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sweetbuckybarnes · 5 months

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Who is This? - Bucky x Reader

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky had a wife during the 40s, she was left heartbroken after the telegram arrived (missing, presumed dead). It's surprising when 80 years later, she was working behind a bar in Madripoor of all places!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 2

Bucky followed Sam and Zemo into a loud bar, he immediately wanted to turn around and go home, why had Zemo demanded he go back to being the Winter Soldier (even if it was one night)?

The sound of heavy drums and guitars also deafened his hearing, a song he had come to learn was The Wild Boy by a band called Duran Duran. A few bartenders and waitresses were walking around, there was only one who stuck out to him - a dark-haired young woman who reminded him too much of his departed wife.

His heart breaks even more, thinking of the woman he had left behind, his girl. The love of his life. Bucky doesn't think he will ever 'get over' her.

The way the young woman walked, carrying a tray of empty glasses (before being tossed an empty bottle by a patron), was so similar to the way his girl walked in the hole-in-the-wall diner she worked in.

She wasn't quick enough to duck under the bar before they got to the door leading upstairs (which was coincidentally next to the bar), Zemo was talking to the bouncer. "Excuse me, gentlemen," the young woman said, squeezing between the back of Zemo and the front of Bucky. Which is when he got a good look at her face.

There she was.

His girl. His wife.

He couldn't even say anything to her, as he was taken upstairs and away from his girl. He could only hope he would be allowed back in at the end of the night to see her.

Y/N Barnes made her way behind the bar, glancing up at the TV where the Kansas City Chiefs were currently playing the Buffalo Bills at Arrowhead Stadium, then down at her phone which showed the live score of the Dodgers game against the San Francisco Giants.

She had been a long-time Dodgers girl, even after she found out they had moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles.

"Did you see the way he was looking at you?" Yasmine asked, pushing a dry Martini in front of a 26-year-old woman.

Y/N looked up from the glasses she was putting in the dishwasher. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"One of the men who went upstairs. The way he was looking at you," Yasmine fans her hand for dramatic effect. "I would drop my panties for him in a millisecond."

"Like you don't do that every night."

Yasmine rolled her eyes and served the next half-drunk who had come to the bar.

"Don't listen to her," Anastasia told her, rolling her eyes as Yasmine flirted with her current flavour of the week.

"It's not often I do, darling," Y/N replied, fiddling with Anastasia's curls for a second, before spotting a patron. "What can I get for you, darling?"

He hung off the bar, obviously far too drunk to understand what was going on. "Another beer and your phone number," he slurred.

She shook her head, reaching over and grabbing him another beer. As far as the boss of the bar (whoever that was) was concerned unless they were unconscious- why should you stop serving them? Y/N thought it wasn't right, but no matter how often she voiced this - she was shut down.

She set the beer in front of him and then went to the register to add it to his bill (good thing she currently has his credit card behind the bar).

"Oi, sweet cheeks!" He calls, but Y/N doesn't pay attention looking over at Yasmine and Anastasia with a raised eyebrow. "Sweet cheeks! I asked for your number."

Y/N replied by simply raising her hand proudly displaying her engagement and wedding rings to the drunk. It was only a small diamond (given Bucky worked on the docks before he was deployed), and the plain band she inherited from her great-grandmother.

"What's the matter with that 'un?" He hiccups. "He got you costume jewellery or somethin'?"

Y/N shook her head. "I'm going into the back for a moment," she tells Aidan.

Little did the drunk patron know, all those years ago, this was the date she was handed the telegraph - putting in such blunt words. Her James was missing, they presumed him to be dead. It breaks her heart that they never got to have a proper funeral.

"You alright, honey?" Elizabeth (another one of the waitresses) asked, she had been outside on her break. Elizabeth was the only one who knew her true age and about her James.

"It's the day I found out James was missing," Y/N said, before bursting into more tears.

Elizabeth wrapped Y/N up in a hug, everyone oblivious to the fact that Y/N's presumed dead husband was now running through the bar, flocked by Sam and Zemo, and into the alley behind the bar.

When Bucky was sure Zemo, Sam and Sharon were asleep, he slipped out of the safe house and into the night - determined to find out if the woman he saw in the bar was that of his (presumably? should be?) dead wife.

He eventually made his way to the front door of the bar, the bouncers had long since gone home. He could see lights on in the building and just about make out words being spoken thanks to the Super Soldier serum running through his veins.

He grasped the handle and gave it a push, the door hadn't been locked, as it gave beneath the slight push.

He could see three young women sitting on the bar, a man who was counting the money from the register and another man who was dancing.

The young woman sitting closest to the bar, had golden curls hanging around her head. "Mark, you didn't lock the door!"

The man dancing, Mark, looked over at Bucky, eyes widening when he saw the size of Bucky. "I say we just serve him, then lock the door behind him."

As the bartenders and waitress argued amongst themselves, Bucky's eyes never left the woman in the middle. It looked as if she had been crying. "Babydoll?"

The woman stopped giggling, tipping her head back to normal and looked at him, before dropping her glass as tears welled up in her eyes. "James?"

The curly-haired woman gasped, setting her glass down and giving Y/N a push off the bar.

Bucky held his arms out to catch her as her feet landed on the floor. He couldn't stop looking at her big eyes, he'd always loved her big expressive eyes. He always knew how she was feeling by just a look in her eyes.

"James? Is that you?" Her hand came out slowly, and shakily, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing in front of her.

"Hi, babydoll," Bucky smiled, tears starting to fall down his cheeks, a heavy sob held tightly in his chest at the moment in time. As soon as her fingers met his skin, Bucky let out a heavy sigh of relief, reaching over and pulling her into his arms. Y/N's arms dug themselves away from his chest and up around his neck before her hand soon started fiddling with his hair.

The couple stood there for a moment, finally finding their slice of peace. Some came barging into the bar, and the dark-haired woman who had been sitting on the other side of Y/N practically demanded Mark lock the door before the Hounds of Baskerville came in.

Y/N was so happy to finally have her James back in her arms, but there was a whirling sound she couldn't let go. "What's that noise?"

Bucky looked from his wife to his arm and back to his bride. "I'll explain everything to you later, but... I lost my arm, and I now have a prosthetic one," he tells her, letting go of her for a moment so he could take his glove off and show her the black and gold Vibranium one he had made.

"Ok, James. It's a good thing you gave me this," she reached beneath her top and pulled a ring out from beneath, hanging from a chain. "Before you were deployed."

Bucky smiled, cupping her face so he could kiss her. Bucky pulled away chuckling a little. "Babydoll, will you please put my ring back on?"

She reached behind her to unclasp the chain, and slid Bucky's band off, "if it doesn't fit we'll get it resized."

"I don't care what size it is, as long as you put my ring back where it belongs," Bucky almost growled, a piece of him falling back into place with the ring back on his finger.

The next morning - Sam, Zemo and Sharon came into the living room, seeing Bucky sleeping on the sofa (Sam was expecting this, after being told by Steve), however, there was a lump lying next to Bucky they didn't recognise.

Sam slowly makes his way over, gently easing down the thick blanket lying over Bucky and the lump.

Lying there, practically on top of the 'bionic staring machine' was a young woman.

"Did he somehow pick up a girl?" Sam whispered. Sam and Sharon were trying to be quiet - however, Zemo (who didn't care) started clattering around the kitchen, causing Bucky to wake up in a start, which then caused the young woman to look up with tired owl-like eyes.

"What the hell is going on?" Bucky nearly demanded, keeping his arms wrapped around his companion.

Sam raised his eyebrow. "I could ask you the same question, Barnes?" Sam looked at the young woman in Bucky's arms. "Who is this?"

Bucky looked down at her, Sam watched as a smile grew on his face. "This is Y/N. Y/N Barnes. My wife."

#bucky fic #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #sam wilson #sharon carter #baron zemo #takes place in the falcon and the winter soldier #this had been going around in my head for DAYS!!!#1k #2k

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copperbadge · 1 year

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Hey Sam! Since it's currently AO3 donation time, I'm wondering what your thoughts are on it? I'm asking because you've written RPF and it's one of many "anti-AO3/anti-AO3 donations" people's favourite things to bring up when they're complaining about AO3 getting so many donations that it continuously obtains an excess of its donation goal whenever donation time rolls around? (Wow, how many times can I say "donation" in an ask?) Sorry if this question bothers you! I don't mean to offend or annoy.

Hey anon! Sorry it took a while to get to this, I don't even know if the drive is still going on, but the question came in while I was traveling and I didn't really have the time for stuff that wasn't travel-related. In any case, let's dig in! (I am not offended, no worries.)

So really there are two issues here and as much as some people who are critical of AO3 want to conflate them, they are different. While some criticism of AO3 may be valid, rhetoric against AO3 tends to misinterpret both in separate ways.

First there's the issue of what AO3 hosts -- RPF, yes, but more broadly, varied content that some people find distasteful or think should be illegal, which is a misunderstanding of the purpose of the archive and more broadly a dangerous attitude towards the concept of freedom of expression.

Second, there's the issue of AO3 generally outpacing its fundraising goals while not allowing monetization, which is a misunderstanding of the legal status of AO3 and to an extent a misunderstanding of philanthropy as a whole.

The longer I watch debates about content go on, the more I come to the conclusion that I was fortunate to have a teacher who really wanted to instill in us an understanding of free speech not as a policy but as an ongoing dialogue. It's not only that freedom of expression "protects you from the government, not the Justin" as the meme goes, but also that freedom of expression is not a static thing. It's an ongoing process of identifying what we find harmful in society and what we want to do about it.

Should the freedom to shout "Fire!" in a crowded theater be restricted? Should the freedom to yell slurs at drag performers? Should the freedom to teach prepubescent kids about gender, sexuality, and/or safe sex? Should the freedom to wear a leather puppy hood at Pride? Who gets to say, and why?

I was nine when my teacher did a unit on freedom of speech and the intersection of "harm prevention" and "censorship", which is (and should be) a discussion, not a set of ironclad rules. This ambiguity has thus been with me for over thirty years, and I'm comfortable with the ambiguity, with the process; I'm not sure a lot of people critical of AO3's content truly are. Perhaps some can't be, especially those affected by hate speech, but RPF is not hate speech. It's just fiction. Or is fiction "just fiction"? This is a question society as a whole is grappling with, although fandom seems to be a little out ahead of society in terms of how explicitly we discuss it.

The idea that prose can incite violence or cause harm is both valid to examine (witness the rise of fascism on the radio in the 20s, on Facebook and Twitter in the past ten years; they're very similar processes) and a very slippery slope. Because again: who decides what harm is, and what causes it, and what we do about it? Our values align us with certain beliefs, but those are only our values, not universal truths. So AO3 is part of the ongoing question of harm and benefit both to society and individuals.

AO3 itself, however, has a fairly defined policy that it is not meant to police content; it is an archive, not a bookstore or a school board. AO3 refines its TOS and policies as necessary, but the goal is always open access and as much freedom of expression as possible, and if that's uncomfortable for some people then that's a discussion we have to have; ignoring it won't make it go away. But it has to be a discussion, it can't be a unilateral change to the archive's TOS or a series of snaps and clapbacks, and I don't see a lot of people ready to move beyond flinging insults. Perhaps because they were taught a much more binary view of freedom of expression than I was.

So, self-evidently, I support AO3 and I don't have a problem with RPF. Whether other people do is something we're going to have to get to grips with, and that's likely to be a process that is still going on when most of us are dust. I'd rather have a century of ambiguity than a wrong answer tomorrow, anyway.

But whether AO3 hosts RPF is truly a separate issue from its donation drives, because it's a criticism some people level at the site which exists whether it's fundraising or not. So people can criticize AO3's open policy and they can give it as a reason not to support the site, but it's just one aspect of the archive and the fundraising as a whole should be examined separately.

I think AO3's fundraisers are deeply misunderstood (sometimes on purpose) because even people who are anticapitalist get a little crazy when money gets involved, and this is, to fandom, a lot of money -- a few hundred thousand, reliably, every fundraiser. To me, a fundraiser that pulls in three hundred grand is almost quaint; my current nonprofit pulls in better than ten million a year and my previous employer had an endowment of several billion dollars. At my old job I didn't even bother researching people who couldn't give us a hundred grand.

On the other hand, AO3 is an extreme and astounding outlier in the nonprofit world, because basically it's the only one of its kind to work the way it does. It is entirely volunteer-run on the operational side (ie: tag wranglers, coders, lawyers, etc) and has no fundraising staff (gift officers, researchers, outreach officers) as far as I'm aware. To pull in three hundred grand from individual one-time donations, without any paid staff and without even a volunteer fundraising officer? That's insane. That doesn't happen. Except at AO3.

What people misunderstand, however, is the basic status of a nonprofit, which is a legal status, not simply a social one. (I'm adding in some corrections here since it gets complicated and the terminology can be important!) The Organization for Transformative Works, the parent of AO3, is a nonprofit, which indicates how it was incorporated as an organization; additionally it is registered federally as tax-exempt, which carries certain perks, like not paying sales tax, and certain duties, like making their financials transparent to a certain extent. (Religious nonprofits are exempt from the transparency requirement.) If you're interested in more about nonprofits and tax-exempt status a reader dropped a great article here.

Nonprofits, unlike for-profit companies, cannot pay a share of their income to stakeholders. Nonprofits don't have financial stakeholders, only donors. They can have employees and pay them a salary -- that's me, for example -- but if a nonprofit pulls in $10M in donations, my salary is paid from that, I don't get a percentage and nobody else does either. That's what it means to be a nonprofit -- the money above operational costs goes back into the organization. The donations we (and AO3) receive must be plowed under and used for outreach, server maintenance, further fundraising, services expansion, et cetera. You can see this in the 990 forms on Guidestar or ProPublica, or in their more accessible breakdowns on Charity Navigator. Nonprofits that do not put the majority of their income towards service provision tend to get audited and lose their nonprofit status. So nobody's getting paid from all that money, and the overage that isn't spent goes into what is basically a savings account in the name of the nonprofit. (I'm vastly simplifying but that's the gist.) Using that money for personal purposes is illegal. It's called "private inurement" and there's a good article here about it. The money belongs to the OTW as a concept, not to anyone in or of the OTW.

So the biggest misunderstanding that I see in people who are mad at AO3 fundraisers is that "they" are getting all this money (who "they" are is never clearly stated but I'm pretty sure people think @astolat has a special wifi router that runs on burning hundred dollar bills) while "we" can't monetize our fanfic. But "they" get nothing -- nobody even earns a salary from AO3 -- and you can easily prove that by looking at the 990 forms they file with the government, which are required to be made public. You can see the most recently available 990, from 2020, here at Guidestar. Page seven will show you the "highest compensated" employees, all of whom are earning zero dollars or nonmonetary perks (that's the three columns on the right).

Either AO3 is entirely volunteer-run or someone's Doing A Real Fraud. The money the OTW spends is documented (that's page 10 and 11 primarily) and while they may pay for, say, the travel and lodging expenses of a lawyer going to DC to defend a freedom-of-expression case, they don't pay the lawyer for their time, or give them a cut of the income.

Despite what you've read, the reason "we" can't monetize our fanfics on AO3 has nothing to do with the site being the product of volunteer handiwork or AO3 having it in their terms of service or it being considered gauche by some to do so; it's because

IT'S ILLEGAL.

I cannot say this loudly enough: It is against the law for a nonprofit to be used by its staff, volunteers, or beneficiaries to earn direct profit from the services provided by the nonprofit.

You can be paid to work at one, but you cannot side-hustle by selling your handmade friendship bracelets for personal gain on the nonprofit's website. If the nonprofit knowingly allows monetization of its services, it can lose nonprofit status, be fined, be hit with back taxes, and a lot of other unpleasant bullshit can go down, including prosecution of those involved for fraud. If you put a ko-fi link on your fanfic, you are breaking the law, and if AO3 allows it, they are too.

Okay, that was a sidebar, but in some ways not, because it gets to the heart of the real complaints about AO3 fundraising, which is that people in fandom are sick or unhoused or in some form of need and other people in fandom are giving to AO3, a fan site that is financially stable, instead of giving to peoples' gofundmes or dropping money in their Ko-Fi or Paypal. And while it is a legitimate grievance that there are people who are in such desperate need while we live in an era of unprecedented abundance, that's not AO3's fault. AO3 doesn't solicit actively, there's no unasked-for mailings or calls from a gift officer. They just put a banner up on their website, and people give. (Again, this is incredibly outlier behavior in the nonprofit world, I'd do a case study on it but the conclusion would just be "shit's real, yo.") You might as well be mad that people give to their local food bank instead of someone's ko-fi.

You cannot lay at AO3's feet the fact that people want to give to AO3 instead of to your fundraiser. That's a choice individuals have made, and while you can engage with them in terms of why they made the philanthropic choices they did, to blame an organization they supported rather than the person who made the choice to give is not only incorrect but futile, and unlikely to win anyone over to supporting you. We know from research that guilt is not a tremendous motivator of philanthropy.

It is also not necessarily a binary choice; just because AO3 gets a hundred grand in $5 donations doesn't mean most of the people giving don't also give $5 elsewhere. I support the OTW on occasion, and I also fundraise for UNICEF and the Chicago Parks Foundation and BAGLY and others, in addition to giving monthly to several nonprofits that I have longterm relationships with -- my alma mater, the animal rescue where I got the Cryptids, my shul. And I give, occasionally and anonymously, to fundraisers that pass through Radio Free Monday, which are mainly individuals in need, because I was once in need and now I pay it forward. These are the choices I have made. Nobody twisted my arm. I respond poorly to someone making the attempt to do so by attacking places I've given.

I think the upshot is, after all of this that I've written, that we cannot begin to come to grips with questions of institutional inequality in philanthropy, or freedom of expression and censorship, until people actually understand what's going on, and too few do. So all I can do is try and explain, and hopefully create a forum for people to learn and grow when it comes to charitable giving.

Archive Of Our Own and the Organization for Transformative Works are products of our community and as that community changes, we will necessarily continue to re-evaluate what aspects of it mean and how AO3/OTW express the community sentiment. I hope that the ongoing discussion of support for AO3 also leads to people learning more about their philanthropic options. But criticizing AO3 for fundraising by attacking it for fulfilling one of its stated purposes is silly, and attempting to guilt people into giving in the ways one thinks they should give rather than how they do give is just going to make one extremely unlikable.

As members of this community, we have to be a part of the push and pull, but it's difficult to do that competently in ignorance. So, I do my best to be knowledgeable and to educate my readers, and I hope others will do the same.

#ao3 #otw #nonprofit #fundraisers #ao3 nonprofit #that's my new tag for posts like this #if anyone has any of the earlier posts I've done drop a comment in them so I see the post and can tag it #archive

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ohnoitstbskyen · 2 years

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The overwhelming misery of going viral on YouTube

In April of 2021, I posted a short to YouTube - a 60 second video in the format of their TikTok competitor. In the nature of shorts, it was a one-minute, necessarily un-nuanced hot take about a subject I like to talk about: character design. Specifically I made the mistake of lamenting that the character design of female heroes in major games tend to prioritize attractiveness rather than using their body shape to do storytelling about their lives or capabilities.

It did okay, garnering about 38k views in its first month. Didn't set the world on fire, but I got my point out there, and while there were some crappy comments, for the most part people seemed to understand what I was driving at.

The short had eventually climbed to about 100.000 views after a full year of being online, which is respectable, but in the world of YouTube Shorts a fairly middle-of-the-road level of success (these are extremely short videos being served extremely quickly to a huge base of users). Fast forward to November 8th of this year, and... something happens. More than a year after it was originally published, it starts gaining traction.

Slowly at first, a few thousand views, but by the 14th it's gained 80.000 views in a day. On the 16th, 400.000, on the 17th, 680.000. I have no idea why this is happening, there's no influx of viewers from any outside source, there's no topical news event that would make the video suddenly relevant.

I tweet about it, bemused by the sudden jump, but also hinting a bit at the other side of this story.

"There Is No Such Thing As Negative Press"

On YouTube, there is on the systemic level very little difference between positive attention and negative attention. If you create excellent work that brings joy into people's lives, they engage with your video and the algorithm reads that as success. And if you create miserable, hateful content that makes people angry and stokes them to responses of outrage, disgust or jeering, the algorithm reads that as a kind of success, too.

Hate-bait and rage-bait YouTubers operate in that latter space, churning out inflammatory or distressing content, hoping to elicit either reactions of horror, or gleeful cheering from people who like it when their favourite online personality trolls the Other.

But there's another way to garner negative attention, and that is to create content which is not at all designed to bait or elicit a negative response, but whose subject matter nonetheless produces a negative response from a certain kind of person.

That is the unfortunate slip-and-slide I have found myself on.

At the time of writing, the short sits at 6.8 million views, has been gaining on average 2 million views per day, and it still seems to be accelerating. Despite those skyrocketing numbers, however, it only ("only") has around 1300 published comments underneath it.

That is because, after the first couple of million views, I told YouTube to automatically hold all comments for review. That is, YouTube allows users to comment on the video, but those comments are not published until I manually approve them.

The reason I did this is... well, it's easier to show you with some pictures. Content warning, these are unfiltered YouTube comments, so expect casual bigotries.

These are screenshots from the "held for review" tab of my YouTube Studio backend. YouTube in recent years has gotten good at filtering out content like overt racial slurs and the worst of the worst insults, which is nice, but the filtered comments tab is still not a particularly pleasant place to read through right now.

Most of the comments are like what you see above: casually rude, fatphobic, homophobic, transphobic or otherwise unpleasant. Some of the comments are more intense, threatening me with violence, insulting me personally, "I hope your mom gets raped by a [racial slur]," and worse. The worst comments are a small percentage, but as you can imagine, they do stand out in the mind, and a small percentage of a huge number can still be a lot of comments.

And that's the thing. There are hundreds, and hundreds, and hundreds, and hundreds of comments. I scrolled for fifteen minutes and did not see the end of it. YouTube doesn't keep a visible count on how many comments are held for review, but I'd not be surprised if the 1300 comments count would have been doubled if I hadn't stopped it when I did. And since the video is still accelerating, that number is likely to skyrocket as well.

This provides me with the best theory I have as to why the video took off: the YouTube algorithm started showing it not to people who it thought would like it, but to people it thought would dislike it enough to react, to comment. And the more people did comment, the more the algorithm showed it to other people just like those who commented, who were also likely to dislike it.

This causes a feedback loop of negative attention, which the YouTube algorithm (horrifyingly) interprets as a success and an incentive to keep pushing the video.

Moderating this comments section is now physically impossible - I would need a staff of a dozen to handle it, which I can't afford and who I wouldn't want to expose to it, and while this deluge is going on, moderating the comments of other videos becomes next to impossible as well, since the "held for review" tab is utterly monopolized.

One fix for this problem, of course, is to simply disable the comments. But in my experience, doing that only encourages the worst of the commenters to seek out your other content and leave even worse comments there instead. In fact, a couple of dozen particularly irate people have already sought out my other channels to post insults there, adding to the stress and workload of dealing with all this viral "success."

How YouTube Makes YouTubers Worse

This situation is stressful, because humans are monkey creatures with monkey brains that do not like being exposed to a constant stream of rudeness, cruelty and casual bigotry. However rational you try to be about it, however detached and cold, it wears on you. It chips away at your mental defenses and becomes a constant source of low-level stress and misery.

But as far as YouTube is concerned, it's a huge success.

YouTube's systems are all set up this way. They celebrate increases in numbers with cheerful messages and positive green arrows and "helpful" statistics showing just how much things are growing - meanwhile, if you post otherwise positively received work that doesn't attract as much attention, it will give you dour "your content received fewer views due to lower interest this month" messages and greyed-out downward arrows. If you have a video that does really well on the numbers, YouTube will even play a little fireworks animation on its statistics to celebrate.

It's a form of not-so-subtle psychological manipulation. As a YouTuber you are dependent on your statistics to inform your work - if your rent depends on making those numbers go up, you essentially have no choice but to pay attention to them and let them guide your decision making. And so YouTube designs its systems to push its creators towards the behaviour that the platform finds most beneficial: numbers optimizing.

And the thing is, if I went only by the numbers, I would look at the success of this short and go "oh, there's a viable content strategy here!"

I could try and replicate its "success" by creating more content around the same topic, by targeting the same kind of outrage-baiting, by identifying the contentious subjects and trigger points brought up by the angry people in the comments and hitting them repeatedly, hoping to make engagement fall out.

YouTube would reward me for that, quite handsomely, in fact, even as mental health and professional happiness would absolutely crater. I don't have the personality for that kind of content creation, it's not what I want to do with my work, it's not the kind of person I want to be.

But I am not immune to propaganda. I have already changed as a person from doing this job, I know this for a fact. My priorities have shifted, my wants and needs have changed. Not for the worse, I believe, not yet, but the platform is constantly, constantly pushing on me.

It's unpleasant and it's stressful. It's hostile design, coupled with primitive and insufficient moderation tools, coupled with an aggressive algorithm which will go out of its way to ensure your relationship with your audience is toxic, if that toxicity produces better numbers for the platform.

Viral success is often thought of as a desirable thing, something which can launch a career or skyrocket an unknown to success. The reality is, it is mostly just overwhelming. I'm a grown man and I have done online content creation for a long time, and I have learned strategies to manage toxic comments sections over years of experience.

But imagine if something like this happened to a sixteen year old. Imagine if it happened to a teenage girl just starting out making videos. Or a trans person. Or, hell, any person from a marginalized community. I am sheltered by my privileges, but I have seen how dark it gets and how fast it gets dark for people who don't have those extra protections.

Well, it does happen to them, and no matter how rancid, bigoted and horrible the abuse they receive, they will log in to YouTube Studio to see happy fireworks and "Nice! Your video got 20 million views!" with a little green upwards pointing arrow right next to it.

You might have seen articles and thinkpieces around "creator burnout," and I want you to know that a huge part of what burns creators out is the primitive, profit-optimizing, hostile systems that power these platforms and monetize our worst experiences on them as "engagement."

In case you're wondering how much money I've earned from those 6.8 million views, by the way, it's about $20.

YouTube says they're rolling out full Shorts monetization next year, so I guess I just picked the wrong month to go viral.

---

If this story resonated with you at all, do me a favor and leave a nice comment under the work of an online creator you enjoy. It helps more than you might think.

You can tip me on Patreon or Ko-fi if you want to.

#tb essay #youtube #hostile design #burnout

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whorergal · 1 year

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SHE'S MINE

summary: you get attacked by ghostface but another ghostface comes in and saves you…

warnings: scream vi spoilers, language (cussing), blood, gore… typical horror stuff lol

pairings: ethan landry x fem!reader

authors note: this is my first ever imagine (and post) on here so i hope u like it >.< i want to write more so i’ll try to be active especially for ethan. also, this is pretty short so i wouldn't mind writing a part two :3

❗️: part three can be found here!

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You weren't in much of a party mood unlike the rest of your friends. Really, you haven't been in the exact mood in doing much anymore. Ever since Woodsboro, you had lost a part of yourself in the tragedy that haunted you. It was unusual especially since it was nearing Halloween, your favorite holiday, that you didn't want to participate in dressing up and getting drunk as a reward. You decided to stay inside your apartment that you shared with Anika, catching up on homework that you had missed.

Tara had made it her job to text you every so often, casually updating you on the party. After a couple more short texts, they started to become more and more hard to understand which made you laugh. At least someone was having fun.

When you sat aside your phone, trying to keep all your attention on finishing your notes, your phone began to ring. You furrowed your brows when you took a glance and saw it was coming from an unknown caller. Immediately you became paranoid. You let it ring until it ended, shaking it off as a coincidence.

Ghostface was gone. There was no possible way it could've followed you and your friends to New York City. Right?

Your phone began to ring again.

Maybe it was Tara, you thought. You knew she was drunk so maybe something happened and she was borrowing someone's phone. But why wouldn't she just use Mindy's or Anika's? You tried not to think about rational answers because you didn't want to feel stupid for answering the call when you knew you shouldn't have.

"Hello?" You answered.

"Hello, Y/N," the familiar voice said back. "You miss me?"

You should've known. Well, you did know; you were just stupid enough to think otherwise. "Fuck, no," then you hung up.

Instantly, you opened your contacts and went straight for Tara's number. But, then you remembered she was absolutely hammered which meant she probably wouldn't be much help in your situation.

You scrolled mindlessly until you landed on Ethan's contact, clicking on it instantly, seeing as he was someone you confided in the most. Mindy had already told everyone her plan tonight was to get shit-faced so you weren't confident in her being able to aid you in this; neither could you count on Anika as she would be with her.

It rang for a couple short seconds which felt like eternity for you, being panicked and all. You were relying on him answering because you weren't sure how long you had until something happened.

Luckily, he answered in confusion. "Y/N, what's wrong?"

"E, I need you to come to my place now," you let out in a complete rush, the words almost slurred together.

"What?" he questioned. "Y/N/N, I can barely hear you. Are you okay?"

"Ethan, he called me. Ghostface called me."

The line went silent, only the sound of loud music and people hollering. That was until your phone began to vibrate against your cheek, startling you. You brought it down to your line of vision and saw it was the unknown caller. Or, should you say, whatever fucked up person that was behind the mask.

"Y/N, can you hear me?!" His voice came out in distress, worried something happened to you. "Hey, Chad and I heading over right now! Y/N?!"

"They're calling again," you stated simply.

"Don't answer it!" He was practically yelling into his phone at this point because he knew exactly what you were going to do. It was what almost got you killed in Woodsboro.

You didn't listen to him, deciding to hang up on him and use your remaining courage to answer the call. If you survived once, you sure as hell can survive again.

"What the fuck do you want?" You spat in anger.

"You hang up on me again and I'll paint your bedroom walls in your blood," they rushed out. "It would be a shame for your friends to find your mutilated lifeless body, wouldn't it?"

"Fuck you." You held back your wavering because although you weren't afraid, their descriptive threat made you nauseous.

"How about we play a game?"

"How about you fuck off."

"It's an easy game, Y/N," they told you. "You answer correctly and I may consider sparing your life."

You scoffed, getting up from your bed. "Fine. I'll play your stupid game."

"Great." There was a short pause. "Where in your apartment do you think I'm at?"

The confidence crumbled as now you started to feel the rising fear bubbling in your chest. "What?"

"You heard me," they said. "Where. Am. I?"

"Fuck," you mumbled to yourself. "Why don't you just come and get me, asshole? Are you too afraid?"

"The opposite." Their voice came out hushed.

Then, your bedroom door flung open, hitting harshly against your wall that it left an indent. Ghostface came running toward you, knife rose in the air, intending to plant it into your skin but you managed to dodge their attack, shoving them onto your bed as you made your escape.

You didn't get too far as they grabbed ahold of your ankle, making you face-plant into your wooden flooring. If the pain of hitting your head against the hard surface wasn't enough, the sheer agony rippling through your leg at the feeling of their knife digging into your calf was enough to make you scream. When they pulled it out, you grew enough strength to kick them in the face as you struggled to get up, finding all your energy diminishing.

Attempting to make a run for it didn't turn out well as you heard their footsteps catch up to you, causing you to throw yourself out of the way for their knife to go straight through the door.

Your apartment was pretty small. I mean, it only housed you and Anika so there wasn't much room needed which ultimately meant there wasn't anywhere else to go. Your kitchen was connected to your living room which was also connected to your hallway. It was all one open space. So, it was no surprise that they caught up to you again.

They managed to tackle you to the floor, holding you in place by stabbing you right where you had been previously, breaking through the stitches. You screamed so loud, you were concerned at the fact that your neighbors hadn't become suspicious at the sound. Where the hell was Ethan?

Them pulling out the knife hurt much worse, causing you to whine in return. But then they stabbed you in your abdomen once more, causing you to let out a choked sob. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to release the tension as you were physically helpless at this point. You reached down, feeling the blood coat your hand as you forced them to pull the knife out of you. Using whatever energy you had left, you kicked them off of you.

You used your entire arm to hold your wounds in place as you turned to crawl away. You weren't surprised to feel them grabbing your ankle, on the leg that had been injured which made it feel ten times worse, and drag you back to them. They flipped you on your back and stared down at you for a second until they began to raise their knife in the air.

Preparing yourself for the worse, you laid there with not much else to do, waiting to be punctured for what you assumed to be the last time ever. That was until they were thrown off of you by someone smacking them in the head with the wooden cutting board Anika used to cook you two dinner. Your eyes felt heavy but you couldn't help but widen them when you saw a second Ghostface, staring down their accomplice instead of you. The sound of the wooden board clattering against the ground caused you to flinch.

The one who had previously been attacking you was shorter than this new figure. You began to crawl away again, seeing as this short distraction gave you that advantage. You were bleeding out quickly, but you didn't want give up just yet.

You made it toward your counter, glancing at them as it seemed they were having a silent conversation. That was until the shorter one attempted to attack the taller one, using their knife but they easily intercepted the stabbing by grabbing ahold of their wrist. The taller one tossed the other one carelessly against your bookshelf, causing all your shared books with Anika to fall at their collapse.

It was funny to think you were now more worried about your books well being than your own.

You cowered behind your counter, carefully watching them in total confusion. The fact one of them was defending you, which seemed to go against their whole purpose, had rendered you frozen.

There was one last silent mutual conversation until the one with the knife shook their head in what you assumed could've been anger before fleeing the scene. You followed their figure until it was gone with wide eyes.

Your breath hitched when the Ghostface that practically saved your life turned to look at you. They didn't come near you, or really move at all as they stared into your soul. There was noise coming from somewhere in the building which caught their attention, making them turn toward your door and run out as well.

You watched in surprise. What the hell just happened?

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #jack champion #scream #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x you #scream vi imagine #scream imagine

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chaussetteblanche · 11 months

Text

hobie taking care of drunk!you

pairing : hobie brown x gn!reader summary : the ways hobie takes care of you when you've had too much to drink warnings : none word count : about 1k

You had been shocked when Hobie had agreed to come to the party. You’d been begging him for days to come with you, not only because you wanted him to accompany you, but also because there were a few people you were convinced he would get along with. Other anarchists and punks. His kind of people. It was one of your friends’ birthday, and a perfect excuse to drink just a bit too much on a Friday evening.

“Aight, I’ll come along, but the second they get some of that shitty modern music playin’, I’m outta there, you get me?” he’d warned the day before. You had just beamed, lifting yourself up on the tips of your toes to give him a sweet kiss. He had hummed, heading back to the couch to resume his Bakunin book.

He was now staring at you across the room, you were in the kitchen with a dozen other people, throwing back drink after drink. He had known it was over when you’d started mixing alcohols. He’d have to stay the whole night, even if it was just to look after you. But it wasn’t as bad as he had expected, a few friends of yours had interesting political views and made for rich conversation. He internally winced when he saw your behaviour alter, thinking of how shitty you’d be feeling the following day.

“Hobie!” you cried loudly, wobbling over to him. He had a hand out as soon as you were within reach, hovering over the small of your back in case you were to stumble. "You alright there?" he asked. You nodded happily and pressed a wet kiss to his cheek, smiling widely. “How are you liking the party with these two?” You motioned to your two friends, who chuckled at the state you were in. “I told ya you’d like ‘em,” “I do, they’re very nice, aren’t they?” he chuckled as you swayed lightly besides him. “How ‘bout you come with me for a sec, luv?” You looked down, shuffling your feet which seemed unusually far from you. “Not here, Hobes, we can’t…” Hobie let out a bark of laughter at the way your mind worked. “Nah, luv, I’m not tryna have sex right now, but let’s ‘ave a drink, though, yeah?” “Oh,” you nodded, a twinkling laugh escaping your throat, “sure,”

You wobbled enthusiastically to the kitchen, Hobie catching up with you within a few quick steps. “Lemme get ya somethin’ to drink, alright, luv?” Whenever you were out together, he would always make you drink some water without ruining your fun. You didn't always notice. “Sure, baby,” you smiled, all wet lips and pretty white teeth. Hobie let his eyes roam your face before tearing himself away and getting a shot glass. He filled it up with water and handed it to you. “Here ya go, dovey,” You stared sceptically down at the clear liquid in front of you, frowning. “It’s tequila,” he added, hoping to make you take the shot, like the dozen you’d taken before. You met his eye, brows low. “Like fuck it is.” He held his breath, sucking his tongue. Curse you for being so attractive when you acted defiant. “I’m not that drunk, you know, I can still differentiate water from tequila,” you spoke, chin lifted high. Hobie scanned your face, holding back a smirk. Glassy eyes, slurred speech, no balance whatsoever. He knew you well. Of course you were very, very far from sober and of course you wouldn't admit it. “Just drink it, alright?” he pressed, pinching the bridge of his nose to cover his smirk. “Fine, I’m drinking it, but it’s only because you’re so pretty, okay? So, it’s kind of a ‘fuck you’, just so you know.” He chuckled and nodded despite not understanding what you meant.

You run off after that and he returns to his conversation about neo-anarchism. But he loses sight of you for a few minutes and excuses himself, wanting to check up on you. He finds you outside, trying to convince your even drunker friend to come inside rather than sleeping in the grass. You’re lightly shaking her shoulder, whispering to her. “C’mon, babes, come inside. You can sleep on the couch, just not here, okay? I promise it's so much more comfortable.” Hobie’s heart warms at the sight of you caring for your friend despite the state you’re in. “Look, if you don’t get up, Imma give you a real slap and see how you like that,” you finally threaten, fed up. Hobie laughs when your friend gets up, grumbling, and heads inside.

“There y’are, lovely,” he speaks warmly, “’was looking f’you,” You tear your eyes away from your friend’s retreating form and look up at him. He looks even more beautiful under the moonlight, his silver piercing reflecting slightly. “Were you?” “Hmm,” he hums, lifting your chin and pressing a kiss to your lips. “Was worried ‘bout you,” “I’m fine,” you assure, grinning widely. “Really?” he cocks an eyebrow. You’re about to answer and say that, yes, really, you’re fine, but your stomach lurches and next thing you know you’re hunched over, the contents of your stomach spilling out into your friend’s bushes.

Hobie lets out a curse and quickly gathers your hair and pulls it back at the nape of your neck, getting it all out of your face. He rubs your back soothingly, whispering sweet things into your ear. “It’s okay, let it out, let it all out, baby, you’ll feel better afterwards.” When you’re done, he hands you a Kleenex and wipes your teary eyes, pouting slightly. “I’m so sorry, that was so fuckin’ disgusting,” you moan. He would probably be disgusted with you for weeks and would never want to ever look at you again. Your eyes started to well with tears. “Luv, y’know I don’t care ‘bout none of that,” he grins, kissing your cheek. “How ‘bout we get ya home, yeah?” “Yeah,” you look down, “that’s probably a good idea,”

When you’re back at his apartment, you shower together, and he helps you into bed. You’re out like a light, and he presses a kiss to your forehead, placing an Ibuprofen and a glass of water on your nightstand for the next morning. He smiles softly when you turn around to face him when he slides between the covers, your gentle breath fanning his face. You were a dumbass sometimes, but you were still his dumbass.

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie x reader #hobie brown #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk x you #spiderpunk #hobart brown x reader #atsv x you #atsv x reader

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ch3rryfunk · 1 year

Note

hi cherry! what do u think drunk Leon would be like? i feel like he would be so silly and giggly and DEFINITELY drunkenly confess his feelings to the reader, but the following morning he would own up to it and say those feelings were genuine… idk the idea makes my heart melt

Hiii!! OMG drunk Leon is a little devil. Think it’d go something like this.

☆*:.｡.

When Leon invited you out for a drink, you NEVER expected him to get drunk, he just kept ordering more and more shots, and to your amusement, he got fully intoxicated rather quickly.

“Ugh, Kennedy, stop laughing. If I had known you were this clingy, I would’ve never let you drink.” You said, dragging him out of the bar and into your car. “Come on, get inside.”

You drove him back home, the car ride could’ve been peaceful, SILENT even. But no, he just kept mumbling incoherent things and laughing at his own jokes that you didn’t even understand.

You’d seen Leon get tipsy a few times, but not full-on drunk, which surprised you.

Leon Kennedy? THE Leon S Kennedy acting like a little kid and cracking stupid jokes? The man you crushed on, clinging onto your arm as you drove?

When you arrived at his home, he was persistent. He didn’t want you to go and kept talking about how much he enjoyed your company.

“Leon, I’m flattered, but I have work tomorrow. It’s late. I can’t stay-“

“Please stay, please, please, please.” He pleaded, you couldn’t help but laugh. Sober, Leon would be so embarrassed right now.

“Just for a few minutes. What’s gotten into you? You suddenly can’t live without me?”

“You’re just so so so pretty.”

He was slurring his words but kept repeating the same sentence, calling you pretty. You felt hopeless, what were you supposed to do? Even though you knew he was drunk, that made your heart skip a beat.

“K’, enough. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

He went quiet for a few seconds as you led him into his room, took his jacket off, and practically wrestled him into getting into bed. Once he finally gave in, he pulled you with him.

“Woah, no, no, no. No sir, you should take me to dinner first.” You laughed, “Close your eyes and sleep.”

“No.”

“Leon.”

“No.”

“Leon, please-”

“No!”

“Leon! Why are you so stubborn?!” You raised your voice but broke out in laughter, “I’m so sorry. You’re so going to regret this when you sober up. Not only that, but you’re also such a man child!” and the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

“Stop laughing, s’not funny. You’re stubborn!”

“I’ll stop laughing if you sleep now, dork. Now shut your mouth and sleep.”

“Can’t sleep, I’m cold.”

You groaned. Going to sleep shouldn’t be so difficult. You were starting to consider knocking him out.

You pulled the blue duvet from under his body and covered him, he watched you in silence. You were so caring, so kind to him. He just had to say it, he wanted you to know so badly.

“You’re so cute when you’re bossy. You’re so good to me, I can’t- I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Huh?”

“Sorry, I just,“ he slurred. “I really want to kiss you.”

Your heart stopped for a second, he didn’t mean that. He was totally shit-faced, but your face still grew hot. Why were you getting nervous all of a sudden?

“Okay! Good night Kennedy. I’m out.”

You’d be lying if you said his words didn’t make you overthink the rest of the night. From the moment you stepped out of his house to the moment you got into your bed. Hell, you could barely even sleep. This was the man you had been crushing on for god knows how long, he had you head over heels. You even arrived earlier at your job just in case he needed anything. You loved spending time with him because you were completely smitten, so hearing those drunken words come from his mouth almost made you go into cardiac arrest.

The next day you knew you had to face him at work. You wondered if he’d mention it, yet you PRAYED he wouldn’t because he would probably feel so embarrassed for himself.

He came in late, looking tired, but nothing too out of the ordinary. He watched you work for a few seconds before going over to your desk and plopping down on the chair next to yours.

“Morning, Kennedy.” You greeted him as you continued typing on the computer. “You okay?”

“Yeah, all good. I’m really sorry about yesterday.”

He probably doesn’t remember anything apart from blacking out, you shrugged. “Don’t mind it, it was fun. You should learn to hold your liquor, though, for your safety.”

Leon went quiet as he watched you for a minute.

“Got something to say?”

“No, I don’t- yeah. I meant what I said last night.”

“Which part?” You ask him, finally taking your eyes off the screen and facing him. “You said so many things, I couldn’t keep up.”

“The part where I said I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Oh.

You blushed, a nervous chuckle escaping your lips as you tried to look anywhere else but into his eyes. “Sure. Are you still drunk?”

“I mean it, y/n. Everything I said was genuine.”

You mentally cursed at yourself for mentioning it, your heart raced and you froze.

“And I will gladly take you out to dinner.”

There is no way he remembers. No. Freaking. Way.

You could barely react as he stood up from his chair and walked out of your office. “Gotta go now, I have a meeting in a few minutes. But I’ll come back when I’m finished. Then we can talk about dinner.”

☆*:.｡.

SORRY FOR THE LATE RESPONS HELP and also this is kinda bad I'm really sorry lol 😭

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viviswtings · 1 year

Text

Alcohol wet.

So I've just been drawing Neteyam like the simp I am, and it's going great. He's inspiring me so much I got to write a whole thing for him.

Words: 2627.

Warnings: suggestive fluff? Is that a thing? Also not proof-read. Just finished and posted. English isn't my first language and there are words I'm iffy about all over. Tell me if something doesn't make sense.

The characters are aged up. Like, in their twenties sort of aged up. Don't come after me. Or do. Idk.

“Shit, you’re beautiful “

He exhaled against her face, his breath smelling of the sweet, fruity liquor he had been sipping all night.

Up until this point he had been slurring his words, letting them fall off his purple stained lips, all buttery and soft- his speech, that is- without seemingly any care for if she could understand them or not.

But this. This he said clearly. Like a cloudless day, after a particularly dark eclipse. She understood every single word, and she was exhilarated when she did.

How sweet his voice came out, how his plushy, swollen lips had caressed every word like he knew exactly what place in her heart they were meant to fit into. Taking that little space she had once made for him and making it bigger and bigger, so all her feelings may fit within her chest.

He was staring at her from up close, his nose almost touching hers. Those big, golden eyes that let her see her own reflection in the dilated pupil. She hoped he meant it, that, in his eyes, she truly was beautiful.

But alcohol did its thing as the warrior pursed hisr lips and got closer. She turned her head as quickly as she realized, for she had reacted too slowly, having been immersed in his gaze and almost gotten lost in it.

The peck on her cheek was wet, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the distressed sound off Neteyam’s chest once he figured he had failed his attempt. Leaning back to look at him, it was impossible not to smile.

His face was turned towards the ground, while his stare remained on her, brow furrowed and lips pouted. His ears, now flushing almost pink, laid tense flat against his braided hair, all the muscles in his body were tense as his tail flicked from side to side behind him. It was comical. The great, mighty warrior Neteyam te Suli was butthurt. Because she had denied him a kiss.

Maybe it was right at this very moment that a part of her mind, in the furthest back off it, has come to understand she had some power over him. But perhaps she didn’t, and it was all the liquor’s fault, for it had made her delusional.

Seconds in silence had passed, which, given the previous circumstances, was unusual. The young warrior had started bragging about all his feats as soon as the alcohol had settled in. Talking nonsense about how his father barely had to teach him anything, how he was a natural, fishing when he was still using a children’s bow, being the youngest hunter to make his first kill and finishing his ikniyama at the ripe age of just thirteen years old. He almost made her ears fall off, but she did have a special soft spot for him and his slurred, rhythmic and almost-purr like nonsense. So, she had listened attentively all the same.

“Do you not want me?” Was the first thing that left his lips after his failed strategy. She did not expect the look of doubt carved into his features. Like his worst nightmare had become true, like he was… afraid.

Her heart skipped various beats that made her throat close, so no words could come out. She couldn’t flat out reject him just because he was drunk, but saying she did-and oh, she did want him- would risk him not remembering the next morning. Even worse, he could regret it, stop talking to her altogether and leave her with the hope of finally fulfilling her one wish.

It could also escalate and she was not about to take advantage of a drunken man twice her size.

“Nete” Her voice came out as an exhale, like she had been holding her breath all along. “You… ask me tomorrow” Was her final answer, hushed, but with a bit more confidence. If he didn’t ask, she could just presume he didn’t remember and not risk her own heart being shattered.

His ears twitched, his tail stopped, and he got closer again, to which she retreated, trying to avert his eyes. What would happen if she even dared to look back at him? It scared her, so she didn’t.

Then the rough skin of his fingertips came in contact with her forearms, making the hairs on the back of her head rise up and her body tense even more.

“I will” He pressed another kiss to her cheek, a little bit further away from the corner of her mouth, much softer and velvety and leaving no trace of wetness. At least, not on her cheek.

“Alright” She muttered, barely above a whisper, much too afraid of the people around them finding out the oloe’ytakan talking in such an intimate way with her. Both of his hands on her, caressing the skin of her knuckles with his thumb while he kept hold of her forearm, as if to keep her close, to not let her distance herself too much.

He had been resting his chin on her shoulder, face almost cradled in the hollow of her neck, when he was rudely interrupted by a deep, guttural grunt he knew all too well. It would’ve had him standing straight and knocking the air off him in any other situation. But Neteyam was way too comfortable, skin all warm, hands busy and mind fuzzy with the sweetest smell.

Then he felt a hand around his neck, the woman almost under him getting impossibly straight and tense when she pulled her arms away from him. Breath tickled his ear, making him uncomfortable. “Up, boy. Don’t make me repeat myself”.

So he did. All his body screamed against it, but Neteyam got up, not looking down, unable to see the flustered girl he had left on the ground, fidgeting with her tail and head low in shame. He would’ve sobered up in a second if he had. Or so he’d most likely want to believe.

But the older man did see her. As a matter of fact, he always saw her, he did see all of the members of the clan, old or young, gatherer or warrior, it was his duty. He took pride in it. He loved his people.

But that girl, ever since she arrived, she had his eldest running around like a headless chicken. He wasn’t blind, nor a fool, the kid was sweet and very pretty indeed. That, and he knew better than to meddle with young passions, given his own record. His son had crossed a line, though. As he himself had witnessed his son make a fool of himself all night.

“C’mere, sweetheart” He offered his hand to the girl, smiling her way when she looked up at him. “How about we walk you home and I’ll take care of this one for the night”.

She smiled back, taking the five-fingered hand with her own, to which Jake pulled her up, ready in case he had to help her with her balance. But she did just fine, maybe a bit wobbly on her feet, but not a major inconvenience.

The walk to her hut was almost silent, with Neteyam’s head hanging low, too immersed in his own thoughts to even mind his step. If he didn’t know the paths of High Camp like the back of his hand, he might have found it really difficult to find his footing.

Jake only ever broke the silence with politeness, asking how they were doing- to which his son only grumbled-, and making small talk with the girl. He knew her just enough to know what to ask and keep the light smile with jokes as long as the small walk lasted. If he could make his girls laugh, this one shouldn’t have been too much different. Thankfully, he was right.

Once they got to their destination, he stepped back, leaving way for his son so he may have his privacy.

Neteyam knew he should thank his father for the chance, but forgot all about it once he had to put two words together.

“I will ask” He repeated, lowering his eyes to meet her own. He had thought about what he should say all the way there, yet he found himself dumbfounded, incapable of remembering a single thing.

“Alright” She answered back, just as she did before, hands clasping in front of her, knuckles a yellowish shade of green as she gripped onto her own fingers, her nails drawing recent shapes on her palm.

“You will accept” He sounded far more confident than his beating heart would’ve ever let her know. But this surge of confidence lasted long enough for him to hold her hands in his, so she wouldn’t hurt herself anymore. “Then I’ll have you, as you have me”.

She was choking on thin air. The way he was staring her down, brow stern and lips sealed tightly into a line, while making those statements as if he already knew. As if he was laying his head against her chest and hearing her breath catch and her heart beating furiously against her ribs. Like it was the only possible, reasonable outcome.

She had him? Never in her life had she dared to bluff such nonsense. While every young woman almost paraded around him: the nicest singers, the prettiest dancers, the most skilled healers… Every single woman with the least bit of status within High Camp took the slightest chance to be near him. She simply existed, not particularly away from him, but afraid to get so close it would end up hurting her.

Why wouldn’t they? She may laugh at her “mighty warrior” comments, but she knew they were true. He was mighty, and as tall as he was slim, agile and strong. His hair was thick and his hands looked almost heavenly when he put it up for hunting parties, his long neck and the line of his shoulders in display while the muscles in his back flexed, almost knocking the air out of her lungs.

Just as he did now. Luminous freckles making a soft path around his features, down his nose and over his cupid’s bow. He felt so soft pressed to her skin it made her tail move behind her nervously and her loins burn.

“Can I kiss you?”

He had gotten closer to her face once against, big eyes open in question, as he now held her by her arms, pulling her just a tad bit closer as he waited for an answer. If his father had heard him, he didn’t show. He cut her short before she could attempt to answer. “Not your lips”. The remark caught her off guard, but she didn’t know how to mind while he kept his beautiful, gleaming irises on her, like an expecting child asking to go play.

So, she nodded, in fear her words would fail her. Pushing far the thought of the man’s father being mere feet away. How could she deny him? Was she even supposed to? She did want him to kiss her, even though it felt wrong, knowing he was under the effects of the drink he had been having. A kiss it’s just a kiss, isn’t it? It only has the meaning you want to grant it.

All her facade fell precariously as Neteyam’s hands caressed her arms, heavy and warm, up to her shoulders, making her shiver as they made their home on her neck and held her jaw with his thumbs. Keeping her right where he wanted.

He kissed her left cheek, slowly, without making a noise, and she felt his eyelashes against her burning skin. When he went to the other cheek, she saw his eyes closing softly, as he pulled her closer by her neck. She let herself go, closing her own while his lips kissed her. As he looked at her again, she found her own hands clasping around his arms and a smile on his face. He kissed the bridge of her nose, letting out an amused huff.

His fingers made way into her hair, massaging her scalp, when she felt them lightly touch the base of her queue. Her whole body arched involuntarily into his, making her eyes close with her lips parted as he kissed her one last time in the middle of her forehead.

She looked delectable and Neteyam felt famished. Like a starved man, just torturing himself with the meal he could not have, as it wasn’t his for the taking.

He hadn’t meant to hold her like that, but the hazy look on her face had him in a chokehold and he couldn’t help himself. By the time he felt her queue against his fingers he knew he was utterly fucked. The way she molded against him, throwing her head back while she held onto him like a lifeline, her tail caressing his thigh absent-mindedly, just letting herself go in his arms like that. How was he to keep himself away from her, his father here or not. It was only her word holding him back from devouring her whole, just as she was right now.

He knew better than to approach a woman when she had drunk, but he also knew better than to drink himself stupid and there he was. If it wasn’t because he was holding onto her as much as she was onto him, he’d probably be face first on the dirt.

“Neteyam.” What a damn beautiful sound she had just made. He opened his eyes, pulling himself with all his might so he could look at her. “You should head home”. Home? Where was that place again? He’d rather not remember the way back and stay the night. But she wouldn’t have him, not then. “Your father is waiting”.

“Damn him.” He thought out loud. “He can wait”.

She let out the giddiest of laughs and his heart could explode for all he cared.

“We can talk tomorrow”. He already knew. But right in that moment he felt nauseous at the thought of parting. Might as well hold onto her like a child so she’d coo him to sleep and calm all his worries.

“We will.” He remarked, kissing her forehead again.

“I know”. She ushered. “So go and sleep, so tomorrow may come sooner.”

Neteyam looked at her, like he had done so many times. At her pleasing features and her dimpled smile that reached her eyes. The Great Mother had made her all for him, he had no doubt. She couldn’t have made the most precious creature just to rip it away from him. She’d accept him, take him for herself and he’d be the happiest man.

But, of course, he couldn’t drag the whole affair forever. His father was, indeed, waiting for him and his patience was running thin. “Kid, c’mon. You need a nap.”

So, he hugged her, tightly, so close to him she would feel his heart against hers. He needed a home for it inside her, he reasoned, that’s why it yearned for her so much.

When he let go, she felt shaky. Her pupils inspected his face, but she let go rather easily. Her parted mouth was screaming for him, but he couldn’t drag the affair any longer, so he let her go. His hands fell on his sides in fists and he turned around, with a willpower only years under his father’s stern stare could accomplish.

He felt the man’s hand on his back, cold and somehow soothing against the burning skin of his shoulders. Like a kid, he let his father’s presence reassure him, he’d be fine. Even if it meant another night tossing and turning thinking of her, and now the very real prospect of her skin against his and her lips on his, her legs around his waist…

“Let’s get you home, kid”.

He definitely had to get home.

#neteyam #avatar #avatar2009 #avatar the way of water #atwow #neteyam x reader #neteyamx oc #neteyam x y/n #neteyam imagine #neteyam scenario #neteyam sully #neteyam fic

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cheollipop · 10 months

Text

calico

navi | taglist

pairing: ex!yoon jeonghan x bartender!reader

w.c.: 3.1k

tags: fem!reader, smut, angst, past infidelity/cheating, this is really toxic.... hate sex though....

the heartache from a past game of cat and dog—leaving you with nothing but a stained bed and a broken heart—came back tenfold when freshly-chopped hair and a sly smirk greeted you through the cracked-open, tinted window.

warnings: car sex, so semi-public sex, hate sex, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex (👎), creampie, some cockwarming, degradation (mentions of past cheating, both reader and jeonghan refer to the other as "slut"), reader is also called a cockslut at one point, hair pulling, pussy slapping, nicknames (hannie; darling), jeonghan is really toxic (and a big asshole), past infidelity, seungcheol is mentioned a few times *wink wonk*

A/N: this is for the anon who requested jeonghan ages ago. I might be 5 years late to writing it, but it's here hehe~ I'm so glad I finally got to write more for svt! this was really fun to write~ please consider leaving feedback/reblogging if you enjoyed! ^^ happy reading~~

nsfw under the cut—minors dni 🔞

Frosty air cooled the sweat sticking to your exposed skin, heeled boots clacking over the pavement as you stumbled out of the creaky, metal door at the back of the club. You were way too sober, you thought, eyebrow twitching at the memory of your fight with the new manager. ‘No alcohol after you clock in,’ the high-pitched sound repeated in your ears. You worked just fine with a shot or two in your system; you’d argue you worked even better, able to drown out the slurred pick-up lines and simply pour drinks. Friday nights were the worst, and having to deal with clingy men who didn’t understand rejection—most of which not even your type—without alcohol had you considering a career change. So the second the clock hit eleven, you hurriedly wiped your station before another batch of college freshmen crowded the bar, grabbing your stuff and scrambling out the back exit.

Your legs carried you out of the small alleyway and onto the lit main sidewalk, thankful that the council finally replaced the flickering light bulb. Your eyes zeroed in on the bus stop down the road, and you quickly made your way towards it before the last bus could arrive.

A sudden horn blared to your right, cutting through the stillness and sounding over the distant music from the club behind you. Your fingers dug into your pocket on instinct to circle around the tube of pepper spray, your body tensing defensively as you faced the Jeep parked in front of you. The driver’s tinted window rolled down, a head of short, brown locks peeking through the gap. Your hand eased around the spray when you met with familiar, downturned eyes, hooded with what seemed like amusement. A shot of pain seared through your chest, your heart pounding against your ribcage as Jeonghan stared back at you blankly, a simple “hey” reverberating in the air between you.

“No bitches to cheat on tonight?” You spat, tightening your fingers around the jacket in your hand.

Why was he here? After you’d finally stopped looking for him in every corner, hoping he’d pull you out from behind the bar to give you a tearful apology? After the scent of his misdeeds had faded off your bedsheets, your slumber no longer interrupted by dreams about your heart being used as a plaything?

Jeonghan's eyebrow twitched, his amusement blending with irritation. “Seungcheol’s taken now, whose cock would they jump on if I did?”

Resentment seeped into your chest, and you considered pepper spraying him just to erase that smug smirk off his face. But you turned away from him, sucking in the cool air while scheming eyes bore into your profile. You willed your legs into motion, your footsteps sounding to the beat of the muffled club music as you continued your journey down to the bus stop. A car door slammed somewhere behind you, and you picked at the side of your index finger while you walked, hoping it was just a clubber who’d been running late. A firm hand wrapped around your upper arm and twisted you around, striking out the previous possibility when Jeonghan’s hot breath brushed against your face.

“Let me drive you home,” he mumbled, his hand relaxing around your arm but not quite releasing it.

You couldn’t help but pity him in this moment. A man who’d broken your heart and left you to mend it alone, curled up on your bedroom floor while he stuffed his belongings into a worn-down duffle, not even an apology or a goodbye, only the loud clang of his spare key landing on your console before the front door slammed shut. That same man, two years later, parked in front of your workplace—for God knows how many hours—only to drive you home? A part of you was curious why that was. The other, though, wanted to get the fuck away from him.

“Why? So I can hear more about how not sorry you are? No thanks,” you tugged against his grasp, now tight around your arm again.

“(Y/n), please. I won’t say anything, I just wanna drive you home,” the subtle hint of desperation in his voice alarmed you. It didn’t make sense, and yet the unanswered question overshadowed your confusion. The anger that had been simmering in your gut was beginning to boil.

“So you actually don’t feel guilty?” You didn’t mean for your voice to crack, and yet the ache in your chest nearly made you double over the further his silence stretched—the same one that had robbed you of sleep, kept you away from all potential love interests, had you curled up in the same sheets the reeked of adultery and betrayal while Jeonghan continued to jump from woman to woman, a trail of his sins dragging behind his indifferent figure. “Let me go, Jeonghan,” your tone was weak, defeated, once again faced with agonizing reality—he’d moved on long before that day.

You missed the way his eyelids fluttered at the delicate roll of his name off your tongue, the sound sparking a memory into the front of his mind, a collage of smiles and easy laughter echoing in his ears. His hand raised to grab onto your other arm, possessiveness laced with concern slowly overtaking him at the sight of you—shoulders slumped, eyes glassy and your fingers shaking where they curled into fists at your sides, the mere mention of his indifference reducing you to the same, hurt woman he's left behind.

“It’s late. Let me just-” He paused. Jeonghan never paused, not even when you stood at your doorway, looking him in the eye while he soiled your bedsheets with someone else. “I just want to make sure you get home safe.”

You blamed it on the quiver in your legs, the loss of willpower to move yourself away from him, but this time, you didn’t argue.

‘I thought you would be okay,

You thought I would be the same,’

Dpr Ian played through the speakers, the volume on low despite the silence stretching between you and the man in the driver’s seat. You realized you hadn’t needed to give him directions, a relationship of three years enough to engrave the way to your apartment into his mind forever. Your eyes flitted over to the side every now and then, taking in the shadows cast over Jeonghan’s cheekbones with every passing streetlight, his fringe fanning over his forehead in a way unfamiliar to you. Looking back to the front, you decided you preferred his longer hair, and missed the innocent glimmer in his dark eyes. Though despite all the changes—new car, new hair, new attitude and style—Jeonghan still used the same perfume, one that you’d bought him for the first birthday you’d celebrated together. Something in your gut stirred at the thought, but you were unsure whether it was pleasant or not.

‘it’s just another show,

Don’t want your world no more,’

Jeonghan cleared his throat, “I got promoted to manager,” he spoke, breaking the silence.

“Good for you,” your tone was cold, uninterested.

“Yeah.”

Dpr Ian continued to play, ‘You’re so addicted to my bad decisions.’

“How’s bartending been?”

“It’s okay.”

He hummed, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as he took a right turn. “Mm, I worry about you sometimes. People can act crazy when drunk.”

Your eyebrow twitched, irritation creeping into your tone, “you don’t get to be worried about me.” You felt the urge to slam your fist into his unnecessarily sharp jaw, to watch bruises paint his face until the rage embedded so deep within your soul dissipated.

A few seconds of silence passed as Jeonghan parked parallel to the empty sidewalk in front of your apartment building, sighing while turning off the engine and twisting in his seat to face you. “You know, I’m just trying to be nice here.”

Your fists clenched, mirroring Jeonghan and turning around to look at him with hooded eyes, your muscles clenching and relaxing in an attempt to calm yourself down. “Well, maybe you should’ve thought to do that before you fucked a random girl in my bed,” you spat, content to have watched his face fall before turning your back to him and reaching for the door handle.

A hand flew over your shoulder before your fingers could reach their target, his index and thumb grabbing your jaw and forcefully forcing you back into your prior position. “And you thought sleeping with my best friend was a good way to handle it?” He pulled you closer to him, your lower belly digging into the console as he bent you over it, his face mere inches away and his breath blowing warm over your cheeks.

“You don’t get to blame me-”

He was quick to interrupt your defense, “you think I didn’t notice you acting like a slut to get his attention? Way before anything even happened,” his grip on your face tightened, inching his own closer as he spoke, each word falling off his tongue making the knot in your stomach wind tighter. “The looks,” something in his eyes glimmered, and while that once made butterflies flutter in your stomach, it now grew the lump in your throat until it restricted your airway. “The touches,” his breath fanned over your face, small beads of sweat pilling over your skin at the humidity, and perhaps at the rasp in Jeonghan’s voice as he laid out your sins before you. “The pictures.”

Your fingers gripped the console, slipping off with streaks of sweat staining the black leather. Heart pounding in your ears, you hoped Jeonghan’s hearing somehow declined during the years you’d spent apart, the ringing in your ears fogging up all thoughts. You blamed the nerves on his accusations—a dark past you thought you’d buried without trace—and yet the proximity, the lack of space between your face and Jeonghan’s, the mint lacing his breath and the rasp in every word he spoke, you found hidden tinges of arousal mixed in with your anxiety, dousing your panties as you tried to escape the man’s grasp.

“Why are you here, Jeonghan?” Your voice wavered, but this time, you didn’t miss the wave of what seemed like relief painting his face when his name rolled off your tongue.

“Would you believe me if I said I missed you?”

The ache in your chest returned, your eyebrows furling until you appeared wounded by his words. “Not for a second,” your voice remained firm, though, sparing him no glimpse at your heart.

Jeonghan only scoffed, amused by the contrast between your tone and expression. He leaned closer—as though your indifference urged him to prove himself to you—pressing his lips the corner of your mouth, whispering his next words against the soft skin, “you’re not entirely wrong… but I did miss one thing.”

‘I thought you would be okay,

You thought I would be the same.’

Your lower back dug into the steering wheel, the leather beneath your knees creaking as you adjusted your position over Jeonghan, your pants shamefully thrown over the passenger seat. Teeth clacked against each other, heavy breaths mingling between your open mouths as your tongues pressed together in a battle of lust.

Two fingers spread you open, curling between your sopping walls until your eyes rolled back, his other hand holding up the window switch, waiting until the darkened glass closed fully before moving it to your hip.

Squeezing the supple flesh, Jeonghan groaned into your parted lips, “still so fucking tight, did Seungcheol not fuck you well enough?”

Heat flared up your chest, “shut up.”

You’d thought two years and countless hookups would’ve blurred Jeonghan's memory of you, but his fingers fucked into you with purpose, as though every inch of your body, every motion that drove pleasure up your spine had become second nature to him.

“I bet he didn’t know how to satisfy my pretty slut,” he pressed his lips to your cheek, using the hand on your hip to guide you over his fingers.

“Sh-shut up-”

He slipped out of you, gliding his digits down your cunt and over your clit before landing a harsh slap over the nub, your body jolting over him and a broken cry sounding in the humid car. The wet clap of his hand on your drenched pussy repeated, and you mumbled incoherently through a breathy moan.

“What was that? Speak up for me, darling,” you could hear the smirk in his voice.

The urge to punch the playfulness off his face dissipated when skilled fingers brushed over your clit, “fuck, again-”

And he conceded, bringing his hand down on your pussy once more to watch your back arch into the steering wheel behind you, lips parting as pain mingled with pleasure, your cunt throbbing under Jeonghan’s palm. That same hand swiftly moved to your face, fingers digging into your jaw and smearing your arousal over your skin while his other worked over his zipper, quickly undoing his pants and pushing them down far enough to take his cock out. It leaked precum over his black button-up, the vein lining the underside throbbing at the sight of you above him—eyes glazed over and fixed on his hard length, your tongue digging into the inside of your cheek.

His fingers tapped against your clit, once, twice, before landing another rough slap over it. He grabbed himself around the base, groaning at the sudden contact as he positioned you over the leaking cockhead, “be a good girl for once and- fuck-”

You cut him off before he could finish his sentence, sliding down his length unprompted until his cock was sheathed entirely between your fluttering walls. You rolled your hips to adjust, forcing your chests flush as you moved and pressing your lips to the shell of Jeonghan’s ear.

“You talk as if you’ve done nothing wrong, but you’re just as much of a slut as I am, aren’t you, Hannie?” Trailing feathery kisses over his jaw, you slipped his cock halfway out of your cunt before sliding him back inside, squeezing your walls around him to feel the stuttered rise and fall of his chest against you. “You fucked me that morning, then brought that bitch into my bed a couple hours after,” you pecked the sharp edge of his jawline, moving your lips back to his ear to whisper your next words, “didn’t even have the decency to take her to your apartment-”

Rough fingers tangled in the hair at your nape, tugging your face back until you met with unfocused eyes. Jeonghan readjusted under you, digging his feet into the clean mats and thrusting upwards experimentally, scoffing at the moan you tried to suppress. Your neck craned uncomfortably, gritting your teeth as Jeonghan eyed you silently, a hand on your hip keeping you still and leaving you helpless to do anything but warm his cock.

So you commenced your taunts, desperately trying to wiggle out of his grasp while you spoke, “how many hours have you been waiting outside, huh? Just to get your dick wet-”

“I have you on my cock now, don’t I?” His fingers tightened around your hair, and he leaned back in his seat, fucking up into your clenching cunt before you could think of anything to say—assuming you were still capable of processing anything but the smooth drag of his length between your pulsing walls, his nails digging thin crescents into the flesh of your hip. His breathing grew heavy, and yet his words remained clear, contemptuous. “You may hate me, darling, but whether you like it or not, you’ll keep coming back to me,” the hand in your hair eased, fingers scratching soothingly at your sore scalp and pushing your head closer to his, bringing his voice down to a whisper, “because you’re my pretty cockslut, aren’t you?”

Jeonghan nuzzled his nose into your cheek, planting a tender kiss to the heated skin while you frantically nodded your head. A staccato of moans and repetitions of his name rolled off your tongue as he brought you down to meet his relentless thrusts, his own grunts adding to the stuffiness in the closed-up car. He pounded into your dripping cunt, taking in the jolts of pleasure shaking your body every time he drove his cockhead into your g-spot, your moans growing needier the closer he pushed you towards the edge.

With one final slap to your throbbing pussy, your vision darkened and your body curled in on itself. Jeonghan’s fingers rubbed quick circles over your swollen nub, watching you writhe on top of him as waves of pleasure seared through you, your moans high-pitched and desperate as he guided you through your orgasm with unrelenting fingers, spark after spark of simmering heat blinding you to everything but Jeonghan.

He felt his own high approaching at the tight squeeze of your walls around him, his thrusts slowing down when you tumbled over the edge, but returning to their frenzied pace to chase his orgasm. Your fingers closed over his upper arms, tinges of overstimulation blending with the ecstasy of his cock slamming into your used cunt.

“Fuck- where do you want me, darling?” He rolled his head back over the headrest, eyes lidded with burning arousal and his thighs beginning to cramp up at the pace he was going at.

“Inside, Hannie, hnngh! Please, inside,” you said, words slurred and interrupted by a harmony of moans, disregarding the soreness between your legs while you begged Jeonghan to come inside you.

He laughed at the desperation, the sweet noise—airy, gravelly with the lust clouding his every sense—was cut short, interrupted by a throaty grunt as he emptied inside you, hot ropes of cum pulsing out of him to paint your walls. Cupping your ass with both hands, he sunk his fingers into the flesh and guided you over his cock in slow rolls of your hips, breathing in the air the other exhaled, eyes locked as the last spurt of cum warmed your insides.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but now, with your head resting on Jeonghan’s chest, his steady heartbeat echoing in your ears and cum slowly dribbling out of you while his cock remained sheathed deep inside, you realized you’d let your walls down for the man who’d caused them to go up, sinking into the pleasure he so generously poured into you. The walls you’d been holding up for two years, the pain he’d left you with sparking fear in your heart every time someone tried to get closer. And yet, the same man who’d planted that fear inside you somehow breached past the infrastructure you’d spent so long strengthening.

While you laid there in the faux sense of security Jeonghan so easily provided, you realized he was right: you will always find your way back to him.

reblogs/feedback are greatly appreciated!! ^^ apply for my tag list here (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

#yoon jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen angst #yoon jeonghan angst #jeonghan smut #jeonghan x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen fanfic #yoon jeonghan fanfic #yoon jeonghan scenarios #yoon jeonghan imagines

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selenaa5 · 2 months

Text

Overview: Geto and gojo are best friends who are both in love with you. They invite you over to drink and smoke weed. This is completely consensual as reader also is into it!!

Geto x Gojo x y/n

Warnings: smut, weed, alcohol, 3 some, oral, double penetration, anal and vaginal penetration, praise and degrading kink, cream pies, hair pulling, choking, consensual sex

You walked into gojos room and saw him and geto on the bed already rolling up a joint. The bed if full of snacks and 2 bottles of alcohol. They both look at you and smile widely. They both take in your look, you have on just a hoodie and shorts underneath. You hurry and jump into bed with them and start talking about your day. They pretend to be fully interested in what you were saying but they weren’t. They just wanted to get you drunk and high. You lay on your stomach between them and light up the join taking the first hit. You passed it to Gojo. He took a long hit as he looked you in the eyes, you blushed a little at his eye contact already feeling the weed in your system making you more shy than usual. Gojo slows the smoke into you eyes and laughs at you coughing from the cloud of smoke. Geto moves closer to you and wraps his around around you cuddling into you for an second then moving back away. You giggle at this. 2 joints later you get thirsty from the cotton mouth *worst thing ever btw 😞*you open the bottle and start to drink it as if it’s water the boys start yelling words of encouragement telling you to chug. After you chug the bottle you get up and run around the room from the burning taste. Both men laughing at you and grabbing you and throwing you onto the bed.

“God you’re such a drunk y/n.” Geto laughs stroking your stomach..raising your hoodie to expose your stomach and shorts.

“I kinda like it, she’s so cute when she’s cross faded haha” Gojo rubs your head.

You continue to giggle for no reason as you just pretend to understand what they’re saying. They look at each other knowing that now is a time to initiate their plan. They both lay next to you and cuddle into you taking in your smell..a mix of perfume and the weed. You try to get up from in between them..sitting up. They both lay their head of your shoulder and kiss you neck lightly not to scare you.

“Huh..are you guys okay, what are you doing hehe” you say with a slur.

Both boys continue to kiss you neck. Gojos hands rub up your stomach to your breast he cups them over your sweatshirt. Geto licks up to your neck and starts to leave hickeys on your neck. You whimper at the touches form the boys. They notice and it only encourages them more.

“Take your sweater off sweetie..” Geto says sitting you up so you can easily take it off.

You listen to them taking off your hoodie in a quick motion that got you back dizzy and flopping back onto the bed.. Gojo gets to the end of the bed taking off your short and panties at the same time. Cold air hits your slipper wet pussy, both boys take a minute to adore your wet pussy on display. Geto joins gojo as both of their faces are in front of your pussy..Geto moves first slipping his index finger into your pussy folds experimenting with your reaction. You close your legs shut as a reaction to his teasing. Gojo chuckles and opens your legs holding them down with just 1 arm. You moan form both of their teasing. Geto continues to slip his fingers in your fold collecting your juices..he finally slips a finger in. He can feel how hot and tight your pussy is already.

“Wow…so tight baby. Can barely even fit a finger” Geto purrs in a teasing way.

Gojo laughs at his comment, being jealous that Geto is the only one pleasing you right now. Gojo moves his finger to your pussy as well slipping his finger in with geto. You moan loudly feeling your pussy tighten around their fingers..you had thought about having sex with them for a long time but you never thought about having sex with both at the same time.

You felt your pussy tighten after a minute of them both fingering you, they curl their finger in the right spot getting you to your orgasm. You cum harder than ever, possibly from the alcohol and weed. Both men groan feeling your pussy tighten around their finger.. Gojo leans it and licks your pussy cleaned. He moans tasting your cum on his tongue wanting more as he grinds his crotch into the bed.

Geto takes his clothes off quickly feeling his dick hurt against his underwear. When he strips his pants his cock springs out, it made your jaw go slack seeing his big cock throb and pre cum leaking form his tip. Geto lifts you up onto his lap making your straddle your bare pussy against his throbbing cock. Gojo joins geto in taking off his clothes. Gojo sits besides you and rubs his cock against your ass trying to get some kind of friction. You grab Gojos cock and start to stroke it, he throws his head back moaning at your strokes. Gojo had a very pretty cock..it was super thick and veiny. Geto takes this as a good time to try and slip it in. His tip is pushing against your entrance..he struggles to slip it in from how tight you are. You whimper feeling your pussy get stretched from Getos dick..he finally slips it in and you both groan from the feeling.

“fuck…it’s so tight. Gojo..put it in her ass” he chuckles to Gojo.

You whimper at the thought of both men inside you at the same time.. you look back at Gojo and nod your head in approval. Gojo jumps behind you and slowly stretches your ass also. You scream from the sudden stretch and the pain. Gojo and Geto both kiss you neck and lips as a way to soothe you and make you forget the pain. After a few minutes the pain turns into pleasure as you slowly grind on both of their cocks. You throw your head back and onto Satorus shoulder from behind you. Gojo takes a handful of your hair and pulls it lightly. Geto joins in chokes you as he bounces you up and down holding onto your waist making you bounce on both of their cocks.

“You’re such a slut riding both our cock..we should get you drunk more often, huh?” Gojo whispers into your ear making you moan as you shake your head yes not able to speak clearly feeling yourself already close to another orgasm.

“You’re taking us so good baby..making me feel so good. Ima already so close..wanna fill your little pussy up so bad. Can I?” Geto whines into your ear pleading to cum already.

You groan and shake your head yes allowing him to cum early. Both Gojo and Geto hold onto your body and thrust into you faster than before feeling themselves close to orgasming. You cry from pleasure feeling your pussy and ass tighten around both of their cocks drill into you. All of you guy groan in pleasure as you guys all cum at the same time. Both men filling up your holes to the brim as they continue to grind in you to calm themselves down from their highs. You following them by creaming around their dicks and going limp on them feeling your body sore and tired.

Both men chuckle as you go limb…Gojo gets up and grabs a rag from the bathroom to clean you. After cleaning you they lay you into bed with them as they cuddle your naked body. You guys fall asleep :3

AN: this is my first time writing a whole smut so I hope you guys enjoy. I wanted this to be a longer one since it was my first but my next ones will be shorter :)

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu gojo #gojo #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu geto #geto smut #jjk smut #smut #geto x reader #geto suguru

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theold-ultraviolence · 1 year

Note

Could you do what Aemond would be like reacting to y/n almost dying after giving birth to his daughter, but after a long fainting spell she manages to recover?

I really like your headcanons <3

Thank you so much for requesting and your interest in my oc's for Aemond's children!! Hope you don't mind I'm centering this around Elaena (the eldest). Also, thank you so much for your patience, I know this took me so long!! Words: 900. CW: dad!Aemond, pregnant!reader, little bit of angst, mentions of childbirth difficulties. Set in my 'Aemond's children' au. (but you don't have to read any of my rambles or hcs to understand this)

The Warrior Princess (drabble) • Aemond Targaryen x reader

When Aemond is high up in the skies with Vhagar, sometimes his ears start ringing because of the altitude, and his heartbeat accelerates in a way that makes him scared that his body won’t resist and he’ll end up falling from the safety of the dragon’s saddle.

It’s the exact way he’s feeling at this moment, only he isn’t on dragonback, now a familiar thrill. He’s kneeling by your side as you give birth to your first child. A moment he always imagined to be blissful, despite the conventional nervousness of the meeting of your baby, of knowing the gender of the newest heir of the Targaryen bloodline.

Instead, his heart feels as though it’s being twisted with an iron first inside his chest as you squeeze his hand and let out continuous guttural screams. There’s a brutality in childbirth he can compare to a battlefield, only worse.

Because your body hasn’t been trained to endure battle. It’s easier to protect yourself with armor and a shield. There is no escaping the searing pain that’s coming from within you and he feels so helpless.

He peppers sweet kisses to your forehead, brushes your drenched hair away from your face and neck, and cleans up the sweat dripping from your chest with a cloth – even if the midwives assisting the Maester insisted he leaves such tasks to them.

If anyone was going to offer you comfort it was him. He had sworn to you he was going to be with you all throughout the birth, unlike his ancestors before him, who waited patiently in the comfort of a faraway room – distanced from the blood and tears and guttural wails from their wives as they fought for their lives to bring heirs to the Kingdom.

There’s this lapse, amidst your cries, where you turn to look at him, and his blood turns cold.

His heart drops to his stomach and white noise engulfs the room.

Your gaze is drooping, unable to focus on his face as you slur, “I don’t think I can do this…”

“No, no, no, absolutely not. You can, dear love. You’re the strongest person I know, strongest of all the Seven Kingdoms.” He murmurs with conviction, fiercely gripping your hand – panicking when your hand feels languid in his, your head dropping to the side.

He calls for you desperately, growling and squeezing your cheek to wake you up.

It’s the stuff of his worst nightmares.

Your skin is cold and clammy, your beautiful eyes closed with a certain finality.

He turns to the Maester with fury blazing in his eye.

The Maester quickly leans into your frame to check for your pulse and visibly relaxes. “Your lady wife is alright, Prince Aemond. She’s just fainted. But we need to proceed quickly or the child will be endangered.”

Suddenly he’s being ushered out of his spot beside you, as the midwives who assist the Maester crowd around you to bring you back to consciousness.

He’s going to collapse, he’s certain.

It’s a moment that lasts mere seconds – and in that rush of time, the worst images flood through Aemond’s mind.

He cannot deal with a life without you, he’d rather die.

This he repeats over and over until his intrusive thoughts are cut by a loud gasp as you wake up in great need of air.

Aemond’s ears ring again, and the whole room spins.

He hears the ruckus of the birthing room all distorted and remote as if he’s underwater.

He staggers to reclaim his position behind you, taking your hand once more, even if his grip is weaker than before. He cannot compare his pain to your own, but still, he’s feeling delirious.

Time moves in slow-motion, as he turns to look towards the Maester kneeling in between your legs, declaring, “Dear lady, we’re nearly there. Just one more push!”

You arch back with a jarring scream as you make one last attempt to push – when suddenly, your screams intermingle with the high-pitch wails of your baby.

“A girl, your majesty.” The Maester announces, “From the fight that this little one put her mother through, it seems as though you’ve given birth to a warrior princess.”

The babe is cleaned up and swaddled with nothing but the softest, finest of linens before she’s handed down to Aemond – whose arms shake with a mixture of relief and happiness as he welcomes his daughter into the world.

Aemond smiles down at the chubby little angel with silvery hair and a flushed face, leaning down so that you could see your daughter.

“My darling girl…” your voice is hoarse, and you look ready to slip into an unbothered sleep for all the moons to come. Still, you smile tiredly before blessing your daughter with her name. “Elaena…”

“Our warrior princess." Aemond strokes her soft cheek, heart swooning over the sensation of skin as soft as silk. "I’ve got a feeling her arrival is a preamble of what awaits us as she grows. A feisty little lady she’ll be,” Aemond fondly murmurs, relief washing over him once he sees you calm at last.

You nod, before falling asleep once you’ve been cleansed and accommodated into clean sheets.

Aemond can finally ease, as the worst passes, and none of his biggest fears had come through. He thanks The Seven as he rocks his baby in his arms, sitting by the fire as you sleep. Praying that if the Gods have truly blessed him with a warrior of his own, that she’ll be great and fearless, always protected in her fights.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #dad!aemond #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen drabble #aemond targaryen blurb #reader insert #fanfiction #drabbles #my writing #ewan mitchell #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond's children

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ultralightpoe · 4 months

Text

High Infidelity - Coriolanus Snow

Authors Note: Yup. I wrote for him. Hate me for it. (This was also the first time I wrote him so it’s not the best characterization, but hey. It’s been sitting in my drafts foreverrrrrr)

Word Count: 5642

Warnings: Prostitution. Lmao. And really bad writing so be prepared for that.

Apart of the Midnights Album Event

My MAIN Masterlist is here!

(Thank you for the gif @youremyvioleta )

Enjoy!

Lock broken, slur spoken

Wound open, game token

I didn't know you were keeping count

Rain soaking, blind hoping

You said I was freeloading

I didn't know you were keeping count

Your mother had always warned you away from him, warning you of the terrible terrible things that came from his family, she used to sit you at the table and plead with you to stay as far away from Coriolanus Snow as you could.

“Everything with that family ends with bloodshed.” She had warned you, telling you to stay away.

You hadn’t, and you never would….. well at least you never thought you would.

You had grown up with Coryo, known eachother since you were just children and had survived a war together. Had gone through starvation together. Back then you hadn’t understood why your mother was so afraid of him, this was the boy that had shared a can of beans with you when you had nothing. And now that the Capitol was back you were still as thick as thieves.

“I’m sorry.” You rush out, staring at your best friend right now, tears sliding your cheeks. “I don’t understand Coryo.”

It had been months since you last saw him, his hair was shorter and whiter now, and his face set into a grim glare. But it was the eyes that were different, they were cold and dark, just making eye contact made you shutter.

You had rushed to the train station to pick him up, an expensive flower in your hand and a wide smile. That had promptly been wiped away the second he got off the train and snapped at you.

The words fuzzed a bit, but it was something along the lines of “I’m warning you to stay away from my family, you freeloading wretch.”

“Do I really need to repeat myself?” The smile he gives you is anything but warm. “What? Now that I’m back you want to tag along all the time? Steal my family's fortune and pretend you’re not a starving leech?”

“Starving Leech? When have I ever taken anything from you?” You bite back, hands curling into fists.

“I can give you an entire list of everything you have taken from my family.” He laughs. “And I promise you that there will be no more favors.”

“You….. I hadn’t realized helping eachother from not starving was a favor. You ate from my table to need I remind you.” You snap, a heat crossing your skin, casting eyes towards a pair of on lookers.

You didn’t have time for this, you had a shift at the med wing.

You said as much to him, enjoying the way his eyes narrowed as he finally took in your medical garb. “We’ll talk later.” He scoffs, and you walk off after that, set on never talking to him again.

High infidelity

Put on your records and regret me

I bent the truth too far tonight

I was dancing around, dancing around it

High infidelity

Put on your headphones and burn my city

Your picket fence is sharp as knives

I was dancing around, dancing around it

It was nothing but sobs the night your mother passed away, cuddled on the floor of Coryos floor with his arms wrapped around you, trying to keep quiet just in case his grandmother woke up.

She hated tears, always thought them a sign of weakness.

“Shhh.” Coryo whispers, petting your hair back. “It will be okay.”

“What will I do?” You sob, feeling like your chest was caving in. “How will I survive?”

“We’ll find a way.” He whispers, using the pad of his thumb to rub the tears from your cheeks. “I’m sure Tigris can get you a job, and you can move in here if you need. Just take a moment-“

“I can’t. I can’t breathe.” You panic, hand snapping to his jacket as if he could keep you planted to the earth, your breathing ragged panting as your vision begins to blur.

“No. No.” He breathes, fingers snatching your jaw to make you look at him, digging into your skin. “Focus. Breathe. You’re stronger than this. Take. A. Breath.”

You listen, breathing in the same time he does, deep and open, breathing out when he does. Your nerves calm a bit, and you close your eyes as the tears keep falling. He pushes your head until it is laying on his chest. “Your mother just died. Don’t focus on the future, just let the pain settle. You’re safe here. I promise.”

And so you did, letting the sobs free as he held you all night.

Do you really want to know where I was April 29th?

Do I really have to chart the constellations in his eyes?

“Did….. did you see her?” Tigris asks, keeping close to the doorframe of his room, hugging her arms close to herself as she watches him work at his desk.

He feels himself tense, spine stiffening so much a wave of pain passed over him, doing his best to seem natural about it all. “She will not be coming around anymore if that is what you want to ask.”

He would make sure of it, he would make sure no one took from him or his family ever again. Not that bitch from 12, not Highbottom and not….. you. You whose face filled his brain with sunlight and warmth, you who made his chest melt and hands shake from nerves.

He loved you, always had.

But that couldn’t be anymore. He was set for a pristine life now, he could not let his weakness get in the way. He already risked it more than he should have.

“She missed you. A lot.” Tigris sighs, moving a little closer. “And she…. Well she helped us scrap together money for care packages and rent.”

“I’m sure there was something she could get from it. Don’t worry.” Even as he says it his gut clenches. He didn’t believe it for a second, but this needed to be done.

“She….. Coryo she-“ Tigris seems to stutter over the words, closing her eyes as if just thinking about it dragged her into a wave of pain. He tries not to laugh because what did she have to hurt about? Living the plush life here as he fought for them in 12, fought for them in the games. Risked his life to make sure that girl survived.

“She. What?”

“She….. well once she found out we were short on rent and she had nothing to offer she…. Slept with someone…… for us.”

“How would whoring herself out help us?” He already knew, his heart beating through his chest as his hands began to shake, clenching them into fists so it wouldn’t show. He was going to be sick.

You wouldn’t have. No.

“For money. She made us-“

“GET. OUT.” He sneers, standing quickly. “Get out right now.” He watches his cousin dash from the room with tears sliding down her face, his own kings constricting at the news.

You couldn’t have. You couldn’t have.

Regret laces through his stomach, your face flickering through his mind. Of course you would. You would do anything for him and his family.

Storm coming, good husband

Bad omen

Dragged my feet right down the aisle

At the house lonely, good money

I'd pay if you'd just know me

Seemed like the right thing at the time

It had been a fools dream long ago that you would marry for love, nothing but a dream of a child that didn’t know better, hadn't let the world destroy her yet.

Now, you knew better. Staring at your soon to be husband, Festus Creed, with a small smile playing at your lips. You were trying to make it seem like you actually loved him, like you actually cared what he was saying as cameras flashed at you both. The light of it blinded you a bit, and you tried not to flinch while he merely laughed and gripped your hand tighter.

He saved your ass and the Snow’s asses. Playing pretty little fucking wife is a small price to pay. You remind yourself when he kisses your cheek. Just pretend. Smile and pretend.

You had sold yourself to Festus in the months that Coryo…. Coriolanus was gone. When you were barely making ends meet and his cousin and grandmother weren’t making it. You had known that Tigris sometimes sold herself to people that wouldn’t really know her last name, but she hadn’t ever been able to get the primary houses due to her family's nobility.

You could.

So, you offered yourself to Creed, a classmate of Coriolanus’ and one that he had warned you to stay away from. “A viper wearing human skin.” How ironic how things turned around.

You tried not thinking about Snow at all, tried to get his face out of your mind, but every time you got close to winning against your memory, he somehow managed to pop up. Every. Single. Time.

It had been months since that initial argument the day he returned. You had been a fool who planned on confessing your love to him, planning on asking him to marry you. Then he called you a gluttonous leech, and Festus proposed a week later. It should be history.

And yet, right on cue, you spot a light blonde head of hair making his way through the crowd quickly as you and your fiancé stand quickly, the crowd of cameras dispersing at the engagement party resumes its flow.

You tried not to sneer about the sheer amount of money these people threw at everything. Just a couple months ago you had been starving, and now you can only watch as dozens of tables were set up with ludicrously decorated desserts that wouldn’t actually be eaten. “Never eat the food in front of them. Makes us look bad.” Festus has told you before your first party with all of them.

“Might I go to the restroom really quick?” You ask him, trying to move around with his arm tightly wrapped around you.

“Of course.” He smiles, giving your hip a tight squeeze before his eyebrows pinch together. “Let’s greet Snow first. I’m sure your old best friend would love to see you.”

Wish I could say the same. You bite back the remark on the tip of your tongue with a pleasant smile, allowing Festus to lead you to where your old friend was finally cutting through people. He had a grim look on his face, he always did these days, and if you didn’t know better you would assume he was upset.

“Snow.” Festus smiles, “glad you can make it. I know game keeping has been keeping your attention these days.”

Something in your stomach clenches at the words, no matter how many times people spoke of it you still could not believe that he was helping with the games.

You feel his stare in the side of your head, but you keep your eyes firmly on Festus, playing with his hair a bit as you play the role of lovestruck girl. Festus glows at this, eyes lighting up as he looks at you.

Whether or not he knows you’re using him as an excuse you can’t possibly care, he likes that you’re rubbing it in Snows face all the same.

“How could I miss this…. Joyous occasion?” Every word is clipped, and you try not to roll your eyes. “It’s wonderful that you’re family is able to take the young medic in.”

You know the underlying meaning beneath the words, snapping to glare at him. A smirk slides onto his lips as his eyes spark with excitement, it takes you a minute bro realize you had just fallen into a trap he laid out. To get you to look at him.

“Well I’m no freeloader.” You bite out. “I’ll obviously keep working in the hospital.”

Festus barks out a laugh at this, hand tightening on your hip as his other moves to hold his stomach, pure humor on his face. “Oh darling. How outrageously funny that was.”

“How was that funny?” You ask, blanching a bit.

“You’re not going to work! How would that make my family look?” Festus laughs, leaning to kiss your lips. You try to kiss back, something tightening in your throat as a sharp sting begins to form in your eyes. Do not cry. Do not cry.

“I’m going to go grab a drink. Keep our friend entertained will you?” Festus smiles, squeezing your hip once more before moving to walk away, leaving you with Coriolanus.

You risk one look to him, already seeing that he was staring right at you, and take a small sip from the Champagne in the flute as you think about how to get away. You decide on “I do hope you enjoy the party. I’m going to make my way to the ladies room.”

And for a second you think you’re brilliant, turning on your heel to walk away quickly but he is fast, taking three easy steps and cutting into your path.

“I was hoping we could talk.”

“We just did.”

“Did we?”

“What do you call that whole conversation with my fiancé if not talking?” You put on an airy smile, and fear freezes at you at the sheer anger in his gaze. Panic settles in, and you stand straighter, choosing to play offense. “Besides. You’re the one that warned me to stay away. What was it you said? ‘Or suffer the consequences’, wasn't it?”

His eyes shutter but otherwise he does a good job of playing calm, using one hand to pull imaginary lint off his jacket. “I believe so. But maybe I’ve decided I was wrong.”

“You weren’t wrong.” You snipe. “I was a freeloading wretch and now I’m not. Problem handled. We can go our separate ways and never speak again-“

“Festus was the one that paid you, wasn’t he?” His voice is low, but his eyes are screaming at you as he leans closer. “To help pay for rent. It was Festus.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” You did. And he knew it, which was answer enough.

“I’m sorry you-“but you’re gone, dashing to find the bathroom.

You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love

The slowest way is never loving them enough

Do you really want to know where I was April 29th?

Do I really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?

The door to the Snow Mansion caught a little, letting some of the winter air in with you, your teeth chattering as you did your best to shut it. Managing to push all your body weight into the door to finally get it closed before you puffed hot air into your palms, the sack you carried heavy in your hand as you hear someone call your name.

Then he’s there, surrounding you in what little warmth he had, arms wrapped around you as you try to ease the shivers.

“Come in. We are burning some of mothers old romance novels for warmth.” He smiles, grabbing your hand and leading you to the fireplace where there were indeed pages from novels burning quickly.

“I brought this-“ you smile, holding up the bag of the goodies you managed to smuggle out of work. “It was someone’s anniversary and they had tables of food. I grabbed what I could before they threw it all out.”

A smile breaks out across his face as his cousin and grandmother both gasp and move to surround you. Before you know it you are all huddled close to the fire, eating quickly to try and ease the hunger, Coryo sitting close to you.

Once all the food is gone his grandmother retires to bed and Tigris goes to heat up water, leaving you with Coryo by the dying fire.

“I…. I always imagined small family dinners. Always wanted it for my own family, eating close together rather than a large table.” You admit, pulling your legs close to yourself. “Never did I imagine this though.”

“One day I’m going to get us out of this.” He mumbles, one hand reaching to hold onto one of your own. “And we will have that.”

There was that feeling of happiness rising in your chest as you looked at his determined face, leaning to kiss the corner of his lips softly. “I look forward to it.” And you believed he could make it happen, you truly did.

High infidelity

Put on your records and regret me

I bent the truth too far tonight

I was dancing around, dancing around it

You could learn to love him, you were sure of it. Somehow someway you would fall in love with my Festus, provide him a child that would inherit his families vast fortune and you would see to it that your kid never had to worry about starving.

You would rake yourself over coals before letting your child do any of what you had to do.

Like right now, fake moans filtering from your lips as Festus had his way with you on a random desk in a study room you did not recognize. Not that it was surprising, this family liked their secrets.

Once he was done he smiled at you, kissing you quickly as he fixed his pants and tucked in his shirt. “Fix yourself up. We have an engagement party to get back to.”

And with that he was gone from the room, leaving you to fix the skirt and sink to the floor, using the side of the large oak desk to lean on.

The sound of the door opening barely draws your attention, sighing out as you stare at the bookshelf, trying to piece your nerves back together as you always did after Festus.

“Are you alright?” The tone was a mix between your old friends comforting voice and the new Snows voice, and you tried not to roll your eyes.

“I’m fine.” You snap, your spine stiff. “Go back to the party.”

“I should be saying that to you.” He mumbles, moving closer and sliding to sit next to you. “It is your party after all.”

“Yeah? Is it?” You mumble, scooting over slightly to get away from him. He merely follows you, sliding right next to you once more.

Before you can yell at him he is holding out a cloth napkin, filled with those crème cookies that filled the tables out there. Macarons, Festus had called them. But you hadn’t had one. Rich people liked to starve.

“Come on. We both know you want one.” He smiles.

“Does it have poison?” You snipe, remembering the reason he had been sent away in the first place. He had given that Lucy girl an advantage in the games. Poison.

“No, not for you.” He smiles, like you hadn’t just completely tried to chase him off. Then he grabs one and shoves the entire thing in his mouth, making a small laugh slip from you before you bite it down, rolling your eyes. “Do you remember my 13th birthday?”

“No.” Yes.

He had stolen sandwiches from his school lunch and you had somehow managed to steal chocolate chip cookies from some party you had been working at. You ate together in the park, huddled by a tree so no one would see you, whispering all the things you wanted to see in the world.

“It was by far one of the best birthdays I had ever had.”

“One of?”

“Well my favorite birthday was the one before the war. I got so many gifts my parents made me a playroom.” He smiles.

You try not to let the words sting, what were measly cookies to a playroom. That was the life he belonged in. Luxury.

“You won’t be working then?” He asks after a moment of silence. “I always thought you liked being a medic.”

“I haven’t been an actual medic for long.” You sneer, you had only earned the honor while he was gone. Before that you simply volunteered every morning before your actual job, taking lessons whenever you could scrounge up money.

“A short lived career then.”

“What do you want me to say? My husband won’t allow me to work then I won’t work. It’s simple.”

“I would need my wife to work.” He shrugs.

“Why? You wouldn’t want a freeloader?”

“No. I would be running for president of Panem. And I believe that a medic for a wife would help my votes.” He states bluntly, eyes catching yours as your own widen.

“I’m sorry?” But he doesn’t respond, instead he holds out that damned napkin of cookies again. And you snatch one quickly, turning away the slightest bit to eat it.

“You’ll think about it?” He asks, eyes never leaving you.

“Think about it? There is nothing to think about.” You laugh, wiping sugar from the corner of your mouth before using the desk to help you stand and stepping over him.

Before you could fully escape his hands snatch your calf, pulling you down until you unceremoniously fall into his lap. “I told you to stay away from Festus. His family is not-….. he won’t give you what you want.”

“He’s paying my rent Snow. I’m just fine.”

“What happened to family dinners? Or the 6 kids running around.”

“I can have that with him.”

“Can you?” He lets you go then, knowing his words hit the mark when your face falls.

You leave the study, trying to pretend things are fine for the rest of the day, but his words cling to you like a skin of a snake.

High infidelity

Put on your headphones and burn my city

Your picket fence is sharp as knives

I was dancing around, dancing around it

You would have loved the atmosphere of District 12’s underground space, the dancing and music, laughter falling through your ears and the best of their dancing jolting down your spine with every stomp and clap.

Though he never understood your fascination with the districts back then, during the games he was beginning to understand slowly, and seeing this he could.

“Let’s go get a drink.” Sejanus laughs, pushing him to the bar as he imagines you twirling through, stomping and clapping at the right times.

It’s that night, drunk and a bit out of it that he lets the words he had been holding back for years slip. Sejanus had been grousing on and on about how he knew Snow was a good guy by the fact that his closest companion had been a young student healer rather than a Capitol clone and Snow tried not to bristle as how easy Sejanus laughed off your history.

You had worked for everything, and yet the man in front of him made it seem like you had chosen the healer life out of pity, rather than your hardwork and dedication.

Then the words slipped, “She’s a rare one and that’s why I love her.”

His friends eyes widen, and so does snow, both breathing in for a second before a wave of laughter fills them as Lucy’s voice fills the room.

Do you really want to know where I was April 29th?

Do I really have to chart the constellations in his eyes?

You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love

The slowest way is never loving them enough

It had taken you 10 minutes to sneak out of the Creed mansion, and another 15 to walk to Snow mansion where he had asked to meet you.

He being Coriolanus, through a telegram sent directly to you earlier in the day.

The door sticks a little, just like it used to, but the rest of the place had been professionally cleaned and you kept to the front rug in the entrance so as to not drag mud in.

“What are you doing?” He asks, coming around the corner to look at you in the entrance. “I’m in here, let’s go.”

He doesn’t wait to see your panic at the clean floors, so you rush to take off your shoes before tiptoeing to the main sitting room he was in.

“You said it was urgent.” You mumble, looking around at all the papers strewn about. Some designs of outfits and dresses, some of creatures and set ups. “What is all this?”

“This, my dear, is the 11th annual hunger games.” He smiles, and you try not to shudder at how easy he says dear.

“Oh I see, you’ll be making the tributes wear extravagant gowns in the arena then?” You hold up a sketch of what looks to be an evening gown designed for district 3.

“Tigris will be styling and dressing them before the games now.” He explains, moving closer to you. “For if they wish to be performers then we shall let them. Give them all a fighting chance.”

“Like Lucy?”

He doesn’t answer, instead moving to pick up another sketch. “And now, once they are in the arena they will all wear the same uniform.”

“They won’t die in their own clothes?”

“They’ll die at the Capitol wills it.” He sneers, taking a second to regain his composure. “But this isn’t why I have brought you here today.”

“Okay….” He grabs your hand, pulling you to the desk and showing you plans and sketches. “I need your medical advice.”

“For?”

“For a poisonous sea creature.” You rear back at that, but he is quick to snatch your hand. “I just need to know how to prolong the death.”

“I’m not helping-“

“Please. I need you.” He admits, his hand still on you. “I always need you.”

“Coryo-“ it’s the first time you’ve called him that in forever, and he can’t help but rush to you, pressing his lips to yours quickly.

You kiss back, although your common sense is screaming at you to stop. And soon enough the kiss is deepening, and he’s shoving all the documents off the table to place you upon it, making quick work of stripping you down while trying to keep his lips to you at all times.

And you were ashamed to admit you found pleasure for the first time that night, allowing him to pull that pleasure from you over and over and over.

High infidelity

Put on your records and regret meeting me

I bent the truth too far tonight

I was dancing around, dancing around it

“He’s a mad man….” Festus mumbles, hand clenched on your knee. “A mad genius but a madman.”

He was right of course, you could do nothing but blink as the games unfolded before you, surrounded by his peers and coworkers as they all cheered and booed at the tributes.

You couldn’t pay attention, the gore beginning to get to you as well as the fact that Coryo kept glaring over at you and Festus from his podium in the center, eyes narrowing as a sneer coated his mouth.

You hated these moments, when you were anxious about the affair and when Festus was in the same room with the two of you. Don’t do anything stupid, you silently plead.

But when has Coryo ever played stupid? No. Everything he did was smart, three moves ahead.

“How about a wager?” He smiles to his friends, and you bite your lip. That scheming look not good.

“Yeah?” Festus smiles. “My moneys on district 2. Girl.”

Vivi, was her name. She had 2 sisters at home and was playing viciously. She would not win though, she had been bitten by a snake with slow killing venom, you would know since you helped Coryo make it.

“No. Money is far too boring.” Coryo smiles, ever the Capitol player. “How about we wager…… the healer.”

Festus freezes, hand tightening on your thigh in a searing grip that you know has Coryo seething under his calm exterior, those blue eyes lighting with a challenge. He hated when Festus was rough, which was more often than not.

Coryo preferred to be…. Rough in the sheets and gentle every other moment.

“You want my fiancé? Don’t you have whores for that?” Festus laughs, but there is no humor behind it.

“I don’t want a whore. I want a wife.” Coryo smiles, holding out his hand. “District 4, Mags.”

People begin whispering and smiling at the challenge, and you realize why Coryo had been talking too loud then, because Festus would look weak to back away now.

Festus risks a look to you, narrowing on your shocked look before taking Coryos hand. When the blonde walks away your fiancé leans in, “we will be discussing this later.”

After he won, if he won. He would make your life hell.

High infidelity

Put on your headphones and burn my city

Your picket fence is sharp as knives

I was dancing around, dancing around it

“Your mood swings make my head spin,” you admit, laying on the mattress lazily as Coryo sits leaning on the headboard, tracing his finger across your exposed back. “One moment you’re rutting into me like you hate me, the next your murmuring love sonnets.”

“Do the Creeds actually have money?” He murmurs, fingers dancing across your ribs. “Or are they pretending just as I had been for awhile?”

“They have money, loads and loads of it. So much that they burnt some of it for fun the other day to see how long it took to burn.” You mumble, keeping your eyes closed.

“Then why do you still look starving?” He asks, moving closer to curl around you.

“Because they only eat one meal a day, and it’s more of….. well they don’t like gluttonous people.”

“Surviving is gluttonous?”

“The rich have never made sense.” You admonish. “They starve themselves to prove they can, no sugar or dairy. No this or that. They don’t know hunger like we did.”

“I thought you were marrying him to stop that hunger.” He mutters, a bit of anger in it.

“I also have a roof over my head and warmth. There is more to it.” You sigh, not wanting this to be another argument as it was every week. “There’s nothing we can do Coryo. I get married after the games.”

“They talk about you like you’re a pet.”

“To them I am.”

Oh, there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love

And it's never enough, it's never enough

“So this is what he does now?” Festus sneers, whipping his tie off as he storms into his room, dragging you in with him.

The games would last another night it seemed, and Snow sent everyone out as he was getting ready for the big finish.

“He is making it all one big game. Placing wagers and gambling. It’s bullshit!” You try not to roll your eyes at his outburst since he had been all about it before Coryo called him out.

But apparently you still somehow rolled your eyes and his face falls into pure rage as he begins charging for you. Fear coats your system as his hand latches around your neck, cutting off oxygen.

Before it could get worse there is a knock on the door.

“YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS!” His little sister calls, turning on his screen to reveal the games, where many of the players are fighting a very large creature in the body of water.

“What is that?” Festus gasps.

“A sea monster.” You breathe out, watching with a small amount of excitement mixed with disgust as Mags plunges her spear into its eye.

Lock broken, slur spoken

Wound open, game token

I didn't know you were keeping count

Rain soaking, blind hoping

You said I was freeloading

I didn't know you were keeping count

But oh, you were keeping count

You married him on April 29th, a year later he ran for president and to no one's surprise he won.

You became First Lady of panem. And would of course bear tons of children.

He kept his promise, eating close together every night, making sure all his kids were well fed and never knew the hunger you both did. And when your youngest was blasted in the tabloids for her ‘pudginess’ Coryo made sure to send the writer and his family to District 7 and the very next year the oldest daughter of the family was chosen in the reaping.

You lived in constant disgust and amazement, the battle never ending.

You helped him come up with ideas for creatures and implemented healing and medicine into the games to at least give some of those kids a fighting chance.

“Remember when I warned you to stay away?” He asks one night, watching you from his spot on the bed as you get air at the window.

“Quite vividly.” You laugh, breathing in the night scent in his shirt as he lay naked save for a sheet. “Said I was a freeloader.”

“I was trying to push you away.”

“Gathered that.” You nod, watching him extend a hand before shuffling across the floor and climbing across the bed until you reach his hands where he pulled you in for a warm kiss.

“You are a freeloader.” He teases, his lips still against yours. “You owe me so much.”

“Oh do I?” You laugh.

“Yeah! You owe me a can of beans, never got paid back for that.” He smiles and you can’t help but laugh.

“I’ll go get the dirtiest can of beans, expired, and it will be just like old times.”

Before he can say anything else you are pushing to kiss him again, falling into his warmth with a hum and letting him drag you under the sheet.

(Yeah. It stayed in the draft because I never quite liked how the story worked….. something always seemed off. I rewrote this 10 times back then, but since I am releasing my old drafts this baby is out now. )

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus smut #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus fanfiction #Coriolanus angst #Coriolanus fluff #snow smit #snow smut #snow angst #snow imagine #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #Coriolanus snow smut #Coriolanus snow angst #Coriolanus snow fluff #Coriolanus snow imagine

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rubra-wav · 3 months

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Hi! I’m autistic and a lesbian and my current hyper fixation/ comfort show is Hazbin Hotel and my favorite/comfort character is Angel Dust. I was wondering if you could write a platonic Angel x gn/fem reader that is angsty and involves the reader comforting and taking care of Angel after a really bad night with Valentino. With cuddling, and handholding and Angel dealing with addiction/ self harm and the reader just being there and supporting him or something. I totally understand if not I just thought I would ask. Also I’m a huge fan of your work!!

Safe and Sound If Only For Now (Angel Dust x Reader fic)

A/N Absolutely can, and 100% understand the vision. THE BOY NEEDS TO BE TAKEN CARE OF. 🗣

Also, thank you sm im glad my writing is being enjoyed 🙏

CW: marking it as NSFW due to the themes within but theres not any actual smut, hurt/comfort, angst, gn!reader, written as platonic but could be seen as romantic as well, Angel throws up at one point(dk if I need to tw that), themes of s/h and addiction, reference to trauma responses and mentions of physical and sexual abuse

When you were called downstairs by a very concerned Charlie at the wee hours of the morning, you knew that the night Angel Dust had was hell without having to even see him.

He'd apparently stumbled loudly through the door about 10 minutes ago, clearly not sober but still demanding a drink looking absolutely trashed. Husk had attempted to touch his shoulder, and the bartender was promptly smacked away with a yell to 'not touch him!'

Your footsteps had pattered loudly on the creaky floorboards down the hall of your hotel room as you quickly made your way to the bar where you knew he was.

And there you found him.

The hunched over, trembling figure of your friend with two of his arms folded around his head, a glass of alcohol you know tasted like utter shit clutched in another shaky hand.

Husk looked at you tiredly from behind the bar with clear relief on his features as he gestured to Angel with a look that asked you to take care of him - do what he couldn't in this moment.

It had taken a lot of verbal coaxing to get Angel to put down the drink and come with you to your room, but he eventually allowed you to gently grip his hand and tug him up the stairs and back down the hall to your room.

The second the door had shut behind the two of you, he'd completely fallen apart as you told him he was safe now.

That's how you were in this situation now, slumped on the floor next to the bed with Angel's face buried into the front of your shirt, your arms pulling his face closer and running your fingers through his messed up fur, carefully avoiding touching his neck and shoulders as you whispered to him softly to let it out.

Seconds ticked into minutes as his previously loud crying had slowly turned into broken, shaking sobs that were barely audible as you sat there with him slumped against you.

It was rather uncomfortable, your knees digging into the coarse rug on the floor of your room, but at the moment, that didn't much matter.

"'ank you. 'Ank you 'o much." He slurred out finally, voice cracking with emotion.

You hummed in response, relieved to hear his voice finally.

You removed your hands from where they were combing through his fur and instead cupped his cheeks, pulling his face away from your chest carefully.

Sympathy and anger stabbed through you painfully as you observed the darkening bruise on his puffy under-eye that had now been exposed with his tears. That asshole.

You brushed a thumb over the bruise with a furrowed brow, your frown deepening at the way he winced despite you barely even grazing it. You quickly moved your thumb away.

Angel's unfocused, bloodshot eyes watched you react to it with clear guilt. He swallowed thickly as he forced a grin onto his face. "'T's nothin' I'm not used to, toots." He mumbled. He could tell you didn't believe it for a second, and his heart sank despite all the alcohol knocking through him. Shit, he didn't want to sober up.

He could feel the pain he was trying to numb already creeping back into his body, though, and he 'tsk'd' with a hissing breath.

You shook your head slowly and got a better look at him as his eyes shut with a wince.

His jacket was a mess, a bite mark that was still bleeding soaking into his collar peaked out at you, and you grit your teeth as you looked down to see more droplets soaking into other places as well on his sides and hips.

Christ.

"I'm going to go get some things to help fix you up. Are you okay with taking a shower on your own?" You murmured softly but very seriously.

Angel forced his eyes open and nodded despite moving being the last thing he wanted to do right now, having you leave being even lower on that list.

"Yeah.. 'ut get me a change of clothes while you're out. That is unless you wanna see me in nothing more than a towel." He joked with a humour that was obviously not present, voice still very much hoarse.

You smiled at the comment half-heartedly and nodded. "I'll be right back, I swear." You gently patted his cheek before gripping his hands to help him stand up. With the tremendous height difference, it didn't do too much, but you could see he was appreciative of it nonetheless.

After a couple of minutes, you came back into the room with a change of clothes, a first aid kit, and a water bottle in one hand, a cup of hot chocolate in the other made just how liked it.

Angel was sitting on your bed awkwardly with a white towel draped over his lap. As he stood up and turned the other way to slip on the pair of shorts you'd bought him, you could fully see some of the multiple bite marks that were seeping into Angel's fur, matting it.

Your fists clenched and unclenched but you still didn't voice the silent fury coursing through you at what had clearly happened to him.

You placed the hot chocolate in Angel's hands as he sat back down, receiving a barely audible thanks, and then set into disinfecting the various marks and patching them up.

Each time he tensed up and hissed due to the disinfectant, you apologised profusely but didn't stop as you wanted to get it over as soon as possible for his sake.

Angel dug his teeth into the mug in his hands to avoid biting his tongue or cheek as he winced in pain, the hot drink on your part both a crutch and a grounding tool so he didn't dissociate away from everything completely.

If that happened, he knew he'd most likely pass out and that was the last thing he needed to do right now while you were making sure he didn't get some horrific infection from the wounds he'd sustained.

He was so incredibly tired of so much.

He didn't want to keep seeing the blurred images of the afternoon and night that made him want to start sobbing again.

He couldn't even remember properly, it was all a blur; hungry hands on him, faces and bodies he couldn't quite remember, and Valentino's red eyes looking down on him as his fist closed around his neck. All his memories were out of place, like a ripped up photograph rearranged wrongly.

Angel didn't even know what he'd done to get punished by him today.

He'd come to realise there was no real reason though due to you telling him as much, and that searching for it would just make spiral. It wasn't his fault that that moth-winged cunt had decided to break him today.

Or at least, that was the logical answer.

He still remembered the words that plagued him through the mess of memories and painful sensations staring at back at him like a hall of mirrors, though. 'You brought this upon yourself, Angelcakes.' Said through a cruel, patronising grin right before those same teeth dug into him again, and again, and again.

Angel grit his teeth as the memory made his head hurt before gagging as horrific nausea suddenly hit him all at once.

You cursed, having just finished up patching his wounds and pulled him towards the bathroom sink in your ensuite.

You took the hot chocolate from his hands before using the other to sweep his fur out of the way just in time as he started wretching loudly into the sink.

You patted his back awkwardly as he threw up all of what he'd been binging for the night in rapid succession, looking at a crack near the door frame of your bathroom to try give him some semblance of privacy.

After a couple of seconds, Angel panted with a horrified expression on his face at the taste in his mouth, shuddering.

"That was fuckin nasty, 'm sorry." Angel cringed, trembling with exertion as he washed out the sink and his mouth.

"If you're sick, you're sick, Angie." You continued rubbing his back gently as Angel straightened up, sighing in relief as he felt more steady now that everything had all been purged from his system.

One part of himself wanted to go bother Husk for more to drink, but he pushed it away, instead opting for the now lukewarm cup of hot chocolate that was sitting neglected on the edge of the bathroom sink.

He gripped the mug and threw it back, chugging it in the hope of washing out the horrific taste that still stuck around.

"Wait a second, I'll give you the painkillers with that." You called over you shoulder as you went to rummage through the first aid kit.

Angel slowly walked out of the bathroom after you, hunched over to be about your height as he waited for the pills. He tiredly spaced out as he looked at your hands going through the pile of stuff you'd brought.

You pressed the meds into his palm, and watched as he quickly downed it. "Do you wanna stay in my room tonight?" You asked as you cleared the stuff off of your bed.

You didn't really need the verbal confirmation as Angel flopped down onto your bed with a loud groan as he finally relaxed, exhaustion passing over every part of him.

You chuckled softly, and crawled up next to him, gently wrapping your arms loosely around his lower back as you pulled his face into your chest again.

He wrapped his arms around you in turn, another one of his hands creeping towards yours in silent request. You understood, lacing your fingers with his and gently nuzzled affectionately into the top of his head.

You could feel him start shaking softly again, once again tearing up despite everything. You tightened your embrace as you felt wet tears sink into your shirt again.

"It's okay, honey. It's okay. You're safe here with me." You repeated.

"Thank you 'o much." Angel whispered, tightening his grip on you in an attempt to bring you and your warmth to the bottomless pit of despair he constantly tried to forget.

"No problem. I love you, Angie. I really hope you know that." You gently kissed the top of his head, squeezing your hand laced with his reassuringly. "Now come on, try to get some sleep, you must be exhausted."

Angel's crying slowly stopped as the feeling of the security you provided swept over him like a warm blanket, creeping into every last crack in himself and filling it. The rhythmic beat of your heart under his cheek lulled him to complete calmness.

He didn't want it to end, but he still slipped into the warm embrace of sleep.

If only for a small while, the lock on his prison cell wasn't as cold, and the bars were not visible through your arms.

All that shit could wait until tomorrow.

I've read over it multiple times, but if there are errors y'all can see reading this one pls lmk - my brains been on wrong a bit today.

Bruh I just want Angel to be happy and cared for istg, he deserves it. 😭

#angel dust headcanons #angel dust x reader #hazbin hotel angel dust #me contemplating writing valentino getting the shit kicked out of him after this one fr #hazbin hotel

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