#This was actually the second time I wrote this

[sexualrevoluti0n]

Also I know it's really easy to immediately write something off if you try a small bit and don't like it - I remember something someone wrote a while back, where they said that when they tried a new food, they needed to do it 3 times.

The first time will just be your brain going "argh, a New Thing!", the second time you can know a bit of what to expect so can actually think a bit more about the taste. By the 3rd time you're not wasting processing on what it might taste like, or it being New, you can just taste it. They said that if they'd tried it 3 times and still didn't like it then they could happily say they didn't like that thing.

They can be really small bits, and it doesn't have to be at the same sitting. But brains like to quickly jump to "argh, a New Thing, it's different, possibly a Threat, get it away from me!" without having all the info. Letting it get used to it and go "oh ok, this happened before and we didn't die. I guess I can calm down and let you see what it's like again" can really help.

My 30-something wisdom is that your palate is constantly changing so don't assume because you hated a food 10 or 20 years ago you still will. Most radically, your taste as a little kid is not indicative of what it will be as an adult-- I've known too many adults who still refuse to eat anything but chicken strips and ketchup because they're still basing their taste on what they experienced at 8 years old and so have cut themselves off from the entire world of adult taste. In my case, my taste for savory foods, especially vegetable dishes, "bitter" foods, and more complex flavor combinations has really expanded. I didn't like mushrooms as a child or for most of my 20s, but around 28 suddenly they worked for me. I started enjoying dark chocolate around 25, especially paired with fruit flavors. I've never been hugely fond of eggplant but discovered that in a sauce or roasted in butter and oil its delicious. I've always enjoyed fish but in the last 15 years I've discovered a passion for it, salmon especially. I've learned to recognize the tastes of herbs and love putting them into everything I can (currently I'm most enthusiastic about dill.) I'm also suddenly crazy about all kinds of sandwiches. And I'm still trying olives every couple years in case suddenly they start working for me, though sadly no luck on that front yet. So basically, expect that your taste is going to change in adulthood and expect that it will keep changing. And you can also work to develop your palate by exposing yourself to new flavors and combinations and cuisines, opening you up to even more foods you might never have liked before. So keep trying new and old foods, because you never know when you might suddenly start liking something new or discover a new way it can be prepared or a new texture it can come in. Don't wind up imprisoned in a world of chicken strips just because you haven't tried anything else since 3rd grade, you deserve better.

[starpens]

CRASH COURSE ﾉ xia caleb x female reader ៹ explicit content, unprotected sex, virginity loss, mentions of cheating (none actually happens), pet names (pipsqueak (sorry but i have to be accurate) gege, good girl), instructional sex, blowjobs, creampie, idk what this is i wrote it in 5 seconds i just needed an excuse to write caleb, not proofread :( ˓˓ WORD COUNT ᨀ 4.9k !

asking the boy you’ve known nearly your entire life to teach you how to have sex isn’t weird, right...? right?

caleb has taught you a lot of things over the years.

he taught you how to drive a car in the shopping mall’s parking lot, how to cheat at card games, how to avoid burning the house down by letting him cook for you instead, how to sneak underneath the turnstiles on the subway to avoid fees.

he’s reliable and sturdy and a little reckless, but also patient and nonjudgmental— creating the idea in your idea that he’s kind of all-knowing, that whenever you don’t know something caleb does, that whenever you need help, you turn to no one else but him. which is precisely why you’re standing outside the door of his bedroom right now, hand lifted to knock on it.

because surely, asking caleb to teach you how to give a blowjob falls somewhere underneath that category too, right?

it’s one of those rare moments when the two of you are off work at the same time. caleb, on annual leave for the next two weeks and you, taking out a handful of unused vacation days to spend time with your favorite person in the world. it’s like old times again, when you can simply walk down the hall and hear his laugh drifting from underneath the door as he plays some stupid video game with college buddies.

thinking of the old days is exactly why you’re hesitating at the door. there’s too much shared history between the two of you, too much to lose if this goes badly, if you’ve been reading him wrong all along and he doesn’t want the same thing. there’s no way you can march in there and ask the boy you were raised with teach you how to—

“door’s open, pipsqueak,” caleb calls, somehow knowing you’re there because of course he does. you used to complain that he must’ve secretly implanted a tracker in your arm because he always knows your whereabouts, which made games like hide and seek with him impossible.

knowing it’s too late to play it off, you walk inside his room, greeted by his devastatingly gorgeous grin. “hey, you. lemme guess— the fridge is empty? no? lightbulb in your room need changing again? huh… or did you just miss me?”

“uh,” you mumble, shifting your toes in the soft carpet of the rug in the middle of his room. “not exactly. i was just wondering if you had time to talk and— … you’re not wearing a shirt.”

you realize how dumb you sound as you point it out, it’s just that your brain short-circuits, turning into a syrupy mess at the sight of caleb without a shirt on, his dog tags resting against bare skin. you’ve seen him like this before, of course— but not since he up and left, gallivanting off into the world to become a hotshot military pilot.

he’s always been nice to look at when you think he isn’t paying attention, but god he’s pretty. your eyes blink almost in disbelief as you take in his broad, muscular form that did not exist while he was a cadet in basic training. your gaze can’t help but snag on the ripple of his abs, or the thatch of brown hair trailing from his navel to disappear beneath his gray sweats. he swivels in his stupid gaming chair, smiling at you with his stupid face—

“uh, yeah?” caleb laughs, forehead creasing in confusion like you shouldn’t be surprised and really, you shouldn’t. caleb is like a furnace, blood running hot even in the middle of winter. “gran’s got the heat turned up to max again. it’s like she wants to kill me.”

“yeah, right,” you shake your head, laughing skittishly. “sorry. i’ve got a fan you can borrow, if you want.”

“thanks,” he says, magenta eyes dragging over your form suspiciously, taking in the way you’re standing in the middle of his room fidgeting like a leaf in the wind, hands white-knuckling the hem of the oversized shirt you’re wearing, knees knocking together all nervous and cute. he frowns, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to give you his full attention in that heart-stuttering way he often does.

“what’s with you? not that i’m not glad to see you, but… did something happen? did someone do something to you?”

“no, no— nothing like that,” you hurry to reassure, voice cracking on the last word as your cheeks begin to burn in embarrassment, trying to find the words to say what you need to without crashing and burning. swallowing around a lump in your throat, you glance at the paused screen of caleb’s game before blurting out—

“can you teach me how to give a blowjob?”

caleb immediately chokes.

a lesson on what not to do.

the overclocked fans on caleb’s gaming rig whirs in a soft hum, the neon lights in his room flickering crimson streaks over his handsome face in the dark. he wonders if it’s post traumatic stress or prolonged exposure to cosmic radiation in the sky forcing him to hallucinate. obviously, he’s got too many marbles in one jar and not enough in the other because there is no way he’s heard you correctly.

slowly, he removes his headset. “come again?”

“i’m awful at it, ge,” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in exasperation. in fact, you don’t know if you’re awful at it or not because you’ve never tried. you’ve been too busy waiting on the man in front of you to stop torturing you both, but caleb doesn’t need to know that. “you see, i’m dating this guy, right? and we’ve been hitting it off well. i can tell he wants to take it to the next level, but i’ve never… and you— you’re good at everything, so i just thought…”

“thought i would give you lessons,” he finishes for you, his voice deepening to a rougher edge that makes you shiver. “so you can suck your boyfriend better. do i have it right?”

“y-yeah…”

“since when do you even have a boyfriend? you didn’t tell me anything,” he says, doing nothing to mask the disappointment in his voice.

“uh, we’ve… been seeing each other for a couple of weeks?” you fumble, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. “i didn’t want to say anything yet. in case it didn’t work out.”

“so you want to learn how to suck dick for a guy you’ve known for a couple of weeks?” he counters, a muscle in his jaw twitching. he’s got no right to feel jealousy, not when he’s wasted so much time attempting to be one thing in your life when you clearly wanted something else. he’s got no right, but the thought of you on your knees for someone else, someone that isn’t him, makes his blood boil enough that he already knows what his answer will be.

however, you’re already backing up towards the door, about to make a quick retreat. your plan was horrible, shame burning your skin like a brand. “what am i saying? oh my god, you’re right it’s stupid and wrong and gross. can we please just forget i even came in here—”

he lets you ramble for an excruciatingly long time, then he pushes out of his gaming chair and grins down at you like you just asked him to make a quick run to the convenience store. he stretches his arms above his head. “let’s do it.”

“w-what?”

you didn’t expect to get this far, honestly. you expected caleb to laugh at you, ruffle your hair, and call you ridiculous. but instead, he’s already striding to his door, thumb flicking the lock with a decisive click. when he turns, his expression makes your breath hitch— those unusual purple eyes molten, staring straight through you.

“first thing’s first, we need to lay down some ground rules, soldier,” caleb tells you playfully, stepping closer until your breasts brush against his midsection. his hand lifts, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “if you need to back out at any moment, you say so. no guy’s pleasure is worth your discomfort. and if i hear his name, whatever it is…” he pauses, eyes narrowing. “this stops. understood?”

you nod eagerly, fighting your smile as his scent envelopes you. he smells like spearmint gum, your shampoo that he’s been stealing since the two of you have been back at the house, and a hint of swear from the stifling air in the room.

“use your words, pipsqueak.”

“y-yeah, i get it.”

his smirk is all teeth. “good girl.”

caleb guides you over to his bed, sitting down on the edge. his big hands reach for you, circling your hips and pulling you towards him until you’re standing in between his spread thighs.

“alright, my little student,” he jokes. “you wanna get him all riled up before the main event so start with something small like… a kiss,” he murmurs, eyes lifting to glance at your mouth as his finger traces the hinge of your jaw. “you do know how to kiss, don’t you?”

“of course i know how to kiss,” you grumble.

caleb nods and then curls his hand around the nape of your neck, pulling you down to his level. you lean with the pressure, slotting your hands in the junction between his neck and shoulder, sliding them up until you cup the underside of his jaw. then, you’re kissing him— kissing caleb, the boy who used to patch up your scraped knees with cute band-aids, who let you crawl into his bed after nightmares, who pretends he hasn’t thought about kissing you, about making you his, for years.

the kiss is messy, desperate and hungry, decades of pent up feelings behind it. a string of saliva keeps your mouths linked together whenever you pull back for air and when caleb’s tongue swipes across your bottom lip, you whimper and part your lips to let him in, body melting against his front until your weight’s toppling him back onto his elbows, hitching your leg over his waist to crawl on top of him.

his grip on your waist tightens, gently pushing you to stand once more. “this is feeling less like a lesson, and more like you just wanting to do this with me,” he teases, making heat flare across your cheeks.

caleb guides your hand to the waistband of his sweatpants, the heat radiating through the fabric searing your palm. breath hitching, you begin to sink to the floor in front of him but his hand shoots out to stop your descent with a breathy laugh. “no no no, c’mere. you’re gonna hurt your knees down there.”

backing up, he moves until he’s lounging against the headboard, impossibly long legs stretched out on either side of your sweet figure.

“still wanna do this?” he asks, lifting a brow. when you nod, he continues to speak, voice gravelly, “take it out then.”

your fingers fumble with the drawstring a bit, struggling to undo the military knot caleb’s tied there, but you manage eventually. peeling back the waistband of his sweatpants to free his cock.

you should’ve known it would be just as pretty as the rest of him— it’s the biggest one (the only one) you’ve seen in person. he’s thicker than he is long, flushed dusky pink with veins that make your cunt clench with the desperate need to feel them dragging along your inner walls. his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, watching you reach for it, nearly sobbing when your hand wraps around him.

“fuck—!” his hips jerk and stutter in shock, hand shoving yours away with a quickness. you frown and bite your lip, retracting your grip as if you’ve been burned.

“oh no,” you rush out, moving back to sit on top of your hands like a scolded kindergartener. “did i do something bad? did i hurt you, cal?”

caleb’s chest heaves, breath punching out of his lungs rapidly, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to slow the speed of his heart down. he’s dreamt about you touching him like this for ages, and the image of your dainty hand nervously wrapping around his cock will be seared into his brain for the rest of his life. you crawl back towards him slowly, seriously worried. “caleb?”

“i’m fine, pip,” he sucks in another breath, then opens his eyes to look at you. “didn’t mean to scare you. you didn’t do anything bad, you just surprised me. go ahead, touch me again.”

“if you’re sure,” you mumble, then hesitantly circle your fingers around caleb’s shaft again. he’s ready for it this time, hot against your palm when you give him an experimental squeeze, making caleb hiss through clenched teeth. “how’s that?”

“a bit tighter,” he instructs, palm closing over yours to adjust your grip. you squeeze him tight, and the hitch of his breath makes you squirm, stickiness gathering between your thighs at the sound. “don’t just squeeze, guys like it when you stroke. base to tip— no, don’t yank it like a fucking joystick, pip. god.”

his protest makes you burst out in giggles before caleb is shushing you with a severe look, his purple eyes narrowed. sucking your plump lower lip in between your teeth to keep from smiling, you nod at him with an exaggeratedly focused look.

“wet your palm,” he tells you, rolling his eyes at your wrinkled nose. “getting a handjob from a dry hand hurts, it’s like sandpaper.”

“are you saying i have dry hands, caleb? i moisturize daily, unlike you,” you whine out, but you listen to him anyway— you’re a good student, after all, and you don’t want to do anything that’ll make caleb want to stop. you lick your palm a few times, eyes on caleb the entire time.

the next time you touch him is with a spit-slicked grip, dragging your hand up and down his cock in an unexperienced, sloppy rub that should feel uncomfortable, but caleb eats it up— hips jerking involuntarily, pearls of watery precum already beginning to leak from the slit of his cock. your gaze is transfixed on it, a little greedy too, watching it stain your knuckles with each stroke.

it’s that same greediness that makes you lean down and brush your lips against the head of his cock, cherry tongue lolling out to tentatively taste the salt-bitter precum beading there. caleb’s hips immediately kick upward in a desperate twitch, but he forces them still, knuckles ashen where they reach down to grip the sheets.

“easy,” he rasps, voice fraying at the edges. his thumb strokes your cheek briefly. “just the tip first, okay? don’t go trying to swallow me down or anything.”

you do what he’s taught you so far; flatten your tongue, swirl it around the head— like that, fuck— press it hard against the thick, sensitive vein running along caleb’s underside, then repeat. every time, you’re rewarded with caleb brushing your hair back, murmuring soft praises, or your personal favorite— his deep, almost nasal groan, the hard planes of his abdomen flexing underneath the heady heat of your tongue.

it’s intoxicating, watching him fall apart like this— exactly what you wanted when you walked into his room. you want to pass his class with honors, please him even more, so you drop your mouth open a little more and suck him in deeper.

too deep.

the thick ridge of his head nudges against your uvula, tears springing to your eyes almost immediately. little startled chokes cough from your throat as you pull off caleb’s cock, bands of saliva stringing from his tip to your mouth in a way that should be gross, but you don’t care one bit, too busy trying to catch your breath.

“shh, shh— breathe,” caleb soothes, eyes darkening with something perilously close to reverence and pride. “through your nose, slowly. you can’t force it, that’s why you keep choking. when you’re ready, try again.”

you let caleb thumb away your tears like he’s done countless times before and when you’re ready, when you’ve had enough air to breathe, you let him guide you back onto his damp cock. eager, swollen lips bringing him in against your cheeks in a hot, branding suction that twists his insides up.

he’s supposed to be teaching you, showing you the ropes so you can please your stupid boyfriend, but you barely even need it— god, you’re so good at this without even trying. how can he focus on teaching when he’s got all of his focus pointed towards trying not to shoot his load down the back of your throat like some inconsiderate asshole?

he can barely look down at you because every time he does, your teary eyes glance up at him through thick lashes with an expression that begs for praise. he knows if you didn’t have a mouth stuffed full of his cock, you’d be asked am i doing it right, ge?

his thighs tremble, eyes lidded as you finally find a steady pace— mouth bobbing up and down, spit bubbling at the base of his cock where you’re starting to make a mess on him.

and when your hands dip down into his sweatpants, cupping his balls in your soft hand, caleb’s vision whites out, his climax rushing to the front at a rapid pace. before he can cum, though, he takes two fingers and pushes at your forehead, hauling you off his cock with a wet slurp. his chest heaves, dripping beads of sweat that glow azure in the haze of the neon lighting in his room.

he looks wrecked, and you fight your triumphant smile, schooling it into something unsure and pliant, batting your eyelashes. “did i… did i do it wrong?”

“fuck, no,” his chuckle is hoarse and ruined, calloused thumbs swiping spit from your chin as he gazes up at you meaningfully with those hooded eyes. “just don’t wanna cum down your throat.”

“o-oh.”

the implication makes arousal bubble low in your belly, thighs squeezing together in need. caleb tracks the movement, nostrils flaring as he grins knowingly. “yeah, you don’t want that either, do you, pipsqueak?”

for a while, the two of you just stare at each other in disbelief. you don’t know how to tell caleb that you’d take him in any form he’s offering himself in, pining after him long enough that it’s painful. nothing you ever did got his attention, not in the way you truly wanted. he’s protective and possessive in all the right ways, but he’d never make the first move.

he’ll never come out and admit that he wants to spread you out on his bed and fuck you dumb, mark you as his so nobody else can have you. it took you coming to him to even get this far, so you might as well take matters into your own hands once more.

“teach me the rest, ge?”

the rest.

caleb releases a pained groan at your words and you think he’s going to refuse you, but then he’s flipping your positions, pushing you down onto the mattress with ease. he makes quick work of his sweatpants, shoving them down the rest of the way. then, he wrestles your panties off your hips and tosses them somewhere across the room.

“look at you,” he whispers, pushing your shirt up— his cock leaking a bead of precum at the sight of your pretty tits. he reaches forward, toying with your puffy nipples, grinning at the sound of your soft whimper.

“c-caleb.”

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy, you get that?” the confession comes out sounding suspiciously like a whine. he gazes down at you like you’re water and he’s a man lost deep in the desert, dying of thirst. “you’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world. look at these cute tits, just begging for me to touch them. and—”

his big hands sink into the fleshy part of your upper thighs, opening them to get his first exclusive look at your pussy. his thumb parts your folds, spreading one side apart to watch the way your entrance twitches. caleb dips one finger into your cunt and could fucking cry at how warm and tight you feel. “fuck, you’re so wet. is this all ’cause of me?”

“d-don’t look at it so shamelessly, you pervert,” you scold him, squirming back and forth in his hold as you try to snap your thighs shut. “stop teasing me or i’ll hit you. this is embarrassing!”

“why not?” he tilts his head, giving you that boyish grin that makes your heart stop. “after i’m done with you, it’ll be mine anyway. my pretty pussy. my girl.”

you huff and drive your fist into his shoulder before folding your arms over your breasts, lower lip stuck out in an unhappy pout. caleb winces, though mirth still shines amongst the nebulas in his eyes. he leans down to kiss your pout away, chuckling in amusement. “okay, okay, don’t hurt me. i’ll give you what you want.”

and then, he’s wrapping a hand around the base of himself, kissing your clit with the leaking tip of his cock before rubbing it up and down your slit. he coats himself in your wetness before he finally notches against your entrance and slowly pushes.

the pressure makes air stutter out of your chest, blunt and unyielding. he immediately notices your struggle and drops forward on his elbows, caging you safely in his embrace. he kisses the corners of your eyelids, licking away stray tears.

“i hate hurting you like this,” he whispers in your ear, hips drawing back and crawling forward again. you gasp, eyes falling shut, and he shushes you once more. slides a hand down to play with your clit to distract you, which only makes you clench up around him. his jaw is clenched tight enough to shatter the bone, hand fisted in the sheets next to your head. “shh— relax and let me in. it’ll feel good in a second.”

“i-i don’t know if i can,” you say, trying to force your body to accept him, but when he sinks in those first few inches, you whimper and dig your nails into his biceps. “y-you’re so big, ge.”

“f-fuck, don’t—” caleb grunts and his fingers grip the soft sides of your belly, holding your body to his like a lifeline. “don’t call me that right now. i might cum. i’m gonna put the rest in, okay? be a good girl for me and take it. i-i can’t wait any longer.”

he draws out and presses forward all the way in, burying himself to the hilt inside your sweet pussy. his gaze drops to where you’re split obscenely around him, cunt fluttering in protest at the stretch and a ragged groan tears from his throat. it takes every ounce of willpower the military beat into him not to cream himself right then and there.

“c-caleb!”

you whine as caleb retreats slightly, only to surge back in, fucking a little deeper this time. the weight of his cock stretching you out borders on cruel, but you would die before you ask him to stop, your walls squeezing him in a vice grip. it takes a few trials and errors (“keep your hips down, pipsqueak” and “i don't know, maybe a little to the l— fuck, right there oh my god”) but eventually, caleb builds up a good rhythm, the cool metal of his dog tags pooling in the valley of your breasts as he fucks you with deep, steady strokes; bottoming out each time with a guttural groan.

“fuck— stop clenching so much i’m gonna lose my mind,” his breath scalds your neck, teeth grazing your pulse as he fucks a little faster. “so fucking good. that’s it, baby. you’re doing so good. taking every inch of me like this.”

he’s right, it is so fucking good— no, it’s better. your nails scrape against caleb’s back. shivering at the hot pleasure singeing your nerve endings each time he fucks into you. it doesn’t take long for pressure to gather in your lower belly, a band waiting to snap.

you can’t help but wriggle a hand between the two of your bodies and circle a trembling middle finger around your swollen clit. “nngh, you feel so fucking good, cal.”

“a-are you- god, that’s so hot,” he grunts, glancing down at the way you’re toying with your clit and it turns him on so much he’s speeding up, cock pistoning in and out of you, his thrusts deepening until he’s nearly kissing your cervix, he’s in so deep, your thighs slamming against his hips as you try to close your legs when the head of his cock brushes right up against your sweet spot, creating starbursts behind your eyelids.

“oh god, cal— i-i can’t!”

caleb’s grin is feral, grinding deep to press into that swollen spot inside you relentlessly. “knew i’d find it,” then his fingers joining yours and it’s so much better than your own, two digits rubbing quick circles into your sensitive clit. you’re a babbling mess at this point, the pleasure too much to keep up with. “can you cum for me? can you let me feel it? please? i’ll never ask you for another thing if you give me one right here, right now.”

what are you supposed to do, deny him? you couldn’t even if you tried, not with the heat in your belly full to bursting, needing an escape.

“’m gonna c-cum for you, ge, just for you,” you sob.

caleb has seen many versions of you over the years— grumpy and pillow-marked in the morning with syrup stains on your shirt at the breakfast table, covered in sand and sun-kissed at the beach, screaming at him to do something about the jellyfish sting on your leg, in sleek black dresses at the military balls you attended as his plus one that made all his comrades stop and stare. but you’ve never looked prettier than you do right now. his dog tags between your breasts, your creamy pussy fluttering around his cock, and your pretty face twisted in pleasure as you’re about to cum for him.

he hopes that when he dies, he’ll go out with this image in his brain.

those big doe eyes of yours roll back into your head, hands frantically pushing at his abdomen as if he’s trying to escape the overwhelming friction of his cock. you cum hard, thighs trembling, vision winking out. wet droplets of tears stream down your cheeks as white heat washes over your body, the pleasure bleeding through your limbs like wildfire.

seeing you like this, what is caleb supposed to do? not follow you? he’s been holding his own orgasm back since you barged into his room in one of his shirts, begging to be taught how to suck a cock. there’s no way he can last through seeing— through feeling— you cum around him. his rhythm fractures almost immediately and he knows he’s on thin ice, fraying at the edges.

“gonna cum,” he grits out, voice mangled. “fuck, i’m gonna cum. where do you want it?”

you don’t waste a second, babbling out the answer desperately, “i-inside, ge, cum inside me. give it to me please i want it so bad i’ll do anything!”

that’s all it takes.

one more sloppy thrust and he cums right after you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you still. he breathes choppy, ruined moans into your neck as he pumps his release deep inside your cunt before he collapses against you, damp chest heaving against yours, giving a few more weak thrusts of his hips as his climax ebbs.

you don’t know how long the two of you lay there, struggling to catch your breaths. you’re satisfied and pliant as putty underneath caleb, unable to move from his heavy embrace. he’s a wall of solid muscle, one that is pressing you into the mattress. “caleb, you’re heavy.”

“gimme a minute here, pipsqueak,” caleb chuckles breathlessly against your sweaty skin, pressing a wet kiss to your neck. “i just had the best sex of my life and can’t catch my breath.”

you begin to smile in pride, but then your eyes narrow as his words register through the fucked out haze clouding your brain. “wait, you were having sex before this?” you ask, jealousy bubbling up in your chest. “was it that one sergeant? the one who kept giving you lovey dovey eyes at the DAA gala?”

“mmm, nope,” he answers almost immediately, kissing your lips quickly to placate you, making your heart swell big and bright for the boy on top of you. “chill. saved myself all this time for you.”

your heart begins racing stupidly fast at that. “sap,” you tease, before an idea pops in your head and you reach for your phone tossed haphazardly on caleb’s bedside table.

caleb’s grip on you tightens as he notices you reach for it, a dark cloud shuttering his loving expression. “what are you doing?” he demands, the venom in his tone startling you a bit. “texting him already? that eager to try out what i just taught you?”

you frown in confusion until you remember the excuse you used upon coming into caleb’s room. wow, the boy you’re in love with is an idiot. giggling, you lean up and press a sweet kiss to his cheek before opening the camera on your phone and snapping a quick selfie of the two of you.

“no, you big dummy, i’m taking a pic of us losing our virginities together so i can add it to our photo album,” you explain simply, grinning. “and there was never any boyfriend, i made him up.”

[uranvittie]

I’m on the run with you, my sweet love.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader.

Summary: You are a special soldier for Hydra, who brainwashed you to forget your past in Red Room. On a certain mission, you come face to face for the first time with Black Widow, who tries to kill you at first. And then she looks at you with sad eyes?

Warnings | Tags: ¿Angst? little. Friends to enemies to friends to lovers? Sort of, not really enemies, at least not that much. Blood, a little. Knives, guns, some stabbing, pretty quiet actually, I think, very fluffy and some comfort. Slow burn maybe. No use of T/N. +7K.

Note: This is actually my first time writing here on Tumblr, my first time writing a story for Reader/TN, just so you know, I do NOT use "T/N", sorry. It's replaced with "—" Is that more comfortable? Somehow it feels that way. Anyway, yeah, this is my first time writing something like this here, so sorry if it looks ugly. And well, I also clarify that english is NOT my forte, gosh, it's not my native language, so there might be some mistakes. And about this, well, the reader is basically a Bucky Barnes, but the equivalent for Natasha would be Steve, but without the good morals. Although I don't think I mentioned the gender of the reader, the intention is that it should be a female. And this is just a practice for my writing, it's been a long time since I wrote.

Your mission there was easy, well, you wouldn't use the word 'easy', it would be rather simple. A simple task where you had to be efficient.

Assaulting a moving train so that others could gain access to a weapon. There were no specifications, you didn't need them.

You were never given the number of soldiers accompanying you, nor the number of agents you had to deal with. You didn't ask. It was never necessary information.

Your job was one and simple, the only thing you were good at: assassination.

Every known SHIELD agent had been shot through the forehead by you. And your expression was unchanging, without a trace of emotion —under the mask— even when blood splattered on you, you barely twisted your lips in disgust, because, God, the feel of other people's dirty blood on your skin was always unpleasant and uncomfortable. But this was your job, and you had to do it perfectly.

The team responsible for removing the weapon was in place. After you had perfectly fulfilled your role as a shooter, you finished off everyone in most of the wagons.

Your mission was to make other people's jobs easy. Your boots echoed on the floor with every step you took, and the loaded gun in your arm was used on any agent who got in your way. And then there was the redheaded agent. Someone Brock Rumlow had identified as Natasha Romanoff, and through the earpiece you received a warning not to entertain Natasha Romanoff.

Uh.

The name echoed in your brain, but you didn't understand why.

So when you reached the inside of a carriage, after disposing of two SHIELD agents in the back, and met her head-on, you barely had a chance to blink before she lunged at you.

The way Natasha Romanoff fought was something that deserved a warning, now you understood. Her moves were fast, precise, deadly. She didn't even give you time to breathe, and you were so shocked that someone could match her movements and speed that you barely had a chance to dodge and protect yourself from each blow.

At some point, Natasha Romanoff knocked you to the ground. You couldn't even blink, what was going on? And at that moment, you seemed to have finally snapped out of your stupor, jerking forward as the agent pinned your wrists to the floor. You practically grunted in pain as the redhead drove her knee into your stomach.

In the next second, you felt your mask being removed. It was like a soft caress of her fingers against your sweaty, sensitive skin. You didn't change your expression.

But you noticed the agent's expression change.

"—"

Her voice had an accent that sounded familiar —familiar—. Your brain repeated the word and you realized that you had nothing familiar to react to. But her voice, and that accent, and the way he looked at you. And what did she say?

You feel it. You feel it immediately. The way Natasha Romanoff's grip weakens, it's just a second, —or less than a second— a moment of weakness. A microsecond in which the agent seems to freeze. And, of course, you take advantage of it.

Your foot hits the agent's stomach hard, causing the redhead to roll off you. You stand up with incredible speed, and in that same second, you pull a knife from the pocket on your leg. You waste no time in throwing it forward, toward Natasha Romanoff's right arm, preventing her from grabbing the weapon she was apparently trying to retrieve. You don't give her a chance. You're fast. You're quite fast, faster than a mere human.

Your hand holds the gun tight, it's that second, and you don't hesitate when you fire. You never do. You shoot, aiming for her forehead, as you always do. But you miss. Damn it, Natasha Romanoff is fast too. She must be experienced enough to have seen that shot coming, or were you predictable?

You don't think about it. You don't think. You grab the smoke bomb on your belt and throw it on the ground, the smoke billows out, and the next second you're gone.

You run through the empty wagons, having just received a simple "It's done. Get out of there."

You know how the escape plan worked. Go to the last wagon of the train, with the weapon there, everyone was going to be picked up by a helicopter after they cut the connection to the moving train, which was also about to derail because they cut certain tracks before reaching the bridge.

They had about two minutes to get to the last wagon. Although there was the more risky backup plan, it was not recommended.

"Get back here!"

Then you stop.

You stop right there. You don't know why, but you do. Maybe it's the thick accent in that harsh, strong tone, or maybe it's because you're curious about the agent, Natasha Romanoff. Why is she looking at you like that? You're not sure, but it feels strange.

You blink slowly as you turn around and focus your gaze on Natasha Romanoff. She doesn't look like she could stand another fight against you. Not with that deep cut on her arm, or the bruise that's forming on half of her face, plus she's bent over, holding her stomach. Are you going to take advantage of that?

Of course you are.

The way your feet move with inhuman speed seems to surprise her again, wasn't she expecting it? You frown, but you don't stop, and you pick up speed after jumping and shoving yourself into one of the empty seats of the wagon to deliver another blow to Natasha Romanoff's face from above.

You watch as the agent collapses to the ground with a loud crash, like something breaking.

You watch her slowly, your head cocked to the side as you focus on the image of the seemingly defeated agent. Natasha Romanoff looks up at you with reddened, crystalline green eyes. Is she crying? You barely blink. She has a busted lip and a scrape on her cheek where she hit the ground.

"Where are you?"

The voice in your earpiece asks, and then you snap to attention. Why are you looking at all?

You barely have a chance to take a step before you feel the weight on your left foot. You look down, confused, and notice the bloody hand gripping you tightly. Then you turn to see Natasha Romanoff crawling, clinging to your leg.

You raise an eyebrow in further curiosity, but after a heartbeat you grab the gun on your belt and point it at her head.

"—"

That name again. You frown as your gaze lingers on Natasha Romanoff. —It's a name, isn't it?— You're sure you recognize the name, but you're not so sure. Your breathing has become more leisurely and you don't realize it until you feel the grip on your boot tighten again.

"—"

"Who's that?"

The look Natasha Romanoff gives you at that moment is that of someone who knows less than you do. Barely able to think, you press the gun to her head to remind her where she is.

The agent says nothing and gives you a confused look. It feels strange. You definitely don't like her. Your finger slides down the trigger and just as you're about to squeeze, you feel the pressure of a bullet in your shoulder make you pull back.

You back up, letting the gun fall to the ground as you clutch your wounded shoulder. You glare angrily at the person who shot you, your hand immediately going to your uniform belt to grab another weapon when you hear the sound of another gunshot.

But this time the bullet never hits, as Natasha Romanoff takes out the agent shooting at you. Fighting her own people? You don't think. You don't think. You don't think about that or anything.

You're not supposed to.

So you use the second she's giving you to escape and throw yourself through the smashed door of the wagon onto the cliff.

Well, here's the emergency plan.

———————————————　♡　———————————————

"The agent… on the train…"

"I saw her somewhere else…"

"I knew her."

"But… uh… I knew her…"

You can't think about it. You're not allowed to. You're not allowed to think.

After the mission was successfully completed —Hydra had the weapon it wanted in its hands— you had been found among the snow-covered mountains of the cliff where you had thrown yourself to escape. That had been the plan.

You had used the ropes and hooks to hold on to something on the mountain, which lessened your fall, and the snow that seemed to have recently fallen also allowed you to stay alive. Anyway, it wasn't like you were allowed to die.

You were found quickly that same day at dusk, unconscious but breathing, of course, you had a tracker embedded in your neck.

When you woke up, they took you to the interrogation room to give the mission report, but you kept mumbling barely understandable words —things that no one had asked you— you kept repeating in your head and on your tongue that agent, Natasha Romanoff, as Brock Rumlow had called her.

So you didn't seem to be responding as they instructed. Did you hit your head too hard? Perhaps. Your brain remembered things. You remembered things you shouldn't remember, things they didn't want you to remember. The voice of the agent played in your head. And the name the agent had spoken.

What was it?

You don't remember now, of course. They never allowed you to remember anything. You weren't allowed to think. You weren't supposed to think. You weren't made for that, so after you made them hurt your head again, they threw you in your room.

It was nothing more than a cell. You wouldn't call it that because you didn't really have that word in your head. But it was a simple cold room with no windows, with brick walls painted white. Though the light that illuminated the small space was a cold light, which made it get a greenish-blue hue.

You moved to the mattress on the floor, it was hard and also cold, you had a pillow and a blanket at least. And then there was the bathroom, although privacy was poor, just a curtain. You didn't do much anyway, you weren't really allowed to do much. You would sit on the edge of your mattress and stare at the floor with your face resting on your knees and not even think. —Because you had no ideas or memories to think about— And you also don't know how long it takes before you hear the sound of the cell opening and the scientists coming in again.

———————————————　♡　———————————————

A hand rests on Natasha's shoulder, causing the agent to raise her head to look up and meet Steve, the man looking worried.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, though then he seems to regret asking, Natasha gives him a clear look that says, "How do I look?" "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I wasn't there to help."

The agent doesn't respond, just nods as she looks nonchalantly down at the floor.

Natasha hadn't spoken, not even during the mission briefing.

Steve and Natasha had been sent to the train to protect the SHIELD scientists on board, of course, the real mission was for the other team to secure the SHIELD weapon and they could protect the train. It all went horribly wrong. Many hostages were killed, the weapon was stolen by the mercenary group, and Captain America, while he may have been able to protect some SHIELD agents and scientists, was disappointed that his own team had to hide missions from him.

Steve still didn't understand.

Of course, Steve was upset with Natasha and had initially gone to see her to complain about her disappearing in the middle of a mission where she was endangering the lives of her teammates, only to find her collapsed on the ground, shaking. The agent next to Natasha also seemed upset, and it was because Natasha Romanoff had not allowed him to take the shot. Steve looked at Natasha confused at that moment, Natasha was not someone who would hesitate to shoot, in fact that was very much her style.

When Steve realizes that the agent doesn't seem willing to clear up any of his doubts, he walks away, hands on his belt and head down.

Natasha doesn't allow herself to lament too much, of course, she had spent a few hours looking down at the floor and up at the ceiling while recovering. And no doubt she had replayed every moment of her fight with you in her mind. How?

The way you looked at her, the way you didn't hesitate with your blows even when you shot her. Those cold, dark, clouded eyes. It wasn't like you. It wasn't.

You were so sweet, so gentle, so kind. You always looked at Natasha in a certain way. A way that made Natasha feel warm and appreciated. Even in the red room. And you cared, oh, you always cared about everyone around you, you even cared about others more than yourself.

Where was that?

Something had happened. Natasha missed a lot of things.

She met you in the Red Room, the first time she saw you was in the ballet room, and her first thought was that you were perfect. You did it the perfect way. You were more outstanding than anybody else. And at such a young age. Even Natasha was always called a prodigy, but you were a genius. And you had a heart. That was the most important thing. You kept your heart.

Until you didn't.

Natasha never heard from you again after you were taken on a mission from which you never returned. Everyone assumed you were dead. It wouldn't be the first time. It wouldn't be the first time another girl was sacrificed for Dreykov. Nor would it be the last. So when Natasha had the chance to get out, to leave, she took it.

And Natasha didn't think about you anymore. She didn't. The Red Room had been left behind, far behind, buried in her past. She never thought she'd see you again, never even imagined the possibility that you were still alive out there.

Where had you been? Still working as an assassin? For a group of mercenaries for hire?

And you didn't even remember her?

———————————————　♡　———————————————

It was not your mission. You definitely didn't need to intervene. It wasn't your business. It wasn't your mission, but there you were. Disobeying someone else's orders for the first time. Winter Soldier, a super soldier you knew well —their torture chambers were next to each other— the soldier heard your cries of pain and you heard his cries. You also heard his screams. And you definitely heard him recognize more than just orders and missions.

He remembered someone. Just like you.

Just like you once did.

You did, didn't you?

"Report, —" Brock Rumlow's voice in your earpiece made you jerk for a moment, you'd forgotten. You had left your position to follow the soldier. You just had to talk to him, ask him certain things, what did he remember? How could she remember too? Was there someone he was looking for? For what?

You were not there to fight. It wasn't your mission. So you don't intervene when you see the soldier —the Winter Soldier— fighting what you think is the acclaimed Captain America. You grimace in disgust at the Captain's uniform, ridiculous. Everything is going to shit, well, it's not like you can hold buildings, so you let everything go on without getting —if possible— even dirtier hands. It's not possible anyway.

You watch from a distance, a prudent and appropriate distance that allows you to see everything. You wish your hearing was as good as your speed, but it isn't, so you just read lips. Before you fall into the river, you see Steve Rogers —or Captain America?— call the soldier "Bucky".

You get out of the river before they do, of course. You are a good swimmer, and you are not carrying the weight of another super-soldier. You watch as the soldier, Bucky, pulls Captain America out of the river and drops him on the shore, and he takes off.

Then you follow him.

You'd like to say you'll get through the next few days without a hitch, but you won't, because first you had to rip out your tracker. And damn it, it hurt like hell. The news, the papers and everyone is talking about Hydra and SHIELD. Both organizations seemingly sunk and broken, finally dismantled. And with Natasha Romanoff, a.k.a. Black Widow, exposing all their secrets, it seems the bad guys are hiding in the shadows while the good guys are struggling to find them.

Natasha Romanoff. That's who you should be looking for, right? The agent on the train who looked at you the way no one else had. And who had spoken a name, a name that might have belonged to you, in a quiet way.

Bucky Barnes is a pain in the ass. Maybe you shouldn't have followed him. And you shouldn't have stayed with him, but it's too late. And they're stuck together. He's stupid, clearly from a bygone era when people barely used televisions. And he doesn't know anything except his own name, and that's because Steve Rogers apparently told it to him.

Because Steve Rogers is a hero revered by many in the world, he gets a museum filled with information about the soldier. James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, they both learn. They can reconstruct a bit of Bucky's past, but there is nothing about yours. Most of Hydra's facilities are destroyed or being dismantled by the government, or incredibly hidden if they're still there, and there's not much you can do with a soldier who looks at you like he's lost, and you with a clouded and shadowed mind. You're both a mess.

He screams and cries almost every night. And you can't sleep —you don't have nightmares, it's worse than that— you can't sleep at all with the constant feeling of alertness in your head.

At least neither of them is alone in their stormy times. If that's any consolation.

Until you separate.

It's more or less an agreement. You realize that Bucky is of no use to you and you're of no use to him. One day you both just give up the little shelter you have and run off to different places. Neither of you visits the room you shared for the last time.

———————————————　♡　———————————————

Norway.

She's been searching for you for over eight months. Chasing a ghost, an elusive kitten, but here you are at last.

Natasha's breathing gets heavier as the cabin finally comes into view. She's tracked you here, she can see it's the shelter you've spent the most time in. She's found your other huts, of course, she's been through a few. And without a doubt, this one seems to be the healthiest.

A cabin in the woods, quiet, bright, also quite cold. Natasha goes to the cabin, doesn't even have to force the door, no lock. Quite organized —yes, kinda like you— clean, cool… do you even have books? Natasha's heart skips a beat as she inspects the pile of books on the coffee table.

Natasha doesn't touch anything, but her gaze is intense, curious and penetrating. She looks deeply at every detail. There is an old television in front of an equally old sofa, she also notices a record player in a corner and an empty cage on a wooden chair. The table is clean and decorated with a scented candle that is not lit at the moment.

Natasha is not surprised when she hears the sound of the door opening. But you are.

You see her sitting on the only other wooden chair, one hand resting on the table, holding your book. Even though it doesn't really belong to you. You see her put the book down and look at you for a second, both of you looking at each other in silence without saying anything.

You're wearing a thick cotton turtleneck that covers you up to your chin. It's too big for you, of course, and it doesn't belong to you. And you're carrying wood for the fire in the fireplace.

"Natasha Romanoff."

The name slips from your lips in a low, husky tone, shit, you haven't used your voice in a long time and it sounds strange. You try to control your breathing as you look at her and then look away.

"Do you remember?"

You let out a sigh and move forward, shrugging your shoulders. You move towards the fireplace with soft but steady steps, dropping the firewood to the side so you can stack the logs later. As you do so, you feel Natasha's gaze on your back and a shiver runs through you.

"I remember… some things, sometimes… memories come to me from time to time at unexpected times…" You turn around and look at her closely, Natasha hasn't moved from her seat, even though the book is now on the table and she's crossing her arms. "Sometimes… when someone says a word or I read about something… it's like a different image suddenly comes to me and then…" You rub your hands together, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace, and finally take off your gloves. "It's easier now that I'm alone…"

Natasha nods and looks at you with a wry expression, then points to the books on your nightstand.

"That's why you read so much."

You don't answer, continuing to rub your hands together in front of the fire, your fingers icy cold from spending so much time away from the cabin.

You don't look at Natasha, but you can feel her looking at you. God, her gaze is so intense. You lie on your back, facing the fire, shivering and hiding your almost tearful reaction. Natasha Romanoff. You've spent months reconstructing the image of the agent in your brain, trying to put the pieces together in your memories, searching and wandering to find crumbs of this person standing behind you now.

You feel your breathing become agitated and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You swallow the lump in your throat and lower your eyes.

"I'm not here to hurt you…"

Natasha's voice has this soft tone. You're not used to being spoken to like that, even with Bucky, in his better moments, his voice was always sleepy, fearful and insecure. Natasha Romanoff seems confident and kind, and your chest warms at the first comforting words you've heard in years.

Natasha doesn't seem bothered or uncomfortable that you don't speak. In that way she's a lot like Bucky, at least back then they didn't speak, they just looked at each other a lot and seemed to communicate through their eyes. Natasha Romanoff looks at you too much, but you try not to look back at her. It feels strange, in your chest, like a feeling of comfort and familiarity, but when you search your brain for where it came from, there's nothing there.

After adding more wood to the fire, you turn to Natasha, who is still sitting in the chair with her arms resting on the table, looking at you with a soft, calm smile. Why does she always have that look? You move more awkwardly as you straighten up, but when you finish stacking the logs, you walk to the area that functions as a kitchen.

You don't offer Natasha tea, you just make it for her. You learned how to make tea from Bucky. And you found out that you like chamomile tea with a spoonful of honey. So you make one for Natasha just like that.

You bring the cup to her and place it next to her at the table, since there are no other chairs, the only existing chair is pushed into a corner with a pile of books and more stuff, you stand there staring at the floor while you drink in silence.

"—"

You raise your head to look at her. Oh, she called you that again.

She explains that it's your name. She calls you that a few more times until it doesn't sound strange in your brain. Natasha puts a folder on the table that she apparently had hidden in her jacket. She offers to read it to you when you're ready. And you don't really feel ready, but you accept.

It leads you through the Red Room, how you were apparently kidnapped by Dreykov since you were a little girl. To your first mission for the Red Room, from which you never returned. Hydra captured you and brainwashed you to be their assassin, leaving behind everything you knew about the Red Room and leaving you with only the training. Much like Bucky —the Winter Soldier— you were given high-level missions by Hydra. A perfectly conditioned assassin who was not supposed to ask questions or have a past. Natasha Romanoff has been searching for you since the fall of Hydra because of your shared past, of which you only have fragments.

Natasha speaks and explains in her characteristic calm tone. She looks at you with soft eyes and a hint of a smile on her lips. Her green eyes sparkle as they focus on you. You let her talk about you and listen to her. She asks questions and you answer as best you can.

"How have you been?"

"How long have you been here?"

"Are these your clothes?"

"Are you eating well?"

You've moved over to the old chair and she follows you, sitting at the other end, because she's noticed that you move away when she gets too close. And you can't help it, even though part of your brain is sure that Natasha Romanoff won't hurt you, the damaged part of you is constantly on alert, sending out danger signals.

"Did you have a bird?" Natasha asks, pointing to the cage on the pile of books on the chair in the corner of the room. You shake your head.

"It was trapped. And I freed it."

Natasha nods and smiles at you again. For the first time, you smile back at her, and you see her eyes light up at what you have done. You can't help but blush when you notice it.

As night falls, you realize that Natasha has no intention of leaving, so you start to get ready for bed. You turn off the fire in the fireplace, and after making some more tea, you show her where you sleep. It's a separate, airier room with thick glass windows and fluffy curtains drawn to keep out the little moonlight. There are a couple of oil lamps because the bulb is out and you haven't found a replacement. The bed is in a corner, with thick blankets and a few pillows. There's a large green rug on the floor and a rocking chair. The rest of the furniture is mostly empty, except for a closet with some clothes in it.

You point to the bed and tell her she can sleep there.

"Where do you want to sleep?"

You point to the floor and Natasha laughs.

"I'm not taking your bed away."

"I'm more used to sleeping on the floor than on a mattress…"

Natasha twists her lips in disgust at this comment.

"We can share the bed. It's big enough." She points, watching you with a raised eyebrow and a crooked smile. "It won't be the first time you share a bed anyway. And I assure you, I can be softer than Bucky…"

Oh, the heat rushes to your face, but you say nothing. Yes, somehow you had to share a bed with Bucky some nights. How would Natasha know?

You blink and nod, offering Natasha a coat which she accepts, changing your jacket into a sweater and kicking off your boots as you climb into bed.

Natasha lets you sleep on the side closest to the wall and you curl up in a blanket while she lies comfortably beside you. It's quiet, except for the sounds of the forest, like the wind or the animals. You can't sleep, not because you're uncomfortable with Natasha —it is uncomfortable, yes— but it's really your brain. Your damaged brain that won't stop sending out warning signals from the time you spent locked in a cell at Hydra Labs.

"I can hear you breathing faster."

You close your eyes and let out a sigh at the sound of Natasha's voice. You still have your back to her.

"Did we have an intimate relationship? Before I disappeared?"

You don't know why you're asking this —well, you do— but it seems you've surprised Natasha as well, because she remains silent for a long moment, you hear her clear her throat and shift.

"No. Never-" Natasha lets out a sigh and you're almost sure she's staring at the ceiling because her position on the bed has changed. "There was no time for that…"

Oh.

You're tempted to say something else. You want to explain the reason for your question, you even want to ask more, but you remain silent. It's just that the way Natasha had talked about you, about the two of you, when you were in the Red Room, it had seemed to you that something else had almost happened.

You regretted not being able to remember, or not being able to right now. Yes, you had some memories of the Red Room, but it was all about the exhaustive training they forced you to do.

"But there was something special." Natasha speaks, and even if you don't look at her, you can tell she has a smile on her face. "You were always someone special. Someone real. With a heart."

———————————————　♡　———————————————

You spend the next few days with Natasha. She doesn't seem to have any desire to leave, in fact, she just seems to get more and more comfortable. You go with Natasha to the town, she does her shopping and you do yours. You've never needed much. You do the shopping and buy some blankets. Natasha, on the other hand, seems to be carrying a lot of bags in her arms. You don't ask what she bought, she tells you anyway.

Natasha had a car, which you didn't find out about until the third day, apparently she abandoned it in an empty warehouse in town and when she went to pick you up the first time, she did it on foot. She mentioned that she didn't want to scare you.

She drives you back to the cabin. And she lets you be quiet the whole way because she doesn't ask you any questions.

Bucky has taught you how to cook some simple things, and you live with that. White rice is your favorite dish; plain, simple and neutral, somehow you feel comfortable eating it. Until Natasha makes you fried rice.

She seems really happy that you like her food, because she smiles like a fool as she offers you more and more. You've never eaten anything so delicious, or at least you can't remember, so you thank her for the food and wash the dishes when you're done.

You share your place like Bucky, but she's very different from Bucky. Natasha is super helpful. It's not like Bucky was useless, but between two mentally damaged and deranged people, they couldn't fix a window lock. Natasha talks a lot all the time, and she's organized, very clean too, she seems to like to flirt and smile at you more than you'd think appropriate, but she's always very kind and gentle. She fixes the TV and manages to find a video player in one of the old boxes that the previous owner kept in a closet.

They sit on the couch —closer than before— for hours watching old movies. Natasha also offers to buy newer movies or ones she thinks you'd like, but you tell her you're fine with whatever. In the afternoons, you usually go for walks in the woods and around the nearby lake, you sometimes take the opportunity to chop wood, and she usually spends her time fixing things around the cabin. You don't ask her, she just finds things that don't work and fixes them. Like the broken glass in one of the windows, or the poorly nailed floorboard, or the door without a lock.

You're making tea when she comes in with a new light bulb to finally replace the burned out one in the bedroom. Natasha doesn't say anything to you when she sees you standing there with the jar of honey in your hands, as she goes into the bedroom with a ladder that she somehow built back in the day to change the light bulb. Natasha also fixes the shower in the bathroom so that the hot water works, even though you tell her that you prefer cold water.

"You shouldn't try so hard to fix this…you know this place isn't even mine?" You tell her one day when you see her trying to rebuild the fence.

"I bought it."

"What?"

"Well, I obviously knew it wasn't yours. So I tracked down the real owner and bought it." Natasha explains carefully, a hammer in her hand as she gestures toward the cabin. "I bought it for you." She mumbles and her goofy smile returns to her lips. Oh, she's a fool who likes to flirt. You already figured that out. "You don't have to run anymore."

Natasha looks at you in a way that makes you feel warm. And you have to look away so she doesn't notice the heat rising to your face.

You don't thank her. Your throat feels too tight to speak. And you know your voice gets shaky when you blush and get embarrassed, so you just avoid her by going back inside.

That night you cook for Natasha. It's a simple dish you've learned to make from the recipe book you've been reading. Mushroom risotto with Parmesan. It's a thank-you dinner, somehow you both know that. Natasha seems very happy that you're cooking for her. And she praises your dish a lot too, until you blush too much and ask her to eat in silence.

Natasha also fixed the record player, so after dinner you both sit on the couch while you read and she fixes an old radio she found in one of the boxes, she puts her feet up on the table and a slow melody plays in the background.

The next few days are much the same, though you seem to feel more comfortable with Natasha's presence as you get used to her. Natasha is someone who touches a lot, so you no longer flinch when Natasha's hand sometimes brushes yours, or freak out when you feel her hand on your lower back, or when she looks over your shoulder at what you're cooking. You finally have something familiar. And you appreciate it.

You appreciate the way Natasha wakes up before the sun even comes out to go for a run, the way she greets you when you come into the house after her morning run —with a pat on the cheek as she rests her head on your hair— you appreciate the way Natasha always finds something to fix, and you appreciate the way she smiles when you offer her more pancakes and tea. Even though you know Natasha prefers coffee. You learned how to make pancakes from Natasha and started making them for Natasha almost every morning.

One day you discover a box on your doorstep. Natasha is out running, so you pick up the sealed and wrapped box and notice a label on the top. A package for Natasha. You didn't even know that a place like this could receive packages.

You leave it on the table and when Natasha returns from her run, she greets you as she always does, with a pat on the cheek and her head resting on yours, you smile at her and offer her tea, when Natasha sits down next to you, she notices the box and her expression darkens as she reads that it's a package for her.

She doesn't seem to want to open it, and you can tell by the way she looks at it, as if it's cursed. You can also tell that she doesn't want to open it in your presence, so without being asked, you excuse yourself by saying that you have to go to the bathroom.

You give her a few minutes, and when you come out of the bathroom, the package is open and Natasha is nowhere to be found.

You try not to look too hurt by her sudden absence. You start to read the new gardening book that Natasha recently bought for you —after hearing you say that you wanted to have a hobby like hers about fixing things, she suggested gardening— Natasha also bought you some gardening tools, but you haven't started yet.

Natasha shows up a few hours later. You notice that she's gone for a drive, and she greets you as she always does, apologizing for leaving without telling you, but not explaining where she went. You don't ask any questions anyway.

"I want to stay here forever…" Natasha says suddenly in the night as you lie in bed, ready to sleep.

You blink and look at her with big eyes. You don't know why she said that, but deep down you feel like you know. You smile at her and reach for her hand to squeeze it into yours. It's the first time you've made contact. And Natasha seems both surprised and delighted.

You breathe and she leans forward, for a moment everything stops for you and you are about to push yourself back when her forehead touches yours.

"I want to plant poppies…" You whisper, your eyes closed as Natasha rests her forehead against yours and you feel her thumb caress the back of your hand.

She lets out a soft laugh.

"I'll get the seeds tomorrow…"

You're finishing Natasha's pancakes when you hear the door open and turn to see her come in. She has a paper bag in her hands and a silly grin on her face. You're already serving her pancakes when Natasha greets you in her usual way. You pour her coffee and she puts the paper bag on the table.

Natasha finishes her first pancake and you finish a page of the book you're reading when you hear the sound of a car pulling up outside. Natasha immediately moves and you follow. You look out the window and notice Natasha's tense shoulders slump slightly and her expression becomes somber and tired.

She lets out a sigh as she turns to look at you, and you look at her in a way that seems to hurt her.

The two of you walk out to find Captain America —Steve Rogers— in civilian clothes. He's got the whole soldier thing going on with his hands in his pockets and his chest puffed out as he looks at Natasha and then back at you. He seems to be smiling in embarrassment.

“Romanoff.”  

Steve Rogers' voice is cheerful and firm as he moves forward to close the distance. He looks at you in a way that makes you feel shy. He seems kind of cute with that bright, friendly smile, but also kind of pretentious with all that attitude. You don't introduce yourself even though he does, and he seems to understand your silence because he doesn't push, instead he looks at Natasha and you see them exchanging silent glances.

You don't know what they say, but you can feel it.

Natasha says goodbye that afternoon and promises she'll be back soon. She makes a lot of promises. She promises she'll finish fixing the fence, bring you more books on gardening, find you new movies, get you a decent video player, and come back to watch your flowers grow.

Natasha kisses you as you see her off at the door.

She holds your face in her hands, caresses your cheeks with her thumbs, and her soft lips press against yours. Natasha kisses you tenderly. She closes her eyes as her forehead meets yours, forcing you to open your mouth with a thumb pressed against your chin, pushing her tongue into your mouth and only pulling away when Steve Rogers clears his throat loudly enough to annoy Natasha.

"Please don't run away again."

Her look is a plea and you nod. You give her a short, soft kiss on the lips. Natasha smiles at you and says goodbye with a touch on your cheek.

It's been almost three months. Almost three months since Natasha Romanoff got into Steve Rogers' car and drove off without much explanation. You discovered that the paper bag she left on the table were the seeds of the poppies you mentioned you wanted to plant, so you did. And indeed, the flowers had just bloomed.

You planted not only poppies, but other wildflowers that could grow in cold climates. Yes, you did your research and all that. You learned that you liked gardening, so you started to put more effort into it, so much so that you started a small vegetable garden as well.

It's a sunny and cold day, the wind isn't as annoying as other days, so you go outside to examine your flowers, happy and proud that they are blooming beautifully.

And then the sleek black sports car pulls up on the dirt road in front of the cabin. You watch as Natasha gets out of the car with a smile on her face, a large bag in her hand, hanging from her back as she walks over to you.

"You have beautiful flowers."

You straighten up, your hands covered in dirt and your face flushed from the time you spent outside in the cold. Natasha wraps her arms around you and you bury your head in her shoulder. The leather of her jacket sticks to your skin and you squirm in the embrace, but Natasha just laughs.

You walk into the cabin with Natasha. She kisses you sweetly after you wash the dirt off your hands. And she murmurs against your lips how much she's missed you as you sigh between kisses.

"I can start fixing the fence…"

She mumbles, moving to the closet to get her toolbox when you interrupt her, your fingers tightening on the sleeve of her jacket and she looks at you with an arched eyebrow.

Natasha turns to you again, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you back in for a deep kiss. You sigh in her arms and shudder as her tongue slips into your mouth, Natasha’s hands tighten on your waist and she leans down, pushing her face onto yours as she kisses you in an intense and hungry way.

“I’m going to repair the fence…” Natasha mentions with a goofy smile on her lips as she pulls away, leaving you dizzy and slightly hazy. “I swear. I have time for it. I’ll stay here with you.”

Natasha slides her hands down your face and kisses you again. It’s just a peck on your lips and you smile at her as she pulls away to get her tools.

“I’ll build you a mailbox too. Bucky Barnes said he wanted to send you letters…” She scoffs as she walks out the door.

[otislotus]

As a homeschooler, I absolutely agree. We’re in Canada but the issues are similar.

In our province, in order to homeschool, you must send a letter of intent to the government. Then there are two options:

1: (by far the most common) register with a school board, write a personalized education plan for each student. A homeschool facilitator (who is also a certified teacher) will sign off on the plan if it meets general requirements (they will help you write it too, if you need or want help). They will also visit you twice each year in person and once or twice check-in over the phone to make sure that you’re actually following the plan you wrote. I believe that if you are struggling to follow through on the plans, then you get more visits as well. You also receive funding per student to spend on curriculum, books, science kits, lessons, field trips, and computer equipment, and access to support for special needs.

2: Do nothing. You sent your letter of intent. You are finished. No funding = no oversight.

I just cannot understand why the second option exists. IME the only families who choose it are people that are already planning to neglect their children, like the girls that I grew up with who stopped learning math after the 4th grade because “they were only going to grow up to be wives so as long as they could balance the household books, that was enough”, or the boys who “didn’t have time” for school after grade 7 or 8 because they were too busy working on the family farm.

And even as a parent who considers myself a responsible home educator, sometimes remembering that the homeschool facilitator is going to call me just before Christmas and visit me in May/June is a good motivator for following through on the plans I myself made back in September when I was excited about the new school year, rather than blow it off because the excitement has worn off.

Accountability is essential.

Educational choice is a good thing. I love homeschooling. And I do not think it should be available without regulations in place to protect the most vulnerable. A child’s right to an education should not be subjected to a parent’s right to educational choice.

Part of my role, if I wish to be responsible for my children’s education, is making sure the government knows that I agree with regulations.

homeschooling in the US needs to be regulated but this is one of those conversations that immediately gets crushed by extremist conservatives and even well-meaning liberals will pipe up to be like "well some homeschooling is good!" when that's absolutely not relevant. regulation will not change anything for the homeschooling families who are serious about their children's education. the people who need to be regulated are the fringe extremists

[borathae]

Birthday Boy | JHS x f.Reader

“It is Hoseok’s birthday tomorrow and you have the very brilliant idea to help him spend his birthday midnight by having an orgasm.”

Pairing: Vampire!Hoseok x Witch!Reader

Genre: best friends with benefits!AU, polyamory!AU, Smut, Domestic Fluff

Warnings: some very cute cuddles <3, which gets them horny of course, sub!Hobi, service Domme!Reader, sex magic, orgasm denial & control through magic, mutual stripping, nipple sucking & licking for both, body worship, licking & biting of his abs and thighs, oral sex (m.receiving), blowjob, rimjob, anal fingering (m.receiving), use of a buttplug, he gets so desperate, begging, she rides him cowgirl style, gentle choking (m.receiving), she also like steps on his throat once :), dirty talk, praise, he calls her baby, he screams & cries in pleasure, he fucks her so rough once she lifts the spell <3, creampies, squirting, multiple orgasms, cuddly aftercare, this is so horny

Wordcount: 7k

a/n: do not be fooled by the cute header, this story is horny. this is actually the horniest hobi story i ever wrote JFADJ but also! look at the cute header! ah! i love it and i love him :( also, if you're not into the whole poly stuff, this story is still enjoyable because it is only hinted very briefly and this is basically a Hobi Bobi story 💗 happy birthday Hobi i love you 💜 ps: i feel so sad that i couldn’t finish it in time but life was very overwhelming for me. but it's here now and i'm very happy <3

It is the night before his birthday party. Taehyung is the official party planner, with Seokjin and Emma as his seconds in command. Yoongi is in charge of the food, with Jungkook as his sous chef. Meredith and her coven travelled for the party and even some of Hoseok’s Paris friends have announced themselves. 

It will be a great event, hosted at the estate and with plans of lasting long into the next day. 

But this is all part of tomorrow. Tonight, Hoseok is at the town house, having no idea how big the party is actually going to be.

He knows that there will be something going on tomorrow because Yoongi invited him to a birthday dinner (which is just an excuse to get Hoseok to the estate for the party). You all hope that Hoseok will love the surprise.

Tonight however, he is alone and you don’t like that. You want him to spend his birthday night feeling loved and appreciated. Because that’s what he is. 

Loved.

So deeply loved. 

The others know of your plans and support you fully. 

Hoseok opens a few seconds after you rang the door bell. The masculine scent of his shower gel instantly meets your nose. Judging by his comfortable pyjamas, he is already getting ready for bed.

“___? What are you doing here? Is everything alright?” he asks, entirely baffled by your unexpected visit.

“Everything is alright. Did I ring you out of bed?”

“No, not at all. I’m watching telly. Come in, it’s freezing out here”, he says, letting you inside.

“Thanks, yeah it’s pretty chilly. I hope it’s okay where I parked.”

You parked your car behind Hoseok’s green VW beetle in his driveway.

“Yeah, it’s good. I’m not going anywhere tonight. Let me get your coat.”

“Thanks.” 

He hangs it and offers you a pair of wool loafers to wear, which you very gladly accept because floors in old houses are always chilly. 

“Can I get you something? Water? Tea? Warm milk with honey?” he offers 

“Seriously, you don’t have to work for me.”

“Tea? Sleepy tea? Are you staying the night? I don’t know what kind of situation this is.”

“It’s a your birthday-day starts on midnight and I want to celebrate it with you situation.”

“Are you serious?” he sounds completely in disbelief.

You nod your head, “very serious. If you’re down.”

“Of course I’m down. Wow, I didn’t even. I just. I don’t know what to say. This is, like, really nice of you.”

You smile at him, which Hoseok giddily retorts. 

“So uhm, sleepy tea?” he asks.

“Sounds lovely. Wanna make a sleepover out of it?”

“You just wanna hog my warm water for a shower, don’t you?” 

“Hey, untrue. I also wanna hog your PJs and your skincare.”

He laughs and points upstairs.

“Feel at home. You know where everything is.”

“I’ll be back. I promise.”

Hoseok is in the living room, playing on his phone when you come back. He sits up, eyes lighting up at the view of you in his pyjamas.

“Hey”, he whispers and clears his throat, “hey, you’re back. How was it?” 

“Very nice. I feel very snuggly.”

“Yeah? That’s good. I put wood in the chimney”, he say and rolls off the couch to hurry to his fireplace. He pokes the flames a few times then slips on a pair of heat resistant gloves to get the kettle from the kettle hook.

He pours the boiling water into two mugs with teabags, storing the kettle back on the flames.

“Thanks, this will warm me in no time.”

“I’ve got more. I put the electric heating on too, so give it some time. I always forget when I’m alone because I don’t get cold, you know”, he explains as he hurries through the room to get blankets and pillows.

“I get it. If I didn’t freeze, I’d forget about it too.”

“Yeah totally. Here, blankets. Socks? Do you want socks? I’ve got socks.”

You can’t protest and then he is already out of the room. Hoseok is a very good host. Perhaps a little overbearing, but you like it. You are a very overbearing host yourself and being completely pampered at Hoseok’s always feels especially cozy.

“I’ve got options. Cotton, wool, cashmere, none of that artificial shit though ‘cause it’s awful. Just pick”, he returns with a few socks in his hands.

“Wool would be lovely, thank you.”

“Wool it is. They got lady bugs on them.”

“So cute. Oh? And really soft for wool.”

“Right? I made them myself.”

“You did? That’s so funky.”

“Thanks.”

“Now get on here and relax. What are you watching?”

“I just started Howl’s Moving Castle. Don’t judge me but this movie still slaps.”

“I’m not judging you for having great taste. It’s an awesome movie. Wanna cuddle and watch it?”

“Totally, what the hell”, he says.

And so it happens that you and he share the blankets while the house warms up. He is against the backrest, lying sideways and with his left arm under your head. He uses pillows for his head, keeping his right arm over your waist.

“Is this good for you?”

“Yes, it’s totally good. You?”

“It’s very good. If you’re suddenly feeling something poking you, that’s just my gun that I keep in my pants.”

You laugh, “okay horndog, I’ll remember it.”

He chuckles and pulls you closer, giving the shell of your ear a gentle bite. Which is totally surprising to get from him but it’s also nice.

You and Hoseok, well, you and Hoseok aren’t officially lovers. You are best friends who just so happen to have slept together. A few times. Two times to be more exact. The first time happened after you had to take shelter from the rain at his place. It was a good night. Very fun. The second time was at his place too. It is still unbelievable because you and he did it together with Yoongi.

If you are being honest, you wouldn’t be opposed if tonight went down the sexy route as well.

You and he are talking after the movie. The clock shows ten and you each had two cups of tea.

You are mindlessly playing with his hand, inspecting every single inch of it. He has the most beautiful hands and nails. They are so delicate and just slightly veiny. His nails are very well groomed and his nail beds are moisturised. His palms are so soft because he takes his hand care very seriously.

You massage along his tendons gently, following the paths of your fingers with your eyes.

“Hm, that’s nice”, he purrs quietly, smiling to himself. His eyes barely want to stay open because of how cozy you make him feel.

“You’ve got such beautiful hands.”

“Thanks.” His breath hitches as you guide his hand to your lips to kiss his knuckles. He snickers, snuggling closer, “what was that for?”

“I like your hands”, you state matter of factly, “hey, Hobi?”

“Yes, ___?”

“What would you say to taking this upstairs?”

“For bed cuddles or for more?”

“If you’re down, more. If not, then bed cuddles.”

“Yeah. Yeah sure”, he instinctively pulls you closer, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck, “I’d be very down actually. As you can probably feel.”

You snicker, “mhm for a while.”

He laughs, “sorry, I got excited.”

“It’s fine. Can I tell you what I’m imagining?”

“Totally. Tell me.”

“So I was thinking, maybe I could be a little more dominant tonight. And I have something I want to suggest.”

“Tell me. The dom part already sounds nice to me. You can take the lead, I’m down.”

“So okay. Maybe someone already told you that I can magically control orgasms.”

“Kook might have dropped something of that sort. Why? Wanna do it on me?”

“Yeah basically. My goal is to keep you magically edged until it’s midnight so you can enter into your birthday-day having an orgasm.”

His dick twitches very aggressively.

“Yo. That was strong as fuck”, you gasp.

“You felt that? You felt what this just did to me?”

“I did.” You look at him. His eyes are gleaming in excitement. “So you’re down?”

“I’m so down. I feel like you gotta tie me up though. I feel I’ll be too wiggly.”

You snicker, “don’t worry, I’ll make sure that you’re behaving.”

“As if.” He is teasing.

“Don’t give me a challenge, I’ll prove you wrong.”

He laughs breathily, eyes flitting to your lips.

“So like”, he begins, tracing your waist, “how kinky are we talking? Are you also gonna grow a dick and fuck me with it?”

“You know about that too?”

“Yeah, Kook told me, who got it from Tae. Which by the way, you really gotta do it with Kook soon. He was genuinely so jealous as he talked about it.”

You laugh, “wow okay, good to know.”

“Hah, yeah”, Hoseok lets out, eyes practically yearning for you.

“You really wanna know what I’ll do to you?”

“Yeah, tell me. Wanna watch your lips move as you do.”

Hoseok’s answer was yes to every single thing you suggested. He practically started panting the longer you talked.

Now you find yourself under him, nestled in his comfortable bed and with his knee against your pussy. He puts on some music – slow RnB – and dimmed his lights. You and he share moans and sighs, kissing passionately. He is so noisy. It turns you on so much.

“I’m so obsessed with you”, he breaks the kiss just to praise you and adore your neck.

“Mhm Hobi…what’s the time?”

He takes your phone to check.

“Ten fourty. Geez, we’ve been making out for fourty minutes? No wonder my cock hurts.”

You laugh and use his moment of distraction to flip your positions. You use a little bit of magic for it, resulting in Hoseok to gawk at you in complete shock.

“How did you just do that? I’m supposed to be stronger.”

“Magic. Yoongi showed me how to lift people with it.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way. You’ve always been hot but, fuck, you’re so hot ever since you’ve become a witch.”

You chuckle, running your fingers through his hair and pecking his jawline. He has the perfect jawline.

“Thank you. What a sweetie you are.”

“Mhhhhm you’re a tease. Just let me be closer”, he whines, shuddering.

“How much closer?”

“Skin against skin closer.”

You sit up and roll out of bed. Hoseok sits up, draping his legs over the edge. His eyes are focused on you, pupils dilating at the view of you sensually undressing.

It doesn’t take long because you are only wearing pyjamas and nothing underneath.

You throw your shirt to the side, shifting your eyes to him when Hoseok reacts audibly.

“You’re fucking beautiful”, he says, gazing at your chest.

“Thanks.” He makes your heart flutter. “How unsexy would I be if I kept the socks on?”

He chuckles, eyes sparkling.

“Still sexy. They’re cute on you.”

“Then they stay on”, you say, making him laugh one of his very rare deep laughs. It’s so sexy. “Your turn.”

Hoseok stands up while you sit down to watch. It doesn’t take him long either because he also only wears PJs and nothing else. He abandons them on the ground, joining you back on bed. While you are kneeling, he is sitting by the edge.

You can’t stop looking at each other. You only have his dimmed LEDs on. They’re red and really bring out how fucking gorgeous he is. No wonder people love to watch him fuck. He is made to be adored and gazed upon.

You cup his face and kiss him. Hoseok moans softly, climbing on bed to chase the kiss. He is on all fours, tingling like crazy when you feel him up. It is insane how far away from reality he currently feels. In the best way possible. It is as if you and he are trapped in the most wonderful bubble. It’s been a very long time since sex made him feel this good. And it’s only been foreplay up until now.

“Fuck. You’re, like, amazing”, he sighs and closes the distance to pulls you on his lap. He wraps his left arm around your waist, pressing your stomach against his’. His right hand runs up to your breasts, massaging one of them, while his mouth worships the other.

“Oh wow”, you let out, not having expected the attention. It makes you shiver and arch your back.

Hoseok gets to his knees, carrying you with ease. Honestly, the way you writhe in his arms gets him desperate. One night he will dedicate everything to fucking you in this position. He is making a mental note of it. It has to happen. Him on his knees, while he makes your body dance on his cock and your back arch in fucking ecstasy.

But tonight is not the night. You haven’t given him permission yet to slip it in and he is so curious to feel the magic working.

With his eager tongue licking your nipple, he lies you down in the sheets. He keeps his left arm around your waist, but uses his right hand to explore your inner thighs.

“Hoseok…” you sigh, tingling like crazy.

“It’s insane how pretty you are. Shit, it’s insane”, he lulls, changing sides. He lingers on your neck as he does, which only makes you shiver more. By the time he takes in your other nipple to suck on it, you actually have to moan.

Hoseok purrs, circling your sensitive bud with his tongue. Your heart is racing like crazy.

“Hoseok, ah”, your voice quivers a little as you sigh his name. You run your hands up the nape of his neck until you can bury them deep in his incredibly soft hair. They’re a little longer in the back and feel so good between your fingers.

You aren’t tugging, but Hoseok still lifts his head. He comes eye to eye with you, cups your face and pulls you into a needy kiss. It happens that the position changes again. You and he on your knees, then you on his lap again. Closer than before. Skin against skin. As if your bodies are dancing together.

Naturally, you have to grind on him, finally twisting his hair to deepen the connection.

Hoseok likes it, feeding you his deep purr just as he feeds you his tongue. You are so close like this that your slickened nipples rub against his chest and his cock gets stimulated between your stomachs. It fucking turns him on to the point his skin feels sensitive. Everything about you turns him on. So much that he actually feels desperate.

He breaks the kiss, hand restless on your back and ass and cock leaking on your tummy. Just as your pussy leaks on his thighs. Seriously, this moment is spiritual.

“Just sit on my cock, mhm?” he offers.

“Don’t tempt me”, you feel breathless and starved for him. Sitting on him would give you so much relief.

“It’s almost midnight anyway. Just sit on me already. Please, baby?”

You check the phone clock, “Hobi, it’s only two past eleven.”

“Fuck, you weren’t supposed to check the time.” He kneads your butt. “Please baby, just sit on me.”

He is sexy when he is desperate. You crave to ravish him, but control yourself for the sake of your plan.

“Not yet.”

You push him down into the pillow, knocking a moan and a chuckle out of him. He writhes to get comfortable, caressing your thighs.

“That was so hot.”

“You’re hot”, you throw back and connect your lips with his neck.

“Mhhhhm, this is nice”, he sighs, exposing his neck sensually.

You are lying next to him, propping yourself up on your elbow and grinding your body against his’. You use your free hand to explore his body, dancing it all over his perfect curves. All while Hoseok lies beneath you, shivering and tingling. Your touch is electric and magical, and you aren’t even using your powers yet. It’s just you. Your presence, your warmth, your scent and the feelings you awake in his chest. It’s all you who feels fucking magical to him.

You continue your path to his chest once his neck is sensitive. Hoseok chases your kiss with a small arch of his back. If he still had a pulse, it would be going crazy by now. You have him feeling so giddy and turned on.

“Your body is perfect, Hobi”, you whisper, swirling your tongue over his pecs before you reach his nipple.

You want to repay the favour and give his nipples the attention they deserve. He groans softly, rubbing his feet over the sheets because his legs just can’t stay still.

“Do you like this?”

“Yeah…it’s good. You’re incredible”, Hoseok praises, caressing the nape of your neck. He isn’t lying. This feels fucking amazing. His nipples are the most sensitive. He needs to be turned on in order to love getting them played with. He is so turned on that each lick and touch shoots electric pleasure through his veins.

You purr happily, changing sides to make it even. You play with his swollen nipple as you suck the other, giving him some extra love by running your nails over his pecs whenever you can.

“You have me shivering, fuck”, he confesses in a chuckle, shuddering.

“Mhhhm that’s sexy”, you purr and continue your explorations.

Hoseok often hides behind baggy clothes, which rarely let people know just how perfect his body actually is. Lean and strong. It is definitely the body of someone who uses it to dance and who really treasures his appearance. His waist fits perfectly between your fingers and his stomach is toned. His skin is soft and hairless and, fuck, it smells so good. It makes you want to eat him.

“Ah”, he gasps, abs twitching. He chuckles and pets your hair, “fuck, you little biter.”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. You smell so good.”

“I liked it.”

You do it again, taking his soft skin between your teeth to tug gently. Hoseok moans softly, rolling his hips up. A third time’s a charm. Just a little harder.

“Fuck, this is insane”, he gets out, caressing your cheek. “This feels so good.”

“It does. Your body’s insane”, you rasp and bite him above his hip bone.

He writhes and giggles in embarrassment. Compliments fluster him a lot.

“I could go mad”, you add and continue your path. You make him believe that you will take him inside only to swerve in the last moment and kiss his thighs instead.

He opens them, cursing under his breath. He’s already so hard. Your teases ache. He needs to be touched or he will burst.

“Take a taste, baby.”

“Mhm I am”, you coo, licking his thighs.

“Fuck, you’re driving me…ahm…just take it inside please.”

“You’re so needy.”

He whines and covers his own eyes with his hands, flexing his arms naturally.

“Fuck, you’re awful.”

“Mhhm, you like it”, you tease and surprise him by wrapping your lips around his cock.

His hips buck up, he sits up and groans your name.

One hand on his chest and he is down again, now cursing.

You purr, sucking on his leaky tip. So sweet. He tastes like heaven. And he keeps throbbing so perfectly.

“Seriously, baby. Fuck”, Hoseok tries to sit up again.

Push.

“Shit, you’re bossy tonight.”

“Mh-hm”, you purr, nodding your head.

“Just let me look.”

Push.

“Ah. hah. ___ holy fuck.”

You chuckle and slip him deeper. Hoseok whines, writhing in the sheets.

“This is crazy. Baby…let me look…”

He tries one last time only to get pushed down again and earn your foot on his throat. You use his body to balance so you aren’t actually applying pressure on his delicate throat. Hoseok groans, gripping your ankle. He gulps so much, gasping whenever he doesn’t.

“What the fuck. What the fuck. What the actual fuck”, he switches into Korean because of how hard you get him. “What the fuck. This is crazy. Ah sweetheart. Baby…”

You understand enough Korean these days that you know what he is currently chanting as you suck the soul out of his pretty cock. It motivates you to truly ruin him. You concentrate all your loving on his tip, sucking and licking it sloppily. They’re all most sensitive there. Men, you mean. They’re all just little sensitive babies. You’ve got enough dick in your mouth to have learned this fact. They all like to act tough with their cute deep throating attempts, but what really gets them needy is sloppy attention to their tips. They’re all so easy.

Hoseok isn’t any different, he is whining and mewling, panting heavily because you steal his air just by treating his flushed cockhead like a lollipop.

It’s what he deserves. He is such a perfect best friend and a crucial part of this little found family. He deserves to have his mind blown (pun intended).

“You’re actually making me cum”, he oh so very soon confesses, fingers trembling around your ankle, “this is so hot, I’m close.”

You could use your magic already, but don’t want to. Edge him normally once then get him desperate. That’s the plan.

“Slow. Wait. Fuck. Slow”, he tries to warn you, taking deep breaths in between to stop the inevitable. One more lick and he’ll burst in your warm mouth. “Baby slow.”

One last suck. The pleasure swirls up his cock. Hoseok groans, arching his back. It’s going to happen.

You slip off.

“Urgh” he growls, dropping and writhing in agony, “ohoho this was fucking cruel.”

You snicker, and sit up. You pull your leg back so you can kneel next to him. You take his hands to put them above his head. You let your tits tangle in his vision, enjoying the hungry gawking he is doing.

“You didn’t think that I could actually handle you, did you?” You grin. “Or that I’ll let you cum that easily?”

“Shit”, he chuckles, staring at you completely star struck, “I’m so into you right now. Fuck”, he squeezes your hands…and arches his back as you steal a kiss. It lasts way too short for him, leaving him to crave the addicting taste of you.

“The feeling’s mutual”, you whisper sweetly and connect your lips with his neck so you can kiss your way down to his cock.

“Fuck, ___ aaah…”

You stay by his side, lying down on your stomach. You drape your arm over his lap, using it as your support so you can take him back inside easily. Your other hand you put around his throat, squeezing down just enough that you can feel his needy moan as you swirl your tongue around his leaky cock.

“What’s happening to me? I feel…fuck, I feel so good”, he croaks out, head pounding and chest tingling. He feels as if he is floating. The connection is so deep. The pleasure is so intense.

Hoseok swears that he won’t be the same after tonight. And that he won’t ever get you out of his head again. You have him dancing on clouds.

“Can I have more? Please”, he soon pleads with you and you answer him right away.

You change positions so you are still by his side but on your knees. You abandon his neck to massage his base, using your other hand to play with his balls. Like this, you take in more of him, keeping your lips relaxed so they move around him as you fuck your mouth slowly. You let the drool dribble down his throbbing shaft, playing with it as you jerk whatever you can’t fit. The rhythm is sensual and really deepens the connection.

“Like this. Just like this. What the fuck, ___. Genuinely, what the fuck”, he chants, legs feeling like jello and head turning.

Hoseok got a lot of head in his long life. He got amazing head too. And yet this right now feels like the best head he ever got because it’s done by you. And he is high on you. Every single fucking molecule of you.

“___ baby…”

Hoseok sits up, running his hand along your waist and kissing your shoulder. He moans softly, resting his lips against your shoulder after the kiss. He pulls you closer by your waist, rolling his hips up to meet your warm mouth.

“You feel so good…”

You suck him harder because the gesture really turns you on.

Hoseok’s curses, following it up with tender kisses along your shoulder.

“___ baby, you feel so good. I’m dizzy…”

He uses his tongue to lick your shoulder and the small part of your spine he can reach. All while his left hand plays with your tits and his right hand disappears between your legs to play with your soaked pussy.

“No baby.” You slip off his cock and straighten up. “No touch, just let me take care of you”, you order in a whisper, claiming his lips in a kiss. Your hands are around his cock. Hoseok instantly kisses you back, using his tongue for it to taste himself. He cradles your face with his left hand while his right hand dances along your pussy. Like a feather-light tickle. It feels so good.

“You don’t want me making you feel good too?” he begs, letting the words tickle your lips.

“Soon, baby”, you sigh.

Hoseok answers you in a shaky moan, letting you push him back into the pillow and climb his lap. Sadly he has to stop fondling for it, missing it the second it leaves him. You sit down on his thigh right below his cock. It drives him insane that you do.

What drives him even more insane however is that you break the kiss and straighten up. Your hands are still dancing over his cock, moving slow enough that it is teasing him more than it satisfies him. Fucking hell, Hoseok is genuinely obsessed with you.

“We’ve got thirty minutes left”, you say.

“Shit, that’s too long.”

“No no it’s perfect. Means you’ll be desperate”, you say and bend down to kiss a path from his neck down to his inner thighs, hands now tickling his sides gently.

“I’m already desperate”, he whines and laughs at the same time, “fuck baby, again?”

“Of course. Tonight’s about you.”

“I’m not gonna survive tonight”, Hoseok sighs, opening his legs willingly. He raises them a second later when you come dangerously close to his ass.

“Mhhm so eager”, you purr, swirling your tongue on his thigh.

“Hm yeah”, he gets out, rolling his hips in desperation.

“I like it”, you say, connecting your tongue with his rim. So soft.

Hoseok lets out the first loud moan of the evening, arching his back. His hand instantly rests on the back of your neck. Not to push, but to be close to you. And also to caress you as best as possible.

“___ holy fuck.”

You agree in a moan, flicking your tongue as quickly as possible while your fingers tilt his hips to make it easier to reach him. He’s waxed and so soft. You can’t get enough.

Hoseok gasps and tenses his stomach, vision blurry as he stares at the canopy ceiling with slightly crossed eyes. You will never ever leave his head again. It’s impossible. You are in there. Forever. And it makes his entire body feel as if he is high on the best drug ever.

“So sweet. Mhm fuck”, you lull as you explore his hole deeper. You jerk him off at the same time, grabbing his dainty waist with your other hand. It tenses and twitches under your fingertips. Hoseok is moaning so much, clenching on your tongue as you open him eagerly.

“You gotta stop being so good. Ah. A-ah. Ahm. Mhm. Ah.”

He is so going to regret saying this. You will show him how much better you can be.

You break away with a purr and pick up the lube you laid out to slather your fingers with it. You lower your mouth to his cock while you let your fingers slip into his hole. Two of them.

“Fuck, ah. I shouldn’t have said that”, he keens, curling his toes. His mouth opens and stays open. His eyes are widened in shock as the sensation sinks in. Just as you sink in. Literally. He actually has your fingers in his ass. Holy fuck.

“Is this good?”

“It’s fucking good. What the fuck are you doing to me? I can’t stop – ah – moaning.”

“Good. Keep making your pretty noises for me.”

You pump your fingers slowly, curling them each time you pass his prostate. He is supposed to get worked up. He is so tight and soft. It’s so addicting.

“Holy fuck ah. Holy fuck. Ah. A-ah. Hah.”

Hoseok is so, so noisy. And it’s heaven. You spit on your fingers so you can slip them deeper and wiggle. And as Hoseok mewls and clenches around because you hit his prostate precisely, you take his cock inside your mouth to suck it vigorously.

“You’re gonna make me cum”, he confesses, twisting his own hair. “I, I can’t do this for long. ___ just- Ah. A-a-ah.”

How perfect it is to get a man so fucking desperate. Especially if that man is your amazing best friend. Although what you are currently doing to him blurs the line between friendship and passion. It’s addicting. To be stuck in this fuzzy moment and ride the waves together. Also to feel his insides clench around you. He is so warm and tight. And so soft. Oh so soft.

You curl your fingers with more strength, causing him to yelp and leak precum down your throat.

He wants to tell you that he is going to climax, but can’t form a coherent sentence. Doesn’t matter to you. You understand.

You open your eyes and finally do what you are supposed to do in such a situation. You think of the spell, enchanting him with it through your fingers against his prostate.

“Now!” He has no idea what is happening, but finds out a second later when he gets there without getting there. “What is happening? Why can’t I cum? Urgh. Ah! What the fuck? ___ what are you- ah.”

You slip off his cock but keep your fingers inside, torturing his poor edged prostate as you stare deeply into his droopy eyes and jerk him off quickly.

“What’s the matter, Hoseok baby? Can’t cum?”

“Oh my god, what the fuck?” He slaps the mattress and twists the sheets. “Did you enchant me?” he growls the question because you have him tensing up.

“Mhm I did. With those two fingers, right there”, you say and curl them so fucking good that Hoseok’s eyes roll back and his hands shoot up just to twist the edge of the pillow. His cock throbs and leaks precum on his abs. Said abs ripple as he tries to get himself there.

“Please, this is torture. I wanna cum.”

“You’ve got ten minutes to get through. Can you do this?”

“You’re still doing this? Urgh, fuck stop curling your fing-ah a-ah. Oh god this is so awful”, he moans and wiggles hips trying oh so hard to get there as he fucks his eager ass on your fingers.

“Awful? Your leaking cock says otherwise”, you coo, squeezing droplets of his pleasure out of his cock by pressing down on his prostate.

Hoseok growls, throws his hand over his eyes and squeaks out a helpless sob.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop this”, you offer him.

“Don’t stop. More. Fuck, more.”

He begs as sweetly as he shakes. You curl your fingers deeper and twist your hand around his swollen cock. Hoseok mewls, rolling his head from side to side because he just can’t stay still.

“You’re so nice to watch, Hobi. Is this what your viewers get to see mhm?”

“Seriously don’t talk like this. It’s making it worse.”

You chuckle.

“You’re so cute.”

You slip out despite his complaints and reach for your phone.

“What are you doing? Come back. Don’t look at your bloody phone now.”

“I’m setting a timer.”

“Forget about timers, just sit on me.”

“You’re cute when you’re needy”, you say and climb between his legs. You pick up the buttplug he chose, getting it ready for him.

He stares hungrily.

“You know what comes after that?” you taunt.

“Hurry up and let’s get to it.”

He makes you laugh, “you’re so needy.”

The plug slips inside easily, making him curse because it feels so good to be filled.

“All in. Took it so easily.”

“Don’t make me beg.”

“No, no. Beg. Go on.”

“Please. Fuck me”, he whines.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

You climb his lap, running your hands up his torso until you can intertwine fingers with him. “Ready?”

“Just be with me already. I just wanna- oh”, he sits up and grasps your waist, moaning into your mouth.

Yes, you just sat down on him. His reaction will forever be burned into your mind.

“___”, he breathes, voice barely wanting to work.

“Hoseok”, you get out breathily, rubbing your nose against his’.

“Baby”, he sighs, cradling your head as if all he ever wanted to do was hold you. “Are you comfortable?” he asks in a shaky whisper.

“So comfortable. You?” You begin dancing your hips on his cock, using the sensual rhythm of the music to guide you.

Hoseok mewls, tilting his head until he can kiss you. With tongue. So needily, it feels as if he was starving. You pick up speed, pressing yourself close so your clit is rubbing against his stomach. His skin is so smooth and soft. The sensation is so, so nice against your clit.

It doesn’t take Hoseok long to break the kiss. He gawks at you, eyes glowing ruby and pupils blown out. Seriously if they could be heart shaped, they would be.

“Is this healthy? Am I supposed to feel like this?”

“You are. Just look at me, Hoseok baby, just a few more minutes”, you coo and let your eyes glow purple.

“___”, he mewls, pulling a face of agony. He tugs you closer, resting his forehead against yours. Your visions are blurry but you still keep looking at each other.

“That’s it, baby. Look at me. You’re so good, feeling like heaven.”

“I just wanna cum”, he whines, following it up with a barely there “please.”

Please.

What a pretty little word.

So short and yet so powerful.

You push him down and keep him pinned with your right hand on his throat and your left hand around his wrist.

Hoseok is disoriented for a second and completely loses his grip on reality when a second later you pick up a punishing pace, bouncing on him as if he had a debt to pay.

Hoseok doesn’t scream during sex, neither does he whimper. No matter how good it feels, those two sounds won’t leave him.

Until right now as you make him break the second rule.

He whimpers. He whimpers oh so loudly because he couldn’t handle it any other way.

And he begs. Oh he begs so much, only making you bounce harder and fuck him faster.

Hoseok’s toes curl because of you. His vision goes blurry and a little darker. All he can think about are orgasms. How good it would feel, how edging never ached as much, how you literally have him feeling small and needy.

“Please. Please. Please.”

“Just keeping begging. You’ve still got some time left.”

“Please. Please ___ please.”

Hoseok sobs, face contorting in agony and hands grasping your wrist.

“Please”, he pleads, “please slow down or something. Please.”

“You’re just so perfect, baby. You’ve got the best cock.”

“Please, my head hurts. Please.”

“You know which word to use to stop this.”

He shakes his head because he doesn’t want to Stop it, he just wants to stop aching in denial.

“Just let me cum. Please.”

“Soon. So soon.”

Hoseok whimpers and sobs, arching his back and curling his tongue back in his open mouth.

So this is how it feels. Hoseok never felt so helpless before. One must know that this is genuinely intense. He is constantly – constantly – one second away from climaxing. And this might sound like a dream at first, but it is agony. To desperately want to get there, to actually taste the relief and yet never actually get to savour it. Hoseok finally knows true desperation and it literally makes him cry. He cries real tears, voice quivering as he begs.

“Please, I’m sorry. Please.”

He has no idea that he is twenty seconds away from paradise. You tense around him, fucking him as if he needs punishing.

“Please. I’ll do anything.” Even Korean won’t get him there. He is at your mercy.

“You’re so cute, Hobi.”

“Please. PLEASE.”

The alarm goes off. He is finally one year older.

You lean down and kiss your birthday boy’s forehead, lifting the spell with it.

“Happy birthday”, you bring him over the edge like this.

And Hoseok screams. Just by being you, you make him break his first rule.

Hoseok screams, grasping your ass to keep you down as he drills his cock into you. It makes you squeal with him, eyes rolled back and body building up to a high. He can’t stop himself. He feels like a fucking animal and he needs to fuck like one before you take it away again. He can’t lose it. He needs to pound you stupid so you can’t steal his orgasms again.

He hits all the best spots and his cum is never ending. This is your personal heaven.

“I can’t stop. I can’t. Ah ___”, he sobs desperately, filling you with his high over and over again. “I can’t stop cumming, what the fuck baby. Ah!”

“Hobi, I’m cumming too.”

He moans your name as if you were his goddess, following you because, god, you have him worked up. He fucks harder for it, spreading your ass because he grips you with such neediness. It’s perfect because it gives your pussy enough space to squirt all over his cock and thighs.

“Kiss me. Fucking hell, kiss me as you squirt.”

You sloppily fulfill his wish, convulsing so much harder because of his needy tongue kisses.

You and he ride on your ecstatic highs like this. Tongue kissing, moaning and sobbing and getting messy.

You have no idea who comes down first, but you know that it takes a while.

Hoseok isn’t a Ripper, but he is still frozen after the high. You wrestle yourself up as best as your weakened body allows it, studying him. His eyes are closed, his brows furrowed and messy hair sticks to his sweaty forehead. His cheeks and lashes are soaked in his tears. His lips are puffy and red because of the kisses. He is so handsome.

You brush his hair back. Hoseok opens his eyes, spilling tears which couldn’t escape yet. You wipe them, following it up with a kiss to his forehead.

“Happy birthday.”

“I don’t know what to say”, he croaks.

“Say nothing”, you whisper and kiss his cheeks. They’re so soft.

“It was fucking amazing. I can’t believe this happened to me. I screamed.”

“You did.”

“I never scream.”

“So I guess you liked it?”

“Liked? I loved it, what the fuck”, he sits up and cups your face, staring at you as if you were his everything, “I don’t know what to do with the memory of you this night created. You just changed me. I-I’m, like, enchanted by you.”

You snicker, resting your forehead against his’.

“Same.” You melt. “I feel done. You made me squirt really hard.”

“I know. Fuck, come here you”, he lifts you so he can change positions. Sadly his softening cock slips out like this, but his thigh against your pussy stops you from leaking. 

He has you on your side, kissing you slowly and touching you gently.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you”, he murmurs between kisses, which really makes this so much more special.

Soon the kiss has to break for the sake of cleaning up. You and he even change the sheets together and get some water to drink.

Now you are facing each other, sharing silence and nothing but the shine of his bedside lamp. You are dressed again, bodies covered under his fluffy duvet. He traces your features gently. His lips are curled into a faint smile.

“You seem happy”, you whisper, barely wanting to keep your eyes open. He makes you feel so relaxed and sleepy.

“I am. I’m so happy.”

“Happiness looks so pretty on you.”

He smiles, eyes softening.

“You are pretty”, he whispers and kisses your forehead.

You close your eyes and can’t open them again. Even when he pulls back and continues to trace your face.

“I genuinely think that this was the best birthday ever.”

“It hasn’t even been an hour yet. Just you wait until you taste Yoongi’s birthday dinner. There’s even cake.”

He chuckles, “fuck, I can’t believe you made me go into my birthday by having an orgasm.”

“Mh-hm, the kind which made you scream.”

He nudges you, “shut up.”

You smile.

Hoseok draws close, holding you in his arms and closing his eyes.

“You’re crazy and I love it.”

You snicker, melting into him, “thank you.”

“No. Thank you. So much.”

“Don’t. You deserved it. You deserve the world.”

“Shit, ___. You’re the one who deserves it”, he whispers and squeezes you gently.

“Just take it, Hobi.”

He chuckles, snuggling.

“Fine, whatever you say.”

“Mhm, good.”

You and he fall asleep like this. And it is needless to say that Hoseok is thoroughly and very happily surprised by the party. He deserves it. Because he deserves everything.

[macsimagines]

I love your scenarios and hcs, I'm especially obsessed with the ones where the yanderes experience intense regret for (parts of) what they've done, like the cheating hcs for Kisaki and Ran or that excellent one of Mikey with an insecure darling who tries to leave him. Ough, the anguish, the regret, it's everything. So can I ask for maybe some headcanons for yandere Rindou, Inui, and Mitsuya who have achieved their dreams of being with their darlings but it's not all they made it out to be - one way or another, they've broken their darlings, and now they find that they don't like it at all. Thank you so much!

I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THE DELAY

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, PHYSICAL ABUSE, MURDER, SUICIDE, KIDNAPPING, AND POSESSIVE BEHAVIOR

Rindou Haitani

He regretted it the moment he brought you back to his place. Thankfully his brother and him shared the pent house suite of a large luxury building and had plenty of room and privacy. Still, watching you throw things at him and cry about how much you hate him is basically torture.

At first when you quieted down and stopped with all the dramatics he was relieved. Maybe you were starting to get used to your environment?

No you were plotting an escape attempt and lulling him into a false sense of security. And you try again. And again. And Again. And fucking again. Until finally he took his brother's advice...

"I don't want to do this," He whispered in your ear as his grip on your limbs tightened, "It's just... I have to keep you from leaving..."

SNAP! Goes your legs. Don't worry he'll feed you and help you do everything you need to do. He'll even help with physical therapy! When he decides he can trust you enough to not run.

You're quieter now. Sure, you flinch any time his hands get near you and you're suddenly a shaking mess whenever he walks in the room. It's just nerves though. You'll get better, right?

Ran has to come over to help keep him together. It's honestly a disturbing sight to behold. Watching Rindou brush his S/O's frail hair, helping her get dressed and feed her. It's like he's playing with a doll...

"It's ok, baby. You're just... sick. That's all. You're just sick and I'm going to make you better again."

Inui Seishu

You're a childhood friend he's adored ever since you moved in next door. After the fire though, you stayed in touch. Or at least you tried. You called, you wrote letters you even tried going through Koko, but he just kept you at distance.

Years passed, he fell in with a bad crowd and you tried to move on. But you never really forgot your friend... Which is why when you ran into him, gang uniform and all you just smiled and tried to talk to him like he was the same kid you grew up with.

And Inui feels everything he felt for you and tried to push down rushing back up. You're so warm and kind. He wants that for himself. No he needs it.

Which is why when he's dragging you back to his place and locking you chain and all to his bed he's sure you'll understand. Inui has needed you so badly, and he's been so alone and suffering. You'll make it better though right?

But it was like the very air around you was poison. He's watching you slowly start to fade and wither. Your complexion is terrible, you won't take a brush to your hair, getting you to fucking eat is a fight.

It slowly starts to drive him insane. What happened to the woman that danced all night with him? Where is his love that would laugh and smile at him? When was the last time he actually heard your voice?

Inui is convinced you're some kind of imposter. You couldn't possibly be the same girl he loved all these years.

With rough hands wrapping around a delicate neck and squeezing so tightly he whispers; "I don't need a fucking fake to love."

Mitsuya Takashi

OOF. Taking you was a challenge. It was only because you refused to marry him... "I've got my whole life ahead of me. You're just starting out on your career. Now just isn't a good time." But Mitsuya wasn't going to wait a second longer to be with you forever.

He knew you'd fight him, but you're not strong as he is. And honestly, your escape attempts are pretty much thwarted every time. He's smarter than you.

Its... Impossible to get away from him... And eventually you loose all hope. But it's ok. You'll hang in there. When he finds you, limp and dangling from the ceiling fan he doesn't believe that you're gone.

When you left you took whatever sanity he had left. Because he keeps you. Your corpse. He's crafty and resourceful so stuffing and embalming you is easy work. And he makes sure his favorite doll is only dressed in his finest works.

"How about this, darling? I think the pastels go lovely with your new complexion. Don't worry about your stitching either. I'll make sure you don't break apart again."

[atopvisenyashill]

here's my rant about condal & hess introducing a few prophecies but it amounts to "oh my god shut up you guys are so fucking dumb" as usual.

i think it's especially frustrating because the number one issue people tend to have is that it "absolves" dany, rhaenyra, & aegon the conquerer of the damage they do and i think that's a really surface level and stupid reading on it and i don't understand it even a little. but then you get into the "the show favors team black" a) no it doesn't b) i'm sorry that it upsets so many people that the show refuses to shy away from the fact that misogyny does in fact play a huge factor in how the dance shakes out but that is simply a fact in both the book and the show. rhaenyra is usurped because of her gender. this doesn't mean the show is absolving her of any and all responsibility for any bad thing she does - in fact the show is not actually doing that at all! it's not! you made that up in your head! stop getting mad about the show in your head!!!!

what the show actually does is show us that this prophecy gets rhaenyra's mother killed and drives an insurmountable wedge between her and her oldest child and heir. it's not going anywhere positive and also she gets eaten at the end. we're not gearing up for a happy ending here and i think the constant handwringing about how "well condal is justifying her actions" well no? the show is pretty goddamn explicit that rhaenyra is doing a bad job handling jace, just like viserys did a bad job handling her, specifically because of the prophecy.

Gorghan of Old Ghis once wrote that a prophecy is like a treacherous woman. She takes your member in her mouth, and you moan with the pleasure of it and think, how sweet, how fine, how good this is . . . and then her teeth snap shut and your moans turn to screams. That is the nature of prophecy, said Gorghan. Prophecy will bite your prick off every time.

that quote is exactly what they're exploring in the show. it's not a bad thing!!! it's not "justifying" anything. the show literally starts with the line "the only thing that could tear down the house of hte dragon was itself" it's literally just explaining how they tore themselves down!!!

beyond that, there's all the "well daemon saw dany and that means she's the prince but she's actually the bad guy and and" take a fucking breath jfc. we have no idea how daemon is going to react to seeing the vision, first of all. but second of all...we also have no confirmation that the prince that was promised is, ya know, a HEROIC FIGURE. again, the main show literally ends with dany exploding king's landing - seems to imply this prophecy is more of an omen than a "here's the road map to be a good guy."

It was Dalla who answered him, Dalla great with child, lying on her pile of furs beside the brazier. "We free folk know things you kneelers have forgotten. Sometimes the short road is not the safest, Jon Snow. The Horned Lord once said that sorcery is a sword without a hilt. There is no safe way to grasp it."

Again...this is the concept they're exploring. It doesn't justify anything, it is simply taking book ideas and exploring them through the dance.

[moxogeni]

>what exactly is preventing your society from arranging itself into a feudal society just as existed the last time humanity lived in pre-industrial conditions? The goal of my political project is about minimizing coercion. I have attempted to do this by creating material conditions in which people have little leverage over others, and social/political conditions which are free of spooks. When individuals aren't dependent on each other, then the conditions under which hierarchy develops do not arise.

>Collective, industrial labor can protect you from starvation a lot better than individual "primitive" labor can, and so I feel any "humiliation" one may experience by having to work alongside other people towards a collective goal is offset by the benefits of collectivization. Collectivization necessitates the atomization and negligibility of the individual, but I think we'd just have to agree to disagree on this one, since it's a matter of preference between an easy, less free life and a harder, freer life.

>My first disagreement is that Kaczynski (and you by extension) routinely conflate industrial technology with the social system of capitalism and thus assume that there exists a unique "industrial society" separate from capitalism that is responsible for all modern socio-psychological ills, and so if we were to abandon capitalism but retain industrial technology, then these socio-psychological ills would remain despite our best efforts. As a former leftist myself, the reason I left is because I read ISAIF, which laid out those problems which are inherent to Industrialism, regardless of the system that runs it. Nobody is saying that if we were to get rid of capitalism, life would not be better. In many ways it would. But the point of Neo-Luddism are those problems which no system can solve, the inherent aspects of Industrialism.

>My second disagreement is with Kaczynski's concept of the "power process", which his ideas of "surrogate activities" and his conception of autonomy come from. He is quite frankly just extrapolating his own experience as a middle-class white man living in the US to be a universal experience, and his own particular complexes with regards to individual power and autonomy as necessary for the human psyche with a "biological basis". This is the U.S. population by race and income. Obviously what Kaczynski wrote about was mostly applicable to the middle-class, because that's what a majority of people are.

https://www.pewresearch.org/race-and-ethnicity/2024/05/31/the-state-of-the-american-middle-class/

Kaczynski's analysis is irrelevant to his race, and is completely relevant to his material conditions, so I don't know why you added "white" into there. Anyway, basically all philosophy is extrapolating off your own personal experiences, and It'd be hard to find a psychological blueprint of the self that did not do this to some degree. Kaczynski himself admitted that his manifesto was a very rough sketch of his ideas, but I would say that a need for autonomy and work are at least to some degree prevalent amongst the population. I, myself, do not agree with the idea that every human being follows this psychological model, but it is applicable to most.

>If I were to give him the greatest benefit of the doubt, I would say that what he is describing is in actuality the alienation of capitalist society. However, where Kaczynski inverts the Marxist conception of alienation is in presupposing that the pursuit of one's means of subsistence as an individual in the wilderness is inherently less alienating than industrial labor. He doesn't "presuppose" it; he spends most of the manifesto explaining why he feels that way.

>In any case, the Unabomber's manifesto is a thoroughly reactionary work that decries the modern decline in "traditional values", explicitly proclaiming racial and gender equality and LGBT rights to be socially negative. Kaczynski doesn't "decry" the decline of traditionalism. He outright mocks those who do, saying conservatives "whine about the decay of traditional values". What he does do is say that this decline in traditional values instead represents decline of small-scale social groups. I would disagree with Kaczynski on this front: Industrialism does not necessarily degrade social groups (Communism is a good example of the maintenance of these smaller groups). I think that you're speaking of his hatred of leftism. Yes, he does spend a good part of the manifesto spewing mostly unjustified nonsense about leftists, but he makes sure to explicitly say that he is not against their inherent ideas (he says abuse of women is a bad thing), just the psychological profile of leftism, saying "We do not mean to suggest that women, Indians, etc. are inferior; we are only making a point about leftist psychology." Kaczynski does however state some socially right-wing things, which I disagree with him on. He implies that transgenderism is a bad thing, which I would wholeheartedly disagree with (I am, in fact, transgender).

>He mythologizes the US settler colonial frontier lifestyle, treating it as an example of the type of society he thinks is ideal while ignoring the fact that these settlers were dependent on both the "collectivist" indigenous nations and the industrial cities they left behind for their survival. Kaczynski's accolades of the frontier lifestyle are based on his analysis of their material conditions, rather than their political ones. Futhermore, I wouldn't say that they were "dependent" on an Industrialized society. They lived mostly self-sufficient lives. Even if they were, he mostly uses it to point out how autonomy in labor leads to greater freedom and a satisfaction of the power process.

>He harps on about how we must only organize into "SMALL" groups of six people or less to preserve individual freedom and autonomy [...] despite the fact that humans routinely organize themselves into groups of hundreds of people within contemporary hunter-gatherer societies. "In those days an entire county might have only a couple of hundred inhabitants and was a far more isolated and autonomous entity than a modern county is. Hence the pioneer farmer participated as a member of a relatively small group in the creation of a new, ordered community. One may well question whether the creation of this community was an improvement, but at any rate it satisfied the pioneer’s need for the power process." Here, Kaczynski, while leaving the question of the group's creation up for the reader's discretion, does say that a group of a few hundred people could serve the need for the power process, and by extension, it is a satisfactory social arrangement. He does not "harp on" about "six people or less", he doesn't mention that at all.

>Kaczynski was an ignorant and bigoted man who thought he knew what was best for everyone else and murdered innocent people to make a statement. Besides the ad hominem, it's interesting to see you decry Kaczynski's killings despite supporting Lenin's revolution, which killed far more people. At any rate, all political philosophers more or less think they know what's best for everyone else, that's why they write: to improve the world.

>I would not agree that death is preferable. Explain why my reasoning is faulty.

>Kaczynski himself admits that what he calls surrogate activities are not universally unsatisfying. He asserts that either "many" or "most" people are unsatisfied, but he does not go so far as to say that all people are. I was generalizing, but wouldn't it be best to work toward a society where most people are satisfied (from a moralist perspective at least).

>then I say we can set aside some plot of land sufficient enough for however many people who want to live this lifestyle. If they decide to stay, then they can. If they don't, then they can come back. This is a very good segue into another problem I have with Industrialism: sustainability. No matter how conservatively you allocate resources, eventually, the mines will dry up, and the pastures will become infertile. There simply isn't a way to get around that Industrialism is built on the idea that there will always be replacement parts. Sometimes, you just have to throw things away. When enough stuff gets thrown away, we run out of resources, and the system will collapse. When this happens, the population will be so bloated and so many people will be alive that the consequences will be disastrous, far worse than if we simply dismantled or destroyed the system right now. The organized and industrialized agriculture would collapse, and when this happens there will be a famine unlike the world has ever seen. It is better to get rid of it now than later.

>But you arbitrarily declare the pride one feels from collective achievement to be the result of a "surrogate activity" and thus inherently lesser than individual achievement. The original point I was making was that you were alienated from the objects you used on a day-to-day basis. You did not create any of them, you were given them in exchange for your labor in a (usually) completely unrelated task relative to that thing's production. When you asked why that mattered, I said that when you used something you had made, you feel proud and good about it and yourself.

>Kaczynski did not make a distinction between individual and collective activities when defining his surrogate activity, his distinction was between whether or not the goal satisfied one's physical needs Not the definition of surrogate activity. This is: "Given a person who devotes much time and energy to the pursuit of goal X, ask yourself this: If he had to devote most of his time and energy to satisfying his biological needs, and if that effort required him to use his physical and mental faculties in a varied and interesting way, would he feel seriously deprived because he did not attain goal X? If the answer is no, then the person’s pursuit of goal X is a surrogate activity".

>I don't believe that activities that do not contribute to satisfying one's physical needs are "decadent" (in Kaczynski's words) or otherwise mentally harmful to the individual. You misunderstand the definition of surrogate activity, which is defined in the paragraph above. You said yourself that Kaczynski did not think that all non-subsistence activities are surrogate.

>That one can imagine a thing does not mean that thing can exist in the real world. By "imagine" I meant that such a social order could exist, obviously. You can "imagine" anything.

>And I'm perfectly fine with people who think like you being free to live in the wilderness as autonomously as you want, so long as you aren't hurting anyone else. (Bold and italics mine) That's where we have a disagreement: should a government be allowed to stop me from hurting others, from exercising my freedom without restriction?

>But why wouldn't more people specialize? I'm not saying that they wouldn't or that it'd be inherently bad. It's entirely possible everyone might have some kind of specialization (placed on top of their basic skills).

>How do you think we got to where we are today? Are the anarcho-primitivist egoists going to form a special order and go around burning down farms and pastures every time someone tries to re-invent agriculture? It's absurd to think that everyone will just abandon farming out of their own free will. Hunter-gatherers actually had a more varied and healthy diet than their farming counterparts*. I'd say it's absurd to think that everyone will just abandon hunter-gathering out of their own free will. Given that people did, in fact, abandon hunter-gatherer lifestyles in exchange for farming, I'd like to clarify. The level of technological order I propose would make living a quasi-primitive lifestyle much more consistent and easier than a primitive society (I'm not an anprim). I don't even think that practicing agriculture is inherently bad, it just tends to lead to coercive social arrangements that can be avoided via self-sufficient hunter-gatherer lifestyles

*https://www.pnas.org/doi/full/10.1073/pnas.2106743119

>What is the mechanism through which your egoist anarcho-primitivist society could be achieved The question of revolution is an important one. Personally, I'm a fan of "shadow cell" organization and direct-action. The first step to revolution is mass-radicalization. This will be easier in the coming years as everything goes to shit under the Trump Administration.

>what is the mechanism through which it would be maintained? Self-sufficency: the ability to eliminate coercion of dependence.

alright.

I'll start with Lenin first, then move to Marx. Lenin was an autocrat and a dictator. There's no way around it. He was unelected and created a one-party state. This was due to the fact that the revolution was led by a vanguard, which the members of, once they succeeded in overthrowing the old government, could easily set up a self-serving dictatorship. He's not a Marxist, and he's not a Socialist.

Since Lenin obviously did not in any way uphold the vision of Marx, I'll tackle him separately. A (stateless) communist society does eliminate many hierarchies, but leaves the most coercive systems untouched. Those being: the hierarchy of the collective over the individual and that coercion required of industrialism. In a commune, one's individual vote is negligible, since the outcome is only affected by one person's vote in very rare circumstances. Once the votes are tallied, the individual is expected to conform to the decisions of the majority, and to accept the commune's laws and customs. This leads to the individual becoming feeling helpless and weak.

Secondly, Marxism fails to address the coercion required to make an industrial society function. In order to have products, you must have a payroll of workers to stand where they are told to stand and do what they are told to do and go home and show up to work when they are told to do it. Instead of working towards goals that are immediate, which directly affect one's condition (such as building a house to live in), one must do a task or set of tasks that ultimately has little to do directly with one's own material well-being. Instead, the hyperspecialized work required in an industrial society is made livable indirectly via trade. This leads to a dependence on the industrial system as a whole, which requires a massive amount of cohesion to function.

Humans are no longer permitted to act autonomously since doing so would be a hindrance to the system. Behaviors which are not conducive to the system are disallowed, but all unimportant facets of our life which do not interfere with the functioning of the system are permitted to grow within said limits.

Lenin was elected as Chairman of the Council of People's Commissars by the Congress of Soviets a total of nine times before his death. His position was not one elected by the people directly, but rather he was elected by the congressional representatives of the soviets who were themselves elected by the people. You can argue that his position should have been directly elected if you want, but you cannot say he was unelected. Regardless, while the Chairman of the CPC was the head of government of the RSFSR, and later the Soviet Union, the CPC was not a one-person council and the council as a whole was subordinate to the Central Executive Committee, which was in turn subordinate to the Congress of Soviets. Lenin was not an autocrat or a dictator; he did not hold sole legal authority and the Soviet government had numerous checks and balances.

I see no reason to believe a vanguard party or a one-party state is undemocratic. The USSR was a dictatorship, but not a dictatorship of one person. It was a dictatorship of the proletariat, as the bourgeoisie were stripped of the right to vote and to be elected. You can object to this if you like, but I personally don't think that was a bad decision.

You seem to be arguing that Lenin was neither Marxist nor socialist because the nascent Soviet Union was not yet classless or stateless. Yet why should it have been expected to be? Communism is not something that can be achieved overnight, or even in one generation. In the meantime, there must be some mechanism for suppressing and overthrowing the bourgeoisie. No matter how democratic, how horizontal, and how people-oriented that mechanism is, it still constitutes a state insofar as it constitutes an organ for the oppression of one class by another. Unless you are arguing that the rights of the bourgeoisie should be maintained and protected, you cannot escape this fact.

At the point of achieving a stateless, classless communist society, I don't see why decision-making would necessarily be performed through simple majority vote. While it's rather pointless in my mind to be speculating about how a hypothetical communist society of the future might function, I think it's safe to say they'd be far more capable of exploring alternative forms of decision-making than we are now. In any case, the question of how a future communist society might function is entirely separate from questions of past and present systems of government.

You are right to point out that the industrial mode of production requires collective and specialized activity in order to function, but I fail to see what the alternative is. Humans are a social animal, our production has always been collective and we have always benefited from specialization in labor. The advancement in industry has made possible a reduction in socially necessary labor time, not an increase. It is capitalism and the profit motive that has mandated long hours and low autonomy in the workplace, not industry itself.

People are not inherently stupid or self-centered. They can understand very well the relationship between one sector of industry and another. You do not need to be building a house to understand how, for instance, the nails you are manufacturing will be used to build houses and other goods. You do not need to be manufacturing nails to understand how the iron you are mining will be used to make nails and other goods. The idea that it is alienating to be engaged in a task that is socially beneficial rather than merely individually beneficial is absurd.

You talk about social cohesion as if it is impossible or undesirable. But again, what is the alternative? An incoherent, fragmented society? No society at all, and people just fend for themselves as individuals? I fail to see how anything less than social cohesion is desirable.

You say that industrial society is coercive and prevents people from acting autonomously. I say, what does it mean to act autonomously? Humans must satisfy our basic needs before we can think about engaging in autonomous activity. If you are starving, you are compelled to seek food. If you are freezing, you are compelled to seek shelter. Individual freedom is subordinate to our material conditions, and only through improving our material conditions can we satisfy our basic needs and guarantee individual freedom.

If we are to have a society where the individual freedoms of everyone are maximized, then we must have a society which guarantees everyone their basic needs. Food, shelter, clothing, medicine, education, transportation, communication, etc. All of these must be secured before a person has full freedom to act autonomously. Improving the quality of these things and the efficiency of their production improves the standard of living and reduces socially necessary labor time, which allows for greater degrees of freedom.

You say behaviors which are not conducive to the system are disallowed. I do not necessarily disagree, but I feel you are intentionally obscuring the nature of such behaviors. What is “the system” here? The system is society. So a behavior not conducive to society is an anti-social behavior, a behavior that impedes or harms other members of society. Why should these behaviors be allowed? Is it maximizing autonomy and freedom to allow someone to steal or rape or murder with impunity? No, it is merely trading someone else's freedom and autonomy for your own.

You can certainly maximize your own freedom and autonomy at the expense of others, but if we are to live in a society where the freedom and autonomy of everyone is to be maximized, then there must be certain limits to individual behavior for the sake of others. Maybe someday humanity will evolve to a state where one can live in their own private world with maximum freedom to do as they please without worrying about impacting others, but until that day we will have to live in a society with other people and the social restrictions that come with that. Personally, I don't think it's such a burden to have to care about other people.

Society as it stands today is indeed imperfect and often oppressive. Socialist states in the past and present have yet to achieve the classlessness and statelessness that marks higher-stage socialism, i.e. communism. They too are imperfect and have restricted people's behavior in various ways, some I would argue are necessary, and some I would argue are unnecessary. However, I believe that socialism offers us the greatest opportunity to improve society as a whole and liberate humanity from oppressive structures. I believe that capitalism remains the central impediment to the advancement of society and the pursuit of human freedom. I believe that a vanguard party and a dictatorship of the proletariat have been the most effective means of combating the bourgeoisie so far. And I believe that the advancement of science and industry has been the most effective means of securing and improving the basic needs of the people as a whole.

My question to you remains: what is the alternative? You can criticize all you want, and thoughtful and rational critique of all things is both important and beneficial, but unless you have an alternative to socialist revolution and industrial society, then you're just throwing the baby out with the bathwater. How are we to combat the bourgeoisie without a vanguard or a state? How are we to provide people with their basic needs without industrial production?

[0798f]

💞 — Insomnia.

RELATIONSHIP: Oikawa Toru x Reader

SUMMARY: Oikawa rescues you from exhaustion with cuddles and kisses. 

A/N: I was very tired when I wrote this. Enjoy Oikawa fluff!

“Oikawa-san?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

It took a few seconds for (Name) to react to his response. They sat up, raising from their slouched posture to look at Oikawa with wide eyes. “Huh? No?”

Oikawa pouted. It was an expression he wore often, from the most minor of inconveniences to the greatest tragedies. “You called me Oikawa again.”

This likely fell under great tragedy in his mind. It had taken weeks of coaxing for (Name) to finally feel comfortable calling him by his given name. They exhausted every excuse not to before finally giving in to Oikawa’s borderline begging and pleading. ‘Toru-san’ just sounded too adorable in (Name)’s voice to pass up on.

(Name)’s relief at his rather petty concern did little to ease the pressure on their shoulders. Their breath came out as a shaky laugh, “Oh. Sorry, old habits die hard... Toru-san.”

The roof of Aoba Johsai was silent outside of the two of them and the new spring breeze that was settling into the season. Oikawa rarely came up here before meeting (Name); he always ate lunch with his fellow third years on the volleyball team, but there were days (Name) couldn’t join in. Days where (Name) felt so worn down by life that they struggled to keep up with so many people. Days where they wore an insecure smile that hid nothing from Oikawa’s prying eyes.

That was why they were there in the first place. He cheerfully greeted (Name) in the morning like he always did, a routine that was teased relentlessly by Iwaizumi, only for them to walk past him without so much as a glance. A mortified Oikawa had to be dragged by the collar by Iwaizumi to (Name)’s locker. They were still switching their shoes when Oikawa tried the greeting for a second time, much more subdued than the first, “(Name)-chan?”

(Name)’s body flinched at the sound of their name being called. They looked up, startled by the two boys’ presence at their locker. “Ah— G- Good morning!”

They smiled, but all Oikawa noticed were the bags under their eyes and the slight quiver in their voice.

Oikawa knew his precious (Name)-chan better than anyone— (Name) told him as much. No one had ever looked closer at their quiet demeanor before him. Where others had seen a person too shy to speak— maybe they’d even call them boring— Oikawa had found the sweetest and most thoughtful person he had ever met.

It was no big deal for him to eat lunch alone with (Name) on the roof. He was already grateful enough that (Name) had befriended Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Makki— they could survive a day (they’d probably say they’d enjoy it, just to be cruel to Oikawa) without Oikawa if (Name) was having a difficult time.

He leaned over to cradle (Name)’s face in his hands. “A habit when you’re nervous. What’s wrong?”

(Name)’s eyes shut close as they settled into Oikawa’s touch. For the first time that day, they looked relaxed, so Oikawa accepted the silence that followed his question. Though, they’re still for long enough for Oikawa to worry that they might have passed away, so he pinched their cheek.

He thought the way their face scrunched up was cute. They opened their eyes again blearily, mumbling, “... do you have practice today?”

“No, why?”

(Name) moved from Oikawa’s hands to lean their head on his shoulder. He put an arm around them and pulled them closer. “I got no sleep last night.”

“Zero?”

“Zero.”

That was his hunch, honestly, after seeing the bags under their eyes darken throughout the week. (Name) was sluggish by nature, which made it easy to distinguish between when they were just being shy and when they were actually tired. Oikawa was planning to ask them about their sleeping habits, but (Name) brought it up first.

He pressed a kiss to the top of (Name)’s head. “My poor partner! No wonder you looked so tired this morning!” (Name) was practically limp in his arms as he squeezed their body. “Do you want me to come over and nap with you?”

(Name) was fighting not to drift away into dreamland before they could finish the rest of the school day, but Oikawa’s touch was warm and comfortable. “Mhm. Could we get dinner first? If I sleep as soon as I get home, my sleep schedule will get even worse.”

“‘Course! We can get your favorite, too,” Oikawa nodded. His heart skipped a beat at the way (Name) smiled against his shoulder. “Any reason in particular you couldn’t get to sleep?”

There was a movement against his shoulder that could be interpreted as a shrug. “I dunno… I just couldn’t. I haven’t been getting much sleep lately.”

Again, his hunch confirmed. Oikawa felt bad he didn’t ask about it sooner, but there was a lot on his mind. As much as he loved (Name) for having the patience of a saint, there was a part of him that wished they’d be more selfish sometimes. (Name) asking for this on their own was already plenty, though, so he couldn’t complain.

“You must be losing sleep thinking about me, I’m sure.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re tired, so I’ll forgive you, but you should try playing along for once!”

(Name) had a small room. Half of it was taken up by their desk, and the other half was taken up by their futon. It was crowded for two people to be in there at the same time, but they found it cozy when the other person was their boyfriend.

Oikawa had been in (Name)’s room enough times to be comfortable. He was laying on their futon, waiting for (Name) to change into their pajamas and crawl in next to him. A well-loved plushy he got them for their birthday last year was next to him, and he couldn’t help but revel in the thought of his (Name)-chan cuddling it every night to fall asleep.

But then he realized the plushy was no longer doing its job adequately, and threw it across the room— just as (Name) walked back in. Their reaction time vanished with their sleep and the plushy bounced off their stomach and onto the floor. “W- Why?”

Oikawa felt bad, but the laugh that escaped his lips said otherwise. “Sorry, (Name)-chan! I was banishing it because it wasn’t helping you sleep!”

(Name) picked up the plushy off the ground and hugged it close to their chest. “Don’t be mean. You got it for me and it usually works great.”

When Oikawa pouted, (Name) could predict exactly what he was going to say— he wore his heart on his sleeve so much that (Name) wondered how anyone could think he was hard to read. “Well, you don’t need it tonight. I’m here!” he opened his arms and beckoned (Name) towards him. Smiling, they carefully set the plushy down on their desk and rolled onto their futon.

Initially, when Oikawa pulled the blanket over them, (Name) had their back to Oikawa, so he was pleasantly surprised when (Name) turned over to face him. Oikawa wrapped his arms around them, pulling them into his chest for a hug.

“Sleepy?” Oikawa used his free hand to brush hair from (Name)’s face. They nodded, nuzzling into his arm. “Good! I almost thought you were going to pass out at the restaurant.”

At school, (Name) was exhausted. not sleepy, just exhausted and running on fumes. Sleep seemed impossible at the time— until Oikawa took them into his arms and held them close. He was a great king on the court, a menace to every team in Miyagi, but to (Name), he was all that and more. A sickly affectionate boyfriend with no concept of personal space, who would drop everything just to make sure (Name) was happy.

Even if (Name) didn’t believe they deserved him, Oikawa refused to let them think that way. They weren’t good at expressing themselves, not even a little, but Oikawa knew how to read between the lines and extrapolate. Eyes fluttering shut, (Name) mumbled against his arm, “thank you, Toru.”

It was like music to his ears; like he heard his name for the first time again. He leaned down to kiss them, and he could tell they were still clinging onto consciousness from the way they smiled against his lips.

Oikawa gave one last kiss to the top of their head before closing his eyes and burying his face against their hair.

“Anything for you, (Name)-chan.”

masterlists.

[unvrsoflyly]

i saw a tiktok that made me think of modern au till and it can't get out of my mind... so here's some ramdom small hcs :)

content - fluff, gn reader, might be ooc since it’s first time im actually writing for him, till being a sweetheart cause he is idc, established relationship-ish, lowercase intended!! english is not my first language and it isn't proof read, so there might be some mistakes

note - hellooo, wow i wrote smth after a year! till is my current obsession (thanks to all the writers who post till x reader content, don’t stop u feed my obsession lmao), im sorry y’all i felt like sharing my impressions on how he would be with his partner lol, enjoy!!

modern au till who would find himself drawing with you in his mind constantly. it doesn't need to be a portrait, you fuel his creative mind so there's always some pieces of you spread on his artworks.

modern au till who would always pour all is love into songs dedicated to you. his ability to turn his feelings onto lyrics and melodies became a second nature with time. it still amazed you how clear his intentions were while writing it.

modern au till who shares his art as a way to share his feelings better. they are always more clear since his mouth and his emotions always fighting with each other to express himself.

modern au till who would make a ring out of one of his used guitar strings after you gave him an crafted charm to put anywhere. you passed your time to make something reminding him of you? well, he’ll dedicate you his hours of practice and writing with his guitar by putting it around one of your fingers.

modern au till who would always turn bright red if anyone points out the charm attached to his phone, the one you made. he becomes helpless out of his artistic bubble and don’t know how to handle the slight teasing. what could he do? he loved you after all.

modern au till who might not be the most straightforward and public about his relationship with you just because he’s more comfortable in his privacy and you bet you are a part of it. grand gestures are not his forte, but he still show you his love in his own genuine way that feel so personal.

thank u for reading!! - all right reserved, please ask before reposting somewhere or doing a traduction.

! art and character are not mine, credit goes to vivinos/qmeng

[mobagehelllocal]

“chain ‘round my neck”

a/n: my wrist won’t let me draw :c but my delusions never end ! bye dont mind that i wrote this ages ago this is inspired by these stupid 22000 yen necklaces. (it is pictured below)

this is dedicated to @hanafubukki my favourite person ever.

warning: possible outdated characterisations (im sorry :c), possible delusional characterisations (im NOT sorry)

when you wonder how you got into this situation, you’ll think back to that one lunch break where you bet ace trappola that he could never plan “the perfect date”.

how unfortunate for you that he took that as a personal insult.

now, here you are: having lost said bet. and by the looks of that insufferable, cocky grin that curled his lips, he knew it too.

the idea of a perfect date was entirely subjective to the people involved in said date. and trappola had not wasted a single moment he had spent with you, to craft something so magical and utterly destructive for you. you.

brunch in a sun dappled cafe at a quarter past twelve (and oh perhaps you grew a little jealous of how the sun kissed the little curls in his hair, the soft squish of his cheeks). then a quick duck into an old time arcade with the sun at its peak, where he proceeded to beat the shit out of you at all the music based games (and you can't really get mad at him when you're a little in lo infatuated with the way he smiles). escaped the arcade near sundown to explore an open market where you spent your thaumarks on little trinkets and street foods (and he gripes and moans and refuses but he holds your stuff and spends a second too long thinking about how the warmth of your hand suffused into your things-).

before finally, he took you home (to ramshackle). hands behind his head with an insufferable, cocky grin on his stupid, smart-talking, clever mouth.

“so, didja enjoy it?”

you bit your lip—did you really want to tell him how well he did, knowing he’d lord it over you for (probably) the rest of your lives? ace smirked at your uncertain expression; his hand lowered into his pocket and fiddled with his final card.

because he wasn’t quite done with you—no.

he was going to get you to admit that he had done a perfect job, and he had planned the cherry on top for your wonderful day.

“maybe.” you managed; he barely held his snort in and you glared at him. cheeks flushed with embarrassment, with the inability to admit defeat… to him, of all people.

“then it’s good I’m not quite done yet.” he watched in delight as your expression changed from indignant to confused.

“you…” you began before he shushed you loudly and gestures for you to turn around. which you did, almost immediately (barely considering how far have you come that you’d trust ace trappola with your back!?).

and with your back to him; he has a second where he loses his breath. because if he were to be honest (and he’s not one for honesty); this part wasn’t really in the plan. he had added it in as a silly ‘heeheehaha’ moment because he wanted to ruin you.

but this would ruin him too; him and all his ‘love is just a pain’ speeches.

but your back was to him, and you’ve already started fidgeting and with every shaky inhale you both make, the awkwardness only lengthened; and he’ll do it just so you wouldn’t ever think (in the future) there was a possibility that he almost chickened out (because he actually was, and fuck why was his hands sweaty, now?).

you flinched as you felt something touch the nape of your neck. in the next second you realised that the featherlight touch is the tips of his callused fingers and in the second after; it’s cool metal—a necklace. your shoulder twitched, but you hold yourself steady. and was it wishful thinking that his hands lingered a second after he fastened the necklace properly?

he cleared his throat and you turned slowly. your hand raised to touch the necklace, fingers fiddled with the pendant that now hung around your neck. every twist of your fingers was in time with the beat of your heart.

“how about now?”

it takes you a breath (maybe two) before you remembered he was asking you about the perfect date. (you were a little lost by how close he was). about the bet. (you were a little lost by the cherry red of his eyes).

you nod, incapable of words that could summarise the internal warring over the destruction of your peace of mind and this overwhelming desire to just—just—

‘if there was nothing left between us then—’

but ace pulls back; and the second that could have been your forever, shatters.

“great.” he grins, hands tucked into his pocket (not at all sweaty, certainly!) “then i’ll expect you to tell everyone i won.”

“… yeah.” because was there anything else you can say to him?

“—see you monday.”

“monday.” you echoed.

and you both turn around; ever more keenly aware of that thing that hangs, that lingers, that remains, that grows, that blooms... between the two of you.

-

"i want to wear his initial "on a chain 'round my neck, chain 'round my neck not because he owns me but 'cause he really knows me."

[blobwithapencil]

somehow my brain has decided to be neurotic about atsushi as a trans man, so I’ve decided to inflict my thoughts upon you

in the beginning of the series, atsushi is very much afraid of byakko. He’s scared it will hurt people, and he’s terrified because it’s out of his control. He has been hurt so much, and he is so scared of inflicting that pain on other people without even knowing it.

Atsushi is a victim of horrific abuse.

imagine with me for a moment, a young trans man who has gone through violent abuse at the hands of a male authority figure. His abuser is the biggest example of an adult male in his life, and he has no reason to think that all men aren’t like that. So he grows up believing that men are inherently violent, and angry, and cruel, and everything he doesn’t want to be.

When standing face-to-face with his own masculinity, he feels dread and fear mixed up into a wonderful fuck-you cocktail made specially for him. He shoves it down, but he can’t run from it forever.

I think it’s fairly obvious by now where I’m going with this.

atsushi is the young trans man, and byakko is his masculinity and gender identity.

at the beginning of the series, atsushi is all alone, believing himself to be a fundamentally violent, broken person, and the ADA changes that. instead of his abuser being his sole example of masculinity, atsushi now has some good people who care about him, and male influences that are well-adjusted enough. He doesn’t want to be his abuser, but that is not a guaranteed thing that comes with accepting masculinity anymore. For the first time in his life, atsushi allows himself to look at byakko and accept it as a part of himself.

do you ever think about how maybe if byakko was given room to exist and its needs were met, maybe byakko could have been calm instead of the wild animal it was? Do you ever think about how byakko acted like a wounded animal, lashing out at anything that got near it because it didn’t know kind hands existed? Do you ever think about how that boy exists dozens of times over, all over the world, and they grow up prickly and defensive and isolated? Do you ever think that they don’t know their hands are capable of kindness?

[artilite]

fuck you *lethal companies your in stars and time*

(long) exposition under cut (spoilers for ISAT + lethal company logs)

This au takes place around the time of sigurd's logs/before them (i haven't decided if Sigurd's crew exists here or not yet)!

Siffrin was someone who used to live on the Golden Planet before it got eaten. They may not remember anything beyond being found in an escape pod, but they're still paralyzed by fear when getting close to the selling window. He's always first in the facilities, making jumps, braving traps, and heading as deep as he can for scrap.

Mirabelle and Isabeau are the medic and fighter respectively, who both came from the same moon colony. They were both pressured into taking jobs by a work-based society, and applied for the company under the impression that it was a short, high-paying internship with nebulous risks.

Odile is their resident ship manager. She keeps a watchful eye over everyone and relays information about monsters, scrap, etc. In absolutely dire situations, she may come help with scrap. Despite claiming to be a first-timer, her badge says Leader??

Nille and Bonnie ended up with the crew after taking a chance to run away from their parents. Seeing a high-paying job that provided everything and would take them far away sounded too good to pass up. Nille lied about Bonnie's age to take them with her. After seeing the reality of this job, though, she regrets not finding another way out. Bonnie is permanently on ship-duty; they mainly type in whatever numbers Odile tells them. Nille is also a fighter, though she prefers the weighty stop sign as opposed to Isabeau's shovel.

Loop, after hundreds upon thousands of quotas, dying every possible death, learning everything they could- even the real identity of The Company- realizes there was one thing they've never done before. They've never died to The Company. Desperate for a way out, and haunted by the whispers and screams beyond the wall, they give themselves up. Maybe that would finally satisfy the monster- to have devoured every last piece of the Golden Planet. Maybe their crew could finally rest easy that way. Well, they didn't loop back. But through the dark and damp, there's static on the walkie talkie. Loop picks up, and hears their own voice just beyond the wall.

(Loop's design is the most different by far, since instead of consuming a star, they themselves are slowly getting digested. They're inspired by the visual of red crying faces from the logs :D)

[buttercupshands]

twitter already saw this one, basically just me trying out drawing a cutscene bc I wasn't sure if I can

Not exactly made using coding at this point

Skemch dump bc why not

Don't let me listen to vocaloid songs while I draw

Same here, just me silly-ing with stuff

[feroluce]

I love the fact that the Silvermane Guards are essentially just a very devoted "We Love Gepard Landau" fanclub, and I desperately need for all of them to get into ship wars about it behind their Captain's back. The soldiers are all split into several factions:

Some of them ship him with Sampo 🛡💣 (enemies to lovers/hateship enjoyers; this does not necessarily mean they like Sampo- in fact it's more like most of them want to sic their Captain on him skzjsmdm)

Some of them ship him with Bronya 👑🛡 (knight and princess trope enjoyers and also a sorta-kinda "that is our mom and dad" type of deal; this faction gets riled up and ridiculously hypes Gepard up to Bronya every time she comes down to the frontlines mskdkxmd)

Some of them ship him with the trailblazer 🛡💫 (the smallest and newest faction, but steadily gaining!)

Some of them ship him with Pela ❄🛡 (workplace romance enjoyers; Gepard once charged out into the Fragmentum alone to save Pela from an expedition gone horribly wrong, and when this faction saw Gepard carrying Pela back princess style they threw a whole party)

Some of them ship him with Dunn 🛡🗡 (also workplace romance; Dunn is very flattered by this because yeah wrong Landau, but wow, the troops really think he's good enough to woo the Captain, what an honor)

And some of them ship themselves with the Captain 🛡❤ (yumejoshi enjoyers; this faction throws a massive group effort every Valentine's Day and are also all very supportive of each other)

The final faction is an odd one, because they're defined not by who they ship their beloved Captain Gepard with, but rather by who they don't ship him with. Their name is generally shortened to the A.B.S. Group- Anybody BUT Sampo 🚫💣 DKSZJJSMSOZ

[tackykachowch]

By the way, did we ever talk about how stupid it is that they made Silco the reason Felicia died? I don't mean that he killed her personally, but that he jumpstarted violence on a peaceful protest. Because that's sooo who Silco is, right? A character who makes impulsive and poorly thought out decisions, right? A character who goes into a fight headstrong without carefully planning his moves and strategy and just YOLO-ing it, right? Right?? ......sigh

And don't even THINK about giving me the whole "wElL hE cHaNgEd SiNcE tHeN dUh" crap. Even s2 is smart enough to show us him writing something in a notebook in a flashback, which implies that he was the brains behind the Lanes' creation/revolution as a whole. And if he was he would never sabotage his own plans with something so stupid as throwing a single molotov at enforcers. Literally who does that???? Silco we know would probably organize an attack under the guise of a peaceful protest, but not just. Straight-up ruining just a regular peaceful protest. That's stupid. And Silco is the last character in arcane that would do something stupid. Literally the whole plot of season 1 relies on him being intelligent and sneaky with his plans are you kidding me.