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niceonejames7 · 1 day ago

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dogs or deers? or rats?

sirius finds out your opinion on dogs, and safe to say, he is not happy.

words: 1.1k

genre: fluff

cw: swearing(?)

a/n: reader does not know about the furry little problem yet! this could honestly be poly! marauders or sirius black x reader. whatever you prefer.

.....

This dilemma of finishing your essay had been plaguing your mind while you scribbled mindlessly on your parchment when you heard the door unlock.

"Hello-" before the words could leave your mouth, a limp body has thrown itself at you with a thump on the bed.

"Sirius, what the hell?" The words leave your mouth, but your hands find themselves in his hair as usual, removing strands of them from his face to see him more clearly. He looks up from where he had buried his face and leans to press his lips to yours. He breaks it off for a second just to say, "I missed you so much, my sweetest angel," and kisses you again.

"Oi, let us see her face too." says James as he settles himself beside Remus on the couch after he had draped a blanket over Remus. He didn't look that bad, but the tired and weary expression on his face was unmistakable.

You were treading water as you looked at Remus and extended a hand to beckon him to you, but Sirius was quick to snatch it to himself and say,

"No, first me, then you can do whatever." Sirius says as he wraps himself around you even closer, but you only laugh and say,

"Your time never ends, Sirius."

He lets out a scuff of disbelief before resorting to kissing your neck, trailing down to your shoulders, no answer to your accusation.

"What happened?" You ask James and Remus, breaking them from their conversation.

James was quick to answer, "Oh our dear Moony got himself into a tussle with this giant dog. Scratched him up a bit." For some odd reason, Remus only laughed at this.

"Oh my god, are you alright? Are you hurt?" You ask, your voice incredulous, mostly because that sounds like something Sirius, or James would do, not Remus.

Worry and annoyance both flooded your brain, but the former took over and you made a movement to get up and go towards Remus, but that was hard to do when you had a whole human being draped around you.

"Sirius, get off of me." He whined in defense and only tightened his grip and responded, "Don't worry about him, he's fine."

"I'm alright, sweetheart." Remus assures you from his seat, "And I'd rather just stretch for a while." He stretches his shoulders back and a groan of relief escapes him.

You take that as a confirmation and settle down, still skeptical of his answer. The silence doesn't go on for too long before you speak up,

"See, this is why I don't like dogs."

To someone else, it would've seemed like this was the biggest breaking news ever because Sirius stopped his ministrations and immediately distanced himself from you. Remus' eyebrows were raised with an amused smile, and James was looking directly at Sirius with a somewhat pitiful face.

"What did you say?" He asks, his voice flabbergasted.

You looked as if a deer in headlights, dumbfounded by his dramatic question,

"I said I don't like dogs that much."

"Angel, how could you say that?" He asks, his eyes holding an expression of betrayal, a bit too dramatic.

You chuckle at his question, and say,

"I didn't know you had such dispositions for dogs." Your eyebrow raised in amusement as a smile adorned your lips.

James was pissing himself laughing on the couch, his hands clutching his chest to catch his breath. You looked at him, your expression amused and confused.

"How could you not like dogs? They're-" his hands fumble around as if to prove a point, "They're lovely!" You roll your eyes, having heard that argument, as if that's enough of an explanation.

"I'm not saying they're not lovely, they're just, you know," you shrug, "not for me."

Sirius' jaw hung open in disbelief and James was now on the half on the floor and half on the couch as his laugh got higher and higher.

"This is the funniest thing I will ever witness." He struggles to get out in between fits of laughter.

"What the hell is so funny?" You asked, feeling a bit out of the loop as to why this is such a big deal.

"It's just they're so clingy, and loud and obnoxious. I just want to come home and relax, and not have someone jumping through hoops for my attention." You continued to explain yourself, looking around for answers.

Now it was Remus' turn to release a bark of laughter as he joined James in his world. Tears had formed around Remus' eyes, his face red and James' glasses were nearly falling off, but he didn't seem to care. Remus could not get over how you had just described Sirius, just in a different form.

"Shut up, you two." Sirius barked at James and Remus which only caused their joy to increase. He turned to regard you,

"Angel, take it back, say you don't mean that."

Now even you were laughing at the situation.

"Don't you think you're taking this a bit too personally?"

James was now punching the sofa cushion as Remus' head fell back, his entire body shaking with laughter, "How else would he take it?" he says, to whom in particular you're not sure.

"Well, it's because they're lovely. Dogs are great." He defends himself, crossing his arms with a huff.

"Well I'm happy you've found your passion for animals, but dogs aren't my favourite. I'm sorry, okay?"

You extend your hand to touch his face, a form of apology, but he only pulls away,

"I can't believe you'd say that to my face, angel." He put his hands in in defense, "And fuck you two, too." He says to James and Remus. Remus was wiping his tears and James was adjusting his glasses, finally breaking their spell of laughter.

Sirius had refused your affections(which he regretted deeply now), because he now saw James take the opportunity and settle himself on your lap. He was still grinning like a maniac, much to Sirius' annoyance, when he suddenly asked,

"What do you think about deers, or stags?" You stopped running your hands through his hair as pure confusion filled your brain,

"What kind of question IS THAT?" Now it was Sirius' turn to laugh, he clapped his hands in delight,

"I'm just asking! I can't have your opinion?" He says, forcing your hands to comb through his hair again, but your mind couldn't figure out how the conversation goes from dogs to deers.

"I don't know James, I don't think about deers that often."

"You wound me, princess." says James dramatically, as he imitates being stabbed in his heart.

"What about rats?" You heard from the door, seeing Peter come in. He must have heard a little bit of their conversation.

His question only confused you further, if that was even possible.

"You went from dogs, to deers, and now rats." You raise your hands in defeat,

"I can't do this anymore"

Remus throws his head back laughing, his eyes crinkled, and you think that might be the only good thing to come out of the whole debacle.

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moonlitwitchdaisy · 2 days ago

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need a bigger size

✰ summary: you’re six months pregnant and calling your husband to help you put on the jeans you just can’t seem to wear right now.

✰ warnings: MDNI!! satoru gojo x fem reader, pregnant reader, soon to be dad satoru, mentioning of sex

✰ a little note: i apologize for it being a bit short. i hope you like it. also, you can tell that i wrote this during my ovulation.

“Ugh… please, please fit. I really don’t want to buy another pair of pants.”

The sixth month of your pregnancy hadn’t exactly been a breeze. Your belly was getting bigger, and the clothes you bought just two weeks ago were barely fitting. Could a person really gain this much weight in two weeks?

As you struggled to pull your jeans up over your hips, you were truly at your limit. Moments like this made you question why you were pregnant in the first place. A simple act of getting dressed had turned into a sweaty, intense battle. You had no choice but to play your last card.

“Satoruuu! Can you come here for a second, please?”

As you kept struggling with your jeans, you heard footsteps approaching the bedroom. You looked miserably toward the door, seeing your husband with his perfect, well-kept hair standing there, giving you an amused look. You, on the other hand, had sweat-plastered hair sticking to every part of your face.

“I didn’t know you wanted to have a quick fuck so bad before we went shopping.”

Your husband was truly straightforward. But right now, more than a quick fuck, you needed to fit into these $70 jeans.

“How on earth did you think I wanted that?”

While leaning against the doorframe, Satoru walked over and stood in front of your struggling body.

“First, you’re trying to take off your pants. Second, you’ve been moaning for the past five minutes and—”

“OH MY GOD NO! I’VE JUST BEEN TRYING TO PUT ON THESE DAMN JEANS FOR THE PAST HALF HOUR, SATORU.”

The mischievous grin on your husband’s face instantly transformed into disappointment. Did he really not realize you were just trying to put on your jeans?

“So, the moans that I could hear all the way in the living room were just because of your jeans?” He sounded so genuinely let down that, as mad as you were, you felt a bit sorry for him.

“FINALLY, YOU GET IT.”

Your husband went into defense mode. “Hey, calm down, wifey. As your husband, who’s constantly thinking about wanting you, of course I’d think that way.”

“Gosh I’m so sorry. Pregnancy is really making me so irritable.” You hadn’t even realized you were yelling, and it upset you to treat the person you loved most in the world this way. All the blame lay on these cursed jeans, which had fit just fine two weeks ago.

A sweet smile appeared on Satoru’s face as he cupped your face and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. “Never apologize to me. Alright, then, let’s get these jeans on you and head out shopping!”

Satoru moved behind you and took hold of the jeans stuck just below your hips. “Okay, this might be a bit tough, but take a deep breath, baby.”

Listening to him, you took a deep breath and allowed him to work the jeans over your hips. After a few challenging minutes, he’d finally managed to help you get them on.

“You might actually be the strongest, Satoru.” As you buttoned your jeans, he moved to stand in front of you again.

“I know, sweetheart. I’m always the strongest for you and our babygirl.”

After managing to fasten the buttons, you threw your arms around his neck with a triumphant smile. “I should have stopped you from getting me pregnant that night. Being pregnant is seriously tough. I bought these jeans just two weeks ago, and now they barely go over my ass”

“You’re the one who said you’d kill me if I didn’t get you pregnant that night, wifey. Besides,” he paused for a moment and placed his hands on your full hips, giving them both a firm squeeze, “if I’d known these amazing things would be this big, I would’ve gotten you pregnant the day I first saw you.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, giving him a quick peck on the lips before turning around to grab the shirt you’d left on the bed. “Let me just put on this shirt real quick and we-”

The sound of ripping made you freeze, and your hands instinctively reached to feel the tear right where your backside was. Your jeans had split straight down the middle.

“Shit, shit, shit… GOD, I PAID 70 DOLLARS FOR THESE DAMN JEANS!” You cursed angrily at them, glancing at the rip in the mirror. Your husband, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment, was happily staring at the split right in the center of your backside.

“I guess this might be a sign that I should fuck you before we go shopping.”

Yeah, it really was, because after he finished speaking, he started kissing you hungrily. Later that day, while out shopping for baby items, you ended up buying a new pair of jeans. You just hoped they wouldn’t tear from the back after wearing them.

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

#jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #jjk satoru

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skay-ali · 1 day ago

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Tears of an angel

The idea of a Wayne reader, who was well received from the beginning at the mansion and by its members, has constantly crossed my mind. A good family relationship that took an obsessive turn, not only with his family but also with other people.

A weapon, your head felt pressed with great force, so much so that, if you didn't make an effort to keep your head up, the force would surely send you to the floor.

There were many people, an endless number of blurry faces that surrounded you, they were horrible, it made you nauseous to see them, although some were also reindeers, it was difficult for you to recognize them, not only the criminals were vile, sometimes even people who seemed normal hid big things, you learned throughout your life.

Of all the possible hostages, you were the first to be threatened, you regretted leaving your home, you should have stayed locked in the safest place you created.

Yes... you should never have gone out, all your thoughts repeated it to you, you were wrong to leave your safe space, now you were surrounded by people and criminals, when it was over the cameras and the reporters' unconscious questions would come, thousands of news stories about you, the majority that would leave you feeling bad, and the feelings of guilt that would torment you for a long time.

You inhaled air, it became difficult to breathe, if you didn't control yourself you would panic, you would create a big scene, you couldn't do that, it would ruin your image more, you were already doing it while crying silently, your appearance was horrible, your hair disheveled, makeup ruined , a red nose dripping with snot.

You were a Wayne by blood, that was proven by your DNA, along with the similar characteristics that you inherited from your paternal grandmother.

You remember having been in this house all your life, the memories related to your mother were few, mostly blurry, difficult to distinguish from your short childhood and adolescence in the care of your father, as if your mother had never existed.

Your life was almost good, although there was a gap between you and your family, you did not receive excessive neglect, hatred or jealousy from each member of your family.

You were like a rarely recurring character in everyone's life.

The bad things in your life were not reflected in your relationship with your family, that was the least of your problems, something insignificant in your opinion, with what was happening outside.

It's funny to think about it, your father, you knew very well that he thought, that you lived one of the best lives, you really did, you had a family that never mistreated you, a good home and money, many privileges hand in hand with the latest , but that great privilege brought you something bad and terrifying, something that began to rule your life.

Being part of a large family made you a target, first of criminals, who took full advantage of using you as a means to achieve their ends, from criminal minds who kidnapped you as a hostage for their evil plans, as criminals who only wanted a great reward on your head, although in the end you were saved by the city's great vigilantes or the police, nothing took away the long moments of anguish, in which you were trapped in a dirty place, full of unknown people with bad intentions, vulnerable , having a gun pointed at some part of your body.

They were very difficult moments, fear ruled you along with paranoia, you did not normalize it as part of your life even if they were constant episodes in your life, you developed a trauma, one of your defense mechanisms was to disconnect from your surroundings, letting your body lived everything and your mind turned off, everything was black or white, a great void, until they saved you.

As a helpless person, who was in constant danger and only waiting to be saved by his brave knight, even though he wasn't that bad, you felt completely useless.

Things became worse, when you started to be afraid to leave your home, you became a complete renegade, in your big stone tower, a burrowing mouse or was it a rabbit... an asocial being...

How would you not be if your second problem was that, the social ones, people who, since school, persecuted you, wanted to be your friends or so they said, like a stupid and naive girl you believed them the first time, until you saw how they abandoned you When they already got what they really wanted from your father, suddenly their friendship no longer worked and they left you, often disowning you, as if you were a bad person because of your status and money, you were not seen as a girl who hardly understood their around and that he feared society itself, each person.

You couldn't even trust kids your age anymore, they all wanted to destroy you, finish you off.

The third problem in your life, the reporters and paparazzi, who harassed you every time they could, it didn't matter that you were just a minor, they found a way to get what they wanted and make you look bad, take advantage of every part of you. , without caring about the consequences of their actions, the repercussions that occurred in your life due to their news.

The horrible photos, where you hated seeing yourself, just an imperfect and horrible being, that was you... Your last problem, you... you hated yourself, maybe you were a bad girl, someone selfish and super annoying along with all the other insults professed by people who already got something from you or never did and were no longer chasing you, useless... very useless, that you were not able to protect yourself and avoid getting into trouble, you bothered everyone, the police, the heroes, your family... all for not taking care of yourself for wanting to live a little, for being too selfish.

Not even pretty, those words loaded with a very strong poison, that many girls said to you or whispered to each other in their groups of friends, or the boys who blatantly mentioned it after you rejected them, or all the people who looked at your images in the gossip programs or magazines, when the worst photos they took of you were uploaded to gain more audience, because it turned out that you were their great gem, it was a great gossip, you became out of nowhere, the public's favorite, to get the best gossip.

That was your life, although you couldn't change it... there was a small opportunity to improve it a little. Cross saving yourself off your list, give yourself something better.

First, giving all your supposed fans a good image, being perfect in their eyes, someone with great beauty and without imperfection, a star, someone to adore.

Something that at first was only to avoid more bad photos of you and news, became an addiction, how could it not be, if when you were careless for a moment they took the opportunity to humiliate you and make you look like a horrible being again, you didn't want to be that horrible being. , not again, so beauty treatments, excessive care of your body, clothes that highlighted you better, a great activity with your followers, if they wanted that from you you would give it to them, that was the easiest.

That didn't stop you from feeling bad on the days when you were with your great confidant, Alfred.

When you saw yourself in some reflection, at times you didn't recognize yourself, who were you? What did you become? Maybe the man who always had time for you got disappointed.

But seeing your reflection, that arrogant smile, the other person who was reflected told you that it was the right thing to do, they could no longer destroy you if they thought they had everything of you, without them realizing it you would end up on a great altar, you would be far superior to everyone, Maybe then they would never kidnap you with many followers who would give their lives for you, would they defend you because you didn't want that? When your other self shook her head to the side and feigned empathy for you, her words that you should stop worrying about people who would never do the same for you.

“After all, maybe that man you appreciated a lot did something for you every time they buried your name in the mud... nope, he never did, maybe he was just pretending that he cared about you, he loved your father and your father much more your half-brothers, you were the last task on their list, you just don't want to accept it, like the stupid girl you were."

Her big arrogant smile was the last thing you saw of her.

You should never have gone out, a big party with a lot of people, the idea of showing off with all of them, showing a little superiority, having the media pleased and therefore the people, making her, your reflection, pleased, that she was happy and will no longer torment you.

Speaking of her, she was watching you, you saw her in a glass, her icy gaze, oh... she's so disappointed, you heard her words clearly.

“Oh, what a coward you are, you're seriously crying, what a crybaby baby you are, making yourself look ridiculous in front of all these self-centered people, a couple of photos like that and you'll please all the people who want to see you in a bad way.”

“pathetic, very pathetic, maybe that's why you are never someone your family appreciates, remember their faces the few times you spend with your family, they pretend to be fine, but in reality they only put up with you... just because they can't get rid of you”

His cruel taunts were very painful, like thorns, he knew very well how to attack you.

You closed your eyes, squeezing them as tight as you could and covered your ears, you didn't want to hear her anymore. In a few minutes you were white, far from everything. Batman and Superman along with their companions appeared to control such a commotion, although it would be easy to control the criminals there were many hostages in danger.

An extremely complex job, it was even more so when Bruce and his children saw who one of the hostages was, you.

Determined to save you, they entered one of the last rooms, only to find everyone alarmed, some alarmed and others watching somewhat shocked.

A large pool of blood and a man on the floor, one of the participants in the crime, and near the man, a woman, difficult to recognize due to the blood on her face, who brutally attacked the dead man on the floor. Her thin heels crushing the man's skin, again and again.

I wish, Bruce, I had never been able to recognize that person, that deranged young woman, who madly attacked a person with a smile. Where his little smiling daughter had gone, who always visited him or tried to spend more time with him or her brothers.

Normally I like to make a prologue and depending on the reactions continue the story. In addition to developing the yandere little by little, I simply felt that this story needs a little more things before starting with the yandere

#yandere dc #x reader #yandere batfam #yandere platonic #platonic batfam

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not-available-for-comment · 11 hours ago

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THANK YOU SO MUCH. The attempted rehabilitation of Mrs. Bennet by fandom drives me bananas. My own mother occasionally lacked the awareness to make things easy for me socially but she was NOT a horrible selfish grasping shrew. There is a HUGE DIFFERENCE. The text is clearly and explicitly portraying a bad mother, and showing how her own irresponsible choices make everything worse.

My own mother had a different kind of bad mother herself, so it has always bothered me the degree to which people want to make excuses for mothers specifically, as though bad fathers are the only kind of bad parent that exists. Mothers can also be bad parents and it’s ok and in fact important to acknowledge that. Yeah our parents (even at times our fathers!) have pressures on them that aren’t obvious to us as kids, and I’m extremely aware from personal experience of what those pressures can be. But even people who are making bad parenting decisions for understandable reasons are bad parents. In an IRL situation it is ok to say well clearly you were a bad parent during this period but as an adult I’ve decided to forgive you and continue having a relationship with you and that’s ok too! That’s allowed and is a rough approximation of how I’ve chosen to approach my relationship with my own most difficult parent.

But Mrs. Bennet is fictional. You’re not gonna hurt her feelings by failing to show up for Christmas dinner. She is trapped in amber during the period in her daughters’ lives when she was probably least nurturing and most difficult to deal with, and acknowledging that is honest and hurts no one. A lot of defenses of her boil down to “yeah she was awful but you have to understand that she was worried for her daughters’ future”. To which I have 2 things to say:

Clearly not fucking worried enough, since she chose living vicariously through Lydia and indulging her own tastes over her daughters’s material benefit with incredible consistency.

This argument makes my skin crawl due to how often I see it applied to similarly selfish mothers IRL. We have a wider culture of excusing unhealthy maternal behavior because “her heart’s in the right place”. You know what after a certain point the placement of your goddamn heart doesn’t matter anymore. If you’ve gotta fake good behavior then just do that and leave your hazy grasp of anatomy out of it.

I know this is ranty and less articulate than the posts above, but I think you could argue that this conversation highlights a maybe under appreciated way that Austen is still relevant in the modern era. Yeah there are a lot of differences in culture between her time and ours, and the process of looking for a partner is typically pretty different. But this book also asks the questions “what is a ‘good’ marriage, and what are ‘good’ parents in the context of looking for a spouse?” And provides a really interesting gallery of options in response to both questions. Is Darcy a good ‘parent’ to Georgiana? Who is a better parent to Lydia, Darcy or her own parents? Is Charlotte’s financially advantageous marriage a ‘good’ one? Should her parents have allowed it? What about Mr. and Mrs. Bennett’s? And while Charlotte’s choice is I think probably viewed a lot less sympathetically now than it would’ve been at the time, I’d be fascinated to know how this conversation compares to Mrs. Bennett’s reception at the time of publication. A good marriage looks different now, but good parents? Oh now that conversation is as old as the hills…

For the past several years (and perhaps longer) in the P&P fandom I've seen a lot of people who want to rehabilitate Mrs. Bennet: like, sure, she's uncouth and seems greedy, but it's because she cares so much about her daughters' futures; her situation is actually really stressful and uncertain and she's powerless to change it and her husband makes fun of her, and so it's natural that it would cause her to be anxious all the time; maybe she doesn't have the intelligence or social awareness to understand that her behaviour is actually harming her daughters' prospects, but at least her heart is in the right place.

I'm usually not the type of person who argues that fandom is actually being too nice to a female character, but in this case I don't buy the counter-narrative (which I think is popular enough at this point to be fanon / a narrative in itself) about Mrs. Bennet.

For one thing, she was never really powerless in this situation. These people are rich even for gentry. Mr. Bennet's income was always good, at 2,000 pounds per annum (even though I can't believe he isn't neglecting some practices that could raise it higher). Mrs. Bennet had 4,000 pounds from her parents and a further 1,000 from Mr. Bennet. Invested in the 4 per cents (for example), this is 200 pounds per year in pin money that Mrs. Bennet could spend without touching the principle of her dowry, and without affecting Mr. Bennet's income. This is more than some people's entire yearly incomes.

The picture of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet that we get in P&P is not of people who are helpless against their circumstances, but of people who are extraordinarily neglectful. We're told that:

Mr. Bennet had very often wished, before this period of his life, that, instead of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum, for the better provision of his children, and of his wife, if she survived him. [...] When first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was held to be perfectly useless; for, of course, they were to have a son. This son was to join in cutting off the entail, as soon as he should be of age, and the widow and younger children would by that means be provided for. Five daughters successively entered the world, but yet the son was to come; and Mrs. Bennet, for many years after Lydia’s birth, had been certain that he would. This event had at last been despaired of, but it was then too late to be saving. Mrs. Bennet had no turn for economy; and her husband’s love of independence had alone prevented their exceeding their income.

We also know that the "continual presents in money which passed to [Lydia] through her mother’s hands," plus her allowance and food, amount to about 90 pounds per year. Rather than saving up from the beginning in case the entail is not broken, rather than beginning to save once it's clear a son will not arrive, rather than making Jane's dowry the full 5,000 from her mother (which would be something) and saving up for the younger girls' dowries thereafter—which is what would be typical, and that's why Lady Catherine was so shocked that all the girls were out at once—Mrs. Bennet's housekeeping, dress, the girls' allowance, presents of money over and above their allowance, plus whatever Mr. Bennet is spending money on (and other expenses relating to servants, carriages, maintenance &c. which are unavoidable), add up to their entire income. The only reason why Mrs. Bennet doesn't overspend even that is that that's where Mr. Bennet puts his foot down.

Mrs. Bennet is actively harming her daughters' prospects, not even of marriage, but of living respectably if they don't marry, because she doesn't have the temperance not to spend all of the income that is allotted to her. It is the role of the woman in a marriage to take charge of the housekeeping, servants, cooking, furniture, and all expenses relating thereto (plus certain attentions to her tenants and any living in genteel poverty in the area, though presumably this will depend on her income and whether there's a parish church with a parson's wife who's doing some of these things). She's an adult who should be competent to manage these things in a reasoned way without needing to be dictated to.

It is supposed to be the role of the woman in a marriage to take charge of her daughters' education—and yet Mrs. Bennet did not hire a governess, and Elizabeth says that she didn't spend much time teaching her daughters anything (it's not clear to what degree she's educated herself). Granted, the girls did have masters—but, from the sounds of things, that was only if they requested them. No one was required to learn much of anything, which will probably further harm the marriage prospects of the girls who "chose to be idle."

I think the "point" of Mrs. Bennet is that she is one half of one type of bad marriage which the novel illustrates, in contrast with the Gardiners' marriage. These marriages are two possible models for the Bennet daughters to look to. At one point, Elizabeth's prospective marriage is explicitly compared to her parents', with her in the role of her father: Mr. Bennet says "My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life" (emphasis original).

We might wonder whether Elizabeth saw herself potentially in the role of her father, in a marriage that was very intellectually unequal, when she rejected Mr. Collins; or whether she also saw herself in the role of her mother, married to a man who insults and doesn't respect her, when she rejected Mr. Darcy. Ultimately, she accepts Mr. Darcy after she realises that he is nothing like her father; that he is diligent in attending to his responsibilities, and that he does evidently respect her mind.

This isn't me defending Mr. Bennet, who is also a bad parent and a bad spouse. I do, however, find it a little disturbing when people suggest that Mr. Bennet is at fault for not controlling or curtailing his wife. His wife is a grown woman. Surely we don't actually believe that a situation where a man is legally in complete control over his wife, merely because he is a man and she is a woman, is in any way natural, moral, or just? (This also goes for people who suggest that Mr. Bingley needs to get his sister 'in line' 😬😬😬.)

Mrs. Bennet should be competent to manage her household and her daughters. Given that she's not, yes, Mr. Bennet, according to Georgian and Victorian ideas of the role of a man in a marriage, "should" have stepped in and started dictating to her. But I don't really think that's what Austen is suggesting went wrong here. The models of good marriages we have—the Gardiners, the Bingleys and Darcys after their weddings—are all ones in which the women were basically sensible people to begin with. In the latter two cases, we are told of particular ways in which the men stand to benefit from some mental quality of their future spouse (Elizabeth's good humour and ease in company; Jane's steadiness and determination).

The ideal which some Georgians had of a husband's role being to shape his wife's intellect doesn't seem to be what's being advocated here. If Mr. Bennet made a mistake, it was in marrying a silly, selfish, ill-tempered woman to begin with, not in failing to browbeat her into submission once he found out that she was silly, selfish, and ill-tempered. The idea is that you should choose your spouse carefully. But that message doesn't work if Mrs. Bennet is just a woman in a difficult situation who has her heart in the right place.

#pride and prejudice #p&p #rocky rambles

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magnetothemagnificent · 2 days ago

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This is possibly a stupid question, but it's been bugging me for longer than I'd like to admit:

When a Jewish person passes, I see other Jewish folk says "May his/her/their memory beca blessing".

My glaring question is this: Is that appropriate for me, a gentile/goy (no idea what to call myself) to say that? Or should I just stick with "May he/she/they rest in piece"?

Silly question, I know, but it's been on my mind for a long while.

Not a stupid question!

A lot of Jews don't like it when a non-Jew says "rest in peace" about a dead Jew, and would definitely prefer to hear "may their memory be a blessing". I personally don't think it's inappropriate for you as a goy to say "may their memory be a blessing" and I think it's really touching that you thought about that. As for other Jews, Jews aren't a monolith. I think a lot of Jews would agree with me but if you encounter a Jew that would prefer you say something else about their deceased loved one, obviously you should respect their wishes.

As for what you should call yourself, 'gentile' or 'non-Jew' is perfectly fine! 'Goy' is more of an intracommunity term and there's a history and present day issue of non-Jews who are antisemitic supremacists calling themselves goyim specifically because they think it's a slur and that they're oppressed by Jews. (See 'Goyim Defense League', for example.) So because of that, I and many other Jews are uncomfortable when goyim, well, call themselves "goyim".

#jumblr #antisemitism #judaism #jewish culture

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eu-nicola · 6 hours ago

Text

never enough

summary: Rafe and you share a connection that has always bordered the line between friendship and something deeper. Despite knowing that loving him is a game of risks, you cling to the intensity of his company. Rafe makes you feel alive, even when his love arrives with scars.

warnings: idk

word counter: 2862

author's note: english is not my first language

tags: @rafegf-real

The sun was streaming through the curtains in the room, illuminating the messy edges of your bed. It was a new day on the Outer Banks, but there was something different about the air, something you could only describe as a whisper of what has always been between you. You and Rafe Cameron.

For as long as you can remember, Rafe has been a constant in your life. You were no stranger to his fame on the island: the troubled boy, the son of the powerful Ward Cameron. But, to you, he had always been something more. There was a complexity to him that few bothered to see, an invisible pull that always brought you back to his side, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

That morning, your phone vibrated on the nightstand. Rafe’s name flashed on the screen, a reminder that even when you tried to keep some distance, he always found a way to get past your defenses.

“Breakfast at the dock?”

It was his usual way of starting the day with you, as if you both didn't have a history full of moments that neither of you wanted to name. Moments like the time when, after one of his most intense arguments with his father, he appeared at your window at midnight, seeking comfort. Or that time when his hands lingered a little longer on your waist while you were dancing at one of the many parties on the island. Neither of you mentioned it afterwards, but the weight of what was left unsaid always lingered.

You arrived at the port, and there he was, leaning against his motorcycle, with that arrogant smile that only he could effortlessly sport. Your steps slowed down, but your eyes couldn't help but search for his. There was always something in his gaze, a sparkle that he only reserved for you.

"I thought you weren't coming," he said, although you both knew that you always came when he called.

"And letting you have breakfast alone, who would you take it out on then?" you answered, trying to keep the lightness in your tone.

He laughed, that kind of laugh that felt like an escape, and walked over to you. There was something about the way he closed the distance between you that always made you hold your breath. There was nothing particularly romantic about that gesture, and yet, every time he did it, you felt like the world became a little bit smaller, leaving room for just the two of you.

“Come on,” he said, taking your arm with a familiarity that bordered on intimacy.

Breakfast was like any other, filled with jokes and sarcastic remarks.

After breakfast, the two of you headed to his bike. As you climbed onto the back of his bike, the familiarity of the contact with his back hit you. There was something addictive about the feeling of being so close to him, the engine roaring beneath you, the wind blowing away any rational thought. You gripped his shirt tighter than necessary, as if that could keep you anchored in a world where he wasn’t always a storm.

Rafe led you to a secluded path near the beach, a place you had both frequented since you were kids. No one would find you there, which made it perfect for those moments when neither of you wanted to face the rest of the world.

Upon arriving, he got off the bike and leaned against a large rock, lighting a cigarette. You watched as the smoke rose in spirals, his sharp features bathed in sunlight.

“You know being with me isn’t going to get you anywhere good, right?” he said suddenly, his tone low, almost a whisper.

You stepped closer, crossing your arms as you looked at him. You knew there was truth in his words. Loving him was like walking a razor’s edge; one wrong step and everything could fall apart. But you also knew that the intensity of his love, of his presence, made you feel alive like nothing else.

“I know,” you finally admitted, your voice firm. “But I also know that I prefer that to a life without feeling. And you… you make me feel.”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, it was like time stood still. There was a weight in his gaze, a mix of desire, pain, and something deeper that he’d never been able to put into words.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I do anyway,” he said, throwing the cigarette to the ground and crushing it with his foot.

You moved closer, your body now just inches from his. You could feel the tension in the air, the electricity that always seemed to exist between you. You lifted a hand and placed it gently on his cheek, forcing him to look at you closely.

“We all have scars, Rafe. Mine don’t scare me,” you whispered. “But I don’t want you to keep running away from what we feel.”

His lips curved into a half smile, though his eyes were still filled with uncertainty. Rafe had always been good at hiding his emotions, but with you, it was different. You could see the cracks in his facade, and every time you did, you found yourself wishing you were the one to save him, even though you knew he didn’t want to be saved.

Suddenly, his hand moved to your waist, pulling you towards him. His fingers pressed lightly against your skin, and for a second, everything else stopped mattering. Rafe looked down at your lips, as if he was weighing whether to cross that line once more.

“You’re too good for me,” he murmured, his voice husky.

“I don’t care,” you replied without hesitation.

And then, as if finally giving in, he leaned his head down and kissed you. It wasn’t a soft, delicate kiss; it was a clash of pent-up emotions, of desire and desperation. His lips were insistent, almost possessive, as if he wanted to mark you, to make sure you knew what you meant to him, even if he could never put it into words.

Your hands found his hair, tugging lightly as his arms wrapped around you tighter. Everything about him was intensity, as if he wanted to absorb every part of you in that moment. But there was also a vulnerability in the way he held you, as if he was afraid you would pull away.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing heavily. Rafe rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as if trying to hold on to the moment.

“This is what scares me,” he admitted in a whisper. “I don’t know how to not screw this up.”

You took his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you again.

“You don’t have to be perfect, Rafe. You just have to be you. And I’ll be here, even when things get tough.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, you thought that maybe, just maybe, this scarred love might be worth it. Because, despite everything, Rafe Cameron made you feel alive, and that was a risk you were willing to take again and again.

There was something in the air when you were with Rafe. A raw, intense energy that made you feel more alive than anything else had ever managed. When you were with him, every emotion was amplified; every brush of his skin against yours ignited a fire that consumed you completely. But that love, so fierce and visceral, also came with scars.

That night, he had come home late, stumbling slightly, his eyes red and a trace of regret marked in every line of his face. You knew what was coming before he even opened his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, stopping in the doorway of your room.

His words were familiar, as were the promises that accompanied them. “I’m sorry” was always followed by his need to fix it, to make you feel like you still loved him, despite everything. You looked up at him, your eyes filled with mixed emotions. You had cried before he arrived, silent tears at the way he always found a way to hurt you, whether it was with sharp words or the shadows of other women. And yet, there he was, begging you to forgive him.

“Why do you always come back here?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “Why do you come back to me, Rafe?”

He didn’t answer right away. He took a step toward you, his gaze catching yours, as if he were looking for a way to explain something that even he didn’t fully understand. Finally, he said,

“Because you’re the only thing that makes me feel real.”

Your chest tightened at those words, that naked confession he would never make to anyone else. And you knew, with every fiber of your being, that it was true. No matter how much he ran away, no matter how much he sought comfort in others, he always ended up coming back to you, as if you were his only refuge in a world that he himself had turned into chaos.

He moved closer slowly, his shaking hands finding yours.

“I know I hurt you,” he said, his voice cracking. “But I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to love you without scarring you.”

His words were like a knife, but also a promise. There was something about his vulnerability that completely disarmed you. You felt each of his flaws, his mistakes, like a shared burden. But you also knew that, despite the pain, you couldn’t walk away from him. Rafe was both your storm and your refuge. A love that lifted you up and consumed you at the same time.

“I don’t hate you for what you do,” you finally said, your voice firm though your eyes shone with unshed tears. “I hate you for how you make me feel, even after everything.”

Rafe lowered his head, his lips brushing the back of your hand with a tenderness that seemed almost impossible for someone like him.

“Let me fix it,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Let me prove to you that I’m still worthy of you.”

Your breathing quickened as his hands moved to your waist, gently pulling you towards him. You felt the urgency in his touch, the desperation of a man who feared losing the only thing that gave his life meaning.

“Rafe…” you murmured, but your words were caught in your throat as his lips found yours.

The kiss was anything but gentle. It was a storm, a hurricane of emotions that left you breathless. His mouth moved against yours with an almost desperate intensity, as if he wanted to etch you into his skin, to make sure you knew how much he needed you. Your hands found his hair, tugging lightly as he pressed you against the wall, his body enveloping you in searing heat.

Every touch, every kiss, was a mix of love and penance. Rafe knew he had crossed boundaries, that he had hurt your heart in ways that might never fully heal. But he also knew that, in moments like this, he could redeem himself, at least for a while. And you, despite everything, let him.

His hands slid down your back, caressing your skin with a gentleness that contrasted with the intensity of his kisses. He lifted you slightly, whispering your name as if it were a mantra, as if that could repair every crack he had caused. And in those moments, when both of you were wrapped in the purest intimacy, all the pain, all the scars, temporarily faded.

Rafe loved you with the same intensity with which he consumed you, and although you knew it was a dangerous love, you couldn't help but surrender to him. Because, despite the scars, he made you feel alive. And in a world full of shadows, that spark was all you needed to keep going.

Weeks passed, and though each night Rafe slipped by your window felt like a new beginning, the cycle never changed. During the day, he was the same again: the boy who moved from girl to girl, who sought in others what, deep down, he knew only you could give him. You saw him at parties, his arm around some new conquest, and you felt a part of you break every time his eyes didn’t seek you out in the crowd.

But he always came back. At the end of the day, when the world was dark and silent, it was your name he whispered, your window he knocked softly. And you, despite the pain, always let him in.

That day, after one of those parties where you’d seen him with another girl, something inside you finally gave in. You were in your room, the dim light from the nightstand illuminating the space as you sat on the bed, your hands shaking with frustration and sadness. You didn’t want to open the door for him this time. You wanted to scream, to break something, to make him understand how much it hurt you.

But when you heard the knock on the window, your body reacted before your mind. You walked over to it, your steps slow and heavy. When you opened it, Rafe was standing there, his hair messy and his eyes downcast. There was a trace of guilt in his expression, but also something deeper, something you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Can I come in?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You didn’t say anything, just stepped aside. He walked in and stood there, looking at you as if trying to find the right words. But there were no words that could fix what you were feeling right now.

“I can’t go on like this,” you finally said, your voice cracking.

Rafe looked up, surprised by the harshness in your tone.

“I’m tired, Rafe. Tired of being your refuge when the world turns its back on you. Tired of seeing you with others and pretending I don’t care. Tired of loving you more than you love me.”

Tears began to roll down your cheeks, and this time you didn’t try to stop them.

“I want you to love me, Rafe. I want you to need me, not just in your worst moments, but always.”

Rafe took a step toward you, but you held up a hand, stopping him.

“I’m broken, Rafe. Every time you leave, you leave a part of me behind.” And I don’t know how much more I can take.

For a moment, silence filled the room. Then Rafe slowly approached, ignoring your raised hand. His eyes were filled with something you hadn’t seen before: fear.

“I need you,” he said, his voice shaking. “I need you more than I’ve ever needed anyone.”

His words hit you hard, but they didn’t stop hurting.

“It doesn’t seem like it, Rafe. Every time I see you with someone else, I wonder if I’m enough for you.”

Rafe shook his head, his hands finding yours with desperate urgency.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice firmer. “There’s not going to be a time in my life when I don’t need you. You’re my constant, my only refuge when everything else falls apart.”

His words made your tears flow harder, but this time you didn’t stop them. Rafe pulled you to him, enveloping you in a hug that was both comforting and heartbreaking. You could feel him trembling, his own eyes wet as he rested his forehead against yours.

“I know I hurt you,” he admitted quietly. “I know I’m a mess and you deserve better. But I can’t imagine my life without you.”

You clung to him, your hands gripping his shirt tightly. You wanted to believe him, you wanted to think that this time it would be different. But the pain was still there, a constant reminder of the wounds he had left behind.

“I don’t want to be your refuge if you can’t be mine too,” you whispered.

Rafe nodded slowly, as if he understood the magnitude of your words.

“I want to be. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to prove to you that I can be.”

Silence filled the room again, but this time, it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was a silence filled with unspoken promises, with hopes that you both knew would be hard to keep.

That night, when Rafe kissed you, it was different. It wasn’t the kiss of someone seeking comfort, but of someone willing to fight for what really mattered. And as his lips moved against yours, a small spark of hope began to burn in your heart.

Maybe this time, the scars could start to heal.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader

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homesick4la · 16 hours ago

Text

pushing it down and praying (part one) — hamzah

contains: a little cheating..smoking, some nsfw content but nothing crazy

summary: after half a year of no contact, you run into your ex at a party.

a/n: kinda got this idea from the lizzy mcalpine song bc i am obsessed with it. so listen if you haven’t lol. also i decided to split the fic but it’s only gonna be two parts!

it’d officially been six months since you and your ex boyfriend went no contact.

the first few months were hell for you.

of course, you went through the stereotypical phase of eating ice cream and crying to rom-coms directly after your break up. but that short-lived phase gradually shifted into one that was much more melancholic once the two of you decided to go no contact.

everyday that you woke up, you were engulfed by an emotional numbness. a dull pain that served as a constant reminder of your grief.

you were grieving what the relationship was and what it could’ve been.

you had always envisioned your future with hamzah in it which is why the lack of communication between the two of you left you absolutely soulless.

you had never experienced such an intense love before him. everything was picture perfect in the beginning. it was even better than the movies.

but after three years, the miscommunication between you to became destructive.

things that should have been minor disagreements escalated into full blown arguments. you’d yell over each other, ignoring each other’s feelings and growing overwhelmingly defensive.

eventually, it became exhausting. you were both so angry all the time and too stressed with work or school to address it properly.

ultimately, you two mutually decided to call it quits. additionally, you later agreed that going no contact would be the best option for both of you.

now, half a year later, you were finally trying to move on.

after reading an endless amount of self-help books, you learned that after experiencing every stage of relationship grief (which you had), you theoretically should be ready to search for love again.

despite your reluctance, your best friends had forced you to join all the dating apps- urging you to hook up with someone new to get your mind off your ex.

it took days of swiping left on men that were literally the epitome of a walking red flag for you to finally find a man suitable enough to go on a date with.

his name was matthew. he recently graduated from college and instantly started a 9-5 working in finance. he spent his free time hiking. he had a golden retriever.

he was kind. he was stable. but he wasn’t hamzah.

you two had gone on a few dates. you had even hooked up after a couple of them.

as guilty as it made you, each hook up was spent closing your eyes- imagining hamzah on top of you. that it wasn’t matthew deep inside of you but it was hamzah; the one that knew your body like the back of his hand and knew just how to please you every time.

you were giving your all to this “moving on” stage but you simply weren’t satisfied.

that being said, when matthew had asked you to attend an old friend’s party with him on your last date, you politely agreed.

now here you were, shuffling through a crowd of sweaty bodies with a man that barely knew you guiding you by your waist.

“how do you know the host again?” you ask, nearly yelling over the music that was blasting through numerous speakers.

“he’s a friend from my hometown, remember? from ottawa?”

“right, right. i remember now.” you look up at him. you did not remember.

you two make your way into the kitchen. he pours shots of vodka into red solo cups and hands one to you.

you feel the familiar burn of alcohol stinging your throat as you down the shot.

“you look gorgeous tonight by the way. forgot to tell you earlier.” he tells you, running his hand up and down your waist.

hamzah would’ve told you earlier. he would’ve been kissing up and down your neck before you even finished your makeup while getting ready. reiterating how beautiful you are each time his lips left your skin.

fuck. there you go again. comparing everything matthew said or did to hamzah.

he’s not in your life anymore, you think to yourself. it’s time to get over him.

“thank you.” you answer matthew, mustering up a smile.

“you ready to go meet my friends?”

“yeah, let’s go! i’m excited to meet them.” you were lying straight through your teeth. but you continued to put on this enthusiastic act simply because he was nice.

he leads you to the main room where you meet a couple of his hometown friends. one named kyle. another named josh.

they were essentially carbon copies of matthew. frat bros that grew up and became finance guys.

you quietly listen as the boys catch up on one another’s lives.

until something, someone, catches your eye.

hamzah. he was across the large room with his back faced toward you. but it had to be him.

you could recognize the shape of his shoulders and you knew that those dark curls stuffed under a camo hat could only belong to him.

you stomach drops. somehow, you had never ran into him since the breakup.

the sight of him mixed with the alcohol made you sick to your stomach.

“hey”, you tap on matthew’s shoulder. “i’m gonna go find a bathroom real quick.” you explain.

“okay, just come find me when you’re done.” he replies before resuming his conversation with his friends.

you turn around, walking in the direction of a long hallway that you knew must have a bathroom.

you turn the doorknob of the first door you find and miraculously, it is a bathroom.

you clutch onto the counter, letting out a sharp exhale.

one of your hands grips to your stomach while you continue taking deep breaths.

in for 4. hold for 7. out for 8. you repeat.

a breathing technique that hamzah had taught you.

you hear the doorknob rattle. before you can say anything, the door is being launched open.

“oh shit! sorry!”, you hear a familiar voice as the door is being pulled closed again. “wait- y/n?”

the voice belonged to mandy. hamzah’s bestfriend’s girlfriend. you forgot that her and martin were from ottawa. they must’ve known the host of the party.

she steps inside, shutting the door behind her.

“are you okay? what’re you doing here? i haven’t seen you in so long.” she pulls you into a hug.

“yeah i’m here with some guy i’ve been seeing. but i saw hamzah and just needed to take a sec.” you explain during your embrace.

she pulls away, looking in your eyes.

“did he see you?”

“no, he was facing the other direction.”

“oh okay”, she nods and looks down.

“yeah. i haven’t seen him since we ended things so, it gave me a bit of panic attack.” you chuckle awkwardly.

“i’m sorry, y/n. break ups suck.” she pauses, “when i went through my first break up, i saw my ex at an amusement park about a month after. and i got so upset, i threw up in front of one of those stupid basketball games where you can win a big teddy bear.”

you laugh at her story, “seriously?”

“yes! it was so bad, the worker ended up giving me one of those huge bears out of pity!” she exclaims.

once your laughter dies down, mandy breaks the silence once again.

“he still talks about you, you know. every once in a while.”

every once in a while. you had thought of him every single day.

“every once in a while?”

“yeah. seems like most of the time it’s too hard for him to talk about. but sometimes, he can’t help himself.”

maybe he did think of you as often as you did.

“anyway”, she continues, “whose this new guy?”

she smirks teasingly.

“ugh. mandy, he’s so boring! but he’s so nice! he’s just- he’s nothing like hamzah. i don’t know- he’s really sweet, it’s just not, exciting? i guess?”

she nods. “well, if you want my advice..i say you shouldn’t stay with someone just because they’re nice to you. a lot of people are nice. only a few people will make you feel ‘sparks’ or whatever.”

you nod understandingly.

god you missed talking to her.

“i gotta get back to martin but if you want to talk to hamzah, he went out on the balcony. and let’s not have to run into each other at a random party to catch up again, ‘kay? text me.”

“okay.” you hug her tightly, “we’ll go for coffee soon.”

she smiles before exiting the bathroom.

you look into the mirror, trying to decide if going out on the balcony is a good idea.

“fuck it.” you whisper to yourself.

you didn’t know when you’d ever get the opportunity to speak to hamzah again. you had to go out on that balcony.

you walk out of the bathroom, sneaking past matthew who was still deep in conversation.

turning the corner past the main room, you find the sliding glass door to the balcony.

there he is. alone. sat on the small balcony, lighting a joint that hangs between his lips.

with his camo hat he wore a pair of dark wash jeans and white t-shirt.

you take a deep breath before reaching to slide open the door.

his head instantly whips towards you, his eyes widening a bit.

“hi.” you break the silence. you feel awkward. what are you supposed to say to someone you’ve been completely heartbroken over for the last six months?

“hey.” his eyes soften as he speaks.

“i, um- ran into mandy. she told me you were out here.” you explain to him.

he nods slowly. “come sit.” he pats the space on the floor next to him.

you do as he says. plopping onto the ground and pulling your knees to your chest.

he takes a drag from the joint between his fingers before pulling it out and handing it over to you. you two had shared a joint countless times during your relationship, making the action feel natural.

you bring the joint to your lips, sucking on it for a few seconds before blowing out the smoke and handing it back to him.

“how’ve you been?” he asks.

his voice was calm. you wondered how he could act so nonchalant in this situation.

“i’ve been okay. school’s been stressful.” you say, trying to avoid ranting about the emotional turmoil you’ve experienced since you two separated. “how about you?”

“good. just working a lot. martin and i upload multiple times a week now and run the merch ourselves so it’s been busy, but it’s fun.” his face lights up as he talks about it. he’d always been passionate about his career.

“that’s great, hamzah. i still remember when you had him up on that cracked screen just to have him on the pod.” you laugh.

“oh god, it was a shit show trying to get that thing to run properly.” he chuckles at the memory.

it falls silent for a moment.

“you still gonna become a journalist?” he asks, cocking his head to the side while looking at you.

“that’s the plan, yeah.” you answer.

“good. you were always good with words.”

“yeah?” you smile.

“of course, it’s why i was always calling you smarty pants.”

you chuckle at the nickname you’d forgotten about.

“i thought you were calling me that because of my attitude.” since childhood, you were teased for being bit of a know it all.

“i mean- yeah that was part of it.” he laughs, “but it was mostly because of that big brain of yours.”he taps his pointer finger to your temple.

“well, i don’t feel very smart these days.” you admit. “my grades have been slipping.”

“seriously? how come?”

“just had a rough last couple months.” you try to remain vague.

“your new guy not keeping you happy?”

your eyes widen. how did he know about matthew?

“did you see me with him inside?”

“yeah. i was about to walk into the kitchen when i saw you two together.”

you exhale deeply. “oh, uh. sorry about that.”

“answer my question, y/n.” his voice was low, serious.

“what?” your voice tinged with confusion.

“are you happy?”

you think for moment. you could lie, tell him you’re happy, let him believe that you’ve moved on. but everything in you wants to be honest with him.

“i’m trying to be.” you respond quietly before taking the joint from his hands and up to your mouth once again.

his eyes were glued to you as pushed the smoke from your mouth, like he was studying your face.

“that guy’s not right for you.” he shook his head as he spoke.

“hamzah, you don’t know him.” you’re not sure why you feel the need to defend matthew but you do.

“i can see what kind of guy he is—the kind that can’t even begin to grasp the complexity to you.” he explains.

“you’re high, hamzah. and you’re jumping to conclusions.”, you shift your position on the ground, “based on looks, might i add. didn’t they teach you not to do that in elementary school? the whole don’t judge a book by its cover thing? did you tune that part out?” you say as you stand from your spot. it pained you how well hamzah could read people- how accurate his description of matthew was.

“baby all this rambling makes it seem like you’re avoiding the truth—that he’s not good enough for you. and you’re not happy. i mean has he even noticed how long you’ve been gone?”

you forgot how stubborn this man could be.

you let out a defeated sigh. “it’s none of your business, really. and you’re right, i’ve been gone too long. i should get back to him.”

you steal the joint from his hand and take one last drag before you start to walk back towards the sliding glass door. you hear hamzah rise to his feet behind you.

“y/n, wait.”

you turn around, facing towards him again. “yeah?”

“i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have said that.” he apologizes.

“s’okay.”, you shrug your shoulders. “it was nice running into you.”

he nods agreeably.

you turn back around, beginning to accept that this was it. your last few seconds with him before you were back to no contact.

your hand reaches the sliding glass door, about to pull the door open when you hear hamzah’s voice once again.

“y/n, don’t go.”

don’t go.

“what?” you question, furrow your eyebrows.

he takes slow steps toward you, ditching his joint by throwing the remains of it to the floor.

he keeps walking towards you until you’re just a foot apart. he grabs your hand, pulling you to him and shifting your bodies so your lower back rested the black metal railing of the balcony as he stood directly in front of you.

his face was inches from yours. you could so easily lift your head and kiss him.

“come back to my apartment with me.” he whispered.

“why would i do that?” you replied, feeling the pace of your breath quicken due to the close proximity.

“because you miss me.” the corner of his mouth upturned into a cocky smirk. “and i miss you.”

you were speechless. all you could do was stare into his eyes, trying to decipher whether or not those words had actually just left his mouth.

you swallow harshly before speaking, “i’m here with someone else, hamzah. i’m going home with him.”

you try to stand your ground, but god you wanted to give in.

he scrunches his nose and shakes his head as he places his hands on the metal railing behind you, trapping you between his arms.

“but he doesn’t know you like i do.”

before you can respond, you feel his fingers brush your hair away from the side of your neck.

he places his hands on waist as his head falls to your neck, his plump lips hovering above your skin. your head instinctively leans to the side, giving him full access.

“does he know how much you like being kissed right here?” he whispers softly, feeling his lips move on your skin as he speaks.

he presses his lips to place where your neck and shoulder meet, remembering how much this spot had an effect on you.

you shut your eyes in utter satisfaction. you hated how much of an effect he had on you.

you bring your hands to his neck, then weaving your fingers through his curls as he continues kissing, sucking, and nipping at the sweet spots on your neck.

his hands float down, gripping onto your hips- another minuscule touch that he knew drove you crazy.

with his hands on your hips, he pulls your bodies closer. suddenly, the thought of matthew has completely vanished. you’re completely caught up in hamzah, and it felt so good- indulging in his recognizable scent and familiar touch.

you let out a soft moan as his hand falls to your ass, grabbing it shamelessly.

“hamzah, hamzah— i can’t, we can’t do this.” you say breathlessly, using your hand to tap on his chest.

hamzah steps back, his breath unsteady as watches you carefully, his gaze lingering on your lips. for a moment, you think he isn’t going to say anything— that he was just going to turn around and walk away.

but then he leans, his voice low “meet me outside in five.” his tone carrying both a question and a promise.

you feel a rush of nerves as he walks away, opening the sliding glass door and slipping back into the crowd.

you stay out there for a moment, catching your breath.

you shouldn’t go. you know you shouldn’t.

but you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you.

a/n: yuppppp part two coming very very soon and it’s gonna pick up right where this leaves off. sorry if this is long and boring, tbh i just needed something to distract myself from everything going on lol…k bye muah

#hamzahthefantastic #slushy noobz #hamzah x y/n #hamzah imagines #hamzah x reader #hamzah fic #hamzah #Spotify

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biteofcherry · 2 days ago

Note

Happy Wetnessday 💦

Let's play with your professor universe but put you in it.

You're the new chief of staff and so far you really like your new position but you can't help but notice that almost all professors are insanely handsome. At a staff party you get to know some of them better, which of the three flirts offer to get to know each other better in their office to you take follow there?

International relations professor Ari, who has been eye fucking you all night

Law professor Andy, who straight up told you he'd like to fill you and watch it drip from between your legs for the rest of the party

Criminal defense professor Lloyd, who told you he's not a one pump chump like the others here and would ruin you forever

So who do you follow? Or are you holding out for another professor?

xoxo Wetnessday anon 💦

Wetnessday Anon, my beloved naughty enabler! 💖😁 Hope November treats you well!

When you started this ask with let's play with professor I was instantly giddy 🤭 Let's play with him, let him play with us, yesss.

Picking Ari would be my usual way, especially with the recent fluffy Ari 2.0 look that Chris is showing. He's always a great choice, so flirty and seductive and irresistibly hot. You know that he'd get you all worked up just from the way he looks at you, how he says your name, how he licks the rim of his glass suggestively while holding your gaze.

Professor Lloyd would be a wild choice, but perhaps that's what you actually need? You're dealing with those stuffy professors on a daily basis, who have sticks so far up their asses and know clit only from a poster in biology class, but would sooner die than touch it. Lloyd is not one of them. He's incorrigible, playful and so crass, but damn it wets your panties.

But right in the middle of my period I'm horny for some strict, mean fucking and professor Andy gives me that vibe 🥵

He looks fluffy and charming, can act that easily, but when it comes to taking your body, he's a mean, merciless fucker. He told you he wants to bend you over his desk, fill you and watch it drip out of you.

Your brain ceased to function for a split of a second, no coherent words coming to the front to object.

When you finally opened your mouth, about to scold him for the inappropriate behavior, Andy put his finger to your lips.

"Save it," he reprimanded you, instead. "You may think it's best to play the part of a proper lady, but what you need is to be taken hard and filled like a cumhungry slut."

Your pussy clenched; heat flooded you.

You still managed to frown at him, but your eyes shone with pleading need. It blew your pupils wide, glazing your gaze as Andy pushed you down to your knees in the semi-darkness of his office.

He ordered you to open your mouth, not an ounce of soft coaxing in the way he gripped your jaw and tilted your head as he fed you his thick cock.

"Such a needy slut and yet so untrained." Andy hummed when you gagged.

"Don't worry," he cupped both sides of your head and held you in place, showing no mercy as you choked and your eyes teared up.

"I'll train you."

He promised the same later, when you were hanging off his massive desk, your body limp and twitching as he twisted his thumb into your tight asshole while your pussy leaked his cum.

With a growl of approval, Andy watched a thick dollop of white cum spill out as he smacked your ass. You moaned, your hole clenching tightly around his thumb.

"What a dirty girl," he mocked, twisting the digit in your rim.

"Stuffed full of cum and getting turned on from her tight ass being played with. You're making a mess in my office." Andy's low grunt resounded right next to your ear as he pinned you down with the weight of his body, his beard grazing your tear-streaked cheek.

"Leaking your juices and my seed onto the floor and my shoe. You're gonna be a good little cumslut and clean it all."

#Wetnessday Anon #reply #Andy Barber x reader #Andy Barber x you #Andy Barber imagine #professor!Andy Barber #Andy Barber smut

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tuiccim · 23 hours ago

Text

We're Gonna Burn (Part 2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Smut, Sex Pollen, Non/DubCon (because sex pollen), enemies to lovers.

Summary: When an exposure to a strange powder makes you feel as if you're burning to death, your only relief is in the person you hate the most. Now dealing with the aftermath makes you question everything.

A/N: Hi friends! Thanks so much for your patience. We lost my mother-in-law last month and it's been a difficult time. But, I've got part two up and have got a good head start on parts 3 and 4. Hopefully updates won't be so far in between. As always, I have to say a special thanks to my beta reader @whisperlullaby who is also my hype princess and most darling friend. I hope you enjoy!

We're Gonna Burn Masterlist

In the two days since you returned to the compound, you had rarely left your room. Your body was incredibly sore the first day but it had started to lessen. You were glad the medbay kept a supply of morning after pills. Dr. Miles, your most trusted doctor, had examined you after the fact and said that you should be fully healed in a few days. The examination was a necessary requirement but it had felt like yet another invasion.

Your emotions were a mess and the doctor had suggested a visit with a counselor to help you work through them. Now, you were starting to wonder if she had been right. Compartmentalizing wasn’t working, you had strange dreams, and your mood was all over the place. You had avoided everyone while you were off-duty to heal. The thought of facing any of them, especially Bucky, made you sick. By now, you were sure they all knew what happened. Bucky had probably gloated that he had-

You couldn’t even finish the thought and shake it away. When you filled out the mission report, you had simply stated that there was an exposure to an unknown substance that had caused a short-lived fever. Quarantine and a battery of tests had cleared you to return home to the compound. The only person who knew what happened was Dr. Miles and Bucky, of course. Your gut clenched whenever you thought of him, which was often now. Hell, it had always been often. You had been enthralled by his story and excited to join the team. Unfortunately, he had proven to be nothing like you imagined. He seemed to hate you from the moment you were introduced. His comradery with your other teammates was fun and friendly, but with you, he was always scowling and defensive. You had given up after a few attempts at striking up a conversation. He had shut you down and moved away every time.

And now, you’re a notch on his belt. Not that either of you had chosen it. It was just horrible luck- or was it? Had he purposely led you to that lab? Had he known what was there? What would happen? No, you stop yourself from spiraling. Even if he was a jackass, he wasn’t that kind of person. He had been just as surprised and affected. The thought of how affected he had been made you clench. You hated him but, fuck, that had been the most amazing sex of your life. You wondered if it was the drug or that thick-

Stop it! You hate him! You yell at yourself in your head. You felt concurrently turned on, ashamed, and angry. It was frustrating and eating at you.

Thinking of eating, your stomach rumbles. It was late and you thought it would be safe to make a quick trip to the kitchen. You had exhausted the supply of snacks in your room and needed some real food. Peeking into the hall, you find it empty and quietly make your way to the kitchen. You make yourself a plate and raid the pantry for more snacks. As you were tip-toeing back to your room you saw Bucky coming out of his room at the other end of the hallway. He froze when he noticed you and watched as you made a mad dash for your room. Inside, you try to calm your rapidly beating heart. Tears streamed down your face for some reason you couldn’t pinpoint. You set everything on your desk and crumpled into a ball on the floor. You rocked as you tried to calm yourself while also berating yourself for your weakness. It was just sex. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like you wanted it or even asked for it. It was just a mutually agreed upon need.

All your rationalizations did nothing to stop the surge of emotions taking over. So, you decided that maybe Doc was right. You needed to talk to someone. Someone to help you sort out your own feelings. You just hoped that you could feel normal again because, right now, you are not yourself.

–

Bucky stared at the space you had occupied a minute ago. He hadn’t seen you since you’d returned from the mission. You hadn’t been able to look at him in the small amount of time you were together during exfil. You’d both been put through quarantine and testing. He had no long lasting effects from the exposure but he knew you had to be bruised and sore from the experience. He felt immensely guilty about that but he could no more have stopped what was happening than you could. Sometimes he wondered if he could have even if it wasn’t for the pollen, it was the best thing he’d felt in seventy years. You were so soft, wet, and perfectly tight.

Berating himself as he felt his body react to the memories, he reminded himself that you hate him. You had good reason to. He had been an absolute ass since you joined the team. Hethinks about his terrible behavior. He didn’t like new people to start with and then, out of seemingly nowhere, you were put with the team. It roused his suspicions and he viewed you as a potential threat. So, he had questioned your every motive, idea, and process. He wanted to hate you but the more he saw your work with the team and interactions outside of it, the more he found you intriguing. Rather than apologizing or correcting his behavior, he had doubled down. He couldn’t explain it but some small, stupid part of him had hoped that this incident would create an opening for him to reconcile with you but now you couldn't even look at him.

Who could blame you after the way he had treated you? Both before and during. He had been lost in the feeling and had stopped fighting the effects of the pollen the first moment he entered you. Hell, he hadn’t really fought it from the beginning. He had burst into that bathroom as if he had every right to enter it. You had to hate him even more now with what he’d done. He felt the need to talk to you, to apologize, to ask you to forgive him. He hadn’t told a soul what happened and had been deliberately vague in his mission report. He hadn’t wanted to make it any worse for you.

Retreating to his room, Bucky paces trying to figure out his next move. Should he approach you or wait for you to come to him? He shakes his head. You wouldn’t approach him. Not the way you, no doubt, feel about him. You probably never wanted to see him again. What did you think? Did you hate him even more? Most likely. Did you think he had done this on purpose? That he had taken advantage of you? The drug had taken both of your ability to really consent. Did you feel… What are you feeling? He couldn’t stand the thought that you hated him even more or that you thought he hurt you purposely.

He grabbed the doorknob, determined to speak with you but his hand slipped from it before he could turn the knob. You needed more time. He shouldn’t push you. He’d wait until you were at least healed. That was a better idea, he decided. It wasn’t that he was chickening out, he was just waiting until the wounds weren’t so fresh. That was the best thing to do, wasn’t it?

–

You nervously bounce your legs as you wait for the office door of Dr. Victoria Montesi to open. Dr. Miles had gotten you an appointment within thirty minutes of messaging her that morning. You wonder if she already had Dr. Montesi on standby. It wouldn’t be surprising with how well Doc seemed to know and anticipate your needs medically.

When the door opens, you turn to look at the woman smiling softly at you. She was lovely with dark hair and eyes, and she radiated a calm demeanor that immediately put you at ease.

“Hi. I’m Vicki Montesi,” she introduced herself.

Giving a polite smile, you give your name but don’t extend your hand. Touch was too intimate a thing to do currently and Dr. Montesi seemed to instinctively understand your body language. You felt so weak and hated it. You had been through major disasters, espionage, a host of events that would fell another person. Why was this the one thing that affected you so deeply?

Dr. Montesi motioned for you to follow her and closed the door behind you softly, “Sit wherever you like. Do you mind if I take some notes?”

“Uh, no, that's fine,” you shrug.

She grabbed a pad of paper off her desk and took a seat across from where you had settled on the couch. You fidgeted with your hands, glancing up occasionally. You knew she was waiting for you to start but two could play at-

“What brings you in today?” She interrupts your train of thought.

“I, um,” you stuttered, thrown that she hadn’t followed the pattern you expected. “What did Dr. Miles tell you?”

“That you needed someone to talk to.”

“Oh…” you trail off suspiciously.

“Your privacy is tantamount to both of us as your doctors,” Dr. Montesi says gently.

“Right. So, I, um, we, I,” you stop yourself. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you begin again, “I was on a mission with a teammate. We were exposed to a powder that… forced the need for, for. Fuck! It made us burn up with fever and feel intense pain unless we were actively having sex. It felt like we were dying if we weren’t fucking. And of all the people in the fucking world it had to be with Bucky fucking Barnes. I can’t stand him and knowing that we- goddammit.” The words had become rushed and your frustration grew as you tried to explain.

“So, you were put into a situation you had no control over, and your only relief was provided by someone you don’t like? Am I understanding you correctly?”

“Yes and hate. I hate him. He’s such a jerk, He’s probably told everyone who would listen.”

“Why do you think that?” Dr. Montesy probes.

“Because he always undermines everything I say, anything I bring to the table. What better way to knock me down a few pegs than to tell everyone that he got me in bed?” You explain.

“Have you spoken with him since it happened?”

“No, I haven’t really spoken to anyone since, ya know.” You look down at your hands.

“And you feel that Bucky has after what happened?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” You scoff.

“Do you think the situation was different for him?”

“Yes! No, I… I don’t know,” you look away for a minute gauging what he could possibly be feeling. In your mind you think through your prejudices towards him, realizing many were sexist assumptions of what men are supposed to feel and others never took his past into consideration. Most of your thoughts had centered only around the hatred you felt for him and his constant attitude towards you but underneath all of that was a real person who was probably struggling with aspects of this as well. You admit in a near whisper, “Probably not.”

“It’s good that you’re able to look outside yourself. Can you tell me how you feel about the situation aside from him?”

You nod, taking a moment to assess that yourself, “It sucks to not have control over a situation to not have any good choices. I didn’t want it to happen but it’s part of the job. Sometimes you end up in these situations where no matter what you do, you’re going to come out on the other end with regrets. This one was just much more intimate than most. I want to blame someone and I keep blaming myself. That I couldn’t control myself, that I led both of us straight into that trap, that I used him and allowed him to use me. I just feel ashamed.”

“That’s common in situations like this but you did the one thing you were supposed to do. You survived.”

–

You saw Dr. Montesi again a couple of days later. She was helping you process and you appreciated it. She had a way of pulling things out of you that surprised you. Like when you continually called him Barnes rather than his first name and anytime she said his first name, you corrected her immediately.

“There’s something more here. What is it about his name that bothers you?” She asks.

“He… made me say it during,” you shrug, looking away.

“Why does that bother you?”

“I never call him by his first name. It's always Barnes or asshat. Never Bucky.”

“And he made you call him Bucky?”

“Yes. He wouldn’t, you know, um… let me-”

“Orgasm?”

“Yeah, until I did. It felt… awkward,” you finish softly.

“Just awkward?” She pushes.

“Infuriating. Like a violation, another way control was taken from me. I mean, why? Why would he do that? What possessed him?”

“Well, the pollen for one thing, but have you considered that might have been the way he found some control in the situation?”

“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t take it personally? It wasn’t about bringing me to heel but about him finding a modicum of control? But should that negate how I feel?” You ask, confused.

“Not at all. Your feelings are valid but what I want you to understand is there is a why for him that may have had nothing to do with you. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Why have you never called him by his first name?”

“Because I hate him,” you shrug.

“Can you elaborate on that?”

“It’s like I told you before, he treats me like a subordinate. Like I didn’t earn my place and I don’t have anything to offer.”

“Even after you’ve worked together for the last several months?”

“It lessened after a while I guess but he still acts like an ass all the time.”

“How have you handled that?”

“I tried to be friendly, to prove myself, and then I gave up. Why waste the energy?”

“Is it a waste? There’s no hope?” Dr. Montesi tilts her head.

“I mean, I don’t… I don’t know. I just… I don’t know,” your voice trails off as you think back over all your interactions with Bucky. What if you had missed an opening? Was there some point when he tried to let you in but you had closed yourself off and delivered only sass and smartass remarks? But was that your fault? Was it all up to you?

“It’s okay to not have an answer but it is something you might think about until we see each other again.”

–

You saw her again early the next week. Each time it helps you see more clearly and feel more like yourself. Her guidance through your feelings and assumptions both good or bad, right or wrong without judgment or censure allowed you to explore more than just the situation with Barnes. It was the question she had posed about his motives that had stuck with you.

“I think I'm ready to talk to,” you pause as your stubborn nature still fights against you calling him Bucky, but Barnes seemed even less apt now. You finally settled on just using the noncommittal, “him.”

“Oh?” Dr. Montesi waits for you to elaborate.

“I feel like I need to know his motives and feelings,” the last word was hard to push past your lips. You hadn't considered his feelings ever really. At least, not since he had proven himself to be a royal jackass. There was still a part of you that loathed him but somehow concern for his reaction to all of this had wormed its way into your mind.

“What do you think that will do for you?” She asks, tilting her head.

“I don't know. I read his mission report on what happened. He was even more vague than I was on the details. Whether he was protecting himself or me, I wasn't sure but,” you take a deep breath before admitting the next part, “then I went through the other reports for missions we had been on together. He's always succinct but never fails to highlight others' contributions to the outcome. Even mine. It was obvious reading them that at some point he had started to see me as an asset. So, I guess, I think it'll give me some closure. Either we can start building a more respectful comradery or that's never going to happen and it's time for me to think about moving on.”

“How would that make you feel?”

“Disappointed but I want to be part of a team that has mutual respect for each other. If he can never give me that respect, I don't want to work with him. I'm not asking to be friends, just teammates. Preferably ones who can hold a conversation without all the snark.” You paused for a moment as a feeling of pride suffused through you. You were stronger than you realized and you were ready to find happiness and fulfillment on your terms. You smiled to yourself and then looked up to share it with Dr. Montesi. Maybe you were imagining it, but you felt you could see it in her eyes, too.

When you left her office a little while later, you pulled out your phone and sent a short text.

You: Hey. Can we talk?

It was only a few minutes later that your phone dings.

Barnes: Yeah. On the phone or do you want to meet up? You: I’d prefer face to face. Barnes: Where? I can come to you. You: I’m on my way back there. I’ll come to you. Barnes: Okay.

You let out a little laugh. That was probably the most civilized conversation the two of you had ever had. You started feeling the nerves in your stomach. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation but you needed it to happen. It was time to face this head on. As you make your way, you practice breathing techniques and make mental notes of what you wanted to say and ask. You even jotted a few down to help you remember when you know you're going into an emotional situation.

There is still the confusion in your own head of what to call him. Such a simple thing but rife with emotion for you. Barnes was what you called him because you hated him and now you weren’t sure you did. James is his first name but no one calls him that. Bucky felt too friendly and intimate especially when it triggers reminders of that night every time you even think about it. Sergeant was too formal and felt harsh and rigid. Asshat was fitting when he was being one but you could hardly call him that all the time. You think back to what he calls you but, in just the way you have, he calls you by your last name mostly. You don’t ever recall hearing him say your first name. Occasionally, your designation and more than a few times he’s referred to you as “pita.” His way of calling you “pain in the ass.” You let out a scoffing laugh when you think of that and then shake the conundrum away. Maybe after this talk, you’d figure out what to call him or you wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore if you decided to move on.

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Updates for series will be made on Sundays Central Time Zone. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

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oimitocat · 20 hours ago

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STRAY KIDS REACTION….

… to boyfriend!reader being angry and they find it hot (nsfw warning) (hyung line!)

ᡴꪫ CHAN… was extremely similar to you. you’re a lay-backed person, sure sometimes you have episodes where you’re not exactly in the mood to socialize but still, you’re charismatic and let things slide more than he does. you always say it’s because you don’t have energy to entertain that stuff.

yet, seeing you angry — TRULY angry, was something he’d never think he’d get to see. so color him surprised when he hears you shout and pace. the furrow of your brows, your darkened eyes. you looked… good. that tone, he’d never heard it and… it stirred something in the pit of his stomach.

“something wrong?” he asks after a while of eye fucking you.

“company said i need to go on a damn hiatus because some shitheads are spreading a rumor. i could care less, why do they have to make it seem like i’m anxious or whatever?”

chan blinks. “rumor?”

“yeah, super stupid. all i did was call them to say i wasn’t happy with how our last show ended. dude, they literally couldn’t get my headset to work, i had to wing the timing and stuff. their lack of work effort pisses me off.” you groan.

“i know but…” chan pauses when you glare at him. he swallows, “hey, i mean a hiatus is good. you get to rest.”

“i don’t want to rest-“

“i get to have you all to myself without worrying about you missing out on your schedule.”

“if you’re bored, play with me. if you’re angry, take it out on me. you’ll have all the time to do so.” he grins.

you blink, “i- what?” and you can’t even be angry anymore… just frustrated. but chan will also take that.

ᡴꪫ MINHO… had the habit of annoying you and frustrating you sometimes, but never actually making you angry. as idol’s there is a lot of things that can drive you mad. minho for example hates wardrobe malfunctions. fans went crazy over some clips of him angry and upset over a few outfits and so have you.

you never really cared for much, at the end of the day you get a nice paycheck and you’re good to go. still, that doesn’t mean you don’t care about your job. so when he sees that your mic isn’t working and you’re more than upset at the lack of resolve from the sound techs…. he simply cannot look away.

even when you get off the stage, you’re glaring and absolutely not in the mood. everything you do is with anger— ripping off your headset, wiping off your sweat, loosening your outfit. goodness, you look delectable.

“you mad?” he asks teasingly, of course he has to tease.

“i’m not in the mood minho.”

oh! that anger had a pretty tone. “fuck,” he breathes out, pressing himself closer to you, “you gonna take it out on me?” and your eyes bored into him.

he definitely didn’t regret it later.

ᡴꪫ CHANGBIN…. didn’t know you could get angry. he’s only seen you be all soft and gushy. he’s seen you be defensive and stern but never angry. he’s literally making his way to the studio when he hears your voice boom outside the door. worried, he walks in and sees how your standing and yelling at the other producer.

“what’s-?”

“-how long it’s taken us to keep these files and you forget to save them?!”

the producer fidgets, “doesn’t change have a copy? he always has a copy-“

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN THE COPY IS THE SAME AS WHAT WE WERE ADDING TO IT YESTERDAY! you can’t recreate something that was authentic!” you pace, pulling at your hair, “shit man, i worked so hard on that!”

“y/n calm down,” he tries, “what file is it-?”

“changbin, i literally cannot right now.” and you leave.

in the end the file wasn’t deleted, just misplaced in the wrong folder to which it was saved. still, the lack of clarity pissed you off. you didn’t want to work that day and changbin was trying so hard to coax you. yet, seeing you mad was so good for some reason. changbin knew he could make you feel better (totally not feeling you with his hands? and you being angry was making things fun.

ᡴꪫ HYUNJIN…. doesn’t remember a time where you’ve been angry. he’s also never even wanted to. he doesn’t like noise and he remembers how you always say you blow up when angry. hence, when he hears you slam your fist on the desk, he jumps. you’re dramatic like him, so he tried not to think much of it except…

“are you kidding me?” he hear you say with an ominous tone. low and sultry, makes him pause. “so you’re saying that you’re wasting my damn time.”

he peeks over at, seeing you frown and glare at the wall while on the phone. he doesn’t think he’s ever seen that look on you… his mind starts to wander…. would that expression look at him? you’re talking, angry, clearly. and it’s so…

“why are you angry?” he asks when you hang up with an insult and throw your phone of the desk.

“cus apparently i have to do everything myself. why the hell would you-“ and he zones out, watching your angrily rant.

you plop down on the chair, angry. he stands and walks over to you, desire in his gut. “baby don’t be mad…” “well i wouldn’t if they did what i was paying them to do.” “-let’s get your mind off that, yeah?”

and boy did he.

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minty-thereader · 3 days ago

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GOJO x READER

“She’d Rather Die.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Soooo wanna go on a date?” The young 19 year old Gojo Satoru asked sitting opposite you, facing the wrong side of the chair with his chin rested on his hands. You never once looked up from your book, your eye twitched with annoyance, continuing to ignore the popular white haired player.

Gojo looked from your book and back to your face. “How To Get Away With Murder..nice book. I read it like, five times. Who’s your favorite character?” “The murderer.” You grumbled, slamming your book shut as the instructor for the day walked in to give out your assignments.

“Look alive sorcerers! We’ve got plenty of reports today for minor spirits so you’ll be split into threes! And I don’t care if you don’t like your partner, the higher ups arranged your teammates, not me.” The bald teacher said handing out everyone’s slip of paper. You didn’t want to read yours knowing you’d already been paired with Gojo and his best friend Geto Suguru. “Would you look at that doll! You and I are paired up yet again!” Gojo tells you with the biggest smile, the brightest any has ever made him smile!

You wished that this day would just hurry up and end. “Oh yay,” sarcasm laced your tone and you grabbed your belongings, leaving before the two besties could meet up and discuss plans. You did not like Gojo, and if I said it before or not I’m repeating it! Did. Not.

Your dislike stemmed from your first meeting. You were new to the school and you just so happened to bump into the white haired man, when you wanted instructions on where to get to your first class! Gojo, full of energy grabbed your book and signed it with a smirk saying, ‘here baby! An autograph for you too!’ And that’s when you started to resent him. You really didn’t like arrogant men and he was sooo full of it.

Gojo liked that you didn’t want him too, which made him want you more! That’s why he would ask you to go out with him every time you guys got the chance to interact.

Some time passed and the three of you were outside of school on your way to complete your mission. A house was supposedly haunted and there was a child that behaved out of order when these haunting occurred; your jobs were to get rid of that spirit. Geto and Gojo giggled like two school girls as they talked about the most random of stuff behind you, causing your irritation to grow.

Not only was he arrogant but he was also really strong, so him being strong made being stuck with him on a mission feel like it was just child’s play to him. “Can you two take one mission seriously for once?” You asked them without turning back. Geto smirked at Gojo and gave him a shove, encouraging him to talk to you since you opened the gates for interaction. “Uhh-huh! I could definitely take the mission more seriously if you’d let me take you out.”

You scrunch your nose to show clear signs of disgust. “I would rather a giant monster with eight legs bite my head off, than go out with you.” Gojo gasped dramatically. Hey! In his defense this was the first time you’ve ever payed him any real attention!

“Whether you’re being sarcastic or not I would personally never let a thing happen to you y/n.” Gojo says with a kind smile, he tilts his glasses down to show off his striking blue eyes. You looked away quickly just as he did so. That was his signature flirty move, showing off his freaky eyes. So many women were caught with them, and you promised yourself not to be one of them.

“Let’s see if you’ll stick by your word.” You told him with a plain look on your face. While you walked up and away Geto nudged the man. “She likes you, she just doesn’t know it yet,” he encourages. “You think so? I do like it when they play hard to get~.” He sang out loud so you could hear. When you three finally neared the house, there was a strange smell that came out of it.

Everyone held their nose and you took a few steps back from the door, turning to talk to the men. “This place has a very strong evil scent.” The men nodded, agreeing. “Right, let’s get this over with—” Gojo and Geto watched with shocked eyes when a giant gray hand stuck out of the door and grabbed a hold of you, before pulling you in with the same speed. The once broken door repaired because of the curse. The men looked at each other, finding their voice before running after you and yelling your name.

Stuck in the hands of the enemy you freaked out. You had no idea what to do against this curse and you weren’t sure if it was a level 2 curse or a level 3. Scared you started to panic; what if this thing decided that he’d just eat you? You whimper feeling the creature breath against your head. With newfound strength you focused on your cursed energy to flow throughout your body, remembering that you could do that, and your body slowly became a liquid like puddle. The level 2/3 curse stared with awe watching you just lay there as a puddle, your clothes just floating around like that before you went skidding across the wooden floor to escape it!

On the other side of the room you were in, was where the men resided. Gojo placed his ear to the wall listening for anything strange or unusual, looking out for you. The slush like noise of water moving made him step back and summon cursed energy to his finger tips, ready to blast whatever it may be. Your body came seeping through the cracks, and then WAM! Straight into the arms of the player!

Everyone in the room made a small yelping sound except you, who wasn’t aware of what was happening. You look up into Gojo’s eyes, surprised but then relaxed. “It took you fools long enough!” Gojo’s stiff body confused you. “Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, watching his face turn pink and sweat roll down his face. “Your clothes,” he said, his voice had a little quiver to it, “you’re naked.” You were now reacting just like him. Geto coughed hard, his back turned to the entire situation. Quickly Gojo took his shirt off and gave it to you. “Here!” He says, “I don’t wanna look. I can’t disgrace you like that. Please put my shirt on quickly.”

You grabbed it and did as told, staring off at the wooden floor with multiple thoughts flooding your head. You snap out of it for a second to look back at the men quickly, “Oh! Before anything else the curse is in the next room and I think it’s a level 2!” Geto shrugs, “not a big deal, right Gojo?” Gojo winds his arms, “nope, not a big deal at all!” They both walk over to the wall and Gojo placed his hand on it watching the wall crumble to reveal the curse. You watched in awe as they both attacked the curse at the same time, a bright smile on Gojo’s face while his bestie looked bored. You couldn’t compare to these two! It was embarrassing!

Gojo grabbed the monster by its neck and made it bow to you. “Apologize to the little lady.” The monster growled. Blood trickled down its head and its eyes were missing. “Blah blah! I don’t care if you can’t talk! You can understand me just enough and you know exactly the situation you’re in.” Gojo taunted. “Gojo, it’s alright. It’s just a stupid curse, just kill it.” Gojo shook his head a no at your reaction and his smile got brighter. “I wanna hear it beg a little first. Go on buddy! Beg! Say you’re sorry!” The monster again growled, and when it started shrieking you just outstretched your hand and closed it, using cursed energy to squeeze its body with an invisible force and its body went everywhere.

You and Gojo stared at each other, eyes boring into each other before Geto broke it up by walking out the house. “Gonna thank me for saving you?” Gojo asked with a smile, clearly teasing. “Nope. I’d rather die.” “You almost did.” Gojo pointed back at the house while Geto talked to the owners of it. The curse was dead and the family was no longer gonna be haunted, meaning mission complete! Gojo wrapped his arms around you holding you closer so his shirt was more secure on you. “…thank you.” You muttered when you two made it to a little hospital van that pulled up. Gojo gave you a pat on the head and nodded, “you’re welcome doll! And hey, keep the shirt.”

You smiled at him when he said that but deep down you were annoyed yet again, because you knew he would not let this rescue go.

#gojo x reader #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru x reader

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thezombieprostitute · 2 days ago

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Barista Steve - Part 4

Summary: Finals have you super stressed out. Steve knows how to help with that.

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: Bad parents, Dom/Sub dynamics, Smut. Please let me know if I missed any!

You were dealing with the big F's: Finals, Family and Fear of Failure. Your parents wouldn't stop reminding you of the importance of passing your exams. Your classes were incredibly difficult. And you didn't want to think about what would happen if you didn't pass one of your finals.

As you leave your latest study group, you see Steve waiting for you by his motorcycle. You're practically running to hug him, finding solace in his scent, his touch, his comforting words.

Steve has been frustrated by your situation as well. He knows you're not getting real support from your family. Well, not the kind of support that actually helps. More the kind of support that only makes things worse. He's doubtful of your defense of "they mean well". He's seen the effects of the stress and while he's worked hard to help mitigate them, there's only so much he can do.

The one big light at the end of the tunnel for both of you was your agreement to move in together as soon as you got your degree. Neither of you cared that your parents wouldn't approve of Steve, you both knew there'd be no one else for either of you. You took care of each other, supported each other, and you were tired of keeping him a dirty secret.

Besides, your parents had told you time and time again they wouldn't support you forever. Part of you knows you should've moved out sooner, but it was a truth you couldn't realize until you got a taste of what you really wanted. Steve definitely provided that. You'd be forever grateful to him for his patience.

"Hey there, Good Girl," Steve coos into your ear. "I figured you could use a break. A chance to shut down your brain."

"That sounds perfect, Sir," you agree. "Need to let my brain relax."

"Then let's put your choker on and get your helmet."

Steve didn't take you to the studio like you thought he would. Instead he parked the motorcycle outside of one of your favorite diners. The constriction of the choker reminds you that he's in charge, you're not to question his commands, but you can't hide the look of confusion on your face.

He sees your face and puts his hand on the back of your neck, "I need to take care of my Good Girl and I know you haven't been eating well lately. So we're going to get you food, water. And remember, I'll order for you so you don't have to waste brain power."

"Thank you, Sir," you happily sigh. You've been subsisting on granola bars and coffee lately. Your stomach rumbles at the thought of real food.

Steve orders you both moderately sized meals. He knows you need to eat but too much food could hurt you just as much as the too little you've had lately. He also makes sure you both drink water. He doesn't want to be unfair and order something for himself that you can't or shouldn't eat and he knows you need to hydrate. Especially after you start drinking your water and it's gone in a blink!

After the meal you're starting to feel sleepy. Steve kisses your forehead and says he's taking you to his place. Again, you're confused that you're not going to the studio but you don't question. You just enjoy holding onto him while riding his motorcycle. Breathing in his scent, feeling his muscled torso underneath your arms. The cold wind doesn't bother you much because he's just so warm.

Steve walks you up to his apartment. You hope it'll be both of yours soon. He directs you inside and tells you to wait for him in the bedroom. You don't need to be told twice.

Once inside the bedroom, you drop to your knees and let your arms relax as you wait for his orders. It's taken a lot of time and effort but you've learned how to shut down the part of your brain that feels bad for "sitting around doing nothing". Wearing the choker, feeling it every time you breath, is a good reminder and a good focus to keep you from fidgeting and thinking about what's next.

Steve walks in wearing nothing but a pair of low hanging grey sweatpants. You fight the urge to moan at the view of his tattooed, muscly torso while your pussy clenches. He steps in front of you. "Undress," he orders.

You stand as you hurry to obey. When you're fully naked you successfully fight the urge to try to cover yourself with your arms. You never have to feel ashamed in front of Steve. He's told you time and time again how much he loves seeing all of you. He's shown you as well.

"Good Girl," he purrs. He brings out a skimpy but soft looking nightgown. "Arms up."

You raise your arms and he puts the nightgown on you. It fits perfectly, like you knew it would. Steve always seems to know what feels comfortable for you. Knows what you need and how you need it. It's why you trust him enough to shut your brain down around him.

He caresses your cheek, eyes full of love, before pulling back the blankets on the bed. "Now lay down on your side for some cuddles."

You practically leap onto the bed in eagerness. Cuddles with Steve are always so restful and generally lead to more. A part of you is worried that you're going to fall asleep, but you quiet that down. You're following Sir's orders, being his Good Girl. He knows what he's doing.

Steve gets into the bed and holds you from behind. You've never felt so safe and warm as you do in these moments. He gently caresses you, giving you occasional kisses to the top of your head. Your eyelids are getting so heavy. He whispers, "go ahead and sleep, Good Girl. Pretty sure you need it. I'll hold you the entire time."

He says more but your brain doesn't processes anything other than that he's talking, it just drifts off to sleep.

You're not sure how long you slept for, but every part of you knows you needed that sleep. True to his word, Steve is still holding you and you smile in appreciation, small tears forming in the corner of your eye. You feel Steve stir and he squeezes you tight.

"Did you sleep well?" He yawns and kisses the top of your head.

"Yes, Sir."

"Glad to hear it," he mumbles as he continues to kiss you. You can feel his erection against your ass and fight the urge to roll your hips against him. "My Good Girl needed some rest, didn't she?"

"Yes, Sir," you rasp. Your need is building. He can definitely hear it in your voice because he softly chuckles against your skin.

"I think my Good Girl needs something else now," he purrs into your ear, sending electricity straight to your core.

He moves his hand down your body and reaches underneath the nightgown. You understand now why it was so skimpy; not only did it show off plenty of skin, but it gave him ready access to everything. He starts rubbing his fingers along you folds as he nibbles gently on your shoulder, making you whimper.

"I'm going to get on my back and you're going to sit on my face," he tells you. "No hovering."

"Yes, Sir," you whimper, both excited and nervous. Steve had a tendency to get lost in the taste of your pussy, making you overstimulated.

Before he lets you go he whispers, "what's your safe word?" You tell him and he thanks you before rolling onto his back.

You're quick to move into position, but you still let yourself enjoy the sight of Steve's body, his erection making a prominent tent in his sweatpants. As you're settling onto his face, Steve is already pinning you to him and devouring you. His strong hands hold you in place as he uses his tongue to reach all of your favorite spots. They're some of his favorite, too, because of the sounds the elicit from you.

The headboard is the only thing you can grasp and you do so with all your might as the first orgasm of many hits you hard and you cry out from pleasure. A small part of your brain realizes how much you've been needing this as it feels like everything in your system is finally unclenching from all your stress. It's only been a minute or so and your limbs are already feeling like jelly.

After the second orgasm, you're already crying from relief and pleasure. You repeatedly rasp, "thank you, Sir," not knowing if Steve can actually hear it or not. You try to roll your hips, a silent plea for him not to stop. He responds with a squeeze to your hips, an acknowledgement of your request as he adjusts just enough to reach that one spot he knows drives you crazy. He smiles as you cry out from the sensation and ride his face like your life depended on it. He keeps going until you cum on his face a third time.

He slows to a stop as your body goes lax, tears flowing freely down your face. He gently maneuvers you so that you're beside him, still repeating your mantra of "thank you, Sir". He looks you over but doesn't pick up on anything worrisome. "How's my Good Girl doing?"

"Thank you, Sir," you whimper. "Thank you for taking care of me."

He kisses along your cheeks where your tears are falling. "Such a Good Girl. But we're not done yet. Lay on your stomach."

As soon as you turn, Steve spreads your legs. "Such a pretty pussy," he groans. He kneads your ass cheeks for a bit before kissing up along your spine until he's covering you like a weighted blanket. He wraps one of his arms around so that he's got a hold on your throat. He kisses you once again before he roughly pushes his cock into you.

"Best pussy I've ever felt," he tells you as he starts up a brutal pace that has you keening. "Taking my cock like the good girl you are," he praises. "Taking everything I give you and begging for more."

"S--S--Sir," you croak.

"Cum for me," he orders. Your body automatically obeys. "That's my Good Girl," he groans as your pussy squeezes him tight. "Fucking you brain dead feels so good." You moan in response to his words. "You like being fucked like this? You like when my cock makes you dumb?"

"Y--Yes, Sir!"

He licks along the back of your neck, making you squeal. "I need one more from you." He readjusts you so you're slightly on your knees, making his cock feel so much deeper. He resumes the brutal pace and you start to see stars from the pleasure. "Cum for me, Good Girl."

Your body obliges and you cum with a lewd sob. He's quick to follow with a few grunts before he lets go of your throat and starts giving you small kisses along your back.

He pulls out of you with a soft hiss and immediately goes into aftercare mode. He removes your choker, cleans you up, and gives you reassurances as he holds you.

Finals are done. You've officially completed your degree. You opt to not go to the graduation ceremony, too many people. You've moved in with Steve, much to your parents' disbelief and outrage. They called you a lot of not very nice things that only reaffirmed your choice to get away from them.

One of Steve's friends at his art studio actually got you connected with a well paying job near the apartment. You were happy to finally be contributing financially. More importantly, Steve didn't object to you having your own bank account. Steve never wanted you to feel you had to be with him because of finances. He wanted you to have agency. It was something you'd probably spend forever getting used to.

Thankfully, Steve had the patience to help you out.

Okay, so this series is done, right? Barista Steve won't continue to bug me, right?!

Edit: Part 3/Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @ronearoundblindly

#steve rogers x female!reader #steve rogers x reader #barista!steve rogers #college student!reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you

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from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 8 hours ago

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May I take a moment to be utterly predictable and give my defense of the Rohirrim for failing to understand that Éowyn was not yet dead on the Pelennor Fields?

I know everyone likes to poke fun at my guys. “Oh, if Éowyn was so important, how is it that they didn’t even think to check whether she was really dead? Why did they need Imrahil to set them straight? What a bunch of goofs!”

But, really, I think this was entirely understandable. Éowyn’s critical injury wasn’t (just) some common battlefield wound. She was suffering from the Black Breath, a malady brought on by the Witch King and which puts someone into a “deadly cold” sleep until they pass in silence to death. And she had it BAD — it lays on her “heavily,” and given her one-on-one direct contact with the Witch King, she may very well have had a bigger dose of it than anyone else ever did.

The Black Breath was well known in Gondor. There were “many” sick with it in Minas Tirith’s Houses of Healing, as the forces of Gondor had been tangling with the Nazgûl since the taking of Osgiliath nine months earlier and who knows how often in other instances. They didn’t have a cure for it, but they certainly recognized it. Imrahil would have known about it and even seen it himself in Faramir and perhaps in others in the Houses of Healing when he brought Faramir in.

But you know who had never seen a case of Black Breath before? The Rohirrim! They weren’t used to having Nazgûl up in their business. There’s no long established history of the Fell Riders parading around in Rohan, fighting with the Rohirrim. The few Nazgûl that are sighted there in the lead up to the War of the Ring are in the sky, not landing and engaging directly with the people. So how should the Rohirrim be able to easily spot the difference between the (death-like) effects of the Black Breath and actual death? How should they even know that the Black Breath is a thing that exists? They shouldn’t!

Did they screw up by not taking the time to do a comprehensive check of Éowyn’s various vital signs? Yes. But is it ridiculous that their cursory check of her didn’t clue them in to her unique and previously-unknown-to-them sickness that had all the appearance of death? I don’t think it is. Éomer and his men aren’t dummies. They were just non-healers with no relevant expertise who were experiencing massive emotional distress while in the middle of an active battlefield. Imrahil, by contrast, knew what to look for, had no emotional investment in Éowyn to cloud his judgment, and came upon her much closer to the city, where things were quieter and less chaotic. OF COURSE he did better! The Rohirrim made mistakes, but they were understandable mistakes! So let’s all cut Éomer some well deserved slack, yes?

#éomer #éowyn #imrahil #yes éowyn was still alive #but those rohirrim did the best they could #and deserve a break

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nothorses · 1 day ago

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Well that was a lot of really creative ways to avoid saying donate to a Palestinian.

Hey, I understand the hurt and the panic you're feeling, and I'm worried about Palestinians too. I'm hurting too, and I'm worried too.

This ask sucked to receive. It hurt a little to feel like the effort I have been putting in to promote Palestinian fundraisers, particularly to double check that what I promote is vetted by someone trustworthy so that people do not lose more faith in the validity of these donation efforts on my account. More than that, though, this ask made me feel angry and isolated.

The post you're referring to is a post about local community support networks, and what I said on it was just a list of small things people can do to build local community connections, starting from 0. It's for people who don't think they have friends and don't know how to make them, or who don't know how they can translate friendship into material support and action that benefits the whole.

This ask made me feel frustrated that you don't understand that point, or the importance of it. Or maybe you do, and you weren't willing to see or engage with that point because of other feelings you were having. Maybe you chose to direct those feelings at me because you needed an outlet for them, and you weren't thinking about the impact your actions would have on someone else.

Donating to Palestinians is also good, important work. I have fundraisers in my pinned post for that reason. I haven't had time or energy to go through the asks I've received to verify, promote, and add them to that list in a while, and I feel bad about that! And it's weird to me that you think I'd avoid advocating for that after all the energy I've put into doing exactly not that.

And like, again, I feel bad that I haven't done more. Part of that is because my expectations for myself are too high, and I am a person who tends to feel guilty over stuff that I shouldn't feel guilty for. Part of that is because I really could be doing better. I just haven't figured out how to do that in a sustainable way yet; which also means getting over the guilt so I can redirect that energy into productivity.

I wanted to respond to this ask with the frustration and irritation I was feeling when I first read it. I'm choosing not to because, when I started drafting that response in my head, I realized that telling you off for guilt-tripping me in this hostile, unproductive way would be hypocritical.

Community connection is more important than ever right now. We need each other. We need patience, forgiveness, grace, and connection. We need to be vulnerable with one another, even and especially when it's hard. When it hurts.

I would have preferred you ask me why I didn't add a suggestion to donate to Palestinians in my response. Better yet, that you add it yourself! I would have been happy to reblog that addition, and receiving that as a reminder, or as building on what I said, would have felt encouraging. It would have made me feel more connected to you, more hopeful, and more excited to do this work. It would have made me excited to dig into my ask box and promote more Palestinian fundraisers, in solidarity with them as well as with you.

I understand why you didn't do that; it hurts right now. It's hard to make the choice to embody critical hope in the face of so much pain. I don't blame you for the guilt I feel, and I know I can't let that discourage me from doing work to help other people either.

I also know you're less likely to hear any of this than the uninvolved people who'll see it without feeling any defensiveness over this critique of your choices, and like, that's fine too. But I don't think I'm wasting my breath either way; I want to set an example in my community, promote connection, and promote the healing and growth that will allow us to do the hard work we need to do in the coming years. We're entering a fight, and we need to do it together, with grace for each other and the vulnerability that will allow us to connect and heal. We need to practice the future we're fighting for, and we have to start now.

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sapphicromanoffxo · 1 day ago

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Screen Time | n.r x w.m

ʚɞ°｡⋆ Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

ʚɞ°｡⋆ wc: 2.7k

ʚɞ°｡⋆ Warnings: phone sex, pillow humping, masturbation, praise kink, slightly implied somno, daddy kink

ʚɞ°｡⋆ Summary: sometimes, a simple video call is enough to have their much needed release.

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for a while now and I finished it right on time. 🫶

A gift for the birthday girl, @mikaila-m 🎂💚🪻 love lots 😘😘

╰┈➤ Masterlist

"What are you wearing, detka?"

Natasha’s voice echoed through the room as Wanda rummaged through her things, preparing for her nightly routine. They had been apart for a few days now, ever since Natasha was called away on SHIELD business. The details were classified, leaving Wanda in the dark, but she understood the necessity. For now, video calls were the only way to stay connected.

Wanda glanced at her phone, where Natasha's face filled the screen. Natasha looked stunning as always, with her red hair perfectly in place and her shirt neatly buttoned up with a tease of her cleavage. "Hmmm, I'm wearing the light blue dress you bought me," Wanda replied while applying moisturizer, the final step in her skincare routine.

"Can I see?" Natasha asked, her tone playful yet filled with genuine interest.

Wanda rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. Natasha’s fascination with her never seemed to wane, no matter how long they had been together. "You've seen me in this night gown a million times. Aren't you tired of looking at the same thing?" she sighed, her voice tinged with mock exasperation.

"Never," Natasha said softly, her voice warm and affectionate. "I love looking at you, no matter what you wear. You always look beautiful to me."

Wanda felt her cheeks flush, the sincerity in Natasha’s words cutting through her usual defenses. Compliments from Natasha always hit differently, effortless, sincere, and capable of making Wanda feel seen and cherished. Despite the distance and the screen between them, Natasha’s words had a way of reaching Wanda's heart, reminding her how deeply loved she was and helping her appreciate herself just a little bit more every day.

"Alright, I'm going to show you, but first, close your eyes."

A wide grin spread across Natasha's face, and Wanda couldn’t help but smile in return, captivated by how beautiful Natasha looked even over a screen.

"Okay, baby. My eyes are closed," Natasha replied, her voice playful yet filled with anticipation.

Wanda picked up her phone, feeling a small rush of excitement as she moved to her bed. She positioned herself comfortably, lying back against the pillows, and stretched her arm up, making sure the camera captured the top of her satin dress. "You can open your eyes now, baby," she said, her voice soft and inviting.

Natasha slowly opened her eyes, and her gaze immediately lit up with appreciation. "Oh my," she murmured, her tone low and admiring. "What a beautiful sight. I can see your nipples peeking through."

Wanda felt a flush of warmth spread across her skin at Natasha's words and rolled her eyes at the same time for her naughty commentary. “You can't resist saying that, huh?”

“Of course. Your nipples certainly want to say hi to me so I acknowledged their presence.”

Natasha's cockiness is oozing through the screen and Wanda is itching to wipe off the smug look from her face. Wanda was about to say something about them behaving but Natasha cut her through.

“Palm your boobs for me, baby?”

"Alright, here we go," Wanda said with a sigh, rolling her eyes once again at Natasha’s request. Despite the playful exasperation, Wanda knew she could never truly say no to Natasha, especially when she looked so endearingly hopeful.

"What do you say when you're asking for something, hmm?" Wanda teased, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. She loved seeing Natasha squirm a little, knowing how much it amused her to watch the usually confident spy in a more playful state.

Natasha's eyes narrowed in a mock glare, but there was no hiding the affection in her gaze. "Seriously?" she grumbled, though the corners of her lips twitched upwards.

Wanda couldn’t resist pushing a little further. "Come on now, I've already taught you some good manners, and it's time to use them." Her voice was sweetly taunting, the kind of tone that always made Natasha want to both laugh and groan at the same time.

Natasha muttered something under her breath in Russian, the words lost to Wanda but the tone unmistakably grumpy. Wanda leaned closer to the screen, trying to decipher the muttered words, but all she could catch was the faintest hint of frustration mingled with affection.

"Oh, I didn’t quite catch that, care to repeat that so I can understand?" Wanda quipped, clearly enjoying every second of this little game. She knew Natasha was just as entertained, even if she wouldn't admit it.

“Fine, fine.” Finally, Natasha conceded to Wanda’s demands just so she can get what she wants and gave a big sigh before saying, “Can you palm your boobs for me, please?”

Damn it. Wanda said to herself after hearing Natasha's sweet voice which was also paired with batting her pretty eyes at her. How can she say no to her charming girlfriend? “See? It's not so hard to say please now, isn't it?”

Natasha chuckled softly and gave her signature lopsided smile. “Now will you do it, baby?”

“Careful, your cocky self is almost showing up again.”

“Please, baby. I've been stuck with endless briefing and my eyes need to see something else or I might blow this whole place up.” Natasha pouted at the screen, her puppy-dog eyes adding to the effect.

The witch chuckled at her girlfriend's antics, and can no longer resist how adorable Natasha looked.

"You're so cute, Natty. My poor baby."

Natasha rolled her eyes dramatically; she was never one to appreciate being called cute. "I still refuse to be called that."

Wanda only hummed in response and shifted the view of the camera down to her chest where her taut nipples are visible through the lacey top of the night gown. Her fingertips started to caress her collarbones with feather light touches just enough to tease her girlfriend.

“Oh Natasha, I wish it's you that's touching me right now.” The witch moaned while her fingers dipped further down her body and her deft hand slipped through the fabric, pinching her hard nipples lightly.

“That's right, baby. Make yourself feel good and think about how my rough hands will treat your delicious tits if I was there.”

Natasha's natural deep, raspy voice has an immense effect on her, sparking an instant and involuntary reaction. Without any physical touch, her body melts the moment Natasha's sultry baritone washes over her.

“Place your phone on the nightstand so both of your hands will be able to freely roam on your body.”

Wanda immediately scrambled to obey Natasha's command as she felt her body starting to tingle from the anticipation of what's about to happen. Phone sex is something that they have done plenty of times during the length of their relationship but the thrill for the sheer pleasure for something that is not tangible makes the yearning even more intense.

Once her phone had been successfully situated in her nightstand, with a view showing her full body in bed, Wanda laid back down again and heard Natasha's command again.

“Hmmm. Why don't you kneel in bed instead, grab your trusted pillow and place it between your legs.”

Wanda immediately bit her lips as she's trying to gauge what her lover's plans are but she's more than willing to oblige to whatever Natasha wants. She then positioned herself in front of the camera's view and kneeled with the pillow between her thighs.

“Remove your dress and lower your body, detka. Slowly hump on your pillow just the way you like it.”

Wanda did what she's told by removing the lacey slip on dress as slowly as possible. She also made sure to cup both of her breasts just to give Natasha a show since she's so obsessed with them, but her breath shuddered the moment her bare pussy touched the fabric of the pillow.

Her eyes flung open when she realized she's already wet from the little touches she gave her nipples and the subtle throbbing in her clit intensified further. But then it wasn't just her touch that has gotten her in this state. She knew that it was mostly Natasha's voice that made her insides flutter.

“Awww, isn't that cute.” Natasha’s taunting voice broke Wanda’s attention away from the pleasure building up in her core. “Tell me, baby? Are you wet for daddy?”

“Fuck, yes! I need you here baby.” The witch almost felt ashamed with how Natasha can easily manipulate her into a needy blubbering mess. “Come home and touch me, please.”

“Oh, detka. I wish I could touch you myself right now,” the redhead’s husky voice is adding more fire to Wanda’s pulsating pussy, hanging into every word that she's uttering “but to be honest, I very much enjoy seeing you pleasure yourself like this.”

“Daddy..” A whiny noise escape Wanda’s throat, a mix of protest and plea for Natasha to come fuck her senseless until she loses her brain into the gutter, splattering all over the ground. “But I've been a good girl! I followed every request that you have for me.”

“I know, baby. I know.” Natasha's fake sympathy was oozing out of the screen which caused the brunette to whimper in desperation even more. “Imagine that you're sitting on my face instead, with my hot and wet tongue lapping up your folds and sucking your clit tenderly.”

Wanda continued to move her hips back and forth, faster and harder, smearing her juices on the newly changed pillow case to perfectly set her pace into chasing her much needed orgasm for the night.

“That's it, sweetheart. You're doing a good job for daddy.” With Natasha’s lust-filled appreciation, she now wished she could teleport herself there, to experience this moment in its full glory and to bask in Wanda’s pleasure with nothing between them but pure skin to skin contact. She made a mental note to thoroughly enjoy every second with her girlfriend once she got back and reward her with her well deserved mind blowing orgasm.

“Please, I'm close!” Wanda screamed as fears that she may reach her high so soon and it hasn't even been 5 minutes yet.

“Hold it.” Natasha's voice was very stern and authoritative. “If you cum right away, I will have to punish you when I get back.”

“No no! Baby, I can't hold it. Please let me cum.” Wanda begged pathetically hoping that Natasha will let her have her release. But knowing her girlfriend, she might toy with her orgasm for as long as she wants.

“Wanda,” Natasha began her reminder for the young witch. “You understand that your orgasm is purely mine and I get to decide when and how you're gonna have it?”

“But baby–” Wanda’s protests were cut off right away by her lover.

“Go on. Cum without my permission and to you’ll see how hard I will make you suffer when I see you”

Wanda’s breath hitched at Natasha's threat as they locked eyes through the screen which made her halt her movements.

Breathe in, breathe out. Wanda silently whispered to herself to calm herself yet her heart was still racing from the intense stare of Natasha.

It's almost comical how aroused she has become even more upon hearing the redhead's warning and at the back of her head, there is a voice tempting her to disobey her lover. She knew Natasha would never do anything to intentionally hurt her but deep down, there could be something lurking behind that could potentially ruin her. She has already been subjected to punishment but her limits were never crossed no matter how bratty or stubborn she can be.

After a few seconds has passed, her throbbing pussy still hasn't subsided but she willed herself to hold on much longer and to listen to what Natasha wants.

“See? You know how to listen to me. I'm proud of you, pretty baby.”

A blush immediately crept up Wanda's cheeks from Natasha's praise and she averted her eyes from the spy.

“Perhaps, you can lay down on the bed instead and play with your clit this time. What do you think?”

Smiling inwardly, Wanda had gotten more excited with the next thing that she's being asked to do. If she plays her cards right and follows everything that Natasha says, she might be able to finally have the relief that she's been chasing. Removing the pillow between her thighs, she plopped backwards on the bed, showing a good view of her dripping pussy to Natasha. She can feel her juices leaking down to her ass and this made her feel like a dirty slut that she is.

“Oh my. What a sight.” The widow smirked at her girlfriend's state, her voice deepening as she took in Wanda's wet pussy. “I want nothing more to lick your essence, baby. God, you're so sexy.”

“Natty, baby. Please tell me what you want me to do.” Wanda’s sweet and sexy voice sent shivers down on Natasha's clit and oh lord, she badly wanted to jump out of the screen and rigorously suck Wanda’s stiff bud and lick her folds relentlessly.

“Lick your fingers first then spread your folds. Stroke your clit real nice and slow, detka.”

Wanda did what she's told and her senses are set alight when her fingers touch her sensitive, slippery core. With her two fingers, she slowly circled her clit which earned a deep moan from her throat.

“Oh, baby. That feels so good.”

“I bet it does, sweetheart. You're doing a good job for daddy. Now go faster.”

It seemed that Wanda's clit is on fire with how intense she's been rubbing it in all directions. From going up and down and then switching to left and right just to find the perfect pressure without her release being tipped over too soon.

With Wanda's back already arching off the bed and simultaneously moaning from the pleasure, Natasha watched it all with fondness in her eyes and couldn't help but to lower her hand to unbuckle her belt. Lowering her pants, she then placed her fingers between her folds. It's not a surprise for her to discover that she's also wet from all the visual stimulation that she's receiving from the younger woman. A small sigh then escaped from her mouth when she started circling her stiff bud. She can control not to cum right away but damn it, Wanda's sweet moans are pushing it.

This went on for a few more minutes with both of them moaning through the screen and it took a while for Wanda to realize what's happening. She used both of her elbows to lift her upper body then she saw Natasha sitting on the couch with her pants down and legs wide open while her head was thrown back.

“Daddy, fuck!” She whimpered at the current sight she's seeing as Natasha continuously fucking herself with her fingers. Her digits are going in and out of her roughly which caused for her left biceps to bulge out of her shirt. “I'm not gonna hold it for too long now if you look like that right now.”

“You've been a good girl tonight, Wanda.” Natasha opened her eyes and responded with a rugged voice. “Cum with me now, baby.”

Biting her lower lip in concentration, Wanda hastily rubbed her pulsing pussy as she neared her climax and gasped loudly as the coil in her stomach finally snapped within seconds which made her see stars behind her eyes with fireworks going off all at once that made her ears ring from the intense explosion between her legs.

The same thing was happening with Natasha as the wave of release washed over her, making her legs twitch involuntarily and her stomach tightening from the overwhelming onslaught of her quick orgasm.

It took awhile for the both women to come down from their high and their breathing eventually evened out within minutes. Natasha was the first one to fully recover and she went on to check her lover.

“Wanda, babe. You doing alright in there?”

“Yeah, yeah, just catching my breath.” Wanda replied, reaching for the blanket. “It’s gotten a bit chilly in here.”

The lingering passion faded, leaving only warmth and care between them. “You should get some sleep. It’s late.”

“When will you be back, Nat?” Wanda murmured in a sleepy voice, sounding so adorable that Natasha couldn’t help but smile.

Natasha stood up from the couch to button her pants and to also get ready for her next meeting. “You might just wake up tomorrow and I'd be already pounding inside you. I gotta go. Bye for now, baby.”

Already half asleep, Wanda suddenly registered what she’d just heard. But it was too late to respond—Natasha had already ended the call.

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