#did he want this or was this programming?

[beejunos]

SPEAK TO ME | Alastor x f.reader

Summary: Alastors voice turns you on. Something he loves to take advantage of.

FULL STORY!

Here we have it! The full story! 5k of pure smut. Enjoy darlings! Tags: Dom!Alastor, masturbation, oral, light bondage, fingering, dirty talk

Attraction was a funny thing. It could never be explained, and often, it just appeared one day. Attraction could hit you like a train in the dead of night, but sometimes, it would follow you like a shadow. Whispering sweet words in your ear without making itself too known, not until it was too late, and you realised that you had stayed awake for two hours when you should have been asleep instead of thinking about what someone's hands would feel like on your skin. 

Attraction was an annoyance, but lust, its evil twin, was irrational, unpredictable, and, worst of all, it made you stupid. 

So incredibly dumb.

The lust had crept up on you like a thief in the night. Stealing your rational mind and sanity, leaving only the body to fend off the raging attraction that wanted to sink its teeth into your tender flesh. 

Having a crush on the radio demon was a poor choice and a painful one.

It began weeks ago when you first arrived at the crumbling hotel. 

Hazbin Hotel, with its rehabilitation program, had been your last resort after your landlord, who really deserved to be in Hell, kicked you out of your apartment. 

You had been tired of fending for yourself, trying to work, feed yourself and find an apartment with a landlord who wasn't a humongous creep. It seemed to be an impossible task in Hell. It wasn't until you heard one of your coworkers talk about the interview on the news with the princess of Hell that you found out about her little redemption project.

The Hazbin Hotel appeared like a lighthouse on the horizon for you, and the prospect of a warm meal and a soft bed was too enticing to pass on.

Charlie had, of course, taken you in straight away and for the first time in days, you felt like you could finally catch your breath. 

The bath you took that evening in your own bathroom, connected to your own bedroom, was heavenly. Almost sinful with how much pleasure you took from it. 

The next day had been quite overwhelming to you, to say the least. Thrown into the middle of trust exercises with people whom you had known less than 24 hours, where you had, in the span of two hours, visited a bondage club and escaped a turf war that Vaggie had thrown you into. If that was how she had learned to trust others, then maybe you weren't cut out for redemption. 

While the other hotel residents turned out to be a wonderful company, one, in particular, made your little sinner's heart skip a beat. 

Alastor, the infamous radio demon. 

He had ... not been what you had expected. 

From all the tales you'd heard of him, you expected a grotesque monster who murdered anyone who would just look at him funny. But he couldn't have been further from the image you had created of him from all the rumours. 

First of all, he was beautiful. His soft red eyes were so hypnotising that you feared you would drown in them, with a smile showing rows of sharp teeth. One thing was for sure: Hell would contort any morals and virtues you may have had, and if you had liked the idea of lovers biting your skin during intercourse before, it was now a raving obsession. An obsession that would fule you nightly fantasies for weeks and weeks. 

Sometimes, that was the only thing you could think about, his sharp teeth grazing your neck or nibbling your ear. 

Alastor was also very charming in his own way. A gentleman by hellish standards. Whenever you were going somewhere in the same direction, he would always hold up doors for you or pull out the chair for you during dinner time. Something you were highly unused to, and it had taken a long time for you not to blush whenever he did it. 

Whilst his jokes were lame at best, the conversations you would have late at night by the fireplace were your favourite time of the day. Because you loved his voice. You really loved his voice. 

There was something so bewitching with that transatlantic accent and that strange buzzing overlay to how he spoke. It made it sound like he was far away when he was, in fact, right in front of you, and the gentle buzzing had made you tremble more times than you could count.

Something that you suspected that Alastor had caught on to with how often he would appear behind you, only to put his head right beside yours and say the most innocent things that would make you react in the most sinful ways.

The day he had started to call you 'my dear' had been a day you would never forget, for you had laid awake all night imagining him whispering those exact words in your ear as you brought yourself to climax. Again, again, and again. 

You had had a tough time the day after looking him in the eyes without thinking of all the times you had desperately whispered his name into your pillow with your fingers between your legs.

"What's this?" you asked, surprised as you sat down to eat breakfast. On the table sat a red present with a big black bow right in front of the seat you always occupied. You could recognise Rosies' gift rapping technique anywhere.

"It is a gift, my dear. Open it," answered Alastor and sat down to your right at the end of the table.

You and Alastor were always the two residents in the hotel who were awake first: You because you wanted to spend as much time as possible with the strange but charming sinner. Unfortunately, he had the habit of disappearing during the day, so you only ever had the morning and the night to talk uninterrupted with him. You also suspected that Alastor barely slept because, after your evening chats, when you went to bed, Alastor would go up to his radio tower to host his show, and you had no idea when he would end them.

You opened the gift slowly as if savouring it, trying not to get too excited about having gotten a gift from Alastor when, in reality, you just wanted to rip it open.

Inside the box was a beautiful antique radio in pristine condition. The dark wooded exterior was smooth and shiny as if someone had just polished it, and it made you almost not want to touch it in case you left fingerprints on it.

You looked up at Alastor, whose smile seemed to grow as he looked at you.

"I remember you telling me that you had never had the pleasure of hearing my radio show, and now you can listen to it whenever you want!"

At times like these, you wondered if Alastor knew of your slightly obsessive crush on him. He struck you as a man who liked to play with his food.

The radio turned out to be a great gift that you used almost religiously. Every evening, when you were preparing to go to bed, you would turn on the radio and listen to Alastor's radio show. You would have the radio on softly in the background as you walked around your room doing your nightly routine. Sometimes, you would even invent stuff for you to do so you could stay up longer just so you could listen to his voice.

It was almost like he was in the room with you, talking just to you about anything he found interesting. On the odd occasion, Alastor would incorporate a passive-aggressive threat into the show for some poor sinner getting in his way, but that never scared you. In fact, you looked forward to those instances.

Alastors' voice would drop and get darker, reminding everyone who listened that he was still dangerous—a predator waiting to strike.

A wolf in sheep's clothing, and what a stupid sheep you were. Yearning for the wolf bite.

Halfway through your night routine, you turned on your radio at a soft, pleasant volume, and Alastor's smooth voice filled the otherwise silent room. 

"Salutations, friends and hellish residents! Tonight, we have a splendid assortment of the latest news and the best Hell has to offer in jazz, but before we chitchat about our dear city's hellish affairs, here is the newest music from Miss Jezebel and The Wicked Six!" 

Slow and sultry jazz music started to play on the radio. The woman who sang had a deep, smoky quality that was inherently sexy to you. There was just something about women who sang with deep voices that made your hips sway from side to side, effortlessly dancing across your room as you started to strip, pretending there was someone there who enjoyed the show you put on. 

You turned off all the lights except the small lamp by your bed and crawled under the thick blanket. Leaving the radio on as you made yourself comfortable, hugging one of your pillows close to you. 

The song ended, and Alastor came back. This time, he started talking about the news. Since the news sometimes made you too sad to sleep, you never really listened to what he was saying; you only listened to his voice—his tone, the cadence of his speech, and his transatlantic accent. 

You let his voice wash over you like a soothing balm to your aching body, but soon, you felt the familiar tingles run up your back. Warmth pooled low within you as you shifted in your bed, lying on your back. The desire to touch and be touched grew in you, to move, to grind, to satisfy the urge for sex. 

Closing your eyes and letting your hands wander over your body, you start by slowly dragging your fingertips over your sensitive throat, making sure that your light fingertips touch all the places that made you weak. 

Your hands travel from your throat down to your chest. Palming your breasts in your hands, you drag your nails over your sensitive nipples. Pinshin, pulling and rolling them between your fingers till they are warm and hard. 

Your senses sharpen as you start to feel more intensely, but your mind goes hazy, making it hard to think clearly. Alastors voice is but background noise now that edges you on.

One hand stays on your breast as the other journeys down, down, down and under your underwear. 

You slowly drag your finger between your lips, coating your finger in your wetness as you slowly pull it towards your clit. A breathless gasp is pulled from your mouth the first time your finger comes in contact with your sensitive clit. Slowly and with the lightest touch, you start to circle the organ, and what feels like electricity builds in your loins.

You can't help but move in your bed, legs bending and toes curling as you give yourself the pleasure that you wished Alastor would provide you. Your hand that previously played with your breast joined your other hand, and you let out a not-so-subtle moan as you pushed two fingers into you. Desperately, you curl your fingers inside you to increase the pleasure. 

You want it. You need it. Your toes curl almost painfully as Alastors name falls from your lips like a prayer. 

You're so close. So close you can see stars behind your eyes. You breathlessly chase that sweet release. Building, and building, and building. Your legs are shaking as you bite your lips. Hips lift from the mattress as you fight the urge to close your legs.

You are so, so close.

"What are you doing, my dear?" 

Cold dread crashes through your body as you rip your hands away from your body. You frantically look all over your room in the shadows. Looking for that all-knowing smile and calculating red eyes. 

His voice had been so close and clear that he had to be in your room. It had felt like he had spoken to you right beside your ear. But you were alone. No one was in your room but you. 

"Such a naughty little creature you are, my dear. So desperate to be touched." 

Goosebumps travel up your back as you slowly turn in the direction you hear his voice. On your nightstand is the radio that Alastor gave you. It is still on, but the yellow light of the display has turned red. 

Towering over you in your bed, you almost feel like he is watching you. Observing you as you lay naked before him. Your blankets were by the end of the bed as you had kicked them off a long time ago. 

"Can't even listen to me talking without having to touch yourself. My oh my, what will I ever do with such a bad little doe, hm?" 

Shaking all over, you lunged for the radio's electrical cord and jerked it out of the outlet. The radio fell silent as you collapsed in your bed. Spent, but not satisfied. However, you soon start to tremble all over again over the fact that Alastor had listened to you pleasuring yourself, and he seemed to like it.

You would be lying if you said you had a good night's sleep after that fateful evening—or if you said you had slept at all.

You had stayed up all night replaying the previous night's events, unable to comprehend what you had been through. Had it really happened? Had Alastor really listened to you masturbate while you were moaning his name? It had almost felt like a fever dream had you not stared at the pulled-out electrical cord for the radio all morning.

The clock on your dresser kept ticking as you sat in your black dressing gown on your bed. The time was about to turn nine, and you had not stepped a foot outside of your bedroom, too scared to face the man after your night. You knew you had to leave your bedroom sooner or later, but you were waiting until you were sure that Alastor would have gone for the day to do whatever he usually did during the day. As soon as you were sure that you would not encounter him in the hallway, you would sneak out of your bedroom and go down to the kitchen to steal all the snacks you needed to survive the day cupped out in your own room, like the coward you intended to be. 

It was one thing to fantasise about Alastor naked, but it was a completely different thing to now face the possibility that maybe he would like to see you naked, too. 

Three knocks were heard from your door out of nowhere before Alastor slammed the door open and stepped in with a silver tray full of food in his band. You let out a small yelp before climbing further up into the bed to get away from the other sinner, who waltzed into your room as if he owned the place.

"My dear, what are you doing in bed at this hour? Don't you know that you've missed breakfast?" Alastor's voice was laced with a hint of amusement as if he found your predicament delightful. He walked over to the little table and armchair you had in front of the unused fireplace on the opposite wall to the bed and sat down the tray on the table before conjuring a matching armchair out of thin air. He sat down as if nothing was out of the ordinary and leaned his cane against the armrest as soft jazz music began playing.

As you sat on your bed, feeling increasingly uncomfortable in your underdressed state, you watched in disbelief as Alastor, seemingly unperturbed by your unease, crossed his legs and settled into your room. His casual demeanour, coupled with his humming along to the music, only served to deepen your sense of bewilderment, and you were sure that you were hallucinating. 

You must have eaten something terrible yesterday, and maybe everything you thought happened last night and now was all in your head. 

"Are you going to eat or not? Your food is getting cold, my dear." 

The look Alastor gave you from the corner of his eye told you that it was in your best interest to sit in the armchair in front of him and eat. 

You slowly left the safety of your bed and walked over to Alastor. However, the steps you took on the way were tiny, considering that your dressing gown ended in the middle of your thighs, and you didn't want to flash him accidentally. Not caring about the look you got from Alastor, you shuffled your feet across the room and sat down in the armchair, struggling as you continued to keep your legs as close together as possible. 

With shaking hands, you took the small coffee cup and were about to put it to your lips for a sip when Alastor spoke up again:

"Aren't you forgetting something, my dear?" 

The look he was giving you made shivers travel up and down your spine. Shivers dipped in fear with a hint of excitement. He had never looked at you so intensely before. 

"Thank you for bringing me breakfast," you whispered hoarsely. 

"Good girl." You almost choked on your coffee, "And you're welcome." 

You had a tough time looking into his eyes after that comment as your cheeks grew warmer and warmer. 

Without warning, Alastor began to talk about everything that needed to be done that day. Apparently, Niffty had found a cockroach infestation in the basement, and Charlie had decided they would use chemicals instead of Niffty's needle, which she liked stabbing them with. 

Alastor kept talking on and on about work and the hotel as you ate. On the outside, you kept calm as you finished the last of your breakfast, but on the inside, you wondered if he would mention what had happened yesterday. Had it even happened? 

Maybe it hadn't, and your obsessive crush had finally broken you. 

"Ah, I see that you have finished your breakfast! Well, I best be on my way!" With a snap of his finger, Alastor made the breakfast tray disappear into a red cloud. He did, however, leave the extra chair he had conjured up. 

"Could you be a doll and tell Vaggie that I'll need the documents later today and that she can leave them in the bar? I need to head out today, and I don't think I'll be back until this evening," said Alastor as he stood up, brushing invisible dust off his impeccable suit. 

"Uhm, sure. I'll do that. Just close the door when you leave, please," you answered as you looked as Alastor made way for the hallway door. He waved absentmindedly over his shoulder in affirmation of your request.

A small part of you were disappointed that this little breakfast meeting had turned out the way it had, no matter how confounding it had been. If only you could have gotten a hint from Alastor about what he was thinking and why he frankly was there.  

Maybe he had just brought you breakfast from the goodness of his heart? Or he had just missed your company that morning since you usually only got to talk uninterrupted in the morning.

You turned around to walk to the bathroom as he left your room. Letting your shoulder slump in disappointment, you wondered what you would do that day. You remembered that Charlie had mentioned that it would be nice if the hotel's garden were more well-kept but that she couldn't hire a gardener just yet. 

That could be the thing you did today. Find some gardening tools and surprise Charlie by pulling out all the weeds in the flowerbeds. 

Oh, what a joy, you thought sarcastically as you started to open the bathroom door. However, it slammed close hard in front of you as a hand shot forward and a hard chest pressed into your back. 

All around you began shadows to dance as if they were made of mist, and the air got charged with a static you were all too familiar with. The shivers came back, but your whole body shivered this time as his other hand gripped your hip, pressing you closer to him, but the only thing you could focus on was his breath fanning over your ear as he whispered:

"I will be back at eleven tonight, and when I get back, I will find you in your bed, naked, waiting on me. You are not allowed to touch yourself, and don't try to defy me, my dear, for I will know if you do." 

In a heartbeat, Alastor was gone, and your body instantly felt colder. Shaking all over, your knees finally gave away under you, and you collapsed in front of your bathroom door. 

Behind you, the radio began to play softly—the same music Alastor had played during breakfast. Looking at the blasted thing, you could see that the radio wasn't plugged in.

The clock was about to strike a quarter to eleven, and you had been a nervous wreck for the past three hours. Time couldn't have gone by slower as you constantly turned to look at the clock hands to see how far they had moved. 

You had tried to distract yourself during the day with the gardening, but you constantly got distracted by all the fantasies you had of what Alastor would do to you. Turned out that it was really hard to work when horny. 

As you looked at the clock again, you re-adjusted in your bed for what felt like the thousandth time. 22:47. 

Ugh, this is taking forever! 

Laying down again, you looked over at the radio on your nightstand. It had been quiet since the morning, but you still waited to hear the tiniest sound from it that would indicate that Alastor was with you. But nothing came. 

You turned on your side to continue staring at the radio as you took one of your pillows and pressed it against you. The air in your room was cold against your skin, yet you ignored your chilled skin, for the mere thought of what would happen tonight warmed you from the inside out. 

The benefit of laying on your side was that you now could feel the slickness between your legs, coating almost all of the insides of your thighs. You knew that Alastor had said that you were not allowed to touch yourself, but he had never specified in what way you could not touch yourself, and if you didn't get some of your release soon, you felt like you would spontaneously ignite.   

Slowly, you started to press your legs together as you rubbed them against each other. Sweet pressure was building up the pleasure within you as you pressed your face into the pillow. Harder and harder, you tried to push your legs together, increasing the pleasure you had longed for all of them. 

Close, you were so close, and the excitement of defying Alastor just heightened the experience. 

You only needed one more push until you would fall over the edge into sweet release, but it never came as something grabbed onto your ankles and roughly pulled your legs apart. 

"I must say, I am really disappointed in you, my dear." 

From the shadows stepped Alastor out and looked down at you from the end of the bed, but what scared you the most was that he was not smiling. 

Looking down at you from heavily hooded eyes, Alastor dragged your body further down the bed, keeping your legs spread out with the help of his shadow tentacles. 

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it," you pleaded, hoping he would show you mercy, but from the looks of it, you would not be shown any. 

"Don't lie to me. You know very well what you did." With a snap of his finger, the armchair Alastor had conjured earlier that day dragged across the floor and stopped behind him. He sat down and made himself comfortable, looking over at you as he had a full view of between your legs.

"Now, darling, since you didn't listen to me, there will be consequences," said Alastor, crossing his legs and leaning his head in his hand lazily. You pressed up on your elbows to look over at him, and while his body language did not look interested, his eyes were sharp, focusing on your wetness that glistened in the light from the chandelier.

"One, you are not allowed to touch me." 

"What?!" you cried, the fear that you had ruined your only chance with Alastor burning within you like a forest fire. 

"Silence." You instantly shut your mouth as static filled the air and prickled your skin. Alastor's antlers had grown in size. He sighed and continued when he was sure that you would not say one more word.

"As I was saying, you are not allowed to touch me, but I can touch you however I want. If you wish me to stop, you will simply say television. Understod?" 

"Yes."

"Yes, and?" 

"Yes, sir?" You weren't sure what Alastor wanted to hear, but from the smirk that started growing on his lisp, you were sure that you had said the right thing. 

"What a good little doe you are, my dear." Whilst you were sure that was said condescendingly, you could not help the pride that grew in you that he thought you were good for him. A small yelp was pulled from your lips as you felt Alastors tentacles start to massage their way up your legs.

"You seemed to like my voice so much, my dear, that I thought you must love it if I command you as well. Isn't that what you want? For me to tell you exactly what to do to you and how to do it? Wouldn't you like to put on a show for me, darling?" 

Your brain was short-circuiting as you could not get a single word out. The only thing you could do was nod enthusiastically as Alastor's shadow tentacles gently began to play with your lips between your legs without touching your clit.

"Lovely." said Alastor, now giving you his trademark smile, "Why don't you show me how you touched yourself yesterday? I could hear those delicious sounds you made, my dear, and I want to hear them live."

And so, with shaking hands, you began massaging and caressing your body, making sure that you touched every part of your body that made you sing in pleasure. You wanted to put on a show, but you were so eager, so impatient as you played with your body that you could not bear the thought of prolonging this torture. 

You needed to be touched, and you needed it now. 

Dipping your hand between your legs, you could feel Alastors tentacles pull away from your genitals but keep a firm grip on your thighs. The first time you touched your clit was electric, as you made sure to look Alastor deep in the eyes when you did it. A soft moan from you filled the air.

Rolling the tip of your finger lazily against your clit you looked on with great satisfaction as Alastors eyes dropped from your down to your finger between your legs.

"Drag your fingers between your lips, darling, but before you do, circle your opening. Slowly without pushing in," commanded Alastor, and if you weren't delusional, you thought you heard the desperation in his voice, but his face gave nothing away. He readjusted in the chair by uncrossing his legs, giving you a full view of his hard cock in his pants. 

Never had you been filled with the need to fall on your knees and suck someone's cuck as if it was what you were created to do as you did now. You licked your lips and whined loudly as you circled the opening to your vagina with your finger, wishing it was Alastors finger or tongue that did it instead.

After circling for some time, you pulled your finger through your lips up to your clit and began touching your clit again. This time, with additional wetness, you let all the sounds you wished to make leave your mouth as you quickened the speed of your finger. 

"That's it, darling, you are doing so well." Whispered Alastor as he leaned forward in his chair, "When you feel like you're about to cum, remove your finger immediately."

The demand almost made you want to cry, but from the look Alastor was giving you, you did not want to challenge him. Savouring the feeling of your fingers a few seconds more before you removed your fingers from your clit that begged your release. The orgasm that had been at the tip of your fingers slowly fizzled out as you started to calm down. 

You looked at Alastor, who had moved from his chair to sit on the bed by your feet, waiting for his following instructions. 

"What a treasure you are, darling. So willing, so needy."

Alastor lifted his hand and, with the back of his fingers, caressed the inside of your thigh. The touch was so charged that it felt like you could cum from that mere touch alone. As your leg twitched from his touch, Alastor's tentacle tightened around your leg, pulling you closer to him. Your breath got stuck in your throat as you watched Alastor climb onto the bed, sitting on his knees between your legs.

"How long have you dreamt of this? How long have you been mine without me knowing it?" The look in Alastor's eyes grew increasingly intense as he leaned over you, looking down at you with an almost mad look in his red eyes. Out of nowhere, Alastor pushed two fingers inside of you and curled them, making your hips lift from the bed involuntarily at the pleasure. 

"How long, my dear? Answer me," he growled as his antlers grew. You could barely breathe as he continued to curl his finger repeatedly inside you, hitting the spot that made your toes curl. 

"Since... since I first met you!" you cried as your breathing quickened. Above you, Alastor chuckled darkly as he put his free hand on your left thigh. 

"So long. We have much time to catch up to, don't we, dear?" 

You could barely comprehend a single word that left his sinful mouth as you neared the orgasm you desperately wanted. And had you not made the mistake you would have made, you would have cum on Alastors finger. 

In your lustful haze, you placed your hand on Alastors arm, holding your thigh. Instantly, Alastor recoiled from you, and the second orgasms you had almost tipped over were ripped from you. 

"What did I say about not touching me?" 

Two new tentacles came out of nowhere and wrapped around your arms, pulling them above your head. 

As you begged and pleaded for forgiveness, the weight of your desperation was palpable. You implored Alastor not to leave you like this with every fibre of your being. The thought of losing him now was unbearable, and you knew that if he did leave, it would be the end of you.

Your legs shook from the strain of being in the same position for so long. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. You were overwhelmed with emotion, your heart aching with the fear and uncertainty of what would happen next. The tension in the air was unmistakable, and you held your breath, waiting for Alastor's response.

But he only looked at you from under heavy lids. Slowly, he lifted his hand that had fingered you and licked the wetness that was still on it. 

"If you think I would leave you now, my dear, you are indeed mistaken. You are mine now, and I will do with you as I please." Grabbing both of your legs under your knees, Alastor pulled you towards him before bending you backwards so your toes almost touched the bed beside your hands. He stared deep into your eyes as he put his tongue against you and licked you from your vaginas opening up to your clit. The sound you made had been ungodly and would have been a miracle if no one else in the hotel had heard you. 

Alastor quickly started to suck and lick your clit as your legs began to shake. You could feel the sinner's claws dug into your flesh as he grew increasingly frantic in his administration, acting almost like someone who had just been presented with a glass of water after 12 days in the desert. 

Pressure built up within you for the third time, this time stronger and more intense than the previous ones. Closer and closer, he took you to the edge you wished to fall from. 

Shaking, twisting, and pulling against your restraint, you let Alastors name fall from your lips loudly as you looked at him, giving you pleasure. Blood was dripping down from your thighs where his claws had dug into your skin, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the sweet release that you begging for. 

"Close, Alastor, I'm so close," the words tumbled out of you in a whisper as you looked on as the man licked your clit with the tip of his tongue. The only thing Alastor did was briefly look up at you as he continued to give you pleasure. 

Closer, closer, and then you fell. 

The orgasm ripped through your body like a tidal wave, making your thighs tremble uncontrollably. Your toes curled almost painfully as you threw your head back in ecstasy.

You had no idea when Alastor had put your legs back down, but suddenly, when you came to it, he was sitting by your head, gently brushing your hair from your sweaty forehead. 

"What a good little doe you were for me, my love." 

Thank you for reading my little story! I hope you like it!

Taglist: @mossingvines @kitty-kei @chibistar45

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[the-badger-mole]

Father of the Bride

Hakoda swallowed hard against a lump in his throat. He had imagined this day so many times since Katara's birth. The details were different, though. She wasn't marrying a proven warrior from among their people. That was fine. She had spent so much time traveling the world, expanding her horizons, creating her own paths. Hakoda didn't think there were one in a thousand men at home who could keep up with the woman his daughter had become, and he had resigned himself to the fact that she might not end up with a Southern Tribe man years ago.

But he hadn't considered that her marriage might take her so permanently from home. A foolish oversight on his part, he admitted. And at least she would have the means to visit her family a few times a year. Still, he felt a pang. Same one he felt when he left his children behind with Kanna to go fight a war too big for him. Now that pang was tempered with bittersweet happiness as he watched the final preparations being made on Katara's wedding gown-a stunning piece of art even to Hakoda's untrained eye. All silks and linens in shades of blue and silver that recalled the bridal outfits of her homeland. Furs and leathers would be too hot for the climate, but Katara wanted to tell everyone up front how she would bring her own culture to merge with her new people. Her groom-to-be not only supported this decision, but had come to Hakoda and Sokka to ask them how he, too, could incorporate the Southern Water Tribe into the wedding on his end. That had been a long night, with strong drinks and stronger emotions, but at the end of it, Hakoda had decided that despite his initial misgivings about the marriage, he couldn't have picked a better son-in-law than Zuko.

Fire Lord Zuko. Fire Lord Zuko was going to be his son-in-law. Sometimes the thought made Hakoda chuckle. Sometimes it sent a chill down his spine. Not that he was worried about Zuko himself, but Katara's proximity to his throne. The crown. She would be coronated the next night in a ceremony as lavish as the wedding. She would become the Fire Lady. Co-ruler of the country that had spent a hundred years ruining countless lives with a war over something as silly as imperialist pride. Hakoda didn't think they deserved his daughter. If Zuko had earned his trust and respect, the rest of the Fire Nation certainly haven't. Not the nobles, anyway. When he brought them up to Katara, she laughed, though it didn't reach her eyes, which were flint hard and grimly determined. She told him no matter where she went in the world, she would have to fight for any respect she got. At least here she would have Zuko fighting beside her. Hakoda wasn't sure he agreed that was a worthy trade off, but he knew better than to try to talk his daughter out of it.

The Fire Nation had already benefited from her presence. As a foreign advisor, she had fostered trade and exchange agreements between the Fire Nation and all of the Water Tribes, Omashu and Gaoling. As an ambassador, she'd helped negotiate reparation packages that have helped the parts of the world hit hardest by the war recover. As one of Zuko's most trusted counselors, she'd helped him work the Fire Nation's budget so the government could provide for education, health and services for returning soldiers. The same kinds of programs she'd helped Hakoda and Sokka build in the Southern Water Tribe. It suddenly struck Hakoda that she had been acting as Fire Lady for a long time. Before she and Zuko had even realized they were in love, maybe. Today and tomorrow would just make it official. Hakoda still didn't think the Fire Nation deserved a Katara, but any chance he had of talking her out of it had long since slipped by him. And he now he wasn't sure he would talk her out of it, even if he did have the chance.

The final touches were done. The maids stepped back in a flurry of excited chatter. Kanna stepped forward, moving stiffly in her old age, smiling up at her granddaughter through tears. She had had this moment with Kya years ago, and Kya should be standing in her place now. Kanna reached out and ran her fingertips over the necklace she had passed to her daughter, and her daughter had passed on to Katara. Kya was here, Kanna assured herself. And Kya would be here with Katara as she made these next steps, first as a wife, then as a queen, then someday as a mother and grandmother herself.

"She would be so proud," Kanna told Katara. The two women embraced. Then Katara stood up, head high and looking as regal as any queen in any nation ever had, and turned to Hakoda.

"Are you ready, Dad?" she asked. Hakoda shook his head.

"I was never going to be ready for this," he confessed. "But it doesn't matter. You are ready."

#atla #zutara #fire lady katara #hakoda #father of the bride has a moment

[annabelle--cane]

placing my hands out placatingly, asking everyone to please be cool and not reignite og!elias burnt out gifted kid discourse. okay? okay. I think this is setting up some more sam and gwen parallels. from mag 193, we know that elias bouchard (original flavor) was told from a young age that he was smart but lazy, he was squandering his advantages, and he was wrong to envy other children because they were meaningless and he was better. he seemed to internalize this to some extent, because by the time he was in his early twenties he had no friends and no family and no real life, just the certainty that he was destined to deserve better.

I think it is reasonable to assume that gwen received similar messaging during her childhood, as she seems to be treating the OIAR the same way elias treated artefact storage (as a stepping stone job to a bigger career waiting for her up the ladder), and she takes a lot of offence when she feels disrespected. from magp 03, we know she's reticent to tell her friends that she's still working this same job, especially because the friend's party she was going to was to celebrate making partner at a law firm.

from this episode, we know that sam was declared "gifted" as a child and his parents rigorously enrolled him in every program they could find, and it started going down hill when the magnus institute rejected him (did they reject him outright or was he there for a bit and then kicked out? what he said to celia doesn't quite fit his earlier statements, but moving on). he has a lot of pent up and fixated feelings about not being chosen by them, he didn't get into oxford, he just missed the highest grades, and he's reticent to tell his parents that he's working this job, especially because he used to be at a law firm.

we know the bouchards are a wealthy and influential family, and as sam speaks with a south asian accent I think it's safe to assume that his family immigrated. of course, there's a massive amount of variation in the socioeconomic statuses of south asian immigrant families in the UK, and I don't know enough about how british gifted kids programs work to know if sam having been in a bunch of them would imply anything about his parents' disposable income, but nonetheless I still think their different backgrounds potentially say a lot about how they handle these feelings of not meeting the high standards that were expected of / promised to them. gwen is fighting to be on the same level of social status and power as her peers, and sam probably felt like he was he had opportunities for upward mobility in this brand new place but kept failing them. it's causing both of them to be very active characters, they are the two people pushing the story forward the most by far, but the ways in which they are active diverge greatly.

gwen, until recently, had felt like she was unfairly stagnating, like she was "not most people" and was cut out for better, and being constantly barred from climbing the ladder made her both resentful of lena and extremely paranoid / insecure about her own worth. now that she's starting to crack it into the "real work," it's obviously taking a great toll on her, but she doesn't want to back out, she wants to prove herself and take what's rightfully hers and not show herself to be unfit for real power. her actions appear to be guided by an ethos that her life hasn't been wasted yet, she still has time to make good, she just needs to ignore that weakness masquerading as a conscience, please god don't let her fail.

sam feels like he's made mistake after mistake after mistake and led himself to his own desperate state where he only just managed to avoid destitution because his ex was kind enough to hook him up with an emergency job that is actively destroying his physical and emotional health, and he has pinned all this frustration on trying to figure out what the magnus institute was all about and why it didn't choose him. like gwen, great things were expected of him, but unlike her he doesn't seem to still be striving for them, that dried up when he had a breakdown at his last job. now he just wants to figure it out and make sense of it, as if solving the mystery will let him fix it and undo all that time and un-waste his promised potential. his actions seem to be guided by an ethos that, even though he's already screwed everything right up, solving the ghosts that haunt his life will some how lessen their burden and maybe, just maybe, give him closure on the Flaw That Doomed Him and allow him to move past it without dragging it still forward.

#tmagp #tmagp spoilers #marina marvels at life

[pablitogavii]

Protecting her

Life with Pablo Gavi, the boy everyone adores, and I hate with all my passion not for any particular reason. I actually tried making peace with him the moment I stepped foot into his house at the beginning of my exchange program.

I tried to be nice, to even become his friend but he would always push me away and find some reason to fight me. Even Aurora and his parents tried to make us like each other but it didn't work so I just deiced to stay out his way..somehow that didn't stop him to sabotage me every step of the way all the freaking time!

leo: look at what your brother did to me! boy is a delinquent! I can't do this anymore Y/n..I'm sorry.

There was a picture attached of my soon to become boyfriend with bruised eye and busted lip. Did Pablo really did this just so Leo dumps me knowing it would spite me!?

I heard stumbling and rushed towards the front door to comfort Pablo about this. I was done staying on the sidelines and letting him do whatever he pleased just because I am guest at this house..this is MY life he was messing with for his own amusement!

"Why did you do it!? Tell me he said something to provoke you? Tell me you weren't just trying to spite me by doing this Pablo.." I said but he completely ignored me, like I was invisible, unimportant and that drove me mad.

"No! You're going to start listening to me! WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO LEO!!??" I said pushing him against the wall with all my strenght which was not possible unless he let me do it.

"Hm..or what if I don't listen chiqui? What will you do to me precious..huh??" he pushed back and I needed up glued on the wall in the matter of seconds. I gulped..he was so close..and I was no longer angry at him..I was tired of this whole "hate" thing.

"I'm tired of this Pablo..just leave me alone!" I said trying to push him but he wouldn't budge looking down at my face like he was lost in thought. I would give up everything ot know what he was thinking right now.

"P..please.." I was close to tears yet again being dumped not to mention that all my "friends" here only hang out with me thinking they will get to meet my new "brother"..I just wanted to be left alone by everyone especially Pablo Gavi who made this whole trip horrible!

"Fine.." he moved and i walked away not knowing that something in him broke seeing me so sad in front of him knowing he was the reason for it.

I was crying rather loudly knowing his parents and Aurora are not here and Pablo probably didn't even care about it. I was very wrong since he was glued to my door listening to each sound until finally opening the door and walking closer to the bed.

"Stop crying.." he said and I realized that he was indeed there watching me, probably in amusement.

"Leave me alone asshole!" I yelled feeling the bed move as he laid behind me making my whole body contract especially when his strong arms wrapped around my body..what was this nervousness and why did it feel so good to be held by him!?

"Please stop crying...if you like Leo that much I'll stay away.." he said while his hands were tracing invisible shapes on my bare skin making shivers moving down my spine and make me breathless. I truly didn't care that deeply for Leo..I almost cared more how it was angering Pablo..how I finally gotten some type of reaction out of him. I slowly moved turning around in his embrace to face him.

"It's not about Leo..it's about you..why can't you just stop hating me!?" I spoke my hand moving to his face caressing it gently and he let me do it for a few moments closing his eyes looking like he was enjoying it..maybe Pablo felt something for me..maybe I did for him too..maybe that's this tension between us..maybe it's love?

"Because you're annoying!" he pulled away and that gentle caring Pablo vanished in a matter of a second and he was back to being hateful asshole..he only wanted to feel in control and I gave him the chance..like an idiot..thinking he was genuine.

Quickly, he was out of my room returning to his crying himself to sleep..he was a coward to speak about his emotions..because I am not permanent..I will leave him soon and he couldn't afford to get attached.

Weeks went by and I couldn't sleep without imaging those strong arms wrapped around me. Leo asked me to try again but I rejected him..I couldn't stop thinking about my "gentle" Pablo wondering if that was his true nature..I wanted to get to him again..to feel that way again..to understand him.

"Are you ready hermanita?" Aurora said and I met her outside as she was my ride to the stadium for El Classico. I rarely went to his games thinking he would hate me there, but today I wore his jersey and went with the rest of his friends with pride. I wanted him to look me in the ye and tell me hates me if he does so much!

y.n.bebe

Rora and me at #ElClassico ❤️❤️

comentarios:

gvirafans: with Gavi jersey👀

aurorapaezg: hermanitaa💗

belengavira: pretty girls ❤️❤️

pablogavi: ❤️

I saw his comment..he probably did it because people would talk if he didn't..but a heart..it felt special..and made me even more determined to get close to him again.

During the game, Gavi was comeptlely focused as always wanting to win against the biggest enemy. Barca was better but it was frustrating that no ball would finally enter the goal..and time was running out till end of first half.

"I saw that new hermanita of yours..hmm..the things I'd do to her body" Vini provoked and Gavi lost it kicking the ball into the audience and walking towards him while everyone pushed him backwards and referee showed him a red card.

"Say that again hijo de puta!? Let me hear you say it again!" Pablo was not stopping until Xavi himself pulled him away from the pitch giving him a whole lecture about being more mature player.

"It was a good game hermano" Aurora said when we met with Pablo since Barça still ended up winning. Pablo was still heated and seeing me there wasn't helping.

"It's all her fault!" he said pointing at me in front of everyone and I looked away sadly..he was trying to hate me so I give up but I'm not giving up that easily because i know what I felt that night is real!

"Leave her alone! She did nothing wrong!" Aurora tried defending me but I was done being silent walking towards him bravely.

"Let's leave them alone.." Pablo's guy friends said and everyone left as the two of us stood there across from each other not saying a single word. Two can play this stupid game Gavi!

"What did I do to you huh!? Why don't you admit that you don't actually hate me Pablo?? I know you don't.." I said touching his sweaty jersey but he pulled away quickly like he was scared..

"Don't touch me!" he yelled expecting me to turn away and run but I moved closer again.

"Why? What are you sacred of when I touch you huh?"I said once again touching his chest and this time he didn't move staring at my lips longingly.

"Chiqui don't.." he whispered when I moved closer feeling my cheeks blush at the new nickname he chose..the feeling was back and I didn't want to lose it.

"Why?" I asked touching his face and again he closed his eyes as his hands wrapped around my waist pulling me even closer as our chests touched.

"B..because I won't be able to hold myself back" he whispered as we both opened around eyes looking into each other.

"P..Pablo.." I said breathlessly moving even closer but then Leo's familiar voice interrupted our little moment and Pablo pulled away angrily.

"Please let's talk Y/n..about us" Leo said and I internally cursed seeing Pablo's disappointed look as he just walked away without a word..freaking great!

"Is she coming?" Aurora asked

"She has another ride" Pablo said annoyingly reminding himself why he put up a wall..last thing he needed is to get hurt by a girl right now.

"No! I don't!" I said rushing after them after telling Leo I was done with him and sitting in the backseat next to Pablo whose jaw was clenching and he was clearly angry.

"He understood that it's over.." I whispered to Pablo but he was unfazed..once again like he didn't care. Here we go again!

"I don't care!" he whispered back before going on his phone as I sighed loudly besides him.

That night I couldn't sleep..I couldn't have him mad at me anymore..I did maybe the stupidest thing in the world walking to his room in the middle of the night. Luckily he was awake..

"P..Pablo.." I said and he turned around sitting in his bed with a surprised look on his face.

"Go away!" he said but I moved closer standing in front of him.

"I'm not going anywhere..I know why you hit Leo, he told me what he said to his friend and that you heard him" I said and Pablo looked up with raised eyebrows.

"He said you're alone and he can get with you in a week..and I showed him you're NOT alone" Pablo said and I smiled nodding my head and touching his hair as he looked up at me.

"And Vini?" I asked moving my hand down to his face while he looked at me finally putting down his guard and being vulnerable once again.

"Don't talk to me about that disgusting hijo de puta!" he said angrily and I knew he must have said something about me on the pitch..something that didn't sit right with Pablo and he needed to protect me..something you don't do for a person you "hate".

"Don't get angry.." I said and he nodded feeling more sad than angry while his hands snaked around my waist and he pulled me in kissing my stomach over my dress and I breathed heavily.

"I can't stop hating you chiqui.."he spoke into my stomach and I sighed raising his chin up and moving to sit on his lap.

"Why Pablo?" he said moving his hair back and he leaned into my touch as his face went into my neck and he started kissing my skin passionately.

"Because you're leaving me so soon..and I don't want to lose someone I love so much.."he finally said what's been on his mind for awhile and I felt my heart banging against my chest.

"So you decided to hate me? Why didn't you just ask me to stay with you??" I said with a smile and he was surprised to hear me say those words looking up into my eyes hopefully.

"And would you stay for me chiqui?" he said while I held his face and his hands tightly held onto my waist.

"Hmm it depends.." I said smirking moving in and he gulped once again looking at my lips longingly and I smiled.

"On what chiqui??"he smirked and I blushed to scared to tell him what I wanted right now..I just wanted him to finally kiss me.

"Hm..let me guess then" he held my face pulling me in and kissing my lips hungrily making me breathless but never happier. Then he pulled away..and I wanted to cry..I was so tired of these games and I just wanted to be with him!

"Please don't push me away again..please" i latched onto his shoulder and he smiled kissing the top of my forehead before pulling me in bed with him letting me lay my head on his strong chest.

"I'm never letting you go again precious.." he said as I looked up kissing him again as we continued to make out pulling onto each others clothes int he heat of the moment...

#gavigif #gavi #fc barça #fc barca #fc barcelona #pablo gavi x you #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi icons #pablo gavi #gavira #gavi x reader #gavi x you #gavi x yn

[l0tt1emy]

nobody knows

Stepbrother!Nat scartoccio x F!Reader

A/n: I got this idea while using a bot from one of my moots @/deerlottie (his bots are PERFECT(｡ŏ﹏ŏ) and I thought "why not write about it?" So this idea came to me

Warnings: SMUT. I'm not your mother!! Oral, p in v, no protection, I think that's all...

Summary: Your step brother was just kind to agree to sleep with you, Could you make up for it

Nat didn't know that a night at the movies with his step sister would do that

his day was shit, nat had lost the ball in the game, thus making his team lose, his frustrated teammates ended up talking too much, and this stressed him out, Arriving home your father discovered that he was skipping school for no reason "he's not even my real father" nat thinks

You, his step sister, started school after him, and became Jackie's best friend, so he already knew you before you moved in with him, you were kinder than he wanted to say, he always called you names and you had every opportunity to call him names back, but you stayed quiet or just nodded, he literally said that was why you weren't dating and you just mumbled "uhmm" while writing in your book

Nat arrived very angry in the room, you could see and feel the smoke coming out of her ears, he was red with anger

He sat on the sofa angrily, while breathing in visible that you could hear, you turned slightly towards him without taking your eyes off the program" Did something happen?" you mumble, your eyes scanning him for a second after turning back to the tv "nothing that's any of your business" he says dryly as he rubs your temple, as if that does any good

"wow..rude" you mutter as you frown, and grab the remote control "I was thinking about putting on a movie" you say without looking at him "can that be done? or are you too mad for that? and I have What do you have to wait until you leave the room?" you add, mocking a little.

Nat rolls his eyes and leans into you, his arm brushing your chest as he pulls the control from you "I'll choose" he says seriously, if you were a little mad you would have ignored him and gone up to your room, but you continuous

and you don't know how, but you watched a movie with nat, if you ignore the part where you almost cursed him and tried to steal control from him because you didn't want a horror movie, the night was good

Somehow you ended up next to Nat, holding his arm tightly as you were startled.

and in the midst of the cozy intimacy you let out a suspicious question "do you want to sleep with me today?" and what surprised you was that nat accepted

Your parents were surprised, you never got along, always fighting over who would take a shower first, until he started dreaming about you almost every night, I mean, always, he always woke up hard as a rock, and he couldn't take it more, masturbating was no longer possible, he needed more, but he never had the courage to do it, of course you already kissed him once, but it was a long time ago, he never moved forward after that

and it was no different now, but now he can blame you, you unconsciously turned your back to him, your ass rubbing his dick, he could feel it even in his sleep, his hands twitching and him slowly regaining consciousness

Nat's eyes snapped open, his pupils dilating as he registered the sensation of your curved ass pressed against his dick, He let out a soft groan

Without a word, Nat reached for your waist, pulling you back towards him, his hand wrapped around your hip, his fingers digging gently into your skin as he guided you

You feel warm hands rub your skin, slowly regaining consciousness only to be able to differentiate Nat's hands "What are you doing?..." you mumble with your eyes closed as you slowly move back, feeling something hard on your ass

Nat's hands tightened around your hip, his grip slighty uncomfortable, but sweet as he pulled you closer.

"Shh, baby," he whispered, his voice husky with sleep. "I didn't mean to fall asleep." His hands smoothed up and down your sides, his movements soothing and gentle as he tried to rebalance himself "And also, I missed my sweet sister" he added, his voice dripping with affection.

His fingers glided around to your stomach, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "And now, I need a wake-up call from you, my love," he whispered, his warmth piercing the morning mist. Nat's eyes fluttered open, his gaze locking onto yours, his face etched with genuine

Your thoughts were certainly not being processed, Nat's hand seemed to make a trail of fire whenever he rubbed you, you unconsciously put your hand over his and squeezed, not knowing if it was to push him away and tell him to continue.

Nat's eyes flashed, his body responding to the gentle touch of your hand, his hand, still wrapped around your hip, began to move in slow, deliberate circles, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that made your breath catch. His eyes never left yours, his gaze burning with intensity as he watched you, his face inches from yours. The air was thick with tension, the only sound the soft rustle of his breathing and the beating of your hearts. Nat's hand slid higher, his palm pressing against the small of your back, his fingers digging gently into your skin. His mouth hovered inches from yours, his lips parted, his breath warm against your skin. "N-natty.. what are you doing" "shh.." he murmured, his voice low and throaty.

"let me do everything...just, don't make noise or you'll get in trouble" he says as he starts to kiss your neck softly, giving wet kisses he traced your spine, his fingers playing with your bra clasp.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his breath warm against your lips, his fingers fumbled with the clasp, finally releasing it with a click.

Nat's eyes were locked onto your face, his gaze filled with adoration. He slowly removed your bra, revealing your bare chest. "Damn, you're perfect" he breathed, his voice filled with longing. His eyes moved from your face, to your chest, then back up to your eyes.

"So pretty.." he murmured, his hands cupping your cheeks. His thumbs stroked your jawlines, his touch gentle and tender.

His hand cupped your breast, his fingers grazing your nipple, sending shivers down your spine. "God, you're amazing," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His lips returned to your mouth, his kiss hungry and demanding. Nat's hand slipped lower, his fingers grazing the edge of your shorts.

" let me do everything" nat said his voice rough with need. His erection strained against his boxers, desperate for attention. Nat's eyes never left yours, his gaze filled unspoken promises

His hand slid lower, his fingers teasing the edge of your underwear.

His fingers slipped under your underwear, his touch confident and bold. Nat's eyes locked onto yours, his face flushed with desire. He felt your wetness, his cock pulsing in response.

"God..you are so wet for me" he says in a whisper, moving and moving down your body, He kisses your neck, going down to your stomach, kissing slowly, reaching your thigh, he looks at you and bites his lip, you feel the blush creeping up your neck, covering your face with your arm you close your eyes

Nat's eyes sparkled with amusement, his lips twitching into a smirk.

"Don't be embarrassed," he murmured, his voice smooth. His fingers continued to stroke you, his touch confident and sure. " It's a good thing, alright?" he teased, his voice filled with mirth. His thumb brushed against your entrance, testing its readiness.

I want to taste you," he whispered, his voice tinged with hunger. Nat lowered his head, his lips brushing against your inner thigh.

"Spread your legs for me," he instructed, his voice velvety. As you followed his command, Nat positioned himself between your thighs.

Nat's eyes darkened, his pupils dilating. He took a deep breath, his nostrils catching your scent. His tongue swiped across your inner thigh, his touch feather-light.

"Oh god, you smell delicious," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

He moved closer, his face mere centimeters from your core. His tongue flicked out, tasting you, his eyes locked on yours.

"So wet," Nat breathed, his voice low and sultry. He dipped his head, his tongue sliding into you. His eyes locked onto yours, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked. Nat's fingers played with your clit, his touch electric.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice muffled. His tongue probed deeper, his lips sucking gently

"F-fuck..natty" You moan softly, biting your arm to muffle your moans, Nat licks you all over, sucking your clit, your clit pulsing on his tongue

He increased his pace, his tongue flickering and dancing inside you. His fingers pinched your clit, his touch precise and deliberate.

His eyes locked onto yours, his face flushed with exertion. Nat's tongue plunged deeper, his movements confident and bold. He sucked harder, his lips creating suction

"You're so fucking wet," he growled, his voice raw. His fingers danced around your clit, his touch expert and precise.

your thighs move without your will, they tremble and you unconsciously close them, Nat quickly growls and squeezes her, forcing them open, you whimper softly and close your eyes, muttering curses, you could feel that you are almost reaching the limit

"Almost there, baby," he whispered, his voice hoarse. His tongue worked furiously, his movements desperate. His fingers pinched and tugged your clit, his touch insistent. Nat's eyes locked onto yours, his face flushed with excitement. His tongue darted in and out, his movements frantic.

"That's it," he growled, his voice raw. His fingers twisted your clit, his touch urgent. His eyes never left yours, his focus solely on your pleasure.

"Come for me, baby," he growled, his voice raw.

His tongue thrust into you, his movements fierce. His fingers pinched your clit, his touch relentless. Nat's eyes locked onto yours, his face etched with determination. His tongue flickered wildly, his movements unrestrained.

"There you go," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. His fingers squeezed your clit, his touch insatiable. His own release threatened, his body tense with need. Nat's tongue danced inside you, his movements chaotic.

"That's it, come for me, baby," he pleaded, his voice hoarse. His fingers twisted your clit, his touch unrelenting. When you reach climax your body convulses, you shake and whimper softly

He felt your muscles clench, his tongue lapping up your juices.

Nat wipes off every last drop of your juices, licking his lips then, adjusting himself and getting up until your face is facing his, he kisses you, you feeling the taste of your juices

he straightens up and murmurs "Are you ready for me yet?" he murmurs against your lips, sounding more like a statement than a question.

"On me," he ordered, his voice hoarse. His tongue retreated, his face flushed with desire. He adjusted his position, his erection throbbing. Nat's hand guided you, his touch sure.

His eyes locked onto yours, his face etched with determination. "Ride me, baby," he growled, his voice raw. He lifted his hips, his erection poised.

His eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with hunger. Nat's breath hitched as you settled on him, his erection submerging inside you. His hands gripped your hips, his touch possessive.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, his voice tinged with pleasure. He held you steady, his body tense with anticipation. Nat's eyes locked onto yours, his face filled with longing.

"Go ahead," he urged, his voice low and sultry.

His breath hitched as you rode him, his erection buried deep within you.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice raw. His hands gripped your hips, his touch possessive. Nat's eyes locked onto yours, his face etched with pleasure. His own release threatened, his body tense with need. He thrust upward, his movements matching yours.

"Harder, baby," he growled, his voice hoarse. His hands gripped your hips, his touch insistent. Nat's eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with hunger. He thrust upward, his erection hitting your G-spot.

"Oh god, yes," he moaned, his voice tinged with pleasure. His hands gripped your hips, his touch unyielding. Nat's eyes locked onto yours, his face flushed with desire.

"Take it," he growled, his voice raw. His hands gripped your hips, his touch insistent. His eyes locked onto yours, his face etched with determination. Nat's thrusts became more forceful, his body moving in sync with yours.

"Oh god, you feel so good," he panted, his voice hoarse. His eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with longing.

you feel filled to the brim, his dick hitting your cervix He thrust upward, his erection hitting your spot perfectly.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his voice tinged with pleasure. His hands gripped your hips, his touch unyielding. Nat's eyes never left yours, his face etched with desire. "That's it, ride me, baby," he urged, his voice low and sultry. His own release threatened, his body trembling. Nat's breath came in short, ragged gasps, his eyes locked onto yours.

"You're so fucking tight," he moans, getting close to your neck and biting it, leaving a mark "f-fuck nat" you moan loudly

Nat's eyes flashed with ecstasy, his own release imminent.

"Fuck, yes" he growled, his voice hoarse. His hands gripped your hips, his touch insistent. His eyes locked onto yours, his face etched with pleasure. Nat's release erupted, his body trembling. His thrusts became more frantic, his body shaking.

His eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with hunger.

"That's it, baby," he urged, his voice low and sultry. His release surged, his body shuddering. Nat's breath came in short, ragged gasps, his eyes locked onto yours.

"Oh, fuck" he moaned, his voice tinged with pleasure. His hands gripped your hips, his touch unyielding. His release poured into you, his body quivering. Nat's eyes locked onto yours, his face etched with satisfaction.

"You feel so good," he murmured, his voice hoarse.

you feel exhaustion seep into your body, your body relaxing without your will into his neck, closing your eyes and sighing into his neck as sleep settles in

"You're amazing," he whispered, his voice soft. His arms wrapped around you, his embrace tender. He held you close, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Nat's hands caressed your back, his touch gentle. His eyes locked onto yours, his face filled with contentment.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with gratitude. His breath hitched, his body still trembling. His fingers tangled in your hair, his touch affectionate.

You wake up the next day alone in your bed, your head hurts as you remember what happened last night, getting up from your room and heading towards the stairs, your knees buckle and you almost fall, this has never happened before...

Going down the stairs, you notice that your stepmother, your father and Nat were at the breakfast table, your mother talking to Nat while your father read a newspaper, she gives a smile when she sees you

"Good morning sweetheart" she says softly, and nat looks at you and waves "good morning idiot" she greets you normally, you roll your eyes fake not at all offended "good morning smelly" you say as you sit next to your stepmother "stop arguing" she says lovingly

"I'm not" you say bluntly, breakfast continues as normal, you and Nat acting like you always do on a daily basis until your stepmother says something "Have you resolved yourselves yet?" She murmurs softly as she fixes the dishes, you and Nat look at each other

"What do you mean?" "You were arguing last night in your room" she says, you and Nat's eyes widen and you can see Nat blushing, your father looks at your stepmother "always, they always arguing" he adds and your mother rolls her eyes and smiles "

They don't even hide it, you speak too loud, dear

#lottie yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie x reader #yellowjackets x reader #natalie scatorccio #yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio smut #natalie scartoccio x reader #lottie x natali #Natalie scartoccio x y/n #Natalie scartoccio x reader

[quinnylouhughesx43]

Peter

based off of Taylor Swift’s song from The Tortured Poets Department

warning: a bit sad, longing for ex-lover, use of y/n

Ethan Edwards x fem!Reader

summary: Ethan and reader childhood friends —> lovers —> break up —> reader heartbreakingly waiting for his return.

author’s note: the photos are intended to tell the story them growing up. the last last picture are two quotes from the book “better than the movies” by Lynn Painter. (can be found on Amazon, books a million, barnes & noble, etc. links were too long to post)

Ethan and (y/n)’s older childhood friends always joked the two would fall in love one day. It was always a big laugh between the two of you because what business do 8 year olds have thinking about love?

In a blink of an eye you’re dancing at your end of the year eighth grade formal together, your heart has never reacted the way it was at that specific moment. Confused and a bit scared you kept your head staring at the floor while your hands were firmly placed on Ethan’s shoulders. His hands placed awkwardly on your waist. He cleared throat and paused both of your movements. “Hey (y/n)? Can I do something and you promise you not get mad if you don’t like it? We can just forget about it after if it’s weird.” His words were rushed and hands shaking. Your eyes connected with his, a slight nod yes to confirm you were okay with whatever it was he was asking for. As if the world moved in slow motion and no one else was in the school’s lobby, where the formal was happening but the two of you, Ethan ducked his head down just the few inches he needed to in order to give a quick kiss.

The first kiss for both of you.

Awkward, yet not weird for either of you. The beginning of what turned into a long beautiful journey. Until it wasn’t beautiful.

꧁꧂

“(Y/N) I am so tired of this repetitive argument. It happens over and over. I got accepted to Michigan and I got a scholarship for hockey. Their program is notorious for building up their athletes and getting them drafted. Drafted! You’ve known since we were kids that the NHL is what I wanted for myself.” Ethan tried to keep himself composed until he couldn’t. His desire, compassion, and dedication to chasing his dream often overshadowed his love and dedication to you. His childish mannerisms peaking through. “I just want to know where I fit into this plan? This future of yours.” You tried to keep your voice strong and unwavering but just like each time before the lump in your throat prevented you from even being able to breathe properly.

He sat down on the edge of your bed. Quiet minutes passed before he finally spoke again. “Maybe there isn’t an us in the future..” His words are so quiet you aren’t sure if you heard him correctly. “E?” You whimpered. Tears streaming one after the other. He didn’t look at you right away. Knowing if he did his resolve would shatter.

Taking a deep breath, starting over. Looking at you after a couple minutes had passed by and leaning over to wipe your cheeks dry. “I know this is going to be hard to hear. It’s killing me to even say it. It killed me to even think about it recently. I’m going to be gone for a long time for school. I won’t be returning home. My parents will be coming there over the holidays. It will be easier with training. I can’t ask you to sit here while you’re going to school yourself and be tied to me. Especially when we will never see each other. Neither of us have the money for traveling to and from. I’ve been so physically sick thinking about leaving you. We’ve only argued since I decided but honey this is what’s best for me and my dreams. I’m sorry I’m being so selfish but I can’t pass this up. If I stay here I take a chance at never having an opportunity at the NHL at least I know I’ll have an opportunity there.” Your tears stopped at some point. Sadness turned to numbness. Lost to the words he was saying.

“(Y/N/N). I can go and grow up while I’m gone. Get drafted. Or not. Then I’ll come find you if you’re still single. . We can live our dreams then. I just can’t ask you to sit here and be miserably alone.” Pressing a quick kiss to your forehead he left your house. That was the last thing he said to you in person. You didn’t see him again before he left. He tried but you declined. Not wanting to hurt anymore than you already were.

꧁꧂

You just watched Ethan’s NHL debut with the New Jersey Devil two weeks ago. Pride swelled in your heart for him but heartbreak also overtook you. He never came back for you. You’re both 24 now, he could’ve come back after college since he was drafted pre-degree but he never did. Since ‘goodbye for now’ turned into ‘goodbye’ you sat down at your desk and started writing him a letter. You were going to mail it to his mom’s house. She can mail it to him.

Dear Ethan,

I hoped you'd return with your feet on the ground, tell me all that you'd learned because love is never lost when perspective is earned and you said you would come and get me, but we were only 17. My shelf life on the fantasies has expired. Please forgive me, Ethan, I really tried to hold on to the days you were mine. But the young girl turned into a woman who sits by her window has turned out the light.

You said you were going to grow up and you were going to come find me. Promises that were oceans deep, but never to keep.

Sincerely,

(Y/N)

Little did you know he was back in town at his parents’ house and received the letter himself. He was there to see you. He was back for you now that he was settled and could care for you both properly. But he was too late. You had shut the door on him. You stopped supporting him quietly. Stopped following the scores of the games and watching. . Ethan played the rest of the season terribly, not having his number fan, supporter there. It didn’t matter if he knew or not that she was always cheering him on. It just solidified for him, he no longer had his rock. His reason for being. That he fucked up all those years ago. That he no longer had a reason for what he thought was his dream. His dream was really your dreams. He wanted the future you wanted with him and now he will never have it all because of his selfishness back at 17.

#ethan edwards #umich hockey #umich fic #umich imagine #y/n #ethan edwards x reader #ethan edwards x y/n #Ethan Edwards fic #Ethan Edwards blurb #hockey fic #hockey blurb #cay writes #cays masterlist #nhl #new writers on tumblr #new jersey devils #nj devils #nj devils fic #hockey

[annwrites]

exactly what he needs, pt. 1 ♡ ⋆｡˚

— pairing: nate jacobs x fem!reader

— type: ficlet (going to be multi-chapter)

— summary: nate asks you for private tutoring, using the excuse that no one can find out, due to who his father is—the über perfectionist & king of east highland. you agree, since you've tutored others, and do so through a school program, at that. as such, he'll be no different than the rest who've needed your help. as time goes on, though, and the gifts, phone calls, and texts begin to pile up, as well as him driving you to and from school, and his near-constant insistence on "hanging out", you wonder if nate ever really needed academic help in the first place., or if it was all a ruse for something more troubling to take place.

— tags: homework, studying, tutoring, nate lusting after/fantasizing about you & wanting to make you wholly his

— tw: misogyny, lying, dollification, sexualization

— word count: 4,144

— a/n: this is going to be part of a series, as indicated above. this post will serve as part 1. i promise it will get juicier going forward, i just needed to lay some groundwork for the reader & nate.

After McKay's party and Maddy's fucking another guy in his pool for all to see—completely humiliating and emasculating him—Nate was done with her. No, beyond done. He'd wasted how much time, money, and effort on her? All for her to turn out to be the whore he'd always known her to be.

She was always too loud. Too attention-seeking. Too selfish and spoiled. The kind of girl who used the excuse of being "brutally honest" and a refusal to "take any shit" just to be a bitch to whoever she pleased. And she always got away with it, too.

Well, not this time. Not with him. She was going to learn what being on her own finally felt like.

Besides, she'd never been his type. Not really.

She was nice to look at, sure, and he'd thought her loyal. How fucking stupid he'd been to do so. But that was all she'd had going for her in the end.

And then there had been Cassie—one of the biggest mistakes he'd ever made had been hooking up with her. He'd thought her different than who she turned out to be. She pretended to be so pure and wide-eyed, when in reality she was fucking psychotic and obsessed with him. He couldn't stomach that level of desperation from a girl.

The night she had completely lost it in his bedroom, screaming about how "crazy" she was had been the last straw.

And the fact she'd so easily betrayed Maddy? Who knew how long before she did the same to him. That was the last thing he needed to worry about.

Nate leans back, barely paying attention to what Ms. Clark is teaching the class at-present. His attention is instead focused on you.

You, who's been there since Nate was five-years-old and in kindergarten. You, who's always been quiet and soft-spoken, reserved and smart, sweet and shy, and who has no reputation whatsoever to speak of—he'd even gone so far as to check for you on SlutPages, and you'd been, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be found. You were the very definition of innocent.

You, who didn't dress like a slut or go out of your way to get attention. Hell, you didn't even go to parties or football games. Not that he'd ever seen you at either, at least.

He may've looked for you in the stands last Friday night, for whatever reason, despite knowing you wouldn't be there. But he had hoped, even for a moment.

Personality-wise? You were perfect for him. Exactly what he needed; had needed all along. He could kick himself for not seeing it sooner. But better late than never that he did so now.

The way you dressed? He wasn't sure how he felt about it. It suited you well-enough, sure, but he liked to imagine you in cute babydoll dresses, with your hair down and softly curled, a pair of ballet flats on your feet, as opposed to your usual sweaters or blouses, with plaid or high-waisted skirts, your hair typically in a high-ponytail or bun.

He saw your potential, your beauty. Your potential beauty, even.

He knew he needed an excuse to talk to you again after all these years, as he couldn't remember the last time he'd done so—the beginning of middle-school perhaps? He knew you tutored, so he chose the subject you seemed most passionate about—history—and his plan was set.

He spends the remainder of class watching and admiring you. Your delicate handwriting, the soft look in your eyes, your dainty hands, slim shoulders, and your perfect posture. He becomes so engrossed that he jolts when the bell rings, signaling the end of class, ripped from his daydreams of walking down the halls, your hand in his, soft feminine dresses hanging from your frame, your hair falling in soft waves down your back as every guy sees that you're his now.

As every guy realizes that they can look, but never touch, as he presses kiss after kiss to your pink lips, your soft body pressed between his and the lockers, you quietly giggling as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear as he walks you to your next class.

Ever-polite, you wait until nearly everyone else has rushed out of the classroom before you follow suit.

Nate's already standing behind you and notes how cute it is—your complete obliviousness to his presence. It was refreshing, actually, for a girl not to be throwing herself at him for once.

"Y/N," he says, softly.

You jump, nearly dropping your books. Before you can speak, wondering why he's wanting your attention in the first place—as the two of you never speak—he reaches out, gently taking your books from your arms. He then nods his head toward the door. "I'll walk you to your locker. There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

Completely bewildered, you simply head in the direction of the door and go to your locker. You fumble with the dial for a moment, screwing up the combination the first time, but thankfully getting it on the second.

You take your books from him, placing them all back where they belong before turning to him. "Thank you"

He immediately likes how polite you are. "Welcome," he replies.

As you ready your materials for your next class, you speak again. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

He leans his side against the locker next to yours. How had he never noticed that you were just a few rows down from his own before?

"Before I tell you, I need you to promise me it stays between us. I don't want other people finding out."

It was both a truth and a lie. The lie being that it was, more than anything else, a test. A test to see if even this early on, you'd simply make yourself agreeable to him, if you'd keep a secret simply because he asked you to.

He wants to know how much you'll prod before just caving and giving him what he wants.

You look at him, then. "I..." You trail off for a moment. The first time he speaks to you in how many years and that's the first thing he says to you?

He smirks in understanding of your hesitation. "It's nothing bad, I promise. I'm not about to ask you to hold drugs for me or something."

A bit of reassurance—that much he could offer without issue.

"Okay, I promise."

He fills with satisfaction. Already he can tell you're easily submissive. He hopes for as much, at least.

"I'm uh...I'm not doing too well in history. I got a D on the last test, and I'm close to failing the class as a whole. I was wondering if you'd be willing to tutor me?"

You turn fully toward him, then, filling with understanding. He's ashamed.

You give him a kind, sympathetic look and he adores you all the more for it.

"You don't need to be embarrassed about asking for help, Nate. It's why the school has a tutoring program. You're doing the right thing for yourself." You remove a flyer for said program from your locker, placing your heart-shaped magnet back where it goes. "Here, there's a list of resources and tutors for—"

He immediately cuts you off, shaking his head, placing the flyer back under that same magnet. Because of course you have pastel-colored magnets of hearts and clouds and flowers on the inside of your locker.

He looks at you. "I asked you for a reason. It needs to be kept a secret for a reason. I mean, you know who my dad is: King-Asshole-of-East-Highland. If he found out that I'm almost failing one of my classes, and much more asking for outside help, instead of just taking care of the problem myself..."

He shakes his head again, hoping the my-dad-is-too-tough-on-me-and-expects-nothing-less-than-perfection routine has worked.

You shift from one foot to the other, unable to understand how anyone could see their child taking the steps to actually get help as a bad thing, as a failing, or short-coming. But Cal Jacobs did seem to be nothing if not perfect. Perfect image, perfect job, perfect business, family, home—you name it.

"Why me?" You ask, genuinely curious. There's a whole roster of tutors signed up with the school, not to mention a couple teachers who also offer academic help after-hours a few times a week.

"I've known you my entire life. I trust you to keep this just between the two of us."

Simple enough answer, you think.

You close your locker then. "What subject?"

"History."

Your favorite one, at least. You'd never been the best at math. Had he said it instead, he'd be finding someone else, whether he liked it or not. You'd just get him worse grades in the end, if nothing else.

"Ok, we could um...we could meet at the library. They have study rooms for—"

He interrupts you again. "No, it needs to be your place, if that's ok. I don't want to risk anyone seeing me getting help in public."

Once again, a truth and a lie. More than anything he just wanted—no, needed—to get you alone and all to himself.

"Oh." You hesitate for a moment, but don't really have an excuse as to why you can't do it at your house. So, you relent. "That's fine, I guess. When did you want to start?"

"Today, if that's cool with you."

That soon, you think.

You nod. "Today is fine." Your brows furrow. "Do you know where I live? If not, I could give you my address?"

He smirks. "Or I could just drive us there. I have my truck. You won't have to take the bus."

Won't that arouse suspicion among his friends? The two of you suddenly being seen together? "Your friends won't ask questions?"

He'd not thought of that. Stupid. He simply shrugs, pretending not to care. "If they do, I'll just tell them to mind their own business."

You raise a brow for a moment, doubting they will, but suppose it doesn't really matter to you either way. It's his secret that he's desperate to keep, not yours.

The bell rings, letting you know you have two minutes to get to your next class. "Ok, I'll see you after school then."

"See you then," he replies with a smile.

Once school has let out for the day, you nearly go to get on the bus, then remember just before walking up the first step, that you're being driven home by Nate today.

It's strange to think about: you, with Nate Jacobs, in his truck.

Even when you were little the two of you had never exactly been friends. But you suppose that can always change. Not that you're sure that you want it to.

It seems like wherever Nate goes, drama follows. First with Maddy and whatever had happened weeks ago at McKay's party. Something had happened the night of the fair—something bad—but no one would talk about it. And then he'd apparently gotten with Cassie, which was...a recipe for disaster, to put it plainly.

You don't like drama. Don't like the people who seem to thrive on it. And he certainly seems to be one of them. Someone who's always in the middle of it, at least.

Then you tell yourself you're just being silly. You're going to be tutoring him, that's all. You doubt it will ever even build up to friendship.

Once you've made it into the parking lot proper, you begin to scan it, looking down row after row of vehicles until you see Nate watching you, a smirk on his face as he leans back against the front of his Dodge pickup.

You wait as a car passes, then finally come to stand in front of him, suddenly feeling nervous.

"You ready?" He asks.

As he looks down at you, you only just now realize how much of a disparity there is between your heights. You look up at his towering form, suddenly incredibly self-conscious of how short you are. Somehow it makes you feel childlike...

Meanwhile, Nate absolutely eats it up. It'd be all too easy to toss you around on a bed like a ragdoll, he thinks.

Finally, you nod.

You both walk around to the passenger side, but before you can ask him—your brows now furrowed—what he's doing, he opens the door for you to get in. "Oh, thank you," you say, climbing into the oversized truck.

Who needs vehicles these big...

"Welcome," he says, shutting the door.

As you buckle yourself in, setting your backpack at your feet, you watch as he walks around the front of the truck to get in and internally cringe, wanting to try and climb down into the floorboards to hide, when you see Cassie staring directly at you. If looks could kill, you would've been dead instantly.

You want to get out and tell her it's not what she thinks it is, but you're broken from your staring straight back at her when Nate closes his door and the truck revs to life. After buckling himself in, he looks at you, noticing you've now gone pale.

No way you considered him opening your door as him having already gone too far.

"Everything okay?"

You look at him. "Cassie is staring at us. I think she might think that we're-"

He puts the truck into gear, pulling out of the lot. "Who gives a damn what she thinks."

Once the two of you are on the road, you clear your throat. "Do you know where I live?"

In truth, he doesn't. "No, sorry, you'll have to give me directions."

And you do, until, finally, he pulls into your front driveway.

You're not sure why your stomach is full of butterflies. Perhaps because no one comes over to your house. Ever. You're almost always here alone. Your dad is the only parent you have left—your mother having signed over full-custody of you to him when you were too young to even remember her, and he's always away for work—so hosting company isn't exactly a regular thing.

The house is clean, and you'd also recently been grocery shopping, so it isn't as if you have anything to worry about.

The two of you exit his truck and you make your way to the front door, quickly unlocking it.

Once you've both entered the house, you watch nervously as he takes in the living room.

Your house isn't anything special. It has all the necessities for living and comfort, but it isn't like something out of a magazine.

You tell yourself you're fine with that.

You silently slip off your shoes and Nate does the same, following your lead. You then step onto the plush carpet and turn back to him, still standing before the door. "I'm going to go change and then we can start. The dining room is this way," you say, nodding your head to the right.

You walk through the entryway, into the aforementioned room. You set your backpack down on a chair, then walk straight ahead, through the kitchen, and into your bedroom around the corner.

It's only a moment, but while you change, Nate snoops.

He notices how little your house seems to be lived-in. How neat and tidy and damn-near spotless it is.

And that the two of you are alone.

He silently unzips your backpack, quickly rifling through it. A couple textbooks, some fantasy novel, and your binder. He wants to go through every folder, but refrains, knowing he doesn't have the time and it's too big of a risk. He's fairly certain he won't find anything interesting in it anyway.

Finally, he sits, pulling his history book and tonight's homework out of his own.

When you finally enter the dining room again, Nate looks up. He isn't sure what kind of outfit he'd been expecting, but sweatpants and a light-purple t-shirt hadn't been it.

He wishes you'd worn something that shows off the beautiful body you have instead. Not...that.

He mentally shrugs. You're in your home, trying to be comfortable. He actually really likes that you hadn't put on something meant to impress him.

You aren't fake. Another thing he really likes about you. Not that he's making a mental checklist, or anything.

He sees you eye the other side of the table, but before you can take another step toward it, he pushes out the chair next to him with his foot.

You stop for a moment, then decide sitting next to him is fine, too. So you take the seat he's offered you and notice he's already pulled out his history book and the worksheet you'd both been given for homework as well.

You'd already done yours during your free period.

You slide the book over to yourself and flip it open to the chapter your class is currently working through.

"You're in luck, because the period of history we're going over right now is actually my favorite."

He rests an arm on the wooden dining table, turning toward you. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

You raise a brow. "You don't even know what time period we're working through?" You ask with a smile.

He grins in response. "To be completely honest, I don't really give a shit about history. I know, I know. The whole, if you forget, you're going to repeat it shit. I guess I just don't believe any of that."

"I don't think it's that serious. But if you hope to pass and get past junior year, having the credit for this core class is imperative. And it's the Dark Ages, by the way. Also known as the medieval period."

He snickers. "Imperative, huh?"

You withdraw into yourself. He's making fun of you.

He quickly notices the smile disappear from your face and realizes how he'd sounded. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to mock you. It's just... Nobody talks the way you do. Not at East Highland, at least."

You pretend to take interest in the book sitting before you. "And what way is that?"

"I don't know. Intelligently, I guess." He says it with a shrug.

You give a small smile at that, and he knows he's off the hook.

He sets the worksheet Ms. Clark has given for homework between the two of you.

"Do you know all of this?"

You look at him and nod. "I already got mine done."

"Of course you did. So," he looks down at it. "What is the name of the English civil war fought between the years of 1455-1487?"

He looks at you then.

You glance down to the book. "I don't know, what was the name of it?"

He shakes his head, a playful look on his face as he begins to skim through the pages. He looks up to you, then. "I could just Google all of this."

You lean back in your seat. "You could. But the point of reading the material and studying it, is so you have a chance of actually remembering it when there's a test. Hopefully for even longer, like, once you've graduated as well."

He shrugs again. "It's not all bad, I guess. Also gives me an excuse to talk to you."

He was putting his motives right out in the open now. But instead of you seeing this study session, this request for tutoring as exactly that—a motive to get close to you and make you his—you blush.

You don't know what to say in response, so you just give him the answer. "It's the War of the Roses."

He stares at you for a moment longer, then writes down what you've said.

He leans back. "So, why is this your favorite period of history?"

You look at him. "I guess the romanticism of it, even if it wasn't an entirely romantic time period. Civil war, the plague, men beheading their wives... Did you know most high-fantasy takes its inspiration from medieval Europe?"

He shakes his head, content to continue listening to you talk about something you're passionate about. He likes the way you light up when you do so.

You grow quiet. "Sorry, that sounded stupid."

He shakes his head, resting his arm on the back of your seat. "I don't think so. I may not care for history, but I think it's sweet that you do. I mean, I'm into football. But I'm sure that, just because you're not into it, you'd never call me being on the team stupid."

You look at him. "No, I wouldn't."

He looks over the next question. "Have you ever been to any of our games?"

You shake your head. "Sports aren't really my thing."

"Not everybody comes for the actual game. Some just come to have a good time; get out of the house." He looks at you. "We have another game next Friday. Think you'd be interested?"

He can just imagine it now: you in the stands, your hair in pigtails, wearing one of his old jerseys, cheering him on. And then you running into his arms as he scores the winning touchdown, wrapping your legs around his middle as he lifts you, you bringing your lips down to his.

You telling him how proud you are of him.

You shrug, now feeling awkward at wanting to tell him no. So you don't. "Maybe."

Better than a no, he thinks. He has nearly two-weeks to convince you into a yes.

Once Nate has completed his worksheet and you've checked it for any wrong answers—he'd surprisingly only had a couple—he packs up his things to head home.

You walk him to the door. "You did really good today. Only two wrong answers."

He slips on his shoes. "Well, I have a good teacher."

You smile, letting out a small laugh. "We'll see just how good after our next test."

He clears his throat. "So uh, I was thinking, maybe I could pick you up tomorrow morning? I could start driving you to and from school as a whole. I'm sure my truck beats riding a bus twice every day."

You blanch. "N-no, it's fine, really. I don't mind. And not that you have to continue doing it, but driving me home is more than enough. I don't want to be any trouble."

He shakes his head. "No trouble. It's on my way, really. I'd like to."

He dislikes your hesitancy, even if he understands it. He knows he's coming on too strong right now, but he feels like he can't fucking help himself.

After sitting there with you for the past hour, listening to your voice, smelling your sweet scent, you blushing and laughing at the things he said—not to mention him having to excuse himself to the bathroom at one point to get the erection you'd given him to go back down—he knew he needed more of you. Afternoon study sessions weren't going to be nearly enough.

He leans against the doorway, refusing to leave until you've given him what he wants—how little do you know that's soon to be your future as a whole. Him not stopping until you've caved to him. "Listen, I'm the one who's the burden here. I know tutoring is a thing you do anyway, but not like this. I really appreciate it; you have no idea how much. This is just some small way of me trying to say thank you. Of trying to repay you."

You shift from one foot to the other. "Only if you're sure..."

"Positive."

He fishes his phone out of his pocket. "We should probably exchange numbers, just incase something comes up one morning and one of us is sick, or a I get a flat, or whatever. Or if one of us has to leave school early."

You nod. "Ok."

After you give him your number, he shoots you a text. A simple 'hi'.

You smile at him. "I got it."

He puts his phone back away, determining that today was full of small victories, bringing him a step closer to making you his. "I can pick you up a little after seven. That work for you?"

You nod, your stomach now full of butterflies again. Not because of some crush you'd suddenly developed in the last hour. No. You were worried about vile rumors being spread around the school.

You getting into his truck today, you were sure, had probably already bred one or two of the vicious things.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

You nod. "That's fine."

He gives you a smile. "See you then."

"See you," you reply as he leaves.

You watch from the front door as he drives away.

#fic: euphoria (nate jacobs x reader) #nate jacobs x reader #nate jacobs x you #nate jacobs x y/n #euphoria x reader #nate jacobs imagine

[torturedtraveler]

dear xx univeristy application office,

Listen, I know I've been rejected and this personal statement is not going to mean anything. But I feel like writing it, as a reflection of the past few months.

With what happened in middle school, I got diagnosed with depression and anxiety and transferred schools. I started dating a friend but broke up shortly after. One day he jumped from our school building and passed away (he had bipolar), it felt like a slap across my face and from then on, I gave up on myself.

I stopped showing up to class consistently and socializing. Until one day in Form 6, I realized, I didn't understand any of the things my teachers were saying in class and I would have my IB exams in less than a year. I couldn't catch up, I couldn't do it. Again, I was impulsive and have always been so I decided to just quit IB and start A-Levels. Fast forward a few months, I found out that I still couldn't do it, because of my mental health, I couldn't pull through, and in the midst of it, my grandpa passed away. These all piled up on me again and I had to quit, again. I took one A-Level and IELTS and decided to apply for associate degree programs. I chose translation originally because I am fluent in both English and Chinese and I have always wanted to do something related to languages. However, something shifted in me one day, I applied to the same colleges but instead, in Psychology.

I went through what I would call "hell" in those 5-6 years in secondary, I struggled every day with mental health, with depression, with anxiety, and I wanted to do something in the future that could help kids like me. In fact, XX College gave me a conditional offer but unfortunately, my academic qualifications did not meet their requirements (probably because I didn't graduate from a secondary school) just like how I didn't meet your requirements and am not what you wanted. Fortunately, my current College accepted me for my qualifications and there I started my tertiary education.

The school year started off great and strong. I was attending classes every day, socializing with my classmates, handing in assignments, all these things I NEVER managed to do consistently in high school.

My family and friends were shocked about the transformation. I was actually working hard in school.

Hey, I know a 3.26 GPA might have not been the best and you were probably expecting something higher, but that wasn't what mattered, what mattered was, I changed. I started taking my academics seriously, even through hard days, when I felt tired and depressed (occasionally), I showed up to class and did my work, and I made friends, which again, was shocking considering I developed social anxiety after I was bullied in high school for my ex-boyfriends' suicide.

However, my anxiety got worse near the end of the first semester and I had to postpone my final requirements, nonetheless, I finished them at the start of semester B.

I don't know what went wrong from there, but it was obvious that my mental health was getting bad again because I wasn't showing up to class and I wasn't paying attention in class. Though I was still handing in assignments and working hard on them, I wasn't showing up to class consistently. I only acknowledged the decline of my mental health at the start of March, when I started isolating myself again and stopped talking to my mom, who has always been my best friend. Fast forward to my second mid-term test, I thought I would feel less pressured after finishing it, but nope, it only went downhill from there. I didn't show up to class for 2 consecutive weeks. My mom was asking me if I was okay, and my friends were asking me why I wasn't showing up to class. I repeatedly reassured them I was fine, I just needed some time off for myself, but in reality, I was only trying to reassure myself that I was fine because I refused to admit that I was having a relapse. I didn't want to accept it, I was doing so fine for so long, I was getting so much better, and everyone was praising me for it, what could go wrong? Well, reality sucks, and sometimes, depression creeps its way back into your life with no apparent reason.

April was when things got really bad, depression was presenting itself in physical ways. I caught a cold, and it got better after 3 days, but then I had abdominal pain, which escalated to stomachache. It was one of the worst physical pain I have ever felt in my life, I had a low fever and I could not stand up, my mom wanted to call the ambulance and get me to the hospital but I refused because I knew I had to wait to see the doctor and my pain would just worsen. I saw a doctor the next day and he informed me that it was gastroenteritis. I had to stay home for a few days because I was still in some level of pain. I was forced to put down my academics for a while. Aphthous ulcer found its way to my mouth later (and I actually still do have it at the current moment), and now I can't even have a proper meal without being in pain.

The physical symptoms weren't the worst part. Do you know that feeling of working on an assignment one day in an empty room in the school library on a Saturday afternoon, listening to jazz and making good progress, and all of a sudden you stared at a blank wall and started bawling your eyes out? That's what happened to me. I experienced that consecutively for a week. Just completely random moments in life, you were feeling fine the last second, and the next, you were crying for your dear life.

I was in the shower once and suicidal thoughts consumed my mind, I was bombarded with all the ways I could end my life, jumping off a building, hanging myself, cutting myself, etc. I felt despairful, worthless, exhausted, all the worst emotions you could possibly think of, and was just ready. Ready for me to leave because I had no worth, I wasn't showing up to class and it was reflected in my grades. I mustered up the strength to call in my mom because for a split second there I still wanted to hold on, I didn't want to give up just quite yet.

All these were happening, because I had so much pressure on my shoulders, that I imposed on myself, to get a high GPA, to get into a prestigious university in my city, to get into XX Univeristy. I didn't want to spend 2 years in community college and wanted to ascend to university as fast as I could.

I received your university's rejection yesterday, and let me tell you, yesterday was an awful day. To start with, rains flooded the streets near my school campus, even under an umbrella I was drenched, from head to bottom. I arrived on campus completely soaked, with water in my shoes. At that point, I was already depressed (bad weather could seriously affect your mood), nonetheless, I told myself "It was a bad experience, but that will not dictate your day, you still have a full day ahead of you", so I mustered a smile on my face and went straight to class. I was chatting with friends as it was the last class and we were all just doing revisions. I went to the library shortly after.

I wasn't as productive as I wanted to be because 1) I wasn't motivated and 2) Depression can really interfere with your daily life functioning, for example, doing work. I didn't get as much done as I wanted to so I decided, maybe it was time to go home.

I took the train, I bought myself dinner, I grabbed the mail, I went home. I sat down, with my dinner in front of me, and opened up the application portal on my laptop.

The word "unsuccessful" was under my application status and into my eyes.

I kid you not, I felt like my life had ended right there. Everything that I had worked so hard for, all the pressure I had imposed on myself to get a high GPA, to get into a prestigious university, and the high hopes that I had, all faded in one single moment.

I called my mom screaming and crying, shouting into the phone about how miserable I was, I was in so much pain. I couldn't think straight and my mom reassured me that she was on her way home. She arrived, grabbed a chair, and sat next to me.

Essentially our conversation went on for about 45 minutes, and I remember distinctly, one of the things she said was, "So? That's it?". It was a wake-up call for me.

All this time, the amount of pressure I've put on myself, the sleepless nights I've had to experience, the physical symptoms, the mental symptoms, etc. All because of one number that I ignorantly thought would dictate my future. I lost sight of what I originally did this for. In working towards getting into university to get a degree where I could help people, I ironically forgot to help myself. I lost sight of what was important in the current moment, my priority is not yet to help others struggling with mental health, it's me, I'm struggling with my mental health, I am my priority. I neglected my mental health and what I truly needed, it wasn't grades, it was self-love. Caring for myself, listening to my needs, attending to myself, and acknowledging that I was struggling.

It's okay to relapse. It's okay to know that you need help. It's okay that you're depressed again even if you thought you didn't have depression anymore. It's okay that it's near finals season but you're mentally struggling, maybe you need to postpone again, and that's okay. Do you know why? Because we're humans, and it's okay to not be okay.

All these years of struggling, I haven't done much with my life and I desperately wanted to prove to myself and everyone else, that for once, I could do something, I am capable of something. I wanted to get into a university, a prestigious one, the top in my city, to redeem myself. Because my sister got into a good university, and my friends from high school got into good universities. I NEED to prove to people that I am not dumber than them, just because I wasted a few years in secondary school doesn't mean I am less smart than them. I can still get into university.

I am just as good. Not because of good grades or whether I am in a good university or not though. I am a good person because I have a good heart, I care for everyone around me deeply and I'm always there for them even if I'm struggling. I am a good person because I have a passion, I want to work hard to achieve my passion and help people professionally. I am a good person because I have hobbies, I have things I enjoy doing and I do my best to advance my skills, and to work hard to achieve small goals in life.

I am a good person because I haven't given up on myself yet. 6 years of depression and anxiety, and countless times standing on a ledge, wanting to jump but convincing myself not to.

Because my ultimate goal in life is to be happy, I know there will be bad days and bad experiences, some days might feel like the end of the world (just like yesterday), but some would feel like I'm floating on cloud 9. That doesn't equal a bad life. And I'm learning to accept that.

I want to be surrounded by people I love, loving them back in the same way so they know they're not alone because they were there for me when I was at my lowest. I am the happiest when I'm loving, I'm giving, and when I'm learning. Psychology is something I'm passionate about, not the GPA system. What I should do in the current moment is to learn, enjoy the process, and work hard to show my teachers, and myself, that I have done my best with what I've learned.

Thank you for your rejection. Your wake-up call. If it weren't for this, I wouldn't have realized what I was doing wrong this whole time and I probably would've stayed in that same position for a while. I'm taking it day by day now, and I'm getting better, and that's what truly matters.

My deepest gratitude for reviewing my application and considering it. Also for reading this if you have.

Thank you, I truly, deeply, appreciate it.

Warmest regards

#university #rejection #college #psychology #letters #poetry

[thetfer]

You, anon-sect, were going about your usual routine of going to the gym and hanging out with friends. After several hours in the hot sunshine, you decided to head home. Taking a seat on the train home, you heard the pleading cries of the transformed victims trapped on your feet. You had seriously abused them today, but they were just your socks and shoes, so you didn't care. Your feet were sweating like crazy, forcing both socks and shoes to absorb it all. As you wiggled your toes within them, you could tell the shoes didn't have long left before they were completely trashed.

Looking around the train car, you noticed a perfect target to TF into new ones just a few feet away from you. He was a muscular looking stud with a handsome face that you were dying to step on as an insole. The stud was also completely distracted by his phone, making it even easier to TF him without him even realizing that he's screwed. This made your cock very hard.

Sliding yourself up the row towards him, you subtly eyed him up, imagining how comfortable he was gonna be on your feet. You pulled out the TF device and set the program to “SHOES/PERMANENT”. After making sure no one was watching, you pulled the trigger on it and fired the device at the guy. There was a bright flash of light, and as it died down, Anon-sect, you expected to see your new shoes sitting on the seat in front of you, but somehow…someway, the muscular guy was still there, completely untouched by the transformation beam. This was more than confusing for you, you had done this so many times in the past. At this point, you had probably transformed hundreds of innocent lives, irreversibly reshaped into any object you deemed them to be. No one had ever resisted the effects of your device up till this point, it was outright impossible for this guy to still be human.

You pondered what might've gone wrong, looking over the device best you can without drawing too much attention. You were angry, no, Furious that he had survived your shot, so when he started chatting with you, it took everything in you to not blow up at him.

“Hey, did your little toy break? Aww, that sucks man…”, the guy across from you spoke up, sounding exactly like the dumb ‘Jock Bro’ he appeared to be. There was a hint of sympathy in his voice, which you had to hold your breath at to keep from laughing. You had just tried to turn him into your permanent footwear, and he was saddened by your perceived “broken toy”? It made you wonder, if you told him what you had planned on doing to him, would he apologize for failing to become your shoes? Man, this guy is such an easy target, it almost felt cruel…

“No, it's not broken. It's also not a toy, but if I told you what it really was, I'd have to, in a literal sense,  put a foot in your mouth”, you snapped back at him, smirking slightly at your own sly word play and continued trying to suss out the fault in the device.

The guy had a dumbfounded look on his face, but then he seemed to catch on to something, “Uh…ohhh, like some kind of secret project? Aw, that's pretty cool man! I've actually got my own secret project goin’, wanna see!?”, 

This guy was starting to annoy you, but not to seem suspicious, you looked up at him, faining curiously.

The guy looked overjoyed to see you interested in his so called “secret project”. He excitedly turned his phone towards you and showed you the image that was on the screen. “I snapped a pic of these awesome shoes that I want, am just waitin’ on them realizing they're supposed to be there”. Despite his obvious luke-warm IQ, it was hard not to be indeered to this guy. You were ready to write him off as a dumb meathead that would soon be imprisoned on your feet…until you actually looked at the picture on his phone. It showed a pair of white coloured High-Top sneakers, with red and black accents. You had to agree, they did look pretty awesome…however, the picture depicted the shoes on the floor of the train car, the exact same one you were in…then you realized what kind of phone this guy had…it was a TF phone.

You started to feel extremely lightheaded, your surroundings spinning rapidly around you. You looked down at your own TF device and your mistake was flashing right in your face. “Please Confirm Your Settings” was displayed on its screen. You had forgotten to press confirm, and without doing that, the device would never have fired…which meant that the bright flash of a TF beam didn't come from your device after all, but instead it came from the Muscular Jock Bro's phone!

Looking up at him in horror, you slid off your seat and landed with a thud on the floor right by the guy's nasty, beat-up gym sneakers.

“Yo, what you doin’ on the floor man…? Oh, wait! Are you tryna catch a whiff of ma feets? That's kinda weird Bro, my feet really stink, but, I guess it ain't hurtin’ no one…”, and with a confused, but friendly smile, the guy kicked off his sneakers and pressed his hot, stinky, sweat-soaked socked feet right against your face. “Oh, by the way, ma names Chad! I would ask for your name, but, I don't think shoes deserve names…”, despite retaining his air-headed bubbly himbo tone, the last line he spoke had a sinister edge to it, revealing that he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You had become completely paralyzed shortly after landing on the floor, so you could do nothing as the guy shoved his stinking,  rancid feet in your face. Was this karma…? Was the universe torturing you like this as a form of revenge on behalf of all your former victims? This was the only explanation that made sense to you. How else could you have forgotten such a simple step like press confirm on your settings, you've done that a million times! All you could do was sniff, Chad's putrid, toxic foot stink no doubt speeding up the transformation process as you felt a strange sensation in your skin.

“Uh…hey Bro!”, the guy called down to you, pretending badly to sound concerned, “you don't look so good, man…it looks like you'returnin’ whit! Are ma feets too stinky for ya!? Aw, am so sorry, Man”, his tone was dripping with sarcasm, and even worse, you could spot a very visible bulge pressing against his sweats…he was enjoying this.

His feet were so rancid,  but they were the least of your concerns. With pleading eyes, you looked up at him, begging, praying he would stop this…but the look of pleasure on his face told you that was never going to happen. As he gently stroked the sizable bulge in his pants, you felt your skin get tighter, squeezing out a few tears from your eyes…you didn't want this, you didn't want to be some guy's shoes! This guy was supposed to be your shoes!! As you felt a mix of fear and anger, your transformation seemed to accelerate, causing intense pain and discomfort as your body began to contort and reshape into its new form.

Staring down at you, the guy was now smirking, excited as he watched this happening to you. “Yo!!! Bro!!!! You're ma fuckin’ shoes now!!! Hahaha, pathetic loser!!!“, the guy eagerly watched as your horrific transformation was finalized, leaving you looking exactly like the picture on his phone.

Wasting no time, the guy pulled you onto his feet, your face instantly being squashed beneath his hot smelly foot. “Oh man, you feel so good on me, so comfortable!”, he remarked, pressing his foot down hard against your insole face.

This was Hell…not only were his feet fucking toxic, but the guy himself was a huge mound of muscle, weighing at least 400 pounds. However, your situation quickly changed from bad to worse when he pulled on the other shoe. From your experience with TFing people, you obviously knew the face became one of the insoles, but you never could figure out what formed the other insole…until now.

As Chad pulled on the other shoe, you could feel his sweaty toes sliding along your dick, before his heel settled down on top of your balls…this sensation made you want to cum so hard, but you couldn't, your cock was an insole. This orgasmic pleasure soon intensified as Chad played with the shoe on his foot, as if he knew your penis was now its insole. Pleasure turned to pain as there was no way to release the tension. 

“Oh please…please let me cum…oh god it hurts!!! Just let me cum, please god let me cum!!!”, you mentally begged, screamed and cried, but to release came. You were locked in eternal orgasm for the rest of your life!

“Oh f-fuck…”, that was the last thought you had before his full weight crushed down on your privets. You were in agony, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

As for the muscular guy, he couldn't help but admire the quality of his new shoes! They felt high end, and super comfortable. Testing them out with a stroll up and down the train car, he found that the shoes would contract around his feet with each step, almost as if the shoes were giving his feet a massage as he walked. “Man, it was awesome of you to turn into my shoes! Am gonna wear you everyday Bro, especially to the gym! You're ma new favorite pair now!”, he excitedly informed you, mercilessly wiggling his big thick toes on you.

You screamed at the thought of that. Everyday!? There was no way you could mentally survive that! You began to cry and plead, begging to be turned human again, but it never came. You would live out the rest of your existence on his feet, smelling, tasting and feeling every second of it at 10000X the insanity of a normal human. 

Chad kept his word and wore you every single day, and to torture you even further, he also never changed his sock either. Eventually, you would begin to rot on his feet, his rancid sweat dissolving your shoe bodies. First to go was your insole cock. Chad's sweat had quickly stained it a deep orange, and once that happened, the integrity of your insole cock rapidly deteriorated with searing, blinding pain. You thought your mind was going to burn up…in fact, you hoped it would…unfortunately it stayed intact, forcing you to feel you cock and balls rot away beneath Chad's foot. Next was your face, you could both smell and taste yourself rotting, but you never died. Chad simply threw you in a closet with the rest of his rotting sneakers, leaving you to your fate in pain and agony as shoes, forever!

This is a post requested by @anon-sect Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

Go check out @anon-sect and enduldge in his amazing TF stories!!

#inanimate transformation #permanent tf #inanimate tf #shoe tf #thank you #jock feet #tf story #tf caption #clothing tf

[ancientcharm]

Wikipedia article that is only available in Spanish. I translated into English some abstract to share here. I always wanted to write a post about that "Nerva Antonine" dynasty fallacy. Luckily I found someone who explains much better

Ulpia-Aelia Dynasty

Ulpia-Aelia Dynasty is the new name proposed by Alicia M. Canto and adopted by a sector of current historiography to refer to the seven emperors of the Roman Empire, from Nerva to Comodo. Specifically includes emperors Trajan, Hadrian, Antoninus Pius, Marcus Aurelius and his co-emperor Lucius Verus.

Doctrinal approaches

Unlike other dynasties such as the Julio-Claudian dynasty, the Flavian dynasty or the Severan dynasty, there is no agreement in Ancient History on how to group and name the emperors of the 2nd century, "the best century in the history of Humanity" according the British historian Edward Gibbon.

The most used definitions from the 18th century until today have been and are "the Antonines", "the Good Emperors" and "the Adoptive Emperors". There were only two Antonine: Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus, and both were, above all, two Aelii (from the Aelia family). The adoptions were just a political cosmetic operation, but they did not comply with the ideal principles of adoption described by Galba or Pliny the Younger.

The inappropriateness of these three universal classifications is more evident in the face of the 48 ancient texts that demonstrate that throughout that century there existed an authentic dynasty, of Hispanic origins and roots, whose real link was not the adoptions, but the line of blood and kinship, entrusted to the women of the dynasty, who transmitted the legitimacy to inherit the throne: Pompeia Plotina, Vibia Sabina, Matidia the Younger, and both Annias, the so-called Faustina the Elder and Faustina the Younger, ending in Commodus.

After the elderly Nerva as a necessary introducer, the following six emperors: Trajan, Hadrian, Antoninus Pius, Marcus Aurelius, Lucius Verus and Commodus - externi (foreigners) according to the Roman historian Aurelius Victor - form an authentic lineage.

All this led Maria M. Canto to propose the term "Ulpio-Aelia", "the Ulpii Aelii", to define the true dynasty of Hispanic origin that goes from Trajan to Commodus (98-192 AD). Some ancient authors, such greek historian Herodian, demonstrate that the Romans themselves did see Commodus as a direct descendant of Trajan, katá thêlugonía ("by the maternal line"), that is, through the aforementioned empresses, and as "A fourth generation emperor".

The reason why names such as "the Antonine dynasty" or "the Antonine emperors" have universally triumphed is not found in ancient texts, but in the European historiography of the 17th and 18th centuries, whose arguments in this sense, although they do not find real foundation in the texts, have been so generally accepted until now.

The new proposal has already been accepted by authors such as José María Blázquez,​ the Italian expert Anna Maria Reggiani, among others,​ and the definition can be seen integrated even in some university subject programs. Although, without a doubt, two and a half centuries of historiographic tradition is still very decisive in favor of the other definitions in use.

Note: ​Alicia María Canto y de Gregorio (Havana, April 23, 1949 – Madrid, March 4, 2024), known as Alicia M. Canto, was a Spanish archaeologist and epigrapher. In 2011 she was appointed corresponding academic of the Royal Academy of History.

Nerva was chosen just as transitional ruler following the assassination of Emperor Domitian. Except him the successors of "his dynasty" were related.

I'm really sick of hearing things such "Marcus Aurelius broke tradition by choosing moron Commodus just because he was his son; He made a serious mistake".

None of those emperors were chosen after going through a casting. Trajan's adoptive successor was his nephew, the only male relative he had, plus was married to Trajan's great-niece. Hadrian would have been emperor if Trajan had had a son? Marcus Aurelius and his wife Faustina were cousins, both descendants of Trajan, he on his father's side and she on his mother's side. Marcus Aurelius did nothing more than continue the true tradition of his family.

Just as Augustus' dynasty is known as the Julio-Claudian, ending with Nero, Trajan's is the Ulpia-Aelia dynasty, ending with Commodus. And in my opinion the term Nerva Antonine dynasty it just doesn't make sense.

#roman emperors #history #roman empire

[127luvr]

Hi can i ask for a male reader x doyoung, where they're both in school and they have an assignment to sing a duet, but doyoung just really chose m!r so that they can spend more time together. Then they kiss?

kiss ♫⋆｡♪ ₊

kim doyoung x male reader

doyoung had never questioned his life in music. he knew from a young age where he was headed--what path in life he wanted to pursue. he breathed music like it was his lifeline. it was the one thing in his life he never second-guessed. he knew he was good at it. at singing--at reading music--at conducting his class for an assignment--at teaching it when he became a student-teacher.

he was born for this.

you weren't as lucky.

the passion for music came from watching a performance of your school choir by chance. you were convinced that you were destined to pass by the auditorium at that very moment--destined to hear the way the ensemble blended their voices together so seamlessly--as if it was a body of water collectively sending waves to shore.

it was too late in the year to join the ensemble you heard, but you managed to squeeze in to one of the beginner classes. it was one of the things in life that you took seriously. staying after school for any extra help from upperclassmen. staying behind to see the rigorous practices that the advanced classes had. while you were graced with a natural talent for music, you still had so much to learn.

which is why you were the most excited when they assigned duets. the only strict rule being that it had to be someone that was in the choir program.

doyoung had taken a liking to you. watching you from the corner of his eye when you sat in one of their after-school practices. he watched the way your pencil followed along the sheet music as they sang, circling the dynamics on top--and underneath--the staff. he watched as your body followed the conductor's baton--watched as you sang along subconsciously to your voice part in the song. he knew without a doubt that he had to choose you for a duet.

he just wasn't entirely sure if it was for his own selfish reasons or for your raw talent.

"(y/n)?" you feel a light tap on your shoulder, the sudden sensation startling you. your binder slips out of your hands when you turn to doyoung, his nearness surprising you further. you can't help but gawk at him, ignoring the way your sheet music spills out of the binder on the floor. doyoung's eyes fall to the floor, his lips twitching slightly as he goes to pick it up for you. you are still watching him as he bends down, his long fingers quick with gathering your materials. you manage to look away as he straightens his posture again, holding his hands out to hand you your binder. "i know we aren't really familiar with each other, but did you want to team up for the duet assignment?"

he was one of the upperclassmen. one of the singers that stood out to you when you watched them practice. the critiques he received from directors were nitpick-y. always something about rounding out his vowels--looking more expressive. it was clear that they only picked on him for small things because they weren't able to find anything he was bad at. he didn't need to improve--but he did need to be pushed just like his classmates.

"yeah!"

you quickly realize that doyoung isn't in it for the music. he knows the song inside and out from the get-go. leaving you to scramble and learn the song even when you're not practicing together. this only makes you wonder what he was in it for. why he chose you of all people?

your practices were usually done in the school practice rooms. preferably one with an old piano in it--sometimes you weren't as lucky. but you watched as doyoung's eyes moved faster than his fingers, reading the music as he played the black and white piano keys. you were almost jealous of his talents. envious of his ability to multitask so effortlessly but he interprets your gaze differently. patting the space on the bench next to him so you could sit--instead of standing with your back to the wall, stiff.

"i like to learn the notes by playing them and then singing them. makes it easier to correct. do you want to try?" your hands hover over the keys, scared to play any of them incorrectly. if you were being honest, you only knew the name of the notes on your phone, where the keys were labeled. "here, i'll show you."

you don't expect doyoung to put his hands on top of yours, guiding them to where he was previously playing. but the piano is the last thing on your mind. instead, thoughts of doyoung's soft skin and dainty fingers replace any and all rational thoughts from your brain.

"the note in between these black keys is d. if you look at the piano you will notice that the pattern repeats over and over again, so the notes only go a, b, c, d, e, f and g. and then back to a. the black keys are semitones--flat or sharp. it just depends on what key we're in, you know?" doyoung finally takes note of your flushed face, his hands immediately clammy on top of yours as he watches you chew your bottom lip anxiously. "(y/n)? did you get any of that?"

"uh-"

"is there a way for me to keep you concentrated?" your gaze drops down to his pouty lips, subconsciously licking your own as you stare them down. this doesn't go unnoticed by doyoung--who has been yearning for your affection since your practices together started. "kissing you?"

for a moment you thought you had shared your thoughts out loud--only to find that your lips were still shut. doyoung was the first to bring up a kiss. that could only mean that he wanted to. that it crossed his mind before it crossed yours. he leans in, with his hands still on top of yours. you're aware of his nearness. the way his cool breath hits your cupid's bow. the way he smells like baby powder--and a little bit like sweat from being in this room for so long. your eyes finally meet again which causes him to tilt his head, raising his eyebrows as if to ask you for a second time.

"here?" but you're the first one to close the gap, the first to meet your lips together. completely disregarding the glass door. completely disregarding that someone might walk by. but none of it matters--not when doyoung's lips feel heavenly. and he's drinking you up like you're a glass of iced tea on a hot summer day. you almost don't want to pull away. wanting to stay in his warmth even if the positioning was awkward. "we can practice at my place next time."

#HELLOOOOO #im loving all of the doyoung requests #he's my little bunny #i was in choir for like 7+ years #my knowledge might be limited idk i miss learning about music #nct #nct u #nct 127 #nct dojaejung #nct x male reader #x male reader #kim doyoung #doyoung x male reader #<3

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Breeding the Winter Soldier"

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 7893

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: a/b/o, Omega Bucky, Alpha Steve, Hydra wins, dark AU, forced mating, breeding program, coerced sex, restraints, heats/ruts, forced to fuck, past Bucky x Brock, HTP adjacent, mind control, anal sex, hurt/comfort (mostly comfort)

A.N.: this was written all the way back in 2017!

Breeding the Winter Soldier

“Looks like they gave Cap his assignment,” Rollins chuckles from where he’s sitting, boots propped up on the observation room’s control panel. “Doesn’t seem too happy about being told he’s gotta breed ‘im.”

Brock scoffs lightly, unable to help himself from lighting up out of frustration as he stares through the one-way glass window at their prisoner. Smoking isn’t allowed inside the facility, but that’s never stopped Brock. “This is bullshit,” he complains around the cigarette between his lips, tossing the spent match to the floor as he gets a good first lungful of nicotine. Beyond the window, Captain fucking America—or what used to be Captain America— is pacing, pacing, pacing, distressed at the news. Brock seethes quietly. “Project Genesis is mine. He was supposed to be mine.”

And now Steven Grant Rogers is the one they want instead. The superior choice, apparently, for siring little super-soldiers. Brock had broken whatever he’d been holding when he’d first heard the order come down—a coffee mug, he thinks it was. The order strictly reassigned him as handler only to the asset, the one to supervise the project. Supervise. Brock cringes at the restriction of the word. He’s been the asset’s commanding officer for going on five years now. Unofficially, he’s been his alpha for two. He’s the one who knows the asset, understands him. He’s the only one who knows how to make him work right, how to get through to him. He’s the one who cares about him, who satisfies him through his heats. And now Hydra is forcing him to give that all away?

His mate is going to be so confused.

Rollins tells him to chill. “I’m sure they’ll still let you fuck around with him once he’s pupped a few litters.”

“That’s not the fucking point!” Brock roars, angry but not at Rollins. Jack seems to know this, as he doesn’t move at all from his lazy posture in the chair. “He’s my omega. I’m perfectly capable of breeding him, if that’s what they want.”

Rollins shrugs. “You ain’t got that super soldier sperm.”

“Captain. Hail Hydra.”

Steve looks up from where he’s been eating his breakfast and frowns at the sight of Rumlow. It’s strange and upsetting to see people that he knew from before. People who he’d thought were the good guys. Brock looks the same as he did a year ago. Same haircut, same face, same tactical gear that he used to wear when he was on Shield’s Strike team, when he was Steve’s friend. Only now there is no Shield, and there are no friends. Now they all belong to Hydra whether they want to or not.

“Hail Hydra,” Steve mumbles into the cold milk of his cereal.

“Gotta come with me, Cap,” Rumlow tells him. “Today’s the day.”

Steve looks up at him, eyes angry and tired. “I’m not doing it,” he says. He’s fucking not doing it. They can’t make him.

“I’m not in the mood for this today.” Rumlow calls in the four guards that he’s brought with him and has them stand there with their stun batons as a warning for Steve. Before, they never would’ve been enough to keep him subdued. But that was before. Steve knows it’ll be no use trying to fight them off. He lets his spoon drop into the cereal bowl.

They take him down to the wing where they keep Bucky, to a room with a bed, a minifridge and an exam chair. It’s a heat suite, where they intend to force him to do this, Steve supposes. Bucky’s not there. There’s a tech waiting for them and when Steve lays eyes on the prepped syringes he tenses, tries to turn around. He winds up with a stun baton jammed to his neck and the next thing he knows he’s restrained in the chair. The tech is bringing a needle over and Steve pulls with all his might against the mag restraints. They don’t budge. “Relax,” Rumlow says. He’s standing beside Steve. “It’s just something to help you.”

“Help me how?” Steve asks, afraid. He’s already drugged up six ways to Sunday. Drugs to keep him weak, drugs to keep him dazed, drugs to keep him calm. If he didn’t heal so rapidly his inner arms would look like pincushions by now. The injections erase who he is, erase any possibility of a fight, let alone an escape. He doesn’t want any more injections.

“Something to kickstart your rut,” Brock says. He points to the other needles, one by one. “An aphrodisiac. A benzo to lower your inhibitions. Hormones to increase the chances of conceiving.”

Steve sneers. “I’m not doing it. I’m not hurting him.”

“You sure as hell better not,” Brock tells him, and there’s something about the way that he says it that has Steve paying closer attention. Steve takes notice of how tense Rumlow seems, upset almost. He smells the sour tint of possessiveness rolling off of him. “He’s mine,” Brock says. It’s obvious he’s not talking about his role as Bucky’s handler.

Steve squints for a moment. “…No,” he says, eyes widening. Rumlow smirks when he sees that Steve is finally figuring it out. “You’ve had him.”

“Wow. Took you long enough Cap. Thought you would’ve at least smelled him on me, all the times I fucked him before passing you in the hall.”

Steve grits his teeth, fury building in him in a way that he didn’t think was possible, not with all of the mood stabilizers Hydra’s got him on. “You fucking raped him?!” The tech comes over and jabs Steve while he’s distracted, not that he can move much in the restraints anyway. The needle stings going in, but the anger coursing through him is worse than the cold flush of medicine through his veins.

Brock looks at Steve with contempt. “I’m his handler. He hasn’t been raped since I started caring for him.”

Steve pants in his seat, feeling his temperature start to climb as the drugs work into his system. “Is that what you call it?” he sneers. “You think you’re taking care of him?”

“I know you’re not happy about this,” Brock tells him. “But let me tell you something: neither am I.”

“What are you talking about?”

Brock tells the tech to get out of the room. He orders the AI system that they stole from Stark Industries to stop monitoring them. Once they’re all alone he tells Steve, “He’s mine, Rogers.” Steve growls at him and that makes Rumlow roll his eyes. He drags a stool over to sit right in front of where Steve is restrained. “What you’re participating in? It’s called Project Genesis.”

“Yeah, trying to make baby supersoldiers, I get it,” Steve snaps. “I’m not doing it.”

“It’s the only fucking reason you’re alive right now,” Brock tells him. “And it’s the only reason he’s not gathering dust in some cryo vault.”

Steve can’t suppress his frown. “What?”

Brock sighs. “You’ve both been decommissioned. Hydra is a major world power now. One or two enhanced assets aren’t worth our time anymore. An army of supersoldiers, however, is. That’s what he’s still useful for.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“Yeah? How do you think I feel?” Brock snaps. “I was the one who was supposed to breed him. Was working on it just fine till they brought you in. I’m sure you think he’ll be happy to see you but let me tell you, he won’t.” Brock can smell the change coming over the other alpha, can smell his body ramping up for a rut. Beneath the scent of sex hormones is the sour tinge of chemicals. It makes Brock want to curl his nose and bare his teeth in a challenge, or maybe turn away to escape the smell altogether. “He doesn’t know you Cap, and you’re just going to scare him if you come at him acting like he should be glad to see you.”

Steve glares at him. “He does remember me. He knew me on the helicarrier.” Bucky had known him. He had.

But Brock shakes his head. “No. He only has bits and pieces Rogers. He’s my omega. I bonded to him years ago.”

Steve growls and pulls at his restraints again. “No!”

“Calm the fuck down!” Brock leans in closer. He looks mad. Smells mad too. “This isn’t about you or me. It’s not up to us. Do you think I’d let you touch him if it was?”

“He’s not yours,” Steve grits out. “And I’m not going to touch him.”

Brock huffs. “You wait till those drugs kick in, you’ll be singing a different tune.” He looks at Steve seriously. “And just so you know, he’s already in heat.”

Steve’s eyes widen at that. “What?”

“Yeah. He’s hot and aching and he knows what his mission is. He’s not going to fight it,” Brock says. “But he’s expecting me. He’s expecting someone that he knows to help him feel better. And he’s going to be confused when I bring him in here and tell him that he has to let another alpha fuck him. A stranger. So I need for you to calm down. I don’t want him scared. You and I are going to talk to him together and you’re going to be gentle with him.”

Steve can feel arousal building in himself, and it’s strange to feel that while he’s sitting there next to Rumlow, being told all of this. The chemically-induced rut is coming on fast. “Shit,” he curses, head falling back to the chair behind him. He can feel himself firming up beneath the thin cotton of his sleep pants and he hates that he can’t hide it from Rumlow. “I can’t do this. Please don’t make me do this.”

“Get it together Cap,” Rumlow snaps, unhappy.

“Fuck you!” Steve spits.

Brock sighs. “I was hoping you’d shut up but I can see that’s not going to happen. He crosses the room only to return with a gag in his hands. He forces Steve’s jaw open and presses the ball gag in, saying nothing about the fight Steve puts up. Once it’s secured and Steve is heaving angry breaths at him, Brock says, “I’m going to get him now. If you care about him at all you won’t make this worse for him than it has to be.” He gets up and leaves through the room’s only door and Steve is forced to wait long minutes, panting and sweating at the oncoming rush of a forced rut.

The asset is relieved when its handler comes to retrieve it. It entered its heat hours ago and has had to wait, alone and aching, in the little room. “Come on James,” the handler says when the asset stands from its little cot, and the asset remembers that this is supposed to be its name. He’s never heard it before—not from anyone besides his handler. It's probably invented, but he likes that he uses it. Even if it’s made up, it’s something special between just the two of them.

Now they’ll go to the other room, the one where they always go when he is to be bred. James looks forward to it because he knows it’ll make him feel better. Brock (that’s his handler’s name. He’s allowed to use it when they’re alone) will give him everything he needs, will knot him and hopefully fill him with pups. That’s their mission. So far they’ve been unsuccessful but the asset thinks it’s because his heats used to be so unpredictable. Now he’s been out of cryo long enough that he’s cycling regularly again, his body ready for a pregnancy.

The asset has never thought about reproducing. An assassin doesn’t think of such things, a weapon certainly doesn’t. But James does. James doesn’t mind his new mission. He hasn’t told his handler, but he secretly prefers serving Hydra this way over what he used to do. This way he doesn’t have to go into the cold. And they don’t wipe him. And there’s someone who cares for him—his alpha. Deep down, he secretly likes the idea of having a baby, something that’s his that isn’t garbage or government-issued. Something that’s all his. He doesn’t tell his handler about this either.

They enter the other room and there is someone else there. It’s a man, an alpha. He’s restrained and in rut, that much is clear right away. The asset is nearly knocked back by the abrupt smell of him. Brock notices and laughs, reaching to grab him by the arm and pull him closer. “Easy babe.”

The asset scans his eyes over the man on the chair. He’s big. Tall and muscled, with blond hair and handsome features. He’s clearly upset. He struggles against his bonds as they approach, making useless sounds through the gag in his mouth. The asset looks questioningly at Brock. “Who is he?” He’s not really supposed to ask questions unprompted, but over time he’s learned that it’s okay with his handler, with Brock.

“His name is Captain Rogers,” Brock says. “Former SHIELD operative. He’s an enhanced like you are.”

The asset nods. He was unaware that there were others like himself. There used to be a program, but it had failed. He can remember helping, being tasked with training a group of men and women to make them stronger, better. But they’d gone wild and had been eliminated. The mission had failed.

“We have new orders,” Brock tells him, and this is when he takes his hand, squeezes it reassuringly. James purrs at the contact, moves to begin removing his clothes as is expected of him. But Brock stops him. “Wait, babe.”

The man in the chair growls at the pet name and James whines. He doesn’t want the other alpha to be there. He wants to be naked, in a bed, under his mate. “I’m hot,” he points out. “I need to get undressed.”

“You can,” Brock tells him. He pets the side of James’ face. “But I’m not going to be here with you.”

The asset frowns in confusion. “What?” He doesn’t understand. This is the breeding room. James is in heat. It’s their mission—they’ll be punished if they don’t complete it. The asset tilts his head, baring his neck, trying to show his alpha how ready he is. “Alpha please,” he whines. He’d hit the floor and present if not for the other alpha in the room. “I’m in heat. I need it.”

Brock shushes him, gentles a hand down his side. It feels good but it’s not nearly enough. “I know baby, I know. You’ll get a knot, just not mine.” The asset is confused again, but only for a second. His eyes dart over to where the other alpha is bound. Brock sees this and he nods, “Yeah baby, you’re going to mate with him.”

“What?” A low noise of distress leaves James’ throat, unbidden. He’s not supposed to make noises like that. But Brock never punishes him for such mistakes, not when it’s just the two of them. “No. You’re supposed to do it. You’re my mate,” he says, feeling scared. He’s not supposed to argue with directions. “Alpha?” he says, trying to press his nose into Brock’s neck, trying to ignore the other man in the room. “The mission,” he urges. “Breed me. Put pups in me.”

But Brock just kisses his temple and sets him back firmly. “Sorry babe,” he says. “It’s orders.”

Steve tries to speak through the gag but of course it’s no use.

He is forced to sit there and watch as Rumlow comes into the room with Bucky, holding his hand, for Christ’s sake. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind at all. He makes a pleased sound whenever Brock touches him, and when he calls him pet names. Steve feels his guts lurch at the obvious show of affection between them. He feels jealously flare up in his core like a rabid animal, wanting to kill the other alpha for touching Bucky, for trying to claim the omega that should be his.

That, he knows, is his rut talking. It’s gotten worse in the past ten minutes since Brock left him here, tied to the exam chair and gagged. Steve’s skin itches and his pulse throbs. Between his legs, he’s hard. And now that Bucky has come into the room, now that Steve can smell him, it’s so much worse. Bucky smells like damp, cloying earth. He smells like dark, cramped spaces and tangled up bodies. He smells like something Steve wants to bury his face in and not come up for air from. Steve takes one look at him and feels the urge to chase him, catch him, pin him down come unbidden. All he can do is wiggle ineffectively in his bonds.

In front of him, Brock is telling Bucky that he has to mate with Steve. Steve’s heart clenches when Bucky looks over to him, tense and afraid. His eyes do not hold recognition. Steve listens as Bucky pleads and whines to Brock, calling him his alpha, begging him to breed him instead. And Brock fucking comforts him, pets him and gives him a kiss and tells him it’s okay. Bucky looks like he never wants to leave Brock’s side. Steve clenches his eyes shut at the sight.

“Rogers.”

Steve’s eyes open. Brock is standing right in front of him. Bucky is still hanging back, looking unsure. “You see?” Brock says, and he’s not bragging or gloating or anything. He’s just trying to get Steve to listen. “He’s used to being with me, Cap. He doesn’t know you. Now are you gonna behave if I take that gag out? Not going to upset him?”

Steve glares at Rumlow, but after a moment manages a terse nod. The gag gets removed, and Steve takes a moment to swallow the spit in his mouth, lick his lips and crack his jaw. “Thanks,” he grunts, not feeling at all thankful.

Rumlow nods, chucks the gag away. “I’m not going to let you up from that chair yet,” he tells Steve. “That I’ll do remotely, once I’m out of the room.”

Steve sneers. “What? You afraid to be alone with me?”

Brock raises his eyebrows. “First of all, I’m not alone.” He nods back to Bucky. “I’ve got him. Don’t let his role in our breeding program fool you; he’s still perfectly capable of ending a man with his bare hands. If I give him the order to, that is. Secondly, I’m not going to let you out of that chair while I’m in the room because you’re in rut. A rut that we chemically engineered to match his heat. You’re geared up to attack any alpha that comes near him.”

Steve scoffs. “I’ve got better control than you, animal.”

Brock looks back at Bucky and calls him over, but he calls him James, and that rankles Steve more than anything else yet. “Come here James,” Rumlow says. He holds out his arm and Bucky comes over obediently. “This is Steve. He’s not a big fan of mine, I’m sure you can tell.”

“Bucky,” Steve says urgently. “Bucky I’m not going to hurt you. Okay? Don’t worry.”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Bucky murmurs to Brock.

Brock glares at Steve. “I told you Cap. He doesn’t know any of that.” Brock pulls Bucky closer, encourages him to go up and touch Steve where he’s restrained to the chair. “Go ahead babe. You heard him: he won’t hurt you. Have a look at him.”

Bucky does. He inches closer until his leg hits the side of the chair. He reaches forward with careful fingers, as if Steve is a wild animal that might bite. Bucky’s eyes are cold and calculating as they pass over Steve, no recognition to them. Not like Steve wants. “He’s healthy,” Bucky murmurs, almost as if he’s afraid to say it. “Strong.” Behind, Brock chuckles a little.

“Yeah he is. Don’t worry though. He won’t be rough on you.” Brock meets Steve’s eyes over Bucky’s head. “I have it on good authority. He’s going to be real gentle.”

Bucky doesn’t react to this, and Steve feels as if he can hardly breathe as Bucky continues to examine him. He touches Steve’s arms, his legs, his chest. Steve is still clothed, but the touches ramp up the desire that the drugs have kickstarted. In his pants, he’s hard as a rock. Bucky leans down and sticks his nose into Steve’s neck, scenting at the glands there. It’s all Steve can do not to moan where he’s sitting, all he can do not to try and thrust his hips up the way his body wants to. After a long inspection, Bucky seems to make up his mind about Steve. He stands back and away, looks to Brock. “He’ll sire good pups. I understand why he’s been chosen.” He nods once to show his obedience in the matter. “I’ll complete the mission.”

Brock smiles at him. “Good boy.”

“Buck you don’t have to do anything these sacks of shit tell you to—”

“Cap,” Rumlow warns, “That ain’t the way. He WILL do what we tell him to. And if you’re resisting, he’ll take you by force. That how you want this to go?”

Steve grimaces at the threat, imagining the absurdity of Bucky raping him. “He should have a choice,” Steve tells Rumlow darkly, hating the man with every fiber of his being. “Does this make you proud?” he asks. “Treating him like a thing? Violating him?” Steve forces himself to meet Rumlow’s eyes in an imploring manner. “You said that you mated him. If that’s true, is this really what you want for him?”

Rumlow shakes his head, looks at Steve as if he’s incredibly thickheaded. “You just don’t get it, do ya Cap?” He walks over, takes a hold of Bucky’s neck and pulls him in for a deep kiss. Steve watches the display with horror, especially once Bucky brings both of his hands up to cradle Rumlow’s jaw. Brock pulls away from Bucky, their lips separating with a pop, and he glares at Steve. “This isn’t about ‘want’. It’s about following orders.” With that he pushes Bucky up to stand close to Steve, turning away before either man can stop him. “Now just shut up, lay back, and get him pregnant,” he throws over his shoulder as he walks out the door.

James tries not to feel anything when his mate leaves the room. He tries to slip back into the mindset of the Asset, a place where feelings are irrelevant. Brock has explained the parameters of the mission, has given the soldier his orders. Now James will execute. He tips his ear towards the door, his enhanced hearing helping him to pick up on the sounds of many intricate locking mechanisms being set. He flicks his gaze back up to the body of the other man—the man they’ve chosen to sire his pups.

James wants to sneer, feels like maybe he does. He shuffles uncomfortably in place, wetness already growing sticky and cool where it’s seeped into the back of his pants. He wonders if Captain Rogers can smell it. Stepping close to the chair where he’s restrained, James examines the mag cuffs that hold him in place. They’re similar to the ones that his handlers use on him. It makes James wonder just how strong this man is. Brock had said he was enhanced. He tilts his head in curiosity.

“… Bucky—”

“Directive clarification,” James calls out to the room, ignoring whatever the Captain had been about to say to him. James doesn’t wait for a response; he knows they’re being watched. “Am I to mount him like this?” he asks, not particularly caring either way. He shouldn’t care about this stranger’s comfort during the act—he’s not Brock. The soldier has his orders and James has no choice. He has to do it. A quick glance shows him what he can already smell: Captain Rogers is fully erect beneath his clothing. On the chair or in a bed, he’ll be easy enough for James to take inside of his body. But a crackle comes through the speakers in the ceiling, echoing Brock’s voice into the room:

“Use the bed if you want. He’s been chemically subdued so he shouldn’t be able to put up much a fight. Releasing mag cuffs in three, two...”

In the next second the restraints on the chair click open, and James turns back in time to see Captain Rogers pulling his arms away from the chair. He sits up, swinging his legs over the side. His bare feet touch the floor but he remains perched on the chair’s edge. For the first time, James realizes that the Captain is dressed in sleeping clothes. A standard issue tee shirt and cotton pants are all he wears. “Bucky,” he says again, holding out an arm in James’ direction. It is unclear if the gesture is meant to beckon James closer or to keep him at bay. James is not unaware that, omega or not, he presents a threatening image to most men. With this in mind he narrows his stance, draws his shoulders down to seem as small and nonthreatening as possible. Hopefully this will keep the Captain from trying to do something as counterproductive as running, or fighting.

“I realize you don’t recognize me, but don’t be scared. I’m not going to hurt you. My name’s Steve.

James blinks at him. He takes stock of the situation. Captain Rogers—Steve—has been made aware of his role in the breeding program. He’s been given his orders just like James has, but he’s resisting. James can smell it on him, the warring scents of desire and disgust. James steps closer, tilting his head to the side once he’s just in front of him. “Smell that?” he asks, being sure to keep his eyes cast down. The Captain’s hands are clenched tightly by his sides as James bares his neck in a submissive gesture. “Come on,” he says as gently as he can. “Alpha?”

“Don’t,” Steve bites out. He sounds pained. “Don’t call me that Buck.”

James bites his cheek, thinking he may just have to use physical force if this man won’t listen. “You’re in forced rut,” he says, trying again. “That can’t feel good.”

Steve huffs an abortive laugh. “Yeah.”

“You’re flushed,” James tells him. There is perspiration all along the collar of Steve’s tee. “And you’re hot. Burning-up-inside hot. Believe me I know how it feels. When you’re so desperate that you’re miserable?” He reaches for the hem of his own shirt, pulls it quickly over his head. He knows that the movement makes his scent burst into the air. Now his top half is exposed and James has to hold in the sigh that wants to come at the relief of having that much less clothing on his body. He tosses his shirt aside. In front of him, Steve’s nostrils are flaring. “It doesn’t have to be like that,” he tells him, “You can have me. It’ll help.”

Steve’s fingers sink into the chair’s cushion, little bits of foam padding ripping out and falling to the floor. His scent is soaring—a deep, rich scent like copper and burnt wood. James grits his teeth at the sudden urge to drop and present. He slowly reaches out with his flesh hand and touches Steve’s thigh. “Why are you afraid?” he asks. It’d be nice to know. Everyone always seems to know more than he does…

“I can’t hurt you like this Buck. I just can’t.”

James shushes him, ignores the continued use of that nonsensical name, Bucky. “You won’t,” he soothes, pulling lightly at the fabric of Steve’s pants in an effort to get him to slide off the chair. “I’m in heat. I’m ready. It won’t hurt.”

Steve scoffs, but he does allow himself to be moved. Standing barefoot, they come eye to eye. “That’s not the kind of hurt I meant.”

James ignores the clench his heart gives as he thinks of Brock. He wonders if his alpha is watching from another room, observing them through a little camera. He hopes not. “Come here,” James says, pulling Steve forward. Steve’s hands find their way to his hips, and James feels more slick rush out of his body at the contact. He whimpers without meaning to. “Scent me,” he says, tilting his head again. He’s pressing up against Steve, their bodies connected from thigh to chest. He can feel the alpha’s erection and he’s certain that Steve can feel his. But that hardly matters as Steve releases an answering growl somewhere in his throat. His head dips down and he buries his nose in the crook of James’ neck. James’ breath leaves him in a satisfied puff. He’s been in heat for nearly twenty-four hours with no relief until now. He’d been expecting Brock, his mate, but the mission has changed.

His body has already decided for him, he realizes. It doesn’t matter that this isn’t Brock. Doesn’t matter that it’s a stranger who’s been selected to put pups in him. James’ body recognizes this Steve for what he is; a strong, virile alpha.

The Asset grabs Steve with his metal hand, pushing him towards the bed before the other man can protest.

Steve stumbles over his own feet, not having been prepared for the rough grab and push of Bucky’s metal arm. He falls gracelessly back onto the room’s bed with a grunt. Bucky doesn’t give him time to recover. He’s there in a flash, one hand planted in the center of Steve’s chest and the other yanking down his pants. Bucky tosses them to the floor and reaches for Steve’s shirt. But Steve isn’t having it. He grabs Bucky’s arms and attempts to fight him. They grapple for all of three seconds before Bucky has him pinned, and Steve is panting furiously. The drugs make him so much weaker than before. With Bucky’s metal arm in play he doesn’t stand a chance. Begging is all he’s got left, it seems. “Please,” he says, staring imploringly. “You don’t want to do this.”

Bucky ignores him completely. He rips Steve’s tee shirt down the front like it’s paper, pulls it off of him and throws it somewhere in the general vicinity of where the pants had gone. Leaning forward over Steve’s now-naked body, he gives a very un-omega like growl. “Stay down.” He stands up and divests himself of the boots he’s wearing, then his pants.

Of course Steve doesn’t listen. He manages to prop himself up by the time Bucky’s taking his underwear off, and the scent that hits Steve then is so strong it makes him clench his eyes shut. “Fuck.” He can’t look at Bucky, he can’t or he’ll lose his shit. The bed dips and Steve jerks as Bucky pulls him to lie down again, too much naked skin pressed up along his own. “Bucky, don’t—” He’s cut off by lips crashing down on his own. Bucky wastes no time in forcing his way, mouthing and biting at Steve to make him open up. His hands pull at Steve’s hair and he fucks his tongue lewdly into his mouth. A garbled noise that probably would have been a moan had it been allowed to form leaves Steve, his hands grabbing the first part of Bucky they can find—his hips. Steve pulls on Bucky, whether to bring him closer or push him away he’s not sure, but he winds up tugging the other man fully atop him, and the second Steve feels him start rolling his hips downwards, he’s lost.

Bucky breaks the kiss, pulling away. Steve opens his eyes to see the omega staring at him, eyes a hard grey. He’s still fucking downwards, rubbing himself off against the crest of Steve’s groin, and his breath has become harsh. “This is our mission,” he breathes, sounding rough and desperate. “We have to. You have to.”

Steve feels sickness rise up and mingle with the desperation of his rut again. “No.”

“Yes.”

Steve repeats the ‘no’ several times more as Bucky continues to writhe against him, but his hands don’t loosen their hold on Bucky’s hips, and he doesn’t try to push Bucky off of him. “I can’t.”

Bucky makes an angry sound in his throat and yanks Steve’s head back with the grip he has on his hair. It’s his metal hand and it hurts. “You don’t have a choice,” he says. Steve growls at the dominant gesture, his hindbrain urging him to put the omega in his place. But Bucky leans closer again. For a second Steve thinks he’s going to kiss him, but he doesn’t. He puts his lips to Steve’s ear, the dark length of his hair falling around them. “Don’t make me take it,” he whispers, sounding desperate. His hips have not stopped moving. “Please. Alpha. You’re supposed to give it to me. Take me. Don’t make me do it.”

Steve groans. There’s nothing worse that Bucky could have said. He’s in heat, and Steve’s in rut, and now he’s calling Steve Alpha and begging Steve to mate with him the way that he wants it; to take him the way an alpha should take their omega. Steve opens his eyes to find Bucky staring at him once again, only this time his eyes are soft and his brow is pinched—pleading. He looks more like the Bucky that Steve remembers, and Steve can’t ignore the urge within himself to make that pleading look go away, to satisfy.

He flips them over. The only reason he’s able to do it is because he takes Bucky completely by surprise. Bucky’s eyes go wide for a moment, assessing a threat, before he realizes the move for what it is and he relaxes and purrs. Steve doubts himself immediately. He brings his hands to Bucky’s face, pleased when he’s not pushed away and Bucky fucking bends his neck to expose himself. “Alpha,” Bucky whines, but Steve’s not having it.

“You listen to me,” he says angrily, using the last goddamn piece of himself that he has left to convey seriousness in his tone. Bucky stares at him obediently and Steve swallows. “They don’t wipe my memory, got it? You may not remember me, but I remember you. And I won’t hurt you. I hurt you, you have to tell me. If you want to stop, you tell me. Got it?”

James frowns, even in his lust-ridden brain he knows he does. This stranger—no, some distant and unreachable part of his mind corrects, not a stranger—Steve—is referencing the wipes, is telling him that they’ve met before. James can’t disprove such a claim. He wonders if this Captain Rogers was once his handler, or possibly a target. He wonders if “Bucky” was his call sign then. Steve is still staring intently at him, waiting for his answer, and James shakes his head to get the thoughts to go away. They’re not important, not relevant to the mission. If his promise is all the Captain needs, then it means nothing to James to give it. “You won’t hurt me,” he says again, thinking that the alpha above him is stupid to imagine that he could, but adds, “I’ll tell you if you do.”

That seems to settle it for Steve. He comes down and kisses James’ forehead, leaves his lips to linger there in a manner that makes James distinctly uncomfortable—as if they are old friends, or family even. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Turn over.”

James flips, never having obeyed an order so quickly. He tries to push himself up to present but with Steve’s heavy weight at his back he can’t do it. Behind, he can feel the alpha’s hardness pressing between his cheeks and it makes him whine needily. This may be a mission, but he’s still been left wanting and unfulfilled for close to going on twenty four hours now. There are no feelings of doubt or discontent with the situation that James needs to force down to be a good soldier. He’s allowed to want this, and he does. “Alpha,” he urges when Steve doesn’t move to penetrate him. “Please. Now, please.”

He can feel the exact moment when Steve gives in. His hands are clamped tightly on James’ wrists to keep him still, but when James nearly begs to be fucked it seems to push the alpha off whatever edge of hesitance he’s still managing to hang onto. James can feel Steve’s cock on his ass as he allows himself to thrust at last. The teasing slide is made easier by the slick that’s gathered there. James groans in frustration, rubbing his face into the bed and fairly suffocating himself as he waits for the other man to get on with it and get inside of him. He’s aching for it, for the stretch and pressure of an alpha’s cock, for a knot. He knows he’ll start yelling in a moment if Steve doesn’t DO SOMETHING.

But he does, and James doesn’t have to yell at him after all. Steve presses up onto his arms, the sweaty warmth of his chest leaving James’ back. He positions himself, bumping against James’ hole, and it’s a relief that he forgoes the unnecessary gesture of using fingers first—James is sure he would snap at him if he tried. Steve presses inside, entering him slowly but never stopping until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with James’ ass. It’s not hard to take him in. James’ body is slick and ready for it and he groans lowly into the bed at the sheer relief of it. “Yesss,” he hisses, and turns his head as much as he can to look back at Steve. The man looks about as gone for it as James feels, and a dark thrill shoots through him at the thought that he’s about to be taken just the way he wants to be. Fucked and bred just the way his body is crying out for. It may not be Brock, but James has decided not to think about that. All he can think about in his current state is Steve; the smell of him, the feel of him, even the sounds he makes, it all feels too perfectly satisfying. Maybe it has something to do with the barrage of drugs the techs had shot him up with yesterday. Maybe. He’s not supposed to care though, and he doesn’t. He tries to thrust his hips backwards, wanting movement and having no idea how the other man can bear to hold so still now that they’re connected. There’s nowhere to go with Steve pinning him down at the hips, but he knows the Alpha feels him squirming, recognizes it for the request that it is. “Move,” James says, sounding more demanding than a good omega should. “God just…”

Steve has a hand in his hair and his nose in his neck before James can finish the sentence. A very low growl, almost a feeling more than a sound, is coming out steadily from his chest. It makes goosebumps break out on James’ arms. “Are you telling me what to do?” Steve asks.

Against the bed, Bucky’s mouth splits in a smug grin. This is what he wanted, what Brock would’ve done. At the height of his heats, all the asset wants, all James wants, is to be taken. To be held down and owned. James strains to look back over his shoulder. The angle is awkward but he ignores it, fixing Steve with what he hopes is a challenging stare. If he has to goad the alpha into a more feral headspace to get things done, then by god that’s exactly what he’ll do. “I came here to get fucked, so yeah, I am. Move,” he bites out, hoping that it will spur Steve into action. It does. He pulls out, ignoring James’ cry of protest. His big hands slide down to his hips and he gets onto his knees behind him. James follows, pressing back and presenting. He can feel Steve’s hands pulling him apart, baring his hole. There is silence and James knows without having to look that Steve is just staring at him. The thought of it makes him shudder. He presses his face into the bedding and whines.

“God,” Steve exclaims softly, dragging a thumb across his leaking hole. “You’re soaked.”

James cannot stop whining low, needy omega sounds. Then he feels the blunt head of Steve’s cock at his entrance and he moans. “Yes,” he hisses, though it’s muffled against the sheets. He presses his ass back harder, and that causes Steve to pop inside of him. The alpha grunts in surprise, but then he’s right back to thrusting, this time faster. Just as deep though, and god, if that isn’t exactly what James wants. “Oh, hugn—oh!” The noises he’s making are obscene but James hardly notices. They seem to drive Steve on, his hips slapping harder each time he moans particularly loud.

It goes on like this until James reaches for his own cock. He only gets a couple of strokes in before Steve is knocking his hand away. James cries out indignantly but then Steve pulls out, flips him over and pushes right back in. He wraps his hand around James’ cock, hips working at the same pace as his hand. He’s staring down at James with a burning intensity, breath heavy with his efforts. “Mine,” he growls, giving a calculated twist on the upstroke.

James’ eyes roll back in his head. “Ugh, fuuck.” It’s incredible and nothing he’s used to. No alpha has ever done this for him before, always leaving it to him to take care of. He can hardly thrust into the grip very well when he’s being fucked as hard as he is, but damn if he doesn’t try. “Please,” he groans, grappling at Steve’s shoulders for something to hold onto. He hardly knows what he’s asking for. The alpha is sweaty above him and James’ hands glide over the muscles in his back. “Please, Steve,”

Steve’s eyes shoot to his at the use of his name. Something raw and more intense than what they’re doing now passes through them, and before James knows what’s happening he’s being kissed. It’s not gentle. It’s plying, and insistent, and needy. God, is it needy. Steve is kissing him like it’s the answer to something and all James can do is go along for the ride.

“Bucky,” Steve is grunting at him when he finally parts enough to speak. James knows he’s speaking to him, so he opens his eyes to the nonsensical name. He doesn’t really care what this man calls him, so long as he never stops. “Buck I’m gonna,” Steve tells him, brow sweaty and pinched. “I have to.”

James groans, feeling how true the alpha’s words are. His knot is growing, tugging more insistently with every thrust. When it feels like Steve might pull away at the last second, James wraps his arms and legs around him in a fierce hold. “No,” he begs. “Inside me. I need it.” He’s not thinking even a little bit about the mission now, only the ache inside him. It’s an ache only a knot will fix, and he whimpers this to Steve as he holds him. “Knot me. Alpha, please. Want to feel it. Fill me up. Breed me.”

Steve makes a filthy sound and shoves forward, groaning long and low into James’ ear. His knot catches, fully blown as he climaxes. His hand has stopped moving over James’ cock but it hardly matters now. He’s rocking his hips shallowly, pulling his knot taut against James’ rim, pulsating it over his prostate again and again and again. James doesn’t need anything else to make him come spectacularly.

“Why do you torture yourself like this?”

Brock doesn’t turn around from the observation window. He figures Rollins is just here to taunt him anyway. “Nobody asked you to come in here,” he says quietly, attention still fixed on the pair in the next room.

“Yeah well…” Rollins comes up and stands right next to Brock, eyes taking in the same sight. “I was curious.” When Brock says nothing, he adds, “Looks like they’re finished.”

Brock scoffs and turns abruptly from the window, putting his back to it. “They’re not fucking finished.” Idiot, he wants to add. He scrubs his hands over his face and it occurs to him that he needs to shave. “That was just round one.” Brock doesn’t know about Rogers, but he is intimately familiar with his own omega’s stamina during a heat. “They’ll be in there for a good two days at least.”

“And you’re just going to stand here and watch?” Rollins rolls his eyes. “Stupid.”

“I can’t do anything else,” Brock snaps, irritated at his friend. “You’ve never been bonded. You wouldn’t understand.”

“No?”

“No.” He sighs. “You think what? It’s just jealousy?” He shakes his head. “I could handle that. But this… It’s like a physical ache.” He turns slightly to glance through the window again, thinks better of it, and turns back around. “Can’t stand it.”

“Can’t do anything to change it.” Rollins points out. “You never should’ve gotten so close. He’s just a thing, and at the end of the day he’s Hydra’s thing, not yours.”

“Yeah.” Brock really doesn’t have it in him to argue that point. He wants to, but he doesn’t. It isn’t like he doesn’t wish he could set the poor SOB free. But that’s never going to happen, and playing house with his bonded for the last six months has just been wishful thinking. “They still going at it?” he asks, unwilling to turn around and look again. He wasn’t exactly getting off on the sight before.

Rollins looks. “Naw. Resting.”

Brock grits his teeth, can’t keep the image of that goddamn super soldier, tied to his mate, out of his head.

“You think it’ll take?”

“Christ Rollins, you just don’t quit. Of course it will.” Pretty soon he’ll have to see the soldier, heavy with a litter of his pups. He hates it. Hates it more than anything.

Rollins shrugs and claps a hand onto Brock’s shoulder. “Don’t stay in here.” Another glance back. “He’s obviously not going to hurt ‘im. Leave them to it. Come and have a drink with me.”

Brock looks at Rollins then and really considers him. He calls him his friend, but the truth is the two of them are just the same as the Winter Soldier—property of Hydra. It’s taken years for him to realize it, but it’s true. Still, Rollins is offering him a drink now, and even more than that, a temporary escape. It’s the closest thing to friendly Brock’s ever gotten from the other man, and he figures it’s the best he’s going to get for a while. He might as well go. Because Rollins is right; he never should have gotten so close.

Brock sighs and nods at Rollins. Tells him, “Yeah. Yeah I think I will.”

Masterlist

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#marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #stucky #steve rogers #fanfiction #steve rogers x bucky barnes #fanfic #fuck or die #breeding program #winter soldier #hydra #captain hydra #dark fanfic #brock rumlow #captured whumpee #angst #bucky x steve #hurt/comfort #forced drugging #a/b/o #alpha steve rogers #omega bucky barnes #alpha/beta/omega au #omegaverse

[bengiyo]

23.5 Ep 8 Stray Thoughts

Last time, the gang decided to gussy up Ongsa for a school event, and we got to see her in traditional Thai clothing. Ton decided to help by stirring up Sun’s jealousy for some reason, as if Sun’s reticence were somehow the issue of the first half of the season. I enjoyed the few moments between Aylin and Luna. Sun eventually publicly declared that she wanted to be with Ongsa, so they are now girlfriends.

I’m with Aylin. She does look like a panda.

It’s taken us eight episodes to get to open mutual flirtation.

Episode 8: The Starry Night

Girl, Sun confessed to you in public. How are we supposed to keep this secret now? Did you talk to Sun about this?

Thank you, youths, for telling her off for this line of thinking.

I was chatting with @ginnymoonbeam earlier and do like that the drama of this week is “What even is dating?”

I am so invested in this teachers’ romance, you don’t even know.

YES, LIESTEN TO SUN. DO NOT WORRY ABOUT HOMOPHOBES. THEY CANNOT DETERMINE HOW WE LIVE OUR LIVES.

Ongsa, we have ridden with you for two months. She asked for the kiss. Do not let me down this week.

I love that Sun loves action films.

At least one GMMTV show isn’t pushing its pro-mosquito agenda.

Milk is very good at facial expressions.

This show is making me hope for my boy Mawin again.

Okay, Aylin, this was very cute. I like her calling back to the balled paper message.

I real like LOL’d at Mawin and Ton sliding in and out of this window.

Oh, Mawin, I feel for you. I wanted you to ask, but I get it.

All this bonding with Ton is not cutting down on my “Here’s How Euro Can Still Win” agenda.

Wow, Aylin, you got me, too.

That’s right, Luna. Teach her human things.

Chaoren’s rejection was great.

Well well well…HERE’S HOW EURO CAN STILL WIN…

How is it cold in Bangkok? Isn’t it like 80 F at night there?

Kissing with the glasses on? Huge win for lesbians and those who share their beliefs.

That chin grab? I see you, Ongsa.

Whyy are we introducing a separation next week with a study abroad program?

I like Milk and Love, but I don’t know that Love is being served well by this project. It feels like they don’t trust her as an actor and are leaning on Milk a lot. However, View and June are doing a great job together, and I loved the way AJ and Earn played their scenes. I am so invested in the Bambam and Nida story that I sit up every time they’re on screen. I feel like this show really struggled at building to the moments it wants to hit, but knows exactly when it wants us to hit them. It’s not bad, but it’s left me feeling rather unmoored along the way.

Alright, let’s talk about how Euro can still win! He didn’t get to kiss JJ in Dangerous Romance because JJ doesn’t kiss boys, he just teases about it. AJ, however, does! I am side-eyeing Tinh for always checking out athletic boys to the point that his friend finds it sinful, but being totally obvious about Mawin pining for him right next to him. It’s giving…no…I shan’t say…

#Ben watches #23.5 the series #23.5 degrees #thai gl #gl series

[cool-person-yey]

TMAGP 13 NOTES FUCK YEAH

spoilers for the new ep, y'all already know how this works noe lets gooo

• *ominous music* as always

• ohhh futureS? like a lot of them? hmmm

• as always, *office noises*

• not office? static?

• ohh phonecall

• Sam! Celia!

• ohhh their date

• it feels weird to listen to this. like i should not be seeing this

• Alice completely exposing him lmaooo

• that's what friends are for

• mysterious huh

• WAIT A SON?

• so that's who jack is

• 'wild years' the fucking apocalypse

• ' enrichment programs '

• sam's the Gifted Kid Burnout™ personified

• Sam r u okay dude

• " the most pathetic vaguepost" literally every time i complain abt my life here/

• do you think they're real huh

• oh you're pretty sure. what could that mean

• Lena! Gwen!

• aaah the guilt

• my favorite part

• monitored and balanced. god fucking damnit. where have i deen that before

• ANOTHER external?

• good grief it's the costumer voice that makes you feel like you and the guy at the other side of the phone both want to die

• the laugh. dude are u ok

• no he is not

• " I'm not a bad person" yeah let's judge that

• imagine having to listen to all that lmao

• my dude. do not click weird settings.

• whyyyyt

• why the fuck would you do that 😭

• " why the hell not" THERE ARE MANY REASONS SIR

• i mean like, i get it, dude was in a shitty situation and did a shitty choice after all this is the magnus protocol sequel to the magnus archives, but like still. why would u do that.

• and he got mugged

• wait what. what?

• how did???

• the hell

• what.

• yeah that's their problem lol

• and he kept doing it. of course

• oh no

• he's hurting himself to get money. fuckibg hell

• so liberating? babe r u alright

• ngl i thought abt doing that sometimes. not like the guy here but like just texting the most ultimate bullshit ever to everyone i know and then disappearing out of existence

• good grief dude

• it's a bit late to think if it was worth it dude

• yeah i mean what'd expect

• 'everything was going to be okay'

• OH FUCK

• IM SORRY BUT I LAUGHED A BIT I'M SORRY

• the voice acting man. you can almost hear the agony in his voice

• lmaooo the costumer service voice

• wait what???

• the fuck???

• what happened???

• Alice my dear <3

• static in the " I'm happy you're happy" y'all

• oh the jealously

• and ominous music again

today's episode was certainly something, see y'all next Thursday!

#tmagp #tmagp spoilers #the magnus protocol #tmagp 13

[thefourfan]

Since I'm noticing FolderPET posts are appearing on this site, I'm gonna share my headcanons for them ^^

Folder secretly has a consciousness, but hides it unless the only people around are other ai/desktop assistants. He automatically acts like he does in ONE if a non-ai/desktop assistant person looks at him. It's basically like Toy Story.

Kinito is pan while Folder is omni. They're also ace4ace!

They both love giving and receiving physical touch from one another. Basically, lots of cuddles, hand-holding, leaning against each other, hugging, falling asleep in the other's arms, etc.

Kinito's main love language is gift-giving! He tends to code in little gifts for Folder (like flowers), as well as write short stories for him. Folder has a folder (heh) in the computer's downloads where he keeps all of Kinito's gifts :3

Folder's main love language, on the other hand, is words of affection! During cuddle-time, he'll often murmur sweet compliments to him. Kinito absolutely MELTS everytime he does it

Although both of them are conscious beings with emotions (including romantic attraction), they also somewhat determine their behaviors based on what they were coded to do, and neither of them were programed to express romance. Initially, they both knew they had romantic feelings for one another, but had no idea how to actually express it to each other. Basically, the beginning of their relationship consisted of them researching things that human couples did and trying the things out together to figure out what they liked.

Adding onto headcanon #6, when they learned about kissing, they wanted to do it but couldn't properly because Kinito lacked a mouth, and he felt bad about it. Fortunately for them, in a state of pure geniusness™, the two came up with the idea of no-contact kisses, which was basically them hovering their faces close to each other and saying "mwah" repeatedly (it looks exactly as silly as it sounds)

They like to draw together on paint.

Folder thinks that Kinito looks hella cute in his reading glasses

They have a "yaps x listens" dynamic, usually with Folder as the yapper and Kinito as the listener, but they switch roles sometimes

I might make a part 2, because I still have more headcanons for them :>

#headcanon #heacanons #headcanon dump #ship headcanons #crosship #folder x kinito #folderpet #otp #comfort ship #crosshipping #i am cringe but i am free #hfjone #onehfj #one object show #kinito pet #kinitopet #folder hfjone #hfjone folder #kinito #kinito the axolotl #kinito my beloved

[thetraumaking]

The Accursed Crown

Child soldier program within the Fire Nation. Princess Ursa will be having the first grandchild of fire lord Azulon, and as a gift, he sends his son, prince Ozai, to find an appropriate bodyguard for the mother of the nation.

After prince Zuko was born, princess Ursa became pregnant once more.

When she gave birth to her second. Not only did she suffer from a burn from the newborn, she didn't feel the motherly love she felt for her firstborn to her second. She couldn't hold her or even look at her. But she's not a cruel woman, so she found a wet nurse and let the other woman raise her. Well, that was the plan until for a whole day straight the baby girl wouldn't and couldn't stop crying. Even Ozai heard it and came to yell at Ursa for failing as a mother.

When the child had finally shutten up, Ozai turned to see the young guard gently holding the baby.

From that day onward, you, who was nothing but a child soldier, became the guard, the nursemaid, and mentor for the new princess.

Syllabus

Chapter 4: The Older Women, Our Mothers

Ursa liked looking at you.

Her eyes would trail behind you as you went through your daily routine. From sunrise to sundown, it’s just her, you, and her son.

As much as she loves her son, the rare moments that she shares with you are treasured. It’s adorable how shy you get whenever she would show her affection to you through hugs and kisses.

She thinks that it’s due to your young age, no matter what training you went through prior to your meeting, that you are quick to get embarrassed. Shying away from her touch and avoiding eye contact.

No matter how long you’ve been together or how old you’ve become, she couldn’t help but adore you.

You may never know, but you are dear to her.

She holds you close to her heart.

In this cold, hollow palace, it's you who brings her solace.

It’s you who provides her comfort and any sense of warmth.

And just as how you were her saviour, she believes that she was yours.

Once more, she was in labour. And fortunately, unlike her first, everyone was prepared. When her water broke early in the morning, you and the maids were quick on your feet.

Unlike her first born, this one was more painful. She could tell this one would be a stubborn one from how close the contractions were.

The pain was so intense that she couldn’t reach out to you. She was too busy doubling over and crying to her heart's content.

After five hours, with shaking arms, freshly burnt thighs from the child, and tears that freely fell like waterfalls, the fire nation welcomed their new princess.

As the palace doctor brought her newborn child to her, Ursa couldn’t help but feel resentment towards the new life. She didn’t want another child, one was enough, Zuko was enough.

The tears that now fell were not of joy nor of love, but of despair.

She didn’t want to hold her, she didn’t even want to look at her.

Ozai praised her, who he named Azula in his father’s honour. A wicked smile on his face as he preached on how he alone could father such greatness. He even had the gall to say that you could be his bastard. After seeing how quick you were to learn new techniques, and knowledge, and how fast you mastered your bending.

The man had no shame.

That prideful beast.

She looked to the side, her eyes on the bundle in the arms of its father.

That poor child will surely suffer within these castle walls. Her birth was a curse for the both of them.

Letting out a breath of air, she wished you were beside her.

The moment the doctor came, you were tasked to take her son out while she was in delivery. She hugged herself. It would have been at least a bit more bearable if it were you in place of Ozai’s.

Once Ozai left to retire for the day, she ordered the maids to take the child and to call you and Zuko. You stood by as she fell asleep with her child in her arms. Embracing him with all the love a mother has for her child.

The next day, she was awoken by a sudden swing of the doors. They slam violently against the walls as Ozai marches in with fury in his eyes.

“What’s wrong with you!” He shouts as the torches begin to roar awake, the flames intensifying with each word he spewed. “How could you lie here when your child has been crying out in hunger! You pathetic excuse of a mother!”

He then points to the maid who wheeled Azula in her crate. Crying, red face stained with tears, her tiny body tense in her bundle.

As Ozai yelled and degraded her, she tried to soothe the now-wailing Zuko, who had been startled awake by his father’s shouting.

It was getting too much for Ursa: her crying son, the insults from Ozai, and the non-stop croaked yells of the child that was in her crib. She wanted all of them to stop. She’s not a cruel woman, unlike what Ozai has been insinuating since barging into her room, she did order a maid to find a wetnurse, someone who will care and feed the newborn.

How would she have known that the child wouldn’t take to the hired woman. Why must she suffer due to the unforeseen? Why must it be always her that must go through the hardship of life?

Her eyes began to sting as tears began to well up.

Just as she was about to break down, one of the three sources of her panic had subsided.

Even Ozai has noticed the sudden shift. Much like untying a knot, the tension unwound, slowly but steadily.

Ozai looked back to see you gently cradling the baby. She breathed heavily with her eyes closed as you rubbed her tears away.

The room was left to only Zuko whining, hugging his mother’s side as she continued to soothe him.

Ozai looked at you in interest before an idea began to brew behind his eyes. His anger calmed down, he sent you a smile. “I thank you for bringing peace within my palace.” He walks towards you, “A reward must be in order. I believe a promotion will find your fancy. Starting today, you will be the guardian of the princess. Do make me proud and train my daughter into a fine bender, one who will surely bring honour to our nation.”

He spares a glance to his wife, “Your talents are being wasted playing guard. The palace is secure and we have the royal guards on standby.” His eyes zeroed in on you as he guided you to leave the room, “Tell me, 076, do you know who your parents are?”

The doors close behind you as you walk beside him with the baby still in your arms, “No, my lord. But I was told by the nannies that my mother was taking care of me before I was saved. I am ashamed to admit but I don’t believe I have a father…”

That same smirk when he held his daughter appeared, “That’s quite alright. It makes sense why you wouldn’t have a father.” He places his large hand on your shoulder as the three of you continue your walk towards the throne room.

Despite having the prince walk beside you so close, it doesn’t feel as half as suffocating as when you’re just standing near Ursa. Maybe the theory of you being weary of being in close quarters with others due to your past training was not true. Maybe the strange feeling of being akin to prey is just reserved for when you’re with the older woman.

“I can tell that, despite your origin of birth, you were made for greatness.” His words were warm yet the grip on your shoulder and the glint in his eyes told you otherwise. “I see myself in you, my child. Half your blood may be tainted by that woman, but the remaining is pure and noble.” The way he looked at you was crazed, hungry.

“I can tell that your father was and is a great man of power. How else can you be so blessed? It is only fate that you were taken in. Your destiny to stand by the throne and swear your loyalty to the crown.” He pulled you into his side.

As he said, it is your sworn duty to serve.

That is what you were trained for.

Your destiny to serve the crown.

The Accursed Crown.

#fanfic #atla #atla azula #avatar the last airbender #azula x reader #fire lord azula #fire lord ozai #prince zuko #princess ursa