#I have been sitting on this one for literal months

[caitlynsrighteye]

Hi! Can i request a caitlyn x reader? where reader is starting to get baby fever and is getting sensitive about it and doesnt want to let caitlyn know cause she dont know how cait would react if she says she wants a baby? ... Could be wholesome or smut. Or both honestly... Thanks. I literally read all the things you wrote already keep up the good work i really enjoyed them.

Baby fever with Caitlyn

G!P Caitlyn Kiramman x reader

Contains: SMUT, fluff, wlw, g!p, fem!reader, established relationship, vanilla, cowgirl, blowjob, soft baby fever and conceiving

wc: 3.2k

Masterlist

She already goes through so much. Plate is always full with duties and priorities. Sheriff of Piltover and head of the Kiramman name. Standards to live up to fully, whether it’s set by herself or by others. Leaving you early in the morning with a quick kiss to your forehead while you’re still asleep and coming home late after another long day at work.

And you. Giggling, smiling in awe as you stroll the Piltovian markets and pass by a children’s clothing store. Walking around inside to find the most adorable shoes in the shape of lions, bear onesies and tiny shirts with almost cringe-worthy quotes. You pinch the edge of one hanging on a rack with other shirts, taking a closer look at its size and how your hand covers its entire torso.

Your heart throbbed at the sight of all of these miniature clothes. Watching a couple push their toddler in a stroller, browsing toys while the small child happily holds the item they picked out. You would often be scrolling on your phone, randomly coming across pov videos, watching a baby in a onesie attempt in climbing up a seesaw to ride it.

The sound of their sweet wordless voices, the soft looking chub on their cheeks, and you could almost smell the baby breath through your screen.

The baby fever has haunted you, lingered deep in your thoughts. It even had you confused, you thought you’ve been ovulating since last month.

You sit on the couch in the living room of you and your wife’s shared home. Legs tucked up on the sofa while you lean on the arm rest, once again scrolling on your phone with an opened book left forgotten on your lap.

It was sometime in the evening, Caitlyn should be back soon. The fireplace crackling, and the flickering light glowing on your features while you dream of a life you could grow with whom you love.

You heard your front door open and heavy feet stepping inside your home. Caitlyn finds you, stupidly smiling at your phone while you continue to watch the same videos over and over again.

“What has you grinning like that, Darling?” She says. You turn your attention, finding a tired, but sly smirk tilted on her lips as she makes you way to sit next to you. You fix your position and she sits down, hip to hip, throwing an arm around your shoulder, trying to peek at your phone.

You tilt it away slightly. “Just…” you weren't sure if this was a good time to tell her, but the thoughts have been eating you alive. You gently sighed, figuring out how to break the news.

“I've been thinking a lot,” that was a start. She had leaned forward over her lap to look you in the eye with her one and only. One not covered by a dark blue eyepatch. Your fingers fidgeted, tapping the backside of your phone as you tried swallowing the uncomfortable lump in your throat.

She took your cheek in her hand, turning your head slowly but surely to meet her gaze fully. “My love, you can tell me anything,” she said with such comfort in her tone. Though tired after a long day she's still there to reassure you when you're in need. Which just makes you more sure that you want to start something with her. To share a life with her and something beautiful you both create.

You inhale deeply, exhaling the breath before you say, “What would you think about trying for a baby?” You face winces just slightly, bracing for a negative reaction.

Caitlyn doesn't say anything at first, but with her hand still on your cheek her thumb rubs it gently. Her lips pressing together, curling upwards, smiling along with her eye that squints while staring into you deeply.

You both sat together in silence. The smell of wood burning, the warmth of the fire, its glow highlighting your soft expression. Her knee touching yours, hand caressing your cheek. She huffs to herself.

“Darling, that's what you were so nervous about telling me?” the hand on your cheek reaches for a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

Your hand closest to her reaches for her thigh to fiddle with the fabric of her pants. “I just thought… with you being so busy with work and everything else, I thought it would maybe be too much. I didn’t want to be selfish,” you look around the room. “And it gets quiet around here, maybe a child of our own can fill that void, you know?”

She takes a moment before leaning in. Her soft lips meet yours in a tender kiss, slow and full of love. Noses brushing together as your lips tangle.

She breaks the kiss, eye slowly opens with a sweet smile on her lips.

“Love, in what world would that be selfish? I would love to have a child with you,” her voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. You search for any signs of uncertainty, and when she expresses nothing but genuine assurance you jump from your spot on the sofa, launching yourself into her arms. She catches you, hugs you close with her arms holding your waist tightly while your arms are around her neck.

You giggle into her shoulder. Feet swinging in pure joy. You repeatedly say ‘thank yous’ and ‘I love yous’ in her neck, giving her skin soft pecks while she leans in your touch.

You sigh in relief. Kissing up her jaw before planting a kiss on her mouth. Your palms squishing her cheeks, holding her still and close, feeling her smile within your passionate kiss.

When your lips break off from hers, her hands meet yours on her cheeks, holding them gently in her grasp, thumbs rubbing with reassurance..

“This would make you happy, dear?” She asked, wanting to make sure you were perfectly fine with this new, important idea.

You nodded excessively, tightening your grip in her hands before bringing them to your face and kissing each knuckle.

“It would make me the happiest wife in Runeterra.”

-

You and Caitlyn had planned a night together. A night Caitlyn knew not to work late. The papers in front of her laid half finished. Pen twirling in her fingers as her eye watched the clock tick with each and every passing second. Counting the minutes before it's time for her to leave.

Right when that minute hand struck 12, signaling a new hour she was up on her feet, scrambling to gather her things while attempting to put on her coat mid walk.

She could feel her heart pounding through her chest. Sweat began to form on her brow in anticipation. Kicking off her boots and climbing her way up to your shared room. The smell of lit candles led her, like a bloodhound sniffing out a trail.

When she finally reaches the bedroom door. She stares, gulping down a nervous lump. Why was she so nervous? You both have been married for well over a year now, how could this be any different?

She grabs the door knob and turns it. Pushing the door open till she’s met with the sight of you, and oh what a view you were.

Sat at the end of your shared bed, one leg over the other, leaned back on your hands that have been fidgeting with the sheets for the past couple hours. The candle lights flickered and reflected off your glistening eyes that nervously met with hers. Deep and icy blue.

Your cheeks were flushed. Imagination alone was enough to get you flustered but with your wife standing in the doorway, her single eye skimming down your chest. Breasts bound inside your pushup bra and matching panties growing damp.

It had taken Caitlyn a second to process. Process how lucky she was for winning over a beautiful wife such as yourself.

“You're absolutely stunning, my love,” she says quietly. As if speaking too loud will scare away all the love and sexual desire you both were feeling.

She stays by the door, staring, admiring, or maybe a cover up of her wobbly knees that grew weak at the sight of you, worried she'll trip and fall and ruin the moment.

So you stood up, the bed slightly creaking as it shifted. You walked slowly, enough for her to burn an image in her head of your hips swaying throughout the short distance from the bed to the door. The eye contact was on and off. A nervous glance to the side every now and then, but when you were toe to toe, you reached for her hand, gave her a slight glance with rosey cheeks and a sly, knowing smile.

She let you guide her to the bed, hands interlocked while she tailed behind you, having an amazing view of your pretty ass covered in lace panties. Halfway towards the bed you turn back around, continuing to walk backwards while your attention is on her. You stop when you feel the back of your knees hit the mattress.

You let go of her hand to ride yours over her shoulders, pushing her coat off her arms and having it fall to the floor with a slight thud. She goes to undo the buttons of her shirt but you stop her.

“Allow me,” you say softly. She’s hesitant as fist, but puts her arms down and watches your hands move along her chest. Your fingers tremble against the material. After every few buttons undone you glance up, looking if she’s still staring at your hands. Her shirt opens revealing her bra and you help shimmy off the shirt. Once her shirt is on the floor along with her jacket you lean into her, kissing her soft lips.

Caitlyn holds on to you like instinct, like her hands were made to cling to your hips. You run your hands up her stomach, passing every curve of muscle to her underboob where you push up the mounds of fat. She moans in your mouth, sticking her tongue in after you’ve given her permission to do so. Your tongues swirl together inside your mouth, your arms wrapping around her neck to bring her in closer. Hers follow up the dip of your back to your braclip, separating the clip with expertise, letting your boobs free.

You gasp from the cold, lips still in contact. You pull her closer, switching your spots and making her sit at the edge of the bed. Your hands rest on her thigh for balance, kissing her deeply till her neck is arched back. One of her hands on the bed, keeping herself up while her other is on the side of your neck, fingers curling under your ear.

You pull your lips away, taking in the heated blush you’ve painted on her cheeks. You can hear her breath, chest rising and falling as she waits for your next move. You slide off your loose bra straps, removing the clothing and giving her a knowing nod before going back in to kiss down her neck. The further down you go she leans back onto her elbows. You place gentle pecks on her skin, sucking on her defined collarbones. One of your hands leaves her thigh to lower her bra, allowing her breasts to slip from its tight fabric.

You suck on one of her hard nipples and finger the other. You hear her exhale softly under her breath, feeling her intense gaze on you. Latching your lips around her bud, sucking unhurriedly as your fingers pinch. A gentle and harsh juxtaposition. You meet her stare, observing every little twitch whenever you peck over a sensitive spot. Back onto the path of open mouthed kisses along her fit body, making sure each ab gets the attention it deserves, before met with the waistband of her work pants. Now kneeling on the floor between her legs, the everyday bulge of her show-er print twitches just slightly when your hand passes over her zipper.

Glancing back up where she gives you a consensual nod. You’re skilled in this art of pleasure, but something about today makes your knees weak underneath you. You kiss her clothed groin before undoing her pants and grabbing both sides of the waistband, pulling it down along with her undergarment till it's off her ankles and thrown somewhere on the floor next to you.

Her member was half hard, a slight leak at her tip, but floppy on her thigh.

You can help with that.

You use your hand to help guide it into your mouth that’s wet from salivation. She throws her head back and hisses as you suck on her soft length. Her cock grows harder by the second with each bob of your head.

She whimpers under the touch of your mouth that becomes more compact and tight as she hardens, your throat getting shallower as her tip grazes the back. Once she’s hard enough for you to stroke your hand along it you pull your mouth off till it's only her tip between the warmth of your lips. You jerk her with your hand while sucking on her sensitive cockhead.

“Oh.. yes baby, fuck,” she lays back, head digging into the sheets and her hips gently buck when you bottom out on her cock. Gagging when she twitches, just that centimeter of movement felt as if she went deeper. You bob up and down her cock. Fully engulfing her flesh in your warm, wet mouth. Her hand found its way into your hair, brushing anything in your face and holding it up in a makeshift ponytail. Keeping it out of the way while using you as leverage.

Her chest heaves and arches. Ball sack ready to squeeze out what is stored, but you don't let her. You pull off of her, earning a struggling sigh from your wife. Cock standing tall, twitching on edge.

She lifts her head to look in your direction. “Darling–”

“Finish inside me, baby,” she watches you stand and climb onto the bed next to her, placing a hand on her cheek and turning her head for a kiss. She lays surprised, but gives in less than a moment later. Swinging an arm around your waist.

You both kiss while she rolls you over onto your back. She gets on top of you and you gasp when you feel her erection poke your inner thighs that spread wider for her. She grinds herself on your clit to your naval, her hands on boths sides of you while yours pull her face closer, kissing her deeper.

Your hands follow the fabric of her bra around her torso to unclip it. She pulls away from you for just a second to remove her bra before coming back in to trade spit. One of her hands slips to your panty waistband, tugging it from the back to pull it off your ass then down your legs while you kick the lace off and throwing it somewhere in the room.

She breaks the kiss for you both to look down at her erection, glistening with your spit and leaking pre on your pelvis. Your drenched hole twitches in anticipation, beginning to get impatient.

With just her hips, she aims her tip to your entrance. Her swollen head meeting between your folds before accidentally slipping back up to your clit from how soaked you were.

“Shit,” she says. You both giggle, feeling like it was your awkward first time with each other all over again.

She tries again, using her hand around her shaft this time. Letting go once her cockhead had dipped inside, then she let her hips take over, slowly thrusting. You take it inch by inch till her baby maker has met your slickness.

Your back arches, adjusting around her while she kisses your breasts. Your fingernails digging into her shoulders.

“Oh fuck…” she whispered in your cleavage, kissing up to your neck where she pecks it softly. “You feel so good,” the same phrase she's mentioned almost everyday of your marriage, but today with added intimacy of creation.

You moan, feeling yourself loosen and ready for her to start thrusting. You buck your hips and whisper a “Fuck me, baby,” in her ear, your breath sending chills down her spine. She pulls her cock out halfway, then rams back in. A low-tempo pace with harsh thrusts to make sure she hits as deep as she can each time.

Her lips leave your neck to watch you look breathless. Eyes half lidded, sweat building on your forehead and your sweet moans escaping your mouth. So beautiful. You're the woman she married and hopefully soon to become pregnant with her baby. She leans in and passionately kisses you. Wanting to feel every part of you while you conceive.

Her hips snap against yours. Her sack clapping on your skin as she does her best to kiss your cervix with her tip. Hard shaft penetrating your sopping hole, walls clenching and tightening. Holding onto her length like you never want her to exit.

Your wife groans deeply, completely addicted to the feeling of your insides wrapped around her girth. Her hips keep pace, trying to increase in speed yet tires.

You push up on her chest, flipping her over so you're now straddling her cock. Quickly bouncing your ass on her lap.

In shock she groans, “Ah~ fuck, darling.” Her hands find your hips, helping you bounce harder.

“We're making this baby together, aren't we?” You say. Lifting your hips up then back down. Your ass slapping on her thighs with each bounce. You tits following your motion, bouncing in circular rotations.

You lean over her till your chest meets with hers. You kiss her eyepatch before trailing pecks to her lips that are moaning whenever you squeeze around her.

“Oh fuck, Cait–” you moan. Her tip abusing your sweetest spots, tickling your kidneys when she feels so close to your soul. She wraps her arms around you, bringing her knees to a bend and thrusting up into your cunt. Your lips still latched, tongue finding hers in her mouth, swirling around as your insides tighten.

The bed creaks underneath you, her thrusts becoming relentless. You cuss gutturally into her mouth, squeezing her hard as you gush around her. Your body is shaking uncontrollably on top of her.

She makes a few more harsh thrusts before releasing into you, keeping her cock deep inside your heat. Both of you moan together as you stay interlinked. Body combined as one, hot with intimacy and love, and hope in conceiving.

You both fall onto your sides, still stuck together as you hold each other close, not wanting to part. Her hips buck slowly and gently, making sure no cum escapes and wastes.

Breathing hard, air feeling steamy. Overheated bodies relieved by the cool sheets of the bed. Her arms hold you tight, while you hand plays with her navy hair roots on the back of her head, massaging her scalp.

“I love you,” she says softly. Her face tucked in your neck, eye closed with exhaustion. “I love you so much.”

Your lips curl into a sweet closed mouth smile that she can feel when your cheek flexes on her forehead.

“I love you too, my love,” you both lay in silence, enjoying the comfort of each other. You don't know if it worked this time, but you will try over and over again till you finally have a part of your wife growing inside of you.

Note: AHHHHH!!! Thank you for the request and thank you for your patience. I've tried getting this done all week but i was so busyy!

Hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading everyone :))))

Have a good day/night♡♡♡

[creamflix]

MY BOY ꒰ঌ ໒꒱

mission brief he's such a pretty liar — and by that, you mean he swore he’d change, really change, this time. but when an argument cracks the routine open, he starts seeing things he never noticed before — about you, about himself, about the damage that was never really fixed. w.c 6.6k

risk assessment established relationship, female reader, mentions of violence, (resolved) angst with comfort, teeny mention of sex, insensitive jjk men, semi-canon divergence, arranged marriage/marriage of convenience, true-form sukuna, sexism & zenin family misogyny, somewhat ooc characters sorry </3, ft! gojo, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna, naoya

a/n thank u to the anon who requested this! i'll be writing a smut sequel/alt version of this sometime this month :P for now enjoy the fluff & feels

☆ GOJO SATORU

It starts, as all things do, with your fiancé Gojo Satoru not taking you seriously. 

Not out of cruelty, not out of malice — but with the thoughtless ease of someone who’s never been told no in any way that mattered. 

He says it in passing.

"That dress again?"

He’s got a half-laugh in his voice, the kind he uses when he thinks he’s being cute, elbow nudging yours like it’s some inside joke between you two. "We really gotta get you something new. C’mon, let’s do a shopping day this weekend. Whole spree. My treat."

You don’t even catch it at first. Just a flash of confusion as you look down at the fabric — faded navy cotton, stitched with little forget-me-nots along the hem, a little loose at the sleeves now. You’ve had it for years, since university, as a matter of fact. A group gift from your closest friends on your birthday, who pooled what little they had just to see you smile. A dress you wore to your graduation, to your first job interview, to a night out when you didn’t feel like yourself and needed something to anchor you.

You brush it off at first. Maybe he didn’t mean it like that. Maybe he didn’t know. But when you bring it up later — tentatively, cautiously, like stepping barefoot over glass — it’s worse.

“That dress?” he blinks, expression unreadable for half a second, before a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Wait, seriously? Baby, I didn’t mean anything by it.” 

You don’t say anything, just sit with your hands curled into your lap, thumbs pressing into the soft fabric.

“It's not about the dress,” you murmur eventually, but he’s already waving you off with a laugh, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Look, I get it,” he says. “Your friends bought it for you, and that’s sweet and all. But if it means that much, they can get you another one, right? Hell, I’ll give them the card myself.” he grins. “You’re not gonna tell me you're actually attached to that old thing? When you could have literally any dress you want?”

You lift your eyes to him. Not angry, not hurt. just... tired. And God, that look — he can’t name it at first. Doesn’t understand why his stomach turns, why something ugly coils in his chest. You don’t even look mad. You just look… disappointed. Like you were expecting something more from him, and he came up short. And that? That lands sharper than anything else could’ve.

His smile falters. His laugh dies in his throat. You look away, standing up slowly, brushing invisible dust from the dress as if to gather yourself back into it.

“Not everything can be replaced, Satoru.”

You don’t say it like an accusation. You don’t say it with heat or spite. You say it like a fact. And he just sits there, blinking, the silence stretching, prickling at his skin.

because he knows he’s not good with sentiment. He's never had to be. everything in his life was disposable, interchangeable, fixable — shattered glasses, broken bones, lives even. There was always more. Another version, a better one. What was the point of clinging to something old, something worn, when you could just get a new one?

But he forgot you weren’t like that. Forgot that some things matter not because of what they are, but because of who gave them. When. Why.

He sees your back as you walk away, the slight slump of your shoulders, the way your fingers tighten around the hem. And for the first time in a very, very long time — he feels sick. Like he’s missed something irreversible. Like he might’ve broken something not even he can buy back.

Later that night, the apartment is quiet in the kind of way that feels deliberate — like it’s holding its breath. No hum of the TV, no rain tapping at the windows. Just the soft rustle of clothes being folded and the sound of your fingers brushing over fabric, smoothing it down like it could ease something knotted in your chest. 

You’re perched on the edge of the bed, folding one of his shirts. He watches you from the doorway for a while before stepping inside, socked feet dragging slightly like they used to when he was a boy too tall for himself, trying not to be heard sneaking into places he shouldn’t be. He's got that same awkward energy now — a man who could level cities and doesn’t know how to enter a room where you won’t look him in the eye. He clears his throat. “Hey.”

You glance up but say nothing. Keep folding neat, careful lines.

“I was thinking,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “You should… maybe take a trip. Visit your friends back home. You haven’t seen them in a while, right? Could tell them about the wedding, make it a thing.”

You pause for a moment, blink once, then keep folding. He swears he sees your shoulders relax, just a little.

“Might be good,” he adds, fidgeting with the hem of the hoodie he forgot he was wearing. “Some air. Some space. From… me.” He means it to be light, maybe even self-deprecating, but it lands like a wet stone. 

You don’t laugh. You just fold the last shirt and set it aside, hands resting flat on your thighs. He exhales sharply, flopping down onto the edge of the bed beside you like gravity finally got its way. His elbows go to his knees, head in his hands. He looks like a man breaking and trying not to admit it.

“I don't get it,” he mutters, voice muffled. “Not ‘cause I don’t care. I just… I don't get it.”

He lifts his head, turning to look at you. His eyes are tired, open.

“It’s not just a dress,” he says, like he’s testing the words out on his tongue. “It’s — it’s what it means. Who it came from. What you felt when you wore it. I know that now. I just didn’t know how to say that earlier. I don't really know how to say it now.”

You stay quiet, watching him. Waiting. Not for excuses, not for him to stumble over his guilt. Just for truth. He frowns down at his hands, then up at the closet. Your side. The little things you’ve kept—notes, keepsakes, photos tucked into shoeboxes. Things that never mattered to him before, but now feel like landmines he’s been stepping over blind.

“I never had to hold onto things like that. I think I forgot people could.”

There’s a pause. A long one. He's chewing on the inside of his cheek, eyes glossed over with thought.

“When Suguru died, I couldn't even keep his coat. Couldn’t keep anything. It all felt like too much and not enough. Shoko still has his lighter, I think. I never asked for it.” he exhales. “I didn't know how to carry something that used to belong to someone who wasn’t coming back.”

You turn your head, just slightly. Not fully facing him yet, but listening.

“So I got used to throwing things out. Not letting them mean too much.” his voice drops. “And now here I am, saying dumb shit about a dress I didn't understand.”

He looks at you again, and this time — his expression isn’t cocky or distant or flippant. It's raw. Humbled.

“I'm sorry,” he says. Not a grand performance, not dramatic. Just those two words, laid plain between you like an offering. He leans back on his palms, head tipping toward the ceiling.

“It's a good dress,” he adds, almost like a peace treaty. “You look beautiful in it. You always do.”

You don’t smile, not right away. But your eyes soften. And he sees it, the way your fingers ease from their fists. The way you finally lean back beside him, the warmth of your shoulder brushing his. 

It’s not forgiveness, not yet. But it’s something.

And Gojo Satoru, who has lived through the worst of loss and still come out laughing, feels this quiet shift as something sacred. Something worth remembering, something not to be thrown away.

☆ NANAMI KENTO

There are times you wonder if Nanami Kento even likes you.

Not in the way a husband is supposed to, not even in the way that makes the word affection stretch out and soften in your chest. Maybe just in the way someone appreciates a quiet presence, tolerates it. Like a painting in a room they’ve grown used to. Something familiar. Something that doesn’t make noise.

You’d both agreed to the marriage out of a quiet, mutual understanding. Family friends. Old classmates. Polite nods at weddings, idle conversation at funerals. The kind of person you wouldn’t mind spending your life with simply because they would never ask too much of you.

And when he returned to being a sorcerer — voluntarily, of all things — right around the time the engagement was announced, you took it as fate’s quiet concession: at least it’s someone you already know.

You didn’t expect romance. Didn’t expect flowers or whispered secrets in the dark. But you had hoped for something softer. Something kind.

So when you show up at his office during your lunch break, carefully packed bento in your hands, already nervous about being too much, you tell yourself it’s not about proving anything. Not about being the perfect partner. Just — something nice. You even knock. Twice. You hear him sigh before he answers.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says as soon as he opens the door. You blink, taken aback. “I brought you lunch.”

He stares at the bento box like it’s made of explosives. He doesn’t move to take it. “I told you not to overexert yourself,” he says, frowning. “You work too much already.”

“I—it’s just rice and grilled mackerel. It didn’t take long.”

He closes his eyes, breathes in slow through his nose. “That's not the point.”

Your hands are still outstretched, holding the box. His eyes finally land on you, and there’s a flicker of something sharp in them. Annoyance, irritation. Like he’s been caught in something he doesn’t want to feel.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says again, quieter this time. 

You draw your hands back. "Okay," you murmur, like a child scolded for something they didn't know was wrong. 

He doesn’t say thank you, doesn't ask if you ate, doesn’t touch the lunch box.

You leave and the fish gets cold.

The next day, you play it safe. You don’t step into Nanami's office building. You don’t pack a carefully balanced bento with pickled sides and pressed napkins. You don’t even text him in the morning. You tell yourself you’re listening, respecting boundaries, giving space. Letting the neat lines he draws between things remain untouched.

But around noon, you feel it gnawing at you. 

Guilt? No—maybe pity. Not for him, but for yourself. For the quiet ache in your chest, the soft ache of not being wanted in spaces you hoped to belong to. You linger by the fridge, eyes scanning for anything edible. Half a tray of grilled tofu, leftover rice, a handful of wilted greens. Not much, but enough. 

You don’t arrange it prettily — no sauce cups. no handwritten note. You wrap it in a tea towel and leave your office fifteen minutes before your own lunch ends. By the time you get there, you’re rushing,crossing the threshold of his building like a ghost. The elevator ticks down with an unbearable slowness. 

12:55. Five minutes left.

You knock once and open the door.

Nanami's already standing. Jacket off, sleeves rolled to the elbow. He glances up and then immediately—immediately—frowns.

“You’re late.”

You blink, still holding the food between your hands. A flush rises to your cheeks, slow and uncertain. “I wasn't going to come,” you say, voice cautious. “You made it pretty clear yesterday…”

“And today you decided to show up when lunch is already over?”

There's a sharpness to his words, the kind that doesn’t raise its voice but cuts all the same. He's staring at you like you’ve done something irrational, inconsiderate, even. You look down at the tea towel in your hands. The food’s still warm. Barely.

“I wasn't trying to interrupt. I just thought… you might want something to eat. I threw something together. It’s not—”

“You should’ve come earlier.”

Something small crumples in your chest. Your hands tighten around the cloth. “I didn't think you wanted me to come at all,” you say, quieter now. 

Nanami's mouth presses into a firm line. His jaw twitches like he’s about to respond, then doesn’t. Just exhales, slow and long, and walks past you to shut the door behind you with a soft click. The silence that follows is heavy, full of things neither of you knows how to ask.

He reaches for the lunch, takes it from your hands wordlessly, and sits down at his desk. He doesn’t eat right away, just rests his hand over the towel, thumb smoothing out the edge like it might explain your intentions better than you can. You stand near the bookshelf, not sure what to do. The air between you prickles with something unfamiliar—frustration, maybe. Or the growing tension of expectations unmet, confused for resentment. Finally, he says, without looking at you, 

“I don't dislike when you bring me food.”

You tilt your head. “Then why—”

“I dislike not knowing when you’ll come. Or if you’ll come at all.” his fingers press into the wood of his desk. “I dislike thinking you won’t come. And then you do. Late.”

He finally looks up at you then, and it’s not anger behind his eyes. It’s… conflict. Confusion. Like he’s struggling to piece together a puzzle that changes shapes every time he gets close to solving it. “I'm not used to people doing things for me,” he admits, voice lower now. “I'm used to being left alone, or being expected to handle it myself.”

You feel something twist in your chest, a sting of realization. He's not angry at you, not really. He's angry at himself for wanting something he doesn’t know how to ask for. You step forward, slowly, gently. “Then maybe you could just say it,” you offer. “Say you want me here.”

He doesn’t, not yet. But his hand reaches out, uncovers the food, and he begins to eat. You sit beside him in silence, the tension slowly dissolving into the steam from the rice. He doesn’t thank you, but he eats every bite.

☆ CHOSO KAMO

You’re starting to think social protocol should be implanted in everyone at birth.

Just the basics. The unspoken etiquette of not talking through a mouthful, or not cutting lines, or — perhaps most relevant to your current situation — not complimenting another woman’s perfume while your girlfriend is holding your hand.

Choso, for all his softness and sincerity, missed a few memos on the human experience. Which is ironic, because he tries. God, does he try.

He listens to everything you say like it’s scripture. Nods when you explain the importance of making people feel seen. Tries to mimic the tone you use when complimenting baristas and bus drivers and kids with crooked laces. He's eager, warm, just a little awkward—but people love it. You still remember the proud look he gave you after telling a teen at the skate park, “You look so balanced, like a predator watching its prey,” and you’d had to gently steer him toward less feral metaphors.

You’ve guided him since, helping him shape compliments with a little less edge. And you’ll admit — it’s endearing. The way he admired that old lady’s sunflower hat, eyes sparkling like it was the most brilliant invention he’d ever seen. But today, today is something else.

You’re standing next to him in a café. Warm hand holding yours, your pinky tangled with his, your face tilted toward the pastry display. And the barista — a tall woman with kind eyes and long auburn curls — smiles as she hands him the receipt. And choso, like he’s narrating a thought as it passes, says:

“You have very soft lips. The color is… nice.”

You freeze mid-step, her smile stretches awkward. “Uh… thanks?”

He doesn’t even flinch. He turns to you, eyes expectant, like did I do good? You blink.

“Choso,” you say slowly, “What did we say about… complimenting strangers?”

He tilts his head. “To be specific. And polite. And not scary.”

“Right. And were you being… specific and polite just now?”

His brows draw together like he’s doing math. “I didn't say I wanted to kiss her lips. I just said they looked nice.”

You drag him by the sleeve to the corner of the café, behind a ficus plant, heart doing that rapid spiral between jealousy and sheer disbelief. “Okay,” you whisper, “You can’t say things like that to women when I'm standing right next to you.”

He frowns, genuinely confused. “But you told me it’s kind to compliment people.”

“Yes, but—” you exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Some compliments give off the vibe that you’re… interested in the person.” 

His frown deepens. “But I'm not.”

“I know that,” you hiss, waving a hand between you, “You know that, but she doesn’t.” He glances at the barista, then back to you. “So… she thinks I like her?”

“Maybe a little!”

“But I don’t.”

“But she doesn’t know that, Choso!”

His expression twists, hurt and disbelief slowly pooling there. “But… that’s not fair. If I'm being nice, and I don't mean it like that, why is it bad?”

“Because it looks like you mean it like that,” you say, helpless. He folds his arms, sulking now. “So I can’t say a woman smells good, or has nice hair, or lips. even if I’m just appreciating it. Even if I’d never leave you. Even if I said your lips were better.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You didn’t say that last part.”

“I thought it really hard.”

You fight back the sigh. He's pouting now, shoulders squared stubbornly, lower lip jutting out just a bit. like a kid told he can’t have candy before dinner.

“Choso.”

He doesn’t look at you. “It's still dumb.”

“Social cues are dumb,” you agree. “But they exist.”

He mumbles under his breath, “Shouldn’t exist if they make you hide compliments.”

“You’re not hiding them. You’re… redirecting them.”

He mutters something like, “feels like censorship,” and you just stare at him, stunned by how deeply he’s taking this. You press your lips together, watching him glower at the fern beside the espresso machine like it personally wronged him. Then finally, you whisper—

“Just promise me you’ll keep the lip compliments to me from now on?”

He gives you a very reluctant nod.

“…But only because your lips really are the best,” he mumbles.

And you let out the breath you were holding, squeezing his hand. You’ll call it progress. Kind of.

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURO

Sometimes you wonder if it’s in your karmic debt to be tangled with men who don’t know what to do with basic affection.

You never asked Toji where he was going, never asked what he was doing, who he’d kill, what he’d be paid. He'd drop the money on your kitchen table like a lazy thank-you card — some loose bills, a few coins if he felt generous. It clinked against the bowl of sewing needles and antiseptic like a ritual. And you’d patch him up silently, routinely. A cycle you both slipped into like an old sweater that still held the scent of someone else’s cigarettes.

You had history. A past. But calling it a relationship? Maybe in another timeline where men knew how to sit with the ache of being wanted. So god forbid — god fucking forbid — you hand him a glass of water as he’s slipping his cursed tools into his jacket, your fingers brushing his as you press the cool glass against his palm. “It's hot today,” you murmur, “Don’t dehydrate. And—” your voice softens, “—watch your footing this time. That last jump from the balcony nearly tore your quad.” He takes the water but doesn’t drink it. And then, as if your words poisoned it, he sets the glass down without a sip. Doesn’t look at you when he says, “Don’t need you fussin’ over me.”

Your brow twitches. “Fussing?”

He exhales sharply, slow and impatient. “I didn't come here for pity.”

And something inside you snaps. Not like a wire, but like a stretched rubber band finally losing tension — a dull, slack kind of tired. “That's not pity,” you mutter, stepping back, your hand brushing against the door. “That's human decency, Toji.” He shrugs. Shrugs, like you’d just offered him a second napkin he didn’t need. “Whatever it is, I don't need it.”

“Oh? Then patch your own wounds from now on. Sew your own flesh. Hydrate your damn self.”

And you open the door and slam it so hard it rattles the frame. He just stands there on the other side, staring at the door like it betrayed him. His hand hovers mid-air, still partially curled around the sheath of his weapon, like he doesn’t know whether to knock again or keep walking.

Toji Fushiguro has taken stabs to the gut with less confusion than the sound of a door shutting on him after a glass of water.

And maybe that’s the problem. He's been surviving so long he’s forgotten what it means to be cared for without condition. But you? You’ve learned enough to know that care without appreciation isn’t love. It's labor. And you’ve worked overtime.

-

It takes him three hits to the stomach. Three clean, deliberate punches from men who didn’t live to brag about it, and Toji finds himself standing in front of your door again. Not knocking, not limping. Just…standing.

Like a big, wet, blood-specked dog who’s too proud to whimper but too injured to run.

And when you open the door — half-expecting a package, a neighbor, a miracle — your eyes nearly pop out of your skull.

“Are you kidding me?!”

You don’t even let him speak. Your fingers clamp around his wrist, yanking him in with a strength he knows better than to question. You march him straight to the bathroom, muttering under your breath like a storm ready to hail hell. He’s not even fully through the door when you’re tugging at his ruined shirt, peeling it off him with all the grace of a garbage disposal. He lets you, mostly because resisting you never ends well.

“You couldn’t have just — I don’t know — gone to a hospital like a normal human being? Oh wait, that would require being normal.”

You slap a wet towel against his chest

“Did you stab them first or were they just really, really enthusiastic about rearranging your insides?”

He's quiet. There’s a faint twitch at his jaw, like he wants to say something, but a bottle of antiseptic in your hand shuts him up real quick. You scrub like your life depends on it, like if you clean him hard enough, the last week will vanish off his skin too. Soap and dried blood swirl around the drain in a gruesome little ballet. His knuckles tighten around the edge of the tub when the antiseptic hits open flesh.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Take it easy—”

“Oh I’m sorry,” you snap, slathering another handful with absolutely zero sympathy, “Did the murderous mercenary just ask me to be gentle?”

He doesn’t reply. Because frankly, the soap in his wounds is making his eyes sting more than any blade could. And maybe — just maybe — that’s not the only reason they’re burning.

“You know,” you mutter, tone softer now, “You act like showing up here isn’t a confession in itself.”

He glances up at you. There’s blood drying at his temple, one gash near his ribs. His voice, when he speaks, is gravel caught in hesitation.

“...Didn’t know where else to go.”

You pause, just for a second. Then you sigh — a long, bone-deep exhale that tastes like surrender and soap.

“You’re a goddamn idiot, Fushiguro.”

“Yeah,” he grunts, wincing as you dab his side. “You say that every time.”

“Maybe if you apologized once in a while, I wouldn't have to.”

He tilts his head at you then. eyes calm, mouth twitching like he’s fighting off something between a smirk and a grimace. “This is me apologizing,” he says, voice low. “You think I'd let anyone else see me like this?”

It hits you then. Not just the words, but the weight behind them. And it’s stupid — it’s so stupid — but even drenched in his blood and your bathwater, even half-naked and so frustrating you want to dunk him into the toilet, you reach up and flick his forehead. Not too hard, just enough to say don’t be such a jackass next time. He grunts, and you mutter, “Next time you don’t show up for a week, I’m leaving you on read.”

He nods, like that’s fair. You finish cleaning him up in silence. And neither of you says it — not out loud — but maybe this is love in your own, terribly specific, catastrophically bloody way.

☆ RYOMEN SUKUNA

There are times when you wonder if the internet was right: Never date a man older than you.

And not just older. Your boyfriend—no, courter, as he insists, like it’s the Feudal era—is Sukuna. A walking fossil. A man who pre-dates the invention of glass windows. Someone who’s spent centuries collecting knowledge like magpies collect shiny things.

At first, it was kind of cute. He’d run his fingers through your hair and mutter things like “You know, oak trees like that one were used for sacred offerings in the old capital,” and you’d smile up at him like, wow, what a charming bit of historical trivia. He’d gesture vaguely at your matcha latte, proud as a cat, and say “Tasted the first batch. It was better then. Earthier.” you hum and sip, amused, entertained. It felt like dating a strange, hot encyclopedia. A relic with biceps, even.

But the charm starts to crack around the edges when he watches you cook and breathes through his nose like you’ve personally offended ten generations of farmers. Like now.

You’re standing at the kitchen counter, chopping green onions for a stir-fry. And it’s not even that you’re doing it wrong — you’re just doing it your way. And yet, from his perch against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable, comes the familiar, grating hum of—

“You’re holding the knife wrong.”

You don’t look at him. “I've done this a thousand times, Suku.”

He makes a quiet noise, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “And incorrectly, each time.” Your grip tightens on the handle. You focus on your breathing. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

“If you cut them diagonally,” he continues, stepping closer like a predator circling its prey, “You increase the surface area. Better flavor absorption. Even a child from the Southern provinces knew that.”

You stop chopping.

“Well, I'm not a child from the Southern provinces,” you say, evenly. He leans over your shoulder, fingers ghosting over yours — not gentle, just correcting, pressing them into what he deems the proper hold. “No, you’re not. Children back then were more attentive.”

That one hits. You pull your hand away, stepping aside and set the knife down.

He blinks. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, too fast. “I'll just… let you do it.”

He looks at the cutting board, then at you. Then scoffs again. That same infuriating little sound. Not mocking, not amused. Just — condescending. Like you’re some soft, dumb thing that tries hard and always fails. And the worst part? He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. He’ll hold your hand like it’s made of rice paper, trail kisses down your arm, call you petal and little one and say things like “you’re mine to protect.” but he doesn’t see you. Not really, not as an equal. Not as someone who exists in the same frame of experience.

You’re just… small to him. Young. Naive. Ephemeral.

“You’re angry,” he says now, head tilted. You bite your cheek. “I'm fine.”

He narrows his eyes, steps closer again. “You’re not. You’re bristling like a cat.”

“Do you hear yourself?” you ask, finally turning to face him. “Do you ever stop and think about how you talk to me? I made a mistake cutting a damn vegetable, and you acted like I burned down a monastery.”

He straightens, face blank. Then cold. “I'm only trying to teach you,” he says, as if that’s supposed to make you grateful.

“I don't need a teacher,” you snap. “I need a partner.”

His jaw twitches. “And I need someone who listens.”

You stare at him, the silence stretching.

There it is. Not a misunderstanding, not a lost-in-translation moment from someone born before democracy. Just a bitter, stubborn truth. 

You’re not equals. You’re a fleeting flame to him. A girl with knives and heat and too many opinions. And he? He's eternal, ancient. And always, always right. You turn around, quietly gathering your things. His voice doesn’t follow. Not yet.

You’re sitting in the backyard now, arms folded, jaw set, full-blown sun glaring down like even it knows you stormed out without checking the weather. Your phone’s inside, your pride is up here with you, and the back of your shirt is beginning to stick to your spine. You hear the shoji door slide open with that gentle hiss. His voice follows, smug and echoing off the stone: 

“You know,” Sukuna calls out, “This is the part of the day when the earth’s axial tilt brings the southern sun directly overhead. You’ll overheat soon, petal.” 

You ignore him. Dramatically. You close your eyes and lean your head back like you’re immune to axial tilts. And then—

The sun spikes in intensity like it’s been listening to him. A bead of sweat slithers down your temple.

You last about thirty seconds before you’re bolting upright, stumbling in your too-hot socks across the stone path, bursting back into the cool house like a fugitive from your own ego. Sukuna’s waiting, naturally. Leaned against the frame with arms crossed and a smile so arrogant you can feel it searing through your soul.

“Oh shut up,” you mutter, peeling off your shirt like a defeated wrestler. He chuckles but doesn’t gloat, not really. His smile lingers, but there’s something else behind it — soft, thoughtful, almost... restrained.

“Petal,” he calls quietly.

You freeze. He only ever uses that voice when his hands are around your waist and the rest of the world has fallen away. You turn, arms crossing over your chest again, less annoyed now, more cautious. He doesn’t meet your eyes at first. Instead, he picks at the hem of his sleeve like it’s telling him what to say.

“I don't mean to make you feel small,” he starts, slow and measured, the words clearly coming through thorns. “I've spent years — centuries — knowing things no one wants to hear. People die, people forget. And then there’s you.” He lifts his gaze, finally meeting yours. “You listen. Even when you’re annoyed, even when you’re fighting me, you listen.”

Your chest tightens, stubborn anger still curling in your gut like it doesn’t want to give up that easily. He steps forward, voice gentler now. “I should be thanking you for even giving me that. For letting me talk. Letting me—” he hesitates, then exhales through his nose. “Share. I've been hoarding this knowledge for lifetimes. But now I get to pass it to you.”

You blink. You hadn’t realized how quiet it’d been in his world before you entered it, full of tangents and mistakes and kitchen errors. “…You could say all that instead of acting like a patronizing know-it-all,” you say, squinting at him. He shrugs, unapologetic. “You’re prettier when you’re irritated. Brings color to your face.”

You huff. But some part of you — some mushy, well-hydrated core — is starting to warm. Maybe you’ll never really be on equal footing. But he wants to hand you every piece of him, and if that’s not love in its own way — what is? And then—because he doesn’t know when to stop while he's ahead—he smirks. “Our children should hear these things too. Pass it down, generation by generation.”

You deadpan. “We don't have kids.”

He grins wider. “Not yet.”

A stalk of green onion whizzes across the room and bounces off his shoulder. “Tch,” he mutters, plucking it off the floor. “Poor cutting technique, by the way.”

You launch a second one straight at his face.

☆ NAOYA ZENIN

You’re starting to realize that behind every successful man is a woman.

A woman holding a knife.

And being Naoya Zenin’s wife means you live in the tightrope space between bloody respect and bloody disrespect, and frankly, it depends more on whether his mood is sour than anything you’ve done. Today, it’s the latter. And today, you’re the idiot.

You hear it from a maid first, in passing — something about “Master Zenin’s ingenious restructuring proposal.” You think it’s a joke. It has to be. You’d mentioned that idea last week, softly, while rubbing the tension from his neck, your lips close to his temple, your voice even closer to a whisper— 

“You know what would streamline the clan’s expenses?”

And now here it is. His plan, his innovation, his genius. You weren’t called into the meeting, weren’t even informed. And the best part? People act like you should be impressed.

“I thought you’d be proud,” Naoya says when you finally find him, post-meeting, lounging like he owns the air. He's twirling a calligraphy brush between his fingers, careless and smug. “It went over well.” Your throat feels tight, like every breath is wrapped in gauze. “You didn’t even tell me you were going to pitch it.”

He blinks up at you. “You told me, didn’t you?”

You stare.

“So?” he adds with a smirk. “What's mine is yours. And yours is mine.”

You laugh. Not because it’s funny — because if you don’t, you might scream. Or throw something. Or drive that calligraphy brush straight through his arrogant eye. 

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter. He shrugs, standing with the same irritating grace he carries into every room. “I'm a Zenin.”

You fold your arms. “And what am I?”

His gaze narrows slightly, as if the question confuses him. “You’re my wife,” he answers plainly, as though it should satisfy everything. “You’re mine.”

You could eat glass and it would go down smoother than that sentence. 

His fingers trail down your arm like he’s granting you affection, not brushing you off. “You give me your thoughts, I bring them to life. I don't see the issue.”

“You don’t see the issue,” you repeat, voice flat. “You didn’t even mention my name.” He frowns a little, like you’re overcomplicating things. “Why would I? The elders don’t care. They barely respect me. why would they listen to a woman?”

Your jaw clenches. He notices the shift, of course. Naoya’s many things — sexist, self-serving, endlessly smug — but he’s not stupid. “Look,” he says, tone lilting into placation. “You’re angry. Fine. I'll give you credit next time.”

You don’t want credit. You want your name said with pride. You want your words to carry weight without being dressed in a man’s voice. You want to be more than the soft-spoken strategist in the shadows of his throne. Sometimes, when he says “we’re one,” you wonder how many pieces of yourself are left unsaid, unthanked, unrecognized — just so he can stand taller in front of his men. And sometimes? Sometimes you wish you weren’t his anything at all.

It takes a week — seven full days, down to the damn hour — for Naoya Zenin to notice something is wrong. Not wrong in the way that he’s cut during training or that the weather’s dreary or the maids used the wrong incense in the bath again. No. 

Wrong in the energy of the house. 

Wrong in the way that every time he steps into your shared chambers, things are in place — dinner laid out neatly, his clothes pressed, his favorite tea at the exact temperature he likes. You even still massage his shoulders when he sits on the mat with a grunt, still trail your hands up his spine like your fingers remember the pattern of his vertebrae better than you remember your own schedule. If he’s lucky, he gets a fuck out of it. Mechanical, but there. Like clockwork. But the silence? That's what’s eating at him now.

No updates, no gentle commentary, no amused huff about how one of his cousins tripped on his own hakama or how the elders butchered a clause in the last contract. None of your insight, your brilliance, that cutting wit hidden under all that practiced poise. You’re just… quiet.

It hits him one night, like a blunt object to the chest. You’re folding your robes across the room, preparing for bed without waiting on him, without your usual retort to his offhand comment about how “the clan couldn’t survive without his guidance.” Usually you’d hum, or scoff, or mumble something clever about how you’re the one guiding the clan by proxy. This time? Just a blink. A soft, flat, unimpressed hum. 

And you keep folding.

He clears his throat. 

“...You didn’t mention what you thought of my handling of the merchant issue,” he tries, casually, like he’s not begging.

“You solved it,” you say. Three words — no tone, just a statement of fact. “Yes, but,” he pushes, frowning slightly. “Was it good? Bad? Tell me what you would’ve done.” 

You don’t even turn to look at him. “It's your clan.” 

Naoya blinks, jaws working. It should’ve felt like praise. 

It doesn’t. He shifts uncomfortably, eyes trailing over to where your futon is — neatly laid out. across the room. Far, as if he’d give you frostbite by breathing too close. You’ve never slept that far before. Not even when you fought, not even when he forgot your birthday and tried to make up for it with a ruby that didn’t match any of your jewelry. “…What’s going on with you?” he asks eventually, voice sharper than he intends. 

You shrug, settling under your blanket with your back turned to him. “Nothing.”

“You’ve been quiet for days. No opinions, no ideas, no…” He stops. Swallows. 

“...No talking.”

You don’t answer. He sits up, shoulders stiff, his hair a mess from laying down. His voice cracks around the edges, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “Is this about the meeting? About the idea?”

Silence.

“Look, I—”

He exhales hard, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine. I should’ve told them it was yours. I should’ve — fuck, I should’ve —”

You turn, just enough to look at him. Eyes tired. Not angry, not cold. Just... dulled from exhaustion.

“I'm not angry because you used it,” you say, voice finally sliding into the room like warm oil. “I'm angry because you didn’t even consider me. Because in this house, I'm not a person. I'm your reflection. And worse, when I disappear, you don’t even notice what’s missing.”

That hits him square in the chest, and he sits there, stunned, like someone’s pulled the floor from under him.

“…Sorry.”

You blink. Not because you didn’t expect it — because it’s probably the first real apology you’ve heard from him without the word “but” attached.

“I don't know how to fix that,” he adds, voice quieter now. “Not in this house. Not with… them.” he means the elders. The clan. The entire system of misogyny he was raised in like a second womb. “But I can start with this. With you.”

You sigh. Not in defeat, but in release. And you pat the space beside your futon. 

He blinks again. Slow, cautious.

“…Can I?”

“I'm not warming your bed tonight.”

“I'll take it.”

And maybe things aren’t fixed. Not the deep, knotted root of sexism still wrapping itself around the household like a noose. But for tonight, there’s an apology. A shared blanket. A woman who is no longer invisible. 

And a man who, for once, listened.

a/n hello!! this was initially meant to be a make-up sex post but the education system hates me and i had no time to write what i wanted, so i had to cut this fic short by a lot. i'll be publishing a part 2 around the same topic, but maybe with different scenarios for each character :) thanks for reading!  

[xoxojisu]

"YOU'RE PREGNANT?!"

synopsis: you're pregnant with osamu's baby! you need to break the news to atsumu, but he somehow spoils it.. for himself?

notes: afab reader if that wasn't obvious

you and osamu had rehearsed this like three times on the drive over.

well, you rehearsed it. osamu just kept nodding and saying, “he’s gonna be loud either way,” which… yeah, fair. but this was a big deal! atsumu may have been chaos incarnate, but he was still osamu's twin brother, and you both wanted him to be one of the first to know!

so here you were, sitting in a booth at a quiet ramen place, the twins across from each other like always, bickering over toppings like they weren’t in their thirties.

“who the hell puts corn in ramen?” atsumu griped, making a face.

“people with good taste,” osamu muttered, not bothering to even look up from his bowl in favor of continuing eating. "corn in ramen's tasty. it's sweet and crunchy and buttery. yer just not refined enough to get it. got the taste buds of a toddler."

"it's actually pretty good! osamu put me on." you chimed in.

“he look like he is the corn in ramen,” atsumu grumbled. “fuckin' fatass. what, ya pregnant?”

you froze.

osamu froze.

atsumu… kept eating.

you and osamu turned to each other in perfect sync, wide-eyed, identical expressions of did he just..? before you could even stop yourself, you blurted:

“how’d you know?!”

atsumu blinked. “huh?”

osamu reached over to hit atsumu on the head with his chopsticks, not saying anything, just staring at him in disbelief.

"wait, what?" atsumu said, "hold on-"

"is twin telepathy actually real?! holy shit! samu, why didn't you tell me that he could fucking read your mind?"

“i- huh? what? wait,” atsumu stuttered, eyes darting between you two, hands raised in shock. “you thought i meant you-” he pointed at you. “you’re pregnant?!”

you nodded slowly, still stunned. “we were literally about to tell you.”

atsumu opened his mouth. closed it. opened it again. “what the hell, i.. i was callin’ him fat!”

“i’m not fat,” osamu hissed. “i’m-”

“i was makin’ fun of him! i didn’t think i had mind-readin’ powers! holy shit!”

“well clearly you do!” you exclaimed, gesturing wildly. “you just predicted a whole pregnancy announcement! twin telepathy is real!”

atsumu leaned back in the booth, looking like he just got hit with a volleyball straight to the face.

“yer seriously- like, for real- like- like, actually pregnant?”

you nodded again, this time with a soft smile. “yeah. just a couple months.”

atsumu stared for another beat before his face completely split into the biggest, brightest grin you’d ever seen.

“no freakin’ way! i’m gonna be a uncle?!” he launched halfway across the table, practically knocking over a bowl in the process. “holy shit, i was jokin’! samu, ya really did it, ya old sap!”

osamu groaned as atsumu pulled him into a squeeze. “let go of me.”

“never! i’m gonna tell everyone!”

“you’re not.”

you laughed, the moment finally settling into the warm, chaotic joy you’d expected from the start.

atsumu finally let go, eyes still sparkling. “i can’t believe i called it. like—psychic level. maybe i should open a side hustle. chicks would pay big money for a hot guy to read their fortune.”

osamu looked at you. “i told ya he’d be loud.”

you grinned. “he was also kinda perfect.”

“damn right i was,” atsumu said, already pulling out his phone. “now what’s the name gonna be? ‘tsumu’ is a gender-neutral option, just sayin’-”

osamu reached across the table and finally flicked him on the forehead.

later, after the chaos had simmered down and the three of you stepped out into the evening air, atsumu was quiet in that rare way that made you glance over to make sure he was okay.

you were halfway to your cars when he slowed beside you. “so,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “you, uh… got any pictures yet? like, baby ones?”

you smiled and pulled out your phone. “only one so far. first ultrasound.”

you handed it over and he took it a little too carefully, like he was afraid to drop it. the black-and-white image flickered faintly on the screen, and he just… stared.

he didn’t smile. didn’t joke. he looked at that tiny shape like it was the most real thing in the world. like it had just hit him, really hit him what this meant.

“that’s… them?” he asked, voice quiet.

you nodded. “yeah. that’s your niece or nephew.”

atsumu blinked. “they’re so small.”

you and osamu glanced at each other—your heart a little full, his eyes a little softer than usual.

then atsumu looked up, meeting your gaze. “thanks for tellin’ me. first, i mean. that you wanted me to know first.” he cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. “i’m… real happy for you guys. both of ya.”

“you’re gonna be an amazing uncle,” you said, nudging him gently.

he gave a little laugh. “yeah? little corn junior?”

“no,” osamu said flatly. “absolutely not.”

but you were smiling, and so was atsumu, and osamu had that small, quiet look he only ever got when he was really, truly happy.

atsumu looked back at the photo one more time. then, without a word, he stepped forward and hugged you. not a joking one. not a one-arm squeeze. a real one.

“i’m proud of you,” he mumbled. "this is crazy."

you hugged him back. “we love you, ‘tsumu.”

osamu snorted beside you. “gettin’ soft in your old age.”

“shut it, old man. i’m still prettier.”

they started bickering again as you all walked down the street—arguing over who had better genes and whether the baby would inherit osamu’s cooking or atsumu’s hair.

you stayed a step behind for just a moment. hand resting over your stomach. heart full.

this little one was already so loved.

..and also so doomed to a life of chaos.

but mostly? so, so loved.

masterlist

[lily-sofii]

shadow milk x faerie reader smut.... thats all i got...

The new favorite puppet

TW(?) : female reader, reader is a virgin, reader hates shadow but then loves him, shadow doesn't care about what you think (He just seeks pleasure), SHADOW MILK HAS TWO COCKS, double penetration, anal and vaginal sex, squirting, overstimulation (on both sides), in the end you like Shadow Milk

A/N: My current proofreader is on break, so this had to be read by my classmate (sorry babe). So, please excuse any mistakes we might have missed💕🙏 NOW UPDATED AND WITH A FEW MORE FIXED MISTAKES!!

Shadow Milk Cookie hates faeries. But you? He’d rather die than see your face ever again. The second he gets out of this prison, this tree, he’ll take his revenge on you. On all the faeries. But as far as things are now, that all remains a fantasy.

“Shadow Milk, are you even listening?”

Shadow Milk lets out a growl from annoyance, his eyes snapping towards you. You’ve been visiting him for days now… or has it been months? He can’t tell, time has become more and more distorted since he was captured. What makes it even worse is, that the only thing keeping him somewhat sane is your presence, and your never-closing mouth.

But don’t think too highly of yourself, you pathetic faerie, the company of a dying animal that can make noise and can be talked to would also suffice. Maybe Shadow Milk would have even preferred that over you. A goddamn faerie cookie.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, as I was saying…”

There you go again, talking about boring nonsense he doesn’t care about. It felt like death. Death of annoyance and boredom, and all of it by your hands. Or rather, your never-closing mouth.

His thoughts get interrupted by noises and screams coming from the faerie village nearby. The village where you live. Have they finally noticed you’ve been gone? Gone for literal hours? Honestly, he was surprised it took this long. Weren’t faeries meant to be caring to each other?

Maybe his intuition was right, maybe you were different.

Noticing the noise coming from the village too, you sigh and look at Shadow Milk, a panicked expression on your face.

“I-I think I’ve been here for too long. Sorry, I have to leave, now!”

Shadow Milk nods, his face returning to the one of boredom, even though he was excited. FINALLY you were leaving. A small bit of time of piece and quiet.. until you come back at least. Which, as far as his knowledge of you goes, will be tomorrow.

You quickly stand up from your sitting position, your foot catching on a root, making you fall back to the ground. How did a root manage to wrap around your ankle? That doesn’t matter, you need to leave, and fast. No one can see you here.

You roughly yank your ankle from the root, a tearing sound coming from it. You gasp slightly as you see it disconnect from the tree, a feeling of doom coming over you. What have you done? Is the silver tree gonna be okay now?

Your head turns to the path you came here from, hearing voices coming closer and closer. It’s the other faeries searching for you.

“Uh-oh, my cookie, you need to leave. We wouldn’t want you to be found near me and this prison, would we?”

His voice takes on a cocky, almost mocking tone. But he’s right, you have to go.

Glancing at him one more time you sigh, running the opposite way from the voices. They won’t find you that way, right?

Shadow Milk stays in his place, although not from his free will, hearing leaves and branches snapping under each of your steps. But he doesn’t seem to be the only one to notice the ruckus you’re causing. The faeries that were here to search for you seem to hear it too, running after you as fast as they can.

But that makes everything oh so better for him, doesn’t it?

Shadow Milk tilts his head to the root you tore out, a faint glow emanating from it. Oh, wasn’t he the lucky one?

And you the unlucky one who’ll have to deal with the aftermath of the mistake you have accidentally done.

—---------------------------------------

You were right, the voices you heard were the other faeries that were looking for you. And a few minutes after you ran from Shadow Milk Cookie they caught up to you.

But the good thing is that they were none the wiser about your visit to Shadow Milk… or the broken root of the tree he’s in.

But hey, today is a new day, I’m sure that the room has gone back and regrew into an even stronger one!

Honestly, who are you kidding? You certainly know that you’re just looking for an excuse to go back to Shadow Milk. I mean, who wouldn’t want to return back to the only cookie that has ever listened to them?

Looking around the faerie village you reside in, you make sure no one is looking before making haste. Everyone was always so busy from sunrise to sundown that they would almost never notice you going missing in this timeframe. So why not make the best of it.

Once you finally sneak your way into the forest that surrounds your village, do you truly feel safe. Like you can let out a sigh of relief, you didn’t know you were holding in. It all felt more peaceful, and that says a lot coming from a faerie.

Finding your way back to the path you seem to always come back to, your feet begin to move a bit faster. Were you truly getting excited about seeing Shadow Milk again? Sadly, yes.

Humming softly, you finally approach the tree, stopping dead in your tracks. Where is Shadow Milk? And why does the tree look so… dead?

You feel your heart crack as you run to the tree, branches broken and creeper torn off, left on the ground to rot.

Did you cause this? Was this all your fault because you ripped the root with your foot as you ran? Did you cause the death of the Silver tree? Did you cause the escape of Shadow Milk?

“Mwe he he… Look who came back to see the disaster they caused!”

You feel a similar hold of dread grip on you, the voice of Shadow Milk feeling like it was ripping your ears right off. Why does his voice sound so different? Wait, does it? No, of course not. You only think it does because of his freedom, because of the power he now holds. Don’t be fooled, he always held this power, but when he was in the tree, he couldn’t use it.

That is not the case now.

“Oh, are you even listening?”

He’s mocking your words from yesterday.

Shadow Milk��s eyes open in the shadows near the tree, his body fully covered in the shadows. He squints his eyes as he watches your movement, seeing you slowly turn back towards the village. Oh, are you gonna tell the other faeries? Tell them that you’ve been going to Shadow Milk daily and that you freed him? Oh, he doesn’t think so.

“Are you seriously leaving already? You’re always here for hours.”

Yes you’re seriously gonna leave! You need to tell the other faeries, they’ll know what to do! They’ll surely put him back in the prison where he belongs!

“You are quiet, are you shocked that this is all your fault?”

You shake your head and take a few steps back, your eyes wide with fear. You need to go back to the village and fast.

Turning on your heel you face away from Shadow Milk’s glowing eyes in the shadows, running away… or at least attempting to. Just a few steps in your escape and you hear Shadow Milk’s footsteps thumping behind you, catching up to you fast.

You let out a sob when you feel his hand grab you, stopping you in your tracks. He fists your shirt and slams you on the ground, pinning you to it. Just now do you see him for the first time in light. Just now do you see what he truly looks like. A dark jester with the eyes of a madman. A powerful madman.

The outfit he’s wearing resembles a medieval court jester, but something is… off about it. It may be the soul jam he has on the ruffled collar, or the jester hat he has on, but it was just… not normal.

But what beast cookie is normal?

“Why the rush? Let’s take our time like we always have.”

Let's not do that!

Shadow Milk cackles and grabs onto your faerie robe, pulling it off of your shoulders.

You were absolutely disgusted. Both because of his touch, and because you knew what he was gonna do.

The virginity of a faerie was sacred, and if Shadow Milk was gonna take yours, it would be as if he took away your very life.

“You don’t seem to like this…” Was he seriously cooing at you? “Well that’s TOO BAD! How do you think I felt when you stupid faeries stuffed me into a tree prison?!” There is his normal voice… well, a slightly angry one, but it feels more normal than when he was cooing.

He lets out an annoyed groan when he cannot pull your white robes off, deciding to rip them off. You gasp out a breath when you hear the white silk robes rip under his fingers, the fine material giving up under his strength.

He discards the silk robes aside, his fingers moving down on your cotton panties. the cotton felt pure before, but now his fingers were tainting it with his. Lovely sin. Every faerie cookie alway told you to not become tainted by sin, but Shadow Milk cookie’s touch felt so right, so holy… despite his actions being anything but that.

You cannot believe how right this feels. Why aren’t you fighting back? You’re a faerie for god’s sake!

“Stopped fighting back I see… hehehe, now we can finally both have fun. Don’t worry I’ll make sure you enjoy yourself too.”

God, yes please. You aren’t sure what switched inside you as a faerie, but this felt incredible. You don’t care that this goes against your faerie teaching anymore. You need Shadow Milk cookie, and you need him now.

He hooks his fingers under your panties and pulls them off softly, stuffing them in his pocket. Was he seriously pocketing your used panties to keep them for later? Apparently so.

Shadow Milk dips two of his fingers into your, surprisingly, dripping cunt, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

“I thought that faeries like you would hate this, but look at you.”

He pulls his fingers out of your cunt with an embarrassingly loud squelch, spreading them apart in front of your face, showcasing the threads of your arousal webbing between them.

“Already this wet without me needing to do anything. But I suppose that’s good, makes it less painful for the both of us.”

His blue hands reach under his ruffled collar, a soft click of his nails against a zipper being heard through the forest. Your breathing heavies when you see him opening his dark jester costume, revealing his scrawny, pale blue body to you. Your breath catches in your throat when the zipper stops above his crotch, a huge bulge visible.

When other faeries spoke about their sexual acts with one another, you alway heard them saying that cocks were big, but this… this seemed impossibly big. Shadow Milk cackles at your stare before slipping the sleeves of the jester overall off, before moving to his waist, pulling it down to his thighs.

Your eyes widen when you see his erections rise to his stomach, being finally freed from their cloth prison. Did he always wear no underwear under the suit? Wait, erections? There’s more than one?

“Well, well, you seem surprised, my little sheep (shadow). Have you never seen anyone like me? Actually… have you ever even seen anyone under these circumstances?”

God knows you haven’t, but you are not about to say that to Shadow Milk. You’d much rather die from embarrassment. You have only heard about this act from the other faeries judging their respective partners, but from what you remember, they never mentioned a cookie having two cocks!

Not bothering to fully take off his jester costume, he keeps it pooled around his thighs, kneeling between your legs. He grabs you by the calf and puts your legs over his lean shoulders, your knee pit now snugly fitting against his collarbones.

He grabs one of his cocks and presses it to your entrance, his mouth falling open slightly when he feels heat coming off of your body. That’s enough to tell him you want this too… you need this too.

“My little lamb doesn’t even need prep, does she? You’re so wet that I’ll slip right in.”

You squeeze your eyes shut from how humiliating his words feel, not having any need to see his smug face along with his words.

“No, NO! That won’t do! You have to watch! You have to look at me!”

Shadow Milk grips your jaw between his index finger and thumb, forcing your face near his. His tongue lolls out with an erotic-sounding ‘plop’ before moving to lick your cheek.

You let out a guttural sound of disgust, the rough texture of his tongue feeling absolutely disgusting on your cheek. But… you don’t want him to stop.

One of his hands slips from your jaw to your wrists and pins them above your head, his other hand still on one of his cocks.

You feel as if the wind gets knocked out of your lungs when he presses the tip of one of his cocks to your entrance, feeling his eyes boring into your soul. Your eyes snap open and look at him, seeing his face scrunched up in pleasure.

“Finally, your eyes are back on me.”

His hips snap to meet yours, the entirety of his cock slipping inside of you in one go. You throw your head back in pleasure, feeling him stretch you to limits you didn’t know were possible.

The hand that Shadow Milk had on his cock before now reaches to your lower stomach, pressing down on it slightly. Your mouth falls open with a loud moan as Shadow Milk’s hand makes contact with your stomach, pressing down on where his cock is inside you.

He cackles slightly as he begins thrusting his cock into your cunt, deciding not to even go slow. He knew you could take it.

You continue your song of pleasure as his hips thrust against yours in a fast pace, but you can’t help but notice his other cock pressing against your butt each time his hips snap back against yours.

Shadow Milk moves his hand from your stomach to your breast, giving it a rough squeeze. His head, which was looming over you to watch your pleasured reactions, lowers to your other, unoccupied breast, his mouth opening to let his tongue lick at your hardened nipple. The cry of pleasure you let out due to his action makes him feel more excited than he is until now, his hips picking up speed, his mouth wrapping fully around your nipple to suck on it.

Your brain feels like it’s melting. This is all too much. The cock ramming into your deepest parts, feeling as if it was ramming into your womb. The hand on your breast with your other breast having his lips wrapped around it, his other cock slapping against your skin. It felt unreal.

One of your hands manages to slip from his grasp, moving down to his other, vacant, cock. Your hand can’t even manage to fully wrap around his cock, but you still jerk him off in a loose grip.

Shadow Milk’s breath hitches as you slowly move your hand over his cock, your thumb running over the tip of his cock. He moves his mouth off your breast, his eyes moving to lock with yours.

“You ngh… slutty little lamb…”

His hand swats yours off his cock, pinning it back above your head.

“Oh, you’re seriously this needy? Well, who am I to decline?”

He grabs his cock and lines it up to your ass, but narrows his eyes upon doing so. You’re a virgin, aren’t you? You’re a faerie, of course, you haven’t done anything. Especially not in your ass.

Shadow Milk lets go of one of his cock and presses his fingers to your lips, smiling menacingly.

“Suck them or I won’t bother to prep you.”

Not exactly being keen on Shadow Milk shoving his cock into your ass without prep, you listen. Opening your mouth, he shoves three fingers in, making you gag as he pushes them all the way in, the tips reaching into your throat.

He laughs and snaps his hips, delivering an especially harsh thrust to your cunt. You moan around his fingers, flexing your arms to try and get out of his grip. You need to hold him.

When he’s satisfied with how saliva-coated his fingers are he pulls them out of your mouth, lowering them back to your ass.

He looks at you and slows his thrusts slightly, looking at your facial expression to note if he sees any discomfort or fear. But he sees none.

Taking it as a good sign, he presses one of his fingers to your entrance, pushing it in. You gasp and throw your head back, the cock in your cunt making you feel a bit better.

The finger in you didn’t feel painful as you thought it would, it just felt odd… uncomfortable. Logically so, it was an intrusion that your body was not made to take.

Shadow Milk presses his finger in deeper, the second knuckle of his middle finger now touching your rim. You groan and arch your back, your hips twitching to close around the cookie between them. He lets out an annoyed groan and lets go of your wrists, moving the hand that held you down to your clit, rubbing lazy circles on it.

You moan and move your now unrestrained arms up towards him, wrapping them around his torso. You need to feel closeness, to feel him.

“Ngh.. you’re doing so good, so good for me. Let’s do a bit more, yeah?”

He adds another finger into you, making you squeal out in pleasure. It no longer feels odd, it feels as if it was made for you. As if you were made for him.

Growing impatient he pulls his finger out of you, grabs his cock and presses it against your ass. You shudder and open your shaking thighs to allow him easier access, sighing softly when his tip presses against your entrance.

“It’s fine, my lamb… You better get used to this, we’ll be doing this together a lot more…”

He lets out a spine-tingling cackle, pushing the tip of his cock into you. He stops thrusting his other cock that is deep in your cunt in order to sheat his cock into your ass, his finger still rubbing your clit in an attempt to loosen you up more.

You moan and cling to him, pulling him close to you. One of your hands moves to the wrist of the hand that is rubbing on your clit, attempting to push him away weakly. It all felt like too much, but you needed more.

Shadow Milk snaps his hips forward and pushes his cock halfway into your ass, making you sob out in pleasure. He laughs and lowers his head, kissing your jaw and neck before biting down on it roughly, breaking your skin. You whine and squeeze your arms around him tighter, his rough-textured tongue lapping up the blood that runs from the bite he has created.

“Just a little bit more, then the real show will begin.”

He moans quietly as he drinks up your blood, making a hickey around the bloody bite mark. With your pleasure-filled brain you barely notice him sucking on your neck, or the fact that he’s inching his cock into your ass.

When he bottoms out, he lets go of your neck, his hips still, to let you adjust to your new fullness. One of his hands stays near your cunt, his fingers rubbing your clit, his other hand moving to your breast to squeeze it gently, twisting your nipple between his fingers.

After about a minute of adjusting you still feel slight discomfort from one of his cocks being in your ass, but you can’t take it anymore. You need him to move. You need him.

Shadow Milk raises his eyebrow and smirks when he feels you grinding back against his cocks, moving his hips to pull his cocks out slightly before snapping his hips back. Your mouth falls open in pleasure, letting all of the moans he causes to be let out.

Noticing that you’re in no pain or discomfort, he begins to thrust harder, his hips picking up speed too. His hand that’s on your clit begins to add pressure, and the hand that was on your breast moves up to your neck, squeezing it.

It isn’t enough to make you choke, but it’s enough to slightly restrict your airflow. It’s enough to stimulate you further, to excite you.

Shadow Milk shudders and pulls you closer to him with each thrust, feeling like he needs more. His thumb presses into your jugular notch, making his grip firmer so that he can move your body against his.

You loved this.

Gasping your eyes widen and you shake your head, your walls squeezing around his cocks. You were so close, just a little bit more to send you over the edge!

Understanding that you’re close, Shadow Milk gets rougher with his movement, moving down to capture your mouth in a hungry and desperate kiss. His lips part a bit, letting his tongue lull out to lick at your lips, his tongue moving into your mouth to explore it.

Your tongues dance against each other in a desperate, heated fashion, your bodies entangled in a passionate entanglement.

Rubbing on your clit faster, Shadow Milk breaks the kiss, his hips shuddering.

You let out an earsplitting moan, feeling the cock that is in your cunt cum inside of you, making you squirt around him. He shudders when he feels your walls squeeze around his cocks, still thrusting despite your overstimulation. You let out a sob from how overwhelmed your body feels, your hands move to push against his chest in a need to push him away.

“I know it’s too much, my lamb, but I just need a bit more… Just hold on a bit longer.”

Didn’t he also cum already? Why does he need to keep going? Is he purposefully trying to make you cry from overstimulation? It sure feels like it!

His hips keep moving, granted at a slower rate than before, but it still feels like it’s too fast for your oversensitive body.

His hips and movement begin to become more and more inconsistent, along with his speech becoming more and more blurted. What was before ‘Please, just a bit more’ and ‘You’re doing so good for me’ has now turned into incomprehensible babbles of begging and borderline sobbing.

Looking down at his expression, you can see he’s also overstimulated, the corners of his closed eyes having small tears forming in them.

Shadow Milk delivers a few more thrusts before lowering his head to your chest, biting down onto your breast in an attempt to hide his moan as he cums from his other cock, filling you up to amounts you didn’ know were possible. You flinch as you feel his cum flow into your ass, the sensation of his teeth on your breast sending you over the edge one more time. You sob and wrap your ankles around his waist as your overstimulated body delivers another orgasm from you, your hands pushing on his head to pull him off your breast.

Shadow Milk complies with your demand and lets go of your breast, grabbing onto your ankles to make you unwrap them from him.

“Don’t get too comfortable, this doesn’t mean I like you, my dear lamb.”

You gasp when your legs unhook from around his waist, falling down to the ground. He roughly pulls away from you, his cocks slipping from your holes.

Shadow Milk walks over to where his discarded clothes lay, putting them back on.

“I do hope you and I meet again, despite you being a faerie.”

And with that, the deceitful beast cookie disappears into the Shadows, not to be seen by you again.

You need to get back to the village and tell the other faeries about his escape, but it would be for the best if you left out the part about having sex with the escapee.

[rimqueen]

ROUTE 69 !

ft. di!leon kennedy x woc!reader

tags. piv, smut, cop!leon, ignorance/racism but not on purpose 😭, leon woc fetishiser, blowjob, public sex, car sex, creampie

notes. im scared 2 post this all I have to say is im a fat brown woman and um my belly fat is going to shield me from any backlash.. this fic was much worse and then I changed it to di leon and made it more of him being ignorant without realising n having a fetish. readers race/ethnicity isn’t specified but since im south asian i did write it w myself in head .. reading this back it’s very south asian actually wow. some bits r taken from my old n deleted fics if they sound familiar 😴 i’ve been writers blocked 4 months so this is clunky n disjointed,, feedback n rbs always appreciated :3 UNEDITED!!!!!!!!

You get pulled over beside a cornfield—Where Leatherface met Sally. 

Okay, sure, you were speeding, like, a little bit, but it’s not like there’s anyone to crash into, there’s no schools around here so no kid is going to wander into the road and splat against your windshield like a bug, and there’s no deers so you really don’t see the problem. This road is long and winding like an unfurled spool of silver ribbon, it’s scary, and the only source of light is the fucking moon, and while there’s probably only a 0.01% chance of something happening to you—This is Midwest America you’re talking about - land of the free, birthplace of literally every serial killer like ever.

They have it all here: killer clowns, rapists, somebody’s coworker, zodiac killers, night stalkers, mommy’s boys and cannibals. 

An entire carousel of freaks.

He’s just a cop, you tell yourself, some overweight, gun-slinging, bible-thumping degenerate that has to pick on generally polite and law-abiding women like me to feel good about himself. 

You press your face against the wheel and try not to think of Jason and Michael Myers and that terribly evil, big-nosed clown with his stupidly small top hat.

Tap, tap, tap. 

You don’t even look when you roll down the window, not until he sighs deeply and gives a pointed, “Ahem.” 

Don’t look at him wrong. Don’t smile at him wrong. Don’t even breathe wrong. Don’t give him a reason.

When you lift your head you're met with his crotch. It’s not exactly a sight for sore eyes, but it’s not exactly unwelcome—You can tell by those hands and those thighs and—well—that dick that you’ve got him all wrong. He’s not fat or ugly. He’s a hot gun-slinging, bible-thumping cop, and somehow that’s even worse. 

“Do you know how fast you were going—“ He adjusts his belt, probably shifts his dick from one side to the other side of his obscenely tight uniform before he bends down to peer into your window. “—ma’am?” 

Oh god. 

He’s like hot hot. 

Somewhere between retired underwear model and vintage pornstar hot. His eyes are the type of blue you'd like to dip your toes into, and his name badge says Kennedy. 

“Fast enough to get your attention?” You smile at him hopefully, sitting up straighter and shifting your body towards the window to show him your perfectly planted cleavage. 

Officer Kennedy seems to take that into consideration, nodding thoughtfully while he looks right down your work blouse and at the scalloped cups of your lucky lace bra. It’s always been there to get you out of a pinch—like that presentation today, if you hadn’t stood directly under that spotlight with that bra and that sheer blouse, you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be getting a promotion and such a glowing recommendation. 

When he’s done checking you out, Officer Kennedy asks for your license and registration, you rifle around in the glove compartment and pretend not to notice a pack of condoms falling to the ground. 

He leans forward, peering through the open window, yoi catch sight of the ID clipped to his shirt. “Think we might have a code M&M on our hands,” Officer Leon Kennedy says. 

“A what?” You dig out your insurance papers and hand them over, fingers trembling when you go to get your license from your card wallet—You haven’t done anything bad, you went over the speed limit, it’s not like you’re lying about your papers, it’s not like you have a body in the trunk—It’s just the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s speaking to you. 

“Y’know, Mexican or Muslim—Aw, don’t look at me like that, it’s just a joke, don’t make me feel bad about a joke.” He clicks his tongue like he’s embarrassed. “I’m not like that,” Leon continues as he squints at your license, “I don’t have a problem with anyone or anything, it’s just how we talk down at the station.”

You just blink at him. What are you even meant to say to that? 

“Tough crowd.” He shrugs and hands everything back to you, for just a moment you think you might be able to get away with a slap on the wrist, but you don’t go to his church, you don’t sound like him, you don’t wave around little flags on the Fourth of July, you’ve never even had a casserole, and you most certainly don’t look like anyone he would call a friend. “Here ya go.” He sticks his hand through the window, waving around a fine.

“I can’t pay that,” you blurt out, and you want to be smart and tell him that you know speeding doesn’t cost that much, he could just give you a point on your license and it would all be fine and dandy, but you’re panicking. 

“Didn’t think so.” Leon gives you a pointed look—Like, like he planned this, like he’s setting you up, and he is, he so is—You’re tired and upset and wary about the gun he’s wielding on that belt. “You know,” he sighs, glances at your strategically unbuttoned shirt, “there’s something else you could do for me.” 

Okay, this is good, it sounds more like the start of a bad porno than a horror movie and you’re alright with that. You can do porn, you can take dicks, but you can’t take chainsaws or hooks or needles or anything of the sort. 

To be coy, you blink at him slowly, tears beading your lashes like morning dew. “I have a boyfriend, Officer.” 

“Ah…” Leon seems to take it seriously, like abusing authority is fine as long as a woman’s single—but the moment she’s taken? He’s got morals. “Arranged marriage, huh?”

You blink at him. Again. And again. And again. 

“No…” You say slowly—Oh, what the hell. “Yeah, forced marriage, it’s a whole thing, if I don’t make it back tonight I'm in for a beating—That’s why I was speeding actually, officer, I just want to get home before it’s too late.”

“Damn shame.” Leon shakes his head, the gravel crunching under his boots as he shifts. “Treating a pretty girl like that…Nice skin, pretty hair, big eyes—That’s just not right.” 

So he’s like that - the type to call you a princess in bed and a terrorist at the airport, the type to fuck you and let you know that his buddies can’t find out about this, he doesn’t change the radio station when a rap song comes on when he drops you two blocks away from your house. 

“Listen, sweetheart, you seem like a good girl, girls like you, they're good in school, study hard, doctors, lawyers, all that stuff—“ He makes a vague hand gesture that is neither here nor there. “—So I don’t wanna give you a ticket or a court date, but, uh, that doesn’t come for free.” 

“I understand, officer.” You bat your lashes at him, biting back a smile. This isn’t so bad, you got a promotion and now you’re getting laid. There’s no axe murderers or rapists in sight, just a cop with his dick in the right place. 

“Good girl.” He nods, pleased, and then he switches off his radio. “So, you do that for that prick at home or me?” Leon’s eyes drift to your cleavage, to your thighs in that short skirt, it keeps riding up the more you squirm in your seat. 

“I like uniforms,” you tell him innocently, “can’t help it.”

Leon laughs, slow and knowing. “I bet you do.” His fingers brush his belt, not to reach for his gun, but to unbutton them. You poke your head a little further out the window, his hand finds the back of your head, guiding you to his dick. His gun-slinging, bible-thumping dick that you fully intend to put in your mouth - you’ve made your bed and now you're kneeling in it. “I don’t have a breathalyser with me, so this’ll do.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as your warm mouth closes in on the tip, he’s big, but not in the way that makes your jaw ache—If he wanted to do that he’d find better luck shoving a gun in your mouth. 

“Fuck, wait.” He lets out a soft grunt and pulls his cock from your mouth, smudges of red lipstick and strings of spit keeping his tip and your lips together.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him, heart thumping out of your chest—Did he change his mind? Did he have, like, an epiphany? Was it bad? Oh god, what if someone saw you? What if there really is a murderer out here and everybody knows they always go for you when you’re fucking—

Leon opens the back door—You were worried about murderers and hillbillies but your doors weren’t even locked. “Get in the back.” 

“Oh.” You let out a breath of relief, climbing over the handbrake and losing a heel on the way over to meet him. He braces an arm against the roof of your car as you kiss the tip off his cock, letting dribbles of pre wet your lips. 

“Fuck,” Leon groans, one hand rests atop your head, “you’re trouble, I should’ve cuffed you.” 

“I would’ve liked it,” you mumble around a mouthful of fat cock, you should be ashamed of soaking through your poor thong, but you’re not. That ticket would feel a hundred times worse than a sore throat. 

“Speak English.” He gives you this cheeky smile when you let out a noise of surprise, but you’re too concerned with taking him deep in your throat to start an argument—So he gets away with it like he has a million times before. If it were any other day you'd give him a piece of your mind. Really, you would. Honest. Once his tip knocks the back of your throat, you start speaking his language, gagging wetly as you swallow around him, one hand trailing down to grasp his heavy balls. You feel him pulse, and he curses under his breath. “That got you going, huh?” He snorts, amused and all sorts of turned on.

When you pull off with a pop, you go straight to licking up the seam of his balls. “You having fun down there, sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” It’s muffled as you take one into your mouth and then the other, you like to play with your food, and sucking up (read: off) took you so far in school. 

“C’mon, enough of that,” Leon hums, pushing you off gently like you’re a kitten clawing at the hem of his trousers. You go to whine and then wonder what your parents would think of this and zip your mouth shut. Your grandmother came to America for what? For this? For you to let any old pig put his dick in your guts? Whatever. Whatever. He’s a hot pig. He’s like the cutest guy you’ll find for miles, and you’ve already gone to college, you’ve got a good job, why can’t you indulge? “Scooch over.”

You shuffle back, skirt hiking up your thighs until it’s more of a belt, he wedges himself between your thighs—Your legs dangle out the door, and you're still worried something or someone is going to come out of the cornfield waving around a scythe and cut up both your bodies like a canvas, but you’re wet and he’s on top of you and there’s no going back now.

“Wait—Keep it on,” you gasp softly as he lifts the hem of his uniform shirt.

“Why? You like it?” He asks, blinking at you with those big blue eyes, they’re clear like a summer afternoon. 

Obviously. 

“I dunno…I kinda like it, feels wrong.” You take his hand in yours once he drops the bunched up fabric, bringing it to feel how wet you’ve gotten. 

“What? The badge? The uniform?” He looks smug, like you're some kinky act of rebellion for him—Well, you don’t really have the right to speak on things like that. 

“The gun,” you say softly, flashing him your sweetest smile. 

“You're dirty,” he tells you with a groan, lining up his cock with your soft cunt, dragging the fat head up and down your folds, letting it brush over your throbbing clit just to see you writhe. 

“Hurry,” you whine, digging your nails into his biceps, you want him to split you straight down the middle. “Wait—Are you married?” 

“Does it matter?” Leon asks before he pushes in with one single glide, you're so wet there’s no resistance, just the slight stretch of a pleasantly big dick, tip nudging your cervix. 

“Oh my god.” You drag your nails down his back, legs going rigid as pleasure prickles your spine. “I was just—just wondering.” You bet there’s someone. Blonde, short, small, the kind he can bring home with no judgement. 

“Probably should’ve asked before you sucked my dick.” Leon huffs out a breath as he shifts his hips, angling deeper, making you sniffle as he drops his sweaty forehead to press against yours. He’s so deep you feel him everywhere, you can’t escape him and you don’t want to. 

His cock drags in and out of your slick cunt, one of his hands is by your head and the other settles on your tummy, trailing down until he finds your swollen clit. The pad of his thumb rolls over the soft bud as he fucks into you, pussy clicking wetly with each sharp thrust. 

If you had any dignity left, if you weren’t twenty seconds away from gushing all over him, you'd probably be embarrassed by the noise. The wet squelch each time he bottoms out, the smack of his balls on your ass, the way you’re whining like a fucking, boot-licking idiot. 

“Wait—Wait, I can’t—“ You push at his abdomen, wanting him to ease up as you feel the pressure build deep in your gut, there’s no time to feel guilty when it feels so fucking good, when your cunt tightens and he presses down on your clit and your poor Honda Civic—She’s been subjected to a lot tonight. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, sweetheart.” Leon cups your cheek, his hand is softer and smaller than you expected, gentler than the one that’s pinching your clit and making you sob into your fist. “Go on, good girl.” 

You think you black out when it happens, and you don’t know why. It was good, sure, but it wasn’t, like, deserving of a pornstar reaction, and you just gave that—Boosted his already huge ego, made a fool out of yourself, disappointed whoever in your line of ancestors decided the shift to America was a good idea. 

“You do that for your husband?” His voice is strained, his thrusts are sloppy, his mouth is hanging open as he ruts into your messy cunt. 

“I don’t actually have—It’s the uniform.” You think about the box of condoms on the floor and hook your legs around him, digging one kitten heel and one regular human heel into his ass to keep him from running away. 

Leon’s eyes go wide, he opens his mouth to protest, and then you squeeze his dick so tight it empties his brain and his balls. He even looks good when he cums. Adam’s apple bobbing, lips parted, a perfectly timed rivulet of sweat drips down his temple as he fills you up. 

The quiet after all of it is said and done kind of makes you wish you did hear a chainsaw revving somewhere in the distance. He buckles his belt as you pull your thong back into place, dried cum sticking to your thighs, dripping onto your poor old car. You have driven a million relatives back and forth in this little thing, you take your mom to the doctors and your grandma to the grocers and now she’s ruined. 

His radio is switched back on, you find both your shoes and place them on the passenger seat. You can’t drive in this state, not when your legs are wobbling so bad you wouldn’t be able to step on the brakes. Maybe that’s what you need to do. Drive head first into a wall. 

“I can drive you home,” Leon offers after he watches you stare at the windshield blankly, “Can get somebody to bring your car over in the morning.”

You accept and wonder who he voted for as he drives. His pinned radio stations are all some sort of rock, but there’s no country and that makes you feel a little better. 

He grabs your wrist before you get out, all blue-eyed and earnest. “I hope…I hope I didn’t get you into trouble with your folks, I know how they get, your people, I don’t want, uh, anything to happen to you.” 

You look at your house. All the lights are off. There’s not a single car parked in the drive. There’s nothing because you live with no one but yourself. You thought cops were meant to have deductive skills. 

“And if your husband gives you any trouble, you can call me, for real this time—Not, not for that, but for help,” he finishes clumsily, like he didn’t raw you in the middle of an open road while he was on fucking duty.

“I don’t have…” You look at him, like really hard, remnants of red lipstick on the collar of his blue uniform, his seed staining your panties white. “I’ll tell you if he gives me any trouble,” you say, only because you know he needs a reason to come and see you, he couldn't be casual with somebody like you. He’s going to knock on your door with a warrant just so he can fuck you into your mattress. 

“Okay.” He nods, lips twitching into a smile. “I’ll bring the handcuffs next time.”

I’ll bring a fucking veil next time so I can hang you or myself, maybe an anklet or two if you’re into that officer.

You fix a smile onto your face. “Goodnight, Officer.”

[miaoua3]

hey! i just saw that u opened requests and i came here to ask If you could do a seventeen reaction when you're on your ovulation week..? like, what goes on on their mind seeing you so needy, almost begging for them.. 🫠 i would really appreciate that 'cuz i LOVE your writing! thank you!! 🩷

(embarrassed to say this but this request has been sitting in my inbox for MONTHS😭 gurl im so sorry im only answering it now, i hope you dont hate me too much🫶 also don’t mind how much more porn-descriptive it got half way through, i kinda…lost the plot halfway through lmao)

SVT & Your Ovulation Week

scoups-a natural care taker who goes insane at seeing you so needy, eyes glazed as you literally beg him to fuck you. normally would try to keep it cool and collected, but you are just so needy, all the restraint he possesses gets thrown out of the window in the name of pounding into your insatiable pussy. literally goes on for hours, still has the strength to fold you in half and absolutely ruin you, even after 4 rounds. he won’t stop until he has you sobbing his name while underneath his body, until the sheets are soaked through completely. his dick might as well fall off in the end because he isn’t stopping, no matter what. overall he loses his mind at seeing you so needy, begging for him to break you (both mentally and physically)

jeonghan-normally he would be all teasing and borderline sinister as he edges you to no end, but he knows how high your emotions can run during your ovulation that he kind of just…shuts up and fuck you till he almost passes out😭 but overall loves seeing you so needy and desperate for him, gets him a bit cocky knowing that he’s the one you seek out during your emotional and vulnerable times to take care of you. in the end he physically can’t go for longer, ends up just laying there with shaking legs and just says “use me if you still need to, but fuck i am NOT moving anymore”😭 (you literally fuck his brains out)

joshua-loving, caring, and downright sinister to you all at once. he mostly goes with whatever you are feeling-he can either make the most romantic love to you or he can tie you up and make you sob for the next 3 hours. in either way-he takes care of you, body and soul. he loves seeing you so needy, so desperate for him-his love, his cock and his presence. he loves having an excuse to just shut off the world for hours and just do what he loves the most-fucking you until your whole body is shaking

jun-is so scared of doing something to piss you off so he just…shuts up and does whatever you tell him to. want him to eat you out? 🫡already on it. want him to fuck you and not to stop for the next 6 hours?…well if he can just make a small pause for a snack he’s pretty sure he can do it. embodiment of “yes ma’am” in general, but during your ovulation week? your words are his prayer, he lives to please you and make you lose your mind over everything that he does to you. overall a bit overwhelmed at how needy you get but nothing he can’t handle. even if he couldn’t, he would push through it because seeing you so…cock hungry wakes something entirely different inside of him.

hoshi-oh probably the only one who acts even worse and needier than you. he can see all the signs-glazed eyes and furrowed eyebrows, the word “please” on the tip of your tongue and grabby hands, and he knows what time of the month is. he will NOT let you leave the bed for like a day straight, hands grabbing you and dragging you back to him as he says “where do you think you are going? we are nowhere near done yet.” so…rip to your pussy girl lmao i just know its gonna be BURNING from how hard and raw he will go at it. actually loses his insanity whenever he sees you get so hungry for him during your ovulation week, so in return he will make you go just as insane

wonwoo-cocky motherfucker who thoroughly enjoys seeing you begging for him to fuck you and to absolutely destroy your needy pussy. he’s all smirks and “oh yeah?”, ego getting fed every time you beg for him to give it to you. uses your neediness to play with you-not too much because you will probably whack him or drag him to your bed and take what you want and need from him, but just a little to get your senses heightened. overall very pleased seeing you let yourself be at his mercy, makes you dehydrated from how often he makes you cum on his face, fingers and cock, and makes sure that you are satiated

woozi-oh this man will have you shaking for DAYS from how much he would fuck you. something about your constant neediness and horniness makes him snap. completely loses all sense of self in the name of making you absolutely SOAK his sheets, be it from his fingers, tongue, dick or even a vibrator. it’s almost like your pheromones affect his so much that he too loses all control, wanting to just suffocate himself in your pussy. to say that he absolutely LOVES seeing you so needy for him and his touch, is an understatement. his chest fills with this weird sense of…pride? pride that he’s the one you seek out to fulfil your needs. pride that you trust him enough to take care of you during your probably most sensitive weeks. pride that you are his to take care of.

minghao-calm and collected on the outside but inside his mind there’s a whole storm brewing due to your glassy eyes and pleading voice. gets more teasing when he sees you like that-desperate and hungry for him. but not too much-his fingers tease your folds a second longer than usual, his lips stay on your pussy just to the point where he can feel your legs clamp around his head, he teases his dick against your folds just until you start whining and pulling him towards yourself. his brain just malfunctions whenever he sees you in this state, a primal need to prolong your neediness as much as possible by teasing you, by taking his time with you.

mingyu-if you think you are needy, you obviously haven’t seen gyu. it’s enough for you to pull on his shirt and look at him with those puppy eyes that scream “fuck me🥺please” and he’s a goner. he’s all over you, all tongue and spit while he’s messily kissing you, his big hands holding your cheeks. desperately grinds and humps against your clothed core, too impatient to take them off and too needy so he can’t help but roll his clothed dick into your heat. he isn’t stopping with pleasuring you until the sheets are soaked completely. he can’t help himself, it’s almost like your pheromones affect him just as much so he gets as needy as you do. one smell of your sweet pussy is all it takes for him to lose all senses, all thoughts to disappear from his head. the needy to have you moaning, screaming and crying out his name is just so strong he choses to give up all the control, all pride and self respect, there’s only ever you

dk-it can go in two ways for this one. first, he’s either all loving, romantic and sweet, whispering loving words to you as he slowly grinds his hips into your own, dick deliciously grazing the sides of your inner wall. he just wants to take care of you, to make you feel satisfied, to satisfy your deep needs. he won’t ever day no to you, doing his best to make his baby feel loved, appreciated and taken care of. two, he literally becomes this insatiable animal, literally spinning you around the room, throwing you on the bed before he drags you to the floor, all while fucking you at insane speeds. fucks you from the bed all the way to the kitchen counter. he won’t let you move an inch away from you, all over you, licking, biting and marking you as his. and what version you will get during the next ovulation? who knows, guess you will just have to sit and wait and see 🤷‍♀️

seungkwan-oh this smirky and cocky motherfucker. usually he’s acting like a virgin mary whenever you try to insinuate that you want to fuck, all scandalised and gasping, blushing while saying to take him to the dinner first. but when you’re ovulating? when he can clearly see you get all needy? when he can sense that you will either get him to give you what you want or that you will take it yourself? oh it’s game on then. going slow, to the point where you start crying in frustration but also from how good it feels. all the while he whispers in that deep voice of his things like “oh does my angel want more? want me to fuck you harder? to give it to you, just like you want it? how you need it? why don’t you try begging some more baby, see if i will care then.” he’s do meannnn but it’s so hot-it’s hot how confident he suddenly is, how with only his words he can reduce you to a whining and needy mess that you are. he loves seeing you so desperate for him, he can’t help himself but be a bit meaner so he can see you literally begging for him. it all makes him feel…proud in a fucked up way. in conclusion-ovulation time is his favourite time of the month

vernon-probably the least affected one. sure, it gets him all excited and makes him want to make you satisfied, but you won’t see him act like an animal like some of them do, nor will you see him fucking you for hours to no end. he will keep you satisfied and all, but he physically can’t go for longer than two rounds, he’s way too dehydrated for long fucking sessions as it is. still, he will try his hardest to keep you satisfied, even if in other ways. he knows how sensitive you are to many things, that’s why he’s always there to comfort you, both with his hugs, and his mouth on your sweet pussy. he knows that you get the need to crawl inside his skin, that nothing feels close enough. that’s why he will cuddle you so much until you become one, or he will literally let you feel his whole weight while he’s on top of you, hips rolling in deep movements as he’s fucking you. he knows how you need him to verbally show you that he loves you. that’s why he will gently kiss your forehead and whisper a little “i love you” every few hours-or, he will grab your neck, spit in your mouth and say “you are mine.” he will take care of you, that’s for sure-in which way however?🤷‍♀️ who knows

dino-oh poor boy. oh this poor poor boy. the moment you get your hands on him, he knows it’s going to be an eventful night. he doesn’t even fight it-the moment you grab the front of his shirt and practically throw him on your bed, he just accepts it and prepares for the longest and best fucking session of his life. he gets unusually submissive, he does whatever you want him to. you grab his hair and drag him to your pussy so he can eat you out? say less, your wish is his command. you want him to fuck you in a certain position? he’s breaking his back from how fast he tries to get into that position. he just wants to give you everything you might need. he can’t really explain why, he just…does. seeing you so needy, but still being needy only for him? it turns his brain into a mush. he’s already whipped for you as it is, but add all the emotions and pheromones while you are ovulating? you get simp dino maxxed out on the attitude “yes ma’am”.

[96z]

i know many of you do not give a damn and that is a problem in its own regard but i am posting this in hopes that those who are unaware and who value their morals and their integrity over music will hopefully take something from it.

this seventeen album should be boycotted at all costs. i have been a carat for seven years now and i have a lot of love (as well as frustration) for these guys. i am endlessly proud of them for making it ten years in an industry designed to tear them down and wear them out, to take everything from human beings that it can— and then some. however i cannot allow this to overshadow the negative things surrounding this album, nor should you.

i will preface by saying that seventeen will not see a huge impact from a boycott. they make pennies on the dime per stream, $0.003 cents. seventeen are also far past comfortable financially, they are by all means rich, particularly woozi. they will be a-ok. this will not cause any damage to them outside of potential bruised egos, which is an unfortunate impact however not more important than the overall issues.

i also want to say that we know that boycotting is an effective tool to put pressure on companies to change their ways, but it needs to be an organized effort. it's not something you do for a few months and give up. it's also not something you pick and choose with — you don't avoid streaming songs and then buy a lightstick from the weverse shop because it was pretty, or attend a concert.

that said, you all should be boycotting hybe anyway. this is for multiple reasons. first is their employment and collaboration with people such as scooter braun, a staunch zionist who was outright thanked by the official israel twitter account. when scooter braun found out he was on the zionists in music twitter account, he said it was an honor and he never could've dreamed of such a thing happening to him. scooter braun has a long, problematic history i would encourage all of you to thoroughly research.

hybe has also recruited artists like johnny goldstein to work on their tracks. he is credited on enhypen, illit and txt tracks, and he has also worked closely with j-hope of bts. johnny goldstein is both a ccfp member as well as a former iof soldier. he is quite literally a child murderer and he is sitting in rooms with your favorite artists. that should infuriate you.

if that is not enough, consider the level of overwork that these artists have faced. seventeen is on their sixth album in approxiately 365 calendar days between whole group projects and individual unit projects. these all have one common factor: jihoon. he has produced six albums, short or otherwise, in one year. in one year, seventeen has also done one world tour, a japan tour, caratland, and headlined three festivals. does any of this sound sustainable for human beings? they are treated like products by their company, not human beings.

for these reasons there has been a boycott in place for over a year. many carats have chosen to break it out of 'love', but in reality, they are complicit in the mistreatment of their idols.

if none of this concerns you, there are also massive red flags with this current album.

first, bad influence, which makes up a third of the group songs on the album, is produced by pharrell who is a known zionist. in april 2024, in spite of the current social climate and despite readily available information, pharrell chose to accept an invitation to sing 'happy' to iof soldiers at a fundraising event. this is while carats in gaza are packing their photocards up while they flee their homes. pharrell made the conscious choice to be on the wrong side of history.

next, wonwoo's track credits el capitxn, who in march, took to instagram to brag that his company, vendors, produced a song for kanye's album which kanye himself said was based on 'antisemitic sounds'. they worked on the track ww3, which includes verses about epstein island, voting for djt, and 'rockin swastikas'. all he had to say regarding it was that he was 'proud of his boys' and 'they make it happen'.

you either stand in one of three places.

one, you believe seventeen does not have much autonomy. in that event, you should be angry and embarrassed that such individuals have their hands in their music, muddying everything seventeen is meant to stand for. you should not stand for it and the way to make a stand against it is by boycotting.

two, you believe seventeen does have autonomy and they have the ability to deny or to okay these things. if that is the case, you should feel frustration towards them for not doing their due diligence in these matters, when they are thirteen grown men with full, unrestricted access to the internet, when they have been called out for similar behavior before, when at least one of them has to know better. you can make that frustration known by boycotting.

or you don't really care, and at the end of the day you'll always be spineless, a so called 'real fan' who will buy into everything they do and reserve all your anger for those who want them to do better, who consistently call them out, instead of wishing they would make fewer mistakes. you will always buy the albums and the photocards and the concert tickets because you don't have the strength to be anything more than another cog in the capitalist machine. just know that you are not a fan, you are a consumer, and that your blind support and willingness to throw your money at every endeavor ultimately harms your artists before it helps them.

if you do care... take a stand. take a stand against mistreatment and overwork, against seventeen being pushed towards being another mass produced, western pandering act. take a stand towards seventeen's music having filthy hands involved in it everytime you look up. you should be embarrassed, you should be frustrated and you need to do something about it or nothing will ever change.

there should never be a time in modern history where we are proud for our favorite artists to work with zionists and people who shake hands with nazis. there is no excuse.

seventeen will survive losing streams and chart positions. they will live. and maybe their company will learn a valuable lesson for it. we have the power to do something and it's high time we wake up and do it, all of us.

nobody is saying you can’t listen. but instead of opening spotify up, download the tracks from a third party instead. they will be ok, i promise. boycotting takes no effort, it is literally an act of not doing something. if seventeen means something to you, this is how you should express it right now. please, i want better for them and you should as well.

[skyracha]

Headcanons SKZ

You need their help finding your tampon iykyk

( based off the tiktok trend)

Friends! SKZ setting

My Library HERE :)

Content is self explanatory

Chan

You’d burst right into his room, and when you ask him for help he doesn’t even question it. He gets right up and gets everything ready without a word. He’d grab towels and roll up his sleeves as he tells you to widen your stance. Bro wouldn’t hesitate to get in there, he’s not shy nor is he going to make this awkward, cuz it isn’t awkward for him. He’s the type to reposition you so he can get a clear view, but he eventually gets it out with a proud smile. He tosses it and grabs a new one for you out of HIS bathroom closet. “I keep extra, when you have a sister you learn what to have on hand.”

Lee Know

This man is going to make you feel awkward with how nonchalant he is about it. He doesn’t really care, and he’s going to be in and out in record speed (it’s borderline concerning how quickly he removes it). He tosses it out without a word and leaves you laying on the bathroom floor, bare for anyone who dare walk in before he returns with a pad and some sweats. “Why don’t we try this so we don’t lose it huh?”

Changbin

Man acts like he’s so cool about it but his hands are shaking as soon as he kneels in front of you on the counter. He’s intimidated and also breaths so heavy. He exclaims when he finds it and removes it so slow like you’re a game of operation. He wraps it in toilet paper before handing it to you to throw away as if he wasn’t just knuckle deep fishing it out. “Do you need me to get you another one? I don’t have any on hand though.”

Hyunjin

Sits and processes when you ask him, but then he simply asks how you’d be most comfortable doing it. He’d let you lay on his bed with towels everywhere, I MEAN EVERHWHERE (there’s literally one under ur head as if it’ll get all the way up there). He makes conversation while he swiftly gets it out and throws it out, giving you a new pair of underwear prepped with a pad. “I recognize your traits for this time of the month, so I keep some stuff on hand in case of emergencies.”

Han

He’s FLABBERGASTED. Like blinks at you. He quite literally asks if he needs to go get tongs from the kitchen. But once you explain that’s not necessary he’s rushing around to get the materials and even grabs gloves. He takes a second to realize where he needs to be looking and what to look for, but when he finds it, it’s out and he basically tosses it into the trash from across the bathroom. “How long until you start bleeding on the towels? I don’t have anything you need in here but I can run fast if you tell me where to go find some.”

Felix

Let’s be honest- he’s the one knocking on the bathroom door after you dissapeared for a few minutes too many. He walks in, kneels down and immediately knows the protocol. He’s not ashamed but instead sympathetic towards your situation, smiling at you so sweetly as he grabs baby wipes/wet towels and a new one for you. He even offers some comfy pants. “Are you sure you want to stay in those leggings? I can get a pair of my fluffy pajama pants, those seem comfier for this scenario.”

Seungmin

Bro acts so disgusted when you ask. Makes faces and groans as if you just asked him to eat his least favorite food. But once he gets in there he’s quick to fix the problem as if it’s any other day. He even goes as far to throw all the towels and ur pants and underwear in a laundry basket while giving you fresh clothes and a new tampon. “You think I haven’t been waiting for your dumb ass to lose a tampon? Take the clothes and freshen up while I go start a load of laundry.”

I.N.

Poor baby is clueless and flustered. Offers that maybe one of his hyungs would be of more help, but gives it a try anyway when you explain you feel most comfortable with him helping you. You have to walk him through what to do and what to grab to protect whatever surface you’ll be on. He thinks ahead and asks where your pads are so he can have one ready for you when the tampon comes out. He’s stuttering the whole time, but he gets the job done. He offers to settle his awkwardness by going out for ice cream or something of the sort. “How about you and I go get a sweet treat or something? You’re prone to a sweet craving and I feel like I need a reward.”

[levigarden999]

Levi x femReader Fluff

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characters : levi ackerman , fem reader

summary : after finding the sea, you and levi go for a swim

word count : 1,435

warnings : nudity, mentions of sex

notes : hey y'all just a small piece of fluffiness with our dear levi , have a lovely day 🩷

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

the wind was certainly colder and harder on the beach than it ever was in the inner land. especially inside the walls the wind was basically sealed away the same way the titans were, or, well, used to be.

the others had already left back to the hq, but you and levi decided to stay behind. the last few weeks had been so hectic and stressful, because of the battle in shiganshina. you two definitely needed some alone time. levi didn't however usually admit the fact he needed a break, he was still firmly a victim of the belief that rest makes a man weak. you had lectured him about this stupid belief for at least a hundred times, but it seemed like you would have to continue for another hundred, maybe even more. the man was annoyingly stubborn, even though it was one of the reasons you loved him so much.

when you did arrive at the beach, the wilder youngsters, like jean, connie and sasha took a swim. you were too shocked by the beautiful sight that it didn’t even cross your mind that you could actually swim there. the idea almost sounded crazy, like, why would someone want to swim in a dirty pool of salt water that is probably deeper than the height of the walls?

you were sitting on the cool sand, your toes deep inside the sand. as you moved your feet in the sea of tiny rocks, it tickled your soles a little in a nice, addictive way. levi refused to even touch the water, so he was still standing on your side with his arms crossed. there was no way he would even sit down, because it would get his uniform dirty and sandy.

”c’mon, levi, let’s go swimming!” you exclaimed, tugging on his leg a little. you pouted, trying to pull off the puppy eyes which he usually softened for.

”no. do you understand how difficult it is to wash sand off from your clothing?” he snapped back, his tone still cold and even. he glared down at you as he stood there and you knew better than to annoy him.

”well, take your clothes off, then” you suggested, with a smirk.

”i would still have to put the clothes back on on my sandy skin, and then the fabric would get sandy. so, no” he repeated with that same, annoying-ass matter-of-fact tone.

you were about to say something back, but he continued. ”-also, don’t even suggest washing myself in the water. i would rather not ride back to hq with salt in my ass and groins.”

fuck. you were just about to suggest that.

you stayed there in silence for a minute, until you got an idea. a devious smirk formed on your lips as you tugged on his pants again.

”levi… you remember the tea you drank a few months ago at the doctor’s office? when you were injured?” you said, a suggestive tone creeping into your tone.

”yes. it was a rare tea and the tea leaves grow only on a plant that grows in literal shit and mud. what about it?” he focused his eyes down on you again and you could see the way the scowl between his eyebrows deepened. you got him curious.

you slowly stood up and smirked, while your fingers lingered on his shoulder.

”how about i go and pick that plant up and prepare that tea for you?” you suggested with a seductive smirk. yes, seductive looks while talking about tea worked on levi wonderfully.

levi’s eyes visibly widened, and his eyebrows raised. you could basically see the way his gaze softened at the memory of the delicious tea he had drank. even for tea, he wouldn’t risk dirtying himself up like that by picking up a plant by himself in mud.

”you would? you would crawl in shit for me?”

”yes. but only if you swim with me now”

it was surprisingly easy to get levi to comply after all. you always thought levi was different from every man, but it seemed like he was the same after all. the only thing different was that you got him to comply to anything with the promise of tea, not sex. a promise of sex wouldn’t had worked, anyway, because you would’ve gave it to him anyway.

you watched as levi firstly took off his combat boots and settled them neatly on the sand, making sure they wouldn’t fall. then, he started to take off the belts on his thighs and waist. you began to do the same.

once you had managed to get everything off, you neatly folded the pieces of fabric and laid them on the sand. you stood there with your underwear, watching as levi took the last bits of clothing off. he was slightly bent over as he pulled his slacks off, and the light coming from the sun made his pale back look even more muscular than it already was. his shoulders and biceps were clenched as he pulled the material off and once it was off, he stood back straight and folded everything.

”hurry up, it’s cold.” you shivered in the wind as you had your arms around you, as if it did anything to protect you from the cold breeze. he turned his head towards you, but didn’t hurry up. however, it almost felt like his eyes took their damn time to roam over your form.

once he was done with folding and placing the clothes on the tips of his shoes, he offered his hand.

”come on. i’ll go first, make sure it’s safe” he said calmly and you took his hand. his skin was usually cold, but right now it felt warmer than usually as you two made it to the water.

the water felt cold on your feet as you walked deeper, but you didn’t care. you were focused on watching how the wind blew on levi’s hair, making it slightly messier than it usually was. his undercut had been recently shaved and it looked beautiful.

you pressed closer to his skin, for warmth. he allowed it without any words, and led you further into the water.

”brrr-” you shivered as the cold water hit above your navel, and you could basically feel it all the way inside your lungs. a few seagulls were laughing at you in the air and the sun was still bright, even though the orange tint in the sky hinted that it was getting late soon.

levi stopped walking once the water was touching your chests and he turned to you. you could see the way the almost invisible hairs on his skin were turned upwards, he was having goosebumps as well.

”you okay?” he asked softly, yet firmly. you looked at his eyes, his eyebrows were slightly furrowed like usually, but now in a caring, concerned way. he always made sure you were safe, even in situations where it was completely unnecessary. you reached your arms around him and rested your chin on his shoulder.

”’s cold, levi” you mumbled into his skin and inside the water, you felt his arms reaching around your body as well. for a second, there was nothing but the cold sensation of the unknown sea on your skin and the exact opposite sensation of warmth and safety of levi on your skin as well. the wind blew a little harder, making your hair tangle in the salty sea air. it was peaceful, it was beautiful, it was unfamiliar.

”it is, love” he whispered back, his lips gently touching the shell of your ear. you felt his hands caressing your back in the water, your bare skins wrapped around each other in a comforting way.

”let’s dip”  you suggested after another beat of peaceful, comforting silence. you pulled your head back and looked at him again. the tip of his sharp nose was slightly red from the cold breeze, and there was a hint of blue in his normally grey eyes now. the sea probably mirrored some of the color to his eyes.

”okay, but don’t let go of me, okay?” he said softly with a hint of firmness, worry in his tone. the arms wrapped around you tightened their grip a little. he was apparently worried that the sea would just suck you in and make you disappear or something.

”i won’t let go” you nodded, and for a second, there was a small smile on his pale, thin lips. you tightened your grip around him as well. skin against skin, heart against heart, human against human.

you both inhaled, and disappeared underwater.

[bleulikedaylight]

I Was Hoping You'd Say That

pairing: basketball captain! natasha romanoff x cheerleader captain! reader

synopsis: it always starts the same way — the squeak of rubber soles, the bounce of a ball, and your hopeless crush on basketball captain natasha romanoff. as AAU’s cheer captain, you swear it’s all “professional observation.” but when natasha starts noticing your disappearing act every time she’s near, she calls you out — and maybe, just maybe, calls you in.

warnings: none !! <3 | wc: 1.4k | genre: fluff >_<

note: this is my first time posting a fic here, so hi !! :) i've literally been simping so hard for basketball player! natasha romanoff — it’s embarrassing. like, i saw her in a loose jersey once (in my mind), and i haven’t known peace since.

It always started the same way — the squeak of rubber soles, the bounce of a ball, the swish of a clean shot.

Y/N L/N sat with her legs crossed on the bleachers, red-and-white pom poms resting beside her. The cheerleaders were taking a quick break from their routine, but Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from the court — from her.

Every practice, Y/N swore she wouldn’t look. And yet, there she was again — legs curled up on the bleachers, pom poms forgotten at her side, eyes trained on the girl shooting hoops like the world wasn't watching.

Natasha Romanoff.

AAU's pride. Number 13. Basketball captain. And, unfortunately for Y/N, Yelena's older sister.

"You're drooling," Yelena deadpans beside you, sipping her soda.

You tear your eyes away from the court like you’d been caught committing a crime. "Excuse me? I’m just watching the game.”

“It’s practice.”

“I’m… analyzing her technique.” You sniff. “As a cheer captain.”

Yelena raises a brow. “Her technique?”

"Yes," you say, face heating. “Totally professional. Very strategic. Normal.”

Across the court, Natasha does a clean crossover, spins, and scores. Her ponytail bounces as she jogs backward, laughing with her teammates.

You sigh quietly.

Yelena rolls her eyes. “You always look at her like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re one Taylor Swift song away from writing her name in your wedding journal.”

You open your mouth to deny it. Then close it again. “...Shut up, Yelena.”

It’s been like this for months.

Crushes are supposed to fade — at least, that’s what your mom said when she caught you sighing at your phone for the fifth time during dinner.

But this? This isn’t fading.

This is sitting through every basketball game just to watch her sweat in slow mo level.

This is replaying every time Natasha calls you sweetheart like it didn’t shatter your brain chemistry.

This is slow, unbearable pining — made worse by the fact that Natasha is so effortlessly kind.

“Nice routine today,” Natasha would say, walking past the cheer squad.

Or, “You always do that little hair flip before you jump — it’s cute.”

Or, the worst one — the actual heartbreaker — “Your ribbon matches your eyes.”

Your ribbon matches your eyes.

You had written that down in the notes app under “Things That Made Me Float.”

One afternoon, after a long game and even longer practice, you stayed behind to help clean up the confetti from your halftime routine.

Everyone else had already left. Except—

"Need help?" Natasha’s voice makes you jump. She’s holding a broom and a water bottle, her jersey hanging loosely off one shoulder.

“Oh,” you squeak. “N-no. I’m good. I mean—yes? If you want? You don’t have to, but like—if you want to—”

Natasha laughs. “Breathe, cheerleader.”

You turn pink. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting—um. Thanks.”

You sweep in silence for a bit, just the two of you under the dim gym lights.

Then Natasha asks quietly, “Can I ask you something?”

You look up. “Yeah?”

“Why do you always avoid me?”

You freeze. “I don’t.”

“You do,” Natasha says, still gentle. “You’re always laughing with Yelena, but the second I show up, you go quiet. You stop making eye contact. You run off.”

You bite your lip. “I—I didn’t mean to. It’s not that I don’t like you, I just—”

You stop.

Natasha steps closer. “You just?”

You take a deep breath. “You’re Yelena’s sister. And you’re like, intimidatingly cool. And I didn’t want to make things weird. Or obvious.”

Natasha tilts her head. “Obvious?”

“I’ve kind of… liked you. For a while,” you whisper, cheeks on fire. “But you probably knew that already.”

There’s a pause.

Then Natasha smiles — slow, and soft, and heart-meltingly real.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

You blink. “What?”

“I like you too,” Natasha says simply. “Always have.”

You stare. “You’re joking.”

Natasha grins. “Nope. But I am going to ask if I can take you out. Like, for real.”

You nod too quickly. “Yes. I mean—yes. Like, absolutely. Just let me scream into my pillow first.”

Natasha laughs, shaking her head fondly. “You’re adorable.”

And as you stand under the gym lights, brooms forgotten, hearts louder than ever — it’s official.

You are no longer just the cheerleader with a crush.

You are the cheerleader who finally got the girl.

[simplyyspring]

Do I Look Like Him?

Bodhi Durran x reader

Summary: Bodhi voices his insecurities about not handling things as his cousin would and you’re there to comfort him.

Warnings/tags: angst, negative self-talk, slight descriptions of injuries, slight suggestiveness toward the end if you squint. No use of specific pronouns or Y/N.

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: This was a quick little something that I wrote for day two of Bodhi week for @empyreanevents because my mans doesn’t get nearly enough love. This was posted from my phone so if formatting is weird that’s why! Hope you enjoy!

The candlelight illuminated the room as Bodhi hunched over his desk, shadows flickering along the walls and the papers scattered in front of him. He’d been trying to focus for twenty minutes now, but all he could think about was how things would have gone differently if Xaden had been there that day.

Bodhi led a group on a patrol and had gone up against a drift of gryphon fliers. Although they had their alliance with Syrena, not all fliers saw riders as their allies. This time was messier than usual—literally and figuratively.

Nobody had died, but many had been injured, some more severely than others. Broken bones and bloody wounds flashed through his mind. Injuries were inevitable as a rider, but a good leader knew how to control a situation well enough to minimize them.

He didn’t hear the soft knock on the door before it opened. Your gaze raked over his tense frame as you stepped inside, the warded door letting you through with ease. Bodhi had his hands braced on the table, his back hunched in a position that definitely didn’t seem comfortable.

“You’re gonna ruin your posture standing like that,” you teased as you came up behind him and ever so gently wrapped your arms around his waist. He jumped as he felt your touch, causing a small frown to form on your face.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Bodhi muttered, his voice quiet—shaky, almost. Had he been crying?

“What’s wrong, my love?” Concern laced your voice as you attempted to peek around his shoulder, but he looked away.

“Nothing, sweetheart, just tired.” Your frown deepened.

You two had been dating for eight months now—you’d yet to have issues with communication. Bodhi was very honest, and you both valued your time together more than keeping secrets. He was often quiet, but when something was wrong, he voiced it.

You studied him for a moment, debating whether or not to pry. On one hand, you didn’t want to make him feel forced to discuss whatever was plaguing his mind. On the other, you simply wanted to help your boyfriend.

“Sit.” You gently tugged at the sleeve of his shirt before placing a hand on his shoulder, attempting to guide him toward the chair beside the desk. Bodhi shrugged your hand off and straightened his frame before stepping toward the bed. He didn’t sit, he didn’t speak—he just stood there.

“Boh, what’s going on?” Your brows furrowed, watching him warily. “Talk to me, let me help you.”

He lifted his hands and raked his fingers through his hair before quietly sitting on the foot of the bed. Lifting his head, you noticed the bruises, the busted lip, the scratches that scattered his beautiful features. Your brows knit further together in concern.

“What happened?” You asked softly, slowly stepping toward him. He didn’t move, so you took it as a sign that he still wanted you near. Carefully, you lifted your hand toward his bruised and battered face, cradling his jaw as you ran your thumb over his split lip and stepped between his knees. Bodhi winced before leaning into your touch.

“We uh— we ran into some gryphon fliers out on patrol today.” His tone was distant—the fliers weren’t the only problem.

“Okay,” You said with a slow nod, “babe, we go up against fliers all the time. What was so different today?”

“I was leading the patrol.” His gaze finally met yours, dozens of emotions swimming in it—guilt, shame, regret. He swallowed hard before adding, “It was bad.”

Your heart ached at the admission. Bodhi was a great leader, and his skills in battle were astonishing. He’d never voiced any negativity toward his abilities—at least, not to you.

“I just—“ His voice broke as his gaze snapped toward the ceiling. The ache in your chest deepened. “Everyone always talks about Xaden and I like we’re one. They expect me to lead the same, to strategize the same. To think like him. It’s like.. It’s like I’m just another shadow that he wields.

“And how can I live up to that? He could command a room full of generals if he felt like it, and people trust him to protect—I failed at that. I could have gotten someone killed today.” Tears were brimming in his eyes, and your vision blurred as they began to brim yours as well.

“But you didn’t,” You spoke softly, now cupping his jaw with both hands. “Everyone is safe, and their injuries are being mended. You did what you could.”

“And it wasn’t enough!” His voice raised, not out of anger but out of frustration. “It never is, at least not to me. Everything he does is extraordinary—hell, he loves Violet so loudly that no one dares to touch a hair on her head. I can’t compete with that.” Bodhi’s voice shook as he turned his head away.

Your heart crumpled as you listened, tears beginning to stream down your face. How long had he felt like this? How long had he been keeping this in? Your fingers raked through his onyx locks before you gently cradled his head in your arms, tugging him into your stomach. His arms wrapped around your thighs, gripping you as if it may be the last time.

You allowed silence to fall over the two of you, letting him process his thoughts and emotions as your fingers played with his hair. Your heart ached at the idea of him hurting, and that he hadn’t mentioned something before. You hated that you’d overlooked how others’ opinions might have affected him.

“You don’t have to be him, Bodhi.” You finally broke the silence. “Nobody expects you to be Xaden Riorson—I certainly don’t, in fact, I want the exact opposite. You both may fight like hell and carry the same bloodline, but if you were any more like him, you wouldn’t be the man that I love.”

Bodhi lifted his head to look up at you, resting his chin against your soft stomach. You let your eyes scan over him, taking in the marred state of his features and his tear-stained cheeks. He was still so beautiful, even with the bruises and inevitable scars that would line his face if he didn’t get to a healer soon.

You remembered seeing him for the first time. He had been standing next to a group of marked ones on the flight field—one of them being Xaden. You’d noted the similarities, but it was the differences that’d intrigued you. His jawline was softer, his cheekbones less defined. His frame was leaner, but he still packed on quite a bit of muscle. You’d immediately found him ten times more attractive than Xaden.

Your soft hum broke the silence once again before you finally added, “If I wanted Xaden, I would’ve sought out Xaden—and I thought about it for a good five seconds before I saw you.” A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you brushed your thumbs along his skin. “You don’t need to be as ‘loud’ as he is. I love you the way you are.”

Bodhi opened his mouth to speak, his eyes narrowing, but you continued, “And you’re an amazing leader. You made some mistakes. People make mistakes every day. You learn from them, and you move on,” You nod as you rake your fingers through his hair once again. His curls were one of your favorite things about him, physically, at least. “A couple broken bones or minor stab wounds aren’t the worst things a rider can endure, and we both know that.”

He stayed quiet; whatever protest he was about to make had vanished as a small smile formed on his beautiful lips. He untangled his arms from around you, placing his hands on the backs of your thighs, gently kneading them with his fingers. He’d never been one for PDA, but Gods, in private? He was a whole other man.

“I love you,” he murmured. He had relaxed while listening to you, the look in his eyes had softened, and both of your tears had dried.

“I love you, too.” You leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips, burying your fingers in his onyx locks. Sparks ignited just like they had the first time the two of you kissed. You could never get tired of feeling his lips against yours.

Bodhi kissed you like you were a breath of fresh air, gripping the backs of your thighs in his hands. You groaned against his lips, causing him to let out a low chuckle. He kept his tongue locked behind his teeth, but the tension was still present. You could feel the heat pooling in your lower stomach, but you couldn’t let it get that far—not yet, at least.

You pulled away, a little breathless from the intensity of his kiss, “Let’s get you to the healers before that beautiful face of yours is all scarred, my love.”

Bodhi gave a soft hum in response, standing up with a smug expression, “What, you don’t want to lick my wounds for me, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes playfully and shook your head before grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the door.

“Let’s go.”

“Whatever you say, but I’m getting what I want out of you later.” He was still smug, but you’d prefer that over what you’d witnessed earlier any day.

And he did, in fact, get what he wanted out of you later that night.

[fallenprophets]

A house in Nebraska

bob reynolds x reader

can be (but doesn't have to be) read as a prequel/part 1 to told you I'll be waiting/hiding from the rainfall (pt2) and I will never let you go (pt3)

summary: you and bob find a quiet moment on a rooftop, both sober for the first time in god knows how long. it won't last, so you both decide to make the most of it. takes place pre-thunderbolts*, so no spoilers. no use of y/n, gender neutral reader as always

warnings: swearing, mentions of drugs

a/n: this is literally just one ethel cain reference after another. listened to crush on loop like a FREAK. if you can find the references you get a gold star

It’s the first day of summer, and the sky is the brightest blue I’ve ever seen.

It might be because I’m not high for the first time in a while- the world around me isn’t blurred and spotty, air thick with energy I can almost taste. It might be because my favourite song has just started playing on the radio we managed to carry up with us. 

It might be because Bob is holding my hand, fingers curled loosely around mine. 

We’re sitting on old deck chairs on the roof of an abandoned apartment building- took us near an hour to haul them up the fifteen flights of stairs, sweat dripping down our backs despite the coolness of the evening. It’s not the tallest building out there, but it’s a little way up a hill; I feel like I can see the whole city from where I sit, bathed in dark orange light. 

For the first time in a month, I feel like I’m not drowning. 

It won’t last, and I know it. I can only stand to be sober for a few hours- a day at most- before withdrawal kicks in, before the darkness of the world around me starts to seep back into my vision, before my bones start to ache again. But I’ll enjoy this feeling while it lasts, even though I can feel it already; that slow fall, like a weight pulling me underwater again. 

I turn my head slightly to look at Bob. He’s wearing one of my old flannel shirts over a faded band t-shirt. The colours clash a bit, especially with the ratty grey of his jeans (which I suspect are my jeans, but at this point any clothes we have belong to both of us). His hair is getting long; it curls around his ears and at the nape of his neck in a way that makes me want to reach out, to brush my fingers through it. 

I swallow the thought, feel it nestle in my chest beside that slowly growing darkness. 

The sun makes him look like he’s made of gold. If I can squint, I can pretend his skin isn’t sickly pale; I can pretend his skin doesn’t cling to his bones, can pretend he looks twice as healthy. I can almost ignore the way my clothes hang off him- like those skeletons in my old biology classroom. 

Again, I take that feeling- that dull concern thudding incessantly at the back of my skull- and push it down, squeezing it in next to everything else.

We came up here to get out of the dingy apartment we’ve been living in. I say living- ‘cause it’s more glamorous than squatting, which might be the technical term for what we’re doing. Neither of us are working, on account of constantly being high off our faces, and our meagre savings goes to that particular hobby. I’m the one who found this building- a little bit away from the main suburbs, long abandoned. One apartment has furniture in it- we dusted as best we could with what we had, and that’s where we’ve been these last few months. It’s not awful, especially as it gets warmer. 

We also have to share a mattress, which I’m certainly not complaining about. 

I realise I’ve been staring at him for far too long. But for some reason, I don’t look away. I let him slowly turn his head, let his soft, murky eyes meet mine. 

“What?” He asks, when I still refuse to drag my gaze away. 

“Nothing,” I answer, in a tone that I hope conveys that it’s very much not nothing. See, I only want him if he says it first- ‘cause if he doesn’t, I run a very high chance of ruining whatever it is that we have forever. I don’t know if I can cope with that right now- or ever.

“Liar,” he says. I snort, and he lets out a half-laugh, half-huff of air, shaking his head. 

“Are you laughing at me?” My voice hitches at the end, because I’m laughing, lifting a hand to cover my mouth. 

“No,” he answers, but he’s lying. His laugh is infectious; I feel it seeping into my skin, burrowing deep into my belly, taking root there. That feeling- a mix between bliss and a quiet fear that it’ll all end soon- spreads slowly but surely, soft and bright like the sunlight turning his skin to gold. 

I’m in love with him.

The realisation hits like a sledgehammer to the chest. Or maybe not a realisation- because when I pick apart the golden light shining through my ribs whenever he looks at me, I can see that I’ve felt this way for a long goddamn time. 

It’s more like I’ve come to terms with it, maybe. I close my eyes for a moment, allowing the warm weight of whatever new feeling has suddenly blossomed in my fingertips, in my throat, in my belly, to settle, burrowing deep under my skin. The evening sun turns everything a reddish pink when my eyes are closed. I give myself a moment to enjoy it; the feeling, the warmth, the colours dancing in the back of my mind. 

When our laughing dies down, I pull my hand back, let it rest flat on my stomach. It’s something I saw my mother do a lot- breathe, in and out, hand following the movement of her belly. I don’t do the breathing bit, but I press my palm there, over my shirt; count the seconds, try to dissect the feelings spinning around my mind. 

“You okay?” He asks after a few minutes. This time, the silence is more strained- but maybe it’s just me, and the awareness that my heart constricts when he doesn’t speak, like I need the sound of my voice to keep it beating. 

“Yes,” I answer, which isn’t exactly a lie. I push myself into a sitting position in the deck chair; it creaks and shifts beneath my weight as I lay my bare feet on the roof, taking my weight slightly off the decades-old furniture. I have to let go of his hand; my palm tingles with the sudden loss of contact. 

The song on the radio has changed, I realise- to something soft, maybe a little mellow. I reach out and turn up the volume, hoping the music will drown out whatever new conflicting thoughts are fighting for priority in my mind. 

“How much longer do you think we can stay here?” I blurt. He turns, blue eyes meeting mine with such focus it almost knocks the wind out of me. 

“I don’t know,” he answers. He imitates my position, sitting up, 

“How much longer…” this time, I hesitate, fiddling restlessly with the collar of my shirt. It’s not a question I want to ask, but it’s a question I’ve certainly been thinking about.

He cuts me off before I can finish the question. Like he knows what I’m gonna say- like he doesn’t want me to say it. 

“Sky looks beautiful,” he says. The change of subject almost gives me whiplash; I swallow, shift so I can look at him properly. His blue eyes are firmly fixed on the bright orange and pink of the clouds above, though his fingers twist at the flannel he’s wearing. 

I keep my gaze on his hands; the way his knuckles flex as he pulls and tugs at the fabric. 

“Yeah,” I answer, and I decide to keep that pressing question to myself- at least for now. 

Wordlessly, I stand. He looks at me, eyes widening, brown pinching in a way that reminds me of the sad stray dogs we sometimes come across when searching for more drugs. 

I bend over slightly, wrapping my fingers around the edge of my deck chair. I push; the metal of the legs scrapes against the stone floor of the roof as I shuffle it closer to where his deck chair is. 

He doesn’t move; just watches as I prop mine against his, like some kind of makeshift double bed. It’s smaller than the mattress we sleep on; hardly space for us both to lie back without touching. 

Still not uttering a word, I take my seat again, reclining against the old, moth-eaten pillow. 

He’s quick to join me. His little finger brushes tentatively against the back of my hand; I hold it out, palm up, and feel his fingers once again hook through mine. It’s a little awkward, maybe; his shoulder is squashed against mine. But I can smell him, and his warmth is almost intoxicating- especially at this time of day, as the sun slowly begins to dip below the horizon. 

My heartbeat thunders in my chest; I wonder if he can hear it. 

Slowly, slowly, he shifts, letting go of my hand briefly to rest his head on my shoulder. I let myself loll, my chin pressing to the top of his head. 

“Are you high?” I ask, as he nuzzles closer to me, his mouth briefly brushing the exposed skin of the intersection between my neck and my shoulder. 

“No,” he answers. I believe him, turning my head. Our noses bump. His eyes are a little wide, his face a little flushed. I wonder if he knows how fast my heart is beating; if he can feel the unevenness in my breathing, the way my mind is spinning, my vision narrowing until it’s all him and nothing else. 

He kisses me first. 

It’s so quick; when he pulls away, I wonder if I imagined it. But his lips are slightly parted, and he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world. 

I reach up, thread a hand through his hair, letting it rest at the nape of his neck. 

“Bob,” I say, my voice a little choked. I think he smiles, but I’m already closing my eyes as his lips meet mine once more. 

This kiss is hungrier. Not painful, but more insistent in the way his hand finds my waist, shifting so he’s ever so slightly above me; like he’s been waiting too, imagining this in the dead of night. 

I think of all the times I’ve lain awake on that mattress, trying to pretend I don’t notice his ankle crossed over mine, or his arm pressed against mine. 

I kiss him harder, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt before hooking my fingers back around the back of his neck. My shirt rides up, and his hand presses to the bare skin of my waist, causing a shiver to slice down my back. 

I pull away. We’re both gasping for air; he presses his forehead to mine, noses nudging together. I laugh, and so does he. 

I kiss him again, a little shaky, before trailing my lips down to his jaw, pressing my mouth to the place where I always see his teeth grind together when he’s having nightmares. I breathe him in, almost drown in the way his hand comes up to cradle my face, thumb swiping across my cheekbone, gently pulling me up so our eyes meet once again. 

“I-“ my voice sputters out, and I swallow. The sun has almost set; he’s bathed in dark purple-blue light, in a way that makes him look almost more ethereal than the sun did. 

And he kisses me again. Kisses me until the sun is well beneath the horizon, until the only source of light is the moon far above. And we stumble down the stairs together, drunk on each other, hands tightly intertwined. Drag the mattress over to the window (the glass is broken, and we pulled the wooden planks we used as shutters down a few days ago) so we can see the sky, then collapse together. 

I shuffle as close to him as I can get, laying the palm of my hand flat over his heart. His own hands rest comfortably; one on my waist, the other between my shoulder blades, fingers splayed out. Every so often, I kiss his neck, his shoulder; he does the same, mouth dragging over my temples, my lips, my jaw. 

I don’t know when I fall asleep, but we’re still tangled together when I wake. 

[eunyoungisguichana]

Making Amends

Part 1

It’s Saturday night. You and Bucky are lounging on the couch together, watching a movie. It’s been a couple of months since you started seeing each other again, and so far, things are going okay. He’s flirtier than you remember, but still the same old Bucky.

Bucky watches you munch on popcorn, entranced by the movie. A familiar ringtone breaks your focus, and you turn toward the sound.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters as you reach for the remote and pause the movie. “It’s Sam,” he groans as he sits up, taking the call.

“—what have you been up to?” you hear Sam ask on the other end. “Uh,” Bucky stutters, glancing at you and catching your curious gaze. “Not much. Why?” “It’s AJ’s birthday next week. It’d mean a lot to him if you could be there.” Bucky opens his mouth, pauses, thinks for a second, then replies, “Um, yeah, I can be there.” “Good. I’ll text you the details. Don’t forget to bring a present.” “Wouldn’t dare to.” With that, Sam hangs up. Bucky shrugs and tosses his phone onto the coffee table. “Sam wants me at AJ’s birthday party next week.”

“In Louisiana?” “Yeah, I guess.” “Wow, that shield really brought you two closer together,” you say with a teasing smile. Bucky rolls his eyes.

There’s a beat of silence. You’re in that phase—trying to figure out what this is, what it could be. Learning about each other again after the initial split.

“We’re not—we’re not that close,” Bucky mutters, wetting his lips. “I doubt that,” Just as you’re about to continue, your phone rings this time. Sam’s name flashes on the screen. You frown and answer.

“Hey, Cap. What’s up?” “Hey, (_). You busy next weekend?” “Not really, why?” “Listen, I know it might be too soon, but AJ’s birthday is next weekend. I want you to join us.”

Bucky frowns, raising his eyebrows as he watches you.

“Oh, I—”

“Bucky will be there,” Sam cuts you off. You're taken aback, your eyebrows raised—and Bucky’s raised even higher. “I know you two have some unfinished business.”

“And you want us to resolve that at AJ’s birthday party?” “‘Course not. What I mean is… you can’t avoid each other forever.”

“We’re not avoiding each other,” you say, locking eyes with Bucky.

“Oh really? When was the last time you saw him?” Sam presses. You hesitate, unsure if you should tell him that Bucky’s literally sitting next to you.

“I knew it,” Sam says. “Just come and see him. He’s changed. Still has that same staring problem, but he’s changed.”

“Okay, I will,” you say, a little startled. Sam hangs up. You lower the phone from your ear.

“He should learn to mind his own business,” Bucky murmurs, gaze drifting—only because he’s embarrassed.

“What do we tell him?” “Nothing. We don’t have to tell him anything."

“Maybe this could be your final amendment,” you start carefully, scooting closer. You don’t notice Bucky’s posture stiffening when you do.

“What do you mean?” “You’re making amends, right? With me?” “And?” “If you’re serious… tell Sam about us.”

Us. 'Us' is a big word for Bucky. It is heavy. Bucky bites his lip, hesitation flashing across his eyes.

“We don’t have to be anything serious. Just tell him you’re talking to me again. That’d be enough to get his nose out of our business," you say, and you mean it. You don't expect Bucky and you to be something special. You never did. Maybe that's why you weren't so surprised when he left you the first time. "Plus, I don't want to lie to Sam."

You don’t have ten numbers on your phone, Bucky recalls Dr. Raynor saying. You have to learn to trust people again.

It’s not that Bucky doesn’t trust you—you’re probably the only person he does trust, besides Sam. It’s more that he hasn’t danced in a while. Even now, he’s unsure if he should be here, sitting on your couch, watching a plain old movie with you.

But then he remembers what Sam told him: making amends wasn’t about his closure—it was about the other person. And with what he’d done to you in the past, you deserved at least this. After all, he’s the one who came to your door asking for a do-over.

He stares at you for a moment, then nods—reluctantly, but sincerely.

.

.

.

Preview

“So… you guys are a thing again?”

“You could say that.” “Oh, not really.”

You both speak at the same time. Bucky stares at you, mouth slightly open in disbelief. Sam raises his brows, glancing between the two of you.

“I just wanted you two to talk again, so… I’ll leave you to it,” he says, patting Bucky on the shoulder.

[urhoneycombwitch]

this is a left field throwback but I've been thinking about linecook!Eddie lately

I've been thinking that probably after cooking all day, he doesn't really have much energy to cook at home, which is fine except he also probably has a hard time loosening the reins when it comes to food

like I imagine he's probably grateful when reader cooks, especially if it's not something they're very used to do (as a mediocre cook myself... if it's edible, it's a success) but has to prevent himself from hovering. Reader steps away for a second and he's sneaking in for a taste test and silently sprinkles in seasonings or something and dashing away before reader comes in

I give it a few months where they sit down to eat and reader is so happy it tastes good and is so proud of themself and Eddie can't bring himself to tell the truth. There's probably a time where R says something like "I tried making that dish again at my place but it wasn't as good as when I make it here. Maybe it's because your pots are better." and Eddie's like mmm hmm that's it babe, the pots. I think he probably teaches R so they do genuinely get better at cooking but still does his secret sprinkling

Until his timing is off one day and Reader comes into the kitchen like :0! *points* my food!

I'd personally make him grovel and beg a lil for forgiveness and then make an agreement like you can teach me what you know and help but you gotta relax a little bit. I will get the spray bottle back up

baby i'm always ready to talk about linecook!Eddie it's not a throwback if he's living in my brain RENT FREE ya feel??? GOD this idea is so funny I love your brain for this idea!!!! it's so funny to me because he SO FUCKING WOULD. i'm channeling my personal awful cooking here please excuse the self indulgence-

I don't imagine linecook!Eddie is picky about his food- he grew up on boxes of Kraft mac n cheese and the best white bread that a blue collar worker could afford. but he also was naturally curious and experimentative with the food he did have (including weed-fueled creations in his later years)

so the thought of Eddie (loves to cook, but isn't generally fussy about meals) with a reader who just sucks at it (so bad. could burn water if you let them. microwaves tin foil on the regular.) is so funny.

I think he'd try his best to remain calm and collected, like, he's trained godawful newhires at work before. no way you could be any worse... right...?

smash cut to a kitchen that looks like a hurricane ripped through it. a whole roll of paper towels caught fire when you dropped it on the burner by accident and it's smoldering in the sink. there are a few cooked noodles incomprehensibly stuck to the wall. three found dead in downtown disaster.

but then there's you smiling with a steaming bowl of pasta (that word is used loosely here) beaming like you're so proud to have made Eddie something. it's the worst food he's tasted in awhile and he literally licks the bowl clean just to prove how much he loves the gesture.

i think the secret seasonings and adjustments behind your back start very naturally. just a few tweaks here and there when you're not looking. until Eddie's specifically recipe testing things that he can fix with speed and discretion.

and yeah he feels some amount of guilt about you being so proud over things you didn't actually create 80% of but hey, it's still a collaborative activity!! and plus you think the magic of your good cooking is due to the trailer kitchen so you're over here way more and Eddie's not about to fucking ruin it!!

until you catch him swapping out the charred crisp of bacon strips with some that he'd made before you came and uh oh.... game over pal. the jig is up.

Eddie's gotta explain the whole situation and while he does it kindly, he can see you're still embarrassed, so he's like Babe don't even worry about it!! I'm gonna train you like I do my newbies and you're gonna be the best cook in all of Hawkins!!

and that has you interested. coming around to the thought like Hmm... I've always wanted to learn how to julienne a carrot like you...

and Eddie says Sure babe :) internally though he's sweating. knives and fire are not on the training menu for you. the first three weeks are gonna be How to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. with a spoon.

[hellobitchlet]

Actually, here's some more thoughts now that I've gotten to sit and think about the overall quest:

- the entire framing of The Plan that the quest was focused on, and ppl like Albedo, Venti, and Jean perfectly executing it, was clearly the Hoyo tactic of 'trying to sound smarter than they actually are'. But uhhhh..... this was an extremely stupid plan. How many innocent civilians died in the MONTHS that the knights waited??? And how many died during the attack that obviously would not have been as big if you had taken action sooner???

- another stupid side effect of Genshin hyper-focusing on The Plan is that they spent SO much time on it that they didn't have time for much else. We could have dedicated all that time spent on the useless 'investigation' to Durin instead. But no! We spent like an hour on the 'investigation', and like half an hour after that info dumping! You're told over and over again that Durin is a big bad threat, but then your just fighting normal mobs (most of which you can literally choose not to fight), and everyone reacts unnaturally calmly to the situation. No one acts like Durin's a threat, so everything falls flat.

- for as cute as Alice was in this quest, the shoehorning in Hexenzirkel lore when Rhinedottir was the only one who was relevant to the plot also contributed to this. The only witch we needed to hear from- if any- was Rhinedottir herself. Alice and Barbeloth don't have anything to do with this, let alone the random chess board that we've NEVER heard of before! Why would you make the big boss of the Durin Threat quest anything OTHER than Durin??

-imagine for a second; Durin may not be able to move his corpse around (presumably), but what about his blood? Imagine a massive dragon the size of Dvalin, that is entirely made of bloody mist and crystals. That would've been SUCH a cool boss! Imagine what mechanics you could do with sheer cold, and using Durin's blood-body to stay warm, or needing to stay near him to prevent yourself from freezing.

- actually, if Hoyo wasn't so lazy, this chess themed boss would've been a pretty cool unique boss for the Imaginarium Theatre. Imagine if Genshin's endgame content wasn't so dam lazy. You know why the Elysian Realm is so popular in hi3? Because it comes with BOTH endgame content AND an actual story! That is what we need here! Some sort of Imaginarium Theatre questline would've been a great place to utilize Albedo, Mona, and Klee in permanent content- and a much better place to have Dodoco Alice and Barbeloth. Why couldn't we have done that?

- I don't think I emphasized enough how ooc Diluc is from his original appearances. For as shitty as the writers treat Kaeya, at least dumbing him down didn't include throwing away his /base personality/. Diluc, though? He actively expresses his hatred towards ppl constantly, and has actively DONE stuff against the knights on screen. So he has to be changed COMPLETELY if we want to avoid conflict. Now, he's a good civil servant who actively helps the knights and goes to them when he sees illegal things happen!! Which is. The exact opposite personality.

- and for Kaeya, while his surface level personality hasn't changed as much (bc he's not a born hater like Diluc), he still greatly suffers from the same problems. However, their relationship turning out fine despite everything has been happening for years, and Kaeya's personal stuff wasn't brought up in this quest. So, not as much to say about Kaeya for once. Which is probably a good thing.

- speaking of being ooc, I never would've thought that JEAN of all people would handle this matter in such a... dare I say Kaeya or Diluc like way? Last I checked, she would never allow civilians to be killed while knowing who the culprit is. Literally- the time we saw her go against the 'normal' way a knight would handle things in the aq was bc she knew they needed to act quickly for the safety of the people!

-even talking to Albedo and Venti was annoying! I have NEVER felt that way about Venti before. EVER. And that is really bad!! Like, REALLY really bad!! Venti has always been one of the most fun and interesting characters to interact with in the whole game- if even he is being sanded down and beginning to feel the same as everyone else... we're doomed. I'm serious.

All in all, the biggest takeaway I have from this quest is that it should never have existed. I cannot find a single good thing to say about it. Half of the characters involved have ooc personalities at best and are ruined beyond repair at worst. It would have honestly been better if Albedo, Subject 2, and Durin's plotline from Shadows Amidst Snowstorms had been forgotten about completely. At least then, it wouldn't have been destroyed.

Thoughts on paralogism:

- starting off the 'expecting everyone to know event lore' quest strong with having you show up in the middle of the Windblume Festival.

- god, Genshin is SO bad at subtly. You go straight to Katherine and she TELLS you that somethings off and the game FORCES you to watch npc's act Not Normal for a good 5 minutes to set the tone as Something Is Off.

- what is the point of the storytelling mode? Is it really just to add Windblune decorations to Mondstadt and make a court room? It's not like Mondstadt's aq didn't temporarily change the city's appearance already without it. And the Wibdblume festival is largely irrelevant to the plot anyways.

- "A trial? But, this is Mondstadt, not Fontaine..." Paimon what are you talking about?? Other nations have legal systems too, obviously???

- the first trial was just talking. There isn't even the stupid court minigame they had you do in Fontaine or a thinking minigame because Traveler wasn't participating in it! Thankfully, though, it wasn't that long by Genshin standards.

- ...Amber knows that there are two Albedo's. Eula knows that there are two Albedo's. Bennett knows that there are two Albedo's. Two of those people are with the Knights of Favonius. We SAW that Eula was a part of the investigation team working on this case before the trial even started! The didn't-play-the-event bandaid recap even acknowledges this! Even when making a trial 10 minutes long instead of an hour, and the investigation was seemingly finished BEFORE the trial (fuck you for being so bad at your job Neuvillette), the mystery is still appsurdly obtuse if you think about it for more than a second.

- (I know that Eula was taking part in the plan, but you were still supposed to think that an actual investigation was going on. The whole purpose of the investigation stuff was still pointless with how obvious it was that Albedo wouldn't be the killer)

- the writers will forget that they had Rosaria say something as suspicious as "Time is like the wind- it waits for no one" about Venti, with all the connections between time and wind. Rosaria is one of those 4 stars who just... randomly says stuff that makes her sound suspicious/important all the time and nothing comes of it. This isn't important to this quest- the sus line just reminded me of it.

- I'm not sure how I feel about Dahlia. He's an unnecessary addition to the cast, and the concept of his role being to 'communicate Barbados's will to the people' doesn't fit in with Mondstadt's story. What happened to Venti letting his people choose their own path unless something goes horribly wrong? He doesn't tell his people what to do- if he wants something done he does it himself. I want to be happy that new Mondstadt characters feel more important than most other new characters from older nations, but there is so much more you could've done than... basically ripping the concept of Venti's friendship with Rosaria and Barbara away from them.

- also I liked Dahlia's original design more. The only reason I was ever interested in him was because the original metal design on his chest looked similar to an Abyss enemy, and despite everything, I had the tiniest of hopes that it was actually intentional. I don't know why I ever thought that.

- there's finally an upstairs in the kof headquarters!! Rejoice!!

- HOW DID IT TAKE SO LONG FOR TRAVELER TO EVEN REMEMBER THAT THERE WAS A SECOND ALBEDO- "oh, I almost forgot!" HOW DO YOU FORGET THAT?????????????

- it also sucks that the return of Albedo's plotline- and arrival to permanent content- is Traveler casually walking into a situation that has been happening for years off screen. The fact that most of the quest is boring exposition of what Traveler missed is expected but disappointing.

- Albedo KILLED Subject 2 off screen. Are you fucking kidding me. I and many others have been interested in him for YEARS. He was one of the main focuses of Shadows Amidst Snowstorms, one of the best written quests Genshin has ever made, and one of the VERY FEW plotlines that actually had a chance to START going somewhere. And you. Killed. Him. Off. Screen. I am so pissed off. Fuck you.

- the sudden explain-a-thon of "actually, nothing went wrong and everything is under control and here's what's actually happening" did not help my investment in this stupid quest. This quest is 80% explaining what's going on 20% pseudo substance.

- still annoyed at the treatment of hilichurls. Nothing else to be said here that hasn't been said before.

- the Ragbros.... Genshin has been dumbing down and retconning their relationship conflict and personal conflicts since Diluc's skin event in Inazuma AT LEAST, to avoid actually writing their conflict. How do people still think that there's a conflict to be resolved.

- and of course, we had to throw in some hints of "Diluc doesn't mind the knights now, let's not acknowledge how he acted towards them in the beginning" as well. Give me ONE reason why he would've stopped using any excuse to insult them off screen, in the time between his story quest and paralogism.

- I feel like they mostly just put Kaeya in the marketing for 5.6 and made him Albedo's 'lawyer' bc ppl expect him to be a part of important Mondstadt stuff, and Kaebedo is Albedo and Kaeya's most popular ship. He didn't appear nearly as much as Albedo, Venti, and Jean outside of the trial.

- a team of just Amber and Mika was. Not fun. I had to use an attack boost food and I was fighting two normal hilichurls.

- it occurs to me that this is Mika's first appearance in permanent content. Mika himself is a plot point you were supposed to know about from events lol.

- the tripartite conference confuses me severely. When tf did Venti wake up in present times if he was around while Varka was still here? It's really hard to talk about the timeline of events in Genshin, but it feels like Venti wakes up whenever there's a disaster in Mondstadt that his people are struggling with, which made it seem like he woke up bc of Dvalin to me. But surely Varka didn't go on his expedition in the middle of that, right...? Surely the events of the manga (where he had already left) didn't take place at the same time as the situation with Dvalin that was never mentioned...?

- and again, this sudden angle of "Barbados doing stuff for Mondstadt as Babados in modern times" is very specifically NOT how Mondstadt works??? They're the nation that ISN'T led by their god in any capacity. That was a big thing.

- that is how you're choosing to introduce Varka? Over a bomb shaped phone? It was actually kind of funny that he casually mentions "I'm surrounded on both sides with a group on my tail looking to turn me into mince meat" and the writers chose to focus on him having a stash of alcohol. He sounds like a fun character. Please please please let me like him Genshin...

- I groaned out loud when Toy 'Durin' showed up. I'm sorry, but Simulanka sucked and I don't want some random new character who is not Durin but is named after him and was tacked onto Scara solely because he's popular. Just give me real Durin as himself, not a new character. I mean, the writers clearly didn't care about Toy Durin either, since they immedietaly shoved them into the stupid amalgamation of Durin and Subject 2 as well.

- they really made a Dodoco version of Alice to avoid showing us what she looked like. In this case, it's actually more funny than anything else, especially since no one (Paimon) is being all over-the-top surprised about it. I wonder if showing up in odd forms is just a normal Alice thing? If so, I like it.

- aside from the part where they're trying to drag the kof into it for no reason, I do like that they're doing something with Venti's relationship to the Hexenzirkel. It's nice to see Venti and Alice interacting on screen, and casually acting like friends. I was certainly more interested in that between Venti and Alice + Varka than I was in a new character.

- wait, this is the first time we're hearing Alice in a permanent quest too, isn't it? It's almost amazing how incomprehensible this quest is going to be to new players joining after all of this stuff. Like- they made a 'recap' of Shadows Amidst Snowstorms, but didn't realize that you ALSO need to know 2023 Windblume, Weinleslfest, and Simulanka AT LEAST to truly understand the quest. The writer in the Nod Krai video wasn't lying when he said that they couldn't keep track of what ppl do and don't know.

- Alice saying to Albedo "I find you facinating" is also so cute to me. That's how I think about my favorite characters too!

- I also like the concept of killing Durin again and reviving him as a human to prevent Mondstadt's destruction. I just hate Genshin killing off Subject 2 (possibly bc they could actually make proper ch vs ch conflict, now that I think about it), and then fusing Durin with him and the stupid fake Durin. Like, that's just making a new character. You made a new character out of the remains of older characters. If you liked any of the characters used in this process- fuck you! You don't get to have them! How the fuck did the writers even come up that and how did they think that was a good idea????????

- this weird not-Durin is like 50% boring Toy Durin, 40% unrelated matter, 10% the Durin this actually SHOULD be, 0% Subject 2.

- even with my anger at the treatment of Subject 2, I would have pulled for a human Durin SO hard if only it was the Durin I actually cared about. This Toy Durin, I... I never want to see Toy Durin become playable, ESPECIALLY if it comes with us acting like he IS Durin.

- imagine what they could've done with Subject 2 and humanoid Durin as separate characters that were still themselves! Imagine Durin having to get used to his new body and face everything he and his corpse did to Mondstadt unknowingly! Imagine him meeting Venti and Dvalin! Imagine Subject 2 actually getting to fuck shit up!

- Dodoco Barbeloth looks cool too, but a Barbeloth intro without Mona :/?

- I thought Albedo saw all of Rhine's creations as his siblings? I swear I remember him saying that. I didn't hallucinate that, did I? What would be the point of retconning that? I mean, he immedietaly started calling Durin his brother again at the end of the quest!

- wait, why did Albedo make human Durin in the city?????? Why was it so flashy and big??????? Why wasn't he anywhere near Toy Durin or the materials he was using the entire time???????? How did a song and some fireworks prevent people from noticing that something was going on???????? Why did he do it in the city?????????

- of course the answer of the important mystery "what did Rhine mean when she told Albedo to "find the truth of this world"" was that she was just telling him to get a life. Of course. We wouldn't want a playable character to be involved in something actually interesting. Of course.

- that was the most random and boring way to reveal that Rhinedottir ATE THE SHADE OF LIFE they could have possibly made.

[mt07131]

Relationship Dynamics 101 With Rook