#I'm not losing my mind over an average man

[lyssified]

guys I was in my slay sapphic summer era and now i'm in my medium ugly mediocre men era (help there are like 4 of them rn)

[daz4i]

i am so angry about being alive it's not even funny anymore

[generalsmemories]

sensitive

✧ sunday x gn!reader

✧ synopsis: the wings by his ears are far too sensitive for what you're both about to do to them.

✧ contents: just a lil scenario for the piercings on sunday's wings. and the hc (that has probs become every writers canon take) that his wings are oh so sensitive. established relationship, mildly suggestive cause why not, uhh, mentions of blood? sunday being utterly weak against his lover. ooc sunday cause goddamn i have NOTHING on this man.

✧ a/n: breathes in. listen i don't believe in any god but good lord i would start praying for this man if he asked me to.

jing yuan wips still in order, i just want to be on my best self mentally when writing for my eepy general so have this brainrot so i can function this week at my work and hopefully i'll write something more <3 thank you once again for your patience!

NOT BETA-READ THIS WAS WRITTEN WITHIN AN HOUR CAUSE THIS BRAINROT HAS BEEN BREWING INSIDE THE MIND FOR A MONTH, IM SORRY FOR THE ALL OVER THE PLACE WORDS - I HAVEN'T WRITTEN SINCE THE LAST JING YUAN ANGST PIECE.

Your fingertips have barely grazed the very edges of the feathers when the distinguished leader beneath you flinches in surprise. The fingers that grip your hips tightening further which causes your body that was previously hovering above him to settle down on Sunday's leg. You can hear a tiny sigh leaving his lips before you feel his head rest against your shoulder, the action causing you to chuckle.

"The longer you delay this, the more nervous you'll get, you know?" you muse, threading your fingers through his hair in an effort to coax him to lay back in the same position he previously was in. You're barely able to touch his right wing again before a gloved hand shoots up from his side and you feel a sharp nip at your neck in warning - causing you to immediately halt all of your actions.

"It would've gone a lot faster have you decided to not do it in such an orthodox method, dear." Sunday retaliates with a sigh, pecking the bite mark as some sort of apology, an apology that you knew was not sincere in the slightest.

You giggle once again, settling down comfortably on his legs whilst slightly leaning back to fully look at your lover. Your arms loop over his neck while cocking your head to the side in slight confusion, although said confusion doesn't reach your mischievous eyes or the huge grin on your face. "Why I thought this would help calm you? It was your idea to pierce these wings of yours after all," you remind him, tapping the piercing gun that you're currently holding onto on his shoulder.

The man before you sighs, seemingly in exasperation over your usual antics whilst shrugging away the piercing gun that you're continuously tapping him with. You can however clearly see the slight reddening on top of his ears, while his wings tuck a bit behind his ears - clearly a signal that he's feeling a bit embarrassed.

"You're well aware of the effect you have on me, my love." he admits, the hand on your hip moving from its spot to instead rest against your neck. "Hmm? Then I suggest that you hurry along to let me pierce your wings before said effect makes you lose your patience," you tease with a quiet laugh. "I do have a lot of experience with this lil' gun of ours after all." you cheekily say - causing Sunday to direct his gaze towards your own ears, which have a few more piercings than your average person.

"... I'm well aware." Sunday replies.

Well aware of how sensitive your own ears are, almost as sensitive as his own wings that have yet to be pierced. He could let out a breath beside them which causes you to tremble, a small peck would make you gasp softly, but if he were to use his tongue-

"You're thinking of inappropriate things again, dear." you mutter into his ears before unlooping your arms from his neck to rest against your sides, your whole weight supported by the singular hand Sunday has on your hip.

"Hardly."

For someone not of Halovian descent, you're somehow able to discern his thoughts immediately - quite a hassle to be honst.

"Well then, my dear? Why don't you relax so we can get this over with so you can return to your duties?" you whisper, moving your body to sit between his legs so that you can get a closer look on his right wing, where he preferred the piercing to be on.

"... Just- don't say anything when you're about to do- Ah!"

The single clicking noise of the needle piercing his wing before retracting back to it's original spot makes Sunday jolt in surprise, the grip on your hip increasing in pressure, but you're too busy looking at the placement in glee to care for your distraught lover right now.

You notice the edges of the piercing reddening a bit, extending your finger to gather the tiny bits of blood that had escaped from the wound. Glancing at Sunday, you notice his slightly glossy eyes that immediately diverts from your gaze.

The quiet laugh you let out makes Sunday glare at you, but his eyes widen slightly when you lick his blood away from your fingertips with closed eyes. "It wasn't that bad, was it?" you ask, opening your eyes again to lock eyes with Sunday, diverting your gaze slightly to his right wing.

You decide not to comment on his glossy eyes, deciding to instead scoot closer to peck the corner of his eyes, "Sorry that I surprised you, but as you said - Doing it this way is far more convenient for the both of us," you explain, lips pressing against Sunday's to coax him into relaxation.

"Mhm, thank you for indulging me, dove." he whispers, arms wrapping around your waist, the tension in his shoulders finally leaving.

"Although..." you murmur in between various pecks against Sunday's lips, your lover raising an eyebrow up in confusion and imploring you to continue speaking.

"I think you said you would go for 2 of the same piercings if the first one looked nice, no?" you say before pressing your lips against his once again. Sunday was barely able to understand the meaning behind your words before he could feel the same pain of the needle shoot through his already overly-sensitive wing.

The loud gasp he lets out is swallowed by your lips, his open mouth letting your tongue slip inside while the piercing gun in your hand slips away from your lips now that you've done your part of the deal. Your hands settle themselves against Sunday's cheeks now- wiping away the few tears that have now slipped down from his glossy eyes with your thumb.

There's a certain desperation in Sunday's hands by your waist. He had first bunched the material of your clothes upwards by surprise, but now he's slipping his gloved hands beneath them and quickly traveling further up - he moves in a way that you don't know if he's trying to push you away to scold you, or press you closer to him to feel your warmth.

He eventually decides to push you away. His cheeks are reddened and he's heaving for breaths while he's glaring down at you in mild disappointment and a hint of excitement - and yet the hands that's dragging the buttons of your shirt from inside to snap them open tells another desire from the esteemed leader of Penacony.

The same mischievous smile is present on your lips when you part ways, your lips are a bit swollen but it doesn't stop their journey from grazing against his now incredibly sensitive right wing, the jerk of his entire body not bothering you in the slightest as your lips glide over his feathers, your lover shuddering a bit when you let out a breath right over his newly pierced wings.

"All done now, my love," you mutter into his ear, shrugging off your now ruined shirt off of one shoulder, "Do I get any reward for doing this so smoothly and quickly?"

Sunday lets out a scoff, rolling his eyes at your triumphant expression before shoving you down onto the couch the two of you were previously resting on. "I'm thinking a punishment is more fitting for how you didn't warn me of your actions twice, no?"

[theurgists]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ THE INEVITABLE PULL ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: on the night of her twenty-first birthday, ellie find herself in the one place she asked jesse not to bring her. a strip club.

warning(s): 18+ smut, modern!au, stripper!reader, mentions of alcohol, alcohol consumption, dudes in clubs being jackasses, jesse being a wingman ( thank you bestie ), dry humping ( a little?? ), fingering ( reader!receiving ),oral ( elle!receiving ), a one night stand, essentially. not proof-read!

a/n: yet another one-shot i'm bringing back. i do have a little 90s ellie drabble in my drafts that I'm working on so definitely let me know if you'd like to see that ;)

You know that feeling you get when you walk into a place you don’t want to be in? A feeling so uncomfortable that it makes you involuntarily bounce back and forth from the heels of your feet to the tips of your toes, eyes darting from left to right trying to observe the situation you were faced with. 

Ellie was unfortunate enough to be experiencing it tonight as the blood in her veins thumped into the base of her eardrums, her hands in the small pockets of the denim jeans she wore as her shoulders hunched with uncertainty. The air smelt like immeasurable amounts of liquor and what Jesse described as ‘fun times’. 

He had coaxed her out of her apartment and off of the confines of her couch on the eve of her twenty-first birthday, a smile on his face as he landed a pat with an open palm on the back of her right shoulder which rattled her, a grimace curling onto the skin of her lips. Playing the scenario back in her mind now, it seemed as if he considered her feelings which didn’t end up being the case. Sometimes, Ellie would find herself filled with slight guilt for even having the thought of her friend being faintly ignorant — but it oozed out of him as he weaved his way through the teeming club. She was barely one for small parties, preferring to linger in the corners away from unseen eyes, processing what was laid before her in the form of passing bodies. 

Finding herself experiencing how it felt to be somewhere more open — more suffocated — made her stomach tie in the tightest of knots. 

Blowing a puff of air out of her throat, Ellie felt annoyance creeping up within her as the bone of her shoulder collided with someone else’s.

“Watch where the fuck you’re going.”

Through the tumultuous beat of hip-hop music, those seven gruff words reached the canal of her ears causing the soles of her shoes to squelch on the scuffed polish of the club floor as she turned around. Deep lines formed between her eyebrows as she scowled, her fingers curling into the palm of her hand, teeth gritting together.

“The fuck?”

Ellie didn’t know whether to consider it a blessing or a curse that no matter the situation, her mouth couldn’t just stay closed even with multiple attempted efforts. It worked out for her in less violent ways fifty percent of the time. Whereas, the other fifty percent caused adrenaline to pump in her veins so quickly that her body would shake slightly, growing numb as if to prepare for whatever damage would arise. 

People tended to underestimate how much damage swirled around her balled fists due to her average stature and the fact that she was a girl. She knew better than to let things progress further, not only for the sake of not wanting to deal with it on her birthday but for the poor patron who’d most likely end up losing if he decided to take the unknown risk of a fistfight. Especially with her. 

“You fuckin’ heard me.” The man towered over her, dark eyes riddled with drunkenness and a bubbling fury as she looked up at him through low eyelids, a smirk appearing at the corners of her mouth. 

Through her peripheral vision, she could see the stares of other club-goers as they observed the altercation with interest, curious to see who would throw the first punch. It would’ve been Ellie. Seriously, she was so close to cocking her fist back just to swing it into his aging face but Jesse had a knack for knowing when his friend got into trouble because he appeared next to her before she could blink, fingers grabbing at the back of the plaid button-down she wore, trying to de-escalate the painstakingly icky tension as those who were unaware continued with their night.

“Woah.” He dragged out in an airy laugh, snaking himself in front of Ellie in case things went south. “No problems here, right?” 

Not trusting herself enough to not utter a single word, Ellie turned and let her feet carry her straight to the bar at the far left corner, jaw tight as she found an empty spot to slide herself into in hopes of getting herself a drink as it had just reached one in the morning. If she had the option to restart the first hour of her birthday somewhere else, she could, but beggars can’t be choosers — and Ellie was far from being a beggar. 

Locking her eyes onto her choice of liquor, she let the music creep back in her ears once more as her eyes clouded over, scanning the crevices of her brain for the pros and cons of having a couple of shots throughout the night, or just getting a glass straight-up. 

Clearing his throat, Jessie weaseled his way next to her before grabbing the bartender’s attention, his pearly white teething glistening under the neon lights that shone through the darkness, eyes shamelessly roaming across her body as she bit her lip flirtatiously. 

Ellie couldn’t roll her eyes, itching to have a drink in her grasp to ease the small jolt of nerves that would pinch her every couple of seconds. 

“Can I get angel’s envy on the rocks?” She asked, avoiding looking at the lady behind the bar as she nodded curtly.

 “Sure thing, honey.” Turning to Jesse, her back arched slightly as a means to pop her chest in his face a little more. The only thing that was stopping her from leaning closer was the countertop between them as she spoke lowly. 

“And for you, baby?” She drawled, voice slow. She already had a couple of drinks, which was evident through her shameless attempt at flirting which the dark-haired man seemed to be into for some reason. 

His lips quirked up, arms crossed over each other as he went to rest them on the bartop, eyes boring right into her soul.

“Same thing.” 

Ellie took the opportunity to observe her surroundings even further. Eyes moved from the people sitting in small round booths and velvet chairs to the stage that sat front and center, one of the main reasons why she had been brought here tonight. A pole stood upright under the bright white lights, metal practically sparkling, blinding her as if to make its presence more known to her than it already was. 

In life, there were a lot of firsts and Ellie had gladly experienced them with pride, diving headfirst. However, this was a completely different ball game that filled her with a small enough amount of discomfort that caused her to scratch at the nape of her neck. 

“Y’know, the least you could do is say thank you for having me deal with your shit.” Jesse chuckled jokingly, fingers jutting outward to slide the glass toward her which she took without a second thought. 

Although Ellie could sense the humor in his voice, the bitterness she felt seemed to overpower her brain before she could correctly process her words. “The least? You could’ve been a little more considerate when you decided on where to take me on my birthday.” 

She leaned closer to him, having to raise her voice to be heard through the music. “A fucking strip club. Really?” 

Raising his glass, he just smiled smugly at her which caused her eyes to roll to the back of her head for the second time that night before he clanked it with hers in a toast. “To being twenty-one.” Tilting the chilled cup toward his mouth, he downed his whiskey in one go before shaking his head to rid of the burning in his throat. Ellie followed right after, letting her eyes screwed shut as heat ran into the pit of her stomach.

“God that was fucking awful.” 

All Ellie got in response was Jesse’s arm over her shoulder as he stood on the tips of his toes, neck craning over heads as if he was looking for something in particular. Before she could ask, his eyes lit up, her body moving forcefully as he dragged her away from the bar and in the direction of a booth that was mostly empty beside three other people occupying a small section of space. Jesse’s friends. 

Truthfully, this night seemed to be getting worse as she watched Jesse slide himself in before moving in his seat, the leather squeaking as it rubbed against his clothes. Ellie licked her lips, tasting a hint of the shea butter chapstick she had applied to them earlier in the night, body growing rigid as one of his friends stared at her with wavering uninterest. 

“Who are you again? He slurred, lazily pointing a finger in her direction, swaying in his seat slightly. 

Ellie’s reply was simple and cold. “Ellie.” 

Jesse slapped him on the back, sending his torso to push forward and some of his liquor to fall out of his shot glass and onto the table in front of them. “Seth shut the fuck up.” 

Seth opened his mouth, lips in the shape of an ‘o’ before his face contorted into one of amusement, “Oh” He chuckled.

If Ellie was being honest with herself, she didn’t remember his name either. Jesse’s friends weren’t people she would necessarily surround herself with if she was looking for company. On occasion, she’d stop at Dean’s house ( the name of the only one she bothered to remember, only because he treated her like he would any of his other guy friends ) with him only because she got to smoke for free, and she’d never pass up free weed. 

Moving to sit, Ellie lowered herself before breathing in through her nose, the lighting dimming above her almost instantly as the song that was playing came to a pause before another one followed behind. 

Confusion grew on her features as the sharp clank of heels could be heard from where she was, just a couple of feet away, in the third row of seats right smack in the middle. She didn’t know what to expect. It wasn’t as if she was well-versed in the club universe because she hadn’t been in one before tonight.

She heard Dean hiss behind his teeth before whistling loudly, “Damn.” 

Averting her gaze toward center stage, she could feel her cheeks warm as she stared at you. Your hair fell down your shoulders in loose waves, your bottom lip tugged between your teeth before you smiled warmly, red nails gliding up and down your hips before you swayed them side to side seductively, moving to the rhythm of the music. Hoots and hollers filled the expanse of space, bouncing off the walls and directly into her ears. 

“Fuck, she’s hot.” 

Ellie was thankful for the darkness that enveloped the room as the crimson flush on her cheeks darkened in color even further. She shuffled back into her seat, keeping her gaze locked on your body as you spun around the pole, the string of your black thong hiking up your hip just a little higher, something she swore only she noticed. 

With her gaze boring into your frame, she watched as you swung one leg over the other, spinning on your heels before lifting yourself off the stage using the pole, your grip tightening as your feet moved in place. 

This feeling in between her legs, the ache she got from just seeing you was otherworldly, she felt wrong about it. She didn’t even know you ( as badly as she wanted to now ) to be feeling the way she did. The butterflies in the pit of her stomach fluttered so aggressively that they felt as if they were crawling out her throat as her breath hitched. 

When the money appeared, adorning you as if it was rain falling, she melted into the leather of the booth. Her eyes widened before a cough emitted from her throat, her heart picking up its pace as your eyes darted across the crowd and she swore you were staring at her as you crawled on all fours in front of the stage. 

So, the only natural thing for her to do was stare right back at you, keeping her gaze locked on your low-lidded eyes before letting someone lift the band of your thong to place a wad of cash, their fingers lingering on your bare hip for longer than necessary before you gracefully danced away. 

You were a goddess, clad in her most seductive armor that nobody could lay a finger on. Ellie could tell by the way you carried yourself, head held high and body swinging low as cash surrounded you. As awkward as she felt, she sure hoped she didn’t look the part because your eyes were still on her. 

A small smack to her arm caused her to twist her head in Jesse’s direction, a frown on her face as she tried to stare at him through the darkness. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.” 

His eyebrows raised in amusement, lips pressed together to keep himself from laughing aloud. “It’s okay you know, to stare, that’s why we’re here.” 

Putting the palms of his hands out, he gestured around him as if to prove a point. 

Ellie tutted before she grabbed a loose strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear, grabbing at the new drink that miraculously appeared ( he must’ve grabbed it off of one of the guys ) before gulping the rest of its contents down, lips puckering as her lungs developed a burn that only Hennesey could give her. 

“This is the last time I’m letting you drag me anywhere without telling me first.” She huffed, blowing out a breath that caused her cheeks to ache slightly. She averted her gaze to you again, this time watching as you left the stage, signaling the end of your set as people cheered and whistled. 

“That was something, I’ll tell you that.” She heard Dean say, his hands traveling down to his pants to try and conceal the very noticeable boner that had tented. 

Ellie pulled her lips back in a snarl, teeth out in the open as an uncomfortable expression reached her features, skin near the corners of her eyes creasing as she narrowed them in his direction. Men were fucking gross — and the way he sat there, licking his lips hungrily as if he’s made up his mind to go after you tonight  — only furthered that thought into the front of her mind. 

The leather seat dipped slightly when Jesse took the initiative to scoot himself closer to her, leaning down to yell, “Was I right?”

Ellie glanced at him through low eyes as the scent of weed hit her nose, merely shrugging in response before lifting herself and pulling down the ends of her shirt, the cotton material having ridden up. 

Se suddenly found herself staring at the bar a couple of feet away from her, coincidentally landing her green eyes on the dip of your back, the bands on your thong littered with cash still. You looked fucking amazing. Your hair was now bunched up in your right hand as you fanned your neck with the left one, your crimson-painted lips moving quickly as you spoke to the bartender she felt herself loathing after their earlier interaction. If you could even call it that. 

A high-pitched whistle beside her pulled her out of whatever thoughts consumed the spaces of her mind. It was none other than her friend, moving his head to stare at who she’d been eyeing. Finally, he saw you in the crowd of people squished at the bartop, and then his brown eyes moved toward Ellie’s face. He knew she wasn’t going to approach you willingly, even if the desperation to speak to you was written across her face in big, bold, lettering. So, he decided to be the devil — or the angel — on her shoulder. 

“Go talk to her, make a move.” 

Ellie wanted to laugh. The urge bubbled up in her throat like bile, and she let it go. Giving him the most genuine chuckle she’s given him all night, shaking her head from side to side. “I doubt she’s into girls.” 

For some reason, considering that as an option made her mood dampen slightly. Anyone here could see the confidence that exuded from you, it lingered in your sweet perfume when you’d pass by people and she was pretty sure she was falling victim to it.

Shrugging, Jesse let his lips pull into a frown, urging her further. “You don’t know that.” 

That was true, she thought as she shamelessly stared you down, her sweaty palms at her sides as she tried to inconspicuously wipe them on the denim of her jeans. Relenting, she felt her heart quicken as her feet carried her toward where you were standing under the neon lights of the bar. 

You looked even prettier up close, your unique features burning into the part of her brain where long-term memory was, trying to soak you in before you noticed she was there. 

“Did you enjoy the show?” Ellie was a goner. Your voice was sweet and sultry, low with a hint of fatigue weaved in between them as you kept your eyes down, your nails tapping against the glass in front of you. 

Ellie cleared the blockage in her throat before answering. “Uh yeah, it was nice.” 

Licking your lips, you still kept your head low but she could see you staring at her from the corner of your eyes. “You were staring.” 

So you did notice her looking at you, which meant that you were indeed looking at her as you danced flawlessly on stage. At least she wasn’t going crazy. 

Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks for what was the tenth time, she stuttered, trying to look anywhere, the confidence she once had evaporating as your light laughter reached her ears. “Everyone was staring.” She managed to spit, biting the inside of her cheek. 

“I wasn’t looking at everyone else though…” 

This made her smile, slightly bashful that you had said those words to her. Maybe you were just naturally a flirt, seeking thrills on sweet-talking club-goers only to leave them wanting more once you left. Oddly, she decided to entertain you by twisting her neck in your direction, the tattoo on her arm taking all the attention as your eyes burned into the skin peeking from under her jacket. 

You continued, “You stick out like a sore thumb, but it’s okay. I like seeing new faces.” Sliding your glass in her direction, you watched with curiosity as she picked it up, swirling the contents in the glass, ice cubes clinking against each other before she let the rest of it slide down her throat. 

Ellie wasn’t a big drinker and she was sure she’d feel the consequences of her choice in the morning, but being next to you — talking to you, was worth whatever hangover would greet her in the morning. 

Pushing for a conversation, you asked her a question. “So, did your friends drag you here or something.” 

Unbeknownst to you, that was exactly the case which she confirmed by nodding. A dry laugh came from her mouth, causing her to cringe at just how fake it sounded but you didn’t seem to mind. “Uh, yeah, that’s exactly it.” 

You turned your body toward her fully, lifting at the strap of your lacey bra, your breasts moving upward just an inch but it didn’t go unnoticed by Ellie as her eyes landed on your chest for a fraction of a second before she was looking at your face again. 

‘How’d you know.” 

“You look uncomfortable. This isn’t your thing?” 

With that question in mind, Ellie felt the vibration of the music in the soles of her sneaker-clad feet, so loud that her body hummed along with the music, the smell of weed burning the hairs in her nostrils as giggles bounced into her ears. “Not really, it’s my birthday so my friend brought me.” 

Your eyes lit up, pearly white teeth contrasting against the dark tint of your lipstick. “Happy Birthday to you then,” 

Ellie moved her mouth to reply with a small ‘thank you’ but the bartender appeared in front of the both of you before you asked her for a shot which she gave you quicker than she had taken Ellie’s drink order. She watched as you slid it in her direction like previously, a smirk decorating your lips as she made eye contact with you, putting the rim of the shot glass between her lips and letting it snake down her throat, the sensation of the burn causing a sharp intake of breath. 

Goosebumps littered your exposed skin as you felt a sudden dull ache grow between your legs. The tension was bouncing between you, deflecting off of the invisible barrier that loitered, cracking just a tad before you backed away. “I have to go now, but it was nice talking to you…”

“Ellie.” 

Giving her one last smile, you nodded. “I hope I’ll see you around soon.” 

She waved with a hand, lips pursed as you turned on your heels and disappeared behind a metal door labeled ‘staff only’.

Usually, every girl Ellie’s ever had an interaction with ended up with her itching to move away from the situation she dragged herself into, jaw tight and teeth grinding together. It was different this time, probably because it was you. The fact that she had no clue what your name was, intrigued her beyond the point of no return. She found herself stuck on you despite having a conversation that lasted all but five minutes — which felt like thirty seconds. 

Sighing, she made her way back to Jesse and his extremely drunk friends. Dean and Seth were shoving each other like fucking five-year-olds bickering over something stupid, their faces inches apart that Ellie felt like she was intruding on a private matter. 

Sitting down again, Ellie let herself endure the two hours in silence next to Jesse as the night wasted away, more drinks being spilled, annoyance growing. She didn’t know how long she was glued to that seat when she made her way outside the double doors, breathing in the fresh air that she took for granted, sighing as she ran a hand through her short auburn hair, the rings on her fingers clattering together as she did so.

 At this point, it was just nearly three in the morning. The dim street lights illuminated the empty street, the leaves on tree branches swaying with the wind in the direction it whipped in. An occasional leaf swayed to the ground as she sat on the curb, the skin of her palms peeling from the roughness of the concrete. 

“I’m fucking serious, Willow.” Moving her head in the direction of the voice, her heart skipped a beat as you stood there with your jacket in hand. You have changed into more comfortable clothes. Your thong is now replaced by pink sweatpants, baggy as they hang low on your hips, and a tank top in place of your bra. Glancing down at your shoes, she could see the white Nike socks keeping your feet warm from the cold, a pair of slides on your feet. You were arguing with someone, that much was obvious. 

The girl in front of you towered so high, it was almost threatening but you didn’t falter in your stance. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she spoke with malice. “You don’t think I’m not? You can come here and dance half naked for some fucking cash but can’t text me back.” 

You scoffed, clicking your tongue while taking a small step back. “This is my job, I’m obligated to come here.” You gestured toward the club with a finger, wilding pointing before jabbing the same finger into her chest. “I don’t need to text you. You’re not my girlfriend, remember?” 

Licking her lips, the gears turned in Ellie’s brain as she weighed her options. She could intervene, ask what the problem was, be your knight in shining armor — but she decided against it. Her palms grew sweaty once more as she continued to watch the interaction. 

The girl breathed through her nose, nostrils expanding as she took in a deep breath before balling her fists at her side, something you didn’t seem to notice as you stared into her eyes with what could only be described as hatred. 

“Fine, have it your way then.” She walked away, angrily stepping toward her car a couple of feet away from you, opening the door with such force that it nearly broke off. “Don’t expect me to take you back when you come crawling with those fake tears of yours.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving your jacket closer to your chest as you watched her get in her car, tires squealing loudly as she peeled out of the parking lot, leaving tracks on the pavement.

Turning around, you saw Ellie staring at you but still pressed against the curb as you walked over toward her, embarrassment creeping up on you in the form of warm cheeks and pressure behind your eyes. Tears. 

Rubbing at your nose with the back of your hand, you gave her a tight-lipped smile before bending down to join her. “Did you see everything?”

She could see just how embarrassed you were as you pushed the nails on your finger toward your mouth, biting at them nervously. Nodding, she spoke lowly, “Yeah, was that your ex-girlfriend?”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nodded curtly. “Sadly,” 

Not knowing what else to say, she just sat there in silence, enjoying the quietness of the outside world with you next to her. The silence wasn’t awkward — quite the opposite as she no longer felt nervous or out of place as a couple of minutes passed, glances to each other being shared throughout. 

Ellie was growing tired, eyes riddled with a hint of sleep and the extended feeling of desperation urged her to take herself home. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she pressed the side button as the screen lit up, the clock on her home screen reading 3:15 am before she turned it back off again. With a yawn, she lifted herself off the curb, stretching her limbs as some of them cracked at the sensation of no longer being hunched over uncomfortably. 

Turning to look down at you, she saw that you were already staring up at her with doe eyes, lips etched into what seemed like a permanent frown. “Do you have a ride home?” The words left her mouth before she could process them and she wanted to smack herself right after. 

Nodding, you jerked your head toward the black double doors, “My friend’s a bouncer, he usually walks me home since I don’t live far.” You don’t know why you said the last part, internally face-palming at the fact that you gave her a slight hint as to where you lived. 

She didn’t know if it was appropriate to ask if she could walk you home. Even thinking about asking you sent her heart racing wildly inside the expanse of her chest. But, tonight was full of risks and she liked to consider herself a risk-taker — so she bit.

“I can walk you if you want.” She spoke quickly, rushing to explain her thought process. “I’m just saying because it’s like three in the morning and -”

You laughed loudly, slapping a hand over your mouth after it had left you. “I’m sorry, I'm just laughing because it’s kind of cute when you ramble.” You expressed, nodding as you rose to stand next to her causing her to scratch the back of her neck before tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. “But yes, I’d appreciate it if you did.” She promised that if she were able to turn into some form of mush, she would’ve in that very moment that you said her name. 

The walk was nice, to Ellie at least, as you talked to her about your job and the other girls that worked there. She listened with interest although she wasn’t a big gossiper, asking you questions about certain things to let you know that she was listening to every word you said, hanging onto them.  She saw how your steps slowed after walking around four blocks before coming to a complete stop in front of a lone door, the redness of the metal sticking out like a sore thumb in the middle of the street. 

All she did was stand there with her hands in her jeans pockets as you fiddled with the knob, wedging your key inside before pushing it open.

“This is me.” You sighed, stepping inside the dark hallway, turning to face her as you leaned your cheek against the cool edge of your front door, fluttering your eyelashes. “Do you want to like… come in and have a drink? I know it’s almost four in the morning, but I feel bad for taking up your offer of walking me home since it’s your birthday and all.” 

Ellie knew that if she declined your offer, she’d find herself on her bed, wishing she had taken you up on your offer for another drink. Like she said earlier, tonight was all about risks. She’d greedily take this one. 

The nod she gave you sent shivers up your spine, her body moving inside your house as a means to shield herself from the chill night air. The temperature difference made her realize just how buzzed she was as she stood in the darkness of what she assumed was your living room. 

From behind her, she could hear the little ‘plink’ of the light switch as you flicked it on, light flooding the room. 

“You can place your coat here if you want.” 

She turned, raising her eyebrows to see what you were talking about until she saw you hang your jacket on a hook near the door, a hand behind you to take hers from her. She shrugged it off quickly before handing it to you, watching as you stood on your toes to hang hers on the hook above the first one hammered into the wall. 

Moving past her into the kitchen, she had no choice but to follow as you lit the room once more, the small island catching her attention immediately due to how messy it was. 

As if you were reading her thoughts, you spoke with some embarrassment in your voice. “I would’ve cleaned up if I knew I was going to be bringing guests over.” 

She eyed the items around the small area before shaking her head. “No, it’s okay, this allows me to scan for conversation topics.” Was it weird that she said that? Well, you didn’t seem to think so as you laughed heartily from your stomach, hands pulling at the fridge handle, browsing at the limited options of liquor. 

“Uh… do you want a shot of tequila or a glass of Rosè?” She heard your muffled question to which she answered quickly. 

“Tequila.”

“Alright, my kind of girl!” You exclaimed happily, setting the bottle down on the island and grabbing two shot glasses from one of your wooden cabinets. 

Twisting the lid off, you poured the liquor into the small glasses which caused her to stand across from you, drunken eyes watching as you handed her one. She took it before staring into your eyes once again, hungrily this time, as you rubbed your thighs together under her gaze. 

The both of you tilted your head back in unison, downing the shot quickly before you waltzed to where she was standing, eyes never leaving hers as you brought your face closer. 

You didn’t know why you did what you did, and neither did she quite frankly as she stood, stiff and with ragged breaths as you closed the small gap between the two of you. She immediately returned the kiss, her back digging into the edge of the island counter, as you pressed against her, grabbing the shirt she was wearing, tugging it with need. 

With a hand snaked around your back, she moved the other to grab the back of your neck, forcing your teeth to clash against hers as her tongue made its way into the deliciousness of your mouth. You moaned, entwining yours around hers wetly, her warm breath mixing with yours. 

She met you all but four hours ago, and here she was, in your house kissing you as if her life depended on it. 

Her hands moved to your ass, squeezing through the material of your sweatpants as hard as she could when you ground your hips against hers, wanting to dissipate the aching throb between your legs. 

Noticing this, Ellie moved her hand to the front of your sweats, fingers dancing down your naval and onto your folds, opening them slightly to rub at your clit. You whined, pressing your forehead against hers with a hand on the nape of her neck, squeezing slightly. The action caused her to rub at your swelling bud even faster, keeping note of the way your face contorted into one of pleasure, your eyes in the back of your head. 

“You like that, hm?” Seeing you like this, your body pressed against hers leaving little to no space to even breathe made her the wettest she’s ever been. 

You only put your head in the crook of her neck as a response, teeth grazing at the skin below her ear as she shuddered, your slick pooling into her hand when a finger entered you, stretching you oh-so deliciously. 

A sob ripped from your throat, your teeth digging into her neck as you bit to keep yourself from being too loud. Ellie couldn’t help the groan that escaped her when she felt you nipping at the base of her neck, stomach tying into knots at the thought of even just getting to fuck you. 

“Oh, my g-god.” You stuttered, paying extra attention to the finger that was moving in and out of you quickly, grinding yourself onto it lower, with such haste that you just had to scream out. 

“C’mon, baby, I know you can say more than that.” She slurred encouragingly into your ear, the hand on your ass pulling you even further into her as she shoved a second finger in without warning. 

“Feels so fuckin’ good.” You were boarding on tipsy at this point, and not just on alcohol, but the feeling of her fingers as they wormed their way back inside you relentlessly. 

You heard her chuckle, “That’s it, that’s right.” 

Her breathing in your ear, chanting praises, the sensation of white heat building up in your stomach became overwhelming as you clenched around her fingers, releasing all your built-up sexual tension. Or so you thought because when Ellie slowly put her fingers that were previously inside you into her mouth and sucked them dry, you went almost animalistic. 

“Sit on the counter.” You purred, eyelashes fluttering at her, your lids low with arousal and drunkenness. 

Ellie wasn’t one to find herself obeying others, especially in sexual situations,  but for some reason, she found herself doing exactly what you said with a slight tint to her cheeks that wasn’t just from the excessive amount of alcohol she had consumed throughout the night. This hangover was gonna be a bitch.

You loomed over her, arms on either side of her, palms pressed against the counter. “Let me taste you.” 

The pattern of her breathing changed, making her chest rise up and down quickly before she uttered something almost incomprehensible to you. “I’m not the one usually receiving.”

The smile that you gave her was devious as your hands toyed with the button of her jeans, “Please?” You found it pathetic at the way you begged her, but you didn’t care, not one bit as she nodded her head, letting you unclasp the button before you tugged them off along with her black briefs, throwing them somewhere in the kitchen to find later. She felt the cool marble of the countertop against her bottom as she grasped at the edge of the counter with her ringed fingers, looking down at you with so much lust behind her eyes that you could’ve just come for the second time right then and there.

“I’m gonna make you feel good.” You hushed, kissing the inside of her thighs with fervor before swiping your tongue over her cunt, lapping at her juices as they leaked onto your tongue. You sucked harshly at her clit causing her to sob once, hands digging into your hair as she ground her hips into your face further.

 “Mhm,” You moaned into her core, feeling her throb against your mouth, tongue flicking quickly at her clit, her arousal mixed with your spit sending her mind to an entirely different planet as her eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. 

You were staring at her the entire time, your arousal wetting the material of your underwear, making them stick to your folds as you shuffled your hips to move into her more, feeling her shake above you. 

“O - oh my god, fuck.” She whined, lip quivering as her legs shook, an orgasm so intense that she grew numb, letting her spend get sucked onto your tongue before you removed yourself, dabbing at the sides of your mouth with a finger. 

Ellie Williams was completely fucked and love-drunk on you, and she didn’t even fucking know you.

[gingernut1314]

Touch Me, Please pt. 1

Polnareff x GN!Reader

Summary: How Part 3 Polnareff likes to be touched

Warnings: FLUFFFFFFFFFFF, jjba part 3

Word Count: HC: 910+, Drabbles: 370+ & 510+, Total: 1.8K

A/N: soo...have I mentioned I'm head over heels for this man? No. Okay. I love him. Some of this came from a convo I had with the amazing @cinnbar-bun who was also the lovely soul who introduced me to this show and my newest husband. Let's all give her a round of applause because I absolutely love this show 👏👏👏 First time writing for Polnareff so I did my best and I hope you enjoy! 🩷 (Also I plan on this being a bit of a series so look out for that)

↞ to Touch Me Masterlist | Jjba Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠ Part 2

TOUCH THIS MAN!

PLEASE

He needs it

He needs touch like he needs the air to breathe

He’ll turn into literal puddy in your hand if you do

Brush your fingers over his when handing him food

Pat his cheek, arm, shoulder, back

Brush your shoulder against his as you walk side by side

HOLD HIS HAND

PLEASE HOLD HIS HAND

I’m not asking I’m telling you to hold his hand or else this man will become the saddest puddle you’ve ever seen

And all of this is just your average day being friends with Polnareff

Once you two become an item he becomes like a baby koala he’s so clingy

He always needs a hand on you

Some sort of skin-on-skin 

He still doesn’t fully believe you want to be his partner let alone let him touch you

So whether it be his hand holding your own or his thigh pressed against yours as you two eat he needs to touch you

Would 100% be the type of partner to hug you from behind while waiting in any sort of line 

Would 100% want to follow you into the bathroom just so that he could keep holding your hand (and has definitely done so in the past)

Is honestly so terrified when you two have to go your separate ways for such things as going to the bathroom

Not only because he’s had less than pleasant experiences with those spaces thanks to enemy Stand Users

But because he is so utterly terrified that if he lets you go, you’ll disappear 

He’s dealt with enough heartbreak to last him two lifetimes so the thought of losing you is utter hell

He just needs to feel you to reassure himself you are still with him

Still with him and still breathing

Will press his ear over your heart sometimes to listen to your heartbeat

You struggled to unlock the hotel room door thanks to the multitude of food bags cradled in your arms. Somehow you had managed to pull the room key from your back pocket but now your grapple with unlocking the door and turning the handle without dropping the food was threatening your will.  The key slid into the lock,  pulling a bright laughing cheer from your lips at finally starting to win the battle set before. You grabbed for the handle of the door just as it turned, the door yanking open in a rush of air.  “Oh--” You said, taking a small step as you took back at the tall body that now stood in the entrance. Polnareff’s familiar face had your body easing and smile tugging bright once more at your lips. “Good morn--” You never got to finish your sentences before Polnareff’s strong arms were wrapping around your body, crushing you and the food against his chest.  “I woke up and you weren’t there and the others were gone as well and--and I--” Polnareff panicked into your neck, nuzzling his face against your skin as a shuddering breath shook his body. His hold tightened further as if to keep you glued to him. The sound of a plastic container crunching filled your ears, letting you know the food you had fought to keep from falling was getting crushed within his embrace.  You’re heart twisted in your chest at his utterly panicked state, the food’s destruction far from your mind as you all but dropped the bags. Your hands and arms were instantly wrapped around his neck, fingers brushing soothing circles into his skin.   “Mon amour, I-I didn’t know where you were.” He said in a voice smaller than that of a whisper.  “I thought I would be back before you woke up. I told the others to be here if you did but--forgive me. I should have taken you with me.” You whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “I--Love, what do you need?” You asked, wanting the panic to leave him and for that goofy smile to return to his lips.  “Just…touch me…please.” It was a request you were more than happy to fulfill, pulling him ever closer into your hold.

If you ever need space, Polnareff is more than happy to give it to you

But that sad puddle he became when you went a whole minute without touching him while just being friends becomes an oh-so-sad ocean

The rest of the Crusaders are going to be teasing the hell out of the guy for being such a gloomy, near-sobbing mess

And speaking of the other Crusaders

They cannot stand how touchy you two are

The phrase “get a room”, among other things, is almost always spilling from their lips 

Oh boy and talking about lips

KISS THIS MAN

KISS HIM, PLEASE, I BEG THIS OF YOU

Give him soft kisses

Kiss him on his blushing cheeks, forehead, nose, ears, shoulders

Pepper this man in kisses 

And he is kissing you right back

Taking your hands in his and pressing kisses to your knuckles

He’s kissing the inside of your wrist as you sit on the train or at dinner

Kissing the top of your head as you walk

Just kisses everywhere, all the time

He likes to talk to you while his lips are touching your skin

Likes it even more if he can whisper sweet nothings in French against your own lips

You happily hummed as you ate, the soft, classical music floating through the bustling restaurant not the tune you had chosen to muse as spectacular spices and flavors brust over your tongue. A warm thumb brushed at the side of your mouth, clearing a bit of sauce from your skin. Your face began to feel warm at the touch, knowing exactly whose thumb had swiped over your skin.  You turned, finding Polnareff’s gray eyes already watching you. Eyes so full of loving adoration it took your breath away every time you looked into them.  “Did you get it all?” Your voice sounding near breathless as you took in his handsome, which a bright smile adorned. Polnareff hummed in mock thought, taking your chin between his fingers. He turned your face this way and that, searching for a mess that you knew was nowhere to be found. “Ah! There is some just there.” He said, guiding your face ever closer.  “Are you going to get it for me?” You asked, lips parting as your face was drawn closer to his.   “Of course, mon coeur.” He all but purred, turning that warmth into a burning fire. Your heart raced as he leaned into you, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. He hardly pulled away before you were grabbing hold of his shirt, keeping him close. “I--I think I feel some more. Just here.” You said, voice wobbling as you tapped your other cheek. Polnareff widely grinned, more than eager to place a chaste kiss to your other cheek. “And here.” You breathed, tapping your lips. A chuckle left Polnareff’s chest that grew muffled against your lips.   He kissed you sweetly. So sweet it had your heart melting and your stomach fluttering around like it had grown wings like some butterfly.  “Good grief.” The gruff voice of Jotaro grumbled from across the table where he sat.   “Mr. Joestar,” Kakyoin huffed, his typically smooth voice laced in utter disgust at you and Polnareff’s actions. “Please make them stop.”   “Me? Stop them?” The oldest Joestar all but shouted from where he sat at your side. Kakyoin must have nodded because Joseph gave a huffing grumble of his own. “Alright, you two. Knock it off. This place is nice--and in public.” He tried, to no avail.  You both ignored the group, lips pulling away only so you could pepper Polnareff’s face in kisses he was more than happy to return. Whispered Mon amours, mon coeurs, among other loving titles pressed into your skin making it tingle in delight. “Eh--see. They won’t listen to me.” Joseph huffed.  “I do not believe there is a power on this earth or in the heavens above that is strong enough to keep them apart.” The calm voice was Advol spoke from Polnareff’s side, a light chuckle in his voice.  A giggle escaped your lips at his words, nuzzling your nose against Polnareff’s. They were words you couldn’t help but full-heartedly believe as Polnareff cupped your jaw in his strong hand, kissing your lips like it was the last time he would ever taste them again.

If he’s driving the group, you better believe you're sitting shotgun so he can place a hand on your thigh, giving it gentle squeezes to remind you he’s always thinking about you

If Joseph is insistent about sitting in the front, Polnareff either refuses to drive outright or is reaching into the back to hold your hand much to Jotaro and Kakyoin’s displeasure

Will reach over one of the others to touch you

Has and will lead to a shouting match between Polnareff and the others

But he refuses to be so close to you yet so so far

He’ll even go as far as to send Silver Chariot to sit with you and hold your hand if he can’t be there with you

Though this has led to one too many Star Platinum beatdowns 

CUDDLE THE MAN

Oh my goodness PLEASE cuddle him

He’s so warm and his arms are so safe

Only one bed? 

No trouble whatsoever! 

Polnareff wasn’t going to sleep without you anyway

Only a few rooms left?

Polnareff and you have been deemed your own room because the others will not deal with your touchiness while trying to sleep mere inches away

Polnareff’s cuddle could save a life

It’s a fact

His fingers are rubbing circles into your back or arm

His face buried in the crook of your neck so he could take in your scent and dream of you while he sleeps

Whether it be a hug from the front or back, he has his arms around you while you sleep

His legs intertwining between yours, molding himself against you

He literally worships the ground you walk on so why wouldn’t he just want to become another extension of your being?

The only thing he won’t always want touched is his hair

He spent nearly an hour that morning in the dimly lit hotel bathroom getting it just right

And he loves you

GOD he loves you

He loves you so much it hurts

But his hair is off-limits until you both are settling in for the night

Then he is more than happy to let you run your fingers through his hair

He also won’t be completely opposed to you helping him style his hair in the morning, but you’ll need to go through several days of “training” before you can even touch one of his combs

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 27

Alt 8: Written But Never Sent

Pairing: Steve Rogers x gn!Agent!Reader

Tags/Warnings: FLUFF, ANGST (idk why I'm putting Steve through the ringer this week lol), mutual pining (this is apparently my bread and butter as well as my jam), mentions of death, crying/grieving, alcohol consumption/drunk (mentioned), confessions, first kisses, second chances, not beta'd I try to cover everything in my warnings but they are non-exhaustive - please read at your own risk! I will say that this fic is Angst heavy for the majority of it

Summary: You've been missing on a mission for longer than expected; all of your friends and teammates believe the worst to have happened. When packing up your apartment, Steve finds a series of letters addressed to the team in a box in your closet, and decides to read the one addressed to him. Word count: 2.6k

A/N: This one took me longer because I was really struggling with coming up with something for the afternoon stroll prompt. But hey! I think I kinda made this fluffy? We'll ignore the parts that are really sad though. I wanted a little mix of angst and fluff to switch it up. - Love, Grem x Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

As always, likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated!

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You had went to Hungary over a month ago on a long mission; excited to be flying solo for the first time. Everyone was excited for you too. Natasha had given you a charm bracelet for good luck (that just so happened to be a mini taser), Bucky had shown you had to gut a man three ways, Sam had kindly offered you a lollipop since he had nothing as interesting to gift you last minute and Steve.... Well, Steve had offered some very leaderly advice and urged you to call if anything went wrong and you needed help. You'd assured him, and the others, that you'd be fine but promised to keep it in mind. You waved them goodbye from one of the quinjets and headed for your mission, already daydreaming about returning with grand tales of espionage and action to share with your friends.

But a week and a half ago you went radio silent.

All agents are given 72hours to reach a pre-determined checkpoint, usually a safe house 15 miles from your allocated location for the mission. Usually, when a cover is blown, an agent makes it to a safe house in an average time of 17hours, accounting for hiding out and ensuring they aren't followed.

No one was phased for the first seventeen hours. Not even for the first twenty-four. This was your first mission after all. But the hours dragged longer and longer, and by the 48th hour Steve and the team were desperate to make contact with you and head to Hungary themselves. However, as Nat had pointed out, any other agents in the field could be casualties and putting them at risk was not an option either. So, they had to wait.

Everyone knew what it meant when an agent hadn't checked in for a week.

There were two options; you were either dead or, by the grace of God, you were alive somewhere, somehow, and hadn't managed to make contact.

It was unlikely to be option two.

Although he didn't outwardly show it, Steve was the most affected by your assumed death. He'd planned a welcome home party for you before you left as a congratulations on your first mission, and had been fretting over what flowers to get you (or if he should get any at all). He'd been so proud you were flying solo - you'd been ready - even if he was a little anxious that he couldn't be beside you.

He'd held it together when Sam announced it to the team but barely. He was glad Sam had offered to speak instead of him - Steve wasn't sure he'd be able to make it through just speaking your name. Steve had made sure, as he usually did, to check in on everyone. He nodded along when Tony ranted about getting tracking software in everyone's suits to stop this from happening again and held Wanda when she cried about losing yet another person dear to her.

Hours and hours of endless grief and yet Steve stood tall being everyone else's rock. Being Captain.

Bucky had checked in on him once, and so had Sam, but Steve had only nodded with an "I'm okay. Don't worry about me." They clearly didn't believe him but knew better than to push it just yet. He was grateful for that.

It was when he was at home that night, in the dark of his apartment watching the lights of the city flicker from the window that he finally cried. He couldn't remember the last time he cried so hard but once he started he couldn't stop. Curled in a ball on the floor against the sofa, Steve sobbed until he somehow managed to drag himself to his bedroom in the early hours of the morning.

Steve had only managed to get a few hours sleep before he was up again. He was pouring himself a second coffee and rubbing his tired red eyes when his phone rang.

"Yeah?"

"Steve." It was Fury. "I'm sorry to hear about Y/N."

Steve hums in vague acknowledgement, stirring creamer into his coffee. "What is it?"

Fury sighs into the phone and there's an audible creak as he slumps back into his chair. "There's no easy way to put this but we have to collect Y/N's things from their apartment."

Steve sucks in a breath. Army training makes him bite back vicious comments about how no one knew if you were dead and, even if that were the case, it hadn't even been a month since you'd disappeared. Angry bile burned in his throat and he breathed slowly through his nose, trying not to give away that he was furious. Fury was his friend too - and he was just doing his job.

"We're keeping the lease in their name, don't worry." Fury adds, seemingly noticing Steve's icy demeanour through the phone. "But the belongings and possible traces back to covert operations and the Avengers need to be held in secure storage until... a future time."

There's a heavy beat of silence before Fury continues. "I just thought you may want to be there when the agents pack things up is all."

"I'll be there." Steve says without a second thought. "Just tell me what time."

Steve walked to your apartment that afternoon. He knew it wouldn't be smart to take the motorcycle; the ability to speed and cause more harm to himself than necessary because of his grief was tempting but ultimately pointless.

It was a sunny day. A light breeze softly tousling his hair as he wandered the streets to your apartment. He'd been there a few times - in a totally leader/co-worker/friend manner of course - but the memories that flitted through his brain had him pausing more than once to stop himself from running back home.

One of the first times he'd been to your apartment was your housewarming. You'd finally moved from Natasha's couch into your own place and invited everyone around for drinks and food. You'd thanked him for the flowers he'd brought you when he'd arrived a lot earlier than everyone else and gave him a quick tour of the small apartment, showing off your paintings and trinkets with an infectious glee that had you both giggling and teasing one another. Unlike his apartment, yours had warmth. He'd never felt so at home in a new place before but then again, with you, he always felt like that. Safe.

Another time, you had been drunk. He only remembered when he pushed through the door and saw that you still hadn't fixed the gouge in the doorframe where you'd shoved your key into trying to open your door. Steve chuckled wryly and closed the door behind him. You and the girls had gone out drinking and Steve had offered to be your chaperone home; insisting that as team leader, your safety was priority.

"I don't see you walking Nat home," You had slurred, walking into him multiple times until he took your arm. "Or Wanda."

"Wanda can control people with her powers and Natasha can break four bones in twelve seconds." Steve chuckled, looking down at you. "Come on, you need to get home."

You swayed outside your apartment door, keys poised in hand, eyes narrowing on the key hole. You jabbed viciously, missing the lock entirely, spearing the door frame.

"Whoopsie." You giggled, setting Steve off too.

Steve wandered past your kitchen counter, remembering how he had to unlock the door for you, help you out of your shoes and usher you to bed with a glass of water. You'd looked beautiful that night and he should have told you so.

Tears threatened to spill and Steve was thankful he made it early before any of the agents sent to pack your things. He glanced around your living room, wiping at his eyes. He didn't know where to start. Only that he had to.

A few hours later, Steve finally managed to set foot into your bedroom.

Everything smelled like you in there. It was overwhelming. Steve had to sit on the floor for a few moments to regain his composure. Clothes that you hadn't managed to pack were left strewn across your bed and floor, your jewellery at your dresser, nothing of note to be found. Except, from where Steve had sat in a hurry, he could see a brightly coloured box peeking from your closet.

His face flushed as he wondered what could be in there; something he shouldn't see? More trinkets? However, curiosity got the better of him and he inched closer, tugging the box towards him and ripping off the lid.

Envelopes.

It was full of envelopes.

The very top one had his name on it written in neat, block writing. Steve pulled his envelope from the top and set it aside and returned to the box. The next envelop read N a t a s h a. Steve flicked through the next few and sure enough, there were envelopes addressed to the whole team as well as some family members and other friends. Steve's blue eyes flickered to his envelope beside him. He touched it tentatively like it would burst into flames before him. There was something inside of it - a letter most likely - and it made Steve's stomach lurch.

You'd written him a letter?

Morbid curiosity had him opening the letter carefully and tugging out the contents. Steve smiled through tears seeing your handwriting and scrawled mistakes through the paper and unfolded it, reading it slowly and meticulously, trying to imagine you sat at your kitchen counter writing it.

Dear Steve,

Who starts a letter with "dear" anymore? "To" didn't seem right and "Hi" was just... bad. Anyway, if you're reading this I guess that means that I've taken a short walk off a long pier. Which sucks but I knew if I didn't write these letters, I'd probably come back as a ghost and be miserable for all eternity or something.

Steve snorts at the first paragraph, chuckling thickly through the stream of tears.

Firstly, I want to say thank you. For being a friend and my captain a great team leader. It was an honour and privilege fighting beside you. That being said, I know that you're going to be there for everyone but yourself - so I have taken it upon myself to request that the team help take care of you in my letters to them.

Now Steve fights back a choked sob, cursing quietly and wiping tears away furiously. How did you always manage to read him like a book? You knew when he lied in truth or dare, when he lied to Tony about stupid shit, when he lied about being fine. He loved and hated that you could do it. Loved and hated you could see Steve Rogers beneath Captain America.

Secondly, I have something I want to confess. Maybe I'm I was reading into things to much but I have had, what the kids call these days, a "crush" on you. My only two regrets about this are not telling you sooner and not asking you out for coffee - even if you'd complain it was over-priced and that "back in your day you only had one type of coffee."

And finally, I want to say thank you for everything and I wish you nothing but the best - it's no less than you deserve. Love, Y/N

All of the air in Steve's lungs has evaporated. His heart has halted and he stares at the piece of paper in his hand like it's some sort of cosmic horror mangled with a joke. You'd been "crushing" on him? Steve reads the final half of your letter another few times, his heart aching in his chest.

Getting coffee with you. He'd have liked that. He vaguely remembered Nat mentioning to him that he should ask you out for a coffee and his lip quivered. He wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry.

"You could always ask Y/N out for a coffee, Steve." Nat had smirked at him. "You know, if you want to get to know them a little more."

Steve had frowned at her, confused. "We have coffee here," He said, pointing at Tony's old percolator that he'd just refilled. "Why would I need to go out with them to get to know them?"

Nat shook her head and sighed at him. "Nevermind, Rogers."

Your bedroom was quiet as Steve sifted through all of his memories of you. How many opportunities had he missed? He hadn't realised you had felt the same way and he'd pushed his feelings aside because he was your leader. He didn't know how long he sat for, still clutching the letter in his lap, but when there was a commotion in the main area of your apartment he frowned and clambered to his feet.

Yelling echoed throughout the apartment but before Steve could open your bedroom door it was flung open. Steve inched back and stared wide-eyed, still holding the letter.

You stared back at him.

"Hi Steve," You say quietly. Your gaze searches his face, seeing the tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes of your Captain boring into you. He looked like he'd seen a ghost. Your eyes trail down and see he's holding a bit of paper, chest tightening when you realise what the paper is. However, before you can even open your mouth again, Steve's lips are on yours and his arms are hugging you so tightly you think you might burst.

His lips are salty from his tears but you don't mind, considering you haven't had a proper shower in days and he clearly didn't seem to care. Your own arms wrap around his waist, leaning into the soft, tender kiss without so much as a second thought.

The moment you break for breath, Steve's face is buried in your neck. You can feel the wet of his tears staining your shirt and it makes your own eyes well too. You squeeze him back tighter than before.

"'M sorry it took me so long to get back," You murmur into his shoulder. Steve barely moves a muscle and his voice is so quiet, you have to strain you're ears to hear him.

"You're back, that's all that matters."

Your heart hammers in your chest and you bravely rest your head onto his shoulder, slumping in his arms wearily.

"It was a nightmare getting back," You confess. "But I'm glad to be back. Especially if that's my welcome home present from now on."

That earns you a chuckle from Steve, who briefly moves back to look down at you, his eyes glistening with happy tears of relief and something a little more. "It can be. How about you tell me everything over coffee?"

Your eyebrow quirks and for the first time in week, you both smile at each other. "You're not talking about coffee from the percolator, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

You snort and shake your head in disbelief. "I'm AWOL for two weeks and everyone's panicking that I'm dead." You tease, giving him a playful sideways glance. "Oh, ye of little faith. Found the letter, huh?"

Steve's arms squeeze your sides again, the smell of his aftershave engulfing you in the familiar scent that made you feel warm and fuzzy whenever you were around him. "Was it that obvious?"

You pretend to ponder for a moment before answering yes. Your eyes gleam playfully up at Steve, looking the same as you did that night he walked you home from the bar, making him want to kiss you all over again. And he does. The flushed, shy look you give him after he pulls away again makes his heart soar.

"Come on," He urges, not wanting to waste a moment longer now that you were back.

Alive.

With him.

"I owe you a coffee date. Or ten."

[pluckyredhead]

Can you please say more about the Lanterns' politics?

I am so glad you asked me about this because I've been thinking about it since I reblogged that post but also I'm definitely about to get yelled at lol. ANYWAY THIS IS GOING TO BE LONG.

Tl;dr: John is the only one with a coherent political position or an up-to-date voter registration.

Hal:

So something interesting about Hal is that his stories are often very political but his character is not. With one extremely obvious exception, he rarely talks about politics; rather, he serves as a means through which to tell political stories, usually unintentionally.

What do I mean by that? Well, for example, in the Silver Age, his love interest would occasionally be possessed by a misandrist space jewel that would force her to attack him, but always lose because women are inherently inferior to men and prefer to be subjugated by them anyway. That's the original Star Sapphire concept. It's wildly misogynistic, but it doesn't mean Hal the character is misogynistic. But it's also a very political story, even if I don't think the writer was deliberately trying to make a point so much as...being an average, thoughtlessly sexist guy living in the 60s. (Carol continues to be the subject of mindbogglingly sexist writing and art well into the 2000s. Fucking comics.)

And so you have Hal Jordan, whose love life was ruined by his girlfriend getting promoted above him and who called his best friend by a racist nickname for decades; Hal Jordan, poster boy for chest-thumping post-9/11 kneejerk patriotism; Hal Jordan, lightning rod for a certain kind of regressive bigoted fanboyism. Choosing Hal as the Lantern for a particular story over John or Kyle has come to signify something very specific, but none of that is necessarily reflective of what Hal himself believes.

So what about Hal himself? Well, when we first meet him, he's the epitome of privilege: a white, straight, cis, Christian (I know he's canonically half-Jewish now but that's only as of the past decade or so), ablebodied, upper middle class (Geoff Johns retconned him to have a working class background, but in the Silver Age, he had one uncle who was a millionaire, another who was a judge, and a successful politician brother) man with a flashy job. Privilege tends to lean Republican; even if he is from California, I suspect Hal voted for Eisenhower in 1956.

In GL/GA, the word "Republican" isn't used to my recollection, but Hal is definitely presented as...I'm going to say conservative by I mean lower-case C. He doesn't have deeply held political beliefs, but he's traditional. He doesn't question the system, because he's never had to. He resists things that challenge the way he's always understood the world works, and that's very relatable - most people do! And he will absolutely argue with Ollie, who certainly isn't always right about everything. But he's also willing to listen, and have his mind changed, and certainly reachable via appeals to compassion and fairness.

Once the "relevance" trend of the late 60s-early 70s was over, Hal's stories default back to ostensibly politically neutral, although obviously nothing is actually politically neutral. In the late 80s and early 90s he's the most unpleasant version of himself, and that has political manifestations, like when he allows John to be imprisoned in apartheid South Africa for a ridiculous and unnecessary crime Hal himself committed. It's extremely fucked up, but again, it's less because of Hal's actual opinions and more because Christopher Priest wanted to write about apartheid, even if it does make Hal look incredibly, horrifically racist.

Then jump to the mid-2000s and Green Lantern: Rebirth, and you might imagine that losing his hometown, getting possessed by a giant space bug, becoming a supervillain, dying, and becoming the embodiment of God's vengeance might have some effect on Hal's politics, but that is not what Geoff Johns is here to write. Johns is writing a Hal who teleported in from, like, 1967 - no nuance allowed. He's a summer blockbuster that walks like a man. He's a Baja Blast. He's never had a coherent political thought in his life. In his defense, he has had more and goofier concussions than any superhero I can think of and his brain is smooth like an egg. Still.

Anyway, all of this is to say that I think Hal tends to default to center right positions but can be easily coaxed over to center left. That said, he has never not once in his life had his shit together enough to vote in a single election, not even for his own brother.

Guy:

So Guy's deal is a little bit complicated because his most vocally political era was also in part due to severe and personality-altering brain damage.

When Guy was originally introduced in the 1960s, he had the pleasantly bland personality of all superheroes. Many years later, he suffered a series of major injuries, torture, and a lengthy coma, and he emerged from the coma in 1985 with the aggressive, abrasive personality he's best known for today. Justice League International took that even further, using him to parody the jingoistic, red-blooded American action hero of the 80s.

This version of Guy is a vocal fan of Ronald Reagan and despises the USSR. He's pro-war, proudly xenophobic, and treats women badly enough that it crosses the line into repeated sexual harassment, both physical and verbal. (To be fair...ish, this last also applies to Wally West and arguably a number of other men, and was always played for laughs. It was gross all around.)

Again, this is partially a manifestation of his brain damage. There's also a running gag in JLI where if he gets hit on the head, his personality changes to this cloying, timid, gentle one, sort of halfway between a child and a flamboyant gay stereotype. Hit him again and he goes back to Asshole Guy. I'm not going to pretend I don't find some of the gags funny, but it's obviously all highly problematic, and not just from a medical standpoint.

That said, I don't think we can dismiss Guy's politics or his usual personality as simply a manifestation of brain damage. We see in later flashbacks that he developed the abrasiveness as a defense mechanism from growing up in an abusive home, and as he matures through the 90s, he doesn't actually become a significantly different person, even after his Vuldarian healing factor kicks in and heals his brain. (It's a thing.) I think it's more accurate to say that the brain damage probably affected his impulse control, his filter, and arguably even his paranoia levels.

All of which is to say that as much as I would love to go "Guy's better now, so he's not a Republican!"...that dog won't hunt. I think a really good canon writer could make the case that Guy is pro-union-style working class and also a former teacher so he's at least center left, but as of now canon evidence is pretty firmly on the red side. It doesn't help that the GLC has been written as fetishistically pro-cop and pro-military since Johns got his grubby hands all over it. I will happily ignore the New 52 retcon that Guy was a cop, and you could even try to argue that he dislikes cops because his brother was a corrupt cop who became a supervillain, but I think it's much more likely that he identifies with cops as a Corps member. Although I don't think he would have any patience for killer cops. ("You were afraid for your life even though you were the only one with a weapon? Then fucking quit, coward.")

All of that said, I think Guy is similar to Hal: defaults to center right, can be talked into center left on certain issues but he's more stubborn about it. (They would also both be enraged by Jan 6 and disgusted by the current Republican party - I can't quite argue that Guy Gardner is a Democrat but Green Lanterns don't have any patience for traitors or cowards.) It's also kind of a moot point because he never knows what is happening on Earth and hasn't voted since his pre-coma days.

John:

Oh John Stewart, thank god for you.

John was introduced as an explicitly political character in an explicitly political story. The first time we see him, he's stepping in to defend Black men from a white cop, citing his own knowledge of the law to do so. He shows a much more perceptive and informed perspective on the issue's main plot (a racist senator running for president) than Hal does. Even in the little moment above, we see that he's sensitive to exactly what it means for him, a Black man, to be taking on this role.

None of this is a surprise, since we'll later learn that John's parents were civil rights activists. Not only would he not have had the privilege Hal and Guy did to assume his existence was politically neutral, he was explicitly educated about political realities and progressive advocacy from childhood. He's well-informed, he's passionate, and he's going to tell you when you are being fucking stupid.

John isn't immune from the GL cop/military...thing, although I can't blame Johns for that - it was the cartoon that made him a Marine, and the comics followed suit. But that's never outweighed his origin or his upbringing. Like, he's friends with the DCU's fictional version of Nelson Mandela.

This one is straightforward: John is a staunch progressive. He is, however, in outer space 90% of the time, so he's always at least a little bit out of date. I imagine every time he comes back to Earth he spends the first 24 hours watching the news in abject horror.

Kyle:

Kyle doesn't talk about politics a lot, but when he does, he lands pretty much where you'd expect a young California-born artist living in New York City to land: to the left. My read on Kyle is that he hasn't really thought any of his politics through, which makes sense - he's a character who is led by emotion over reason every time. He doesn't have John's carefully thought-through arguments or knowledge of the law behind him. I feel like when something political upsets him, he's more likely to splutter angrily than make a coherent argument (which: same). When he's given the time to think things through and speak from the heart, though, he can be very eloquent, like in his speech to Terry after Terry accidentally comes out to him.

It's also worth pointing out that his solo appearances were mostly in the 90s, which were prone to avoiding politics or only addressing them in a halfhearted both sides-y way like the story above.

That said, I don't think he ever actually does anything about his political opinions. He never votes in midterm or primary elections, and probably only voted in a presidential one because Alex dragged him along one time. I feel like Donna tried to do the same when they were dating and that was when Kyle realized he'd forgotten to change his voter registration from California to New York. Jennie wasn't responsible enough to Mom him into doing his civic duty, and he's been in space pretty much nonstop ever since, so...

Simon:

In that other post, I said Simon's experiences should have radicalized him, but instead he was created by Geoff Johns. Simon is a Muslim, Lebanese-American man who came of age in the post-9/11 era, and was wrongfully convicted of terrorism and waterboarded at Guantanamo Bay. His reaction to this was...to put on a ski mask and wave a gun around. Like, it's been a while since I've read these issues, but aside from the "ripped from the headlines!!!" of it all, I feel like Simon's experiences largely don't inform his actions or perspective except that he's super angry (fair enough).

The thing about Simon (and Jessica) is that he hasn't been around very long, and most comics don't have characters directly expressing political opinions. It's not a coincidence that these characters are in chronological order and each write-up is shorter than the last. I can think of about three times where Kyle has ever said anything I can interpret as political, and he's been around for 30 years. Simon only has a third of that history. So while one could certainly extrapolate what Simon's opinions are likely to be, I can't think of any canon where he actually says them.

Jessica:

Jessica has even less to go on in terms of explicitly political comics. You'd think she wouldn't like guns because of what happened to her friends, but she has one of her own and doesn't seem bothered by Simon's. I'd imagine she has opinions on immigration as someone whose family is from Mexico and Honduras, but it never comes up. If I were writing for DC, I'd make both Simon and Jess leftists, but as for actual canon proof? I got nothing.

I will say that she probably avoids political discussions because anxiety, and I bet she got really good at voting by mail during her years not leaving the house. She probably votes by mail from space. Maybe John's not the only one with an up-to-date voter registration.

Kilowog:

[nothorses]

May I ask why you think Biden stepping down and Kamala being the candidate to be 'good news'? I'm still voting for whoever the Democratic candidate is ofc, but I worry this move threw away the average swingvoter who may have been swayed towards voting blue. I don't see how anyone who may have been okay voting for Biden by virtue of him being an old white dude is gonna be as nice towards a brown woman. I mean, people were too sexist for Hillary, the most milquetoast white woman imaginable. I'd really like to hear your perspective.

Biden has been polling like shit for months, and basically fucking everyone has been calling for him to step out of the race for a while now. It's been the opinion of political experts that he doesn't have much of a shot in this election for a variety of reasons. The vast majority of his own base is incredibly dissatisfied with his stance on Palestine (an understatement), and numbers have been reflecting that he was going to be running against some truly miserable odds because of that.

It is genuinely the best option for him to step out of the race. Literally just about anyone else has a much better shot at winning than Biden did. Kamala included! There was a press conference a while back where someone actually asked him if he'd step down if Kamala polled better, and he said he wouldn't. Which is extremely worrying, because it demonstrates that he may have been prioritizing his own personal ego over the importance of keeping Republicans out of office this election.

I don't like Biden, and I really didn't like his odds in this race. Nobody else did, either. The fact that Obama came out and said Biden needs to step down is indication enough that this happened because the situation is really that dire; you have to remember that Democrats are all about Doing Things By The Book, especially in the last 8-ish years when it's been useful for them to be Rule Followers in contrast to the tantrum-throwing chaos machines that Republicans have been. If there was even a sliver of hope for Biden to stay in the race after being chosen in the sad sham that the primaries were this election cycle, they would have kept pushing just to stay within the bounds of convention.

I was ready to push for Biden regardless, because keeping Republicans out of office is priority #1. But I've been saying for a while now that he needs to drop out (just... not on Tumblr, where the dominant conversation is "does voting for a flawed political pawn make you personally responsible for everything they ever do, or should we abstain and let the fascists hijack our government and kickstart several new genocides for the sake of personal moral purity" and I don't think that kind of nuance would be well-received).

I use my grandparents as a litmus test in a lot of this stuff, because they are very much the Typical Liberal Democrats, and their opinions on these things tend to fall in line with the majority of voting Democrats. They absolutely loved Biden in 2020, long before he was chosen as the candidate. They don't anymore. Seeing them lose any and all enthusiasm for voting for this corpse of a man was evidence enough to me that we needed someone else. Ideally someone people can get excited about, because I think folks have mostly lost the perspective we had in 2020 when Trump's nightmarish presidency was fresh in everyone's minds, and served as motivation enough to get to the fucking polls- regardless of who the Dem pick actually was.

From what I understand, Kamala is actually polling better than anyone else right now. I have my fears about voters' racism and misogyny too, but if she's doing well in the polls, I wonder if maybe there's some other factors counteracting that. She's also got name recognition, and the general impression of Being Qualified (because she's been VP already, like Biden was), and Being Likeable (because she comes with the general positive associations of the largely successful Biden presidency, without any baggage of perceived responsibility that Biden himself carries- like Biden did with Obama). She's been flying under the radar while still reaping the benefits of positive associations, and people know who she is. That feels like a good combination, but I don't know enough, and I haven't read enough into it to make any decently educated guesses.

That said, I don't really know as much about who the other potential candidates might be, either. I've heard Pete Buttigieg's name tossed around, but nobody liked his ass back in 2020 and idk if that's actually changed at all. I just know that every politically-knowledgeable/politically-active leftist whose opinion I've heard on the topic has been citing Biden dropping out as the literal only hope for a non-Republican to win this election, and I'm really fucking excited to see that come to fruition. I just hope the Dems pick someone who really does have a good shot.

As a sidenote, I also really hope this marks a shift in how they make decisions, too. It's become increasingly obvious how out-of-touch Democrats are with their voters, and Biden 2024 was just the latest and greatest indicator of exactly how bad that's gotten. The fact that the party has been able to make such an unconventional decision in response to what their voters actually want gives me a little bit of hope that we might be able to influence more change with them going forward than we have been.

[the-anime-enthusiast]

today is Iida's birthday !!!! maybe some drabbles/headcannons about what it would be like to celebrate with him :3?

TENYAS BDAY‼️‼️

headcannons and drabbles 😜

for everyone else who has requested stuff and I haven't replied, I'm so sorry 😭 I just moved 4 states away from home by myself and I've been busy ASFFF but I'm finally starting to get some free time again so pls be patient with me, I appreciate it 🙏

GIFT IDEAS 🎁

Okay so this first one is oddly specific, but every time I go on my own personal Tenya Iida bend, I alwaaayyyss think of this. My fav "perfect gift for him" idea is a pair of glasses (stick with my now), but not just any pair, a pair with his hero name

"Ingenium"

engraved in the side‼️ It may seem kinda dumb cause hes got like, idk a bagillion pairs of glasses, but these are perfect for special occasions and we all know he prefers the finer things in life so I think he's love this 😌😌 (possibly sheds tears bc he loves his brother like it's nobody's business and he feels the weight of this gift in his soul, ong)

My favorite gag gift ideas all come down to one thing, oranges. (ifykyk but de I will still explain) So, as a lot of Tenya fans know, his quirk uses oranges/orange juice as the fuel for his engines (no I'm not lying, it's random ik, his family has so many random traditions and small details thrown into the show, I love them sm 💞)

Like many people, I love gag gifts, and I would have a field day with this. I'm talking sunglasses shaped like oranges, bottles upon bottles of assorted orange juice, Sunny D merch, the whole nine yards. While this HC is made to be a gag gift, I think he would actually lose his shit over this, like best gift he's ever received type shit. He'd keep a specific shelf on his bookshelf for all things orange you get him (like a shrine or sm shi 💀) It def weirds ppl out when they don't know the story behind the shelf, but he loves it 😌👍

Another gag gift idea I love 😋 (okay so rq)

fun fact Abt me: I'm in mechanics and I js know bro would eat up auto mechanics related gag gifts Soo much 😭😭

Like cleaner for his mufflers, car oil (strictly for shits and giggles) js dumb shit like that 😭 Again, definitely has a stash/shrine for all this stuff, everytime you tell him he can get rid of it

"it was just a joke tenya, you know you don't have to keep it right?"

"well dear, it could come in handy one day! You never know ☺️"

Spending the Day Together 💞

Bros prim and proper, if your lucky, you wake up before him. It's no secret that appreciates the finer things in life (and the small things, atp he appreciates literally everything. Tenya is an angel sent from heaven and don't you forget it ✋) But if you decide to wake this man up to some bomb ass breakfast, I'm talking bacon, eggs, possibly pancakes, and ofc a big ass glass of orange juice he WILL tear up. I know deep in my soul he's an emotional (or at least dramatic) gift reciever.

I feel like his birthday would actually be a pretty average day, other than the morning and night. He ofc wants to have breakfast with you, whether it's cooking or the two of you going out, but he makes a NIIGHT out of his birthday. Y'all are doing it all don't even play ✋ Anything he could think of that you would also enjoy, is going on the list. (ofc there's a list, this is Teny Iida were talking Abt 🙄🙄)

There happens to be a festival near by? ✅

Oh your in a town known for it's street foods? Take a wild guess where your going. ✅

Open Business Shack street strip? You're walking that thing about 50 times. ✅

Art Museums. Movies. Live Music. Wining and Dining. Walks in a Park. Walks on the beach. Hero conventions. Literally any event near or on his birthday y'all are going to. You can try to plan all you want for him but he's got things mapped out before you ever thought possible. Something to be grateful for though, he doesn't mind it. He doesn't mind planning all of these things for HIS birthday because making you happy in the process is more than enough for him to get by (selfless baddie).

At the End of the Day 🌆

As much as I'd like to think, and we'd all like to think, that Tenya gets in a good amount of alone time with you at the end of his birthday, it just doesn't happen (ikik trust the process 😔)

After a long day of walking around the town, eating great food, spending way to much money on entrance fees to museums, gift shops, and that great food I mentioned, bros pooped (sry guys I'm js a girl and idk how else to word that with equal humor to that phrase 😔)

The second you walk through that door bags are crashing into the ground, shoes are being thrown across the room (not rly tho cuz u leave ur shoes by the front door 👍), clothes are being scattered across the living and bedroom. All bro wants to do is crash into his bed. He barely has time to out his night cap on 😔😔

It's slightly mundane but sweet because trust me ✋ After a day like the one he has planned y'all's bed sounds like heaven. I mean you can swear you hear the angels themselves singing to you once y'all slink into bed together, and honestly he wouldn't have it any other way. Spending an amazing day with his amazing partner, then getting into an even more amazing bed with said partner at the end of his lil adventure 💞

this is kinda on the short side, but it's late ash where I'm at and I'm tired asff BUT I FINALLY WROTE SMT AGAIN 😍😍 (praise God life was getting so boring) I hope y'all enjoy! I haven't been an iida girlie for awhile now but y'all are bringing it back 😜 (not to mention that one scene from the anime where it's class 1-A vs Deku and bros looking extra yummy) (slay) (pls don't come for me I'm 18 and have been watching this show since I was 12)(I'm also asexual so I'm not being weird I swear)(ik some of my reposts say otherwise but guys good writing is good writing what can I say 😭🙏)

Hope y'all have a wonderful night!

Lots of love 💞

BYYYEE ‼️‼️

[deuxcherise]

Collar Crimes: Cat Burglar

C/w: Unhealthy behavior, cat boy oc, yandere OC, yandere male, gender neutral reader, reader is a bit of a blank, fluff (?), mentions crime, mentions alcohol, includes cute cat pic for reference A/n: So I had read that weasels are just like cats, especially when it comes to bringing back a hunt, and… I haven't written about a cat boy yet… That's like the first animal people usually write about… So now I did! And this is kind of a sequel to Weasel In. Enjoy~

Masterlist | Part 0, Part 1, Part 2 (you're here!), Part 3 (1/2)

You’re starting to make peace with the fact that you will never live a normal, peaceful life ever again. Not with how Eris had somehow weaseled his way into your everyday.

It is just… easier, really, letting him do what he wants, so long as he doesn't take things too far. With your 9-to-5 customer service job taking its daily heavy toll on your social battery, having to pretend 40 hours every week of being this peppy, happy-go-lucky person you aren’t so you can pay your bills, it all really makes you want to just quit, become a lazy blob, and waste away. But you don’t. The economy in this damn city isn't so kind to the average person after all.

“I'm really serious, (Y/n)! You should let me install some cameras!” Eris insists.

“For the last time, no,” you answer. “Aren't you watching over my house now?”

A redness appears on Eris's cheeks and he begins poking the tips of his fingers together. “Y-yeah… about that…”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I… also got a job. So I can help you pay the bills! Actually, you can quit your job now and let me take care of you!”

The heck? What happened to being a stay-at-home maid he— not that you wanted him to! This is just completely the opposite of what he proposed to you about a few weeks ago!

“Uh… no. What's with the change of mind all of a sudden?” you ask. “What job?

Eris bites his lip and looks away. “Just thought it was better…”

-----🔔-----

[Yesterday…]

“Really? And what did your ‘lover’ say?”

Eris slaps his buddy on the shoulder. “Quit it with the air quotes. (Y/n) loves me and I love them. I didn’t get rejected! It's only a matter of time before they fully accept me. I just need to… get rid of all those flies.”

“You mean customers?”

Eris slams his fists against the wood of the bar, shaking the iced alcohol in the cups next to them.

“Don’t you get it!? They're taking advantage of (Y/n)! I can't let those flies ruin their life like this! Did you know (Y/n)’s losing weight nowadays? Not eating properly, not sleeping properly— I'm the worst! I need to speed things up or sooner or later… I'm going to…” Eris covers his face and starts sobbing into his hands.

His friend attempts to comfort Eris on the back, before an idea comes into his head. He says, “Hey, why don't you get a job? If (Y/n)—”

Eris immediately pauses and raises his head to glare at him with vicious eyes, promising a fate worse than death.

“Sorry, your lover,” his friend coughs. “If you get a job, then your lover can see just how reliable you are. Maybe that’s why they keep rejecting your offer to be a… maid. Maybe they’re more into that.”

The light in Eris's eyes appears brightly, his face softening as he processes this information. “That's— Oh, thank you, thank you, Ollie! I was right to come to you for help with my problems. You're the best!” he says, grabbing some dollar bills from his pocket and slamming his tip down for the bartender before leaving the club swiftly.

The bartender swipes and pockets the money before resuming wiping the glass. She looks at her boss and raises an eyebrow. “You aren't going to stop him?”

Ollie smirks and takes a sip of his glass, raising a finger. A second later, Eris comes back in and sits back down next to Ollie with determination in his eyes. “Ollie–”

“Yeah. You can start tomorrow.”

“Really??? You da man.”

“Yeah, yeah. Consider it a favor, as a trusted friend,” Ollie says, rolling the ice ball in his cup. “Now, what kind of job are you looking for?”

Eris thinks for a moment. “Need anything with security?”

Much to the bartender’s confusion, Ollie shrugs and says, “Alright. Bouncer it is. Dad was looking to retire anyway. 4 PM on the dot. Shift ends at 10, when Lyn shows up to take over, 10:30, if you take a break.”

“Great! Anything else?”

“That's it for now. Your lover must be coming home soon, right?”

“Right! Okay! Thank you so much, Ollie. Owe you one! Bye! See you tomorrow!”

Ollie raises his glass as Eris once again exits the club. The bartender gives her boss an incredulous look. “Sir, with all due respect, Mr. Eris is…”

Ollie chuckles. “Ah. Well, you've only just met him. Back in the day, when it was just the two of us against the world, I was the brains and he was the brawn. Completely unstoppable…” he sighs, placing his cup down with a little more force than expected. “What kind of person do you think (Y/n) is to turn someone like him into such a pathetic simp?”

“... Who knows?” the bartender answers.

“... Tch.”

-----🔔-----

[Night time…]

For the first time in a very long while, you went to bed by yourself.

…..

You had wished him good luck on his new job, which he took as immense praise. You were honestly pretty happy for him. Now he'll be too busy to commit any crimes around your apartment. Maybe he might even be too busy to bother you!

….. 

It wasn't like… you missed Eris. In fact, this is better for the both of you! You aren't even lovers or anything like that!

…..

Maybe… you may have… accidentally… gotten used to the way Eris's head curled up under your chin, and… the ways his arms wrapped around your torso, and… the way his legs tangled with yours, and… how he'd sometimes murmur stupid things like, “I love you” or “Marry me” in his sleep.

…..

Whatever! You roll and face to the other side of your bed. It strangely feels a lot bigger than you remember. You squeeze your eyes tightly, trying to will yourself to sleep.

Creeeaaaak.

You quickly sit up straight, expecting to see Eris. Instead you face some stranger, glaring down at you with strangely illuminated eyes.

Next thing you know, the stranger has you back down on your bed with an iron grip wrapped around your throat. Tight enough to be uncomfortable but not enough to cut off your air supply.

“Huh… I don't understand what he sees in you,” the intruder comments

“W-who?” you croak, clawing at their arm.

The intruder narrows his cat-like eyes at you, pupils moving erratically as they scrutinize you. “I could easily kill you right now…” he spits, before letting go of your neck, “but I won't. Only because Eris is my friend.”

The moment he lets go, you grab your neck and massage the forming bruise, inhaling all of the air you can get as you absorb the situation.

Eris?? Oh great! He's not here to snugg— be your hugging pillow as per usual, and now a friend of his came all the here who knows where to threaten you? For being associated with him? Great. You're glad at least this one isn't strangely fascinated by you like Eris is. It's a nice change of pace from the usual.

Ollie is somehow strangely fascinated by you. He expected a bigger reaction. You're more quiet and lackluster than Eris had described you to be, like right now probably lost in your thoughts. Are you really Eris’s type? Eris, the type of person who just chases and strikes whenever and whoever he pleases? You don't look afraid of him at all, and it pisses him off. What's with that blank face of yours, huh??

The intruder looks pissed off for some reason, with how narrow his eyes are and the way he hisses under his breath. You try to think of words to say to the intruder, only for your stomach to make its announcement with a grumble.

“You want something to eat?” you ask, nonchalantly.

“.....”

You don't wait for him to answer as you flip off the blanket and head out of the bedroom.

“O-oi! Wait a second! How dare you walk away from me!” he calls out.

You pay him no mind and open up the fridge, revealing a few plastic-covered dishes made by Eris for you to eat over a span of several days. You ignore the pang in your chest as you grab one of them out that had rice in it to reheat a portion of it in a bowl in the microwave.

Ollie stands a distance from you, brows furrowed at how ridiculous this situation is. A stranger just broke into your home, without a key, and you're here just offering to feed him? What the heck…

As you wait for the microwave to finish, you suddenly feel nostalgic about how you met Eris.

It was during the winter, when he broke into your apartment the first time. You had been very afraid when you discovered him at that time, shrieking at him and threatening to call the police, before your rumbling tummy decided to add some unneeded humor to the situation. Too tired and famished, you had no choice but to let Eris feed you that cake he had been making while you were asleep.

Ding!

You sigh, taking out the bowl of Eris's home cooking and settling down on the couch with a pair of chopsticks before munching on it.

Ollie continues to stand there. The audacity. Didn't you offer him a bite earlier? Wasn’t that bowl meant for him? Why are you eating it by yourself!? Ollie heads over to the couch and hisses at you before he snatches the bowl from your hands.

“Excuse me??” you snap.

“Hmph!” He takes the chopsticks and starts shoveling down the rice and toppings, much to your horror. Once he's licked it completely clean, he throws it onto the ground without much concern.

…..

WHAT THE HECK!? You stand up. “HEY! What the heck are you doing? Don't just throw stuff on the ground! Who raised you??”

Ollie flinches, having not expected your voice to reach as loud as it did.

You immediately walk past him, crouch down and pick up the luckily unbroken bowl and pair of chopsticks. “No manners, tch,” you mutter under your breath as you head to the sink.

His eyes follow you, his mouth agape. Your face is visibly angry, different from your blank face and nonchalant attitude earlier…

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

Ollie places a hand over his chest at this strange sensation. As you're washing the bowl and chopsticks to reuse and get some more of Eris's cooking, he plans to say something, maybe an apology, only to spot a photo on the coffee table in front of the couch. It's a picture of a child version of you and two adults, presumably your parents.

In your minimalistic living room with only a plain couch and coffee table with a lack of personal touch, this oddly looks out of place.

…..

This photo looks like something important.

Ollie smirks.

Once you’ve washed your feelings of frustration away, you turn towards the intruder to give him a lesson, but you find him gone. There is an open window with waving curtains letting in the cool night breeze.

Oh, the guy has finally left. You quickly close the window, taking relief that the weird guy has finally left. As you make yourself comfortable on the couch again with a new reheated bowl of rice, you look towards your coffee table–

Oh heck no.

[6urin]

HIGH SCHOOL CRUSH! (≧◡≦)

Or in other words, reuniting with your first high school crush, Scaramouche, and ending up in his bed.

contains: f!afab!reader x scara, pussyjob, blowjob, fingering, praise, drunk sex, creampie

(* ^ ω ^) : minor writing smut !!

Scaramouche is commonly known as a nobody in college. People rarely acknowledge his presence because of his, "quick to be pissed off" personality. This has caused many to stay out of his way, except for Childe. He's your average jock, always throwing the hugest parties and pulling the finest women on campus.

These two are quite the polar opposites and because of it, the kind-hearted ginger is always trying to introduce Scaramouche to new opportunities.

"You know, you're super hot, Scara. I'm sure if you tried, all of the girls would be head over heels for you." Childe's words are slightly incoherent at some parts as he brushes his teeth, shamelessly standing in Scaramouche's room, dripping wet with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips.

Scaramouche doesn't look up from his phone from where he's sitting on his bed and mumbles, "I'm not a people pleaser like you, Childe." Childe frowns and states, "We could be the campus' power duo if you flaunted your ego more." He sighs before walking back to the washroom to spit in the sink and rinse out his mouth.

At that, Scaramouche fixes his back's posture from the slouching position. "What the hell is he on about," he thinks to himself, furrowing his brows together. It's true, that he has a big ego. But isn't that the reason why no one approaches him?

"It's because you're showing it off it in the wrong way," Childe says, as if reading his roommate's mind. This time, he enters the room with a white t-shirt and whale designed pajama shorts, ruffling a towel in his wet, orange hair while remaining eye contact.

Scaramouche scoffs and leans back into his bed, "And you're suddenly capable of giving me advice, why?" Childe waves it off with an eyeroll, "I'm just saying. You know, your ego is in the wrong place. It shouldn't be in your status, but rather your looks. Like I said, you're flaming hot!"

The cerulean haired male grimaces, "Your word choice is a little problematic, Childe." He removes one earphone from his ear in order to have a proper conversation.

Childe grins, "You need to take more pride in your appearance. You have a tongue piercing and multiple ear piercings; Do you know how many girls would die for a man like that?" He sits on the bed with Scaramouche, bouncing the mattress. "I'm hosting another party here tonight," Childe says, nudging at Scaramouche's arm.

"Aaand, instead of being locked up in your room, I'll try and hook you up with some girls." At his sudden offer, Scaramouche groans. "No. I'm not going to go through all of this just to boost my ego. I already have enough of my confidence as it is-"

Childe disrupts his sentence with a wail, "I'll even help you choose clothes! Just please, please, please?" He clasps his hands together and juts out his bottom lip. Scaramouche narrows his eyes in frustration. He scowls, "Fine! But if it gets boring, I'm going back to my room."

That's what led Scaramouche here, awkwardly standing while occupying himself with sipping on a red plastic cup filled to the brim with beer. Don't take this wrong, Childe did try, but he didn't try hard enough, since the second a pretty girl caught his eye, he immediately left Scaramouche to fend for himself in the middle of this ear-deafening party.

He swore, he could go blind from how bright and colorful the flashing lights were. Scaramouche just itched to go to his room, but he wanted to wait a little bit longer on Childe to return. His friend's return never happened. And so, losing a purpose to stay here any longer, he turns on his heel, bound to go back to his room.

However, someone by the entrance of the bedroom manages to get his attention. If it wasn't the one and only (Name). You're known as the campus princess with your charm and that damn fine appearance. God, who knows how many guys have managed to get in bed with you?

Scaramouche would be a little embarrassed to admit that yes, he has a crush on you. The only difference is, he's known you since high school, so it's not as weird as the other guys have it. The two of you were partnered up for the three legged race and even though you guys lost, you admitted that you had fun with him.

After that, you and him became fairly close, but just sort of drifted away when transitioning into college.

Ah, maybe this is his chance! He can finally make Childe proud with this...

"Hey, (Name). I didn't expect to see you here." Scaramouche rubs his neck, seemingly a little bit flustered. Where's that ego of his now? You look at him in surprise and smile, "Hi, Scara. We haven't been able to talk much, huh?" You glance down at your own cup of beer, moving it in a circular motion to watch the liquid swish.

Scaramouche fumbles with his words, "Right, um, how are you finding college?" He gives you a profound gaze. He realizes that you find it hard to keep eye contact, for some reason. "It's okay! Surely a lot more different from high school," you say, laughing.

Scaramouche doesn't mean to look, but it's hard to focus on your words when that shirt hugs your curves so perfectly and that skirt exposes so much of your thighs.

"Have you... gotten a girlfriend?"

Your inquiry catches him off guard. Scaramouche pauses before chuckling, "Ah, no. I've been more occupied with my studies rather than my love life," He deadpans at the sight of Childe making out with a random girl on the couch. "Unlike some people." The last part of his sentence makes you giggle, "I can see Childe's still the same."

Scaramouche hesitates before asking, "What about you? You got a boyfriend? With how much the campus talks about you-" You shake your head, "Mm-mm. No boyfriend." You tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ear and sheepishly say, "I don't like any of them, 'cept for one."

Scaramouche's interest is suddenly piqued. "Is that so? Who is he?" He knows it's a little brazen of him to ask like that, but the curiosity was gnawing away at him.

You take a sip from your cup and shrug, "Someone. I don't know if he likes me, so he's better off as a secret just in case I end up changing my mind." Scaramouche clicks his tongue inside his mouth. You're so obvious to him, it's adorable, really.

This is the most appropriate time to put that ego of his to use. He knows it's a big step and a rather huge assumption but at this point, he's confident about it.

"It's me, isn't it?" He does nothing but chuckle at your reddening complexion. Scaramouche tilts your chin upwards and smiles. "Drink the rest of that and you'll be fine with me." He nods his head towards the cup in your hold and your hands go clammy.

You do as he says and he does the same with his own drink. Scaramouche tosses the cups aside and pulls you into his bedroom.

You feel all of your senses overwhelm you the second he closes the door and has you against the wall, one of his arms securing your waist and his other hand holding your neck. He kisses you, slowly and passionately. You feel his teeth bite down into your bottom lip, emitting a soft gasp from you.

The more you two get into the kiss, the more you feel comfortable with finally putting your arms around his neck, grinding yourself against his body.

His room smells entirely of him and his scent is absolutely intoxicating. You still remember touching yourself back in your bedroom during your high school phase, thinking of Scaramouche's lithe fingers stretching you out instead of your own.

"Mmh, hah-" Your tongue barely manages to keep up with his, Scaramouche dominating the situation with how amazing his ability to kiss was. His tongue piercing constantly pokes at your tongue and you shiver at the feeling.

"You're so..." Scaramouche's breathy voice trails off as he flips up your skirt, pressing two fingertips against your clothed clit. You whimper from the action and the fabric dampens even more than before. Scaramouche slyly looks at you and removes his fingers. You dryly gulp in anticipation as he places you on his bed.

"So pretty," he breathes out, lips hovering over yours. You're thirsting for another kiss, but he simply hushes you and puts his fingers inside of your mouth. You diligently suck on them, eyes half-lidded and pupils heart shaped. Scaramouche mutters, "Just imagine if all of the guys you rejected could see you whoring yourself out for a simple no one..."

With his digits now covered in the slick of your mouth, he pulls your panties aside and thrusts three inside. During that whole moment, he never looked away from you. You loudly moan, the music and the chatter from outside surely drowning out your lewd noises. Scaramouche licks his lips and goes faster, your cunt clamping down on his fingers.

He lowly laughs, "Good girl, aren't you? Yeah, I'm sure you are." Your view goes hazy as you pant, "S-Scara...!" He curls his fingers, causing you to reach your high more earlier than expected of both you and him. Your white substances cover his hand and he sucks and licks at it, making sure to finish every single drop.

The next thing you know, you're getting pounded from the back with his cock driving into your dripping wet pussy. Your head rests on the pillow, drool wettening the case as you let out mewls and whines. "You're s-so big, Scara! Mngh, mmh!" Your manicured nails dig into the sheets, pussy tightening as Scaramouche moans.

"Yeah, baby doll? Gotta fuck you 'til the break of day." He rubs your clit at a fast pace, drawing you nearer to your high. "Ahn! Scara, mm, I'm gonna' cum!" You whimper out, "Fuck! Mmh!" With one more harsh thrust, the blunt head of his cock plunging straight onto your cervix, you splatter cum all over his pelvis.

Scaramouche's mouth falls agape at the sight of you squirting and he instantly shoots thick, white ropes of seed into your womb. He gives a few shallow thrusts before starting up his previous pace once more. Sounds of soft slapping fills the room along with your heavenly moans and squeals.

At some point, he orders you to turn on your back. You obey and his cock stiffens at your appearance. Your gorgeous lipstick now smudged, clothes all crumpled, tears peeking at your eyes and your cunt...

He watches his sperm leak and pump out of your glistening folds, tucking his bottom lip beneath his teeth at the sinful sight. You rub your thighs together and murmur, "Scara, this is so embarrassing..." Scaramouche gets on top of you and places an open mouthed kiss on your lips, which you reciprocate.

"Embarrassing? No, baby, you're so pretty," he sighs, readying his tip at your leaking hole once more. Sinking inside you, he starts plummeting more vigorously than before, as he gets more turned on when seeing your expressions. You attempt to cover your mouth with the back of your hand to lessen your humiliation, but he manages to put it aside and lean down to kiss your neck.

You re-adjust your legs around his waist, whining as he bites at the sensitive skin of your collarbone, placing numerous hickeys and love bites. It adds to the vulgar pleasure and you realize, you would've never imagined getting fucked raw by your high school crush.

The slippery walls of your cunt start to spasm and you arch your back, crying out, "Scara! Oh, m-hah!" Scaramouche moans and murmurs profanities when your cunt clenches so tight, making him meet his own climax. He pulls out his cock, watching his cum overflow from your pussy.

Scaramouche cups the side of your face and slots his lips into yours. Your cheeks go into a tinted pink when you carefully let your fingers run through his hair. Strands of cerulean frame his pretty face and you feel as though you just got creampied by the most attractive and kindest guy on campus.

And he ends up staying true to his promise, fucking you until daybreak.

You buck your hips forward as he sloppily eats out your cunt. His nose continues to bump onto your clit and you furrow your eyebrows, moaning. His tongue is simply a work of art, the pink muscle entirely inside of you, making you feel the most amazing pleasures ever.

You say multiple praises to him mixed with your own whimpers of his name, your hands messing up his hair with how much you've been holding onto it. It's around twelve in the morning, but the party hasn't settled down at all. You're surprised no one has left yet at this time, though it's expected since exam season ended.

His head is beneath your skirt, though he could care less. All he knows is that he's eating out his first love and each sound that left your throat is simply music to his ears. Scaramouche sucks and licks through your folds, desperately moaning for more than just one taste.

He didn't want this night to end.

The following morning, Childe is completely disoriented and hungover. The only thing that brought him back to his senses was the scene of a girl sucking on his roommate's cock.

"A-Ah... that's it, (Name)..."

The ginger swore he was hearing things. Childe blinks a few times and rubs his eyes before slapping himself in the face. He sits up from the couch and yawns. "Shit, my head. Scaramouche!" He shouts out once more, "Scara, can you make me some of your hangover soup!?"

Noticing the door to Scaramouche's room is slightly open, he pushes it without hesitating. It's just another average Sunday, right?

Childe's eyes widen as he tries taking everything in altogether. There, kneeling on the floor in between his roommate's legs as Scaramouche is sitting on his bed with a hand gripping your hair, is none other than you, of course.

You whine around his dick and lower your head to welcome more of his length into your throat, the vibrations emitting a groan from Scaramouche. Scaramouche's lips are agape as he mutters, "Good girl, good girl... fuck..."

Childe carefully backs away and closes the door after himself. Apparently, Scaramouche wasn't the only one who had a good time at the party.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Nightlife 14

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, touching, coercion, manipulation. Proceed with caution.

Note: I know what you’re thinking, why the fuck are you doing this? Well, you wanted bouncer Lee and I did too. Also, short!reader, not sorry.

Part of The Club AU

You sit on the couch, your back to the armrest, your legs bent over Lee's lap. The TV glares over you as you chew your thumb, paying little attention to the classic 70s thriller. You can't escape the pit of self-pity that threatens to swallow you up.

You feel his hand on your thigh, kneading through your thin shorts, but you don't react. He's touchy feely like that but you've learned to just tune it out. You pick at your thumbnail as you drift into your doubts.

"Y'alright?" He asks as he gently taps your leg.

"Yeah, good," you wisp out, startled by his sudden intonation, "just thinking…"

"Ah, don't do much of that. Should be tryna enjoy our time together," he squeezes your thigh, "ain’t this nice, darling'?"

"Yea–" before you can answer, your phone buzzes loudly and rattles against the wooden coffee table.

You swing your legs off of Lee and he huffs. You grab your phone as the bold word 'Dad' beams at you from the screen. You fumble to get a grip and hit answer as you stand and quickly skirt away from the couch.

"Hi, dad," you keep your voice low as you put your finger in your other ear.

"I got your message, what is going on?" He asks bluntly.

You gulp as you enter the small kitchen, trying to escape the noise of the television. You turn and press your back to counter, mustering what little backbone you have.

"Um, dad, it's about school–"

"Don't tell me I have to spend even more on this," he snips.

"No, dad, I… please, I'm sorry…" your chest fills up, feeling as if it might burst, "I have to tell you something."

"Then tell me. I have a business dinner in ten minutes."

You inhale and close your eyes. Your ears are ringing. He's going to lose his mind. You remember how he tore up the participation ribbon you got in cross country running. Yeah, he doesn't like losers.

"I'm failing. I'm going to lose my scholarship–"

"What?!" He yells, "don't fucking do this to me."

"Please, dad, let me– I schedule an appointment with an academic counselor and I might–"

"No, no, we had a deal," his anger burns through the speaker, "you've gone and wasted my money. You stupid little girl. How hard is it to maintain a B average? That's all I asked and you once more disappoint me–"

You're choking on tears as you listen to his wrath. You shake and cross your arm over your stomach. It's what you expected but worse.

"You are getting a job and you are paying rent. Fucking dropout. My daughter, a failure. A goddamn disappointment–"

You move the phone away from your face as his voice rises louder and louder. You can hear him clearly still as you tremble and stare at the pulsing icon at the center of the screen.

"Loser–"

The phone is suddenly swiped from your hand as Lee fills the doorway and you squeak. You try to take it back as he clears his throat and puts it to his ear. No! No! You clutch your hands together in horror.

"Now, you don't talk to her like that. That's your daughter, she ain't need all that. She's asking for your help– I'll tell ya who I am. Someone who cares a lot more for her than you," Lee balls his fist as he grits his teeth, "don't you be calling her all those nasty names. Ahe ain't that, she's a good lady– ah you talk a lot for a man who isn't standing in front me."

"Lee!" You squeal, "please–"

"You don't want her to come home then she won't. She's got me and I'll take care of her. Yeah, yeah, go have a fucking heart attack, you old coot."

He pulls the phone away and jabs his thumb down on the screen. He drops it on the counter and shakes his head.

"He's got no business talkin' to ya that way," he growls.

"Lee, that's my dad–"

"And ya didn't even hear half of what he said to me. You want to call someone like him your family when he ain't got no love for you," he scoffs.

You cover your face and heave. Oh god! You turn and lean on the counter, bending over as you hide behind your hands and sob. Everything is crashing down around you.

"Baby, don't cry. I was just standing up for ya, like you deserve," he puts his hand on your back, "ain't fair of ya to try to make me feel bad for that."

"You don't understand," you garble as you stand straight and drag your hands down your face, "he's all I have. My only family–"

"And you're scared as hell of him. That's not family, is it? He's pushing you to be something you ain't. You know I love you however you are."

"Love," you croak, "I… Lee, I…" you turn back to the counter and grip the edge.

You suffocate on shallow breaths as your head pulses. You can't see straight, you can barely think. It's not supposed to be like this. You weren't supposed to make your father proud. You were supposed to make something of yourself.

"Honey pie," he eases you away from the counter, keeping an arm around your back as you lean heavily, "come on, you needa breathe. Let's get you laying down, huh?"

He guides you out of the kitchen and through the front room. He takes you into the bedroom and puts you in the bed. Your eyes threaten to roll back as you suck in air.

He puts you against the pillows and wraps a blanket around you. He leaves and returns with a mewling Hickory, placing the cat on your stomach.

"Now, now, look, the little thing's so worried for ya. Give him a pet," he coos, "y'alright, honey, just calm down."

He loosens the blanket and lifts your arm above it, placing your hand on Hickory's soft fur.

"Feel that, he loves ya too," Lee coaxes, "he needs ya."

You stroke the kitten gently and slowly catch your breath. You let your eyes close and murmur. You don't know what's going on, it's as if you feel everything draining from you. A fracture forms down your middle and you know there's no way to put yourself back together.

"We're your family, blossom," Lee says, "me and Hick."

[pillarsalt]

as someone who is genuinely truly gender critical (critical of conservative gender and transgenderism) i have never felt so alone in my life. conservatives hate me. liberals hate me. incels hate me. radfems hate me. men hate me. women hate me.

the supreme court of the united fucking kingdom is using talking points and lingo made up in 2010 by teenage girls bending over backwards to defend perverted men. the other side of the argument is brought by conservatives who at best wouldn't mind if we regressed women's rights back to the 1800s and at worst are actively trying to do so.

meanwhile, on a general society level, we have the aforementioned perverted men and their teenage supporters who, regardless of what year they were born, have not progressed past that 2010 mindset. they genuinely believe women is a feeling/aesthetic/opt-in-free-attention-machine. and in the other corner, the only corner with the potential to actually empower and defend women, we have a wave of radfems who can't even pretend to be tolerant of straight, bi, gnc, and/or autistic women for 2 seconds (sad and ironic because i highly suspect most of them are one of if not multiple of these things) who lay the blame of the actions and beliefs of perverted men on said women. because us not killing every man on sight means we're the reason they get away with everything.

i have never felt so alone. i don't think we're ever getting out of this. how do you cope with this?

Anon, I want to tell you, I have felt this way many times and I'm sure I will again. I totally understand the impending doom feeling. It's hard to escape. But I want you to know, you are absolutely not alone, not at all.

I also want you to know that unfortunately, bad news frequently overshadows good news, especially online. The shocking and horrific generate more media interest than the hard fought battles being won by people and groups who are interested in positive change. But positive change is happening, even when its hard to see right away. To quote Martin Luther King Jr.: "First, the line of progress is never straight. For a period a movement may follow a straight line and then it encounters obstacles and the path bends. It is like curving around a mountain when you are approaching a city. Often it feels as though you were moving backwards, and you lose sight of your goal: but in fact you are moving ahead, and soon you will see the city again, closer by."

WRT the tumblr-esque rhetoric influencing national policy: I truly believe we are advancing past what has been a weird ass period where this religious "no debate" thing dominates liberal politics. Liberals across the world, I believe, are realizing it's a losing game, and that we can't let people who deny basic reality dictate policy for everyone else. I really truly get where you're coming from, but as someone who's been paying attention to this since 2015/16ish, it seems to have peaked around 2020ish, and on a steady decline since then.

They're their own worst enemies: at first your average left of centre person thought of trans issues basically as very gender nonconforming gay people who experience extreme distress about their sex (and that's not to say these people don't still exist,) but now with the mercurial rise of trans activism as we know it, more and more average voters are exposed to realities of gender ideology like male rapists in women's prisons, males in women's sports, the medical exploitation of gender nonconforming kids, and so on. Even just anecdotally I have seen TONS more people speaking openly about their dissent, when they would have kept their mouths shut before. Now a widespread conservative backlash is absolutely not what we want, and it's why the liberal governments of the world need to step up and get their shit together right the fuck now. Conservatism is dangerous and we need to fight as hard as we can to stop it in its tracks. But with added and continued pressure from everyone who's working to do so, this WILL happen. We can make it happen.

In respects to what's troubling you about the radical feminism community, I understand where you're coming from there too. But again, it's a problem with the most vitriolic people having the loudest voices despite being in the minority. Radfems do not hate you. There are a rash of individuals who through rad/feminism (especially online) have found a great way to browbeat other women and feel morally superior. Any special interest group is going to have people who try to use it to their advantage for ego stroking and social status purposes. Please try to remember they are just people, like you. They can be, and often are, just plain wrong. You have no obligation to take anybody's word as gospel, even if they get mad at you for it.

I don't take anyone seriously who'd rather infight constantly than find common ground with her fellow woman, even if there's disagreement. Women's liberation is the number one priority when it comes to feminism, and as a woman, you have every right to be here. Don't take any bullshit personally, be confident but curious in your beliefs. And please don't give up, not on the world and not on feminism. You are a worthwhile person, things will look brighter sooner than later. I know this from experience. I hope you hang in there, you can message me any time or send another ask anonymously if you want. It's hard work to push through the doom, but you can do it. Be well! 💜💜💜

[bringthekaos]

Ok so maybe kind of an unpopular opinion here: I've seen many fics, and it's a common hc, that the Piltovian elites dislike Viktor because he is a ~ zaunite ~ but I'm like... no, piltovian elites would LOVE Viktor precisely because he is the perfect fairy tail for meritocracy advocates, a pacifier for the ruling class consciousness. "See? This young man was SO POOR and he FOUGHT his way to the top! He must be so inspiring for the undercity youth!" (Nevermind that the system they imposed is the reason he had to fight in the first place, that he had to cheat to get there, otherwise it would have been impossible). He represents the idealized version of the "hard working, honest, intelligent man who is different from his peers and therefore triumphs over them", it's the proof that the system works (ignoring of course that he is the exception that proves the rule). In a way like Golden Boy Talis, he is also an accessory to flaunter during investor's galas and maybe another way for him and Jayce to find a connection

Oh I think you’re absolutely right, he is a poster boy that the bureaucrats can hold up and say, “see? There is no war in ba sing se no barrier keeping Zaunites from achieving greatness in Piltover, he did it!”

It’s the same old talking point the far right in America uses. “There are no barriers, you’re all just lazy!” But they like the idea of him more than they like him. Because he’s just a thing they can laud to show off how benevolent they are, “we’re not xenophobic, see??”

Never mind that he has to bend over backward to meet standards that are set higher for him than any average Piltovian. Never mind that he has to traverse a city that is focused on form over function, a city that is inaccessible in almost every way. So as long as he maintains their status quo as the perfect “success story” they can swing in their favor, then they “like” him.

But the second he makes a misstep, the second he breaks that status quo, they will turn on him. We’ve seen how they don’t even show mercy to one of their own (Jayce) when he fucks up, I can only imagine the mindset when it’s a Zaunite, the backpedaling and lies—“I knew we shouldn’t have let him in, didn’t I say it? I was suspicious from the beginning, but I kept my mouth shut because I am a philanthropist!!”

The only one who truly saw him for who he is… was Jayce. From the very beginning, Viktor wasn’t some charity case, a trophy of the good work of the Piltover Council. He was Jayce’s partner, his equal in every way. Jayce saw only Viktor’s genius, his brazen determination to do good, even in the face of real consequences.

Which is why the Divorce is gunna hurt Viktor so bad. The entire city of Piltover turning on him… not shocking in the slightest, and honestly he knew it was just a matter of time. None of them actually liked him, they just used him. But not Jayce. Jayce was the one person he thought he’d never lose, the one person he trusted to actually protect and stand by him. And I don’t know how the falling out will go down in Arcane, but one thing is for certain, Jayce will not understand.

[noyzinerd]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @eevylynn! Thanks so much for the tag! I can't stress how not-often I get to participate in these things, so it's very appreciated 😭. From my fic If. A story about if Derek was Scott's sidekick, best friend and Stiles was the mysterious supernatural that came to town. I decided to finally post from something other than Pseudology for once😅. Enjoy

The sudden disappearance of the bite set off so many alarms in Derek's head, it was unreal. For a second, he honestly thought that maybe Scott had made up the animal attack all together. But then, that wouldn't explain why he didn't need his inhaler anymore.

This was just too weird.

He was about to holster his gun to get ready for his shift when the feeling of being watched struck him urgently like hands suddenly slamming down on piano keys. Before he could fully turn with his gun raised, nimble fingers easily flourished over the piece, rendering it useless on the floor in no less than a second, and pinning his wrist with enough power to force him back against the wall behind him. Another hand quickly clamped over his mouth.

"You say one word, and I'm gonna break your jaw, comprende?"

Derek struggled against the boy with his free hand but found to his surprise that even with having 100 pounds over the kid, there was no moving him. Stiles didn't even pretend like the shoving was doing anything other than annoying him. It was as if Derek's body was being held in place by a thin piece of rebar. There was an immovable strength in the other that just didn't match the body that held it.

"Now, I'm going to let you go. If I hear you yelling for anyone, I'm gonna start snapping bones." There was a precautionary squeeze to his wrist that bordered on the edge of painful.

Despite the rather redundant threat to his person (he had already threatened to break his jaw, everything else was just excessive), Derek gave a slow nod.

Cautiously, the hand over his mouth receded along with the hand on his wrist. Stiles was respectful enough to take a half step back to grant Derek room to move.

With a rub at his wrist, he stared back at the anomaly in his room.

"Just what are you?"

A smirk played on Stiles' lips. "If I were you, I'd be more concerned about whatever your friend was."

Derek paused at that. Did Stiles know what was going on with Scott? How could he possibly know? Even Scott didn't know what was going on with himself.

"What do you mean? Do you know what's happening with Scott?"

The smirk curled into a devilish grin. "Oh, buddy, you have no idea."

From one moment to the next where there once stood a skinny, average looking teenager, suddenly sprouted a flaming—he had no other word for it—aura that engulfed Stiles' entire body and stretched out to lick all the way from the edge of his bed to his desk. It startled a shout from Derek, causing him to scramble backwards and thudding against the wall he had forgotten was already at his back. The boy's now clawed hand flew out against his mouth again. "Man, the concept of being quiet really doesn't register to you, does it?"

Derek was starting to panic. He was seriously staring wide-eyed at a fiery thing that was talking to him like it was no big deal that he was on fire. Up close, he suddenly noticed bright yellow eyes and sharp fangs peeking from his furled lips. He was quick to stifle himself, this time around, when Stiles pulled away. "Wha-? How-?"

"Yeah, got your attention, now, don't I? See, normally I wouldn't reveal myself so willy-nilly like this. In fact, my dad is probably going to absolutely lose his mind if he ever finds out about this, but here's the thing. We—and I mean you and I—we are on a bit of a time crunch. I don't have time to deal with 'oh, you're crazy', 'werewolves aren't real, they're just make-believe' bullshit."

Derek's brows furrowed incredulously. "Wait, are you telling me Scott's a werewolf?"

"Whoops. Cat's outta the bag, now...or I guess the wolf's outta the bag." Stiles snickered at his own terrible joke. "And, hey, don't you point those sassy eyebrows at me. I am on fire. You cannot seriously think I'm joking after taking in all of this." The boy's hand gestured at his general aura and body.

"Okay, okay! I believe you! Can you please just turn it off?" That was a lie. Even as he said the words and despite evidence of the supernatural screaming at his face, Derek still found it hard to believe.

Stiles frowned but still dissipated what Derek now realized was the wavered image of what looked to be something with a long muzzle, like some sort of wolf or fox. "Okay, I'm going to pretend that I didn't just hear you lie to my face. I don't have time to try and convince you. Instead, what I'm going to need you to do is stop your buddy, Scott, from playing the big game coming up. If he wolfs out, it's gonna expose him—and ergo me—to people that neither of us need to be exposed to. Understand? Your friend's life is in danger."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I'm tagging all of my sterek muties, because I'm so terrible at tagging etiquette and never know who to tag 😰. I know some of you have already been tagged, but I forget who, and I don't know how many of you are writers or are even active anymore, so feel free to ignore 😅. Low pressure tags: @haleshomeforthederanged, @sterekyrround, @dear-massacre, @renmackree,

@fujiyolkart, @bee--cat, @ellsgowrite, @cursedtruth,

@princecharmingwinks, @grimmypuff, @gynnnicsworld, @raisesomehale

[zerofuckingwaste]

Easy zero waste tip no. 6: Find out what caffeinated beverage you actually want/need, then learn how to make it; aka "The Starbucks Lie"

Tl;Dr: You may be misinformed about how coffee actually works, leading you to purchase beverages that you may not actually like, that may not serve the purpose you want them to serve, and you can save money (and the environment!) by learning to make something you'll actually like at home.

Last week, I went to Starbucks to get a pumpkin chai latte, because I'm not perfect and needed to fulfill a craving on a bad day- but at least I used a reusable cup. Anyhow, while I was there, I witnessed the following conversation, not for the first time, nor the last, which I'm sure is commonplace:

Barista: What can I get you?

Customer: Do you have a dark roast? I like my coffee dark.

B: We just have a medium roast ready, but I can do a dark roast pourover.

C: Nah, that's not going to be enough caffeine for me, and I need drip coffee, not anything fancy. I'll have an Americano, then- espresso beans should be high enough in caffeine!

Now, if this seems like a reasonable exchange, that's ok- you're likely not a trained barista, and even if you are, there's a chance your training was at least a little bit wrong. Let's walk through it point by point, to explain why this exchange made me want to tear my hair out of my head.

"I like my coffee dark!" Most likely, this is false- studies have shown that people are most likely to say they want dark coffee, when they actually most enjoy a lighter or medium roast. Darker roasts are bitter, partially due to having more tannins- which is why they can cause more side effects, like headaches and digestive issues.

"Not enough caffeine" In fact, the longer (darker) you roast coffee, the more caffeine it loses. If you want a highly caffeinated beverage, you should opt for the lightest roast available.

"I need drip coffee, not anything fancy (pourover)" Pourover is essentially a method of making drip coffee one cup at a time. No machine or anything, it's the least fancy coffee option possible.

"Espresso beans should have high enough caffeine" The beans used for espresso are the same as the beans used for the drip coffee- they're just ground more finely before going through the machine.

"An Americano [...] should have enough caffeine" An Americano is a double shot with hot water, about 160 mg of caffeine if you're getting a 'grande'. A drip coffee that same size is over 300 mg.

This man claimed to love coffee, but didn't understand anything about it, leading him to pay $4.39 for 160 mg of caffeine instead of $3.28 for almost double that- keeping in mind that number could easily have been doubled again had he opted for the lighter roast. So, let's fix that.

1. Light or Dark Roast?

Have you ever wondered why Starbucks has a medium roast, the Pike Place, as their go to roast all the time? It's because it's the most middle of the road, bland option, completely inoffensive- not very good, but also, not too bad. It's a blend from a bunch of places, so there's no overwhelming flavor besides coffee with a slight hint of being burned. That burn taste everyone complains about, btw, is a result of the roast being too dark for them, hello tannins!

A lot of things happen to coffee as you roast it. Let's go through each point one by one:

The color changes. The darker the roast, the darker the roast- literally. This is best gauged with ground coffee, where you can see the average of the whole bean, not just the outer shell.

The mass decreases due to a loss of moisture. However, the bean actually expands in volume due to the strength of the cell walls. In essence, the density decreases.

Oils seep out from inside of the beans, coating them, and protecting volatile chemical compounds that give them flavor.

The caffeine content is lessened the longer you roast.

With high heat, the Maillard reaction occurs. While this reaction is responsible for the lovely color and the viscous, dark flavor notes, it's also responsible for breaking down the citric and tartaric acid, which causes the sweet and fruity flavors to dissipate. It also breaks down chlorogenic acid, creating caffeic acid and quinic acid, aka bitter, bitter tastes.

High heat also causes caramelization of sugars- but at a certain point, those sugars start to burn away.

Taking all this into consideration, we can begin to figure out what kinds of coffee you'll actually like. One quick note: always get single origin coffees. Each region has its own flavors, and if you're only getting coffee from one spot in your cup, then those notes will be amplified for your enjoyment.

A dark roast will have less caffeine, a stronger coffee bitterness, and very simple, up front flavors: chocolate, nuts, smoke, wood, etc. (My favorite tastes like dark chocolate with a hint of hickory)

A light roast will have more caffeine, a lesser amount of bitterness, and very complex, more nuanced flavors: citrus, caramels, fruits, florals, etc. (My favorite tastes like blueberries and white chocolate, with notes of almonds)

No two coffees are alike. My recommendation is that you purchase a bag of whole beans from your favorite local cafe or roaster based on your caffeine needs, and try out different beans until you find one- or two, or five, or a dozen- that you really love.

One quick note- a much, much greater flavor difference can be found in aerobic v. anaerobic roasted beans. I recommend reading into this process on your own, it's fascinating- both of my favorite coffees are anaerobic roasts, as it happens.

2. How should I make my coffee?

I'm a big fan of the affogato. I'm a dessert for breakfast kind of gal, so it makes sense; a hefty double shot over a scoop of ice cream. Absolutely divine; I pretty much only do espresso for myself, although my partner greatly prefers French press.

The overall rule for caffeine in your coffee is that the finer the grind, the more caffeine you're going to get out of the bean. That being said, that doesn't mean the final product will actually have more caffeine than another method, as different ways of making coffee require different amounts of coffee grounds. Keep the ratio of grounds to water in mind for this reason. However, you must remember that the perceived strength of the beverage- the concentration of flavors- is not necessarily correlated to the amount of caffeine. I'll now go over a few methods of making coffee which can be 100% zero waste (assuming you compost those coffee grounds!).

Cold Brew- You either let grounds freely float in water, or let them steep inside of a little filter bag. Let it rest overnight, up to 48 hours. If you like your coffee cold, and not a lot of effort, this might be your best bet.

Pourover- You put grounds into a little filter over either your cup or a pitcher. Pour water over the filter and let it drip down. If you like having a calming morning ritual, this might be for you. Essentially the same as drip coffee, except you don't have to care about a machine.

French press- You put grounds in the bottom of the press, then fill with hot water, and let it steep for a few minutes, then press the grounds down. If you don't mind a little work every morning, waiting a few minutes (when you could prep your breakfast, perhaps) then give this a go.

Moka pot- You pour water into the base, then put grounds into the basket, then screw on the top. Place on the stovetop, and remove as soon as the coffee begins to come out of the spout within. If you like a strong cup but don't want to invest in espresso, this is a great option. The pressure is too low for it to be true espresso, but it's very good.

Manual espresso- This is a bit more complex. It will be the same as automatic espresso, except there's no chance of the machine failing for any electronic reason. You fill a little basket with grounds, then tamp them down. Water is brought to temperature, then pressed through the espresso at a relatively high psi. If you want espresso, this is the way. You can get an entry level (Flair makes several that are fantastic) or you can get something high end with a built in boiler (I have a La Pavoni with an attached steam wand, great purchase).

Automatic espresso- Essentially the same as manual, but the machine does the pressing for you. If you love espresso but don't want to do a lot of work for it, this is a great investment! If you can buy used, do- just make sure the brand is one that offers replacement parts.

There are plenty of other options, but these are a good place to get started, when figuring out what works for you.

3. Why do I want my coffee?

Are you looking for a caffeine boost to get through a rough workday? Do you want something sweet to accompany your breakfast? Are you just bored?

Figure out why you want your coffee, then tailor your morning experience to your needs. If you need a caffeine boost for a rough workday, maybe don't do anything time consuming- prepare a middle of the road medium roast cold brew for the week on Sunday, and go ahead and grab a glass in your hurry out the door each morning. If you want something sweet with breakfast, get a light roast and a French press, and make it part of the routine for the meal. If you're bored, do pourover with a dark roast into a funky mug, or learn to steam milk to make latte art.

Really, coffee is something lovely, that you should enjoy, without mindlessly spending money on something that's not even good. As a bonus, you can support local businesses (coffee roasters and cafes), develop a new skill, and better the environment.