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copper-16 · 2 days ago

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Remind Me That There’s A Room To Grow Part 3

Broken, rueful, and mended as it should have been.

(a/n: Part 3, here we come! Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting on these, I'm so grateful! Reminder for anyone who likes a musical touch that you can find the Spotify playlist here, if you would like. Please enjoy this part, and I would love to hear your feedback about the note at the end!)

Alexia sat on that damn park bench for God knows how long.

She didn’t care if she got no sleep or looked absolutely insane sitting there for hours on end. The things you had told her rattled around in her brain disconcertedly, unending every single thought that attempted to interrupt. The brunette had gone from feeling like she was the most stable and vindicated person on the planet to a feeling as though she were a shell of herself.

This whole time, there had been so much more to the story than she ever could have imagined. And though she knew it really wasn’t their fault, resentment flared within her at how quick Eli and Alba were to blame you for everything.

Everything in Alexia felt anguished. Just thinking about looking at your face made the Catalan feel nauseous, stuck on how distraught you had been. It wasn’t as though she could blame you either, not when she had been so irate.

She had allowed herself to be influenced by every single person around her instead of trusting you, as she always had. She should have trusted herself, should have trusted the fact that she knew something was wrong. The last nine years had been spent giving you the benefit of the doubt, but when it came to it, she had treated you with such animosity.

Never in a million years had she expected the reasoning behind all of this.

Cancer. It seemed impossible for someone who was only eighteen years old, but it wasn’t as though stranger things hadn’t occurred. Now all Alexia managed to think of was how scared and alone you must have felt. She had lost you, but she did so when she was chasing her dreams. You had to watch her leave you behind because of a situation entirely out of your hands.

All this time where she had felt abandoned, and in reality it was the other way around.

What an absolutely fucked up situation.

When the footballer finally stood, a chill wrapped around her and caused her to shiver violently. She didn’t remember it getting cold, but it wasn’t as though she cared about the temperature when her mind was a ruction of emotions.

She booked it back to her car, driving herself toward her Mami’s house in what would have been considered a fury. The brunette knew that her sister was there as well, so she could kill two birds with one stone.

When she arrived, the brunette barged through the door with no care at all for the hinges, her inner turmoil gathering and growing with each and every step she took. She found her family in the kitchen, enjoying some dessert with a glass of wine in each of their hands.

“You were wrong,” Alexia seethed, almost heady with the amount of wrath she felt within her. Eli and Alba both turned to her in an instant, instantly confused at the animosity in her tone. It was so rare to hear the brunette truly upset in the way she was right now, and they glanced at each other for a second before they turned to Alexia fully.

“What happened?” Alba asked, very confused as to what her sister was talking about. They had no idea that the pair of you had talked, but Alexia didn’t care to give them context.

“You both blamed her for leaving me behind, you made her out to be the villain and she never was! This was all of your fault, how could you do this to me? How could you twist my mind in such a way?” Alexia snapped, her whole body tense with rage.

“Alexia, what the hell are you talking about?” Alba demanded, understanding dawning on the subject her sister spoke about but still confused as to the circumstances.

“She was fucking sick, you two. She let me go alone because she had cancer, and she didn’t want me to have to live through it when I was moving away. She broke up with me so I could go chase my dreams and build my career without being bogged down. She gave up her own happiness so that I could have my own,” the brunette spat, her face red with exertion. Whether it was to keep her anger inwards or to stop the tears that burned in the back of her eyes, the Catalan was unsure.

“She did it to protect me, and I gave her the benefit of the doubt for her decision for a decade before you two got so defensive and twisted my mind. She was never the selfish person you made her out to be, she was always the most selfless, empathetic, compassionate of all of us!” Alexia argued, and she seemed only to be growing more and more in her anger.

“Alexia–” Eli tried to interrupt, but she was quickly cut off.

“No! I don’t even want to hear you two attempt to explain yourselves. I don’t want to hear it. I loved her, I love her now, and I’ve fucked it all up with your words in my mouth! She left the conversation in tears, she told me to leave her alone. If you two hadn’t been so horrible about the whole thing, I never would have been so skeptical in the first place!” Alexia was ready to burst at the seams, and she couldn’t handle it.

“Now Ale, we only did that because we wanted to protect y–” Alba attempted to interject, failing just as her mother had.

“I don’t even want to hear it! I am so angry at the two of you, especially considering that you hardly let me get a word in edgewise about her character. She grew up with us, she loves us, and she trusted you with her heart just as much as you trusted her with mine. So don’t sit there and say anything, but maybe think about your own actions!” Alexia finally demanded, her words fervent in manner.

When her mother and sister said nothing but looked at her in shock, the brunette shook her head and chuckled austerely, not a trace of humor in her tone.

“God, and now you don’t even have anything to say for yourselves,” she looked around at her mother’s kitchen as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. The midfielder was aware she was only redirecting her anger onto two people whose blame was minimal, but the affliction in her heart needed somewhere to go.

“I have to go, I will talk to you two later,” Alexia said after a second, defeat heavy in her expression as the anger began to drain out of her. It was replaced by an excruciating misery that weighed on her shoulders exactingly, as though it knew that she was really the one to blame in all of this.

She felt as though she had lead in her shoes as she walked out to her car. The drive back to her apartment was done in complete silence, the Catalan unable to deal with anything other than the chaos in her mind.

She barely made it one step in the door before the first sob bubbled up her throat. She finally allowed herself to succumb to it, sobbing so hard that her ribs ached and her eyes swelled, and she had nobody to blame for everything except for herself.

—

Every single person on the team could immediately tell something was wrong with Alexia when she showed up at training the next day.

Alexia had always been the most dedicated of them all, relentless in her pursuit to be better. She was endlessly pushing herself and those around her to be their best selves, and it paid off. The team worked hard, and they looked better than ever. The Catalan had helped to lift them from relative obscurity into a team that people feared to play, and as much as Vicky was their fearless leader, every single player would tell you that the Catalan was their beating heart.

But today? Well, today the brunette looked about two steps away from death as she walked into the changing room.

Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. Her hair was mildly unkempt, her skin sullen, the bags under her eyes endlessly listless. She kept her head down, and changed as though she wished she could curl up into a ball and never be seen again. The midfielder was usually a quiet person, but today she seemed…unobservant.

Somehow, that made all of it seem worse.

Jenni and Mariona were instantly alarmed because they knew what had happened, while the other girls were both confused and in a state of shock. Nobody had ever seen Alexia this clearly upset, considering the fact that she typically kept things close to her chest.

To be this outwardly downtrodden was incomprehensible, to the point where the rest of the team wasn’t sure how to act toward her. They all seemed to avoid her as though she was radioactive, and she made no attempt to engage with any of them.

Jenni, Mariona, and Vicky, however, had no problem marching over to the Catalan as they created a concerned cocoon around her.

“What happened Alexia?” Vicky questioned gently, only to receive nothing short of the death glare back from Jenni and Mariona in response.

“How did it go?” Mariona amended quietly, hopeful that they might have been able to draw out some sort of reaction from the midfielder. It was clear the conversation had not gone well, but they did not know why.

And sure enough, Alexia’s entire face flashed into something nearly venomous, and she shook her head with what looked to be a clearly concerted effort to remain in control.

“Nothing. I would appreciate it if everyone left me alone and we could conduct training as normal, like we are supposed to be doing,” she managed to grit out pointedly, her voice bolstered with hostility and malice. The three women looked around at each other, none of them in the least bit convinced, but the mutually agreed upon decision seemed to be that they clearly weren’t going to get anything out of the brunette right now.

The midfielder was a monster at training that day, and not in a good way.

Every single ball was launched with a lethal ferocity. Every single pass was too hard, every single first touch sloppy and heavy.

None of the movements were reminiscent of the Alexia that everyone had come to know. It wasn’t great football, it wasn’t even good football. The midfielder was clearly angry at something, and the longer practice went on, the worse it got. The Catalan was frustrated with herself, bitter and enraged at how she seemed unable to play with any ounce of grace.

It felt ironically similar to how she seemed unable to converse with you without accusation, a thought she was ruefully reminded of.

It was when she sent a ball flying angled toward Caro’s head that Vicky and Marta finally pulled the midfielder aside brashly. The captain of the team had taken one look at their manager, whose expression agreed with her own, to know what needed to be done.

“You’re done for the day,” Vicky stated without an ounce of discussion left in the conversation. Alexia certainly wasn’t in the mood to be ordered around as she decisively brushed them off.

“I’m fine, we still have another half hou–” The brunette was cut off without even managing to finish her sentence.

“No. You are done, you’re going to go back to the changing room and take a long shower. You’re going to get dressed and go home and process whatever you’re trying to avoid right now by almost murdering your teammates,” the Barcelona captain dictated with even greater finality, her eyebrow raised as though she dared the younger woman to argue with her.

Alexia looked posed to respond, but when she caught Marta looking back at the Norwegian with worried eyes, she felt the fight drain out of her. The older Spaniard had always had a sweet spot for the nervous Wolfsburg transfer, and seeing it right in front of her eyes made her deflate like a balloon.

She knew that look.

She had lived that look before, when she hadn’t fucked all of this up seven ways to Sunday.

With a reluctant, apologetic glance at Marta, the midfielder nodded her head. She turned on her heels, much to the surprise of her co-captains, who were honestly expecting more of a pushback.

As they watched the midfielder walk off the pitch, they stared at the way her body seemed to curl in on herself, almost as though the brunette couldn’t bear to stand up straight as she stared down at her feet.

“What the hell happened?” Marta asked Vicky as she looked over at her captain. But the Barcelona captain was unable to tear her eyes away from Alexia’s retreating form until it disappeared into the building. It was only then that she looked over at Jenni, who hovered a short distance away from them with a look of unease on her face.

Vicky shook her head before she turned back to the pitch.

“I honestly have no idea,” she replied curtly as she made direct eye contact with Jenni, who seemed to understand the silent request of her captain as she turned back toward practice.

When the team filed in after training was done, Alexia and all of her stuff were gone, nowhere to be seen.

—

Nine years.

You had lived with the grief of losing her for nine years. You would never change your mind on the decision, but God did it feel as though you were sucking the blood out of your body. Even all of these years later, it still stung to think about how much you had lost in that moment.

Alexia took every ounce of happiness and peace with her when she left. While you still had other friends, you were by no means alone, it was never the same without her there. You hardly had to speak a single word for the brunette to understand where your mind was at. There was a closeness to the two of you that was impossible to replace. It hadn’t been the same after she had left, no longer having a confidant who held space for you.

Your father, while a lovely man, was never terribly involved in your life. He loved you, but having children was never his dream, and with how much he worked, you rarely saw him. It was a loss that you didn’t feel rather acutely, especially not when Jaume had swept you into his orbit through your friendship with Alexia. He had loved you like a daughter, and you cherished him for it in a way you had never managed with your own father.

Your two younger brothers, Leo and Adan, had struggled when you had gotten sick. They always looked up to you as their protector and ring leader. Seeing you unable to help, organize, and work as you usually did was strange for them, especially considering the fact that they were only fifteen and fourteen at the time. And while you spent much of your childhood watching over them with a loving gaze, it was your mother who stepped up to take care of them more.

Your mother Paula was a lovely, exuberant woman, if not a touch frazzled. She was a better entertainer than she was a mother, but there was no question she loved the three of you. The two of you had been a team in helping to raise the boys, because while your mother had wisdom you were steadfast in your ability to calm. You had been a significant help in raising the two boys, and your mother had come to rely on you as a result. It had all gotten thrown out of place when you had gotten sick. Your mother tried to pick up the slack, bless her, but she struggled. She did as best as she could until you were declared cancer free, and able to help pick up some of the slack that had been created. It helped that your brothers were compassionate and kind, never one to try and cause too much trouble.

Your mother passed away just a few years ago because of a brain aneurysm, much to the devastation of your father. While you missed her terribly, you never needed her for stability and strength. That was found on your own.

Chemo treatments were mostly done on your own, a book and a sick bag in hand. It was a tough three months, but you made it through with as big of a smile as you could muster. A friend would accompany you occasionally, but they never quite knew what to do when they were there with you. Not that you faulted them for it, but it only made you more exhausted having to entertain on top of feeling ill.

After a grueling few months, the tumor had shrunk enough to be surgically removed, and a few rounds of radiation killed off the last of it. It had been less than a year to get rid of everything, though in your mind it had felt much longer.

Overall, the treatment had gone well from a medical perspective. You had responded well and were declared to be in remission swiftly. You were young and otherwise healthy, making you the perfect candidate to respond to treatment.

That didn’t seem to account for the ache that persisted deep in your chest, but it wasn’t as a result of your sickness. The sense of loss that pervaded your mind for years afterward was impossible to banish. You had not made a mistake, and yet your mind and body betrayed you with a wanton amount of unearned yearning.

There was a restlessness that existed within you, a restlessness that needed to be solved and yet had nowhere to go.

You had begun university toward the end of your treatments and sped through a track in finance, turning heads each and every way you went. There was always a level of intelligence to you that you were aware of, but investment analysis and management came naturally to you it seemed.

Though you had the opportunity to go earlier, you waited dutifully for your brothers to finish school and go off to university before you left your hometown. Leo ended up in Valencia for school, and a year later Adan made the decision to stay in Madrid for his degree.

Once you were certain your brothers were settled, you began to dig for opportunities in your own career. The work you had put in paid off, and you had offers not only in Spain but France, Italy, the United States as well.

You didn’t care about any of that, though. You took the one job that put you directly in Barcelona and decided to figure it out from there.

There was a safety and security to being in the same city as Alexia, even if she had no clue you were there. You were thankful for the move, honestly, thankful for the opportunity to meet new friends and build your own life. The sun forever shined and the city was exciting and vibrant, devoid of the reminders that face you everywhere in Madrid.

Both of your brothers ended up staying in or returning to Madrid, living near your mother until her death and trying to stay vaguely connected to your father. He had struggled immensely in the wake of her passing, but both Leo and Adan never seemed to mind stepping in to keep him on the right path.

By all logical standards, you had a wonderful life. An amazing group of friends, a job you really enjoyed, hobbies you found interesting. It felt like the whole package of what someone would want in their life.

But you found in the morning after your talk with Alexia, there was nothing you wanted to do with this life. You simply wanted to be left alone to rot, and you found that you didn’t care who disagreed. The longing in your heart threatened to swallow you whole, your hatred for your decisions every single day of the last nine years.

You had finally been honest with Alexia, you had told her the truth…but was it worth it?

Based on the feeling inside of you right now, it wasn’t worth it.

You would have taken anger over devastation on her face any day.

You loved her too much to care about your own peace of mind.

And yet…

—

Alexia nearly jumped out of her skin when she unlocked the door of her apartment, only to find that Jenni was sitting on her couch with a glass of lemonade and a raised brow. The midfielder did a complete double take, confounded when she reminded herself that the door had in fact been locked before she came in here.

“How the hell did you get in here?” The Catalan asked with confusion as her heart rate struggled to return to an acceptable level. She looked around her apartment with a perplexed glint to her expression, as though she expected to find the answer laying in front of her in the form of a crowbar or something.

“Oh please, we’ve been friends for many years. We are both allowed to have our little secrets, no?” Jenni diverted, and Alexia shook her head instantly, looking toward the striker with a lost expression.

“What – no?! That doesn’t mean you get to break into my apartment! How did you even get in her–”

“This is not the point of this conversation, Alexia,” Jenni cut her friend off easily, ignoring how bewildered the brunette was as a result of her surprise appearance. The striker settled, a concerned look flashing across her features. “You fucked up that conversation, didn’t you?”

“You’re not allowed to just barge in here whenever you want!” Alexia spat, a sudden rush of anger coursing through her at Jenni’s words. Defensiveness coursed through her veins with a fury, and nobody had managed to pin her down for long enough to have a real conversation with her.

Until now, apparently.

When the raven-haired woman leveled her with a disbelieving stare, the Catalan’s shoulders collapsed just slightly. When Jenni wanted something, she was like a dog with a bone. She would stop at absolutely nothing to get it, and the midfielder knew there was no way of getting out of this conversation with anger or deflections. She sighed forcefully, settling her keys down on her kitchen counter and pressing her head into her hands.

“I did,” she conceded after a moment, her voice shaky and impossibly quiet. When she finally looked up, the torment inside her entire body seemed to reflect in her expression. Jenni felt horrible, seeing how torn up her friend was.

“I fucked everything up Jenni, everything. I came into it with so much aggression and fear, and made all these accusations I don’t even really think I meant,” she admitted with a humorless chuckle, an echo of agony in her words.

Silence cascaded around them, the air thick with regret and despondency.

“She was sick,” Alexia revealed after a moment. She glanced up at Jenni, struggling to control herself. “She was sick, and so she broke things off because she couldn’t leave, but she wanted me to. She saved my career, made a sacrifice for my own happiness, and in return I screamed horrible things at her. What kind of person does that make me?” Alexia pleaded, her voice cracking over the last sentence.

Jenni thought about the question for a moment before she shook her head and looked back at Alexia. There was a compassion in her expression, and the Catalan forced herself to look away in the face of it. She didn’t deserve it.

“It makes you human, Alexia,” the raven-haired woman countered, her words soft and sympathetic, almost saccharine in their amount of sweetness.

“No it doesn’t,” Alexia grumbled under her breath, but Jenni was quick to continue.

“Yes it does. You did not have all the information at the time. And okay, you said some things you regret? Go apologize for them then! You made a mistake, and you feel remorse, Alexia. That in and of itself means that there is love and compassion in your heart.”

“And if she doesn’t accept that apology?” Alexia shot back, fighting to be kind as she was gripped with fear. She looked over at Jenni with a flame in her eyes, anything to hide how upset she truly was. It was easier to mask it than it was to face it, after all.

“Then she doesn’t accept the apology, and life moves on. But you won’t know if you don’t even bother to try,” Jenni offered as she walked over and placed a hand on her friend's shoulder comfortingly.

“Forgive yourself enough to give her the opportunity to forgive you. If she was in your spot, you would do the same. If she cares as much about you as you say she does, I think you have a fighting chance,” the striker suggested, her voice gentle. The brunette remained deep in thought, thinking hard about Jenni’s words. The raven-haired woman let herself out before Alexia could even formulate a response.

And while there were a lot of thoughts swirling around in Alexia’s mind, perhaps the top of the list was that she really, really needed to get a locksmith to her apartment.

—

It was a thought that often consumed the brunette as her career began to take off. It had been a question, something that weighed on her mind in the dark of night when she lay alone.

Was it worth it?

The duty to herself, to her career pulled at her endlessly. Everyone around her was dedicated to their career, putting it above their family at nearly all cost. And she understood, she wanted to be the best. The pull to change the sport, to leave a legacy behind that made women’s football better than where she had started.

But what was the cost?

How many family dinners had she missed? How many birthdays? How many celebrations?

How many moments had she missed, even just the mundane, small things in life. How many inside jokes and how much late night laughter had evaded her because of this choice?

And she knew that her family loved her, and that they understood how important her career was to her. But it never took away from the fact that she was gone often. That unlike her teammates and peers, she spent the least amount of time with her family as the years had passed. Whereas many of her friends grew more committed to their families, getting married and even having children, football had become her sole focus in life.

Other than you, she had never been in a committed relationship with anyone. Her friendships were from football, everything in her life had revolved around football. Protecting her image, embracing the game, doing whatever she could to advance the team and herself to perfection.

It wasn’t until you had stumbled back into her life that suddenly she remembered what it had been like to live a life. And sure, she knew that her career was different now, much more intense. But the Catalan also knew that you never would have allowed her to become so overwhelmingly immersed into her career.

It was less the time commitment and more the mindset she approached her career with that had changed in your absence. Alexia had always assumed that in order to be the best, she had to be so devoted to football in every aspect of her entire life. That there was no room outside of it for distractions.

Her friends hadn’t become worse because they had loved ones, because they took a step back. They were still dedicated, but also well rested and prepared.

The two of you had been together for so many years, and then football had been the thing to divide you. It was Alexia’s career that had been prioritized above you, a decision that you had made and believed in.

Had you really ever thought you were more important than football?

Had she done that? Had she felt that you were more important than football?

All she could think of was how you were sick and alone, a burden to bear alone when you should have been loved and supported.

Alexia was not angry that you hadn’t told her, not by a long shot. But she was furious with the circumstances, with her own choices, with everything else in the situation besides you.

You had meant so much to her, and she had let you go without any recourse. She never even considered that there was so much depth to the decision you had made.

And now here she stood, trying to pick up the pieces of something that had gone from broken to shattered entirely.

Alexia knew that she loved you.

That she still loves you, even after all this time. There were parts of a person that never changed, and she saw it in your expression.

Even after all this time.

Her career came first in every aspect of her life, but maybe just this once it didn’t have to. Maybe some personal happiness was deserved, maybe it could be her choice to try and fix this.

Maybe she deserved a break, or some peace, or to undo all of the mistakes she had made in the last decade. Maybe the choice she made here would make her better, and not worse.

The brunette had no idea if you still loved her anymore, not after the appalling things she had said, but she couldn’t let it go without at least trying to get you back.

She had lost you once, and she wasn’t prepared to let it happen again without a fight.

—

Alexia can’t bring herself to pick up the phone and dial, so she took the coward's way out and texted you to ask for your address.

Much to her surprise, you answered her. It’s nothing more than the address rattled off, but it’s there. The brunette felt her heart constrict for a moment at the thought that it wasn’t really your address, that you had sent her a fake location.

But at the same time, even if that were the case, a part of her would understand. For all the years that she had been hurt and alone and yearning desperately for you, it had been the same for you.

The choice you had made was impossible, indescribable even, and Alexia knows in her heart that her career wouldn’t be where it was without your sacrifice. You had sacrificed your own dream so that she could live hers, and when it all came back to the two of you all these years later, she had completely desecrated that sacrifice without a second thought.

She continued to be appalled with herself over that entire conversation. It was all she saw every time she closed her eyes, the words she had said rattling around in her brain all night long.

The look on your face as she dug herself into a deeper hole, filled with disregard for how much care you had tried to give the situation. It was never going to be perfect, but you had tried to be perfect. And in that moment, she had acted as though it wasn’t enough.

It was.

You had always been more than enough for her, regardless of whether you two were together or not.

Every single time she had laid in bed since, memories both good and bad of the two of you had pooled in her eyes, rolling down her cheek and escaping onto the pillow beneath her.

She had lost her curiosity inside the ferocity of her own judgement, and she regretted it with every molecule inside of her. She regretted it so much that it made her feel physically ill, to the point where she no longer cared about being appropriate or saving face.

It was late in the evening when she drove over to your apartment. She had a plan to go on Sunday morning, but it was Friday night and her self restraint had ground away until it no longer existed.

The Catalan took the steps two at a time up to the third floor, knowing that each moment likely brought her closer to you. She hoped it did, at least. It was highly possible that you were out with friends or doing something fun, as you should be.

But still hope gripped her with a strength she was unaware she ever had. Loving you was never the detractor she had spent the last decade convincing herself it was, but was where she got her strength.

Loving you had breathed life into her and she was silly to have ever thought differently.

She knocked on the door to your apartment before she could stop herself from overthinking every single one of her life choices. Her knuckles struck against the wooden door exactly three times, each one more forceful than the lost.

The brunette waited with everything in her for the sound of anything in the wake of knocking. Any movement, any sign of life, anything. The seconds felt like hours and years as her heart rammed its way into her throat.

And then she heard it, the softness of your voice as you called out that you were coming.

Alexia was known for being a stoic person, never one to overly show emotion. She kept everything close to her chest, and rarely did she express how she was feeling. It took hours of knowing her, and even then she was still hesitant to show weakness.

But the tears were pooling in her eyes even before you opened the door.

And there you were.

Standing in your pajamas, a book in your hand and an expression of mild surprise at the sight of Alexia nearly in tears at your door. It certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, though you knew the footballer had your address.

“Ale?” You questioned softly, your voice barely there. The brunette swallowed thickly, trying and failing to conjure an apologetic smile.

“I am sorry…I meant to come later but I couldn’t…wait,” she finished lamely, rather breathless as she fought to keep the pressure in her throat from turning into full blown sobs. You stared at her for a second, at how tense she was, at the anxiety written across her face. After you had tucked some of the hair away from your face, you stepped back into your apartment and widened the opening of the door.

“Would you like to come in?” You proposed, and the footballer took your offer up with a shaky nod of her head.

The brunette trailed after you further into the apartment. It was a large apartment, but it felt cozy and lived in. Half-burned candles and ear-marked books were strewn around the space, and a throw blanket could be found on every surface.

She remembered that you had always run cold. When the two of you were young and in love, she would whisper to you about the warmth Barcelona would offer, even as she provided you plenty of her own body heat as she laid curled around you.

“Alexia?” You probed lightly, and she shook her head as she glanced up, realizing that she had let her mind wander. Concern and compassion stared right back at her.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she replied harshly, trying and failing to be discreet as she wiped at her eyes.

“You don’t have to be,” you said delicately, gesturing toward the couch. “Why don’t we sit down?”

You couldn’t help but realize that right now with just one look at Alexia, you already forgave her. Every line etched into her skin was written with devastation and contrition. Somewhere deep within you knew how she felt, and knew that she did not mean the things she had said.

There was so much information to process, so much confusion and chaos, that you had both lost yourselves.

Maybe there was an opportunity to be found again.

You weren’t going to let the weakness of one moment detract from the opportunity that lay in front of you.

You led her over to the couch, and the pair of you settled down across from one another. You sat with your back against one arm of the couch, while Alexia was across from you, her hands on her knees. Her knuckles were nearly white, and you wished in that moment to reach out and soothe the ache in her heart, even if you knew that you couldn’t. When the midfielder turned toward you, all you found facing you was suppliance.

“I cannot explain to you how sorry I am,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I had no idea the sacrifice you had made for me, I had no idea that there was so much more behind all of this. I was foolish to believe that you broke up with me over something selfish or petty.”

She seemed to bite her words back, as though her self-loathing was simply too great of a burden to contain for a moment. When she settled, the Catalan continued.

“I never should have spoken to you that way. The truth is that I’ve spent the last nine years missing you, thinking about you, unable to get myself over the years we spent together. It feels as though you’ve been out of my life as long as you were in it, and I hate that. I hate that I haven’t been able to grow with you. I hate that when I lay awake at night I miss you with an ache I cannot even begin to describe to you. I hate that I wasn’t able to be there for you when you needed me. I hate that your sacrifice probably saved my career, even though I wish with everything in me that I was there for you when you needed me,” Alexia finally admitted, deciding to be nothing but brutally honest.

“And I won’t lie to you and say there haven’t been other women in the years without you, but God it never compared to you. I didn’t give a shit about any of them, and I never really expected to. You’re intertwined within my soul in a way I don’t even fully understand, and living without you feels like walking around missing a limb. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over you, and I tried to force football down my throat because if it was the reason I lost you, it had to be worth it.”

“I miss your smile and your laugh. I miss the way you roll your eyes at me when I do something ridiculous, or how patient you are with me when I get frustrated. I still find myself looking for you in every crowd, at every family gathering, everywhere. When I finally did see you again, it felt like a fever dream. The one thing I’ve wanted for the last nine years was granted to me, and there you were.”

“You were standing there so perfectly and in one piece, and inexplicably, you seem to care about me still. I never could have imagined that happening, even if I dreamt about it every single night of my life that you haven’t been in,” Alexia continued, allowing herself to take a deep breath and center herself. Frustration passed over her face for a moment, entirely

“I fucked this up royally, I know. I let the fear in my heart and the fear that those around me held get in the way of seeing the truth, and I need you to know how sorry I am. I never should have treated you that way. I never should have acted toward you with such hostility. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know that everything I said, I don’t believe. You are brave and wonderful and empathetic, and so, so, extraordinary. Please do not let anyone else ever say that you are not,” Alexia urged, looking at you with such clear intent you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

“I still love you, Flori. I think that I always will. My heart knows what it means to love and be loved by you, and nothing will ever compare to that feeling. My heart was always yours to break, and I don’t care if you do it once or twice or a million times. All I know is that even if you don’t feel the same way, I need you to know that I love you,” Alexia said with finality, barely able to see against the blur of tears that swarmed in her eyes.

You stood up from your end of the couch slowly while her eyes tracked every single one of your movements. You walked closer to her, settling down next to her as closely as you could while you reached over to place your shaking hands against the frame of her face.

“You big, blithering idiot, of course I still love you,” you whispered fiercely, your face scrunched up somewhere between disbelief and teasing. Alexia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was even holding, the entire upper half of her body collapsing into you.

It was easy for you to catch the brunette, cradling her against you as she sobbed without restraint against you. It was easy to rock her back and forth softly, while you whispered sweet nothings into her ears. And it was just as easy to pull her away from you and utter the words she never thought she would hear.

“I forgive you, and of course I still love you Ale. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and you still are. I’m right here, and I don’t plan on going anywhere, if you’ll have me. We might have lost our chance when we were young, but maybe we can have another one?” You proposed hopefully, almost with disbelief. Neither of you ever expected for this to be anywhere near possible, but here you both were.

The Catalan’s expression broke entirely, silent tears rolling down her cheeks in defiance as she placed a hand on your arm and held it tightly.

“I’m here,” was all she could manage, but it was enough.

You leaned into her slowly as you glanced down at her lips, giving her time to pull away. It was a concern you needn't be worried about when she met you halfway, the feeling one of muscle memory even after all this time. You could taste the salt from her tears and yours as you kissed her.

“Please stay,” you murmured through the ball in your throat as you pulled away just a touch, and Alexia gripped you impossibly tighter as she pulled you into a hug.

For the first time in nine years, you fell asleep that night with the footballer’s body curled around your own, the feel of her chest breathing steadily against your back as she held you in her arms with content.

It was the first time in a long while that you had felt warm enough when going to sleep, and hope ballooned inside you fervently.

(a/n: So…anyone up for parts 4-10?)

#alexia putellas x reader #Alexia Putellas #barcelona femeni #jenni hermoso #mariona caldentey #woso x reader #Woso

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imsofreakingtired · 2 days ago

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your fics are ✨️✨️✨️ ! So.. a fluff one of comforting Sevika on her period, you know she's in pain, but she refuses to tell that, but you find her in the fetal position almost crying of cramps on the bed

hope u doing well ! xoxo

- 🧸

oh my god thank you sm for giving me the chance to take care of our sevi 😭🙏 i'm honestly dying on my period rn so this req was perfect 💙

and i'll make a cup of coffee

content warning(s): none, fluff and hurt/comfort...soft sevika <33

don't stay awake for too long don't go to bed i'll make a cup of coffee for your head i'll get you up and going out of bed

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

This is the thing about Sevika: she will rather subject herself to torture than admit that, like many other human beings on this tired green planet cursed with a uterus they have no use for, she gets period cramps.

You’d think anyone else blessed with a wife as caring and gentle as you would melt willingly into their arms, milk the pain of their period for all it’s worth. You’re certain Sevika knows that you’d fly off at the drop of a hat to get her anything she needed if she just gave the word. Chocolate, tea, a hot water bottle, hell, an oversized teddy bear. But no. Not this woman. It’s like she considers the limitations of her body a personal challenge from mother nature.

So you’ve grown attuned to the smallest signs.

“You got your period, didn’t you?” you say.

Sevika looks at you, grey eyes widened in surprise. “No.”

The morning is overcast, the sky promises rain; you see the clouds gathering outside the kitchen window.

“Liar.” You pour the boiling water over the coffee grounds, breathing in the aroma of the dark blend. “I can see it plainly.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You move out the filter, reach for the jar of sugar. “You feeling okay? Maybe you should take off work today.”

“I’m fine,” she grunts.

Fine, my ass. She had been irritable and sluggish all week. Every time she snapped at you peevishly, or grumbled she was too tired for sex, you’d mentally marked down the days until she finally got her period. The woman’s cycle was like clockwork.

“You’re due for a day off anyway. You haven’t used any of your sick days.”

“I can’t take off,” she says shortly. “There’s a meeting I can’t miss today.” As she takes the mug you hold out to her, you see a wince cross her face, and she bends over slightly so the coffee sloshes around in the cup.

“I saw that, missy,” you tell her.

She snorts at the pet name. “You saw nothing.”

She leaves the coffee on the counter and walks out of the kitchen.

You assume she went to change, but when some ten minutes go by without any sound from her, you grow suspicious.

“Vika?” You call. “You headed to work or what?”

No answer.

“Vika?”

You go into the bedroom, where you see her clothes strewn out on the dresser, as if she got as far as choosing them and laying them out, then gave up at the stage of putting them on. Sevika herself is curled up at the edge of the bed, still in her shorts and tank top. For a second, you feel a flash of panic.

“Fuck. Sevika. What’s wrong?” You’re at her side in a heartbeat, brushing her hair out of her eyes, feeling her forehead. “Are you sick? Where does it hurt?”

She pulls her head away from you and you notice now that she’s clutching her abdomen. Burying her face into the pillows, she says in a muffled voice, “it’s not…usually this bad.”

Then it dawns on you. “Cramps?”

She lets out a defeated groan.

“Poor baby,” you murmur, rubbing her back. “What do you need? I’ll get you a hot water bottle.”

“No,” she says into the pillow. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay, just…give me a second.”

You sigh impatiently. “You’re on the verge of tears, you think you can fool me with that?”

“I’m not.” She tries to straighten out her body to prove her point, but gives up and pulls you closer to her by the waist instead.

“What—”

Even bent double from cramps, Sevika has the physical strength to pull you down into a sitting position onto the bed beside her. Before long you understand what she wants you to do.

Shaking your head, you lie down with your back to her and let her spoon you with her warm body. She hums in contentment against your shoulder.

“This is better than a shitty water bottle,” Sevika mumbles.

“I’m assuming you’re taking the day off, then?”

“’Slong as you don’t get up.”

“I’m always here, Vika,” you promise, kissing her forearm. “You know that.”

The rain patters gently against the window as Sevika’s breathing slows and she drifts off to sleep, holding you tightly. In the kitchen, the coffee grows cold. It's alright, you think.

You can always make her another cup.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

notes: ugh i just want to take care of her the world is sick and mean :(

#🧸 req :)#song: coffee by beabadoobee #sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika fanfic #fluff #hurt/comfort #soft sevika

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hitomisuzuya · 2 days ago

Text

bully!yandere scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. cunnilingus. degradation. masochism. sexting (ish). blowjob. stalking. drugging/ use of marijuana and cigarettes. obsessive behavior from scara. mix of soft dom!scara and harsh!dom scara.

i was genuinely surprised how many people got excited for this🥺 i decided to split this into two parts cause it's really quite long.

you knew it was going to be a long afternoon the moment you left your dorm this morning. the moment scaramouche caught sight of you across campus. the last few months, scaramouche has been your bully.

"hey, nerd, you are a little late today," scaramouche bats your books out of your arms, "did you get lost on the way here?" the drink in your other hand was the next to go, batted out of your hand and landing face down on your books.

you stare down at the mess on the floor in front of you. you hate that there is a blush on your cheeks. you could do nothing but stare at the water bleeding onto your papers, swallowing your pounding heart in your throat.

scaramouche sighs, and flicks you in the forehead. "never mind," he pats you twice on your head, "i can see there is nothing going on up there. see you later, sucker. i don't have all day," he laughs at you, waving in passing.

"if you don't have all day, then what are you doing standing around picking on me?" you retort as you kneel to pick up your things. you simply pick up your things and head back to your dorm. you are pretty sure there was nothing major going on in your afternoon class.

you chose to hide away in your dorm for awhile. you flop down on your bed, turn on the tv and decide to see what your friend was up to. you met him online in the chat of a live streamer you both watch. later on through text, he told you could call him kuni and you've talked pretty much every day since.

'hey, what are you up to?'

back in his dorm, scaramouche had been waiting for your text. lately, you have been a lot more comfortable texting him. 'nothing much. i thought you are supposed to be in class this afternoon?' you have no idea it's him you have been talking to. you don't even know that it's someone at school.

it is a very good way for him to have you all to himself.

'nah, it's just a review today. i can safely skip. and this is going to sound so silly but...'

scaramouche eats it up when you trail off in your texts. that told him you are shy and flustered about something. he knows he has to be careful about how he words things when he talk to you. you might surely figure him out easily. 'what's up. is something on your mind?'

'don't laugh okay?'

'scout's honor. kinda seems like you have a lot on your mind. i don't mind listening, you know that,' you are quiet and shy, so he has to coax you little by little to get you to talk, but he likes to think he has gotten pretty good at it.

'actually, i do have a lot to say.'

scaramouche smirks, rolling the ball of his tongue piercing on the roof of his mouth. this was going to be good.

'well, he is selfish. arrogant. has no concept of personal space. he is academically lazy, but he is so so smart. all he does is poke, poke, poke. he never stops. i don't know why he picks on me, but i don't know how honest you want me to be about this?'

your praise about him being smart made his cock twitch. 'tell you what. i will put my down for two hours. not even look at it. you type to your heart's content and send the messages. when you are done, you can delete them. i won't even read them. sometimes, it helps to just get it off your chest and have that be that.'

of course he didn't do that. he kept his phone in his hand the whole time. honestly, he is completely unashamed about manipulating you like this. there is something rattling around in that pretty head of yours. there is no way he is going to pass this up. for extra encouragement, he texts, 'i'm putting my phone down now. just do your thing.'

back in your dorm, you couldn't help but smile a little. kuni really is a good friend. you feel nothing but secure talking to him about anything. so naturally, you just typed without thinking. he wasn't going to read it anyways, and you trust him. your fingers shook a little as you started typing.

'well, lately i am starting to enjoy when scaramouche bullies me. as wrong as it is to say, there is just something about that way he talks down to me. it just sounds so good. it's starting to make me really wet. that's why i had to skip class today.' not wanting the texts to be too long, you pressed send and started a new one, and just let yourself type.

'his arrogant confidence is infuriating, but at the same time, there is this commanding dominance in the tone of his voice. like all i could think about earlier was him bullying me down onto my knees, telling me it's okay to be a weak little slut and take his cock into my mouth like a good girl.'

"oh holy fuck, you little masochist," scaramouche whispers nearly dropping his phone reading your text. and you are typing still. he knew he couldn't say anything though, so he waits, his hand itching to reach down and stroke his cock.

'and i would gladly sink to my knees for him. i am blushing just thinking about it. i even want to play with myself, it's so hot to think about. it's making me really wet thinking about him degrading me while i choke on his cock. i want him to tell me it's okay to be weak. to not think and just focus on pleasing him because that's what i am ultimately good for. omg i am so sorry, please don't read this. thank you.'

scaramouche quickly took a screen shot before the messages disappeared. as much as he wants to find you and force you onto your knees exactly like you describe, he knew he wouldn't benefit him any. in fact, it would blow everything to hell. he reads your texts again, his hand fisting his hard cock, wishing the cum that spilled onto his hand was going into pretty your mouth instead.

over the next few weeks, scaramouche relentlessly bullied you, and you settle into something of a routine with kuni. once scaramouche was done with you, you would text kuni, spilling your racing thoughts into what you thought were blank text messages that you deleted unseen when are done.

'i can't thank you enough for always letting me do this, kuni. it's really helping a lot. if you ever need to vent in the same way, please do so. believe me, i can barely type these words. i didn't get much sleep last night. all i could think about was scaramouche tying me up, and degrading me for begging him to cum inside me while he fucks me senseless. i know i should stay away from him, but i can't help it.'

'he can never find out about this.'

you are effectively giving scaramouche all the tools he needs to corrupt you. you have no idea you are putting opportunities gift wrapped right into his lap. now, he could start sinking his claws into you.

you have no idea just how close he really is. there are only so many places you could go on campus. scaramouche knows your routine like the back of his hand. he has a few classes with you, and it's always easy for him to be in the right place, watching you while he bullshits with his friends.

usually, when you are out getting food or in between classes, you always text kuni, letting him know exactly what you are up to and where you are. you probably text kuni because being out around people makes you nervous.

'hey, kuni. i hope you have eaten today. i am grabbing some quick dinner right now. after, I'll probably go back to my room and watch tv or something.'

scaramouche looks right at you from across campus while you type. you are so painfully naive that it's adorable. you had no idea he's been following you the entire day, carefully blended in and unnoticed.

'hey, i just ate a little while ago. how was your day?' he texts back, immediately putting his phone in his pocket. you are defenseless and easy pickings right now. and he now knew you had nothing to do tonight. he is going to change that.

scaramouche waits until you get your food, and makes a beeline right for you as you leave the campus cafeteria. "so even nerds eat, i see," he trots up behind you, snatching your food out of your hand.

"will you please give that back? i didn't have breakfast earlier. i kind of..overslept," you reach for your food container, a blush dusting your cheeks as he holds your takeout box above his head.

"like i give a shit," he scoffs, watching your tits bounce as you jump to try reach for your container. smirking, he puts a hand on your chest and gently shoved you backwards. "what do nerds eat anyways?" he laughs, dancing away from you as he opens the container.

"what's it matter to you? you aren't eating it," you shyly try and reason with him while at the same time trying feebly to stand up for yourself. but you felt yourself getting weak in the knees like you always did. you could clock your body down to the minute it reacted it had become so routine for you.

"maybe i am hungry," scaramouche flips the lid closed, and walks away with your food. exactly like he thought, when he looks over his shoulder, he sees you coming after him. he revels in how much darker the blush on your cheeks got so fast.

"look, at least give me half if you want it that badly," you try several times to grab the container out of his hand, only for him to take it right out of your reach as he walks.

scaramouche laughs as he stops in front of his dorm. "nah, i don't share," he tosses your container into the trashcan next to his dorm room and opens the door. you wouldn't need that anyways. if he got his way, and he would, you wouldn't be leaving his dorm tonight. he can always get you something to eat later.

he is completely used to always getting what he wants.

you stare in disbelief at your food in the trash can. "i..i..why did you do that?" you swallow you pounding heart in your chest. it shouldn't feel this good to be bullied. you didn't think your cheeks could get any more red. the condescending tone he has sent a pleasant shiver right down to your clit.

sighing, scaramouche curls his fingers underneath your chin. "you should see the look on your face," he tilts your head up to look him. "yeah, that one right there," his hand caresses your cheek, his thumb lightly skimming across to your lower lip as you look at him.

"what do you mean?" it felt like a reflex for you to turn your cheek into his hand, the action happening before you knew it was. you long forgot about your food. the only thing you can do is focus on him. just looking up into his eyes flusters you.

"you look like you would get down on your knees and suck me off if i asked you to," it's infuriating how cute you look to him right now. your cheek was nuzzling slightly into his hand, much like a pet would.

clicking the ball of his tongue piercing on his teeth, scaramouche waits for your reaction. if you chose to walk away, he would let you. but he knew you wouldn't. whatever happens next is entirely up to you.

"what if i told you i would?" you shook a little as the words came tumbling out of your mouth. hearing his words reminds you of how wet you are. it took everything you had not to look away from him.

scaramouche froze for a moment, processing what you said. he honestly didn't expect you to be so straightforward. he thought he would have to bully it out of you. "c'mere," he takes his hand off your cheek, and grabs your wrist.

hastily, he pulls you into his dorm and shuts the door. "i'll bet you can't show me you are serious. weak nerds like you cave so easily," he scoffs, deciding to test you a little by putting his hand on your shoulder.

you shiver the moment he applies pressure, sinking to your knees if front of him. scaramouche's eyes widen for a moment as you look up at him. "i can prove it," you say, smiling softly at you nuzzle your cheek on his pelvis. "let me prove i can be a good girl for you." right now, in this moment, this is exactly where you want to be.

he grit his teeth looking down at you. "you know, you look adorable on your knees," he has spent so many nights with his hand fisting his cock, thinking about you in this exact position. looking up at him with utter adoration. fuck, it is making him hard.

you stay submissively quiet on your knees as he unbuttons his jeans. taking out his cock, he puts a hand on the back of your head. "open," he commands, tapping his index finger on his lips.

your eyes light up as you willingly open your mouth. his hand on the back of your head brings your mouth close to his leaking cock. he pokes the tip against your lips, smearing precum on them as he pushes it into your mouth.

your tongue flattens as you lick the slit, wrapping your hand around his cock. "fuck, i knew you were a weak slut," scaramouche hisses as your tongue glides wet on his cock head. his hand tightens in your hair, pushing your mouth onto his cock more, "be the good girl you promised you would be and suck."

you moan, opening your mouth to take his cock in. it pulses thick on your tongue as you suck. he groans as you gently grind the roof of your mouth on his cock. your clit throbs at his degradation, your panties clinging wetter between your legs.

he drinks in the look of adoration welling deeper in your eyes. it straight up makes him moan with pent up need. "that right, slut. keep sucking just like that," he holds your head in place, pumping his cock in and out of your mouth.

your pussy clenched hearing him degrade you so harshly. you muffle a moan on his cock, your sucks turning more eager as you stroke your fingers on the part that wasn't in your mouth. scaramouche rests his head against the wall, bobbing your mouth on his cock.

you rub your thighs together as drool pools out the corner of your mouth. you didn't need to think about anything other than pleasing him. your throat spasms around his cock as it suddenly hits the back of your throat.

"good girl, choking on my cock so well," he pushes hit into your throat again to feel the pure pleasure of it spasming pliable on his cock. you look so intoxicating right now, content to let him use your mouth to get off. the look in your eyes screams, please, enjoy me.

scaramouche has to bite back his whimper as his cock pulses in your mouth. "fuck, i am cumming," he mumbles as cum spurts warm and salty into your mouth. "swallow it all, whore," he groans, relaxing his hand on your hair and letting you suck him through his orgasm. his hand strokes through your hair until he pulls out of your mouth.

you obediently swallow, blushing as you saw a string of saliva connecting your tongue with his cock. sighing, he puts his cock back in his pants. it's so fucking sweet how you are looking up at him for some sort of guidance as to what to do next.

you really would look so pretty all collared up for him like the perfect pet.

"have you ever smoked pot before?" he asks, walking to grab a joint off his nightstand. he knew exactly what your answer would be. as he sits down, he pats the bed in signal for you to come sit with him.

"no, i haven't," you get to your feet, shyly making your way over to sit on his bed, "but i have been curious," you thought he would send you on your way once he got what he wanted. your heart is skipping beats in your chest at the thought of staying with him.

scaramouche spends the next few hours, shotgunning hits into your mouth while you watch him play video games. with each hit, his tongue devours your mouth, his lips needy on yours. he doesn't stop until your eyes look glazed over and hazy, and you are lying relaxed next to him on your stomach.

admittedly, he couldn't say he have an interior motive. as much as he wants his precious to relax, getting you high would make you more pliable for him. after a few hours of some conversation and smoking another joint, scaramouche turns off his game and rolls you over onto your back.

without a word, he captures your lips in a rough kiss. it strokes his ego how it takes no time at all for you to start moaning softly into his mouth as he devours yours with his tongue. his kisses turn more possessive as he takes your clothes off, carelessly tossing them on the floor.

he chuckles seeing the blush on your cheeks as he spreads your legs and slots himself between them. "why do you look so shy, hm?" his tongue dips between your folds, "you were sucking my cock like an eager slut a couple hours ago. it's cute, really," smirking, he licks stripes up and down your pussy.

your hips rock up to grind your pussy on his mouth. the wagging of his tongue piercing on your throbbing clit makes whimper tinged moans bubble up in your throat.

you don't know how much time passes as scaramouche tongue fucks your pussy until you start whimpering and moaning uncontrollably, his hands possessive and bruising on your hips as your hips they buck into his mouth.

you'd sucked him off so well. he has to reward you by returning the favor. as much as he wants to sink his cock inside of your tight, wet cunt right now, he knows just his tongue fucking into your hole will have to do. a delicate thing like you had to be corrupted slowly or you might shatter way too fast.

you passed right out shortly after cumming hard on his tongue, whimpering and shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. he keeps you tucked under his blanket, curled up against his side with your head resting on his chest.

"hey, are you awake?" he asks softly, tapping his index finger on your head. you didn't even stir, and he wasn't surprised. this had been your first smoke pot, and he had gotten you quite high before eating you out.

"don't worry, winter break is coming. everything will be okay then," he whispers, stroking his hand through your hair. you'd looked so fragile and delicate standing in the food court earlier. overwhelmed and tired. that if someone clapped at you the wrong way you would break.

life is full of loud and scary things. things that would break you. he couldn't have that. when winter break comes in a few weeks, he would make everything okay. before he went to sleep, he read a text that you'd sent a few days ago:

'i think i am really in love with my bully.'

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #genshin imagines #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #yandere scaramouche #tw weed #tw staring #dark themes

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entitled-fangirl · 1 day ago

Text

Not a dog.

Cregan Stark x hidden identity!reader

Summary: The reader took her brother's place at the Wall, spending years hidden in plain sight. But Cregan Stark knows everything about everyone. Or does he?

Warnings: cursing, attempted sa, murder, blood, talks of sex, crude language, etc

A/n: Based on an incredible ask by an incredible blog! I was given liberty to go with the flow. And the flow went.

Masterlist

................................................

So, maybe this was a dumb decision.

But years ago, the Stark had expected a young man from each Bannerman's family to join the Night's Watch.

Your brother was young. Far too young for what lies outside the Wall.

So you took his place.

You hadn't been truly seen as a woman in years. And while it occasionally gave the feeling of longing, it was also freeing.

You were a man to them. And they were none the wiser.

But when winter came, so did Lord Stark.

And every time you looked in his eyes, you thought that maybe, somewhere deep down, he'd find you out.

But that was impossible. No one knew.

…

You struggled to tie the strings to your cloak as you got ready this particular morning. It was one of the coldest weeks of the winter frost. So the more layers, the better. Which worked for you. It hid your figure well.

You had on your heaviest boots, your thickest gloves. Not that you owned many. But these were still new, still void of dried blood like some of the others.

"Alright?" Jonnel Mormort frowned. He was a sweet boy, two years younger. The two of you had joined at the same time, prompting you to bond. He reminded you of your brother sometimes.

"'M fine," you brush off. "I'll be down in a minute."

He nodded, leaving to go get breakfast.

This was going to be a long day.

…

Cregan Stark had been at the Wall for three weeks now. The cold had seeped into his bones and it showed.

He sat down with his fellow brothers, all chatting about nothing and everything as they feasted on what food they had.

"C'mon!" Glover exclaimed. "Nothing?"

They had been talking about women. It was a common talk.

Stark shrugged, the furs on his shoulder moving. But he was smirking lightly.

"Keep us in the dark, then. What about you Little Mormont?" Jonnel had earned that nickname the day he showed up.

He flushed. "W- I'm sorry?"

"What's the best lay you've had?"

They all watched to see what he'd say, gathering around. Even Stark watched with a heavy gaze.

"I… I don't know. I d-"

"Oh, sod off him!" You shout as you set your wooden bowl down beside him. You shoulder checked one of the guys as you moved, sitting down at Jonnel's side. "Let the boy be."

Glover chuckled, "Alright then, Bolton. What about you? Doubt a girl would lay with your ugly mug."

"I don't fuck girls, Glover. I fuck women."

That shut them up.

Conversation over.

But it was worth it to see a smile ghost over Stark's face. You wanted to avoid his attention, but it felt addicting to get.

You'd charmed him.

…

So, it wasn't too surprising when he approached you during your day watch.

"Easy," he grinned when you stuttered over yourself. "I appreciated what you did earlier. For the boy."

Gods, having him stand so close is making it all the more obvious how fucking big he is.

"Yeah," you cleared your voice, trying to deepen it around him.

After all these years, you'd have moments that you'd forget you weren't technically a man. But staring at Stark makes you realize just how much of a girl- woman- you are.

He tilts his head, looking you over, assessing you, maybe intimidating you, then stepping around you to look over the Wall.

You went back to your watch. Just because the Warden was here didn't mean you could slack off.

The two of you remained like that for a while, ignoring the occasional man that walked by.

"Do you think me an imbecile?" He finally asked.

Your throat closed, your heart raced. Fuck. After all this, after all these years, he'd found you out that quickly?

You chew on your lip for a while before responding. "Don't know what you mean, milord."

He grins. "You don't know." He leans his gloved hands on the icy wall, the only thing separating the North from certain death. "I call bullshit on your stunt."

"I don't understand."

"You've never fucked a woman."

He's not wrong.

You can't help the smile you gain, even if it's not for the reason he thinks it is. You're just relieved that you'll live another day without the fury of the Wolf of the North.

He noticed the smile. "I'm right, aren't I?"

You begin to laugh, brightly. "Afraid you are."

He quirks his head in a fashion that said he was used to being right all the time. Not that you minded. He was never cruel about it.

"Mormont is a good kid," he switches the subject. "Commander's told me a lot about him. And you."

"Me?"

He nodded, tapping lightly against the ice. "Said you were a scrawny thing when you came in. Just a boy." He looked you up and down. "I'd say you're a right man by the looks of it."

You nod along, running a hand under your nose. You'd think by now, your nose would be used to the cold. But still, it occasionally ran. "'S what the Wall's for, isn't it? Turning boys to men."

His brows raise, impressed by the answer. "Men that die."

The silence set over you both.

Silence was common in Castle Black. When you spend all your days with the same guys, you tend to run out of things to talk about.

"'S not such a bad thing, though," you say, catching his attention. "Dying, I mean. If it's… for the good."

"I agree. Duty outweighs all. And duty looks like many things."

You can't help the small laugh that pulls from your lips.

"You find it funny?" He sounds a bit offended.

"I'm sure your days are difficult, milord. But you get a family and a life. You make rules when you wish. You… get your way." You kick at the gathering snow by your feet. "We here are not so lucky."

His chest puffs out defensively. "You came here willingly."

"Did I?"

He pauses in front of you. "You did."

"Or," you say as you decide to truly test your luck, "did the Starks force my family to give up their son?"

"It is an honor," he seethed.

"It is a death sentence," you growled back.

Cregan, in any other case, would have been impressed with the sheer defiance. But today was not the day to do it. He was cold. He was tired. He was easily irritable. And he had just been told his life was easy.

His upper lip twitched at one end as he decided your fate. What to do with a man who couldn't shut his mouth.

"Admit it." You'd been around men for years now. You were used to having to puff your chest out and get in their face in order to be heard. But it never got easier, just more natural. "Admit you send boys here knowing they'll die."

His eyes are quite green. You physically blink the thought away.

He grips the strings of your cloak, tugging you against him. "I tolerate questioning. I don't tolerate disrespect, boy."

You decide it's wisest now to keep your mouth shut, and he appreciates that. Letting go of your cloak with a light shove, he continues. "This is the greatest honor I can bestow on a man. I trust that the men in this castle will keep the entire Realm safe from what lies outside. Do you understand?"

You're still brushing off his aggressive touch from your furs. "Yes."

"My life is no feast. I train, I rule, I die. That's the life of a Warden. That's how it's always been. You act as if a wife and children are true blessings. Most don't get the freedom to love openly. And it's a dangerous thing." He huffed, "Be lucky I'm saving you from that."

"Ah, yes. Keeping my virginity. Thank you for forcing me to, Lord Stark."

He takes a long breath. "You push my limits, you know that?"

You shrug. "Maybe they need pushed."

He wasn't sure whether to befriend you or strangle you.

…

The next time he'd come by was during training. You'd yet to spar with him, but you had seen him on occasion sparring with others. And he never lost. They called him one of the best swordsman in the realm.

Mormont and Glover were paired today. Glover was good. Too good. No doubt Jonnel would emerge with bruises and a few cuts.

So slowly the group had gathered to watch. You'd pushed your way towards your friend's side, yelling out encouraging words as you could.

He was practically shaking as he held his sword. He'd been here almost three years now and still he couldn't find the courage to 'be a man.'

You'd taught him all you could about defense. After all, there is no sword fight without first knowing defense. And luckily, he was quite good at it. You're pretty sure that's what has kept him alive this long.

But Glover basked in the fear and used it against the boy. His strokes were heavy, the sound of metal clashing filling the icy courtyard.

Jonnel swung left and right, slowly backing up with each swing in an attempt to defend against this brick wall of a man.

He slipped, his back colliding with the icy patch that had gathered. His sword clattered against it and slid just out of his reach.

That's when you stepped in. You pulled your longsword out and took his place, catching Glover's blade against yours.

He grinned. "Let me finish this, Bolton."

"You're so full of shit," you huff. He'd always gotten on your nerves.

"Enough!" Stark's voice sounded from a little ways off.

It didn't stop either of you.

He swung first, and you stepped over Jonnel to block it. Your feet slipped occasionally, but you didn't let it stop you.

And soon enough, you saw an opportunity and took it, beginning to go on the offense.

Your swings were fast. They were void of the same power that your opponent had. But any swing of a giant blade towards a body is considered dangerous. You'd managed to use that quickness to your advantage your whole life. The men had always patted you on the back and said, "you'll get the strength up when you're a bit older." Well, you're a bit older now and still now quite at harsh with it as they had hoped.

You were still a force to be reckoned with.

When the dynamic switched again and you were back on defense, you twisted your wrist enough to pull the blade from his hand. It clattered on the ground.

It was not a dramatic victory like some of the spars were. But it was a victory enough.

The two of you simply stared at one another.

That's why the punch threw you so off guard.

It landed on your left cheekbone, causing your head to jerk to the side and your body to follow it. You stumbled and cursed, holding your free hand up to it.

You weren't going to back down now.

You threw your sword to the side, next to his, and the two of you began a new kind of spar.

You held your own fairly well. Years of fights in the great hall will do that to you. A few encounters with wildlings will do that to you. Pretending to be a man at all will do that to you.

And where your strength ended with your arms, the strength in your legs began.

You tried not to let it show. It was a clear giveaway that women held most of their strength in their legs compared to men. So, you didn't use it often.

But now was a good enough time as ever. And it got Glover beneath you on the ground as you straddle him. Your fist threw punches as quick as you could managed them.

Until a larger hand tugged at your hair and forced your face up.

"Didn't I say enough?" Lord Stark seethed lowly from above you. He let go just as quickly and stood over the two of you. "Get up!"

You're only now aware of how the audience of the fight had tripled.

"Did I stutter?" He growled out.

You force yourself to stand, ignoring the protest of every bone in your body, every muscle. It all hurt so bad. You spit down at your feet, just now realizing how red it is and the taste of iron in your mouth is now hard to ignore.

Cregan steps to you first, giving Glover time to get up. He looks you over with anger in his eyes. He focused on the purple now displayed over your cheek and the red that's trailed down from your bottom lip. You're worse for wear, but the confidence in your eyes has yet to dim. You're proud to have beat Glover's ass.

Hell, he's proud too.

So when Glover stands, Cregan's gaze is more menacing when he gets to him.

And Stark lands a hard swing on the man's cheek. A matching one that Glover had done to you.

When he almost crumples, Cregan grabs his cloak and holds him up. "If you swing openly at a brother again, you'll see for yourself what we fear over the Wall. You understand?"

He groans but the Warden isn't satisfied with that. "ANSWER ME!" Glover goes quiet and he tosses him down on the ground. "You," he points at Mormont, "get the maester for 'em. And you," he looks in your direction, "we're taking a walk."

Fuck.

You spit again to get the liquid from your mouth and pick up your longsword, sheathing it back where it belongs.

Stark begins to walk, confident enough that you'll follow. And you do.

You step in time with him, forcing it even when you really just want to limp back to bed.

He leads you back into the castle before he speaks. "You really can't keep to yourself, can you, Bolton?"

You wipe at your face, only smearing the red down your chin. "Guess not."

There's a hesitation in your body when you realize you're standing outside of the Warden's solar.

If you get called to his solar, bad things happen.

He sighs, "I'm sorry about this."

You didn't do anything. One fight? A fight you didn't start? He couldn't banish you on those terms.

"Milord, whatever it is, I h-"

"-I know," he immediately calms you. "Just humor me."

As much as you want to do anything else, you step into his solar.

He gestured to one of the chairs by the fireside and sits across from you. "I received a letter this morning. With the Bolton sigil."

You sit up instinctively.

You spent the first year at the Wall having to dream of your family just to get decent sleep. You had to imagined scenarios where you got to go home. Where your brother was happy. Where your father hugged you a little tighter. Where your mother cried at your return.

But that's all it was. Just imagining.

"I regret to inform you that your father is dead. Your younger brother now holds the mantle of Lord Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort."

You go to chew your lip, but the pain of your split lip stops you. You stare at the fire in pure shock. No one had ever prepared you for this. Men you'd trained with here died constantly. But your family? Your true family?

You'd never truly imagined that the night you ran off was the last time you'd ever see them.

And now you didn't have to imagine.

"I understand that this could be difficult to hear. But, I believe it is best to hear from your Warden rather than rumors."

You nod, gripping the armrest of your seat, further injuring your already bleeding knuckles. You haven't cried in years, and yet you immediately feel the stinging of water against your eyes.

He sighs. "I lost my father when I was young. But your brother will be a fine Lord. I have no fear for him. And perhaps I should have kept this news to myself. To let you be in the dark to avoid the attachment but… I couldn't bring myself to do it."

By now, the hot tears have fallen down your cheeks, mixing with the dirt, blood, and sweat on your cold face.

"'S alright," he softly cooed.

He stands with hesitant movements. He doesn't have to deal with things like this often, so he's a bit out of tune.

He just watches for a moment as you slowly fall apart. "I'm sending you home."

"What?"

"Your brother asked me to. You're to leave at the end of this winter."

That was unheard of. It didn't happen. It wasn't possible. You lived here. You died here.

"Dismiss me," you finally manage out.

Another long sigh. "Go."

And you bolted.

Cregan moved back to his desk, taking another read over the letter from your brother.

…

You'd spent the next two days practically wasting away. You didn't eat. You didn't sleep. You sure as well weren't getting along with anyone. It was misery.

Especially when Stark found you in every room you were in.

His eyes always wandered to you, like he was trying to figure you out. Or maybe he already knew.

So he didn't miss the way Glover eyed you too.

"Bolton," the Warden called over the Hall. "C'mere."

You sighed, picking yourself up from your bench to go to his.

He grinned when you'd sat at his side, sliding his untouched bowl to you. "Eat."

"'M not hungry-"

"-Your Lord said eat, boy!" Glover interrupted.

Cregan looked like he wanted to murder him for it.

With a huff, you picked up the spoon and began to eat.

"Bruise is healing nicely," he pointed out to you. "It's a fine green now. Better than the red blotch it was a few days ago. Let me see."

Your head lulls a bit to the side to entertain him, and blushed when you realize he's a little closer than you thought he'd be.

He's unmoving, keeping the distance close and a hand reaches up to your lip. He brushes over the healing scab with a nod. "Looks good. Think you'll be fine in no time."

There's a moment where it's just you two staring at one another before you pull away.

He coughs and begins another conversation with someone else.

Towards the end of the meal, Stark excuses himself and takes off.

That's when Glover approaches you.

"Mind if we have a chat?"

He's still beaten up too. But his cheek is a harsher tone of purple than yours was. Cregan must have hit him harder than you thought. You nod and stand, walking out into the corridor with him.

"Stark tells me you're leaving," he opens.

"Something like that." You're not sure what he wants out of this interaction. But whatever it is, you're not giving it to him.

"Shame. Who's gonna be the boy's guard dog when you're gone?"

Your eyes flash with anger. "I'm not his dog."

"No, you're not," he agrees. "Not his. But Stark's got you on a leash, huh? Trying to be a good little dire wolf for him so he'll notice you?"

"Take it back," you growl.

He grins. "No. No, I wanna finish what we started. Before you had to go find out about your daddy's death."

Okay, so maybe you started this fight.

You're blinded with rage as you throw the first punch, but he's expecting it. And you're no match for him this time.

It's a short battle before you're pinned to the wall. "You gonna bite me, little dog? Huh?"

You thrash, desperate to get out of his grip.

He shoves a knee in your crotch, expecting you to double over in pain.

But you don't.

Cause you're not a man.

And you realize it too late.

He freezes, eyeing you with a questioning gaze. His head tilts before realization comes over him. "Are you not a man?"

Your thrashing continues, but he has a new motive to keep you against the wall. One hand goes down your stomach and over your pants as he feels for something he won't find.

"You're a fucking woman," he acknowledges in shock.

You spit on him. "You got beat by a fucking woman."

He barely notices the spit. "So, that's why Stark keeps you around?" He gets a tight grip on your hair. "Cause he's fucking you? Is Stark fucking you, little dog?" He asks lowly.

"No," you growl through your teeth. "Get the fuck off me."

"I'm sensing an opportunity," he grins. "So Stark doesn't know. And you want this to be kept a secret? I think you owe me."

His mind works just as quick as your own, and just as you're about to fight against him again, he's trying to get a hand past the band of your pants.

You don't think to scream. You don't think to cry. You're focused on survival. And sometimes survival is in silence.

But he lets out a small grunt and soon crumples to the floor.

And Jonnel is left standing in front of you with a terrified look in his eyes.

He'd stabbed Glover. He killed him.

You try to regain your bearings with little success.

"Is it true?" He asked in horror. "Are you a girl?"

"Jonnel-"

"-Have you been lying this whole time?"

You lean against the wall, knowing your legs weren't strong enough on their own. And you could only nod.

"Fuck," he spits and he leans next to you. The two of you look down at the body. "What do we do?"

"What's going on down here?" Stark's voice booms.

He's always everywhere and nowhere.

"Go," you try to push Jonnel. You're willing to take the blame for all of this. No use in dragging him down with you.

"No, I'm staying," he insists. And now it's too late. Stark's approaching.

He hesitates, looking over the scene. "Who did it?" He asks softly.

"Milord-"

"-Go to bed, Mormont. We'll speak in the morning."

Jonnel has no choice, now sentenced to bed like a child.

Which left you two.

And as soon as you're alone, he pulls you to him, trapping you in his arms.

Cregan Stark is hugging you.

And you're hugging him back.

It's an awkward hug, as he doesn't know what to do with himself, or why he's even doing it in the first place.

But it feels right.

He pulls away enough to access you. "Did he hurt you?"

You shake your head.

He lets out a relieved breath and pulls away. "Good. Good. Why don't you go get some sleep. I'll.. I'll handle this."

And you can't deny him, leaving to go collect what's left of yourself and try to piece it all together in the night.

…

The guys avoid you like the plague the next day, even Jonnel who you've told to 'lay low.'

You're worried that maybe Glover was right.

Maybe you were Stark's dog.

And the rumors are only going to grow when he approached you again today. "You're sparing me today."

You huff. "Don't wanna spar you."

"Didn't ask."

Well, that helped you find the anger you needed to agree and join him in the courtyard.

Luckily, the two of you are alone when you do so. The other had practicing hours ago, now off to their individual chores.

You swung your sword, trying to start off with the offense against the Warden.

He defends with ease and switches to the offense. He's too damn good.

You take steps back as he swings with power and speed. He's one of the best by far that you've seen. And while your agility is a gift, it's not as helpful against him as you were hoping.

Soon, he has your sword in his other hand, the tip of Ice under your chin as you're practically on your knees before him. He grins. "You're not thinking with your head. You never are."

You give an annoyed grunt as you stand up and take your sword back from him and assume your position again. "Oh, and you're so smart."

"I'd like to think I am," he says as the two of you begin again. He speaks between hits and his own panting, "I think I have you figured out."

"I highly doubt it," you jest back, getting cocky with your movements.

The two of your grow more serious, opting to fight rather than speak.

As you begin to back up again, he speaks. "Then how do I know you're a woman?"

Your sword easily falls from your hand and your back hits a wall.

His longsword meets your throat again as he stands over you. "You're not as clever as you think you are, Bolton," he whispers.

"Then how'd I get away with it for so long?" You manage back.

He lets out a low chuckle, pushing the sword a little more against you. "Because I'm a lenient man for you."

"Well, I'm not gonna be your dog."

"Didn't ask you to."

You pause, finally taking in his closeness. His breath against your cheek. "You gonna kill me? Banish me? Make an example of me?"

"No."

His answer was quick. Like he already knew your fate, but wouldn't let you in on it.

As you open your mouth to ask, he continues. "You'll go home like I told you to."

"This is my home," you argue.

His head tilts. His sword drops. His eyes soften. "This was never your home."

He meant it kindly, but it only proves to anger you.

You shove him as hard as you can, getting around him to grab your sword again and begin swinging. He manages to duck out of the way before regaining his bearings.

"This." Swing. "Is." Swing. "My." Swing. "Home."

"Your home is the Dreadfort," he growls, blocking with ease.

"I won't go back!"

"You don't have to," he says. "But you're not allowed back here."

"Then kill me." You purposefully drop your sword again, holding your arms out. Your chin is held high. You're accepting your fate.

He pauses, then darkly chuckles. He takes slow steps to you. "'S that what you want? You want me to kill you?"

"Do it," you challenge as he gets in your space once again.

His eyes meet yours, his nostrils flaring.

Then he's kissing you.

And you're kissing him back.

He drops his sword and winds his arms around you. Yours find their place around his neck.

Your teeth clash, you're both out of breath. You both have put all your pent up anger into this. All this desperation. All this tension. And it shows.

You only pull away when he tugs your hair back. "'M not gonna kill you."

"Didn't want you to," you admit softly.

His other hand tracing over your cheek, over the bruise that's faded. "Then go to Winterfell with me."

"I'm not your dog," you remind him.

"And I said you're not. I don't want blind devotion. I fucking hate it. I'm not making you. I'm asking you."

And for once, you realize just how easily you've opened your heart out for the Northerner.

"You took your brother's place, and I admire that. And all these years, you managed to fool them. Well done. But stop now."

After years of broken noses, crude language, and bloody knuckles, you still had such a soft heart.

You couldn't be a gentle wife. Not after all this. But he didn't want you to be one. He wasn't asking you to change.

Just to be truthful for once.

"Then fight for me, Stark."

He grips your jaw. "Is that a challenge?" He's grinning now. You amuse him.

"It is."

"Then pick up your sword, Bolton. I have a maiden to win and a heart to capture."

You weren't going to fight very hard.

He'd won you a long time ago.

.......................................................

Taglist: @alyssa-dayne @twinkletwinklenotastar @kidd3ath @yujyujj @misswynters @cosmosnkaz @sithapprentice @kaniromi @lovemesomevesey @its-jackie-bb @thorins-queen-of-erebor @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn @callsignwidow @a1lexh-blog @alyssa-dayne @ethereal-athalia @ashovertheriver @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @dozcan123 @wangjiangelangel @kamitargaryen @aegonswife @lv7867 @helpmedecideaname @cherryheairt @classicsimpforaaronwarner @purple-1995

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cargopantsman · 2 days ago

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I'm going to say that the critics do have to review the marvel movies the same way any of us should be reviewing the tomato pictures being hung in a subway restaurant.

And I'm going to put Duchamp's "Fountain" here to stall.

Marvel movies have become drivel. The initial rollout series had a level of honesty behind the writing that probably most of us could say we genuinely enjoyed the first Iron Man, the Ed Norton Hulk, or even the first Captain America.

The value of critiquing these films comes in seeing what happens when an overwhelmingly corporate agenda comes into play.

Like... you can't say Black Pather was a Bad Movie (as long as you kinda know what's going one [which is a critique in itself]), but with many themes and points in the MCU, a solid point is struck on a hollow anvil.

So any good story-telling is going to be overshadowed by this monolithic shadow of the studio trying to maximize gains, even when the heart of those stories (going back to the golden age comics) generally balk at the concept.

Is the MCU a good story-telling platform? No... Prachett's Discworld handled any given "nobody" wandering in and at least catching on to what is important better than Marvel ever, whether in movies or comics, could ever let someone wander in.

Does the MCU tell good stories?... yeah. They do. And there's a pivot where if you don't care (or aren't obsessively compelled) for context, the movies can kinda be one-offs.

But there's a critique right there...

Because the MCU relies on the US Department of Defense for so much of it's infrastructure, we have to criticize the films for bowing to the state in ways that the actual comic characters wouldn't.

We have to criticize the WWII era super-soldier as an allegory for the Greatest Generation and watch him support the next fascist power. (Winter Soldier fans calm down, I'm playing the Man out of Time angle here.)

But also Iron Man/Tony Stark being the billionaire playboy the Muskovites tried to pretend their boy wonder being a legitimate actor in global diplomacy. Part of critiquing the MCU is the fact that the amount of resources Tony spent in spiffying up his power armor probably could saved thousads of more lives in setting up supply chains and resource distribution that in making the next better Jarvis/Power Armor combo.

Now you're thinking "jesus cargo what the fuck are you going on about?"

but look at that tomato picture, look at that sharp chopped iceberg lettuce.

it's a wall decoration. but it's a wall decoration as you come into the subway. it's meant to make you feel like you're making a healthy decision.

there's a mcdonald's next door but you chose the subway. A BigMac with fries might just be another DC Batman movie. It's familiar, you bite in, knowing that you have to see Bruce's parents die, again. But it's a familar taste. It get's you through the day.

the subway... it's fresh. that's what it tells you at least. the pictures on the wall say so. (not, now that you think of it, that mcdonalds comes off as rotted) and you pick and choose the ingredients you want (i could see Black Panther but I'll choose to see Captain America again) [this is choosing the turkey and mayo on white bread option]

And the turkey with mayo on white bread miggt be tasty enough for you... but probably not for any one else...

but thinking you went with subway makes you better than the mcdonald's crowd is gonna bring up some issues (most likely by your general practitioner)

and neither is inherently better or worse then the other.

as long as you fucking think about what you are feeling and doing.

it's all just a urinal in an art gallery.

#weeeeee #drunk posting #someone kill me #please

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 1 day ago

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Big boy.

Gif by @berryispunk

Pairing: Clint x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI Words count: 2065 Summary: You enter a video rental shop looking for something spicy and end up finding the best fuck you've ever had. Basically PWP, I'm FERAL for this man, okay. Tags/Warnings: reader has no description, she wears leggings and a top, smut, sex in a public place, a dash of nipples play, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (do better irl, please, especially with strangers), sex with a stranger, pet names, dirty talk, Clint has a filthy mouth of course, no reference to the plot other than the video rental, reader is absolutely unhinged and feral, cream pie, reader is on the pill, some somewhat stereotypical ideas, reader doesn't like the name 'Clint', other filthy things I don't even remember, I wrote it basically in a frenzy LMAO. A/N: Inspired by the gif above, I saw this post by @berryispunk on my dash earlier today and started typing right away LOL English is not my first language, no beta, no proofreading, no nothing, I apologize for any mistake.

Thank to anyone who will read!

Masterlist

Your idiot boyfriend broke up with you six months ago, and you haven't seen a cock since.

Nothing.

Absolute desert.

Until a few weeks ago you were too grossed out by the male gender to think about it but you need something now.

You are thirsty.

Hungry.

Working from home some days a week was distracting, and you found yourself increasingly brooding, taking long breaks to linger in long sessions with your favorite toys.

The fantasies going on in your head, however, were always the same and as satisfying as they were, you felt you needed something more.

At least until you had met a man worthy of your time.

That's how you found yourself after work in the video store near your office. You frequented it often but had never entered the adult video section. You were embarrassed, but you had no other way to find material of the kind you were craving.

The section was divided from the rest of the video store by a thick red velvet curtain, and as you approached it the guy behind the counter gave you an 'eloquent look. He was a thin guy in his early twenties, long black hair, a lower lip piercing, his tattooed arms poking out from a T-shirt cut off at the sides.

“Hey baby, can I help you?” he had said with a grin painted on his face.

You had raised an eyebrow in response, “No thanks.”

Definitely too young and looking like someone who spends his time getting stoned and playing video games every day all day.

You peeled back the curtain and entered, prowling around the various shelves. Naked women everywhere on video covers, big boobs, bleached blond hair, full lips and winks. On another shelf, black women were smiling at you, on the one below Asian women.

The world of porn was more organized than you expected.

Everything was silent, shrouded in the red light of three large neon X's hanging on the wall.

You were perusing at a video with a nice redhead woman, a black woman and a man with a huge cock when you heard steps coming from the opposite direction you were.

A man appeared right in front of you.

A very handsome man actually.

Tall, broad shoulders, a face sculpted by God in person, big nose, kissable lips and slightly messy beard and mustache, thick deep brown hair and a gorgeous pair of brown eyes.

Please tell me you are looking for my pussy, you thought.

Fuck. I’m really unhinged at this point.

He ignored you and continued to search the shelves for something. You follow him with your eyes, drinking in his figure dressed in light jeans, a plaid shirt and a black leather jacket.

He had a little too much gel in his hair, a scar under his right eye and seemed like a troublemaker. But at the same time he was certainly not someone you should have to explain where the clitoris is to, like the guy in his early twenties outside.

You spotted his big hands, long thick fingers, they seemed a little callous but definitely experts.

“What do you recommend?” You suddenly asked.

You couldn't believe the nerve you'd just shown, but fuck it, we ball, you thought.

He turned and looked at you as if he had only just seen you: “Oh? Sorry, what did you ask me?”

He didn't seem annoyed, just very surprised.

“What do you recommend?” you repeated as your knees weakened under his gaze.

“Oh,” he said, as if he didn't care at all about being surrounded by video covers with naked women of all kinds.

You bit your lip, touched your neck, and looked away after looking at him intensely for a moment. Your winning move, usually.

“Well, I don't know...” he hesitated, coming closer to you. ”I guess it depends on what you like.”

His voice had become lower, it was hoarse, incredibly sensual.

As he got closer you looked at his big boots, almost as if it didn't matter. In reality you were noticing his big feet.

Big feet, big hands, big nose...he must have something else big, I hope.

You looked up, and he was just a step away from you.

“What do you need tonight?” he teased you, with a sinful little smile on his face.

“Something really wild” you smiled “Do you know where I can find it?”

He smirked “Are you into women, too?”

“Yes” you replied boldly, licking your upper lip.

“Sexy” he stated.

You laughed softly while he took a video from the shelf

“This one is good”

It was the one you were looking at when he entered.

“Uhm.. did you see it?” You asked with a suggestive wink.

“Yes, darling, several times, actually. It never disappoints” he shrugged and looked at you like he wanted to devour you.

Oh yes, I caught him on the hook. You thought.

“Well, ladies are very beautiful... and he has a nice cock” you observed, trying to sound casual and nonchalant.

“You like big cocks?” it sounded even more raspy and went straight to your pussy.

“Actually…yes” you replied, getting dangerously close to him and looking at him from below, batting your eyelashes. “I bet you have a nice one, by the way”

“No one has ever complained, sweetheart” his hand reached your face, his knuckles grazing at your cheek.

“Then show me” you whispered.

His eyes had become even darker, practically just pupils.

He ran a hand over his mustache and said,

“Damn, you're really cheeky. You don't even know my name.”

“I don't want to know that. I want to know if you want to fuck or not.”

“Here?” he asked, his eyes wide.

“Why not? You scared?” You teased him.

“I'm no wuss, honey” he growled before slamming your against the shelf behind you

You were left breathless for a moment.

"Show me what you got, big boy" you purred a moment after.

You didn't know what had gotten into you, having sex with a stranger in the adult section of a video rental shop? It certainly wasn't on brand for you, but at that point you wouldn't have backed out.

His hands had clasped your hips, moving over your ass and groping you strongly.

“Oh baby, when I'm done with you, you won't be able to walk straight for days.”

“Good. I haven't been fucked properly for a while”

You regretted this confession until he squeezed your ass again, pulling you towards him and saying, “A pretty little thing like you? Fuck, there really is no religion left in this world.”

“Well, make me shout to God then.”

His mouth crashed on yours right after, his tongue immediately pushed at your lips and you let it in, licking it and trapping it in a dance with yours.

His hands went up to play with your nipples through your top; you weren't wearing a bra and your nipples immediately stiffened against the fabric.

"Fuck, yeah" you moaned. "I knew your hands were skilled"

His thumbs kept brushing on your hard buds while his mouth moved to your jawline and your neck, peppering them with kisses, biting at your tender skin and soothing it right away with his tongue.

“You smell so good, baby” he whispered, inhaling the scent of your perfume “like apples and vanilla. It makes me want to eat you up”

He immediately lowered himself, pulling down your leggings and panties in one go, leaving you naked from the waist down. The cool air in the room made you wince.

“Look at this pussy, she’s weeping huh?”

He had said this, a moment before starting to kiss your thighs, biting and licking, slowly moving up towards your center.

“Fuck” you moaned burying a hand in his dark curls “please”

He had started by licking your outer lips, then dipping his tongue between your folds, going up to your clitoris and swirling around it.

You would pull his hair and moan, completely enraptured. He was so damn good.

He definitely knew where your clit was and exactly what it needed.

He began to fondle it, alternating between licking and pressing and then started to jerking it off quickly with his tongue.

You'd completely lost it when he'd taken it in his mouth and started sucking it.

“Yeah baby, you like that huh?” He muttered before nudging at your entrance with his index and middle finger.

He curled his fingers inside you, continuing to suck on your bundle of nerves until you had actually called on the name of God, quivering under his touch.

Your back was hitting against the shelf and it hurt but you didn't care, you were moaning like someone possessed and you didn't care, no one had ever made you come like that with oral sex.

You couldn't believe how lucky you were, right there and then you decided that your instinct was pretty reliable after all.

“Well, now that she’s nice and wet I think I'll serve her the main course” he groaned.

“Please” you breathed.

“Still hungry, huh?” he chuckled as he got up. He lifted your top to reveal your tits. ”Gorgeous. Stay still for me”

He unfastened his belt and jeans, letting them fall to his ankles and then pulling them off stomping on them.

His cock was indeed as delicious as you'd thought.

Big, thick, pink and incredibly hard right before your eyes.

A small bush of hair all around it and two big balls just below.

It made your mouth water.

He moved closer to you in an instant, one hand on your tit and the other on your clit as he slowly entered you.

“Fuck, you're so tight.” He grunted.

“And you’re so big. Just the way I like” you cooed.

He was at least 8 inches and proceeded cautiously, feeling you stretch for him “You're so good, baby, I can't wait to be all inside your hot, soaking wet pussy”

“Make me full, please” you urged him, staring at his gorgeous brown eyes, taking in his lips agape and little beads of sweat running down his neck.

He grunted again before fully sinking inside you. “Can you feel it deep inside, baby? Are you full enough?”

“Fuck yeah, it’s perfect.” You moaned. “Move. Please”

He didn't have to be asked twice before starting to dive in and out of you, at a slow pace at first, making you feel every inch that stretched you, veins on his length gliding against your damp walls, his engorged tip hitting that special spot over and over again.

He increased the pace at your next prayer, squeezing one of your ass cheek with one hand and putting the other behind your back to prevent you from really hurting yourself.

“Christ, babe you’re gripping me so hard, I don't think I can hold on much longer” he muttered

Your fingers were tangled in his curls at the base of his neck, you lured him into a deep, sloppy kiss, after whispering in his ear “Paint me. I'm on the pill”

“Fuck, do you want me to come inside you? Do you want to go home with my seed dripping between your legs?”

“Yes” you purred “go on, big boy, that's exactly what I'm hoping for.”

“Come for me first, be a good girl. I can feel you're close”

You came after another couple of strong thrusts, your moans muffled by his lips on yours.

He came just after you, unloading long, warm streaks of his seed inside you.

He kept thrusting into you until he softened, grunting and groping your tit with his large hand, his thick fingers tugging at your nipple.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” he said as he came out from you and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘It's one of the craziest things that has ever happened to me.”

“Um... do crazy things happen to you often?’ you asked smiling

“Sometimes.”

He pulled on his pants, gave you another kiss and headed for the tent.

He didn't ask your name. He knew he didn't need to.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

“Thanks to you. I'm Clint, by the way. I often come here on Thursdays, if you'd like to see me again.”

He left without saying anything else.

Clint. What a crappy name. Good thing he doesn't look like it.

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @joelmillerisapunk @lemon-nomel @probablyreadinsmut @almostempty @baronessvonglitter @thundermartini @cas-readsandwrites

archive tag: @pedrostories

let me know if you want to be added or removed, I'll do it right away. ❤️

#pedro pascal #freaky tales #clint #clint x f!reader #clint freaky tales #clint freaky tales x female reader #pedro pascal characters #ppcu

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16wolke11 · 2 days ago

Text

Clumsy - Oscar Piastri

A/N My first one-shot here! Still figuring out the tagging and stuff, but I hope you like it.

Summary: Oscar's girlfriend is extremely clumsy, always managing to get a new bruise or a new cut just a few days apart. One day she falls down the stairs and needs surgery, Oscar drops everything to be with her.

Words: 2139

__________

Being a teacher at an elementary school was always my dream job, and after finishing my master's degree, I am finally able to do what I love; teaching the young ones and laying the first stones on their path to knowledge. Even though it is difficult at times, to manage the fidgeting children who tend to get distracted easily, it's still what I love. Seeing success when another one manages to read a full sentence, solve a math problem, or write a rather difficult word with the correct spelling is priceless.

But being a teacher also means I'm not able to accompany Oscar that often. It's just not ideal to travel over the weekend; landing late on Fridays and having to leave exactly after the race, while also trying to prepare the classes for the upcoming week and maybe even needing to correct work from the previous one. I love summer break because it means I can be with Oscar more often, but in the meantime, we make the best out of the situation. We FaceTime frequently, chat while the other is occupied, and just savour the time we can spend together.

This week is another one when Oscar left for a race, and I have to stay behind. Luckily, I have a short day at school today, allowing me to go before lunch and finish some things. Well, if it weren't for my clumsy self. Oscar always jokes that I get at least five new bruises while he's away, and he's probably right, but I can't do anything about the stumbling, the brushing against door frames, or knocking my little toe into anything. But today, my bad luck took it one step too far, and I slipped on the stairs at school, hitting my elbow on them and feeling a sharp pain shoot down my arm.

I've fallen down these stairs before, but I've never been in so much pain. One of my coworkers found me, and after a quick look at my already bruising elbow, we decided to call an ambulance. Now, hours later, I have a diagnosis and finally some time to tell Oscar what happened. I already have a few texts from him, nothing too worried, just some updates about his day and a question about how mine is going. With a sigh, I call his number, bracing myself to tell him everything while not even being able to fidget with my fingers for distraction.

It doesn't take long before Oscar picks up like he's been waiting in front of his phone just anticipating my call or text. "Hey, Oscar," I greet him and hear some shuffling in the background before a door closes and Oscar speaks up.

"Love, everything okay? Shouldn't you be at work?" he asks, his voice already laced with worry. I close my eyes for a moment. Oscar didn't even know I was supposed to be out of work early today and just assumes I should still be at school teaching or supervising the little gremlins.

"Please don't freak out," I start, and I hear a nervous chuckle in response.

"This is not a great starting point for that request, but I'll try."

He's right, but I don't even know how to phrase what happened easily, so I just start with the simplest explanation I can think of. "Well, I kind of fell down the stairs after finishing my last class."

"Again?" Oscar laughs, and I can't help but smile a little too, though I roll my eyes at the same time, even though Oscar can't see me.

"Hey, I can't do anything about being clumsy," I protest, but I only get another laugh in return. Usually, I would laugh with him, but the light throbbing in my elbow, down to my fingers, stops the light mood I'm in.

"Sorry, but I reckon you don't just call to tell me that," Oscar apologizes softly, and then he gets back to the reason for my call. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for all the questions he's going to have.

"No, I might've smashed my elbow pretty badly, and they brought me to the hospital." I tell him the first facts, and immediately the laughing Oscar is replaced with a worried one.

"That bad?" he asks, and I can almost hear the pain in his voice. As much as he likes to joke about my clumsiness, he also hates it when I get injured, even if it's just a little bruise or a cut.

"Unfortunately, I managed to break it and need surgery to fix the broken pieces back into place. It'll be a long recovery because I was pretty successful in splintering the bone into pieces," I tell him what the doctors explained, just in the simpler version. They explained a lot about how they need to make sure there are no little bone fragments left in the joint and the recovery process I'll have to go through.

"Fuck!" Oscar curses, and I can hear him pacing, probably in his driver's room. I can only imagine the distressed look on his face and how he's probably ruffling his hair while a thousand thoughts swirling through his head. Well, at least he's giving me an insight into what's going on in his mind, because he starts rambling.

"How are you feeling? Are you okay? Do you need anything? I could send Margaret over or someone else if you need anyone by your side right now. Did they say anything about the recovery? Will your arm be able to move normally or will there be any lasting damage?"

"Oscar, stop." I manage to speak up when he takes a deep breath. It's sweet how he's trying to help me from afar, even thinking about sending our elderly neighbour to me, but I need him to calm down.

"Sorry, kind of freaking out right now," he mutters, and I smile just a little bit.

"I could tell." I still remember the first time Oscar rambled that much and how surprised I was by the speed and number of words coming out of his mouth. Usually, he's calm, collected, and limits his words to the necessary ones, but when he's really worried, everything just comes out.

"Don't worry, I don't need anything right now. Just hearing your voice makes everything feel better," I tell him, which is the truth. There's nothing I need right now, except for him, and he just helps me by being here on the phone, even though it's not the same as having him in person.

"That's good," Oscar says, and I can hear that he's stopped pacing, probably calming down a little.

"Is there anything you know about the surgery?" he asks after a short break, now sounding like his calm self again.

"We're currently waiting for a free spot in the OR. It's not urgent, but they'd like to operate before the swelling gets too bad, and luckily, I haven't had lunch yet," I explain what the doctors told me. This isn't an emergency, but waiting too long isn't ideal either, so they're going to squeeze me in as soon as one of the ORs is available.

"I bet you're hungry," Oscar grins, and I can hear it in his voice. I've learned to recognize that tone through the phone—the soft change when his lips are curled upwards.

"Starving," I confirm with a soft laugh. My stomach is already growling, but there's no way to get food until after the surgery. I can wait if it means my elbow will be fixed.

"I promise you your favourite food as soon as I'm with you," Oscar says, and I know he's not lying. He would probably even order food into the hospital for me if that were possible, but they wouldn't bring it to me, so I'll have to wait.

"Looking forward to it. Hopefully, I'll be home by then," I mumble, knowing it will take some days until Oscar will be back home, and who knows, maybe they'll send me home just a few days after the surgery.

"We'll see," are Oscar's last words about my injury before we start talking a bit about his day. I get the feeling he's trying to distract me, and it's working perfectly. At one point, Oscar needs to leave for some duties, and luckily for me, a nice nurse comes in just a few minutes later to inform me that my surgery is starting soon.

The way to the OR and the prepping feels like a blur, and quicker than I thought, I'm with an anaesthesiologist. Drifting into sleep feels like a relief because I know my arm will be fixed. Of course, recovery will take its time, but I'm sure I'll manage it just fine.

Waking up after the surgery almost knocks the air out of my lungs because it feels like my arm is falling off. The nurse helps me take a few sips of water, gives me some painkillers, and then I drift back into sleep, even though I just woke up from a deep slumber.

The night is blurry, waking up from time to time—sometimes from the pain in general, sometimes from the nurses, and sometimes from the pain of a sudden movement. But somehow, I make it through the night and feel slightly better in the morning. Blinking, I try to figure out what time it might be when I spot a familiar figure sitting beside my bed, watching me closely.

"Os?" I ask groggily, not sure if he's really sitting there or if the pain meds are playing tricks on my mind. But just seeing the soft smile on his lips makes me hope that he's really there and not just in my imagination.

"Hi, love," he whispers, fingers reaching for my uninjured hand, softly holding onto it, letting me feel the warmth of his touch.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, slowly realizing that he's indeed here and not with his team for the race weekend.

"Being here for you," he simply states, like it's obvious that it wouldn't even be a question for him if he had to choose where to be right now.

"Your race..." I whisper, knowing how important it is, not only to him but to the fans, the championship, the team, and everyone else involved. I would like to ask him if he's insane, if they made it hard for him to leave, but no words leave my lips.

"You are more important," Oscar states, and my eyes well up. How can he be so perfect?

"Thank you," I try to squeeze his hand a bit, but my grip is pretty weak. Oscar starts letting his thumb brush over the back of my hand, and I relax under his touch. His eyes wander over me before he asks a question.

"How are you feeling? Is the pain manageable?"

My eyes linger on my heavily padded elbow for a moment. Right now, I don't feel anything but a dull pain. But it seems like Oscar's touch makes it disappear with every soft stroke of his finger on my skin.

"You make everything seem better just by being here," I state, my voice laced with tiredness, and Oscar smiles softly.

"So, I guess they gave you some nice painkillers," he grins. I can hear it in his voice, and I can feel my lips pulling into a crooked smile.

"Yes."

We look at each other for a moment, but my eyes are getting heavier and heavier, and I have to fight to keep them open for a few more minutes.

"Can you come in?" I ask Oscar, who looks conflicted at my question.

"I don't know," he says, gesturing to my body, indicating he's scared of hurting me in any way, but I just need him close now for recovery.

"Please."

Oscar sighs softly before standing up. "Okay, anything to make you feel better," he says, gets rid of his shoes, and carefully shuffles into the bed beside me. I need to stay on my back because of my elbow being propped up in some bedding, and he lays on his side beside my good arm, resting his arm over my belly and searching for the contact I need. I rest my head against his chest before a thought comes into my head.

"Did you bring the food?" I ask, remembering what he promised, and even though my mind is hazy, I realize he probably already knew he was coming home early when he promised me the food.

"Yes," Oscar confirms, and I can only hum the following words, close to falling asleep.

"Love you."

"Love you too, my little crash pilot," Oscar whispers, holding me in his arms while I slip into the sleep of recovery.

#oscar piastri fic #op81 x reader #op81 imagine #oscar piastri x reader #one-shot #f1 x reader #f1 fluff #oscar piastri fluff #op81 fluff #f1 imagine

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maxwellatoms · 1 day ago

Note

Do you think were any kind of specific aspects of the culture, industry, economy, etc that made making cartoons in 90s / 2000s better or worse than trying to make them today?

They're literally different worlds.

As a 22 year old neurodivergent, I was able to pitch show ideas directly to executives. Part of that was because TV Animation wasn't a glamorous profession (quite yet), so the higher-ups were genuinely passionate about the medium. I earned good money for the time and was generally trusted to run my show and tend to the crew. I would periodically be handed portfolios, which I would personally review and pass on to other show runners. For the networks it was always corporate, cutthroat, and ultimately about the money, but as an artist you could still have a voice and make art while being paid a living wage.

The pay for a freelance storyboard in 2005 is almost exactly what it is today, but now you're likely to have less time and be required to do an animatic on top of it. Portfolios are online, and (beyond metrics) you'll probably never know if anyone looks at it or not.

Animation got big. Too big. The executives got "glamorous", then the talent got "glamorous". By then you probably wouldn't get a pitch meeting unless you were a celebrity or knew one willing to be connected to your project. Animation eventually got so big that it popped. And that's where we are now.

Most of the people I know from Kid's TV Animation are currently unemployed. I have been off Jellystone for over a year, and I'm starting to get genuinely worried. Like, "move away to save money" worried. Most of the employed artists I do know are on long-running legacy series, and they're concerned about their futures when/if those series end. Right now is not a fantastic time for "animation as a money-making profession". The "glamorous" part popped years ago.

That being said, there are still opportunities out there. If you're just starting out, apparently there's a planned surge in adult and pre-school animation. It's also a great time (as long as YouTube remains sane) to be crafting your own content. But I think that the time of Big Studio Patronage is over for most of the industry. It's up to the individual artist now more than ever, not only to make but to promote their own content.

Back at the height of Billy & Mandy, we mostly pulled fours and fives in the Neilsen ratings, but we occasionally got a seven. For reference, E.R. consistently got eights. It's difficult to say exactly how many people that actually was due to how those ratings work, but it was a big deal for the time. Millions. Enough people that if I had a dollar for each person that just watched that one episode, I would have been set for life. Now, nobody gets a seven. A four is huge. Back then there were maybe fifteen or twenty channels of programmed content as opposed to the streaming smorgasbord we were all just enjoying (and which now also seems to have popped). Point being, even though I wasn't paid-per-view, I was able to use those views as justification for an eventual raise. In modern times, streaming numbers are seemingly deliberately kept secret. You'll never really know how well your show was doing until it's over. Or maybe never.

In modern times, a million views on YouTube is enough to get you noticed online. It's a lower bar for entry in a way, but you've got to get there all by yourself. Once you're there (hello Hazbin) a network may indeed come and scoop you up. Even if they don't, you can probably make a decent living with numbers like that if you're savvy and willing to take the time.

I feel like I could go on all day, shaking my fist at the sky, gray-ass beard blowing in the wind. Was it better or easier making cartoons in the past? It seemed that way to me, but that was a world I knew. There was no AI to sell you out to, and the media was more of a "Wild West" than it is today. I do think that AI is going to continue to displace artists (and soon others), making it even more difficult to get anyone's eyes on anything at all.

Culturally, we lack the common cultural touchpoints that bonded our society in the 20th Century. I suspect that the media landscape will continue to become more "bubbly" and disjointed unless some powerful force swoops in to mandate a common viewpoint. Those are two very divergent, uniquely tiring futures, each presenting a different challenge for an artist's survival.

Outside of whatever our modern world is, animation was made for a century by photographing drawings. If Émile Cohl could do it in 1908, you can do it now. It's a lot of labor, but maybe that's part of what makes it special.

#maxwell atoms #animation art #animation industry

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quasisnipr1048 · 2 days ago

Photo

I do think there is an interesting tangential argument to be made about knowing the geography of your genetics (as someone who's done both mainstream ancestry kits).

For context, I don't know who my biological father was, and at my age, I likely never will. (I knew my mother but she wasn't around long enough to really impart any sort of cultural identity to me IMO.) And I definitely agree with the argument that identity is cultural more than it is genetic.

Because I was essentially adopted and raised by my adoptive parents, I've had a long-standing concern about genetic risk factors. I can't rely on close relatives (save for one) for reference. Now, I should have probably gone to an actual doctor for this, but insurance issues (and age, at the time) notwithstanding, Ancestry and 23andMe were right there in the store. So we did that, and I knew in a month where my genes came from geographically speaking and what sort of risk factors I might have.

Now, I'm not going to speak to the accuracy or bias of either test (it's almost its own argument), but generally, it's helped me figure myself out. I still am me, with all the frameworks and lessons imparted to me by my adoptive family, but with a clearer picture of what my genetic background is.

I believe that if, and ONLY if, you view these two tests in this manner, there is some merit to them. And I'm not going to fault someone for being generally curious about their genetics (I do think it's cool to know where, regionally, your genes come from). But I'm older now, so I should probably actually talk to my doctor instead of relying on privacy-issue riddled DNA testing companies.

Anyway, side tangent over. Very interesting interview.

This NPR interview with with Angela Saini about how race science never really left the global scientific consciousness is super interesting! I’m gonna read her book!

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bratbarzal · 23 hours ago

Note

for ur valentines blurb pretty please these prompts with quinn hughes ☺️😘

¹⁾ “you really planned this?! remind me how you’re single, again?”

⁴⁾ “c’mon, like i need an excuse to spend time with you.”

⁵⁾ “i can’t help but think that this is a little more effort than someone would normally put in for their friend.”

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

idk why I give prompts and then continue to go off script but I honestly think I have a problem with being told what to do lmao. something about scripted sentence cuts a creative wire in my brain. THE SENTIMENT OF WHAT I WROTE IS THE SAME!!!!! I promise. also I like this one lmao!! I hope you like it too thanks for requesting!! and stacking the prompts is very cool gave me a nice little story to follow I love it!!! I wrote this whole thing and realised I didn't mention valentines once, but it's belated, so..... we're going to pretend it's okay I've decided on your behalf thanks love you

this ended up at 3.4k words lol - warnings for fade to black type smut, slightly angsty

Quinn: you coming over tonight?

A text from him has never filled you with anxiety like this.

But then again, for as long as the two of you have been friends, you've never actively avoided Quinn until now.

Monday had been one word answers, Tuesday had been emojis, Wednesday had been reactions, and Thursday had been radio silence, because he hadn't texted you, anyway.

It's not that you're mad at him. You wish you could be mad - wish you had any reason other than your own shame to be turning down all attempts at contact. But instead, all you can think when you see his name is how much you had fucked everything up the last time you saw him.

You: idk

And only because you feel instantly bad about how short that is, you immediately follow up with:

You: work has kicked my ass this week

You see the little dots keep popping up, and you're only torturing yourself to watch them come and go as he figures out what to say - how to salvage what you'd so carelessly made a gigantic mess of only last weekend.

You should really just say yes, you think - be the bigger person. Fridays have been your thing, all season. The day of the week he most frequently has the night off, and an end to your usually-hectic work-week, it has just made sense for the two of you to hang out, to make a routine of doing so.

Bailing on him is harsh, you know that. And with such a weak excuse too - you've had much worse times in your job, and it's never come between the two of you before.

And you know that he knows what you're doing. It's obvious. It's just whether he's in any mood to try and recover whatever scraps of your friendship still remain. Whether he even cares, anymore.

Quinn: please?

The two minutes it took for him to type just one word dragged longer than they ever have in your life, and you blink at your phone screen as you see the dots jump up again.

You chew nervously at your lip and wait, tapping your foot against the side of your desk and watching this time as it stays.

Quinn: I've already bought enough to cook for us both

He's such a guilt tripper.

You sigh, typing back and sending an immediate response, figuring a week of the bare minimum is punishment enough without blanking him or making him wait.

You: okay

A heart pops up below your message almost immediately, the reaction only worsening your anxiety at the thought of how hard keeping your distance is.

You: I'm finishing later than usual, should be there around 8

Quinn: ok I'll have dinner ready for then!

You knock on Quinn's door a little after 8pm - still in your work clothes, although that is usually how you come over, in your defence. Quinn loans you something comfy, and you usually change, but changing means staying over, and you're kind of trying to avoid all that again.

So when he welcomes you in, you awkwardly pat at his back as he tries to embrace you, before hovering around the kitchen instead of making your way back to his room.

He frowns a little as he watches you - he's in a hoodie and sweats, settled in now for the night with no intentions of getting back up once the two of you have eventually sunk down into the couch together - and waits a second to see if you're just on a delay, if you're just beat from work, like you said.

"I left a change of clothes for you on my bed," he says once he realises you aren't shifting, glancing quickly at you before he starts to busy himself with dishing up dinner.

"I'm good," you tell him, short, with a tight lipped smile sent his way when his eyes meet yours, narrowed in curiosity.

You're wearing a skirt and heels, for Christ's sake, and a blouse that's a little too restrictive around your shoulders. You've been in them all day, too. Of course you aren't good, and of course he knows that, but he drops it, a resigned nod and an awkward shift of his gaze back to the task at hand, spooning an assortment of green vegetables beside the rice on your plate.

You chance a good look at him while he's distracted - his hair soft, pushed back messily in a way that makes it flop straight back into place, and he looks a little tired, but he's had a long week, too. Back in training, pushing himself, dealing with a best friend who isn't reciprocating his energy. He's probably exhausted.

His jaw is clenched as he finishes the meal off, clattering utensils a little louder the longer you're quiet, and letting out heavy sighs when he's clearly growing more frustrated with how little you're giving back.

"How was work?" he tries, reaching into the draw and retrieving a knife and fork for the two of you.

"Long," you sigh, offering a small smile when he looks over to let him know that this particular instance of a short response isn't personal. You are genuinely exhausted - you'd worked an extra long day, just to get a major project finished, and, if you're honest, you're just ready for bed. "Glad it's the weekend, I'm probably gonna hit my pillow tonight and not see tomorrow."

The initial spark that lit up in his eyes when you started speaking a full sentence to him dulled immediately when he realised that you had all intentions of going home.

"You're not staying over?"

"I can hardly sleep here until Sunday, Quinn, that would be insane." Like you haven't spent consecutive days around his apartment, before. Like you haven't spent weeks with him back at his lake house in Michigan in the summer. Like the two of you didn't isolate together when you both got covid, probably from each other.

He nods, brief and sharp, jaw tensing again as he mutters out a bitter, "Right."

God, this is hard.

"Do you want me to carry anything?" You ask, trying to be helpful, just to make yourself feel better.

He wordlessly hands over the cutlery before turning to grab both plates on his own, nodding for you to make your way out of the kitchen for him to follow.

You do as he asks, holding the door for him so he doesn't struggle, stepping nervously behind him as he guides you through to where he's set the dining table up.

His curtains are drawn, a picturesque view of the nightlife of downtown Vancouver, twinkling city lights and the distant flash of vehicles passing by below stands as the most perfect backdrop to his set-up - the table candle-lit, a vase of fresh flowers in the middle, wine glasses and a salad bowl situated around the nice placemats you'd made him buy the last time the two of you went shopping together.

You hesitate when you get a little closer, eyeing up the setting reluctantly as Quinn places the plates in your retrospective places.

He's usually neat when it comes to his dinner table - usually likes to set things up so that they look nice, placemats, coasters. cutlery and napkins - but it's never like this.

"What's all this?" You ask, meeting his eye as he leans across the table to place down the knives and forks you hand to him.

"You said you had a bad week," he shrugs, "Wanted to do something nice."

He shuffles around you, the light placement of his hand on your hip as he does so jolting you toward the table, head swivelling to watch him disappear back toward the kitchen.

"You planned this?" you call after him, turning to look down at everything - a meal that he cooked, something nutritious and filling, knowing you wouldn't have the energy to make as much yourself, pretty flowers, and a calm, ambient atmosphere flooding the room. Your fingers poke softly at the petals on the flowers, lifting them a little to get a better look, mindful of the roses in the arrangement, careful not to be pricked by their thorns. "And you said you didn't think you'd be a good boyfriend,"

The latter sentence is muttered to yourself more than anything, a remembrance of something he'd said a while ago now - something that had always been in the back of your mind when you considered anything more - but your heart drops when you hear him chuckle from not too far behind, spinning on your heels to look at him, wide-eyed and apologetic. "I didnt-,"

“It’s fine,” he assures you, dipping his head but still keeping his gaze on yours, “Wine?”

He holds the bottle up in one hand, and your mouth goes a little dry at the sight of the label, mind going straight back to this time last week, when you had shared a few glasses with him. When things had gone too far.

Quinn's hands were holding you in place on his lap, soft fingers slipping under the hem of his sweatshirt that you wore, sliding up to press into the warm skin of your back, rocking you on his lap as his tongue swiped languidly against your own.

You couldn't quite tell whose mouth the taste of plummy Malbec sat within, but at that point, you didn't care - you'd both drunk enough of it to find yourselves in such a situation, you were at equal fault.

Not that any of it felt wrong in the moment, his hips bucking up as you straddled his thighs, your fingers clutching where his hair grew thick at the back of his neck. Quinn was humming soft, delicious groans straight between your lips, his own closing around your tongue as he sucked on it - all other bodily movements frantic and stuttered until he was repositioning the two of you, laying you back on the couch and gripping the elastic waist of your sweatpants.

It can't have been wrong - not with how easy it all unfolded, your hips lifting until he slid your bottoms off, his fingertips sneaking their beneath the hem of your panties - too drunk to care how sexy they might have been, never expecting to have to even consider such a thing around Quinn - all the while his mouth pressing firm, bruising kisses to your own.

"I shouldn't, I'm driving," you mumble, a soft shake of your head supposed to let him down easy, and to bring your senses back to the present, but his frown just deepens, the crease between his eyebrows now almost a fold.

"You can stay, you know," he tells you, pouring his own glass. "I don't care if you sleep until Sunday, it's not like you haven't spent the weekend before."

"I don't know," You sit cautiously in your seat, watching as he lowers into his own, face morphing into a hard scowl before he lets out a heavy sigh. "What?"

"It's like you've been making excuses not to hang out."

"Or maybe you've been making excuses to hang out," you retort, cringing yourself at how stupid it sounds, looking down into your lap as you place your napkin there so that he can't see the visible curl of your features.

"That doesn't even make sense," you know that, obviously, but you've been avoiding him for a reason - you don't want to have this conversation. You're not ready. "I don't need an excuse, we're friends, it's what friends do."

And God, you wish he'd just stop saying it. It's getting annoying now, your jaw tensing as you huff a short breath out, still keeping your head down to avoid him reading you like an open book - a book that may as well be pictures, at this point, or written for children with the most basic reading comprehension, one sentence per page and clear as day.

"What friends do," you mutter, in disbelief. He's one to talk about what friends do.

Friends don't do what you did last week.

Quinn's body had pretty much completely flopped onto yours, his chest rising and falling in heavy pants, but still careful enough not to bare all his weight on you so that yours could do the same.

Your skin felt clammy all over, baby hairs sticking to the back of your neck and your forehead, your neck slick from where his lips had been pressing all into it, sucking and nipping and you swear you'd even felt the glorious scratch of teeth at one point, and the heat of him above you was doing little to remedy the feeling.

You brought a hand up, almost absent-mindedly, to scratch softly at the back of his head as he came down, an overwhelming dizziness gripping at your eyelids, pulling you down as you felt him follow.

"You're making me feel like I'm going crazy," you sigh, "You can't seriously set all this up and not realise that it's way more effort than anyone would normally put in for someone that's just a friend,"

"You're not just anything," he counters, "When did I say you were just anything?"

He looks annoyed, that much is obvious - and yeah, you've technically been avoiding him, just like he assumes, but he was the one who made you feel like you had to.

A soft, sleepy groan was the first sound that brought you into consciousness the next morning - raspy and thick, and so close to your ear that the feeling of it buzzed the whole way down to your toes.

Then came unassuming movements, a twist of his torso, a shuffle of his hips, the stretch of his legs, all of which had been pressed right against all the same parts of your body - the sticky warmth of him catching your skin and rousing you fully from your sleep.

His arms tightened their hold around you before you really thought he knew what he was doing - a lethargic sigh huffing from his nostrils as he got comfortable again - and you had maybe a solid minute in his embrace until he fully came to.

The two of you were naked, one of the throws from the back of the couch draped lazily over your modesty, but that didn't really matter when you could feel the heavy press of him all over - your chest, your stomach, your hips, your thighs.

His fingers tightened, pressing a little into your waist before his touch disappeared completely. Before he was retreating, untangling himself from your body and sitting up. You felt the couch move as he shuffled around doing God-knows-what - felt the soft drape of the throw back over your body, and the whoosh of cold that followed and refused to leave.

When you dared to open your eyes, he was sat on the other side, leaning over, head in his hands after shrugging his boxers back on.

"Quinn?" you asked, your own voice thick with sleep, straightening to face him properly and rubbing at your eyes until they focused. "What's going on?"

"How much did we have to drink last night?"

Your heart dropped at the question, but your eyes floated over to the coffee table, two empty bottles standing on the other side. "A lot, I guess."

"Shit," he cursed, pushing himself up and pacing in front of the couch, refusing to look at you. "Fuck."

"Q, you're making me dizzy."

"I just," he stopped in place and scratched at the back of his neck, eyes lowering down your body in a way that made heat creep back up your neck, and your shoulders practically fold in on themselves consciously. "I didn't mean for it to go that far."

Your lips parted, although you didn't really know what to say to that. All you could do was nod, stuttered and slow, your gaze shifting too until it landed on the carpeted rug in front of him, focusing too hard on the pattern. "It's fine."

You could feel the weight of his stormy stare, but you couldn't look up - too afraid of rejection, too afraid of regret.

"We're friends, you know, you're-,"

"I know," you confirmed, not needing to hear how he didn't ever intend to be anything more. "We were drunk, Q, it's fine."

Your attempt at a reassuring smile probably looked a little more like a grimace, but you were saved probably by the fact that the two of you had had a lot to drink, and you were honestly a little queasy.

And maybe it had been the cold hard slap of rejection you woke up to that made you feel that way - after years of wanting more with Quinn - but he didn't need to know that. Not if he was already 10 toes deep into a regret spiral so soon after opening his eyes.

"We're friends."

"You said it last Saturday," you frown, "Saturday morning."

"No, you said we were drunk. I said we were friends, but you cut me off-,"

"Yeah, 'cause I didn't really want the first thing you said to me that morning to be that you made a mistake!"

"And here you are again, cutting me off!" his voice is a little raised now - so unlike the soft-spoken Quinn you're used to - easy going and well natured. "I can't win with you, you're either avoiding me like the plague, or you're not letting me speak, either way, I can't clear all this up!"

"What's there to clear up?" you scoff, "I don't need you to hold my hand and give me the full speech, okay, I get it, you don't want to be anything more than-," your body is jolted quickly by the sudden scrape of your chair across the floor, Quinn's grip firm on the leg as he pulls, "Hey, what are you-,"

And he's at the perfect height, then, to meet your lips once you're close enough, his hand leaving the chair to grip at your face - hold you in place so that you can't protest, can't cut him off in this, too, like you have been doing with every other way he's tried to communicate his feelings for you.

His kiss feels familiar, achingly so, the swipe of his tongue soft at the parting of your lips, his own mouth closing in a soft pressure against yours, over and over at a disorienting intensity - all thoughts melting away at his endeavour.

When he pulls away, he keeps his hands in place, watching intently as your eyes flutter open, and you slowly sink back into consciousness, pupils blown when they meet his, intense in their focus on you.

"You're really important to me."

You frown, because your brain will only allow you to process that as the start of rejection - followed by, which is why we can't go further - but that's not the direction Quinn is taking this.

"I wanted to do all of this right. That's why I freaked out last week. I didn't want you to think it was a drunken mistake."

Oh.

You're still a little dazed from the kiss, if you're honest, and so you find yourself blinking slowly back at him, mouth bopping open and closed while you figure out what to say.

"What?" Is all that comes out when you find your voice, watching as he rolls his eyes - part exasperated, part amused.

"Now you have nothing to say?" He scoffs, thumb swiping gently at your cheek as if to show you he's kidding. "I like you. I have for a while, and I want to be more than friends. I want you to stay at my place whenever you come over, and wear my clothes, and eat my food, and drink my wine," he lists, dipping his head closer and closer until you're face to face, a mere inch or two from him kissing you again. "And I want you to sleep here until Sunday. Maybe even after."

"Okay." you respond - the kind of one word answer you've been throwing his way to avoid getting hurt all week. And because you feel guilty, you add, "I want all that, too."

He breathes out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and smiling slowly - an infectious kind of smile, that has you doing it right back, noses just brushing before you kiss him, again.

Stone cold sober, no longer looking to avoid your feelings, with the intention of being so much more than his friend.

#quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #*writing #.ve #💌.valentinesevent #this got so long lmao #girl let the man eat his dinner

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aventurineswife · 3 days ago

Note

This isn't really a request to make anything more just a rant!

I'm just imagining SAHSRAU somehow managing to pull reader into the game and when they arrive they are just the God Emperor from 40k. Like, decked out in gold armor, long flowing hair, 14ft tall (GE is tall as hell), a Perpetual so they can't really stay dead, and some serious psychic capabilities.

It has me giggling just thinking about how some of the characters would react, especially the more devout ones. Maybe the Amphoreus npcs have an actual existential crisis seeing someone so godly compared to the titans, characters like Sunday and Argenti literally kissing the ground reader treads while others like Ruan Mei and Herta are have a singular focus on figuring out all of the readers ins and outs (more so than before).

This is an idea I've been playing with for a while now ever since I found out about this kind of AU and it's finally gotten to the point where I just want to rant on and on about it lol

No, but this is hilarious to think about. Like, imagine you get sucked into HSR, expecting to just be you, and instead, you show up looking like you walked straight out of Warhammer 40K fanfiction. Gold-plated, towering over everyone, radiating sheer divine energy—an actual god, not just a theoretical one.

The believers would either be weeping in joy or having the worst identity crisis of their lives. The Amphoreus people, who already revere the Titans, would take one look at you and just—malfunction. Like, 'oh. Oh no. We were wrong. We were SO wrong.' You’d probably get a mix of panicked bowing, desperate prayers, and people straight-up running because what does this mean for their entire worldview??

Sunday and Argenti? Absolutely losing it. Sunday would be preaching your name before you even say a word, while Argenti—this guy is already ridiculously devout—would be trying to single-handedly knight you with his banner. Probably vowing to crusade in your name while you’re just like, "Dude, chill, I just got here."

And then there’s the scholars. Ruan Mei, Herta, maybe even Screwllum—they’d take one look at you and go, "Science has failed me. I need to know EVERYTHING." You’d be subjected to so many tests, not out of doubt, but because they literally cannot fathom how you exist. Ruan Mei would be poking at your energy like "Okay but why does your aura feel like an eldritch horror and a divine miracle at the same time?"

Also, the Vidyadhara might just spontaneously combust from the sheer scale of your existence. They already believe in reincarnation and divine cycles—imagine how Dan Heng would feel if he realized you’re a Perpetual. "Wait. You don’t die? Like, at all? You just come back??" Meanwhile, Jing Yuan would be sipping his tea like, "Well. That’s new."

I also love the idea that even the Aeons don’t know what to do with you. Nanook, who is literally trying to destroy all gods, might take one look at you and just… pause. Like, "Huh. That’s not supposed to exist." Meanwhile, Xipe, the one obsessed with worship, is probably LOSING IT because they finally have something worthy of praise.

This concept is gold (literally). Keep ranting, because I love this! 🤭💖

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fierceawakening · 2 days ago

Text

I'm going to be kind of a dick here too and say "what is the goal here?"

Because, while I think it is important to be visibly anti-Nazi (or whatever), I think where we choose to be visible can matter.

Years and years ago, long before Trump was anything but a weird racist ranting about Obama's birth certificate, I joined some leftist groups I now feel were high control and not very effective.

And they said... well not this exact thing, as this sounds like it's more about friend groups than family. And what they said was things like "if one 80 year old can understand not to be prejudiced, your uncle Jim is making a choice to be. And if you don't speak up, you're making a choice to let him be."

So I was at a family gathering, and my old relatives were talking, and there was a long history of Greek communities and Jewish communities having tension when they were young, and they said some things about Jews, using Greek terms that... well, I don't know if they were slurs or just "Jew" or whatever, but I found it weird and uncomfortable coupled with what they were saying (the thing about how Jews see themselves as "the chosen people" and this makes them do arrogant things, IIRC.)

I got upset, I said so, I stormed out.

The result of this was not my family members changing their minds or softening their rhetoric. The result of this was family gossip about how I'd been radicalized and there was something wrong with me.

It changed nothing, and some of these people died before I saw them again and had a chance to have a conversation about it. I still feel sad that some of these people may have died thinking I was their enemy, since I didn't really explain (or think, at the time, that I SHOULD explain) that I was saying "please don't do that" and not "I despise you utterly."

So... I think stands like the one I took, in public and loudly, CAN be good politics. But they're theater.

Who's the audience for the theater?

If it's the prejudiced person and they're deep enough in their beliefs they'll just deem you a Karen and look confused in the general direction of nice people.

If it's other people around in the public space, THAT can matter. But if you can, you should make sure that they heard the Nazi-ing that precipitated you calling everyone's attention to your comment or your flouncing. That helps ensure that people know why you considered it serious enough to call attention.

If it's your own conscience, that's okay too. But bear in mind that the universe is not always just, and people may just think you're being dramatic.

Especially if in your family or friend group, you're The Loud Leftist, as I was at the time.

Again, not saying don't do it. It's often needed. But do consider: is this something you will want to have done even if it bombs and no one sees the intent behind what you did?

If the answer is yes, THEN do it.

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mishellii · 2 days ago

Text

petnames headcanons .ᐟ.ᐟ

modernworld!attack on titan x fem!reader

including: eren, armin, levi, hange, erwin, jean, mikasa, connie & sasha

warnings: NSFW! minors do not interact; not proofread,,, as always, pretty self indulgent oops

likes & reblogs appreciated<3

masterlist

𐙚EREN.

★i have this fb image about him in my head that i just can't get rid of

★...... babygirl

★but hear me out

★most of the times when he has NO idea what you're on about or he's trying to tease u

★uses it mostly while texting tho!

★"that's literally insane bbg"

★he's so UGHH

★always greets u with babe

★he'd definitely use ur name as well but he loves loves petnames

★sugar, pretty girl, u name it

★thinks they're so cute

★when ur asking something of him or like giving him shit he'd hit u with a

★"sure, ma"

★and idk about u but that's kinda hot

NSFW.

★so so basic but he loves calling you baby during sex, even though he calls u that all the time

★i think he'd use such teasing words and soft n sweet petnames just fit so well with that

★"oh, now you're listening, baby?"

★"c'mon, pretty, you were all mouthy earlier, tell me."

★says ur name only when he cums :)

★and the usual good girl when ur finished

★c'mon we been knew

──────────୨ৎ───────────

𐙚ARMIN.

★love

★LOVE

★just love man he's so so loving in his words he wouldn't ever call you anything degrading

★"sure, angel, i'll get right to it."

★but most likely when texting??

★perhaps he's too shy to call u anything but your name in public but he's trying i promise

★also the type to call u something only the both of you would know the reason behind; something no one else would know why he'd call u that

NSFW.

★oh my sweet boy

★i am a sub armin believer, but more on the switchy side so he could definitely dom if he feels confident enough in the relationship

★"please, angel, let me cum"

★with that subtle manipulative tone barely noticeable because of his oh so gentle words

★"i know, darling, just a bit more, please?"

★also loveeees moaning your name and hearing YOU say his name cuz he feels more connected this way

★,,,sighs dreamily

𐙚LEVI.

★this little bloke

★refuses to call u anything but ur name in public like,,,, if there's other people, he's using your name there's no way around it

★except for the infamous brat of course (i'm bumping that)

★,,i'm not telling you again, brat."

★in the comfort of ur living space, where it's just the two of you, he might throw in something cute if he's in a particularly soft mood

★"Already did the dishes, love, go lay down."

★pretty confident when he's texting tho, but simply cuz the words sound too foreign coming out of his mouth

★"Sure, Sweetheart. See you at home."

NSFW.

★dom levi defender for life u can haunt me down idc i stand by this

★once he feels comfortable and secure enough in ur relationship, certain you won't run off, he'd definitely lose the no-feelings-attitude and become more playful and daring

★"hands above your head, doll, i'm not telling you again."

★he can be pretty mean and unfair ,,,

★just.... u need to give him what he wants before he gives u what you want u feel me

★"beg"

★-"please."

★"like a good girl."

★not opposed to throwing in the brat again if ur pissing him off

★i'd gladly piss him off

★gnawing at the bars of my enclosure rn

𐙚HANGE.

★AAAAA A A A AAAAAAA

★"darling, i'm almost done."

★i would go to war for hange pls someone hold my hand

★now i think they're not entirely intrigued by pet names but some do slip out when they're feeling soft or they're in a silly mood

★once hange stalked the internet for too long and found "the cuppycake song" and started calling u stuff like my snoogums boogums or hunny bunch to get on ur nerves

★when noticing you're down or not in the best mood they use comforting ones tho

★"you okay, dear?"

★texts usually with the basic babe cuz they think it's short and still comes across as endearing, right?

NSFW.

★ugh

★"legs spread, sweet thing."

★ hange's a switch me thinks but with a preference for dominating??? idk why i'm even talking about this but y'all need to get the idea

★"did i tell you to move, pretty girl?"

★ugh pt.2

★when feeling subby they'd mostly use ur name tho ??

★or a teasing "yes, ma'am" to get u even more worked up (if u weren't already)

𐙚ERWIN.

★mr.smith my god

★he's so sweetheart coded fuck off

★and always puts "my" infront of pet names to insure people know u belong together

★doesn't matter if ur married or not

★"i'm just finishing up work, my love."

★if he talks with someone else about you it'd be either "my lady" or "my wife"

★he's oh so respectful when he talks about u i'm going insane

★texting would be the same tbh

NSFW.

★ahem

★"there you go, sweet girl. that's it."

★HE'S JUST SO-

★like he loves ur name too don't get me wrong but once he knows how much u love hearing him say those things it'll be hard to get him to stop

★"let me hear you, angel."

★makes u feel so much with his words and soft voice i hate it here

★erwin smith the man u are

𐙚JEAN.

★"hey, good lookin', how's it going?"

★doesn't reaaalllyyy call u much aside from babe in public, cuz he's a bit more private about showing his love

★not afraid to step up and make it known you're with him tho

★"yeah, my girl's not interested, thank you."

★during texting too like

★almost same as armin in personal pet names like,,,, idk

★u got an embarrassing haircut ONCE he's not letting it go

★"sure, bowl cut, i'll be there soon."

★i mean it's endearing come oooonn

NSFW.

★"you're so good to me, beautiful."

★i'm almost convinced he's all about praising words and names in bed (can u tell i don't like degradation oops)

★making u feel so good about urself cuz that's exactly what he wants

★also something along the lines of

★"go on, pretty thing, i got you."

★such a charmer

★i want 14 of him rn

𐙚MIKASA.

★step back ladies, i got this 🫷🏼😌🫸🏼

★in all seriousness, mommikasa's pretty light on the petnames imo

★she's a softy at heart tho, so she'll definitely call u sumn along the lines of love or sweets

★mostly in the comfort of ur 4 walls tho !!

★such huge emphasis on my GIRLFRIEND when introducing you to someone or talking about u

★wants the people to KNOW you're hers.

★she don't play about u

NSFW.

★lord have mercy

★pretty pretty girl is a force to be reckoned with

★"yeah, gorgeous, you like that?" in her soft voice with that devilish undertone

★settling for the basic baby most of the time tho, cuz it rolls off her tongue so easily when she's with u

★if you're being good, she'll let you know with sumn like "that's my girl." or "you're my pretty girl, yes?"

★again

★BIG👏🏻EMPHASIS👏🏻on the "my" part

𐙚CONNIE.

★this douche is all in always everywhere

★literally only calls u shit because he loves messing with u

★it's his form of affection i promise

★"ey, smelly, come here."

★genuinely, he's so weird

★"pookie, i didn't mean it."

★when ur pissed at something he said

★but he CAN be sweet obviously but only ever with calling you baby

★he's one of the girls when he's texting you like

★"omg bestie tell me"

★or

★"dpwm girl"

★he's so dry but uses memes to even it out

★i adore him actually

NSFW.

★"i told you, beautiful, no touching."

★he's actually really sweet during sex i promise he's not always a dick

★he DOES love u and he's not afraid to show/tell u with touching u in the right places AND with his words

★"keep going, ma."

★also baby baby baby so much baby UGH

★constance springer in my bed this instant

𐙚SASHA.

★mrs.potato girl def calls u anything and i mean anything related to the thing she loves most

★food.

★sugar, pumpkin or cupcake

★she loves food and she loves you so how could she not :(

★i fear sasha forgets ur name sometimes cuz it's so natural for her to call u sweet nicknames instead

★it's pretty much her love language

★as well for pda but that's a topic for another day cuz i will not STOP once i start

★"hey, girlie" when greeting u in a high pitched voice like,,, she's so easy to love bro

★also definitely gorgeous. ure her gorgeous girl.

NSFW.

★pillow princess sasha confirmed👑

★no i mean she can definitely take the lead, there's not really a fixed power dynamic when ur with her, but i feel she most times prefers being taken care of (as she SHOULD)

★main thing she'll call u during the nasty is baby

★depends on what ure into but she's definitely into addressing u as "ma'am"

★also princess :(

★uses ur name more during sex tho!!

★feels it's more intimate and personal that way

★i want to EAT her

a/n: hope y'all enjoyed this veRY self indulgent lil thing aaaand i'll see u beans next time! uuuhbye bye xx

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whos-the-seme · 2 days ago

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Shen Yuan is actually a cuddle bug. Had a ton of Luo Binghe body pillows back home not just for the merch reasons but because he needs something in his bed to squeeze when he's sleeping.

Since he started having weekly planning (boozing and bitching) sessions with Shang Qinghua, he sometimes accidentally sleeps over. After he's finished his paperwork and started on some of Qinghua's, sometimes the wine gets to him and he's just so sleepy. Or, sometimes, Shang Qinghua will let the other read some of the short stories he had written early on in his transmigration when fighting to not lose his mind. Shen Yuan would critique them, before harassing him to publish them anonymously.

("Oh, so you are capable of writing more than papapa trash."

"Aw, you like it?" "...it's good." 🙄)

But by the time he finished them, it would be so late, and it didn't make much sense to leave when a bed was right there. And Shang Qinghua had custom ordered goose feather pillows and blankets, which was so unlike his porcelain pillows, and Shang Qinghua himself is right there. Therefore. The man himself becomes his new object of comfort when asleep.

At first, Shang Qinghua used to just wave it off. Then he started to playfully complain and tease about how clingy Shen Yuan was in his sleep, and Shen Yuan would grumble and turn bright red and turn his back on him... only for them to wake up with Shen Yuan basically curled around the other like an octopus in the morning. And then it just became normal because, of course, they really only had each other, so like why not? It brought them both comfort and two people could totally cuddle platonically.

Before long, more than half the week, Shen Yuan was spending the night over, and some rare times, Shang Qinghua goes to the bamboo house. Shang Qinghua learns when to give up his piles of paperwork when his friend starts getting tired and to get more fucking rest himself. Otherwise, Shen Yuan will just walk in, curl up on his lap with his head resting on Shang Qinghua's shoulder, and fall asleep there.

("Really? I ordered those extra stuffed pillows for you, you know. Go to bed, I'll be done in a minute."

"Ugh, shut up, sleeping isn't the same when you're out here ordering new fighting posts for Bai Zhan Peak for the 5th time this month. I'll just wait here for you to finish."

"In my lap...? That's kinda gay--" 😏

"Qinghua."

"Shutting up and finishing the work." )

Those of An Ding Peak, being the peak that was basically the backbone of the entire sect and kept it running through sweat, blood, and some other bodily fluids, knew how to keep secrets from other peaks. You don't become a disciple there without knowing how to keep your mouth shut when outsiders are around. But between each other, whispers abound.

"I don't think Shen-shibo has left in two days," one disciple murmurs to another when they see Shen Qingqiu flouncing around yet again, ordering one of the disciples to bring some two small meals to their Shifu's rooms for a late dinner.

"Do you think they're... you know?" Another asks quietly after delivering some new contracts to their Shifu. The door to his bedroom had been slightly ajar, and through the cracks, green leaf-pattern outer robes were on the ground.

("I'm not sleeping in these, okay! You should have written in pajamas while you were busy adding in chocolate, and whatever else doesn't exist in Ancient China, to PIDW!" 😒

"Oh my god, just sleep in your inner robes, then! Better yet, borrow some of my clothes. But you're sure as fuck not sleeping naked on my silk sheets, bro!")

The disciples on Qing Jing Peak certainly notice when the bamboo hut isn't occupied for the night. At first, they just thought that their Shizun was extra silent in his house now, but once, Ming Fan had to go to Shizun for a small issue late in the evening, and he wasn't there. Nor was he there the next night, or the next. They're not sure where he is, or what he's doing, but he's always there in the morning, so they don't worry too much.

On the fourth night, Shizun was home, but Shang-shishu was also there. And... stayed there. The lights went out, and the disciples who were sent out to spy came back and reported that Shang-shishu had never left.

("He... is Shang-shishu still in there?"

"I think so. M-maybe he stayed in the extra bedroom?"

"..." 👀

"..." 👀)

The disciples eye each other and simultaneously agree to never let those outside the peak know about this. When crossing paths with A Ding disciples, there are discreet looks and nods of understanding, and they pass each other by with not a word.

(Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua?)

----

One bright and sunny morning, Liu Qingge slams his way into Shang Qinghua's office. He is followed by Mu Qingfang, and Yue Qingyuan, all needing to speak with Shang Qingqua to figure out Shen Qingqiu's whereabouts. He wasn't in his bamboo hut this morning, nor was he anywhere else that he typically frequented.

Mu Qingfang because it was time for his bimonthly check-up to ensure that his treatments with Liu Qingge were progressing as they should. Yue Qingyuan due to peak matters (though, technically, he could do it on his own, but if he got to see Xiao Jiu--). Liu Qingge because the beast that he had dropped on his doorstep yesterday afternoon had yet to be removed, which was odd. And also, he had ordered new fighting posts a week ago, and usually they would have been delivered by now, which was also odd.

Wei Qingwei and Qi Qingqi also follow along because they could smell drama. And also they were a tiny bit worried about their shixiong. Whenever he disappeared for too long, it was likely that he had gotten kidnapped or poisoned. Again.

Shang Qinghua scrambles out of his bed chambers with hastily thrown-on outer robes, blurry-eyed, screaming "Whoosit!?" He barely has time to open his mouth before he is instantly bombarded with several requests, most of them pertaining to the apparent missing peak lord. Liu Qingge also asks about his fighting posts, which Shang Qinghua pretends not to hear.

"We've not seen him in a few days," Mu Qingfang says to him over the noise, with an apologetic smile for waking up his overworked shixiong. "I know you two are somewhat friends, so if you see him soon, please tell him he really needs to come to Qian Cao for his next physical."

"Wait, who's missing? Ah, please don't touch that." The last part is directed at Qi Qingqi, who is combing through his shelves. "Shen Qingqiu is apparently missing, according to this bunch," Qi Qingqi says, smirking at him. She pokes the figurine he told her not to touch. Oh well, she'll realize why he told her not to touch it soon enough.

"Shen Qingqiu? What do you mean, he's--" Shang Qinghua instantly closes his mouth, hoping that no one heard that. "I-I mean, yeah, I'll let you guys know if he stops by! No problem, will absolutely send him your way--" "What was that?" Liu Qingge narrows his eyes at him. "You were about to say something. You know where he is. Tell me."

Shang Qinghua begins to sweat immediately. "Whaaat? No, you must have heard wrong. Seriously, I'll let you guys know if I catch him. Now, if you guys can be on your way--" He starts trying to herd people out.

Unbeknownst to him, his bedroom door cracks open and a figure, eyes barely open, shuffles out and heads towards him. Wei Qingwei, idling in the office, is the first to notice the person wearing another set of An Ding Blue outer robes over soft Qing Jing Green inner ones. His jaw drops.

"Qinghua?" A soft, sleepy voice murmurs in his ear, arms circling around his waist and a head laying on his shoulder from behind. "It's too early, come back to bed." A small yawn.

Shang Qinghua can feel himself freeze with a nervous smile on his face.

Shit.

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