than people think — I especially like the comics written by Kurt Busiek featuring Chris — but we really deserved more of Chris as he was. Not aged up, not completely transformed into mini-Zod. And ugh it kills me.

I want to carry them in a handbag like a tiny dog: Also extremely self-explanatory. Chris is a precious boy. I will carry him around forever.

they've never done anything wrong in their life <33: Again, throw out everything post-New52 and the TRUE Chris has never done a single wrong thing in his life. Never forget the story of a boy who knew nothing but the abusive life inflicted on him, was welcomed into the loving arms of his foster family, had his world opened up to the idea that he was worth more and that he could be more, and stood firm for his better reality. He is precious. His story is needed. And I love him so much.

#I LOVE HIM #Chris Kent #Superboy #Lor Zod #ask meme #character opinion bingo #Rants of Unusual Size #opinions opinions opinions

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incorrectmarvelquotesss · 7 months

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— abience —

Warnings: fluff, angst, self-loathing!Bucky, mentions of PTSD, light mentions of racism

Summary: His head wasn’t clear and you were just in the way of his anger. || Soulmates AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: ~6k

A/N: This took too much time to edit and I’m pretty sure there’s still some mistakes. Anyway, it’s almost my birthday which means I want to do something for it here. Let me know if you guys want a drabble day or something like that. Enjoy!

*the strong urge to avoid someone or something*

Bucky grabbed a pen and looked around for a paper, telling Tony to calm down over the phone. When he finally gave up on finding a piece of paper, he opted to switch hands and scribble the address down on his right arm. He mentally thought that he should be happy for being ambidextrous even though it was Hydra’s doing, but Tony’s voice made Bucky tune back into reality before he could get too lost in his head.

“That’s the restaurant and remember to wear something casual,” Tony started, ranting about Morgan’s birthday dinner party. Gone was the Tony Stark that wanted every magazine to know his whereabouts and have overly sized parties. Now he would rather spend time in a diner that Steve had taken Morgan to, which she absolutely adored, and only have his family there.

Him and Pepper had the life that Bucky had wanted. He knew that they were soulmates, hearing about the time when Pepper had written a time and place on her forearm to meet with a client. Tony’s forearm had displayed the exact writing—and he claims to have recognized the handwriting—and decided to drop by the place where he pulled Pepper’s sleeve up and finally found his soulmate. They had their ups and downs, but they complemented each other and brought out the best in each other.

Bucky figured that that was what soulmates did. Complement each other. Brought out the best in each other. Complete each other. Help when one didn’t help themselves. He sometimes couldn’t help but wish he knew his soulmate, but he had decided it was better if he didn’t meet them. The Winter Soldier was still infamous for his actions, no matter how many times Bucky joined the Avengers for a mission to save the world—or universe. The lingering stares and whispered hatred followed him and he was sure it would eventually get too much for his soulmate.

Unless it was Natasha, he guessed, having been through something similar, Though she had found her soulmate a while before Bucky showed up. Steve had always thought that Peggy was his only soulmate in existence, but fate had proved him wrong when he had seen Natasha’s perfect cursive cross his arm as she drew out the words she wanted to get tattooed one day. Bucky had realized that they were a perfect match in more than some ways. The two were always coordinated and in sync, so it didn’t phase anyone on the team.

“I know,” Bucky huffed out, head snapping up as the doorbell echoed throughout his apartment. He looked at the clock and knew that there was only one person who could be here this late at night—it was only nine, but no one showed up that late. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Tony.”

“Yeah, alright, Buckaroo. And don’t forget to wear your happy face,” Tony said before hanging up on him. Not unusual for the genius, billionaire, philanthropist. Bucky had long gotten used to it, knowing he hung up on everyone, except Pepper and Morgan. Bucky couldn’t even resent him for that—Bucky would never dare hang up on Pepper or Morgan.

The doorbell chimed again and Bucky rolled his eyes, placing his phone on the island of his kitchen and walking towards the main entrance. He paused for a second when he caught the scent of cinnamon, hand frozen on the doorknob. It reminded him of a sweeter time, a bittersweet memory surfacing with hazy edges and leaving the lingering taste of a velvety texture in his mouth.

He twisted the door open.

“Hey, Bucky!” Sam said, barging in and toeing off his shoes without wasting a second for an invitation. He had gotten used to that ever since Sam decided to move into the apartment across from him. Even though he used to do it before moving into the building. It was just more prominent now to Bucky, the barging in with late night leftovers or pastries and sweets from the bakery down the street. The one where that sweet woman, who Sam didn’t shut up about ever, worked.

“What do you want?” That was his regular greeting and Sam accepted it.

“Well, you know that bakery down the street?”

“No, I don’t.”

Sam ignored him and said, “That girl I told you about tried out this new recipe with cinnamon buns and wanted me to try them, but being the good friend I am, I brought some for you to try too.”

“Jee, thanks,” Bucky drawled out as Sam placed the buns into the two plates Bucky owned. He had only one before, but Sam bought one for himself and left it here for things like these.

There was a reason why he never invited people over.

The living room had one two-seater with a small side table that was usually stacked with books from a shop he had found tucked between a few larger buildings. The carpet was actually a blanket that Bucky had bought a few years ago and often used it as a mattress. The two bedrooms were practically empty, a bed and a night table the only two things in each. Bucky used neither rooms nor the dining room, hence why there was no table in there. The two stools were pulled up against the island in the kitchen where Bucky, and Sam occasionally, ate any meal.

“Well, you are very welcome,” Sam sassed, chuckling to himself as Bucky’s broody mood lightened slightly at the familiar sight of cinnamon buns. “The woman said that she finally has a lead on her soulmate, y’know?

“That’s good for her,” Bucky said, not exactly in the mood for more soulmate bullshit. His left arm was permanently gone from existence so if his soulmate was right-handed, the chances of finding her decreased immensely. So there was more that Hydra took from him then. If he focused on it, he could probably find about a gazillion things they had taken from him. His sanity being the first one. Control, emotions, soulmate, time, name, the list could go on and on.

Sam bit into a bun and groaned, falling into the stool and smacking the island with his hand twice. Bucky bit back an insult, feeling like Sam was being a bit more dramatic than usual for something so small. He was used to the sounds and compliments that left his mouth after a bite, but the actions were new. And Bucky could say they were stupid and unnecessary, but held back because the previous pastries had been good too.

“Good sweetness, this is amazing,” Sam moaned, making Bucky pick up his own cinnamon bun. He eyed it with distaste, but bit into it anyway.

He felt his heart warm as the heat of the bun hit his tongue. Then the flavours flooded his mouth, bursting through the dough and making him inhale sharply. The sweet taste of cinnamon made him lick his lips. The light pinch of strawberry made his mouth water, desperate to take another bite and another. He barely registered when he had taken the second bite, the flavour of the pastry making him feel fuzzy and cozy. Comfortable.

“So,” Sam stressed out, his eyes already telling Bucky that he was about to tease him, “how is it?”

“It’s good,” Bucky grunted, putting the bun back on the plate while his face burned. He averted his eyes from Sam, wiping his fingers against his thigh and then flicking the dust off of his sweatpants. He didn’t know what it was about the bun, but it made him flustered. Nervous. Unsettled. There was a memory attached to cinnamon, that much he had clicked together. He just had a gut-sinking feeling that the memory was connected to his mother.

His mother had already been a sore topic of discussion. He could remember his sisters just fine, Rebecca being the most occurring between her, Eleanor, and Mary. Other than Rebecca, the three of them had bright steel-blue eyes. Rebecca had inherited his mother’s brown eyes, but she looked like the feminine version of Bucky. He remembered the countless times someone had pointed it out, saying that they could have been twins if Rebecca was a bit older. His father had always laughed and said it was in his strong genes that the two of them looked like him.

Steve had tried to talk about his mother—the one he barely even recognized—but Bucky had somehow managed to ignore all of those conversations. Steve, retired with Natasha by his side, had yet to finish a whole sentence about Winifred Barnes in front of Bucky.

“I was wondering,” Sam started, giving Bucky a glare when he sighed, “if you were going to Morgan’s birthday party?”

“I am,” Bucky replied, lifting up his bun and eyeing it, pondering on whether he wanted to indulge in the memory or not. If he took a bite and remembered what made cinnamon so special to him, maybe he would finally remember the brown eyes he adored and the warm arms that welcomed him home everyday after school.

“Great! We’re going together then,” Sam stated and stuffed the last piece into his mouth. Bucky cringed inwardly and shook his head.

“No.” Bucky put his bun down and Sam eyed it.

“Yur nof guha eaf faf?” Sam pointed at the bun, voice muffled, but gestures telling Bucky exactly what he was asking. Bucky rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively, watching Sam jump in his stool slightly before grabbing the piece from his plate. Sam swallowed down the piece that was in his mouth and added, “We’re so going together tomorrow. My car’s at the shop.”

“Why?” That was the one question Bucky ever asked. He found it easier to ask that and have the other person continue to talk than small talk. Idle chit-chats that he could barely remember were the worst and his biggest nightmare at this point.

“Well, the engine started making this noise,” Sam began, gesturing with his hands and elaborating on the noises more than Bucky wanted. Bucky’s shoulders started to relax as he realized he was in for a long night.

———

Sunlight glared at him through the blinds, waking him from the dreamless sleep he was finally getting. Bucky begrudgingly rolled out of his makeshift bed, cursing Sam for staying until midnight watching Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs after Bucky let it slip that he took his sister to go watch it. He rushed down the steps of his apartment building, still shrugging on his damn flannel and biting into his plum as he turned the corner. He finished it off by the time he had crossed the street, sending up a hand to a car that had stopped for him.

His shoulder knocked into someone as he entered the bakery, desperate to have something in his stomach before he took the subway into Manhattan. He muttered out an apology—the person had already disappeared—and continued his venture into the bakery Sam always talked about. Bucky had never been inside nor had he realized that it was a cafe/bakery. The scent of coffee and pastries made him pause for a second before he stepped into the queue. Ordering his coffee and paying for it, he found himself looking around the place.

It was made to look vintage, that much was obvious. The walls were a cool brown colour with beige accents creating swirly patterns around the whole cafe. The tables and stools lined up on the walls were another shade of brown that matched the round tables in the middle of the floor. The chairs for the tables were a light cream colour that matched the ceiling and the register counter. There were pillar replicas cut to fit into the corners of the walls, ninety degrees perfectly.

Once the barista called his name and held out his coffee, he rushed forward to grab and then walked out of the bakery. Cafe. Cafe/bakery place. He turned slightly as he walked away to glance at the name; Moonstruck. That didn’t help calm the debate happening in his head. Was it a cafe or a bakery? Is it both? Is it—

“Hey, Buck!” Sam called out from behind, a cunning smile on his face. He waved a hand teasingly as he lightly jogged over, a coffee in his hands as well. “Thought you could go without me, did you?”

Bucky rolled his eyes and continued to walk away, muttering, “Don’t know what I was thinking.” He took a sip of his coffee and looked up just in time to avoid a collision with a cyclist.

“I’m gonna ignore that and—” Sam paused to sip his coffee and gave the cyclist a glare— “tell you flannels are a good look on you.”

Bucky glanced down at his attire and shrugged dismissively. His black pants, black shirt, and red flannel were nothing to compliment. He found them all too casual and, quite frankly, the only decent pair of clothing he had for this outing. He didn’t say anything to humour Sam, instead taking another few sips of his coffee. It was good, very well-made, but that was another thing Bucky kept to himself.

“Oh! You got that coffee from Moonstruck, didn’t ya? I’d recognize that logo from a mile away,” Sam started, wiggling his eyebrows when Bucky sent him a glare. They reached the station, taking the steps down and scanning their cards to get in. Sam had, thankfully, kept his mouth closed for the time they waited for the subway to arrive, sipping his coffee and sending smiles at a particular woman who kept eyeing him with a smirk.

They both had to stand in the subway; apparently Saturdays in the middle of fall meant rush hour in the early afternoons. Bucky wondered briefly if he had rode in the subway back in the 40s. He knew there were working subways in New York then, but he doubted he ever took it. If he had to compare the money his parents had back then, he was sure they would be living as luxurious as Tony was now. They had a car and some foods that others would have had to work for months straight for.

As the subway started nearing the stop they were due to get off at, Sam started getting jittery.

“Do you think Steve’s gonna be there?” He asked, eyes darting to Bucky as he leaned against a divider. After Steve had given the mantle over to Sam, Sam had been doing nothing but trying. His view on the idealistic Captain America was different from what Steve’s was. He wanted Captain America to not just represent the country and the people in it, but also shed light on what America really was. It wasn’t the best country in the world, nor was everyone living in it the best people. Sam wanted to put that out to the world.

Bucky and Steve could respect him for it. Sam thought that they wouldn’t, simply because they didn’t share the same life experiences as him. They didn’t have police pulling up behind them already on high alert, just based on the colour of their skin. They didn’t have to endure the stares and subtle gestures of moving away or moving something away from them. Sam had explained what he saw Captain America to be with hesitancy, seemingly fully expecting the two to laugh in his face or tell him that it was wrong. But they had nodded solemnly and agreed, knowing that they would never know the struggles but could at least try to understand and help in any given way.

“Probably,” Bucky replied after a moment of thinking, shrugging. His one-word answer wasn’t enough for Sam.

“You think he watches the news? They’ve been dragging my name through the dirt with last week’s disaster,” he continued, grabbing the rail as the subway stopped to let passengers down at the stop. Last week’s disaster meant the tabloid of Sam talking to Zemo before the Wakandans took him in. He had watched a news channel dissect the picture, drawing to the stupidly hilarious conclusion that Sam had links to Hydra. The mere idea was laughable.

“Don’t worry,” was all Bucky grumbled out, stepping between a few people as they made their way to the doors. It wasn’t the best thing to say because Sam let out a frustrated sigh and had an irritated expression on his face. Bucky knew he should have had more things to say, to comfort Sam, but words were complicated. Bucky could never find the right ones and he found himself cutting his sentence down to just a few words.

The speakers went off with an automated voice telling them to stay clear of the door just before a ding and the doors slid open. Sam and Bucky slipped out of the subway, moving past the crowd that waited to get on and jogged up the stairs out to Manhattan. The stench in the air never failed to make Bucky’s throat itch for a few minutes. It was better when they passed the rush of the tourists and traffic in central Manhattan and made their way towards where the diner was nestled. Sam decided against saying anything for the time being and Bucky was thankful.

———

“Ay! Buckaroo and Cappie made it!” Tony announced, clapping Sam on the back as Sam glared at him. Tony kept his grin on his face, making it bigger for the sheer amusement of seeing Sam get all riled up at the nickname. Bucky had long accepted his, hearing it from Morgan a few times, said just a hair wrong and decided it was cute.

“Buckaroo!” Morgan shouted at the top of her lungs and ran straight towards Bucky, launching herself at him. Bucky, being an ex-assassin and having been greeted like this since the third time, let a smile grace his lips as he extended his arms just in time to catch her mid-jump.

“Hey, Mags.” He felt her arms wrap around his neck and arms around his middle as he held her close to his body, giving her a long hug before squeezing her tightly and letting her go. She jumped in his arms, bright eyes looking right at him with an excitement he hadn’t seen before.

“Did you write the address on your arm?” She asked, eyes widening as she whipped her head to look over her shoulder before turning back to look at him, hair slapping his cheek lightly each time. Bucky cocked an eyebrow and nodded slowly. She grinned wider, if that was possible with her small cheeks and face, and said, “Your soulmate’s here!”

Bucky’s heart dropped, feeling the blood drain out of his face and head towards his ears, thumping loudly. His face must have been somewhere between shock and horror, but Morgan mistook his expression for surprise and wriggled in his arms to be put down. She darted towards the back of the diner, towards his soulmate, shouting something at him along the lines of come on, buckaroo, she’s waiting. Bucky snapped out of his initial shock, but it turned into panic. Full blown panic. His head was spinning with worry so he did the only thing he could do.

Run.

Fight or flight, and he, like a coward, took the latter. He spun around on his heels, knocking his shoulder against Sam as he exited the door they had just entered. His chest rose and fell with each laboured breath he took, a shiver licking up his spine as he felt the cold seep into his bones. It was deeply embedded, drawing out a shudder from him as he fell forward, one hand on the wall as he tried to catch his breath. His chest felt heavy, suffocating him from the inside, squeezing his ribs and never letting go. Breathing was getting harder and it felt better not breathing.

“Bucky?” Steve’s hand was on his shoulder, squeezing tightly to let him know that he was here. Bucky wanted to throw his hand off and tackle him to the ground, but all too soon, his mind cleared, breathing got easier, and his panic subdued to calmness. His eyes darted up, meeting yours with a sharp gasp.

“Why?” He asked, more harsh than he wanted to. He knew that soulmate’s could feel and transfer feelings, with so much more he had to discover, but he didn’t want you to do it. He was fine, suppressing his feelings from you for so long and pushing yours away from him, so why did you do it?

“I—I could feel it,” you said, almost hesitantly as if you knew he was trying to hide it. Sam, who Bucky hadn’t noticed, spoke up from beside you.

“This is bakery girl, man! You’ve had so much of her food to taste,” Sam started, gesturing to you with a sweep of his hands. “Y’know she’s a keeper when her food tastes that good.” Bucky’s eyes felt tighter as he looked at you, sensing the change in your mood the second he did. He didn’t even feel the sick and twisted smile on his face until he went to speak.

“So? What difference does that make? I. Don’t. Want. It,” he seethed out, grin fading out when he saw the tears in your eyes. The betrayal and hurt he felt at that moment was more painful than any bullets he had taken. Utter bullshit. The second a sob broke through your lips and you turned away, a piece of him broke. He was sure what it was—his arm, leg, nose, or whatever—but something broke. It left a stinging pain in his chest.

“What the fuck, Bucky?” Steve hissed, grabbing and pulling him to turn by his shoulder. Steve’s anger radiated off of him in waves, making Sam slip back inside with a single glance towards your figure in the distance. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Bucky muttered, not even meeting Steve’s eyes. He knew he screwed up, fucked up big time, but his mind was made. He was clear before with his thoughts about soulmates and the sudden appearance of his, of you, made him freak out. He wasn’t ready. He just wasn’t.

“Well, you better find the fuck out before I fuck up some else shit of yours, James,” Steve retorted with a slip of desperation.

“Get off of it, Steven,” Bucky tried, finally raising his eyes to meet his. Steve’s nostrils flared in anger, face turning the lightest shade of red as he grabbed Bucky by the shoulders and shook him.

“You better get your fucking act together, Barnes. That woman didn’t deserve being called it or your shit. Your anger is displaced; you’re mad at yourself, not her. You’re a fucking asshole when you don’t think, y’know that?” Steve finished ranting and glanced at the door to the diner. “Now, we’re gonna go in there and act like you didn’t just fuck up and then, later today, you’re gonna go apologize to her. And you make sure you do that properly. The second she stepped in here and realized who she might potentially be soulmates with, she baked a whole ass cake for Morgan. In blueberry flavour because Morgan had told her so when buying her slushie. She’s nice and didn’t even bat an eye when Wade showed up.”

“Hey,” Tony’s voice came, head peeking out of the door. His eyebrows furrowed as he took a quick sweep of the scene before sighing and stepping outside. “Go inside, Old Cap.” Steve scowled at the name, muttering something about the team being a pain in the ass before heading in with a shared glance with Bucky. Tony replaced Steve’s spot and held his hands up in mock surrender with a smirk on his face. Bucky started scowling at him.

“Look,” Tony started, putting his hands down and wiping the smirk off his face, “I don’t know what just happened, but I’ve got some clue with the way you ran out here like your ass was on fire. I don’t know what Steve said to you, but I’m not here to tell you what to do with your life. Though, you do need to get a life. Jokes aside, I felt the same way about soulmates as you do.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, scowl falling and a non-amused expression on his face, doubting that they thought the same way about soulmates. Tony rolled his eyes and huffed out an annoyed breath.

“Fine, not the exact same way, but similar. I—I was a fuck up. I screwed every woman who threw themselves at me and the ones who didn’t, I tried my best to break down to the point they’d want to throw themselves at me. I—Pepper never cared much about that side of me. But she saw and saw past it. When I found out she was my soulmate, her handwriting gave her away. But I didn’t want it to be her. I couldn’t have had it be her, because she knew everything about me, from the drinking to the girls to my traumatic childhood. But—but she looked past it. She didn’t hate me or throw me out of her life. She gave me a chance.”

Tony looked at him expectantly, visibly awaiting an answer.

“What?” Bucky gruffed out, not seeing the point of this. He already knew that Tony was a womanizer and Pepper was a saint for putting up with him. The past few years had changed Tony in a good way and they all had Pepper and Morgan to thank.

Tony huffed out another annoyed breath, narrowing his eyes slightly and looking at Bucky as if he should have known what he was trying to say.

“If Pepper can forgive me for mistreating her for years, Y/N can forgive you for whatever impulsive asshole move you made.”

“Y/N,” Bucky mumbled, liking the taste of your name on his lips.

“Listen, Bucky.” Tony hesitated after that, but nodded and continued, “I’m not usually this sentimental or emotional, but I’m gonna be for your thick head to understand. Soulmates are better together. There’s this—this aching in your bones when you're not with them and—and their scent, their presence, calms you. Pepper, she makes everything feel better too. You go find her—after the party cause Morgan likes you more than anyone else—and tell her you’re sorry.”

Bucky nodded, finally realizing that the ache in his chest was just that. The feeling of being away from you was settling into his chest, deep in his bones, and his head was feeling light. It was the distance from you that was doing that to him. He was going to apologize, no matter how many times he needed to.

He figured he had a better shot at it, knowing Pepper forgave Tony.

———

The party was still in full blast when Bucky felt he had had enough of the building ache in his stomach. The ache seemed to worsen every time he felt a twinge of hurt, knowing exactly where it was coming from. Your tears, the anguish and hurt, all of it was digging a hole in his chest deeper and deeper. The invisible knife was twisting his insides as he gave Morgan a long hug and shook Tony’s hand. Tony gave him a smirk and pushed his glasses up his nose with the middle finger with a smug expression. Bucky ignored it, dropping his hand and walking out of the diner.

He took the subway back, keeping his head low as the dull throb in his head started to grow. It was gone in a few seconds—you had cut your emotions from him once again. Every time he had felt your emotions transfer over to him, they went away in a few seconds like you were trying to keep him from feeling what you were. He had done the same to you for years, so he deserved it—that’s what he kept telling himself.

All those years, he felt your emotions through the bond, but he never dwelled on those happy feelings. At first it was because Hydra pumped him up with shit that blocked his soulmate off completely. They kept him protected from your feelings, but that didn’t stop them from making him send nasty emotions your way. The rookies would take turns making him send you all kinds of emotions through the bond, some of which he was sure he would be thoroughly ashamed of if he remembered them all.

Then it was because he felt as if he didn’t deserve to be happy. He didn’t want the happiness that seemed to radiate from you everyday, so he pushed it back harshly, letting the tiniest bit of anger seep into you. Now, it was because he couldn’t let other feelings get the best of him. He had been going on missions, back-to-back, for three months and those missions would not have been completely with a sense of sympathy. Until Steve made him take this month off as their superior, he was blocking your emotions from reaching him. He let them seep through him a few times in the past month or so, relishing in the calmness.

The subway pulled to his stop and he got out as soon as the doors opened. He ran up the stairs, the hole in his heart starting to close the closer he got to your bakery. You were there. If the lights and shuffling were something to go by at least. His heart was ready to crumble when he peeked through the window and saw a teenager working his way through the shop with a broom. But then the kitchen doors were swinging open with you walking through, a pained smile on your face. Your tears had dried up, but there was no mistaking the puffiness around your eyes and the red tinge to them.

Bucky knocked and walked in, surprised to find the door unlocked.

“Sorry, we’re—” You cut off as your eyes landed on him. You took a moment to look at him carefully, eyes narrowing in both confusion and uncertainty, before directing your voice to the teenager. “Nico, you should go home now. Your mom said you needed to be back before eight and it’s already seven.”

“Are you sure you don’t—”

You turned towards Nico with a smile, thin-lipped, but a smile nonetheless, and said, “Go before I kick you out.” Nico grinned and shrugged, but placed the broom up against the wall, a pile of dust and garbage near the end of it and pushed past Bucky with a glare.

“Don’t fuck up,” Nico whispered as he paused to grab his hoodie from the coat rack by the door. Bucky gave a mere nod, one that was barely even there, and heard the door close behind him.

The tension that lingered in the air after Nico left made Bucky shift uncomfortably. He could tell the sun was going, probably touching the horizon with its end and painting the sky in orange and pink hues. The shop was going from warm to cold. The chatters and people that had kept it lively were gone, a quiet humming and buzzing coming from the kitchen. The displays were empty of the pastries and goods that were up in the morning, warm and fresh.

“Did—Did you need something?” The slightest crack in your voice made his eyes dart back to you, unaware of when they had drifted off of you in the first place. Your hands were playing with the hem of your sweater, one on the zipper and one fiddling with the end of it. Your feet shifted on the ground, going from straight to tilted to straight again.

“I, uh, I wanted to say sorry,” Bucky started, wincing when he tasted the words on his tongue. They didn’t feel right nor were they what you deserved. After what he said and did to you—not just today, but throughout your entire life—he had to give you more. He wanted to give you more and then some. “But I don’t think that’s enough. I—I want to show you that I’m sorry. Truly. Not anything half-assed or, you know, not real. I want to make it up to you.”

He stared at you for a long second. His eyes trailed over your eyes that had widened sometime through his little ramble, going down to your lips that pressed together in a thin line, and then to your hands that were no longer fiddling but fisted up together. You lifted one to comb through your hair, exhaling a gentle breath of a laugh. Your sweater rode up on your arm, his handwriting displayed across your forearm coming into view. A small smile appeared on your lips, one that only had the tips of your lips curling upwards.

“You can start by helping me clean up,” you teased, sniffling slightly and tilting your head at him. The smile on your face slipped as you whispered, “Just don’t do it again.”

“I won’t,” Bucky agreed quickly, head nodding fast enough to leave him feeling lightheaded. “I just—I’m a little fucked up in the head. I’m not the best man in the world and you could definitely do better than me, so much better. So if—so if you don’t want me at all, if you want someone else—”

“I wouldn’t have stayed at the diner if I didn’t know what I was getting myself into,” you interrupted, voice soft and gentle. It was soothing enough for Bucky’s shoulders to sag with relief. He hadn’t noticed the tension in his body until then. You smiled again, a little more than the last one. “I mean, ending up at a diner with the Avengers who are basically in the media's limelight all the time, I kinda know what I was getting myself into.”

“It could have been Sam,” Bucky blurted out, trying to get a reading on you.

You eyed him curiously as you answered, “Unless he has two soulmates, I’m pretty sure I knew who it could’ve been.”

“What about—”

“Bucky,” you stressed, shaking your head as a breathy laugh escaped your lips. “You can’t push me away with your self-doubt or self-loathing. You’re stuck with me.”

That’s what he was doing. Pushing you to your edge with his constant self-hating and questions that would make anyone pull out their hair. He wanted you to be the one pushing him away after a slip-up, after a mistake, and be the one hurt. He wanted you to hurt him the way he hurt you. But you were smiling at him, laughing at his nagging questions, and trying to tell him that he was stuck with you.

You’re stuck with me.

That didn’t sound too bad.

“Bucky?” You took the few steps that were between you two and left a few inches of space between your bodies as you gazed up at him. “I know you’ve got baggage—Sam talked about his mystery friend up in that apartment building. He told him a few things here and there, letting me fill in the gaps. It didn’t take long for me to put the pieces together and chalk his friend up to being you.”

Bucky clenched his jaw and looked away from you. A soft and warm hand touched his cheek lightly, hesitant fingers trailing on his jaw, before you pressed your palm into his cheek and guided him to look at you.

“I’m willing to try this, Bucky, if you are.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered between your eyes, once or twice flitting down to your lips. He could feel his chest warm and bloom with something close to adoration, resolve crumbling the longer you stared at him. His jaw unclenched under your touch and, before you could pull away from him, he curled his left hand around your wrist gently, so light that it was feather-like. He twisted his head enough to place his lips against your pulse point, lingering as he caught the scent of cinnamon.

“I want to try,” he whispered, lips tickling the inside of your wrist as you grinned. His heart thumped against his chest in a way that made his insides melt, all in a good way. Your fingers patted his cheekbone lightly, tilting your head and narrowing your eyes slightly with a glint in them.

“Then get cleaning.”

#mcu #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #bucky barnes x reader #mcu x reader #marvel mcu #bucky barnes x y/n #mcu x you #mcu x y/n #avenger x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #james bucky barnes #james barnes x female reader #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #james barnes x y/n #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier

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alarmclockthatrings · 6 months

Text

Please, Stay. - Johnshi!

Hi there! Sorry for being gone for long but here I am... ANYWAYS! HAVE THIS FLUFFY COMFORT FIC OF JOHNNY AND KENSHI!!

TWS: NONE! SPOILERS, MAYBE (?) Polly a rant but no one can stop me.

GENRE: FLUFF, COMFORT, CANON CHARACTER X CANON CHARACTER

After a long-lasting night at Madam Boe's, the duo, Kenshi and Johnny fared back to Earth realm, the night long on its way, the cicadas chirping, hidden amongst the leaves of the green and lush trees that gave out the fresh breeze and the moon pale and glowing ever so gracefully that it felt like they were in the moons gaze.

The moment was calm and quiet, unlike the things they'd had to endure not too long ago and it felt soothing to just walk through the dirt steps and turn and – stare at Kenshis face. His chiseled features and his noticeable stubble, his thin lips that glowed a soft pink, his suit, red and beautiful, and Sento, the thing that bonded them in the first place.

He has never been more proud he's bought Sento, knowing that it was the reason they've met in the first place.

He remembers handing it to Kenshi, their calloused fingers noticeably brushing against each other as the light from the gaps of the trees behind them seeped into their hands, as if to enlighten it, their rough skin basking in the ever glow.

Johnny chucks a smile with a snicker. He remembered how his heartbeat was in a messy rhythm when he gave Kenshi the long-anticipated sword after all those months.

He felt the gratitude and appreciation seep through the red cloth and he smiled like his eyes weren't gouged out and this string attached to them, bonded together, maybe even stronger than the loose grip they were once entangled in, and Johnny felt an unkempt feeling brush over his cheeks along with a gurgle that came from his stomach and he swore his eyes almost disappeared into cheeks from how wide he was smiling.

Bump Bump... Bump Bump..

Johnny convinced himself it was just his heart feeling excited from the good deed he had done.

Maybe.

Perky and upbeat - and possibly tipsy- Kenshi and Johnny barely kept a conversation as they slurred their sentences into this confusing bubble and the pair decided to stay quiet, knowing talking would only make them more drunk rather than sober.

But, Johnny notices how close they are, their sides, almost inches away and their shoulders so close to bumping into eachother.

Each time Kenshi takes a small stumble in his drunken steps, he moves a bit to Johnny's side, and his breath hitches. His heart skips a bit as his muscles tense.

Secretly, his hands jolt towards his sides to ensure he doesn't fall toward him but his hands merely ghost over his waist as Kenshi straightens himself, walking back to normal again, Johnny's heart unusually pounding out of his rib cage.

It's the girls that fall, not him.

[THEY FINALLY REACH HIS MANSION]

After what seemed like hours, they finally got up the stairs that -much to the drunk dismay- curl, they reached his bedroom.

The moon was framed perfectly by his massive glass window that showcased his entire pool from above and the moon lit up the almost dark bedroom. It illuminated a large king-sized bed with sapphire sheets that blended perfectly with the pale glow that curled around the bed.

Johnny flopped towards the bed and Kenshi stood there. What was there to do? Leave? Yeah, maybe that was the right choice.

Kenshi turned a heel but Johnny's sharp and drunk ears heard the click of his boots clashing with the marble floor and suddenly Johnny sprung forward and dragged Kenshi into the comfortable sheets and Kenshi was dumbfounded.

He was in bed. With Johhny. And Johnny's. Cuddling with him.

"Cage.." Kenshi tried to start, his voice low from the drinks Kung Lao had bought.

"Takahashi.." Cage answered under his chin, his hair brushing against his stubble. Kenshi flushed as his stomach tied himself into a knot as he felt Johnny's weight on his, half of it on the side of the bed.

Johnny felt warm against the air conditioning, exactly as he imagined. Too close to what he had imagined, how does he know that this isn't what he does when he's drunk?

Playing with someone's feelings, feeling snug against them and possibly flirty - he had been at Madams Boes. -

Kenshi swallowed a lump, his mind a mess, and yet his body was as still as it is. He doesn't want to wake Johnny and yet he mutters.

"I need to go." He said, his sweat dry against his forehead as the cold, artificial air dried them.

"No."

....

"Please, Stay."

"I love you."

That did it. Kenshi jolts and he wants to move but Johnny shifts and eases towards his body. Is he serious? Is this one of his drunken banters that Kenshis never heard of? Or is he telling the truth?

No.

Johnny Cage? THE Johnny Cage, love him? Is he dreaming? He's kidding, right?

He breathes quickly against Johnny Cage, feeling him peacefully sleeping against his broad chest. He loves Johnny, he really does but he didn't know that the feeling was mutual.

And now, he's here to sit and overthink about what Johnny said since the reason itself is sound asleep with no confirmation.

He hates Johnny.

He loves Johnny.

#johnshi #kenshi takahashi #mortal kombat #mortal kombat kenshi #mortal kombat johnny cage #johnny cage #johnny cage x kenshi takahashi #fanfic #romance #SO. NORMAL. ABOUT. THEM. GAHHHHH #i love them.

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foone · 1 year

Note

Please don’t feel obligated to reply because this might be a touchy issue, but i see on one of your posts that you hate Hacker News. I just discovered HN a few months ago and have been enjoying it, but as a fellow trans person i’m curious if they’ve been transphobic or the like (based on the context of your comment) and if i should stay away

OKAY SO here's thing thing: as a reader, HN is... fine. They're not great. They have a history of sexism in what posts get boosted and a history of various shades of transphobia in the comments, but that's not particularly unusual as far as internet forums go. Reddit is much the same, for example.

My problems with HN are related to getting posted there. The way the site works when you're reading it and when you're getting posted there are very different. More explanation under the readmore since this got long. (warning: some talk of transphobia and doxxing)

The site is not avoidable. Back when I was still on twitter, getting posted on HN meant your notifications were useless for a week, because they are scraped by endless bots trying to farm for likes and reblogs, and every single one of them ends up tagging you. And even now when I'm off twitter, getting posted there means you still get informed that you've been posted there, by well-meaning people who know you hate it, or are just innocently commentating on how it's neat to see you on HN. Or hey, in the latest iteration, you find out because your askbox is now full of slurs (and not just the ones you'd expect!). Basically, it is impossible to be submitted to HN and not know about it.

And then it gets worse because it's now a known fact that I don't like being on HN. Meaning every time I AM on HN, it turns into a big debate in the comments about why I don't like HN, why I post the way I do, and people arguing with the explanation of my opinion. I'm not even there, and people are mad at the phantom of me for not doing things in the way they like.

Because how I post is part of what they always get mad at me about. I have severe ADHD: This is a well known fact about me, I post about it a lot. It means that I used to post on twitter a lot, because twitter was (at the time) one of the only sites I could post on at all: The way it makes you chop up your line of thinking into small chunks, each of which is small enough that I can focus on it. I've since managed to handle tumblr-posting, and I occasionally post on mastodon now, but for most of the time that I was posted on HN, I was posting this way, only on twitter, in long threads where I don't think much ahead or do editing/revisions BECAUSE I CAN'T.

And here's the thing about people who prefer more "traditional" geek news sites like HN: A lot of them are there because they hate the bite-size nature of sites like twitter and tiktok. And they are Not Happy with people submitting twitter threads to HN: They hate that kind of formatting of content, and announce that fact, loudly.

And then people in the comments point out that I have ADHD and can't post in the style they'd prefer (long well-edited blog posts), and then it turns into an argument there, often with people happily brining up their opinions on whether ADHD is "real" or things like that. Again, I'm getting argued about without being there to defend myself.

And this is where it gets transphobic, through the indirect route of sexism: Someone says something innocent but vaguely dickish like "well he should just hire someone to rewrite all his twitter posts as blog posts!" (like they think I am doing this as a job and can afford to pay an editor, rather than just some weirdo who rants because that's what they do). They assume I'm a man, because most of the people who get posted on HN (and especially the ones who get upvoted) are. They just assume everyone without an Obviously Female Name and a profile picture that's a photo of a smiling woman is male, and honestly they're probably right most of the time, because that's just how the gender balance on HN ends up working.

And then someone points out I use they/them pronouns, and it just goes to shit. You get people yelling that it's not their job to figure out the pronouns of everyone they're talking about, like it's a perfectly normal thing to just assume everyone is male, you get people arguing about how "he" used to be the gender neutral pronoun, you get people arguing that singular-they is ungrammatical, you get people taking offense at the very idea of they/them pronouns because "you can't force everyone to follow your religion" (as apparently either trans or non-binary is a religion now (well, I am a pope)), and then a bunch of "[post flagged]" and you can only speculate about how bad THOSE posts were, if so much other transphobia is still sitting in the comments, untouched by the supposed moderators who are supposed to delete it.

You get people calling you mentally ill, and then getting in arguments about how they mean YOU SPECIFICALLY for the crime of "wanting to not be posted on HN", and not all trans people. Because apparently the HN rules are fine with you saying "this specific trans person is mentally ill and should be locked up" as long as you don't imply that your statements also apply to trans people in general.

And then you get hate in your contact forms for days because people realize you're not active on the HN comments and need to bring the "fight" to you directly.

And frankly, this whole mess is made worse by the site's userbase treating it as a joke or something easily fixable. Like, aside from making my pronouns "obvious" (I'm not sure how, exactly? it's already in all my profiles) which wouldn't help, they want me to just move to a different site, one where I can easily block incoming links by their referrer? They always point to JWZ's blog as an example of this, but he's hosting his posts on his own site. He fundamentally is doing something very different than I am, and I really shouldn't have to CHANGE WHAT SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORMS I USE just because they're being a butt.

And treating it like a joke? oy vey! I once posted a rant on tumblr about WHY EXACTLY I don't like getting posted on HN, and guess what happened next? SOMEONE POSTED THAT THREAD ON HN.

They also have a history of getting mad at me for not wanting to be posted on HN, like it's prima-dona behavior or "egotistical". Like I should be just happy that my stuff got posted there, something that has only ever brought negative attention. I think maybe they assume I'm doing this as a job, and every time they link to my stuff, I make a bunch of money? That's not the case. I don't make any money from them. I don't have ads. This isn't my job. (Fun fact: I know at least one person who has their blog set up to show ads only when HN links to their content, and not otherwise)

I really don't know why they think it's egotistical of me to not want to get harassed, dismissed, and spammed by their site and their users. It's almost like they think it's me posting my content on HN myself, which I would never do because it doesn't aid me in any way. If I was making content for them, I would make sure it gets posted there. I'm not, so I don't. I post for the sites I post on. I could blog in a way they'd like and then post it to HN if I wanted to. I don't. I choose to tweet (in the past) or post on tumblr or post on mastodon, because I'm posting for those specific communities.

And the thing about it is that all these points are, to some extent, obvious. And people know them. Maybe not the people posting the most unthinking takes on HN, but others will point them out. So this just contributes to any HN thread on my posts turning into a big argument.

And there's always people going "WELL JUST DON'T READ THE POSTS ABOUT YOU" as if that's a reasonable option. first of all, I can't be ignorant about them, as mentioned before they kick down my door and go HEY FOONE YOU'RE ON HACKERNEWS. But more importantly, I'm trans. Do you know what happens if enough people get mad at you online? They start posting your home address, phone number, and pictures of your face and relatives. I have to stay at least SLIGHTLY aware of how the discussion on me is going, or I'll be completely surprised when someone shows up at my house with a gun. (This isn't hyperbole: I have gotten doxxed before because I made a twitter thread that got the wrong people a little too mad at me)

Anyway I've talked to the admins of the site and they have basically refused to do anything about it. They admit that they can block my posts from showing up on the site, but they don't want to because people enjoy my content. My wishes don't matter.

And anyway the epilogue is that this has mostly worked out by now. I stopped posting on twitter, not because HN was pushing me to a site where I could better control my post's reach, but because Elon destroyed it. I'm posting longer-form content now, not because my ADHD got better, but because years of training myself to write this way has made it so that I can handle writing as if I was on twitter-like sites, without the enforced restrictions of them.

And I have countermeasures against HN now. Offensive and defensive ones. I'm a little less likely to be posting Cool Tech Stuff here on tumblr now (because every time this happens it severely dampens my enthusiasm for the subject), but I'm a lot less worried that something I post will end up on HN now, as I have options. (I don't want to go into them because HN being HN, they might take preemptive counter-countermeasures to try to disarm them).

Anyway, tl;dr: it's okay if you like reading the site. my problems with it are with getting submitted there, not with reading it. As long as you don't submit my content there, that's 100% okay with me.

#hacker news #cw transphobia #cw doxxing

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beedlemania · 21 days

Note

I’m in a micky mood and thinking maybe micky regresses to about 10 years old sometimes, he doesn’t really understand it or ever know that he does, sometimes he just gets really hyper and kiddo-like and he plays with davy and peter and just basically turns into a little kid with a sugar high. like when they go to the toy store in the christmas episode and he starts jumping up and down and getting so excited.

So mike often has three kiddos to watch over, but micky does kind of settle into himself and finds ways to stop regressing a lot. He usually only regresses when he’s stressed (he feels small, so he’s less of an excited and hyper child, more just timid and he stops talking and gets a bit clingy. sometimes he feels like this when he’s trying to sort out things with his mom, who��s getting older and still working through stuff after micky’s dad’s death) or when he’s like WICKED hyper and just turns into a crazy giggly bouncy kid (except he’s adult-sized so he often causes a lot of chaos and breaks things, and mike has to put a stop to it before he hurts himself or another person.)

Okay that’ll be my rant about micky because all of the monkees are so little and small to me, I keep making them littler and smaller.

Mike always wonders how Mickys so good at looking after Davy and Peter and chalks it up to him having siblings but really, Mickys a kid himself. He regresses to the perfect age to cause… so much mischief. Davy just acts a bit bratty or will accidentally knock something over but Mickys out blowing stuff up with his chemistry set (which does say 11+ so maybe it’s not really his fault).

Usually his regression is a conscious decision and he can kinda have control over when it happens. But sometimes it can’t be helped but the guys are well able to accommodate for surprise regression by this point. Micky’s mam is also very used to it because it’s something Micky always slipped into all through his teenage years as well (which is why she doesn’t find it weird when she meets Davy).

Micky takes his older brother role very seriously and when he and Davy are regressed it’s kind of like the blind leading the blind. Micky once set fire to the curtains and he told Davy to “quick get water!” And Davy toddled over to the kitchen (no running in the house) and carefully placed his step stool in front of the press to grab a cup, held it with both hands going over to the sink, filled it carefully, then shuffled back to Micky. Needless to say, there’s a reason they don’t have curtains covering the bay-window anymore.

Sometimes Micky doesn’t grasp the concept of what’s too much for a younger kid so when he’s regressed he’ll tell Davy and Peter a horror story for bedtime and Micky’s super into it and yelling “BOO” and grabbing their legs throughout it because he thinks its awesome and great, meanwhile Davy and Peter are clinging to each other like D:

Mikes biggest fear is sending two of them off to do something together when they’re both regressed so it’s not unusual to see Micky and Davy walking around holding hands. Mike gave them both the top secret job of taking care of each other so they’re both trying their hardest to stick together and stop each other from getting in trouble. BUT little kids are very susceptible to mischief when their big brother suggests it.

#the monkees are about this 👌 big #the monkees #davy jones #mike nesmith #peter tork #micky dolenz #davybaby #asks

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solomons-finest-rum · 2 years

Text

“Great Libraries of the Ancient World” (Alfie Solomons x fem!Reader) — Part 1/2

SUMMARY — Dark Academia AU. When you accepted the position of a librarian in an elite boarding school, you weren't exactly prepared for the mess that your predecessor had left in said library, and most importantly—for a certain Literature professor that would soon turn your world upside down.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — This is written for the 600 Celebration Event for the lovely Lee from @zablife! 💗💗💗 Congratulations on your milestone babes and thank you for agreeing to make it a two-parter because I think the muse got a little bit carried away with this one 🙈 and thank you so much to @alfie-darling for being the most gracious beta reader! 💗💗💗

WORD COUNT — 3,862

Masterlist

It all started with a job advertisement that was a little too good to be true. At least that’s what your gut told you when you read about the salary and the words “permanent position” bolded out like that.

To be fair, though, the entire advertisement was rather unusually written. It truly felt as if two different people worked on it simultaneously and then backtracked throughout it to fix one another’s mistakes.

What you should have found equally odd, too, was how that little square of the newspaper ad section almost called out to you; like a little whisper beckoning you closer. But then, as you did indeed get closer, you spotted the catch.

“An all-male boarding school?!” your mother exclaimed as soon as you told her about your curious little find in the paper.

And, as expected, she was more than ready to start one of her ungodly rants. You saw your father immediately hiding behind Times, his moustache already hinting a twitch. It always twitched when he tried to suppress a giggle.

“Mother, I really think—” you tried to explain, but you knew it would be of no use. Your mother was already easing herself into a lengthy tangent.

“My world, what is that foolish girl up to now, God help us all! Are you hearing this, sir?” She turned towards your father with her usual silent request for participation in berating you. He wouldn’t budge.

“Yes, dearest, I am hearing it directly and first-hand,” your father hummed, “and likewise, I think the neighbours heard you loud and clear.”

“That is just unheard of!” Your mother raised her voice even more, obviously unwilling to take the feedback. “That a girl her age would travel unchaperoned to God knows where and stay alone in a school for boys!”

“Darling, I’m convinced the other staff will be present as well, unless they expect our daughter to teach all subjects and manage the library single-handedly, in which case I dare say the proposed salary is quite ridiculous for a task of that size.” Your father winked at you behind your mother’s back and your heart swelled. You already knew you had his blessing.

“Unbelievable!” Your mother walked around the room now, much like a general preparing for his one final strike. “You, sir, would sentence your own daughter to a public scandal! How do you expect us to find her a proper match when she would be branded so?! Oh, I feel a weakness come over me already…” As your mother succumbed to her prophesied “weakness” and swooned onto a chaise lounge, which both you and your father already knew came just as she was out of arguments, your father swiftly put down his newspaper and rang for the maid.

“You called, my lady?” She came in quicker than ever, probably already having heard her mistress all the way downstairs.

“Yes! Fetch me my drops from the bathroom cabinet, quickly!” Your mother waved her hand dismissively. The maid curtsied and ran upstairs to get the medicine.

“Oh, oh, my head!” your mother whined anew, but you knew that the spectacle was already over.

“Now then,” your father cleared his throat and folded the newspaper neatly in four squares as he always did. “Show us the advertisement,” he demanded curtly, though you knew his tone was not meant to be dismissive.

A typical English gentleman, your father was a no-nonsense type of man, rarely prone to showing emotion. Nonetheless, you knew his judgement would be fair and sound.

You quickly handed him your own paper and smiled when he huffed at the wrinkled state of it. He read the circled ad with a usual frown that occurred when he was truly focused.

“Oh, finally!” your mother exclaimed then when the maid came back with a silver tray.

“Apologies, my lady,” the maid muttered softly and placed the tray on the side table to then prepare the concoction of bitter drops, just like the doctor ordered.

“Little more,” your mother grumbled, watching her like a hawk, though just with one eye open.

“But my lady—”

“That will do, Mary!” Your mother dismissed her and the girl, still not used to her mistress’ violent temper, nearly dropped the bottle. She curtsied again and left the room even more abruptly than before, obviously relieved for not having to witness the hysteria any longer.

You, on the other hand, had to endure it all your life. It was partly why you wanted to find employment as far away from London as possible. Times were changing after the Great War, a fact that your mother wouldn’t accept and your father seemed oddly fine with.

Perhaps it had to do with the fact you were an only child. That is, the only one surviving out of the three, as your brother and sister died in infancy, leaving your father with no natural heirs and no one to inherit the title. That was partly why he supported you pursuing your own money, as he tended to be infinitely more realistic than his wife.

Your mother never quite got over the fact that all her ancestral possessions would one day go to some distant cousin, solely for the reason that he was born a man. You yourself gradually got used to the idea–especially since it left your prospects rather flexible. It would make no difference if you married or not, and so you allowed yourself the luxury of fastidiousness that infinitely amused your father and brought on your mother’s hysteria fits.

Personally, you found books more interesting than other people and as time went by you came to the conclusion that no pathetic suitor would ever live up to the dark, mysterious heroes from your favourite novels.

“It’s certainly strange,” your father then said, taking you out of your head.

He sat down on the sofa and you settled next to him, eager to hear his point. Fortunately, the drops acted quickly and since your mother had just swallowed double the recommended dose, she was now completely quiet.

“But the salary is rather handsome,” you offered and he nodded in agreement.

“What worries me is the distance,” he said. “How will you cope all by yourself?”

There was genuine care in the way he asked it and you took his hand in yours, touched by the sentiment.

“They have telephones, I’m sure. I’ll write to you often, I–”

“Doesn’t your mother’s sister live close to Lincoln?” Your father got up then and clearly the tender moment was over. He was back to planning.

“Aunt Clarissa?” you whined. “Father, please…”

You were already disappointed. While you have only met your aunt once or twice in your life, the Dowager Countess Clarissa Stoneshire of Inselwards Hall was hardly a less dramatic companion than her sister.

“Yes, we should give her a call.”

“To…?”

“Ask her about that school.”

“Father…”

“That is my one condition,” he concluded and you hang your head, already certain your hopes would turn into dust.

“Oh, the scandal!” Your mother exclaimed once more, though infinitely weaker, still clutching her handkerchief like her last lifeline.

“It’s Yorkshire, dearest,” your father grunted as he reached for the telephone. “I’d hardly call it running away to the jungle to teach the lions how to start a fire.”

If only your father knew just how wrong he was.

During your first week, you already knew that dealing with hormonal adolescent boys was no different from taming wild boars. And seeing as you had no real experience with either, you quickly came to appreciate the fact that you were a librarian and not their teacher. As it happened, said wild boars rarely found themselves in need to read.

Quite surprisingly, your Aunt Clarissa had nothing but reluctant praise for the entire institution, which subsequently solidified your father’s support for you seeking the job. As it was close to her estate, she knew all about it. You still couldn’t believe it when your father reported her words:

“Is that truly what she said?” you asked him time and again, and you could see he was as surprised as you.

“Apparently it produced the finest young men in the country. Some of them MP’s, even.” Your father shook his head and looked at the advertisement once more.

Your mother was still napping and you knew you could discuss the matter easily.

“So you will let me call them?” you asked and nearly yelped with joy when your father nodded.

“No, wait,” he then said just as you reached for the phone handle. “I will call them. The headmaster should know who he is employing, that’s only proper.”

“Father, please…” you pleaded, but he was already speaking to the operator.

As you sat on the sofa and listened to one side of that conversation, your disappointment only grew. Yes, you really wanted the position, but you didn’t want to be employed just based on your name. You had references to show that you were much more than that.

You received the offer letter from the school in the following weeks and as you skimmed the contents of it, your stomach sank. They were “delighted to accept your candidacy for Head Librarian”, with your current references “more than sufficient”, hoping that “the enclosed first class train ticket would show their appreciation”. You shook your head and threw yourself on the bed dramatically, already disappointed that they would treat you with unnecessary courtesy that wouldn’t otherwise apply if your birthright remained unknown.

But none of that turned out to be true once you started working…

You quickly saw that there was a reason why they so eagerly accepted your candidacy and none of it had anything to do with your name.

As it turned out, your predecessor left the library in a state of complete disarray, one you knew would take you months to get in order. Not only that, she disappeared abruptly one night without any notice, leaving everyone baffled and speculating about it to this day.

As for the library, the task of cleaning up the mess would potentially take you even longer once the headmaster gave you the full tour—the school library was not only ancient but also enormous, and it took up two entire floors. The way the headmaster explained it, the library held countless priceless manuscripts and once bestowed with the key to the restricted section, you quickly assessed that the books collected there probably belonged in a museum.

“The fact of the matter is,” the headmaster said as you ended your tour by your tiny office located on the second floor, “we do need your help, Miss. And I’m hoping it will be more permanent than the last person in this position,” he added bitterly, his formidable black moustache twitching like an antenna that sensed disappointment. “She left us quite abruptly and as you can see, the state of things leaves much to be desired.”

That would be putting it mildly. Before you even finished sorting out the library cards and getting to arrange the general literature section from A to E, you realised that the endeavour would probably take your sanity along with it. Whatever the previous librarian used to get things done, it was most likely magic—though whatever happened here to get it to that state was most likely a hurricane.

Much like the library, the school itself was also much grander than expected. Formerly an abbey, and truly holding onto its gothic look tooth and nail, it reminded you of a haunted castle from one of your novels.

On average, you got lost at least five times a day and got so fed up with it that you even drafted yourself a hand-drawn map. Only… Even when you used it on the spot, pencil clutched tight in between your ink-stained fingers, you could swear that the doors and the corridors that were just there the day before weren’t there on the next.

However, nothing could have prepared you for the real reason why the previous librarian chose to vacate the position—and even though at first you weren’t sure that was the case, the evidence would quickly pile up against the man to give more than a clear picture of the menace he was…

Said real reason burst in through the door one gloomy afternoon, causing you to nearly drop every single book you were holding, and subsequently get thrown off the ladder you were balancing on as well.

“What in the name of…!” You shouted, as you desperately clutched the heavy volumes with one hand and held onto the tall shelf with the other.

Fortunately for you, these large wooden stacks were sturdy enough to sustain a much larger impact than yourself.

“You there!” you exclaimed and the stranger finally looked up to meet your unforgiving glare. The heavy doors to the library then slammed shut behind him, accentuating his unexpected entrance.

Broad-shouldered and with a beard like that, he couldn’t have been a student—though as short-sighted as you were, it could have all very well been in your head.

What wasn’t, though, was what the man said next, in a booming, commanding tone:

“Right you are, luv, you go on, right?”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna see if the old witch was hoardin’ the books I ordered all those bloody weeks ago, don’t trouble yourself.”

“What?!”

“No danger, luv, I know the way!”

“Excuse me! Excuse me, where do you think you’re going?!” You nearly fell off the ladder again, but he paid you no more mind. That for some reason made you angrier than anything else.

“You come back here at once!” you shrieked.

That, to your astonishment, seemed to have finally worked. All you heard was the stranger mutter something under his breath, but he did come back to you as ordered—scowling. You thought it an unseemly manner, especially when faced with such justified outrage as yours. It was as if he was almost pleasantly surprised at it…

“Right then, you alright up there, sweetie?” he asked you all too bluntly once he made it towards you.

“No, of course not!” you scoffed. “Who are you and what do you think you’re doing?!”

You waited patiently for the explanation that never came—because in all of his audacity, the man just smirked.

“Who am I?” he scoffed. “Luv—”

“I am not your love, don’t you call me that!”

“Right…”

“And start explaining yourself or I’ll…”

“Or what?” he grimaced.

“Or I’ll tell the headmaster!”

“Ah,” the stranger’s smirk only grew. “Yeah, you do that, sweetheart,” he concluded and then waltzed towards your private office as if it were his own.

“You…! Impertinent man, you get out of my library!” you shrieked, but then yelped, now a little less sure since any second now you could be falling down to your death out of pure outrage alone.

“Yeah, that’s a bit uncalled for. Can ya throw me the keys?”

“What?! That is none of your concern, that is my office! You, sir! Do you hear me?!”

“Yeah, luv, the entire floor heard ya loud and clear!” he chuckled from a distance. “I’ll be outta your hair no time, now that is a promise, yeah?”

“You—! Who… No, come back here! It isn’t open yet and that is not a part of it, I’ll have you know—!”

But as he sauntered through the aisles of books, not minding your warnings one bit, you realised quickly that he not only had no desire to leave, he was also feeling lucky enough to ignore you.

“Excuse me!”

And just when you put down part of the heavy stack you were holding all this time and finally started to make your way down from the ladder, you slipped on the step and screeched as you fell, your very short and very uneventful life flashing before your eyes.

But then… Then you heard a grunt and the hardwood floor of the library felt like a much softer landing than originally anticipated.

“Oh my God,” you gasped as you opened your eyes and found yourself safe in the arms of the impertinent stranger that must have come just in time to catch you from the fall.

“You…” You blinked a couple of times, but as that did exactly nothing to improve your vision, you realised you must have lost your glasses with your fall. “Where are my glasses?”

“That a ‘thank you’ where you come from, luv?” the man huffed and you rolled your eyes at him.

You could see nearly nothing about his features except the beard and maybe, just maybe, the colour of his eyes—though with his brows knit so tightly above them that proved a challenge.

“Yeah, fuck me, right, but that’s doin’ exactly nothin’ for my back,” the man said and you gasped again at the language.

“My God!”

“Yeah, you keep sayin’ that, right, but he wasn’t too eager to stop ya from payin’ him a visit either…”

The man put you down then and made the point of stretching upwards with a bear-like grunt.

“Well,” you looked around pointlessly, doing your best in trying to locate your glasses. “I suppose a thank you is in order…”

“Ah,” he gave another wolfish grin. “See, you’re welcome.”

“Even though I still don’t know your name…”

“Alfie.”

“...and what you’re doing in my library…”

“I told ya, didn’t I? Lookin’ for my books.”

“...and even though your manners, sir, leave much to be desired…”

“Right, this you thankin’ me or scoldin’, ‘cause where I come from, luv, they look somewhat different.”

“Well, you could certainly use a scolding, Alfie, as much as a thank you.” you huffed and that only amused him further. “Don’t laugh! You can’t just barge into other people’s offices, you know. That’s…”

“Hm?”

“Well, that’s just plain rude!”

He laughed at you again and it was a raspy sort of laugh that suggested the man didn’t do that very often. You held your head a tad higher now, thinking that a man like that was perhaps the grounds keeper or other employee of the school, since judging by his manner alone and the state of his shirt… Well, the wrinkles on that, those you could see clearly enough even without your glasses.

And even if your father taught you not to judge your fellow man, your mother highly encouraged it—it was safe to say their echoes were both fighting for your attention, but finally you decided to have mercy on the poor man and not discourage the desire of reading in him at least:

“Well, Alfie, if you help me find my glasses then I could perhaps check in the office if my predecessor has left something… Oh. Thank you.”

He put them in your hands then and you couldn’t actually see how or when exactly he retrieved them, but you were relieved nonetheless. As you put them on and finally took a proper look at his face, a thought hit you that he wasn’t at all what you expected.

It was a handsome face, this much was clear, but it was the playful way in which he looked at you that you found truly captivating. This and that low gravelling voice of his that did nothing to soften his abominable accent:

“My books then, luv?”

“Yes,” you said, your throat drier than Sahara. “Follow me.”

Most bizarrely, you suddenly didn’t mind the pet name. You led him to your office completely unnecessarily, because it was clear that Alfie knew his way around the place much better than you did.

“Excuse the mess,” you said as quickly as you entered the tiny room.

The truth was, it looked much better than when you originally inherited its contents, but still not good enough according to your impossible standards.

Alfie’s, however, were evidently much different. He let out a slow whistle as he looked around, clearly impressed.

“You did that all yourself then?” he asked and you couldn’t help but blush a little at the praise.

“It was actually the easiest part,” you explained. “It’s the catalogues I am currently trying to tackle.”

“Nah, you’ll do fine,” he replied and against your better judgement you blushed even more. “Just fine, I’d say, yeah…”

“Well,” you cleared your throat and turned around to cover up for the effect the man apparently had on you, but not before you noticed that smirk back on his face. “So which books did you say those were?”

“I didn’t, though, did I?”

“What?” You frowned and turned to face him again, only to be met with said smirk growing wider. It was clear that everything concerning the spoken word was somehow a game to him.

“Nothin’.” Alfie cleared his throat and looked through his pockets, then finally handed you a piece of paper, torn on one side and folded four times.

You wrinkled your nose as you spread out the note under the lamp and readied yourself for the hellish scribbling that no doubt awaited you…

But the handwriting turned out to be entirely neat—perfectly round, with a little old-fashioned flourish here or there, and unevenly tilted to the side just to keep things interesting.

“Yeah, ‘s… I can read that out for ya,” Alfie offered then and you realised you must have been looking at it for an unreasonably long while.

“No need,” you replied sharply and put the note in your own pocket before crouching under your desk to look through the boxes your predecessor had left there. Some of them were labelled with big letters “DO NOT TOUCH” written in chalk, some were still untouched as you hadn’t had the time or the energy to go through their contents yet.

“Let’s see,” you muttered to yourself as you looked, and even though you had your back turned to him, you could feel Alfie’s watchful gaze on you.

You stayed in silence as you searched and he, as you could tell by the creaking floorboards, took a more daring look around while you weren’t paying attention.

“Yeah, I can come back later, don’t trouble yourself,” Alfie said finally, just as you emerged from under there, holding a book triumphantly.

“I think I found it!” you cut him off again, then paused to let out the biggest sneeze of your life.

“Bless ya,” Alfie chuckled at that and you nodded instead of an answer, only to sneeze again as you approached him.

“Here you are.” You sniffled with embarrassment and handed him the book, an inconspicuous little volume with a faded red cover. “At least I think that’s one of them. I promise to look for the other two once I get my head around this… Well, this. And… I wanted to thank you again. You really did save my life.”

Alfie hummed instead of a reply and apparently that was that. He said nothing more about the matter and left the library rather unexpectedly without a word of goodbye—and this time no smirking involved. Stunned at the man’s behaviour, language and altogether strange general manner, you returned to your duties; though not without harbouring resentment for the treatment for the rest of the day.

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