#and I would expect nothing less from this man

[just-some-random-blogger]

YOU ALWAYS GOT ME CURLING MY TOES KICKING MY FEET SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

“Fancy seeing you here,” your captor said in a very familiar, cheeky voice.

🧍‍♀️ ???? This rat really acting like it was a coincidence when he nearly yanked my soul out my skeleton hello???? He's so stupid

I'm tryna be ur wife fool

He leaned down, his lips brushing along the column of your throat.

THAT SHOULD BE ME

His lips connected with yours in a soft, languid kiss. “Consider yourself warned,” he grinned.

WARN ME EVERY DAY FOR THE REST OF MY EXISTENCE

“Just how much I like you,” you whispered, resting your chin on his sternum when he pulled back.

I fuckin knew I would forget the context of this... Gimme a sec... OH NVM I REMEMBER FUCK IM SO DUMB YEAH YOU AND ME BOTH BESTIE HELLO

He chuckled. “Gonna to have to be quiet f’me, love. Don't want go get caught with a Beater, aye?”

Literally me (I hate this gif I am legally obligated to say how much I hate it but equally find it hilllllllarrrious mdkdkdkksk)

You lurked by the Gryffindor locker rooms, waiting for George to emerge, freshly showered in his favorite hoodie and sweats. Your mouth nearly watered at the thought.

IMPURE THOUGHTS ONLY. I LITERALLY WENT I WILL LIKE HIM LIKE A LOLLIPOP FRESHLY SHOWERED JUST TO GET HIM DIRTY PLEASE I WANT HIM SO BAD

“Oi! What—oh, hey y/n.” He smirked down at you, waggling his eyebrows. “Wrong twin, but—”

🧍‍♀️😭✋ he is an icon. he is the moment. HES SO FUNNY. GEORGE IS GONNA BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU THOUGH BUT YOU DID IT FOR THE COMEDY

“Yeah, he was livid. But, he's the last one in there if you want to cheer him up.” Fred winked and slipped back into the hall, leaving you to your mischief.

We ain't leaving till our skins wrinkly as fuckkkkk HAHAHAHHAH

“You little minx.” He grabbed you off the bench and into his still damp chest, kissing you fiercely. “I was just about to come see you,” he said between sloppy kisses, backing you against a row of lockers.

I WILL LITERALLY GIVE HIM HIS OWN QUIDDITCH TEAM. MOLLY WEASLEY AINT GOT NOTHING ON ME

Your stomach dropped, indignation at Woods words colliding with the newfound guilt in your mind. George loved Quidditch. You didn't want to be the reason he wasn't playing well. But also…what if that meant Quidditch was higher priority to him? Where did that leave you?

Honestly me at Oliver: (the crowd goes fucking mild)

How does he think not dating will help? The call of a man who's never felt the touch of a woman

“Fuck, Georgie,” you whined, bucking your hips against his hand.

😭CON😭GRA😭TU😭LA😭TIONS😭 HOW DOES IT FEEL TO LIVE MY LIFE

Irritation prickled up your neck. “I'm not sure I have time to tutor someone.”

A deafening crack sounded from across the pitch and you both startled, turning back towards the match. A bludger was barreling straight towards your section. You screamed as it slammed into the post less than half a meter from Gus' head, ripping through the wood with a resounding boom and scattering splinters across the section.

BROOOOOOOOOOO GEORGE OUT FOR BLOOD HES LEGIT ALMOST KILLED A MAN INSANE BEHAVIOR HELLO?????

Gryffindor was booing the call, chanting “Weasley!” at the top of their lungs. Without George, unless Harry caught the snitch, the match was basically forfeit.

AND THATS ON PERIODT. MY MANNNNNNNNNNNN IS THAT GWORL

“Are you questioning my aim?”

GAGO KA GEORGE GEORRGGEEEE IM SO NOT NORMAL ABOUT YOU HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO BE NORMAL GAGO

He pinched your cheeks together in his still gloved hand, shaking you slightly. “I'll always protect you, brat. And if that makes me a madman, so be it.”

I WANT HIM

A grin split George's handsome face, making your heart flutter.

I wish he was real ): (he's real to me)

“Weasley! Weasley! Weasley!”

BEAUTIFUL STUNNING GORGEOUS LOVELY UGHHHHHH 100000000000/10

Hii there!! Can you write something about George Weasley where he and the reader have been really good friends for a while but start secretly dating because of some stupid rule like quidditch players can’t date during the season or something like that? And they get caught by their friends being intimate after a game?

Ps: love your writing style so much, your fics are so easy to get into and beautifully written💕

thank you for the request! hope your enjoy 🫶

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| George Weasley x fem!reader

cw: light smut (heavy petting/making out), sneaking around/secret relationship, jealous!george, assault via bludger, oliver wood is a cock block.

MDNI 18+

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You were walking down the hall with Luna, chatting about the results your divination exam, when a hand shot out and yanked you into a dark, empty classroom.

“Fancy seeing you here,” your captor said in a very familiar, cheeky voice.

“You can't just kidnap me, Weasley.” You cross your arms over your chest, jutting out a hip.

“Kidnapping is a bit dramatic.” George’s hands slide around your waist. “Can't a bloke want to spend a few moments with his girl?” He leaned down, his lips brushing along the column of your throat.

You craned your head back for him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Perhaps. But still, some warning would be nice.”

His lips connected with yours in a soft, languid kiss. “Consider yourself warned,” he grinned.

You breathed a content sigh, taking your fingers through his ginger hair while he peppered featherlight kisses along your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids. The last few weeks had been so challenging thanks to Woods new rule about dating during Quidditch season.

You and George had been circling one another since fourth year, waiting for the right moment to dip your toes into something more than friendship. And of course, when the stars finally aligned, Wood had to throw a wrench in your new relationship. So now, instead of basking in your honeymoon phase, you were forced to sneak around, hiding your relationship from everyone.

But Fred, obviously. George couldn't lie to his twin even if he wanted to.

“You're in your head, darling,” George murmured, pulling back to look at your face in the dim light.

“Am not,” you argued, dragging your hands down his chest and sliding them under his robes. The sweater beneath was soft and thick, warm from his body heat.

“What are you thinking about?” He kissed your temple, across your cheekbone, beneath your ear…

You hummed, leaning into him, soaking up his heat, his unhurried affection.

“Love?” He prodded, nipping at your ear.

“Just how much I like you,” you whispered, resting your chin on his sternum when he pulled back.

A smile spread across his freckled face. “My sweet girl,” he cooed. “I like you too.”

You pressed your lips to his, brushing your tongue along his lower lip, and his hands tightened on your waist. He parted his lips for you to delve deeper, matching every stroke of your tongue with his until you were panting, clawing at his sweater to get closer.

He backed you against a desk, his hand sliding under your skirt to squeeze your ass, notching your hips against his. A gasp squeaked for your throat when he ground himself against you, already growing sensitive.

He chuckled. “Gonna to have to be quiet f’me, love. Don't want go get caught with a Beater, aye?”

You nodded, clamping your lips shut.

The Quidditch season was only three months. How hard could it be?

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Quidditch practice ran late for the third night in a row, and you were desperate for some attention from your boyfriend.

You lurked by the Gryffindor locker rooms, waiting for George to emerge, freshly showered in his favorite hoodie and sweats. Your mouth nearly watered at the thought.

But player after player trailed out of the locker room, and no George. You were getting impatient, shifting form foot to foot when you spotted Fred walking with Ron, chatting animatedly about the match this weekend.

You grabbed Fred’s wrist and yanked him to the corridor you were hiding.

“Oi! What—oh, hey y/n.” He smirked down at you, waggling his eyebrows. “Wrong twin, but—”

“Ew, Fred! No! Where's George?”

Fred snickered. “Still in the shower. Pitch was muddy and he got a face full from Thomas.”

You grimaced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, he was livid. But, he's the last one in there if you want to cheer him up.” Fred winked and slipped back into the hall, leaving you to your mischief.

You scampered down the corridor and into the locker room, following the trail of steam until you found the only drawn curtain. George was humming to himself, tapping his feet on the tile floor.

You clapped a hand over your mouth to avoid laughing and ruining the surprise, and perched on the bench across from the curtain to wait.

A few moments later, the water cut off and his hand poked through the curtain, grabbing the red towel off the hook.

The curtain ripped open, and George yelped in surprise, nearly dropping the towel slung low around his hips.

“Fancy seeing you here.” You grinned.

“You little minx.” He grabbed you off the bench and into his still damp chest, kissing you fiercely. “I was just about to come see you,” he said between sloppy kisses, backing you against a row of lockers.

“Were you?” You giggled as his lips moved down your neck, sending tingles skittering across your skin. You dragged your nails cross his bare back, admiring the way his muscles jumped at your touch.

“Couldn't stand another night without you,” he admitted. He started undoing the buttons of your blouse, clearly feeling as desperate as you did based on the tent in his towel.

“Eager, are we?” You teased, hiking your leg over his hip as his hand slid into your skirt.

His middle finger swiped through your slit, teasing your clit with small circles. Pleasure pulsed through you, making your eyes roll back. “Someone is. Already soaked for me, love,” he groaned, capturing your lips in another bruising kiss as he toyed with you.

“Fuck, Georgie,” you whined, bucking your hips against his hand.

“Merlin, I missed you.”

“Weasley, you still in here?” Wood called his voice echoing around room.

“Bloody fucking—stall, now.” George slipped his fingers from you and into his mouth, ushering you into the shower stall he just vacated. The air was still humid and scented by his vanilla body wash. No, your vanilla body wash, you realized, spotting the bottle you'd been missing still sitting on the shelf.

“Still hangin’ around, Wood?” You heard George say.

“I wanted to talk to ya’ about somethin’,” Oliver said, and you saw his boots enter the shower room from under the curtain.

“Can I put trousers on first?”

Oliver snorted. “Sure, mate.”

You heard George shuffling around, pulling on his clothes.

“Fucking trousers don't hide shit,” he grumbled to himself and you had a stifle another laugh. “Alright, Wood. What's on your mind?”

“You've been distracted, Weasley. Missing bludgers, ignoring plays, it's not like you to not take Quidditch seriously,” Oliver said, and you frowned.

George sighed. “It's, ah, there's an assignment in Herbology that's gone tits up. Damn plant won't grow,” George said.

“Uh huh,” Wood answered, clearly not buying it. “Well, maybe it's time your sort out your priorities, mate. Not sure a plant is worth throwing the season, if ya’ know what I mean. We need our best Beater, yeah?”

Your stomach dropped, indignation at Woods words colliding with the newfound guilt in your mind. George loved Quidditch. You didn't want to be the reason he wasn't playing well. But also…what if that meant Quidditch was higher priority to him? Where did that leave you?

“Understood, Captain.” George's voice was cold, a stark contrast to his usual chipper demeanor, and it raised goosebumps along your arms.

Oliver clapped him on the shoulder and left the locker room, evidently oblivious to the shift in George. The door clicked shut behind him, echoing around the empty room.

George tugged the shower curtain open, startling you from your spiralling thoughts. He immediately clocked the distress on your face, the corners of his mouth turning downward. “Oh, lovey—”

“I didn't know I was impacting the team,” you mumbled, looking down at your shoes.

George tilted your chin up, his other arm wrapping around your waist. “Baby, the teams fine. Wood just has a stick up his ass. I played great today, and always do when you're in the stands watching me.”

It was true. Some of his best games had been in the last month you'd been together.

“And besides, I don't need to sort out my priorities.” He bumped his nose against yours. “You always come first, y/n.”

Your heart soared, heat creeping up your neck. “Before Quidditch?” You asked, curling your hands into his hoodie.

“Before everything.” He kissed you softly, with no real pressure, just feeling you against him, and all your anxiety fell away. “C’mon, Freddie's going to a Hufflepuff party tonight, so we've got my dorm to ourselves.”

You kissed him again, smiling. “Sounds perfect.”

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Brooms whizzed over your house’s section, whipping your scarf around your head.

“Go George!” You cheered, when he drifted nearby, twirling the bat in his gloved hand.

He flashed you a wink before banking left, whacking the snot out of bludger that was hurdling straight for Ron. It rocketed across the pitch and directly into the other houses Seeker, giving Harry the advantage.

“Woohoo!” You cheered with the rest of the student body. “Weasley! Weasley! Weasley!”

“Good game, aye?” A guy sidled up next you, leaning against the railing. You sort of recognized him from your Potions class, but couldn't be sure.

“Great game,” you replied, turning your attention back to the match and your boyfriend.

“Are you fan? Of Quidditch, I mean?”

“Mhmm—go Ron!” You cheered, tuning him out.

“I'm Gus, by the way. We're in the same Potions class?”

“Hi, Gus.” You give him a tight smile, hoping he takes the hint.

“Y’know, maybe we could study together sometime. Merlin knows Potions isn't my strong suit, but you seem pretty smart—”

“Get after it, Harry!” You roared as the Seeker flew overhead, the snitch just a few feet out in front of him.

“What do you think, y/n?” Gus prodded.

Irritation prickled up your neck. “I'm not sure I have time to tutor someone.”

Gus’ smile faltered. “Well, what about the next match, then? Maybe we could sit together.” He scooted closer you, infringing on your already limited space.

You squirmed closer to your friend on the other side of you, who was too wrapped up in the match to notice your discomfort. “No thanks, Gus.”

“Oh, c’mon. I promise I'm a nice guy.” He dropped his hand on your knees, and you wrenched yourself away.

“Don't fucking touch me—”

A deafening crack sounded from across the pitch and you both startled, turning back towards the match. A bludger was barreling straight towards your section. You screamed as it slammed into the post less than half a meter from Gus' head, ripping through the wood with a resounding boom and scattering splinters across the section.

You jumped back, falling into your friends laps, and Gus shrieked like a banshee, his face blanching white at how close it had come to taking his head clean off his shoulders.

An ear-splitting whistle interrupted the resulting chaos.

“Weasley, out!” Madame Hootch hollered.

You straightened in alarm, finding George hovering at the center of the pitch, his bat gripped tightly in his hand. His eyes were locked on Gus, dark and smug, a smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth.

“George, land!” Wood bellowed, and George finally floated back to earth. You could hear Oliver shouting, but couldn't see George from your seat.

You fought your way out of the stands, trying to push your way towards the locker room.

Gryffindor was booing the call, chanting “Weasley!” at the top of their lungs. Without George, unless Harry caught the snitch, the match was basically forfeit.

Your mind raced from the adrenaline. Did George do it on purpose? And if he did, why would he jeopardize the match like that?

You found him in the locker room, undoing the ties on his robe. He was still in his uniform, sweaty and smeared with dirt, his hair flat from the helmet.

“George,” you said, and he looked up.

“Love, what are you doing down here?” He frowned, reaching for you, but you held your ground, crossing your arms over your chest. His frown deepened.

“Did you do that on purpose?” You demanded.

“Of course I did,” he responded, not a trace of hesitation in his voice.

“Why? They won't win without you!”

“I don't care about the bloody match, y/n.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

George walked over to you, cradling your face in his gloved hands. “That guy was bothering you, yeah?”

You almost denied it, but found yourself nodding, unable to lie to him.

“And you thought I was going to sit back and let someone make you uncomfortable? My girl? Fuck no.”

You giggled, his protectiveness spurring a wave of affection and dissolving your anger. “I think nearly killing him was a bit much,” you snickered.

“Are you questioning my aim?”

“Just your sanity.”

He pinched your cheeks together in his still gloved hand, shaking you slightly. “I'll always protect you, brat. And if that makes me a madman, so be it.”

You swatted his hands away before wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him down for kiss. He tasted of salt and peppermints, his skin smelling of turf and fresh air, with a hint of that masculine musk that made your head go a little fuzzy.

He kissed you back, catching your lower lip between his teeth and sucking gently. You moaned against him, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth and taste you.

“I'm done hiding,” he murmured when you both came up for air. “And Wood can bugger off.”

The mixing shouting of the crowd filled the quiet air around you. “Ravenclaw scores another twenty points!” Lee declared, his voice notably unenthused.

George shook his head with a smug chuckle, leaning his forehead against yours. “See? They need me.”

“Weasley!” Oliver shouted, startling you both. George looked up, tightening his grip around you. Oliver didn't even bother to act surprised. “You're back in,” he sighed.

A grin split George's handsome face, making your heart flutter.

“Good man,” he replied, dropping a peck onto your lips before doing his helmet and running back out onto the pitch to the roar of the crowd.

“Weasley! Weasley! Weasley!”

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Thank you so much for reading!

If you enjoyed, you can check out my published work here.

Much love,

Allie

[taelophone]

Bitter ʚɞ ⸝⸝⟡⋆˙⟡ — Luigi Mangione x Reader ⋆⭒˚｡⋆TWs: Liquor . Jealousy . Annoying/Disrespectful friends . ｡⋆A/N: A lil palate cleanser before I gear up to write the most filthy creation to hit my table <3

You made a conscious effort every day to be the best version of yourself, biting your tongue, minimizing conflict, and stepping into your bigger shoes whenever you felt yourself nearing slipping off the chain.

But it was hard when your boyfriend was so highly regarded— attractive in all his right and kind enough to keep men and women orbiting him in silent lovelorn. It was hard to stay calm and collected when it seemed like every other day there was a new woman begging for a slice of his confectionery attention.

Luigi, however, was none the wiser. Every new face with a warm smile pulled a fresh coat of hospitality, his arms stretched wide with welcome to every face that seemed to spark interest.

There’s nothing wrong with being friendly, really. But there’s only a certain amount of flirty comments and forced physical interaction you can witness before the bitter citrus burns your parotids.

Like now.

You had dragged your homebody boyfriend out for the day, claiming a need for oxygen and socialization in the form of what was supposed to be an intimate little get-together between you and a couple of your friends. What you hadn’t expected was for friends to bring other friends.

Not that you were mad! After all, the more the merrier. What started as a small house chill became a quiet gathering for drinks and charcuterie, courtesy of Helena’s last-minute catering cancellation. 

The issue began to bubble to the surface when one girl, in particular, began to take a sudden interest in your boyfriend. At first, you dismissed it, recognizing that your boyfriend was a rather interesting individual.

So instead of fussing and pouting, you chose to remove yourself from the situation before it boiled over. Your faith lay in Luigi, trusting him enough to know he would never shatter that faith.

But it still stung.

The blaring buzz of bitter envy sounded through your ears like a bunch of barmy bees. The light tap of her backhand on Luigi’s shoulder, her eyes sharp on the man in front, fixated on the goal of love.

“No! Oh my gosh, no! That’s not true, you’re literally so strong. Like, I can see your muscles,” she gasped, pinching the side of his bicep with feigned disapproval woven in her flattery.

The first crack in your resolve. Porcelain, but far from perfect.

“Haha, yeah, uh—? Sorry, I think I lost my girlfriend..?” He said, frantically whirling his head around the kitchen in search of your familiar silhouette. 

“Aw, you ditching me? Runnin’ off to your ball n’ chain?” She mused, paired with a chuckle that seemed way too enthusiastic to be anything less than what she thought was the truth.

“Ha…haha, no. I just really miss my girlfriend” he chuckled. Breathy and uncomfortable, a clear warning sign of nearing his limit. “But it was nice talking to you!”

“Of course! Find me later, I’ll give you my number. I’d love to talk more” she offered with a pat on his broad shoulder.

And with that, he fought back a mildly confused arch of his brow before traversing through the sea of people in pursuit of you. What a strange experience…at least she’s friendly.

He shimmied his way through the hallway, taking a brief moment to admire the little intricate archway connecting the kitchen and the living room. It was a warm Tuscan brown, perfectly made with a nice round arch—nice.

He found you a couple of feet away from the kitchen, arms crossed in defiance with a hefty glass of some white wine you had been swirling around in its brandy balloon. A warm smile engulfed his features as he sat down next to you, one that was quick to fade when he felt the icy cold aura that radiated from your stone face.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, pinching his brows together with innocent confusion.

You sighed, a puppeteered smile creeping up on your face; one that failed to meet your eyes with venomous twinkles. 

“Nothing. Totally fine,” you huffed, rolling your eyes as far as they could go in such a short amount of time.

“No, c’mon, don’t do that…” he said, a flicker of desperation and annoyance crossing his features.

“Go talk to Mindy, maybe she’ll help you understand what’s wrong” you blurted, sharp and pointed with intent to harm.

He sighed, putting down his little can of beer on the coffee table. An elbow came to rest on his knee, propping up his head by his chin as he stared at you.

He was never really the type of man who liked beating around the bush and much less when people around him did it, but he was making an effort for you. With open ears and a heart full of affection, he tutted his disapproval but tugged you closer to him by your shoulders.

“Oh, my jealous baby…” he cooed, a cocky grin forming on his face as he sweet-talked you into cavities. “So worked up…did I make you jealous? I’m sorry, my love.”

“Stop that…” you huffed, leaning away from his touch with crossed arms.

“You poor thing must’ve been so lonely without your terrible wretched boyfriend,” he teased, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you into his lap to pepper gentle kisses to your head.

“I’m…” Kiss! “So…” smooch! “Evil!” Smack! “How will you ever forgive me?”

“Luigi, stop!” You breathed out in between quiet giggles, pink bubbly bashfulness bubbling under your cheeks as he garnered the many sympathetic and supportive eyes of people around you. “You’re making a scene!”

“I’m not afraid to show my wife I love her” he fired back with a wet and almost grotesque kiss to your neck that would have sent the average child into a spiral of gags and barfs.

“Okay, okay, enough!” You laughed, pushing his wandering lips away from your neck and jaw. “I forgive you!”

“Good. ‘Cuz you’re the only one I have eyes for here. Sorry I made you feel jealous, I didn’t know how to shake her off me” he smiled.

And the night carried on with the clinking of wine glasses, sports banter piloted by 5 ex-frat boys with lopsided caps, kisses and smooches from the lovebirds, and occasional grumbles from a very grumpy, stood-up Mindy.

[fyxestroll]

Whose Problem Is It When the Primarchs Fall in Love? Pt.1

note: this was meant to be crack-ish but I sniffed some angst powder so some of these came out angstier than expected. also for anyone who sent requests, I'm working on them family problems and school are just getting in the way <33

Lion - It’s his problem. On the outside nothing is wrong everything is fine but on the inside everything is wrong and everything is NOT fine but you wouldn’t notice anything is going on. For Lion, falling in love involves a lot of self-discovery and constant repression. It’s all internal and his resting bitch face isn’t helping.

Unnamed Primarch #2 - You got erased out of existence too.

Fulgrim - On everybody’s soul, especially Ferrus Manus’ it’s EVERYONE’S problem. Not even the Chaos Gods and Empy are safe! This man right here has so many unaddressed self-worth issues that he constantly feels the need to have someone to validate his acts of courting before even doing the thing. 

Perturabo -  Its everyone’s problem. Not unlike Fulgrim, Perturabo has so many unaddressed self-worth issues and feels the need for validation but unlike Fulgrim, its all out in the open. He’s already bitter about a lot of things and if he falls in love it wouldn’t be surprising if he’s already given up on pursuing that person. You’d be something he deems out of his reach, someone not even worth reaching because the rejection is in his mind guaranteed. He’s bitter towards you, loving hating everything you do and say. If you express any sort of positive reaction towards any of his gene-sons his ire towards that specific astartes worsens. The worst part? If your feelings towards Perturabo are reciprocated you’d have difficulty reaching him with him practically pushing you away. Please be patient with him, his heart is fragile.

Jangatai Khan - Problem? There’s no problem! Genuinely, if this guy falls in love there wouldn’t be an issue because he’s in tune with his emotions and doesn’t have a penchant for skinning people alive (sorry Konrad). The closest thing this man would have to a problem when falling in love is the issue of courting. Chogoris courting norms involve matchmakers, families and of course bride-prices and dowries. If you aren’t from Chogoris he’ll try his best to follow the equivalent of/mix Chogorian traditions in courting. Either way, it’s less of a problem and more of a brief logistical headache at most. 10/10 would marry him tbh

Leman Russ - It's your problem.  He's enthusiastic about it and so is his entire legion. Thats a lot of wingmen and they're probably singing the Fenrisian equivalent of kiss the girl every chance they get. It's very endearing to be honest but the eagerness borders being overbearing.

Rogal Dorn - Dorn falling in love only affects 3 parties, you, him and his Iron Fists. Out of the 3 parties, Dorn falling in love is only disastrous to 2, the Fists and him. Dorn’s acts of affection are quiet, and if you aren’t aware of his affection these acts are easy to miss. It doesn’t help that a painted brick has more self-expression than this man. Pair that with not wanting to be improper this results in what he deems romantic and not lacking in proprietary  (He helped you landscape and design your garden). Now, the Fists come into play here by being Dorn’s feedback loop of ideas and internal turmoil that more often than not involves building things. The Fists don’t really mind but they are a bit miffed about fortifying your house or something when they could be something that they believe is more effective.

Konrad Curze - Its your problem and his problem. Look, this man is a murderous mess that's haunted by the visions of the terrible future if he falls in love he’d hate himself for doing so because it feels wrong. Positive emotions and experiences are foreign to him, so for Konrad love is something he feels he is entirely undeserving of and is just waiting for the ball to drop. In all honestly, he expects you to die or be the subject of his terrible visions so he immediately expects the worse and resigns himself to watching you from a distance. As this is all internal no one knows what’s going on with Konrad other than his usual Konradness so imagine the terror of being constantly watched by the Night Haunter with no clue on what drew his attention in the first place. 

Sanguinius - It’s his problem but he like all his problems its ignored and repressed. Sanguinius tries to deny the fact that he’s fallen in love for numerous reasons, including The Red Thirst and his impending doom. Also, a part of Sanguinius fears rejection, or at least a form of it. He’s beloved and he knows it but to be loved in the way that someone seeks to know all of him feels impossible. He is loved as an idol, a figure of all that is and could be good and that he’d come to accept. Being truly loved is a dream to him, a dream he holds close to his heart and something he’d take to his grave.

 Ferrus Manus - It's your problem because this man is like a rock. Feelings? What’s that? It’s not that Ferrus is unfeeling, in fact I feel like he’s one of the Primarchs who fall in love the easiest but when he falls in love he doesn’t know how to categorize that person exactly. He is fond, sure, but he can’t put a finger on how fond he is so he puts you in the my-favorite-people box with Fulgim. Basically,  he shoots himself in the foot early on by putting you in the friend zone without realising it. Good luck falling first with this guy, its slow-burn pining with a metal wall for you.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hey love could I request a BF Choso ×fem reader? Thinking of watching a movie with your bestfriend but when the spicy scene comes on he notices you squirming and doesn't let it slide, such a mean tease🙏🤭 pleaseeee

Are You Still Watching? (Bestie!Choso x Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot) [REQUEST FILL] 💜😈

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Pairing Choso Kamo x F!Reader (Friends to Lovers)

Synopsis: When your best friend comes over for a movie date when your boyfriend starts acting up, you both expect just a simple night of fun, Netflix, and simple, platonic bonding until a sex scene in a Rated R film has you both feeling a certain type of way. Lucky for you, Choso is a good friend and he knows exactly how to take care of his dear Y/N.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS DNI!!!); Best Friend!Choso; Friends to Lovers; Crushing; Sexual Tension; Foreplay; Netlix n Chill; Coercion; Dubcon/R*pe (because of Choso coercing you into sex); Oral; No PIV; Fingering; Cunnilingus; Pussy-Drunk!Choso; Gooning; Masturbation; Mutual O; Choso is DOWN BAD for You

Writer's Note: I'm so sorry this took so long, Anon!! The winter slump plus work got to me & this took longer than it should've but I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the request! -Jazz

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When you invite your bestie for several years over for movie night, he already knows what type of time you’re on. You’re just too damn shy to say it. 

He knows it as soon as you show up at your apartment door in a silk robe with those teddy bear-textured shorts and a cherry red cami that does nothing to hide the outline of your bra underneath. Choso is no stranger to your game as you’ve been platonically flirting for years, but this? This is something different. 

These are straight-up ‘fuck me’ clothes…or maybe he’s just overthinking this because of his undying crush on you. He’s seen you wear way less than this before. “What’s with the outfit?” he asks, doing his very best to hide his blush and increasing hard-on. “You couldn’t have asked your boyfriend to come over?” 

Your smile at seeing him fades as you scoff, hitting him in the chest. “Asshole,” you tut. “These are just my pajamas and, plus, you know me and him aren’t exactly cool right now.”

You look off over Choso’s shoulder and he knows from your sour expression that things aren’t good with you and your boyfriend right now. He pushes away the hopeful butterflies in his stomach. “Still mad over that Christmas mishap?” he asks. 

You give him a look. “It wasn’t a mishap,” you argue, referring to the fact that your boyfriend forgot to buy you a Christmas gift but had time to do so for his best friend who is also his ex. “It was completely intentional. Now are you gonna come in?” You open the door wider, moving out of Choso’s way as he comes walking into your cozy little apartment. 

When you shut the door, he makes himself at home by taking off his shoes, placing them at the door, and hanging up his coat on the hooks near the door. “What’s on for tonight?” he asks. You give him a secretive smile and skip over to the couch to fetch the remote. With one click, Netflix pops up and so does the cheesiest, sapiest romcom with a man and a woman gazing lovingly at each other on the poster. “No,” Choso groans.

“Yes!” you reply, giving him a cute pout. “You promised that it was my turn to choose!” As much as Choso would rather kill himself than watch a single second of this movie, your pretty face and puckered lips defeat him. “Fine, but if you start crying, trust that I’m making fun of you.” 

He gives you a smirk as you gape at him, your hands on your hips that he has ached to hold. “Not when I made you hot pockets!” you bark, nodding down to the covered bowl on your coffee table. You lift the lid, revealing dozens of delicious-smelling, sizzling hot pockets ready for consumption along with a bowl of popcorn and a couple of sodas. Choso dives to yank a hot pocket out of the bowl, but you beat him, grabbing the bowl. “No, no, you made your mark on me already.” 

Your best friend dives for you this time, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you onto the couch. You squeal with laughter, doing your best to get away, but he tightens his hold on you and ends up accidentally putting you in his lap. At some point, you both realize how close you are and your playful smiles fade. It isn’t like you and Choso haven’t play fought before or gotten close like this. He’s your best friend, after all.

But something feels odd now. Different. Like the warm scent wafts up into your nostrils, making your heart pound. Is that his cologne? And why are his arms so strong? And…why do they feel so good? 

Quickly, Choso unravels you from his arms and places you on the couch. “Sorry,” he mutters. His handsome face and pale skin burst with red as he blushes. You do your best to compose yourself and stop your body from reacting in such a way for your best friend. “You’re fine, Cho,” you say, clearing your throat. “Uh…let’s watch the movie, shall we?” 

You offer him a smile and dim the lights on your phone before flicking on the movie. In the darkness with him sitting so close to you on the couch, you try to think about nothing but the movie. And not at all about how your hand is inches from his. Or how his knee brushes against yours every so often when he shifts positions. Or how his cologne is making you feel drunk. 

At some point during the movie, right when the female protagonist is finally alone with her leading man, the both of them unrequited lovers from different parts of the world, you start to feel your eyes sag. Your legs are thrown over Choso’s lap and the pillow under your head is feeling a little too good. Choso looks over at you, the light from the TV illuminating his handsome features. “Gettin’ tired?” he asks, a smile in his voice. “You had work today, right? Y’know, you can lean your head on me.” 

You shake your head, lazily staring at the movie. “No, no, m’fine,” you reassure him, hiding a yawn. “I’ve been wantin’ to see this movie. I don’t wanna miss it just because I’m…” Your words die in your throat when you suddenly see the female protagonist and her leading man kiss. Very passionately, you’ll add. 

You watch, transfixed as the two hold each other, the man’s hands grasping the woman’s ass while hers venture under his sweater, their lips and tongues dancing together. The sounds that escape them feel so real that you start to become warm. A snort breaks your hypnotized state and you find Choso staring at you in humor. “What?” you demand. 

He shrugs, laying a hand on your ankle which sends tingles up your body. “You act like you ain’t never seen two people make-out before,” he laughs, raising an eyebrow. “Shy?” You threaten to kick him, instead sitting up and crossing your legs. “Whatever,” you scoff. 

A loud moan comes from the TV and you both turn, finding the woman lying on her back on a couch and the man sucking her nipples, writhing underneath him. The camera pans down to her hands quickly unbuckling the man’s pants and taking his cock out. You giggle at Choso whose face is beet red. “And look at you! That face is as red as my top now!” 

“Well, I didn’t think they were gonna show dick!” he argues. “I thought this was PG-13!”

“It’s Rated R, Choso,” you giggle, moving to cross your legs over one another now. Mostly to dampen the throbbing between your thighs. “C’mooon, we’ve watched porn together before. I think you can handle a sex scene.” Your best friend looks at you, his eyes glittering with something unrecognizable in the dim light of the TV. “Can you?” he asks, but the way he says it isn’t the friendly teasing that he usually has in his voice. It is almost seductive. 

Unfortunately for you, it affects you TREMDENOUSLY. So much to the point that you can’t think of anything else but you and him acting out the sex scene on your TV screen. The man is now in between his costar’s thighs, his hand palming her clit while his tongue licks at her pussy, moans escaping the both of them. It makes your entire body grow hot and heavy, your nipples tingling as well as…somewhere else. 

Worried about your rigid posture, Choso looks over at you. “Are you sure you’re okay, sweetie?” he gently asks. 

The man has now begun to perform cunnilingus on the woman and you can’t help but wonder if that really is her pussy on screen. “Y-Yeah, m’fine,” you stammer. “I’ve just…never anyone do that to a pussy before.” Choso scowls in confusion, his eyebrows knitted together. It’s almost adorable. “What, your boyfriend has never done that to you before?” 

“That’s none of your business, perv!” you bark. Your friend cocks his head to the side, staring you down. “Fine, no,” you huff, crossing your arms. “He’s not very adventurous and I never said anything about it before because I don’t wanna argue.” Looking at the male actor on your screen, you have never been more jealous. You can’t remember the last time your boyfriend ever made you cum from head…if he even gives it. 

Watching them together, you cross your arms tighter over your chest to hide your hardened nipples and uncomfortably shift, feeling your panties tighten. “You’re squirming.” You turn to Choso again, blinking at him in the darkness. He stares at you almost intensely, definitely not in a way a friend should. 

“Huh?” you exhale. It’s all your dumbed-out brain can conjur. 

Suddenly, he scoots closer, even as the sex scene finishes. “You’re squirming,” he repeats. “And don’t tell me some bullshit excuse as to why other than the fact that is gettin’ you hot.” 

“W-What?!” you squeak, your body temperature peaking. “What are you–” He is now thigh to thigh, calve to calve, with you, and you suddenly can’t speak. “Don’t make it weird, Y/N,” he says, his voice low and breathy. “You’re not the only one who’s feelin’ this scene.” 

His hand, adorned in rings, lightly touches your bare knee and trails up to your thigh. You can’t find the willpower to push it away. Especially not when your eyes catch the outline of his dick pushing against his jeans. “Choso,” you gasp. “Y-you’re…you’re hard.” 

The corner of his mouth lifts in a sheepish smile. “Not just from the movie, babe: from you and this little outfit.” His hand moves up to toy with the straps of your cami and bra, pulling both down. “You can’t tell me you weren’t planning somethin’ when you invited me over and threw this shit on. Are you tryin’ to test me?” He leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You need to stop him. You should stop him. This is insane! He’s your best friend! 

“Choso,” you gasp. “Don’t. We can’t–” 

“Why not?” he interrupts, his minty breath from his gum fanning your face. “Y/N, we’ve been friends for years. I know everything about you: what you like.” His pillowy-soft lips are suddenly on your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your bare skin. “What you don’t like.” His lips trail up to your neck. “What makes you tick.” 

You instinctively tilt your head back, your body betraying you. His lips trail liquid fire across your skin and throat as his big hands move to hold your waist. “B-But we…oh…but we’re friends,” you all but whisper. 

“And we still will be, baby,” he replies. “But you’re so needy right now. What kind of friend would I be if I neglected you in your hour of need, huh?” All common sense and logic leave your head when his other hand cascades down between your legs.

His fingers press against the heated part of your shorts that he can already feel dampening. You gasp, your mouth falling open, as Choso nuzzles your neck to inhale your scent. “Just let me make you feel good,” he murmurs. “Let me be a good friend to you, okay?” 

Before you even realize what’s happening, you find yourself sitting on your best friend’s lap with your thighs spread wide and his two fingers doused in your slick and his saliva rubbing between the folds of your wet pussy. “So much for this dumbass movie,” he chuckles. “You’re not even watchin’ it.” 

His palm glides against your pussy, sending trendles of pleasure throughout your entire being that start at your toes and stop at your nipples, exposed and on full display outside of your cami and bra. Choso latches his lips onto one, gently sucking on a hardened peak and dousing it in his spit. 

His fingers then sink into your pussy, slowly stretching out your hole. You are so wet and open that it’s easy for him. He can only imagine how it would be for his cock. “Oh, fuck!” you moan, tossing your head back. His fingers curl against that spot that makes you see stars exploding behind your lids, especially when Choso begins to pump them back and forth. Squelching sounds drift into the air, mixing with your slutty moans and the sounds of the movie playing. “Choso!” you whine. “F-Fuck, please!” 

He smiles against your tit, using his right hand to massage the other while his left plays with your pussy. “Please what, mama?” he asks. “I thought I was givin’ you exactly what you needed.” He slides his fingers out of your shorts, your juices glistening in the blue light of the TV on his digits. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he gasps. “Just look at my fingers.” 

You gaze at them in your face, your vision blurry from the pleasure. “Bring them here,” you pant. 

He does as you request and damn near creams his pants when you begin sucking and licking on his fingers. He can feel his cock chubbing against his pants, desperate to be free and feel your ass against his bare skin. “Fuck, baby,” he groans. “You’ve got me so fuckin’ hard. Just look at what you did. Look down fa’ me.” 

You do, your thighs opening wider to give you a view of Choso’s hard bulge pressing against your satin-covered pussy. The only thing separating you are the articles of clothing. “You’re so hard,” you whimper. “Fuck, Cho…” 

You swirl your hips to the front, grinding your cunt against the tent in his pants. The moan that escapes him is delicious, making you want to do it again and again. “Tell me what you want,” he raspily demands, his mouth suckling your neck. “Say it and I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want just to make you cum.” 

Sploosh-sploosh. His fingers sound like they are swishing in a pot of the wettest Mac n Cheese as they finger your cunt, causing your juices to spill down to your asscrack and ruin your panties.  “Your mouth!” you moan. “I need your mouth on me, Cho, please!” 

Choso needs no other confirmation. Immediately, he coaxes you off of his lap and sits you down on your couch before kneeling on the floor before you. His eyes are hooded and his lips are flushed. He looks absolutely drunk off of you. “Don’t look away from the movie. Just keep watchin’ while I’m down here.” 

You don’t know how you’re supposed to do that when the spike-haired stud dips between your thighs and begins lapping at your juices. Your mouth falls open on a moan as soon as his soft lips and wet tongue make contact with your sodden lips, clit, and every sensitive part of your pussy. Choso moans at your taste, his tongue flicking along your clit and making the most lewd, wet sounds you have ever heard. “Fuck, right there!” you whine. 

His eyes tick up to meet yours, drinking in your beautiful reaction. “Right here?” he teasingly asks. He twirls his tongue upward, flicking a spot that makes you grip his spiked, black hair for dear life. In the heat of the moment, you yank on it and push him deeper into your cunt, emitting a surprised moan out of him. “Oh, shit, sorry!” you pant, quickly letting go. “Did I hurt you?” 

Choso stares up at you in a crazed, feral way, his eyes darkening with desire. “Do that again,” he nearly begs. “Pull me in.” Then he takes his two fingers and slips them back inside of you, where they belong. As he does this, his mouth busies itself sucking your clit, gently stimulating the needy button of nerves. 

You become a loud, moaning, gasping, writhing mess, leading you to grab the remote and turn the volume to the movie up. You don’t want your neighbors suspecting something nasty going on…but the idea of them healing you get your kitty eaten turns you on more than you can express. You gush at the naughty fantasy, spilling it all into Choso’s mouth. “S’good,” he mumbles into your cunt. “You taste so fuckin’ good, baby, shit.”  

Knelt before you, he uses his free hand to unzip his pants and begins stroking his hard cock at the sound of your sweet moans filling his ears. How he has longed to hear those moans with his own ears! He has envisioned being this way with you so many times, fucking his fist to the thought of pounding your pussy or having you ride his face. 

He has even jacked off with you on the phone in secret, catching onto your sweet giggles and cute ramblings that have made him quietly bust into his hand more times than he’d like to admit. He is a total goon for you and he is prepared to show you that tonight. 

One hand plays with one of your titties, pinching your own nipple, while the other fingers Choso’s hair, gripping the black strands as he works your pussy with his tongue. “Oh, fuck!” you loudly gasp. “Sh-Shit, Choso, yes! That’s so…ah!” 

You have no idea what he does, but he does something with his fingers inside of you that makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back. With your eyes closed and your mind blank, you miss the end credits to the movie and soon, the familiar “Are you still watching” notice from Netflix pops up on your screen. 

No, you’re not watching. Because you’re too busy cumming. 

You can feel the urge tighten in your core, making you grind your hips up into Choso’s mouth, riding his face from your position on the couch. He welcomes in, moving his hand faster against his cock, fucking his palm as he feels your velvety, wet pussy tighten around his fingers. “Oh, my God!” you gasp. “C-Cho…baby, I’m gonna cum!” 

Baby. You called him baby. Oh, God, he’s going to cum too. “Give it to me,” he moans. “Cum for me, please! Cum all over my fuckin’ mouth!” He needs you to cum with him. His balls are tightening so much that they ache, threatening to make him shoot his load all over his hand. 

Fortunately for him, it doesn’t take you much longer or much else. With an adorable gasp, you feel the first wave of your orgasm hit you. When the second comes, it smacks you dead in the face and draws a loud moan out of you that the neighbors definitely hear. You cum all over Choso’s fingers and mouth while he spurts rope after rope of spunk into his hand, sputtering moans and gasps into your pussy as he greedily slurps up your juices. 

As the waves of your high pass, you are left smiling and dazed, staring up at the ceiling as Choso’s licks at your inner thighs and cleans up your pussy lips. “Oh,” you sigh, a slight laugh leaving you. You feel winded but in the best possible way. 

“That was amazing,” Choso breathlessly laughs, a drunk look in his eyes. “Way better than this shit movie.” You concur. When you look down, you make the sound sound but in surprise at the sight before you: “Oh!” you exclaim. “Did you–” 

“Yeah,” Choso sheepishly admits. His cock is semi-hard though he just came, his fingers listening in his nut. “Sorry. You got me excited.” He blushes red, his nervous eyes flitting down to his hand. You can’t believe it. He came just from eating your pussy? 

Now you know he can’t be your friend anymore. “Well, that’s not fair. I came in your mouth and you didn’t cum in mine.” You bring his hand to your lips and begin to lick his spunk off of his palm and fingers, moaning softly as you do. He watches you, his cock twitching in excitement at the sight. “Let’s fix that,” you suggest. “Lay down on the couch for me.” 

Quickly, Choso rises to his feet and is in the process of stripping off his pants when your phone ruins the erotic moment. Your ringer is shrill and annoying, but nothing is as annoying as the caller ID. “Babe is calling,” Siri announces. “Babe is calling.” Your boyfriend…well, ex-boyfriend now. 

You go to silence your phone, but Choso beats you to it and grabs it. “Wait, Choso,” you say, but he stops you by holding up a finger. Wait a minute.

You watch with bated breath as he clears his throat and presses the green button to answer. “Y/N’s residence,” he answers, smirking at whatever face your ex is wearing at hearing another man answer your phone. 

“Uh…who is this?” your ex asks, his voice drifting from your phone. “Where’s Y/N?” 

“Oh, she’s right here,” Choso replies, smirking down at you. “It’s Choso, her best friend, by the way. You don’t have to call anymore.” 

“Wait, wha–?” 

Choso hangs up before your ex can say anything more and tosses your phone aside, forgotten and discarded, on the coffee table. When he finally strips off his clothes, giving you a view of the man you can’t believe you even considered keeping as a friend, anything about your ex is forgotten. 

“Now how about round 2?” Choso suggests. 

THE END.

[judesdrabbles]

The Cure (part IV)

As you agree to go home with Vincent after a rough night, things unfold differently than you thought they would.

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

A/N: this is the last part of the series! I’ll continue to write other one shots / headcanons / series for Vincent and other oc’s, so if you have any suggestions or commissions don’t be afraid to ask! <3

word count: 2.5K

warnings: nsfw!!, yandere, obsessive tendencies, sexual themes, misuse of power position, foul language, afab reader, fingering, overstimulation

The hum of the car engine was a low, soothing backdrop as Vincent drove trough the quiet streets. You stared out the window, watching the city lights blur together. The adrenaline from earlier had faded, leaving you with a hollow ache in your chest. The remainder of the alcohol in your system was wearing off, too. In summary: you felt like shit.

Vincent glanced at you, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel. 'You're quiet.' He says. 'Are you alright?'

You hesitated, biting your lip. 'I don't know if 'alright' is the word I'd use. Tonight was embarrassing. Humiliating.'

His brow furrowed. 'You have nothing to be embarrassed about. What happened tonight was out of your control.'

You shook your head, still staring out the window. 'No, it’s not just that. It’s the whole reason I even went out tonight, you know.' You pause. 'Vincent, I've been stuck in this.. rut. So I thought, why not? Go out, have a few drinks, meet someone, and well, maybe even-..' You stopped yourself, your cheeks heating up as you realized what you were about to say to your own psychiatrist, none the less.

Vincent's eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to the road. 'Maybe even what?' He asked. He knew exactly what. He just wanted to hear you say it.

You exhale sharply. 'To- uh.. get laid. Forget everything for a while.'

The silence that followed was deafening. You glanced at him, unsure of what to expect. His jaw was clenched, and his hands gripped the wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. He didn’t speak for several long moments, and when he finally did, his voice was low, almost strained.

'And, did it work?' he asked. 'Did you.. find what you were looking for?'

You let out a hollow laugh. 'Obviously not. I ended up in a dark alley with a creep instead. Guess that's what I get for being desperate.'

Vincent didn't have a lot to remark. You didn't expect him to.

The rest of the drive was oddly quiet.

'We're here.' Vincent said after a while, parking his car in his driveway and turning off the engine. He led you into his spacious house, a place so pristine and meticulously arranged it almost felt cold. Every detail was flawless: the lines of the furniture, the faint scent of wood polish in the air, the sharp angles. It felt like him- controlled, ordered, and yet, beneath it, something kind-of human, if not a little fractured. 'I'll get you some water. Go sit, I'll be back.'

The hollow ache in your chest tightened up again as you look at him walk to the kitchen.

Why did he care so much?

It was like everything hit you all at once.

He was just your psychiatrist.

Why did he even invite you in the first place? Fight that random man? Why was he quiet whenever you talked about your love life? He always seemed to go out of his way for you. He was a cold and stoic man. Then why does he care so much? He wasn't supposed to.

You sit down on his couch as you stare at the walls. You feel like you could burst open.

And then was that guy, that guy from the alleyway.. Why didn't you do more? Scream louder? Why did you freeze back there?

'Here is your wa-'

'I let it happen. Why did I just let it happen?’ You blurt out.

Vincent stops in his tracks, standing still with two glasses of water in his hands.

'I'm sorry?'

'I let it happen- I..' You stand up. 'I didn't do shit. I could've screamed, I could've kicked. I was frozen. I was useless.. What kind of person just.. lets that happen, Vincent?'

Vincent puts down both of the glasses on a nearby coffee table. Then, he walks over to you.

'Don’t do this. Don’t twist this around and make it about something you did wrong.' He says sternly, his voice piercing trough you. 'You didn't let anything happen. You were scared. That’s normal. That’s human.' He drags a hand through his perfectly combed hair, mussing it in a way that looked unnatural on him. 'You’re not a machine, Y/N. You don’t have to be perfect, to know exactly what to do in any situation.’

'Perfect.' You echoed bitterly. 'That's funny coming from you.' The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Vincent expression shuttered, his lips forming a thin line.

'I know what you're trying to say.' He says, his voice tight but still calm. 'And, yes, you're right. I.. do like to have everything.. perfect. I used to think that was the only way I could keep everything under control.’ He glances around the neat room, the perfectly arranged books in the bookshelves; the tables empty, no dust; everything spotless like no one lives in his house. ‘But it doesn't work like that.'

You feel tears bubbling up. No. Not now.

'Why do you even care so much anyway, Vincent?' You let out. 'You're my psychiatrist, for Christ's sake. I'm not supposed to be here. Were not.. supposed to have this conversation.'

Vincent's eyes flickered with something, and for a moment, you thought he was going to walk away.

'Because I care about you, Y/N.’ He says after a while. ‘Not only during our sessions. Outside of it. More than I'd like to admit. More than I should. And more than is.. appropriate. I wish I could have control over that instead. But I don’t.’

Your breath caught in your throat, his confession hanging in the air. You furrowed your brow and stand up, walking over to him. You look up at him. He looks down at you. And for the first time since you met him all those weeks ago- you see something else in his eyes.

Insecurity.

'Oh..' you let out softly. Everything suddenly made sense.

You let him see you- know you. Week after week, you had laid open your feelings, all your secrets, bare to him. Only for him to unfold. Only for him to hear. And he was always there. Not only during your sessions, but after. When your car broke down, when a shady guy followed you, when you needed him- he was there.

'Y/N.' Vincent whispers softly, as if trying to pry you away from your thoughts. 'Will you let me show you how much I care?'

You were dumbfounded, but on the other hand, relieved. The hollow ache in your chest slowly disappeared on itself.

You nod slowly. ‘Okay.. Show me.'

The words seemed to break something in him. He got rid of the only space left between you, raising one of his hands and resting it softly on top of your cheek. His thumb brushed across your skin, holding you like you were something fragile.

This is what he had wanted. You were so perfect.

His resolve crumbled as he leaned in. His lips were tentative at first, brushing against yours as if testing the waters. But the moment you responded; tilting your head and getting closer, something in him snapped.

He cradled the back of your head as he pressed his lips against you. It was warm. Persistent.

With an undercurrent of desperation.

You kiss him back, clutching on his shirt as his other hand rests on your back, his thumb tracing soft circles against your skin, anchoring you to the moment. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths ragged. 'Tell me to stop,' he murmured, his voice hoarse. 'If this isn’t what you want, tell me, and I’ll stop.'

You shake your head. 'Don't stop. Please.'

Something in his eyes lit up when he heard you say 'please'. In that sweet, sweet voice. It was dangerous.

His hands tighten on your waist as he as he pushes you softly on the couch with him. You had never expected him to be this gentle.

But he was.

Only for you.

He kisses you again, and this time deeper, more insistent. With one hand cupping your cheek, he breaks the kiss apart to look at you. He was hovering above you, while you were basically melting into his touch.

'Y/N.' He says softly, as if tasting your name. 'You are so beautiful like this.' His fingers brushed over your cheek; you were getting red, panting softly.

There was so much that you wanted to say, yet you couldn't. Vincent's dark hair was disheveled and looming over you. He had always been handsome. You just never let yourself accept that.

'I don't know what to say, I-..'

'Shh, shh.' He said, pressing a finger to your lips. 'Then say nothing, sweetheart. I'll take care of you.'

His lips find your neck, nipping softly at it as he draws out a moan from your mouth. His hands find the hem of your sweater, slithering under it to grip on your soft flesh. His fingers were so gentle- so skilled. His eyes find its way back to you as his hands go higher, up to reach your breasts. He brushes softly against your nipple, as you let out a whine. Shit- It had been way too long since someone touched you. But no one ever touched you like this. Looking at you like you were literally the last woman on Earth, like there was only you. Time seemed to blur, the world outside fading away until there was only Vincent- the way his body fit against you, the way his whispered assurances made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could let go of the doubts and let yourself be wanted.

'You're so gorgeous when you moan for me,' he says as he gets bolder, pinching one of your nipples between his fingers. He never wanted to let go. Never wanted to get off off you again. What did he do to deserve such a perfect woman, right here, on his couch?

'Vincent- fuck..' You let out when he rolled your nipples between his fingers again. 'Please don't stop- I.. I really.. want you.'

'Hmm?' A smirk on his face appeared. A genuine smirk. 'You're begging already? That's so sweet.' He leans in, bites softly on your earlobe and then whispers: 'I won't stop, okay? I'll make you feel so good. You deserve it.'

One of his hands stayed clasped around your breast, fondling it and teasing it while the other went out from under your sweater to your pants, unzipping them. 'Up.' He just says. You comply, and he takes off your pants until you're left on his couch with only your underwear covering you.

His other, warm hand disappear from your breasts and you're left with a cold feeling. 'Vincent..' You didn't care that you were sounding whiney. You wanted this man.

'Shh, I'll come back. Don't you want me here, too?' He says, smiling as one of his hands cup your heat. You blush; you were already basically dripping, and he didn't even touch you properly yet.

'Mhm..'

'Good.' He presses a soft kiss on your forehead, then lowers himself to line up his head between your thighs. He looks up at you, his dark eyes piercing trough you like knives. While planting soft kisses on your inner thigh, he lets his hand roam to your pussy. He was not pulling your underwear back. Not yet. He finds your clit and start to rub circles trough the fabric.

You moan loudly, feeling embarrassed as you try to cover your mouth He knew exactly what he did.

'No, no, no..' He says, taking your hand away gently while continuing to rub your clit. 'Don't. I want to hear you.'

The wet patch in your underwear only grows as Vincent finally decides to take it off, to stop the teasing. 'May I?' He says as he slips it off, hovering over your heat with his mouth.

You nod quickly. 'Yes, please.. you make me feel so good.'

A low groan escapes Vincent's mouth. 'Darling, you have no idea..' He delves in, starting to suck on your clit while tasting you.

You tasted so divine- How could he go his entire life without seeing you like this, melting under his touch, moaning under him? Where were you all this time? Oh, he'll make sure to make up for the lost time. It's the least he could do for you.

His mouth latched onto your clit. It made you tense, pleasure building up as one of his fingers start to tease your wet slit. He ate you out like you would expect him to: methodically, rhythmically. All the while keeping eye contact. Staring at you with dark, lust-filled eyes.

Two of his fingers push past your slit as your walls clench around it. You felt so warm- so good. Whenever his tongue wasn't lapping up your juices, he would repeat quiet praises to you.

'You are doing so good for me, sweetheart. You're so beautiful. You'll cum for me, hm?'

And then you felt it approaching, rapidly, like a dam breaking.

'Vincent- I'm gonna cum..-'

'Cum for me, sweetheart.'

You pant as your walls clench around his fingers. You cum all around them as Vincent continues to eat you out to prolong your orgasm. It was nothing like you had ever felt, and when you came down from the high, you felt your muscles relaxing and you let out a long sigh.

Vincent kisses your inner thigh before licking off your juices from his fingers, savoring the taste. He then sits down next to you on the couch, his hands wrapping around your waist, tilting you up to sit on his lap. Your wet cunt stained his perfectly neat pants, but he didn't mind. Not if it was you.

'I could get used to this.' You say after a while as he runs his fingers trough your hair. You hesitate, but then you lay down on his chest, your arms wrapped around his shoulders.

'Mmm. You better.' He says, his voice low. He had you. Finally. Right where he wanted. In his arms. In his home. Together. He kisses the crown of your head.

'Never knew my stoic doctor would be such a good kisser. On both lips.' You tease softly, feeling a certain something grow in his pants.

'Oh, yeah?' He gently tilts your chin towards him. 'Well, there are more things I'm surprisingly good at. Let me show you, hm?'

He wasn’t done with you yet; far from it. He was only done when you were a limp mess on his couch, and then he would continue to finger fuck you while you whimpered desperately on his lap. He wanted you to think of him, and only him, nothing and no one else.

‘Ah, hush, sweetheart. You can take more.’

[axhellart]

Leona and a representation with love topics (female & male)

Everything said on this analysis is just a personal opinion, I don't mean to offend nor step on someone else's view or headcanons. Thanks to @/Viperkun to translate it.

First of all, we need to start from the basics and ask ourselves, Who is Leona Kingscholar? Leona is a complex character, filled by development which not everyone sees through or most of the time tends to not notice. He's a character that tends to have high expectations over a depression pretty deep and prolonged, there´s many themes regarding those feelings of inferiority, demotivation and many others, which leads to his self sabotage. However, at first glance he doesn't allows himself to feel pity towards others due to his own high ego and pride, he's a man that despite finding his own life pretty unfair, keeps going on in his own way and stipule.

Now, how would this affect his romantic relationships? The answer may change depending on the person who is by his side, this includes gender. Leona is very polite towards women since he's from a country which prioritizes them, they're stronger and bigger than the usual males from the same country, and so, even if women doesn't really fit this kind of criteria, he's still going to be respectful towards them.

No, he wouldn't be a role model prince (as an example, Eliza, with who he shared a few words one on one, then nothing more), but he's not going to have thoughts or actions that could be considered nor even be close to the category or definition of "incel".

He's not someone who overpowers by his strength or title over women; yes, he speaks with sarcasm, cynicism, and teasing is his second language, but he would never start any situation in which he would make someone uncomfortable or even less put someone at risk or danger (Overblot aside, since Yuu has no specific gender. If that was the case and Yuu was a girl -just like Savanaclaw's manga Yuu-, it's not that Leona decided to have a breakdown due to her or to hurt her, it was something out of his control due to circumstances)

In the case we talk about a boy, it wouldn't be too different from how we see Leona acting towards the rest of the twst cast in game; maybe the level of respect would lessen just a bit to talk in a bolder way we can consider as you to you.

I want to clarify that I'm not saying Leona is a bully towards a romantic male interest, just that he would probably have more fluid talks through a mutual understanding by sharing similar biological features if we put emotional and psychological sides apart, Reiterating it wouldn't be too far from his canon interactions with the original cast. Regarding my personal opinion (as well as this post is) I don't see Leona as someone who uses petnames with his romantic interest, at least not early into the relationship (established or not)

I know, there are many who have seen him or portray him as someone who would use nicknames as "my love", "darling", etc, and I don't invalidate any of them, though I can't really see them coming from someone who's stoic and serious most of the time. "Love melts even the coldest of hearts", yes, however it's complicated relating this through a romantic or platonic relationship with Leona, it's a bit complicated and takes some time.

As I mentioned before, he's a man with issues,problems which were born from deep insecurities and an inferior complex too huge to make them disappear all of a sudden just for love. It's a slow process, I'm not saying that he's going to be toxic once he gets into a relationship just that as many others the relationship would take more time and it's going to be complicated to finally establish it. The first phase of Leona being in love is denial, his main goal won't be focusing emotionally on a person, however, if he falls through this thought he would probably and mostly spend his time with said person; not being a man who would easily please someone with words, let's remember his brain tends to go under the logical side of things rather than emotional.

Even so, he's a man who's predominant love language (at least through this phase) is gift giving. Leona is a smart and sharp-eyed man, knowing at least a bit of the interest of the ones around him (Just look at Idia's second birthday card in which Leona gives him a chess set or how in more than on ocassion he gives Ruggie different things without him asking him to do so under their agreement of basic services; even when he gives a salad to Riddle or a pen to Vil, despite being unnecesary objects, and most of them being related to more of a silly/fun kind of interaction, they exist to let you know that he remembers those special days, he knows what to do, he is a man that sees and most importantly listens to his surroundings). Even if Leona's romantic interest doesn't mention they don't want anything Leona would read that somehow, he'll give it a meaning and provide surprise gifts through different kind of occasions for no apparent reason (money isn't a problem for him).

Moment of interlude, appreciate the kitten:

Ok ,let's continue. Once the relationships progresses, PDA will make it's entrance. Leona would be pretty clingy with his loved one, letting his own scent on them to let the others know that he was there first. Don't misunderstand nor mistake this as the kind of a response from a toxic or possessive person, he knows when to give space and how, even he needs it, but that doesn't mean he would let his lover go around without their clothes having the slightest of his scent on it.

He enjoys to take naps on his lover's lap, or even sleeping while embracing them. If we focus on a more natural-like related environment, lions tends to demonstrate their care to others by caressing each other's heads with their own, caressing their fur and also leaving some love bites; it wouldn't be much different here.

Personally I can see Leona giving love bites as a sign of affection; bites on the cheeks, shoulders, hands or neck (this without leading to a sexual side), leaning his head against his lover's one, or their shoulders if they're hugging, lazy little kisses around their face. I've read that when it comes to a girl, Leona would even ask for permission for a kiss, again related to the topic of consent and respect, to which I agree being someone who would ask for permission without words but actions, subtle, around two or three that would feel more than enough for him.

I don't see Leona jumping over or around someone to express his love through the first months into the relationship, he would be patient, testing the waters to see if this person isn't playing or making fun of him and his trust, something that has happened with other characters from the cast.

Please don't misunderstands my words, I've said before that he would ask for consent if his partner was a girl, but this works in case his romantic interest is a boy too, I just see him being more teasing with the last example.

Conclusion: Leona would never be categorized as a toxic man that would use his strength or status over someone he loves. Even if he ever could do so, the most possible scenario is an accidental one and he would make sure to apologize if he mistreated or make his partner uncomfortable. Leona isn't someone that would be afraid of apologizing when he knows he has done something wrong (we can see this during Tamashina Mina and how he apologizes to Jack by not thinking about how the hot weather would affect him since he wasn't from the same place as him). This also doesn't means that he would leave his pride aside, all he has is his own pride anyways, for good or wrong.

He's a responsible man, attentive, someone who wouldn't be the best at using cliche or romantic words at first; but everything will change with time and a slow development, overthrowing the bad times that he could experience as a partner while evolving into someone capable to keep a relationship of respect and lots of mutual and understanding love.

[thevoidstaredback]

Constantine stared down every single hero in front of him. The meeting had been too short notice to get everyone up to the Watchtower, but the ones he needed to talk to the most were there. He’d been standing at the head of the table with his arms crossed and a hostile glare for ten minutes. It wasn’t often he got to see these heroes squirm and he was reveling in it.

“When I was officially made a member of the Justice League, I gave a very clear ultimatum which resulted in the Justice League Dark.” he began, his voice betraying none of the rage in his eyes. “None of you are equipped to deal with the supernatural or the occult, which is why we have a team for that. A team with very specific rules to be followed. Do I need to lay them out for you all again?”

“What’s this about-?”

He did nothing to change his posture, nor did he hold up a hand to silence the speaker, but his eyes did narrow. “Do I need-” a loathsome half beat. “-to lay out our rules for you all, again?” It was less of a question and more of a demand. He didn’t wait. “Take out a goddamn paper and take some fucking notes.” He finally turned away from them, the projector turning on at his command.

The Justice League knew that the man was pissed, obvious by the way he held himself. Normally, he was irate and standoffish, his posture slightly hunched, always standing at the ready to flee in some way, rather than fight. Despite that, his head never fell and he made sure to meet the eyes of everyone he spoke to as though they were equal in every way. His way of speaking, similarly, was that of, not a confident man, but of someone who knew what they were talking about. The language he used indiscriminately gave the illusion of relaxation and nonchalance, his smoking and drinking habits only furthered this.

Somehow, Constantine, in this moment, had made himself bigger than the Justice League. He stood tall, his shoulders squared and his back straight, head tilted up as though he was looking down on the heroes. His eyes were narrow, his stance solid, but no visible weapons. He was more confident than they’d ever seen him, seeming as though he was going to overturn the authority of Hell and place himself a king.

It was his voice and speech, though, that made them think twice about the situation, Demanding to be listened to, like a general punishing insubordination. No noticeable changes in the words he spoke from normal, but the lilt and the tone more than compensated.

Overall, he looked ready to fight every single one of them. He acted as though there was no doubt that he would win. They were inclined to believe that.

“As heroes and diplomates,” because Constantine is neither, “it is your job to study, learn, and accommodate for other species and their cultures. This goes beyond different worlds and straight into different dimensions. There are beings out there that you don’t want to fuck with. Dangerous beings. While you guys deal with the worlds and beings of our dimension, the JLD deals with other dimensions running both parallel and into our own. We’re stretched thin as it is, we don’t need you bloody twats fucking it all up for us!” He didn’t raise his voice, but it was a near thing. “Deadman, Madame Xanadu, Shade, Changing Man, Zatanna, and myself made it clear that we were to be contacted should even a hint of magic be detected. It’s a precautionary measure for everyone’s safety. Detective Chimp, Doctor Fate, Ragman, Etrigan, Zatanna, and I expect those same measures to be upheld. Unfortunately, you’ve all fallen quite lax with that. WIth Shazam being on your team, I would’ve thought you would know the consequences of magic by now, but Phantom’s unofficial addition to the JLD has proved me to be sorely mistaken.” He clicked the clicker.

The first slide was a proclamation of Dead, Undead, and Undying. “As I’m sure you’re all familiar, the weakest of supernatural creatures live on a plane directly connected to ours. It sits directly on top of ours like a sheen of dust. Weak Points in the veil are quite common; poltergeist activity, hauntings, possessions, cold spots, things in the corner of your eye, sounds you can’t explain, et cetera. The strongest of supernatural beings don’t make up that dust coating. Instead, they live in a section of what is Named-” the clicker clicked again, “-the Infinite Realms.” He paused for a moment as though waiting for them to write that down. No one was. His eye twitched. “Every dimension you can think of, every universe, every afterlife, every pre-life, every concept- it all feeds into the Realms. She is an unforgiving Mistress and an even harsher Mother.”

Flash raised his hand tentatively and waited until Constantine nodded at him, though he knew it was full of irritation. “Um, why are- What brought this on?”

John Constantine is a man of near constant patience, despite how he portrays himself. He doesn’t act rashly when he can afford to lay in wait. He is a man of secrets, holding his knowledge to his chest until sharing saves more lives than it would harm. He does not take to people, but he protects those he does.

John Constantine as a limit, as all beings do.

He slammed his hands on the table hard enough to shake it. The heroes startled. “Because someone bloody well fucked up, near irreparably!”

“What’re you-”

“Shut it, Diana!” He seethed. “You all pressed on issues you have no business pressing! That got into the minds of your sidekicks-”

“Proteges,” Green Arrow whispered.

Constantine heard him. “-your sidekicks that they could press the same topics!”

It was Superman who interrupted this time, “What does this-?”

John was obviously beyond controlling his temper, but he managed to rein himself in enough to bite out, “The Infinite Realms is watched - not ruled - over by a King and his or her council.” He skipped most of the slides, stopping exactly three from the end. “The US Government nearly unleashed a war between the Realms and our dimension about twenty-four years ago. This didn’t happen because Phantom caught the missile launched into the Realms and diffused the situation, though relations were nonexistent until one year before he introduced himself to you all. Now, those relations are flimsy at best.” He turned to face away from the heroes. “Yours and your sidekicks’ little stunt may have just turned the Realms and Her denizens hostile upon us.”

The room was suddenly filled with a suffocating air. Breathing became difficult and everybody stiffened like corpses strung to rot.

Magic has a distinct feel to it, letting those sensitive to it feel it out. Each spell has a different smell, but each magic user has a distinct taste. The room, once smelling, tasting, and feeling of nothing, was npw consumed by Constantine’s magic.

“Phantom is currently MIA.” A lie, but they don’t need to know that. He turned back to face them. “As usual, I have to go fix your bloody mess.” He didn’t utter another word as he left the room, the sound of the door sliding shut behind him was defining in the room. Exactly two minutes later, the heroes could move again.

Batman was the first to stand. All he did was grab the clicker and restart the slideshow. There was no one there to explain anything, but he could do the research on his own.

Part 8 Part 10

[jovieinramshackle]

I always try to not be shy about the fact Pio does not pass as a man at all, and that he is in a situation where he cannot take the steps to do so (medically transitioning basically)— not just financially, but mentally too.

He hates his chest, his private parts and the fact they cause hin extreme dysphoria once a month from his period, his voice is audibly feminine, he even has very "soft feminine" features, he is often mistaken for a butch woman and misgendered a lot (he's also very anxious about correcting people, since he's afraid of how they'll react).

And I feel it's important from me to showcase these features, because they’re part of a realty many transmasc/guys/men like me go through.

The thing about Pio is that he has an extremely hard time believing he's a "real man". Almost everything in his life is an active reminder that society does not see him as a man, and he has internalised it. He is happy the people close to him (his father, Chris and his family) confirm they see him as a man, but he has a hard time genuinely believing they actually do, because he can't possibly say the same about himself.

He's on the verge of giving up sometimes, to detransition, to go back being [REDACTED] and be a woman again. He thinks it will make life easier. After all, it'll be easier to socialise, talk to people, and even find a partner. Pio is gay after all, but what gay man would love a "woman," right? Straight men must be his only option, right?

But it won't be easier, it will outright kill.

And this is why his relationship with Fellow is so crucial to him. For all his faults, the fox did one very important thing right in the relationship— love Pio for the man that he is.

Fellow didn't always have the right words, but he knew words weren't really gonna help such a dysphoric person like Pio. The constant and consistent love and support over time was what made Pio realise how genuine Fellow was with him.

Intimacy felt less uncomfortable, it actually became enjoyable. He could actually bare his features, even if a little. He actually grow to like his voice a little, even if he's fine with it changing. Everything just became a little easier when he was with Fellow, he could actually see himself as desirable, to an other queer man no less.

He began thinking that perhaps he is a man, regardless of everything. This reduction of his dysphoria was what made him more motivated to seek medical transition later one, as he finally could think to himself, "this isn't pointless." He realised nothing can stop him from being the man that he is.

Even after their falling out during their work in Playful Land, Pio still had this drive in him. He went back to his father and started working, slowly saving up to seek a way to get his hands on HRT. And although he has a long way to go, he is for once finally determined to do what he must do for his well being.

He kinda spiralled for a while because of the falling out. He even began relying on alcohol for a bit. But this new profound drive carried him every day and kept him alive.

So basically, as angry as he is with Fellow, he will always be grateful for all the genuine love and desire he was given. It, quite literally, saved his life.

So yeah ofc they make up in the end, what did you expect, to not give them a happy ending? Poser./j

@sunnysidesevenup @theolivetree123 tagging you two cuz...Pio Lore....heh....<3

tag list : @ramshacklerumble @thehollowwriter @summerspook @scint1llat3 @skriblee-ksk

@cyanide-latte @twistedwonderlandshenanigans @oya-oya-okay @viperbunnies @jadelover69

@twsted-void @lallopsyou (lmk/dm if you wanna be added)

[gnckholin]

okay I need to preface this with yes I like having representation and anyone who's been around my blog long enough should know that renarin is my specialest little guy him and him and rlain are very cute and if y'all really need it this is coming from the perspective of a queer man if you turn this into a pissing on the poor type deal I will simply block you but. now that I've had time to stew on it.

the rlainarin arc was a bit boring.

part of this is I think rooted in Brandon trying to be a Good Ally™ doing Good Representation™ and he worked a lot with sensitivity readers to make sure things are handled well but it just felt a bit... tokenizing? like they were in the spiritual realm as a bit of plot convenience but also it kinda felt like an excuse to keep them relevant enough to give them pov chapters. and it's cute! don't get me wrong! but also every other characters get emotional arcs about growing as a person and they got...trying to ask your crush out? it felt very out of place.

now you might be saying hold on! they're not primarily pov characters you can't expect as much nuance emotionally as someone like kaladin. and you're right! but let's look at the other supporting cast members here. jasnah gets the struggle of power and her entire attempt to keep thaylenah which results in a meaningful paradigm shift for her! navani gets to work on her connection with the sibling and uncover the past. we don't even really see much of relationship between renarin and glys much less rlain and tumi. sure they may have been good representation! but they were mediocre arcs. even in the discussions I'm seeing lately of favorite parts, it's not that people have disliked it it's just...nothing to write home about?

it also feels particularly weird to have an arc around "my family will think it's weird" when it's been pretty well established that alethi in general are like. fine with queerness. and sure you can say "well they're nobles" but at this point renarin is in line for 0 titles. dalinar was only going to give king of urithiru to someone who wanted it, jasnah planned on being the last queen of alethkar, there's literally no point? it feels a little love Simon. and yes absolutely in modern western culture people can feel weird about coming out to people who would be accepting and that's fine! but that's also rooted in real world homophobia which alethkar doesn't seem to have.

even when we compare with the other canonically queer stormlight character, it just kinda. . .falls flat. part of this is that shallan wasn't intended to be queer but honestly it feels like it reads well. she doesn't have to turn to camera and say she's different she's bisexual she can just be a person. she can fall in love with adolin she can get flustered around jasnah veil can call women hot and it's like. fine. and it feels more authentic to the setting! a lot of the rlainarin arc in WAT felt like it was meant to be educational. for cishet people. and like that's fine! but it doesn't make for an engaging character arc. I can't even say it really makes for good reading.

and look, I get it, we all like seeing them get flustered and worry about what the other one thinks and we all get to be excited when they confess their feelings and kiss but it just feels so tonally dissonant that like. I can't believe this was intended to fit into the main plot. it feels a bit patronizing - like look we have good healthy representation now! I'm doing so good at this! and genuinely from the bottom of my heart it's thrilling that the largest name in fantasy is willing to do this even more so considering the religious background he's writing from I'm not writing all this to say Brandon is a bad guy or secretly a homophobe I'm just saying. I wish we had more, y'know? something less feel good for the cishets for being good allies something with more of a real plot that engages with the themes of the series and whatnot. I'm looking forward to arc 2 (in like 10-15 years)! I'm looking forward to more rlain and renarin and their dynamic! I just hope it feels less. educational.

anyway a lot of this was directly inspired by verilybitchie's video on good representation it really helped me out my finger on why their arc felt a bit flat so please go check it out she's a great creator.

[brownsugarpenmanship]

The First Dance

*shrugs shoulders* I don't know, I just felt like writing a cute 40s fluffy Bucky Barnes fic. I cannot get over that damn white man...

The party was killer diller. Ladies were twirling left and right, their skirts billowing in the air like kites on a summer day. The band was loud and right on beat- with trumpets blaring louder than Judgement Day and the drummer sweating his necktie off with the force of his pounding. You were right at home. Usually parties like this would make you anxious- the noise, the people, the ever-present expectation that maybe tonight would be the night you find “the one.” Tonight, though, you couldn’t care less. It was your cousin’s going away party. He was being called to service after just a few weeks of training, and everyone was dancing and drinking their worries away- here the war didn’t matter, the fear didn’t matter- all that mattered was finding someone who wasn’t a total dead hoofer to dance the night away with toes intact.

Cherry had already found her special someone. She was in the center of the dance floor, as usual, smiling widely as her fella flipped her over his left shoulder, landing effortlessly on the square heels of her red shoes. You watched her with fascination. How she had the breath and stamina for those gymnastics moves you’d never know. You preferred to wait for a slower song or, most often, sit on the sidelines watching others couple up. But not tonight. With your favorite cousin due to set sail for France, you were feeling the dread of mortality and wanted nothing more than to quiet your terror by getting sauced and finding somebody to waste time with for a few hours.

“Hey, doll,” came a voice to your right. It was Cherry, still tapping her toes on the linoleum. “Bucky over there thinks you’re a real sweet cookie and I know you’ve had the hots for him for a while, so I told him to come over and keep you company. Have fun!”

Your eyes widened. Cherry was already off, being spun around in a wide arc by her beau. Your eyes darted, scanning the dance hall for the man you’d not-so-secretly been pining for for the past few weeks. You found him at the bar, with a finger raised in the air to get the bartender’s attention. Next to him was his best friend, Steve. His eyes found yours and you looked away quickly, embarrassed to be caught. You drummed your painted nails on the table nervously. You chanced another look after a few moments, unable to stop yourself, only to see with horror that Bucky was now holding a daiquiri in each hand, headed straight for your table. You looked over to Cherry, who had taken notice while she twisted her hips in her date’s hands, and flashed a thumbs up. You mouthed at her desperately, “what do I do?” She waved you off with her hand, then shrugged one shoulder in a flirtatious motion and winked. 

“Is this seat taken?”

His voice was smooth and honey-rich in your ear. You couldn’t do much more than shake your head vigorously and extend a palm towards the empty metal stool beside you with Cherry’s handbag slung over the back. Your palms were suddenly sweaty, so you wiped them on your dress, pulling the material down to cover your knees futilely. Bucky set the drinks down on the table.

“I took the liberty of guessing your drink- I hope that’s okay,” he said, as suave as ever. You’d seen him in action before, his words leaving his lips like the sweet notes of a birdsong. 

“I like-” your voice was hoarse, and you had to clear your throat to shake the gravel from it, forcing yourself to speak a bit louder to be heard over the music. “I like daiquiris.”

He smiled. You’d never seen his dimples up close before. You found yourself suppressing a smile as well, looking down at your pumps instead. It was quiet for a while, awkwardly so, at first. Sneaking glances, you saw him having a wordless conversation with Steve, the blond man’s mouth forming hushed words. Bucky stretched conspicuously, his arm almost draping over your shoulder, until he pulled it back at the last second. A small chuckle stayed silent in your mouth, releasing itself as a small twitch of your red lips. He was just as uncertain as you. You grabbed the drink straw and put it to your lips, hoping for a bit of liquid courage.

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say, or do. It was easier to think of dating as a game- just play the right moves at the right time, and he could cut a rug with a pretty dame until his feet were sore, maybe even sneak a kiss at the end of the night. He liked the thrill of the chase, even if the girl didn’t share the same hobbies or interests, or if all she wanted to do was neck on her fire escape until curfew. His charm didn’t seem to come nearly as naturally when he was with a girl he really liked- like a gambler crumbling under pressure as soon as the stakes are high. Steve was no help, of course, not that he could blame him. His friend hadn’t yet had much experience with the opposite sex.

“That Cherry sure likes to hear herself talk, huh.” you said, fiddling with your straw and looking everywhere but in the direction of his face. “I, uh, wouldn’t put too much stock in anything she says.”

“Oh.”

It had been meant to make the situation a bit less tense, but Bucky had taken it as all but a rejection. You sensed the shift in his demeanor instantly, made more pronounced by the way Bucky’s legs shifted uncomfortably.

“I mean, well,” you stammered. “I just mean she has a big mouth sometimes.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt your night,” he started.

“No, no,”  you said a little too quickly. “I’m grateful for the company.” A few more seconds ticked by, agonizingly slow, until the tension was interrupted by the MC’s voice smooth as butter gliding over the microphone.

“Let’s end this shindig with a slow one for all you lovebirds tonight. You never know how much time you’re gonna get, so grab that special someone and hold ‘em close for the next three and a half minutes.” 

Bucky downed the rest of his drink in one swig. You’d already finished most of yours; you had just been sipping on the sugary watered-down ice for the past few minutes.

“Shall we?” he asked. You smiled up at him, letting yourself really look at him for the first time that night. He was… god, beautiful. His brown hair was neatly combed and styled to the side, so that nothing was blocking your view of his ocean blue eyes. He smiled at you with that crooked smile, equal parts cocky and nervous. 

“I’d love to,” you said softly, with more honesty than you’ve allowed yourself since the first day you stared just a little too long at Bucky Barnes from across the street. His hand swallowed yours- warm and calloused and just a little damp. He wiped it on his pants and then clasped your fingers in his again, leading you to the dancefloor.

His left hand went to the center of your back- a very respectful position, while his right continued to hold yours. He led you in a small, slow circle as your fingers brushed his shoulder ever so softly. You felt like you were about to pass out from holding your breath. Slowly, gradually, you ease into the gentle rhythm of the music and let yourself get a little closer, resting your head ever so softly on his chest. You could hear his heart thumping and smiled a little, reveling in the little cracks in his playboy persona. His arm found its way nearer to his body and he held your hand to his chest, cradling it in his softly.

Bucky was afraid to breathe. Feeling you beneath him, your legs moving with his, your head on his chest, your hand in his hand- it was too much. He didn’t dare look at Steve, who no doubt would be flashing him double thumbs-up, or anyone else in the nightclub for that matter. He focused on trying to slow his heart rate so you didn’t think he was about to have a coronary just being near you. He could feel words of adoration wanting to bubble up from his throat, but he held them back. You weren’t the type to go for outright flirting and flattery. He had to let you ease up to him, break the tension of unfamiliarity before he started smooth-talking. Too soon, the song was over, and the other couples on the dancefloor had broken apart to clap for the musicians. You both did the same, after a beat, once the haze of intimacy had worn off a little bit. The band was packing up and people were heading outside. Cherry gave you a quick hug as she ran off with her flavor of the night. You and Bucky were left in the middle.

“Would you,” he started, then trailed off. “Um, would you wanna do this again sometime?” he asked. You smiled. 

“I’d love to.” He really was handsome, and so cute when he wasn’t trying to be smoother than he was. “Walk me home?” His pretty diamond eyes sparkled at that suggestion.

“Yes, ma’am!”

As he draped his jacket over your shoulders, stepping into the cool night air, you caught a whiff of his cologne, or maybe aftershave, and thought that it was a scent you could certainly get used to.

[iphyslitterator]

2024 Tumblr Top 10

tagged by @liminalmemories21 (thank you, I LOVE stats)

How it works: Share your top 10 tumblr posts from last year! Visit this site, scroll down to "Find your Tumblr Top 10," type in your username, and select 2024. When you get the results, simply click "Share to Tumblr"   and you'll get an auto-generated draft for a post with links and previews. Make any adjustments you see fit.

1. 650 notes - Nov 28 2024

Did some very cursory research, and it turns out having mental health issues on your record can seriously complicate...

I'm thrilled this is my top post. First of all, it was very funny to ruin everyone's day on Thanksgiving. But mostly I think it was a useful and important topic to introduce to the fandom ecosystem, especially after some back-and-forth with the venerable @bekolxeram.

2. 495 notes - Jun 27 2024

Picture, if you will, Buck and Tommy's pre-teen daughter sitting Tommy down and asking how he knew he was gay. And he takes a...

I love this post, but it did age badly 😕 Buck's answer is going to be complicated after all.

3. 466 notes - Aug 26 2024

sharing my vision of chimney dragging tommy into a comedy b plot and rambling to him at 6 in the morning until tommy says...

I was surprised this did so well, but the people crave Chim & Tommy.

4. 437 notes - Aug 13 2024

when I'm feeling down, I like to imagine early s8 Tommy calling Buck and saying, listen, I know it's your night with Eddie, but...

Man, remember over the summer when people thought Eddie would have a serious mental health struggle, and Buck (and Tommy) would be supporting him, and Buck & Eddie & Tommy would have to renegotiate their dynamic? I miss that.

5. 394 notes - May 7 2024

One of my favorite things about 7x06 Bucktommy is that at no point are they trying to impress each other. Buck at the bachelor...

Earliest post on the list. Solid meta, but the most notable part is the footnote from someone blissfully unaware of Henleygate.

6. 388 notes - Sep 16 2024

tommy with a nonstop eight-minute rant about last night's baseball game while he's getting ready in the morning, mostly yelled...

I love this 😭

7. 380 notes - Aug 29 2024

"Hi!" Buck calls out when he hears the door open from where he's sprawled sideways on Tommy's couch, engrossed in a book on the...

This was supposed to be a little thing, but it got a bit longer than I expected, so I ended up posting it on AO3 - my first official fic since November 2020 🥰 Part of a genre, but as far as I know no one had done it with a couch.

8. 342 notes - Jun 4 2024

i just want to see eddie treating a severely injured buck while tommy struggles to keep him conscious and following...

Love this post + equally love these additions from @dadvans and @zeraparker (the end of the second one haunts me).

9. 322 notes - May 17 2024

oh my god he's walking on his knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting

The only non-Bucktommy post on the list (it's Bobby in Step Nine). Post "Wild Geese" during a commercial break = easy website.

10. 288 notes - Nov 28 2024

Flame

Day 1 of 118 Daily Drabble, and my most popular because it turned into a spontaneous collaboration with @peppermintquartz. I was SO excited to write back and forth and see people get invested; nothing like that had ever happened to me! I also liked getting the notifications (despite writing significantly less lol 🤭 hey, there were no rules). The original drabble is sad, but after five installments we got to a happy ending.

tagging @espressotonicc @jamieroyjamieroy @do-androids-dream-ao3acc @bucksdaffy @tommykinard217 and the people tagged above

[anikabooker]

Finish him. It wasn't her voice, but another, in the forefront of her mind. Whispers that turned into screams in her ears. The familiar echo of a sound she knew too well; a familiar ring to each scream, chanting to end his life. And a promise, she swore to keep. Her hands twitched and shook, when the last bullet found his skin and then the floor leaving bloody evidence of a barrel all lost on a beast she couldn't kill. A promise. she swore to keep, but couldn't. Not because she didn't want to, but because her hands did not feel like her own, and her face — numb and pale, did not feel like her own, and her heart slamming uncontrollably against a fragile cage, did not feel like her own. She'd never felt her body more alive; every nerve set on fire, skin hot to the touch. Before him, her heart was as fucked up as his was; black and motionless.

Anika couldn't remember the last time she let a beast walk away from her. The last time she granted somebody her mercy. Pity wasn't something she felt — not for someone like him, not for anybody.

Every man she'd ever met had been nothing but cruel. When was the last time someone pitied the woman who had to kill parts of herself to survive? When was the last time a beast showed her mercy?

Because it was monsters like him that had taken everything from her. And yet, her eyes were filled with sorrow for the dead man on the floor, squirming in agony, twitching violently, gasping for air. She only stood over him, with a gun long empty. The sharp blade of her self-hatred glided across her throat, threatening to rip at the skin with every moment passed that allowed him time to heal.

All those bullets meant nothing, when not one of them punctured his heart. Not one of them rid her of him. He was still alive, in the most monstrous way. Dragging himself upwards, struggling to keep his body straight, to become once again a worthy opponent, a punching bag for her to use and then dispose of. She was supposed to dispose of him, not the other way around. I regret you. No, no — not the way this was supposed to be. His fault. This was his fault. His fault, for giving an abandoned hound like her attention, because now she wanted nothing but.

She hissed through gritted teeth: "Good." What a terrible time to be given something she didn't want to lose. What a terrible time to be given something that would completely shatter her to watch turn to ash. What a cruel fuckin thing to give her, when she had decided a decade ago, that she would rid herself of wants and needs, and stupid things like finding comfort under someone else's covers, the only person she'd trusted enough to fall asleep next to, wake up next to — their own little fucked up, domesticated, mundane universe, in which she was blind and foolish, and he was alive and warm. And they were both free — of self-hatred, and pain.

She watched that world disintegrate, while it spat them out into the vast cosmos. And back so quickly, into a world familiar and dark, deadly and completely ravenous where he was a monster and she was his executioner. Only she couldn't swing the axe high enough to slice his head clean off, instead uncertain, trembling hands got the weapon stuck half-way — not letting him die, but not letting him live either. "That's your fucking problem now, isn't it? At least I didn't fucking know, but you did. And still — what did you hope for here, huh? What did you think would fucking happen?" bitter tongue spun cruel words into existence, fabricated them from lies to truths.

Cruel, and despicable things were her lies. Cruel and despicable like putting him on her path and expecting her not to fall for the touch against her spine that whispered safety, the brush against her arm that grounded her — offered her trust, the kind that urged her heaviest burdens, and her heaviest losses to spill out of her. The ones that twisted her, and bent her out of shape, that made her less mortal man and more his kind of beast. The kind of tenderness she hasn't known for years, and had to give up after only a moment. She couldn't mourn the loss, not when she could do something better, something familiar, that was very much her, the version of her that she'd built for years, only for him to turn into dust over a couple of months. It was him holding the stake over her, buried deep into a hollow chest. That sorry excuse of a heart that only he— Don't be fucking ridiculous, Anika.

She wanted his fury, and his hatred. Let's see how far that regret go.

Her hand swung at him, backwards with the sharp metal of the gun slamming into his cheek. Stop fucking talking. His head almost unscrewed itself right off. Burning eyes, like a forest on fire, screamed at him — to be seen, to be acknowledged for the raging disaster it was, "Fight back!" spat out, as if an order. Then she banged small, but mightily fists into him; across his chest, and over his face. Pushing him into the corner of the room, right against his door. "Fight back—" louder, like a beast. She wanted to take every broken whisper, every trusted word, every shared weakness and shove them down his throat. She wanted to fuck him over, like he had. Those kicks to the gut came quicker and harder. "I said— fight the fuck back." Anika would relish in his hate. He was right. It was better, easier— than to mourn the loss of his love.

Pain is always often sudden and unwanted. He'd known it had been the wrong thing to say when he'd fired his own bullet in their verbal tennis; competitive about match point, where he'd forgotten all his sensibilities. Entirely too ignorant to everything when there's the idea of insanity swimming around in his head. Foolishness takes precedent, kicking himself for never knowing that she'd been a fucking idiot — because regret stung like a needle puncturing his lungs; taking the breath he didn't need in a sudden flash. In those holes, blood fills the pockets of air, leaking in from the outside.

He soon knows it's the bullets ripping him open. One after the other, in a series of fireworks — bang, bang, bang — It's second nature to count them; to know how many are left in her barrel. It's almost a guessing game; how many can he survive, before one takes him entirely? But boy, does it fucking hurt.

Far more than the anguish in his chest now. No faux bullshit about weeping hearts, or how his soul is fracturing with loss. The bullets are tearing up his lungs, shattering his collar bone, and bleeding poison into all those organs that should be black and rotting. He doesn't get to say anything, other than release a sound of protest when he's kicked back. He thinks maybe, he deserves that as she peppers holes into him and sends him tumbling into the sunlight.

There's no longer discernible pain. It's simply everywhere because he's on fire. There's blood, and burning flesh. His boxers (god help him, the only thing he's wearing) are soaked in red as his skin peels away underneath the rays. There's no stopping the cry of agony as he fights to escape it, limbs aching, crumbling under the weight of a curse he's got no power over. He's lost the majority of vision, as he blinks furiously in dire hope he might find a shadow instead of the sun. Managing to roll to the other side of the apartment. He hits the wall adjacent to his bedroom; a charred, bloodied thing with bloodshot eyes. Muscles tremble as he stares at the blank of his ceiling. Tatters of skin crumble to dust where he's left them at the mercy of the morning light.

If he had any strength then, he'd have told her that he'd have known all about her tribulations because he knew her father; her story had been new, but not unknown. The fuck does he think it's going to mean shit now. Shaking and groaning as he feels the skin fight to heal; knitting over scalds and fighting off the verbena she's pummelled him with. A few bullets are in the wall behind him, clean shot through. Others, he can feel rolling around in his gut and scraping against his spine.

It takes too long for his vision to straighten, he's already flopping over, trying to push himself to his feet. Arms shaking on all fours, he manages to get to his knees, head rolling back to look at the ceiling. Exhausted, in the only way a monster can be; hungry and fighting; survival instincts want to tell him to do something. It takes everything within him, to contain it, to tell himself he isn't one of them.

You're pathetic. The voice in his head that once told himself that, is replaced by hers; it's going to be there, as his conscience, for a long time. He knows that. Weak. In more ways than Anika knows. But he's let her do this; allowed her, in his stagnant state, to land every shot without retaliation. He's said enough, before. And he's still healing by the time he plants a hand on the bullet-marked wall and claws himself up on unsettled, bloodied legs. He slumps against it, for support and whines a little too miserably as he fights for those bullets inside him, again.

He's not even looking at her, on the other side of the sunlight. Fuck you, Booker.

There's another two clatters, when he discards those bullets to the ground and remains defeatedly against the wall, hand pressed to his shoulder, one eye able to restore vision whilst the rest of him slicks over from its zombie-like decay of burns and gunshot holes. He should be dead. He knows, long ago — long after.

His question still stands; she can land non-fatal things, all day. But there's only so much they can take before it blows up in their face; as though, it hasn't already. What happened to 'I want you', Anika? You had your hand against my chest; you heard the absence of a heartbeat — he's unable to know exactly where she went wrong, in her blindness. In his, too.

It takes a while before he can speak and tolerate the pain without echoing sounds that equate to how pathetic he is. Nearly a hiss, when it's voiced: "I regret you too, don't worry." It's lingering on his head, the hope and the violent way it's torn away from him as quickly as one hand had been on a breast, to being stung in the sun. To how easy it was to kiss her after telling himself it was never his future; he didn't get to have things meant for mortal men. This is why. He's burnt his own heart and left it in need of a transplant; a waiting list, a century long. He'll never live that long. He'll never let himself. He's already dead a second time, long before ash breaches his fingertips.

The scoff is half cough, half bloodied. He spits a mouthful on the carpet next to him, tasting the copper and verbena soaking his insides, souring his system and making him desperate to lick the blood she's painted the walls with. Dignity says he needs to go to the fridge and act like she might not reload and empty another round in that goddamn fucking revolver.

He's not going to fight her. Don't be ridiculous.

"I've never hurt you," Never stabbed her (like she has to him), or left her wondering if he might. Never brought a knife to the bed, and let it get lost in the covers, like she has. Never let an unchecked hand wander, or overstep his boundaries. Like she has him. Hasn't gone through her drawers, or raided her room — like she has, to him. And for the unlife of him, he doesn't fucking understand how she can stand there, with an off-aim and tell him she'd never known. He can hear her words of twenty minutes prior; the drunken desperation; the consent, playing over in his head — the corridor when legs wrapped around his now reddened flesh, hands wandering, lips stealing —

Let it go. She cannot matter when his existence isn't for her. He doesn't endure for the sake of her, as much as he does his family. She's lying, if she doesn't understand that, he's certain. He's finding it difficult to push himself off the wall, tired muscles craving to be satiated, a raw throat as his body acknowledges that he's burned through (literally, and figuratively) the deer and the hare he's recently fed on. "As if I'm going to war with you now, Anika."

Is that what you want? "Or would that justify this for you?" Probably. He realises, as more pieces of her jigsaw puzzle slot into place. "Make it easier?" If he's the monster he guesses she wants him to be. It shouldn't make a difference to a hunter — actively committing an atrocity or not. A monster is a monster.

And he should never have truly let himself believe for a second, she'd ever see him differently. This, was inevitable.

But everything in her face and her gaze; appeared fresh again in his recalibrated vision. He swears tears bead at her ducts and the violence in her hues is burying something she never likes him to see. He always does. But that could easily have been a well-constructed lie too. He's tired of looking down the barrel of the gun, at her face; picturing how different it'd been before morning ruined them. Head lolling to the side, to survey her; he wonders how long she might stand there, waiting for a battle he doesn't want to give.

Who is the coward now, Booker?

[nine-of-needles]

[martianbugsbunny]

I would like to know what Owen Wilson's thought process was when he decided that Mobius should call Loki a pussycat in season 1, like sir that was a phenomenal decision we stan

[fingertipsmp3]

I am once again having a sexuality crisis (read: wondering if I’m a lesbian or just have been stuck in my hometown for too long yet again and therefore haven’t seen a man who doesn’t look vaguely like a fish in years)

[pigeonliker420]

whatevers wrong with this man i like it