#Wrist Watch Market Size

[lovelybluebirdie]

What is yours

Astarion x gn!Reader

Summary: A stroll through the market evokes an unpleasant sensation in Astarion.

Word Count: 3,1k

hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff

[ AO3 ]

The warm rays of the midday sun bathed the markets’ goods in a marvellous light. The place was bustling, a scent of spices lingering in the air and hurried voices brimming. 

If someone had told Astarion that one day he’d be able to move around Baldur’s Gate so freely again, he’d probably huffed merely a dry laugh – and yet here he was, following you through the narrow streets of his city, admiring how much colour the world had to offer.

Of course it was you who had dragged him along for the mundane task to gather some food for your companions back at camp. Astarion couldn't care less to fill up their bellies, as his own appetite was perfectly stilled from your generosity when it came to offer him your blood, but one blink from your doe eyes had been enough to convince him to accompany you.

Well, that, and perhaps that warm feeling that refused to leave his chest when he was with you. 

It was obvious that you loved to stroll around the market, savouring the colourful impressions while taking a break from all the fighting and gore your journey to rid yourself from the tadpoles held for you. 

Astarion had never watched you spending your coin so lightly before. You probably thought it was time to treat yourself once in a while, and who was he to deny you this little pleasure? He had to admit that he actually adored seeing your face light up over the different trinkets you bought, eagerly filling your bags and pouches with your newest additions.

“Let's get some fruit for the others while we’re at it,” you suggested, pointing towards a merchant presenting an inviting range of fresh goods. “Something nutritious seems much needed after we fed mostly on leftovers for the past weeks.”

Your shoulders were loaded with the various goods you had already bought – dyes, herbs, some new toys for Scratch and the owlbear cub and a bunch of flasks to fill with potions.

“As you wish,” Astarion replied, when a display of weapons caught his eye. His last pair of daggers had become rather blunt from the Goblin throats he’d cut, so maybe it was time to treat himself as well, he thought and gently grabbed your wrist.  

“On second thought, why don't you go ahead while I'll have another look around here, my love?�� he asked and came to a stop. “I haven't much expertise to add when it comes to your culinary needs, and those daggers look rather appealing.”

“Sounds fine with me, but try not to spend all of our gold at once,” you teased and squeezed his shoulder.

“Hah, you're one to talk. Please remind me, who was it again that just bought five new toys for Scratch, so he had a set of different colours to choose from?”

“He needs some variety,” you muttered, trying to keep up a serious expression. “But nevermind, see you in a minute then.” 

You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and waved, already on your way to spend some more of your coin.

Astarion couldn’t help but smile over your excitement for the market, before he picked up a dagger from the display in front of him. The handle appeared to be of higher quality than his current ones, and the blade looked sharp enough to inflict some hurt.

As he gazed further through the wares, pondering which one would fit him best, he spared a glance to check on you. 

He spotted you a few stalls away at the fruit stand you had mentioned. The vendor you were talking to gesticulated wildly while presenting his wares, leading you to laugh.

Astarion frowned and put the dagger away to take a closer look.

The vendor was young, an elf with blond curls, and Astarion noticed that he wasn’t an unpleasant sight. 

He was immediately bothered by the smile you gave the other man, the way he touched your hands as he started to offer you bite-sized pieces of fruit to taste.

His fingers lingered too long against yours for Astarion’s liking.

As he continued to watch you from afar, something inside his belly started to seethe – hot and ugly.

A feeling he experienced before when it came to you, but couldn't quite grasp.

Well, whatever this was, Astarion certainly wasn’t jealous. Not of some random street vendor at least – and why should he be? Because you had smiled so sweetly at him? Or because you were laughing again as you took another piece of fruit from his filthy hands? 

What in the nine hells could be so entertaining about buying fruit anyway? 

It was ridiculous, really, and yet Astarion imagined how it would feel to rip the vendor's throat as punishment for daring to touch you. 

Would he bleed out quickly? Would he scream?

Astarion shook his head, shoving the violent image aside.

He remembered the previous occasions when that unpleasant burning inside his stomach had appeared. It was the moment Gale decided it was appropriate to show you his so-called magical weave, or the other day when Wyll proposed a dance to you. You had kindly rejected both of them, but Astarion was still not particularly impressed by their interest in you. 

He knew what others would seek from you. Why they wanted you. For the same reasons he enjoyed being with you: your compassion, the kindness you spread. Your special talent to make him feel seen. 

There was also your wit, the way you would crack a joke even in the most maddening situations, making him feel light. And not to mention, you were a beautiful vision if Astarion had ever seen one.

Of course there would be others who saw those qualities as well, aiming to claim you.

A sudden wave of anxiety flooded his mind, moulding an appaling image in his skull.

He wondered if one day you would prefer someone else over him.

Someone who would match your kindness – acting all selfless and heroic, indulging in activities he found little pleasure in.

Providing you with something Astarion might be unable to give you, ever, no matter how much he cared about you.

Hells, what if you were already seeking someone like that?

His stomach dropped.

The dreadful notion spread its relentless claws past his ribs, tearing holes in his dead heart.

Blood rushed to his ears.

Before he even realised, his feet were already dragging him towards you.

He needed to be close to you – doing anything to make this feeling stop.

When he arrived next to you, he placed a hand on the small of your back and grasped your tunic, a little tighter than he'd intended.

He tried his best to keep his composure.

“Are we all done here, my love?” he asked, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh, Astarion!” You smiled when you noticed him, unaware of his musings. Your pouch was filled to the brink with fresh fruits. “Yes, I guess that would be all.”

Astarion felt the need to pull you away, but before he came up with an excuse to leave immediately, the merchant was already addressing you again. 

“Think about it, will you?” A smug grin plastered that man’s face as he spoke to you, casually bending over his counter.

Astarion gave you a confused look.

Think about what? 

“Unfortunately there’s no time to join the tavern tonight, but thank you for the offer. Maybe next time,” you said amicably and packed up your wares.

What was that? 

Astarion thought he must have misheard.

“What a shame. Perhaps you can give it a second thought.” The vendor was still beaming at you, before he turned to Astarion. “Your friend can come too, of course.”

“Oh, that sounds splendid. We will think about it, will we, darling?”

Astarion bit his tongue, swallowing the impulse to spit a cutting remark on top of his obvious sarcasm.

What in the nine hells was this mongrel thinking, inviting you to the tavern? And how he was speaking to him – as if he was some irrelevant bystander.

“Let's see what we can do,” you said politely, already on your way to move on. “Have a nice day. And thank you again.”

“You as well,” replied the salesman and waved. 

Astarion gritted his teeth as he followed you through the busy alleyways, still processing what just happened.

The vendor's words appeared in his mind.

That man had obviously desired to fuck you, and wasn’t even trying to hide his advances.

How could he have dared.

Astarion regretted that he had acted so passive in that moment. Usually he wasn’t one to hesitate, always a sharp comment dancing on his tongue, and yet… the thought of losing you to someone else had shifted something in him, turning him small.

His fury grew.

Oh, how he would love to grab that despicable pig by his throat, banishing that filthy grin of his face. Making him bleed. But he knew that unlike him, you would gladly refrain from a public bloodbath, so he shoved away those violent fantasies, even if the fire continued to seeth in him – unpleasant and hot.

He tried to fathom what posed the worst about this whole ordeal: The way in which the man had aimed to claim you, or his fear that you enjoyed those cheap advances – possibly were fond of it even.

Astarion's mood couldn't have been more sour as you arrived at a secluded area, away from the markets bustling.

“Can you believe it? That seller insisted on giving me a discount,” you broke the silence and pointed proudly at the wares you had gathered. “And they say there are no kind people left in Baldur's Gate.”

And just as the words had left your throat, Astarion finally snapped.

“Is that so?” he hissed, baring his fangs. “How generous. What a nice, handsome gentleman he is, also inviting you to the tavern with him.” He spoke harsh – his tone cold and venomous. 

You came to an abrupt stop, resting the groceries on the ground and fixating your gaze on his, a furrow between your eyebrows. 

“What are you implying?” You sounded puzzled.

“Oh, don't act so naive, darling, you know what I'm implying. That man wanted to bed you, everyone could see it from the way he treated you. And by the laughs you offered him, you seemed to enjoy his attention as well, did you not? What a flirt you are.”

His accusations left a taste of ash in his mouth. Moments before his anger seemed directed at the man’s advances, and now his bottled-up wrath was boiling onto you.

The bewildered look on your face turned into something else, something sad, your eyes losing their shine. He sensed that he must’ve hurt you, and it tugged at his heartstrings.

“So, you’re jealous of that man, is that what this is about?”

“Me? Being jealous of some filthy street vendor?” Astarion scoffed, immediately falling back to his dramatics, gesticulating defensively with his hands. “Don't insult me, darling. I find it amusing that he thinks he can have you, and I didn’t fail to miss your interest in him,” he bit, almost choking on the dry chuckle that spilled from his lips.

“There was no interest from my side, other than purchasing some of his wares,” you explained. Then you opened your mouth again, sharply sucking air between your teeth, before your gaze softened. Your voice was calm, without spite or anger. “He recognized me, Astarion. From the article in the gazette. Slayer of the evil Ketheric Thorm and all that fuss. Does that ring a bell?” 

Of course he remembered. It was him that had to sneak past those giant steel watchers back at the gazette’s building, convincing the magical press to print an article in your favour. An article that wouldn’t taint your reputation, unlike the one Gortash had commissioned to derogate you. 

Astarion couldn’t deny that after the praising piece was published, you were indeed met with an unusual kindness from the people of Baldur's Gate. 

“Well, how could I forget?” Astarion's face twisted. “But that doesn't mean he didn't have something else in mind with you. Some people certainly would love to bury their blade inside a true hero for once, I can imagine.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Even if he did want to bed me, what does it matter?”

An icy grip twisted Astarion's chest. The image of you with someone else stung in his eyes, making him sick. 

Before he could growl another reply, you rested your hand on his arm, catching his fuming. “Hey – look at me, you silly goose.” 

Your tender touch was enough to quell the blazing flame in his belly. 

You spoke so warmly to him. So... loving.

Astarion rested his eyes on you and was met with an affectionate smile that disarmed him completely.

“Astarion, don’t you realise that I couldn't care less if thousands of people felt the sudden need to bed me?”

He bit his cheek, remaining silent.

“You’re the only one I want, you jealous fool. No one else – not now, not ever, and certainly not some random street vendor that throws a discount at me because he thinks of me as some kind of hero.”

Astarion’s features involuntarily softened as he took in your words. The fury that was about to overwhelm him dissolved into a flutter, engulfing his chest, washing away the seething that hooked at his ribcage.

“Really?” Only one word left his mouth, before he cleared his throat. “I mean – I'm not surprised of course, as you seem to literally cling to my side these days.” A poor attempt to cover his insecurity, but the best he could muster.

“Really,” you assured and gently tapped on his temple, “I vow on the tadpole flooding inside our brains.” You chuckled as you rested your hands on the back of his neck and shifted closer to him. 

“Well, but those might be gone someday,” Astarion mumbled.

“And even then, I will remain at your side. Only if you want me to, of course.”

Astarion didn’t have to think of his answer, the words spilling from his lips like a reflex.

“Yes, I would want that,” he whispered sincerely, his flamboyant mask crumbling. “Look, it's not that I don't trust you. It’s just… Well, I guess I'm used to losing what I hold dear. And the thought of losing you to someone else… I don’t know, apparently it woke something in me.” 

He felt almost ashamed over his sudden lack of eloquence, being so raw with you, but there was a sense of relief in opening up. To his surprise, it was even more soothing than losing himself in violence.

You looked at him with affection and cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin. He closed his eyes and sunk against your palm. 

“It's alright, Astarion, you don't have to explain. I promise you, you won’t lose me to someone else. As you said, I tend to cling to your side these days, and truth be told, I have no intention to stop.”

“I hope you won’t,” Astarion replied and took your hand in his to press a kiss to your fingertips. “But honestly, I have to apologise for doubting your intentions with me. With us.”

“I forgive you, lover,” you replied tenderly. “I didn't take you for the overly jealous type, though,” you added with a smirk.

Astarion offered you a wry smile. “Let's not dwell on it, shall we?”

Then he reached for your face, softly taking your chin between his thumb and index finger and rested his lips on your forehead, followed by a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You wrapped your arms around his waist to pull him into a close embrace. He could sense your heartbeat against his cold body, your pulse drumming in a comforting rhythm.

For a moment you were just holding each other, your head against his chest, Astarion relishing your warmth and kissing your hair. Your touch was relieving. Assuring.

You were with him, and had promised not to leave. 

Your affirmations repeated in his mind: You wanted him. Only him alone.

This was all new territory and Astarion sensed it would take some time for him to fully adjust, yes, but right now… this was all he could wish for.

“Somehow I don't want to let go of you, little love,” he hummed to your ear.

“Then don't,” you breathed and kissed along his neck, brushing his bite marks with your lips, sending a shiver down his spine. A particularly sensible spot, but you were allowed to touch him there.

Gods, how deeply he had fallen for you.

Astarion drew you even closer and sighed, your hands grasping the fabric of his shirt. 

When he gently peeled away from your hug, you looked up to him and bit your lip.

“Can I be completely honest with you?” you asked sheepishly.

“What is it, my sweet?”

“Well... I think that merchant truly wanted to bed me.”

Astarion laughed – deep, coming from his belly – surprised by his own lightness. The idea of fuming over your obvious admirer seemed almost ridiculous all of a sudden. 

“I told you so. But now that you see it too, I guess you wouldn't mind if we turn back for a quick chat? I would love to take care of that dear fellow,” he replied mischievously. While his fury was gone, he still wouldn’t mind some misdemeanour.

“Astarion!” you scolded, but joined his laughter. “Please spare that innocent man.”

“Relax darling, I will. For now at least. And only because you asked so nicely.” His fangs poked from the grin that adorned his lips.

“Good boy,” you teased and brushed one of his white curls behind his ear, his grin widening from your touch.

As you walked back to camp, hands softly entwined, Astarion noticed that probably for the first time in his life someone truly belonged to him – willingly, out of love.

You belonged to him. 

The thought grew in his chest, wandered up to his eyes, spreading affection through his entire body, and for the remaining way back to camp he didn’t let go of your hand.

Masterlist

[saltofmercury]

Sentimental

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Author's note: Writing feels so good!!! I'm so happy to be writing again :)

Summary: Jason holds onto things that make him emotional. That doesn’t make him emotional.

*

Jason Todd would never call himself emotional.

He prefers the term sentimental. Sentimental is what surrounds the items in his trinket box. There’s not many items inside —some personal information mostly. A death certificate, a watch, and more recently items from you. A scrunchie, a broken keychain, and notes.

He had noticed the bracelets, gold and silver trinkets decorating your arm, then something not as shiny, the weird black ribbon scrunchie. The scrunchie you never gave it to him.

He watched as you pushed your hair back, your hands guiding the elastic weaving through your hair, sitting on top of your head.

What was left was the red indent on your wrist. You seemed to pay no attention to it, but he did not like the idea of something leaving a mark on you. Red and indented. The angry mark kept being shown, often closed off by your other bracelets.

“Does this hurt?” He asked you later at night wondering how it hadn’t gone down since the afternoon. 

“No, I get these all the time.” You say, carefully gauging his reaction.

“But I don’t like the impression it leaves you with.” He scowled, rubbing his thumb along the indent. 

Impressed by the mark it did leave—He took the scrunchie the next day, wearing it for a total of five hours. He had come back to the apartment you two shared, showing you the indent of his own. Now he keeps your scrunchie on his arm, willing to hold it for you. You never really take it back though, you just let him hold onto it. Seeing how he fidgets and snaps it on his own. He doesn’t give it back either.

Sentimental over the keychain you bought him for the key to your apartment. A big step in your relationship, where he had been earning your trust, giving you space, waiting for you to take the next step — you just wanted some peace of mind from him entering through the balcony window.

It had been a small joke between you guys about how you wish you had a pocket sized “him” so you could tell him at any moment anything that happened during your work day.

It prompted the idea to make him into a Lego.

You carefully selected the top, bottom, and head, and even added a red cap on top as an inside joke for his mask.

Jason could hardly respond. It leaves him tongue tied at the little figurine placed in his hand. Your smile beaming at him, then, expressionless when he doesn’t say anything. 

“You don’t like it?” You pout, hoping you didn’t cause offense.

He stares back at you intensely, suddenly breathless.

“I love it.”

He does wish he were more careful with it. After falling from a two story building, he had landed on it causing the little figurine to crack into multiple pieces. He would have taken a dislocated shoulder over the broken keychain.

“You fell on it?” you ask, seeing it cracked in multiple pieces in your hands.

“The guy snuck up on me and kicked me off the ledge.”

“And you fell … on it? Didn’t that hurt?” You peer up from your hands concerned he’s not fused with any other Lego pieces on his leg.

He tries to glue it back together, seeing the irony in himself in the Lego pieces. It frustrates him, he places it in a bag and puts it away in the box. He just starts to keep the key around his neck. The next day he gets surprised by the different figurine.

“Don’t land on this one ok?” You smile up at him.

Sentimental over every note you’ve ever written him— which causes his small box to overflow with colors of

“I’ll be back with dinner”

“went to the market” 

“Ice cream in the freezer!”

And all the “I love you’s see you later”

Scribbled in your writing on blue, white, pink, and yellow scraps of paper, post-its, and notepads. 

What seemed like a small note was a reminder to him that someone does come back for him. 

Someone is there for him.

So no, Jason Todd isn’t emotional. He’s just sentimental.

[demontonic]

Ethan Landry - Perverted

There will be undoubtedly a part 2 since i realized this was hitting 2000 words and i wasnt about to make you guys wait another three days till i put out the smut so take this background as a starter so i can finish the rest! Also let me know if you want to be on my taglist for part 2

Word Count: 2274

TW: Blood, Knives

Ethan had always been quiet around you, unless you were with the others but even then there was very little interaction. At first you thought he didn’t like you, then you thought maybe I’m too loud for him- but that couldn’t be it. If that were true he wouldn’t like Chad, and he was worse than you. Countless possibilities rushed through your mind every time you saw him and it slowly tumbled into a sick infatuation. You started to take note of who he talked to, especially if it was another girl. Watching even the smallest of mannerisms and remembering what his body language meant. At some point you decided to ask for his social media from Chad, of course he teased you about it immediately making sense of why he caught you staring at the nerd. After that Mindy found out and of course told Tara who told Sam and Quinn, nothing could stay a secret for too long in this dysfunctional family.

The gang decided to help your seemingly innocent crush on the curly haired brunette, however they had no idea what you really thought about him. You had always been one to get too involved with the people you had liked. Sure it was a long running joke that girls had the skills of FBI agents, but combine that with no social life… it’s almost concerning. You had always gotten weird vibes around him, call it intuition but you had never imagined your feelings to be remotely correct. One night you were out late, making a short walk back from the small market on the corner of your street. You decided since the gang went out -and you had zero social battery left- you would simply drink by yourself tonight. You stuffed the plastic bag filled with a few medium sized bottles of vodka and some cheap berry blend juice into the small backpack you had. Going to the small pizza restaurant and picking up the pizza you ordered for when you inevitably got the munchies. It was a short walk back to the apartment, maybe 15-20 minutes at most. Besides, you had done this many times before but what you were about to encounter would change the course of the next month.

Most of the surrounding apartments housed students from Blackmore University, it was afterall a close walk to the college. If your music hadn’t lagged when it did you would’ve missed the noise coming from the dark alley. What a cliche. You and Mindy were horror fanatics and after Woodsboro you knew better than to go into the pitch black void filled with shuffling noises. The cool air that racked against your exposed arms only added to the adrenaline that began to pump through your veins as you finally came to the realization that you had been standing and staring into the alleyway for a minute now. The small pizza box now being set on the top of a dumpster as you paused the music blasting in your eardrums, placing the small earbuds in their case so that you were now fully aware of your surroundings.

You pulled out the butterfly knife you had trained yourself to be moderately skilled with in times like these. The purple handle being grasped tightly in your fist as you crept slowly towards the sound you had yet to find the source of. There was a corner about mid way through, a small light illuminating that portion as you peaked your head around the corner. At first it took your eyes a second to adjust to the sudden change but once you did you realized that the boy you had been truthfully stalking was more than met the eye. He was crouched next to a dumpster, his surprisingly toned torso lightly splatter with specs of blood. Black jeans and doc martens being the only thing on him besides a black wrist watch. However upon squinting you see a blade entirely covered in blood, the crimson liquid falling into a small puddle between his legs. A Ghostface mask hung on the edge of the dumpster, the usually white face having the same crimson adorning it only in the shape of a handprint. You wanted to believe that maybe it was a costume, but you knew he would never do that with the people he associated with. You watched, frozen, as he wiped the blade on his thigh to rid it of blood before shoving it into a backpack. He pulled out a blue polo shirt, slipping it on as he shoved -what you could only assume was the rest of the Ghost face robe- in before placing the mask on top and zipping it closed.

You took a few steps back, going to hide yourself behind the few trash bags that were leaned against the walls next to you. It was too dark for him to notice you, wearing mostly black you blended in with the shadows. He turned the corner, walking out the way you had entered only he paused. Ethan didn’t turn around to face you, not his body or even a slight turn of his head. You held your breath, your heart pounding in your chest, you felt like he could hear it.

“Stalking someone you don’t even talk to isn’t a good look,” his voice sounded like he was smiling, it held pride and darkness. Your eyes widened as you readied your knife, preparing yourself for the worst case possible. He took a few steps back, stopping right in front of you as he dropped his backpack. A hand grabbed at the wrist that held the small blade, pulling you to your feet as he stared at you with empty eyes.

“Being covered in blood isn’t exactly a good image either,” you scowled as he only looked at you with a smug expression plastered on his annoyingly perfect face. “You’ve had plenty of time to try and gouge my eyes out, kick, scream, grab your knife with your free hand and yet you stare at me- now that’s a bad look Y/N.” Ethan was right, you swallowed the lump in your throat as you snatched your hand from his grip, slicing his palm open in the process. He hissed lowly as he retracted his arm, assessing the wound before licking it. Your mouth gaped open as you stared at the seemingly psychotic man in front of you. “Did you know your saliva can help the healing process for wounds? I’m sure you’re thinking I did that for show but there's a reason behind everything I do. I’m surprised you didn’t find me out sooner, considering you never stop following me, watching me.”

“Yeah well that was before I knew you were a killer, so take that with a grain of salt-“

“So you think it’s justified? Stalking an innocent college boy- or nerd as you love to call me.”

“Innocent isn’t exactly how I’d describe you, but if it helps you sleep at night,” what are you thinking? He’s a serial killer, a COPYCAT of someone who almost killed you. Your conscience was bellowing inside of your head, however here you stood face to face with the guy you’d been drooling over since the start of the year, with full knowledge of his true agenda. “What helps me sleep at night is knowing that someone as sick and perverted as you can be so stupid as to stay here and chit chat with someone who’s quite literally trying to kill your friends.” You scoffed… you scoffed “Real smart revealing your entire plan-“

“How desperate are you? How insane are you to stand here and hold a conversation with me? Or am I just that hot-“

“Shut the fuck up you are so full of yourself I’m surprised you’ve gotten this far-“ Sirens. Police had begun to pull up to the apartment buildings, your heart beat picking up as this scene looked very sketchy. You talking with the killer calmly in the alleyway outside of a crime scene wouldn’t hold up well in court. Ethan groaned as he took off running the opposite side of the alleyway opting out on a long way home rather than the route you were taking. Without even processing what was happening you emerged from the alley, grabbing the pizza box and walking home. You wish you could say it was peaceful but your thoughts were consumed by the interaction… and the rush it gave you.

The next morning

It was a weekend, you woke up around noon, the pizza box being thrown to the floor and your bottles tucked away in the crevice between your bed and nightstand. Your head spun lightly, a slight headache setting in but nothing you couldn’t handle, you were practically a pro at handling hangovers. At first you ran through your morning routine like normal, mind fuzzy and not fully recalling the events from last night. That was until you walked back into your room realizing there was a small gift bag on your nightstand. The gift was black and covered with white ghosts, tied with a red ribbon. “What the fuck,” you muttered under your breath before opening it. The contents poured on to your stand, your knife accompanied by a small piece of paper fell out. You stopped breathing for a moment as reality crashed down on you; he was in your room while you were sleeping. You opened the small note, reading the neat writing in red ink.

you’re stupid enough not to notice that I took your knife? and that was before you were shit faced, you were out pretty cold, you almost looked cute.

p.s. thanks for the free pizza❤️

For a second you let yourself forget everything you just read, reverting back to your sick infatuation with the seemingly quiet nerdy boy. He called me cute. You knew you were twisted when your heart fluttered while reading the note like it was some stupid middle school crush. He called me stupid and broke into my apartment. You crumbled the note up, going to throw it away but you hesitated, why are you second guessing this? You didn’t know, but you flattened it out, folded it, and placed it back into the bag and left it in your nightstand. As for your knife you placed it back into your bag before getting dressed to hang out with your friends, unfortunately they still think you’re head over heels for Ethan. As you emerged from what they referred to as ‘your cave’ Tara and Quinn greeted you.

“Seems like you had fun last night, did you have any company over this time?” Quinn interrogated before sitting down on the white sofa. “You know I never-“

“We heard someone in your room last night, did you finally make progress with Ethan?” Tara, surprisingly not fumbling her words, questioned as she shook you by the shoulders enthusiastically.

“Oh come on guys you don’t seriously think… you heard someone in my room and didn’t say anything?” It finally dawned on you that they heard him, while you were passed out and thought you were fucking, great.

“What if it was ghostface? I could be dead right now!” Tara folded her arms, her mood noticeably more dull, “Did something happen that we should know about? Did you get a call?” Again, you froze, standing there with your mouth gaped open as you looked into the eyes of someone you considered family.

“No I just- come on you guys know I’d never have someone with me. I was probably just drunk and stumbling around my room looking for something.” You rambled before walking into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, still questioning why you hadn’t told her. Yes you had a small obsession with the boy, but it was much more than that now. Your face turned a light shade of red when you read his note, your heart swelled at the thought of him sneaking into your room to return your knife. The sight of him staring down at you in the cold dark alley, you could smell the blood and cologne on his skin from how close-

“Earth to Y/N! Hello Hi sweetie we need to get going, we’re meeting up with the boys for lunch.” Quinn said as she waved her hand in front of your face before walking towards the apartment door where Tara already stood. You quickly grabbed your water and followed the two girls out of the door trying to ignore your internal moral battle.

You waited in the mostly empty quad at a bench, Sam had yet to turn up and Chad had gotten here shortly after Mindy and Anika. Only one you were missing was the person you were sweating bullets about. You sat patiently, quietly, observantly, until your phone dinged. By now the group was over their usual paranoia but when you saw it was from Ethan you swiped it away at first… instantly regretting it.

“It’s rude to ignore people,” a whisper from your right side startled you, causing you to jump forward. By the time you turned around and the group noticed his presence he was standing up right, acting innocent like he didn’t scare the shit out of you.

“Ethan! Took you long enough shit, were you jacking off in the shower?” Chad joked as he slung his arm around the now quiet boy.

“Oh- ew! Grow up, can’t you talk about anything besides your dicks?” Mindy expressed quite passionately before beginning to lead the group to a small restaurant.

Sorry to end it so abruptly i genuinely needed to put this out so i could take my time perfecting the last half so hoped you like it let me know what you would want in part 2 i might take some notes. heres my masterlist if you wanna check that out!

[pathtonowhereimagine]

What would Zoya, Bai yi and eirene reactions be to their shy, timid but very sexually energetic S/o having a bigger dick then them like I'm talking SLAB OF MEAT and they still make it fit in people

Zoya, Bai Yi and Eirene with a shy but Sexually charged S/o

TW; smut🔞, sinners are bottoms in this (Zoya is the only one with a penis), size differences, stomach bulge, breeding, creampie and aftercare

Notes; A/N

⊱ ────────────── {.⋅ M ⋅.} ───────────── ⊰

Zoya

Zoya didn't think much of when it comes to her small S/o for most of the time they're timid and shy not really participating in most task, always find them in the corner and not much of a talker, however she does notice afew things that's surprising in a way

When they first had sex Zoya thought she'd be on top but somehow S/o was able to top her in a matter of minutes, seeing the lust and love in their eyes as they straddle her then noticing the ever growing bulge in their pants as they grope her own crotch

It's not arguable that Zoya has a big cock but when she sees S/o's own cock she was intimated it was longer than hers by an inch, the girth of it was the size of four fingers of course she took precaution first if she was taking the size of this monster. She struggled a bit when taking it in her mouth at first but eased into it all the while listening to S/o's praise and encouragement

However when it comes to actually taking it Zoya is already on her back sweating as they position themselves at her hole almost backing out, feeling them enter her gaining a groaning fuck from her feeling them slowly thrusting while jerking her off at the same time. She lost track of how many times she came already at one moment they were hugging her around her waist from behind while thrusting, then the next they're sucking her off while fingering her at the same

However by the time they're finished the bed is covered in sweat and cum as S/o comes back from the kitchen wearing nothing but Zoya's shirt, handing her water and snacks as an apology for the very rough housing causing a few bruises but the Legion Leader was more surprised and pleased then anything pulling them into her lap kissing and praising them

Bai Yi

As much as S/o loves Bai Yi sometimes her cocky and carefree attitude is too much sometimes even for the shy and timid sinner, they try to intervene when she gets in trouble like trying to market her business to Chief or when they get caught by Nightingale or K.K.

It's the perfect punishment for S/o to use as they tie up Bai Yi in bondage teasing her by not touching her in places she needs them to be or even edging only to pull away, the Whitestone boss is no stranger to her S/o's large package but sometimes seeing it again felt like she seeing for the first time everytime

Bobbing her head as she sucks their cock while tugging her hair and praising her, gagging a few times as they thrusted their hips chasing their own high first then pulling away her spitting connecting with their harden cock slapping it against her cheek

The room filled with the sounds of moaning and skin on skin contact with every thrust Bai Yi unable to do anything with her legs and arms tied up, watching her S/o destroy and arrange her insides as they please. Staring up at them with desire and love in their eyes their main focus on her cumming for the fifth time, a creamy ring forming on their cock as she herself feels her own high coming again

What felt like a day has gone by as S/o rubs lotion on Bai Yi's wrists and legs from the ropes while apologizing for everything despite it being a regular thing, as the boss just kisses and nuzzles their head all the while thinking how lucky she is to have a sweet but feral partner

Eirene

Now Eirene the methodical and genius chess master is no short then being very high class and demanding due to her status, however when it comes to her S/o she can't help but tease them just to see their flustered face

Though it may cause surprise and shock to her peers if they find out that behind the scene S/o having their hand down her skirt as they leave trials of kisses along her chest, while Eirene tries to convince them not to leave any hickies as they lose themselves but after acting like nothing happened when they return

In the bedroom S/o becomes a whole different person as they effortlessly manhandle her with her legs spread out as they finger her from behind her, while whispering how much of they've been wanting to do this to all day and how much of a tease she was today

Everything went by in a blur for Eirene one moment they're in the 69 position not able to focus as S/o eat her out like she's their last meal, then she's on all fours feeling their cock creates a bulge in her stomach and having her sit on their lap as they thrust upwards in her as she whines and moans against

Afterwards Eirene and S/o will be in the tub with warm water and bubbles around them while they scrub her back flustered at the scratch marks and hickies all over her body, kissing each individual part as Eirene smiles to herself

[justagirlwholikesadam]

Farmer! Sandor Clegane Headcanon

don't own these pics

Summary: Just a few headcanon of Sandor Clegane as a farmer.

A/N: Thinking about this man as a farmer has me down on my knees. Comment and like below, maybe I can do next farmer Sandor meeting reader. Enjoy-L || Border Credit: @cafekitsune

Warning: SFW, sad childhood, Sandor being himself, dog dad,

Farmer!Sandor always knew he wanted to be a farmer from a young age. He liked working with his hands and moving around. He never wanted a desk job, he couldn't imagine his 6 '6 self sitting on a small computer chair for nine hours a day, five days a week. He had low patience dealing with idiot people, so retail was out of the question, any job that required dealing with people was a no. So far the only thing talking back to him were the animals on the farm and he was content with that. 

Farmer!Sandor isn't much of a people person but he will sometimes invite Tormund, a worker from the market he goes to for groceries once in a while over to watch the game or just for a beer. Sandor only does it because Tormund doesn't shut up about coming over. After two six-packs, Tormund isn't so bad to be around and he doesn’t ask him about his scars. 

Farmer!Sandor gets up right before the rooster crow at dawn. He likes to watch the sunrise while drinking black coffee. He nibbles on some toast or some corn muffins. On Sunday, he makes a big breakfast meal since it's the only day he rest. Eggs, bacon sometimes with ham and grits. 

Farmer!Sandor wears a white beater shirt and his dark coarse chest hair peeks out. It shows off his broad shoulders and his muscular arms, it was all thanks to the hard manual labor he does. He ties his long hair with a black hair band, he keeps a spare around his wrist. He wears old blue jeans that hang low on his hips. Sometimes he wears a flannel shirt, when it gets too hot, he takes it off and wraps it around his hips. He wears these heavy size 12 boots with rubber outsoles on them. 

Farmer!Sandor sweats alot after a long day of work. He uses the flannel to wipe the sweat off his forehead, neck and tone arms. He showers immediately after walking into the house. He leaves the boots outside and goes into the shower to clean the dirt and sweat off of his body. He makes sure he cleans himself, rubbing the body wash thoroughly through his chest hair and his long hair. 

Farmer!Sandor walks out of the shower and looks at himself in the mirror. His burn scars are a bit red from being out in the sun all day. He reminds himself for tomorrow to wear his hat. He grabs face cream from the medicine cabinet to help with the redness. Some days Sandor can't stand the sight of him, that's why he liked being alone in his farmhouse. He dislikes the stares and pointing he got when going into town. 

Farmer!Sandor still has issues about his face, it has gotten much better after going to the doctors. He has even done surgery for his hair to grow a bit, he usually combs his hair over to cover the slightly bald spot. He applies oils on his beard regularly and it helped his beard grow a bit back. His right brow has grown a bit as well, but the burn scars on his cheek and ear are still very visible. 

Farmer!Sandor dresses comfy to get started on dinner. He walks into the kitchen and turns on the radio or sometimes the tv. He's listening to the news while cutting some veggies he has grown from his garden in the backyard. He usually grills his steak in the backyard when he's not tired. Opening a beer, he sits down and eats in silence. Sometimes he eats in front of the tv and watches whatever is playing. He's not picky on what to watch on tv. 

Farmer!Sandor was on the field the next day on the tractor when he heard barking. He turns it off and looks over his shoulders to see it was a dog a few feet away from him. There isn't usually strays around, he makes sure of it since he has some chickens and pigs. He walks towards the dog, its shaggy fur is white and gray. Its ears are floppy and its tongue is hanging out as it pants. 

“You alright, pup?” He asked, not really expecting it to answer but to his surprise. It barks at him, making him smile.

He carefully stretches his hand out when he notices it wasn't going to bite. He pats its head and even scratches behind its ears. Asking if it wants to eat, the dog’s tail starts wagging like crazy. Sandor decides he’ll have lunch early that day. He smiles once more when he notices it’s following him all the way to the house.  He sits outside on the porch swing as he eats his sandwich and drinks a cold glass of ice tea. He watches the dog eat the leftover steak from dinner last night. 

Farmer!Sandor decides to keep the dog after it kept following him everywhere for the past week. When he finds out it’s a girl, he decides to name it after his little sister, Ellie. The dog didn’t seem to mind, it followed him whenever he said it. He liked having company, it was less lonely when he wasn’t working. He lets Ellie sleep on the foot of his bed.

Farmer!Sandor doesn't smoke that much, he really only does it when he has a rough day. He’s sitting on the porch swing with a beer in one hand and the cigarette in the other. Since he’s alone, he does alot of thinking as he watches the sunset. He thinks about his life before he started to farm. He has been thinking about his little sister lately since the dog came around. His little sister was his best friend when he was younger. He had told her about his dream of having a farm. He smiles to himself as he remembers her telling him that he had to have horses for her to ride. He promised her that he would when he was a kid he had even promised her that he would have two horses so they could ride together. 

Farmer!Sandor didn't have a good childhood, his parents were never around and his older brother was a bully. His older brother was the one to burn him when he was a kid. While holding his face on the hot coals, his little sister tried to help him. She hit the older brother on the back with her tiny fist. Furious that she was hitting him, he had smacked her. He hit her so hard that she fell back and slammed her head on the coffee table. Ellie lost a lot of blood on the way to the hospital and did not survive. His older brother was 18 at the time and was sentenced to prison. Parents couldn't handle it and left Sandor, who was placed in foster care. 

Farmer!Sandor gets brought back to reality when he feels Ellie rubbing her head against his knee. He threw the cigarette out and placed the beer on the small table near him. He pats the seat next to him and makes sure that the swing doesn't move as Ellie jumps up next to him. He leans back as she rests her head on his lap. Sandor pats her head softly as he looks over across the field and stares at the half built stable he was building, he was going to get those horses and complete his promise to his sister. 

[sunflowersandforgetmenots]

Congratulations on your engagement!! I was thinking that Kassandra and 8 would be an interesting fic :) Don’t feel like you have to write one though if it doesn’t float your boat!

Thank you so much! I'm very excited! I might post updates on how things are going when we get further in the engagement! Also CONGRATS ON BEING MY FIRST ASK BACK LET'S GOOOOOOO!!!

Summary: In a world where the gods blessed mortals with the ability to find their soulmates through matching wounds and scars, Kassandra has always felt immense guilt for her bloody job.

Pairing: Kassandra x Reader

Genre: Soulmate; No Smut

Potential TW: Blood, wounds, scarring, intentional scarring of a soulmate

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Kassandra never noticed the small cuts and bruises on her body. She was a mercenary, a life of injuries great and small was something she would always be used to. So when papercuts and bruises on the hips and shins appeared, she never took notice, never really wondered which ones were from her soulmate. Some who asked found that selfish, that she never worried over which of the injuries weren’t hers, that her soulmate was out there in pain and she had little care. 

But they never saw the big picture. 

Kassandra never cared about which ones were her soulmate’s, not because she was selfish, but because she hated that every injury that was hers appeared on whoever was her destined. Did she lie awake scared some nights, worried that the medium sized wound in her leg was actually much larger on Kassandra? Did she trace her fingers over scars that branded Kassandra, hating that they marred her skin just as much? It made her ache, deep in her soul, that she was causing pain and injury. Yet she couldn’t stop. Fighting was in her bones, carried over from the darkness of that spartan night on the mountain. It was her living. She had lives to support. Surely, hopefully, because her soulmate’s wounds never hurt her when they appeared, her own simply marked the skin, never harming the softness that she was surely destroying. 

Then, she learned the truth. In the market, a hot summer evening on the docks of Kephallonia, Kassandra watched as a woman bent in half, screaming in pain as her soulmate carved his name over and over into her arm. It wasn’t uncommon, branding your own skin with marks to ensure that you would find each other, but most people just do a small scar. A burn somewhere. A scar through the eyebrow. Something lasting that wouldn’t hurt much, but be noticable. Later, the woman praised the gods for her husband’s foresight, but the image of that woman, terrified and crying out in pain as the blood dripped down her arm onto the wooden docks stayed with Kassandra, haunting her nights and her mornings.

Now, the worries became nightmares. A woman, beautiful as the morning sun, gentle as the midnight moon, screaming and sobbing in pain as a spear wound appeared in her side. Claw marks raking down her face. Her eye bleeding as Kassandra’s own was impaled. Such extremes would never happen, the mercenary tried to remind herself, the gods had made it so your destined would never suffer that much from the injuries you face. And still, the dreams would haunt her. 

So she learned. Dodging became her speciality, arrows barely grazed her now, she could catch thrown spears with ease. Eventually, the wounds on her body became more bruises, something she came to live with, though Kassandra desired not a single spot on her future love’s body, no more. Now, their lives could be spent without pain, and only laughter and passion. 

Then, one night on the Adrestia as they sailed past Athens, Kassandra was woken up with a tearing pain across her upper left bicep, trailing down to her wrist in a slow, meticulous motion. She sat up with a startled cry, half expecting some wild creature set upon her by a rival or the Cult to be attacking her. A dagger flashes in the moonlight, swinging wildly for a second only to be met with air and the silence of the sea night. Barnabas wakes with her, shouting in response for the rest of the crew. Only a few stir, used to the nightmares of their crewmates after what they’ve seen after following her across the Greek world. 

“Barnabas? There’s nothing…” She pants, her hair messy from her restless sleep. 

“Aye, there’s nothing Captain.” Her first mate says, rising to his feet to come to her aide. “You were the one who woke me up- By the Gods! Your arm!” 

She looks down, eyes widening as her arm shone with blood, dark and messy in a way that she’s used to after a fight with a wild beast. And then the pain hits her. It’s nothing she’s not used to, but the absence of any attacker aboard her ships grounds her in a reality more painful than most anything she’s ever experienced. 

“No… this isn’t my injury to bear.” Kassandra croaks out, voice hoarse. “She’s been hurt.” And verbalizing that, even to a silent, concerned Barnabas and barely awake Herodotos, is easily the hardest thing she’s ever had to do.

—------------------------------------

It was months later that Kassandra finally realized what happened to her soulmate that fateful night. It had taken Barnabas a week to convince Kassandra that searching every town in Greece would take much longer than they had time for and that her soulmate wasn’t dead because of the bruises and calluses on her fingers left by a weaver’s work. So, she just kept an eye out for any woman with the same deep scars tracing down the muscle of her arm. 

And she found her. 

A beautiful maiden, laughing with a customer at her simple booth in an Argos market, a laugh that Kassandra could swear she’s heard in her dreams, and she had the same scar carving into her skin. Left bicep, all the way down her wrist. A part of her felt pain over it. The real thing, right there, something that caused someone so lovely so much pain, was the only reason she knew it was her. 

The maiden turned, ready to greet Kassandra as a new customer, then stopped, staring at her face with a very clear look of awe. Before she could stop herself, Kassandra reached out, touching the very end of the jagged mark. 

“Tell me… I’ve wondered so long, how did you come to bear this pain?” 

At first, the woman who Kassandra loved before this day looked embarrassed, then, recognition. Her own eyes trailed over the mercenary’s left arm, shock and relief gathering in dazzling eyes as she matches their scar together. 

“You’ll be so infuriated with me.” She mumbled. Kassandra nearly burst into laughter. She had caused her so much pain before, such a scare would never make her angry. Not if it came from her. “But I tripped down a hill.”

The laugh that Kassandra was holding back ripped out of her. What a woman.

[xoxiu]

baby, it's you - ot7 x reader

chapter one

masterlist

join the taglist

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summary: you get kidnapped while on a school trip to korea and get sold into south korea's luxury littles market. the most famous idol group wins your auction.

tags/warnings: forced infantilism, little!reader, diapers, noncon drug use, kidnapping, minor ed behaviors, attempted sa (cocsa?), spanking, diapers, caregivers!bts, force-feeding, language barriers,

Namdaemun market seemed never ending. So many vendors lined the streets with delicious street food and handmade clothing and accessories. You and your three friends walked the market together under the buddy system, a mandatory requirement put in place by your teacher. It was made very clear that when left to your own devices, be in a group of at least three people, and less than six. Although there were a manageable number within your group, you still found yourself doing a headcount every other minute. 

"Oh my gosh, y/n, this would be so cute on your baby sister!" Marissa exclaimed, making a beeline to a small stand selling child-size hanboks. You and the rest of your group quickly followed behind, shaking your heads at Marissa's actions. The entire time you were in the market, she was constantly running off to various vendors. 

The hanboks were obviously all handmade by the older woman running the stand- you admired the intricate design of a pale pink piece in particular. 

"They all look too big- Lainey is only 2 years old..." your words trailed off as you looked amongst the various color options. All of the hanboks were much too big for your sister, being mostly toddler sized. 

The more you and your friends stood at the stand, the more weird you felt. Perhaps it was just your imagination, or paranoia, but you couldn't help but feel someone watching you. The fact that every time you glanced at the old shopkeeper she would immediately dart her eyes away from you was not helping anything. Finally, the woman spoke up as you began to walk away. 

"I have smaller sizes in the back, if you'd like to look," she said, making your group all look over in her direction. The four of you were silent for a minute, exchanging questioning glances, before Marissa spoke up. 

"You go find Lainey's size; we'll wait for you out here."

The woman ushered you inside rather enthusiastically. She followed you into the building, and closed the door behind her. The rather loud 'thud' made you jump and turn to face her, curious as to why she would suddenly close the previously open door. Before any words could be exchanged, you felt arms wrap around you, pulling you into a back room of the shop. 

You tried to scream out for help, but the hand around your mouth muffled any attempt to cry out. Quickly you felt yourself go into full panic mode, hyperventilating and squirming to try and escape the grip on your body. There had to be at least two men holding you, as you felt arms around your waist and arms, as well as various hands all over. What you could only assume was a pillowcase was slipped over your head, making the already dark room even darker. At some point the hand over your mouth was removed, now holding your wrists together behind your back. 

"Calm down, calm down," they kept repeating, but you had no idea what they were saying due to the language difference. You could, however, hear the desperation in their voices. All you could do was cry, letting out sobs and pleas to be let go. 

You could feel the tightness and tackiness of duct tape being wrapped around your wrists, leaving you unable to move them beyond maybe half an inch. Your mouth was soon covered as well, leaving your lips tightly shut from the tape. 

Hands gripped you under your armpits, lifting you up onto a platform of sorts. With the freedom you still had, you kicked your dangling legs wildly, making it harder for the men to tape your ankles as well. A sudden stinging and tingling in your cheek made you freeze out of concern. The sound of the slap did not register in your head from the pure adrenaline in the moment. Only the pain broke through your focused senses. 

The men used your stunned stillness to tape your ankles. Once they were sure the tape would hold, they jumped onto the platform next to you. You felt the shakes and bounces from their jump- you were in a truck trailer. And there were easily four men pulling your body further into the trailer. 

You were pushed down onto your stomach with a boot resting on top of your back. Nevertheless, you continued to squirm to the best of your abilities, desperately trying to do something. What that something was, you weren't entirely sure. All you could think about was getting free and running far, far away. 

As you squirmed in pain and whimpered, the men above you were having a casual conversation in Korean, even having the audacity to laugh and joke around. 

The foot was removed from your back as the engine started up. The men all sat down along the walls of the trailer, watching and laughing as you were forced to slide and roll with every jerk and turn along the road. One particularly harsh stop caused you to tumble your way into two of the men. You cried and squirmed harder, not wanting to knowingly be so close to your abductors. 

A sharp pain shot down your arm as you were stabbed with a needle in your upper arm. You panicked more, not liking being injected with some unknown drug. Another jab was made in your lower back, and soon you felt your body go numb. Your sobs and squirms soon died down as the drugs took full effect.

———

The sound of feet shuffling on the floor and people talking greeted you as you slowly came to. You groaned, not appreciating being awoken from a comfortable slumber. It took you a moment to open your eyes due to your exhaustion and the brightness of the room you resided in. Everything was a blinding white- the lights, the walls, everything.

With half lidded eyes, you turned your head to look at the two other people in the room. Neither of them paid you much attention, failing to notice that you had awoken. Your body had been drained of all energy, allowing you to only release a small, pitiful moan instead of the loud scream you wanted to make. 

Two pairs of eyes turned to face you- the man was rather shocked to see you awake, while the woman looked pleased. All you wanted to do was jump off the exam table and run as far as you could, but the fact that you couldn't feel your fingers or toes ruined that plot. 

"y/n, it's so nice to see you alert and awake!" The woman said, walking towards you. She bent down to be eye level with you, running her hand through your hair. Although she was speaking English, you still had a hard time processing her words. 

"Doctor Park is going to be examining you to make sure you're all good and healthy, is that okay?" 

You desperately tried to shake your head and let out a 'no'. Out of every possible situation in the world, having to be examined by a strange man had to be one of the worst. Especially when you are unable to move or speak. 

The man, Dr. Park, said very little to you. He sat down in his chair and rolled his way over to you, quickly taking your vitals. He spoke in Korean, mainly addressing the woman from what you could tell. Everything was just overwhelming- the finger heart monitor, the blood pressure cuff, and the ear thermometer all happening at once made your head spin out of fear and confusion. 

"y/n, you need to stop shaking your head, dear." You hadn't even realized you were moving anything, better yet your head. Ultimately you listened to the woman, fearful of what would happen if you didn't cooperate. 

As the examination went on, you felt your stomach ache more and more. Closing your eyes and turning your head away from the doctor helped slightly, but the urge to vomit still remained. 

The door to the exam room opened, allowing a nurse pushing a cart into the room. You strained your eyes to try to see what was on the cart. Various small bottles and needles were scattered across the cart, with what appeared to be a pacifier inside a clear plastic container. 

You quickly made the connections to what was going to happened. Not liking it, you began to whine and whimper more, violently shaking your head and trying your best to move the rest of your body. No one paid you any mind, however, and continued on with the procedures. 

The nurse picked up the pacifier box, and took out the pale pink pacifier. Despite your best efforts, she easily popped the soother into your mouth. You tried your best to spit it out, but your tongue felt too heavy to properly push the pacifier out with it. 

You watched as the doctor began to prepare the syringes, not entirely sure what was inside of each bottle. Not wanting to watch the needle enter you, you tightly closed your eyes until you saw random colors. Surprisingly, you didn't feel a single poke of the needles. You slowly relaxed your eyelids as you felt a comforting warmth fill your body. Your breathing began even and calmer, and soon you felt yourself fall back asleep.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

A Domestic Dinner Date (John Price x Escort!Reader)

Part of the "Purchase Your Time" Universe

Summary: You both eager and jittery as your ordered cab approaches John's house, bringing you closer to an evening of his cooking and your attempts to open up to you.

Content warning: Reader is an escort (Minors DNI, 18+ only!), references to sex, 2.5k words

Masterlist // AO3 Version

John was stood at the cerulean open front door of a delightful detached house in the middle nowhere when you arrived. His dark jumper’s sleeves were rolled up, much to your glee, and he was wearing a navy apron that seemed fresh out of its package, creases straight up the centre in line with the angled slats and paneling of the house’s exterior.

You thanked the driver as you exited, hitting send on the text to your friend whilst passing by John’s black truck that was parked on the expansive drive.

“Hello, love.”

“Hello, John.” You kissed his cheek as you passed, noting how his cheek creased while he preened under your greeting.

Taking your cue from the shoe rack, you toed your own off to add to the collection. John showed you the ground floor of his home, leading the way amongst simple décor. Mounted art that was fresh out the plastic, a settee with cushions that had never felt the weight of a person, unchipped granite counter-tops, you poorly hid the chill it all gave you. A show room in IKEA had more of a soul than this.

At least, in the kitchen, there was some proof of residence in the various utensils scattered around. Pinches of salt and pepper scattered on a wooden chopping board

“What are we making then?” You met John’s raised eyebrow with your own. “What, you want me at the breakfast bar, sitting pretty, sipping wine? No! Show me.”

Somewhat of a calculated risk on your part, but really? John didn’t seem the type to force you into submission, and the smirk on his face tipped you off that he was rather hoping you’d help him cook before he even retrieved a spare apron for you to wear. You’d bet on yourself if you could.

Tied around your waist at the front, like you’d seen on The Bear, you brushed the front of the apron off before washing your hands. Glass dishware cradled steaks already soaked in seasoning and soy sauce, positioned out of the way on the draining board beside you.

You observed the bag of vegetables he unloaded, “This feels like a ‘we’re having guests over’ type of meal.”

“Well, you are my guest.”

“Aww, how early did you get to the farmer’s market to get all this?”

Your teasing was met by John confidently taking your wrists and manipulating them to have your palms open and up. Next thing you knew, he had plopped a beef tomato into both of them.

“Chop these please,” and, not even attempting to hide his amusement, he placed a recently sharpened knife on your designated chopping board.

Recovering from whatever that was, you placed the fruits down, “Fine, keep your secrets. Any preference for size of slice?”

“Diced, thank you.”

You hid the urge to bellow “behind!” well as you scooted around him to reach the sink. A quick wash later, you were carefully wheeled the knife over the tomatoes flesh.

“How was work?”

“Usual. Yourself?”

“Usual.” Shallow remarks, and your conversation recovered faster than last time when you asked, “Did you watch the Liverpool game the other night?”

John chuckled, “Working late, I had to look up the results after.”

“Maybe, when you can, even if we can’t meet up, we could do a watch along. You know, you watch where you are, I watch where I am and we chat on the phone in between the good bits.”

“I’d like that,” Then he went back to trimming his potatoes into slim sticks, his face still lit up from the idea. “Be like having you in my office.”

Ah, so he worked late and had an office. Okay, it wasn’t the big breakthrough that you were hoping for. It was something though.

That was when you realised what he was doing with the potatoes. “Making your own chips too? You’re going all out for me.

“Nothing you don’t deserve.”

“How often do you get to cook?”

“Not often at all.”

“Then I feel honoured.” And you leant up against John’s side as he finished dunking the slices in the saucepan of salted water. When you kissed his shoulder through the fabric of his cashmere jumper – the jumper he was filling out so very nicely, by the way - he didn’t stiffen like he had before. Rather, John got a dopey sort of smile that made all the lines by the corners of his eyes and mouth creased into being, creating more evidence of his happiness. You refused to tease him about anything around that, out of principle. Instead, you were pleased that your work was bringing more chances to make that expression appear.

“You wanna watch a show after dinner?”

“You have another recommendation?”

“I do have something in mind. It’s quite apropos.”

John hummed in approval whilst he set the saucepan to parboil the potatoes. Leaning against the countertop, you against the island, sipping away coyly as you spoke about some future plans.

“I’m good from here. Go sit down.”

He’d even set the table all romantic, gotten out some unburned candles to light and offered some wine, which you refused on principle of being in his house for the first time and technically on the clock. You didn’t tell him that, of course. You sat beside him at the long solid wood dining table though. Enough opposites on date nights, he craved domesticity, so you adjusted your placing beside him and looked as innocent was you could when he placed your dish in front of you first.

A cut of the steak was what you ate first, immediately covering your mouth with your hand as it sizzled on your tongue, the flavour’s power catching you off guard.

John raised an eyebrow, barely hiding his grin as he prepared to take his inaugural bite, “Good?”

Shaking your head, you revealed your smile, “Don’t look at me.”

Instead of laughing like he was clearly trying not to, John offered a toast and your glasses sang together as you gave cheers to the success of the meal. It was almost embarrassing how fast you polished your meal off, which you countered by singing John’s praises to get him a matching shade of shyness. He paired it nicely with his pride and ensuring you knew you were an excellent colleague in the kitchen, allowing you neatly to introduce:

“The Bear?”

“It’s so good. I’m only four episodes in - hooked.”

Like show, like play-pretend boyfriend, it seemed, although you and John barely reached the same intensity Carmy experienced during your own cooking experience.

It was time to test the waters again. The approach was like John was a rescue that needed to be reminded that soft touch was normal and to be expected around you.

It mainly involved resting your hand on his heart. But your position allowed you to press completely against him, your arm resting upon his full belly hidden beneath a layer of muscle, fat and fabric. This wasn’t just for John’s benefit; taking stock of how large he was, a man built from marble and conviction, kept you grounded in the reason why he’d hired you. Surely, someone had to be this man’s type, someone who would not mind the months apart and loved his mutton chops. His solitude dismayed you, as did the fact that he hadn’t yet made any advances on your spooning. You let out a sigh, aiming to present it as one of relief, and shifted your position in an act of getting comfortable (you were already more than satisfied with this spot).

When John let his cheek rest on your crown, you closed your eyes. Hopefully, this fit what he was after: couch cuddles after a nice meal. You hoped, even when he hadn’t asked you to stay.

“I’m sorry, this is meant to be a comedy?” He asked incredulously after the second episode’s cold open. You only shrugged before settling back down in his side, feeling a tingle in your spine as his finger idly traced along the left side of it.

What affirmed your suspicions was you know he wanted to ask you to stay anyway. But he never did. He caught up with your episodes, denied help with washing up the dishes and offered to walk you to the car, even if it was just fifteen steps down the gravel driveway.

“I’ll have to cook for you something next time,” You said, looping your arm through his.

“Just tell me what you need from the farmer’s market.”

“Thank you for tonight.” You pecked his cheek, taking your time when moving away. The result: John lurked equally close to you, his hand falling to your knee as if to stop you from fitting into the back seat properly. “You want me to stay, don’t you?”

Genuinely hesitant, John maintained his gentleman act even as he admitted: “I do.”

So it was delightful to see his micro-expressions shift when you said, as easy as breathing, “Let me go grab my pyjamas; I’ll be right back.”

“I could drive you?”

“You’ve got that washing up that you wouldn’t let me do,” You replied, keeping a balance of light-hearted in front of the cabby and firm enough to dissuade John from pushing further. Per your privacy clause in your agreement, you told John to link you up with the secure car service he wanted to use, so that he wouldn’t have your address. You did not want him to see where you lived.

Thankfully, he agreed to your conditions and he released the car door for you to close.

“Back in a flash!”

---------------

“I’m gonna change. Maybe we can watch more once I’m ready?”

He was still in his attempt at casual get-up – unless he just genuinely wore cashmere as a casual garment. Leading you upstairs, he showed you to his room that was just as straight laced and dust-free as the rest of the house. A cream en-suite was offered as your changing room. Taking note of how his bed was pressed firmly against the wall and window, you locked yourself into the en-suite.

You couldn’t help but explore. Beard care products in wicker baskets, plus a few bottles and tubes that were half-used sat inside sparse overhead cupboards. Upon the top shelf, a handful of toiletries from the hotels you met him in sat untouched and unused. Nothing outside of a typical bachelor bathroom, except you did pause to smell his cologne, even spray some in the space ahead to walk through on your way out.

Thank fuck you’d completed your laundry day yesterday. Matching and adorable pyjamas had been waiting for you on the chair pile when you’d arrived home earlier and now dressed you to perfection. You fired off another text, updating and assuring your safety despite being in a remote house.

Every step down to the sitting room revealed more of John, who was already staring at you from his spot on the couch, his wine almost absent from the glass in his hand. There was a careful smile on his face, well-constructed like every part of him. But over the banister, you could see what he couldn’t hide in the glint in his eyes.Maybe this was a kink: the apron, the cooking, the sleepwear. But if it was a kink, where was the sex he seemed so excited about during that initial dinner?

Still not a bad gig.

As you rejoined him on the couch, John held up his phone, “I transferred you the money whilst you were out.”

“I saw, thank you.” And you snuggled into his side once again.

As he eased back into the couch cushions, you felt John pull you into him and take a deep breath, his nose pressed into your scalp. A half second later, he drew away his head and you waited on his suddenly still chest to see what he did next.

His arms constricted around you for just a moment. Then they slacked into a lax grip around you, his thumb rubbing back and forth where it met your arm. He took another deep breath before letting loose a throaty three-note chuckle that had disastrous effects on your composure, prickling in your neck as you felt that glorious sound wash down your back. It would take the entire next episode of The Bear for you to feel semi-alright with giving it your whole attention, but that only meant, when you began to doze, that you were expected to tune back in whenever John teased you about it – and he teased mercilessly with a squeeze down on your hip.

“You recommend a show, then you fall asleep during it. How am I meant to trust your judgement?”

“Not my fault you’re like a hot water bottle.”

 “Ah, so you’re the victim here.”

“Mm-hmm.”

At the sight of the end credits, John was the one to suggest going to bed. He was also the first to get in, lodging himself up against the wall after clearing his items from his bedside table into the drawer. The mattress slanted towards the middle as you folded yourself into bed, a rabbit in its warren, just avoiding the spot where John would usually recover from his day.

Sometimes, you did things without completely thinking them through. Never had you done it on the job though, so it was a shock to your system when you found yourself touching John’s arm to get his attention, words out of your voice box before your could turn it off:

“When we met, you told me that you would be lying if you weren’t interested in having sex. I’m interested in knowing what’s holding you back from asking for that.”

John paused his descent beneath the duvet and let his eyes drift down to where your hands gripped the bed sheets as he mulled over an answer.

When he looked back up, he spoke simply, “Nothing’s holding me back. I just don’t want that at the moment.”

That was all he offered, so it was what you accepted, kissing his lips quick as you wished him: “Goodnight, John.”

You slept with your hand under the pillow, holding onto your phone - silenced. But the night was as restless as you, waking you up to his arm around your waist at half two in the morning, the wind tap-tapping on the window. John’s radiator of a chest, hidden in his sleep shirt, was pulsing soporific warmth against your back. In the dark, you could make out something on his bicep where his shirt sleeve had rolled up. A tattoo but of what, you could barely decipher. You didn’t attempt to, flipping your pillow over before drifting off. 

Roused once more, you did not bothering to check the time as you slid out of bed on auto-pilot, your legs carrying you to the bathroom blearily. You didn’t want to wake John or draw yourself too far from sleep, so you left the light off. Feeling around the chilled tiles you hadn’t yet committed to memory brought you to the toilet, the roll and then the sink, only the soapy water making an effort to bring your consciousness forward.

Eyes adjusting to the dull wash of darkness as your feet found carpet again, you were greeted by a new shadow.John was looking up at you with alert eyes, pushed up on his front like he was Ariel at a rock pool. One of his hands, fingers fanned out, was in the space you’d vacated.

“Did I wake you?” You whispered as you approached him.

His voice was gruffer as he denied, “No, no.”

When he let you back into the bed, he tucked you under the duvet and (to your mild surprise) pulled you into his chest. It was quite unceremonious, how he scooped you up and rubbed his cheek on the back of your head, like you were his cat. Content to play the part, you hummed and curled in his burly arms. You had no choice, really, but it was a nice little trap he laid for you, even if he wasn’t completely awake when he set it.

“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” John said in a growl before he seemed to drop back into sleep, his hand burrowing under your pyjama shirt to grasp your belly. And, in your subconscious effort to return to slumber, you believed him. 

--------------

AN: Time for the interaction aspect! Vote on what you'd like to see me post next! Here's some short summaries:

Bubble Baths and Blisters (Pre-relationship/Fluff and Angst): Reader and John meet at another hotel at short notice. The reader offers to help John with his bath since he's injured (but he couldn't stay in the hospital any longer; he needed to see you).

First time (Pre-relationship/Angst and Smut): John calls the reader over last minute to his house. He's desperate for something to take his mind off things, but he's still holding out on getting over that first hurdle, still not quite taking what he wants. So you convince him to.

A “Moving-in” Present (Pre-relationship/Fluff and Some Smut): John buys something for the reader to welcome them into his home properly - with one little caveat.

[foggieststars]

say what ur thinking (re oscar gif) let’s go wren

thought too much about the way he blushes so here's 700 words of girl!oscar. idk what this is

---------------

“You go like, proper red,” Lando says, poking Oscar’s cheek. “D’you know that?” 

Oscar pulls away, startled. “What are you - what?” 

Lando laughs at her reaction. He’s been like this since day one; overly-familiar, baffled by Oscar’s seeming recalcitrance.

Not on camera, though. They’d both gotten a very stern talking-to from the marketing team about how it didn’t look right to have Lando’s hands all over Oscar in their videos. People might get the wrong idea. 

“Your cheeks,” Lando says, gesturing at her face. “You like, blush. A lot.” 

Oscar’s hands go to her cheeks. Sure enough, they’re warm, and growing warmer with every passing second. “Can’t help it, can I,” she responds, trying to keep her voice steady. “‘M like, pale. Comes with the territory.” 

“Yeah,” Lando says, pulling up his hoodie sleeve. “You really are.” He presses his forearm against hers, comparing the difference in tones. “Christ, Osc, you need to get some sunshine.” 

Oscar swallows, goosebumps erupting along her forearm where Lando’s is touching hers. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t really tan?” she croaks, watching Lando’s face. He drops his hand, starts drawing little circles around the moles on her arm. 

“Really?” Lando asks, and Oscar shakes her head. She’s pulled a bit of hair too tight in her plait, and she can feel it tugging at her scalp every time she moves. “You’re from Australia, though.” The constant motion of his finger on her forearm is making her skin tingle, something in her stomach going molten and warm. 

Oscar takes a deep breath and reminds herself that Lando’s got actual supermodels in his DMs, that he couldn’t be less interested in Oscar. It doesn’t matter that this feels like flirting, the juvenile way Oscar watched girls in her year compare their hand sizes with boys they liked. Lando’s not interested. 

“You should come to Ibiza with me in summer,” Lando shrugs. “Soak up some rays.” 

Oscar snorts. “I’m going to a training camp with Mark.” 

“Kinky,” Lando says, wiggling his eyebrows. Oscar rolls her eyes and looks away, like she always does when Lando jokes about Mark. Her blush has climbed all the way to her hairline now. She’d really like to finish her salad, actually. 

“Shame, though,” Lando continues. “Reckon you’d look good in a bikini,” Lando grins, the way he does when he knows he’s pushing something too far. “You wear one of those ones with the thong? Look dead uncomfortable, them.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Oscar says primly, well aware that her face is on fire. Plus, she’s like, getting wet. Which is completely fucking ridiculous, and she shouldn’t be, but it doesn’t matter. When she shifts in her chair, she can feel the damp heat in her underwear. 

Lando wraps his hand around her forearm. It’s infantile and ridiculous and stupid, but Oscar really wants him to do that thing that boys do, where they wrap their hand around your wrist and see if they can get their fingers to touch. 

Well - it’s what Oscar’s seen boys do. None of them had ever wanted to do it to her. 

“Yeah,” Lando says, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “I would like to know, actually.” 

Oscar’s breath catches in her chest, eyes darting up to find Lando’s. He seems serious about it. It’s not fair, the way it makes the blush spread down to her chest, the traitorous open neck of her polo shirt letting him see. His eyes dart down for a second, following the path of the blush, and that just makes everything worse. She’s caught him looking at her tits before, but this is different. It’s like, intentional, or something. 

Oscar opens her mouth, ready to ask if this is a joke, if he’s made some sort of twisted bet with his mechanics that he’d be able to get Oscar to spread her legs before the summer break, but she doesn’t get a chance.  

“You guys ready?” one of the marketing people asks, clapping Oscar’s shoulder, unaware that she’s interrupting. “We’ll need you in meeting room six.” 

Lando looks up at the woman, all heat gone from his eyes, smiling sunnily. Oscar wants to take a bite out of him. “Is that the one with the broken aircon?” he asks, pushing his chair back with a screech. “Might need to change rooms. Oscar’s looking a bit warm today.” 

[natalievoncatte]

cw: violence

Lena checked her watch. She only had a few minutes to pull this off, and had to time it perfectly. Lex was across town meeting with an investment consortium from Japan.

Officially.

She knew what he was planning. She just lacked the proof she needed. Once she had it, she would go to the media through her best friend and confidant, Kara Danvers. She had eyes on Lex right now as he met, in secret, with a Kasnian agent, the same one who'd help him orchestrate the theft of a prototype Lexosuit; that had been one of the first times that Superman had shut down one of Lex's schemes, and earned his undying hatred.

Lena needed the final piece of the puzzle before she involved Kara and pulled her into the danger of her private little war with her brother. This was so far beyond anything Lex had attempted that Lena knew now was the time, she had to stop him now, today. The line had to be drawn here, and no further.

The secure lab was deep in the bowels of the Lexcorp Tower in Metropolis; Lena made the excuse of a meeting with some of the research team working on battery enhancements for the upcoming line of Lexmobiles. (Lena had spent hours genuinely trying to talk Lex out of that god-awful name, and actually call them something marketable, but his towering ego was as immovable as it was monumental)

Lena's heart was racing as she stepped out of the elevator, carrying her briefcase under one arm. She strode down the hall like she owned the place (she did, actually- or half of it, anyway) and made sure anyone watching on the security feeds would pay her no mind. She'd worked here for years; even though she'd moved to National City to lead her own division, away from Lex, Superman, and all the drama, she was not an uncommon sight in this place.

Maybe here.

Lena stopped at the door, a heavy steel slab six feet wide and eight feet tall. Breath catching, she slipped her hand in her pocket and slid her finger through the ring she carried there. When she pulled her hand out, an image inducer created a perfect replica of Lex's hand around her own, projecting the unique contours and ridges of his palm and fingertips while simulating his pulse and unique vitals.

It was either going to work or it wasn't. She pressed the false hand to the sensors and waited. It beeped twice and turned a healthy blue.

The door let out a rush of cool air as it slid silently aside, its motion mirrored by an inner door of the same dimensions sliding in the opposite direction. Lena stepped through and removed the ring; the doors slid ominously closed behind her, latching with a heavy thunk as wrist-thick steel bolts slid home, anchoring them in place.

She knew that not only was the entire room lined with lead, but the lights could instantly switch to a red wavelength and the long sliding panels on the wall would open to reveal K-Radiator emitters. This room was designed to be a death trap for Kryptonians, should one be foolish enough to enter. That was why Lena had to do this alone.

Supergirl would rush in where angels feared to tread, and given the chance, she'd barge through those doors and end up helpless on the floor, at Lex's mercy to murder without witnesses. Or worse.

The lab was smaller than she expected, and Spartan. Despite her brother's notorious, arrogant grandiosity, he could be relentlessly practical when needed, and at heart was utterly ruthless. Lab benches lined the walls, and the computer was no different, visually, from any other workstation, though it was connected to a vast private database and would have very difficult encryption and security protocols that no one in the world could crack.

No one but her.

The far end of the room was dominated by a peculiar machine, resembling an incubation chamber of some kind, roughly human-sized and surrounded by thick steel cables and tubes, with several dozen monitors rigged up all around it, displaying all sorts of information.

Including biorhythmic data and vital signs.

Lena ran a hand over the steel of the external pod. It was warm.

Her throat tightened. This might be worse than she thought.

Turning to the terminal, Lena sat down on the stool and took from her bag a small portable drive and connection cable, setting them on the desktop in front of her. Lex had one of those drinking birds dunking placidly away at a glass of water on the desk, another bit of his peculiar humor. She'd once loved that about him, before his joking took on a mirthless, cruel streak.

Letting out a slow breath, Lena wiggled the mouse and woke the computer. It demanded a password, pass phrase, and passkey. The two she had, the latter was what the drive was for.

She typed BUCEPHALUS in the password field, then THY FEARFUL SYMMETRY in the pass phrase field, then clicked the cursor into the last box and plugged in the drive, and waited.

The program loaded automatically. If she made an attempt to brute-force the passcode, it would set off the alarms and possibly even trigger a deadly trap in this room. Lena had to crack it without cracking it; it took her months to create this algorithm, with the secret and begrudging help of Querl Dox at the DEO. He'd been concerned about it falling into the wrong hands; he was right to fear that, as it could crack virtually any system in seconds.

It did exactly that, filling in the require passcode. Lena clicked the LOGON button and let out a soft cry of relief as the screen lit up with Lex's desktop.

He had a series of folders waiting, just sitting there ready to be opened. The folders had names like LEXOSUIT, PARTICLE EMITTER, BINARY FUSION GENERATOR, SPATIAL DISTORTION CANNON, POINT-TO-POINT TRANSMATTER... and PROJECT GALATEA.

Lena opened that folder, and found a series of video files. She opened the first one, dated over a year ago.

Lex' face appeared, the man himself seated in this very lab.

"Mother stole Supergirl's DNA and used it to breach the Fortress of Solitude. She walked those hallowed halls, and didn't invite me! Not only that, she took only one device, when Superman's precious armory was right there for the taking! Is everyone a fool? Am I doomed to be surrounded by incompetents?"

He took a deep breath.

"It doesn't matter. There's enough of what she took left to comprise a viable sample... all I need is time, and I had that in abundance now that I've taken care of that nosy Gotham prosecutor that was working with Superman. He's too busy robbing banks to bother with me, and with the Metropolis police and GCPD in my pocket, Superman and that flying rat of his have nowhere to turn."

Flying rat? What the hell was he talking about?

Lena skipped a few files ahead.

"We'll call her Project Galatea. My initial plan -to create a limited-use drug that would produce Kryptonian superpowers- has been a failure. Nor was I able to successfully create a viable clone."

Lena's stomach sank. Clone? Clone? Had Lex tried to clone Supergirl? Was that was this equipment was for?

"Then it hit me- I could complete the project another way, by filling in the gaps in her DNA, but that still didn't solve all the problems. There was a missing component- I still don't know how Kryptonians actually absorb and process sunlight, for one. Still, that seems to be solving itself. Galatea's cells are absorbing the artificial solar energy that I'm pumping into her maturation chamber at a geometric rate. She might be even more powerful than her mother by the time she matures."

Lena jerked to her feet, a chill running through her body. Mother? Wait, did he mean-

Oh. Oh God.

Lena let the video drone on in the background as she moved back to the chamber. It was encased in steel plating, but it was designed to open. Lena found a pair of goggles on a work table near the control panel and put them on before flipping a switch.

The panels rotated, exposing a human form lying at an angle at rest on a padded platform. A respirator, like a flight mask, was strapped to her face, and she was submerged in thick, bubbling liquid. The chamber would have been too brilliant to look at, if Lena hadn't put on the goggles. It was flooded with brilliant solar radiation.

She'd put the inhabitant between ten and twelve years old, with golden skin and dark hair. Lena blinked a few times; it was like looking at an old picture of herself, actually.

For a brief moment, she just stared.

Then it hit her, and she almost vomited as she shoved the switch and closed the doors over the maturation chamber, stumbling back as she retched.

What did he do?

What did he do?

"I see you've met your niece."

Lena whirled, and found Lex staring her down, standing in front of the lab doors with his hands clasped behind his back, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"How... what... what the fuck did you do, Lex?"

"I think you've already pieced it together."

"Why?"

"Why?" said Lex. "I'll tell you why. Security. The security of a free state, sister. I did it because it had to done."

"This is... this is obscene," said Lena. "This is a violation, Lex. I'm not going to let you get away with it."

He laughed. "Get away with it? What do you mean, get away with it? What are you going to do, sue me for custody?"

"You... this is monstrous, Lex."

"We live in a world of monsters, dear sister," said Lex, stepping closer. "Gods and monsters, and who are we? Men, just men. There's whole universe out there, a multiverse, full of these creatures, and the human race is defenseless against them, and worse, they're being welcomed. They're eating of those Kryptonians' palms, you included, and now there are more of them. The green freak claiming to be a Martian. The so-called Amazon. There's seven or eight of them running around. Eventually it'll be twenty, then thirty, then more. They'll run roughshod over our institutions."

"You're out of your mind," said Lena.

"Am I?" said Lex. "Superman and Supergirl claim they fight for truth, justice, and the American way, right? What if their definition of justice doesn't match ours? What if they decide the American way isn't good enough? What if they decide they need to do more than pull kittens out of trees? Then what? Tell me, Lena, what happens if Superman decides to fly down tomorrow and tear the roof off the White House?"

"He wouldn't do that," said Lena. "I've met him, and I know Supergirl. She's saved my life a dozen times, and I suspect you know exactly what I'm talking about."

Lex shook his head. "Mother's extremism has always been a burden. I've done my best to protect you from her, Lena, and I've been honest about it. That's more than you can say for Supergirl."

"You kept this from me," said Lena.

"Until I was ready. I had to be sure that she was viable before I bring her out of the chamber and introduce you. She's going to be part of the family. Our long lost cousin, who we'll raise as a daughter, knowing that the Earth is truly safe now. That we'll have one of them on our side."

"This... this is Supergirl's child."

"That won't be a problem," said Lex. "It's time for you to grow up and let go of these fantasies, Lena. Supergirl doesn't have any interest in you. You're nothing to her, at best a beloved pet."

"I believe in her. We've worked together."

"I said the same thing about Superman. You know how close we were."

"It's not like that."

Lex's smirk turned cruel. "Isn't it? You've always had a type."

'Fuck you," Lena spat.

He chuckled softly and shook his head. "You're not listening. I guess I have to prove it to you. Computer! Show her."

The droning video log of Lex discussing the problems of merging Kryptonian and human DNA stopped, and another one popped up, taking the entire screen. Lena almost didn't look, but her head turned inexorably and she watched.

"Kara?"

Lena watched Kara Danvers walking down a corridor. She stumbled, as something hit her back, twice. Whatever it was tore holes in her cardigan, and she turned around, standing tall. Taller than usual. She didn't move this time; it was as if little puffs of wind were blowing holes in her clothes.

Except they weren't puffs of wind. They were bullets; Lena could see the muzzle flashes, off camera.

"What... how..."

Kara yanked her glasses off and shook her hair free, ripping the cardigan open, popping the buttons, baring the sweeping crest on the chest of her her blue uniform.

"No," Lena whispered.

"I sent the men who shot her in this recording," said Lex. "Don't worry, I already knew; Mother told me. The alien confessed it to her, before begging her not to tell you. I wonder why."

The video ended.

"This is a trick. She wouldn't... she isn't... she's my best friend."

"No, she's your master and you're an obedient dog, heeling where she tells you, and if you aren't... do you know what happened to the assassins I sent to kill Kara Danvers?"

Lena swallowed. "Shut up, Lex. Stop talking."

He smiled, teeth bared in a wolfish grin. "The martian mind-wiped them. He uses his psychic powers to erase the memories of anyone who compromises her identity."

"Stop," said Lena.

"Ever have any... episodes?" said Lex. "Any of those days, where you were so busy your memory gets a little foggy? Ever find yourself back in your apartment without quite knowing how you got there? Are you sure your own memories haven't been tampered with, Lena?"

"Shut up!" she screamed.

"You've been manipulated, tricked, deceived. She doesn't love you, she never will, and you have nowhere to turn. Help me, Lena. Join me, and we can be a proper family again. We can put things right, and lead a free world to-"

Lena reached into her pocket and pulled out a nickel plated Smith and Wesson Ladysmith revolver with faux-ivory grips bearing Lena's initials. Lex gave it to her on her twenty-first birthday, and went with her to the range the next week to teach her to use it.

"Oh," said Lex.

Lena shot him. The blast was ear-splitting in the confined space, leaving a painful ringing in its wake. Lex crumpled, toppling onto his side as if his strings had been cut. Rolling onto his back, he stemmed the gushing of his lifeblood from the wound just below his ribs and looked at her.

"Didn't think you had it in you," he rasped. "Should have known you'd be the one. You can only count on blood."

Tears stung her eyes, blurred her vision. Lena held out the weapon, her grip trembling as she aimed at his head.

"You'll never stop," she choked out. "You'll kill her. She'll never be safe as long as you're alive."

Lex grinned, the corners of his mouth wet with blood. "Do it."

Lena's finger flexed, but the trigger felt frozen in place. As it shifted slightly, a flood of memories slammed through her- shooting lessons and chess games, strange idle fancies and muted conversations, long rides in the back of sedans. Lena's graduation, Lionel's funeral, Lillian's abuses, Lex standing between their father and Lena with a bruise on his jaw, warning the old man not to lay another hand on her.

A sob tore from her throat. She couldn't do it. She couldn't.

Lex laughed flecks of blood onto the floor.

"Go on, then. I don't need you. I have my own Kryptonian, and she's going to be daddy's little girl."

It was as if the rain suddenly stopped, the sun cracking open the clouds. The gun was terribly loud again, and Lena turned away before she saw the shot connect, looking away from the blood fanning out across the floor as Lex went silent and still.

Shoving the still-hot gun back into her pocket, Lena ran.

Thought I'd share a little bit more from the in-progress Curse of Strahd AU/Crossover!

[cookinary]

May we see some of the dragon themed jewelry if you don't mind?

AW HELL YEAH

First off, the ring is GhostWing (previously NightWing before she broke), I bought a whiiiiile back on a market, she used to be a classic metal ring but she was this cheap kind that breaks easily

So she broke

But I loved her too much so I decided to fix her by gluing her broken pieces to fabric and make a fabric ring basically. I regularly change the fabric when it gets too damaged (fun fact, the fabric is draconic fake leather BECAUSE YES THIS IS A THING)

The bracelet, I just found on Etsy lol

His name is Ouro because you close him by making him chomp his tail, it's adorbs <3

He has the bad habit of sometimes letting go of his tail and falling to the ground, often in the worst moments and places (bro ended up in the toilet —BEFORE I COULD FLUSH BTW— and even in the sewers once)

Next, I have this epic pocket watch that I got for Christmas with a dragon and a phoenix on it, I fucking love it to death ;v;

And it's the kind that doesn't use batteries, you actually rewind it! And it has transparents parts so you can see the springs and shit, it's fucking awesome

And finally, we have poor Master ;-;

I've been meaning to fix him for years now, procrastination be damned ;-;

He has the same closing mechanism as Ouro, he just aaAAA CHOMP

My right wrist feels so naked without him ;-;

And I aLMOST FORGOT

(thanks my Hollow Knight plushy for the fantastic nail display)

Poor GoldenTail who is also broken (and the fabric trick didn't work ;-;), I got her from a friend who didn't pick the right size so she was too small (I have big fingers)

And the same friend gave me

THIS HANDSOME GIRL to whom I still haven't given a name nor a backstory cuz I still don't know how to wear her (she can be either a brooch or a necklace)

. . .

What do you mean you don't give your jewels names and interconnected backstories?

You're missing out

[whirlwindimagines]

‘Take me to church’

Nicholas D. Wolfwood x Reader

A/n:I’m dumb and deleted your request instead of saving it 😭 So I thought the next best thing was to post it like this, apologies! I’m glad you enjoyed your first request enough to ask for a second one! 💙 title has no importance it just happened to be the song I was listening to while writing.

So this is a request for! @sweetchildcloud​ they wanted the reader, to be shot and injured, with some angst but the reader lives!

You glanced at all the storefronts as you walked beside Wolfwood, the town was decently sized and able to hold a little market place it was nice. The group had split up, looking for somewhere to stay the night and you had gone off with Wolfwood. 

You slowed your pace, checking out the items for sale. Wolfwood grumbled each time you did so, but he never left your side. You rolled your eyes with a huff; he was such a softy when he wanted to be. 

There was a commotion off to the side, turning to look you were shoved back out of the way of someone running by. You let out a startled yelp, losing your footing. Wolfwood managed to catch you and help you to your feet. You could hear someone yelling to ‘stop that thief’

With a huff, you turned to run after them until Wolfwood grabbed you by the shoulder stopping you. “What do you think you're doing?” You raised a brow pointing in the direction where the guy ran off, “oh come on, getting a thief will be easy let’s go.” 

“It’s not our problem,” Wolfwood said, dropping his hand from your shoulder, you frowned, shaking your head. “We’ll I’m making it my problem.” You ignored him when Nicholas called out your name as you followed the thief. You were sure you could handle this quickly, without his help. 

Racing through the stalls, and avoiding colliding with other people you catch sight of the thief again. Following him, you watch as the thief ducks into an alleyway so you do the same and corner him. 

The both of you have a small standoff in the alleyway, you put your hands up not trying to scare them and trying to de-escalate the situation. “Look just drop whatever you took, let’s make this easy.”  Your gun was heavy on your hip, but you did not want to use it if bloodshed could be avoided.

The thief seems to hesitate, it happens in an instant and you don’t move fast enough to counter. The thief lunges, grabbing you by the collar of your jacket and slamming you in the alleyway wall. You grab his wrist your other hand going for your gun, you unholster it only for the thief to grab at it and try to wrestle it from your hands.

The gunshot is quick and sudden, and the pain in your stomach registers before your brain can understand what happened. The man backs off shock on his face as you quickly place your hand over the wound and slide down the alley wall trying desperately not to panic.

“You should have just minded your own business.” You glare up at the man, kicking out and getting him the shin, it forces him to a knee. You kick out again, but the thief grabs your ankle and pulls you forward your back hitting the dirt. Pain shoots through your stomach, you try to move up onto your elbows the man presses his boot to your chest not giving you the chance.

“Sorry.” A gunshot, the sound of a gun dropping to the dirt, and a scream of pain may be your own you have no idea. All you know is you are alone now.

Wolfwood is getting impatient, he didn’t think you would take this long, he sighs maybe he should have gone with you? He’s knocked into from behind, he snaps out an annoyed “Watch it!” Looking at the retreating figure, wasn’t that?

Hands grip the back of his suit jacket, “Nicholas” his name, your voice, Wolfwood visibly relaxes letting out a huff as he turns to look at you, ready to give you a piece of his mind. You drop your hands swaying in front of him, you tilt forward, and you’re falling. Startled Wolfwood catches you in his chest his arms grabbing your elbows to keep you upright. 

“What the hell is the matter with you kid?” You lean your head forward until it’s resting on his chest, you can hear his strong heartbeat it puts you at ease. “Sorry, you were right.” Your words are slurred, your legs give out and you drop like a sack of rocks. 

Wolfwood drops to his knees with you, frantically calling your name. His hand skims your side, and he freezes. The smell of iron hits him hard, hand pulling away covered in blood. He swears loudly, as he presses his hands to your wounds. 

“Hey stay with me!” You whine, shutting your eyes tightly, you don't remember when you started crying but the tears come in full force. “It hurts.” You sob, the words sounding forced and it's becoming painful to talk. Wolfwood is just grateful you are talking, that you are still awake. He scoops you into his arms, you cry out at the quick movement. 

Wolfwood tried to be gentle as he cradled you to his chest, not wasting time he took off into a sprint. The town was one of decent size, they would have some type of hospital. Wolfwoods search was desperate, but he finally burst through the hospital doors. Demanding you been seen right away; he panics when he's not allowed back with you.

All Wolfwood can do is wait with your blood on his hands and a racing heart. He doesn’t know how Vash and the others find him, but he's secretly glad they did. Everyone sat in silence, Wolfwood probably went through an entire pack of cigarettes, and Vash tried to deter him from smoking in a hospital but he didn’t give a damn. 

It felt like hours passed before everyone was allowed to see you. Wolfwoods heart ached to see you laying in the hospital bed, he was grateful the others were giving him some space. He joined your side, grabbing your hand in his. “You’re here.” He jumped at your quiet voice, as you looked up at him with a small smile. 

“You’re an idiot.” You grinned as Wolfwoods grip tightened on your hand, “But I'm your idiot.” you replied, leaning back into the pillows and closing your eyes content to be here with him. You heard him laugh, and felt him place a hand on your head smoothing down your hair, “Yeah I guess you are.”

[growup-thatbeautiful]

Pleasure + Pain | Tangerine

Warnings: sexual content, blood, injuries, cursing

Tangerine masterlist

Word Count: 2.3k

You’ve been through hell. Even if he hadn’t been there to see you fight your way through men twice your size, taking your punches and leaving only ghosts in your wake, he would be able to tell from the way you move around your kitchen. There’s a tenderness in your movements, like you’re taking care to make your movements smooth and fluid. 

The shirt you’re wearing has to be his; it falls halfway down your thighs, covering enough of your to appear modest. You both know modesty isn’t something you’re concerned about at this point (he’s bandaged you up enough times to see almost all of you), but it drives him insane to think of you going through your closet and picking something of his so blatantly. Your hair, speckled with dried blood both yours and other, falls loosely from the bun you put it in, locks escaping and framing the bruiseson your face perfectly. There’s a natural life to your cheeks from your recent job well done, and you’re itching around the kitchen, keeping your ink-coverd hands busy. Some part of him wonders if you’d ever be willing to get a tattoo with him. His brain helpfully supplies images of his name sprawled across your heart, there for all of your victims to see. 

In his twisted mind, he’s come to accept you as some sort of angel, claiming your souls and floating through your own life beautifully, a glowing essence around you. 

As he watches you move around and pour yourself and him a cup of tea, he revels in your presence. 

It’s not something he lets himself do often. There’s the chance that you’ll can’t help his stare and figure out that it’s more than partnership behind his gaze. 

Without asking him, you add a dash of honey to his tea and place the flowered mug on the counter. He knows you got it at some sort of market, but he had zoned out when you told him the story. Knowing you, he thinks, it’s stolen. 

A girl after his own heart. 

When you lean over the counter on the other side of him, the fresh cut across your brow leaks an angry drop of blood to trace a tear’s path down your face. 

He sees the way you lean into it- the pain. He sees how you favor the leg that took a knife deep into its flesh. How you pick at your nails until they bleed and absentmindedly trace your scars, pressing on them to search for that dull ache. 

He sees it and he has no idea why it makes him feel the way that he feels. Of course, he’s not the most emotionally available person most of the time, and he isn’t always aware of his feelings. 

He doesn’t know why it makes him picture you underneath him, your head tossed back into creamy white pillows, tears leaking from your eyes as he asks you for more. He sees marks- ones he left- on your wrists and lining your hips, a checkerboard of him on your thighs. 

You’re staring at him now. You’ve probably asked him something, and all he can think about is how pretty your lips look when you say his name. 

“Tan?” you ask, your voice on the edge of soft and deceptive in its quietness. He’s seen you with blood dripping from your hands, but the only word he can think of right now is pure. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No, love. It’s nothing,” he assures you. You keep looking at him skeptically, your eyes filled with doubt, a half-grin on your face. 

You must find something in his gaze you don’t like, because you look down into your mug, your red-painted fingernail twirling the tea’s string in between your fingers. 

He can’t stand the silence, so he says, “You did good today.” You deserve to know that, even if it’s from him. 

“Tan,” you state, edge to your tone, a familiar blaze in your eyes, “What are you playing at?” 

“I’m not,” he defends. “I’m just telling you that you properly dealt with those fucking pricks.” 

“I always do.” You take a sip of your tea and settle yourself on top of the countertop, sliding to where you’re across from him. He leans forward in response, taking in the overwhelming scent of you that fills the minimum space left between you. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “How’s your leg?” It’s not because he’s worried that he asks; he’s seen you take worse. If he can remind you of the pain, he can keep you leaning into the comfortable atmosphere you’ve created. 

It’s like you’ve forgotten about the pain until he brings it up. He sees the moment you remember, though, because animation fills your face. You look excited, like he’s brought up a wedding ring instead of the stab wound on your thigh. 

“S’fine,” you whisper. You’re smart enough to recognize the trap he’s setting for you. You wouldn’t allow for him to run his hand along the bandages on your thigh if you didn’t want it. 

You could kill him if you wanted. But you don’t; you let him press down against the growing red stain, a gasp lodged in your throat, your hand grasping the wrist that’s sliding across your neck. 

It’s obscene, the way your eyes flutter shut when you lean into his touch, like this is normal. Like anything about this isn’t totally fucked. 

“Tan,” you warn lowly, but it’s an empty threat and you both know it. There’s nothing to ruin here, no invisible line to cross. He always knew it would lead to this, and so did you. 

He presses until blood drips down your leg, slow and beaded, the bandage angry and full. Every muscle in your body is tense- he can feel it underneath his hands that search and tease and discover. The scar on your shoulder, the burn on your ribs, the raised tissue of the newly etched tattoo along your spine. All of it, together, has you going boneless against him, your weight leaning against his broad shoulders, your head finding a place in the crook of his neck, your shaky breaths wet against the undone collar of his shirt. 

He doesn’t know if you’re aware of the sounds you’re making, whining noises in the back of your throat, fucking unbearable for him to listen to and not address. 

“What do you need, love?” He has so many ideas of what you could say. His fingers, his mouth, his cock. Any of it he’s willing to give; he burns with the thought of giving any of it to you. “I swear to God, I’ll fucking give you whatever you ask for.” 

When you don’t answer, he grabs your chin between two fingers tipped with blood and brings your face out from his neck. 

Oh, he thinks. He never should have let you hide away. There’s heat in your face, making you look healthy and happy and fucked out of your mind. He’s barely even touched you and your lips are swollen from biting them to keep quiet and from leaving marks along his throat. He files it away for later to make sure he hears you at full volume- no embarrassment to keep him from getting to experience you. Your eyes, so bright and full of fight usually, are still bright, but there’s a shine of tears in them. Whether it’s from the pain or the pleasure, he doesn’t know, but either way he takes it in with satisfaction. 

“Aren’t you fucking pretty?” he coos, more sincere than he means it to. All you can do is nod in response, your eyes glassy and your chest heaving. It occurs to him that you would agree with anything he said right now; it’s a dizzying thought, a grounding thought. “Can you answer me, love?” It comes out gentler than anything else he’s said tonight, and it must work because you manage to whisper a breathy “yes.” While a smile that’s probably too knifelike, he cups your face, reveling in the warmth of your skin. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks next. Your eyes go round and a frown finds its way to your face and, no, he can’t have that. With a kiss to your forehead, he smooths away the upset lines and hauls you closer to the edge of the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist easily. “I won’t stop unless you want me to, darling.” Fuck church bells- the relieved sigh that comes from your lips is all he wants to hear when he dies. 

“Right, then,” he mutters against the shell of your ear. “As much as I fucking love to see you in my shirt, this-” he pulls on the buttons holding your shirt together “-is going to have to go.” You try to help him with the buttons, but your shaking hands make it hard, and he gets four undone before you get one. When the shirt falls open to reveal your flimsy, last-resort bra, he lets out a low groan and pushes the rest of the fabric off your shoulders and onto the floor. You wait expectentaly while he undoes the metal clasp, your bra joining the shirt in a pile on the floor. The cool air pebbles your nipples, a shiver running down your spine. He sees it and does what he can to fix it; his hands cup you gently at first, then roughly, kneading and pinching until your legs are vicelike around his waist, begging for friction between your legs. When he’s had his fill with his hands, his mouth comes next, careful kisses and bites scattering the valley of your breasts as he runs his hands anywhere he can find. You’re rocking with him, his curls caught tight in his grip as you push him forward and pull him back, trying to escape and chase more. 

He didn’t expect it to be like this: you, following his lead, letting him take control for once. The fight in you, which he’s so used to, is gone, leaving you with puppy-dog eyes and red lips. It’s a heady thought to think he might be the only person you trust to see you like this. 

You start pleading with him, and he’s only human. He would prefer for his first time to fuck you not to be up against a counter, but he doesn’t think he can wait until he carries you to your bedroom.You would probably have some protests, too. 

He’s still a gentleman, though so he pulls away from you, despite your protests, to grab the clothes on the floor and shove them underneath your head as he splays you over the counter, your back hitting the cool marble. 

The thin material of your underwear slides down your blood-crusted thighs, and he tosses it somewhere behind him before he runs his hands up your legs, inching closer and closer to your heat. You’re quiet now, like if you make a noise he’ll stop, which he wouldn’t dream of. Until you ask him to, he’s going to treat you right. 

When he slides his first finger in, you take it like you’ve been waiting ages, ready for him. One quickly turns into two, which turns into three. He scissors you open, not going too fast but not taking his time with you anymore. Based on the increasing volume of your moans, you want it just as badly as he does. You’re taking him in greedily, your hands searching for purchase on the smooth countertop, your hips canting up to meet the curling of his fingers.

As soon as he deems you ready, he removes his fingers, licking them off with a hum while you whine unhappily underneath him. He quiets your complaints with a kiss while he searches for a condom in his back pocket, finding it and  rolling it over his length before notching himself at your entrance. He takes a moment to look at you, the clarity in your eyes, the plead on your lips. It’s enough to take a good man to his knees, and he’s no good man. 

His eyes meet yours and that’s all it takes for him to push his way in, a low, loud groan leaving escaping his throat when he feels the tight, slick heat of you take him. He knows he’s not going to last long with how pent up he’s been, but he can tell you aren’t either. The pace he sets is brutal and punishing, his hips snapping into yours, one hand gripping your hip and the other pressing circles on your clit. Your eyes are screwed tightly shut, noises bubbling from your throat as he fucks you harder, faster. His lips meet yours in a kiss when he feels you tightening around him, your cunt clenching down as your orgasm crashes into you, your body going tight, your back arching as you pull him in deeper. He follows you over the edge, his head buried in your hair, murmuring sweet nothings into your skin as you both come down from your highs. 

“Fuck,” you laugh, a smile finding its way to your face as you card your hands through his hair. “That was-” “Yeah,” he agrees. “It was.” Standing up straight, he pulls you with him, leading you to the bathroom where you’ll clean each other up like you have so many times in every other way but this.

You leave a trail of blood on the floors when you walk with him, leaning against him for support, his hand on the small of your back. The fight in your eyes is back, and he’s expecting hell from you about the bruises covering your body tomorrow. 

Maybe you’re not an angel, but he’s not convinced you aren’t some sort of avenginig devil, here to torture him with your smile and your laugh and your sex. He’ll follow you no matter what, though. Every part of you calls for him, and he’s more than willing to answer for anything you ask. 

First he has to clean you up and get you to bed. You’ll be a devil again tomorrow; right now, you’re his.

[legalkimchi]

Sometimes I hate the world.

So I love wristwatches. It started when I found myself working at a mall jewelry story around the recession of 2006. Staring at them for hours, I started to appreciate them. I marvel at the engineering behind them and the artistry of watches. Many luxury watches are hand made by skilled watchmakers. They are superfluous. They don't control time in any way and your phone is more accurate but I love them.

Part of collecting watches is the large portion of the watch community that buys them to flex their wealth. It's an annoying truth of it. Folks like Kevin oleary love showing off their collection of millions of dollars of watches. There are lyrics in songs about Audemar piguet, patek Phillipe and of course, rolex. (Which, by the way, is a nice watch maker but by no means the best or most expensive. They just have really good marketing...)

But that community is plagued with the same issues of any community. Racism, classism, ableism, sexism, etc. There was one time I was watching a video discussing a smaller watch and the reviewer asked "who is this for? Women? Asians?" He was making a comment on smaller wrist size. As an Asian with an above average sized wrist, I was put off by this random comment. But facing that sort of racism is pretty benign, relatively.

I saw a discussion on what is luxury in the watch world. Lots of folks like to wax poetically about it. Be to be honest, most watches are luxury products. Unnecessary pieces of jewelry. To be fair, I think that's fine, but some folks feel the need to say otherwise to defend their spending habits.

But I commented a softball. I merely said, if you have the money to buy a $400,000 watch, you probably have a moral obligation to help people with your money and not buy such a purchase. While some watches get super expensive, when you get to that level you aren't paying for an artists work, or even the gold or platinum of the watch, you are paying money to show off you are paying money. You clearly have hundreds of millions, if not billions, and should probably help people with that money.

I try not to get bullish about socialism in a hobby watch forum. I try to play nice.

But then someone had to comment about they would rather buy a luxury timepiece than "squander it on people who will be hungry tomorrow."

And I wasn't even sure how to proceed. As there are rules in the watch forum that state to be "nice" and "civil" I simply stated that the statement showcased a severe disconnect with our two moral philosophies and out of respect for the forum runners, I would not comment further.

But others joined the discussion to call out, gently, this person's ridiculous viewpoint.

And he doubled down. Saying he felt it was more a "national government" issue and that he felt it was "offensive" to give to someone in need. Stating giving to the poor keeps them poor. And he wasn't going to "gamble on layabouts."

Thankfully there was a block function.

I always try to engage with folks first with compassion and second with the benefit of the doubt.

But there was no use arguing with this vile person. It would have lead to me being thrown out of the forum (which is generally a nice place) and him still being there. Because he wouldn't attack me, just poor people. It is a common rhetorical tactic to exclude those fighting the good fight.

Just an annoying way to start my day...

[kimakento]

lovesick

summary: a drabble in which you and mame decide to take a little walk through the city ⌙ 0.5k

pairing: mameharaissei x fem!reader

genre(s): general, fluff

tags: established relationship, fluff, cuties

author’s note: my fluff writing is kind of bad……but i was in such a good mood writing this soo idrk. definitely going to be writing more fluff so i can improve ! my turn when mame 😞

you felt your heartbeat quicken as mame wrapped his gentle hand around your right wrist. “you’re so pretty.” your hushed voice echoed through the air as he guided you through the bustling crowd. all while his back shielded you from his noticeable flustered grin.

a while after you both reached the end of the market road, mame pulled you towards an aged, wooden bench. once settling down comfortably, his hand intertwined with yours, he exclaimed “i want to cherish this moment, i always feel at peace here? i couldn’t ask for anyone better than you.” a heartwarming chuckle escaped his mouth.

“when did you become so amazing with your words? are you taking lessons from your members?” you said, rather jokingly. a sigh leaves mame’s mouth at your unserious response, you always had to say something like this.

“way to ruin the moment, babe.”

the emphasis on the ‘babe’ had somehow resulted into your face heating up. your gaze focused on his adorable eyes that admired the scene, but also widened at your telling silence.

a surge of passion flowed through your body. “i think i love you, issei.” every moment with him felt like you were going to melt into nothing due to his presence always making you feel so…so—the emotion was inexplainable. to mame though, he was falling so hard, he couldn’t feel his head.

“is this okay?” issei asked, moving his head towards both your laced hands. “more than okay.” you took his avoidance of the topic calmly, you were okay with him not being ready; waiting for him was nothing for you. “and i think i love you too.” mame’s voice subtly wavered as the confession hung in the atmosphere.

still, he continued to watch the crowd of the people going on with their daily lives. only when his breath hitched quietly as he felt your lingering gaze on him did issei move.

the sun rays beamed onto you, illuminating your skin. absentmindedly tracing mini figures on his palm, you leaned towards him, bumping your smaller shoulder with his. “what have you done to me?” your tone was playful as you filled the gap and connected your lips with his momentarily.

pulling away, he let out a snicker “never say that again.” the october breeze sounded out in the air, temporarily tuning his mumbles of frustration out and instead accentuating the fallen, red-brownish leaves by whisking them around the area. your coarse fingertips of your free hand stroked the splintered wood of the bench as you sank deep in thought.

autumn was such a pretty season, it reminded you of mame — so calm and free. hands waved infront of your face, snapping you out of your trance. “hm?” you hummed half-intelligibly. a goofy smile creeped up onto his face, paired with wink sent your way.

“you were daydreaming about me, so adorable.” issei cooed as he pinched your warm cheeks. you huffed in retaliation whilst crossing your arms and glaring at him. “your ego is unfathomable, im surprised your head hasn’t grown tenfold in size.” playful banter bloomed between you both, as your taunt coaxed an eruption of laughter from mame.

“you’re cute when you act smart.” that earned him a light slap to his shoulder. “oh! i’m just kidding, you’re obviously beautiful. my fault.” he turned towards you, ushering a stray strand of hair away from your face.

god, you both were so lovesick.

taglist: @turtledove824

[babygirlhq]

task 001. --- the enchanted market

Never in his earlier years did Tristan even think about leading an ordinary life. Why would he? After all, he lived in a world of magic, surrounded by incredible and miraculous phenomena at all times. To a child born without an innate arcane ability, things that most people would deem as common occurrences seemed extraordinary. His younger self made a promise. Set out a goal, an eternal pact with his future self, making sure that neither of them would ever give up on wanting more, learning more, finding and reaching newer heights after every achievement. Wonder-filled eyes growing wider and wider as they witnessed magic, and they never stopped doing just that. Not even now, as an adult.

It was an ever-lasting night sky, full of constellations and nebulas and comets burning hotter than the sun itself as they glinted in the form of a sparkle in his gaze, jumping from one artifact to the other, giving each of them their own moment, to assess them, their value, their potential. He was there, deep in quiet ecstasy of being a metaphorical dragon in a treasure trove.

Dreamstones varied in sizes and colors, wedged into the last objects one would think of powering with magical energy. Items seeming to be most ordinary and yet imbued with charms and enchantments. He wasn't sure whether some of the accessories were bewitched or cursed, but one thing was for certain. Each and every one of them would increase his power, granting him fuel for whatever he would set out to do next.

Right beside ambition, curiosity was his biggest strength, though it was also the catalyst of his folly. It was once again, what brought inquisitive fingers littered with arcane tattoos of runes touching an artifact that had caught his eye more than any others.

It was as if he'd touched an electric current, a pinch, and then a rush of warmth throughout his whole body, his being, his soul. He instinctually pulled his hand back, even though it didn't hurt him. The feeling was quite like when he would channel all of his dreamstones, becoming one with magic before unleashing a spell. It was what he thought all spirit warriors felt all the time. There was a sense of belonging. Even though it took more steps, he got there, an equal.

With this object, however, he could be more. Better, even. Stronger.

Immediately, his heart yearned for the artifact. It was only after he embarrassingly bull-headedly asked for the price, that he'd locked gazes with the vendor.

Their words were full of playful malevolence, mixed with the tone of a friend cautioning him to consider his next decision very carefully, and it was almost as if they talked to a wall. A very power-hungry wall at that, as Tristan, for once in his life, didn't consider a damned thing. That could've been a sign as to how corrupting the artifact could be, but seemingly, there wasn't an inch of worry on his face.

He needed this artifact. Wherever it came from. He'd only got a glimpse of its power and he knew. It would be perfect for him. Fate truly brought him to his destiny, in that obscure market that practically came out of nowhere. Tristan didn't even know what he was doing before stumbling into this place! That's how unimportant everything was before he knew this artifact existed.

The vendor's smile grew, as their eyes turned darker. Tristan didn't suspect a thing. His heart was vacant of magic, yearning, an easy picking. The best victims were the ones who were lacking of something.

The moment Tristan clasped the ornate bracer around his left wrist and watched its seams melt together, locking in place never to be unlocked without a struggle ever again, he felt the same warm electric feeling in his core, coursing out through his body. Everything looked brighter around him, he felt lighter in his shoes, even his breathing became more even.

There was a triumphant smirk on his face, even once he turned back and the vendor was gone, as was their stall, and the whole marketplace. The only thing that was left was the artifact on his wrist, pumping an unimaginable amount of magic into him, without a care for his own body's limits.

All he knew now was the need to try his new powers out without holding back. And the thought that he didn't have to fear the consequences. Not when he was this powerful.