#IF NO ONE HAS DONE IT YET THEN I WILL BE THE FIRST!!

[melanchoire]

could you please write a drabble of karina fucking reader with a strap while praising her? lots of overstimulation, etc

letting karina fuck you with her strap is a threat and at the same time a blessing because she knows how to please you but also how to destroy you 😭

it may seem basic but she is a missionary girl. common and typical? maybe, but she has her reasons for preferring this!! she chooses this option most of the time because she can see your face. she loves to see how her actions have an effect on you, every small or big detail making a difference in your behavior or pleasure

that’s the version she gives you, not the real one that’s stored deep and dark in her head!

she may sweeten your ear by saying she wants to make sure it's not too much for you but karina literally says it while leaving hickeys all over your neck, one hand pinches your nipples while the other rubs your clit and simultaneously fucking you with her strap 😣 sating karina is not for the weak and you know it since you first met her

karina saying “c’mon love, just one more for me, okay? can you do that for me?” “you’ve been doing so well, don’t be a bad girl now.” and planting a soft kiss on your lips as if it weren’t that she is fucking you while you squirt all over the strap 😵‍💫 karina will always shower you with love and praise even if her actions contrast with her words, but she is making you feel good anyway right?

OR ALSO if you catch her on a bad day she will have no problem being rude and mean! you’re probably so stimulated and sensitive that your eyes threaten to close and you try to throw your head back against the pillow under your head, but karina’s palm making contact with your cheek makes you return to your initial position. she can give you a few gentle pats or a firmer slap while saying “uh–uh, don’t give up now. i’m not done yet, daring.”

or if she is really angry, she will grab your face with one hand and say “look into my eyes while i destroy this pussy.” squeezing your cheeks with her fingers in a grip that makes you grimace :(

she doesn’t care if the juices stain your thighs or her stomach, the sheets are already dirty and soaked anyway and she can change them later! so there is nothing to worry about

[adieutristana]

vanity; jinx x fem! reader

loosely inspired by this fic by @moshuka.

summary; jinx used her looks to flirt her way out of a situation. her girlfriend isn’t happy.

characters included; jinx

tags/warnings; nsfw, porn w (some) plot, sub!jinx, dom!reader, brat!jinx, mirror sex, rough sex, strap-on use, strap-on referred to as a dick/cock, hair pulling, crying, humiliation ig?, slight degradation, use of the word ‘whore’, size queen jinx, squirting

men and minors dni.

at first, you were worried.

jinx tends to get herself into dangerous situations more often than not, way too often for her own good. it's what she's known for, after all. jinx: the mad bomber. the loose cannon. zaun's princess.

but she has a way of getting herself out of those situations. her reflexes are impeccable, her strength nearly inhuman for someone of her stature. it is inhuman, considering the shimmer coursing through her veins. weapons that she's built herself regularly save her in battle, and most of all, she's got a smartass mouth.

one that usually comes in handy, but clearly not this time.

"jinx," you start. your arms are crossed over your chest, one hip popped. you're trembling in frustration- coming apart at the edges. "i heard you were flirting with some guy who cornered you. i'm gonna be graceful and hear you out."

she bristles, and the girl's breath catches.

"what i do depends on if i like what you have to say."

you'd heard from passersby on the streets gossiping about what jinx had done. nothing stays a secret for long in zaun; there's almost always a witness, someone who can't keep their mouth shut. people love to gossip, and with that, they love to twist the truth.

so you're hoping to janna above that what you'd heard was a simple rumor. jinx being cornered by one of smeech's goons. a new one, a guy seemingly too good for the likes of this line of work. apparently not. he'd threatened jinx, gotten close to her, nearly hurt her. but instead of her usual solution of whipping out her gun and pressing the cold barrel to someone's neck as a warning, she'd flirted.

told the guy that he's young, attractive, promising. he's too good for a business like this. if he'd just leave her alone, she'd let him go without any fuss, and there would be no mess to clean up. maybe they'd even cross paths again someday.

"i didn't mean any of it, toots," her hands are raised in a mock-surrender. "he was ugly, honest!"

"i didn't ask if he was ugly," you bite. you're inching closer to her, until your noses are nearly touching. the tone in your voice tells jinx you're not fucking around- yet that makes this all the more exciting for her. "i asked you to tell me what happened."

"i didn't do anything, just flirted a little. no harm done."

"you have a gun. why didn't you use that?" you push.

jinx huffs, rolling her eyes. it only serves to piss you off even more. "i just wanted to switch it up, yanno? try something new. and it worked, didn't it? didn't have to spill any blood or nothin'. no cleanup."

"so what i heard is true?"

"depends what you heard."

"oh, you-"

that's it. you take jinx's wrist, and just about drag her to her cot. she's giggling all the way, that signature shit-eating grin plastered on her face. you wish there was blood to clean up. although you know nothing happened- jinx wouldn't dream of being unfaithful to you, this feels calculated. like she'd done it on purpose, just to get under your skin. she was probably sitting in her hideout, just waiting for someone to start talking.

you want nothing more than to slap that grin off of her, make her grovel and apologize and make it up to you.

but you won't. with a quick motion, jinx is flung onto her cot. she gasps, but doesn’t move from her sitting position, doesn’t stop fucking grinning.

"come oooon! you're always telling me i'm soooo pretty. i’m like a work of art.” she comes to lazily toss around the end of one of her braids, playing with it the same way she’s playing with you. “maybe i just wanted to use that to my advantage.”

gods damn it.

you come to stand closer to jinx, looming over the girl. she’s still sitting on her cot, nice and pretty. she looks so innocent, so sweet, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she actually was. too bad you do know better. your forefinger and thumb grasp her chin, forcing her to look at you. your thumb lazily traces along her plump bottom lip.

“oh, you’re pretty, alright.” your thumb pushes past her lips, flattening against her tongue. “gorgeous, even. but that doesn’t mean you go around using those looks like a fucking whore.”

jinx would be smiling right now, but her mouth is… occupied, not sucking, not licking at your thumb, but letting you do what you must. you withdraw it as quickly as it was put in, wiping her spit on her bare shoulder.

“you’re all talk,” she gasps. “not gonna do a damn thing about it, are you?”

“do you want me to?”

“sure.”

“do you deserve it?”

“does it matter?”

it’s then that you flip her onto her stomach.

“take those clothes off. get back on the cot- face down, ass up. i’ll be back.”

no time is wasted walking to another platform in her hideout and swiping the shattered mirror from one of her tables, and a strap-on from one of her drawers.

you place the mirror directly in front of jinx’s cot, and to no surprise, jinx is completely bare now. her perfect heart of an ass in the air, pussy nearly glistening in the dim light with her arousal. she’s braced herself on her hands, and she isn’t moving, but you can tell by the way her arousal is already dripping down her inner thighs that she’s eager.

it’s a sight straight out of a porn film. the mad bomber, desperate and wanton. maybe you’ll buy a polaroid camera for next time, really capture the moment.

“ugh, toots, are you just gonna stand there, or are ya gonna fuck me?” she whines, only interrupted by the sound of the harness fastening around your hips.

“you’re not exactly in a place to make demands right now.”

you lean over her, your breasts pushing into the smooth skin of her back and your lips almost touching her ear.

“‘revolver’, if it gets too much.” you whisper.

and with that, the tip pushes past her folds. bright pink and dusted with glitter, about 8.5in and girthy. a large task for a small girl, but jinx insists she can take anything you give her.

“hngh- fuck!” she whines out, already beginning to buckle. you’ve got one hand rested on jinx’s hip, the other trailing down her side- her shoulder, the grooves of her ribs, her tiny waist, until it finds purchase on her other hip and you push into her.

another lewd cry falls from her lips. you’re barely even halfway in, and she’s already panting and moaning so pitifully. maybe another day you would’ve taken pity on jinx, but not after the shit she pulled.

“come on,” you coo. “can’t take it?”

“i didn’t- agh, say that-” she pants. the girl’s form is beginning to tremble, but you don’t waver. you ram the rest of the toy into her hole, which brings a borderline pathetic wail from her. the way her greedy hole is impaled by your cock is a sight you wish you could burn into your mind. if she were on her back, you bet you'd be able to see it from inside her stomach, but that can wait for another time.

“fuck- fuck! too big!”

“too big, huh? should’ve thought about that before you went and threw yourself at some guy.”

you ease the strap out of her, before slamming it back in. positively prying your girlfriend open. you then take one of jinx’s long twin braids in your hands, looping it once around your wrist and yanking. forcing her to look up.

she gasps with the motion, yet somehow, she still has the willpower to defy you. squeezing her eyes shut and grunting. you jerk her braid farther back, jinx hissing at the stinging pain.

“look at yourself.” you demand.

it’s then that you move. a slow pace at first, in, out, in, out. drawing wet squelches from her cunt with every thrust. she’s shaking and thrashing and whining, but you can’t deny the way jinx’s cunt sucks you in, clenches around you. greedy and sopping, as if it was made to take your dick.

“aah, hhhng- oh! oh!”

your pace is quickening, and you can hear the skin of your hips slapping into her ass. jiggling ever so slightly with each movement, but the best thing is the mirror.

there’s multiple images of the scene in the shattered glass. the sight is something right out of a dirty magazine; you pounding jinx’s poor, abused pussy from behind. jinx struggling to support her upper body despite her strength, you tugging at one of her braids and forcing her to look directly at her reflection. small tits bouncing with each thrust, plump lips open and the slightest bit of drool dribbling down her chin.

“do you see it?” you pant, the base of the toy nudging your clit with each thrust. “the- hah, way you look right now? while i’m fuckin’ you?”

“yes,” she breathes out, her voice a high shrill. her strength is starting to fail her, shaking on her arms and eventually dropping down to her elbows to support herself. a smirk tugs at your lips at the sight, seeing jinx being broken down so quickly. she brought this on herself, really.

"f-fuck, you look a mess," snapping your hips against jinx's, pathetic whimpers and whines falling from parted lips like a stream. "feels good, huh?"

"feels- hmmph, so good!" she groans. her body is being forced forward and back ever so slightly with each motion, and to see herself being fucked in real time is both thrilling and downright humiliating. jinx never knew this is what she looked like, so wrecked and sloppy, but she can't be bothered to care right now. all she can care about is you fucking into her relentlessly.

arousal dripping down her inner thighs, a stinging sensation in her scalp while you hold onto her hair. she knew you'd get jealous if she flirted- expected a thorough spanking, maybe, or for you to sit on her face and use her mouth until you were satisfied. never did jinx think you'd force her into a front-row seat to her own punishment.

“you’re not gonna do that again- mm,” you groan, base rubbing against you so right. “are you? hngg- tell me you won’t.”

“i won’t, i won’t! unghh, i’m sorry!”

she nearly screams out. the pleasure is mounting, it’s painful, she’s being stretched open and almost split down the middle. but it’s so fucking delicious, the feeling of you fucking her so thoroughly. so deeply. tears are beginning to well in her eyes, her mascara already running down her cheeks. it’s filthy. the tip of the plastic dick kisses her cervix with each thrust, coated in sleek juices.

"oh- oh, please," she breathes out. her bangs are sticking to the thin sheen on her forehead, her breaths coming out in ragged gasps. "pleasepleaseplease-"

there it is. jinx is close, that much is obvious from her flushed expression, her straining against your grip, trying to push her hips back onto your cock like some needy slut. your own climax is building, but you want- need to see jinx get there first.

you reach underneath her with your free hand and press against her neglected clit, which draws a high-pitched squeal from jinx. you revel in the sound. right now, it’s as if jinx is an instrument, fine-tuned for your playing. making these beautiful, obscene sounds.

you can see hot tears running down her face in the mirror, lips parted and the pale expanse of her neck bared. her lipstick is smeared from the dribble running down her chin, and thin black streaks run down her cheeks.

“i’m- i’m gonna-!”

the girl doesn’t have time to finish her sentence before she squirts over your hand and the cot beneath her- coating you in light pink. she’s boneless, panting beneath you, collapsing as soon as you pull out of her and release her braid. she can’t muster up any words, she’s spent- laid on her stomach, sniffling and simply trying to breathe.

maybe next time, she won’t be so fucking vain.

[covenofagatha]

The psychology of love (Part 3)

Your first date with Morgan and a lesson in defense mechanisms and the delay of gratification

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: none yet, slowburn

Morgan and you go out to dinner the next day. You had seriously been considering just never texting her and making more of an effort to avoid her, but Wanda and Nat pestered you continuously during breakfast until you had given in. 

Turns out, you were both free that night. 

You had a class in the evening, so you meet her at the pizza place off-campus after. She’s wearing a light blue dress that brings out the color in her eyes and her Black Opium perfume makes you wish there was someone different sitting in front of you. 

“Did you have a good day?” she asks while you’re waiting for your pizzas to be done cooking. The awkwardness of a first date is hanging over you, coupled with the fact that her fingers were inside you on Monday. You’re still a little shocked that happened. 

But you nod and smile. Morgan is nice, and she’s trying. The least you could do is try as well. “Yeah, I had two classes. They’re both pretty easy. My hardest are definitely Physiological Psych and Personality Psych.” 

Even the mention of the latter makes your stomach clench. Agatha has wormed her way into your brain and you don’t know how to get her out. The perfume you ordered should be here tomorrow and you regret buying it. 

Realistically, what are you going to do with it? You can’t wear it—both Morgan and Agatha will pick up on it. It’d be absolutely pathetic to spray your pillow with it and imagine it’s Agatha next to you, plus Wanda would surely wonder about that. 

Which means you spent one-hundred dollars on a bottle of perfume that’s going to sit on your desk and serve as a reminder that you’re delusional. 

A waitress brings over your personal pizzas and sets them down in front of you, steam billowing off. 

Morgan’s looking at you, a little expectantly, and you clear your throat. “How was your day?” you ask, realizing that you never returned the question.

“Pretty good, thanks. I had an International Relations class. We already have a quiz next Tuesday, which is crazy considering this was our second day of meeting.” You learned that she’s a Political Science major while you were waiting in line for pizza. 

She doesn’t say anything else, so you chew on your lip and try to think of ways to get the conversation going. “So…how did you get into political science?” At least her face brightens at that. 

“My dad works in local government and I’ve always been really interested in it. I’ve interned at his office since I was probably sixteen? I’ll be able to get a job with him once I graduate and then hopefully I can be elected for something,” she says before launching into a few stories about town halls that she’s been a part of. She’s from a small town in Indiana and the people there are apparently a little unhinged.

Morgan’s just telling you about a petition one man started to make his birthday a town holiday when the door to the restaurant opens and a familiar face walks in. 

It’s Agatha’s standoffish TA. Morgan is still talking but your eyes follow Rio as she walks up to the counter and shows them her phone. The lady nods and picks up a boxed pizza that’s sitting next to her and hands it to Rio. 

As she’s walking to the exit, she tilts her head over to you like she feels you staring. You quickly look away but in your periphery, you can see her coming closer until you have no choice but to crane your neck up at her. 

“You’re in Professor Harkness’s class, aren’t you?” Rio asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question. She obviously remembers you from Agatha’s office yesterday. 

You nod and she chuckles amusedly, tongue bulging in her cheek. Her complete one-eighty of a personality change is throwing you off. 

Rio glances at Morgan and then back to you, a gleam in her eyes. “Good luck.” Before you can ask what she means—is she talking about Agatha’s class? talking about Morgan?—she shifts the pizza in her arms and strolls out the door without looking back. 

Morgan raises an eyebrow at you. “That was weird.” 

You choose to not say anything and take a bite of your pizza, instantly wincing when it burns your mouth. “Did the man get his petition approved?” you refer to what she had been talking about before Rio, and Morgan dives back into that memory. 

She talks for most of dinner, only really taking a break while she’s eating, and then you walk her to her car. Thankfully, neither of you wants to hang out in the resultant once you’re both done with your food. She’s parked right in front whereas you had to find a spot in the garage behind the row of restaurants. 

“Do you want me to give you a ride to your car?” Morgan offers and you pretend to think about it before shaking your head. 

“No, that’s okay. It’s not very far.” There’s a minute of silent shuffling while you both try to figure out how to end the date. “Um, well I had a great time with you tonight. Let’s do this again soon?” 

She smiles warmly. “I’d love that.” And then Morgan leans in to press a quick kiss to your cheek before getting in her car. Her perfume drifts into your nostrils and lingers and you hear Agatha’s voice telling you that you did very good. Heat flashes through you but you tamp it down. 

You wait until Morgan drives off before turning to head to the parking garage, but you see another person that you know in the shadows. 

Professor Harkness. 

Your heart lurches as she pushes off the building wall she was leaning against and steps into the light. She’s wearing blue pants and a matching blazer over a black turtleneck. The gold from her necklace catches the streetlamp glow. Her long, loose hair frames her face and you can see her blue eyes glinting even in the dark.

Swallowing roughly, you irrationally worry that she’s going to be mad about you and Morgan. A part of you wants her to be mad. 

But she just smirks instead. “Dinner with a friend?” 

“Something like that,” you mutter, shrugging inconspicuously. “What are you doing here?” It seems like she’s waiting for someone—a date? Not that it matters, of course. You just want insight into your mysterious teacher. 

She moves closer to you, close enough so you can smell her perfume. It’s getting really fucking confusing with both Agatha and Morgan wearing the same scent. “I’m just picking up dinner,” she hums. “Nothing as exciting as you.” 

Your cheeks burn. “That wasn’t anything, just a first date. We met at a party a few days ago.” When I let her fuck me because she reminded me of you.

Agatha nods like she knows something you don’t. “Do you remember learning about defense mechanisms?” 

“What?” 

“In a general psych class, did you ever learn about defense mechanisms? Freudian methodology, of course, that believes our ego unconsciously wants to protect the superego from the id when we do something that would otherwise cause us anxiety, guilt, and shame.” 

“I mean, yeah?” You’ve heard of them, but why is she bringing them up? 

She waves a hand at your apparent confusion. “We’ll get more into them later in the semester. I just think it’s neat, you know? How we can be doing something and not even be aware that we’re doing it. Denial, rationalization,” she fixes you with a pointed look, “transference. The mind does really work in interesting ways.” 

You nod and bite your nails, not sure what to say. It feels like you’re missing something by a mile.

But Agatha just smiles. “See you tomorrow in class, hon.” She winks before leaving you outside and you slowly trudge back to your car, completely dumbfounded. 

Once you get back to your dorm, the conversation with Agatha still fresh in your mind, you halfheartedly return Wanda’s greeting and take out your computer and type “transference” into Google. 

Transference is the psychological phenomenon where someone redirects feelings from one person onto another. It occurs when someone unconsciously projects feelings or desires onto someone else. 

“Holy shit,” you say out loud, your blood running cold. Wanda’s head turns toward you but it’s like you have tunnel vision. 

Was Agatha implying that you going out with Morgan is you redirecting your feelings toward your professor onto someone who looks like her? 

Your heart is thumping so loud you can hear it. Are you being that obvious to Agatha? Can she tell that you have a crush on her? 

As if to make matters worse, you get an email notification saying that a package has been delivered—the perfume. A whole day early, like the universe wants to prove its point. 

You let it sit in the delivery room all night because you don’t trust yourself not to go crazy if you smell it right now. 

But you barely get any sleep at all just thinking about it. 

The next morning, Wanda and Nat interrogate you at breakfast. You had told Wanda the general basics of how the date had gone last night, but now they’re pressing you for the details, which you reluctantly give. 

“It was good, she spent a lot of time talking about interning for her town’s government. She’s a Poli-Sci major—” Nat scoffs and rolls her eyes and Wanda laughs, “—and apparently her dad is like the mayor or a council member? I don’t know, I mean, she’s nice and all…” 

“Oh, come on,” Wanda says, fond exasperation staining her voice. “You always do this. You meet a great girl and then you decide that she’s boring or that you don’t really like her or you make one tiny thing of their personality into a big problem. Why can’t you just let yourself have something?” 

It stings how well she knows you. “I just…I don’t know…I’m just not sure we’d work that well together. And it doesn’t really make sense to get into a relationship now, does it? We’re graduating in the spring so why start something new if we’re going to end up in different places? She wants to go back to Indiana and I’ll probably stay here or go back home, so it just doesn’t seem like there’s much of a point.” 

Nat looks unimpressed. “Really? That’s your excuse for why you’re going to self-sabotage? If only long-distance was a thing, god.” 

Wanda pats her girlfriend’s hand and stifles a smirk at the sarcasm. “Just because it’s not going to end in marriage doesn’t mean it’s not worth it,” she says gently. “Why not go on a few more dates, just to see what happens? And who knows? She could be worth it.” 

It won’t work because she’s not at least twice my age. Except you can’t exactly tell your friends that. So instead you say, “Yeah, maybe.” 

“Even if it’s not a relationship, it could be a friends-with-benefits situation,” Natasha adds and Wanda snorts. “You’ve already had sex with her so you already know what you’d be getting into.” 

“Okay, okay,” you grimace at her crassness and push your chair back. “I have to get to class.” 

You have about twenty minutes before it starts, so you’re not in a rush, but you need the walk to clear your head and mentally prepare for seeing Agatha. The quip about transference has you still reeling and it’s only the third day of this class but it’s already the second time you’ve been nervous to look at her. You’re not sure you can get in trouble for having a crush on a teacher but you certainly don’t want Agatha being uncomfortable around you.

So you’ll keep your distance. You’ll go to class and take notes and answer questions, but you’ll leave right after. You won’t let her praise affect you and you will definitely not get close enough to smell her perfume that makes your cunt pulse. 

Practically everything you were just thinking goes out the window when you walk into class and see her standing at the front of the room. 

Agatha’s wearing another turtleneck, white this time, under a tan blazer and matching pants. You wonder if she’s been wearing them to hide hickeys on her neck—but then you remind yourself that you don’t care, despite the growing feeling of jealousy in your stomach from your absolutely baseless speculations. 

She smiles at you, something dark hidden behind her pink lips, and you shiver as you sit down. Does she know what she does to you? The praises, the projection tests from Wednesday, the way she looks at you? 

She seems to like you more than the other students in the class—is that just because you answer questions? Does she encourage you for that because she needs someone to? You’ve had classes where absolutely no one would talk and it was awful. Her praising you for that could just be her way of making sure there’s not an awkward silence. 

But it feels direct, pointed even. Like she wants it to be you.

Or is that just you hoping? 

Agatha isn’t the first teacher you’ve had a crush on, not by a long shot. There was the English teacher when you were in eighth grade. She wasn’t even your teacher, but you still found excuses to talk to her. There was your ninth grade Biology teacher, and then you took her Environmental Science class senior year just to have her again. Your Developmental Psychology professor from the spring semester of your first year in college. You’re sure there’s more. Each time, though, you were certain that you were special. 

Each time, you were sorely disappointed, but not surprised. 

You want to say that it feels different with Agatha, but you need to get a grip on yourself. 

She’s in her late forties, at least. She might have a partner. You glance at her hands as she’s typing something on the computer. No ring. That doesn’t mean anything, you tell yourself. 

But she could get in serious trouble for sleeping with a student. If everything else worked out, if all the other stars aligned and by some way, she did want you, she’d never risk her job over that. She has two doctorates and has published multiple articles about her research, which you’ve been meaning to read, and has won several awards for her work. She’s devoted her whole life to psychology and you are not going to change that. 

Agatha may tease, but at the end of the day, you feel confident that she will never be anything but professional, which means that you really need to get over this. 

“Okay, getting back into Trait Theory,” Agatha starts and you scramble for your notebook. She clicks present on the slideshow and you begin scribbling down everything typed on the first slide. “Theorists who approach personality through the Trait approach want to know what exactly traits are and what they do. Do they describe how we behave? Are they a sum of all we’ve learned? Do they reflect underlying personality? Are they the building blocks of our personality?” 

You chew on the tip of your pen and Agatha’s eyes flick to you with a glint in them. Her lips twitch up and you freeze. 

“The problem with traits is that people are inconsistent. We act one way when we’re by ourselves and a different way when we’re with friends versus family versus professors versus romantic partners. So do situations predict behavior more than personality traits?” 

Agatha surveys the classroom expectantly so you hesitantly raise your hand, wheels turning in your head trying to think of a sophisticated response. She smirks and nods at you. “I mean, I think situations obviously have some part in how we act, but it’s not like we’re completely different people based on who we’re interacting with. It could be kind of like, what traits do we use more of when we’re with some people and what traits do we use less of?” 

Her brows furrow and you can see her mulling it over. “So you’re saying that we have a bank of traits, of consistent traits, but which ones we tap into depends on who we’re with?” 

“Yes?” Your voice wavers but you hold eye contact with her. 

Agatha hums thoughtfully. “Very good. I like that.” Your cheeks flush and you duck your head, the eye contact becoming too intense. “And it brings us to an interesting thought. I want everyone to write down how you consider yourself personality-wise. And then write down some traits you’d use to describe your best friends.” 

You write some general words down for you and then for Wanda and Nat. It’s hard to sum someone’s personality up like that. Glancing around the room, you see everyone’s still working so you pick at your nails and pretend that you don’t feel Agatha staring at you. 

The compulsion grows too great in you, though, so you look at her. She doesn’t seem abashed that you caught her—if anything, she looks excited. You swallow roughly to get some moisture into your suddenly-dry mouth and your teeth sink into your bottom lip. Her eyelashes flutter, maybe just enough to be considered a wink, but then someone coughs and the moment is broken. 

Agatha clears her throat. “Take a look at what words you wrote for yourself and then compare them to the words you wrote for your friends. Chances are, there’s a good amount of overlap. Opposites attract sometimes, but it’s more often than not that we choose to surround ourselves with people that have similar personalities to us. If we do that, then our traits might be influencing the situations that we’re in, which influences our behavior. It’s a lot to think about.”

She clicks to the next slide. 

“Psychologists have found that both situations and traits influence behavior about equally after conducting some experiments that we’ll look at another time. Now,” she turns off the projection and the screen at the front of the room goes dark. Everyone looks at her. “I want to talk to you about an opportunity for next week.” 

Someone out of the corner of your eye perks up. “Extra credit?”

Agatha shoots him down with a glare. “It’s the third class of the semester, first of all. Second of all, there will be no extra credit in this course.” 

He slumps down, defeated. You think he might be the same person from the first day who was upset about only having five grades. 

“We will have a speaker on campus next Tuesday evening at six pm giving a presentation on fallacies from famous psychological experiments. I’ll be sending out more information about it, but I think it will be very interesting, especially for this class. It’s optional, but I do heavily recommend attending.” 

You raise your hand and she smiles. “What studies are they going to look at?” 

“Excellent question. The presentation will look at the Rosenthal study on expectancy effects, the Stanford Prison Experiment, among a few others, and one of my personal favorites: the study on delay of gratification.” 

“Is that the one—” a girl begins to say before Agatha interrupts her like she didn’t even hear the student. 

“Mischel and Ebbesen would call kids into a room one-by-one and tell them that they could either have a small candy bar right away, or wait some unknown amount of time for a larger candy bar. The researchers would leave the room and see what the kids would do.” Her blue eyes pierce into you and her face morphs into something almost predatory. “Is it better to get instant relief for something small, or to wait and let the anticipation build up for a better reward?” 

She prompts you with a tilt of her head and you wonder if she can see the slight sheen of sweat breaking out on your forehead. “If it’s going to be worth it to wait,” you rasp. 

Agatha licks her lips before nodding slowly and then settles back into her casual demeanor. “I mean, who doesn’t want a bigger candy bar?” she jokes and there’s a titter throughout the room. She gives you a smug smile and you face forward, cheeks burning. 

She continues talking but you’ve completely zoned out. You feel like a kid in the experiment—have something with Morgan, real but fleeting, or wait for even the possibility of Agatha? Once you’re not her student anymore, there shouldn’t be a problem. And you graduate in the spring anyway. 

But that’s if Agatha would even like you back then. 

What happens if the researcher never comes back with the big candy bar after the kid waits forever? 

She finally wraps up class, saying that she needs to rush off to a meeting and you slowly pack up your bag just in case she lingers. She may be in a hurry, but it’s nothing compared to the other students and it’s only a minute before you and her are the only ones left in the room. 

The air feels thick with electricity and tension and it’s like you’re rooted to your seat when she starts to slowly walk toward you. You can feel your heartbeat increase and your breathing quickens—your body wants to run but it can’t. 

“Great job today,” she mumbles and drums her fingertips atop your desk surface, her perfume rolling over you like a wave, and you don’t even realize that she’s gone until you hear the door shut behind you. 

You shakily stand up and swing your bag onto your shoulders and go to the library, desperately trying to ignore the heat between your legs.

After dinner, you pick up the package containing the perfume on your way back to your dorm. You’re almost afraid to open and smell it because you know your body will betray your mind. Your cunt has become conditioned to the scent—conditioned to Agatha—and you really need to figure out how to stop it. You’d throw out the bottle entirely if you hadn’t spent so much money on it. You’ll find some use for it, maybe for a party or something. 

Just as you get into your room, your phone buzzes with an email. Your heart starts to race when you see Agatha Harkness at the top of it and you quickly click on it. 

To your dismay, it’s just a course email. 

Hello Personality Psych, 

Here is the link for information concerning the speaker presentation next Tuesday evening that I mentioned in class. As a reminder, you will not receive any extra credit for attending, but it is an opportunity to learn more about flaws in renowned psychological experiments. Please email me if you are interested so I can get your name on the list. 

Best, 

Professor Harkness

You chew on your lip. It’s not something that you necessarily want to go to, and for no extra credit, it might be a waste of time. 

But you do seriously doubt that anyone else in your class is going to go, which would make you stand out to Agatha. 

You imagine walking into a room full of people you don’t know, anxiously scanning the crowd, to find her smiling at you and beckoning for you to go sit next to her. She’d lean in to whisper some remarks about the speaker into your ear and her hair would tickle your skin. Maybe you’d be bouncing your leg because of your trouble sitting still and she’d put a hand on your thigh to help you focus. 

Fuck. Your cheeks are burning now and the temptation to open the perfume so it feels like she’s there is gnawing strongly inside you. 

Instead, you compose a new email. 

Hi Professor Harkness, 

I would love to attend the presentation.

Thanks! 

You sign it off with your name and hit send before you can rethink it and then throw your phone to the end of the bed. 

The moment you press your hands to your face because you can’t believe how bad this is getting, your phone vibrates. You know what it’s going to be before you even look at it, and yet you’re still surprised to find that Agatha responded almost immediately. 

I’m very glad to hear that and I look forward to seeing you there. 

Professor Harkness. 

Only this time, instead of the regular email signature under her name, and every other professor’s name in their emails, that shows her position, the university name, and her email address, there’s something else as well. 

Ten digits. Your breath catches in her throat. 

She added her phone number. 

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[amara-scott]

Never been loved.

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Slytherin!female Reader Tags: Angst, Angst, Angst

Prompt: "You've never been loved, I can tell."

It would have been a beautiful spring day in the courtyard of hogwarts. But standing before Mattheo—you knew this was possibly a turning point about to happen. Your best friend. Having built that trusting relationship with him was hard. On both sides. But you stuck together and knew each other well.

But now the tension between you and Mattheo is thick, like a storm ready to break. You can feel it in the air, the unspoken words that hang between you both, electrifying the space. And yet, the weight of it all crashes down with the finality of your words, words that you didn't even realize held so much truth. "You've never been loved, I can tell." You don’t know why you said it, why the words slipped from your lips like a confession, an accusation. But the moment they leave your mouth, they settle over him like a shadow, dark and unavoidable.

You watch him, frozen, as his gaze falters, as if a part of him dies with your words. His shoulders drop, and for the briefest moment, he looks almost… human. Vulnerable. The walls he so carefully constructed around himself seem to crack, and for the first time, you see the weight he’s been carrying—the one he’s never let anyone see.

But Mattheo doesn’t speak. Not right away. His lips tremble, just slightly, as if the words he wants to say are too much to bear. His breathing is shallow, uneven. It’s a quiet sort of pain, the kind that threatens to swallow him whole, but he refuses to let it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, the harshness in his voice an attempt to mask the tremor you caught. His jaw clenches, his eyes narrow, but they can’t hide the flicker of something deep within them.

You wish you could take back the words, erase the hurt you’ve caused him, but you can't. The damage has been done, and now all you can do is watch him retreat behind that mask again.

“You don’t know me,” he snaps, cutting your thoughts off. The rawness in his tone pulls at your chest, makes your heart ache for him in a way you hadn’t expected. He’s breaking, but he won’t let you see it. His walls go back up, taller and colder than before, as he presses his lips together, trying to maintain control.

“You don’t know my name,” he continues, but it’s not the name he’s referring to. It’s something deeper, something that has been built over years of pressure, expectations, and burdens no one should ever bear.

You reach for him, words forming on your tongue, but they choke you as he takes a step back. The tears that threaten to spill seem to freeze in your throat. You want to apologize, to explain yourself, but the words are too heavy, the apology too fragile.

He shakes his head then, and you feel the weight of his emotions like a physical blow. “No,” he says, voice cracking. “You don’t have the right to talk about me. Talk about love. You don’t know anything about me.” His voice raises, and you flinch, a tiny part of you bracing for the anger that you know is coming. But then—then his eyes soften, and a single tear escapes, rolling down his cheek, tracing the path of all the years of grief he’s kept locked away.

The world tilts as you see that tear. It shatters everything you thought you knew about him. The bravado, the indifference—it all crumbles. He’s not invincible. He’s not the cold, untouchable boy he’s shown everyone.

You want to reach out, to take his face in your hands and promise him that it doesn’t have to be like this, but the fear that grips you—fear of what he’ll do, of what this moment will mean—paralyzes you.

When he speaks again, his voice is low, but it cuts through you like a knife. “I think it’s best if we part ways from now on.” The words hang in the air, and for a moment, everything goes still. The wind dies, the distant sounds of the castle fade. His voice is the only thing that matters now.

Before you can process what’s happening, he’s turning away from you, walking toward the castle with a speed that leaves you breathless, leaves you empty. You stand there, a hollow ache settling in your chest.

Your feet move before your mind catches up, and you grab his arm, forcing him to stop. “Mattheo, no—don’t say that.” But he doesn’t even look at you. His body stiffens, his hand brushes yours off as if it’s a weight he can’t bear.

“I’m only saying what you would expect of me. Your image of me is quite apparent. Since you know me so well.” His words are cruel, but they are truth. And it cuts deeper than anything he’s said before. You step back, your heart sinking with the realization that he’s right.

With one last glance over his shoulder, he’s gone, leaving you standing in the shadows of the evening, alone.

Days pass. You bury yourself in your studies, pretending like it doesn’t matter. You let the ache settle in your bones, telling yourself that you’re stronger than this, that you’re better off without him. But every time you close your eyes, you see him—his face, the way his eyes softened for the briefest moment before he pulled away from you, the tear that marked the end of everything.

Pansy finds you in the library, but even she can see the storm brewing inside you. She drags you out, forces you to confront what you’ve done, and somehow, you find yourself standing at the threshold of the common room, looking at Mattheo across the room.

You stand frozen at the entrance to the common room, your breath shallow, heart pounding. The noise around you seems to fade into a dull hum as you lock eyes with Mattheo. He’s sitting there, looking as casual as ever, but there’s something in his gaze that stops you cold—something colder than you’ve ever seen before. It’s like he’s trying to shut himself off from you, a wall rising in the space between you that feels miles wide.

Pansy’s grip on your sleeve is the only thing keeping you tethered to the present, but even her silent pressure on your arm doesn’t make your feet move. She knows what’s going on in your head, even if you’re too caught up in the chaos to say it.

Mattheo’s face remains unreadable as his eyes flicker between the fireplace and the others in the room, but the tension in the air is thick. You can’t tell if he’s angry, hurt, or simply indifferent—but the chill in his expression tells you enough. It’s the same kind of look he’s given you every time you’ve pulled away, each time you’ve said something wrong, like you’ve been a weight dragging him down.

“I think I should go,” you mutter to Pansy, your voice barely louder than a whisper. You can feel your hands trembling, the nervousness creeping up your spine.

Pansy doesn’t let go of your sleeve. Instead, she gently pulls you forward, her usual playful tone gone, replaced with a sharp, no-nonsense edge. “No. You’re not running away this time. Not from this.”

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you feel like you might suffocate under the weight of it all—the fight, the guilt, the fear that he’ll never forgive you. But Pansy is already moving, leading you towards the fire where the others are seated. The firelight flickers in your eyes as you step forward, your body feeling heavy, like you’re walking through quicksand.

Mattheo doesn’t look up right away, but when he does, you feel the full force of his gaze. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask you how you’re doing or what you’ve been up to. It’s like the space between you has grown into something vast and impenetrable, and no words can bridge that gap. You wonder if that’s what you deserve after what you said, after what you did.

“You don’t have to do this,” Pansy says softly, but there’s a firmness beneath her words. “But if you don’t, you’ll never know if things could be fixed.”

You can’t breathe for a moment. Everything in you screams to just leave, to hide away again, but you know she’s right. You’ve never been good at facing what you’ve done. But if you leave now, you might lose him forever. And you can’t do that.

You stop in front of Mattheo, the words stuck in your throat. For a long moment, you don’t know where to start. It feels like you’ve already said everything you could say, yet nothing at all. But it’s different now. You’re standing here, staring at him, and for the first time in a long time, you’re not running.

"Can we- talk?" You don't hear your own words as you speak and hold your breath while you wait, still contemplating if you could make a run for it—but Pansy is right. Mattheo doesn't spare you a glance as he simply stands up and walks past you, toward a secluded corner in the common room, two armchairs next to each other, a dim lit candle and tall bookshelves rising to the ceiling. You join him as he sits, fiddling with my robe until you take a deep breath, finally looking up at him.

“I—I’m sorry.” The words feel like they’ve been stuck in your chest for so long. You swallow hard, voice cracking slightly. “I never meant to hurt you.”

He stares at you in silence, his jaw tightening, but there’s something there now—a flicker of recognition in his eyes, something that tells you he’s listening. Not because he has to, but because he wants to. You don’t know if that’s a good thing, but it’s a start.

“I know I fucked up. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I—” You pause, unsure of what to say next, your chest tightening with the weight of all the things you should have said before. “I care about you, Mattheo. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”

He doesn’t speak for a long while, and for a moment, it feels like the world has frozen around you both. But then, slowly, his lips part. His voice is low, almost like it’s coming from somewhere deep inside him, a place he’s been hiding for too long.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.” His gaze is soft, almost vulnerable, and it shakes you to your core. “You don’t have to say anything you think I want to hear.”

“Then what do you want to hear?” you ask, almost desperately. “Because I don’t know how to fix this.”

“You don’t have to fix it. Just… be here. With me. No more walls.”

Your heart beats faster at his words. It’s not perfect, it’s not the answer you hoped for, but it’s something. Something you can work with.

And when he stands, taking a small step toward you, you feel the knot in your chest loosen just a little bit, so you stand as well. His arms, warm and familiar, slide around your shoulders, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel so alone.

“Let’s not do this again,” he murmurs against your hair, pulling you close as you clutch his dress shirt, shutting your eyes tightly.

And you nod, knowing that no matter how long it takes, you’ll keep trying. You’ll keep showing up, even when the storm inside you feels too strong to bear.

For him. For you.

For what you both deserve.

[mokulule]

A Man has Needs part 3

First

Fandom: DP x DC Ship: Dead on Main (Jason/Danny) Summary: In which Jason keeps up ending up in Danny's bed and not even for any fun reasons.

Part 3

Daniel James Fenton, 20 years old, born and raised in Amity Park, Illinois. Graduated high school with barely passing grades. Currently enrolled in Gotham U’s aerospace engineering program, with (ironically) a Wayne Foundation scholarship of a type that was reliant on entrance exam test results rather than high school grades. Either his high school teachers hated him or he spent the gap year studying his ass off to ace the exams.

At least it explained what he was doing in Gotham of all places, Jason thought as he leaned on the kitchen island chin in his hand, laptop open in front of him. The WF scholarships for Gotham U were very good, yet still most people had the sense not to move to Gotham - and Crime Alley at that.

Him being from the Midwest might even explain some of the strange hospitality, though Jason felt he probably took it a level above most people.

Of family there was an older sister - like he’d mentioned. Jasmine Fenton was currently doing a PhD in the field of Psychology.

The parents, Jack and Madeline Fenton had doctorates of their own, though what little he could find published from them was from very disreputable paranormal sort of publications. They seemed to have very little basis for their theories - one of which was that ghosts were inherently evil - which was just absolute hogwash. They apparently lived off the payout of some early inventions they’d made and sold to the government.

Beyond that there was only an aunt.

Friends were much harder to judge. Danny’s social media presence was practically non-existent. He’d only just opened an account on Mugshot, Gotham’s favored social, this Monday, apparently due to encouragement from new Gotham U friends.

Jason absently drummed his fingers on the counter, as he stared unseeingly towards his laptop. Maybe Tim or Babs could find more, but Jason found himself reluctant to involve them, they would want to know why he was looking into the guy, they would want a reason to dig deeper than the basic background check Jason had already done.

Jason could not- would not, tell them about this… attraction? Jason rubbed his face tiredly. Attraction was a terrible word, that implied other things, but it was the best he had.

The oven timer had the kindness to beep then, signifying that batch of cookies was done, and distracting him for a few minutes as he transferred them to the cooling rack and got another plate going.

It was a limited reprieve however and all too soon he was back in front of his laptop. He had no other avenues, there really was only one thing to do.

Oo o oO

“We need to talk.” He flung the words out the moment a surprised Danny opened the door. The surprise however quickly gave way to a grimace as he registered the words.

“Do we have to?” Danny asked honest pleading in his voice.

Jason felt really tempted to say no, but forced himself to say “yes.”

“Okay,” Danny sighed, leaving the door open for Jason to step inside.

Jason closed the door after himself and felt his shoulders relax from their tense position and his breath come out in a relieved sigh. Safe.

He looked to Danny who wrung his hands.

Jason had meant to say something, ask something, he’d had a plan. He wanted answers. Answers… Jason opened his mouth, sound getting stuck in his throat. Just ask him what was going on? But what did it really matter?

“Ah! Please don’t say anything,” Danny interrupted Jason’s internal struggle. “I have been trying so hard not to make this awkward.”

Jason grimaced when he saw how uncomfortable Danny looked. Jason was making him uncomfortable.

“Okay look,” Danny took a deep breath and held up his hands, and looked at Jason with his big blue eyes, “will you please, just let me start, and if you really feel like you need to say something you can do so afterwards, yeah? Though it’s really not necessary.”

“Okay,” Jason managed mouth dry.

“I don’t know how to make this not awkward, but here goes, it’s okay.”

“Okay?” Jason reiterated brows raising in confusion.

“Yes, it’s okay, truly. Fuck, how would Jazz say it,” Danny looked thoughtful for a moment before meeting Jason’s eyes again. “You have needs, and that is okay.”

Jason frowned bewildered and alarmed. Needs?

Seeing Jason’s frown Danny unfortunately rambled, “I know it’s not exactly socially normal no matter which way you look at it, but it’s fine. I have a big bed, truly it’s fine. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, or apologize-“

Overwhelmed, Jason held up his bag of cookies and Danny thankfully stopped talking.

“Coffee?” Danny croaked after a moment’s silence.

“Please,” Jason agreed.

Five minutes later they sat at Danny’s small table a plate of cookies between them, looking down at their steaming coffee, awkwardly avoiding looking at each other.

Jason didn’t know what to think. Had he gotten any information out of this? Needs… Jason had needs, and those let him to Danny’s bed? He cringed away from the thought.

Across from him, Danny poked the handle of his cup. “Can we just pretend this conversation didn’t happen?”

Maybe Danny had the right of it. For both their sanities, maybe that was best. Aside from his confusion, Jason had felt better after both times he’d slept at Danny’s. Would it be so bad to, just for once in his life, not question things? Jason was unsure how much of this was his brain being muddled in Danny’s presence, but he agreed with a nod, and took a sip of coffee.

Oo o oO

Danny wanted to scream. He had made such a mess of things! All his good intentions and he’d gone and made things awkward anyways. It was a relief his guest was willing to just go with it after all.

And, Danny lamented, his guest had even spoken earlier today, like in a full sentence and now they were back at single words or nonverbal. Poor guy. It had to be so uncomfortable to wake up in a stranger’s bed. If only Danny had an easy way to give him straight ectoplasm, but then that might actually overwork his starved core and make everything worse. The slow absorption of Danny’s ambient energy, probably was best for him.

Half still lost in thought he took a cookie and promptly groaned in pleaures, it was perfect and there was no way he could keep his train of thought. It was crisp on outside and chewy in the middle, and the chocolate bits were so rich.

“You made these?” Danny exclaimed between heavenly bites and was rewarded with a quick shy smile and a glance of blue-green eyes. Fuck, why did Danny’s guest have to be both hot and cute? Life was so unfair.

But it seemed the ice had finally broken, and they were back to something comfortable.

Oo o oO

Later in his own apartment, Jason tried once again to make sense of things.

Facts. Jason woke up in Danny’s bed twice, it was likely to happen again.

Apparently Jason had needs. He shuddered at the thought, because what did that mean? But in a twisted way it also made sense, because he had woken up twice in that man’s bed through no conscious decision of his own. There was something about Danny that drew Jason to him and while it was kinda freaking him out, it was also kinda not. Which in itself was freaking him out if he allowed himself to think about it.

But another fact was that Jason felt better, lighter somehow, than… actually he didn’t really remember when he’d last felt so good. Maybe he really had just needed some proper sleep?

And Danny himself?

Jason had no idea what his deal was. It was very odd how accepting he was of the situation - he’d said it himself, this wasn’t socially normal no matter how you looked at it.

He was clearly not normal no matter how you looked at it. But neither was Jason really.

-

And this is the end of part 3.

They almost talked? They gotta get props for trying right?

You can subscribe at the masterpost

[prankprincess123]

I genuinely feel like it depends WHY they don't approve, and regardless of why you should at the very least still hear them out, but for me personally it would easily be the end of the romantic relationship.

My family is close and I respect my loved ones opinions enough that depending on why literally any family member doesn't approve of the man I wish to marry, I might break it off or at least postpone the wedding until the issue is resolved. Like if my uncles know something about him that even I don't, and explain such to me when I ask, I'd definitely respect their opinion because I know they genuinely have my best interests at heart. Or if my grandparents or aunts & uncles feel they don't know him well enough for me to marry him yet, I'd ensure that they got the chance before the wedding, whether that mean delaying the wedding or simply within the engagement period. Genuinely one of the first things I've done in most instances of even semi serious relationships is make sure my family approve - partly because they showed me the same respect when they were dating and courting their now spouses even when I was a toddler. For my entire childhood whenever one of my uncles had a new girlfriend it was tradition that we would do a trip to the zoo, just my uncle, their new girlfriend, and all the nieces and nephews with the goal of our approval - I remember a time at 7yo when I decided I didn't like the girl one uncle was dating at the time, and he broke it off that night because my approval was worth that much in his relationship. In my dating experience so far there has never been a guy who my family didn't approve of - my most serious relationship even started with my uncle playing matchmaker and I genuinely think both of our families were the ones most disappointed when I ended things - but any time a relationship has been serious enough that I've even considered giving it an official title I've either already gotten everyone's approval or that is the very next step I take.

I've had uncles drop girlfriends because I was a petty child who simply wanted my uncle's attention to myself, and instantly become more serious with and in one case eventually marry a girl because I admired her so much. I have an aunt who got back together with her now husband because us kids commented that we missed how much happier she was when they were actually dating rather than him just being our uncle's best friend. Every relationship my older cousin was ever in he asked my opinion and advice every step of the way, I was the first person admitted his feelings to every time, the one he trusted to let him know and if needed talk him out of any even yellow flags, I was the first person in the family to meet his now wife and he then begged me for my opinion about her for hours, the first after his mom that he told about proposing because he needed to have that conversation with me personally, the one he cried to and consulted with regarding who should stand beside him at the alter when I couldn't due to covid, and the first to find out about my niece because he was scared and wanted my advice on the matter. I'm lucky enough that I've never been in a situation where a parent or grandparent was courting, as all three couples are still alive and happily married, but I have no doubt that if one of them were to die and the widowed parent or grandparent wanted to get re-married they would respect my opinion just as much as my aunts and uncles have (though likely not to the extent of my older cousin, as I think he trusts my judgment and opinions more than his own). Like my BIL's opinion on my future spouse sure as heck doesn't matter in the slightest because he doesn't respect my opinions on anything. And my one sister's opinion holds far less weight than it previously would have because she didn't respect me enough to listen when I suggested that dating a 25yo when she was 17yo might not be a smart idea and screams at me whenever I express worry over that relationship. And one aunt & uncle who's oppinions matter less because they don't respect me, my mama, or sisters in general. But every other family member has at the very least listened to my voice and opinions in everything, including their relationships, so why wouldn't I do the same for them?

I'm in a situationship with a guy right now that seems like he wants to formalize the relationship, but I won't even consider such until he's had a chance to meet everyone and I know that they approve. And when I get to the point of engagement and marriage it's even more important, as whoever it is isn't just marrying me they are also marrying into my family. Not only am I consulting with my grandparents and aunts & uncles before accepting a proposal, I'm getting approval from my 4yo niece and newborn-5yo cousins before it can even be a serious relationship.

[maskedcrawford]

Second Chances

G-Dragon x Reader

Summary: Years after breaking up and seeing each other at events you and Ji-yong reconnect and decide if you really want to be with him or if you're done with him for good.

Warnings: Angst with fluff at the end.

A/N: I had two extremely similar requests so I paired them together. I hope this is what you two Anon's were looking for in your requests. If not, let me know. Not proof read so please excuse mistakes! Also I plan to work on part 3 of Hidden Secrets tonight. Check out my masterlist to get caught up on the series <3

Requests are OPEN

Being apart of 2ne1 was a dream come true. Your group was at the top of the charts and so was your name along with a very famous rapper professionally named G Dragon, aka Kwon Jiyong. The two of you were Korea’s most infamous couple, everyone, including your own band members, swore you were endgame. They came up with ship names, there were constant edits of you guys, life was great.

Or at least until it wasn’t. Life does what it does and gets in the way, conflicting schedules meant not seeing each other nearly enough and personal affairs became a hindrance. Then there were rumors about both of you cheating on each other, which wasn’t true, but YG wasn’t a fan of the negative controversy so then they weighed in putting pressure on both of you and it all just became too much.

The day it happened you knew it was coming, but you still didn’t want to accept it. You and Ji had been sitting at the kitchen table, having the same old conversation. But that night it was different.

“I just don’t think we can do it anymore, y/n,” his voice was quiet. It was breaking both of you.

“With the pressure of the label, never seeing you,” he trails off as he feels the tears in his eyes.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” you stand up off your chair and walk over to him looking down and moving his face to where he has to look at yours.

“You know I can’t say that,” He says like he’s begging you to stop.

“Then we can do it, we have to. I don’t,” your voice cracks with tears blurring your vision.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you shut your eyes tight.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” he stands up and gives you a long warm hug as you soak his t shirt with your tears.

“This isn’t easy for me,” he sighs as he lets you go. It feels way too soon as he doesn’t spare you another glance as he walks out the door.

And now, every time you see him, it’s a reminder of that painful night. You see him around, both of you being idols and having performances in the same places will cause that. The first place you seen him was a runway show for Chanel, and that was only 3 days after your break up. You were sat on the opposite side of the runway with a direct line of sight to him as he sat in the front row. There were many stolen glances between you two but neither of you spoke. Then there were the Mama awards, where you both were supposed to perform. Again the same song and dance. Both of you glancing at the other, wanting to talk, to make up and yet neither of you did.

After a while you could see Jiyong and not feel the same kind of pull, the one that wanted closure. You had accepted what had been and gotten to a place where you could fully support him, quietly, but still.

It’s the opening night of your tour, having been part of 2ne1 meant you were also able to do solo projects. Of course, your girls were there with you to support you.

“This is going to be so amazing!” Sandra says as she claps her hands excitedly.

“You ready for this?” CL asks.

“As I’ll ever be.” You say feeling the nerves kick in, you excuse yourself to the bathroom and while you’re gone, CL brings the girls together.

“You’re never going to guess who’s here tonight,” she whispers.

“Who,” Minzy asks.

“Ji-yong,” she smiles big and the girls go silent for a moment.

“Does she know?” Bom asks nervously. CL just shakes her head. You back in the room seeing them huddled and you raise a brow.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” they say in unison; the way you know they’re hiding something from you but you can’t prove it.

“Mhm, well I go on in 2 minutes so,” you motion them to leave so you can grab your mic and race off to the side of the stage. The lights go down and you get into place hearing the roar of the crowd as your silhouette is shown behind a screen.

During the last song before the small break your band gets, you see him. There in the 3rd row from the stage. His hair brightly colored and hard to miss. He’s giving you a proud, satisfied smile. You freeze for a moment before getting back into the groove of the dance moves. You flit your glance to him throughout the rest of the song. When your band leaves the stage you address the audience.

“You guys having a good time?” they all cheer and you smile.

“Awesome, Awesome!” You begin to walk around.

“Can you sing, You’re the One?” You look in the direction of the voice you hear.

“What was that?”

“You’re the One, can you sing it? The song with G Dragon,” she smiles wide. Your eyes go wide for a half second before you compose yourself.

“Uh,” you half laugh, “Yeah I don’t, I don’t see why not,” your eye go to where he was sitting but he’s gone. You feel relief crash over you, until a stage hand comes over to pull you off stage for a second.

“Whats up,” you say as your eyes land on the familiar man from the crowd. You both stare at each other for a moment, really taking it in.

“You want to do it, together? Like old times?” he ask shyly. Your heart starts beat faster.

“If you’re up for it,” you give him a warm and inviting smile despite the current anxiety you’re in. You notice behind him that CL is standing there watching you and you realize that this was what they were hiding. You slightly frown at her and she gives you two thumbs up.

You walk out on stage, “Ok, well I have a surprise guest for everyone, including myself,” you laugh into the mic.

“Everyone, please help me welcome, the one, the only, infamous G-Dragon!” you shout into the mic as the crowd goes crazy. He steps out confident as ever and stands beside you.

“Let’s do it,” he says cooly. The song begins and you both move to the beat, you raise the mic to your lips to sing the lyrics and he’s staring at you intensely. That familiar pull he once had on you, the one you swore was gone, is back. You want to feel his hands around your waist, his lips back on yours and the way he smells, you never want the smell to leave you again. He beings singing his part and his mind is going crazy along with his heart.

He stares at you, the way the lights shine off your sparkly outfit, the way you move your hips to the beat of the song, how you walk with utter and complete confidence on stage. He missed you more than he ever wanted to admit, even after all this time. For the last chorus of the song you two come together, he holds you close to him as he sings looking directly into your eyes and you blush due to the proximity.

You both sing the last line and stare into each other’s eyes for a moment when the crowd erupts. Its all background noise, though, as you see what looks like longing and regret in his eyes. He lets you go, hesitantly staring at you for a beat more before raising the mic to his lips.

“Goodnight, Seoul,” he says, “and Goodnight, y/n,” he says before winking at you and walking off stage with nothing but confidence.

You watch him walk off and feel that familiar pit in your stomach. The concert goes on as usual and eventually comes to end, your girls crowding around you to hug you and celebrate. You give them an annoyed look though once you’re in the dressing room.

“I can not believe you kept that from me!” You say astonished.

“I didn’t know he was planning on getting on stage!” CL defends.

“But you knew he would be here, and you knew I hadn’t told him about the concert,” she interrupts you.

“Y/n, jagi, I’m sorry, I know I should’ve told you. But if you’re really over him, why are you so upset?” she gives you a knowing look. The girls knew you weren’t over him; you had convinced yourself but not them.

“Maybe you should talk to him,” Minzy suggests as she walks up.

“Nope, I’m not going to reopen that wound,” you say defiantly.

“Sounds like it’s all ready opened,” CL mumbles and you shoot daggers at her.

“Can we just celebrate please? I’d like to remember this as a good night,”

“Oh it’s definitely one you’ll remember,” Bom speaks up with a chuckle and another look is thrown her way now.

The next morning you wake up to your social media flooded as well as texts from CL.

“Dude, have you seen this?” She sends you a link to a tiktok that has a video from last night with you and Jiyong singing before more music starts playing with old photos and a short video of you two goofing off comes up. Fan edits were being made and you were being tagged in a ton of them.

“Holy crap,” you whisper.

“Are they actually back together?”

“It was just for the show.”

“So does this mean my parents are endgame again?”

More and more comments questioning you and Jiyong’s relationship flooded video after video, picture after picture and post after post across the web. As you get dressed for the day you get a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Seem’s we’re popular,” you hear his deep voice say as he chuckles.

“Ji,” you say, a little desperate than you meant for it to sound.

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re doing today, but if I remember correctly, you never did two shows back-to-back,” you listen intently.

“So, if you’re free tonight, come over. I want to talk to you.” His voice is hopeful. It’s not like you could lie to him, your schedule was posted all over social media by now so telling him you had a show was easily disproven. You sigh into the phone rubbing your forehead.

“What time?”

“7, and come in something comfortable, I’m making dinner.”

“Since when did you cook?” you tease.

“Since you taught me to make your favorite meal,” he teases back and you blush with a small smile creeping up on your lips.

“I’ll see you tonight,”

“See you then, jagiya.”

Your heart skips a beat at the pet name. Sure, others called you that as a term of endearment but from him, it meant something different. You stand in front of his door in sweatpants and a loose-fitting shirt. The man said casual wear so you went comfy, after all with all the discomfort that could come from tonight, you wanted to be as comfortable as possible. He opens the door, the smell of your favorite dish hitting your nostrils.

He smiles, he’s got his hair ruffled a bit and his glasses on, he steps aside to let you in and the memories from you years long relationship floods back to you. Most things were the same. A few new art pieces, a new sculpture even.

“Nice to see not much has changed,” you say as he walks a past you into the kitchen. You follow him and sit down at the bar. Princess Zoa hops onto the counter and greets you with soft purs and rubbing her head against your hand.

“And of course the princess herself,” you baby talk the cat and out the corner of your eye you can see Ji staring at you, a content smile on his face as he watches you with his cat-child.

He plates the food and you both eat, neither of you sure what to say.

“You really did do great, last night,” he comments after a moment of silence.

“Thank you, I’ll be honest I was surprised to see you.” You look up from your plate to find him all ready looking at you.

“CL invited me,” he admits.

“I wasn’t going to go at first, I wasn’t sure if you’d want me there.” You just look at your plate and he’s hoping you’ll say something.

“Ok, maybe you didn’t,” he mumbles pushing food around on his plate.

“What do you want me to say, Ji-yong?” Your fork clanks against the plate as you turn your whole body to look pointedly at him. He looks at you, shrinking a bit. He wasn’t sure how to do this, not really.

“Do you want me to say that I never moved on? That I still think about you, especially when I’m out and I see clothing I know you’d love. That I miss you being in bed next to me? That I miss sleeping over here and waking up to your cats gently making biscuits or laying loafed up on one of us? That I miss how you would always give me kiss on the forehead first thing when you woke up?” your eyes are frantic and he can see the panic and fear in them after you unload everything that needed to be said.

“Or how about that I miss the way your lips felt, the smell of your cologne, or the way you would always have a slight skip in your step when you had a really good day.” He looks at you stunned.

“What about how I miss the way you used to look at me, or how you could make me feel like I was the only girl in the world you’d ever look at. Or how,” he cuts you off with a passionate, deep slow kiss. You freeze for a moment before giving to the desire you’ve had since the day he left.

You both pull apart and he takes your hand leading you to the couch in the living room. He sits down and pulls you down beside him.

“Jagiya,” he whispers as he puts your foreheads together, “I’ve missed you so much.” You can feel tears pricking your eyes and you blink them back. His lips attach to yours again in another slow kiss, he cups your face with his hands and you hold onto his wrist.

“Ji-yong, you left me. I don’t understand,” you croak, emotion welling up in your throat.

“I know, and I’m sorry y/n,” he sighs as he pulls away from you to look at the ground.

“I let the label and what everyone else said get to me and I thought that letting you go was best for both of us, that we could find other people and be happy, but I’m not,” he looks deep into your eyes.

“I’m not happy at all, without you this means nothing to me. If you’re not in the crowd cheering me on I’m not the same G-Dragon. Without you here, without you home I’m not the same Ji-yong. I need you like I need air to breathe.” You feel a stray tear fall onto your cheek and he wipes it away with thumb.

“I’d like another chance, a chance to love you properly, to spoil you and show you just how much you mean to me,” he pleads.

“Oh, Ji,” you pull his face to you and kiss him again and you feel him smile against your lips.

“Is that a yes?�� he quirks his brow and you smile.

If you enjoyed and would like to support me, buy me a coffee

“Yes,” you give him a hug and he pulls you into him, cuddling you on the couch.

[sheepispink]

Is this a Date? ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི lt ghost x baker!reader, part of the Sweet as Sugar Series

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Summary: after your past hesitance, Simon asks you out on more of a silly date than a romantic one. Nonetheless, he begins to realise just how much you two really feel for eachother

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི a/n: fair warning that all the arcade games in this are based of the ones i go to, which are british obvs, so accurate? yes. particularly fun? probably not. Also i said chips but i know some of yall will call it fries. chips is the british word thanks for coming to my ted talk <3

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———

Finally, Simon would be taking you out properly, just like he’d been trying to hype himself up to do for nearly three weeks. He gave you some time since you confessed your anxious thoughts to him, but you’re already feeling a lot better, practically radiating like the sun.

”Are you busy this week?” He considered texting you the question, but he was sitting in the cafe with you again and he just couldn’t wait any longer, half tempted to drag you out with him today.

You’re sitting opposite him in the empty shop, the closed sign bumping against the door. “Hmm.. don’t think so. My parents are taking over to give me a break.” He watches you eye the biscuit tin you leave out for him no matter how many times he insists that he doesn't always eat them, and passes you a bourbon. Your lips quirk up, a soft grin as you take a large bite into the chocolate biscuit, crumbs on your lips.

”A break huh? Well, if you haven't planned anything yet then why don't we go out?” You perk up instantly at that, a light clang of the teaspoon you just dropped on the table echoing out as the possibilities run through your head. Sure, you went to the farm and the winter festival with him, but actually going out? ..Is this a date?

“Where would we go?”

Before you know it, it’s Thursday and he’s wrapped you up in his jacket, the one he knows you love. Since you seemed to have such a great time at the festival, he figures he’d play it safe this time and take you to everyone’s favourite destination— the arcade. His decision is right, of course, confirmed by your eyes brightening as you step out of his car and he has to convince you to let him lock the car first before you start dragging him inside.

“Oooh! Let’s do the shooting!” You exclaim, pulling him along to the little booth and he picks up the fake gun, eyeing it with slight distaste. It’s not close to a real gun in the slightest, but he pushes that thought away as you grab the gun and pull a playful pose, pretending to look through the scope. “Alright, alright.” He places the coins into the slots, watching as the zombies start to approach.

Turning his brain off becomes increasingly easier with you, especially as you aren't afraid to express yourself or act the slightest bit silly, yelling at him to get the ones approaching you on the right. “Simon! I’m gonna die!” You squeal, still pretending your very best to act like a proper fighter as you dramatically move the gun around to aim at all the approaching enemies. “Got your back, love.” He mutters, already forgetting that these games are practically light work compared to anything he’s ever done before, his eyes locked onto the screen as he destroys anything coming your way. By the end of it, you’ve got your hands in the air as you cheer and even he’s grinning wide as possible.

What he didnt expect for you to call out to a random stranger, the woman’s head turning to your voice. “Excuse me, can you take a picture of us?” He has no time to argue, you’re already pulling the fake gun up to your face like some kind of secret agent all while he can hold it across his chest like he does on missions. The woman smiles and returns your phone, only for you to drag him away before he can say anything else.

The pair of you continue through the arcade, him even laughing when you fail to keep up with the dance game you insisted you were brilliant at. It’s not your fault he sneakily picked the hard mode to watch you scramble to get all the notes, but he won't admit that. Next, you drag him over to the air hockey table, a mischievous look on your face as you begin to rack up points like they’re nothing (only because you screamed “Ow!” and he immediately dropped his pusher). “That’s cheating.” You watch his eyes narrow and his stern voice comes through, and you immediately panic like a deer in headlights, eyes so wide you don't notice him pushing the puck straight into your goal. “Hey!”

This time he pulls you along, leading you to a new side of the arcade since it recently got refurbished and towards a booth that has a target behind the barrier. Curious, you raise an eyebrow before looking at the sign above. “Try beating me now.” Damnit, you know he’s smirking behind that mask and you’d be damned because watching him hurl every axe to the centre of that target had to be the definition of attractive. Unlike you, where the axe bounced off the target altogether whilst he tried his best not to stifle his laugh. It really was quite comical, the way you huffed under your breath as it continued to miss, only grazing the edge before bouncing off again. “I-it’s not funny!” He’s had to turn away from how hard he’s laughing right now, and you’re half tempted to give him a fake punch for that though you know he’d only just laugh harder. “Sorry, i’m sorry, i’ll teach you.”

He steps behind you, his hands curving over yours to help fix your lousy form into one that will definitely produce some better results. Well, at least it sticks this time.. on the edge of the target that is. “Simon!” You exclaim as he bursts out laughing again, thankful for his mask as his face is practically burning hot now. “Okay, okay—“ He adjusts you again, helping you tilt your arm back enough and aim it at the centre. Slowly stepping back, he signalls you to throw it. Your brows furrow as you concentrate, arm going a little further back before you throw it forward and it finally hits directly on the bullseye. “I did it! Look—“ You cheer, instantly spinning around to throw your arms tight around his middle as if it was something you’ve done a million times before, like it was something you’d have done for years. The touch immediately fries his harshly trained nerves, the muscles in his stomach tensing as he looks down at the sight of you squeezing him as hard as you possibly can— he can't say his stomach did not flip at least a little. You seem to notice, eyes quickly glancing up at him. Though, before you can stammer out an apology, he scoffs and pinches your cheeks. “Took you long enough.”

———

Exhausted from your escapades, he takes you to a diner. Well it’s barely anything like actual American diners but they make good burgers, so who can complain? You order your usual, and when Simon sees you eye the milkshake options for too long you end up with a tall glass of it in front of you. Meanwhile, he decides to go for something new for once, figuring the description was exaggerating, before he ends up with a giant hunk of a burger before him. “Oh.” The sight has you giggling far too much.

“Those two idiots knocked out right on me. You’d think they’re kids coming back from playcare the way they fall asleep anywhere.” He huffs, describing to you the less gruesome details of his recent deployment.

“Hmm.. Soap is the one with the mohawk right? And Gaz… the one who wears a cap all the time?” You ask, snickering from his story and he nods along, confirming your questions.

“Soap looks lively— well by what I've seen anyway. You said Gaz got his name for being quiet huh? I bet he’s one of those types who randomly have the best quips?”

Simon smiles behind the mask, intrigued by your new captivation about his teammates. Sure, he’s used to talking with you about whatever, just as he is with others. But he never really talked about himself much, at least not more than a few opinions on what he liked— he was far more interested in whatever you’d say. He just never considered you’d be so interested in what he’d say too. You’ve asked before, and he never paid much attention, but now you’re even remembering things from past conversations and expressing intrigue in his life. He might need to step outside to breathe properly again.

”Yeah, he’s definitely that type. Johnny barely wins an argument with him around; I think Cap’ even has a hard time defending himself.” You giggle again, stealing some of the ketchup from his plate with a swipe of your chip. “Do you see them all the time?”

“Yeah. Practically have our rooms right beside each other. We watch the football games in the common room.” He rolls his eyes when you coo at him, saying “aww” and smiling wide at him like he’s a kid who made his first friend or something. You really are an exception huh? He can’t even get all that mad at you when you look at him with curiosity swirling in your eyes.

“Why don't you come down with them sometime? You can bring them to the bakery.” You hum, licking the ketchup off your lip as you chomp down on your last bite of the burger. For some reason, he thought you were joking— would you really entertain a bunch of random men just for the sake of them being his friends? It didn't make sense; you didn't even know them, nor had you met more than one either. ”Pretty sure Johnny would eat all your pastries, love. It’s not worth it.”

“Well, I guess I'll just have to make extra that day then. I’m serious, y’know? Bring them around at your usual time, I'll have tea and the pastries ready.” Now that was unexpected; you were actually willing to give up some of your time to welcome his teammates, ones that he’s never even introduced you to before. Wait— did you think he was rude for not introducing you before?

”I did plan to introduce you at some point— they’re just… busy.” Wow, he actually fumbled his words for once, at this rate his chest will falter as well with the rate you keep surprising him with your genuineness. “Huh? I know, I just thought it’d be nice for them to relax a bit, have something sweet.” You hum, sipping your milkshake he bought for you, before passing the glass over to him and for some reason he doesn't hesitate, slipping your straw beneath his mask as he takes a sip himself.

He ignores the taste of your lipgloss that lingers.

—————

He drives you home soon after, walking you all the way up to your apartment door. You start slipping off your shoes, the time already growing late since you had only gotten to the arcade at five o'clock. He stands awkwardly in the doorway, knowing he should probably say his goodbyes and leave now— because he’s not yours, and you're not his.

Yet.

Your head turns, a brow raised at him curiously. “Won't you come in?” His words clog in his throat, wondering if he should accept the offer. Surely you’d be heading to sleep soon enough anyways, wouldn’t it only be an inconvenience to keep you up any longer? He’s conflicted, wanting to leave you be but ever since the last time he was here, he’s thought about your home more than he’s yearned for a second of rest, which is very often.

“It’ll be late if you drive all the way back to base now. You can just crash on my couch again.” Your hand finds his sleeve, pulling him inside before he can utter a sound against you, and closing the door behind him. “Thanks for today by the way. ..Do you wanna get brunch tomorrow too?”

He thought dating was meant to be taken slow, something that’d develop over weeks and dates were planned apart. Well, that’s how everyone said it worked. Now here you were, not even parting for him and asking for more of his time. Trying to hide the swelling of his pupils is impossible and he has to bend down to undo the laces on his shoes just to try. “Is that even a question? Of course.”

He stands once more, but you’re looking at him with lovestruck eyes, affection pouring out of every crevice as you grin and hug him again for the second time that day. “I knew you wouldn't say no. I’ll make us some tea after I get changed.” Your eyes crinkle again sparkling with something you don't even attempt to hide before you step on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his cheek where the mask doesn't quite cover.

Oh, so that’s what that look was—cheekiness, huh? Especially when you run away after that, scurrying into the bathroom as you snicker to himself. He looks up into the mirror in the hallway, realising his eyes have been struck wide.

————

You wander into the kitchen to start brewing the kettle, dressed in your favourite pajamas already whilst he heads to the bathroom to freshen up. He stares into your mirror, lingers of black paint still clinging onto his lashes. Should he take off his mask? It’s not like you haven't seen him sipping from his drink before, or even that time he fell asleep on the couch without pulling it down again. His fingers linger on the fabric, hesitating as his heart churns with the need to drop everything right now for you. His brain screams at him to act rationally but his gut tells him to take it slow, else he scares you off altogether. He sighs, conflicted, before a flash of light appears in the corner of his eye. Your phone had been left behind on the windowsill, a notification lighting it up. He picks it up so he can hand it back to you, only for it to flash again, the lock screen the picture of the two of you posing with your fake guns, your hand doing bunny ears behind his head. His own sits in his other hand, the picture of you with his stupidly oversized burger held up to your mischievous face flashing to life.

Maybe not today. But he’d definitely get you back for the surprise kiss, stepping out of the bathroom to sneak up behind you as you grab the milk from the fridge.

————-

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[byfulcrums]

I hate the third movie so much!!!! Like a lot!!!!!!!

Prepare for a rant (under cut bc it got a bit long, sorry!)

First of all, here's a thing I always complain about when talking about HTTYD 3: the designs, and the characterization

The designs as in, the armor, is cool as hell, I'm not complaining about that I love the armor so much. But I hate how they made Toothless a literal puppy. His head is literally a square!!! They changed his personality too, when he's always been more similar to a cat than a dog

There's also the light fury. I have no words for this. The fact that they only made her Like That because they needed her to be "feminine" says enough about her

It was weirdly sexist for a HTTYD movie, considering how well done the female characters are in this series. They only made this character to be Girl Toothless, and being a girl was her only character trait

Besides that, they gave some of Toothless' mannerisms to her! The more cat-like behavior, at some points, for example. Toothless in the first movie was more graceful, stealthy, moved silently, etc. They gave all of his different, elegant ways of moving to her, because they wanted to push the golden retriever agenda on him (that's a joke btw. Like they did do that but "golden retriever agenda" isn't a thing)

Ruffnut was far too stupid too. She would NEVER in rtte

Now; let's move on to why the ending is shit

First of all! Toothless is not an Alpha. He is king, yes, but king of Berk's dragons specifically. When he defeated Drago's Alpha, he did not suddenly gain telepathy powers; the dragons under the Alpha's control went to Toothless when he won, and it was a willing decision. They listen to him, yes, but not every dragon will, because HE'S NOT OF THE SPECIES THAT HAS LITERAL DRAGON MIND CONTROL POWERS

That being said!! If Toothless isn't an Alpha, then why the hell did all the dragons leave when he did? And why did all the dragons in the Hidden World immediately bow down to him? Maybe they recognize his status as King (of Berk), but that doesn't mean he's the king of them

There's also no way all the dragons wanted to leave. Just no way. I know I wouldn't!

Then, there's the Death Song problem

There are multiple cannibalistic dragon species. If they go to the Hidden World with the rest, they will try to eat everyone else, and if they can't do that, they'll starve. These dragons can't just change their entire biology and start eating fish, plants, boars, or whatever thing you have in mind. They have to eat other dragons, or they'll die. Sending them all to the Hidden World means that either they'll eat all the other dragons and eventually they'll be one of the few species left standing (highly unlikely) or they'll just go extinct (most probable)

Along with that, there's the fact that many dragons are extremely territorial. if stuck in the same place for the rest of their lives, there will be fights, and dragons don't have medicine! They can only heal naturally, there's no outside help. So many will die, far more than necessary

Now, I do like the ending of the dragons leaving. In the books

And sure, dragons die every day; no one can stop that (no matter how sad this makes Hiccup), but putting them all in a big cave will result in losses that are WAY bigger than necessary and than what they're used to

Plus, what about the species that can't fly? The Speed Stingers, for example? The mutation in RTTE was a thing that only happened with that one group. Only they would be able to reach the Hidden World

I understand that they were trying to end the sagas the same way the books did, but it doesn't work in the movies! Also, (I haven't read all the books yet, it's a work in progress, so correct me if I'm wrong, but) as far as I know, in the books the dragons were basically slaves to the Vikings. It makes sense that they would want to leave. In the movies, it's not like that. Berk's dragons are friends, not servants! They have no reason to want to leave!

And even then, I'm like 99% sure that in the books Toothless still didn't leave Hiccup. And even then, apparently leaving (or when to leave, most likely) was left to be each dragon's choice, not something a random telepathy powered Toothless told them to do

The villain also sucks. I didn't like his design, but I'm not gonna complain about that

It makes no sense for just one person to wipe out an entire species! And besides, Grimmel wasn't scary, wasn't interesting, wasn't anything at all. He's as bland as the Light Fury

Also also also. Toothless would never leave Hiccup for a girl. I'm not talking about a "bros before hoes" thing (I hate that phrase) I'm talking as in, Toothless would never leave Hiccup. Ever. No matter the circumstances. ES MÁS, he wouldn't have let the Light Fury get close to him after she attacked Hiccup! He would've defended him! That's his friend. HIS FRIEND. He's his best bud, his soulmate!!!!!

God the Toothless characterization pissed me off sm

I'd say Hiccup was pretty spot on in the sense that if Toothless wanted to leave and could leave without, like, dying, he would let him; he'd be sad about it, but he would let him. There's other things I don't like about the way he was written, of course, but that wasn't too bad. WHAT WAS BAD IS THE FACT THAT TOOTHLESS LEAVING WAS EVEN A POSSIBILITY IN THE FIRST PLACE

And, to add something: doesn't the "oh I built a new tail and now he can leave forever because it's like basically his old tail! It's like it was never missing at all!" thing feel a bit ableist? Idk that's just a hunch, I'm not disabled so I can't talk about it, but. Just leaving that there

Still, even without the ableism, it's still shitty. The tailfin would never hold that long. It'd need repairs. Things like that can't be permanent, and I know Hiccup is a great inventor, but he's not a god, come on. He can't do everything

Toothless can fly on his own now, yes, but if the tailfin breaks (which is a thing that can happen, either because of an accident or simply because of time), there's no one to fix it. In a place like that, he'll be stranded. It's dangerous!

Also they made Snotlout, Hiccup's cousin in the books, be attracted to Hiccup's mom. HIS AUNT

The HTTYD universe's ecosystem must've been so damaged when all the dragons dissappeared.

"but people wanted to hurt them!" people want to hurt wolves to, but we don't send them all to an isolated cave because it would destroy the ecosystem.

In fact, "dragon" is just a collective word for multiple species so they really fucked themselves with that one.

In conclusion, the third movie was stupid.

[butchhamlet]

"One big question about Hamlet focuses on what a Catholic ghost talking about a Catholic purgatory is doing in an apparently Protestant play. After the religious turmoil of the middle years of the 1550s, Elizabeth's accession marked the establishment of Protestantism as the religion of England: Catholicism was outlawed and driven underground. Two particular doctrinal differences are often used to focus the theological disagreements between Catholicism and Protestantism. The first is the question of transubstantiation and the physical presence of Christ in the Eucharist. The second is more obviously stageworthy: the presence, provenance, and reliability of ghosts. In Hamlet, the ghost's description of his imprisonment 'confined to fast in fires / Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature / Are burnt and purged away' (1.5.11-13) describes the outlawed theology of purgatory, just as the ghost's very presence is anathema to Protestant doctrine, which could not allow that anyone returned from the dead. Horatio, alumnus of a distinctly Protestant university in Wittenberg, a place indelibly associated with Martin Luther's radical challenge to the Catholic Church in 1517, expresses more orthodox reformed views. He questions what the ghost intends, warning Hamlet not to follow: it 'might deprive your sovereignty of reason / And draw you into madness' (1.4.54-5)."

—Dr. Emma Smith, This is Shakespeare (emphasis mine; this sums up pretty well what i couldn't cover about religion in my post on why hamlet isn't dithering. the fact that the ghost is clearly catholic and yet hamlet has been going to THEE martin luther university... either the catholics are right or The Devil Is Here)

[lumons]

kind of toying around with the theory that mdr is sorting out their own experiences and memories to create the rooms that gemma is going into. gemma’s rooms happen to be personal in some ways to her (the thank you cards) because mark is the one refining for her rooms. 

when mark asks about the ashes, reghabi tells him that lumon is connected with the coroners and medical examiners and we already know lumon has such a deep place within society given that they hosted the blood drive where mark and gemma met, they owned the clinic where they went for fertility care, and there’s the government official with his severed wife and the baby camp. lumon is everywhere and they’re always listening and they’re always trying to pull the strings. it’s possible that when gemma got into her accident, lumon saved her and part of this was healing her and treating her until she was fully better until they could turn around and say actually you’re not fully better yet and we need to run tests on you. lumon is in a position of power as the rescuers and saviors of her life to convince her and keep her in this place as a condition and price of her life saving treatment. 

and gemma’s probably far from the only one that lumon has done this to. they’re probably getting more test subjects through these horrific accidents and near death experiences and just repeating this research with them. when mark is first shown petey’s map one area notably is the people who live there/never leave. this sort of tells us that gemma is far from the only one and also why would she be the only one when there’s also the work of helly, irving, and dylan to consider, and of course all the other mdr departments out there in other lumon offices. 

this theory would help explain the work the other refiners are doing and make the explanation of what lumon is up to less centered specifically mark and gemma, and instead make mark and gemma just a tragic coincidence of this whole controlling corporate giant.

as to what they’re doing this for i think there’s so many possibilities but i have to assume, as is the name, mthat they’re refining the severance chips and working towards making them better and possibly commercializing them to offer people an escape from various life experiences that might be distressing or unwanted and they need the various experience of humans to do that and therefore the mdr teams are just sorting their different fears and joys and other emotions to essentially test gemma and the others like her with 

[girlwhorizzed]

can you write something with babydaddy!jj where he like kind of abandoned r & the baby then came randomly like at 12 am at her doorstep and wins her back?

this is s1 jj!! the timeline where the pogues r really deep in the gold thing so yhat should explain why hes not there for his kid :p . p.s. sorry this is so short💔💔💔

babydaddy!jj always came back to you, or at least found his way back. in some special way that made you feel warm inside, he considered you his light— christ, you were the woman who carried and birthed his baby. you'd always be his light, through thick and thin you were the woman he'll retreat back to in the end.

so, it's no surprise when on a random friday night at one a.m. that he's at your doorstep. he's wearing his typical gray muscle shirt that's original color is beginning to fade— with a pair of cargo shorts to go along with it. of course you open it, he'd probably stopped by to do his annual three-week check-up on your shared baby that you'd started to think he forgot about. although your baby is long asleep now and you should blow him off, scold him for being absent in your babies life after during the creation of your sweet girl all he'd done was promise he'd be there, hell even hit him. he'd left you alone a quarter of your pregnancy, returning and playing 'dad' role all of a sudden once your baby was due.

you've rehearsed this exact scene in your head more times than you can count. while you were holding your babygirl for the first time and he hadn't been there, you'd lined up words that never even had been in your vocabulary to cuss him out once he came around, your anger and sadness balanced perfectly. instead of marching down to john b's where you knew he'd possibly be, you exchanged all those emotions for love and comfort for your daughter. she'd deserve that.

your face falls, as he stands on your doorstep. you’re tired, as you open the door— tired of his empty promises and tired of him coming back again and again to repeat the same cycle. but your heart skips a beat at the sight of him, a mix of anger, sadness and relief coursing through you. “come to pay us a visit?” you speak up with a quirk of your eyebrow, arms folded over your chest. he shrugs, his gaze flickering over you — taking in how your frame, now curvier, looks in those clothes, his eyes lingering a fraction longer than you would expect. “yeah. figured i’d pop by, say hello.”

he pushes his hands into his pockets, gaze drifting to the window he knows is you and your little girl’s room, before returning to your face. “she sleep?” you nod. “has been for hours.” he seems to soften at that, his eyes still looking weary yet he can’t help the warmness tugging at his heart to think of his daughter tucked up in her cosy room. he hums, nodding his head. a heavy silence falls, before he’s clearing his throat to speak. “can i come in?”you nod, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, taking in the sight of him. you step aside, the door slowly swinging open.

he gives you a smirk before stepping past, brushing against you, taking in your perfume that he can recognize from many months ago from a night he'll never forget, his hand grazing yours and sending a shiver up your spine — your body betraying you with its response. the shiver doesn’t go unnoticed by him. he feels proud of himself, at how he still affects you even after all the distance. he steps fully inside, his eyes scanning your living room as you close and lock the door behind him, watching him take a couple of lazy steps around it, running a hand over the back of the couch. “place looks different.” he speaks up, before stopping to look at you. “you get some new furniture or something?” he quirks a brow, eyeing you up.

you can’t help but roll your eyes at the small talk. you can feel his gaze roaming over your body, can see how his focus lingers in key places, causing your cheeks to flush with heat from how his blue eyes rake over your curves through your thin nightshirt. you clear your throat, forcing him to meet your gaze, though it doesn’t seem to stop him much — his gaze flickering down to your bare legs. “only difference is all our babies stuff.” you simply respond, your eyes boring into his.

he chuckles lightly, finally returning his gaze to your face and meeting his eyes with yours, holding your gaze intently. “mmm, so she gets the special treatment around here now, huh?” he murmurs, taking a small step towards you. you back up against the door without much thought, his smirk spreading on his face — clearly enjoying getting a rise out of you. he takes another step. and another. he doesn’t stop until he’s in front of you, now invading your space, his body so close to yours that the fabric of your nightshirt brushes against his chest.

your breath hitches, his proximity making you dizzy. his gaze softens, his eyes drinking you in. he reaches out a hand, his thumb skimming across your lower lip, the gesture so tender that you almost forget who you’re dealing with. "course she gets special treatment, she's m'baby."

he chuckles, his laugh is soft. he leans in closer, the hand on your chin now going to grip your waist, his fingers digging into your hip. “yeah, she is.” his eyes are locked onto your own, his touch igniting a wave of familiar sensations that you'd been trying to forget for months. “she gettin' everything she needs?" he murmurs, his other hand resting against the door. he has you trapped between his arms.

“she's healthy. despite the fact her daddy been missing for months on end.” your retort is sharp, a defensive shield that you’ve built up over the months, as his hands on you and close proximity throws you momentarily off guard.

he winces at that, shaking his head. he opens his mouth, as if to say something, but stops himself. he looks torn, and for a moment, it almost makes you feel guilty. he drops his gaze, before looking up at you again, a glint of something in his eye you only just catch. a quiet moment passes, before he takes a deep breath, stepping closer, your body squished against the door as his body now presses against yours. "i ain't mean to… be gone so long, okay?"

you want to scoff at him. you want to push him off of you and tell him to leave. but the truth is that you missed him. you missed his laugh, the way he would look at you. you missed having another hand around to help with the baby, the emotional support you’d always gotten from him. you sigh, your head tilting back against the door as you look at him, your eyes searching his face — hoping to find something, anything "can't go in-n-out her life.”

he knows you’re softening. he knows he just has to keep you talking to him. he knows he just has to keep himself pressed up against you like this, his touch making you feel things you’ve tried your best to forget for so long. he watches you closely, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips. “then lemme stay, darlin’. lemme stay tonight.” he murmurs, moving to trace his nose along your jaw.

you can practically feel the tension leaving your body as his words wash over you, the fight leaving your eyes. your shoulders drop and you find yourself leaning into his touch, your mind screaming at you that this was a bad idea, but your body simply responding to the way he’re touching you. “stay.” you manage, voice barely above a whisper.he speaks softly, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as he ducks his head, resting his forehead against yours.

you feel every breath he takes, the scent of him filling your senses and sending your head spinning. he's so close, closer than he's been in months, and you can feel his breath warm against your skin. he closes his eyes, his voice a low rumble as he speaks again. “missed ya. missed this, missed our baby.”

with your defenses lowered and your emotional barriers crumbling, you give in to the overwhelming feeling of wanting to be close to him, needing to feel the comfort of his presence again. you nod weakly, your voice soft and vulnerable. "i missed you too. missed you and her. missed being close to you like this." you swallow hard, tilting your body towards him — silently inviting him closer.

his gaze softens as he takes in your vulnerability, the way you’re just crumbling in front of him, the way you sound like you need him as much as he needs you. he can’t help the wave of possessiveness that washes over him. he growls softly, his arms wrapping around you tighter, pulling you more firmly against him. “m’here now, mama.” he murmurs, his lips skimming across your exposed shoulder, a small shiver running through your body as he begins to pepper you with light kisses up your neck.

the reassurance in his tone soothed you enough, at least enough to end up on your back with him in between your legs yet again.

[ohgodthevoices]

hey swaggy author, i would absolutely LOVE if u did a tsukishima fluff + angst 🤭 smtg like the osamu timeskip one with the themes of childhood best friends and development of feelings once they're like older 🙂‍↕️🙏

omg i never wrote for tsukishima and im scared it'll be ooc but here we go ill try my best 😭

Tsukishima kei x reader

tags : fluff , a lil angst , he’s not good with feelings , childhood friends to lovers , gn!reader

you and tsukishima kei had been inseparable since chilhood. you were there when he got his first dinosaur book , sitting cross-legged beside him as he rambled about prehistoric eras with excitement only a kid could muster. he was there when you scaped your knee falling off your bike offering a "don't be dumb next time" as he handed you a band-ai

your friendship was nothing too loud , sitting next to each other on the bus , sharing earphones and bickered over song choices or staying up on call when one couldn't sleep and the other was studying.

but somewhere along the way, somwhere between your first and second year of highschool , something shifted.

it wasn't obvious at first , maybe it was the way his gaze lingered a second longer when you laughed, or how your heart stuttered when he absentmindedly fixed your scarf on a cold day. small, almost imperceptible moments stacking up, like a slow-building crescendo neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

when summer was finally here, your joy was quickly met by confusion when tsukishima started leaving you on read longer than usual, it was the way he stopped comming to your place to pick you up for your weekly saturday morning coffee date , the way you'd see him with yamaguchi after he told you he couldn't go out today, the way he stopped answering you calls when you wanted to give him a haul of what you bought.

you decides to brush it off , ever since the start of your first year , tsukishima has been getting closer to his new volleyball teammates , maybe he had decided to change friendgroups , maybe you weren't enough for him anymore...but then days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and it was already the first day of your second year in highschool

obviously you didn’t know the way he felt about you, that him distancing himself only equaled to his realization of his growing feelings for you. he couldn’t accept it, him liking loving someone ? and that someone had to be you ?? that just couldn’t be good. so the only logical solution to him was to disappear, maybe that way the way he was feeling would disappear too…

but tsukishima only found himself seeking you even more, he was seeking your presence , your unfunny jokes , your stupid smile that he just loved to see , he tried distracting himself with practice and hanging out with his teammates, he thought he’d get used to the feeling of something missing when you weren’t here. but boy was he wrong.

now that second year tsukishima stood in front of you in silence, his arrogance was quickly replaced by vulnerability as soon as he locked eyes with you, his best friend next to him quickly got the notice and left the two of you alone in the school’s empty hallway , he suddenly didn’t assume all those unanswered calls and texts , tsukishima opened and closed his mouth as if looking for the right words “i know i acted like an idiot.” he was gonna put his pride to the side for this, for you.

he told you everything— from the reason to why he ghosted you to how he realized he liked you, and you didn’t say a word until he finished , you had known him for so long yet this was the first time you saw tsukishima nervous, actually expressing how he feels. when he was done , he looked at you with an intense gaze waiting for an answer , anything— but you laughed, not because you were going to reject him but because he looked so out of it. of course he got pretty mad at your reaction but you didn’t reject him.

tsukishima preferred to keep your relationship on the low, he didn’t want it to be private, he wanted people to know you were off limits, but he hates showing off. but that changed over time, he was glad you continued to grow up together.

tsukishima thought it was endearing that the person he played hot wheels with was actually driving a car now, that he went from eating pretend food you made in your play kitchen to actually coming back to you and savoring the nice warm meal you made him.

both your families were over joyed when tsukishima finally agreed to let them know you had been dating for 3 (almost 4) years , your families were already pretty close thanks to your mothers being best friends but now they were even closer, holidays were spent together and dinners that were actually enjoyable were hosted more often.

he’s the type of boyfriend to be very attentive, very teasing, his teasing isn’t as mean as it was back in highshool, but he liked how affective it was on you. he’d tease when you mess up a word and kiss you if you got annoyed. tsukishima’s way of showing his love for you is act of service omg he just does everything for you and if you dare tell him “i could do it myself yk” he will hit you.

he still has the stupid little playlist you made him back in your first year of high school that he listens to when he gets nostalgic or when you argue.

a/n : HEY I’M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭😭🙏 i’m catching up on all the requests istg

[satsugacafe]

I saw you were interested in doing question thingy for the characters and thought if I send in one.

A most to least for who's into breeding (mot to get preggo) but just filling up their lover? Between Ichigo, Ryuken, Jushiro, Shunsui, Byakuya and Kisuke, please?

A/N: Damn anon, what a question. You got my stomach flipping in excitement >.< Thank you for asking!

𝐌𝐨𝐬𝐭

1. 𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐢 — The undisputed king of indulgence. The man, the myth, the legend. Nothing satisfies him more than thoroughly filling and feeling you clench around him while he spills inside. He’s playful about it too, murmuring in his lazy, honeyed voice about how good you feel wrapped around him, how he’s not stopping until he’s sure you’re stuffed full and leaking. He adores the slow, drawn-out ecstasy of release after release, pressing his cum deeper with his cock or even his fingers, ensuring you stay warm and filled long after he’s done.

2. 𝐈𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐨 — When he gets into it, he’s relentless. His stamina is absurd, and he gets addicted to the way you tremble, already full yet still taking more. He’s not as openly verbal about it at first, but when he’s truly lost in the moment, he growls out filthy, possessive things—how he loves the way you take him, how he doesn’t want a single drop to go to waste. He doesn't stop until he’s sure you feel every bit of him inside. Seeing you drip afterwards only fuels him to go again.

3. 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨 — I’m telling you, if he wasn’t sick, he’d be competing with Shunsui. This man has seven siblings. You CANNOT tell me that breeding doesn’t run through his veins? But alas, his illness marks him as 3rd. He may be the picture of gentlemanly restraint in public, but in private, he revels in it. He’s incredibly tender, praising you between soft kisses, stroking your trembling form as he murmurs about how good you feel. He doesn’t rush, taking his time to enjoy every moment, ensuring you’re completely satisfied before finally letting himself sink deep and spill inside, groaning at the blissful tightness.

4. 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐞 — Oh, he absolutely loves it, but he also enjoys teasing the hell out of you about it. There’s this annoying, smug, knowing grin every time he pulls out and watches his cum leak from you, making amused little comments about how messy you are. But that smirk drops when you clench around him, keeping his load inside—oh, that drives him feral. He’s all about experimenting, seeing how much you can take, and testing your limits, but he doesn’t have the same deep-seated need as the ones ranked above him. It’s more of a game to him, albeit one he thoroughly enjoys playing.

5. 𝐁𝐲𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐲𝐚 — Being in control, and filling you is something he takes pleasure in, but it’s not a necessity for him. If you request it, he’ll oblige, murmuring low commands about how you are to hold everything without spillage. He appreciates the aesthetic of it, watching his cum drip from your swollen entrance with a smouldering gaze. For him, it’s more about refinement—making sure you’re fully satisfied rather than indulging in raw, messy excess.

6. 𝐑𝐲𝐮𝐤𝐞𝐧 — Of everyone here, he’s the most restrained. He doesn’t see the appeal in excessive indulgence, preferring efficiency over hedonism (like Shunsui). That doesn’t mean he never does it—if you enjoy it, he’ll ensure you’re filled, but it’s never his primary focus. He’s meticulous and doesn’t like mess. If anything, he’d rather keep things clean and controlled, though if pushed to his limit, he might surprise you with just how much he’s capable of giving.

𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

[slytherin-pen]

Despite It All

pairing: Azriel x Eris

word count: 3.1k

warnings: family’s disapproval of relationship, Azriel cries, Eris makes threats, steamy make out, subtle inclusion of my own trauma about “coming out” (quotes because i wasn’t the one who told them) to my family and religion

a/n: my first Azris fic! i already liked the idea of them but after writing them i am ✨in love✨. written for Day 5 of @sjmprideweek “Family”

Cassian’s voice was a low growl as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Where the hell have you been?”

The tension in the room was suffocating. Rhys sat at the head of the table, resting his chin on his fist, violet eyes unreadable but sharp. Feyre glanced between them, her lips pressed into a thin line, while Mor refused to meet Azriel’s gaze at all.

Azriel—still standing in the entryway to the dining room—sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He had known this was coming. The moment he’d stepped foot back into Velaris, this feeling of impending doom settled in his stomach. His shadows, now swirling around him restlessly, had felt it too. He had been gone too long. Rookie mistake for a Spymaster, but he had been…held up.

He ensured his stoic mask remained in place before responding. “As you all know, I was on a mission. Some unforeseen circumstances caused me to stay longer but it’s settled now.”

Cassian scoffed. “That's bullshit. Rhys said the mission shouldn’t have taken you more than a couple of days, yet it took you a week and a half. You’re a 500 hundred-year-old Illyrian warrior and the Spymaster for Cauldron-sake, what could have possibly made you stay for that long—” He hesitated, nostrils flaring. “And you smell like Autumn.”

Silence.

Then Rhys’ eyes narrowed slightly. “Azriel,” he said carefully, “why were you in Autumn? Your mission was on the Continent.”

Azriel clenched his jaw. He could lie. He had done it before, buried his truths so deep that even Rhys couldn’t pry them from his mind. But he was so damned tired. Of the lying, the sneaking around—pushing himself farther and farther away from the people he calls his family. He couldn’t do it anymore. They were his family. They would want him to be happy no matter what, right? And logically, this couldn’t go on forever. He would have to tell them someday anyway. Maybe this was the Mother’s way of nudging him toward the truth. Toward living in his truth.

His fingers twitched with nerves and his shadows dutifully hid them from view. It was now or never. “I’ve been with my mate,” Azriel admitted.

A sharp inhale from Feyre. Mor stiffened as if struck. Cassian’s expression darkened, brows knitting together.

Rhys exhaled slowly. “And who, exactly, is your mate?”

Azriel swallowed. “Eris.”

Mor shot to her feet, her chair scraping against the floor. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” Not anymore.

“That bastard—” Cassian started, but Mor cut him off.

“He’s cruel, Azriel. He let me suffer. He would have married me and Mother knows what if I hadn’t—” Her voice broke, her red-painted lip wobbling and Feyre placed a comforting hand on her arm. Morrigan slowly sank back into her chair.

“Perhaps it’s some sort of trick,” Feyre suggested, her wide blue eyes landing on her mate. “Maybe Eris has a daemati and is using Azriel for some sort of plot.”

Rhys frowned, creases forming between his brows. Azriel felt the claws scrape against his shield of shadow and steel, and he shoved them away.

“I know what he’s done,” Azriel said, his voice low. “I know what you all think of him. But you don’t know him. You don’t know his reasons.”

“I know enough,” Mor spat, her golden hair swishing as she shook her head. “And now you expect us to believe that you—what? You love him?”

Azriel didn’t answer. Because love was not a word he had ever used lightly. But Eris had held him close in the warm, firelit halls of the Forest House, tracing the scars on his hands, whispering declarations, and promising things Azriel had never dared dream of. Eris had kissed him slow and passionately, as if they had all the time in the world. As if he cared for Azriel in a way Azriel had never even cared for himself.

“You can’t be serious, brother,” Cassian pleads. “We have hated him for centuries. The things he has done—“ his wings jerked open then shut again with his rising frustration. “You can’t do this.”

“It is not something I have done,” Azriel corrects. “The Mother chose my mate. If you have a problem with it, take it up with her.”

Cassian slammed his hand down on the table as he leaned forward in his seat, rage and betrayal simmering in his hazel eyes. Morrigan and Feyre flinch in their chairs. “Don’t start that shit with me!” he roars. “You’ve kept this from us. From your family! And it’s because you knew it was wrong.”

Wrong.

Wrong?

No that can’t be right.

What he and Eris had was not wrong. Complicated? Sure. Messy? Absolutely. A game of fire and daggers, of harsh words and sharp gazes in the presence of others, always teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something exhilarating. But never wrong.

Because how could it be wrong when Eris looked at him the way he did? Like he was the only person worth watching in a crowded room? How could it be wrong when Azriel lay in his arms and for once in his Cauldron-forsaken life felt whole?

Rhys raised his hand placatingly. “That is not what Cassian meant,” he turned a glare on the bulky Illyrian before meeting Azriel’s eyes again. “Just help us understand, Az. How did this happen? How long have you known?”

Azriel’s shadows whipped around him, his rage rising like a burning fire. “I will not be interrogated. I did not ask you questions, Rhys, when you told us Feyre was your mate. I congratulated you. She was engaged to another High Lord and I was still happy for you. And Cassian—,” Azriel let out a bitter laugh, “you have some nerve to butt into my mating bond.”

Cassian stiffened, confusion marring his face, but Azriel continued. “I have watched you, brother,” spitting out the term like a bad-tasting tonic, “treat the mate you waited 500 years for like dirt under your boot. You belittle her, insult her, let Rhys—another male—dictate her life. I’ll admit I should have stepped in, should have told you what a prick you were being, but I held my tongue. What did I know about having a mate? About watching her wither away and suffer before my very eyes? I felt sorry for you but now—now I only feel sorry for her.”

Rhys had the decency to look guilty. Cassian recoiled as if he had been slapped, the color draining from his face.

Azriel surveyed the family that had always claimed to love him and realized it had never been unconditional.

He nodded to himself, then turned on his heel and left.

He ignored the shouts at his back—the pleas, the apologies. He will not stand for it. Unlike Cassian, he will protect the bond that is so sacred. He will defend his mate when he is not present, he will separate himself from those who cannot respect the love they have for each other.

The moment Azriel stepped into the Forest House, a warm hand caught his wrist.

Eris studied him, amber eyes filled with concern, then realization. “They know.”

Azriel exhaled shakily. “They know.”

A heartbeat of silence. Then Eris guided him toward the sitting room, his grip firm but gentle.

As they sat on the burgundy sofa, Eris released his grip on Azriel’s wrist and took both hands in his. “You’re shaking,” Eris murmured.

Azriel hadn’t realized. He had withstood the abuse of his step-brothers, survived wars and what should have been fatal injuries—but this rejection hurt more than it all combined.

Eris didn’t push, didn’t pry. He just sat there, steady and comforting, letting Azriel come back to himself.

When Azriel loosed a shuddering breath, Eris finally asked, “Do you regret it?”

Azriel turned to him, eyes burning. “No.”

It was true. He wished his family could have accepted it. Wished they would have wrapped their arms around him and gushed with joy as he had for them, but he did not regret it.

Eris let out a slow breath, something like relief flickering across his face. Then, with the ease of someone who knew exactly what Azriel needed, he shifted closer, brushing their knees together. “Then let them be angry. They’ll learn. Or they won’t. Either way, I’m not going anywhere.”

Azriel stared at him, at this male who had once been his enemy, at the warmth in his gaze, and for the first time since he was a child—he cried.

Eris tutted and maneuvered Azriel to lay his head on his lap—mindful of his wings—and ran his long, nimble fingers through the black strands of his hair. Azriel’s scarred hands gripped the fabric of Eris’ pants until his knuckles turned white like he was afraid Eris might run away.

“Let it out,” Eris murmured, his voice soft and soothing. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Azriel’s temple, his heart breaking for the male. “It’s going to hurt for a while. Maybe longer. But one day, it won’t be so hard to breathe anymore, and that weight in your chest will start to ease. You’ll be able to go about your day without thinking of all the ‘what ifs’, or turning your head to tell them something only to find they are not there. Because I am here. I always will be. And if you need me to hold you I can do that. If you need me to shove you, I can do that, too.”

Azriel’s shoulders shook with his sobs, and Eris’ chest cracked more with every choke on his tears.

This was never what Eris wanted, though it was what he had feared. He had told Azriel it was up to him to decide whether he told the Inner Circle about them. That he would respect whatever decision he made. But Eris knew the Inner Circle clung to the debacle with Morrigan like a child with their favorite teddy bear. Taking her word as fact and never questioning it. And even though he was there too, even though Morrigan did not tell the whole truth—he kept his mouth shut because it was not his story to tell. He chooses to believe that the Mother has a hand in all of their lives, and everything plays out how it should. He would curse her name for this particular conflict if he did not fear her wrath.

The Mother had given him Azriel as his mate, and for that he was grateful, but he could not help but question her methods sometimes. Why must his mate go through this? Why had their path been so rocky and treacherous? Eris’ mother would always say the Goddess only gave the hardest battles to her strongest warriors, but why must there be so many? It could be a test, he reasoned. A test of worthiness, of loyalty, but Azriel was already those things. Perhaps the test was not for him but for the Inner Circle, and they had failed. Now, his mate was the innocent victim of their negligence.

Azriel started to calm down, sniffling quietly. Eris continued to run his fingers through his hair, breathing deeply enough that Azriel could feel it and match his breaths.

“It hurts,” Azriel croaked.

“I know it does, my love. I am so sorry. If I could take your pain, I would.”

Azriel shook his head. “I wouldn’t want you to.” He slowly raised his head from Eris’ lap, wiped his eyes, and adjusted his position on the couch to be shoulder-to-shoulder with Eris. Eris intertwined their fingers, his golden rings chilling Azriel’s heated skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t you dare,” Eris snapped. Azriel flinched and he immediately regretted it. Softer this time, “Don’t apologize for their actions. Don’t apologize for your emotions. Just don’t.”

Azriel remained silent gazing down at their connected hands, watching Eris’ thumb sweep back and forth over his knuckle with rapt attention.

Eris sighed. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Azriel muttered. “I don’t want your feelings to be hurt too.”

“Don’t worry about my feelings,” Eris scoffed. “Whatever they said about me today, I assure you I have heard far worse from them in the past.”

“I know,” Azriel frowned. “Rhys tried to give me a chance to explain it to them, but after Cassian berated me and Mor bringing up the past—“

“Leave it to Morrigan to make it about her.” Azriel cut a sharp glare his way. “Sorry.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter now. As far I’m concerned they are out of our lives. Cassian said it was wrong.”

Eris clenched his jaw and wrapped his free arm around Azriel’s shoulder and pulled him in, placing a tender kiss on his head. “You don’t need to explain anything to them. Their love for you should have prevailed over their hatred for me. It’s not like we were going to have family dinners any time soon,” Eris tried to joke, but it fell flat.

Azriel huffed a sad laugh. “No, we were not.” Azriel looked to Eris’ amber eyes, at the love and worry shining in them. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that he would get to wake up and fall asleep to those eyes every day. To the feel of his fiery red hair on his chest. He began to think he might just be okay in the end with Eris—his mate—by his side. He loved his family, no one could question that, but even they could not compare to the glowing string tying him and Eris rib to rib. To the constant flow of love, affection, and utter devotion that travels down the bond from Eris’ end.

He cupped the side of Eris’ jaw with his hand and brought his lips to his. It was measured and methodical, a lot like their relationship these past few years. Their tongues tangled with an intoxicating slowness, each stroke deliberate. Azriel felt his pants become uncomfortably tight, and as he moved his hand down Eris’ chest to his crotch he felt him having the same problem. He smirked into the kiss, pure male arrogance, and Eris growled as he ran his hands up the back of Azriel’s neck to his hair and tugged at the roots. Azriel moaned and swung his leg over Eris’ to sit on his lap, wings flaring behind him. His shadows encased them in a bubble of darkness, whispering to him about Eris’ fluctuating heart rate and breathing patterns.

He grabbed the collar of Eris’ shirt and yanked, buttons flying and rolling across the floor as they landed. His hands ran up and down Eris’ torso as he rocked his hips rocked back and forth. Eris’ hands found his hips and squeezed as he took Azriel’s lip between his teeth. The scent of their arousals—cedar, cinnamon, and musk—filled the sitting room. Eris started to fiddle with the buckles of Azriel’s leathers when there was a knock at the door.

Eris cursed. “Who the hell could that be?”

Azriel’s chest heaved as he lifted himself off Eris’ lap and settled back on the couch. Eris ran his hands through his disheveled hair and leaned down to peck Azriel’s lips. “I’ll tell them to fuck off and then we can continue this in the bedroom,” Eris purred.

Azriel smiled to himself as Eris walked out the double doors. He leaned his head back against the couch, throat bobbing as he swallowed. His smile grew as thought about being able to do this every day. No more sneaking around, no more extended missions for a few stolen moments with Eris. He will have him all to himself.

Eris walked back into the sitting room, his beautifully pale abs still on display. Azriel was about to comment on them when Eris spoke.

“It appears we are taking in strays now,” he drawled.

Azriel quirked a brow when Nesta Archeron walked through the doorway, a suitcase in tow. He jumped to his feet. “Nesta? he blurted.

Nesta handed her suitcase to Eris and strode straight toward Azriel, he let out an audible oof as she made impact, wrapping him in a tight hug. Azriel returned the gesture once the shock wore off, rubbing his hand up and down her back. When Nesta pulled away her face scrunched, and then she sniffed. Azriel’s cheeks flushed at the realization that she could smell them, what they had been doing before she arrived.

“Wh—What are you doing here?” Azriel stuttered.

Nesta, still smirking and grey eyes swimming with mirth, merely shrugged. “I’m moving in.”

Eris walked further into the room to where Azriel and Nesta stood, placing his hands on his hips. “And pray tell how you managed to get here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Feyre, obviously. She dropped me off at the border between Winter and Autumn, and then I walked.”

“You walked?” Azriel balked.

“It’s why it took me so long,” she nodded. “I was eavesdropping on the conversation you had in the dining room,” Azriel snorted, because of course she had, “and after you left I cornered Feyre in the hallway and demanded she winnowed me.”

Eris’ eyes narrowed. “And she just agreed? What about your mate?”

All the humor drained from Nesta’s face as she met his gaze. “I heard what you said.” Azriel’s face fell, guilt churning in his gut. “You were right. Cassian doesn’t respect me, doesn’t cherish me. And I think I knew that deep down, but hearing someone else say it too for once made me realize I wasn’t overreacting or being difficult. He does not love me.” She glanced at Eris. “Not the way you love him.”

Azriel exhaled slowly. “I’m glad you came, Nesta,” he said softly. “But what about Cassian,” he turned to meet Eris’ eyes, “what if he tries to come here?”

Eris’ expression darkened. “I will feed him to my hounds,” he said menacingly.

Azriel’s mouth gaped, and he readied to scold Eris when Nesta started laughing. She doubled over, clutching her stomach as the cackles escaped her. Tears streamed down her face, and every time she tried to stop, she’d snort and laugh some more.

Azriel couldn’t help but join in. A soft chuckle at first, then a proper laugh as he tilted his head back, a wide smile overtaking his face.

Eris’ eyes whipped back and forth between them, scowling. “I wasn’t joking,” he deadpanned.

Nesta collapsed to the floor in a fit of giggles, bracing a hand on the rug as she tried to catch her breath.

Azriel sighed as he calmed down, walked to Eris’ side, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “This is going to be fun.”

[racoon-master]

Ok, I've got a rant. (All things aside though, this was an amazing video, dip and pip always deliver <3)

I didn't find out about this video till I saw @dnpstardust post though! I can't believe this didn't get recommended to me the day it was posted on YouTube, I was checking basically every day for all of January. I had a lot going on at the start of the year and for some reason I thought D&P text each other was normally posted on the gaming channel, so that's what I was checking every day. I'm very much still subscribed to AmazingPhil though, I so I couldn't believe I found out about this video through tumblr 3 days after it was posted! YouTube was recommending me D&P compilation videos, but not this?! Come on!!

Has anyone else noticed a trend of YouTube not recommending Phil's videos? Cause this isn't the first time I've noticed. I didn't joint the phandom till 2023 so there is still some content I haven't seen yet. I've been watching a combination of old and new videos from the gaming channel and for both of them individually. I subscribed to both Dan and Phil's channels at the same time, and yet Dan's videos get recommended to me way more often. Which is bizarre to me, especially considering their different upload schedules (i.e. Phil having more consistent uploads). More then once I have found myself intentionally seeking out Phil's content, but Dan's videos are constantly in my recommended section. Why would it recommend a video from Dan from like 10 years ago when Phil uploaded one a couple months ago?

I know it's got to do with the algorithm and all that (which can be unpredictable at best), but from what I know Phil has done a bit more to keep on top of that with his consistency/lack of hiatus (no shade to Dan what so ever). I know there is a difference in subscribers between the two of them (which I think is silly, but that's a whole other topic lol), and I wonder if this has anything to do with it.

Even though I subscribed to both their channels at the same time, YouTube tends to only recommend Phil's videos if Dan is in them. What's up with that? :(

This happened (to a lesser extent because I knew to check both channels) when "So what now Dan and Phil??" was posted on AmazingPhil. Every time a new gaming video gets posted it's at the top of my recommended, but I have to seek out Phil's videos (context, I have notifications on for both AmazingPhil and D&P Games, but I don't have the YouTube app).

Has anyone else noticed this trend? I haven't been a part of the phandom for as long as some of y'all so I'm curious to see what you guys think.

Just here to remind every one of this btw!