#and i do wonder if some of this comes down to people not wanting to sympathise with a Bad Person because then it means they could be Bad

[damselneedssaving]

BATBOYS BUT THEY SEE F!STREAMER!READER PLAYING SMASH OR PASS WITH THEIR HERO PERSONAS WHILE COSPLAYING AS THEM ON STREAM.

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, did someone ask for some crack?, suggestive content (it's smash or pass, people), dirty talk, surprise surprise those boys remain majorly obsessed with you, mention of the boys getting boners, yeah... this one's not for minors, duke glows when he's flustered and it's so cute

★ A/N: this one was requested! and omg, the hero that slid into my inbox sure has one hell of a creative mind. srsly, this was such a good idea, i had to add it to the main timeline 🤭 just a heads up though, because this is suggestive content, i will not be using the taglist. i don't tag for suggestive content as i have no way of checking if you are acc an appropriate age for it or not. oh and as always, you do not need to have read the other parts of this series to get this one!!

★ F!STREAMER!READER MASTERLIST ★

Jason's mouth is dry, tongue like sandpaper as he stares at the title of your stream displayed clearly on his phone: Cosplaying as Gotham's vigilantes!

It takes no less than five seconds for Tim to come stumbling into the room.

"Did you see the stream name?!"

Jason doesn't answer, doesn't think he can. He's too busy staring at his screen in bewilderment to even begin to formulate words at the moment.

But he doesn't need to honestly, something else responds to Tim instead.

A low whistle.

Dick strides into the room. "Forget the name, did you see the thumbnail?"

As though summoned by just the mention of you (or rather, the thought of someone thirsting over you) Damian pops in not a moment after, lips pulled down into a scowl.

"Use those eyes of yours to prey on her, and I will make sure you lose them."

And then, as if to put the final cherry on top of the Wayne family cake gathered in the living room, Duke enters, all but ignoring his brothers in favour of grabbing the remote and using their amazon stick to navigate the TV to Twitch, immediately clicking onto your stream.

All of their eyes dart to the screen.

"That's right, guys! You read the stream name. Your girl's gonna cosplay everyone's favourite group of Gotham vigilantes!"

There you stand, a smile on your face and your eyes crinkled at the corners, looking just as pretty as the week before, and the week before that, and the week before that—

God, you're so pretty.

"Now, you might be wondering: say [Name], how come you're suddenly cosplaying when your channel is usually about playing video games?"

You disappear off-screen, the sound of shuffling causing the boys' saliva to roll down their throat.

"Well, my friends, to put it simply—your girl is about to head to Gotham for a Meet-N-Greet, and is hoping this stream will catch the eyes of the vigilantes there so I can gift you guys with a very special collaboration stream."

The room was already silent before, but after your words, it somehow seemed to double, the boys all staring at the screen with wide, dilated eyes.

You want to catch their attention. Beautiful, perfect you wants to collab with them. Them.

"Holy shit," Tim whispers, breathless and in that familiar daze only you can put him in.

"Fuck me." Jason runs a hand through his hair.

The stream chimes with a donation.

@/therealdamianwayne donated $15,000! They would be lucky to even be in your presence, Beloved.

You giggle, the lower half of your face hiding behind your hands as you bashfully look away from the camera. "Thanks, Damian."

The demon head's lips only quirk up even further at his brother's scalding glares.

The static sound of you clearing your throat reverts their attention back to you though.

"Anyway, does anyone have a suggestion on who I should start with?"

@/dukethomas donated $1,000! what about the signal?

The bats turn to send their daggered eyes to Duke, but he doesn't even spare them a glance, his own eyes too wide with hope as he stares at the screen of the TV.

"Oh! So glad you suggested him actually—"

Woah, woah, woah, what? You're glad he suggested himself? Holy shit, Duke thinks his heart just tried to lunge out of his chest.

In fact, he's so focused on the pink feeling that just engulfed him, that he misses the rest of what you say, and in a blink, is faced with your empty room as you disappear somewhere to change into the outfit.

And when you come back on screen? All dressed up in his metal-plated armour? With his name practically written all over you?

Well... Duke doesn't think he's ever seen such a beautiful sight in his life.

"Thomas, quit blinding me."

Duke blinks, glancing around to see his brothers squinting in his direction, faces scrunched up and mouths pulled into scowls as they regard the light with disdain like the bats that they are.

"Sorry guys." He chuckles awkwardly.

But before he can dim the glow surrounding him, your voice catches his ears.

"'Smash or pass The Signal?' Oh, hard smash."

The way he brightens next is half intentional, and half not. Half intentional because he can feel the way his pants strain against his crotch. And half not because, holy fucking shit, you said you'd smash him.

Before Damian can hiss again at his light, Duke already rushes straight out of the room.

The Wayne heir's lips pull down. "Disgusting."

@/greatestdetective donated $1,000! can you do red robin next?

In an instant, the remaining brothers turn to send the resident sleep-deprived detective very pointed glares, green radiating off them in waves as he shamelessly stares at the screen with dilated pupils.

"Sure thing!"

"You are utterly perverse." Damian points at Tim, brows furrowed and tone screaming judgement.

Tim only scoffs in response. "Oh please, like you aren't waiting just as much to see if she'd smash you."

He catches a batarang right before it hits his face.

"What the fuck?!"

Damian's teeth grind over each other. "Do not accuse me of such shallow thoughts towards my beloved."

"You almost killed me, dude!"

"And I would do it again."

"So? How do I look?"

Instantly, Tim's anger flushes straight out of his system, gaze darting to the screen as he mindlessly catches yet another batarang aiming straight between his eyes.

"Oh fuck..."

You're stood there, hands resting on your hips as you adorn his suit like it belongs on you, like he belongs on you.

His fingers move before his mind can.

@/greatestdetective donated $5,000! smash or pass?

"Geez, again?" You sweatdrop, reaching your hand behind his cowl much like he does when he's nervous. You two share nervous habits, holy shit. "Y'all will think I'm a slut for this but, I don't care. Smash."

With that, you've reduced Tim to a curled up ball, blush heavy on his face, pupils dilated to the sun and back, and mouth muttering obsessively about his love for you.

"Alright, since we're doing the boys, I might as well go through all of them before getting to the girls, hm?" You smile at the camera before sending it a little wink. "Anyone else wanna suggest who I should change into next?"

@/jaybird donated $10! red hood

Dick curses, his phone just short of in his hands as he sends a glare to a very smug-looking Jason stood with his arms crossed and his gaze trained onto the TV.

"Oh? The bad boy?" You giggle from the other side of the screen, hand cupping your mouth much like it did when Damian sent in a donation earlier, that same way the boys recognise as your signature move when you're flustered. "Sure thing!"

Needless to say, the two remaining brothers that have yet to be brought up on your stream are very much boiling beneath the skin.

Something which, is only furthered by the next thing you say.

"I don't quite have his build—which, by the way, is insane. I mean, have you guys seen the muscles on that man? Hot damn. I'd love for him to throw me around."

"Beloved...?" Damian mutters, voice wavering and pupils shaking.

Dick follows after by falling to his knees all dramatic-like, and if Tim hadn't been in a trance, and Duke was in the room rather than who-knows-where to take care of that little problem of his, those two would probably also react with just as much as despair at your words.

Jason, however, lets his jaw drop so low, flies could probably enter his mouth and choke him to death—assuming he hasn't already died from your audacious words, that is.

He's seen people thirst over him online before, of course. But for that to be you? For you to find him—scar-filled, ugly-hearted him—attractive?

Someone better pinch him 'cause he must be dreaming.

"Here I come!"

You stroll in, hands in the pockets of his jacket—his jacket—and face completely out of view, completely engulfed by his mask.

Oh yeah, he's definitely dreaming.

He blinks, watching with a dry mouth as you strike a pose.

"Well? Badass, huh?"

Badass, but, missing something.

It's okay to be a little selfish and ask for more, right?

@/jaybird donated $15! you're missing the guns sweetheart

"Oh! Right you are, Jaybird." You perk up, and the tone of your voice is enough for Jason to tell you're flashing him a smile beneath his mask. "Hope I don't get banned for this."

You disappear off-screen and reappear not a moment later dual-wielding pistols. Dual-wielding. pistols.

Holy shit, that's hot.

So hot, in fact, that Jason can feel the room getting warmer, warm enough to shrink his pants actually.

...

Oh shit.

"Barbarians," Damian starts, his tone screaming all the disgust written over his face, "I live in a house surrounded by barbarians."

Jason narrows his eyes right back at the man, but his eye-contact is swiftly broken the second he hears a—"Smash,"—coming from the TV, and his pants tighten even further.

Damian scowls in disgust.

"Right. I think only Robin's left of all the boys? Not including Batman of course."

Dick's scream breaks the other two brother's out of their staring contest.

@/sweetestassingotham donated $5,000! what about nightwing babe???

You frown at the camera, Jason's helmet now off and placed to the side, tilting your head all cutely. "Isn't Nightwing a Blüdhaven vigilante?"

@/sweetestassingotham donated $5,000! hes sometimes in gotham too :((((

You place a hand beneath your chin, gaze far-off, thinking, before you lift a finger and flash the screen a smile. "Right you are! I think I have a cosplay of him lying around here somewhere? Might be a bit small though, I remember wearing it to a costume party a few years back."

And just like that, Dick's earlier scream of dismay turns into one of delight.

"I gotta say though, sweetest ass in Gotham"—you giggle off-screen—"if we're counting Nightwing as a resident of Gotham, you've got some competition. Have you seen the cake on that guy? Ugh. Another huge smash."

Dick collapses to his knees, thanking everything that he was blessed with such a sweet ass and chose to flaunt it so that you would be able to see and notice that he is very smash-able and that you should indeed, 100% hook up with him when you come to Gotham.

Jason seems to beg to differ however, lips shifting into a scowl before a bang resounds through the room, and Dick is up on his feet in an instant.

"You just shot at me!" He points straight at the younger man, who all but shrugs in response.

"No I didn't. You were just in the way of my bullet."

Dick gawks.

Your voice sounds from the screen.

"Okay, uh, it fits, but it's a little tight, so don't make fun of me, okay guys?"

Dick's, Jason's, and Damian's eyes all instantly shoot to the screen.

You enter, hands running down the skin-tight suit on your body with your lips pulled into an unsure smile.

And as if that sight wasn't enough to bless the boys, you proceed to turn around, head tilting over your shoulder as you use the lens of the camera to check yourself out in Dick's clothes.

To check your ass out in Dick's clothes.

The sound of a camera shutter echoes through the room.

Then another. And another. And another—

Both Jason and Damian turn to see Dick with his eyes trained onto you, entirely in a trance as he repeatedly presses his thumb against the screen of his phone, each time causing the device to echo the sound of a camera shutter.

It takes only a second for Damian to lunge.

"You perverted piece of—"

Dick books it straight out of the room, and Damian goes to follow, ready to use every single technique his grandfather taught him to rain hell on his father's ward for daring to look at you in such a way, when, just like how it always does with all his other brothers, the sound of your voice brings him to an abrupt halt.

"Alright, now it's just Robin left, right?"

His eyes slowly drag themselves to the screen.

"Alright, little confession time, I've always kind of imagined how romantic it would be to have Robin swing into my room just before bed to wish me a good night," you say, and in it's in a voice that's bashful, nervous, maybe even a little embarrassed.

Oh, Beloved, you have nothing to be embarrassed of.

God, if Damian only knew of this before, he would've taken the trip all the way to your city just to swing into your window and wish you good night a long time ago.

"I don't know, I guess he's just got this charm to him."

Be still, his heart.

But how could it?

"Alright, here goes nothing. Final boy vigilante of Gotham."

Damian watches, breathless, as you step into the light like a moonbeam peeking through clouds.

You stand there, hands wound around his hood as you pull it over your head, your smile as radiant as ever and his clothes fitting you so perfectly, they might as well be yours over his.

And as you send another wink at the camera with another, simple but effective—"Smash,"—Damian's brain turns to static.

You have now simply and effectively reduced all the batboys into putty with just one stream.

And you don't even know it.

COMING NEXT -> BATBOYS BUT THEY ATTEND F!STREAMER!READER'S MEET-N-GREET.

[thescarlettbitch]

Screaming wtf why are people still liking this

Yes, this is me from 2020 - I have had a DNA test done, and no, I have no indigenous blood; at least not enough to show up and definitely not enough to claim. I was 17/18 during this and had lived a relatively sheltered spiritual life and subscribed to some of my mother's problematic ideals; such as claiming indigenous ancestry with no proof. This was also I want to say ~6mo before I learned about Inanna, just to put it in perspective.

That said - I have refrained from it. I don't touch that shit, I still have like 3 half burned smudge sticks floating around somewhere and I refuse to use it because it's not mine. It's not hard, I use other methods of cleansing and have for five years. I also still use the same basic premise of cleansing. I'm not very structured I'm just stating my intention, which often times is "get the fuck out I don't have the energy for your shit"

Now you may be wondering why I'm even bringing this up, or leaving this post up when I could take it down. Truth be told, it's important for people to see that it's not hard to go "Oh shit I made a mistake" and fix it. I've tried to fix my mother's incredibly shitty views but I'm sick of it so I'm just doing my own thing now.

I also lied? Who was my spirit guide? My Nana?? The random ass ghost my mom told me lived in our house?? I dunno, I lied a lot during the beginning of this blog. Some of it came from a place of desperation— I was desperate to seem like a "real witch" and desperate for a sense of belonging. I don't lie anymore; I'm comfortable and confident in my practice, I know I am a "real witch" and a "real pagan" I know what I'm doing and I know I'm always learning.

This blog is a time capsule that makes me realize how naive I was; and how far I have come. In this way of life you are learning constantly, and you need to be open to change.

Actual shit I said while cleansing the house:

Mom: *saying a chant that one of our friends recommended, using a feather to gently waft the sage smoke around the rooms*

Me: *waving sage around* get the fuck out of here this ain't no fucking bed and breakfast. Don't you even THINK about attaching to us either because I know a bitch who will send your ass back to wherever you came from.

My sister in law, watching this go down: what the fuck

Me, continuing: if you're a negative bitch get the fuck out. If you're a chill bitch you can stay, neutrals can stay but you're on thin fucking ice.

Edit: it has come to my attention that using sage to cleanse is a closed practice/cultural appropriation if you do not have permission to use it from an indigenous person or if you are not indigenous. I did not know this before and will refrain from using it in the future.

Smaller note, I do have indigenous blood, and one of my spirit guides (one of my indigenous ancestors) has told me to use sage, so I don't really know if that counts, and will wait until I am able to receive proper permission from elsewhere.

[levigarden999]

part 2 ♡ dumb!bakugo x reader

part 1 here ʚଓ theme : bakugo is a cute nervous wreck around u ⋆˙⟡

you had been playing this addictive, sweet little game with bakugo for weeks now.

no matter how confident or arrogant the stubborn boy was, somehow around you he lost all of his confidence. of course, he tried to act the exact same way he had always acted towards you – rude, smug and most of all just someone who was above you. however, bakugo was sure he had lost his mind. he just couldn’t be rude to you anymore and he didn’t understand why.

bakugo hated how weak and pathetic he had became. he couldn’t understand why he was suddenly so… soft? everytime you talked to him, even looked at him, his mind just went blank. bakugo felt his cheeks heating up to the point even his ears were burning – and by the way you smirked, he knew you noticed that as well.

bakugo was embarrassed. almost humiliated. as if you wanted to make him seem weak on purpose!

of course, you didn’t want that. you just enjoyed teasing bakugo now since you were pretty sure he was catching feelings for you as well. ever since you realized he wasn’t as oblivious as before, you gained confidence to approach him properly.

”hey, kats” you tapped his shoulder while walking through the hallway. an innocent smile was plastered on your face, your eyes staring up at him as if you had no idea about the effect you had on him.

he nearly flinched at your touch and with a quick movement turned to look at you. there he was again – the blood rushing to his face and making his cheeks flush with that pretty pink. you found him adorable.

”what do you want?” he scowled and pressed his lips together. he had his hands shoved deep in his pockets, but you could notice how nervously his fingers were fidgeting in both of his pockets. how could someone even be that obvious?

”you wanna come to my place tomorrow? i need some help with my quirk and since you’re so strong, i wondered if…. if you’d like to give me some advice on how to be a better fighter” you clasped your hands behind your back, the same sweet, soft smile on your pretty lips.

bakugo blinked one, two, three times, and his mouth opened a little from surprise. he once again felt his heart pounding against his chest as he stared down at you, those pretty eyes looking so wide and hopeful.

”huh? me? you want me to help you?” he asked with that raspy and bewildered tone. bakugo couldn’t understand why you, a strong hero, would need his help.

”mm-hm” you nodded and smiled wider.

he looked so cute like this, those usually so sharp and straight up angry eyes now softened and widened. you wanted to just grab him by his face and kiss those stupid cheeks and cling to him like a baby monkey.  but that would come later, you had to lock in for now.

”i- uh-” he scratched his disheveled hair, his voice lower and suddenly uncertain. ”i don’t usually help people, like, ever. but i mean, if you insist, i guess i can try. but you better listen and not be a fucking brat” he mumbled almost reluctantly, his eyes drifting somewhere else from you. he didn’t want to see the look on your face now since he had given in.

”thanks, kats! you’re the best!” you exclaimed. for a second you almost pulled him into a hug, but then you remembered, it was bakugo after all. no matter how in love bakugo would be with someone, i knew he wasn’t the type of person who would appreciate sudden hugs or affection. especially in such a public place, you wanted to respect the awkward boy’s boundaries.

”what ever” he grumbled and shoved his hand back in his pocket. he looked down and frowned, a small pout on his surprisingly plump lips. as if he was disappointed in himself by giving in to your wish. 

you chuckled. ”okay, see you tomorrow, i’ll find ya after school” you said casually and smiled while waving a goodbye. you walked off and bakugo was left there, wondering his life decisions. what the hell had gotten into him? katsuki bakugo was suddenly doing things he would never do (helping people) for a GIRL he didn’t even know that well.

[yukioos]

Heey! I love your writing so so much! Can you do something about Aizawa? :3

leaving a kiss on shota’s cheek before he teaches his class

sunlight peeked through the curtains, causing you to wince and curl further into the warm, burly arms that wrapped around you protectively. the alarm clock beside you rang loud, and the man holding you sighed, waking up from his deep sleep. he turned and turned off the alarm clock, then turned back to you to pet your hair and rub your back.

shota kissed your forehead and grumbled, “good morning,” then softly spoke, “i need to get ready for work.”

you sighed and dug yourself deeper into his grasp, emitting a sigh and soft chuckle from him. after a few more minutes, you untangled your limbs and sat up, walking out of bed to make breakfast and put on some lipstick, which you would put to use later.

not even half an hour later, breakfast was done, and shota’s feet thumped down the stairs, revealing the outfit he normally wore to the school. you already plated the food, and. both of you sat down at the table, eating together while shota spoke about what had happened in school.

“i might stay after school to help shinso with his form for fighting. he wants to train more and learn how to use his scarf,” he stated, pausing in between bites to speak to you.

you nodded, “fine by me. that boy has great potential, i’m glad you’re his teacher, shota.” you complimented.

he gave you a soft smile, and once the two of you were done with your food, he walked to your side of the table and took all your dishes in one hand, then washed them one by one. you gave a small thank you and kissed his bicep, making his face heat up.

a few minutes later, he walked near the front of the door and stepped into his boots, leaning down to kiss you on the cheek. with everything going on with the league of villains, he never liked leaving without saying a heartfelt goodbye. he never knew if it would be his last.

you grinned into the embrace he brought you into, and you rubbed your hand against his chest, softly pulling him down to give him a big, fat kiss on his cheek. it clearly left a mark, very visible, very clear that he had a wife at home.

you grinned at your work, and shota asked, “what?”

shaking your head, you spoke, “it’s nothing.” you murmured, “you’re just so handsome,” you paused. “anyway, have a good day with the kids!”

he chuckled and rubbed your cheek with his hand, speaking, “love you,” waiting for you to respond, then leaving to drive his car to UA.

you locked the door after him and laughed. you wondered how his students would react to the kiss mark on his cheek.

when shota walked into the campus, he got some weird looks from students passing by and even stares. he frowned right back at them, sternly speaking, “hurry to class.” and they would do so, sometimes even doing so much as running in the halls so they wouldn’t be late.

but when he walked into class 1-a’s room, everyone fell silent. it looked like some of the students, such as kaminari, sero, and mineta were trying not to laugh, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. those three, though not always together, were always messing around in one way or another.

shota rolled his eyes and began teaching the class during their first period, and hours passed, students from different classes joined his room and they all looked like they were trying to not look at something. maybe people were feeling off today, it was a monday, after all. students were never normal when coming back to school.

it wasn't until his lunch break that he noticed the kiss mark on his cheek.

hizashi barged into the room, yelling, “heyyyy, shota— woah!” he cut himself off, grinning wildly and placing his hands on shota’s desk.

shota sighed and asked, “what?” curious as to why he was acting weird too.

“got some lovin’ from your lady back at home, huh? must love you a lot based on that mark!” his childhood best friend exclaimed, pointing to his cheek.

shota raised his eyebrow and pulled out his phone, opening the camera app and panning it to his face. there stood a dark red lipstick shape on his cheek, from you.

he grinned and sent a quick text to you, ‘let’s try out your other lipsticks later.’

he was interrupted by hizashi’s loud, booming voice, screaming, “you’re as red as a tomato, shota! you must really love this, huh?”

shota rolled his eyes and scoffed, “shut it.”

he did indeed love it.

i’m so happy you love my writing, so i hope this is up to your expectations as well!

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

the ghost of the past. l Joel Miller

Summary: someone from the past found you in Jackson

Warnings: a bit of fluff but mostly angst, Reader is pregnant, fear and anxiety, some swearing, memories of life in QZ, talk of smuggling and life before Jackson, tears

A/N: .

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

The creaking of the stairs was the signal his brain had been waiting for, because Joel woke up immediately. His sense of survival hadn't been lulled by life in Jackson, the soft bed, and the solid meals. The room was dark, except for the faint slivers of streetlights that shone through the uncurtained windows. Joel immediately looked your way, but your spot in the bed was empty. You couldn't sleep.

The last few days had been quite busy - new renovations, the patrol had brought in a group of new refugees, they had also met a few people who wanted to get to the lower states, and Jackson was a safe stop for them.

Joel had been spending more time away from home, and you couldn't help much. So you spent your time babysitting for people who needed it, doing odd jobs. And while you didn't complain, Joel had the feeling that you were feeling more and more removed from all your responsibilities.

You had become a bit withdrawn and tense, although whenever you saw Ann or another resident of Jackson, you plastered a beautiful smile on your face. But Joel knew you, he had seen it all.

The wooden floor was cool beneath his feet as he got out of bed and walked to the door, opening it quietly. The house was dark and quiet. The stairs barely gave way under his weight, but when Joel made his way downstairs, he noticed you curled up on the couch, covered in a warm blanket.

“Baby?” he said quietly, not wanting to scare you.

A quick movement, like wiping away a tear, and then your answer. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry, Joel. I couldn’t sleep. Please go back to bed, you have a lot of work tomorrow.”

But he didn’t turn around, quite the opposite - he walked over to you and sat down, placing his hand on the couch behind you. “Is everything okay? Do you feel bad or…”

That smile again, the one made for feeling bad. “No, everything’s okay. I just couldn’t sleep, I didn’t want to wake you up.”

But it wasn’t okay. He could see it all too well, even in this bad light and this late hour.

“You know you can tell me anything? I can handle it. The good and the bad.” His voice was low, warm and soothing. Tears quivered in your eyes as you drew in a quick breath.

You hesitated for a moment. You wondered if you should hide it more, but eventually you gave in.

"I have to tell you something, Joel..."

A few days earlier.

“We met a group heading south,” Shane announced, returning home from his patrol.

You and Ann looked up from the table covered in fabric and sewing equipment. Your friend had come up with the idea of ​​sewing new bedding for the baby’s non-existent crib, and you had been busy since morning.

“Do they have anything interesting to trade?” Ann asked. “I’d give a lot for a coffee.”

You smiled. She and Joel had similar needs.

Shane poured himself some water and sat down in the armchair, wiping his sweaty forehead with his hand. The weather was really nice and spring-like, and the sun was shining brightly for a long time.

“They have some interesting things. I saw a few people have already traded with them,” he replied. His dark eyes landed on you. “You’re growing,” he noted.

“And she's glowing too.” Ann quickly added, scolding him with her gaze.

“Of course!” he laughed. “Four more months, huh?”

“Yeah, I'll look like a baby whale by the end.” You replied with a smile.

“But Joel's still thrilled. I saw him when he…” Shane trailed off, your gaze quickly landing on him. He swallowed. “Never mind.”

Ann picked up the scissors and looked at her husband. “Shane Walsh, are you sure what you were about to say isn't important?”

He nodded.

“A hundred percent?”

Another nod.

"You know I don't believe him." Ann spoke to you in a half-hearted tone and you laughed. "But he'll sing me everything, I have my ways of doing that."

"I'm afraid of you." You said quietly.

"And you're right."

It was like a sudden tsunami, but you didn't see any signs that it would hit. You were unprepared as you exited the bakery and looked up at Tipsy Bison, where a group of loud men had emerged. You didn't know them, but you recognized a few from Jackson. They had to be newbies. But one of them...

You knew that walk and you recognized that voice immediately. As if struck by lightning, you stopped, feeling like your insides had suddenly disappeared. This couldn't be true. Not here. Not after all this time.

You had no chance of escape. You had barely taken a few steps when a voice behind you sounded, sapping the strength from you.

"Oh shit, is that you?!"

You held your breath. Your fingers tightened around the handle of the basket you were carrying, it creaked. A tall man in his forties appeared right in front of you. His dark hair was streaked with more grey than you remembered. His dark eyes stared at you, a delighted smile playing on his lips.

“It’s really you,” he said, looking at you intently. He paused a second longer over his rounded belly. “And you’re… Oh, fuck.”

“Hi, Nathan.” You replied, trying to hide your nervousness. “Good to see you. Alive.”

He tilted his head, scratching his stubbled chin. “Good to see you too, honey. You look really good. Jackson, huh? You’ve come a long way.”

“Just passing through, right? I don’t think you have any purpose in staying here?” you replied.

Nathan shoved his hands into his pants pockets and looked around the main street of Jackson with a lazy smile. “We were planning on going to Mexico. I heard about a big settlement there. You know, the Zone wasn’t safe for us anymore.”

“FEDRA?”

“As well.” He nodded. “But a few other people too. Oh, honey…” You looked at him in surprise. “I missed you so much.”

Nathan Hayes shouldn’t have ended up in Jackson, and you honestly didn’t think he’d ever leave QZ if he hadn’t been forced to. He was incredibly good at smuggling, and his group dominated the zone. But somehow he ended up in Jackson, and the thought of him leaving soon gave you some comfort.

But fate wasn’t on your side, and Nathan seemed to take every opportunity to run into you in Jackson.

“I heard you live with that Miller,” he mumbled as he kept up with you as you walked down the street.

“His name is Joel,” you replied, not even looking at him, but glancing around to see if you saw anyone you knew nearby. “What do you even want?”

Nathan laughed. “I missed you. And you didn’t miss me?”

“No,” you replied quickly. “And I’ll be really happy when you leave. How long do I have to wait?”

He grabbed your elbow and stopped you. But you quickly pulled away.

“Don’t touch me.”

“You were nicer to me in the zone.” He said tartly. “And now what? Playing mommy-to-be, huh? Playing house? I saw Miller and his kid. Seriously, honey?”

You felt anger boil in your body. He was doing it again, trying to dominate you, control you again. You knew it all too well.

“It’s none of your fucking business.” You hissed. “You don’t know what Joel and I went through.”

“What we went through, huh?”

You winked. “You can’t be serious.” You snorted, crossing your arms over your chest. “What happened in QZ was just vegetation. Day-to-day living.”

“But we made a great duo, right?” Nathan smiled at the memory of those days. "You were great at smuggling. When you went with that group... Oh, honey. You broke my heart then."

You looked at him in disbelief and anger. For the second time in the past few days, he had returned to what had been, to what connected you, and he always said it with such fondness, like he really missed you. You had met him in Jackson, on the street or at Tipsy Bison. He had seen you with Joel and Ellie, he certainly knew where you lived. You felt more and more trapped with each passing day.

“Were you and him… Were you together at the time? In the zone that you escaped from?” Joel’s question was calm and quiet. He listened to you carefully, and you never said it directly.

“Not in the way I am with you, but...” you took a breath, “People knew that I belonged to him in some way, that we worked together.”

He nodded. Tess had crossed his mind. He'd never mentioned her to you, and he didn't see the point, but she would never make someone close to him feel threatened by her. And you definitely felt that way about Hayes.

"I was young. I had to survive somehow."

“Sweetheart.” Joel took your hand in his, squeezing it lightly. “I’m not judging you. We’ve both done things to survive and not all of them were great or good. What matters is what we have now.” He swallowed hard and asked the question that really worried him. “Is this guy threatening you? What does he want?”

“I have no idea.” Tears sparkled in your eyes. “But I see him every time I leave the house. Sometimes I feel like he wants me to go south with him and…” your voice cracked.

You saw a grimace cross Joel’s face. A quick shadow passed over his eyes. “You know I would never do that, right? We’re family.”

He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, murmuring quietly, “I know, I know, sweetheart.”

"I… I ran away from him. Nathan was becoming more and more ruthless. FEDRA was on his heels, and I was taking risks with every step beyond the wall."

"Did he do something to you?"

You shook your head.

"Can he do something now?"

You couldn't answer. What was going on in Nathan's head was a mystery to you. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, and soon Joel's strong arms were around you.

“I’m scared he’ll do something stupid. Hurt you or Ellie…” You sobbed quietly. “I’m sorry I’m just now telling you this. I didn’t know… I thought he’d leave me alone, but he didn’t.”

Joel kissed the top of your head, stroking your shoulder, feeling the sobs that shook your body.

He couldn't tell what was going on inside him. So many thoughts and emotions were swirling inside him, and Joel was afraid of what would come of it. He would do anything to keep you safe, especially now, when you were more precious than anything else. And for Ellie.

He didn't know Nathan, but what you said was enough for him.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name @hiroikegawa @mandaloriankait @mmmunson @grace-928 @umadirectioner

[616ioi]

❛ #PUSH! MULTIFANDOM.

────────── oh man, my first crush, what devastation .ᐟ.ᐟ

⤿ pairings. yoji uruha, kuguri (kagurabachi), shishiba (sakadays), higuruma hiromi, nanami kento (jjk), marc spector (moon knight), könig (cod), kafka hibino (kaijuu no. 8), levi ackerman (aot), shota aizawa (mha), ego jinpachi, noel noa (bllk), woo jinchul (solo leveling), kim dokja (orv), shinichiro sano (tokrev) x gn reader

⤿ contents. sub character, older man, little experience, like close to zero, drabble. this contains mature content, read at your own discretion.

⤿ thoughts. and one day, you're nineteen, and you find older men attractive.

In love with the idea of an older man with very little experience. A man who has been too preoccupied with things that it isn't a priority. Never been touched, never been kissed. Hasn't experienced anything remotely romantic, apart from a kiss on the cheek when he was like six.

He's a 30+ year old virgen!

He's a pervert.

He's sick, pathetic, a degenerate, a thirsty blood hound who can't help but have a crush on you — his new neighbor.

Ugh, it's sickening. He likes someone so young, with so much potential ahead, and much less life experience.

He tells himself to turn away.

He is in denial of you. Not so much being 'in denial', more so — refusing to push his feelings any further.

He's accepted his feelings.

Sure, yes, he does think you're quite charming. But he refuses to give in to you. To the thought of you.

No, he will never even consider you.

His spare glances and mutters should be enough to put you off, yet you still try to befriend him.

But then he dreams of you. In his head, he lays so softly against your chest, listening to the sound of you breathing, and he tries to mimic it. It's something so intimate, something so rare to him. New.

Why do his pants feel tight?

The lines near his eyes crinkle as he shuts them tightly, and his lip curls into a snarl. He feels ashamed, disgusted with himself. He's never even once thought to touch himself to someone. What does he do? What should he do? What's the right thing?

Tell him what to do with the feelings he caught.

But it only drives you to push it deeper, it seems. The way he stumbles and averts his lingering gaze when you catch him staring. He gets tongue tied trying to respond back.

His reactions are just so... cute. At least that's what you told him that night you invited him over for some dinner. You said you felt lonely, that you could bring countless people over, but they don't exactly make you feel fulfilled.

He knows this is true. There's a vent connecting your rooms. Sometimes, just sometimes, he can overhear what goes on.

And he hears you sigh, disappointed. His heart throbs at the sound, and he can't help but think that he'd be a much better replacement.

So, the rough pads of his fingers trail down his boxers as he tries to remember what you told the last guy — "Don't get ahead of yourself, sweetheart." — he thinks the guy was trying to take over your roll. He heard the guys' pleas of mercy to give him what he wanted.

Most of them did that.

"I won't give it to you until you make me feel something."

He wouldn't be like that. He would take everything you give him, even when it comes to be too much and his hips are bucking underneath you, until he's trying to push you away by the shoulders and his eyes threaten to shut, touch him while he's begging for you to give him a minute, while he passes out and you're still buried to the hilt, he'll let himself go and not think of a single thing but you.

Even when he's drenched in his own fluids — be it white and sticky, be it clear and wet that squirts out of him after he came way too many times, be it a mixture of both his sweat and drool.

He'll push through his own orgasm to make you satisfied.

He wants to be devoured by you.

He wondered how your hand would feel around his cock. Warm, you probably know what you're doing too. Would you kiss him afterward? He would, even with his semen coating your tongue. He'd clean it off for you just to get a taste of your spit mixing with his.

He isn't embarrassed by the wanton moan that escapes him as he squirms into the soaked sheets. Your name is on the tip of his tongue, it's ready to burst, he's ready to burst but he keeps some clarity to bite his tongue and force it down when he hears your car pulling up.

And he pulls away, hips thrusting into the warm air of his bedroom as his sticky hand comes up to muffle a gasp.

He'll keep on denying himself.

He wants to forget you but he can't. He'll miss you when he doesn't have you near.

He'll cry from thinking that he was yours. He never was, never will be. He knows this. You'll quickly move on, find someone your age, much more capable in satisfying you.

He can't give in.

[baronessvonglitter]

Masterpiece

Harry Castillo x f!reader | WC: 1.6K

Summary: Getting to know the wealthy man who's taken an interest in your art, you find out he has a dirty little secret.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Oral (f receiving). Fingering. Unprotected piv. Mentions of food and drinking alcohol. Exhibitionism. Harry is a gentleman with a kinky side. Could be implied he's bi. He's a little bit of a sleaze I'm so sorry. (I'm not sorry.) Reader is an artist and has female anatomy, but is otherwise not described. Reader is younger than Harry but the age is also left up to your imagination. (we find out later that Harry ain't picky.)

A/N: allow me to introduce my submission for @toomanystoriessolittletime fucking with a view smut writing challenge 🖤I have never written for a character before seeing them onscreen, so I may be way off about Harry's whole personality. I keep seeing romantic stories about him and while they're wonderful, I wanted to give him kind of a secret, darker side. While I love when he's written as a perfect gentleman looking for love, I just wanted to write him as a little bit of a sleaze. But he's a nice sleaze, I promise!

dividers by @strangergraphics 👑

FULL MASTERLIST

The best view of New York City is from Harry Castillo's Upper East Side penthouse apartment.

Below, Central Park sprawls like a lush green ocean between the steel and stone of Manhattan. The city lights frame the darkness of the park. Slow-moving traffic dots the streets with white and red and amber lights. Above, the elegant apartment buildings stand guard in the night like gargoyles, silent witnesses to the inevitable movement of time.

While the panoramic view is spectacular it's hard to focus on as Harry's large hands squeeze into your bare ass, his tongue licking wide stripes across your slit as he eats you out from behind, exploring every inch as you give a strangled moan, fingernails scraping the glass as you hold onto it for purchase. Your eyes roll back as his hands grab your ass, lifting your cheeks to get better access, stiffening his tongue and fucking you with it.

"God.. yes!" you gasp, pressing your forehead to the cool glass, not caring about leaving prints behind. You're high up enough so that people below might not see you, but there's a chance they could, and they'd see your entirely naked body pressed to the glass, writhing in ecstasy.

He's murmuring behind you, praising your taste, unable to get quite enough of you. His fingers are inside you, coaxing your first orgasm of the night out of you as his tongue flicks steadily over your clit.

"You're drenching me, sweetheart," he purrs, soft lips still caressing your skin. He rises, still behind you, to cup your chin and kiss you, your arousal still coating his mustache and lips. His free hand on your hip, he lines himself up, the tip of him tickling your still-sensitive clit.

"You want it?" he asks, gently biting down on your lip. Your reply comes hastily, a breathy yes before he sinks in, his cock buried to the hilt within your warm wetness. he starts to move, slow at first, enjoying the way you're wrapped around his impressive length.

You'd met him at a charity auction just a week ago. He'd been in a bidding war with an old and famous socialite for a piece you'd made, an oil-on-canvas that was inspired by a rainy night in Midtown Manhattan. You hadn't imagined anyone with any real taste in art would want it, but after Harry kept his paddle up, eventually winning your work and insisting he take the artist out for dinner, you got to know he was quite the connoisseur of art. Over Maine sea scallops and filet mignon you discovered Harry had a love of art, and had his own artistic ambitions when he was a younger man. 

"You should always find time to do things you love," you'd told him, sipping the finest champagne you'd ever tasted.

"I don't mind leaving some dreams in the past," he'd said, a twinkle in the handsome, brown depths of his  eyes. "Besides, I get a little painting done now and then."

By the end of the night you were sure he'd ask you to come back to his place for a nightcap. You didn't think about bringing him to yours with your roommate probably crashed on the couch watching Netflix on your tv that was held up off the floor by milk crates.

He dropped you at your apartment, only pressing a gentlemanly kiss to your hand before you left the car. Thankfully you'd exchanged numbers and hoped he'd want to see you again. That call from him came just last night. 

He'd asked you up to discuss some other pieces he was considering purchasing from a wealthy collector in Dubai, desiring your personal opinion on them. Over a couple glasses of Cheval Blanc you perused the catalog, showing interest in Harry's personal style. He embraced the new and innovative while maintaining a love for the classic and traditional. He was a bit of a mystery to you, but less so as the night unfolded.

Somewhere along the way you sat a little closer, his hand lingered longer on your knee, moving up to your thigh, and when you opened your legs slightly he took the initiative to slide his hand under the hem of your dress.

The kiss, when it happened, was soft and sweet at first, even as his thick, ringed fingers plundered your pussy, your panties hanging off the ankle hanging over his shoulder. You never move that fast, but there was something about Harry's beguiling sense of sophistication and self-worth. He went after what he wanted and what he wanted was you..

"Have you ever been painted, sweetie?" he asked, undressing you as he led you to the window.

The glass mists over with each puff of your breath as Harry pumps into you, his length dragging tauntingly along your walls, every now and then pulling out just enough to tease your clit with the tip of his cock. You mewl in response, rubbing against him as your hand reaches back and holds on to his ass cheek, grinding against him. He hisses at your needy contact and turns your head to kiss you, his tongue pillaging your mouth as he lined himself up and thrust into you again, slowly.

His name leaves your lips in a moan, clenching around him as he sheathes himself deep inside you. "You're dripping down my balls, sweetheart," he mutters in your ear, his tongue flicking out to lick it. "And you're taking my cock so well.."

You can't get enough of the filthy squelching sound you make together with each drive forward of his hips, his dick relentless as your essence cascades around his cock. "So good.. so good," you're whimpering, knees buckling as his hand comes around to tease your clit, rubbing in soft circles.

"Soaking me," he grunts, his hand pressing between your shoulder blades as he bends you over, bringing your hips back, keeping his gaze on his cock disappearing inside you then reappearing, your sweet cream ringing the base of his length as you get him all messy. "Gonna come for me, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you sob, unable to hold back as he grips your hips and slams into you. He watches your ass ripple with each thrust, his tongue peeking out between his plush lips. "Good girl.. let go for me, pretty thing."

He thrusts in deep, with intention, stilling when your pussy flutters then throbs around him, and he's tempted to flood your sweet cunt with his cum, but he closes his eyes and lets the moment of need bypass him. 

"Gonna paint you now, beautiful," he rumbles, pulling out and stroking himself while keeping you bent over. Cursing, breath catching in his throat, he paints your ass with his sticky white spend, enjoying the way you twitch with each splatter. "That's it," he growls, pumping until there's nothing left. "Stay there," he commands, finding his discarded pants and retrieving his phone. You don't know what to think as you hear the telltale sound of a photo being taken.

Harry runs a bath for you in his en suite bathroom, and you shed the plush white robe he'd given you after he'd cleaned you up earlier. Sinking into the perfect temperature water, your tense muscles start to relax. You're surrounded by luxury bath products, a Diptyque jasmine-scented candle burning demurely, and the softest L'Occitane bath oil softening your skin.

It's heaven, pure heaven.

There's a magazine rack next to the tub, and you indulge yourself in reading the latest Vanity Fair, reading an article about an actor who bears a striking resemblance to Harry.

Wearing the freshly laundered joggers and hoodie he'd set out for you on his bed, you wait in his room, your Uber ride already called. Part of you is disappointed, hoping he'd ask you to stay, but you assume he's a busy man and doesn't want to leave you alone in the morning. After he excuses himself to take a call in the next room, you meander around his finely decorated bedroom. Muted color palettes and designer brands create an aura of wealth and style. Whoever Harry hired as his decorator knew what they were doing.

There's a book sticking out from under his bed, the corner of a leather-bound album, you realize as you pick it up. You expect it's family pictures, and you smile to think you'll see a young Harry in diapers, on a school sports team, or graduating from university.

But that smile disappears.

Inside are photos of other people, nude, their asses on display just as yours was not long ago. Each one has a splattering of jizz. Checking to make sure Harry isn't coming back yet, you huddle yourself in the corner and continue to thumb through the pages. Each photo has a name, age, and date attached. There's all different types shown, all shapes of asses, all colors, even the ages are disparate. Harry's had multiple trysts and decorated his lovers in his cum. While you were in the bath he managed to add you to his secret erotic gallery.

"It's not nice to go through other people's things," Harry chastises from behind you, a musical tint to his voice. Hands on your shoulders he gently spins you around to face him. "I'm no artist in the means of Henri Matisse or Artemisia Gentileschi-"

"More like Pollock," you add.

Harry smiles. "I enjoyed painting you, just as I enjoyed painting these others." He casts a loving glance over the photos, and it dawns on you just how many there have been. 

"I trust you to keep my secret, darling. I think you will, considering how much I shelled out for your piece." His words hold no venom, only a discreet warning. "It's time for you to leave now. Your ride is here."

tagging those interested when this was just a wee baby wip: @inept-the-magnificent @milla-frenchy @bergamote-catsandbooks

@tateypots @ppascalrain @604to647 @aurorawritestoescape

@itwasntimethatdidit40

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

I just read through all the Welcome Home headcanons you wrote, and I love the amount of attention that you're giving everyone, especially Frank! I feel like he's one of the few people in Welcome Home that doesn't get mentioned often.

Anyway! I read the one where he listened to our heartbeat, and I was wondering, if maybe he'd make it a slight habit to ask to listen to it sometimes since there aren't many things that have a heartbeat. It's calming, if not a little personal/intimate. Who knows, maybe he even falls asleep like that.

Now I'm wondering who else would like to listen to our heartbeat..

I added some other neighbors learning about your heartbeat!

Frank listening to the readers heartbeat.

Heartbeat

★ When he wants to hear it, he pretends it's for his research. Frank asks politely. "I would like to hear it again. For science, of course." But over time it becomes a little routine. When he talks with you about biology, entomology, or whatever he finds interesting, it's usually done with him close to you. So he can hear your heartbeat.

★ The first time he fell asleep while listening to it was an accident. Letting his eyes close for just a second to focus on the sound. You just let him rest. Enjoying the moment of peace. When he wakes up, he's embarrassed. "Oh! I'm very sorry!" Feeling like he crossed a boundary.

Wally

★ Wally won't say much when he notices it. Simply enjoying the sound while thinking of a way to mention it. Eventually, he says something. "That sound you make, it's nice..." His words making it speed up. "Oh! Now it's faster. What does that mean?"

★ He finds it very calming. Never asking many questions and just accepting it as a part of you. Sometimes, when he listens, he taps a finger along. Trying to match the rhythm. "It reminds me of a clock." He tells you.

Sally

★ She is by far the most clueless person in home when it comes to matters of biology. Even more than Home. And that's saying something. The first time she noticed it was by accident. You had lifted her up to reach a prop for her latest play. Then she froze. "Wait. What is that?!?"

★ Sally presses a hand against your chest as you move to put her down. Then, she gasps loudly. "Neighbor, what in this wide world is moving inside you!" This was the moment you knew you were about to spend the rest of your afternoon explaining things to her.

★ When she realizes your heart never stops, Sally gets concerned. "Well, that simply sounds exhausting! Even I need to take breaks. What if it get’s tired?" If it picks up too much for her taste, she panics. "No no! I will not allow this! Go sit down."

Barnaby

★ I've mentioned this before. But Barnaby gets freaked out over the noises your body makes. Like your stomach growling. Your heart, however, is quite soothing. The soft sound of your pulse reminds him of a dogs tail wag. As such, Barnaby associates it with happy memories.

★ But if your heartbeat starts to pick up, he gets confused. What do you mean it changes? An ear twitches as he listens more closely. "Hey, hold on a sec. What's happening in there?" It catches him off guard.

Julie

★ The moment she notices it, Julie asks a million questions. Treating it as a fun little game. "Do you make it tick? Oh! It's getting faster!" Bouncing up and down as she speaks. Why didn't you mention this to her before?

★ "Okay, okay -now try running. Let's see how fast we can make it go!" Each time it changes she giggles. Pressing a hand to the side of your neck where she can feel it best. "It's kind of like a clock, huh? Or a drum." Comparing it to things she knows.

★ Your heartbeat starts to slow down as you relax. Like when you get exhausted from one of her games. This is how she knows when you need a break. Reminding you to drink some water and grab a snack. Try telling her your fine and she wags a finger at you. "Nope! I can tell when you need to rest! Sit down. I'll go grab you a soda."

Poppy

★ At first she was worried. The idea of such an important organ needing to run constantly, inside of you, makes her nervous. Especially when she thinks about what might happen if it stopped. "Oh dear... That's a lot of responsibility for one little part of you."

★ When it speeds up, she gets panicky. Assuming that something went wrong. "Oh no! Is something wrong? Do you need tea? A blanket? Tell me what's amiss, dear!" Her feathers all fluffed up. Checking you over despite not understanding your body completely. 

[kaitlyn-imagines]

hi i rlly like ur headcanons and stuff and i was wondering if u please could do like how dif mha characters react to very paranoid reader (like being scared someone’s watching them, someone’s gonna break in, ect) thank u :)

Hey, thanks!!! 🥰 That’s super sweet of you! You didn’t mention anyone specifically, so I just did the characters I had initial thoughts on! Hopefully that’s okay hehe. My partner actually struggles with a little paranoia, so I pulled a some inspo from that…!

How they react to a paranoid reader:

Katsuki Bakugo:

- He doesn’t really understand where you’re coming from, and would probably struggle to make sense of what he feels are baseless fears

- He’s of the mindset that he could just kick anyone’s ass who tries to mess with either of you, so why would anyone even try?

- He’ll be a little frustrated when he checks the house for you for the third time that week to find it, expectantly, empty

- It’s only when Kirishima talks him through it that he starts to understand—it doesnt matter if the threat is ‘real’ or not, because your body still has very real reactions and stress responses

- And he feels like an asshole for not taking your fears and concerns seriously, because god, he can only imagine how many times you felt scared or paranoid and DIDNT tell him

- And his capacity for empathy improves a bit, and he’ll be more patient when you ask him to double check that the doors are locked and the blinds are closed

- “I wont let anything happen to you.” And you know he means it.

Izuku Midoriya:

- Girl, dont scare him like that!!! lol

- If you whisper you think someone is following you guys, he’s instantly tense and on alert

- He’s lowkey got a little trauma from all the villain attacks that happened at U.A. and so he’ll take it so seriously

- Will make you guys do all these crazy bus changes and turns to lose whoever you think is following you

- After a few occasions of this, he’ll figure out that you might actually have a bit of paranoia

- He’ll bring it up to you with the gentlest of tones, asking if you’ve ever talked to someone about your fears

- He’ll encourage you to find a therapist so you can learn ways to ground yourself and cope with your fears. He’ll ever offer to do therapy alongside you in solidarity!

- He does everything in his power to help reassure you and make you feel secure. Will never be frustrated if you ask him to check things, he’s very good about it

Tenya Iida:

- He’s probably one of the better partners to help you with any paranoia

- He’s a very structured and rational person, tending to view things from a logical and objective lens

- He’ll try to help talk you down through points of reason to navigate and dispel your fears. It works maybe 50% of the time

- Before you leave the house for errands, he’ll walk with you and have you take photos of the doors all set to ‘locked’ so you can look back at them and know its secure whenever you get the itch

- Helps you ground yourself and relax your nervous system with breathing exercises and affirmations. His voice is strong and steady and it genuinely helps

- While he can’t understand where you’re coming from on an emotional level, he understands on a logical one

- And so he helps you through reason and proven, scientific ways to regulate your system and make you physically feel better

Shigaraki Tomura:

- Yeah, he probably was a big contributor to your paranoia early on…

- He definitely DID follow you and watch you… but that was just because he liked you so much! Geez… cant a guy have a crush?

- No, he’s a freak. He’s not great for your condition, definitely makes it hard to see where rational and irrational fears blur

- Especially since he’s a wanted man, you get worried that you’ll become a target by association

- He’ll tell you that your paranoia is a good thing—its good to watch your back and be vigilant! There ARE nasty people in the world who will use you and manipulate you.

- He should know, he’s one of them.

- He’d probably use your fears against you as a way to make you more dependent on him.

- “There are plenty of sick fucks out there who are itching to get their hands on you. As long as you’re around me, you’ll be safe. Just don’t leave my side…”

- Girl, run now or you’ll never have peace of mind.

[barnesonly]

Half-return

dad!bucky barnes x reader (implied)

trope: absolute angst.

summary: your daughter skips school to visit Bucky’s — her father’s — grave.

word count: 1499

A/N: Oh gods, I actually made myself cry while writing this. I imagine this happening in 2010’s, reader was pregnant when her and Steve fell into ice. I might write part two one day, let me know what you think! Also this is heavily inspired by this song.

The cemetery was quiet that morning.

No birdsong, no wind. Just the gentle crunch of gravel under small, determined footsteps. Her backpack bounced against her spine with every step, heavier than usual — not because of books, but because of the secret folded in the front pocket.

A homemade card. Pink construction paper. Crayon hearts. A little drawing of a man she never met.

She hugged her hoodie tighter around herself as she walked between rows of graves, her sneakers brushing against wildflowers that hadn’t been cut back yet. The sky hung low with heavy clouds, soft and gray, like the world was holding its breath.

She knew where he was.

She didn’t need help finding it anymore.

James Buchanan Barnes.

1917 — 1945.

Beloved friend. Cherished soldier. Never forgotten.

The letters on the stone were starting to wear a little. She ran her fingers across the name like she always did, just to feel it. She imagined his hand might’ve felt rough like the stone, big and strong and warm if she ever got to hold it.

She glanced around — empty. No one saw her. No one followed.

“I skipped school,” she said quietly, her voice too small for the sky. “I’m not supposed to. But I needed to see you.”

She sat down cross-legged in front of the headstone, brushing some leaves away from the base. Then she opened her backpack and carefully pulled out the card, like it was treasure.

“I made this at school,” she whispered. “Everyone was making cards for their dads. And I didn’t know what to do at first… but then I made this for you.”

She set it down gently against the headstone, the crayon hearts already smudging a little from the mist in the air.

“I just wanted to come alone this time… Without mommy… I wanted you to myself today.” She smiled, just barely. Her chin trembled.

She picked at a thread on her sleeve, then leaned forward like she was telling a secret.

“They gave us this math test yesterday,” she said, nose wrinkling. “I didn’t do so good.” She frowned for a second, like she was scolding herself. Then she glanced up at the headstone and shrugged.

“But… I think you wouldn’t have minded. Mommy says you weren’t great at math either.”

There was a small pause, and she plucked a piece of grass, twisting it between her fingers.

“My teacher, Miss Carr, she’s always talking about heroes. She says we’re supposed to write about one for this essay thing. I picked you.” She smiled again, a tiny, proud thing.

“Even though you’re not in any of the books at school. I had to ask Mommy a bunch of stuff so I could write about you right. I said you were brave and kind and that you protected people. And that you fell off a train ‘cause you were trying to save people. I think you would’ve liked that part.”

Her voice wavered a little at the end, but she pushed through it.

“They all picked people like Captain America… Or other Avengers… or firefighters. But I picked you. ‘Cause you’re my dad. Even if you’re not… here.”

She reached out and adjusted the card again where it leaned against the stone, like it needed to stand straighter.

“I think maybe you would’ve walked me to school. Or helped me with spelling. I bet you’d tell really funny jokes that made Mommy roll her eyes but laugh when you weren’t looking.”

A soft gust of wind blew her hair into her face, and she tucked it behind her ear absentmindedly.

“Sometimes I see kids with their dads, and I wonder if you’d be like that. Or if you’d carry me on your shoulders even though I’m not that little anymore. Mommy says you’d love me so, so much.”

Her throat tightened.

“I think I’d love you too.”

She was quiet for a long time after that. Just sitting, legs curled beneath her, fingers tugging at grass. The wind picked up a little, brushing against her cheek like a hand that wasn’t there.

Then she spoke again, even softer than before.

“Uncle Steve told me you’d always protect him from bullies when he was younger…” Her voice cracked, just slightly. “I wish you were here to help me like that now. I’d really need it.”

She blinked fast and looked up at the sky, like maybe if she didn’t look at the headstone, the sting in her eyes would stop.

“There’s this girl at school who always laughs when I get answers wrong. She says I’m weird. She makes fun of my shoes, and my backpack, and one time she called Mommy weird ‘cause she always looks tired.”

She sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve.

“I didn’t tell Mommy. I don’t wanna make her sad. She’s got enough worries. But I thought… if you were here, maybe you’d wait outside school for me. And if she said something mean, you’d just look at her and she’d stop.”

She smiled at the thought. A sad, flickering smile.

“Uncle Steve said you were like that. That no one messed with him when you were around.”

She traced the edge of the headstone with her finger again, slow and gentle.

“I really wish you were around.”

She sat still for a while, eyes locked on the card like it might fix everything just by being there. The crayon lines were running now — little streaks from the mist or maybe her fingers, she wasn’t sure.

Then suddenly, it hit her.

The weight.

The emptiness.

The truth.

Her lip trembled. She looked down at her knees, then back at the stone. And the words tumbled out in a breathless rush—broken, cracked, helpless.

“I don’t even know why I came here alone…” Her voice shook, barely holding on. “I always come here with Mommy but… I wanted to talk with you alone. I…”

Her small hands curled into fists against her jeans.

“I realized I don’t have a single memory with you. None.” Her shoulders started to shake. One sob slipped out before she could stop it.

“I don’t know your voice. Or your laugh. Or how your hugs feel. I don’t even know what your hands looked like.”

Tears spilled over now, hot and silent at first, then building until they came in waves.

“And I… I just really wanted to have one. Just one memory. Just you and me, Dad.”

She covered her face with her hands, sobbing into the quiet.

“I came here so I could pretend. Just for a little bit. That you’re here. That you’re real and you’re listening and… and that I’m not alone.”

The card fluttered a little where it leaned against the stone, caught in the wind like it was reaching for her.

She sniffled, dragging her sleeve across her face, and then — barely above a whisper:

“Mommy misses you so much.”

She didn’t look up. Just spoke into her knees, into the earth.

“She tries to be strong… but it hurts her. I see it.”

Another tear fell, but slower now. Heavier.

“She cries when she thinks I’m asleep. Sometimes I hear her say your name. Sometimes she just sits in the kitchen with the lights off.”

She looked up at the grave, eyes red and full of something bigger than a ten-year-old should ever have to carry.

“I don’t think she ever stopped loving you. I don’t think she ever will.”

She reached out again, touching the stone like it was his hand.

“Neither will I.”

She sat like that for a while — still, small, and hurting — until her legs began to ache. Slowly, she unfolded from the grass, stiff and heavy, like every part of her was tired.

She looked down at the card, bent from the wind but still standing. She knelt and adjusted it carefully, pressing a small rock against the corner so it wouldn’t blow away.

Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out something small — just a string bracelet, all crooked and uneven knots, the kind only a kid could make.

“I made this in art class,” she whispered, holding it in her palm for a second. “It’s not… very good. But it’s yours.”

She laid it beside the card, fingers lingering for a moment before pulling away.

Standing again, she looked at the grave, at the name carved so deep it would never fade. And even though her face was blotchy and red, her voice was steady — shaky, but trying.

“I have to go now.”

She hugged herself tightly.

“Mommy’s gonna be mad I skipped school. But I just… I needed this.”

A pause.

“I needed you.”

The wind rustled the trees above her, and she looked up, eyes shining.

“I’ll come back soon. I promise.”

She stepped back, wiped her cheeks one last time, then raised her fingers to her lips, kissed them and pressed them gently against his name.

“Bye, Dad.”

Then she turned. And walked away.

The bracelet stayed.

The card fluttered quietly.

And the empty grave watched.

[lovevika]

kiss it away — sevika x f!reader [1.2k words]

╰ sevika week day one: body worship | in which sevika comes home tired and you take care.

18+ - suggestive, nipple play and nothing else really happens, would this be considered sevika being submissive (like, a little, reluctantly), domestic intimacy, sevika has stretchmarks !!!! kind of post canon hence sevika's a councilor here.

sevika laid bare on the bed with her mechanical arm detached, her bedroom’s light purposefully dim, legs tangled with the sheets. it should’ve felt like any other night after work with you in her arms, except it wasn’t. it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been naked in front of you before, she had just never felt so scrutinised before. observed, admired.

sevika couldn’t remember if she had ever felt insecure of her body or the scars that marred her skin. she never really paid any mind to them, the scars rather stories that she wore on her skin. yet as you continued staring at her, straddling her lap in one of her shirts and undies, she couldn’t help but feel a bit too aware.

“what? something caught your eye?” she attempted to ask in a neutral manner but the way her voice was strained told otherwise.

“mhm. you.” a cheeky smile rested on your lips, clearly proud of making sevika flustered like this, something she’d mostly do to you.

sevika had come home rather exhausted tonight, all grouchy and fatigued, reluctant to talk. you could only figure that it was related to another meeting in the council that didn’t go well for her liking. sevika had always been like this, striving to fight for the better of everyone but some privileged people wouldn’t really agree to her words and hence she’d become like this.

you just couldn’t stand the exhaustion in her eyes when she stepped through that door tonight.

“i told you it’s not a big deal.” she sighed, her hand gently caressing your side, a silent form of gratitude.

“it is a big deal if it’s affecting you like this.” you retorted, hands reaching up to gently cradle her face. your fingers tenderly smoothed over the faded scars that were present on the side of her face while you peppered tiny chaste kisses along her jaw, the skin rougher, beautiful. she had told you about how she had gotten them long, and you couldn’t help but wonder how perfect she still was, resilient in every step, unafraid to hide them.

her face was like a map, each mark withholding a tale of its own and as your fingers travelled from the arch of her brow towards the stern lines around her lips — a comical result of frowning so much which you occasionally giggled over — you realised how you just wanted to unravel her, discover everything she had in store for you, and more. “you’re a menace.” sevika breathed out, lips twitching as your fingers found their way to them, lightly touching her bottom lip, tracing them out before toying with the labret piercing.

like a sculptor molding a beloved sculpture from their own bare hands, not caring how dirty the hands get. and heck, she would never mind your hands being the one that reshape her, make her.

“you like it.” you spoke confidently, watching her grey eyes struggling to remain open as your hand went down to gently touch her arm, squeezing the bicep, feeling the muscles tense underneath. it was clearly relaxing to her, given how her body sagged and a soft exhale left her parted lips, the fatigue draining away little by little. you were her home. “i don’t know how you do it. working so hard everyday.” you whispered, pressing a tender kiss on her temple as your hand continued to rub her arm in a soothing manner, your other hand just a touch away from her chest.

“coming back to you makes it all worth it.” her words were cut off by a hiss when your thumb deliberately pressed against her nipple, your eyes lighting up as her eyes shot up to stare at you, as if daring you to continue.

your hand left her bicep, both now gently cupping her breasts, thumbs feeling her nipples harden as you continued rolling them with little rubs. “gonna suck on them now?” her words felt more like an order than a question. you nodded, because that’s what this all was about, right? worshipping every inch of her, sucking the exhaustion from her being.

your head lowered, mouth gently enclosing around her right nipple as you begin sucking on the hard nub, feeling her arm wrap around you, your free hand still caressing her other breast, not wanting to leave it without any attention. “fuck..” she breathed out, head lolling back, her hair falling on her face. you weren’t greedy with your movements, taking your sweet time with gently nipping on her nipple before moving to the next one, sucking on it in a similar manner, making her breath hitch.

the entire time, sevika stared down at you in awe, noting your closed eyes and your lips latched onto her nipples. sevika couldn’t bring herself to feel any lust at the moment, she just felt so cared for. an act that made her heart ache with the sheer unfamiliarity of it all.

where had you been her entire life?

her throat elicited a small, almost unnoticeable gasp when you moved down through her body, beginning to pepper soft kisses on her stomach. her abs were present but had softened in the past couple months, softer. she’d been eating proper food lately by your side. soft pecks made a path down to her naval before moving to her hips where the stretch marks illustrated her skin, large and proud.

“these — you — are so beautiful, sevika.” you breathed out.

she didn’t respond, eyes averting while blood rushed to her face, ears burning hot.

a kiss on each stretch mark, compassionate as your eyes looked up at her, smiling. “please, look at me?”

her eyes softened as they met yours, her hand reaching out to gently caress the back of your head, encouraging you to continue loving her skin like this, your hands busying themselves by squeezing her thighs, almost massaging them, gently prying them open.

“my love.” sevika’s lips held a genuine small smile, a sight barely anyone saw and only you ever had the privilege of basking in its warmth, how heartbreakingly human it was.

“mhm. yours.” your lips pressed soft kisses on her inner thighs, fingers running through the thick curls of her bush — wild and untamed — just how she liked to keep it and you were not so subtly obsessed over it.

somewhere along the kisses, sevika’s eyes had started to become heavier, skin tingling from all the affection you’d just poured over her. “c’mere.” she murmured quietly, her arm gently holding you against her side as she nuzzled her head into your neck, pressing a chaste kiss there. “thank you… for this.”

you couldn’t hold back a giggle, feeling her hand slip into your shirt to feel the heat emitting from your skin. you tilted your head so you could bury your nose in her hair. “love you.” you whispered.

a pause, followed by a sleepy “i love you too.” she had to be strong for others but here, in your arms, she felt true peace.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

“Feeling lonely, hm?”

The hero didn’t burden their head with turning towards the voice. They weren’t in the mood for cruel charades.

Instead, they stared at the TV they hadn’t turned on in over a month and debated if not showing up at work would cause any huge conflicts.

Probably.

They closed their eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re ignoring me,” the villain’s voice purred. “Me.”

“You’re not real, so it’s my obligation to ignore you,” the hero said. They stared at their hands and couldn’t help but feel like their physique had changed. They didn’t seem to be as muscular as before. They didn’t seem all that healthy either.

“Not real, huh?” The villain walked towards the hero’s armchair and let themselves drop lazily. “Now that’s a bit unfair.”

“Yeah,” the hero said. They stared at the coffee table with the empty coffee mug. “Some things have been pretty unfair.”

“I thought you were supposed to ignore me.”

“R-right.” The hero looked away and once again, their heart got quite heavy. They couldn’t sleep at night, that was one of the more annoying things. Eating was also difficult, working was…unbearable. They couldn’t think straight.

And above all those hallucinations…their eyes went back to the villain who was stretching in their chair.

Usually, those hallucinations made one mistake. Or better, that part of the hero’s brain that was responsible, made a mistake. Mischaracterising the villain in such a way that the entire illusion shut down entirely.

The hero hadn’t told their doctors about their imaginary nemesis. But that was mainly because the hero would probably not be allowed to work as a superhero for a few weeks.

They clenched their fists, dug their fingernails into their own flesh.

“You look troubled,” the villain said. “Are you eating enough? You’ve lost weight.”

“I’m fine,” the hero whispered back. They looked up at the ceiling.

“You miss me.” Every single time. The hallucination said that every single time. The hero turned their gaze towards the villain’s image and stared.

“Yes, I do. So what?”

“Most people feel some sense of accomplishment after beating their enemies,” the villain said. They put one of their thighs on the other. “And two months is quite enough time to find a new enemy worth your time.”

The hero’s eyes widened.

“I don’t want someone else. And I…technically, I didn’t defeat you. I didn’t kill you, I didn’t arrest you. You just…” The hero’s throat burnt like acid and their bottom lip trembled. “…you just died.”

They swallowed the pain and leaned forward.

“Just wish I could’ve said goodbye,” they mumbled. This time, the hallucination didn’t answer. “That wasn’t fair. Our relationship didn’t deserve that end.”

“I didn’t think you’d care about the end,” the villain said.

“Isn’t the end the most important part?” the hero asked. The taste on their tongue was extremely bitter and they knew it didn’t come from the coffee they had finished an hour ago. “Either way, you are haunting me. So, I guess once again I get the worst of it all. You got the easy way out. As always.”

“Haunting you?”

“Yeah.”

“You must really like me, then,” the villain said. They chuckled sweetly, like they had whenever the hero was embarrassing themselves. For some reason, the pit in the hero’s stomach grew, that unsettling feeling spread.

The hallucination had never been cruel enough to laugh. It was such a wonderful sound that even the hero’s lips curved into a smile.

“Yeah, can you blame me? I must’ve fallen a few months ago.” Suddenly, the hallucination was quiet again.

Their eyes met and for a second, the hero swore it was the real villain in front of them. They tilted their head.

“You never mentioned that.”

“Too afraid of rejection, I suppose,” the hero answered. They shrugged. “Any rejection would have been better than this, though.”

The hallucination got up from the chair and slowly walked to the couch where the hero was sitting on.

“I would have never rejected you, you dense…” The hallucination was even capable of blushing. The hero frowned. “Whatever.”

Ultimately, the illusion grabbed them, sat down on the hero’s lap and kissed them.

It took the hero a few more seconds to realise what was really happening.

[hedwig221b]

Hi, I'm just wondering if you have any recs, where Peter is really close with Stiles? (but not romantically obv, it'd still be sterek)

Hopefully you have something, if not it's fine. (I love your recs, I discovered some of my new favs through you).

Hi! I'm so glad you found new fics through me! Here you are! Everyone is welcome to add their faves!

Divided We Stand by KouriArashi

Derek is being pressured by his family to pick a mate, and somehow stumbles into a choice that they didn't expect and aren't sure they approve of….

Whatever It Takes by Green

When Derek goes missing, Peter and Stiles have to find him.

What Goes Around by KouriArashi

"Well,” Stiles says, “if they’re going to hunt werewolves, I’m going to hunt them.” It’s a ridiculous statement from a ten-year-old, but he’s obviously one hundred percent sincere. For the first time since the fire, Peter feels life stir inside him, feels purpose. It’s kismet, clearly. He’ll never meet the child he would have had with Olivia. Instead he’s met this boy, this brilliant, determined, cynical child with a world of potential. Peter kneels down in front of him so they’re at eye level. “How do you feel about doing that together?”

Unexpected Results by pixieblade

What do you do when the people you are supposed to trust, betray you in the worst possible way? What would you do if someone offered you a way out?

Don't Fuss Over Me by Delightful_I_Am

Stiles has a pretty big secret. Peter helps him keep it.

Don't Savage The Messenge by exclamation

There is an uneasy truce between the werewolves in the woods and the humans who live in Beacon Hills, protected by a magical boundary that gives warning any time a werewolf crosses it. Then the sheriff is taken by the werewolves and his son offers himself in exchange. Stiles promises to serve the werewolf pack, not knowing what horrible use they might have for him. But it turns out his most useful skill is the ability to cross the boundary line between humans and werewolves. Life with the werewolves is nothing like he feared and the werewolves themselves are nothing like the hunters' stories would have him believe.

Quality Peter Time by lavenderlotion

At first, Peter had really just wanted to check in with the boy. But the more he thought of about the Spark, how he was suddenly part of his pack he couldn't help himself. So he insisted he take the boy shopping, he just wasn't counting on Stiles being so observant.

Eyes on Fire by Myulalie

When a rival pack goes after Scott and his friends, Stiles finds himself caught in the crossfire. With his subsequent turning to haunt him among other nightmares, Stiles has to learn how to control his new abilities and make something of a situation he never wanted for himself, much less with the tensions that linger in Beacon Hills since the awakening of the Nemeton. As he eventually figures out how to be a werewolf, he finally finds common ground with one Derek Hale, catching feelings as he goes. The unexpected alliance might be just what Beacon Hills needs to bring the established werewolf packs together once and for all.

When it Matters by DaisyBeats

Stiles accidentally calls Derek after he leaves the vet parking lot after Scott confronts Stiles about Donovan. Derek comes back for him

Baby, but my body's intact by Lord_potato

Stiles gives a weak shake in response. The protectiveness grows in him again -at this all, at the fact this man thinks he has the right to hurt Stiles, at the fact this man is going to send their bodies to Derek, at the fact he can't take Stiles' pain away- but he can't fight against the chains. or Stiles and Peter are kidnapped together

Let's get this on track by Lerya

Stiles knew that his options were limited when the world went to shit, too much of shit that he couldn't just talk his way out of. So he did the next best thing, use his magic to travel back to a time before any of this happened, hoping to get a move in to make sure that never happened. He should have known he wouldn't be alone in coming back.

Hung The Moon by BurnItAllClean (nrnyx)

Slowly Stiles got control of himself again. His heart calmed. His breathing evened out. The anger was gone. In its place, a bone-deep weariness settled. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t survive this.

[masterlist link]

[frownyalfred]

when i write something about batman with another bat there i always wonder if i write their hypercompetence and fighting abilities right. this is gonna get a little bit in the power level discussion so bear with me. obviously the character i want to win or find the solution IS gonna do exactly that... but what about Barbie? Aka Mary Sue aka Batman? In other character's comics HE'S the one they call to figure out this month's Mega Evil Planet Destroyer problem and. He does. Often. Almost every time. Superman needs a working strategy in less than five seconds? Batman's got it. Survive impossible odds daily? You know it. Find cures for incurble diseases? Why not?

So you got this guy. Who can do all that. And you have to find a way to put him into situations where the silly goose Riddler is giving him problems. And 16 year old Robin, fresh member of the Teen Titans, 3-4 years of in-field experience, comes crashing in to save the day.

I know i'm basically asking "How can you fit 80+ years of stories, at LEAST 30 of those years spent on making Batman God, into a coneivably convincing story?"

What's your approach to the nightmare that's DC's inconsistency? How do you make Batman capable and hypercompetent and keep the batfam on a believably similar level while still having a big enough gap between everyone due to experience, age, skills, etc and not throw your own story's consistency out the metaphorical window?

It’s very hard! I’m not always certain I do a good job either. But I try to find things that are realistic enough to scale down power without making him ooc. For example in borderline - Bruce is skilled enough to hunt down and find Dick when the Court of Owls took him. But even he can’t split his attention between two people at the same time. So when Damian was taken by the LoA, Bruce was in a difficult choice where he has to choose who to go after. Because even he couldn’t be in two places at once, focusing on two separate cases before sunrise.

Specialization is another thing. There are some things Bruce trained to do, and some areas he has self admitted blind spots in canon. He doesn’t like magic, for example. Most canon iterations have him training for strength instead of acrobatic ability, so while he can still flip and bend, he’s probably not bounding around like Nightwing often.

Kids vs adults - Bruce is a large man. There are situations where having Robin crawl in/etc is much more effective. Robin can be bait in a trap, etc. he can hide in things. He might have slightly better hearing due to are. There’s lots of things to use there.

Experience is another one. Sometimes it’s a double edged sword. Bruce has seen everything at least once, so sometimes he’s very (rightfully) jaded. A kid’s hope or belief might defy that experience and still be right.

When it comes to truly scaling Bruce vs the Batfamily, I always try to remember that they learned from him directly and want to be like him. Which means they’re a lot like him in every way except 1) Bruce is a better teacher than his own mentors and 2) they are limited by time/age/experience. But there will come a day where they’re at or nearly at the same level as Bruce in many respects. It just hasn’t happened yet. And that’s okay! Because by that time Bruce will be off the field.

[solarsturniolo]

Ahh, Boston. Somerville. Massachusetts.

how did i get the inspiration for some of my stories, you ask? by adventuring and exploring in my vacation spots instead of stalking and hunting down three grown men. Some people in this fandom need to get a grip on reality before karma swings on them. i’m actually at a loss for words, i don’t understand how some people can think this kind of behavior is okay.

I don’t know where they live, could not care less about where they live. I fear that’s kind of common courtesy for literally any human being. and, yes, door dashing food for them, sitting outside of their house, trying to weasel your way into their mutuals lives just to get closer to the triplets is S T A L K I N G. And, at least from the last time i checked, stalking is I L L E G A L.

This isn’t a cute “oh i just have a crush” kind of behavior. This is mentally ill and the people that have been stalking them down need to be dealt with lmfao. You wonder why they don’t open up to us about anything and why they don’t interact with us anymore, and then you go and door dash ice cream to their childhood home??? I seriously just want to hear the thought process because from what it seems, there wasn’t one.

There are two different breeds (yes, breeds) of fans in this fanbase. The normal ones who DONT stalk their every move, who DONT doxx them, and who DONT put them and their loved ones at risk. And then there are the people who take it too far and ruin it for everyone else. when i was in boston i didn’t gaf that they were there, my ass was more excited to go to the aquarium and try all of the food in the area. I don’t understand what doesn’t click for some people, and how they’re incapable of seeing when they’ve overstepped boundaries, but i think it’s time that these “fans” get a grip.

I’ll give it to you straight: Those men do not want you. They do not want to date you. They do not want to sleep with you. And they CERTAINLY don’t want someone who’s contacting one of their best friends and their brother’s ex girlfriend just to try and get closer to them. They live in LA, they are micro celebrities, and i promise that they are not swooning over a teenage girl who brags about knowing where they live.

Somerville is a public town, you have every right to visit and i highly recommend you do! It’s beautiful, they have so many cute little shops and places to eat, boston is like twenty minutes away (not even), there’s SOOOO much to do in boston, like it’s a wonderful vacation spot! But respecting someone’s privacy is important, and i was not interested in looking for them, in figuring out where they lived, in trying to see them on the street…because they’re still just people. And i fear some of yall may think they’re more famous than they actually are. What are they at like 9 pushing 10 mil on youtube? Yall…10 million is a grain of sand compared to some of these other celebrities. They don’t have body guards, they don’t have someone watching them at all times for their safety, when they are back home they are at a vulnerable disadvantage because people continue to stalk them when they have no way to protect themselves from it.

Really read what i’m saying. Really process it and let it sit and marinate in your brain. And may i just remind you, this is exactly what happened to the Dolan twins before they quit youtube. Think carefully about your actions, because they always come with consequences.

*All photos are from my trip back in december, i got so many in Boston but i could only post so many on here. i was more excited looking for fallout merch and post cards, meeting my online friend, going to places in boston, trying the food that EVERYONE raves about, and getting my photo op on than seeing three men 😭 had i seen them, i would have simply turned the other way and left*

[cecilysass]

One Hand Tied (4/13)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Tuesday morning

When Krycek returns, he can barely stand up. He’s been beaten, and badly. One eye is purple and closed tight, and there is blood streaming from his hairline in a quantity that makes Mulder uneasy. He staggers in and the door slams behind him.

“Jesus,” Mulder mutters, as Krycek hobbles across to the cot. “What happened to you?”

“Amateur hour,” sighs Krycek, lowering himself gingerly down on his back. “An overeager employee looking for information and taking advantage of me being restrained. Doing a bad job.”

Mulder shakes his head. “You’ve definitely looked better.”

“Why, thank you,” Krycek says sweetly, wincing as his head makes it to the pillow. “But I couldn’t be happier about how this has turned out, actually. And you should be, too.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That guy”— Krycek gestures towards the door—“wasn’t acting on the old man’s orders, I can tell you that much. He knows there are some openings in the organization and he’s trying to make a name for himself. So he decided to make a little after hours project of trying to get information from me.” Krycek pauses to cough, gripping his side with his good hand. “I bet that dumbass actually thinks the old man will be impressed.”

Mulder is trying hard not to have empathy for Krycek’s suffering. “What does he think you know?”

“Not relevant,” Krycek says. “What is relevant is that I sent that guy into a trap. I gave him a name, but when he goes to check the name out, he’ll find it surprising.”

“Why?” Mulder frowns. “What will happen?”

“The plan is that the person I sent him to will turn the tables on him, and use him to find this place, which will facilitate my getting out of here.”

“So you gave him the name of one of your people,” Mulder surmises. “Someone dangerous.”

Krycek laughs, then cries out and clutches his abdomen in distress. Mulder wonders if he has broken ribs. “I don’t have people, Mulder. No one cares if I live or die.”

Mulder doesn’t follow. “Then where did you send him?”

“I gave him the name of one of your people,” Krycek says. “Someone who has historically been pretty fucking dangerous, at least when it comes to you.”

“You gave him… Scully’s name?” Mulder rasps, his fists clenching.

Krycek eyes him warily. “Now be reasonable. That guy already beat the shit out of me.”

“He beat the shit out of you,” Mulder chokes, his throat tight with fury, “and you sent him … after Scully?”

“Don’t you trust her to handle herself? She’s a federal agent.”

Mulder leaps to his feet and runs to the door, lifting his palms to begin banging on it. “Hey,” he shouts. “Hey, don’t listen to him. He’s full of shit. He doesn’t know anything.”

“I don’t think that will work,” Krycek calls.

“I can tell you whatever you want!” bellows Mulder. “Come talk to me!”

“Cheer up,” Krycek says. “She may not come after you at all. She may be so furious with you she never wants to see you again.”

“She’ll come after me,” Mulder hisses. “Or she’ll try to, if you haven’t gotten her killed.”

“I don’t know,” Krycek says. “Diana’s whole thing might have worked. It’d be inconvenient.”

“What whole thing?” Mulder walks to sit down on his cot again. “What are you talking about?”

“You know. The idea that Scully would be less likely to come get you if she knew you and Diana spent the night, then skipped town without bothering to say goodbye.”

“But … Diana didn’t spend the night at my place,” Mulder says in frustration. “I mean, she did, but only because we were going over details related to her source and it got late. She stayed on my couch.”

“You’re being awfully dense, Mulder. It doesn’t matter what actually happened. Only what it looks like happened.”

Mulder swallows his anger, forcing himself to adopt a calm exterior.

“Even if she did think Diana and I slept together, Scully isn’t going to react like she’s … Scully’s not…” Mulder stops. “She’s my friend. She’s a fucking F.B.I. agent. Her feelings are … squared away.”

“Squared away, wow,” Krycek says facetiously.

“They’re not romantic,” Mulder says with finality.

“Your feelings on the other hand?” Krycek says with amusement. “They don’t seem quite so squared away.”

“Scully might be angry,” Mulder allows, ignoring Krycek’s bait. “But she’ll come after me.”

“I hope you’re right,” Krycek says, still clutching his side. “In fact, I’m counting on it.”

There’s a break in conversation, then, as Krycek seems to be silently stewing in pain. Mulder is left to ponder what Scully would do or think, if what Krycek said were true.

Oh, she’d definitely not be happy if she thought he slept with Diana, not so soon after the night at the Gunmen’s, not so soon after Fort Marlene and El Rico. She’d take that as him failing to listen to her, as him not taking her warnings seriously.

Which you didn’t, a self-hating voice inside him taunts him, whether you slept with Diana or not. You didn’t take her warnings seriously enough anyway. You still trusted Diana with important information..

He imagines her in his apartment, searching for what happened to him. He tries to guess what expression might be on Scully’s face. There probably would be a look of betrayal, as Krycek says. Anger, of course. Mulder feels a pang considering it.

But his feelings for Scully—these ever- present, dysfunctional feelings—are way more than they should be. They constitute a hole so deep there’s no bottom.

Scully’s feelings, he knows, just aren’t like that. Scully is emotionally squared away, the captain’s daughter. And even if she were upset about him not listening to her warnings, he thinks her loyalty would prevail.

Because that’s who Scully is.

**** Tuesday morning

Scully spends the morning going through Mulder’s desk at work, trying to find any sign of a plan to go out of town. He hasn’t moved everything back into the basement yet, so some of the drawers are empty. She finds a single pad of paper with a cryptic note that says “Neurologist??? 10:30 appt” in one drawer. But that could be from any time, from this week or last year or three years ago, knowing Mulder.

She finds one of his video tapes in the bottom drawer. She immediately closes the drawer like she always does, but then hesitates. Feeling like a guilty adolescent, she opens the drawer up again, pulling out the tape to examine it. On the cover is a trio of buxom women in some kind of outdoorsy adventure wear, if that includes tee shirts that appear to be cut off right under their areolas and very short khaki shorts. One of them holds an ax. Another holds a rifle. Another seems to be nonsensically sucking on a popsicle. The title is Queens of the Hard Wood, and there’s a tagline: “How much wood can they handle?”

Scully shakes her head in disapproval of the tagline; it seems like the same pun twice.

She studies the three women a little too carefully. They are posed so that between the three of them, many alluring female body parts are showcased. Two are artificial-looking blondes and one has darker hair. All have identical bodies: large, very perky, probably augmented breasts, and curvaceous rears. They have that unconvincing, slightly-ill, lips-parted, eyes-narrowed look that the actresses on Mulder’s tapes always have, like they are approaching an orgasm that makes them feel a little nauseous.

Scully wonders if women with that confusing expression is what Mulder daydreams about. If that is what gets him going. Or if, like many people, he fantasizes about the sex he had in previous relationships.

But she doesn’t have to wonder, does she? She knows what he finds attractive. Who he finds attractive. Really she should just stop thinking about this. She should stop thinking about him in this respect at all, because there’s no point in it, and there’s no future in it.

She puts the tape back and shuts the door with too much force.

***

She tries to call Diana. She doesn’t want to, but she knows she has to do it.

She sits behind Mulder’s desk with the number in front of her, clutching the office phone. Just pick it up and dial.

Scully mentally rehearses. If she calls and she hears Diana’s voice, she will gather her nerves and ask in her most disaffected voice: “Hello, Agent Fowley. May I speak to Agent Mulder, please?” If Diana gives Mulder the phone, then Scully will flatly remind him he is missing at work. No emotion. No personal discussion. He doesn’t deserve any of that. Only F.B.I. business.

If Diana says Mulder is there but not available, then Scully will leave an efficient, cool and polite message.

And in either scenario, she will have something concrete to report to Skinner.

Of course it is not that easy. There is no answer, which obviously Scully knew was a possibility.

She gets Diana’s voicemail, but she doesn’t leave a message. God knows she has left enough of them for Mulder.

***

Tuesday afternoon

Scully doesn’t bother to mention it to Skinner or anyone else in the building, but she leaves work and goes home early. She’ll continue to work from there, but she’s finding the basement office oppressive right now. All of his belongings, still in boxes, scattered everywhere. All of his little notes and files tucked away like time bombs waiting to hurt her.

She’s unlocking her apartment door when she becomes aware that someone is watching her at the end of the hall.

A young man in a black jacket, pale with dark hair. He’s gracelessly pretending to look for his keys to open the apartment door by the stairs, but she knows he doesn’t live there. And from all too much experience, she can tell his eyes are on her.

For the first time in days, she feels calm and focused.

She enters her apartment and locks it, then slips out her SIG and takes off the safety. Pressing her ear to the door, she waits a moment, occasionally peering out the peephole.

After a few moments, the man appears in the frame of the peephole, looking furtively from side to side. From what Scully can see, he seems to have some kind of small metal tool he plans to use to try to open her lock.

She frowns, her curiosity piqued. Not an especially sophisticated technique. But she also doesn’t plan to let this go any further. Replacing locks is expensive, and she already had to pay for a new one after the Van Blunt incident.

Gripping her SIG and taking a deep breath, she takes a moment to prepare herself standing at the seam of the door.

In one smooth movement she unlatches and swings it open, drawing her weapon quickly on the man.

“Freeze,” she says flatly, not even bothering to raise her voice. “I’m an FBI agent. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

She’d thought he might bolt, but he doesn’t. He stands stock still, his eyes round, his hands slightly extended to his sides with his strange little lock pick gripped in one hand.

Now that she can see him more closely, she takes in his physical appearance. He’s on the shorter side, slight of build, and she suspects she’d have a decent chance against him in a fight. He’s got closely-cropped brown hair, some scratches on his pale face. His eyes dart anxiously back and forth like a trapped animal.

“You’re an FBI agent?” he says in disbelief.

Scully’s eyes narrow. He could be some random kid looking to attack or rob her, but her instincts tell her to ask more questions.

“Get inside,” she orders, keeping her gun on him as she takes a step back and he walks through the door, which she kicks closed behind him. “Hands above your head.”

He obeys, still looking cowed for the time being. She pats him down quickly and finds a Beretta in his waistband, which she removes and tosses across the room. Then she has him sit across from her in a chair, her gun still on him.

“Don’t arrest me,” he says urgently. “I can … give you information. Just let me go.”

“What kind of information?” Scully tips her head and looks at him sideways.

The young man’s demeanor changes. He seems to relax, stretching his arms over the back of the seat and crossing an ankle comfortably over his knee, smirking a little. “I work for important people. Dangerous people. I’ve seen shit that would blow your mind, baby.”

Scully rolls her eyes heavenward. “You seemed surprised I was an F.B.I. agent. Who did you think I was?” she demands.

“Trouble,” he said, smiling. “I thought you were gonna be trouble.”

“No.” Scully shakes her head grimly. “That’s not going to be enough. And my patience is thin, because I’m having a bad week.” She fixes him with her coldest interrogation glare. “So let’s start again. Who are you?”

“My name is Sergey,” he says. “You’re Dana Scully, right?”

“Sergey,” repeats Scully. “Who do you work for? Why are you here?”

Sergey crosses and uncrosses his leg. “He told me your name. He said you were the contact.” Confusion flickers over his face. “It doesn’t seem right. You don’t seem like the type.”

Scully narrows her eyes. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” she says. “Who told you my name?”

“A bad, bad man, baby.” Sergey gives her what he probably considers a cocky smile.

“Sergey,” Scully says, lifting the SIG, “I am mentally composing a report about an accidental death in my apartment. The corpse is an intruder with intent to kill me whom I shot in self defense.”

“All right, all right, look, I’m a guard,” Sergey says, lifting his hands defensively. “A security guard. There’s a prisoner, where I work. He had information my boss wanted, the name of a contact, and I got the information out of him.” He gives her a significant look. “I got it out of him by force. And he said your name.”

“A … prisoner,” Scully repeats slowly. “You work in a prison?”

“Sort of,” Sergey says. “It doesn’t have many prisoners. Just two right now.”

She’s feeling the dread again, coming in overpowering waves. “Who is the man who gave you my name?” she says, her voice practically a whisper. “Did you get his name?”

“I don’t know if I should say,” Sergey drawls. “How do I know that—”

Scully raises the SIG towards his face. “No one in the world would question an F.B.I. agent shooting you.”

“His name was Alex Krycek,” Sergey replies quickly. “He told me you were the one who bought his nanotechnology plans.”

Scully shakes her head. She didn’t think Mulder would give anyone her name, even under physical duress. But this is puzzling. She has no idea why Krycek would name her specifically like that. It seems strange.

“Why is Krycek being imprisoned?” Scully asks.

“Something he did against my boss’s company,” Sergey says. “He sold some secrets. Nanotechnology. My boss doesn’t play around.”

“And what’s your boss’s company?”

“Some kind of global corporation,” Sergey says loftily. “Pretty important. But there was some kind of shake-up recently, because almost everyone in management is out of the company now, except my boss.”

Scully nods grimly. She knew about the mass firing at El Rico. Firing in a very literal sense. “Your boss,” Scully says wearily. “He smokes cigarettes?”

“Yeah, all the time,” Sergey says in amazement. “How did you—”

“You said there were two prisoners,” she interrupts.

“Yeah, there is another man in the same cell as Krycek.”

“Who is that?”

“I don’t know much about him,” Sergey says with a shrug. “He hasn’t been there long, and I haven’t seen him before. I don’t know why he’s there.”

“You don’t know his name?”

“Well, I remember his first name, because it’s stupid.”

“Fox,” whispers Scully.

“That’s right,” Sergey says again in amazement. “You’re a good guesser.”

***