#Time matters not to the circularity system

[seresinhangmanjake]

Super Soft!Simon Riley x reader - You're terrified that Simon's not making safe choices when he's on deployment, so he comforts you. (fluff, allusion to future smut (barely), drunk johnny, cod inaccuracies)

Johnny recounts the tale of their hard-earned achievement—a victory, as they have deemed it—with a number of beers in his system that you’ve long stopped counting. As he sits at your kitchen table, he is looser, giddier, freer with his words, and spares no detail of your boyfriend’s selfless acts of bravery during their last deployment. Acts that got him shot at; one of those bullets finding their home.

You’d be proud of him, if not for the fear that built up over months from recurring nightmares and an overactive imagination—all of which had you losing the love of your life. But that’s not out of character. You think about yourself, you think about your boyfriend, before you think about the lives he saves when he’s away from you. Maybe it’s wrong, or unfair, but you can’t help it.

While Simon’s work is not something he ever kept secret, you don’t need the reminder that the preservation of his life is not always his priority. It can't be. There are other factors that dictate his future. He has a team, people who depend on him. He has responsibilities and orders to follow. Control is often snatched from his fingertips. And so, what does that mean for the two of you? 

You don’t care to think about it. Not tonight. Not at midnight from a friend who should have passed out on your couch hours ago. So you stretch, yawn, and excuse yourself for bed before your brain implodes from any more of Johnny’s ramblings.

Simon knows. He spent the night squeezing your hip each time you tensed in his lap at Johnny’s words, and now, as you stand to head to the bedroom, he holds onto your hand until your fingers slip from his. Deep brown eyes are filled with guilt and apology and all you can offer in return is a slight upturn of the lips that barely qualifies as a smile.

Away from the men, you cry in your and Simon’s shared bed, waiting for him to encourage Johnny to the couch. There's a few more loud laughs, a whine when Simon cuts off his friend's alcohol supply, and then a final groan of acceptance as you hear the springs of your couch squeak under the weight of a muscled body. It’s only when the animated snores of your drunk friend reach your ears that the door to your room creaks on its hinges.

Simon’s footsteps are thumps muffled by carpeting. From your peripherals you see him shed his clothes as he moves to you. Shoes, then t-shirt, then jeans, until he's in his underwear and settling onto the mattress behind you. 

His arm slips under yours around your waist and he tugs your back to his chest, into the cocoon of warmth. 

“Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?” he asks, gruff and thick. His voice rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your spine as his breath brushes your ear. “That my life is over.

“Everything I want, everything I need—none of it matters anymore. All because of one look at a woman who was too busy with her friends to notice me,” he says. “I thought, I'm ruined now. If you leave this bar right this second, I won't be able to forget you. And if you don't leave, I can't ever let you go. I didn't know your name and you had me ready to change my whole world for you.”

You sniffle but don't bother to wipe away the tear that escapes. “That's insane, Si,” you whisper.

“It is,” he agrees, pressing a kiss just under your ear. “But it happened. I let you in and you latched on to my entire existence like this beautiful, little parasite. Just like I wanted you to. My life ended and it became our life. 

“I don't take a single step without considering you. Not here and not there. So if you think I don't try to be careful when I'm gone, you're wrong,” he tells you. “I try for you. I try for us.”

Yet, ‘trying’ means he still gets injured; he gets another circular scar to add to the healed knife slashes and the burned patch on his upper arm. ‘Trying’ is not always about picking the safer of two options, but about optimizing luck, which is rare enough as it is. And that terrifies you.

“What if you step wrong not knowing that it's wrong?” you ask. “What if you think it's right and then you're gone? You can't tell me that will never happen.”

Simon sighs. “No, I can't. But you trust me, don't you?”

Turning in his arms—your nose nearly nudging his—you place your hand on his cheek and run your thumb along his cheekbone. “Of course I do.”

“Then don't mourn me while I'm still here, love,” he breathes against your lips. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod, because you’d do anything for him. 

“Good girl.” Simon smiles lightly and slides his palm from your back down the length of your arm. He squeezes your fingers, then moves further, tucking his hand into the front of your underwear. “My girl,” he whispers and presses his lips to yours.

A/N: i dont usually write different stuff but i felt like it so i did

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #call of duty #simon riley x you #cod ghost #johnny soap mactavish

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

His Most Prized Possession

Pairing || Dark!Mob!Bucky x Wife!Reader

Summary || You’re the wife of the most feared man in all of New York City, James Buchanan Barnes, the mob boss of the biggest mafia in town. Your his—his girl, his beauty, his love, his property, his most prized possession. He will torture and kill anyone who dares to make any advances on his woman, and he won’t hesitate to show them who you belong to in the most sinful way possible before their end…

Word Count || 8876

Contents & Warnings || Fluff, Smut, Angst, Dark Themes — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, slight dub-con, Dark!Jealous!Possessive!Bucky, angry/vicious!Bucky, soft!Bucky, mob/mafia business, mention of drugs/alcohol, violence, implied use of weapons, implied torture, blood, murder, crying, use of force, graphic/explicit content/language, pet names (doll, baby, babe, princess + others), unprotected vaginal sex, exhibition kink, forced voyeurism, daddy kink, spit kink, degradation & praise kink, use of the word whore, dom/sub dynamics, oral (m & f receiving), teasing, begging, face/throat fucking, gagging, fingering, spanking, choking, rough fucking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, cum swallowing, creampie, mention of bodily fluids, aftercare.

Authors Note || After a lot of work it’s finally done! I’m so proud of this! Please enjoy this twisted and sinful journey! Feedback would be so much appreciated on this piece <3 I want to know what you think!

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Mob!Bucky Masterlist

I don’t do taglists anymore so please follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

The Underground Lounge

It was the most high-profile club in all of New York City. A place for criminals, the filthy rich, politicians and like-minded people to converge in secrecy for whatever they desire with no repercussions, whether that be alcohol, drugs, women, sex or just a fun time. Everything and anything went down here.

The club was nestled deep below The Blend nightclub, which acted as a cover for the underworld of crime below.

They were both owned by James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky amongst friends and loved ones. The most feared man in all of the city and the mob boss of the biggest and baddest mafia in town. He was also your husband. Your dangerous, vicious and sexy husband.

You and Bucky would usually be at the club on the weekends for some party and fun, which you were right now.

The VIP area that was only reserved for Bucky and company was slightly elevated over the rest of the club—giving Bucky the best view to look over his domain. It also showed the guests that they were nothing compared to the boss sitting on the high throne. The VIP area had an abundance of seating places—fitting several people. All compacted in a sizeable curved couch with a low circular table in the middle to put drinks on or other substances, for that matter. There was also enough space for Bucky’s security to keep a lookout over the club and its activities.

Today it was only you and Bucky attending. No friends, no other company, except for your security detail.

With a good percentage of alcohol in your system, you and he were all over each other—lips sloppily crashing into one another as you moaned and groaned into each other's mouths and hands roamed both your bodies.

You'd unbuttoned a few buttons of his white long-sleeved shirt—wanting to feel his collarbone and chest underneath your fingertips as you made out. His dark blue velvet dress jacket was tossed to the side long ago. Your other hand rested delicately on top of his covered bulge—palming him ever so often.

Bucky’s hand kept a tight grip on your naked upper thigh; the short little dress you wore barely covered anything, giving him easy access to your skin. His other held your throat gently in his grasp, making it impossible to move away from him not that you wanted to.

Ever so slightly, he inches his way higher up your thigh, hicking your dress up with his moves, as he caressed your delicate skin with his rough hands, making you moan and whimper into his mouth. His end goal was to get into your panties—wanting to force his fingers knuckle-deep into you and have you make a mess all over them.

It wasn't unusual for him and you to get a little naughty together in the club. On multiple occasions, you'd have his fingers deep inside your pussy or straddle his lap to grind yourself on his clothed cock. And occasionally giving him a handjob here and there.

You'd think he would be against having you so exposed to everyone’s prying eyes since he was always so protective and possessive over you in day-to-day life. But on the contrary, he loved showing you off here. It gave him the power to assert his dominance over you and make everyone know that you're his—his girl, his beauty, his love, his property and his most prized possession.

This was his club—his rules—his everything. Everyone knew not to mess with the mob boss's precious wife. Not unless they had a death wish.

Your body tingled in anticipation of having his digits buried deep inside you. You were so ready for it. So needy for it, but… God, did you really have to pee now, urgently.

“Bucky.”

His name came out in a moan rather than a plea for him to stop with his touches, making him think you wanted more. He swiped your damp panties with his thumb while his lips assaulted your neck with licks, kisses and bites, making you whine even more.

“Bucky!”

You placed your hands on his chest, shoving him lightly off you, making him stop with his kisses and retract his hand from under your dress.

“What!”

An annoyed tone was laced in his voice, but that quickly turned into concern as he thought something was wrong.

“What is it, baby?”

His thumb caressed your cheek lovingly as he tried to search your face for any discomfort. There was none, so he didn’t understand why you'd make him stop.

“I just really need to go pee.”

He nodded his head in understanding and was about to call for one of the security to accompany you, but you stopped him before he could.

“No! I can go on my own.”

“Doll…”

He cocked his head to the side. He didn’t like that. He didn’t want you going on your own.

Although the club was a safe space for you to wander around due to everyone knowing who you were and not daring to approach you under any circumstances, Bucky still wanted you looked after due to the reason that occasionally a rouge and unwanted person managed to get into the club, despite the tight security, and cause chaos and bothering the other club patrons. But that rarely happened, and right now, you just wanted to go on your own without having anyone on your tail all the time.

“Please, Bucky,” you pleaded with those puppy-dog eyes you knew he couldn't resist, “if I'm not back in 15 minutes, you can come and find me.”

“Alright, princess,” he pecked your lips, “but hurry back to me, baby,” and once more, “because I need to bury my fingers in your tight little pussy….”

He cupped your core harsh, making you moan out at the roughness. Bucky groaned out as he touched what belonged to him.

“... my tight little pussy.”

He growled in your ear, making the hairs on your neck stand and your core pulsate at his filthy words.

“I’ll be right back, babe.”

You gave him one last peck before you got up and fixed your dress—the material had bundled up your hips entirely. Bucky gave you a light tap on your ass before you walked away in search of the bathroom.

You did your business in the bathroom and freshened up before walking out to the club’s main area.

Bucky hadn't left his positing from the VIP area. His leg was crossed over the other, and his arms rested on the back of the couch while he looked calm and relaxed. You wanted to take advantage of your freedom and decided to get a quick drink at the bar before returning to him.

You made your way to the bar that was settled in the middle of the club while swaying your hips to the music playing. Luckily, the bar wasn't packed, so it should be a quick deal.

You order the drink and make yourself comfortable with your elbows on the bar counter, squeezing your breasts together, almost exposing them entirely. Your ass poked out behind you—the dress so tiny and short that it almost showed your entire ass.

You knew everyone had their eyes on you, thirsting and yearning for you—for something they knew they could never have, and that's what you loved so much about it. In this club, you loved being a little cock-tease to everyone—it made you feel powerful.

While waiting for your drink, you scanned and observed the club’s guests. Most of them you'd seen before and recognised—politicians with their mistresses, criminals making shady deals with each other, and some new faces you'd never seen before. Everyone looked to be in great spirit and having fun tonight.

“My, my… don't you look pretty tonight.”

A deep, smooth voice murmured in your ear, making you jump out of your skin a little at the roughness of it. You thought it was Bucky for a second, but the voice didn’t match quite right. When you spun around, you found yourself caught in an intense gaze by a man. Usually, you'd back away and decline any stranger like that, but something about him just made your whole being scream in need.

The man oozed danger, sex and confidence—all things you loved and had gotten so used to with Bucky. So you couldn't help yourself when you got ensnared in this stranger's trap. You knew you shouldn't talk to this man. Bucky would be pissed if he found out. But Bucky wasn't here right now, and the drink should be done any second, so you decided to play along and then would politely decline once it was time. Bucky would never know.

“Well, hello to you, stranger.”

You batted your eyelashes at him and gave him your most appetising smile and gestures you could muster up, popping your hip out and tilting your head to the side, wanting to play a bit dirty and rile him up.

“My, you're the prettiest little thing in this whole club.”

He came closer, almost pinning you against the bar with his massive frame. He licked his lips as his eyes travelled across your whole body. This man was playing a dangerous game in approaching you like that—intentions clearly sexual.

He presented his hand, and you took it gladly, shaking it.

“The names Roman,” he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it while maintaining eye contact, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Roman?

Roman?

You'd heard that name before, but you couldn't quite put your finger on who he was. It was such an unusual name that you would think with such a name, you'd remember who it belonged to, but your mind was completely blank. It must be the alcohol and the intense surge of sexual energy you were experiencing.

“The pleasure is all mine, Roman,” you gave him your name, which made him smirk when he heard it.

“That's a beautiful name, princess. What brings you to this club, sweet thing?”

“Oh, I-”

The conversation was cut abruptly by someone grabbing Roman’s shoulder and pulling him away from you, turning him to face whoever it was.

You gasped.

Shit. It was Bucky.

His face was stone cold as he stared Roman down with absolute dark rage in his eyes. His fists clenched by his side—knuckles turning white.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Roman?” Bucky spat out while getting all up in his face.

Wait?

Bucky knew him?

Oh…

Oh!

Oh, no…

He was that Roman.

Shit. Now you remember.

He's the man that betrayed Bucky about a year ago and went to be with Bucky’s number one rivals instead. You remember at the time what kind of a toll it had taken on Bucky to be so gruesomely crossed.

This was not good. You felt so horrible and guilty now with the later knowledge of know this man was. How could you have forgotten him? Forgotten what he's done? You should have brushed him off instead of instigating his actions further.

You couldn't hear what they were saying because they were so up in each other's faces, but you could tell that it was a heated argument. You wondered what was being said. What kind of complications and events this would all lead to.

Suddenly, Bucky shoved him hard, and it looked like he would fight him right then and there. But he didn’t…

“You’re fucking dead, Roman,” Bucky uttered through gritted teeth.

Bucky came to your side and grabbed your arm hard. So hard that it hurt, and you winced and tossed to try and get out of his harsh grip, but he wouldn't budge. He pulled you back to the VIP area and ordered you to sit on the couch.

“Don't fucking move.”

His words were like poison, making you flinch at the absolute anger in his voice. Your eyes were becoming glossy—tears threatening to spill at any moment. You wrapped your arms around yourself for comfort.

How could you be so stupid? You should have just said no to Roman instead of acting like a fucking brat and whore—wanting to be a little cock tease for a man that wasn't even your man. You should have just been an obedient little wife and returned to your husband like you were supposed to.

Bucky was furiously talking to one of his men for several minutes. You saw how stressed, angry and fearful his demeanour was. His hand ran through his short hair multiple times. It was rare to see Bucky in this state. He was usually tough and determined, not bothered by what people said and did, and always in control of things. But it looked like Roman had really struck a sensitive nerve—said something that had put Bucky out of check.

When he was done conversing, he came back to you and took your hand, gently this time, and pulled you with him out of the main club area, not saying a thing. It looks like you were leaving. You went through the backdoor that was only used for you and Bucky and a selected few other people.

Once in the elevator, Bucky wrapped a protective arm around your waist and pulled you flush against his torso, still not saying anything. You wanted to say something. To plead for his forgiveness, but you felt awkward doing it in this tight place when you weren't alone. You would try and talk to him in the car when it was just the two of you.

Bucky ushered you into the backseat of the black luxury car, him getting in behind you. You weren't sure where you were going—home, most likely. The screen divider that separated the backseats and driver seat was up, so you were all alone, and you could finally try to talk to him.

“Bucky?”

You tried in a sweet and calm voice.

Nothing.

He pulled his phone out when it pinged with a message. His mouth remained in a thin line, eyebrows furrowed, with no emotions in his eyes as he typed on his phone before placing it inside his jacket.

“Bu-Bucky?”

Your weak voice cracked as his name came out in a sob this time.

“I-I’m so s-sorry. I-I shou-” You sobbed even more, unable to finish your sentence. You were about to cry any second, knowing that Bucky was mad and disappointed in you for being so stupid and reckless. You turned your head away from him, unable to look at his stern face.

“Doll…”

His voice was sweet compared to the poisonous one he used with you in the Underground. You thought he would yell at you once in the car. But it was the opposite. His loving and caring side surfaced—your wonderful husband that loved you beyond words.

“Baby…”

He grabbed your chin with his fingers and turned your head towards his. His eyes held nothing but love and adoration for you—his wife. His heart broke when he saw a few tears roll down your cheeks, your lips quivering.

“P-please d-don't be mad a-at me, Bucky.”

“Oh, baby… come here.”

He pulled you onto his lap and wrapped his strong arms around your waist. His head nuzzled in your neck as he laid tender kisses on the soft skin to try and soothe you,

“Mad at you? No, doll. I could never be mad at you, and I’m sorry it came across that way. I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you like that, my sweet love.”

“Bu-but, you seemed s-so angry at me. Angry for what I’d done and who I was talking to. I swear, Bucky, I forgot who he was, and I-I just-”

“Doll.” He made you rest your forehead on his. His piercing blue eyes focused deep into yours—showing you that he spoke the truth. “I’m not mad at you at all. Please don’t beat yourself up over it. It’s not your fault. Not even the slightest, ok? I love you, babydoll.”

“O-ok. I-I love you t-too, Bucky.”

He dried your tears while giving you a warm smile. “My precious girl.” He cradled your face in his hands and laid a light, comforting kiss on your lips. The kiss slowly progressed to a more passionate one—neediness and love poured into it.

The moment was quickly interrupted by Bucky’s phone pinging with a message in his jacket. He groaned as he fished it out to read it. You caught a glimpse and gasped when you saw what it said.

It's done.

You knew what it meant. It was the worst possible outcome following the events that unfolded in the club.

“Is, is he d-dead?”

“No, no, doll. They only questioned him, that's all.” Bucky tried to reassure you.

You knew what questioned meant. It meant that they had beaten the shit out of him, almost to the point of death. And although Bucky spoke the truth that Roman wasn't dead, he would be soon. Bucky never let something like what happened at the club go unpunished—people trying to cross his line. Certainly not when it comes to you. He would torture and kill anyone who made any advances on you, especially when they were fully aware of who you were and belonged to. And Roman most certainly knew what he was doing when he approached you. He wanted to provoke Bucky and test his limits. And now he would pay for it.

Maybe he didn’t think it through enough? Perhaps he thought he was safe because he was under the protection of Bucky’s rivals?

But one should never underestimate Bucky. He didn’t give a fuck who anyone belonged to, enemies or friends. If provoked, he would have you severely punished or, in the worst case, killed.

You shook your head—not wanting to think about it anymore. Instead, you lay your head on Bucky’s shoulder and close your eyes for the remaining car ride. His fingertips delicately caressing your arm lulled you to a relaxed and sleepy state…

———

“Doll,” his soothing voice murmured in your ear, pulling you out from the light sleep, “baby, we’re here.”

You softly moaned as you lifted your head and saw that you’d pulled into the garage of your penthouse—you were indeed home now. Luckily, because you were ready to cuddle up with your husband in bed and go to sleep in his loving and protective embrace.

“You want me to carry you?”

“N-no, I can go on my own.”

Once in the elevator, Bucky pressed the button for the roof terrace, not the apartment like you thought we would. You looked up at him. A confused expression on your face—eyebrows furrowed.

“Are we not going to bed yet?”

“Not yet,” he wrapped his arms around your shoulder, pulling you close to him, and kissed your head, “I have something I want to show you.”

What did he have to show you on the rooftop?

When the elevator arrived, Bucky took your hand and led you to the patio overlooking the light-filled city. Nothing looked unusual. Everything looked as it always did. There was no thing to show. So why did he bring you here?

“Bucky, what are we doing here?”

“Come.”

He led you to the very edge of the fence and wrapped his arms around you from behind. His head rested on your shoulder, and you leaned yours on his.

“Do you see, doll?”

“See what, Bucky?”

“The city!”

“Your city, babe.”

“Our city, baby girl. All of this is for you. Everything I do is for you. You and my undying love for you influence every decision I make in life.”

“James… you know I don't need any of this. I appreciate it, baby, you know that, but… I just need you.”

“I know, I only need you as well, but I just wanted you to know that we’re in this together. We can always count on each other. We will always have one another. Our love is powerful and unbreakable.”

“You know it, Bucky.”

You stood for a while longer. Staring out over your city as you swayed to imaginary music. Bucky’s lips graced your cheek as he whispered sweet nothings that had your heart burst with warmth, love and security.

Words can’t describe how much you loved this man. This vicious, menacing, murderous, but also affectionate, warm and joyous man. One would think such words couldn’t be combined to describe a man—that it doesn't fit. But Bucky was all those, and you wouldn’t change him for the world.

Your sweet bubble was interrupted by another notification on Bucky’s phone, making him groan in annoyance. He held one arm around your waist while the other retrieved his phone.

You couldn't see what it said this time, but he let out a groan of approval and then pulled you with him back to the elevator once he read it.

“Where are we going now? More surprises?”

“We’re just going to our room.”

Ah, finally. As much as you loved Bucky for bringing you up here and expressing his undying love for you, you really just wanted to snuggle up to him in bed now.

But once you arrived at your room, one of Bucky’s men was waiting by the door, which was highly unusual. You wondered what was going on. It probably had something to do about Bucky’s recent text message. Probably an update on Roman and his current… situation. But no matter what it was, you hoped it would be able to wait till the morning. You just wanted Bucky all to yourself now.

“Wait here, doll.”

You stood in place while Bucky approached his man. He whispered something to Bucky, and Bucky nodded before he called you over. The man bid you good night, and then it was finally just you and your husband.

“What was that all about, babe?”

“My love…”

He lay his hands on your shoulders, staring deep into your eyes with seriousness written all over his face.

What was going on?

Why was he acting so… strange?

“Yes, my dear?”

“Do you trust me?”

“I do, Bucky, with my life.”

“Would you do anything I ask of you?”

You didn’t like to admit it, but you would kill for this man if the situation ever occurred.

“I-I… yes.”

“Then come with me,” he presented his hand, and you took it without hesitation, “don't be alarmed.”

Alarmed?

He opened the door to your shared master bedroom. Your heart was pounding in your chest. Although you trusted Bucky, his behaviour was more abnormal than usual, which scared you slightly.

You expected to be met with something significant while walking into the room, but there was nothing in the dim-lit room. It was a little hard to see with the lights out, so you scanned the entire space to try and find the abnormality—from the huge windows lining the outer wall, to the bed, and finally, the other side of the room. And that's when you saw it.

You gasped out loud in horror, eyes wide like saucers when you saw a person in the darkened corner of your room. It was a man—beaten, bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair. His scream was muffled by something shoved into his mouth.

Oh my god… it was Roman…

“B-Bucky, wha-”

What was happening? This was wrong. This was so wrong on so many levels. Bucky never brought any of his mob business into your home. He always tried to shield you from that gruesome aspect of his world as best as possible. So what was he doing?

You backed away slowly but were stopped by colliding into Bucky’s chest. He grabbed your upper arms to keep your shaking form in place. His breath fanned your face while he whispered in your ear.

“Don’t be scared, my love.”

You were very much horrified by the sight of a bloodied and bruised man bound tight in your room. I mean, who wouldn't be?

“Wh-what i-is going o-on?”

You contemplated screaming and running away. If that's what you wanted, Bucky would have let you go—he would never force you into doing something you absolutely didn’t want. But you didn’t move a muscle. This situation intrigued you. Bucky’s vicious and twisted mind fascinated you.

Although you were the innocent and sweet one in the relationship, you had a slight devious nature to you as well. So you wanted to see what kind of plans Bucky had in store for bringing Roman into your privacy. What kind of things does he want to do. So you let go of all your worries and went with the flow.

With Bucky’s hand secured around your neck, craning your chin up to make you look at Roman. Bucky spoke, loud enough for Roman to hear as well, the most sinful, possessive and immoral words he's ever uttered—making you shamelessly aroused and almost crumble to the floor.

“He’s gonna watch us, doll, all powerless tied up in that chair as I do with you as I please. He’s gonna watch as I undress you and expose your beautiful flesh to his eyes. He’s gonna watch as I kiss, lick, suck and bite all over your skin. He’s gonna watch and hear as I make you moan, whimper and scream. He’s gonna watch as I fuck you hard, my wife. Claiming your body and soul as mine, and mine only.”

Fuck.

You were all in.

Bucky circled his arms around your waist and brought you closer to his firm chest. Very delicately, he started leaving kisses on your exposed shoulder, making you purr in delight. His feather-light kisses made goosebumps erupt on your skin. You craned your neck to the side, giving his lips more space to continue their journey further up. A loud moan of satisfaction escaped you as he became rougher with it—licking and sucking on your tender sweet spot.

In a swift motion, he removed your little dress—leaving you in your pretty underwear. His hands started roaming all over your exposed body, paying close attention to all your curves with his fingers—hips, waist and breasts—especially your breasts. He palmed them in his grasp and pinched your nipple through the material of your bra, making you wince out at the slight pain.

While one of his hands palmed your breast, the other ran down your stomach and found its way into your panties, making you gasp once his expert fingers found your aching core. He ran his fingers through your slick folds, groaning deeply in your ear, making the hairs at the back of your neck stand.

“Fuck, baby, already so wet and messy for me, huh? Did that turn you on, princess? My little speech about fucking you and claiming you as mine while he watches all helpless?”

“U-uh, huh.”

You were revelling in the pleasure your twisted and loving husband provided you that there was no way to form any coherent words, let alone sentences. It made Bucky chuckle in a sinister way at how absolute speechless he could make you with such simple touches.

Then it all stopped—his touches and kisses. You whined out in protest and were starting to turn around to see what was going on, but he stopped you by grabbing your upper arms and turning you towards Roman again.

“Stay still, baby.”

Thankfully, his delicate touches returned to your skin. His fingers ran from your shoulder and down until they met the clasp of your bra—unclasping it with no difficulty. The bra straps ran down your arms and hit the floor with a soft thud. Your breasts fully exposed to the two men.

With Bucky’s hands caressing your waist, he descended to the floor behind you. His fingers hooked into your panties and pulled them down your legs. Now, you were fully exposed; your parts that Bucky was so protective and possessive over came to light.

He left a wet kiss on each of your ass cheeks before travelling the kisses upward your naked back—until he stood straight up and wrapped his hand around your throat again, making you yelp and pay full attention to the man tied to the chair. Bucky spoke loud again for him to hear as well.

“This here is all mine. My body—my tits, my ass, my pussy,” he groped your wet and naked core, making you gasp out, “Only I will get to touch and take all of her as I please. Isn’t that right, baby girl?”

“I-it’s yours, B-Bucky, I-I belong to y-you.”

He turned you around and pulled your naked body flush into his clothed one. His hand grasped the back of your neck and brought your lips to his—hungrily kissing you, tongues caressing one another as you moaned and groaned into the heated and needy kiss. His other hand took hold of your ass cheek—altering between squeezing hard and delivering slaps to the plump flesh, which made you whimper into his mouth each time he did.

While still keeping your lips connected, Bucky manoeuvred you to the foot of the bed and removed his jacket while you helped with unbuttoning his white shirt—tearing it off his muscular body.

You roamed your hands all over his hard chest and stomach, moaning as you felt every curve and dip of his delicious muscles. While you touched him, Bucky went to work on getting his pants off.

“Let me.”

You descended to your knees, finding a comfortable place on the marble floor, and helped him tug his pants and underwear down. A satisfied gasp slips from your mouth as his hard cock springs to life—slapping against his belly.

“This cock belongs to me, doesn't it, daddy?” You mutter as you take a firm grasp on his base, and kitten lick his tip while looking up at him.

Bucky chuckled at your possessive nature, licking his lips. You could be just as possessive over Bucky as he was over you, and he loved it. He belonged to you as much as you belonged to him.

“You know it does, baby,” his hand cradled your face, “all of me belongs to you, body and soul.”

You pushed him down to sit on the foot of the bed, his hands on the mattress keeping his weight up. His eyes were fixated on your kneeling form as you nestled between his spread legs. The palm of your hands caressed his thighs up and down as you stared at his entire cock—your mouth watering at how delicious it looked.

“I’m so hungry for your cock, daddy.”

“Yeah? You gonna show him what a little cock-whore you are, baby?”

“Yes,” a glob of your spit fell on him, making him groan as your hand jerked him and spread the saliva all over his length, “I’m a little cock-whore that wants your cock in my mouth.”

He twitched at your lewd words.

“Take all of me then.”

With his hand at the back of your head, he guided and encouraged you to take him whole. With no hesitation, you engulfed his length immediately—too cock-hungry to tease and toy with him until he begged for you. You desperately needed his length deep in your throat.

You gagged around him as he tickled the back of your throat. The vibrations made him shudder where he sat. With each hand cradling your face, he forced your head up and down on him, thrusting his hips upwards to meet your moves.

Tears pooled in your eyes, and saliva dribbled out of your mouth as he forced his way down your throat. It was so messy and erotic—sloppy sounds filled the room.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he concentrated on how your warm and wet mouth felt on his throbbing cock. Guttural groans rumbled in his throat.

“Fuck, you take my cock so well, baby.”

He removed you from him, which made you whine in protest—missing the feel of him choking you with it. Your hand wrapped around him and jerked his length in long strokes as you presented your tongue—showing him how absolute needy you were for his cock shoved deep in your cavity.

With his fingers holding your jaw, he leaned down till he was level with your face and gifted you a glob of his spit on your awaiting tongue. “Fucking whore, you know that?” You nod your head. The degrading action and words had your pussy flutter. You rolled your tongue into your mouth and leaned down to retake him, bobbing your head while Bucky supported his weight on his hands, allowing you to take control of his cock as he sat and enjoyed the lewd performance.

“I bet you’re fucking jealous now.” Bucky sneered at Roman as the corner of his mouth turned up in a sinister smirk.

Your hand accompanied your mouth—stroking his base while your mouth paid attention to his sensitive head—finding a perfect rhythm to bring Bucky over the edge. The other hand cupped his balls to fondle them.

“Look at me….”

You peered up at him through your thick lashes while you had your mouth and hands full of his cock and balls. Drool and tears covering all of you.

“...fucking shit, doll, you’re gonna make me come.” A few seconds later, he grunted as he reached his climax. His hand gripping your shoulder hard to brace himself.

Watching his face contour in pure pleasure, moaning, groaning and grunting while his thick load shoots down your throat must be one of the most pornographic scenes you’d ever witnessed. Your pussy fluttered at the sight and vocalisation of him—slickness running down your inner thighs.

Holy fucking shit.

You worked him thoroughly through his intense orgasm to make him feel as good as possible. Not letting a single drop of him go to waste—all of it trickled down your throat.

Once he had come down from his high, you pulled him out from your mouth, making his head leave with a pop. Bucky hisses as his sensitive cock is freed from your expert hold.

You were a mess—drool covering your face, hands and tits, but to Bucky, it was the most stunning you’d ever looked.

“Oh, baby. So beautiful and messy for me.”

With his hand holding your throat, he leaned down to give you a sloppy kiss which you whimpered into.

“Get on the bed.”

All giddy, you switched places with him. Your elbows supported your weight as you spread your legs for him, showing him your glistening and needy pussy.

“Fucking gorgeous.”

“Are you gonna fuck me, daddy?”

Bucky tugged your legs, pulling you further towards him—till your ass was right by the edge of your bed.

“Not yet, babydoll. I need to taste that pussy first.”

He finds a comfortable place on his knees between your spread legs so he can go to work in worshipping all of you, like the Goddess you are. His face is inches from where you so desperately need him, feeling his breath on you, making your pussy ache for him. You arch into his face, your hand running over his short hair, begging for him to taste you, touch you, do anything to you. To eat you out until he shatters your existence.

“Please, Bucky,” you pathetically plead.

“You want it, baby?”

The tip of his tongue flickers your nub. That simple touch has your whole body convulse on the bed and a soft whimper escaping you.

God, you were so needy.

“P-please.”

“I’ll make you feel so fucking good, princess,” he laid a simple kiss on your wet folds, making you convulse once more, “but first, I need to clean up this mess you’ve made, baby.” He was referring to the slickness that had spilt from you, running down your inner thighs.

While his hands caressed the side of your waist, making delicious tingles erupt on your skin, he went to work on cleaning you up with his tongue—licking up the mess you’ve made, moaning at your taste. “Your taste is outstanding, baby.” Your whimper in pain and pleasure as he nips the skin of your inner thigh with his teeth—his tongue soothing the sting after.

“You have the prettiest pussy; you know that, baby? I’m so lucky that I’m the only man who will ever get to see it, to taste it,” he licks your outer lips, which has you arch into him for more, “and to fuck this needy little cunt.”

Finally, he places his mouth where you desperately need it to be. He drags his broad tongue through your folds and flicks the tip of it on your clit. The action has you arch your back, and your eyes flutter shut.

“O-oh…”

A glob of his saliva hits your clit, trickling down your folds. He groans as he watches his mess mix with your own—making your pussy look like the most delicious five-star meal he’s ever seen.

“Look at him, baby. Look at him while I eat your pussy.”

You turned your head to look at the man bound in his chair. It’s fucked up to admit it, but it turned you on to have Bucky between your thighs while a beaten-down man watched. You could see him shaking in his chair, shock overloading his system while his bloodied face pleaded for mercy—for his hurt and misery to end.

Fuck, this was hot.

You moaned loudly as Bucky went to work on devouring your pussy like a starved man that hasn’t had a decent meal in forever. He drags his tongue through your slit multiple times to get all of your flavours. His groan against your pussy at the taste has you quiver on the mattress and a loud cry emitting from you.

He lewdly spits on your pussy to claim ownership over it before his lips wrap around your raw nub—altering between sucking and licking the sensitive nerve. You try to keep your focus on Roman, but your eyes flutter at the pleasure, your mind and vision becoming blurry.

Two fingers penetrate your velvet walls, stretching you out and reaching knuckle deep, making you wail out. Their tips brush against the spot that has you absolutely lose it, making you writhe on the bed. The other works your breast—palming the supple flesh in his grasp, pinching and pulling on your sensitive nipple. You're nothing but cries of pleasure—moaning, groaning and whimpering as Bucky works you to perfection.

You feel kind of embarrassed at how noisy and pathetic you sound, so you bite your bottom lip hard to try and keep yourself down. Bucky didn’t like that at all.

“No, no,” he releases your clit from his hold, “let him hear. Let him hear all your pretty noises, baby.”

He quickly returned his assaults on your swollen clit that throbbed in need. His fingers moved in and out of you at an expert pace, and his other hand worked your breast.

Upon his wishes, you let your cries of satisfaction flow freely—filling up the bedroom. Your breathing hitched in your throat as the buildup was nearing its breaking point, so close to shattering your whole existence—body and soul.

Both your hands are placed at the back of his head, keeping him there so that he cannot move away and deny you your pleasure under no circumstances. Your hips rock into his vicious mouth as you chase your orgasm—it’s right there, so close.

“Bucky,” you cry as you come hard, your toes curling and your whole body convulsing on the bed. You try keeping your gaze on Roman as the coil in your stomach snaps, but your eyes cross. The surge of intense pleasure on your mind and body is almost indescribable—you’ve never come so hard in your entire life. As stars blur your vision, you feel like you're floating on a cloud.

Bucky groans as he works through your orgasm, your clit throbbing in his mouth and your tight walls fluttering around his digits. He’s in awe as he watches you fall apart like you’ve never done before, and he doesn't stop pleasuring you until you are all but satisfied.

You sob from sensitivity as his mouth and fingers leave your used and abused pussy. You’re a panting and heaving mess as you try and come back to your senses.

“You have no idea how sexy and breathtaking you are when you come like that, baby,” he says before kissing your mound, making you twitch. He proceeds with his kisses up your stomach and gives each of your nipples a lick; each touch has you spasm on the bed at how overly sensitive your whole body feels. He comes to face you—gently laying a kiss on your lips so you can taste yourself.

“I really fucked you up, didn’t I? I’m the only one that can make you come like that, huh?”

All you can do is nod while babbling unfinished words as you still haven’t recovered from your high.

Bucky chuckled at your distant and fucked out state.

“I’ll fuck you up some more, doll. He’s gonna watch as I absolutely wreck you.”

He pulls you further up the bed until you’re both in the middle of it.

With his hard cock in hand, he taps the head on your swollen clit, making you twitch and sob; a weak no falls from your lips as you place your hand on his hip to try and push him off.

You can’t. You’re so overly sensitive that it hurts. You can’t take anymore. But Bucky didn’t seem to give a fuck. He wasn’t done with you.

“I-I c-can’t.”

“Yes, you can, baby.” He speaks through gritted teeth.

He takes your hand off him and pins it down on the mattress.

Again he taps your clit, pulling out the same reaction from you as before. He glides his leaking tip through your wet folds. Gradually, his cock gliding on your tingling nub feels fucking incredible, and you’re ready for him to wreck you with his length.

“Please, daddy, fuck me.”

He groaned out at your neediness for him and lined his tip with your quivering entrance. Slowly, inch by inch, he penetrates your tight velvet walls with his cock, making you whimper at the slight ache. His hands grasp the back of your thighs as he forces his way inside you, guttural groans rumbling in his throat as your warm and tight walls engulf him. The last bit of him he forcefully pushes inside you, slamming into your pelvis, making you sob a cry, and your eyes roll back—showing white. The feeling of fullness has you blabbering pleas for him to destroy and fuck you senseless.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight.”

His voice is so deep and husky, making your walls flutter around his length, pulling out a heavy moan from him.

“I’ll fuck you so good, doll.”

He pulls out and then forces himself hard into you again, making you jolt and cry on the mattress. He does it a few times, being rough and abusive with it, before he starts fucking your tightness in deep and powerful strokes, slapping his skin against yours.

He hoists your legs on his shoulder, pinning them against his front, as he thrusts into you, his tip brushing your sweet spot each time he reaches deep inside you. You’re nothing but a moaning, whimpering mess as you take it all. Your hands grip the sheets to brace yourself, your eyes cross as he fucks you into oblivion, and your breasts bounce with each abusive thrust he delivers.

“My pussy. Mine, mine, mine, mine,” he grunts between each hard thrust, watching his length disappear through your walls.

There's nothing on your brain other than his cock—nothing but earth-shattering pleasure that it's giving.

You convey that you want him closer with grabby hands as you’re entirely speechless with how he’s fucking you.

Answering your pleas, he drops your legs on each side before lowering his body till his naked chest meets yours, holding his weight up so he won’t completely crush your sensitive body. His forehead rests on yours as his warm breath hits your face.

“So needy for my cock, huh? So needy for all of me?”

You can only let out a sound of approval.

“Good fucking girl.”

With the rolls of his hips, he manages to reach even deeper inside you, making you wail in pleasure. You wrap your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck, clinging to him with your weak strength. The buildup was fast due to your last orgasm, and you were ready to explode with pleasure once more.

“I-I-I’m go….”

You couldn't even form a coherent sentence, making Bucky chuckle at how good he was fucking your brains.

“You gonna come, baby?”

“U-uh, huh.”

“Look at him, baby,” with his fingers on your jaw; he turned your head to look at Roman, “look at him as you cream and make a mess all over my cock, you fucking whore. Look at him while I stuff your little cunt.”

You try to keep your focus on him, but it was near impossible with the way Bucky was fucking you, clouding your every sense.

A few more brutal thrusts, and you come hard, toes curling, almost blacking out at the intensity. Silent noises escape your open mouth, and your eyes roll as you explode around his cock—your walls viciously pulsating around his length and making a mess all over him. Tears streamed down your face as it became too much, too hard, but you wanted more; you wanted his cum to fill you so badly, so you pulled him in tighter with your weak legs, wanting him to spill his warm seed inside you.

With a heavy grunt, he spurts ropes after ropes of his cum inside you, decorating your walls. His hips snapped rapidly against you as he filled you up to the brim, emptying himself entirely and not stopping until you were both fucked out and satisfied.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl taking all of me.”

He stilled inside once he was done, making a breath of relief and satisfaction escape you, and a deep groan came from him at the aftershocks. He peppers kisses on your clammy neck and collarbone, whispering sweet praises and affirmation after being so dominant and rough with you. You hold him close, nuzzling your face into his short hair as you hum and sigh in contentment at being stuffed full of his cum.

A whimper falls from you as his body leaves yours, leaving you cold, followed by a sob as his cock leaves your used and abused hole, leaving you unfulfilled.

“Look at that, baby,” Bucky was fascinated with his cum trickling out of your quivering hole, ”such a pretty sight.” He collected all of the cum with his tip and pushed himself hard into you again, making you squeal. After giving you a few more strokes, he pulled out, making the cum flow out once more. He gave you a sweet kiss on the cheek, followed by some words that made your breath hitch.

“Stay still, baby. I need to show him.”

He what?

You were still and spread out like he requested, your body too sensitive and sore to move anyways. With hooded eyes, you watch Bucky’s naked behind as he walks away from you and over to the man bound tight in the corner.

Bucky removes the gag from Roman’s mouth, and you can hear him coughing blood and saliva as his voice is freed. He tries to say something, but it comes out as a gurgling sound.

“Did you really fucking think I would let you go unpunished from my club, you fucking filth?”

Bucky’s fist connects with Roman’s bloodied and bruised face—the noise of skin punching skin and the crackling of Roman’s teeth at the force of it is the most uncomfortable sound you’ve ever heard. You shut your eyes tight as Bucky hits him again, and then a last time.

“Did you really fucking think I would let you speak about my wife like that without me having your head for it?”

You still didn’t know what Roman had said to Bucky in the club, but it was obviously triggering. So Bucky had gone to this extent in showing him, and others for that matter, what happens when someone spoke about his possessions.

Bucky removed his restraints and pulled Roman by his hair over to you on the bed—propping him up so he rested on his knees, his bruised face close to your pussy.

You were lost for words at what was happening, at what Bucky was doing. You just closed your eyes tight and hoped that whatever was going to happen would be over soon.

“Look at that, huh. Look at it. Isn’t it so fucking beautiful?”

Bucky was referring to his cum seeping out of your quivering hole—making a beautiful mess.

Roman looked with hooded eyes and tried to say something, but his words came out strained and unclear.

“Fucking LOOK AT IT!”

Bucky yelled in his face. It startled you and made tears roll down your cheek. This feels so degrading… but my God, also so fucking hot at the same time—to have someone being forced to look at your most intimate part that’s just been used and abused and stuffed full of cum.

Roman looks with wide eyes now, well, one at least; the other one is too bruised to open fully. He makes a painful noise as Bucky pulls his head up by his hair.

“This is mine. My pussy,” Bucky spreads your lips, “this is my girl, my fucking wife, and that’s my fucking cum that’s claimed her. You will never ever get to touch her. Touch what rightfully belongs to me. How dare you come into my club and use your filthy disgusting words on my wife, especially after betraying me like that, you worthless piece of shit.”

Bucky tosses him to the ground, his body hitting the hard floor in a loud thud while he groans in pain.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky spat at him.

Bucky retrieves his phone from his jacket, and you hear his thumbs moving across the keyboard—typing a message. You’re unsure what’s happening and too tired and slightly traumatised to ask questions.

A few seconds later, there’s a knock on the bedroom door, and Bucky stands with his back, all tall and broad, to you, blocking your body so whoever is on the other end can’t see you fully exposed. Bucky doesn’t care about his own nudity in the slightest.

Whoever entered the room didn’t say anything, but you could hear them come closer and stop by Roman, waiting for Bucky to give them instructions.

“Dispose of him,” Bucky utters in a deep and sinister voice.

“Yes, Sir.”

You hear Roman getting pulled away, never to be seen again, and then a door closes, leaving only you and Bucky in your bedroom.

“Baby.”

His sweet and caring voice was back; his protective and warm touches were back—your loving husband. He cleans you off with his shirt and then cradles your body, making you sit on his lap as he wraps his tender, soft arms around your frame. You nuzzle your face into his sweaty neck, a tired sigh leaving you as his fingers run delicately on your clammy skin, soothing your aching flesh and lulling you to sleep.

“Are you ok, doll?” He takes your tired face in his hands, making you look at his concerned one, searching yours for any sign of stress or discomfort. “Was that too much? Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, doll, you had to see that, to hear that. That I had to put you through that.”

You honestly didn’t know what to say at what just unfolded—too tired and sore to process the whole event properly, but you were ok, for now. You were just happy to finally have your husband to yourself after such a pleasurable and vicious evening. All you wanted now was to fall asleep in his protective embrace.

All worries and questions about tonight could wait until the morning.

“I-I’m o-ok, James, just tired,” you yawn.

“Oh, baby…”

He scoots you up the bed—until you both rest your heads on the fluffy pillows, facing each other.

“... come here.”

You make yourself small and vulnerable as you nuzzle and cling to the embrace of your vicious lover and protector—his arms and legs holding you close. A content sigh breathes through you as your head tucks into his chest; listening to the calming beats of his heart—this was your home, where you wanted to be forever; despite Bucky’s brutal nature at times, you never ever wanted to leave his side.

Bucky’s murderous hands treat your skin like it's the most delicate thing in the world—softly stroking your back, making you shudder and purr in delight. Sweet words of affirmation are whispered against your hair, followed by a hum of a pleasant tune that slowly lulls you to sleep.

The last thing you hear are words that solidify your love and trust for your husband.

“You’re mine, mine only, my everything, and I love you beyond words, my sweet love….”

Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

#mob!bucky #mob!au #mafia!bucky #mafia!au #mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky smut #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes one shot #sebastian stan #sebastian stan smut #marvel #marvel smut

[livinginshambles]

Preview: But what about me? | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Summary: Established relationship - James is whipped for you, and so it doesn't seem to occur to him that spending that much time with a new girl would be uncool. You try your best to be unbothered, but when he forgets about your birthday, which aligns with your two year anniversary, and plans to take that other girl out, you decide to finally take action. He's stupid, but he's yours.

Notes: I didnt like where this was going so the full fic is taking a different course.

Masterlist

____________________

Every five years, the Triwizard Tournament is held, and you were utterly thrilled at the prospect of getting to experience it twice, after having experienced it during your first year at Hogwarts. You were already looking forward to it and chatted away on the Hogwarts Express.

Remus wasn’t really listening while you gushed about meeting the people from different schools. He was rather busy going through the material of DADA. You wished you had his determination and self-discipline.

Sirius was scribbling away on a piece of paper, and you would almost think that he was following Remus’ example of being a model student, if you hadn’t already seen that he was meticulously planning out a few pranks.

Well, it didn’t really matter who listened to you anyway, because you were just so excited that you rambled on to get it out of your system and didn’t require much beside the occasional hum or nod.

This was exactly what James was doing right now. He was way too caught up in admiring the glitters that you had sprayed on your hair this morning and was unconsciously drawing circular patterns on your hip with the arm that was slung around you.

“Do you think we’ll have a Yule ball this year?” You continued. “Well, they only hold the Yule ball every 4 years, but it’s been a while since the Triwizard Tournament and the Yule ball lined up together, isn’t it?” You looked up at James whose attention had moved to focus on your face and were met with a soft kiss to the corner of your lips. You smiled in the kiss when James’ lips travelled to meet yours properly.

“Really Prongs?” Sirius snorted. “You’re really doing it in front of all of us?”

James pointedly ignored him and instead tried to pull you a little bit closer. Not that that was possible because you were already joined to the hip and leaning into him.

“Oh, now you’re just doing it on purpose,” Sirius complained, and you would imagine the grimace on his face if you weren’t too preoccupied with James, who was leaving small pecks against your lips.

“Don’t like what you see, look away,” James murmured against you, but loud enough for Sirius to hear.

“Sod off Potter, I would look away from you getting all chummy with our Y/N, but you’re kind of right in my sight,” Sirius huffed dramatically, and he slumped against Remus. You softly pushed James away and offered Sirius a sheepish look.

“Sorry,” you grinned unapologetically.

Sirius waved you off. “Yeah, yeah, how would you feel if I start snogging with someone, right in front of you,” he sarcastically retorted. Remus gave him an unimpressed look.

“Well, what if it was our mutually best friend?” Sirius tried to correct himself. Remus shook his head amusedly. “Go sleep, Padfoot,” he sighed.

You sniffed and nudged James. “You have any tissues?”

“Why did you forget to bring any?” He clicked his tongue. “I vaguely remember to tell you not to forget them when you’re in the middle of a cold?” He teased. You stuck your tongue out. “I’m only sick because of your kisses in the first place.”

“And I’m making up for it by giving you this incredibly soft and sweet scented tissue,” James winked. You snorted and accepted the tissue, snatching it away.

“Ah. What a great boyfriend I am,” James mused out loud to himself. “Lucky for you that I don’t forget things when it comes to you,” he flirted, and you playfully kicked his foot.

Full fic

#james potter x reader #james potter fic #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter angst #james potter fluff #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #marauders x reader #marauders fic

[openconceptpanicroom]

The Keeper

-Chapter One: A Gift Unwanted-

Prince Aemond x Dragonkeeper!Reader

Summary: Reader is given to The Greens along with an egg before the Dance as a gift to Prince Maelor. Her job is ensure the egg hatches as a "goodwill," present from Princess Rhaenyra. However, the Greens doubt these good intentions and no one is more suspicious than Prince Aemond. Pride, lust, envy and paranoia make the One-Eyed Prince almost beastly.

TW: MDNI, Aemond is very repressed, choking, threats of violence, obsessive love interest, power imbalance. AN: Aemond's POV in next chapter.

The Dragonpit of King’s Landing was a grand system of tunnels and caverns carved into stone. At the heart of the Dragonpit sat the nursery, a circular room with filled with hot coals to warm eggs marked for their future riders. Over each clutch hung wide open vents to funnel out the smoke, though it did little to lessen the heat of this place. It was here that you spent most of your days, drenched in sweat as you changed out coals beneath the egg you had been sworn to protect. A pale green egg promised to the babe Prince Maelor, a kind gift from his estranged aunt. You first felt pride at being the one to hatch and raise this dragon for a Prince to one day ride. Now, you were… cautious. A dragonkeeper acolyte once under the charge of Princess Rhaenyra, you now rested your head so close to those she had fled from. It had not been unknown to you that the Queen and Princess did quarrel. Although, perhaps naively, you had assumed you would be safe from the crossfire of their rivalry.

It was quite irritating to be so wrong. 

Prince Maelor was no more than a week old when Princess Rhaenyra drafted together a ship filled with goods for her youngest nephew. Glittering gemstones, rare silks from Lys, handcrafted toys of fine wood from Pentos, books of varying degrees of academic difficulties, and a dragon egg with a keeper. To the untrained eye, it was selfless. Colder hearts felt differently. The usually fertile she-dragon Dreamfyre had failed to lay a clutch in two years, meanwhile Syrax had just laid one that month. To gift an egg with a dragonkeeper showed Princess Rhaenyra’s arrogance. Her belief that the God’s favored her so much that it was all but guaranteed Syrax’s egg would bring forth a new dragon. Whether or not this was Princess Rhaenyra’s intentions mattered little. You were seen as at best an insult and at worst a spy. 

All that kept you from further interrogation was the knowledge that you would never be in the Red Keep. You were, after all, a dragonkeeper. They were not to enter the palace without reason, and certainly not without guards to take them about the keep. So long as you did as you said you would and kept away from the castle, you were left alone. 

For the most part. 

As you laid red-hot coals over Prince Maelor's egg, you felt that an eye upon your back. It spread chills over your skin despite the blazing heat. You let out a slow breath and laid your shovel to the side, pulling your thick leather gloves from your hands. For weeks now, you resided here with forty other dragonkeepers. None had had issue with your being here. There was no Queen to bother and no Lord Hand to stare at you incredulously. All you did, all day, was care after the egg and assist the other keepers in their chores. Yet He still came to stare at you. To mock you. To disturb you. 

“Iksis se Dārilaros's drōmon issare jūndan tolī, acolyte?”*

You sucked burning air through your teeth, lowering your scarf as you turned to face him. Prince Aemond stood in the entryway of the nursery, the heat already showing in beads of sweat on his face. Thin strands of silvery-white hair stuck to his face, one hanging just over his eyepatch. He was dressed to ride, all in black with one glove on and the other still in his fist. Black were his clothes, like that of a raven. A one-eyed raven. He used to be so quiet, Prince Aemond. For a brief time, you had known him. A freckled and shy boy with eyes of pale violet. Small and awkward, so hopeful that his egg on Dragonstone would hatch. That boy was dead. Replaced by this man that bore his name but not his heart, all memory of you gone. 

Bowing your head, you forced your voice to stay neutral, “Kessa, Ñuha Dārilaros.”*

His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, either irritated by your response or that you were yet again unbothered by him. Prince Aemond was one so used to insult, that anything without a readily available explanation was assumed to be some manner of slight aimed at him. Your presence was one of these assumed slights, was what an elder had said to you. 

“Māzigon kesīr, zaldrīzes buzdari.”

His voice was ice in your blood, and his words pulled you to him. The blood of Old Valyria was your master. Even when it mocked you. Your feet were slow but not clumsy as you stopped to stand before him. Eyes to the ground even then, as show of respect. Acolyte’s are not to make eye contact with those of the royal family. You swallowed thickly as the tips of Prince Aemond’s boots came into your view. 

“It gives me great vexation every time I look upon you. A mere acolyte, charged with caring for my nephew’s egg. Yet another example of my half-sister’s contempt. The Whore of Dragonstone cannot spare an elder, so she sends you,” Prince Aemond’s tone almost made you roll your eyes. Another accusation of negligence. Gods be merciful if you ever made a true mistake or misstep in his presence. “Prince Maelor will not suffer due to your incompetence.”

Your back ached from changing out the coals over and over. New callouses made their home over old callouses on your palms and fingers. Every inch of you was caked in sweat and soot. From the moment you rose to the moment you laid to sleep, you thought of the egg. His concerns were absurd, truly. Resisting the ever-growing urge to say so, you merely asked, “What more does Your Grace want for me to do to prove I am competent? I am your servant.”

A beat of pure silence passed. 

What was expected was more of his insults, accusations of negligence on your part. You did not prepare yourself for his ungloved hand which then grabbed your jaw. With his bare hand he yanked up your face so that you had no choice but to look at him. He pulled you close, staring down at you with the closest thing to a smile you had seen since meeting him again. Your pulse raced beneath his touch. He smelled of dragon, of bergamot, and coriander. Hair of starlight and one piercing eye of violet. Confronted so close and so suddenly by his fury and his beauty, blessed by the blood of Old Valyria. It felt indecent to be so close to one such as he. To know his palm was now marked by the filth of your labor. 

His hand slipped from your chin to your throat, fingers closing slowly. The coldness of his stare marked by something darker. Lips moving, he murmured something you couldn’t quite catch. It was growing hard to focus. To maintain composure. The sweltering heat, his glare, his fingering stealing your breath with every second. 

At last, you let out a whimper of a moan. Prince Aemond’s voice answering it with an audible groan. It was quick, but you heard it. Just as he released that hungry growl did he release you. You hacked and coughed on air that was too tainted to give you any sort of relief. By the time you could take a breath without wheezing, he was several feet away from you. He gave one last warning before leaving you in the nursery that day, “My nephew’s egg will hatch, or you will feel the consequences of your failure. Do you understand?”

All you can do is bow and say, "I understand, Your Grace."

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

High Valyrian Translations (*)

"Is the prince's egg being looked after, acolyte"

"Yes, my prince"

"Come here, dragon slave"

#aemond fanfiction #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd #hotd fic #hotd x reader #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond x reader #prince aemond x you #aemond x dragonkeeper!reader

[nanomooselet]

My Brother's Keeper (VII)

Knives, despite it all, I do indeed pity you. You horrible creature. More than you might imagine anyone would dare.

I said some time ago that Knives has agency and Vash doesn't, and that the Eye of Michael's dogma demands sacrifice.

One lives. One dies.

When Knives tells Vash to leave humanity, it's at that very instant Vash realises the truth: that this isn't about the Plants versus humans. It was never about that, ever, and trying to dissuade Knives from continuing his descent by arguing from that premise isn't ever actually going to work.

It's about how discovering Tesla broke them in two. It broke reality, cracked the singular unit they once believed themselves to be in half, and sent each half down forever-separate paths in both space and time.

Vash, through Rem, decided he could face the future. Even despite this discovery, how apathetically cruel the world is to the innocent, the future is always ours to shape as long as we live to choose. Rem showed him that through acknowledging and accepting responsibility for the pain of the past, even if once ignorant or complicit, one could learn and heal, and therefore work to be free of it. Not perfect. Never perfect. But still better.

Nai only saw potential pain. The fear of facing the world where it could be inflicted, and of those who'd done so, consumed him. He would erase both by returning to the past, the innocence and ignorance of having never learned the frightening truth. He'd thus build a paradise, an Eden, where no sin was committed and no sinner would set foot. He alone, in his own singular perfection, was fit both to assume this task and the power - and thus the right - to fulfil it.

Since when have we been so different?/Who are you? We've become so different I don't think I even know you anymore.

Vash begins to cry because he sees now that Nai… Nai is gone. Maybe he ran for too long, or maybe the Nai he thought he knew never existed. It doesn't matter anymore. There's nothing of his brother left to love in this monster before him, who's done everything that he's done and isn't sorry and wants to keep doing it by seizing control over Vash's own body. (Even though they look more like each other now than they have since they were kids, which still absolutely ruins me.) Vash grieves his brother, his brother's love and their togetherness in the past, but he finally knows for sure that they're gone, and he must define his own identity, and move beyond them.

His declaration that he'll always run isn't about running from humanity, anymore than Knives is truly fighting for the freedom of the Plants.

Seriously, Knives isn't fighting for the freedom of the Plants. He thinks he is, because he thinks that justifies controlling their bodies and consuming their power and benefiting from their suffering, but he's reversed cause and effect. He acts and so they suffer, but he believes their suffering is what motivates his actions and not his fear and his greed for the power to destroy whatever he fears. It's circular, and it's entirely self-centred.

It's the logic not of a liberator but of the entire system of oppression.

Knives's paradise, the home to which he's so desperate to return, no longer exists. It never will again. Not for him or for Vash or for the Plants. Knives himself broke it. Knives himself ripped it out of the heavens and plunged it into the earth, shattering it, so he could reshape the pieces into something that he alone controlled. Knives will always assume control, and he won't stop if you give what he says he wants, because he won't admit or even try to understand that it's not the truth.

He wants to stop being scared and alone. He wants his brother to need him and never leave him. He wants his mother, but she's gone. (He killed her. Over and over and over again he kills her and she's still always gone and he hates her for always being gone. Why is she gone? Why didn't she stay? He asked. He gave her a choice.)

(Yet in Vash's memories and in the people he loves, Rem's spirit lives on, and always will. She still loves him, her perfect boy, even still protects him, just as she promised she would. Did you guys know Vash's coat is bulletproof? Did you guys realise Vash literally still walks around kicking ass in the protective embrace of his mother? I actually had to take a minute, when I figured it out. It made me tear up.)

I was rejected?

Let me back in! Take me back.

Knives wants to go home. To be a child again with Vash by his side. Innocent, together, in paradise. But once you've grown up, you can never really go home again. It's a fundamentally selfish desire to want everything to go back to being the same forever - what it means is that because it was good or kind for you specifically, everyone else has to conform whether it was good and kind to them or not. There's always danger in nostalgia even when it's not misplaced. It encourages destructive nihilism, malicious and ignorant apathy. If the best can only ever be behind us, there is no reason to try to go on.

Vash is not nostalgic. Vash will run, and run, and keep running. For a lifetime if he has to - and a Plant's lifetime is a long one. It's not that he hasn't made a choice, but that he'd already made it long ago: to be free of Knives, to live and to fight for independence from his brother's abusive care, and to find a way to unite humans and Plants, the purpose he's been eager and happy to serve since the day he found it. Rem's dream is one he longs to fulfil, and he finally knows he has the power, intelligence, resilience, strength and above all, the right to take up that task.

He's just acknowledged and accepted that it's not also his purpose to help his stupid brother, not if this is all he gets in response. Dismissed, ignored, insulted, his grief and compassion mocked; abused, put down, smothered, injured, rendered permanently disabled, scarred, violated, traumatised. Forced into the shape that Knives imagines he should be in, pieces cut away until he fits the image in his brother's head.

It's very sad that after all that Knives has done to him, Vash doesn't value his own life and wellbeing enough to care for himself as much as he cares for everyone else in the world. But it still beats Knives trying to do it for him. He's so bad at it.

In the past, on occasions such as this, when Vash demonstrated like... the capacity to sort of almost disagree, Knives would yell at him suddenly and loudly enough that Vash would freeze up in terror, and then Knives would do whatever he wanted regardless. My man isn't good at hearing the word "no". If yelling or insults failed, he'd do something physically violent. I've seen a lot of takes on how funny and/or gay it is that Vash's reaction to Wolfwood grabbing his lapels and threatening to torture him to death is... this.

But understand that when Vash suggests an alternative that doesn't involve mass murder, his brother tends not to agree to it. Or stop at threats. Vash's arguments with Knives always make Vash sound a bit pathetic and dumb because Knives doesn't actually engage Vash - he shuts him down or insults him, telling him he's too weak and stupid to even speak. He has no respect at all for Vash's opinions, abilities, or as a person - honestly, I wouldn't treat an animal this way.

When someone finally respects your beliefs and abilities after they've been coldly or violently dismissed so many times, that's… how it feels.

Knives assumed that Vash had no powers so he was weak, and then when Vash did demonstrate powers, that Vash was weak because he was frightened of them. As usual, the trauma he's inflicted maybe being the problem never entered his mind; it's always Vash's fault. When Vash finally has both power and the will to assert control of it, he finally has the capacity and strength to enforce his refusal. And that leaves Knives finally exhausted of any means to break his will.

Except one. One final choice.

Vash is right: the plan has failed and this is over. Knives can never again have the power he desires, and what's more, Vash would rather be shot at for another hundred years than be together with his brother in paradise.

In spite of everything Knives has done to destroy it, the independent identity of Vash the Stampede yet survives. And so.

One lives.

One dies.

Nai is dead.

There's no turning back.

(The stars are falling down.)

And no one ever really goes home.

If you want to tell me Stampede is a poor quality adaptation, it's not funny and it's shallow and Vash is a loser now and there's no Milly and they're just exploiting the property and if it just hadn't been called Trigun maybe... maybe...

Maybe! You're entitled to an opinion. I'm open to the discussion. I do always try to assume good faith.

However, I'm still probably not going to agree.

And I'm done. Now I need to lie down on the floor and cry over my beautiful disaster twins. Thank you very much for reading! I encourage you to be as insane in the tags as you feel moved to be, because I crave validation.

(Extreme Lesbianism for Meryl Stryfe: Coming Soon.)

(Part I)

(Part II)

(Part III)

(Part IV)

(Part V)

(Part VI)

#trigun stampede #tristampparty #millions knives #vash the stampede #trigun meta #hundreds spoons #vash is in fact perfect #hundred spoons is a yellow-bellied baby who needs his mommy #throwing a tantrum trying to blow everything up #maybe if he'd tried the ramen in july he'd be less on fire #TOO LATE NOW #loser #i cherish them both #full disclosure the shot where knives is launched through the rem-plant-thing's face is only there because it makes me giggle #on a scale of millions knives to one how graceful are you in defeat #meta: my brother's keeper

[amywritesthings]

gingerbread sweet. / a reiner holiday ficlet

pairing: reiner braun x f!reader ( attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin ) word count: 1.1k summary: It's the Titan frat's annual gingerbread house competition. Your boyfriend, Reiner Braun, is determined to win. You, however, are determined to distract.

tags: modern au - university, holiday fluff, gingerbread houses, all the marleyans are in a frat bc i said so, devoted boyfriend!reiner, light sexual tension credit: dividers by @saradika

welcome to the eleventh day of the twelve days of amymas !!

“Does the door look crooked to you?”

"The what?"

"The door. Look at it."

There’s nothing more amusing than watching your hulk of a boyfriend crouch over a tiny gingerbread house.

Reiner Braun squints as he presses a gumdrop to the front — circular windows make it modern, or so he claims — then pauses.

Distracted by a very minor detail, you can already feel his anxiety running his brain a mile a minute: a lopsided door may deduct a few points from Marcel's arbitrary points system from this very arbitrary holiday competition.

Because he's absolutely fucking determined to win.

Granted, the bragging rights are his, but the grand prize will not be — Reiner, of course, rarely rides this hard for something he wants.

No, he’s too willing to put everyone else's wants and needs above his own.

So the grand prize of the Titan fraternity annual gingerbread house competition is going to go to you, hell or high water.

He’s going to win you that goddamn spa day gift card that Marcel has been dangling as a sweet little incentive no matter how long it takes him to mold this gingerbread house into his image.

"I think it looks straight."

The tip of his pink tongue pokes out a little from his pressed lips as he leans in closer. "...I trust your eye more than mine."

The blonde sits up to fish for the green icing piping bag. He's gentle with the way he eases the icing along the edges of the tiny confectionary door.

(An icing wreath, like this couldn't be anymore adorable.)

“Reiner?” you coo.

“Yeah, babe.”

Flat. He’s in the zone.

“You know you don’t have to slave over this thing, right?”

You scoot your chair closer to his, dropping your temple to his large tricep.

“I can buy my own spa day card.”

“False,” he corrects. “I’ll buy you the spa day card myself, but if I gotta cheat Porco out of winning for the third year in a row. Pieck’s gone at least five times on our dime.”

"When were the other two times?" you ask, not correlating the math.

"Well, our freshman year," Reiner begins, using the green icing to make little bushes at the foundation of the house, "we did a Valentine's day relay race that ended up with Bert in urgent care with a broken nose. Then, the one-and-only pool party chicken fight tournament — Pieck and Porco fought dirty."

"Is that why it was the one and only?"

"Yeah. Bert got another bloody nose, but that time from Annie going a little too hard."

He snorts.

"We had to save him from becoming the next Owen Wilson, so — no more chicken tournaments."

Titan frat is… well, excessively competitive, you've learned in your year or so of dating Reiner.

(Blame Porco and the new pledge, Eren Yeager, for only exasperating in this year with the month-long holiday challenges.)

You shrug a shoulder. “I could help.”

“And mess up your pretty nails?” Reiner shakes his head, glancing briefly through his peripheral vision. He smirks. “Ain’t no way.”

Right.

Reiner’s also very giving, during this season — in more ways than one.

First it was the fully-paid-for manicure yesterday.

Then it was the reservation for a Christmas Eve dinner to your favorite spot in the inner city.

Now he’s trying to win Marcel's approval in this ridiculous decorating contest in your name, and you feel… well, loved.

(There's no disputing that you've won the boyfriend lottery.)

Which, of course, means you have only one thing you can do in this situation.

He’s too wound up.

Distracted.

So you reach down to the pile of icing supplies strewn about, picking the small red accented tube.

You swipe some on the tip of your finger, mindful not to get it under your nails.

Reiner doesn’t even see it happening.

He’s too busy playing fixer-upper on the front side of the house, his too-big hands delicately toying with the too-small decorations he’s pasting on the cookie.

You wait a few seconds, letting him place the door where he wishes, before swiping the icing over the side of his neck.

Reiner tenses, turning to see what the hell just hit his neck, but he’s too late—

You’re already leaning in, sliding the tip of your tongue along his skin.

The man gasps, dropping his own piping bag to the supply assortment below.

“What are you—”

“Decorating,” you murmur nonsensically, grinning from ear to ear as his attention disappears completely from the gingerbread house to you.

“The guys are in the other room,” he rasps, eyes wide.

The pledges, he means — banished to the enclosed patio as they work on their own poorly-designed houses.

Through the last year while dating Reiner,  you’ve learned very quickly how sensitive he is.

Sometimes all it takes is a look to get him hard.

Your ego has never recovered, and it’s not deflating now.

Except his eyes soften and a gentle chuckle exits his throat when his golden eyes search your face.

“Wait, you got—”

“What?”

His hand gently cradles your jaw. 

“Hold still, baby.”

His thumb raises to swipe at your nose, where his smile only grows.

You stay still, obedient to his command, unable to stop looking at him.

God, he’s gorgeous.

He’s so fucking gor—

Something touches your lips, and you belatedly realize Reiner’s taken it upon himself to push the red icing along the seam of your lips, parting them easily.

You can taste the sugary sweetness on the tip of your tongue.

“Shit, sorry." When your brows knit in confusion, Reiner explains himself. "Seems like I missed a spot.”

Oh.

Oh.

His pupils dilate as his gaze drops to your lips, as if he’s ready to devour your whole.

Your entire body turns into flames.

“Just one spot?” you murmur, and a wicked smirk crawls to his mouth.

That same thumb drops to glide the remaining icing over your chin.

“I fear it's a couple of spots, but don't worry. I'll get you cleaned up.” He tilts his chin. “I take care of my girl, remember?”

(As if you could ever forget.)

His words get your blood pumping. Pledges and wandering eyes be damned.

“What about the gingerbread house?” you murmur, entranced by the way he continues absently swiping icing over your jaw, chin, and cheeks.

(Marking a trail his lips will devour.)

“We can bring the icing upstairs,” Reiner suggests with an innocent shrug. You know it’s anything but. “I’ll finish that damn house eventually, but I have something sweeter to tend to.”

Before you can say another word, the blonde stands from his chair and gently takes your hand into his.

You easily stand with him, unable to stop giggling as he tugs you eagerly upstairs.

He’s determined to win, yes, but to him —

He’s already won.

He has you, after all.

.

#reiner braun x reader #reiner braun x you #reiner x reader #reiner fluff #reiner x you #attack on titan fanfiction #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #snk x reader #snk x you #aot x you #reiner braun fic #reiner braun fanfic #holiday fanfic #holiday one shot #twelve days of amymas

[piizunn]

ᓄᐦᑕᐃᐧᕀ ᐊᐢᑯᑖᐢᑯᐱᓱᐣ nohtawiy askotâskopison, My Father’s Cradleboard by Morgan Possberg Denne

The New Gallery, November 18 - December 22, 2023

“Cradleboards have been used for thousands of years by our ancestors to carry and love for our future generations. They have protected us, acted as an external womb, and given us a place as children to watch our parents' culture and learn from a safe distance. I’ve always wondered if the fact that neither my father, his father, or myself was ever put in a cradleboard may have had a long term impact on our development, personhood, and our coping mechanisms to the ways that colonialism, residential schools and the foster care system has affected my family.

Now as an adult I deeply wish I could rewind the clock and put myself, and my father before me, and his father before him in a cradleboard as a child. To softly sing songs to us, give us safety, and to give us a connection to our culture in a safe environment. Maybe this would fix things. As kids when we were supposed to be kept safe and playing in the woods we were instead being prepped for the meat factory - the eternal meat grinder of colonialism.

The western world teaches us to push aside this childhood imagining and innocence - “These things can’t be undone!”, but what if they could? In another world somebody took better care of us, in another time we learned to drum and sing and dance, in another place we were listened to by adults who had the capacity to love and care for us.

These hot chest and aching throat feelings, the times of biting back angry tears and saying “It’s fine” have to count for something….right?”

“Morgan Possberg Denne is Two-Spirit millennial scoop and foster care survivor; with settler, Cree, Metis, and Chippewa blood connections. They have grown up in treaty 7 territory, and have relatives in southern and northern Ontario. Morgan creates imaginative, illustrative objects which could be seen as pieces of possible narratives, different ways to connect with the past and potential futures through layers of abstraction with no right or wrong answer. What matters to them is not accurately recreating the past or to predict the future, but rather to capture an inner truth and a possible alternative reality of colonial experiences. In a sense, creating new culture from a series of “what-ifs” and new stories / lore. Their work has been recently shown at the Confederation Centre for the Arts and Gallery Gachet.”

(Photos belong to me and the description and artist bio are courtesy of The New Gallery’s website)

[IDs:

1. a large wall hanging made from fish leather,

2. a close up of the same piece. the artwork has faint text cut out of the green tea tanned fish that reads “hey it’s not your fault, you know that right?”

3. a photo of the space showing a video projected onto several fish skins, a table with a vest and a hat made of fish leather, and on the table are cartons made from rawhide.

4. a coatrack on which are a rawhide hunting ruffle and rawhide fishing net resembling a badminton racket

5. a shelf seen in the background of image 3 containing a astro-turf shirt, a hand gun and pocket knife made from rawhide and a fish leather circular clip with a piece of dark hair hanging off the shelf.]

#my picks #morgan is a dear friend of mine <3 #they taught me how to tan fish leather! #art #indigenous art #cree #métis #chippewa #canadian art #contemporary art #indigenous contemporary art #curation #artist run centre #artists #fish leather #leather #rawhide #traditional art #sculpture #installation #video art #my images

[brittscafe]

Could I do a nsfw request with the older brother’s best friend x little sister trope for Shunsui? Ukitake has several siblings - I 100% see Shunsui meeting and eventually hooking up with one of his sisters (respectfully)

I really loved writing this and I swear Shunsui is such a gentleman 😩

When Shunsui first met you, his eyes never left you. He always wore a cocky smirk across his face and his eyes were soft. You were attracted to him. The way he carried himself and looked at you gave the chills.

Out of your respect of your older brother, Jushiro, you never said anything. No matter how hot or charming Shunsui may be, you swore to never act on it.

Luckily, fate is on your side one night.

Shunsui, Jushiro, and you are all inside a bar, drinking sake and calming down after a long day. Jushiro hunches over the counter, hand fiddling with his glass.

He coughs loudly and your eyes widen. "Jushiro, are you okay?" you ask with concern as he continues to cough.

"I think it's time for me to head home," Jushiro explains, his cheeks a bit red.

"Are you sure? The night has just begun," you ask curiously, knitting your eyebrows together with concern.

"Yes, I am sure. Shunsui, would you mind walking y/n home?" Jushiro asks and a deep pit forms in Shunsui's stomach. He glances over at you and nods his head.

"Of course. I don't mind at all," Shunsui throws you a quick wink. You giggle quietly and Jushiro pushes back his chair, standing up and walking out of the bar.

The rest of the night consists of you and Shunsui downing shots left and right.

"Ok, I think it's time we head home," Shunsui suggests, pushing his chair and standing up, clearing his throat.

"No! Shunsui!" you whine out, your face hot from all the alcohol in your system. Shunsui chuckles and shakes his head.

"Come on," he grunts out, arms wrapping around your waist and lifting up you from the chair. You yelp as you're suddenly in the air then on Shunsui's broad shoulder.

Your legs dangle and you kick them, giggling loudly as Shunsui carries you out of the bar.

"Shunsui, you're so hot," you whisper, your voice barely heard and Shunsui's eyes widen. At first he's taken aback by your words then he smirks to himself.

Shunsui sways back and forth in the darkness as he continues to walk you home in the darkness of the night.

"I appreciate that," he chuckles out, biting his bottom lip. You place your hands on Shunsui's lower back, steadying yourself.

Shunsui approaches his estate and walks up the steps, pushing open the door.

"Hey! This isn't Jushiro's place!" you cry out, glancing around the unknown place. Shunsui chuckles and closes the door behind him.

"You're right. It's not, it's mine. With you being as drunk as you are, I don't think Jushiro would appreciate you throwing up all over his carpet at 3 a.m."

"I hate it when you're right," you scoff out, rolling your eyes. Shunsui can't help but laugh at your words.

"Shall I run a bath for you, y/n?" Shunsui's voice calls out and you hum at the idea of it.

"Sure," you suggest, giggling. Shunsui smiles warmly and nods his head, carrying you into the bathroom. He sits you down on the counter and kneels down to the large circular bath, turning on the water.

It pours out from the faucet and starts filling up the tub. The steam rises from the top of the water and you hum quietly. Shunsui turns off the knob as the tub becomes full of steaming water and he stands up.

You hop off the counter and grab onto the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head. Shunsui licks his lips at the sight of your breasts peeking out from your bra.

You glance over at him and cock an eyebrow. "Don't look," you warn him, tossing him your shirt. Shunsui chuckles deeply and nods his head, turning around.

You continue to strip down and Shunsui's heart rams against his chest as he hears the clothes thud on the ground.

You dip your feet into the hot water and let out a heavy sigh. You sink down into the water and lean against the tub.

"May I turn around?" Shunsui asks, folding his hands together. You giggle quietly and nod your head.

"You may."

Shunsui turns around and meets your gentle gaze. He wishes he could see what is underneath the water, how your body looks. How he would kiss every inch of it.

"You're beautiful," Shunsui breaths out, feeling his hard grow hard inside of his pants.

"So, why don't you get in here and kiss me, Shunsui?" your voice is laced with temptation.

"You're drunk," Shunsui shrugs his shoulders and you cock an eyebrow.

"So? I want to to kiss me, Shunsui," you chime out and Shunsui chuckles quietly. Shunsui bends over, grabbing onto the edge of the tub and dips his head down.

"Very demanding of you," Shunsui comments, eyes crinkling at the sides.

"I like what I like and what I like...is you," you whisper with a lustful tone.

His warm lips press against yours and you bring your hands up, cupping his face. Your thumbs brush against his facial hair and you tug him down.

Shunsui groans against your lips and your lips slightly part open, allowing for him to slide his tongue inside. Shunsui takes off his uniform, leaving him in only his boxers.

You pull away from his soft, warm lips and glance over his body. His built chest is covered in dark hair with is going all the way to his v-line.

You can see his hard cock wanting to spring out of his boxers. It makes you wet.

A fire is starting to glow deep inside of your bones. Burning brighter and brighter. You reach out with your hand, tracing his abs and reaching down to his boxers.

You grab onto them and pull them down. Shunsui's hard cock springs out, slapping his stomach and he wears a proud expression across his face.

He can be such an idiot sometimes wearing an expression like that.

His cock is thick and long, the base of it covered in a thick amount of hair. Your hand runs down the base of his cock and to the red, raging head where you squeeze it.

"Y/n," Shunsui groans out, eyes rolling into the back of his head. You chuckle and release his cock.

"Come on in. The water's fine," you tempt him, leaning back against the tub. Shunsui smirks and steps inside the tub, sinking down into the steaming water.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this," Shunsui's voice draws out, a hand grabbing onto your arm and pulling you onto his lap.

"Tell me, Shunsui. Just how long have you been waiting?" you ask curiously, ducking your head down and showering his hairy chest in soft, wet kisses.

Shunsui's hand runs up and down your bare back.

"A long time," he hums out as you open your mouth, biting down on his upper pec. Shunsui groans quietly and his free hand reaches down into the water, rubbing against your clit.

"If my brother finds out, I'll drown you," you warn him with a sassy tone that causes him to cackle. You swirl your tongue over his chest before pulling your head away.

"He won't," Shunsui reassures you, shoving his thick fingers inside of your pussy. You moan loudly, arching your back and sitting on the base of his cock.

The curve of his cock is pressing up against you. Sweat gleams along your face and your hands grip onto his shoulders. His fingers leave your pussy and grab onto his cock, lining it up with your entrance.

You gasp loudly as Shunsui pushes the head of his cock into your hole and you sink down on the rest of his length.

"So, you like to make the woman do all the work?" you tease him, rolling your hips and impaling yourself on his thick cock. Shunsui chuckles as you whimper.

His hands steady on your hips and start to guide you, his cock slipping in and out of you.

"I am a gentleman, y/n. You should know that by now," Shunsui suggests, watching as your breasts bounce with each thrust.

"Hey, my eyes are up here, asshole," you grumble out, grabbing onto his jaw and tilting his head up to your face. Shunsui smirks wryly and presses his lips to yours.

The way his cock stretches out your pussy and hits your g-spot every time, makes you want to cum straight away. The pleasure is beyond anything you've ever felt before, despite knowing how wrong this is, it feels 10 times better.

You rock your hips forward, your pussy swallowing his cock. Your walls clench around his thick cock and he groans heavenly.

"The way you moan for me, I'll be sure to tell Jushiro how great you sound," Shunsui chuckles out and your eyes widen. You playfully slap him against the chest and scoff.

"You'll be a dead man," you warn him.

"I'll be a happy dead man," Shunsui explains, his cock thrusting inside of you. You cry out and throw your head back.

"Shunsui," you moan out, feeling yourself coming closer to your high.

"I know, my petal," Shunsui coos out, rubbing your back while continuing to guide you with his other hand that's still on your hip.

You pant heavily, moaning and whimpering as your cum leaks out from your pussy, onto Shunsui's cock. Shunsui feels so blissful as he's right there with you, cumming.

Your pussy fills up with his warm cum and he groans, resting his head on your shoulder.

"You're just Jushiro's little sister," Shunsui shoots you a quick wink, pulling his soft cock out of you.

"And you're just my brother's best friend."

#shunsui kyoraku #shunsui kyoraku smut #shunsui bleach #bleach headcanons #bleach anime #bleachanime #bleach x reader #bleach x you #bleach imagines #bleach x y/n #bleach x female reader #shunsui x reader #shunsui x y/n #bleach #shunsui x you #bleachichigo #bleach kyoraku #kyoraku x ukitake #captain kyoraku #kyoraku shunsui x reader #ukitake #Jushiro ukitake #shunsui kyoraku x reader #bleach shunsui

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Tiramisu

Summary: A few days after you find out about his daughter, Marc takes you to a play and then dinner afterwards to talk to you about a few things.

Pairing: Marc Spector x f!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: A continuation of the universe from this single dad au drabble. Don't look at me I switched POVs. This can be read by itself or with the other part for more context.

Warnings: fluffy, angsty, talk of lawyers and custody, brief allude to Marc's childhood, multiple mentions of smutty times (no smut), swearing (it's Marc), reader is oddly possessive

There's a strange comfort that you find in Marc Spector's presence. The minute, everyday movements of his body that would go unnoticed in anyone else but in him, to you, meant the difference between life and death.

Right now, it's the barely there motion of his temple as he eats. It's going up and down in time with his jaw, the same interweaving pattern his heart and his lungs share with each other.

He's taken you out for dinner tonight. He got free theatre tickets and he took you as his date.

Maya, he said, was too young for the subject matter.

And besides, he felt he hadn't seen you in ages, though it's only been ten days since you saw him last, since you've found out about his daughter.

You can't help but feel that it's a step backwards however. You feel hurt that he didn't take you up on your invitation to make him dinner, though you tried chalking it up to difficulties in trying to find someone to look after Maya. 

Should he stay the night. 

A more irrational part of you had been hoping he'd invite you back to his apartment again. Had thought you had crossed the line between public and private dates last time.

Last time, after cooking you dinner Marc had poured you another glass of wine and let it rest on the table, leaving a circular stain around the glass. He had taken you to bed, just as you had hoped it. He had taken you to his bed and fucked you.

He fucked you and then he made love to you and then he fucked you one more time, just because he could and just because you wanted him to. 

You had left Marc the next morning with a delicious ache in your body, his cologne lingering on your skin. Your lips were a little wet from his kiss before he sent you on your way, weak-kneed and doozy.

Maybe it was irrational. Maybe it was more than a little girlish, but that didn't mean you didn't think it.

The heart wanted what it wanted, despite the cool-headed whims of reason.

And your heart wanted Marc. 

Despite everything that told you you already had him. 

You did have him, you mused, looking at his temples moving up and down as he ate his salad.

You have his temples and the warm, roughened palms of his hands. You had him enough to know of Maya.To see her photos on his walls and know that she’s been taking ballet classes for about two years now. 

Despite your best intentions you think for longer than a passing interest about the other people Marc's dated, if they knew of Maya too. If they had met Maya to the point where they felt they could call her theirs.

You swallow done the jealousy with some water, in favour of wine, to keep an illusion of reason about you, so you could pretend you didn't know what he groaned like when he was close to release, what the soft pudge of his dad-belly felt in the palm of your hand.

In time with his temple, the hinge of his jaw bobs similarly up and down. It draws your attention away. It also makes you feel considerably warm inside. Another bit of the man you've come to deeply care for that you can revel in and enjoy. A piece of him that you can kiss and nudge into its proper place of the puzzle inside your chest that paints a pretty (but as of yet incomplete) picture of him.

Marc inspires in you a severe need to learn human anatomy. The names and systems of bones, muscles, ligaments and veins, so you could look at the hinge of his jaw, the bob of his temple and rattle off names in Latin. 

To seek comfort in a dead language because it speaks the parts of Marc's body, his living, breathing one whose hand held yours in crowds so as to not lose you, as if you were something worth hanging on to, and spoke to his daughter in soft intonations.

"Good?' He's looking up from his kale and at you; he's chewing a half bite with the right side of his mouth. His gaze is beady and intense as it flicks from your plate to your face multiple times, but his voice is gentle and casual, as if he really was just making small talk.

As if this were a regular date, as if he were a regular man and as if you felt for him a regular amount.

The main course will arrive soon and you realise you've barely made a peck in yours while he's almost finished.

You find yourself in a pickle.

Marc's taken a gamble on the restaurant tonight, he grumbled about it as you had waited for the play to start. Had trusted (which you know now means more than most mean it) the word of a co-worker that this was a good, new fusion place.

He hadn't even looked over the menu before coming.

For him that was as good as a death sentence.

You know the choice of restaurant and play had been hard ones for him. Both of them having essentially been decided for him by someone else. Yet it conversely meant that you would, supposedly, be judging him off somebody else's choices.

And you know that won't settle well with him. Settle just the way raspberries do in his stomach.  

You want to tell him, on one hand, that his cooking was better. But that also meant his hamster-wheel of a mind would spin it into thinking you implied that you'd rather be at his place.

Pushing at his boundaries like that was the last thing you would ever do.

Besides that strong moral line, your answer would have had another insinuation between the lines.  

It means you don't like the restaurant. The one he hadn't scoped out ahead of time. His co-worker's favourite restaurant that you now will think was his. Even if he’s never come here before, even if he usually checks menus before going. 

And Marc took his restaurants, like everything else, very seriously.

Of course, the other, more plausible and normal option would be to say that the salad is good.

If there was anyone besides Marc sitting in front of you.

You've barely fuckin’ touched it.

You can hear his voice in your ears now. Can see the displeased little downturn of his mouth which he tries and fails miserably to hide.

Marc builds forests out of salads.

You've become attuned to not only his funny American accent and his funny American swears you usually only hear on TV nowadays, but his way of thinking. Which is neither funny nor American in the slightest. 

It's instead the beauty that is the mind of Marc Spector.

It means both calculus-like computations over salad but it also meant his owl-like observations about the costumes, the lighting, the delivery of the lines in the play. It means that he goes beforehand and reads not just the menu of the restaurant but the play itself, even if you highly doubt he has the time to spare to pile through pages and pages of dense dialogue and sort out the meaning underneath, what with a full-time job and a daughter to raise. 

You had sneaked a glance at his copy, at the notes scribed in the margin in his all-caps cramped handwriting.

You didn't need much to figure out just one jewel more about him.

Marc worked in a business consultation firm.

But he had a talent for whatever he put his mind, or pencil, to.

"Honey?" You've gotten lost in thought again and smile at him, he looks nonetheless worried. He looks back at the salad, at the play program sticking out your purse, then at you. "I woulda ordered the Greek if I knew you didn't like kale."

You shake your head and smile helplessly. You've left him alone with his thoughts for too long and he's jumped to conclusions like a frog on lily pads. "The salad's great, and I like kale. Don't worry."

You pick your fork back up to continue eating but you're not sure it'll do much to assuage his worries.

Like clockwork, the divot appears between his eyebrows. Had you been at his place or yours you would have dared to press it away.

In the blinding spotlight of the public, you sit on your hands instead.

"You've barely fuckin' touched it."

He points out the obvious to catch your bluff. And in some sick and twisted way, to tell you to give him the hard, ugly truth and rip the band-aid off sooner than later.

It's so predictable that you feel like laughing but you keep your face intentionally neutral.

"I like it, I really do," you reach forward with your free hand to press on top of his. His temple and jaw are working over time chewing his kale to a pulp. If you looked under the table, his knee would be bouncing up and down, consistently and tightly. "I was just thinking..."

Of him.

But when were you not?

"Of the play?" This is your chance to right your previous wrongs over the salad and you snatch at it, since it wasn't really far from the truth anyways.

You're also a little shy to tell him that the movement of his temple is something that comforts you.

"Yeah, it was great. Thanks for inviting me."

To an untrained eye, it seems nothing has changed in his expression. To you, his eyes give him away, victorious, satisfied, put-at-ease. His temple calms down a little, he lets himself swallow whatever is left of his food.

True to your word you start eating again.

"'Course, honey. "

That was also new. Had started just this evening when you thanked him for opening the door for you.

Marc called Maya baby; he called you honey.

It's the fact that he's doing it publicly, in front of the watchful eye of the restaurant that gives you the courage to press away the frown on his forehead.

He pauses. 

Swirls your action around in his mind like a salty ocean wave stuck in a bay.

He likes it. There are faint twitches of the delicate muscles of his face that let you know he does. 

Like a teenager he's flustered. He flusters you and makes heat rise all over your body.

The entrées come as a saving grace to those bashful half-glances that were soon to follow.

The two of you need some time to adjust to the renegotiated boundaries of the tulips blooming between you. The silence that falls isn't awkward or misplaced. 

It's right. Necessary.

The up and down of his temple is sweeter than caramel to your soul. You're not sure you can do dessert tonight with the way you've hyper fixated on the movements his head makes when he chews. 

You glance up at him from your salmon, him from his lentil curry bowl. You catch his eye and smile furtively. There might as well have been an adult chaperone on your right.

He sends you a wink. An otherwise confident and flirty gesture that coming from him, like that, was only a direct reflection of how you were feeling.

Honey.

You liked how that sounded in his voice. His voice soft and like fresh towels thrown into the dryer to get hot. Its effect on your heart like spun sugar or cotton candy.

You wonder what kind of sweet pet names you can dole out now, like you would tiramisu.

In heaping spoonfuls.

"The main actor was great," he offers up. He's latched onto the one thing he thinks you enjoyed for certain out of the evening and driving that main point home, making sure you remember the good stuff only. "You see the way he switched in those last two scenes? Phenomenal."

He's talking like he's a full-time drama critic, one that had his own column he wrote for every week.

Though you doubt he finds the time to go to the theatre every week.

"I liked the sisters as well," you offer back. Tilting your head to the side you think for a moment before adding on, "Really strong cast."

"That's all in the writing," he wipes his mouth with his napkin. A little less surely he tacks on, "You wanna borrow my copy?"

"Sure, sweetheart, that'd be nice."

Sweetheart.

That's nice.

Seems to have the same effect on him as honey has on you.

He reaches into his briefcase and passes you his book, the cover blue and a little worn at the edges from being used. You treasure it and tuck it away in your purse, not for the words of the playwright, but the words Marc has layered on top of them like lace trim.

"Look I-uh..."

The waiter comes and asks for the plans for dessert.

Marc always lets you choose and you always get the same thing, if it's on the menu. Otherwise something with chocolate.

Tiramisu.

Nowadays when you eat it by yourself at home, you think of his creamy, coffee kisses after your dates. You think of the tiramisu brown of his eyes, warm and vulnerable every time he's done kissing you.

You ask for tiramisu tonight because they had it and turn back to Marc as the boy walks away.

You feel he's going to talk to you about something important.

He's hinted at it gently and implicitly all night.

So you tune your attention into him like a radio station.

"I-uh wanted to talk to you..." the words are the beginnings of your living nightmare. The threads in his jaw and neck rub on top of each other and he runs a comforting hand over his clean-shave as he prepares to keep talking. "About Maya."

"Alright," you lean forward. The sounds of the restaurant have all but faded away into ether.

He seems taken aback by your answer, frowning again, "You-uh, don't have anything to say first?"

Your heart lurches in your throat, "Was I supposed to have thought about something?"

"No!" He flinches at his own voice, and clears his throat, calms down. "No," he shrugs and looks down at the table. "I just thought that maybe you'd-" he hears the rest of his sentence and shuts down. "Ah, forget it. It was stupid anyways."

He reaches up and tugs at his curls, rubs his neck.

"Marc, sweetheart," you take his free hand in yours. "It wasn't stupid, and I won't think it stupid if you want to share it with me."

He looks you deep in the eyes and then shakes his head again, makes a dismissive gesture with his hand that makes your stomach drop. 

"Just thought..." he ruffles his curls the way a bird inadvertently does when trying to groom itself. "We didn't get much of a chance to talk about it the other night. Thought maybe after it settled in you might have had a change of thought."

It bothers you to no extent that he's thought you wanted to end things with him and all the while he's still taken you out to dinner and will for sure insist on paying for it afterwards. 

"Well, I don't," you say it as assertively as you can. "I...well, truth be told, I like spending time with you, Marc. I like where this is going and Maya seems like a sweet girl."

"She is.” The times when he’s talking of his daughter are one of the only instances you hear his voice so self-assured and relaxed. "And you like having her in your future? With me?"

You nod, reach for his other hand, "I've always liked kids."

"You want some of your own someday?" 

It seemed a little early for the kids and marriage talk, but you see the worries inside Marc like pearls in a clam shell and you touch their shiny, translucent surfaces one-by-one.

You shrug, but you make sure to not look away, "I wouldn't be opposed to it."

He tsks, clearly not satisfied with the ambiguity of your answer, "Maya's mother, she was never in the picture. Left as soon as she could."

"Oh, Marc-"

"Well, that was what we agreed on. She'd carry the baby to term if I took full custody," he looks down at his hands. "We even got a lawyer to make sure it was all sorted out, even if we were never married."

 "How old were you when Maya was born then?" The image of him in the hospital, forever ingrained in your mind, conjures itself all over again.

"Thirty, I think."

That made him a handful of years older than you. The greys in the curled roses of his hair speak testament to it.

"Did you want kids?"

A flushed waiter shuffles over, mumbling something about a broken espresso machine, plops an extra plate of dessert in front of you to make up for it. Then he's going, going, gone away with haste.

It makes you both laugh at the intrusion, those stomach-clenching eye wrinkles of his showing up again. You wonder if you could touch them the way he let you press away his frown.

"Well," laughter hangs around his voice like morning dew and sunshine on a sidewalk after a hot day. "No, never really thought of them. Till Maya's mother that is. Then it seemed that it was all I wanted."

You wish the place had booths, so you could slide in beside him and kiss him the way you want to. To make him laugh and touch his face, his throat to feel the vibrations of it in your fingers. 

"It must have been hard, raising her by yourself." 

“Oh, well,” he laughs, shrugs in a way that makes a lock of his hair curl down into his forehead. “She was a good baby. Hardly ever cried.” 

“Did you have any help?” 

Marc has never mentioned his parents to you, nor has he brought up the names of any siblings. There was a cousin he’d told you about last time. 

He seems to you a very lonely man. 

There’s a strange ache in your chest as you think of Marc again, alone with a baby. Barely getting any sleep and making formula milk at three in the morning. 

Your stomach twists in unknown ways as you think of the way his shoulders must have moved as he tested the temperature on the delicate skin of his wrists, of his hair curling every which way, the way it looked like the morning after he had sex with you three times. 

Marc tenses up, looks to his side, the top of his cheek twitching, “Yeah-uh, here n’there.” There’s a crack in his voice that sounds like a tectonic plate shifting. 

You reach over the table, cupping his face. Though you don’t move, it makes him shift to look back at you. There are sand dunes of emotions in his eyes, morphing into one another and shifting every second you look at him. There’s too much there for you to understand, for you to be able to help with. 

The helplessness that drowns you binds your lungs together. 

“She’s a great kid,” you know what he’s going to say again, but you press against the boulder of an excuse. “Great parents raise great kids. You’re doing so well by her-” 

He scoffs and looks away. His hand comes up on top of yours and places it back on top of the table, gives it two reassuring pats and you a raise of his eyebrows. “Yeah…well-” 

“She’s happy, Marc,” you swat away the mosquitoes of his insecurities, the cockroaches of his excuses. “I’ve never met her, but I know that much. You can’t hide that kind of happiness...or fake it.” 

He pauses, glances at you to let the words sink in and then looks at the tablecloth. “I never really got any help with her,” he says grimly. “My cousin moved…maybe a year or two ago. Before that, it was just me n’Maya.” 

You reach forward and take his hands in yours and squeeze them. You’re quiet for some time, the sounds of a jazz band tuning up in the background almost like static. You’re hardly even vaguely aware of it. 

Marc squeezes your hands, catches your attention again, “And you.” 

You frown, the thundering of your heart not sure what to make of it, to believe him or not. 

“And you, now,” he repeats again. “Me, Maya…and you,” there are nerves trailing at the edge of his voice like shorelines, his eyes are warm like the coloured pieces of floor when the sun hits stained glass. “That is…if you want.” 

“That’d be nice,” you want to say that his words set alight butterflies all over your body but that would be inadequate. There are flocks upon flocks of geese, squawking and flapping every which way, you can barely think over the sounds they’re making. 

And you, now. 

“I want that, Marc,” you smile, and then let out a nervous little shudder of a laugh. An easy breath, after the taught tension that had begun to build up. 

“Yeah?” the depths of his eyes light up, the delicate skin around them creases. 

“Yeah.” It comes out breathy and awkward. You think you said yes to your first kiss much the same way. 

“Ok,” he laughs, the tightness draining out of his shoulders, a smile growing on his face like cherry blossoms. “Ok, that…that went better than I expected.” 

“I’m glad,” you don’t dare to ask what he’d expected, to see what kind of image yourself you’d portrayed and how he’d built it up inside his mind. Underneath that as well is the insinuation that this hasn’t gone the way he’d hoped before. Meaning that he’s done this before, meaning that there was someone that sat across from him, just as you are right now. That he cared enough about them to tell them about Maya. 

You don’t mean to be so nit-picky, so jealous and possessive. 

It just sort of happened to you. 

One day, Marc was the guy you were casually seeing, the one with the pretty smile and the intense loneliness that poured out of him like sludge, and the next you were here, talking about your future together, one that had his daughter in it as well. 

You had never been one to get attached so easily. It concerns you how easily and quickly this came to you, like a newly-hatched turtle already dragging itself to the ocean. 

You wonder what’s made Marc different from the rest of the people you’ve gone out with.  

The question strikes an unpleasant nerve, one that’s embedded deep into tissue and muscle, and you leave it alone. Instead, you pick up a spoon and start to pick away at the long forgotten dessert. 

As you’d expected, it’s too sweet for you right now, even the bitterness of the coffee doesn’t manage to balance it out. 

Maybe you’ll take this to go, enjoy it in the morning and pretend Marc is sitting in front of you at your table, frowning as he looks down at his phone. 

In your little daydream, there’s a faint giggle that sounds like what meringue tastes like, a gentle patter of children’s feet approaches the table and-

Something bumps into your table at the restaurant. It makes Marc’s knife hit the base of his wine glass and draws you out of your thoughts again, heart pounding, heat rising to your face, feeling as if you’ve done something wrong. 

An older couple apologises to the both of you and they swirl away again, dancing to the rhythm of the music. 

Though they’re not exactly the picture of grace and elegance, their movements jerky from dried and rusty joints, there’s a certain light that radiates from out of them. It draws your eyes towards them, brings a smile to your face. 

“Hey,” Marc’s voice is soft like the espresso-soaked ladyfingers of the tiramisu on the table. Though his palm is gently roughened over, it’s even softer than his voice as he lets it rest on top of your hand. “You wanna dance?” 

You look back at him, then down at the table shyly, hiding behind your wing, “I don’t know how.” 

He shrugs, gives you a reassuring squeeze, “I don’t know how either.” Having made the decision for the two of you he stands up, takes your hand and leads you towards the dance floor. 

The warmth of his arm around your waist reminds you of the passion he showed you in his bed. It makes you shiver, draws your body to his the way a compass is drawn to the North. 

You don’t do much of dancing, if you’re being honest. Nothing compared to the intricate footwork patterns the other couples are doing. Marc holds you and sways with you, your feet shuffling together awkwardly. 

He hums along to the music, his voice is gentle and soothing. You can feel the vibrations of it in your chest, the warmth of his body spilling into yours like a waterfall. 

Then, with his hand curled around you, he draws you in closer, almost imperceptibly if you hadn’t been able to tell by the brush of his clothes against you. You’re so close now that the only reasonable choice is to press your head onto his shoulder, to take in the smell of his cologne and his skin. 

There’s the wave of a sigh that comes and fades away. His exhale rolls over your shoulder, curls around your heart like a cat’s tail. Though he doesn’t speak, there are words that come with his breath that you can hear. 

You place your cheek against his and hope that he hears your response. 

You fit together like puzzle pieces, a lock and key.

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here.

#marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x y/n #marc spector x female!reader #marc spector fluff #marc spector angst #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector fanfic #marc spector fic #marc spector x f!reader #marc spector imagine #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight #moon knight imagine #moon knight fic #oscar isaac

[ceaseless-watchers-special-girl]

you guys. you guys you guys. i think i know what i want from the final season of the penumbra podcast. i have spent the past ten minutes pacing around my room. yesterday i read up to chapter 17 of prydon's fic separate but syncopated (https://archiveofourown.org/works/30943430/chapters/76417991) which let's be honest, you've probably read already. it's phenomenal. if you haven't, you should.

so i've been thinking. i just really want to go back to brahma. i want to go back to brahma and take down the guardian angel system.

the thing is, the junoverse is a very character driven storyline, and i love that about it. the second citadel is more event driven i think, and it was more difficult for me to get into that storyline and stick with it (i'm weak i'm sorry). for example, although the first season focuses a lot on juno solving the whole martian artefact doodah, back then the penumbra crew were still finding their feet.

then junoverse season 2 happened, and the entire point of that season was basically "get juno over his trauma" (that's why it was so long oh my god). sure, there was a whole plot with ramses and the theia souls, but i think we can all agree that was secondary to juno's character development.

next, season 3. season 3 is definitely character driven, you literally can't deny it. it focuses on each member of the carte blanche in turn, and it uses the plot, finding the curemother prime, as a secondary tool to further the true point of the season: getting to know the characters.

season 4 i'm a little less certain about because i'm typing this post straight into tumblr fresh out of my brain (if anyone wants to help out with the analysis i'd love that). but i think the point of season 4 is to test and showcase the bonds of the carte blanche with each other, and juno rescuing them all is not only a good story, but also a good way to show off the relationships they built in season 3. his relationship with nureyev is shown through periodic reading of the journal, and juno's copious inner monologues (i say like i'm one to talk when all of these thoughts are swirling around in my own head).

then, season 5. the point of this season mirrors that of season 2, but this time, we need to get nureyev over his trauma. this is way trickier, because we're not inside nureyev's head, we're still in juno's. it's still character driven because the aim is to help nureyev, but the plot is given by juno having to chase him across the galaxy. hence, juno's hesitation when he finally finds nureyev.

well, steel, you've caught him. now what the hell are you going to do with him?

there is no plot to drive the character study anymore. our goal was to help nureyev, and juno (poor juno) has done all he can. the ball falls squarely into nureyev's court now, and juno has no say in the plot of the rest of the story. this is why i have been chewing myself alive since the last episode — we know what's next for the characters emotionally, but we have absolutely zero idea what's happening next plot-wise. it's killing me.

(what was the point of this post again?)

OH WAIT I'VE GOT IT. so. since our whole thing for this season is helping nureyev, and we all want him to go batshit fucking insane, i really want nureyev to go back to brahma, and finish what he started two decades ago. i think it's the perfect circular story arc to keep them occupied while nureyev heals emotionally from the fallout from everything going on with slip.

also, sorry to get real for a second, but i've just been tearing myself apart being morally outraged at the world we live in, and the fact that i'm barely able to do anything about it. maybe one day i could, but until then, it would be nice to see my favourite space gays set an example.

now, i know there's complications with this. nureyev refused to take the guardian angel system down in the first place because of the damage it would cause, and i'm willing to bet he hasn't excised that moral core just yet, no matter how hard he's trying. but i'm sure they can find a way to make it work. they have rita, after all!!

they're definitely hinting at a homecoming arc for juno. i think nureyev needs one too, is all.

#tpp #the penumbra podcast #junoverse #peter nureyev #juno steel #rambling again sorry #dear god penumbra has me in it's grips will it never let go? #essay #i genuinely for real did not intend this one to be an essay i promise #it just happened my brain doesn't shut up

[acradelius]

Roadhog smut where Reader has a kink for being praised?

"Such A Good Little Piggy~"

Fandom: Overwatch / Overwatch 2

Pairing: Roadhog ("Mako Rutledge") x Gender Neutral! Reader

Rating: Lemon [🟡] - (NSFW!)

Warnings/Mention Ofs: MDNI, Gender Neutral! Reader, They/Them Pronouns Used For Reader, Soft! Dominant! Roadhog, Verbal Praise Kink, Verbal Praise - Roadhog Giving/Reader Receiving, Reader Gets Called Gorgeous- Still Gender Neutral, Nickname Usage, Spanking, Roadhog Being Slightly Commanding.

Word Count: 516 Words

Taglist: @masterofpuns

(It took longer than expected to get this out because I thought I was doing the tagging/mentioning system wrong, lol)

If you'd like to be tagged for all posts, certain fandom posts, or certain character posts then feel free to message me!

“..and here you said that you wouldn’t be able to take such a thick, enormous cock~'' There's a taunting, teasing tone within the words that Mako speaks, followed by a chuckle of mere amusement, as he watches his poor, little (Y/N) squirming underneath his own bulky size in an attempt to adjust to the seemingly never-ending length of Mako’s cock. A bright, flustered blush covering their cheeks while their eyes are slightly blown from the pleasure that’s coursing throughout their system. “..looking so gorgeous down there as you continue to try to handle all of me~ Such a good Little Piggy, aren’t you?~” His words, that gravelly tone of voice, especially whenever he would praise them, conjures up a loud, almost desperate moan from (Y/N)’s lips. Slowly, but surely, inch after inch (Y/N) manages to take from Mako, a pleasurable pressure becoming a bit more intense the more that they take, until there’s a sigh of relief that escapes the heavyset man above them. “Managed to take it all, huh?~ All the way to the base, Little Piggy~ It drives me absolutely wild whenever you’re able to take me all like this~”

It was almost an addiction, the emotions that were at an all time high within (Y/N), combined with the consistent pleasure that came along with arching their back just right and beginning to move their hips in a - circular motion. While the movement from Mako himself was appreciated, causing a brief high pitched cry to escape out into the open from the occasional quick, rough thrust, Mako really wouldn’t have to do anything at this point. (Y/N) was doing everything on their own. It definitely was a sight, a sight that he would make sure to engrain within his memories. “That’s my good Piggy~ Rock your hips just like that~” Another firm slap to their ass, another soft moan that leaves their lips. “Good, good~ Now, how about you go faster?~ I know that you can take it~"

“I’m so proud of you for taking my cock so well, (Y/N)~ You’ve done so well to please me so far~ How about you give yourself a well deserved break and let Daddy Pig take the reins, hm?~ I’ll take such good care of you as you have been taking such good care of me~” Mako doesn’t bother to even give (Y/N) the chance to respond before he places his enormous hands upon (Y/N)’s hips, having a tight grip before he begins setting a quick, yet gentle pace as he thrusts. It doesn’t matter though. Between the physical pleasure that he was bestowing upon (Y/N), and the constant praise that he was giving, (Y/N) was feeling as if they were on Cloud Nine, and wouldn’t want it any other way. Slightly blown pupils from the lust and arousal that coursed throughout their system, and the large grin that was gracing their lips, it was obvious to tell that they were enjoying it. “Such a good, little Piggy, I am~ Such a good, little Piggy~”

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #mako rutledge #roadhog overwatch #overwatch roadhog #roadhog x reader #roadhog smut #x reader #x reader smut #lemon rating #requests?! thank you<3

[togglessymposium]

I feel like theodicy is the place that (post-Plato? post-Zoroaster?) Abrahamic religions tend to really fail as systems of thought.

Like, spiritualism in general tends to be unpersuasive as a question of fact- there's simply no real empirical support for it, even though the construction itself is often powerfully evocative and beautiful. But the matter of evil in Christianity, Islam, Mormonism, etc. is something else, a place where this subset of religious doctrines just has visible and painful problems on its own merits. It's not just that I don't accept the factual claims- it's that the arguments don't add up at all. Theodicy is the crux where you have to fundamentally choose between doctrinal fidelity and the pursuit of truth, because it's where the doctrine is facially, deductively inconsistent and wrong.

At the end of the day, you just can't propose a flawless and omnipotent designer of the cosmos while simultaneously making evil a centerpiece of your analysis. You can be Manichean, and have evil arise from not-God or from some limit God has. You can assert that evil doesn't exist, though that can be tricky: Plato's evil-as-absence thing was largely unsuccessful as an attempt, both because positive evils like pain are regular features of human experience, and because pure deprivation as an ontology of evil still doesn't solve the theodicy problem. But what you cannot do is assert that the foundation of the cosmos is a perfect and all powerful entity incapable of error, and also that evil exists. The toddler's hand is well and truly caught in the cookie jar.

Most forms of modern Christianity and Mormonism try to use free will to thread the needle; mainstream Islam I think is a bit more Leibnizean, though it still leans hard on human culpability. But you can't actually do this! The claim, of course, is to say that the setting of the cosmos is perfectly good, that human volition itself is also perfectly good, but that volition has the special quality of sometimes (though not intrinsically) producing evil, which we all then have to deal with. But there's nothing in free will that actually makes it a suitable solution to this problem. The deity is necessarily extratemporal, and in that frame, volition lacks the special properties it would need to hold this weight; when you can flip to the end of the book any time you like, there's no such thing as indeterminism. Every human choice has one and exactly one result, just as with any other domain of reality; free will, like gravity and electromagnetism, is a process with wholly knowable outcomes. Hence, 'free will' is (in the context of monotheism) a purely linguistic construction that means only 'the consequences of this process are not God's fault.' It has no properties other than the shift in culpability itself, no proposed mechanism or relationship to other phenomena, no inherent virtues that can be explained in terms of any moral system. It's an entirely circular argument, a way to credit God for very tall apple trees but blame somebody else for the invention of applesauce.

#Not saying that free will itself isn't real in some sense #but I am saying that if the God Of Abraham is real #or even ontologically possible #then free will is not a form of indeterminacy #there is only one future #and it is singular #the counterfactual futures are as irrelevant to morality as they are to physics #because there is no such thing as 'might have been' #only the necessary and inevitable attributes of a known cosmos

[sleepyfan-blog]

Sea Glass

Author’s Note:  this is the second part of mer-Cedric fic!  Previous. Next. @kit-williams has graciously allowed me to borrow Brother Roland!

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @whorety-k

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @the-pure-angel 

Warnings: none, please ask me to tag something if it makes you uncomfortable

Summary: Cedric asks Roland about something he’s been finding recently. 

"Good afternoon Brother Roland!" Cedric called out, popping his head up and out of the water, as he did so, noting that the older Black Templar was currently floating in the shallows, chatting with his bonded human. He knew that the other preferred to be left alone... But he'd been collecting these pretty not-rocks for several weeks now and wanted to know what they were. He knew that they weren't rocks, as rock didn't taste like silicate, and the one of the strange but pretty not-rocks he did eat had tasted of silicate. 

"Good afternoon, Brother Cedric. Did you need something?" The older Black Templar asked, looking over at where the young apothecary, curled comfortably around his lovely Bakerin, a soft purr rumbling in his chest as he held her close. 

"I had some questions, actually. I found these really lovely not-rocks along the coast and I was wondering if you knew what they were." Cedric explained, swimming closer as he pulled out one of the larger pieces of not-rock he'd found - it was about the length of one of his fingers and roughly circular in shape. It was smooth to the touch and a slightly transparent green color that shone softly in the light. "I've been finding a bunch of these near the beach, and been picking up the ones I like best."

Roland plucked the not-rock out of Cedric's grip and looked it over carefully, a thoughtful expression appearing on his face. "It feels similar to glass, but I've not seen glass look like this before. Do you know what this is, *schatz?" He responded, offering the object to his beloved bonded.

"Oh! I know what this is, it's sea glass. Sometimes glass-made objects get washed out to sea, and over time the walt in the water and the constant movement of the ocean leeches out the original color of the glass, and smooths it down to something like this. They can be quite pretty, but are an unfortunate side-effect of bad disposal practices in the past. I can see why you'd collect them, they are nice to look at." Bakerin explained with a bit of sadness in her smile. 

Cedric visibly deflated, feeling foolish for collecting literal trash, his face warming as he sunk below the waves slowly "Oh..."

"Wait! No... Oh dear, I didn't mean to embarrass your younger brother. After all, sea glass is often collected when it washes up on the beach and sold. He's not the only being who finds sea glass pretty." Bakerin sighed, hiding her face in her hands. 

The young Apothecary heard the human's words, even as he continued to stew in his own flustered embarrassment. At least he found pretty trash? And it was best to try and get such things out of the sea - large collections of trash tended to attract the attention of plague marines and those were never good, no matter what the older cousins said about the tentative truce between chaos and loyalist groups... Besides, not all chaos and loyalists were part of the alliance, though Cedric had been almost immediately found by human allies of Ultramarines who were part of said group. 

"Don't worry, **mein liebling, I'll be sure to tell him. Young Cedric flusters easily. He hasn't had much contact with civilians outside of dangerous situations before and tends to hide when trying to compose himself." Brother Roland, Traitor and Rude Older Brother reveals. 

Why is he being forsaken like this? Please let the god emperor smite him to get out of this embarrassment. Cedric looks beneath the waves and finds a small, half-collapsed cave system to go ~~hide in~~ explore. That sounds great. He swims off to go explore it at speed.

*Schatz = sweetheart/darling

** mein liebling = my love

#oc: cedric #oc: roland #my writing #warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #Celestial Seas AU #No Cedric has not gone off in an embarrassed huff to hide how dare u imply that

[randomprose]

shoko comes through and opens her eyes to the light afternoon sun. she looks down and sees she is in her high school uniform.

where am i?

taking stock of her surroundings she she sees that she’s in an airport. she’s in the departures area judging by the flight information display system hanging overhead. it seems she’s the only one around. there is no one else around the waiting lounge. she’s sitting on one of the metal benches and she can’t help but notice that she doesn’t feel its hardness or the coldness of the steel. in fact, she doesn’t feel anything.

where was i before this?

shoko tries to remember. she starts small and easy. 

it’s been years since the war, give or take nearing a decade, and she was at the school. there were no bodies at the morgue, rare as they come now that the jujutsu world is in peacetime. rebuilding efforts were still underway, the memory and lessons of the war still fresh, and there hadn’t been that many high-level curses so she was sure she wasn't doing any autopsy before this. the clinic has been relatively slow and it was her day off as she recalls, besides. she had called utahime the night before. shoko couldn't remember what it was they were talking about only that her long-time friend had sounded somber over the phone. she has long given up on persuading shoko in the face of her steadfast stubbornness and has since approached the matter with a resigned kind of understanding. a reminder alarm on her phone went off and she passed by her medicine cabinet but didn't bother opening it. then she went to bed. and now here she is.

shoko looks up at the flight information board. there is only one flight destination on the display system. 

okinawa. outbound.

okinawa, huh? i’ve always wanted to go since—

“fucking finally!" a voice exclaims and shoko looks in the direction it came from and sees satoru. "we thought you'd never come! we've been waiting forever!"

"quit being dramatic, satoru. it hasn't been that long." that was suguru. shoko would know that steady timbre of voice anywhere even decades later. "you sure took your time, huh? that's good. it's good you didn't come so soon after this idiot."

shoko blinks at the image of her former classmates also in their high school uniforms and looking for all intents and purposes like their high school selves. suguru in his baggy pants and his hair in a bun with his side bangs on the right side of his face. satoru with his old circular designer shades and his hair down, not yet styled with the undercut he sported as an adult.

she catches her reflection in one of the airport’s shiny steel pillars and shoko finally sees herself. 

she’s in her skirt and standard school-issued stocking. her hair is in a bob she hasn’t worn it since she was in high school, its short ends tickling the sides of her cheek, and the deep bags bruising under her eyes that appeared on her face towards the end of their third year are non-existent.

shoko turns her head to the left and is met with the broad expanse of a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the hangar and runway. there are clouds overhead slowly passing by and the sky is blue. infinitely blue.

‘ah, i see’, shoko thinks as it finally sinks in. she’s dead.

"don't pretend like you weren't bored and getting impatient, suguru,” satoru scoffs as he rolls his eyes. “you were here longer after all."

"eh,” suguru easily shrugs, all too used to his friend’s penchant to complain about anything. “it wasn't so bad once you got here."

"suguru!"

he lets out an airy laugh when satoru glomps—there is no other way to describe it, shoko thinks—him in a hug.

of course, even in the afterlife, she's still dealing with these clowns. figures.

"you guys waited for me?" shoko asks and marvels at how her voice carries over to where they stand by a door leading to what she could only assume is the departure gate.  and if she couldn’t help the mild disbelief coloring her voice, well. these are, after all, the two most impatient men she knows.

suguru and satoru stop their bickering (flirting?) long enough to turn to her with identical looks of bemusement and incredulity.

"uh, duh?” satoru makes a face like it’s obvious. brat. “of course?"

"you didn't think we'd just go on and let you pass alone, did you?"

good question. to be honest, shoko had always thought she’d be alone. yaga, after all, had drilled into them that death is a solo affair. and she has never imagined the afterlife to be an airport, of all things, but she supposes it makes sense in its own way.

"well? come on, dummy! we're gonna miss our flight!" satoru stomps his foot and gestures at the departure gate looking like he’s a second away from a tantrum. truly such a brat. "you've always wanted to see okinawa, right? after i told you about that summer before everything went to shit?"

"whenever you're ready, shoko," suguru, always so gentle and sweet.

"no! screw that! the time is now!" satoru drawls on the last word because he’s always been dramatic like that. “come on already! everyone's waiting!"

"everyone?" she asks and once again can’t help the tinge of excitement in her voice. does he mean…?

"yes, everyone! they all went ahead but we stayed just for you. aren't we sweet? so come on! chop, chop! quit dilly-dallying!"

slowly, shoko stands up from her seat. she starts with shaky legs, unsure of how to move but clear in the direction she wants to go. her first steps are wobbly, like her body is reminding itself how to walk again, but then satoru groans (always in a hurry even at a place where time does not exist. loser) and pulls suguru to meet her in the middle. 

and suddenly, shoko breaks out into a run.

her mind is still catching up with her body (wait, is this still her body? does she still have a body? here?) and the fact that she, the last of her tokyo peers and the last one standing, is finally dead. finally. everything is finally over, and her boys—her boys!—are here and they're together and she’s here and they’re finally complete, and she—

shoko leaps with her arms wide open and lets out an honest-to-good laugh as suguru and satoru readily catch her.

"i missed you guys," shoko breathes out in a wet sob as she winds her arms around them both pulling them against her tight. "i missed you guys so much. why did you idiots have to go so early? i was so lonely." words she never allowed herself to say to them when they were alive and thought would never have the chance to are spilling out and she doesn’t care. it all seems so silly now how she used to keep and guard her words so jealously and she's so happy she got to say it anyway. here, now, in this place where she's free to be honest and say everything she never could say to them. "it was so boring without you morons and i was so lonely."

"sorry, shoko,” suguru whispers his apology softly against her ear earning him a sob and another when he holds her close and plants a gentle kiss to the side of her head. “we didn't mean to. you know how it was."

"well, i didn't mean to,” satoru, never one for tender moments because he’s an awkward loser, but he hugs the both of them close to him and the way he buries his face in the crook of shoko’s neck gives him away. “we all know suguru was being a major butt and got what he deserved."

"hah? what was that? weren't you the one who said he was gonna win and then got his ass handed by the king of curses? sliced half like a piece of ham! hah!"

"look who's talking! your whole left side was practically blown off!"

"and who's fault was that? ah, satoru. you really do have a thing for carving people, huh? man, what the hell is wrong with you? why are you always off base? is that like an aesthetic choice? what's your logic for that?"

"shut up! it’s not my fault a moving target is—"

shoko laughs, loud and gleeful and genuine, because things haven't changed, not really, and they, her boys, are still so silly and stupid and she missed them so much. and now they're here and she's here. a little late to the party, but here. shoko laughs and it gets them laughing too. she lets them whisk her away to the departure gate, talking over each other to tell her about everything and anything. catching her up on the shenanigans they've been up to while waiting for her which she is all too eager to know about. shoko soaks it all in, happy to once again bask in her boys' warmth.

shoko dies and finally, all is well.

#jjk #sashisu #i love them so much your honor #they deserve to be together #they come in 3s pls do not separate #gojo satoru #ieiri shoko #geto suguru #jjk fanfic #writing

[kaywavy]

transforming soffits reorganizing keys formalizing immersion joints justifying kick extractors advising aggregates managing elbows recasting connectors achieving aluminum trowels officiating disks exhibiting absolute spigots progressing coil hydrants jerry-building reflectors informing casters inventing rubber hoists performing wrenches judging chalk adapters upgrading ignition paths

regrowing flashing recommending ratchets approving barriers sweeping impact fillers sewing mirrors detailing collectors enforcing measures distributing systems presenting plugs interwinding registers piloting ash diffusers gathering cranks supplying eave pockets undertaking scroll stops accelerating straps designing fittings protecting diamond boilers logging downspouts correlating shingles uniting mallets qualifying electrostatic lifts sharing clamps obtaining circular fluids ranking foundation gauges sensing miter brackets originating space networks translating drills regulating guards selecting gable padding utilizing pellet dowels reconciling artifacts altering pulleys shedding space filters determining vents representing mortar remaking flash rakers supporting funnels typecasting rotary chocks expressing junctures resetting auxiliary vises professing strip treads inlaying matter trowels questioning drivers forming edge fittings sketching blanks overshooting spark breakers rewriting controls playing tunnels inventorying buttons enduring joint handles effecting ratchet bibbs unwinding couplings forsaking vapor conduits defining sockets calculating heaters raising grids administering tiles measuring resources installing ignition remotes extracting corners manufacturing ventilators delegating consoles treating mounting stones enacting jig deflectors intensifying alleys improvising cargo pinpointing bobs prescribing arc masonry structuring metal chucks symbolizing lathes activating plumb kits adapting coatings fixing channels expediting cordage planning compressors enlisting hangers restructuring keyhole augers shearing ridge hardware collecting reciprocating bolts maintaining corrugated dimmers whetting hole collars conducting mandrels comparing assets compiling sealants completing paths composing equivocation wheels computing dampers conceiving electrostatic treatment ordering cotter grates organizing ties orienting ladders exceeding materials targeting thermocouples demonstrating emery stock expanding latch bases training wardrobe adhesives overcomming[sic] fasteners streamlining storm anchors navigating springs perfecting turnbuckles verifying gate pegs arbitrating arithmetic lifts negotiating outlets normalizing strips building surface foggers checking key torches knitting grinders mowing planers offsetting stencils acquiring bulbs adopting rivets observing avenues ascertaining coaxial grommets slinging wing winches instituting circuit generators instructing wicks integrating pry shutters interpreting immersion lumber clarifying coils classifying wood bits closing cogs cataloging matter strips charting holders conceptualizing push terminals stimulating supports overthrowing shaft spacers quick-freezing connectors unbinding ground hooks analyzing eyes anticipating gateways controlling proposition rollers converting power angles coordinating staples correcting benders counseling joist gaskets recording gutter pipes recruiting drains rehabilitating rafter tubes reinforcing washers reporting guard valves naming freize sprues nominating rings noting straps doubling nailers drafting circuit hoses dramatizing flanges splitting framing compounds refitting stems interweaving patch unions placing sillcocks sorting slot threads securing mode cutters diverting catharsis plates procuring load thresholds transferring syllogism twine directing switch nuts referring time spools diagnosing knobs discovering locks dispensing hinges displaying hasps resending arc binders retreading grooves retrofitting aesthetics portals seeking stocks shrinking wormholes assembling blocks assessing divers attaining lug boxes auditing nescience passages conserving strikes constructing braces contracting saw catches serving installation irons recognizing fluxes consolidating fuse calipers mapping shims reviewing chop groovers scheduling lag drives simplifying hoists engineering levels enhancing tack hollows establishing finishing blocks

[prettysymbiosis]

frank vs. russia

starting the episode in media res and the circular storytelling!! the writing in this episode is really good overall, just so clever and inventive and effective. go off megan

“you ARE ready. everything you need is already inside you” sunny is ready to do a gay, gay-ass love story you guys. the gays are already inside it

titling it frank vs. russia when that’s clearly the b-plot? because we’re burying the lead? because we’re telling lies???

the denny’s shirt…

“aren’t you like 60?” misogyny is so sad 😞

dennis ANYBODY can get a guy to bang them ONCE reynolds

everyone wants dennis’ help but who will help dennis? :(

when mac says “it’s VERY romantic” dennis literally smacks the counter like… yikes

“one day he will and it is going to be hot” - I choose to believe this means that rcg think old man yaoi is hot and they are excited to show it :)

sunnyblr university is producing so many brilliant scholars who understand the significance of the beads as a metaphor for queerness and whether the audience is in or out and how it doesn’t matter because the queerness is all the way in and as of this episode it’s been turned up to full blast and leads us to a resounding victory. I’m just rehashing what others have said but I wanted to make sure I include it with my notes from this episode because it really is such a central idea and yet one that can be so easily missed by someone who isn’t reading the show like this... ugh the duality of sunny will never cease to confound me

dee calling mac out like yes bitch get his ass!! (so to speak)

uncle fucking jack walks in saying “they dropped all those charges weeks ago” - playdate EW - “I don’t– I don’t have any ice cream” - “shut UP dude, that’s gross, man”

charlie is so PRECIOUS in his little outfit and glasses

is he schizophrenic? I wonder if that will come up again or if it was just a throwaway joke

violent heterosexual shushing from dennis

the backing track of the sinned system/date scene is “in the hall of the mountain king” and it’s just so fucking classic sunny and so perfect

how did mac show patrick that he needed his power? and how did he engage physically?? we need to know these things!!!

kaitlin’s whole performance in the date scene is so fucking good

“the person who made him feel powerful, but also powerless.” the macdennis of it all is truly overwhelming sometimes

 the person whose validation he’s been seeking his entire life :/

“it worked” jesus christ mac

“well yeah but listen, the dennis system is a system for getting a woman. this is a system for getting a man, and that’s why sinned is actually dennis backwards!!” when I first watched this episode I was high as balls and sick with anticipation and this whole bit nearly pushed me over the edge. I mean he basically just straight up says that it’s bad for him to like men (sin) after explaining a tried-and-true system for getting them???

and then mac and dee are like “what are the chances??” and dennis is like HIGH >:( because they don’t see it. they don’t see it even though it’s been plain as day the whole time :(

dennis: “I’m still buzzin from last night” 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

AND I HAVE TO BE WITH HIM oh baby boy I pray you will be

the nastiness in dennis’ voice when he says “well no, see, that’s the thing – johnny doesn’t love you. he doesn’t even like you.” glenn I’m scared of you

“they ARE my favorite” he wanted mac to realize :( and yes the crabs are deeply metaphorical

“yeah, because I AM johnny” “then who’s dennis?” “what do you mean?!” “well if you’re johnny, then who– who’s you?” one of the best sunny exchanges of all time!!!!!!!! I cannot overstate how much I love this dialogue. it just captures so much about them so succinctly go off megan!!!!!

“I can’t engage with you on this right now” great delivery rob, so funny

does dennis want to control frank like a pawn bc he felt like that’s what frank did to him? or he’s just frustrated at mac and wants a situation he feels in control of?

kaitlin’s “... yeah” when dennis asks if dee has more pills is just so funny I keep remembering it and laughing randomly

“we’re gonna need to turn the lights out.” GLENN I’M SCARED OF YOU

the POV Being Frank throwback! I love the tossing of the clothes and the blackness and the sound of the door, cool little sequence

charlie’s such a good cheerleader 🥹 his little point is so funny

do you ever wonder what danny devito might be doing with his career if he wasn’t pretending to be split in half by giant vibrating anal beads on it’s always sunny in philadelphia??

“you don’t have to do this” this one speaks for itself I think.

dennis and uncle jack, two sexual deviants having a laugh in the van :| (also the van situation is so classic sunny obvs)

mrs. mac saying “nice” god there are just so many hilarious little character beats in this episode

“I DON’T KNOW HOW ELSE TO TELL YOU!!!” :( what’s in the texts rcgm

macdennis fightin :)

the full-blast alarm sound effect just gets me every time like to me that is peak comedy

The Burning Heart by Survivor is kind of macdennis coded tbh… “It's a primitive clash venting years of frustrations / Bravely we hope against all hope / There is so much at stake” “Does the crowd understand?” “Though his body says ‘stop!’ his spirit cries ‘never!’ (omg) / Deep in our soul a quiet ember knows it's you against you” like sorry if this song was supposed to be for straight people but it’s not anymore

so there’s something there about what’s acceptable and going full blast. the mommy issues are now explicit. dennis is bisexual. and he chose to have a romantic and sexual relationship with mac while pretending to be someone else, to the point that mac was in love with this other version of him. and he was so mad mac didn’t realize that he actually played his hand and told him, and mac still couldn’t accept it, upsetting dennis further. wtf man these homos are INSANE

#I realize the new episode just aired so this is weird timing lol but I've had a busy week #also it's long! because I got shit to say!!! #and this was truly such a jam-packed episode like I am genuinely impressed bc we all know the writing can be hit or miss #but this one was in a league of its own man #sunny #always sunny #iasip #it's always sunny in philadelphia #s16 #s16e4 #frank vs. russia #dennis #macdennis #I'm having so much fun being crazy with all you little gay people on the internet :)