#You require from yourself more than needed

[naamahdarling]

This is awesome.

"Why is there a prior birth requirement?" Because they want to know the uterus is capable of carrying a child. That's all.

"Is it ethical?" If both parties consent and the donor was not paid or otherwise incentivised, etc., then yes, it's ethical, stop being weird about people's bodies because you have the ick. Adoption and surrogacy are riddled with ethical issues.

"It's so extreme!" If they can do either of the first two surgeries laparoscopically and not with an open surgery, it's much less of a big deal for that surgery. Surgery isn't something we should regard as this wild and extreme thing, not to the extent we do. Part of the point of researching surgeries and doing a bunch of them is that they can then go from being extreme (my mom's hysterectomy, which fucked her up badly) to being nonthreatening (mine; it was not painful to a bothersome extent and I was only really on my ass for a couple of very chill weeks).

"There have to be easier ways. Why do you need to give birth yourself?" IDK, their reasons are not my business, or anyone else's. Besides, every method of getting a baby sucks in some way, and many take a lot longer. Also, if you want to talk about easy, if these success rates could be sustained across the eligible population? This method would be WILDLY successful. One round of IVF, which is a miserable process for most people, has about a 20-30% success rate. Recent studies put it higher, but the best case scenario seems to be about 55%. So most people go through it more than once.

This technology will benefit MANY MANY people if we can see it through, not just by letting them have babies, but by all the other shit it's going to teach us about organ donation and pregnancy and hormones and a ton of other things I can't even guess at because I'm not a doctor.

Also, I support trans women.

This is a good thing.

"The first modern attempt at transferring a uterus from one human to another occurred at the turn of the millennium. But surgeons had to remove the organ, which had become necrotic, 99 days later. The first successful transplant was performed in 2011 — but even then, the recipient wasn’t immediately able to get pregnant and deliver a baby. It took three more years for the first person in the world with a transplanted uterus to give birth. 

More than 70 such babies have been born globally in the decade since. “It’s a complete new world,” said Giuliano Testa, chief of abdominal transplant at Baylor University Medical Center.

Almost a third of those babies — 22 and counting — have been born in Dallas at Baylor. On Thursday, Testa and his team published a major cohort study in JAMA analyzing the results from the program’s first 20 patients. All women were of reproductive age and had no uterus (most having been born without one), but had at least one functioning ovary. Most of the uteri came from living donors, but two came from deceased donors.

Fourteen women had successful transplants, all of whom were able to have at least one baby.  

“That success rate is extraordinary, and I want that to get out there,” said Liza Johannesson, the medical director of uterus transplants at Baylor, who works with Testa and co-authored the study. “We want this to be an option for all women out there that need it.”

Six patients had transplant failures, all within two weeks of the procedure. Part of the problem may have been a learning curve: The study initially included only 10 patients, and five of the six with failed transplants were in that first group. These were “technical” failures, Testa said, involving aspects of the surgery such as how surgeons connected the organ’s blood vessels, what material was used for sutures, and selecting a uterus that would work well in a transplant. 

The team saw only one transplant fail in the second group of 10 people, the researchers said. All 20 transplants took place between September 2016 and August 2019.

Only one other cohort study has previously been published on uterus transplants, in 2022. A Swedish team, which included Johannesson before she moved to Baylor, performed seven successful transplants out of nine attempts. Six women, including the first transplant recipient to ever deliver a baby back in 2014, gave birth.

“It’s hard to extract data from that, because they were the first ones that did it,” Johannesson said. “This is the first time we can actually see the safety and efficacy of this procedure properly.”

So far, the signs are good: High success rates for transplants and live births, safe and healthy children so far, and early signs that immunosuppressants — typically given to transplant recipients so their bodies don’t reject the new organ — may not cause long-term harm, the researchers said. (The uterine transplants are removed after recipients no longer need them to deliver children.) And the Baylor team has figured out how to identify the right uterus for transfer: It should be from a donor who has had a baby before, is premenopausal, and, of course, who matches the blood type of the recipient, Testa said...

“They���ve really embraced the idea of practicing improvement as you go along, to understand how to make this safer or more effective. And that’s reflected in the results,” said Jessica Walter, an assistant professor of reproductive endocrinology and infertility at Northwestern University Feinberg School of Medicine, who co-authored an editorial on the research in JAMA...

Walter was a skeptic herself when she first learned about uterine transplants. The procedure seemed invasive and complicated. But she did her fellowship training at Penn Medicine, home to one of just four programs in the U.S. doing uterine transplants. 

“The firsts — the first time the patient received a transplant, the first time she got her period after the transplant, the positive pregnancy test,” Walter said. “Immersing myself in the science, the patients, the practitioners, and researchers — it really changed my opinion that this is science, and this is an innovation like anything else.” ...

Many transgender women are hopeful that uterine transplants might someday be available for them, but it’s likely a far-off possibility. Scientists need to rewind and do animal studies on how a uterus might fare in a different “hormonal milieu” before doing any clinical trials of the procedure with trans people, Wagner said.

Among cisgender women, more long-term research is still needed on the donors, recipients, and the children they have, experts said.

“We want other centers to start up,” Johannesson said. “Our main goal is to publish all of our data, as much as we can.”"

-via Stat, August 16, 2024

[lambilegs]

A LESBIAN'S GUIDE TO MEHENDI FESTIVITIES. (SEVIKA X READER)

you and sevika attend your cousin's mehendi and you guys are complete lesbians about it, pretty much.

contains: reader is from a family that's portrayed as desi, reader is mentioned to be wearing a sari and makeup, one makeout session but no explicit nsft content, flirting and sexual tension, homophobia, internalized homophobia, some angst, lots of fluff

divider by: @/cursed-carmine

a/n: so, pride month is (sadly) coming to an end, and I thought I'd post this before june is finished to commemorate this great month. happy pride to all you lovely, wonderful readers. and to my desi readers specifically -- this entire fic is truly dedicated to you guys. being both desi and queer is no easy feat, and the world often tries to convince us that we have no place in it that reconciles and allows every part of our identities to co-exist. but, I promise, being queer and desi are never aspects of yourself where you need to give up one in order to have the other. our culture is intertwined with queerness, and the judgement we receive is a product of society, not our heritage. and I wish you all community and peace wherever you can find it — I know it's not easy for all of us to do so, for things like our families, our communities, our fear, our lack of safety can all contribute to why we nee to keep certain things hidden. but I truly hope every one of you find support, kindness and acceptance in any way you can, whether it be now or in the future when you have the independence or finances required to do so. whether that be through an online community, a friend group, art, or one day separating yourselves from people who are pressuring you. your existence is such a beautiful, empowering thing, and I'm proud of you for embracing your queerness even if it's only with yourself right now, for even that is a major step and one you should take pride in. your life is worth so much, and I admire all the ways you work to carve out a safe space for yourself within your community, your family, or even just in yourself. I love you all so much, and inshAllah, I pray we all have an abundance of freedom in the future. and I’m always here to talk.

“And my mom asked me to tell you to not start an argument with anyone,” you say, smacking your lips together to rid them of the residue of lip gloss.

Behind you, already dressed and ready since a half hour ago, Sevika sits on the edge of the hotel bed with her arms crossed. She watches you complete the finishing touches of your makeup, barely hiding the way her eyes linger on the open back revealed from your sari. Everytime you catch the movement, your stomach flips in anticipation. 

She snickers. “Hey, it’s not my fault that your cousins say stupid shit.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’ll only warn you to avoid calling them out in front of her. Otherwise, she’ll hassle me about it,” you mutter, slowly prodding in one jhumka into your ear.

Your eyes flicker to the time and you hiss in shock, fumbling for the other earring. When you shakily move too fast, your face contorts into a sting as your earring pricks a patch of skin. 

You hear Sevika’s shift on the bed, her heavy footsteps ringing behind you. Her hand is on your waist a moment later, coaxing you into turning around.

Quietly, she tuts, taking the earring from you. “Always in such a damn rush,” she mutters, her fingers brushing your jaw as she tilts your ear to face her. 

With careful, practiced precision, she holds onto your ear with a gentle touch, so different from her usual demeanor. That’s one thing about her. While on the exterior, she seems so rough and fast and quick to act, she’s impossibly gentle. Way more than most people expect her to be. Maybe in some sort of strange juxtaposition, it’s her strength that makes her so soft when it comes to touch. Maybe she knows just how much power she wields in her rough hands, her bulging arms, and so, because of that, wills herself to be infinitely tender when someone opens themselves up to her touch. Maybe. It’s just a theory, really. Many of those have been created within your girlfriend’s presence.

You try to stop a smile from stretching over your face as she nudges the earring in, her grey eyes honed in on the spot. When you wince slightly, her eyes flick to yours momentarily, but she keeps pushing in, most likely knowing that freezing up will only hurt more.

When it’s inside and secured, she nods. “There. Don’t rush it next time.”

Always needing to end a love gesture with a scold – that’s her. It’s hard to take it badly, though, when in every syllable, laced are the sentiments, Be more careful and I don’t want you to hurt yourself.

“Yes, sir,” you drawl, a grin spilling onto your face like yolk, shells broken and discarded.

She smacks your ass as you make your way to the door. “Don’t push it.”

On the ride to the mehendi, she grips your thigh the entire time, kneading the flesh and toying with the stitched embroidery of your sari. The entire time, you rub the hairs of her forearm, slowly stroking your thumb over the soft strands of it. You love her hair, how unabashed she is in the keeping of it. To her, it’s just another form of rebellion she’s committed herself to. Another way she’s carved out comfort for herself in the pain and hurt of life. Another thing about her that without her even knowing, rouses admiration and motivation amongst so many other people.

Including yourself, your own arms now dusted with hair, a physical marking of your heritage. A sight that brings you more comfort the longer you keep it.

“Did I mention how handsome you look?” you tease softly, lifting a hand to stroke through the blunt ends of her short hair.

Handsome is an understatement, truly. She’s sporting a maroon kurta, one that her aunt got her from Delhi, and it hugs her arms just right, the fabric rough with threaded texture. The first few buttons are undone, revealing the tattoo at her collarbone, that of which is sharp and defined. On her right wrist, she wears a simple, gold bangle, one from her mom’s wedding set. Lip piercing to match, and she’s practically radiant. 

The corner of her mouth twitches up. “Only about fifty times.”

“Only?” you echo. “I’m not doing well at all, then. You deserve a whole lot more than fifty.”

She huffs a silent laugh, shaking her head. “You’re an idiot.”

You roll your fingers into her hair, tugging on her head lightly. “Oi. That’s no way to talk to your girlfriend.”

She shoots you a narrow-eyed stare. “Can you not? I’m driving.”

Petulantly, you hum, releasing your hold on her hair and sliding your palm down her face. 

Before your fingers can drift past her chin and back onto your lap, she catches your wrist in her grasp, pressing a soft kiss to the warm inside of your palm. 

You turn your head to the rolling greenery gliding past the window’s view, seeking refuge so that you can let the smile itching at your mouth bloom in full.

You two reach the lavish length of your cousin’s home, the wide expanse of her family’s backyard more than enough room to house multiple tents to shield relatives from the scorching sun. You suck in a deep breath. A crowd has already gathered and grouped together under the white fabric, tables adorned with glasses and cutlery and vases with pink and cream bouquets. Beaming string lights are hooked everywhere, and you can already picture how beautiful they’ll look once dusk settles and paints the sky in hues of deep blue and purple. 

The image is gorgeous, yeah, but it’s the people who concern you most. Everyone knows about you and Sevika, but that doesn’t mean everyone is welcoming. Or even tolerant. And you’d think that after months of uncomfortable side glances and disgusted stares levelled at you two from elders, you’d be used to it. But, you’re not. You’re really not. You can barely touch her at these kinds of events without feeling the weight of a hundred eyes upon you. Without feeling razor-sharp judgement slicing through the bubble of comfort you and Sevika have built to surround yourselves in.

It only kills you how understanding she is. You suppose it’s expected, considering she herself is familiar with this kind of dynamic in her own family. But, where your truth has always been meekly admitted, half-veiled and tailored to maintain the peace as much as possible, hers is brutal, practically set aflame. It’s unforgiving to anyone. If you offered it, she’d hold your hand in front of anyone, anywhere.

“All okay?” she asks, the back of her knuckles stroking along your arm.

“Yeah.” You tightly nod, flashing her a smile you hope looks convincing. “Yeah, I’m good.”

She says nothing, only nodding in response, watching you carefully as you flip your mirror back up. Silently, she exits the car then rounds the length of it to open your side of the door. You paw at her wrist as you stumble, trying hard to clutch onto the layers of fabric so you don’t trip.

“I don’t know how you do it,” she says, voice split between incredulity and exasperated admiration.

“It’s an acquired skill,” you say with mock haughtiness, tipping your chin up at her.

She shuts the door, your purse in her other hand. “Yeah, lucky you.”

“Awe, are you jealous? Maybe I’ll teach you one day.”

“Yeah, maybe when Hell freezes over.”

“Hey, I mean, I did manage to learn a ten minute dance in one week. I’m probably the best tutor you’ll get.”

It’s true, though it makes the entire ordeal sound way simpler than it actually was. The sister of the bride, otherwise known as your younger, menacing, pain-in-the-ass cousin, decided to plan a dance for the mehendi at the very last minute. She sent each of you a video on WhatsApp containing what movements to do, and you had spent every evening after work diligently practicing. Locked away from Sevika, of course, who kept eyeing you with a snarky smile and pointing out whenever something looked stiff.

Sevika snorts, her head dipping to your ear so she can whisper hotly, her prosthetic fingers dancing along the bare skin of your back, “Last time I checked, you only got that dance down after two breaks downs and making me promise to use the strap after.”

Your entire body writhes, skin fluttering with goosebumps from the cool touch of metal. With a light shove to her side as you reach the gate (with a whole worker keeping track of the guest list, mind you), you trot on forward.

How the next hour or two goes is exactly as you expected. You barely get to talk to the bride except for two kisses on the cheeks, her arms being diligently worked on while her sister feeds her. You and Sevika sit with your immediate family, everyone catching up on how life has been during the past few weeks. Your mother makes you physically turn around to check if you put the sari on correctly (you don’t miss how Sevika, who spent four hours helping you with it, clenches her jaw). Your cousins make stupid, bigoted jokes, and Sevika’s deadpan glare is enough for their laughter to subside. And the younger children, the ones who haven’t been exposed enough yet to be tainted in such a way, come running to you, asking you when you’ll take them to the park next, and if you can propose a beach trip to the family.

You humor them the entire time, one toddler on your lap while the older one rambles on about how grade school is like as of late, fumbling over her words and pausing every now and then to run her fingers through your bangles.

From the corner of your eye, you see Sevika watching the interaction with a thoughtful gaze, her arm naturally sliding along the back of your chair and giving your neck a free rest spot to lean against. You can see your mom’s gaze dart to the movement, but you try to ignore the anxious squeeze in your stomach and focus on the eager young girl in front of you. 

When the lot of you squeeze into the packed line for food, you manage to pinch and encourage Sevika into picking up the youngest of the kids, your three year-old cousin with the ruffled, dark hair and big brown eyes. With a heavy sigh, she picks him up, groaning when his pudgy little hands go to her lip piercing, plucking at it as though it’s a toy.

“Sevi Didi,” the little girl at your side says, her hand locked in yours, “will you be dancing tonight?”

You laugh outright, barely able to contain your amusement. “Please. Sevi Didi has all the rhythm of an uncle with a broken hip.”

“Hey,” she shoots back with a glare, readjusting your cousin so his entire torso is leaning into the side of her chest. 

You shrug with mock innocence. “It’s true.”

The little girl to your side clutches onto your fingers tighter, bursting into a fit of giggles. “She should– oh, she should join our dance.”

“The little kids’ dance?”

She nods, her chipped teeth flashing at you as the apples of her cheeks glow in a bright, mischievous grin.

“She might be a bit tall for you guys. Could cause an accident or something,” you coyly respond, glancing at Sevika over your shoulder.

She snickers, raising an incredulous eyebrow at your youngest cousin, as though he can understand the exchange to its full extent.

Your heart practically throbs at the sight. Sevika has never had the most fondness for kids, usually finding them to be disruptive and a bit too nonsensical for her naturally low tolerance for human interaction. But, you know, underneath it all, is an effortless empathy she distributes to them. Maybe it’s due to her own lack of care received during childhood, but you’ve never seen her behave cruelly to a child, always handling them with gruff distance, yet tender touches and subtle smiles. 

After loading your cousin’s plate with a bit of rice and samosas, she goes eagerly racing back to your aunt. As you, Sevika, and the curious child she’s still carrying (who’s continuously pulling and tugging at her hair and making her sigh in exasperation) continue on at a slower pace, you smile shyly upon feeling her metallic fingers drifting along the sheer fabric hanging at the back of your sari.

“Can you not?” you whisper, feeling your face flame up.

“You’re the one who showed me all those idiot Bollywood films, remember?” she says, nose tickling your earlobe. “I know what gets you riled up.”

“Yeah, and it’s very much not engaging in exhibitionism in front of my family,” you hiss back.

She snorts, but relents, leading back and dutifully following you until you set both of your plates down on the table. 

Your cousin, as it would have it, enjoys the warmth of Sevika’s lap and the free toy her short hair seems to provide him with. And so, she spends the rest of the meal with him resting on her lap and staring at her curiously as she rips off pieces of roti and dips it into her curry. When she confirms it with you, she shares little bits with him, the corner of her lips curling up as he eagerly gobbles it down. 

You only deal with one (singular, so there’s a win) uncomfortable moment through the evening. Well, at least one direct moment. 

One of your mother’s friends asks if she should set you up with a nephew she has, and your mother immediately straightens up, sending a panicked look to the other woman.

You want to be quicker than whatever vague explanation your mother has to offer, which pushes you to awkwardly pat Sevika’s back and splutter, “No, uh – this is my girl– partner.”

The entire table falls into silence, as per usual. No one agrees or nods along, as per usual, and everyone sits frozen, gazes casted down. It’s one thing to have Sevika here. Not that that’s a small deal, you’re well-aware that it’s already a huge thing to have her present. But, having her here and making no action or declaration of romance allows people to forget that you two are a couple. They get to look at you two and convince themselves that you guys are just two good friends currently in a phase, or that you brought her here only as a guest.

But, then uttering the words “girlfriend,” “partner,” and reaffirming what she is to you – that’s different. That’s public, that’s bringing it to attention what the two of you are. It’s shining light onto a truth that everyone would rather keep shoved into a dark corner that grows puffy with dust and thick, stifling air. 

It takes a few minutes for conversation to rouse back up after that. No one mentions what just happened.

Sevika squeezes your knee under the table. You both meet in the bathroom after dinner, so that you can weep in peace in her arms while she rubs your back and shushes you. It’s a familiar cycle of events. So familiar that by the end of the fifteen minute meeting, she has you laughing through the tears, her lips pressing kisses to your nose as she grumbles about the annoying shitfaces out there.

And she makes it up to you in a series of moments dotted throughout the rest of the event. Moments that make you appreciative of having her here in spite of all the tense conversations that render everyone quiet and shifting. Moments that make you almost astonished when you think of things in the plainest of terms. You’re here, at a relative’s mehendi. With your girlfriend. Your dashing girlfriend who’s clad in the sexiest kurta, rolling her eyes when any uncle approaches her, but begrudgingly engaging in conversation anyways.

Even if it’s not as perfect as you’d wish, the two of you are cementing a place for yourselves in this family. You’re doing what years ago would've been the impossible. You’re forming an image that the young kids here can absorb and recall when they’re one day older and maybe realizing how similar they are to you both. 

Even Sevika, in the traditional wear usually designated to men, is slowly exposing a whole new world to the younger people here. One where it’s okay for your cousin’s curls to grow out even if it means he gets mistaken as a girl. One where the girls can take offense to their mothers telling them it’s inappropriate to play tag with the boys after dinner.

It’s these thoughts that linger in your mind as you get your mehendi done, watching as the hired artist methodically dances with the pipe, the paste transforming your palm into a mosaic. The scent fills your nostrils, rich and heady. Unlike your cousins who used to wretch and groan from it, the smell feels familiar to you, like an old friend coming home. It carries memories of countless aunties and grandmothers, hands wrinkled and withered from years of hard work, delicately holding onto you with one hand while tracing beautiful shapes with the other. So much hard work just to leave you adorned and decorated for a mere two weeks. There’s a certain poeticism to it, you suppose. Another human being devoting so much time and focus just to stain your body with something beautiful and intricate, even if it’s only temporary.

In the middle of it, Sevika pulls a foldable chair next to you, spreading her legs out unabashedly and tossing an arm behind your chair. You toss her a curious glance, lips cracking when you find her eyes roaming over your hands. You know how attractive she finds the mehendi, and it only makes your mind run through millions of scenarios. The kind of mehendi you’ll get on your arms, feet, and even back, one day in the future if you two get married. The way she’ll kiss up all the patterns and trace her tongue over them.

You blink hard, trying to get a grip.

Doesn’t help that she leans in and quietly asks, “Gonna get my initials in there?”

You glare at her despite the way your tummy flips with the question. “You do realize it’s not our wedding, right?”

She chuckles dryly. “And? You’re always telling me I need to work harder for it.”

You cast a wild gaze between her and the henna artist, hoping you can silently convey the message of Oh, my God, shut up.

The artist does nothing but grin, her eyes flicking between you and Sevika. “You guys are cute.”

Despite the embarrassment of the moment, only furthered by how Sevika winks at you as she’s tugged away by some aunty wanting to hear about her degree, relief washes over you at the artist’s clear approval and acceptance. Lots of people would tell you that you ought to not care so much. That you should be loud and queer, and not seek the opinion and comfort of others. It’s easier said than done, though, when the very roots you’ve been raised in demand attention to community, and are tangled with the soil of family and connection. Especially in a space like this, it’s hard to just dismiss the opinion of others, to care only for yourself when your very actions keep the thread linking you to your family intact. And God knows that thread already has its strays. 

You try your best to keep said strays to a minimum, you really do. 

But, it’s hard when Sevika has you whisked away to some abandoned corridor once the women are moved to the inside of your cousin’s home, thumb pressed into the corner of your mouth as her tongue slips into the hot crevice of it. Her other hand roams all over your body appreciatively, sneaking under the fabric to grope and squeeze your tummy, sharp edges making you shiver.

“Sevi,” you gasp, barely getting the words out as she keeps interrupting you with more wet, sloppy kisses, your lipgloss smearing all over her chin. “The dance– I need to–”

“You need a good luck kiss,” she mutters, her voice a deep rumble from her chest. 

Her thick, steady arms wrap around your waist, coaxing you to stretch on your toes to reach her. And pressed against the wall like this, lodged between it and her hard, warm body, you feel all your senses circling around her like a vulture. Wanting nothing but to consume this formidable woman, her unbreakable spirit. Your girlfriend. 

Dried flakes of the mehendi scatter about the ground as you loop your arms around her neck, panting into her mouth as she massages yours with her lips, tongue licking against your bottom lip. When her teeth graze against the plush inside, a warning, before sinking in, you release a choked up whine.

“So pretty,” she groans, her lips moving to your cheek to press slow, mindless kisses down your skin, the slide of her tongue making you shiver.

Those words echo in your head when you’re dancing minutes later, lips completely bare from the mess you had to quickly wipe off after your little escapade. Meanwhile, from across the room, the light skims over the streak of product left along Sevika’s neck. A mark of her as yours. You told her to wipe it off, but she insisted barely anyone would see, claiming that she likes having a reminder of you.

It’s a bold statement, but doesn’t come close to the way you point to her then beckon her over when you’re at the front and center during the dance. Up until that point, you had been a little meek, filled to the brim with embarrassment over having your girlfriend see a messy, uncoordinated dance filled with giggles and tripping. It didn’t help that she was braced against a pillar and smirking the entire time, eyes hooked on your figure and wandering about shamelessly. Whenever you stumbled or one of your cousins slammed into you, you could see the mirth gleaming in her eyes as she watched you in oh-so-cruel amusement.

So, wanting to both impress her (an urge that never dissipates no matter how long it’s been), as well as engage in your own little act of boldness and love, you playfully smile at her and crook your finger at her when mouthing the lyrics. You try to ignore the confused, bulging eyes the aunties direct between you and Sevika, and try instead to focus on the hoots and whistles of the crowd, mostly from people your age. And how the bride slowly turns to Sevika, then sends you a wide-eyed, eager stare that says, Tell me everything. And the way the rest of your cousins follow suit, playfully blowing kisses at their husbands and winking at their boyfriends.

And, of course, the way your beloved’s sweet little gap shines as she bursts into one of her rare, but beautiful, bouts of laughter. Wickedness gone, she’s an angel. 

And it might not feel like much, but in that moment, her here, her initials imprinted on your fingertip, it feels like a moment of revolution.

info:

the initials of a groom are often hidden in the mehendi of a bride, and it's a joke that if he finds it, he gets to sleep with her on their wedding night.

didi - older sister

jhumka- a kind of earring

sari and kurta - types of traditional wear

[seungsoftly]

enhypen at the gym with you

⟢ genre: drabble/suggestive ⟢ wc: 2.1k ⟢ warnings: enha and y/n thirsting over each other, mentions of kissing, slight menstrual cycle mention, slightly crazy workout behavior

livi's note ✸ this drabble has been floating in my head for a couple of days now, and i really love thinking about how enha would be when they take you to the gym with them. (i'm a sucker for gymrat enha). this is on the shorter side compared to my other drabbles, but i think their behavior doesn't require much to say about it. hope you guys enjoy!

⟢ taglist: @s1rawb3rry

⟢ lee heeseung

i think heeseung would love taking you to the gym with him just to see you in action while you worked out. he rarely gets to see you like this, doing squats with weights and on the leg press, like the days that he begrudgingly does legs instead of arms or abs, so he’s soaking it all in, distracted from his own workout.

he’d definitely be hovering around you, ready to spot you if you needed it, but leaving you be unless you asked for his help specifically. it’s honestly more hot to him to watch you do things like this on your own like the stunning girlfriend you are to him than to be over there all on you.

he knows you can handle yourself, but he will be on the watch for any other men with wandering eyes, moving just a little closer to you if there was someone who looked like he was a little too close to you for heeseung’s comfort.

and since watching you had distracted him from his own workout, you get done with your sets earlier than he does, standing over him while he’s doing sit ups. this is his favorite way to wrap up a session at the gym, looking at you, all sweaty but still gorgeous nonetheless, while he keeps himself in shape for you. some days, you’ll even hold his feet down and give him a kiss at the top of each rep.

⟢ park jongseong

jay is taking no chances in the gym. he will quite literally be over your shoulder permanently, adjusting his own workout to fit right alongside yours, which allows the two of you to just take turns doing sets and spotting each other on the same machines. (and by spotting, i mean jay actually spotting you and you just standing there and watching your boyfriend pump iron and get all hot and sweaty)

he’ll be the absolute best spotter ever, but at the same time he’ll just keep telling you to push and get the weight all the way up and then he’ll tell you to do another rep in that voice of his that he knows makes you absolutely melt on the inside. when he says he knows you well, he means it.

the man is crazy dedicated to his gym schedule, having to go at least five times a week with his routine so clearly established at this point. you’re an amazing girlfriend to him, so he just wants to give back and keep himself in the best shape for you. (and the gym makes him feel better about himself and keeps him sane)

towards the end of your workouts, you two do abs on the mat together, each taking turns to pick the next exercise to do and motivating each other to keep going until the end of the one minute timer set for each exercise on your phone. after this is done, jay typically insists on doing some body weight exercises as you cool down. and by body weight, i mean him making you sit on his back as he does sets of pushups and squats.

⟢ sim jaeyun

to be quite honest, you go to the gym more often than jake does. he prefers to run around and play basketball or soccer at the park on random days over moving weights around. however, if you ask him to go with you, you won’t even be able to finish your whole sentence before he enthusiastically agrees and runs off to get everything that you and him may need for a gym session. water bottles, sports drinks, towels, good shoes to wear to the gym, and he’ll put it all in the car for you and grab all of it when you two get to the gym.

jake is the definition of distracted when he sees you in your gym outfit, fitted tank top and shorts on some days and a sports bra and tight leggings on others. he just can’t help but stare, enthralled by you and still confused about how you’re dating him of all people.

he’ll be by your side constantly, darting around and helping with your every need as you move through your workout. jake is a pretty good spotter, always watching your face to see whether or not you need help getting the weights up, although he might have been staring at you because he’s obsessed with how pretty you are first.

he’d be so focused on you that he forgot he needs to do his own workout, only remembering when you remind him as you’re delicately patting sweat off your face and then taking a sip or two out of the water bottle he just handed you. so you’d go sit through his workout with him, offering him encouragement through every rep.

jake would be huffing and puffing through his sets, determined to impress you with every move he makes and pushing his body to the very limits. he’d beg you to give him a long kiss every time he hit a pr on something, and you’d oblige him after just a bit of teasing. this just made the cycle continue, jake working himself half to death on every single exercise that he did just to get that pr kiss every time you two worked out together.

⟢ park sunghoon

on the rare occasion that you join sunghoon at the gym, he’ll switch from your boyfriend into your personal trainer like that. he’s already got a workout plan for you typed up, prepared weeks ago along with many other workouts. he’s made a variety too, and he picked one for you for that day based partly on what he was doing for his own workout and partly on how much energy you had for whatever point you were at in your cycle.

sunghoon goes to the gym so often that all of the staff know who he is. they also know to stay far away from him and especially from you as you two are working out, and the other gym goers have likely sensed this energy as well, so you two have a whole corner of the gym to yourself.

the first thing that sunghoon does is make you stretch with him, ensuring that there are no pulled or torn muscles for you to complain about later and hopefully helping you to be a little bit less sore. it’s just a part of his routine that he cannot skip, especially with someone like you who doesn’t go to the gym and lift weights that often. you prefer to keep fit by going to a biweekly yoga class and walking every day.

then, you two move into the actual workout. today is leg day, which means sunghoon is going to be right behind you as you squat the barbell, telling you to get up with a rapid tone and continuing to instruct you to do more reps even after you’d passed the number that he’d originally told you was in your set.

not to mention when you move onto the leg press, he’ll do the same thing, except he’ll also add more weight without telling you. safe to say you were surprised to learn that you could lift a lot more than you thought you could. and after all of this, when it’s his turn for his sets, he’ll do over double the weight that you could, smirking confidently at you as you just watch him in his element. it’s obvious to him that you find it attractive when he does so, so why not give you a good show after all your hard work?

⟢ kim sunoo

honestly, you and sunoo aren’t really the type of couple to be huge gym goers. sure, you two do like to stay fit, but you mainly do so by taking walks together or just going to the gym to use the stairmaster and the little section with yoga mats for some self-stretching and simple pilates.

you two have a schedule set up, written neatly on the cute little calendar that hangs on the kitchen wall in your apartment, where you’ll take a trip to the gym together for a short little bit two days a week. one is more stairmaster focused and the other is more stretching and pilates focused.

it’s a good balance for the two of you. sometimes you’ll even spot sunghoon or jay at the gym, offering them a nice wave before walking over to the area that you two will be in that day as they walk by towards the weights. the two of you really haven’t gone over there at all, and that’s okay to you and sunoo. it’s just not your type of workout.

the two of you like to spend your time chattering as well, talking about the latest news that you’d heard from your friends as you lean forward and stretch your legs and sunoo does the same. he’ll also offer you some words of encouragement on the more difficult days when you’re on the stairmaster. you’ll be barely making it onto the next step, and his voice is really the only thing that will actually get you through the workout. there’s a reason that you call him your sunshine.

⟢ yang jungwon

i feel like jungwon would be somewhere between jay and heeseung. when you go to the gym with him, your workouts are often not coordinated and you two head to different areas of the machines. yes, you still stay within sight of each other, but you’re not right on each other either.

he knows that you can handle yourself in the gym, having been a pilates girl for some time now, and he was confident that you could fend off any wandering men that happened to go over to you. you could be bold when you wanted to, and that's how you defended yourself from thirsty men at the gym and how you defended your boyfriend from the influencer girls that saw him all alone.

in fact, sometimes it’s even attractive to him when you have to shoo away men from you. in the sense of you being such a queen and amazing girlfriend, not in the sense of another man hitting on his girl. that’s his least favorite part about it. although after that happens, jungwon will make his way closer to you, standing around as you do your workout and helping by teasing you just a little bit and putting more weight on the bar or grabbing you a heavier dumbbell to show you that you can lift just a little more.

he’s overall just a chill guy at the gym with you. jungwon’s not going to show off too terribly much because he’d much rather do it in the comfort of your own apartment instead of in public with other girls around, but he will flex his muscles for you if you ask. usually he’ll just talk with you instead and ask all about what you can do with your pilates skills.

⟢ nishimura riki

ni-ki definitely makes every time you work out together a competition. who can hold a plank the longest. who can do the most weight on the leg press. who can hip thrust the most reps. it’s a good way to liven up your workout time, that’s for sure.

he’s always teasing about how he can lift more than you and beat you at said work out competition, and then you’ll spout off into a whole rant about how he always rigs it with the exercises that he does crazily often and that you don’t do a lot. his only response, of course, is that maybe you should have done it more then.

you two are definitely known as the sporty couple in your friend group, attending the gym quite often together and always looking good while you do it. like everyone stares at you two when you walk in, you in your matching workout set and ni-ki in his compression shirt and workout shorts. and then they know to stop staring at you and just leave you alone like they do sunghoon.

every once in a while, you two will have what you call a mile marathon race. it’s where you both run a mile on the treadmill, then do a minute-long plank, and finally twenty jump squats. then you two just repeat those three things over and over until one of you taps out. your friends and some of the other gym regulars call you two crazy for it, but it’s just yet another part of your lively relationship.

divider credits to @chachachannah

© seungsoftly 2025 please do not copy, repost, or translate

this is a work of fiction and is not intended to depict any accurate representation of any members of enhypen. please do not take this as real.

[societyfolklore]

What’s This Do?

Title: What’s This Do?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Summary: Steve volunteered to tidy up the bedroom while you were in the shower. What he found in your nightstand drawer left him blushing... and more than a little intrigued.

Word Count:  3.3k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Modern tech confusion, toy discovery, flustered Steve, curious Steve, teasing, toy play, dominant Steve, possessive sex, unprotected sex, established relationship, slight size kink, aftercare

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for Spring Bingo Square: A1- Steve and Modern Technology – Yay got them all done!!! Card Number: AAS001 The water had still been running, the faint sound of it echoing from the bathroom, when Steve crouched by the bed. He ran a hand over the comforter, smoothing it automatically, his eyes catching on the bottom drawer that stuck out just slightly. You always teased him for being a little obsessive about tidiness, about how he couldn't walk past a crooked frame or an unmade bed without fixing it. Today, though, he'd wanted to be helpful. You'd had a long week, and if organizing the bedroom gave you one less thing to stress about, then so be it.

He tugged gently at the drawer, assuming a stubborn sock or hoodie was to blame for the gap. But the moment it slid open, his entire body stilled.

What greeted him wasn’t laundry. It was a collection of sleek shapes, soft silicone, and polished curves. He blinked. Once. Twice. The colors ranged from soft pastels to bold black, and each one looked more alien than the last. There was something with little bunny ears. Something with a looped handle. Something that looked like it might require a license. Something tiny and bullet-shaped. Something else that looked like a wand from a sci-fi movie.

And then the remote, one he definitely didn't recognize. The little screen flickered to life when he nudged it by accident, and he nearly dropped it.

Steve closed the drawer on instinct. His jaw flexed. Then he opened it again.

"...Oh. Oh- OH."

He couldn’t stop staring.

His face flushed scarlet. His ears, too. He shifted on his knees and scratched the back of his neck like it was the 1940s and someone had just flashed a smile at him. He was stammering softly to himself, still half-frozen, when you stepped out of the ensuite wrapped in a towel, already smiling until you saw the look on his face.

"Steve?"

"I- uh. I wasn’t snooping, I swear. The drawer wasn’t shutting right and I just- " He gestured helplessly toward it, cheeks burning. "I didn’t expect that."

You padded across the carpet, water still beading on your skin. "What are you tal- Oh."

Steve cleared his throat. “They’re... yours?”

You laughed, finding his bashfulness adorable. “Who else would they belong to?”

He didn’t laugh back. His brow furrowed, and the crease between his brows deepened as something more complicated passed behind his eyes, an old instinct to blush, to look away, warring with the part of him that needed to understand. “You use them when I’m not around?” he asked, voice low. It wasn’t just curiosity, it was something closer to awe. “Did you ever… think about me when you did?”

"Who else would I be thinking about?"  You offered shrugging slightly.

He sat back on the edge of the bed, as if needing space to wrap his head around it. Of course he’d known people did this. Even back in his time, people had ‘aids’….though they were clunky, noisy things you didn’t talk about. But this… this was something else. A drawer full of pleasure, all tucked away like a secret. You, arching under your own touch, moaning into a pillow while something artificial pulsed between your legs. His brain short-circuited.

He looked at you, really looked, and the images came fast. You, flushed and panting, back arched as you chased your own release. Did you touch yourself slow? Did you tease yourself the way he liked to? Did you cry out his name, or bite your lip to keep quiet? The thought should have made him awkward, uneasy.

Instead, it made something in his chest pull tight. Something possessive. Something raw. And lower; something stirred in his gut, thick and demanding. His cock twitched in his jeans before he even realized it, a warm flush spreading beneath his skin as arousal crept in uninvited and overwhelming.

The idea of you like that; legs spread, eyes shut, fingers digging into the sheets as you came all over something smooth and buzzing- it struck him deep. He imagined the way your thighs would shake. How pretty your mouth would look gasping for air. How red your chest got when you were close. All of it, happening in secret, just for you.

He shifted slightly where he sat, suddenly very aware of the growing pressure building beneath his zipper. The heat, the need, it was immediate and sharp, blooming through him like a live wire.

He cleared his throat again, rougher this time. "I guess I just... I didn’t think you needed something like that. Not when you had me."

You stepped closer, eyes soft. One hand still holding your towel while the other ran a damp hand over his arm and shoulder trying to help. “It’s not about needing, Steve. It’s about exploring. Playing. Sometimes I just miss you too much.”

That did it. That broke him. The idea that you’d used those things not instead of him but because you craved what only he gave you? That you thought about him the whole time?

He nodded, slow. Processing. Adjusting. And then his jaw clenched as something behind his eyes shifted entirely.

"Get on the bed." 

This was not how you were expecting your morning to go. What started as Steve curiously poking through your nightstand while you were wrapped in a towel had become a full-on audit. His questions came in quick succession- what’s this one for? How does this part work? Do you use it like this, or like this? He examined each item like it was a new kind of weapon, like understanding it meant understanding you.

And the more he asked, the more his voice dipped. The more his fingers lingered. He kept circling back to a smaller one with a smooth curve and soft lilac finish, the one you'd once offhandedly mentioned was your 'easy go-to.' His thumb hovered over the button like he was waiting for permission.

When it whirred to life, the quiet hum filled the room like a promise. He didn’t speak right away, just met your eyes with something heavy and warm and unbearably focused.

“Lay back” he said again, and this time you moved.

You settled back on the pillows, towel still clutched loosely to your chest until Steve reached out, thumb brushing your knuckles as he gently peeled it open. It pooled around your hips, baring your flushed skin to the morning light and his increasingly ragged breathing.

“Spread your legs for me.”

You did, already slick from the teasing, from the talk, from the look in his eyes.

He climbed up beside you, one knee on the mattress, toy still buzzing quietly in his hand. His other hand stroked up your thigh as he looked down at you; hungry, reverent, almost awestruck.

Then he held it to your clit.

Your back arched at the first contact, heat sparking sharp and sudden. He kept it light, tracing slow circles, studying every flutter of your lashes and every sharp inhale.

“Talk to me,” he said, voice low and taut. “Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s- ” You swallowed hard. “It’s good. It’s soft at first, but it... It- Steve." 

His lips twitched at the corners. Not smug just focused.

“What about when I do this?” he asked, turning the toy slightly and pressing in more firmly. Your breath hitched.

You moaned. “It’s- god- it’s right there when you angle it like that.”

He kissed your shoulder, then dragged the toy slowly down to your entrance, pausing to brush the slickness there, his breath catching at just how wet you already were.

“And when I push it inside?” he asked, voice thicker now, fingers trembling just slightly as he teased your opening, circling with the head of the toy and watching the way your hips twitched with anticipation.

You gasped as he eased it in. The toy slid in slowly, the pressure a stretch at first, not quite like his cock, but enough to make your toes curl. The soft silicone dragged against your inner walls, and your thighs instinctively fell wider open as you exhaled a shaky moan.

“Ah...” you managed, blinking hard, lips parted, voice catching on a breathy moan. “Snug. It stretches just right. Fuck- it feels so fucking good, Steve. Hits just the right place.”

He adjusted the angle slightly, pressing in deeper, eyes locked on your cunt as it took the toy. “Here?” he asked, voice almost hoarse. “That spot?”

You cried out in response, hands fisting in the sheets.

Steve’s breathing was hard now, ragged. His free hand gripped your thigh, holding it open as he moved the toy in slow, deliberate strokes, the base grinding against your clit every time he pushed in.

“Look at you,” he murmured, completely transfixed. “Taking it so well. Fuck, you’re beautiful like this.��

And then, more quietly, almost to himself: “Can’t believe I wasn’t here for this before. Watching you fall apart like this... should’ve always been me.”

Your answer came in a moan that was all the confirmation he needed.

He learned fast. Too fast. He adjusted the angle, the speed, the rhythm. Studying every twitch, every gasp. His mouth hovered close, whispering encouragement against your cheek, “There we go. That’s it, baby. You feel that?”

Your fingers clutched at the sheets and towel under you, hips straining against his grip. Your back arched as the sensation built and built, Steve murmuring praise with every moan he pulled from your lips. “You’re so wet like this. All from me.”

He was fascinated, utterly focused, and beneath the curiosity, there was something darker simmering in his voice. The way he kept his hand steady when your hips bucked, the smug little smirk when you gasped his name, the way his other hand slid up to hold your trembling thigh down. 

“Did you use it like this?” he asked roughly suddenly stilling the toy inside you, pushed all the way in then just rocked it slightly back in forth in shallow thrust “Or did you just let it sit there and pulse till it drove you wild?”

You could barely speak. Could only moan something close to his name. Your thighs were slick and shaking. He held the toy perfectly still, just for a second, and the sudden stillness made your whole body flinch.

“Oh, you like that,” he murmured, almost to himself. “All wound up with nowhere to go. You going to cum sweetheart?" 

You whimpered his name, your legs trembling as you tried to hold on, but Steve didn’t let up. Not until he was ready. Not until you were teetering.

Then, finally: “Let go,” he breathed and you shattered.

You came with a strangled noise, your whole body quaking. Steve caught you through it, his hand steady on your thigh, the toy still buzzing softly as you trembled beneath him. He watched your face like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. That look of overwhelmed bliss, of coming undone under his touch. And it did something to him.

He turned the toy off but didn’t move right away. Just knelt there, staring at you, jaw clenched and chest rising like he’d just run a race.

When you finally opened your eyes, breath catching in your throat, he was staring down at you, dark-eyed and completely undone.

His jaw tightened as he looked at you, flushed and trembling, still twitching from aftershocks. His arousal was taking over, his cock straining hard against the seam of his pants, the pressure almost painful now. The idea of you falling apart under something fake suddenly wasn’t enough. Not anymore. Not when he was right here.

He reached between your legs again- Slowly. Gently. The soft silicone slipped from your body with a wet sound that made both of you gasp, and Steve held it in his hand for a beat, watching the way your slick coated the surface. Then he set it aside with careful reverence, as if it no longer had a place in what came next.

His eyes were molten when they met yours again.

“Ready for the real thing, sweetheart?” he muttered, voice rough and low, hands working his belt open with shaking urgency. “Everything those toys can’t be.”

You were still reeling, floating somewhere between bliss and haze. Your body was soft and pliant, chest rising in slow, shallow breaths, skin flushed and damp with sweat. You nodded before you even realized you had, too dreamy to protest, too sensitive to think, your thighs still trembling from the aftershocks he’d pulled from you. You wanted him- needed him- but couldn’t find the words.

Steve leaned in, his lips brushing yours, breath hot and ragged. His mouth hard against yours, his body pressed hot and heavy to your skin his clothes stripping away. The kiss was messy and hungry, all teeth and tongue and pent-up need. You barely had time to catch your breath before his tip was nudging against your entrance, broad and hot and real. You gasped as he pushed in, slow, steady, and unrelenting. Your slick heat parted for him, your walls stretching around the thick length of him, inch by inch.

It was overwhelming. The stretch was deeper than the toy, firmer, hotter. Alive. You moaned into his mouth as he sank deeper, your body welcoming him in a way that felt instinctive, necessary. He moved with maddening control, giving you time to feel every inch.

“Fuck,” he gritted out against your neck, voice wrecked. “You’re so tight. So warm. Nothing- nothing feels like this.”

He bottomed out with a groan, hips flush to yours, your body trembling from how full you felt. He pressed so deep you swore you could feel him everywhere, against places no toy ever reached, places that belonged to him alone.

He didn’t ease into it. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He just pulled back and snapped his hips forward, sharp and deep, pulling a gasp from your throat as his cock drove in with purpose. You could feel him in every nerve ending, thick and hot and overwhelming. Each stroke landed with a force that bordered on frantic, like he needed to carve himself into your memory, mark you from the inside out. No one else had ever reached you like this, so deep it made your spine arch, so consuming it blurred the edge of pleasure and surrender. 

Every thrust was brutal, deliberate. Skin slapping against skin. The way he moved was unrelenting, his hips driving forward in punishing, rhythmic snaps that sent the bed creaking beneath you, headboard knocking faintly against the wall. Your body rocked with the rhythm, helpless beneath the power of him.

"Fuck- look at you," he growled, pushing himself up to sit back on his knees, dragging your hips with him. He gripped your thighs and spread you wider, watching the way you fluttered around him, watching his cock disappear into you with every demanding thrust. His eyes were locked on the place where your bodies met, mouth parted in awe.

"Look at that" he rasped. "Better than any toy could ever fuck you."

You arched beneath him, back bowing off the bed, chasing the pressure, the stretch, the burn. Each time he bottomed out it punched a sound from your lungs; raw, high, desperate. You felt wrecked and worshipped, your whole body trembling from the intensity.

"You're mine," he bit out again, thrusting harder. "Say it. Let me hear you say it."

And even if you hadn't wanted to, even if your mind wasn’t lost in bliss, you still would’ve said it. Because it was true. "I'm yours, Steve."

His eyes burned. "Tell me you need me."

Your answer came on a gasp, voice high and shivering as he thrust again, hard, deep, tilting his hips just right to press into everything inside you that could ache. “I need you. God, I need you, Steve. Don’t stop.”

He leaned back over you, bracing one hand beside your head, the other gripping your hip, driving into you with relentless focus. You were already close again- so close- from the angle alone, the way his cock rubbed that sweet spot inside you, deeper than anything else ever had.

“You feel that?” he growled. “"This is what you’ve been aching for, isn’t it? Not buzzing plastic- me. Deep and fucking real.”

Your whole body bowed beneath him, thighs shaking, vision blurring as your climax began to build again, fast and hard and impossible to outrun. You weren’t going to argue. You weren’t going to point out that this wasn’t a conversation about competition. Not when you could barely think past the overwhelming sensation of him inside you, the rhythm of his hips slamming into yours with unrelenting power, the thick slide of his cock stroking every swollen, aching spot inside you with ruthless precision.

All you could do was hold on, whimper his name, and take everything he gave you as your orgasm coiled tighter, relentless and sharp, pulling you toward the edge with every powerful thrust. Your cries turned breathless, your body locking up as the pleasure surged white-hot through your core.

You came hard- like a dam bursting, the flood of sensation blinding, shuddering through every inch of you. It ripped through your core, electric and unstoppable, leaving you gasping, chest arched and nerves alight as if every breath was caught between sob and scream. Your whole body arched beneath him, heels digging into the mattress. Your cunt fluttered and clenched in sharp, rippling waves around his cock as the orgasm took you. You could feel every nerve-ending fire as your walls milked him, desperate to keep him buried deep, to draw him even closer as the wave crested and broke. You sobbed his name, every nerve ending lit up as he fucked you through it.

Steve groaned deep in his chest, hips stuttering at the feel of you pulsing around him. "Fuck, baby- I'm right there. I’m- "

His pace broke, hips jerking forward in ragged, uneven bursts as his climax overtook him. Each snap of his body was urgent, uncontrolled, like instinct had taken over, driven purely by the overwhelming need to finish deep inside you. With a final deep drive, he spilled inside you, his cock twitching as he came hard, heat flooding you as he panted against your neck. His muscles tensed, his mouth parting in a strangled groan as he ground deep, wanting to be as close as possible, to stay buried in you until the shaking stopped.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close as he collapsed over you, both of you breathless and wrung out. You nuzzled at his cheek, soft kisses along his jaw as your heart slowly steadied, his weight warm and grounding against your chest.

You could still feel him inside you, the pulse of him easing, warmth dripping slowly between your thighs. Your body throbbed with aftershocks, a dull ache layered with satisfaction. Steve’s breath came in broken huffs against your neck, his weight comforting, grounding, too perfect to let go of just yet.

You didn’t speak for a long moment, just touched and breathed and held on as the last ripples of pleasure ebbed away. Then you whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “You’re perfect, you know that?”

Steve huffed a soft, almost disbelieving breath, but you didn’t let him pull away. Your hands curled at his back, anchoring him there. “This is what I miss when you're gone,” you said quietly. “You. Not the touches. Not the relief. Just... you. Your weight. Your warmth. The way you look at me like I’m yours.”

He kissed your collarbone, something tight and wordless in the way he held you.

“And you don’t have to think twice about what’s in the drawer,” you murmured, nuzzling into his temple. “They’re fun. We can enjoy them together if you want. But they’ll never replace this. You.”

Steve didn’t answer right away, but the way he exhaled and kissed you again said enough.

Tags @avengers-assemble-bingo

[paracosmic-murdock]

the lips i used to call home

you used to live a very different life before you ended up in that gala, wearing a dress almost as scandalous as your date: congressman james b. barnes. you used to be one of the little guys when half of everything disappeared and you were forced to move on, leaving all of that behind... leaving matt murdock behind. when he came back, life pulled you apart and you found yourself being a part of a world that wasn't very much like you—a world matt is now drowning into as he set foot in that gala because of his stupid jealousy, because of the news of your engagement to congressman barnes.

pairing: congressman!bucky barnes x attorney general!reader x ex!matt murdock

warnings/tags: mediatic scandal damage control, angst, love triangle kinda but not really?, NO cheating, jealous!matt, what to do when your ex appears in an event you attended to hard launch your current partner wikihow, possessive!bucky, it hurt to write this tbh, we all know matt is a huge red flag guys, so i'm not apologizing, bucky x reader endgame, daredevil: born again (2025) SPOILERS, a relevant death from the first episode is mentioned multiple times, reader was friends with matt and foggy since law school, reader is a VERY up there politician, i'm not from the usa or know much ab politics so i googled this, but then got bored, idk, everything i do is for the plot, in conclusion: BOOMSHAKALAKA MY TWO HUSBANDS

4.5K words

✰ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

After the Red Hulk incident, your job as Attorney General of the United States has become more difficult by the second.

The vice-president's transition to president wasn't being nearly as smooth as the Office hoped for it to be, so everyone has been having a harder time than anticipated. God, if you weren't a woman, you know you would've been asked to do it yourself, and you say it with enough confidence because you have heard it.

As you took a pill for the headache and got ready to finish drafting the speech you would give the following morning, Spencer, your personal assistant, knocked on your door.

“Do you need anything else, Madam?”

You shook your head. “No, it's okay. I'm heading home in five minutes anyway. See you tomorrow.”

“Alright, have a good night,”

“You, too.”

Sighing, you continued the concluding sentences of your speech when you heard knocks on your door.

Knock, knock, pause, knock, knock, knock.

“Come in,”

Bucky joined you in your office, giving you a tired smile that mirrored yours. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you replied, driving your attention to him entirely.

He took a seat on your desk and leaned down to give you a quick kiss. “How was your day, baby?”

“For starters, you didn't come see me, so… awful,” You pouted, then left your hand on his thigh. “And yours?”

“I was swamped in work and couldn't come see you,” He exhaled, tired, and intertwined your hands. “So… awful.”

“How was your meeting with Gary?”

“We talked for four whole hours,” Bucks groaned. “And we have that thing tomorrow. God.”

“Do you know what you're going to say?”

“Do you know what they'll ask me?”

“Maybe about something that will require you to look for synonyms of worrying on WordReference. Like, concerning, upsetting, or alarming.”

He rolled his eyes. “I'm gonna kiss that little joke out of you, you know?”

“Oh, I very much hope so,” You winked. “God knows I need to relieve some… stress.”

Bucky smirked and leaned down again to kiss you, this time for longer, still full of care and affection.

Soon, he made you sit on your desk and stood between your legs, unbuttoning your deep aquamarine vest, mouth never leaving yours.

Your situationship with Congressman James B. Barnes started casually. You were introduced by former President Thaddeus Ross, who wasn't very pleased with his involvement in politics. He was expecting you to be against Bucky and scare him away, to intimidate him even, but it was the complete opposite.

You were polite. Maybe too polite. Kind. Welcoming. Wishing him the best on his campaign. Offering help in case he ever needed it.

Back then, you were still dating Matt Murdock, who was too busy pushing you away to attend these events by your side as he was supposed to. Which, ultimately, was what allowed you to spend the entire evening talking to Bucky.

Eventually, when Matt's purpose to push everyone away after the incident succeeded, Bucky was there. He got the job, he got an office close to yours, he attended the same events as you, he accepted your help, late hours were spent working, and things went further without either of you planning on it.

Not catching feelings would have been nearly impossible, but you never deprived yourselves of it. Instead, you started talking more and visited each other's offices after everyone was gone, or sneaked out during galas and other events, leading to those trysts nobody was supposed to find out about—at least not until you had figured everything out and got serious enough to maintain credibility.

So, right when you had discarded Bucky's white shirt and he was throwing your black, lace bra that left absolutely nothing to the imagination carelessly, Spencer opened the door to it landing on his face. And you knew you were absolutely doomed.

The horror in his eyes was unmatched, looking like a deer in the headlights.

The problem wasn't really that you and Congressman Barnes were involved. Well, it's not a particularly ideal pairing, but that wasn't the issue; the issue was that you were caught.

Fooling around looks everything but good in a person in your world, especially when it happens to a woman who comes from a more-than-modest law firm in Hell's Kitchen and was accused of fucking her way into the Office.

Therefore, the next thing you knew, everyone around was talking about your rendezvous with Congressman Barnes. Other colleagues you had kept your distance from were making advances, supposing you were one to get involved with people from work, and now they had a shot. You heard the whispers through the walls���rumor has it, you and Bucky fuck thrice a week in your office and twice in his, you were the one who got him that job, you spend your paycheck on expensive lingerie for him, he is a pleaser, and you look good on your knees.

Needless to say, you sent Spencer home ‘for the day’, and, the same day, your team programmed an emergency meeting.

You and Bucky sat on opposite sides of the table.

“So, uh… as damage control, we found a possible solution you might not be into,” Bahar, the head of your team, said. “Before saying anything, I need you two to know that everyone in the Office, from the security guards to the President himself, knows about this. About whatever is going on between you.”

“Okay, what are we supposed to do to get this over with?” Bucky sighed.

Bahar pursed her lips. “You have to announce your engagement.”

“What?” You and Bucky looked at each other with eyes wide open.

“There's no engagement to announce,”

“Well, now there is,” she replied to you. “Neither you nor Barnes can afford a scandal as such getting out of the Office. Between the questions of how qualified Y/L/N is to be where she is and the credibility of Barnes due to his… past, you probably won't be able to live down those love affair rumors. However, if you're serious, then this could be seen as a little indiscretion. You can always call it off later. Or get married, whatever works best.”

You exhaled. “Okay. Let's do this. Barnes?”

Bucky just stared at you, hesitant, but said nothing.

“Are you in or not?” you questioned.

“Okay,” He nodded.

“Perfect,” Bahar spoke in relief. “We'll have the ring here first thing tomorrow.”

“Can I- uh… choose it?”

Everyone turned to look at him, puzzled at how he was genuinely interested in doing this as right as it could get.

“Yeah,” she agreed, the faintest smirk on her lips. “You can come with us as soon as we're done here.”

“So, what are we selling here?” you asked.

“Well, you have been engaged for two months, in a relationship for a year, and this was just a heat-of-the-moment slip, alright? Nobody cares when it's something official like this. Let's just say you've been waiting until Friday's charity gala to make it public, but the rumors got in the way. We could release a statement before word leaks from this place,” Wendy from PR spoke. “And let's fire Warner for violating the contract. It covers these things, right?”

You hummed. “Everyone is prohibited from disclosing any information discussed or events occurred without explicit vocal or written consent from me and at least half plus one of the parties involved.”

“Perfect, I'll take care of it.” Bahar replied. “Well, this was very fruitful, team.”

Everyone left one by one, including Bucky—who didn't say a word to you before leaving—, and you were alone in your office.

You knew he wasn't happy, and you were sorry.

Well done, Madam Attorney. Taking care of your image for eight years just to end up like this.

You: I'm sorry about this

You: I hope this isn't your first engagement

James Barnes: Don't be sorry. It was our fault, and the both of us did it.

James Barnes: We have to face the consequences of our actions.

You: I know, but I'm sorry either way

You: It was my assistant

James Barnes: Yeah, I think you have to think twice before you hire someone.

You: That's a joke? Or a mean thing to say?

James Barnes: An honest thing to say.

You: That's too bold for a Congressman obsessed with the word “worrying”

James Barnes: You're never getting over that, are you?

You: Getting over something about you? I prefer getting under you

James Barnes: Promise?

You debated in your mind whether to do it or not but, in the end, you looked through your gallery until you found the one picture you were meaning to send him before he appeared in your office that night.

You: ① Photo

You: Encouragement to pick a nice ring, baby ;)

James Barnes: Fuck

You: Language, Sir.

James Barnes: Will I get congratulations for choosing a nice ring? A reward?

You: Most likely

James Barnes: I'll bring it tonight. Wait for me.

You: I will

You smirked and left your office.

Thursday morning came quickly for Matt Murdock at his office, catching up on the day's headlines.

His subscription to Y/N Y/L/N and Attorney General Y/L/N made the headline The unexpected engagement of Attorney General Y/L/N and Congressman Barnes: everything we know about the most politically relevant couple of the decade the first thing he heard.

Matt sat straight and selected the article.

ALT: Attorney General Y/N Y/L/N, Congressman James B. Barnes, and ex President Thaddeus Ross outside the White House

He bit his lip, feeling a hint of sweat on his skin despite the cold AC of his office.

Y/N Y/L/N used to work as an attorney at Nelson Y/L/N & Murdock back in Hell's Kitchen until the dissolution of the small law firm. Eventually, the firm reassembled as Nelson Murdock & Page, without Y/L/N, as she was then working as the District Attorney's Assistant until the Blip. During this time, she firstly got the job as New York's District Attorney. Her position lasted for two years before going the Judge route for a year. Soon after, Y/L/N became Chief Justice of the United States after Francis Holt, the former Chief Justice, passed away; all until last year when she was given the role of Attorney General of the United States. In her experience, though relatively brief, Y/L/N proved to be excellent enough to make herself a way to the highest position a lawyer can get in the government as a direct advisor to the POTUS.

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes has a significantly different background, even outside the law for a long time. Formerly serving the country as Sergeant during World War II, Barnes was believed to be dead until he was identified as the Winter Soldier, a Super Soldier and war weapon under the manipulation of HYDRA. After being wrongfully blamed for having caused the attack on the United Nations Assembly that resulted in the death of the late King T'Chaka of Wakanda in 2016, Barnes joined the party against the Sokovia Accords led by Steve Rogers, former Captain America. Having disappeared for some time, he was reported as a part of the Avengers when fighting the extraterrestrial threats that led to the Blip. In 2023, when he along with half of the population came back, Barnes received a Presidential Pardon that allowed him to reintegrate himself to society. Earlier last year, Barnes obtained the position of Congressman, representing Brooklyn. His performance? We suppose it might be too soon to tell, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Now, the pair had never shown themselves as anything more than colleagues. The former's endorsement on Barnes’ campaign was present, but never thought of anything further than that. Therefore, it was quite the surprise when this very morning their teams announced that they have been engaged for a month as of today and in a relationship for a year.

The couple is set to make their first official appearance on Friday's UNICEF Charity Gala.

Matt's blood boiled at the thought of you being with someone else.

While it is true that after Foggy's death he became distant and had a one hundred and eighty degrees change, the only constant part of his life was loving you since you were in Law School. It was you, him, and Foggy since day one, and now it was only him. He knows he is at fault, but he wasn't prepared to receive such a low blow on a random Thursday morning.

“Hey, Kirsten,” Matt left his office and met his partner right outside. “Are you still more than friends with the UNICEF guy?”

She sighed. “You heard the news?”

“I just-”

“Are you trying to win her back or something? Because I support that, kind of.”

“You do?” Matt asked in disbelief.

“Look, Matt, I'm not normally the kind of friend that likes when her friends get back together with their exes, but you clearly still love her. Even when you were with Heather, that day at the hospital? You said her name like an innate reflex. If you need her to be at peace with your life, proceed by all means. Damn, I'll get that invitation right now and take you myself.”

“You're an angel, did you know that?”

She shook her head and chuckled. “What would be of you without me, Murdock?”

“I'd be absolutely lost,”

“I know.”

Your dress was chosen by your team to draw attention. Silk as white as a bride and a fitted, column-style silhouette with a draped cowl neckline, and tie straps in organza at the shoulders falling as low as the floor-length dress received Bucky when he went to pick you up at your penthouse.

The bright reflection of the lights on the emerald-cut diamond in the engagement band on your ring finger, however, greeted him proudly. Surrounding the diamond at its center, a baguette-cut side stone joined it on each side. It was absolutely perfect for you, and made him wish you didn't have to call the wedding off eventually.

Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could earn a yes.

“You look so perfect in that dress it will be almost a shame to take it off of you tonight,” Bucky commented in your ear, leaving a provocative kiss on your jawline after inhaling the scent of Chanel's Gabrielle off your skin.

You shuddered in anticipation. “Don't spoil it all that much.”

Bucky smirked and offered you his arm.

“I've never felt more scrutinized in my life.”

“I've been through lots of shit,” Bucky mentioned. “And, somehow, being interviewed by a teenage influencer for a TicTac about how well you know your partner was worse.”

“TikTok,” you corrected him. “And kudos for guessing my favorite color.”

Bucky chuckled and took a sip of his champagne. “You mentioned your favorite color once.”

“Did I?” You frowned.

“Yeah, you were bickering with your niece for stealing your favorite color. We were at your place and your friend brought her kid.”

“Oh, that's true,” You smiled softly, moved at the idea of him remembering something irrelevant like that from a subtle interaction that didn't even have to do with him.

“Excuse me, Congressman Barnes, Madam Attorney,” a reporter interrupted your conversation. “Can I take your picture?”

Bucky's expression went back to serious as he nodded, but gave a faint curve of his lips when the reporter took the pictures. Even once, when you had thought the photoshoot was over, he kissed your temple. Later, you learned that that specific shot made it to the internet.

“I'm sure everyone out there is questioning how the hell I pulled you,” Bucky commented. “Maybe they think I threatened you.”

“With what? A good time?”

He chuckled, a little dryly. “With assassination or something.”

You snorted. “Look, I knew what I was getting into that night I kissed you. You know? The grumpiest, most annoying man I have ever met; but also, the sweetest, most thoughtful, and unconditional.”

That hurt. That hurt Matt Murdock like hell, overhearing as per usual.

“How am I annoying?” Bucky feigned offense.

You got closer to him, leaving one hand on the left part of his chest. Heart beating loud and nervous. “Well, you're always sarcastic and never let an opportunity to mock me slide.”

“I guess that's my love language.” He shrugged.

“It kinda sucks, darling,” You smirked. “But I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Bucky blushed and, very publicly, stole a kiss from you. One long and scandalous.

“I wanna tell-” you started to say, but were interrupted by a loud greeting.

You felt your breath hitch once you saw them.

Terry West was one of those celebrity Ambassadors of UNICEF. A well known actor with a savior complex most likely, standing beside none other than Kirsten McDuffie and Matt Murdock.

Bucky noticed your nerves, how you were paralyzed all of the sudden, and held you tightly against him. His left hand softly caressed your arm, soothing you.

“Every time I see you, you are three steps forward than the last,” Terry smiled widely, congratulating. “Let me know if President comes next. I'll get you votes.”

“Hi, Terry,” You pressed your lips together. “Thanks, but I think this is as far as I'll get.”

“So, hey. You know each other, or so I've heard.” he noted before you said anything else.

“We do know each other,” Kirsten smiled. “It's been a long time.”

“Quite a long time,” Matt completed.

You nodded. “Yeah. Uh, darling, these are Terry West, he's an Ambassador of UNICEF. Kirsten McDuffie and Matt Murdock, we've known each other for a while now. Matt and I went to Columbia together and were partners at Nelson Y/L/N & Murdock back in the day. This is my fiancé, James-”

“James Barnes,” he completed for you, offering his hand to Terry, Kirsten, and Matt, who didn't even pretend he couldn't tell Bucky was trying to give him a handshake. The contact was rough. Aggressive, even. “But you are her friends, so you can call me Bucky.”

Bucky's arm returned to your waist, holding you protectively —possessively?— and close to him.

Kirsten smiled. “So, we're gonna take our seats. It was a pleasure seeing you again. Don't be a stranger, alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” You nodded, seeing her and Terry leave. However, Matt stayed.

“Uhm, I was wondering if we could talk. In private.”

Bucky shot him a look, one between nonchalant and surprised at his boldness—how shameless could your ex be to ask to speak to you in private right in front of him? Still, he said nothing; Bucky just stared as he always does: stern, threatening, but a glint of anxiety in his blue eyes. Dark, gloomy, uneasy.

“Matt-”

“Please,”

“Anything you wanna say to me, you can say it in front of Bucky.”

He shook his head. “Come on, just…”

“It's okay, doll,” Bucky said. “Sam said he'd be here, so I'm gonna look for him.”

You sighed, not very brave at the idea of facing Matt after so long.

“You alright?” he asked. You said nothing, hoping for your eyes to tell him no. “Hey…”

Bucky kissed your forehead and let go of your hand.

“You need this,” he whispered, not knowing Matt could hear. “I'll be right there if you need me.”

And Matt knew it couldn't be fake. He knew it in the speed of Bucky's heart, in the warmth of his skin, and in the way your shoulders relaxed when he comforted you. It was all real.

“So, you come to these events willingly now? Or was something at stake?”

“Both,” He exhaled. “I just… I heard about your engagement and I couldn't- it can't be like this.”

“Matt,”

“Just… don't do this. This- I've loved you from the moment I first met you and I haven't stopped since, I've loved you every second I've been beside you and every second I've been not. I've thought about you every single day of my life since I heard you fighting with Foggy about how his future roommate would hate his mixtape,” he began, taking a hesitant step forward. “Everytime I met someone, I thought that if I tried hard enough, I'd be able to make their voice sound like yours, but it never worked. When we finally got together, I felt for the first time that nothing was missing anymore. But you're now with someone else, and I- I can't take it. Don't make this mistake. Don't marry him. I know I don't deserve you, that you didn't deserve what I did, but… I can make this right, I swear I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Everything means nothing without you, sweetheart. I need you to be because I can't tolerate the idea of a life without you.”

“Matt, you did this,” you replied, as put together as you could, trying to remain strong as a tear escaped down the maroon lenses covering the eyes you once died in. “You ended it. This whole thing? This was what you wanted. I met you and you were all I wanted for the longest time. I was fine, and then you happened to me. I endured years of your mixed signals and seeing you with other girls, and, when we finally got together, I thought I was done. I thought I was finally where I was supposed to be, and even when you were gone for those five years, I never stopped waiting for you. Then, you came back. Despite everything I had built and how I almost didn't make it out alive, I went back to you because I loved you. And… Matt, when Foggy died, I died. All my life, he was my best friend, and you acted like your hurt was bigger than mine. You acted like I didn't need you, like I was a completely isolated entity, like I belonged to a different planet and had no idea about pain and grief and Foggy. I fought against you for so long, even leaving my pain aside because I wanted to be there for you, but you were never there for me. You pushed me away like I was nothing, you pushed me so hard that I fell and you broke me, Matt. I tried to justify everything in your grief, but I was grieving too, and I never treated you or anyone else like shit. I said, ‘he's gone through so much’, ‘everyone handles loss differently’, but you know what? He was there for me. He was there to tell me that grief isn't a fucking excuse for being an asshole with the one person who would've died for you. So, you did this, Matt. And today I can only thank you, because you taught me a lot. You taught me how to love and what I deserve, and especially what I don't. And even after everything, I can only wish you the best.”

He stood silent, and you knew what would follow. You knew what he would do as soon as he left the place. You knew there would be broken bones and screams, and you knew he might not get over this right now.

But there was a moment in which you couldn't handle the idea of a life without him, and he had all those months to come find you. Still, he chose to do so when you were with someone else.

He came back when you were finally happy.

Because even if the engagement wasn't real, Bucky was.

Bucky is the only real thing you have left.

“Do you want to talk about what happened with Matt?”

You looked at Bucky as you took off your earrings. “Buck.”

“Doll,”

“Let's make this real,” you proposed, sudden. He stared at you, dumbfounded. “If there's something that came out of this horrendous evening, that's that I realized how much I love you. God, I love you so much, Bucky, it's unreal. But it's real, you're real, you… you feel it, too, right? I'm not imagining this, we're not just two people who have sex and talk about our fears for the hell of it, are we? We're real, this is real.”

He stood up until he was in front of you. “You're not only saying this because of whatever Matt said, are you?”

“I'm saying this because it's what I feel. I feel it now, I'll feel it tomorrow, and I'll feel this way for always. I just need to know if you love me too.”

Bucky lifted your chin and left a peck on your lips. “Yeah, I love you, too.”

“You do?” A weight fell off your shoulders, and you felt like you could finally breathe.

He just nodded.

“I'm glad you didn't leave me for Matt, though,”

“Did you ever doubt me, James?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Well, he's a big part of your life, and I'm just me. I have so much baggage, there's so much work to do in me, and… let's be honest, I'm not very good at this whole Congressman thing, it's like I have nothing of worth to offer you.”

“You have the biggest heart,” You held his hands in yours. “And baggage is not as heavy when there's someone to carry it with you and help you unpack. This life is a journey I want to share with you, I want to be by your side and help you figure it out. You don't have to be a Congressman or anything you don't want to be. Hell, I'd provide for you and have you as my househusband just for your pretty face. The sex is great, too.”

He chuckled. “You can't just say stuff like that when we're having a moment.”

“What am I supposed to say? That I'll take you to some school's career day to see what you like?”

“That sounds like a nightmare,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Why don't you say you'll promote me or something?”

“Maybe I'll give you a dictionary for your birthday and we can call it even,”

“Or maybe I could just fuck that attitude out of you, don't you think?”

“You're an asshole, Bucky. You know that, don't you?” you joked.

“And you still love me, so this is pretty much on you,” He shrugged.

You smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

“You love me.”

Sure you do.

Right when you thought it was all over for you, that maybe you didn't deserve love or a happy ending, Bucky was there to show you otherwise.

Accepting the idea of not being able to love and be loved ever was probably the hardest thing you had to do, especially while believing you had already lost who you thought was the love of your life. Learning to let yourself be loved by Bucky, however, came easily and unexpectedly.

And there he is. There. And he loves you just as much as you love him.

He is real.

[mongoosemagazine]

141 men helping you recover after an injury

CW:fluff, pure fluff , injury, gun wound

sorry for spelling errors, managed to break my finger haha

John Price:

From the second he heard you were injured he was perched by your side, waiting on you hand and foot and ordering his team to find and kill whoever ordered the man who shot you, because of course you’d managed to kill the person who pulled the trigger themself. You got shot in the lower abdomen, right above the hard bone of the pelvis. Lucky enough it wasn’t a career ending injury, not lucky enough for the bullet to go straight through, requiring a surgery which put her out of commision for a few weeks.

Whenever the pain is particularly horrible he’ll lay in the bed with you petting your hair gently and whispering praises in your ear. “So strong darling….you’re gonna get through this just fine…” he’ll press kisses to your hairline and massage your scalp until your eyes shut and you manage to drift off despite the burning pain.

Simon Riley:

Ran through the halls of the base to the helipad where you were arriving, his chest tight and pounding as he sees you tied down to a stretcher with an oxygen mask on and defibrillation pads taped to your chest, did you die? He holds your hands and rushes alongside the medics as they bring you to the medbay. Soap has to sit him down in the lobby and sit with him so he doesn’t explode while you’re in surgery.

The second he gets the news you’re okay he doubles over, he’s not crying or screaming but it’s like all the wind is knocked out of him. he goes in to see you and brushes your hair and while you’re still a medically induced coma does your skincare routine for you since he knows how important it is to you, he puts on a sheet mask which he normally complains about on date night

When you wake up and get home he doesn’t let you do anything, lifts you to and from the bathroom, calls your family to figure out what your favourite foods are when you’re sick and the recipes for them. He lays with you in bed every night and sometimes, he does cry. Whispers to you about how he can never lose you and that he loves you more than anything. He falls asleep with his ear pressed against your heart to remind himself you’re breathing.

Kyle Garrick:

Like a ghost cooks all of your favourite foods and makes sure you’re as comfortable as possible, wrapped in blankets and pillows in a little nest on your bed. He always gives you massages and foot rubs any time you complain about the pain and gives you little kisses saying he needs to “distract you from the pain”. He puts on your favourite TV shows and refuses to go out with the lads until you're better. 

He keeps telling you about how you’re a badass and that everyones gonna be jealous of your cool scars and body when you get back on your feet. He wakes you up every morning with your favorite breakfast and your water bottle on your nightstand is always fully filled up. He makes sure you are always well hydrated and if you make the tiniest noise of discontent he will hear it, doesn’t matter if he’s on the other side of the apartment. 

One thing he doesn't do is carry you around. The second you are able he helps you move around the apartment, buying you a cane and wheelchair so you don’t become stagnant and your healing process doesn’t stall and you can be back working as soon as possible, not because he wants you to but because he knows that you would want that for yourself.

Johnny Mactavish:

Take you home to his family. He’s not a mama’s boy (lie) but he is confident in his mum’s ability to look after people as well as it being a possibility for you to meet his family. Constant home cooked meals and a loving community to be surrounded by. He also wants you there because it’s away from all the pressures of daily life in the military. He did all of the paper work and leave requests so you can take as long as you need to heal and get better. 

He brings you freshly pasteurized milk, has you eating foods with lots of carbs to get your energy levels up and asks his mum to plan out outfits to put you into when you couldn't dress yourself, as well as asking her to teach him to wash a woman’s hair and which products were the best to use. By the end of your month of recovering the family treats you as one of their own. 

Formerly “Johnny’s Lass” they now call you by name and make you feel extremely loved. When it’s time for you to go home they make you a big care package full of supplies for recovery and all of the food you loved the most during your time there. As you sit in the car preparing for the drive his mother slips her mother’s engagement ring into Johnny’s hand, telling him to cherish her.  Johnny hums and when he joins you in the car presses a long kiss to your forehead saying something in Gaelic you don’t understand. “Cha leig mi le duine sam bith do ghoirteachadh a-rithist, M’eudail.” I won't let anyone hurt you again, my love.

[mage-ical-character-person]

I mean Leggy also showed up in the Costco episode so this isn’t the first of her being back. She was never gone, you can’t just get rid of a part of yourself like that.

And like, even with the example you gave of an overly simple summary Puzzles might do of Four, that still feels like it comments on something more personal than Four summing up Puzzles as just TV guy that hates us. I dunno Puzzles has so much going on but all Four needs to know is anyone who hurts his friends is bad and evil. That’s why I brought in the screenshot from Mario’s Spicy Day because it feels similar to how despite how much was going on with SMG3’s motivations Four just assumed Three simply decided to hate him for no real reason and everything he did somehow tied back to the fact that he is bad and evil.

Four can be pretty oblivious to other people’s feelings in general but it’s especially bad when antagonist he has a lot in common with. Puzzles really fills the niche in the show Three left behind with his redemption. I thiiink that’s neat.

And yeah it’s definitely in character for Meggy to feel responsible. She trusts the system more than she probably should and she wants to help everyone. But she is not equipped to help Puzzles. At all. Way too much baggage on both ends with everything he’s done to her and with him feeling betrayed in WOTFI.

that said… it also might mean a lot to Puzzles to have someone reach out to him for once and have it be Meggy of all people. No one has ever reached out to him unprompted like this. It’s such a foreign concept to him I don’t think he’d know how to react. Like, even with his scene with WPNZ where I don’t doubt he’s genuinely seeking connection, he still feels the need to pull out all the stops manipulation-wise. So for someone to reach out to help him unprompted? He’s probably gonna be pretty split between “You came back for me🥺?” and “okay definitely some ulterior motive here but I can probably work with this”

Also eager to see Meggy’s reaction to Leggy 2.0’s existence because I really don’t think she fully grasps how much Leggy meant to him.

But yeah. I hope both of them get a chance to heal, but I think that’s gonna require a lot of space apart.

Also even if Puzzles is really good at hiding bodies he then proceeded to take over Mickey’s theme park and also there were witnesses so??

YES YEES YESS!

I saw the thumbnail and I went: Leggy?? And YES!

Leggy misses Puzzles!! The loyalty on this lil friend!

and…

Four, honey, I love you my little sweetheart… but at no point were you gentle with Leggy.

Honestly what were you expecting? Of course she’s scared of you! Why are you making the kicked puppy face about this?

I know you mean well though Four you are adorable ANYWAY

Four’s impression of Puzzles is also amazing

but the fact that this is what Puzzles boils down to in Four’s brain when really Puzzles is defined by loneliness and desperation and fear of failure and a need for control. Like I know Four hasn’t seen all that we have the audience have and we’re probably not supposed to think about this line too much. But I think it’s notable because of how much Four and Puzzles have in common and how much Four has a very black and white view of his adversaries and how often he is oblivious to the feelings of others despite how much he tries. He’s always so

He is full of love and care but has low empathy I know this in my soul.

anyway sorry for making everything about Four it’s just that I love him. Obviously Meggy’s situation is also intriguing and she has a really interesting thing with the way she wants to see the good in everyone and she wants to help, but she’s also got this sense of justice and she often isn’t really sure how to help and I love that for her. The way in WOTFI her response to knowing deep down Puzzles is a scared little child reaching out for help is to go directly into his head with the intention of talking things out only to yell at said scared little child. She’s… not good at being gentle. In her defense she went to college for this and what she learned was… uh

characters who mean well but make it worse <3 love her why is she like this. She thinks she’s the reasonable one but dear god.

And finally that ENDING! IS OUR BELOVED PUZZIE PIE RETURNING TO US?? Or at least receiving a more merciful sentence than solitary confinement forever. Or worse, considering that this universe is still chill with lobotomies, and Meggy’s reaction when checking his sentence.

like… this is the same character who tried to become a cop once and went “okay ❤️ yay❤️” when abuse of power was hand-waved away

If SHE’S disturbed by whatever Puzzles’ sentence is I am very worried.

also his profile is sending me

In his official files that he’s fruity. Sure, why not? That’s great

also “attempted” murder? I feel like killing Micky Mouse is a pretty significant thing that he did. Did Mickey survive? Is that gonna be relevant? Also he’s not charged with kidnapping even though he did that a lot. Your honor he did all of it and even worse stuff but we’re pleading just a silly guy. Take pity on the wretched man he just needs a little TLC.

Mixed feelings though because he really shouldn’t have to be Meggy’s problem.

[smartzelda]

Sometimes it's frustrating having worked in video game retail and knowing anything about game/console prices and deals watching people just. Say things online

"Look at this nintendo add for the SNES you could get the console and super mario world for like $100! Companies never do that anymore they're so greedy hahaha"

Yes, companies still bundle consoles with games. And yes, often this means the games come at a reduced price. (Mario Kart World for Switch 2 is $50 in the bundle versus the $80 for physical. When Gamestop was bundling games and controllers with new ps5s to keep away scalpers in like 2022, the games included often would be discounted between $10 and $20 for that bundle.)

Don't get me wrong. Of course less than $200 for a console and a first party game would be swell these days BUT. When you decided to get up in arms over prices these days, did you adjust for inflation? (Because like. It's one thing if the new console you're doing comparisons with the old one is much more expensive even when factoring in inflation. But also like some of those old consoles adjusted for inflation are worth about the same if not more than a switch 2, then it's like...okay? At that point the prices aren't the problem. The root issue is the companies not paying you in accordance with rising inflation.)

Believe it or not YES. Nintendo still does console deals where you can buy their most recent home console with a first party game added in for free! (Listen to me. Listen. In 2021 and 2022 for Christmas it was possible to walk into a video game store and buy a $300 switch bundle that included Mario Kart 8 deluxe and like 3 months free Nintendo Online. In like 2022/2023 for Christmas they also did $350 switch oled bundles that included Mario Kart 8 deluxe and 3 months nintendo online for free. The price of a console for a $60 video game and 3 months of the online service. This isn't some mythic business practice that stopped happening in like 2005 or something. I promise.)

Yes obviously the companies are greedy. They use deals to pull you in to get you to spend more than you expected. They also often have more sales than you're even aware of because they benefit more from people paying full price. They underpay people and they use whatever excuses needed oftentimes to raise prices to keep that profit rising. But it does no one any real good other than allow people to get pissed off to lie or assume things which aren't true. There are so many reasons to dislike companies (esp. Nintendo), you don't need to rely on acting like things used to be so much better in cases that they're not, or treating things that are industry wide standards/issues as something one company is the sole perpetrator of.

Moral of the story, maybe perhaps like do a bit a research instead of assuming whatever thing that pisses you off greatly is 100% true, and direct your ire in the right direction. Ground yourself emotionally and mentally, know what's going on. Be pissed at corporations. You're allowed to be fuckin pissed at corporations. Just please know what tf you're talking about and what exactly the root issue is

[autisticlee]

no one knows just how hard I work at things. how I have to work 1000000x more than the average person to compensate for being autistic and adhd and probably other things i'm working out with therapist, and having a sort of physical disability i've not received any help or treatment for. everyone assumes I don't try or give up too soon. they think I just started, need more practice. they think I expect everything handed to me immediately with no work or effort and don't acknowledge the multiple years i've put into things. they think I have no right to be upset about still failing to get where I want even after working my entire life to get there, while watching people around me surpass even my meager goals within a fraction of the time and work i've out into the same thing. constantly getting surpassed by everyone around me who seem to barely do any work to get there compared to me. it's all handed to them and falls into their lap so easily. all because they don't have the extra obstacles to overcome and work around that I do. while they go from point A to Z immediately with no major stops in between, I have to go through every single letter and then some, often getting sent back to the start. but it's always *my* fault, according to everyone. it's not the fault of those around me who ignore me, don't support me, don't help me, don't believe in me, etc. it's my fault they don't do those things. because doing the work of 10 people in one isn't enough, just because it's me. and not reaching Z as fast as everyone else means I don't deserve any of the support or help or anything else and means i'm not trying hard enough. it doesn't matter that I *need* to work harder than 100 "normal" people combined to get even half the result! Just because I can't reach what they do means i'm not trying hard enough! ugh.

[countingprimes]

really hate how they/them pronouns have lost all meaning as a neutral pronoun. like everyone, especially queer people see them as 'third gender' pronouns. and .... that really does defeat the purpose now doesn't it

[unintentionalseductress]

Prescription For Pleasure

Warnings: MDNI, sex, masturbation, medical masturbation, use of vibrators, clit play, piv sex, use of latex gloves, oral (fem receiving), some praise, kinda slow burn A/n: I am not normal about this man in any way. Not really proofread. Please do not use my banners without permission.

You’re seated in Zayne’s office, trying not to squirm as he sets up your appointment. Although this was now the third time you were seeing him for this regular inspection, it didn’t alleviate your nerves the slightest. Each month, according to the Hunter’s Association regulations, every hunter needed to be seen by their primary care physician for 3 consecutive days for their health.

And although the association deemed it a necessity, it was an embarrassing requirement according to you. The Hunter’s Association had done a survey and discovered that many of their employees suffered from high levels of stress because they were isolated and lacked much-needed human contact. To combat this, they made it mandatory to get physical contact by a medical professional every month.

But when all the fancy jargon was pushed aside, all the hunters called it the same thing - medical masturbation. It had become wildly popular amongst both men and women hunters, eagerly marking the days on their calendar for when they could come in. When you heard about the rule, you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole. You had tried talking to Jenna to insist that you were indeed taking care of yourself in that aspect, thanks to your trusted vibrator, but she had shaken her head no. 

“We need documentation. I’m subject to it, and so is everyone else in my order.”  Defeated, you’d walked out of Jenna’s office before remembering another mortifying fact with a jolt. Your primary care physician was Zayne. 

Your childhood friend, your trusted cardiologist, stoic and calm, who remained reserved during your general checkups, was going to be your medical masturbator. You had almost turned yourself into a ball on the floor, tweaked out at the insanity of it all. Although Zayne was your general physician, you had a separate gynecologist, and apart from asking if you’d had your annual PAP smear, Zayne had left that part of your anatomy unquestioned. It didn’t help that you were attracted to him, and sure, if he’d asked you out on a date, you would have been more than happy to let him inspect you all he wanted down there.

But this clinical setting, enforced by your organization was a little too much to bear. Wondering how to tackle this situation, you wander over to Tara who was humming as she made her medical bookings on her phone app. “Isn’t this exciting?” she squeals as she sees you. “God knows the dating pool is thin right now. This is just what I needed!”

Tara’s primary care physician was a woman, and you wondered if that was a pro or a con. On the one hand, dropping your panties for a woman doctor seemed less unnerving than for a man. But if you had a preference for men, would it work against your arousal? You shook your head at your ridiculous musings and focused on talking to Tara. “Are you really that excited about this?”

“You have no idea!” Tara taps her feet as she talks to you. 

“And you’re ok about having a woman stimulate you?” You probe, trying to gauge Tara’s reaction. Tara giggles and lightly pats your shoulder. 

“I don’t know but the idea is kind of hot. I mean, getting it on in a doctor’s office? Besides if I don’t like it, I can change the doctor the next time.”

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks. “You can change your doctor?”

“For this yes, the app gives you an option since it involves showing off a lot of intimate areas. You have to be able to trust your doctor right?”

You logged into the app, finding the little button to request a change in doctors, but for some reason, the page kept refreshing and crashing. With a sigh, you decide to get the worst of it over with and call Zayne, hoping he can make the change for you on his end. His voice is cool and professional when he answers your call.

“Yes?”

“So, you must have heard about…the new regulation?” you had put forth nervously.

“I am aware of it, yes.” 

“Well, for obvious reasons, I would like a different doctor.” 

Zayne smoothly says, “Of course. Patient comfort is always first. Do you have a doctor in mind?”

“Maybe my gynecologist? I tried doing it in the app but it keeps crashing.” There’s a moment of silence and you can hear Zayne’s fingers tapping away at his keyboard before a low hum leaves his end of the line.

“There appears to be a problem.”

“Problem?” you’d parrotted back.

“Yes. Because so many people are booking appointments at the same time, most of the available doctors are already taken. Including your gynecologist.” 

It felt like watching a bird crashing into a window in slow motion, that brief moment of hope that it wouldn’t hit the glass shattering in an instant. “Oh.”

There’s a pause before Zayne delicately says, “I’m sorry but it looks like you will have to make those appointments with me for this month. 3 of them according to the regulation. Hopefully, you can make the change for next month.” His voice sounded slightly apologetic.

“Won’t it be weird given that we know each other personally?” The question had fallen from your lips before you could stop yourself. 

“I promise not to treat you any differently than any of my other patients who are coming in for this inspection. I understand this may be a little unexpected, but I assure you I did a term of gynecology during my internship.”

A tinge of mirth carried over in his voice and you can’t help but make a noise of embarrassment. “Zayne, please!” His laugh was dry but not unkind, and you can’t help but want to hide your face even though he couldn’t see you. 

“Don’t worry too much. But I do advise you to make the appointments soon. My schedule is filling up rapidly.”

With those words, he’d disconnected the call and you were left wondering if an unknown god from another planet had cursed your existence. 

And changing doctors had proven to be more difficult than you’d thought. The entire organization seemed to be having a single thought. They had made appointments in the app almost halfway into the year, essentially blocking you from being able to do anything about your situation. Now on your third month with Zayne, you watch as he checks his notes from your last session, feeling like you want to scamper from the room.

The last two sessions had been incredibly stimulating, your arousal heightened by the fact you were attracted to Zayne. You’d never considered having someone watch as you touched yourself but found that you’d enjoyed it, at least, when it was him. He had remained professional, but you’d avoided him these last two months, save for when you had to get your monthly cardiac profile. He reads his notes from his computer as he prepares for your session. 

“Preferred device for stimulation still a vibrator, with a large, rounded, flexible head?” His eyes remain on his screen and you’re grateful for him giving you this smidgen of privacy. 

“Yes.”

“Preference for the doggystyle position still?” 

Your face burns. “Yes.”

“Still consenting for verbal stimulation?”

You nod your head.

“And still consenting for internal vaginal stimulation?” You make a noise of consent, squeezing your thighs together, your panties uncomfortably chafing against your already swollen pussy. 

“All right, I have everything I need.” He logs off and removes his lab coat, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his well-corded arms, and your mouth almost waters at the sight of them. Clearing your throat, you shyly reach into your bag and pull out the vibrator in question, which he takes from you and clamps into a stand, adjusting it over the examination table you’d be on. A bottle of lube awaits on the tray next to the table and you swallow as he finishes the setup. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says in that deep voice, and feeling like your fingers are wrapped in thick woolen mittens, you reach behind you to untie the hospital gown you’re wearing, and it falls to the floor with a swoosh, your nipples pebbling under the sudden chill. A small set of sensors were taped to your chest and on the sides of your forehead, essential medical devices to ensure your orgasm was satisfactory. Unperturbed, Zayne gestures to the table and you make your way onto it, letting your feet settle in the stirrups as he settles on a stool between your legs, pulling on latex gloves before gently spreading your folds apart. You stare up at the ceiling as he does his initial checkup.

“Labia look healthy, no signs of trauma or abnormal discharge,” he murmurs, then runs a finger down the edge of the fold that separates your inner and outer lips, causing your core to clench involuntarily. You hold still, knowing very well he saw the action, holding your breath, letting out a little sigh as he lets go. 

“Normal reaction to stimuli, already semi-aroused,” he says, trashing the gloves and making another note on his computer. He glances over at you, leaning back uncertainly on the table. “You may begin.”

You swallow, then carefully turn onto your hands and knees, crawling towards the head of the table, grabbing the bottle of lube and squeezing the viscous liquid onto the head of the vibrator, avoiding eye contact as your breasts sway under the motion, nipples painfully hard from anticipation. You could feel Zayne’s gaze but can’t bring yourself to look up. Even though this was the third time, it hadn’t gotten easier, stripping naked and pleasuring yourself in his office. 

Once the rounded head of the vibrator is slick, you turn, the chill of the lube against your heated membranes causing more blood to flow into your already engorged nub, and run your moist slit across the surface to spread the liquid onto your slickened folds. Your hand fumbles for the little remote control and with a buzz, the vibrator turns on at the lowest setting. You click the button a few more times until it gets to the speed you liked, then fail to hold back a moan as the sensations pleasurably begin to take hold in your clit. 

The first time you had done this, nervousness had made you set the vibrator on the highest possible setting hoping to get a quick orgasm and sprint out of the office. Unfortunately, the sensors relayed this information into Zayne’s medical record that your climax had been unsatisfactory, and you had endured being lectured by him with the medical gown loosely draped on your body, your rear open to the cold office air. 

His tone wasn’t unkind but it hadn’t helped you feel better either. “It helps neither of us if you rush this. The whole purpose of this examination is to ensure you’re relaxing. I know it’s embarrassing but if you fail to have a proper orgasm, I’ll have to make you repeat the process until I get data that says otherwise.”

“The sensors are-”

“The only way to measure anything. Without involving another person anyway.”

His words had left you gobsmacked and your retort had died in your mouth. After that incident, you had learned. Even with the chagrin of having him watch you, you had learned to take your time and let the feelings build, leading to incredibly savory climaxes that made your body squirm from the aftershocks. 

Your hips sway, setting up a rhythm to brush your sensitive slit onto the head, letting it vibrate from cunt to clit, the lube aiding the frictionless sliding and making your core drip. Quiet noises of pleasure leave your throat as help yourself, arching your back and changing the curvature of your ass to maximize the sensations, then when the perfect pattern emerges, you let out a keening sigh, and try to remain still, letting the vibrator work its magic. 

Zayne, who has been quietly observing the computer this entire time, observing the spikes relayed from the sensors, asks, “Have you found your optimal pleasure form?”

“Yes,” you gasp, the timbre of his voice sending an arrow of lust into the deepest parts of your clenching core. You knew what was about to come next. The sound of Zayne’s desk chair moving, followed by the snap of latex gloves as he pulled a fresh pair onto those beautiful hands. He approaches the examination table and takes the bottle of lube you had set aside earlier, a wet squelching noise issuing from it as he squeezes it over his gloved hand, gathering the fluid on his index and middle fingers. He leans over to whisper in your ears; the verbal stimulation has begun.

The humiliating reveal that you had a heavy praise kink had come up during your initial session and despite your insistence that it wasn’t necessary, Zayne, the ever-diligent worker, had made a note in your profile, and he’d been fulfilling it each time. A tickle of hot breath near your ear, before he murmurs, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

The hum of the vibrator in the background coupled with his voice makes your breath catch in your throat. You nod, knowing you didn’t have it in you to form coherent words. 

“That’s a good patient. Good patients listen to their doctors you know. And you’re doing a wonderful job.”

Your hips snap back to push your clit against the rubber pad, letting out a whimper of pleasure, the action pushing your ass up higher, revealing your pathetically drooling cunt, fluttering with the dissatisfaction of being unfilled. 

“Are you ready?” He waits for your consent and you manage a husky, ‘mm hm’.

“Good girl. Take a breath.”

You inhale, trying to relax, then let out an uninhibited moan as Dr. Zayne inserts his middle finger into your needy cunt, the ring of muscles offering no resistance to the probing digit. He gently thrusts a few times, before curling the tip of his finger up into the delicate patch of nerves on your upper wall, the smooth come hither motion awakening a new level of pleasure in your body. Your fingers tighten on the edges of the table, sobbing, trying not to scream at the feelings that threatened to explode from you. He keeps up the gentle assault before asking, “Are you ready for another one?”

“Yes…” your voice comes out shakily, knowing you desired more than just his fingers, but that you would never get to experience it. 

“Perfect. So well behaved, taking exactly what I give you.” Zayne’s sensual voice floods your ear before his index pushes into you, the thickness of both his fingers sending you into overdrive. Your walls clench welcomingly around him, inciting an exciting pull of liquid heat in your abdomen, the muscles tensing in anticipation for the exquisite release you knew was about to occur. 

Feeling your inhibitions abandon you as you are stroked closer to orgasm your self-control slips and his name falls from your lips as he pushes over the edge.

“Zayne…” some partially functioning confine in the back of your brain registers what you had just involuntarily purred, but the spasms rocking your core, those gratifying waves of delight flooding your body made it easier to ignore it as your being is reduced to a pliant mess of pleasure. His fingers ease up as the fluttering in your pussy calms down, your clit pulsating weakly as the final vestiges of pleasure are wrung from your body. 

With a wet noise, his fingers leave your moist hole, the glove coated with your juices and the lubricant. Awareness finally comes crashing around you as you realize what you had uttered in the throes of passion. 

“I…I didn’t…I wasn’t in control…” You try to find a way to explain, to let him know you had very little choice in the matter of sobbing his name as you orgasmed, but everything feels flat, almost on the fine line between explaining and insulting. 

“There’s no need.” Almost as if he’s read your mind, Zayne matter-of-factly redirects the conversation. “It’s not uncommon to blurt out things during climax. Some people swear, and others call out names. It was a very normal reaction considering I was the one in the room with you.”

He throws the gloves in the trash and goes to check the computer, to ensure the sensors had given him the information he needed before starting the second round of the appointment.

“Oh.” You say quietly as he sits at his desk, feeling dejected. Although relieved he wasn’t making a big deal out of it, you can’t help but feel disappointed with his reaction. Shouldn’t a man be flattered when a woman cried out his name when she came? Maybe he really was treating you strictly as a patient. And here you were, pussy exposed and spread after being probed by his dextrous fingers, mooning over him like a high school girl. Perhaps the limit of your relationship with him was in fact, doctor and patient, the childhood friends aspect fading. 

So there was no romance here at all. You had a crush on him, and he was doing his job. Reality sucks. You sniff and suddenly feel cheap, and get out of the doggystyle position and try to find the hospital gown to preserve some of your modesty. Zayne glances over at your sudden movements.

“Are you cold? I can get you a blanket.”

“I’m fine.” You try to sound normal. 

“Your records show that you usually rest about 10 minutes before you are ready for the next round. Do you feel like that will be the case this time too?”

You find the gown and drag it up to your chin, covering your body as you lay back on the table. “Yeah. Actually a little sooner today maybe. I have somewhere to be.”

“You can’t rush these things. Your body will cum when it wants to. A forced orgasm doesn’t promote anything beneficial.”

“Well can we find a way for this to happen quickly and in compliance with the sensors?” You’re trying not to let your frustration show, the pleasantness of your orgasm fading. “I don’t think I have the patience to do two more rounds.”

Zayne listens to you impassively, but those amber eyes flecked with green had an underlying intensity you couldn’t place. “You don’t have the patience to do two more rounds?” He gets up and comes over to you. “You want to just leave then?” He approaches the edge of the table and there’s tension in his jaw. Perplexed, you look at him, his reaction unexpected. 

“No, I’m sorry, I know I can’t leave because of compliance and all that.”

“Compliance,” Zayne mutters under his breath before grasping your chin and forcing you to look at him, a gasp leaving your throat. 

“You’re getting frustrated because you have to do this a few times every month while being supervised? Do you have any idea what I have to do before you come in for these sessions?” His voice is a growl and you clam up, shocked by this aggressive display of expression from him.

“Every month I have to remain professional as you come in, pleasure yourself, and then leave. I have to endure seeing your beautiful body bare in front of me and control all my impulses to touch you, to not overstep my limitations as your doctor. I pleasure myself remembering the noises you make and ensure I’m well spent before coming in to do your appointments. You sit there, acting like it’s hard for you, but do you have any idea what you do to me?”

One of his knees is on the table, and he’s looming over you making you feel like a tiny animal caught in his fury. “It’s torture, to watch you. You’re not like the other patients I see. You never have been. Because with you, I always feel like I’m on the verge of losing control. Do you know how difficult it is to not do things to you that aren’t specified on your medical record? To have my fingers so intimately inside you, feel every little drop of pleasure clenching around my fingers, knowing at the end I can’t have you to myself? To hear you call my name and know that you only see me as your doctor?” 

Your face is a bright shade of red but you can’t look away from his face. His teeth are gritted, and when you dare to glance down, you see the noticeable bulge that has formed between his legs. He follows your glance and clicks his tongue, letting go of your chin. 

“I know I crossed a boundary today. It’s all right. You can go. I’ll reschedule you with another doctor. I know you didn’t want me in the first place.”

Your mind is a blur as you quickly reach out to grab his hand, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. His admission was like a prayer answered, and you weren’t going to meek about this. His breath hitches as he feels you pulling at his hand and gives you a look of uncertainty. Your lips part but the words you want to say refuse to come out. 

“Damn it,” he whispers ferally before his mouth captures yours in a rough kiss. It was wild and demanding, a contrast to the reserved, patient man he usually was. You’re swept up in the feeling of his mouth on yours, the taste of his tongue, and the softness of his lips. When you break apart, his hand cups your cheek, his eyes searching your face.

“This isn’t just because of the session right?” He asks keenly and you realize what he’s asking you. He’d been aching for you before this whole stupid policy came into place. The same way you’d been longing for him. 

“No, it’s not. I had a crush on you back when you became my doctor to check on my heart condition.” A sigh of relief leaves him before he tenderly presses his forehead to yours, and you’re caught up in the sweetness of the moment. 

“I just had to be sure.”

Boldly, you raise your head, delighted when he meets you, pulled back into his kiss, your tongues sliding over each other, your fingers tangling into his hair, scratching the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you. 

You gasp as he breaks the kiss to drag his tongue down the column of your throat, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the heated flesh, your blood humming in your veins as your eyes flutter closed. He pulls away the gown and pulls your perked nipple into his mouth, and you revel in the jolt of pleasure it brings you, each suckle felt in your clit which had already swollen up again in need. His fingers capture your other nipple, softly tweaking and pulling it and drawing little whines of desire from your throat. 

Your hand finds the junction between his legs and cups the heavy bulge, drawing a groan from him, palming him through his slacks, feeling it grow and tent the fabric under your ministrations. A low guttural sound leaves him and he gets off the table, and you almost protest until you see him dragging the small wheeled stool from earlier towards the table. He settles down on it, looping his arms around the tops of your thighs and pulling you closer to the table's edge until your feet find the stirrups again. 

“Stay open for me darling,” he instructs, his eyes glittering and you shiver as you feel his breath against your swollen folds. You squeak as he pushes your folds apart with his nose, inhaling your scent, his eyes growing dark with lust. “You smell delicious. I always wondered. Had to stop myself from sniffing my gloves after you climaxed. Not professional you know.” 

The musky tang of your pussy fills his senses, and his tongue darts out and dips into your slit, finding the swollen bud and licking it with just the right pressure that makes your toes curl and stars pop into your vision. 

Your hand rests on his head, tugging his beautiful dark locks, his name falling from your lips without barriers. Your hips rock against him, moaning, then let a sob as his lips suction around your clit. His fingers, free from the gloves at last, probe your entrance, scissoring inside to prepare you for what was to come before they curl up into that gummy patch that he knew too well. 

The sensations flood you, and the sheer knowledge of knowing you had Zayne touching you this way, unbound by the usual rules was sending you into a frenzy. Incoherent noises leave your mouth, crying out hotly as he teases the orgasm from you, your body shivering from the intensity. 

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and takes in your appearance, so soft and satisfied on his table, a dreamy look in your eyes.

“Are you prepared for the after?” he asks, you nod, more than eager to experience him. A sly smile crosses his face before he reaches over into the little chest of drawers by the table and pulls out a condom. 

“Hospitals have free condoms. It would be impractical to not use one when it’s on hand.” He explains seeing your questioning look and stands to undo his pants. You watch curiously as his cock is finally freed, eyes widening as it faces you, so impressive and veiny, standing proudly with a slight curve in its length. His pubes were neatly trimmed at the base, ebony curls visible behind the shaft. As he starts to roll on the condom, you feel your whole body heating up in anticipation. 

He leans down to kiss you before taking your feet and resting them on his shoulders, his cock at the perfect angle to enter you. As he sinks into your welcoming heat, you let out a sigh of longing, feeling the delicious stretch of muscle as he pushes up inside you, gasping as you feel his full length sheathe itself. As he bottoms out, his eyes close in bliss, hardly daring to believe that after all this time, he is finally getting to fulfill this private dream. 

Each stroke has him brushing against your gspot and kissing your cervix as he paces himself, feeling the primal urge to take you roughly and selfishly calling at his self-control. A growl leaves his throat as you whimper, straining towards him as the both of you struggle to keep a grip on reality. He feels the seductive way your walls clench around him, hears the soft noises you make, sees your face contort in pleasure with every roll of his hips. 

“Oh you feel so good,” he pants hotly, glasses askew, almost at the tip of his nose as he thrusts. “Clenching me so needily. Gonna milk me dry.”

Your response is a shuddering whimper, your back arching greedily to feel all of him, creating the perfect curvature to brush your clit against the base of his erection with each push of his hips. He feels the little bud on his heated skin, your combined fluids dripping onto his shaft, slickening the bundle of nerves with each stroke. 

“Be a good girl and cum on my cock the way you do on my fingers.” Zayne’s voice is husky as he tries to hold on, damned if he came before you. “I know you want to. I can feel the way your walls are spasming. They always do this pattern before you orgasm.”

The fact that he had memorized this knowledge of you was too much and you let go, your voice filling the room as you climax. Zayne’s hips stutter as he feels you around his length, pussy fluttering so him. His pace quickens, the sound of slapping skin becoming more and more urgent, his balls hitting your ass each time as he chases his orgasm. 

A shiver passes through his body as it happens and he buries himself in your warmth. You hum in satisfaction as you feel his cock twitch and pulse inside you as he spills his load. He pants, sweat on his forehead as he bends down to kiss you again, carefully lowering your legs which burn from the stretch as they settle on the stirrups. 

Threading your fingers through his hair, you brush your noses together, smiling shyly at him as he smirks, his eyes closing as he catches his breath.

“Can I see you outside of my office sometime?” he asks and you laugh at the invitation. 

“Are you asking me out on a date after having sex just once?” you tease as he grips the base of the condom and slides out, your pussy feeling the loss keenly. 

“I have been wanting to for a while. I was just wondering if I was misreading the signals. But I think I have a solid answer now.” He helps you sit up and cradles your body against his, idly stroking your skin, before gently removing the sensors off your body. 

“Let’s get dressed,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead after a moment of cozy silence, and the both of you hunt down your clothes. As he fixes his tie, Zayne passes by his computer and lets out an amused huff. 

“Something funny?” you ask as you button your blouse.

“The sensors definitely gave enough information to make anyone’s head spin.” You walk over and snort as you see the window, full of sharp spikes. 

“Well, at least I am guaranteed you had a good time.” Zayne’s eyes sparkle mischievously as he pulls you in for another kiss. 

“I’m not changing my doctor,” you reassure him as you pull away. There’s amusement in his gaze when he replies. 

“Oh, definitely not. I think if the Hunter’s Association ever sees this record, they’ll heavily advise you to remain with the same healthcare professional.” 

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating support banner by @/ cafekitsune @theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume @actuallysaiyan

[webism]

jerking businessman!nanami off at his desk while he works because everything has been so monotonous and boring and you're just trying to give your coworker a little bit of reprieve from a hard day at work. he's been so short with you lately that you figured a little TLC might soothe his temper.

you're sitting beside him, pretending to go over his papers with him in case someone happens to peer in through his office door. they'd see him slightly hunched, head tilted downwards in what they assume to be reverent dedication to his work.

but really he's just trying not to drool all over his paperwork. his lips are parted, eyes already glossy with all of his pent-up needs. it's been so long since he's cum—he's just been so busy and masturbating has always been a ritual of sorts to him that requires a clear mind. so every touch from you feels electric and he can see the smile on your face in his peripheral vision.

he's a leaking mess. he has no clue how he's supposed to explain the drools of pre-cum that are smeared all over the fly of his pants where you've hooked him out of them. maybe he'll go home sick. god who is he kidding he never calls in sick even that one time his temperature was—

"kento, stop thinking."

he blinks, and glances to you. god you're so pretty, sitting innocently as if your manicured fingers arent squeezing around his cock. he wonders what you'd feel like in other senses: how warm your mouth is, how inviting you'd be if he bent you over his desk and fucked you stupid as retribution for pulling this stunt. he'd make you walk around for the rest of the day with his cum leaking out of you.

the imagery is too much. his hips stutter upwards out of his desk chair and he's opening his mouth to warn you of his climax when you suddenly lean forwards and take the tip of his cock into your mouth.

he thinks he could die. warm like he had imagined, you swirl your tongue over his tip and draw out the most intense orgasm that kento has ever had in his boring life, right there in his office. the irony isn't lost on him, but he's too busy revelling in the way you hollow your cheeks out and swallow every last drop of the cum he gives you to care.

once you've milked him for all he has, you pull back and stand up to straighten out your clothes. you still look perfect, presentable and as gorgeous as he thought you were when you walked in this morning—god the last thing he thought he'd get from you today was his load down your throat.

you lean in, press a kiss to his lips that tastes more like himself than he's ever known himself to taste, and then take a step back to look him up and down.

"you should clean yourself up," you smile. "you're a mess, mr nanami."

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: The Fawn Instinct.

Pairing: Yandere!BatFam x Reader (DC).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: Implied Non/Con, Implied Dub/Con, Kidnapping, Prolonged Captivity, Social Isolation, Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, and No Actual Incest, But Boy If Those Freaks Aren't Trying. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

If it’d only been Bruce, you might’ve been able to live with it.

You didn’t love him, but you could imagine a world where you tried to. Most of it was circumstance; as upset as you were about the whole kidnapping thing, it wasn’t exactly a Herculean feat to endear yourself to the idea of being a handsome vigilante millionaire’s stay-at-home captive-spouse. You had no room in your heart for the stoic, reclusive, untouchable Bruce Wayne, but you could remember the adoration you’d once held for your masked hometown hero, the pride that’d once given you the force of will to all-but carry a half-conscious man in a torn cowl and a familiar suit into your apartment and lie to the cops when they came knocking. If the conditions had been different, if he’d spent a little more time as something more intimate than a stranger and a little less damning than a captor, then maybe, you could convince yourself to love him. Or, convince yourself to try, at least.

But, the conditions weren’t different, and you’d never quite had the time you would’ve needed to align Bruce Wayne with his more heroic alter ego. It’d been doomed from the start – Icarus jumping from his tower, already knowing his wings were destined to fall apart.

That aside, though, there was the more glaring issue: all his fucking kids.

Calling them kids might’ve been too generous, actually. Only Damian and Duke were younger than eighteen, and as far as you were concerned, they were your saving graces – Duke for meeting the bare minimum requirements for human decency and Damian for adamantly denying you were anything but an unwanted burden on his father. The rest were more-or-less adults, as little as you wanted to acknowledge the nonexistent age-gap between you and your gaggle of stepchildren. They were grown. They should’ve known better.

Tim, for example. He had to be… what? Nineteen? It wasn’t the pinnacle of maturity, sure, but he should’ve known you’d be able to hear your own sheets rustling through the bedroom door, should’ve assumed that you’d know he’d know Bruce would be out on patrol until sunrise. He should’ve known to wait until you were in another wing of the sprawling Wayne estate, somewhere far away from the master bedroom, or better yet, skipped rummaging through your things entirely. You knew better than to dream, though.

The door was still shut, but what was happening behind it and who was responsible were both foregone conclusions.  It was Tim, because of course it was Tim, and he going through your meager possessions, because what else would he wait until Bruce was gone to do? Cringing, you rested your shoulder against the steady wood and knocked gingerly. “…Drake? Are you in there?”

Immediately, the rustling stopped. You went on. “I think Bruce is out, if you need him. Is there something you’re trying to find?”

It was a good out. An easy out. Thankfully, he was smart enough to take the bait. A few seconds later, the door cracked, a disheveled Tim emerging with a dark blush spread over his pale cheeks and his hands shoved conspicuously deep into the pockets of his hoodie. It was a struggle not to roll your eyes. He couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d come out with his dick still in his hand.

Your cheeks ached as you put on your dozenth unstrained, unworried, everything’s-fine-because-why-wouldn’t-it-be smile of the day and moved aside to let him out. “I’ll let him know you were looking for him when he gets home,” you assured, like you couldn’t see the way his bright eyes were fixed to the carpeting. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help. You all are just so heroic – it’s still a little hard to believe I’m a part of this at all.”

“You’re perfect,” he muttered, and you pretended not to hear him, cocking your head to the side. When he corrected himself, his voice was a bit louder, a bit clearer. “Don’t worry, I… I found what I was looking for. You don’t have to bother Bruce.”

“Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He’s so proud of you and your siblings, after all – it’s practically all he talks about.” A lie, but a fair one to tell. There was no reason Tim should have to know Bruce spent the majority of your time alone with his teeth buried somewhere in your neck, muttering paranoid fantasies about how many different ways you could be killed, mutilated, or otherwise indisposed by the members of his rouges gallery. “Honestly, sometimes, it’s hard not to feel like I’ve been here for years, rather than just a couple of months.”

You only realized your mistake when those bright eyes shot to you, suddenly wide and blown out with desperation. A hand darted towards you, and you stumbled out of the way, but not quickly enough to avoid Tim’s vice-grip on your forearm, to spare yourself the feeling of something cold and wet sinking into your sleeve. “You’re leaving?” The words seemed to slur together, spilling out too quickly to be restrained or refined. “You can’t leave. Bruce won’t be able to handle it, and Steph, she’ll—I mean, security-wise, we won’t be able to make sure you’re—”

Internally, you were keeping up a steady mantra of ‘Thisissogrossthisissogrossthisissogross.’

Externally, by some miracle, your smile never wavered, only growing sweeter as you cut him off with a chirping laugh. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, and then, after a slight lapse, “Would you mind letting go of me? It’s—uh, it’s kind of starting to hurt.”

As if on a switch, he let go of you entirely, pulling away as abruptly as he lashed out. There was a mumbled ‘I’m sorry’, and he made a swift retreat, disappearing around the next corner before you could so much as think about bringing up Bruce, again. You watched him go, only letting your expression fall once you were sure he was out of sight.

Without further caution, you slipped into your bedroom, glazing over the mess of pulled-out drawers, overturned clothes and scattered dirty laundry in favor of falling into bed, rolling onto your chest, and screaming into your pillow as loudly and for as long as your lungs would allow.

~

You tried your best never to be alone. It was a little draining, to be honest – having to keep a running chart in the back of your mind of who you could trust and who you couldn’t, constantly trying to guess whether it’d be safer to be alone with someone or if you were better off taking your chances on your own – but you’d learned your lesson the first time you’d fallen asleep in the Wayne’s at-home movie theater and woken up to Cassandra spread over you like a human weighted blanket, staring unblinkingly at your face and playing half-consciously with your hair. You tried not to leave yourself unguarded, after that.

Alfred was your first choice, Barbra your second, with Bruce as a distant third. Sometimes, you could get away with loitering near Damian (something you hated nearly as much as he did – you could only stand to be addressed as his father’s “jezebel lover” so many times), but Bruce was at one of Damian’s school events, leaving them both conveniently unavailable, and Alfred would be locked inside of his underground shooting range for another hour and a half, an activity you knew better than to interrupt. Meaning, you were on your own.

Meaning, you’d picked a very bad time to need something to drink.

The kitchen was deathly quiet, but you still made an effort to keep your head on a swivel as you made your way carefully to a corner cabinet, like stepping on the wrong tile would trigger a pit trap, or a flurry of arrows, or one of another million terrible things you hadn’t thought were possible before Bruce dedicated himself so entirely to proving you wrong. Mentally, you reviewed your haphazardly assembled schedule as you fumbled with the wood paneling and reached for a mug from the highest shelf. Tim was definitely out, touring local colleges on Bruce’s behest, Steph was supposed to be in class, and Dick—

Your fingertips made contact with cool ceramic half a second before another, larger palm wrapped around yours, a broad chest pressing into your back as your mug was stolen out of your hand. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

And Dick was on bed rest with three broken ribs. Right. Of course.

You really shouldn’t have bothered leaving your room at all. Suddenly, dehydration didn’t sound like such a bad way to go.

“Let me get that, baby bird.” You cringed at the petname, but nodded, letting Dick confiscate your mug and with it, your ability to make a swift exit from a conversation you’d rather not have. “Green tea, right? I know it’s your favorite.”

“On the mark as always, Dick.” There was just enough enthusiasm in your voice to overshadow the despair. You waited until you heard the muted click of an electric kettle before turning around and settling against the counter. “I wish you wouldn’t dote on me, though. I already feel useless enough as it is.”

“Don’t sweat it, I’ve been going stir-crazy all week.” He flashed you a quick smile – toothy and beaming – before pulling open the silverware drawer and rummaging through it, like Alfred would keep his teabags with his cutlery. He was topless, wearing the same pair of black sweatpants he must’ve slept in. He didn’t plan to go out, clearly, and it wasn’t like you had much of an alternative. “This is just the basics, too. For a while there, I had your breakfast, lunch, and midnight snack preferences memorized.”

You forced yourself to smile, albeit, not as brightly as him. “…did you, now?”

“Mhm. B had us running in-person surveillance before he finally bit the bullet and brought you home, and—” He cut himself off with a sudden laugh, shaking his head. “And, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part. Oops.”

Mercifully, the kettle whistled before you could start to consider the implications, and you reached behind you, fishing two bags out of a teacup-shaped jar. It was easy enough to edge him out of the way, but not having to worry about pretending he’d ever made himself a cup of tea meant he could devote more of his energy to talking, so you still managed to lose, in the end. “He’s stingier with the surveillance footage, now. I’ve never seen him so jealous.”

“He can definitely be a little overprotective.”

You tried to keep your tone even, polite, but Dick was like his siblings – quick to action and slow to take a hint. A hand curled around the counter next to you, and you dumped an extra spoonful of sugar into the darkening water. “It’s just us in the manor, right?”

Another spoonful, just to be safe. “I think Alfred is—”

“Out for the day. Wayne Enterprise emergency – I let him know as soon as he finished down in the range.” In your peripheral, you watched his other hand come to rest on your opposite side, caging you in. “I wouldn’t mind the company, if you were starting to get lonely.”

Another spoonful. It’d be too sweet to drink, but anything not to have to look at him. “I’m afraid wouldn’t be a lot of fun, Grayson. Honestly, I was just planning on getting a little sle—”

“That’s perfect,” he cut in, too eager to wait his turn. “I’m a great cuddler.”

You curled your hand around your mug, hoping the warmth would be enough to ground you. Instead, it only burnt your palm, and for a second, you could imagine a world where your teeth weren’t buried in the plush of your cheek, where you didn’t have to remind yourself that turning around and splashing boiling-hot water on an all-but superhero’s face wasn’t a good idea. For a second, you genuinely considered it.

And then, a sound not totally dissimilar to thunder filled the kitchen; loud enough to leave your ears ringing and your adrenaline spiked. You flinched into yourself, but it only took a moment for fear to shift to relief as you noticed the bullet lodged into the wood less than an inch from your head. Your expression lit up just as Dick’s fell.

Without waiting for him to let you go, you slipped away – sprinting across the kitchen and throwing yourself into Jason’s – brave, bold, beautiful Jason – chest. He caught you one hand and finished re-holstering his handgun with the other, laughing as you hugged him as tightly as you could manage. Dick huffed, playful offense failing to mask real agitation, and you felt Jason brace against you. “Jerk off and shut the fuck up, Oedipus.”

Dick’s smile turned uneasy. “It’s good to see you too, man.”

“I didn’t come here for you,” he snapped, as short-tempered with his siblings as you wished you could be. He looked down, holding you that much tighter. “How’s my best girl holding up?”

“I’m just fine, Jason. I do think we have to have a talk about how you treat your brother, though.” You glanced over your shoulder to Dick. “A little privacy? You really ought to be staying off your feet, too.”

Reluctantly, Dick slinked out of the kitchen, hesitant to go but eager to nurse his wounds. You only went on once you were sure he was gone.

“It’s been awful. I found another hidden camera in my bedroom, and I think Tim’s tapping my—”

“I’ll do a sweep.”

He let you go, but you caught his arm. “Please, I know it’s important, but—” You cut yourself off, swallowing. It was irrational – the way you let your guard down so quickly around Jason. The mask never slipped around anyone else, whether you were afraid of them or they were one of your rare, precious exceptions. Jason existed outside of the Wayne family, though, outside of Bruce’s corrupting influence. He wasn’t going to hurt you. More importantly, he wasn’t going to let anyone else hurt you, either.

“But I really don’t want to think about that, right now,” you finished. “Just… just for a little while, alright? I don’t want to constantly feel like I’m walking on eggshells, at least not while you’re here.”

Jason stood strong for all of three seconds. With the fourth, he sighed, buckled, and shook his head, his exasperation brimming with affection. “How long until Bruce gets home?”

“Six more hours. He’s not due to check-in for another three.”

“I’ve got my bike out front. How do you think he’d feel about a joy ride?”

And just like that, you lit up. “It’d give him a heart attack.”

Jason pulled you close, kissing the top of your head.

“Perfect.”

~

Unfortunately, Jason’s visits were few and far between. You had to find ways of fending for yourself, in the downtime.

“I miss the city.”

Bruce glanced over his shoulder, gaze flickering over you before returning to the buttons of his dress-shirt. You sunk that much deeper into the mess of sheets and pillows, taking some small amount of solace in the way the cool silk felt against your warm skin.

(Sex wasn’t something Bruce came to you for often, but when he did, you gave it to him willingly, albeit with no more enthusiasm than was absolutely necessary. You rarely enjoyed it and always regretted everything you did or said during the act, but it was better than the alternative. Part of you trusted him, trusted Batman, enough to believe that he’d take your refusal for what it was, that you wouldn’t have to say anything more than ‘no’. The remaining overwhelming majority was able to look around you, to remember the way he’d held you down as he forced a needle stocked with medical-grade sedatives into your throat, and recognize that your opinion probably didn’t mean very much to him. Still, you couldn’t let things get that bad. Even if you had to surrender every other facet of your being, you couldn’t let things get that bad.)

“You hated the city. You said your landlord was a tyrant and that even the criminals were living paycheck-to-paycheck.” And then, after a second of thought, “And that there were more rats in Gotham than people.”

“Well, he was, they are, and you know I love animals.” You pushed yourself up, keeping a sheet bunched against your chest as you slumped against the headboard. “I was tired and overworked – you could see that. But, things would be different if I was staying with, say, my wealthy trillionaire boyfriend in one of the penthouse apartments that I know he has because his youngest son got in trouble for bragging about them in school last week?”

Bringing up his kids was a dirty tactic – the fastest way to get Bruce’s undivided attention. This time, when his eyes shifted in your direction, they stayed there, and he made his way back to your side of the bed. He collapsed next to you and, with no resistance on your end, pulled you into his lap. He didn’t seem to care whether or not his immaculately tailored, freshly pressed suit was creased in the process, but you did your best not to squirm. “You want to leave the manor?”

The first half of a frown tugged at the corner of your lips. “That’s not what I—”

“Elevated pulse, avoidant eye-contact,” he muttered. “Something’s bothering you.”

It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t wrong, either, but still. You would’ve preferred to be asked.

“…it’s your family,” you admitted, feigning guilt. “They’re all—” Horny, depressed, creepy little orphans. “—great kids, but it’s just been so much so quickly, and I think it… I think it might’ve been too much too quickly. For them and for me.”

“They adore you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Dick was close to moving back in when I decided it was too dangerous to leave you to your own devices.”

You melted into his chest, sighing. Reflexively, he curled around you – a good thing, if a bit claustrophobic. Bruce liked feeling like a shield between you and harm, between you and the world he couldn’t control. Hopefully, eventually, he’d realize he had more to shield you from than greedy landlords and villains who always seemed to be just out of sight. “It’s not that easy. It’s just been such a rocky adjustment period, and…” You curled your hand around his wrist and squeezed, hoping the force would be enough to communicate what you couldn’t put a word to. “I’m really afraid something bad might happen, Bruce.”

For a moment, he seemed to consider it. There was a kiss to your shoulder, solemn and lingering, then another to your cheek, more fleeting. “I’ll talk to them. They’ll give you space, if they’re told to.”

If he told them to. You doubted you held much authority, here. “And the apartment in the city? On the highest floor, tall enough to see from Gotham to New York?”

Bruce smiled, and your heart soared.

Then, he started talking, and it crashed back down, dying upon impact. “Once I know it’s safe for you, sweetheart.”

There was another kiss, this one to the nape of your neck, then another, lower down on your spine. A calloused hand slipped underneath the sheet still hugged against your chest, and you allowed it to.

Honestly, it would’ve been kinder if he’d cut you into pieces and fed you to the wolves himself.

~

You made a run for it as soon as the arguing started.

Arguing, not yelling – the distinction was minor, but significant. Yelling would’ve meant an injury, or a mission gone wrong, or something else that signaled a sudden complication that couldn’t be smoothed over with sugar-sweet sentimentality or orders issues with an ice-cold strictness. Yelling would’ve meant Bruce didn’t mind letting you overhear, which usually meant you didn’t need to be involved. Arguing, all hushed whispers and hissed explanations and vague warnings, was different. Arguing meant, more often than not, that they were arguing about you.

It was Tim’s fault, as far as you could tell. Barbara had been the one to find the conspicuously encrypted file on one of Dick’s civilian devices, the one to mention it to Stephanie as a point of concern who went to Tim within the hour, but it was still his fault. He’d gotten Bruce involved, let his need for approval tip the tenuously balanced scales that kept his family whole and you safe. He’d talked them all into waiting until Dick was close enough to confront in-person, stopping by for his weekly equipment pick-up and check-in. He was the reason you’d gotten close enough to hear something about ‘pictures’ and ‘inappropriate use of reconnaissance material’ before fleeing to the mansion’s foyer – the only part of the house you could be sure wasn’t occupied. If you were lucky, you’d only be there for half an hour or so, enough time for them to compromise on some non-solution and return to your carefully maintained status quo. If you weren’t, you’d spend the early hours of the morning—

Something small but forceful hit the nearest window, shortly followed by another projectile, then another. The glass was too thick and the world outside too dark to make anything out, but you didn’t need to see anything to know who’d come to your rescue.

Jason.

You rushed to the door, then hesitated. Jason would only get a slap on the wrist for luring you out of the estate, and Bruce could never bring himself to be that strict with you, but now might’ve been a bad time. Tensions were already running high. Your little disappearing act wouldn’t—

A sudden rush of footsteps clattering through the ceiling from the floor above you, hushed voices raised just to the point of audibility. None of it was entirely coherent, but Dick’s came the closest. You managed to make out a half-choked “If you’d just let me—” before someone cut him off.

With your better judgement reduced to buzzing static, you pried open the closer of a pair of huge, mahogany doors and slipped out of the estate entirely.

Of course, Jason was waiting outside, a small stock of pebbles still in his left hand and, of course, you threw yourself at him, letting him catch and spin you twice before setting you back onto your feet with an airy laugh. A pitch-black sports car was waiting at the end of the driveway, the engine purring loudly enough to drown the rest of the world out. “Rough night?”

“You have no fucking idea,” you muttered, breathless. “I don’t care where we go, just get me out of here.”

There was a reason Jason was your favorite. There was no argument, no prying, just his arm around your waist as he herded you into the passenger seat. Fifteen minutes and a little over fifty miles later, the mansion was little more than a dull glow on the horizon, and you could pretend you’d stopped thinking about Bruce entirely.

There was no effort to make conversation, as bad as you felt about pulling Jason into your prolonged tryst with self-pity. Instead, you sunk into the leather of his seat and fixed your gaze on the passing landscape, clinging to any detail you were able to latch onto as it flew by. It was possible, between the subways and boarded-over windows and perpetually overcast skies, to go days without seeing the sun in Gotham. Still, your life had felt brighter there than it ever did in Bruce’s estate.

Jason turned down a road you didn’t recognize, and you managed to find your voice. “Are we going into the city?”

“Even better.” He flashed you a smile, the engine purring as he accelerated. “You’ll like it, I promise. Just sit tight.”

As if you had much of a choice.

Road gave way to forest, forest to empty plains, and empty plains to the dilapidated remains of what you could only label as a long-abandoned amusement park – like Disney World if there’d been some terrible, possibly nuclear accident followed by twenty or so years of absolute neglect. Jason’s car glided past the rusted remains of an iron gate, past the corpses of rides buckled under their own weight, and came to a stop in front of a paint-stripped merry-go-round almost entirely sheeted be vines and weeds and overgrowth. You let out a low whistle as he threw the gear shift into park and, for the first time in any vehicle you’d ever shared with him, pulled his keys out of the ignition. He’d always left the engine running while visiting the mansion, but then again, you’d always been pretty eager to make a hasty escape, too.

“I love it, Jason. I’ve always wanted to get tetanus from a broken down carnival.”

“A fair, actually,” he corrected, slipping his keys into his jacket pocket. Like he expected you to try and steal them while his back was turned, or something. “My parents used to take me here, before I met B. There weren’t a lot of Ferris wheels after that.”

There was a short lapse, the sound of lips moving against teeth. You made the mistake of humming, of glancing over to him, of leaving yourself open for another question, and Jason, as nice as he was, was more than happy to take advantage of you. “So, when did you and B start…”

He trailed off, drumming his fingers against the wheel. You filled in the rest with a breathy chuckle. “When did I start sleeping with your dad?”

He jabbed an elbow into your side. “First of all, you can admit you’re fucking him or call him my dad, but you’ve gotta pick one.” You opened your mouth, already ready to spit out some dumb joke about what Bruce would’ve preferred to be called, but Jason cut in, sniping your stupid joke out of the air. “Secondly, answer the question. I get enough of your diversions back at home.”

“Being a buzzkill must run in family,” you sighed, but gave in quickly enough. “It happened once before the whole kidnapping thing, when he was staying at my apartment and sleeping off a broken leg. I hadn’t even seen him without his mask on at that point, but I figured it was a sign – destiny, or something.” You did your best to smile, slumping against the door. “It was dumb. He gave me a couple weeks after bringing me to the estate, mostly because of the crying and stuff, but things started up again pretty quickly.”

“Do you… like it?”

“Do you like asking about your dad’s sex life?” He flinched back, and laughing, you went on. “I guess I don’t care. There’s not a lot else to do.” You swallowed. “Would it matter if I didn’t?”

For someone with so many questions, he didn’t leave a lot of time for yours, the hypocrite. Moving on swiftly, he asked, “And the others, have they…?”

“No.” And then, after a beat, “Not yet.”

He seemed to relax, at that. His back was still straight, his shoulders still squared, but his grip on the wheel loosened, his jaw unclenching ever so slightly. You tried the handle – locked. Obviously. As if you’d ever get that lucky.

His voice was soft, sweet. The kind of tone you’d use on a child, or an animal, or a doll. “This would probably be easier in the backseat, right?”

“Let me out.”

“So you can go where,baby? It’s just us out here.” He laughed, resting a hand on your thigh. You slammed your shoulder into the door. It didn’t budge. “Hey, hey, this doesn’t need to get rough. I’m not going to be like Dick. The others – they’ll do it wrong, treat you like a cut of meat they have to get to before anybody else. I just need to make sure you get out of this in one piece.”

Nails embedded in leather, body crammed as far from him as you could force it be. You weren’t hyperventilating, but only because you’d stopped breathing entirely. “Let me out, Jason.”

“I love the way you say my name. It’s pretty, and delicate – just like you.” He sighed, shook his head. “I know you don’t get it, but I’m just trying to take care of you, like you’ve been taking care of me for the past few—”

“Stop acting like I’m your mom.” A sob fractured the final syllable, another bubbling up from deep in your chest a moment later. Your body was beyond the point of rationality, but the soft, preservational part of your mind wasn’t so beyond the point of seeking refuge. There was a way out of this, as ghoulish as it seemed. You couldn’t stop it from happening, but you could make it better. You’d regret it in an hour, when it came time to explain yourself to Bruce, but what happened in an hour didn’t matter, not if you couldn’t survive the next few minutes.

You might’ve done it, too – or, you might’ve tried, at least. You wanted to. You planned to. And yet, when you opened your mouth, there was only one thing you could seem to say. “I don’t want to do this, Jason.”

His nails bit into your thigh, his smile easing at the corners. For a second, you almost thought he’d pull away. For a second, you almost thought he’d sigh, straighten back up, and admit this was all part of some cruel, unfunny joke that the two of you would remember fondly, later on.

Then, he laughed and leaned forward, lips brushing against the top of your head. You felt him speak before you heard his voice, but the cloying reverberation alone was enough to tell you that you would’ve been better off never saying anything at all.

“Welcome to the family, sweetheart.”

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Or you can use this version, which is slower but does a better job if your username is a common word. This version also lets you look up works by work ID number, which is useful if you're looking for an orphaned or anonymous fic.

If you have more than 2,000 published works, first off, I am jealous of your motivation to write that much. But second, that won't display right on the public version of the tools. You can send me an ask (preferred) or DM (if you need to) to have me do a custom search for you if you have more than 2,000 total works under 1 username. If you send an ask off-anon asking me to search a name, I'll assume you want a private answer.

In case this post breaches containment: this is a tool that only has access to the work IDs, titles, author names, chapter counts, and hit counts of the scraped fics for this most recent scrape by nyuuzyou discovered in April 2025. There is no other work data in this tool. This never had the content of your works loaded to it, only info to help you check if your works were scraped. If you need additional metadata, I can search my offline copy for you if you share a work ID number and tell me what data you're looking for. I will never search the full work text for anyone, but I can check things like word counts and tags.

Please come yell if the tool stops working, and I'll fix as fast as I can. It's slow as hell, but it does load eventually. Give it up to 10 minutes, and if it seems down after that, please alert me via ask! Anons are on if you're shy. The link at the top is faster and handles most users well.

On mobile, enable screen rotation and turn your phone sideways. It's a litttttle easier to use like that. It works better if you can use desktop.

Some FAQs below the cut:

"What do I need to do now?": At this time, the main place where this dataset was shared is disabled. As far as I'm aware, you don't need to do anything, but I'll update if I hear otherwise. If you're worried about getting scraped again, locking your fics to users only is NOT a guarantee, but it's a little extra protection. There are methods that can protect you more, but those will come at a cost of hiding your works from more potential readers as well.

"I know AO3 will be scraped again, and I'm willing to put a silly amount of effort into making my fics unusable for AI!": Excellent, stick around here. I'm currently trying to keep up with anyone working on solutions to poison our AO3 fics, and I will be reblogging information about doing this as I come across it.

"I want my fics to be unusable for AI, but I wanna be lazy about it.": You're so real for that, bestie. It may take awhile, but I'm on the lookout for data poisoning methods that require less effort, and I will boost posts regarding that once I find anything reputable.

"I don't want to know!": This tool is 100% optional. If you don't want to know, simply don't click the link. You are totally welcome to block me if it makes you feel more comfortable.

"Can I see the exact content they scraped?": Nope, not through me. I don't have the time to vet every single person to make sure they are who they say they are, and I don't want to risk giving a scraped copy of your fic to anyone else. If you really want to see this, you can find the info out there still and look it up yourself, but I can't be the one to do it for you.

"Are locked fics safe?": Not safe, but so far, it appears that locked fics were scraped less often than public fics. The only fics I haven't seen scraped as of right now are fics in unrevealed collections, which even logged-in users can't view without permission from the owner.

"My work wasn't a fic. It was an image/video/podfic.": You're safe! All the scrape got was stuff like the tags you used and your title and author name. The work content itself is a blank gap based on the samples I've checked.

"It's slow.": Unfortunately, a 13 million row data dashboard is going to be on the slow side. I think I've done everything I can to speed it up, but it may still take up to 10 minutes to load if you use the second link. It's faster if you can use desktop or the first link, but it should work on your phone too.

"My fic isn't there.": The cut-off date is around February 15th, 2025 for oneshots, but chapters posted up to March 21st, 2025 have been found in the data so far. I had to remove a few works from the dataset because the data was all skrungly and breaking my tool. (The few fics I removed were NOT in English.) Otherwise, from what I can tell so far, the scraper's code just... wasn't very good, so most likely, your fic was missed by random chance.

Thanks to everyone who helped with the cost to host the tool! I appreciate you so so so much. As of this edit, I've received more donations than what I paid to make this tool so you do NOT need to keep sending money. (But I super appreciate everyone who did help fund this! I just wanna make sure we all know it's all paid for now, so if you send any more that's just going to my savings to fix the electrical problems with my house. I don't have any more costs to support for this project right now.)

(Made some edits to the post on 27-May-2025 to update information!)

[trainsinanime]

I wonder: Do Americans know about american school buses? Not their existence in general, but how they're seen overseas.

Over here, they're one of the symbols of America, on par with the Statue of Liberty, the flag, the Eagle, and well ahead of any chain restaurant you can name. People won't know any US states, but they will know these vehicles.

The thing is, here in Germany, we don't have dedicated school buses. The general idea is that kids go to school on their own. When that's not practical, they're expected to use (and given free tickets for) public transit. Public transit is designed around this requirement; there are many places where there is a bus, and anyone can get on it, but the route and timetable really only makes sense for school children. In case a dedicated school bus is really needed, that's generally subcontracted out, and the lines either use something like a Sprinter Van for smaller routes, or a normal city or interurban bus (often a used one that's a bit older). School trips are normal public transit, or a rented bus, typically a coach or regional bus.

It's not a perfect system, in the past couple of years there's been an epidemic of people bringing their kids to school in their cars instead of letting them walk, which is less than ideal. It is what it is. But building a dedicated network of public transit lines only for students, and building dedicated vehicles only for that, has never occurred to anyone here.

Of course we know about these buses, from movies and such, but they're as foreign here as cacti or pick-up trucks (actually we're seeing more and more of these here) or yellow cabs (all europeans will assume all cabs in the US are yellow until they actually visit).

You do see these buses here at times, because people still generally like the idea of the US, even if they have a lot of issues with a lot of details, and so folks bring them over, along with stretch limos and stuff (also not really a thing here). And of course, if someone goes to all that trouble, they don't do it to haul school kids, they rent it out for city tours or as a party bus or whatever.

So you see these yellow things as a symbol of faraway places, scenic vistas, some vague undefined idea of freedom that doesn't necessarily hold up to any contact with reality, and it's just a huge part of the whole US aesthetic.

And then you go to a student exchange with the US, and you finally get the chance: You yourself get to ride in one of these iconic chrome yellow buses! It looks just like in the movies! You get in, you drive in them a little…

…and you realise they're shit. Just the worst buses in the western world. Terrible suspension. Uncomfortable seats with weirdly high backs (so they don't have to put seatbelts in, they just restrict how far kids can fly in an accident). Everything made out of the cheapest materials. Turns out the reason why the US uses school buses like that instead of normal modern city buses, which the US has, is to save money and because they just hate kids.

And then it hits you why US Americans say "as American as apple pie", a dish that is made and enjoyed literally anywhere in the world, instead of "as American as yellow school buses". Of course the Americans already knew all this. They got tortured by these things forever. It would never occur to them to see this as a symbol of America, it's just a normal part of life for them. It's a symbol of school and school life and sometimes normalcy, and tells us that these actors getting out of it are supposed to be teenagers, nothing more.

But most people in Europe have, of course, never ridden on these buses. So when they see them in movies and TV, that's a giant big yellow signifier that we're not in Hessen or Wallonia or wherever anymore. A symbol of a different world, one that may be at most a once-in-a-lifetime-experience for most people, just like a picture of a tropical beach, Mayan Pyramids, the Great Wall of China, or Hildesheim (there's no reason to go there twice). And I think Americans don't know that, and that's fascinating.

[communistkenobi]

I don’t really want to wade into discourse too much today because I know everyone is extremely miserable online rn but I think if you want to give people genuine advice on what to do politically, “join a union/get involved in your current union/organise your workplace” or “join ACORN/a tenant union/etc” is much more actionable advice than like “build community.”

the problem with “community” is that it doesn’t have the same formal infrastructure / resources / political connections / organising capacity that allows your hard work to have reach far beyond your immediate circle (which is what a union has), and also because like, “community” is an extremely vague and abstract concept that can mean anything from a local restaurant run by your neighbour to a church to your dnd friend group. Reaching out and helping your neighbours is a good thing, lots of people are having a really tough time and helping people around you pay rent or take care of their family or etc is a good thing and you should feel good doing that, but in response to the complete institutional and political failure of electoral liberalism I think the next best option is to turn towards already existing national infrastructure that can mobilise people without requiring you to individually maintain dedicated personal relationships with everyone around you. In my experience + the experience of many long-time activists that I know, relying on interpersonal connections to organise and get things done leads to highly sectarian, disorganised, toxic, and unpleasant organising conditions. The cold impersonal bureaucracy of union membership is legitimately a good solution to this problem.

there are many little positions of power available in these organisation that become open to you for as low a cost as showing up to zoom meetings. I have personally been elected to positions in various unions/orgs literally because I was someone who showed up to meetings! Nobody goes to committee meetings! You get annual budgets! You get to pass votes, organise events, spend money on organising materials! You get to buy food for people! Organising is so much easier in these spaces.

And of course, you are going to face the same ideological resistance, apathy, ignorance, incompetence, and bigotry that you would at your local queer meet-up or community neighbourhood council, and I have no illusions about the institutional limits of unions (which can also be reactionary, bigoted, highly disorganised, incompetent, toxic, and so on), but if you want to avoid completely exhausting yourself and resenting everyone around you, you don’t need to build “community” from the ground up, there are already structures out there where you can do good work. For all the resistance there is to unions and union activity, you will face that same level of resistance with local organising but have none of the power, resources, or institutional legitimacy already secured by unions