#even moreso paid

[pluckedanarchist]

apparently my new job had adoption assistance as a benefit, and they'll give me up to $7500 for adoption fees and two weeks paid parental leave?

[londonspirit]

*

[6ebe]

People starting to publish their f1 rpf fics with changed names. This rly is the next 1d who’s gonna warn Charles leclerc 😭😭

[wndaswife]

trying your hardest | wanda maximoff & gn!reader

After moving to America to join the Avengers, Wanda wants to finally make a friend to ease her loneliness. She hopes to become friends with you, and frankly, Wanda idolizes you, but her social skills are... subpar at best.

Word count: 5020

Tags: fluff, humour, some angst, emo wanda being a baby, a little thing, a small very tiny little thing, wanda has a very big crush on you :3 (she doesn't know it yet tho cuz she baby)

A/N: for plot purposes, imagine the avengers didn’t have a catfight after aou

gif credit to (i tried really hard and i CANNOT find who made this gif im sorry)

Wanda Maximoff never really had an education as a child. What education was available in Sokovia was expensive, and despite her father’s late working hours, the twins’ parents could only ever afford their apartment’s rent. The twins were homeschooled as well as their parents could teach them, but after the bombing, they were on their own. 

Government-funded schooling helped them for only so long. The schools they were sent to were decaying, and always under dwindling government watch from ongoing airstrikes. The ground shook with explosive tremors as they commuted to school on foot. Wanda and Pietro stayed at an orphanage with hundreds of other children whose parents had passed due to the war — and the Avengers. 

Even the government’s debt caught up with what was left of Sokovia. Billions of foreign debt not paid, volume of imports that had increased exponentially since Sokovia worked on rebuilding their country weren’t making enough revenue to pay exporters back. Hundreds of children were booted from government care and onto the streets. The twins attempted to learn on their own, to become informed educated people if they were to ever make a difference in the world, but in Sokovia, even resilience could only get one so far.

Then, Doctor Strucker came along, promising them the extermination of the Avengers, the Western terrorists who had made the already politically-unstable and war-torn country their battleground. 

In hopes to cure the world from their terrorist reign, both Wanda and Pietro agreed to Strucker’s experiments, but the education they were given intended for them to become weapons. They knew little of real geography and world history — only HYDRA’s propaganda meant to poison their minds with blind hatred and little else.

When it seemed like you couldn’t be any more different from Wanda as it was, you were also the team’s brain. Stark and Banner specialised in physics and mechanics, but you were the team’s hub for everything else. From computer science to philosophy, you knew everything. No one exceeded you in developing team strategy, setting the stages for mission locations, profiling adversaries, and a dozen of other things Wanda couldn’t have even fathomed when she first met the Avengers in person.

It took Wanda only several moments to realise you weren’t a frontline fighter from your muffled voice in the Avengers’ earpieces to their callouts of your name as frequent, and perhaps even moreso, than their teammates that fought alongside them on the field despite your physical absence. 

Y/N — that was your name. 

When she had fought the Avengers in Novi Grad, creeping behind the Western superpowers like a heavy looming shadow, Wanda had looked for you. Strategically, it was a rational move. You were the centre of their battle, the heart of their teamwork.

And yet, you were nowhere to be found.

It was only until she had crept up behind Clint Barton when your voice grew clearer than ever before. From the tiny earpiece, you were controlling the field. Perhaps you were just outside, or maybe you were in another country. No matter the distance, Wanda supposed your hold on the battle would be no less effective. 

It was the distraction of thinking about you, perhaps — Y/N, the invisible hand — or Barton’s sole intuition, Wanda did not know, nor did she have very much time to think it over, that had made it possible for him to counter her magic. 

Then there was pain — immeasurable pain that Wanda hadn’t felt since Strucker’s experiments. It shot through her forehead like a dozen bullets had permeated through her skull. Pietro grounded her, and soon after, the twins targeted Banner.

Despite the rumours about him, the insatiable angry force he was told to be, his mind was the easiest to corrupt. Mental instability and insecurity racked his mind, and he quickly shifted into the green beast the Maximoffs had heard so much about. 

Carrying his younger sister, Pietro took the two of them back to Ultron’s base. 

They had won that day.

You were all Wanda could think about even while she and Pietro were off missions. You weren’t the Avengers’ frontline defence like Steve Rogers, nor were you the brute strength of the team like Bruce Banner. You held your team in your hands rather than tugging them along by their leashes although you likely could if you wanted to.

Y/N. 

Who were you?

On the television after the fight on Novi Grad, Iron Man and Hulk’s brawl in Johannesburg was on the news. The city was in shambles. Pietro said something about the deaths of innocents and the success of his sister’s magic in having the Avengers turn against themselves. But Wanda could only think of what you had thought when Stark and Banner came back to their compound, beaten and sore from none other than their own fists. Wanda assumed the Avengers’ compound — wherever that was — was where you were too. 

Wanda wondered how you were dealing with the fight at Johannesburg. What were you saying about her and Pietro?

Later that day, Ultron approached the twins in their bedroom and turned on the television. Despite having been offered separate bedrooms, they insisted on sharing one. Sitting atop their respective beds on the opposite sides of the room, there was someone speaking on the television about Johannesburg across from the interviewer. Their expression was stern but their eyes were solemn. Eyebrows were furrowed together, masking concern and worry; if Wanda knew anything, it was how to read someone.

“Y/N,” the interviewer began, and Wanda’s eyes widened, her head lifting from being held up by her hands, elbows on her pillow as it laid flat atop her crossed legs. “As the Avengers’ strategist, as many put it, how are you planning on handling the devastation that came upon Johannesburg, and the inevitable contact that the Avengers will continue to have with innocent uninvolved civilians?”

The question was packed, and the news station quite clearly had their own sentiments about the Avengers; they were setting you up.

So that was how you looked. Wanda swallowed and felt her chest flutter.

With your upper lip stiff and your posture unbelievably straight, you answered without equivocation. “A common misinformed perspective of any conflict follows the belief that there is any one party entirely responsible for the consequences of violent confrontation, such as the one we witnessed in Johannesburg,” you were saying. With the way her wide eyes were pinned on the television screen, Wanda didn’t notice the way her brother eyed her obviously piqued interest.

“I don’t believe the Avengers are the world’s most honourable superheroes,” you continued. Ultron shifted and Wanda’s head tipped to the side, her interest in you ever growing. “I don’t think anyone is, no matter whose side you’ve taken since the conflict recently — and perhaps even after the invasion of New York’s in 2012.”

That was The Incident, Wanda recalled, when the Avengers terrorised New York. That’s what HYDRA had always told her and Pietro.

“Despite whose side you may be on, as differing as our collective opinions may be, one thing is undeniable — we are all trying to reach a goal of peace for the world, fighting for what we believe is just. There is nothing more powerful than that. Perhaps, it is idealism that serves to be the strength of humanity.”

Ultron laughed morosely. He ridiculed your words, but Wanda wasn’t listening. Whatever you were talking about wasn’t only about Johannesburg. What were you referencing? Who were your words meant for?

Suddenly, your head turned to the camera and Wanda met your eyes. Everything in her froze, her eyes undeviating from your face.

“Wanda and Pietro Maximoff,” you spoke. Pietro looked over at Wanda, shock written on every inch of his face, and Ultron’s eyes darted between the twins, almost accusationally as he undoubtedly suspected coercion. Wanda almost expected you to step through the television screen and into her bedroom. “I know what you want.”

The screen was shut off suddenly, the black mirror of the television reflecting Wanda’s astonished expression. She looked away, shutting her eyes as she felt the burning gaze of Ultron on her. But your words reverberated in Wanda’s mind until your every feature and movement of your lips was memorised. Like a promise, like an ode, your words were immortalised within her.

Pietro wasn’t there when you took Wanda in your arms and saved her from a falling Sokovia. He wasn’t there when you laid her down onto the Helicarrier, nor when you took her hand and told her she’d be taken care of. Wanda cried into your chest at the sight of her brother’s body.

What would he have said if he saw the way your arm refused to leave from around Wanda’s shoulders as the two of them trailed behind his body while he was carried into the compound?

Pietro liked you, and would’ve loved to meet you. He referenced your broadcasted interview several times during their fight in Sokovia. He was proud to work with the Avengers, and proud to finally work towards their goal to help people just like them. He wanted to meet you.

Your voice was different from what Wanda remembered from the broadcast, and not because her memory had failed her, but because you were just… different. You were real, and not a picture on a wall or an untouchable reality forever separated from her by a television screen. As she watched you talk and laugh with the other Avengers, you were real.

But if Wanda was honest, she was much too shy to even start a conversation with you. Perhaps it might’ve been easier to approach you if you were an admired character on one of her favourite television shows, but it was exactly what made her admire you so much that also made her feel so shy around you. 

Granted, there was much to adjust to now that she lived in America and was now a part of the Avengers, and she did believe herself to be a generally introverted person, but she was especially nervous around you.

Wanda had gotten enough confidence to speak with some team members. Natasha was welcoming and kind. Thor was easy not to feel nervous around, but his energy was far too much for Wanda to handle just yet. Bruce was much more comfortable to chat with, and Wanda found that he was able to be rather nice once he forgave her for her associations with Ultron. Steve was always very kind to Wanda and she felt very safe around him, with Steve always trying to make her feel like part of the team, but she found that they didn’t have very much in common.

And there was Vision, who seemed to have taken a liking to her since even before the final battle against Ultron. He was nice company, but she found her mind preoccupied thinking of you while in his company, wishing that it was you who gave her as much attention as Vision did.

However, she’d been wanting to start a conversation with you since the day she arrived at the compound. Initially, she needed time to herself, and along with Steve, you also made the effort to check in on her and give her your support.

Once she was finally able to gain some footing in adjusting to things while shouldering the weight of her losses, Wanda started becoming more active within the team by joining training sessions. During them, she found herself unable to stop looking at you, watching what you were doing, seeing how you interacted with everyone.

Even as the Avengers’ primary strategist that was almost never in the field, you still made efforts to train and stay connected and involved with the team — and Wanda quickly learned that training was a major part of team building.

You were everything Wanda wished she could be more like; you were the kind of person she had never thought existed in a world she believed was only full of cruelty and injustice until recently.

There was an upcoming party at the Avengers Tower in celebration of the assigned team’s return from a successful mission tracking down a recently-located HYDRA base still hiding out. It was almost any ordinary mission, but it was the first step towards steadily eradicating all of HYDRA’s bases, even after Strucker’s primary base was taken down in Sokovia. Though Steve did also tell Wanda that he felt that Tony also primarily wanted to find any reason to celebrate since it’d been some time.

Wanda hadn’t been to any of the parties yet, and she thought that she’d be able to use this one as a chance to start a conversation with you. 

Wasn’t that what people did at parties? Talk?

Truthfully, she didn’t quite know for sure — she’d only ever heard about them through the sitcoms she watched as a child. She knew only of dramatised American portrayals of teenage parties through television.

Whatever it was people actually did at parties, Wanda was certain she would be able to make some effort to talk to you. At least in a social setting, it wouldn’t be strange for her to start a conversation with you.

Wanda made herself look nice and presentable, but not too formal since she didn’t want to overdress or bring too much attention to herself. She wasn’t sure what might happen if her plan to talk with you didn’t end up working, and if she was somehow left with nothing to do, she wanted to be able to slip away without anyone noticing, as if she had never made any attempt to come at all.

While deliberating whether it was better to arrive on time or a bit later once the party had been going on for some time, Wanda realised that at some point too much time had passed and her only option now was to join the party a bit later. 

It was only once she arrived at the penthouse floor where the party was being held that Wanda finally realised how terribly  thought-out her plan was.

What would happen if she didn’t get to talk with you? What would happen if she did, and she only made a fool of herself? Would it be better, then, to stay as two people who’d never conversed so that she might retain what impression you had of her now? Even if that meant she would never get to talk with you the way she wanted?

It was far too late now to change her mind if she wanted to, as she soon found herself walking further from the elevators and into the party. 

The party was rather filled; mostly, they were familiar faces, but it looked like many brought guests, and some guests had brought some of their own. It seemed that Steve was right — atop of celebrating the taking down of the HYDRA base, this was also a social get-together. 

She was still relatively at the edges of the room, so she was still going unnoticed. As she walked over to the bar, fidgeting with her fingers as she did, she took the time to look around and try to spot you. She reached the bar, crossing her forearms on top of its counter, and tried to draw the least attention to herself while avoiding eye contact with anyone as her eyes raked through the crowd. 

Eventually she caught sight of you also at the bar, but at the very edge with your own drink, your back facing the party. Wanda’s chest fluttered and she felt she nearly stumbled moving one foot in front of the other when she turned to walk towards you. 

She worried what would happen if someone suddenly approached you from behind, which would force her to then stop wherever she was standing and pretend she hadn’t just failed at her attempt to come up to you. 

The pressing concern aided her greatly, and she was well on her way to coming up to you without hesitation. But once she actually made her way to your side and once you raised your head from your glass and looked at her, Wanda damned herself for being so distracted, now without a plan or even a terribly-planned script to follow in making conversation with you. She didn’t even get to look at what you were wearing. 

It would be too strange of her to look you up and down before greeting you, right?

“Hi,” she said, hoping that the small smile she felt on her face was actually there lest she look like an absolute fool.

You turned around in your seat in order to face her, and now having your complete, undivided attention made Wanda’s legs feel like mush. “Hi,” you replied with a friendly smile. “Are you enjoying yourself? I don’t think I’ve seen you at a party yet.”

Wanda swallowed and nervously drew shapes against the bar counter with her fingernails, also trying her best to maintain a steady, friendly smile. “No — this is the first I’ve gone to. I haven’t been here for very long. I decided only a moment ago to come.”

“I’m glad you chose to come,” you told her and suggested for her to take the barstool beside you. Wanda lifted herself onto the seat and sat, facing you.

While you were talking, Wanda took the chance to look at what you were wearing. You looked nice, and Wanda thought you always dressed in a way that put-together, respected people did. She saw you in some likeness to the well-dressed characters on the sitcoms she liked — but, of course, modern. 

Maybe she had been taking too long to respond, for you spoke again: “How have you been doing? I know that the move must have been rather hard to go through.”

When she took a moment to respond and found that a response wasn’t immediately escaping her, Wanda felt panic settle in her chest. She knew she should have planned out what to say. She looked like an idiot in front of you. She didn’t know the first thing about socialising or making friends. 

“It was hard,” she said finally. “It is hard. Not so bad now. I mean, I’m trying to adjust.”

You nodded in understanding and Wanda felt herself losing your interest; she was sure that your responses’ intentions were now only to remain polite, to keep conversing with her because you knew she didn’t make very much effort to go out. 

Then you asked, “Did you want me to order you a drink?”

“Oh, I’m okay — I don’t drink,” Wanda answered, fidgeting with her fingers between her knees. Truthfully, she’s never tried alcohol before. Maybe she should have taken you up on your offer. 

“How have you been getting along with the team?”

“I think well. I like everyone. They’ve been very kind to me,” Wanda said. She could hear herself as she spoke to you; she sounded robotic and uninteresting. She thought she might try her hand at being honest about what she was thinking then and there. “But Pietro was always the most social of us both. It is hard to get along with others without him leading the conversation.”

Wanda must have not noticed how solemn she became after she mentioned Pietro, for you reached out and brushed her shoulder with your hand supportively, your fingers squeezing gently around her and lingering for a moment before letting your arm drop.

“I understand,” you sympathised. “You don’t need to pressure yourself into anything — really. I think you fit in here well, and I think you’ve been doing a wonderful job.”

That was the first time anyone truly supported Wanda like that; she was supported by the team as she was grieving the loss of her brother, always being told that she had a shoulder to cry on or a helping hand if she ever wanted someone to talk to. 

There was something frustrating about the way the team approached her grief. They had to have anticipated that she would feel a bit better at some point — or at least well enough to get back to team member material. 

In the way she was spoken to, Pietro and her struggles with his death were always approached as something she would get over at some point or another — like Pietro was something she was going to get over. She didn’t expect anyone to understand how she felt nor to share in her grievances, but it seemed to her that what she was going through was seen only as a temporary distraction to the rest of the team. 

They were kind in giving her their support, but her grief never seemed quite real enough to them. 

Granted, she was rather new to the team, so she understood, to some degree, their inability to understand her pain. But it was frustrating, nevertheless. 

But with you, it was different. 

You didn’t talk about Pietro or her struggles and pain like it was something to get over. You valued her as she was now, and saw her efforts as they were now. 

Wanda felt slightly pathetic for how worked up she was getting over your response, be it as brief as it was, but what you said meant quite a lot to her. She felt, for the first time, that she was being spoken to as a real person rather than a ball of temporary grief and pain. 

“Thank you… I really appreciate–”

She was cut off when you were called to meet one of Tony’s friends, an expert in software development who had even helped program some of the software you used for communication with the team while they were working on the field. Naturally, they wanted the two of you to meet. 

For a moment, Wanda forgot how popular you were amongst your colleagues. Why wouldn’t you be? It was only that you had a certain kindness and authenticity about you that seemed signature to you. But if Wanda admired that about you, and if she idolised you, why wouldn’t anyone else?

You looked at Tony calling you over then at Wanda, who was awkwardly staring at the floor in some pitiful stance of defeat. It made your chest tighten.

This was Wanda’s first time joining in at one of the parties, and you were the first she spoke to. Moreover, there was a kind of sensitivity to her that you knew lay beyond her typical timidity.

Through the conversation with her, you could vaguely see Wanda’s eyes flickering behind your shoulder occasionally, where the floor’s balcony was. From there, one would have a view of the spacious training fields and the expansive forests beyond that separated the base from the main roads.

Tonight, there were clear skies and a rather prominent moon. 

Gently, you tapped the back of Wanda’s hand that was resting on the edge of the bar to get her attention, and she raised her head and met your eyes. 

“Would you like to step out onto the balcony with me?” you asked. “I’m not quite in the mood to talk with them right now.”

Wanda seemed to perk up and she straightened in her seat. She nodded, and when you stepped off from your barstool, she followed and trailed behind you as you headed for the balcony. 

She watched from behind as you led her forward. She played idly with the tips of her fingers as she watched your hair brush against your back, watching the back of your head attentively as if it could tell her anything about you. 

Frankly, she felt a bit starstruck.

A certain panic settled within her as you opened the balcony door and ushered Wanda outside and into the warm evening air; she didn’t know what to say now. 

She wasn’t certain if she was interesting enough at all to have such intimate conversation with. 

What could she say that could possibly be of interest to you?

In spite of the disappointed chatter and lighthearted jabs from the rest of the team in response to your very-obvious aversion to socialising, you closed the balcony door behind you until it clicked shut softly until it was only you and Wanda outside. 

“Is it okay that you’re out here with me?” Wanda asked, looking at you as she stepped beside you. 

“Of course,” you answered and walked forward until you could stand against the rails of the balcony. “Why not?”

Wanda appreciated how easy it was to talk with you, and how your relationship with the team wasn’t all that you were. “I thought that maybe you might prefer being out there.”

“No — I want to be here.”

Wanda flushed and she looked away, using the excuse of looking out past the training fields as an excuse to hide her face from you. 

Making a bold move, Wanda thought that she might be honest with you; she had the real opportunity to make a friend, granted she pulled it off. “Y/N, I really appreciate you being so kind to me.” She garnered some confidence and turned her body and looked at you.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” you replied bashfully, and Wanda noticed that you also seemed a bit timid. She thought you were sensitive, and she liked that.

“But also,” Wanda added, taking in a small breath, “I really appreciate your effort in being sympathetic towards Pietro and I, even when we did not deserve it — especially after Johannesburg. Before your interview broadcast, I had never known of such kindness. It seemed you knew more about what Pietro and I wanted before even we did.”

Without a thought behind it, Wanda’s eyes left yours and she added, “I wish he was able to meet you. I am sure he would have felt equally as stunned by you.”

You asked, “I stun you now, do I?”

Surprised by the realisation of what she said aloud, Wanda looked at you and at the sight of your slight smile, also realised that you were teasing her. She flushed and rubbed her warm cheek with the back of her knuckle and distracted herself with two of the party guests walking through the field.

Wanda reminded herself that she came to make a friend — to be friends with you. So she spoke again. “To be honest, yes,” she replied. “I think you are admirable; everyone seems to like you very much, and the kind of bravery and kindness you have is of a kind I did not previously know could ever be sincere.”

She finally said it, and now, Wanda felt anxious about what you might say next.

You shifted and repositioned yourself as you pondered for a moment in consideration. “Well, I have to confess that most if not all of my bravery is rather insincere — I’m truly not as brave as you might think. In fact, I would argue that you’re more brave than I; you’ve experienced so much, undergone so much change, and yet you seem to have more drive than anyone to try your hardest at adjusting and getting back on your feet.” 

You thought she was braver than you? Wanda could collapse. She felt her chest flutter.

“But… the kindness,” you said, “is very sincere. I’m glad you see it that way.”

Wanda found herself stepping closer to you, feeling more comfortable in your company and feeling that she wanted to be closer to you physically, to hear your words within a closer vicinity and to see your face free of the soft shadows that the moonlight casted along the curve of your nose and the angle of your cheekbone. 

“I think you’re really special,” you told her. “I’m happy that you’re a part of the team. I’m glad you’re here.”

In all her life, there was only one place Wanda ever felt she belonged — with her family. Over some time, what this meant was redefined with the bombing of her home when she was ten and, recently, with the loss of her brother. There was a feeling of loss, an empty pit that burrowed itself within the deepest depths of Wanda’s identity where Pietro and her family and some sort of identity should have been.

It was not only others and her country that she lost, but a part of herself, when all the landmarks she had ever belonged to were stolen from her. But if she could learn anything from still being able to stand where she was and try her best and be brave — like you said — in spite of all her loss and grief, it was that she was not all that she identified herself with.

She still existed, and was still worth something, even without all that was lost.

It would be difficult to even begin finding who she was, exactly, without Pietro and Sokovia and her parents and the truths of herself and the world that HYDRA had always taught her. But she hoped that you might be at least the first step to her self-discovery — you were her first friend.

“Are you alright?” you asked, tipping your head down slightly to try getting a better look at Wanda’s face. 

Wanda had lost herself in her thoughts and forgot to reply to you. She must have been silent for a bit of time. “Yes, I’m okay.” She subtly swiped at her cheeks when she realised she was crying — perhaps it was from thinking of her family or of Sokovia, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the moment was that she started crying — as she looked over at the field for a distraction again.

Without another word, you stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Wanda’s shoulders, bringing her against your body in a soft hug. It was wordless and quiet and casual — support and comfort without any conditions.

Every time Wanda believed that she’d fully grasped the world’s capacity for kindness, believed that there couldn't possibly be something more gentle than what you have thus far shown her, you prove her wrong. 

She hoped she would never be right.

[seat-safety-switch]

Rich people have a million little ways to trick and trap you. Take forks, for instance. To us, just a thing you stab your food with. Only need one kind. No. If you eat at a fancy country club, maybe with the Queen of some even fancier-pants country, you need to know which fork is specifically for salad. As soon as you break that contract, they know you're just pretending to be one of them. The mockery will begin, and nobody – I mean nobody – will invest in your dirigible business, not even if you call it a zeppelin to take advantage the recent inexplicable interest in the German language.

There's a solution, of course. You can send yourself to finishing school, which – despite the name – does not have any happy endings. Medium-fancy people will teach you the ways and means of the extremely-fancy people, and by doing so you will be able to worm your way into the bourgeoisie and destroy it from the inside. I mean, get funding for your great product idea. What you need to look out for here is the subtle brainwashing.

We have a tendency, as a species, to assume that everyone else knows the same things you do. Now, when a person on the subway doesn't know what fork to use to eat the rat they just caught, you'll judge them, despite not knowing this very information five fucking minutes ago when you paid Fancy Nancy to teach you about it. That person on the subway is your fellow human being, moreso than the baby-rich that you are trying to ingratiate yourself with. Do not take them for granted. You can easily find yourself fighting against a person who is more like yourself than different, breaking up the working-class camaraderie of the proles in a bullshit attempt to curry favour with the guy who won't even buy 2% of your blimp business, I mean come on dude, we can get tourists on this thing and soak them!

No. As soon as you know a way to pretend to be rich, it is your solemn duty to tell everyone else around you this same way. Get as many regular folks up the ladder and into the country club to steal their silverware as possible. And I'll help you right now with a rich people secret of my very own: golf is actually really boring. They just do it so they have a nice place to gossip about the other golfers. Now if you distract them while I steal the batteries out of their golf carts, we can get like two or three bucks from the scrapper. Then I can buy some helium tanks for my business. No, of course you'll get a free ride. Solidarity, friend.

[learnastrowallura]

Astrology observations, part 12:

Pisces and Sagittarius are one of the most optimistic yet sensitive placements to have; they really have big dreams and are delusional about them so when smth doesn't work out it hits hardest for them than other placements (goes for people who have signficant Jupiter aspects as well)

If a Capricorn moon opens up you it means you won in life lol it takes a lot for them to trust someone like that even moreso than Scorpio placements imo they're very emotionally restricted whether by choice or smth else so make sure to honor their trust!!

Take a look at the Houses where you have Mars and your North Node (as well as Mars ruled houses) to figure out what your focus should be during the year

Your Venus ruled Houses are where you should practice being in your feminine energy (receiving, manifesting) and having BALANCE (Libra ruled house) as well as being GROUNDED (Taurus ruled house)- I have Libra in my 12th house and I always make sure I prioritize my mental health/wellbeing and I have Taurus in my 7th house and I always make sure my needs are met within a long term relationship so I can be happy and comfortable yk

Masterlist

Paid readings available

[fleshbride]

PRESENTING . . . AIN’T NUN BUT A HOOCHIE MAMA!

⭒ ݁ . ໒꒱ TOJI FUSHIGURO X F!BLK!HOOCHIE READER

⭒ ݁ . ໒꒱ CW: black fem reader; reader is 26, toji is 34; reader is on the thicker side; usage of the word nigga a few times; smut; breeding kink, hair pulling, dumbification, overstimulation, pussy slapping, impact play, messy pussy eatin’, size kink, hints of sado-masochism, a bit of brat taming, manhandling, praise & degradation, multiple orgasms, cervix fucking, choking, squirting; fwb-ish to lovers (?); pet names are used, such as mama, baby, pretty girl, dollface, princess & sweetheart; reader has a kid of her own; reader is a hoochie, meaning she’s seen as ‘ghetto’ but in a very pro-black & attractive way; reader has a mature body, pudge, cellulite, stretch marks; reader accidentally flashes toji; reader & toji share a blunt; toji is actually a good dad in this!

⭒ ݁ . ໒꒱ wc: 7.5k

⭒ ݁ . ໒꒱ this is actually pure filth. this was my first time writing for toji EVER and actually my longest work. guys when i tell you i put some shit into this thing, idk what i did but i SNAPPED. HARD. i hope you guys enjoy this nasty thing that came from my imagination. not proof read or anything so pls excuse my typos!

sometimes, your job could be a godsend. who knew that a simple job at the local hair store would catapult you into meeting one of the sexiest men you’d ever seen?

to be completely honest, it wasn’t solely your job that sparked such an interaction. it was moreso you; you possessed an irresistible, unmistakable charm that was impossible to ignore. your voice, soft as a lullaby, held a dulcet quality that drew people in like a magnet. anytime you opened your mouth to speak, you commanded attention effortlessly, as if your words held some mystical power that captivated any listener.

everyone was always drawn to you, and it wasn't hard to see why. who in their right mind wouldn’t be smitten? you were a vision of beauty, with your radiant brown skin that seemed to glow as if illuminated from within. your smile, perfect and white, could light up even the darkest room, making hearts skip a beat. your eyes were another story altogether. they seemed to sparkle, glimmering with an intensity that was all yours.

your hair was always done, you always made sure that you had a fresh set of lashes. to add, you never forgot to apply your clear lip gloss. now, this wasn't just any gloss, it was your signature, lip gloss added a radiant shine and highlighted the natural beauty of your plump and full lips. your lips, always so perfectly glossed, assumed an irresistible charm that made them look especially appetizing.

to add onto it, your personality was in tip top shape, matching your looks. while sometimes your mouth could get a little reckless, you had an air of kindness, professionalism and just genuine good vibes. it was hard to dislike you, no matter the case. you were a woman of wonders.

you loved your job at the hair store too; maybe that was why your attitude was always good while you were there. it paid well, the hours were flexible and it was something you enjoyed. you loved how your manager let you pick out the wigs and the outfits that would be displayed, and sometimes she let you take home left over makeup and jewelry — which was how you got your favorite set of hoop earrings.

working at the hair store also granted you all types of experiences. sometimes you met upcoming make-up artists and beauticians, hair dressers, nail techs, lash techs — you always made sure to be extra helpful and friendly to everyone you met, just in case they could ever help you.

or… on the rare occasion, you met men. often, they were coming in for their wives, daughters, sisters, nieces, friends — and each time, they were clueless. of course, you helped, breezing past them with the smell of bubblegum and perfume, preferably daisy by marc jacobs.

today was no different.

you were the only one working in the store this saturday, and it was roughly around 12 in the afternoon. the sound of needed me by rihanna echoed through the store, giving it a nice ambiance. you clocked in at 9, and were scheduled to get off at 4 — you had a bit of a long day ahead. however, the store had been a bit slow today. not many customers entered; maybe three every hour, compared to a usual 7-15 people per hour. you were both grateful and a bit sad for the lack of people, as it left you with extra time on your hands.

instead, you found yourself thinking of your six year old daughter at home. alaina, your sweet girl, who was at her grandmother’s for the day. you fondly rubbed the bead bracelet she made for you, that spelled out mommy. your daughter was the most loving child you knew, and you adored her with every part of you.

as you gazed at your bracelet, you let out a soft hum. you’d have to get her another one from here, even though she already had a plethora. whatever you got from the hair store, you usually shared with alaina.

the entrance bell dinging had you snapping out of your thoughts of your daughter, turning your head to greet whoever entered. your boxbraids slid down your back as you looked. it was a little girl who entered, no more than nine. she was in a cute blue dress, with dark brown hair pulled into a ponytail. her cheeks were rosy, which had you cooing at her mentally.

“hi baby,” you called out to her, looking behind her for a parent, “where’s ya mama, hm? a lil’ one like you shouldn’t be walking around all alone.” the girl hadn’t noticed you, and jumped when you called to her. she put her hands up, waving them enthusiastically. “o-oh no, miss, i’m with my dad! he’s just getting his wallet. do you know where the nails are? and the makeup?”

you smiled at the little girl, stepping from behind the counter. you were in a beige sun dress, with some matching wedged sandals. the sundress was long, coming down to your ankles, but there was a slit on the side. it hugged your curves nicely, even though your little bit of pudge was much noticeable; you didn’t care. to be honest, the dress covered way more than your usual outfits, especially in the summer like this. you had never been scared to show your body, even after you had alaina and people insisted on you covering up; because you were a mother now. however, you didn’t give a fuck. if you wanted to wear your shortest shorts, you would.

“c’mere baby girl, it’s this way.” you offered the young girl your hand, which she took happily as you led her. “i’m assuming you’re looking for the press ons, right? not the ones you glue?”

the girl gave you an enthusiastic nod. “yes, ma’am!” she was polite, you noted, with a curl of your lips. her father must be raising her right. “my dad says i’m not big enough to ruin my nails with glue..”

you let out a laugh as you squeezed the girl’s hand. “your daddy’s right,” you mused, “stick to the ones you can press til you become a teenager.” you brought her to the kiddie nails, and stood with her while she made her pick.

the young girl seemed stuck between a pair of pink ones leopard print ones, and blue zebra print ones. “what do you think, miss? i can’t choose.”

you only gave the girl a shrug. “i say get both. let ya daddy worry, not you.” however, because you liked this little girl, you’d only charge her for one anyways. the girl nodded in agreement, giving you a giggle, which you quickly reciprocated.

all of a sudden, you heard the gruff call of, “tsumiki! where have you ran off to?” the girl perked up immediately, and ran to the end of the aisle. “dad! i’m over here!” she called, waiting patiently for him to come over.

you raised your eyebrow as you made your way over. you were a bit curious to see the man who had raised such a sweet and polite girl. as you reached the end, your eyes widened as they set on the man.

he was tall, unbelievably so. his towering stature, reaching at least 6’2, must’ve made him stand out in any crowd. his body was muscular, brawny and well-built, and t he black compression shirt he wore clung to his chiseled frame, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders. his hair, a deep black, was just a bit shaggy — the perfect length to frame his strikingly sharp face.

his eyes were a vivid green, so piercing that they could make anyone feel as if they were the only person in the world. they locked onto you and tsumiki. his attractiveness was lethal, and it was impossible not to notice the way he looked over you. his gaze was slow, lingering, and purposeful, almost as if he wanted to make sure you noticed his attention.

you would’ve been phased if you were a different woman; but you weren’t. instead, you gave him your trademark smile, looking up at him with a warm aura.

a scar sat on the corner of his lip. it twitched slightly as his lips curled into a smirk, making him look even more attractive to you then he already did.

“you work here?” came his deep, rough voice. it provoked goosebumps down your skin, but you didn’t allow yourself to show it.

“yup,” you answered, “sorry i wasn’t at the counter, i was helpin’ miss thing here pick out some new nails.” you watched toji’s mouth open, and held up a finger, “and yea, before you ask — it’s the press ons. no glue needed.” the man let out a hum and gave a nod of approval.

“good. tsumiki, go put those on the counter and if you want anything else, ya better pick before i get back up there.” he told her; his voice was rough, yet still somehow sounded caring. when tsumiki scampered away with an, “okayyy!”, he turned his vision back to you.

the once over he gave you earlier didn’t seem to be enough. he gave you another; from your champagne blond knotless boxbraids which were long and down your back, curving over the swell of your ass, down to your painted white toes in your sandals. shit. you were fucking hot.

“how old are you?” he asked boldly, not wasting a second.

you raised an eyebrow, “you ain’t ever heard it ain’t good to ask a lady her age?”

“so old enough,” he countered back with a smug smirk. “have you been able to drink legally for at least two years?” still asking your age without pointedly asking like before.

“i’ve been old enough to drink legally for five years,” you relented, “so like i said, old enough. why you askin’?”

“i like to know the ages of my women before i hit on ‘em.”

you grinned. you already knew you were going to like this man, and his attitude towards you solidified that. “and i like to know the age of my men before i let them,” you combatted.

“thirty-four,” he answered immediately, and the corner of your lips pulled up in satisfaction. twenty-six and thirty-four. not a bad age gap, only eight years. you could manage.

“you allowed to hit on me now,” you said playfully as you slid past him, “don’t make the shit corny, ‘cause i’ll laugh at yo ass.” maybe that’s his plan, you thought, him tryna laugh me out my panties.

the man let out a bark of a laugh, following after you. you could almost feel his eyes locked on you as your hips swayed while you walked. he only chuckled out, “oh, don’t worry about that.”

you went back behind the counter, ready to pay for their things. tsumiki had thrown a stack of bracelets on the counter, and a new tube of sparkly pink lip gloss to which you scanned and then only scanned a pack of the nails. her father raised an eyebrow at you, but you pretended not to notice. “that’ll be 18.75,” you informed. her father pulled out thirty dollars and slid it to you. as you prepared to give him the change, he shook his head.

“don’t need the change. consider it a tip or somethin’.” you furrowed your brows at him, but didn’t question the customer. instead, you handed them their things with a sweet smile. “bye, lil’ missy,” you told tsumiki, before looking up at the man, “come back soon.” your voice was low, and quite flirtatious. he gave you a smirk.

“oh, i will.”

and he did.

it was three days later when he finally came back. you were leaned over the counter, examining your new nails. it was hot, too hot to even be working. the doors were open, and the AC’s were blasting, trying to cool off the store. you wore a jean miniskirt, with a fat gucci belt on your hips. you paired it with a cropped pink tank top that had a deep v-neck, showing off a bit of your cleavage. your golden nameplate sat perfectly on the apex of your breasts. today on your feet instead of sandals were your pair of pink and white dunks. you had taken out your box braids, and gotten your hair done the same day you got your nails done.

now, you had gotten a lace front installed — and you looked good as fuck. it was a deep shade of vibrant purple, down your back. you had added your own spin, doing one of those heart shaped parts and gelling it down the side of your forehead, and doing edges on the side.

as someone entered, you turned your head to the side to greet them. “good afternoon,” you said cheerfully, looking at the woman who entered. she was dark skinned, with a bumped bob. her makeup was done sharply. you watched as she side eyed you, and muttered out a terse, “hello.”

immediately your eyebrows furrowed. “bitches got an attitude, okay,” you grumbled under your breath as she disappeared into the aisles. it was a few minutes later when she came to the register with a flat iron. off the rip, you told her, “oh mama, you don’t want this one. a few people who purchased this one have said that it heat up too quick and smoke a lot, then breaks. so go ‘head and get another one.”

the woman glared at you, looking you up and down. “excuse me, i didn’t ask for your opinion on what i’m buying. and if it’s so faulty, why haven’t you taken it off the shelves?”

her attitude immediately had you tilting your head, trying your best to bite your tongue. “ma’am, that ain’t my job, i don’t do merchandise, i work at the register.”

she rolled her eyes at you, before snapping out, “then don’t say anything about said merchandise.”

your next words came out before you could even think about it, “ho, i’m tryna help you not burn this crispy fuck ass bob off but okay.” upon realizing what you said, you didn’t apologize nor change. instead you cocked your head, tilting it, while staring at her blankly.

“excuse me?” the woman asked, “honestly, i don’t think i’m taking hair advice from a woman who don’t wear hers natural, and has her skirt digging up her ass. how old are you? you have to have a child at home, dress with more fucking class before you talk about me,” the woman’s face was twisted as she snapped at you.

“i know damn fuckin’ well,” you said slowly — and just like that, you knew you were about to cuss her ass out. “i know DAMN fucking well that you’re not talking to me like that. bitch, are you mad that your ass built like a fuckin’ square? bitch be mad then cause that’s why yo ass slope like y=mx+b. bitch, don’t you EVER question my fashion choices when you’re wearing leather in 87 degree weather. you fuckin’ cereal box built ass bitch, you know what, i got a trick for you—“ you quickly took the flat iron from her and pointed a nail at the door. “now get the fuck out, bitch you’re banned.” the woman opened her mouth to retort, but you were faster, talking over her, “bitch, i don’t give a FUCK. get the fuck out.”

the woman mumbled a, “ghetto bitch.” before storming out the store while you massaged your temples. it was nothing you hadn’t heard though. “fuck be wrong with bitches. man, i need a fucking BLUNT.”

“personally, i would’ve hopped over the counter.”

you looked up at the familiar voice, seeing the man you met the other day. immediately, a grin spread across your face. “look who came back.”

“told ‘ya that i would.” he mused, walking up to the counter, “you should’ve thrown the flat iron at her face. i would’ve paid money to see that.” he wore a white wifebeater and black basketball shorts. did he just come from the gym or something? the lack of clothing allowed you to see just about all of his muscles, and god, were you pleased.

you snorted, giving him a playful eyeroll. “shit, i was fuckin’ thinking about it. you saw the whole thing?” the mystery man, who you decided to dub mr. man, gave you a nod. “positively. you cleaned her so beautifully, and i have to add, you look so, so appealing when you’re angry.”

“shut up, nigga,” you laughed as you put your elbows on the counter, cupping your face with both hands. “what’re you here for?” you looked up at him, and he mimicked your action, fitting his fat ass arms on the counter.

“i need some hair gel for my son. he’s in this spiky phase, shit, i don’t know,” mr. man rolled his eyes a little bit, before adding, “and i don’t know which to pick. as you can clearly see, i don’t use gel.”

you let out another laugh, coming from behind the counter. “yeah, c’mon mr. man, i’ll show you which to use.” off the rip, you noticed how his eyes locked on your body.

yeah, i got it like that, nigga, your inner thoughts said as you internally hyped yourself up.

“mr.man?” he questioned from behind you, his eyes focused on the way your hips swayed, and the way a little bit of your ass was uncovered by the skirt.

“well, you never told me your name, so i gave you a nickname.”

he snorted a little before saying, “well, my name’s toji, for one.” you thought about it for a second for a second. was that a moanable name? you went through it in your head. yeah. definitely moanable.

“my name y/n,” you finally disclosed, “but everybody just call me n/n.” toji nodded a little. “n/n… that’s cute.” you noticed one of the items had fallen off the shelf, and without hesitation, you bent over to pick it up, completely forgetting about the fact that you were wearing a skirt, and the man behind you.

toji almost had a fucking heart attack. his eyes zoomed in onto your now slightly revealed ass, your sheer red panties that showed the plush outline of your pussy. shit. shit. it was over in a second, much to his mixed chagrin and gratefulness. however, he wasn’t some boy — he maintained a straight face and control. you placed the item back on the shelf and resumed walking.

“alright,” you said, as you reached the gels, “see, here’s what i use for my daughter,” you held up a jar of eco. “eco holds good for her, and it lasts long, to be honest. her hair is a bit thicker. and it doesn’t have like color residue like prostyle gel.” you grabbed the black container of prostyle gel. “but if your son has like brown-black hair, it’ll be good.” toji shook his head, saying, “nah, he has that weird bluish-black.” you tutted and put the prostyle down.

“there’s also gorilla snot gel, which i recommend if his hair is straighter, you feel me?” you held up the yellow bottle of gorilla snot.

toji looked at both and let out a short groan. “i can’t decide. i’ll take ‘em both and see which works better.” you shrugged and passed them to him. you took note of how positively huge his hands were. they could probably cover your whole face. or… your entire ass.

“i didn’t know you had a little runt too,” he made conversation with you as you walked back to the counter, “i forgot you’re almost 30.”

“yeah i forget too, trust,” you laughed a little, “my little girl’s my pride and joy, her name’s alaina. she’ll be starting first grade this year, i’m so proud of her. i actually got pictures.” you pulled out your phone and showed him your lockscreen which was the two of you. toji chuckled.

“y’all look alike, cute,” he commented, “my son’s seven, and tsumiki’s eight. you met her last time.” you fondly recalled your encounter with the polite young girl. “you a single parent, too?”

you gave him a nod, and a shrug. “alaina’s daddy claimed he wanted nothing to do with her, so i kept it like that. then his stupid ass got locked up, thank riddance.” toji let out a short laugh. “tsumiki’s mom was my first wife, and we divorced. megumi, my son, his mom was my second. unfortunately, she passed.”

“aw,” you said, pouting sadly and placing a hand on his large arm. “i’m so sorry for your loss, sweetheart. i hope you’re doing alright.”

toji laughed a little. “i’m fine, pretty mama, don’t worry about me.”

you bristled at the new nickname, giving toji a wicked grin. “that’s how you referring to me now?” you asked, as you slid behind the counter to the register.

“you’re pretty, and you’re a mama,” toji said with a shrug. “it honestly only fits.” you very pointedly made sure to check him out and said, “mmhmm..”

as you rung him up, toji said, “does alaina need any new friends? my son’s a bit shy and doesn’t talk to nobody but his sister… maybe they could have a few play dates?”

“yeah, i’d love that!” you answered, a genuine smile coming onto your face. anything referring to your daughter made you happiest. “your total is 14.95. here i’ll give you my number...” as toji paid, you rang it up. on his receipt, you wrote your number and passed it to him.

toji grinned and gave you a nod. “see you around.” you wiggled your fingers in return.

see him around, you did. you and toji were quick to hook up play dates whenever your schedules aligned. you became familiar with the routine of getting off work in the afternoons and scooping alaina’s to head to toji’s to play with her two new best friends.

you and toji often stayed downstairs, while they played in tsumiki’s room. you and toji would watch movies, roll blunts and eat food — or sometimes even play texas hold ‘em, in which you won every single time.

toji would grumble, and accuse you of cheating, when in truth, he was really just a bad gambler, but all was well. you considered toji a good friend… of sorts.

because that’s what you two were; friends. friends who sometimes flirted a little; you considered toji a friend when you’d bend over to pick things up in those skimpy jean shorts you wore; toji considered you a friend when he’d slide past you, pressing his crotch against the curve of your ass and muttering a, “excuse me, n/n,”; you considered toji a friend when you’d play sexyyred and say the lyrics a little too… forceful; and he considered you a friend when he’d make slick little sexy comments about your body before adding, “that’s just what other guys think.”

safe to say… there was a bit of tension between you two. and finally, it came to a crescendo.

it was normal, at first. like usual, you and alaina were at toji's house. it was around 9:30pm, and the kids had collapsed after playing all damn day and finally having a meal of chicken nuggets. you remembered the look on your face discovered them. they were heaped in the large bed; tsumiki had more than enough room for all three of them, yet they were together. alaina was draped over megumi and tsumiki, her face in megumi’s chest but her body pressed to tsumiki’s. they were all tangled up, limbs skewed and whatnot.

and now, you and toji were together downstairs, toji watching as your nimble fingers crafted the blunt — his were too fat. your feet were in his lap, and he was watching you with those bright green eyes. as you rolled, you were mumbling one of sexyy’s songs. “fuck me like you mad at me, baby.. i need that dick to drive me crazyyyyy…” you sang under your breath.

toji raised an eyebrow at you, “the music you listen to has some really… meaningful words.” as you licked at the blunt, you let out a laugh. “i agree with everything she say. when suki said that if you ain’t eating coochie, you ain’t fucking, i felt that one.”

finally, you perfected it and grabbed toji’s lighter. “you only fuck eaters?” he said, amusement trickling through his voice. you lit the blunt and took a deep inhale, masterfully blowing it up into your nose and then out again before passing it to him. “yup. only fuck eaters ‘cause they do it the best. you an eater, toji?” you asked pointedly, watching as one of his rough hands drew circles on your leg, then up to your knee, while the other lifted the blunt to his lips. he took an inhale, then another. god, you hated double hitters, but it was okay — it was only you two.

“wouldn’t you like to know?” toji shot back, his trademark smirk sliding across his face. his lip twitched, scar jumping.

“that’s why the fuck i asked you, toji,” you clapped back immediately, making the older man squeeze your leg while passing the blunt back. “watch your mouth, n/n. don’t get fucked up.”

“or what?” you immediately retort, holding the blunt up to your lips as you took another puff. “you not gon’ do shit to me, toji, like i honestly wish you w—“ your words were halted by the man throwing your legs off his lap, one hand going to spread them roughly as he pressed his fingers against your clothed cunt.

“i’m not gonna do shit?” he repeated, as your eyes went wide; he had obviously startled you, but you weren’t opposed to this one bit. as his fingers rubbed at your pussy through your shorts, you shook your head feverently again, looking at him as you held the blunt to your glossed lips. “not a damn thing.”

when all toji did was nod, you were sure you were in for it. and you were. he was quicker than you, grabbing your hand that held the blunt and quickly forcing you to put the blunt in the ashtray. the smoke you were holding in your mouth was forcefully removed as toji roughly pressed his lips to yours, the smoke being shared between you two as he pried your lips apart.

the next few minutes were coated in a needy haze. his big hands were everywhere, all over your body. moving to squeeze at your tits, your ass, your thighs. eventually the settled on the waistband of your shorts and began to unbutton them. before pulling them off completely, leaving you in your lacy dark blue thong.

he pinched the plush of your pussy, barely hidden by the panties — more like decorated by it. immediately, the scent of your slick, which was already dripping, filled toji’s nostrils, making him let out a wanton moan.

“fuck, mama,” he hissed as he trailed his finger down your slit, “you always this wet? this is how you’ve been the entire time?” he looked up at you, eyes darkened with lust.

“no,” you lied immediately, giving him a reckless smirk. “she just like that off the rip. i determine whether it’s for you or not.” toji only let out a little laugh. “word?” he asked. you opened your mouth to repeat the word back to him, but you were rudely interrupted by him slapping your pussy.

it wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t exactly soft, the pain sending sparks of pleasure through you. you hissed out a, “shit..” toji smirked at your reaction as he pushed your panties to the side, before delivering another smack, this time a litle harder. you let out a mewl, squirming in his hold.

“crazy,” toji said to you, “two lil’ slaps just made you leagues wetter. you sure you’re not wet for me?”

you refused to answer, only giving him a shrug. “so you wanna be a brat now, huh?” he asked you with an eyebrow raise as he began to pull the panties down your thighs. “like you weren’t jus’ all over me. ‘toji, you a eater?’” he mocked you in a high pitched voice as he pulled you forward, legs sliding over his broad shoulders. you remained silent, biting your tongue. maybe you were a brat; you knew that with toji’s strength and stamina, you would get much more if you drew it out. plus, you wanted to make him work for every moan, every word.

“you gon eat my pussy or not?” you asked boldly, your hand going to lace through his hair, nails pressing against his scalp. “like literally, shut the f—!” you were interrupted by toji latching his mouth onto you, completely ripping the words from your mouth.

his tongue, long and flat, slid between your plush folds, calloused hands digging into your thighs as he shoved his face between your legs. off the rip, his motions were rough and quick, tongue swirling against your clit before going down to your hole, curling against it to lap at your essence. you gripped the couch as you let out soft moans, trying not to be too loud — you didn’t wanna fuel toji’s already large ego.

“fuck,” he mumbled as he pulled away, “pussy’s so sweet, baby. i should’ve bent you over in that fucking store the day you wore that skirt.” you were unable to respond before he was diving back in, tongue messily trailing througu your pussy. he was there between your thighs, feasting on what you offered, lapping up all the sweet nectar you had to spare. his lips latched onto the delicate bud of your clit, sucking with a fervor that left you gasping, while he looked up at you with a gaze that was as heated as it was prideful.

one of your hands found its way into his hair, tangling in the soft locks as you gripped it tightly, the other clutching onto the plush fabric of the couch as though it was your only lifeline. your breaths were coming out in ragged gasps, each one harder to catch than the last, your mouth falling open in that perfect 'o' shape as you let out sounds so sweet and melodious, singing a song of pure pleasure just for him.

and you couldn’t help it; euphoria was pulsing through your body, coating your thoughts in nothing but toji. your toes curled, as toji slid his tongue inside of you. god, he was so messy, your slick already all over his face, his spit mixing with your slick as it trailed down your ass.

you were incessantly moaning, unable to even downplay or disguise it anymore. “s-shit, toji, fuck, that feels so good—!” he looked up at you with satisfaction as he slid his tongue into your entrance, curling it upwards against your walls.

you squealed, trying to scoot backwards away from the pleasure, but he was quick to yank you back, trapping you against his mouth, his hands coming to wrap around your thighs. one of his fingers traced the stretch marks on your thighs. he worked his fat tongue inside of you, curling and sliding as his pointer finger swirled your clit at such a fast pace, you was sure he was gonna give you something close to a rug burn.

his paired actions had you spiraling over the edge, the coil in your stomach stretching and stretching until it was ready to snap. “toji, ‘m close—! fuck, fuck— gonna cum!” toji’s movements became much more insistent, gaining in speed as he basically shoved you over the edge.

your orgasm hit you like a brick, your back arching off the couch as you gripped toji’s hair tightly, whined babbles of repeated words leaving your lips. if it weren’t for toji holding you down and anchoring you, you were sure that you would’ve grown fucking wings and soared away.

you creamed all over his tongue, and he made sure to pull away, before messily spreading it throughout your pussy, just to lap it all up over again, letting you settle, working you through the after effects of your climax.

you sucked in ragged gasps as toji pulled away, licking his lips and wiping his face. he stared at you with such intensity, shivers went down your skin. your eyes immediately focused on his hard dick through his sweats, the outline prominent. you tapped your foot on his thigh. “gimme that,” you breathed.

“do you deserve it?” toji said back, his voice a bit raspy. “been a bratty slut this whole time. you were so cocky, remember? i don’t get you wet, right?”

you wanted to maintain your pride, you really, really did. but desperate times called for desperate measures. “c’mon, toji,” you sighed sultrily, “i was just playin’.. just wanted to make it a little fun for you, you know that..” you spread your legs a little more, teasing him as you continued, “it’s all yours, i swear — been waiting for this for such a long time.”

toji only gave you a soft chuckle and the only words gave you were, “that right, baby?” immediately, he scooped you up with a single arm, flipping you over onto your hands and knees. you let out a noise of surprise, but immediately arched your back, looking back at him as he pushed his sweats down his thighs. his dick sprung up, and you couldn’t say you were shocked by it.

his dick was both fat and long, and it almost made your eyes pop out of your head. he had to be at least eight inches, veins running up the side of his heavy dick. his tip was a dark apricot shade, and it was leaking bad, opaque beads of precum sliding out of his slit. he was well trimmed, with heavy breeder balls. you almost salivated. but at the same time, you questioned how all that was even supposed to fit in you.

he seemed to know exactly what you were thinking. “don’t you worry, princess. you’ll take every inch of me.” one of his hands gripped your ass, spreading your cheeks apart as he directed his tip against your entrance, slapping it there a few times, making you groan in need. “t-toji, stop fuckin’ playin—!”

once again, you were rudely interrupted by him pushing the tip inside of you. he let out a hiss, your walls sucking him in. however, with just how wet you were, he slid right back out. he let out a snicker as he leaned his hand down to slap your pussy again. “but you not wet for me, alright..” he lined himself up again, and this time — he didn’t push into you slowly.

with one rough thrust, he filled you to the brim, forcing you forward as you let out a strangled noise, clawing at the couch. “toji! oh fuck..!” you pulled your hips forward, trying to get him to pull out a little, but he wasn’t having it. “s-shit, i’m not even all the way in yet,” he huffed, hair hanging in his eyes. toji was letting out pants, it felt as if your pussy was fucking suffocating his dick, strangling it.

inch by inch, he pushed the rest of his dick in, until the plush of your ass was nestled against his pelvis and stomach. he yanked at his shirt, pulling it off of his body. your slick was already coating him, dripping down to his balls. you were a mess, mewling just from him entering. you felt so full — his dick stuffing you better than you ever had been before. and it was driving you out your mind.

toji didn’t wait for you to adjust. with one hand on your ass, thumb rubbing against the ridges and dimples, and the other lacing through purple hair, toji pulled all the way out, and then slammed all the way back in. the force of his motions shoved you down into the couch, and immediately you let out a cry of, “t-toji! slow down!”

but slowing down wasn’t apart of his agenda. he rasped out, “nah, this is what you wanted, baby. so take it. take my dick like a good fuckin’ girl.” he began snapping his hips into you, the veins on his dick dragging against your walls just right. your cunt clamped down on him every time he tried to pull out, as if it was forcing him to make your cunt his new home.

toji was mesmerized by the way your ass jiggled and clapped with every movement he made, the sound of your skin slapping filling the air. he slapped your ass hard and then squeezed, making you squeal once more. “fuck, look at you. bouncing this ass back on my dick so good..”

at his praise, you looked back at him before proudly twerking back on his dick, putting on a little show. he laughed, his hand trailing from your hair to snake around your throat. “such a fuckin’ slut,” he said gruffly, before pulling his hips back so that only the tip was inside before ramming his dick back inside of you.

you felt him nudge against your cervix, and you let out a noise close to a scream, while his hand tightened around your throat. tears filled your eyes at the pain, your lashes beginning to slide. “you’re gonna wake up the kids, princess. wouldn’t want them to come down to seeing you getting fucked like some whore, right? keep that pretty mouth quiet.” he leaned down, chest pressing against your back as he curled his much larger body against yours. “but not too quiet. wanna hear you lose your fucking brain over this dick.”

his other hand came to wrap around your throat, and he began to jack hammer into you, slamming you on his dick over and over. your eyes rolled back, a mix of pain and pleasure twisting through you, that coil getting ready to snap again. “t-toji…” you slurred out, “g-gonna fuckin’ cum again…!”

“so fucking do it,” toji hissed as your clenching began to get more intense. “paint my shit, baby.” his voice was sending shivers down your spine, aiding your increasing pleasure. you let out ragged moans into the couch as your body trembled, pussy spasming wildly around his dick as you came a second time.

he didn’t slow down through your orgasm, instead, he went faster, if that was even humanly possible. he pressed down on your head, forcing your face into the couch, and pressing on your belly simultaneously. it forced you to have a deeper arch, but it also made you feel just how deep he was inside of you. pressing his big hand against your stomach to feel his bulge had toji grinning.

you were a wreck, tears sliding down your face, your lashes long fallen of. you were pretty sure your lace had peeled, but you didn’t care. you could barely think, barely form coherent sentences with how toji was fucking you. and he knew it. he knew he reduced you to a mess, and he wasn’t even halfway finished with you.

soon, he felt his orgasm coming, and he let out a deep groan. “shit.. where do you want my cum, doll? ‘m getting close..” you were quick to whine out, “i-inside, toji.. want you to cum inside…!”

“haah!” he grunted out with a smirk, “want me to fill you up, huh? want me to stuff you full with my cum? yeah, i bet you fucking do, look at you.”

“toji, toji, toji, fuckkk.. want your babies, c’mon, make me a mama again—!” toji laughed shakily at your dumb response, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “fuck yeah, dollface. you better not spill not one drop, alright?” he let out a strangled moan as he released, his thick cum filling her to the walls.

you sucked in harsh breaths, finally feeling relieved after toji’s constant fucking stopped. he seemed to slow down, gently fucking his load into you. you began to relax… however you were sorely mistaken.

“you thought i was done with you?” toji asked as he gripped you, flipping you over so that he could see your face. you looked a mess, but you were so, so pretty. your eyes were watery, face with tear trails all over. your lips were bruised from how much you’d been biting them. at least your hair was still intact… for now. toji leaned down and pressed a kiss to your jawline, down to your throat. he yanked at the top you wore, and when it didn’t want to cooperate, he ripped it and peeled it off of you himself. “toji, my shirt….” you whimpered but he dismissively waved a hand. “you’ll get one of mine.” he reached behind you, unclipping your bra and letting your tits spring free.

his big hands almost swallowed them as he began to leave bites and kisses all over your throat, collarbone and chest. “can’t possibly be done with you,” he said against your skin, “been waiting to fuck you like this since i laid eyes on you, doll.”

he left a plethora of hickies on your skin, very obviously marking you as his. you were still speared on his dick, and he began to roll his hips languidly inside of you, curving into your g-spot repeatedly. the feeling had you seeing stars as he gripped your legs and pulled them around his waist. with each thrust, he began to get more forceful and speed up, until once more, he was pounding your insides.

your nails went to his back, scratching, making toji wince in pain as his hips collided with yours. three of your nails had broken off. a third time, you felt yourself reach your climax once more, but it felt different. painful almost, with the last your clit throbbed. you managed to push away the toji-shaped clouds in your brain and realized.

“t-toji—! toji, ‘m gonna squirt!” you cried out as you twisted in his hold, the pleasure becoming overwhelming for you. “t-toji—!” he only smirked at you, yanking you closer. “make a mess f’me, mama. wanna see you get all messy… c’mon, c’mon, make that pretty pussy squirt on my dick.” he pressed another messy kiss to your lips as his hand snuck down to rub your clit, forcing more pleasure into your system. you let out a ruined, gasped noise — like you wanted to scream but couldn’t get it out. clear liquid gushed from you, coating toji’s lower half, some of his abdomen and the couch.

you were in too much of a haze to notice that soon after, toji came inside of you a second time. he didn’t pull out at first, instead opting to lay his head against your sweaty skin, pressing kisses. he realized that you would be completely gone for a bit, after that, so he was gentler with you. he pulled out, watching his cum slowly dribble from your hole after the two creampies he gave you. not wanting you to sit in your own fluids, picked you up and brought you to his room, putting you one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers before tucking you in.

he went back downstairs, eyes locked on the mess you made on the couch. a soft whistle escaped as he plucked your lashes off the sofa and put them on the table.

you probably wouldn’t become his girlfriend yet; but you damn for sure weren’t going anywhere now.

[princessbrunette]

john b & jj taking puppy!reader for ice cream for being such a good girl!! pup getting ice cream all over her face while she licks her cone all innocent, looking up at jj while hearts are coming out of his eyes and hes drooling a bit!!

✧˖°. ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა ✧˖°.

you felt super loved.

john b was sat one side of you, the brunette himself having just got paid from his surf shop job therefore treating the three of you to icecream. he reclines in the booth slightly, his arm protectively around the back of your seat as he smiles gently, watching you scarf down the treat.

jj sits the other side, yapping away about something as you listen intently, occasionally taking a breath to spoonful a mountain sized dollop of icecream into his mouth. you’d think you’d be sick of icecream, working at an icecream parlour yourself — but there was something about the dessert that you knew you’d never tire of, especially when you’re enjoying it with people you love.

“so anyways, i’m half way down the street — my pants are fallin’ down, my shoe lace is untied and— damn, pooch, it ain’t goin’ anywhere— slow down.” the blonde interrupts his story to put his own pot of icecream down, grabbing a napkin from the centre of the table to wipe you down.

“jayj.” you groan, wriggling in his grasp as he mops you up. the brunette on your other side places a hand on your shoulder, not firm enough to keep you still, moreso a silent and gentle warning to do so on your own accord.

“eat slowly, pup. you remember what happened last time.” you can hear the amused smirk in john b’s voice without even turning to face him. memories of you wolfing down your dessert to quickly wind up sick flashes through your mind and you grimace.

“so many rules, just want my damn icecream.” you moan, but slowly drag your tongue along it, succumbing to the request to slow down.

jj goes to continue the story, his eyes flickering to the way you swirl your tongue in the pink syrup, blinking rapidly like he’s taking mental polaroids.

“so anyway, as i was sayin’… there… uh… so we were… shit.” he watches the way you put on a show without meaning to, making a mess of your icecream on your tongue once more.

john b tilts his head with a grin, squinting a little at the blonde. “you good, jay?”

“yup. so good. just can’t concentrate ‘cus our girl here is makin’ sweet love to her ice cream.”

you giggle, wiping your own mouth with a glint of mischief in your eyes.

“am not.”

“are too, look if you wanna suck it just say so, s’right here.” jj sits back with his legs open, gesturing to his crotch. the amusement leaves your eyes to be replaced with arousal, batting your lashes up at him now as john b rolls his eyes.

“jesus, would you two behave in public?”

suddenly your head is whipping round to look at him, and jj is slowly taking the icecream from your hand so you don’t drop it. “are y’gonna teach me a lesson if i don’t, daddy?” you pout and he sighs, leaning his head back on the booth for a moment as he gathers himself.

“yes.” he emphasises when he opens his eyes once more, reaching down to fix his shorts around his crotch, making jj chuckle. “and shutup. c’mon, we’re done here.”

“aww, but my icecream.” you mewl as the brunette pulls you from the booth to march you back to the twinkie.

“mhm, should’a thought of that pup.” jj gives your ass a subtle little swat as he passes you, leading the way to open the door to exit the parlour.

✧˖°. ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა ✧˖°.

[enviedear]

Hi!

Can I please have a 𓍢ִ໋🀦 scream with Sirius or Remus (or both) and one bed trope? Non-magical world

ofc, i missed writing for my favorite british wizards, i hope you like it nonnie <3

join spookfest... if you dare !

ཐི⋆🕯️⋆ཋྀ SIRUS BLACK may have forgotten to book a room with two beds—but it's not his fault—he had other things to worry about! being james potter's best man isn't an easy task, and now here he is, stuck in a small hotel room with little more than a chair and a full size mattress. he's wishing he paid less mind to james and more to his sleeping arrangements.

he tries to make his tone convincing when he offers, "i can take the chair. s'no big deal." he's lying of course. he needs sleep for the ceremony tomorrow, but so do you. being maid of honor and all. he's sure he can sleep while everyone gets ready tomorrow. not that he wants to, but he'd be nothing if not a gentleman.

"no, it's fine. we can share." your tone is lax, shockingly different from how the circumstances are inwardly affecting you. and just like that, sirius is in the bed, head hitting the pillow and body melting into the mattress. it's when you curl in beside him that he finally realizes his situation. alone and sharing a bed with the person he's been harboring a crush on since forever—he can't possibly fall asleep now. there's a rush of thoughts in his mind; how tired he's going to be for his best mate's wedding if he doesn't calm down and get to bed. how undeniable your presence is beside him. how much he wants to reach out and pull you into him.

you break him out of his trance finally, voice soft when you jokingly tell him not to horde the covers. he manages a chuckle, stiffly. he's moreso focused on fighting the urge to interlock your fingers together than conversation. the bed is entirely too small, even if he would have been on his own. every shift brings you closer to him, it's pitiful how his breath hitches each time.

at least a half hour passes before he eases up. not due to anything other than your leg hitching around him and your arms finding home around his shoulders. you're peacefully asleep, but sirius falls into your touch as if you meant it. he, rather quickly, decides to face the aftermath of cuddling through the night tomorrow. for now—he indulges.

[causenessus]

new grounds

part 0.14. FLOWERS . . . 2.18.2024

PLAYING IN THE CAFE . . . was it something i said by mykey

kageyama can’t sleep. it’s the night of the volleyball quarterfinals. she hugged him and now he can’t stop thinking. 

things feel like they have finally clicked, and something inside him flutters everytime he thinks about her arms around his neck. but at the same time, a pit of worry is growing inside of him. does she know how he feels about her? how does he feel about her?

he’s never thoroughly thought about it before, she’s been a new experience for him in everyway. she was something that he moreso felt rather than knew. when he saw and thought of her, his feelings went wild and everything inside of him just wanted to offer itself to her. he had never been so emotional about something; volleyball was a passion that riled him up but she was even different from that. she was a person that he found himself constantly seeking out throughout the day.

he hadn’t even fully realized how much he stared at her, or how he sought her out in the crowds during games. she simply just always caught his eye whenever he turned towards the audience where she was sitting and he never looked away.

these were all things he felt. he had never logistically rationalized out how he felt or why he was feeling it, like he normally did with everything. and he found that he wasn’t sure he wanted to try and make sense of his feelings, he just wanted to let them continue guiding him towards her. they had brought him close to her multiple times; they walked home from work together now and he found it easier to talk to her now. he found himself even wanting to make conversation with her, despite how terrifying it always was.

but did she feel the same way?

that was the question that had been plaguing him all night. everything had started to connect after she had hugged him and tsukishima had "debriefed" everything like he always did. 

bokuto had known about her plan to hug him, did that mean she had talked about him to others? was that a good thing or a bad thing? why would she put so much effort into doing something for him anyway? what if she was interpreting everything he was doing as a friend? what was he doing to show his interest in her? did he even want to show that he had feelings for her anyway? what if she didn’t return them?

he had beeen staring blankly at his ceiling for what felt like hours, blinking ever so often and shifting on his bed to check the time, scroll around on his phone, and then return back to the ceiling because his thoughts demanded his full attention.

he had just shut off his phone when he heard a buzz and he immediately reached for his phone; this is how it had been ever since he had gotten her phone number, too. something in him was always hopeful that the notification was from her, texting him about something. but as he squinted at the contact name, his hopes dropped a little. it wasn't y/n, it was hinata.

the door chimes and her head perks up immediately, as it has for the past hour every time she hears the ding, hoping it’s him.

this time it's and she’s washed over with simultaneous feelings of relief and anxiety. he’s always had a calming effect on her but it's paired with the worry of rejection today, and she gets a little confused at how exactly she feels.

the anxiety only worsens when he passes by her and says nothing. he doesn’t even glance her way and her heart drops. a voice in her head wants to critique her for once again expecting anything different. perhaps she’s read everything wrong, mistook all his signs for something they’re not. the thought makes it feel as if everything within her wilts and she barely notices a customer in front of her until they clear their throat. she helps them with what they need as he walks out, tying an apron around his waist.

he stares at her, trying to calm his own nerves. talking with hinata helped him feel better but he’d been distracted all of saturday. he’d paid attention to whatever he was working on but he wasn’t always "all there." part of him was always thinking about her, and that part had only taken over more of his mind when he thought about seeing her today. now that he was here, he was worried about what the right thing to say would be. and when would be the best time to say it?

he didn’t want them to be interrupted by any orders, after work as they walked home would most likely be his best bet. but he didn’t trust himself to say anything to her before then. he'd keep to himself for now.

for the next few hours, they barely talked. they worked around each other in silence, passing each other things they might need for the order they were working on and talking to customers more than one another. she glanced at him more times than she was be willing to admit, and sometimes they made eye contact, but he would only give her a grim smile, where his lips pressed into a thin line. she’d always look away first, unsure of what to do. 

the night came quickly, and she wasn’t sure where to go from there. there hadn’t been a good opportunity to talk to him today, mainly due to customers and how terrified she felt that he was barely interacting with her. she settled for a slight risk; she’d humiliate herself and ask if he still wanted to walk home with her. if he said yes, she would stop him at some point and bring up the flowers. if he said no, she’d go home and cry. maybe stop in a park and sit on a bench to rethink her life choices first.

she’s cleaning a coffee machine while he’s putting up chairs and she takes a deep breath. he stacks the last chair and starts making his way towards the counter. her chest tightens, knowing this is the only tiny window of opportunity she’ll get to ask him. “hey,” her voice cracks out with the first word and she tries to ignore it, he looks up at her, face slightly more expressive than it’s been all night. he’s intent and focused on whatever she’s about to say next and she forces the next words out of her mouth, “...do you still want to walk home together tonight?” her face is warm and she’s sure she’s bright red by the end of the sentence, waiting for a response. 

he blinks first and then answers, “oh, yeah. i thought that was already the plan. i’m grabbing my bag now, do you want me to bring yours too?”

she turns back to the coffee machine, wiping down the steam wand with a rag and letting out a breath to herself, “yeah, sure. thank you.”

now she felt stupid. this whole thing had been the result of miscommunication and overthinking, all on her part again. just like how she’d first felt about him, thinking he hated her and hating him back. but she fell for him despite it all so perhaps this was just how they'd be.

at least he hadn’t been intentionally ignoring her, though, and she felt slightly more hopeful about tonight. 

they clocked out together, the silence more bearable this time around and she locked the door behind them.

then they were walking down the sidewalk together, down a path that she’d come to enjoy now that she had company. she tried not to focus on it instead of whatever worst case scenario her brain was trying to come up with.

there was an upcoming bench with a lamppost right next to it, casting a warm light onto the ground. that’d be a good place to talk to him. she tried to ease into the conversation, “i told you that you played well on friday, right?”

his hands were stuffed into his pockets, face slightly obscured by the collar of his jacket as always. he turned his head to look at her, looking slightly surprised. “oh, yeah. you did,” he answered, then immediately averted his eyes.

“well i really meant it, i think you know i’ve been friends with bokuto for years now. yachi, keiji, him and me have been close friends since high school. and us three would always go see his games so i’ve seen a few matches before. but i don’t think i’ve ever seen a setter like you. it’s amazing how you can adapt yourself so well to every spiker. hinata and bo are both such energetic, wild people yet you can always match their pace and read their minds when even they don’t know what they’re doing. it's like you give them the exact set they want and none of you guys ever even say anything to each other,” she smiled up at him, and he sank farther behind the shield of his collar, trying to hide his burning cheeks. 

this is what he had been telling hinata. that she just put so much thought into anything she did. anything she was passionate about, anything she paid attention to. his stomach was once again fluttering at her words. he hadn’t even ever told her that much about his volleyball career yet she managed to compliment him on the one thing he felt insecure about. “you really think that? that i match their paces?” he asked, feeling a lump in his throat.

“of course! god, you’re last set to bokuto, first you tricked everyone into thinking you were going to set to hinata and then you perfectly changed your posture to set to bokuto and the ball just went straight into his hands. i don’t think i could have cheered louder.”

even his nose had turned red from how flushed her words made him feel. “i’m honored you think that–” he stopped when he felt a tug on his sleeve turning his entire body to face her. she was still holding onto his jacket, but her face was red and she was looking away. “something wrong?” he asked, looking down at her.

“no. i mean– no. nothing’s wrong. i just wanted to ask you something, if that’s okay,” she stuttered, letting go of his jacket to play with her hands.

he’d been so caught up in their conversation about volleyball he’d nearly stopped thinking about what he wanted to tell her today. his heart was racing and the feeling in his throat only grew stronger as he waited for her to continue.

“did you happen to buy flowers for me at some point? on valentine’s day…or the night you came to my show?” she tucked a stray hair behind her ear as she looked up at him. 

he felt so stiff that he nearly couldn’t breathe, nor respond. he almost wanted to deny it before he talked himself out of it. this was his opportunity to bring up what he wanted to say as well. “...i did. those were both from me. i’m really sorry if you found that creepy or anything–”

she cut him off with a hug, arms wrapped around his neck, and his body seemed to relax at the same time as she let out a shaky breath, her face buried into his jacket. “oh my god, no. it wasn’t creepy at all. it meant so much to me,” this time he was fast enough to return the hug, her arms around her torso to keep her in his arms and express to her all the things he couldn’t verbally say. one of her arms moved to hold him close by the back of his head, and he rested his chin on her shoulder. “i’ve never gotten flowers from anyone other than my friends–just bokuto, yachi and keiji. i never even got any from my family when they were around. when bokuto told me those flowers on closing night were from someone else, i was so surprised. and then my favorite flowers were on my door again on valentine’s day…i was so happy.”

she removed her arm from around her shoulder, pulling her face back from his jacket. he was almost going to let go when he realized she was keeping him close, a hand still in his hair, their faces inches away from each other.

he let her take her time to do what she wanted. she seemed to be searching his eyes for something, and when she found it, she smiled. “the flowers meant a lot to me, kageyama. you’ve done a lot for me since we’ve met and i couldn’t be more happy than to have met you. this is all new to me, i don’t know what i’m doing and i didn’t know what i could give back to you after i found out you were the one who gave me flowers. i really went to friday’s game to see you and support you above everything else. i wanted to hug you, just to thank you for everything you’ve done. i’m sorry if it doesn’t equate to all of your effort, but i just wanted to tell you how much you mean to me, if i could give nothing else.”

“can i kiss you?” he mumbled, still lost in her eyes. the hair at the back of his head tightened slightly.

her breath hitched and he waited for her answer. "yes," she said after a beat.

as soon as he answered he closed the gap, softly pressing his lips against her own, all the while her hand remained entangled in his hair, holding him close. 

every anxious thought left him with the kiss. he knew this was where he was supposed to be, by her side. he’d never felt more at home, being so close to her. he broke the kiss, trying to catch his breath, but they were still close enough that their noses bumped.

“there,” he said with a playful smile, resting his forehead on hers. “now we’re even for the flowers.” 

her nose scrunched up slightly as she laughed, slinging her other arm around his neck again. “does the mean if i buy you flowers you’ll kiss me again?” 

“i’ll kiss you whenver you want,” the words spilled out of his mouth before he could even process what he said, and his blush only worsened. “sorry. i kind of really like you. you have no idea how much my friends helped me talk to you.”

she laughed again, and he smiled at the noise, pulling her closer to him. “i couldn't tell at all. i really like you too, kageyama, you have no idea,” she gave him a peck on the lips.

“will you call me tobio?” he rested his head on her shoulder again, suddenly feeling the aftereffects of all his pent up anxiety wear off. 

she started to play with his hair, running her hand through it which only made him feel sleepier, “i think i can manage that, tobio.”

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

bokuto thought the families in romeo and juliet liked each other

yachi was severely confused by bo’s tweets and thought she was having a stroke but keiji knew exactly what bo was thinking and had to explain the real story to bo

me trying to secretly use "new" during the written parts as references to the smau title 🧠🤓

I FEEL SO BAD LMAO

KAGEYAMA DID NOT READ HINATA'S CONTACT NAME AND GO "oh great it's hinata 🙄" he was just really hoping it was y/n and so literally reading anyone else's contact name would make his hopes go down

today i'll reveal how hinata found out what y/n's favorite flowers are...

bro found it on sheer luck but he start mass searching through her instagram story archives and found when she had done a random "ask me questions" thing mainly regarding theatre but someone had asked her for her favorite flowers

i bsed that explanation big time but i've also been thinking about it for weeks and it's the best i got lmao 😭

kags kissed y/n one more time before she opened her door and went inside and wasn't really thinking about how noiseproof her dorm was and immediately closed the door, slid against it and screamed

kageyama was slightly worried but also he was going to do the same as soon as he got outside so he kept walking (he could hear bo and keiji scrambling to open their door after hearing the scream and he was terrified of coming face to face with the both of them after everything that had just happened)

yachi also came running and there was an immediate debriefing

same thing for kageyama as soon as he got home except tsukki, hinata, and yams were all sitting in chairs facing him waiting for him to come home like when you come home in the dead of night and your parents are just there waiting for you to explain yourself ykwim

(yams was working on math homework until he came in)

then twitter blew up with all of them talking about what just happened and anyone following them was like "??? tsukki?? hospital bills?? romeo and juliet??? bleach??? kageyama has a gf??"

it was a good night for twitter

I HAVE A SMALL IDEA FOR AN EPILOGUE SO DW ACTUALLY ONE MORE CHAPTER LEFT

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THOUGH

I'VE LEARNED TO NEVER TRUST SLEEP DEPRIVED ME TO WRITE I THINK I MADE LIKE TWO TYPOS IN THE TEXTS but i cannot be bothered rn to go back and fix them i'm so sorry </3

taglist: @ncitygreen @lvrlamp @cherrypieyourface @mimi3lover @lees-chaotic-brain @frootloopscos @0moonii @cr4yolaas @eggyrocks @pinkiscool @httpakkeiji @localgaytrainwreck @lunaviee @kitty-m30w @lixie-phoria @aliruuiz @corvid007 @iluv-ace @yvjitadori @k8nicole @ryeyeyer @thechaosoflonging @kettlepop @r0seandth0rns @rinheartshyunlix @lucky-chars @par4disee @vixx-11 @luvkvni @does-directions @whykirbo @reminiscentyearn (form to be added to taglist! <3)

[wandagcre]

Heyyy there saw our request still open so could I request mommywands dry humping femreader? Thank you so muchhh

do not touch | wanda maximoff 🔞

(Dom!Mommy!Wanda Maximoff x AFAB!Reader)

You've got a debt to Wanda, awaiting to be paid. She decides to claim it immediately.

WARNING: dom!wanda, sub!reader, somnophilia, mommy kink, dry humping, humiliation, choking - no pronouns referred to reader but they got afab parts +18 / men & minors dni. Words: 2k

You looked peaceful. Unknowing. Innocent. All of the things you haven't been as of lately. Usually, Wanda dived with no hesitance to lay beside you in bed. She's eager for the opportunity to stroke your face with feather-like touches, threading her fingers along your tousled hair, and admiring your features. But she wasn’t craving for sweetness, instead, the need to jump on your bones – for lack of a better word – encompassed her frustration for you.

It wasn’t that serious – was all you’d say, Wanda already expects it. But she won’t let it slide, you have been testing her will as though nothing but determined to push her. Therefore, Wanda decides she'll give you a taste of what you wanted. 

It's like an invitation too, given that your shirt rode up and exposed some of your abdomen and your face turned down to the pillow, the lower half caught in a twist so slightly that it gave Wanda a perfect view of your ass.

She hung beneath your resting figure, calculating how the fun part should start. Wanda’s legs were in between, effectively trapping you, and she steadied her weight with hands perched on the bed – right where your head rests, alike to her legs. Your hair keeps away the adorable sleeping face you’ve got. An urge to envelop you temporarily surges to your lover’s chest, you must’ve been tired, much as she was.

But oh one glance was all it took again for Wanda, eyes trailing lower with your back curvatures. So appetizing that she had to wet her lips in excitement. She gives her lower body a tentative glide to your shapely ass. A few more and she's already hooked. Wanda rubs herself with much confidence and better timing this time, sending a jolt of pleasurable force on her now throbbing core. To add, Wanda hummed deep from her chest as she got handsy, her hand already having a palmful of your breast. 

It felt exhilarating to her with your body completely at her disposal and a stimulating pedal to her pleasure. The mattress dipped and the springs started to creak ever lightly as her rubbing of her front against your curve was getting more desperate. A drag of sleepy sound comes out of your pretty lips. Wanda does not slow for a moment, but she gauges if you were being stirred to consciousness. Wanda doesn't care anyway.

"Don't move." A honeyed voice warned you. You let out a confused yelp, heart still racing, though now you realize who it was.

Your throat felt dry. Was she… grinding? “Wanda?” 

“Possibly, yes.” She snarkily replied.

Relief slowly settles over your body. At least it wasn't a nightmare nor a break-in that you initially felt. It was only your girlfriend who had been desperately needy, wanting your assistance even in your sleepy state. She smelled slightly of sun and transportation, but her distinct scent remained. 

Wanda tries to be quiet, yes you've heard of her whimpers and how she initially tried to stifle them. It wasn't fruitful at the end as your girlfriend kept moving her front against the slope of your ass. Moreso, the images of having you in the most sinful ways, being used to her own needs, flashed through her and made Wanda's eyes roll to the back of her head. 

To be frank, you were still trying to snap out of your daze. Once you've gotten a semblance of decent consciousness, your muscles attempt to move, perhaps you should be of help right? 

"Wanda, baby, tell me–”

But the heel of Wanda's palm was firm and insistent on your lower back begs to disagree  – roaming and scratching her nails to the side of your hips, then to your breasts again, like a warning. She wants you as it is. Although, you can’t help but wonder what had your lover all riled up, enough to have you while asleep. Was it the stress under work? 

"You feel so good against me, darling." Wanda uttered all velvety that you almost forgot what you were protesting for.

You find your cheeks roughly pushed on the pillow, left with no choice but to take it. Wanda’s scent draws you in like sweet lullaby, the fig and the musk, even the arousal that awaits her undoing. You take deep breaths, all no longer out of surprise, but rather in familiar adoration of the woman – all while she has you pinned down.

"I want to help!" Your voice embarrassingly cracked as you begged.

"D-Do you now? That's rich coming from you." Wanda's ragged and condescending tone sent a delicious shiver up to your spine. She adjusts, head tilted near your head's side to capture your earlobe with her teeth. "You teased me for how many days. Acted like a real brat when all I did was compromise with you. Remember that?" Displease fills her tone, Wanda’s other hand came to push your head to bury you further against the pillow.

It doesn't alleviate the ache and burning that rattled in your body now with how you can practically feel your lover’s nipples grazing hard against your back as Wanda rubs herself needily, unabashed force against you. A blurb of incoherent sounds tumbled out of your mouth, helpless and quite literally bent at Wanda's will. 

“I’m really, really sorry!” She knows it was an attempt to make amends. Wanda let out a saccharine chuckle.

Despite her cold demeanor, it only amplified the warmth that soon swallowed the room.

You raised your hips up to aid in her languid grinding on top of you. Miraculously, a positive light comes in. Your efforts seemingly were not about to go to waste, as Wanda was pleased by how willing you are so far that she considered your offer.

"You can turn around for me and stay still. How about that?"

"Yes, I-I can do that! A-anything to help..."

"Good. Thought your pretty mouth was going to say something stupid. like, defying my instructions." You whimpered at Wanda's cynical tone and her harsh turnover grasp over your body as she detaches herself, breathing unevenly. "You're surely familiar with that, aren't you?" Wanda sneered and grabbed you by the cheek, making you look dumb as a fish out of water.

Her fading auburn hair curtained as she hovered beneath you. Wanda’s usual green eyes were almost unrecognizable as her pupils dilated, swarmed by pure unadulterated craving and lust. You whimpered, hopeless.

“What can I do, Wanda?” You were all red and pathetic. 

Wanda loved this side of you.

“Funny that you ask now.” She husked out, sloppy kisses placed underneath your jaw. Your toes curled at the sensation. "What's the right title you should use to address me with?"

"Mommy?"

Wanda’s grip now set to pin you again, this time by the wrists placed above your head. Her cunt clenched upon the title that was all familiar and pretty coming out of you.

"Do I hear an answer or a question? Darling, I haven't even fucked you dumb yet."

"No. I'm sorry, Mommy."

A wide knowing grin set on Wanda’s features as she rose up. You can’t help but stare, enchanted by the sight of her. Your lover still wore her work slacks and dress shirt, albeit unbuttoned, making wanda look so effortlessly beautiful even in mess. It worsened the state of your dried up throat that was captivated. Wanda made you hungry for her and she knew it.

All of this just for you to grow wet.

To be complacent was the most you can do after adding to her stress. The price you were paying for came in full stop onto your mind. Recently, you almost walked in topless while she was at a zoom meeting. What were you thinking? Dumb pretty thing. Wanda was infuriated. It didn’t matter if it was accidental on your end – amongst all the other stunts you’ve been pulling.

A slew of moans rang soundly in your ears. Your shared bed was disturbed, shaking lightly. The close proximity did not help your libido that soon spiked, along with Wanda's continuous grinding over the slope of your ass.

Wanda was thrilled with your regret and submission. She slaps your thigh, "Now bring this up for me because I'll be riding you. All you have to do is to not touch – but keep your eyes on me. Is that clear?" She cocked an eyebrow to which you furiously nodded at.

"Crystal, Mommy."

Wanda’s eyes gleamed with mirth. She grinded against you again, wantonly with no shame against your own sweatpant covered thigh. Your wrists still pinned up for good measure as she rocked herself back and forth, absorbing how the wetness provided lubrication to the gnawing burn of pleasure that ebbed as friction of the lightweight fabric did its thing to her core.

Her hips were languid and hypnotizing at each rocking. Soon you were moaning low with Wanda, contrasting your sound with her loud erupting ones.

Her dripping cunt clung and sucked the fabric of the apex material of her slack against your cotton bottoms. Wanda thought for a second maybe she should have ordered you to wear jeans for this session, the rough texture could’ve spurred her further and faster to orgasm. 

“Mommy, you look so good..”

You helplessly ogled her writhing state as she used your body for her own needs. It was exhilarating to witness how determined Wanda was. She did not hold back with her lewd expressions and movement that barely faltered. 

“Y-yeah? Wish you could touch me now, don’t you?” She taunted you with gritted teeth.

“Yes,” You whisper, defeated.

You can’t even squirm as Wanda used you like an instrument for her own playing. And sly as ever, Wanda made sure her knee slotted to your pussy, albeit, it did not lead to anything further than mere accidental bumps.

"Fuuuck, fuck!" Wanda's uneven breathing and eyes rolling back hard with sclera visible, indicated one thing. her panties, slacks and your own sweatpants now soiled with her arousal, she kept going in a faster manner. "So so sooo good! And you don't even have to do anything. Just gonna use you like this, darling. Until I fall apart," Wanda mindlessly uttered and moaned, her accent slipping as she rubbed herself with much force.

She started to unbutton her dress shirt in a frantic manner, almost ripping them off, all to cup and squeeze her own breasts while she rocks on your thigh that she felt contract and tense.

"Mommy, please...."

Wanda groaned, her tummy warmed up and stirred a new sensation over her as she picked up your words crystal clear. She doesn't halt, only slithers her soft hands under your tracheal region. Like a good girl on autopilot and pure desperation, your hands stay as they were, only arching your neck back to accommodate the hold Wanda has on them. 

“Darling, oh god… I-It’s so good!”

She gives your neck a firm squeeze as she cums – your eyes flit to her core that was beyond damp – but so was the cotton material of your sweatpants. Your own pussy began to clench onto practically nothing, as Wanda cried as she fell apart in your thighs, slowing down her movements, dragging it all out.

Oh it was good, alright. Even the scent of her arousal lingered deliciously on your senses.

Wanda was dripping now over you. It was sticky yet satisfying on her end. As she was pleased, yours were aching and begging to be stimulated. Not even touched, you just needed something to ease the emptiness or else you'll lose it. All while your lover was enthralled by the whole sight of you being at the edge of her conniving revenge for tonight. 

“Now let this be a lesson.” She grinned deviously, standing up on her feet. She started to undress from her work clothes. It was jarring for you how Wanda did all that – as though nothing erotic and mind blowing had occurred. “Also, no cumming for a while. Trust me, Mommy will find out.”

You squirm with your legs tightly crossed upon Wanda’s sternness, all authoritative. A pathetic groan comes out again of your pretty mouth, no promise of alleviation to come for tonight’s little show.

do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre

[fru1typunch]

Here's a little post ranting about the Floridian education system and how it fucked over public school librarians this year, from the adult child of one who spent his whole summer helping his poor mom try and keep up with Desantis's ridiculous requests.

Every school year, the librarian always gets a couple weeks with a "closed" library to take inventory of the school's stock at the end. Normal stuff, y'know, if a bit tedious and boring. Scan every. Single. Thing. See what you have and figure out who last checked out what you should have, that sort of thing.

Well, Ron Desantis, in his genius, decided that concept had to be applied to all the books in the entire school to determine if they're "appropriate" (by his batshit conservative standards).

My mom didn't JUST have to do the usual inventory thing for her own library. She ALSO had to do something similar but far WORSE for her entire school's personal classroom libraries.

The objective of this SCHOOL WIDE requirement was to "approve" every book in the school as "appropriate". Every. Single. Book. In. The. School. Not the school library, no, the SCHOOL. All classrooms.

My mom's an elementary school librarian. There's around 1000 students at her school, give or take, and around 50 or so classroom libraries to sort through. And this was supposed to be done over summer, before the kids came back in the fall. Entirely unpaid.

She had to personally approve around 25,000-30,000 books school wide based on whether or not they're "appropriate for kids" (again, by Desantis standards), entirely unpaid, in about 2 months. Keep in mind these classroom libraries had been pre-existing for many years or even decades in most cases, so it's kinda useless to just now care about whether the books are "appropriate".

Mind you, you can't read that many individual books in under two months and then approve them in the system if you tried, even if most were children's books. She spent every single day of her summer, her only real time off each year, logging into the online portal and manually approving books from 8 in the morning to 8 at night, looking them up and trying to determine if they might be okay by the new standards since she couldn't possibly have the time to read them all and check, and again, entirely unpaid on her own. Teachers were scanning in their classroom's books to the system to be approved by her in real time, so she really never could get very far ahead. At most she'd knock out a few hundred a day, which I think is wildly impressive given the circumstances.

Even with all that work, she couldn't open her library for nearly a month into the new school year this August because she spent every school day finishing that approval thing for the classroom libraries for teachers. At least by that point she got paid for it. She was also way behind on getting her library ready for the school year, she really hadn't had time to prepare like normal. It was a crazy stressful time for her all around, moreso than back-to-school time normally is each year.

I helped as much as I knew how to, which mostly just meant looking books up for her or texting back and forth with my friends that work at Barnes and Noble or Books A Million asking if they could skim through certain books that might pose a threat at times, and coming up to the school with her sometimes while she worked on approving books and I worked on preparing her library for "business" again.

My mom was upset because she didn't have time for a real summer vacation, the most she got to do was occasionally visit the beach a few hours away for a day trip. (On one of the beach days, she even took her blessed laptop with her to work on it in the car ride over.) She was in the thick of it neck deep all on her own for months with hardly any time off and no pay to show for it.

It's frustrating because if she were to have approved a book that a parent later complains about, it could mean bad news for her. Again, no way in hell would she have been able to both read every single book, determine if she thought it was okay by Desantis's standards, and then approve every single book within the system. She did her best, but she's still nervous someone will complain.

All this conservative bullshit around books is hurting so many kinds of librarians and educators in so many ways, so just take a moment sometime soon to appreciate your local librarians and public school teachers putting up with this crap. They could use the love. Maybe some strong alcohol. And a big wad of cash, they do a lot of shit unpaid.

And do vote these assholes out of office that are making these poor librarians' and teachers' jobs harder with no additional support or pay.

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 13.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 4.3k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, graphic depictions of violence, death

story playlist

The tailwind brought them over the bay and the Gullet with ease, the gargantuan body of Vhagar looming over Driftmark as they passed over the island. 

Aemond looked at the churning seas below them, the mood of the tides changing like a coin flip. A few Velaryon ships were going to port in Dragonstone as they approached the ancient isle, no doubt rife with supplies and workers of importance to the pretender’s cause. 

“Dracarys, Vhagar,” he hummed low, his form prone to the saddle as his dragon unleashed molten fire from her maw, bathing the Velaryon ships in her cleansing flame. 

Sunfyre trilled from the clouds above, settling upon the craggy cliffs of the mainland that overlooked Dragonstone. Vhagar, once dispatching the remainder of the ships, followed. The older dragon settled in the soft grasses, smoke trailing from her nostrils. 

Aemond descended from his perch on her back, looking to his brother, who was staring over the water to the island. 

“Your predictions of the weather patterns were right,” Aegon said, gesturing to the unobstructed view of Dragonstone from their vantage point. There wasn’t a low hanging cloud, nor fog. The hulking bulwark of a keep was as visible to the two brothers as they were to it— moreso, visible to the denizens inside. “They should be able to see us loud and clear, I’d wager. I suppose all of your effort in being the scholarly worm paid off.” 

“They’ll have to look from two sides, however,” Aemond responded as he watched over the skyline as a fleet of ships came into view. “The signal of smoke from the Velaryon fleet burning is as good of an indication as any.” 

The ships flew the flag of the Triarchy, three sigils to represent the Three Daughters— the cities of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh. They crossed the narrow sea with a vengeance, wishing to give the Sea Snake a message in salt, sea, and blood. 

The alliance between the infamous Triarchy and the King didn’t come without a price— the Stepstones would be awarded to them after the war was finished, as well as a sizable amount of coin. 

The Stepstones were an easy give, as the blasted shore of rocks and stone were nothing more than a watery graveyard, fought over for too long. Its debated governance, or lack thereof, had haunted the council room before Aegon was even born. It seemed an easy enough decision to give the islands to someone who actually had the means and knowhow to manage it— in Aegon’s mind, at least. Aemond knew it would be an issue to deal with in the future.

The two brothers watched as the foreign fleet encircled the passage of water between Dragonstone and Driftmark, skirmishing close with some of the smaller Velaryon vessels. The proximity of the two opposing forces would make it difficult for any of Rhaenyra’s dragonriders to dispatch the Triarchy— not without severe losses to the supply and size of the Sea Snake’s brigade. 

It was a delicate balance now, the Triarchy cutting off supplies and passage to Dragonstone, while keeping Driftmark at heel. The former was effectively sealed off, dragon flight being the only way off of the island. 

This is where Aemond’s careful planning of the weather and their positioning across the cliffs came into play— it was a clear message, a threat. The giant mossy colored dragon, coupled with the distinctive golden dragon, were a side unmissed on the crags. 

The missive was unmistakable in its intention; ‘We are watching.’

“Although,” Aegon looked to the ancient stronghold, built upon a volcano that housed and borne fire-bellied beasts. “It would be easier if we just…” he slammed his hand into his other fist, making a crude explosion sound.

“You’re the one who stopped me from going down that route,” Aemond’s tone was flat, unamused by his brother’s antics. “We made our choice— we play the long game now.”

“Suddenly showing restraint now, Aemond? How unlike you,” his brother sneered. “You’d burn the entire continent if someone gave you passage to do so.” 

Aemond shoots Aegon a look, violet eye sharp like a dagger. His jaw clenched, followed by an acute sting of pain in his eye socket, the nerves within lighting like a mass of torches. A storm swirls inside of his head, words flowing from his mouth on their own. “It’s difficult…” he swallows, looking almost sheepish as he speaks, a look that doesn’t quite suit him. “It is difficult to show restraint. To quell myself.” It isn’t exactly what he wished to say— the vulnerability was too much.

He screamed to himself, the searing agony of his socket drilling it into him. She is a few moments away upon Vhagar and I cannot get her. I have the largest dragon in the world and I’m still powerless when it matters. Powerless, powerless. It was moments like these where he felt like a child with no dragon again, two-eyed and physically whole but grasping at any semblance of his heritage, of his bloodline. He was bereft of it except for name and likeness alone.

“We’ll get her back, brother. I promise you that– as your King. And… as your brother too, I suppose.” Aegon didn’t look at his younger sibling, he didn’t need to, he could feel the torment swirling within him. It was familiar to all of them.

—

“Undefended! You left the city undefended whilst you two traipsed to Dragonstone to… taunt Rhaenyra? Primp yourselves like benign peacocks?” Otto was as furious as his two grandsons had ever seen him, apples of his cheeks red with anger. “I expected this foolishness from you, Aegon, but not you Aemond. You’ve been taught better than this!” 

Aemond let his grandsire rant and rave, only cutting in when the older man stopped to regain his breath. “To clarify, the city wasn’t undefended. The queen was watching over upon Dreamfyre. I’m sure the smallfolk were pleased to see their queen among them, defending them so stalwartly.” 

“The smallfolk? What would they do if Rhaenyra and Daemon came upon their two dragons and took the city after slaughtering your sister? How do the smallfolk amount to dragons with lords atop them, Aemond?” 

Aemond closed his mouth, looking over at his skulking brother. Even though he wore the crown and held the power of the Kingdoms in his hands, he was still so easily torn down by a tongue lashing from his grandsire. Aegon was turned away, collapsed into himself as he bit at his already stubby nails. 

“Thank you for your insight, lord hand. I will see you at first light for the council meeting. I suspect we’ll have much to discuss in terms of next moves now that Dragonstone has been cut off.” the prince, in so many words, dismissed his grandsire.

Otto narrowed his gaze but said nothing, leaving the two brothers alone. 

Silence stretched between them until Aegon looked to his brother. “Do you think I’m foolish?” 

“Depends on the situation.”

“You see I am trying, don’t you? I am the fucking King and yet I am still treated like less than a lecher by him, by them.” 

Aemond began to loosen his riding gloves, finger by finger. “The plan was well executed, Aegon. I think you may find that there are many people grateful for their King’s valiance,” he said, glancing towards the open balcony that overlooked the sprawling city. 

Aegon considered him for a moment, locking eyes with his brother before his expression softened. “War isn’t only fought by lords. I’ve spent enough time in those streets to know. Once, when I was coming back from the Silk, I saw a mass of people tear a raper limb from limb. ‘Twas deep in Flea Bottom, no lords or guards or laws there, only the code and anger of those who live there,” he paused, “A dragon can kill thousands— but thousands can kill a dragon, too. Their unrest shouldn’t be underestimated.”

The prince looked at Aegon, blinking slowly. The king did have a unique perspective on the smallfolk, and mayhaps he cared more for them than the monarchs that came before him. It may prove to be useful in the future, if Aegon was ever given the breadth to make his own choices. Aemond thought his brother sloven and foolhardy at best— inept, brainless and sinful at worst— but the few days of his reign had changed his view ever so slightly. He was still lazy like a fat tom cat, and yet, a fat tom cat may still catch as many mice as any other cat. He just may have a different way of doing it. 

—

The lucidity was too much. It was too bright, she wanted to go back to sleep. 

Bright, too bright. Shera sobbed silently, tears falling across her cheeks without any toil. Stars and figments of candle flame danced before her eyes, igniting a phantom pain in her eye that she thought gone. Her suffering that stemmed from Driftmark didn’t manifest in nerve pain in her eye like Aemond’s, but rather pain in her throat and her seizing episodes. She just wished for darkness and Aemond. 

“P-pl… please let me go back… to the weirwood,” she mumbled. “He was waiting… for me…”

Her hand was in Jacaerys’, held together by a sash that bound them as husband and wife. It was colored with red and gray thread, the color of their two houses. 

Shera felt… exposed. Exposed and cold, like a terrible draft was whistling through her, using her bones like windchimes. 

The room was barren, save for Rhaenyra and the two newlyweds. It was dark, too, the only light dancing from candles and dragon heralded sconces. The brightness that tortured Shera was her nerves on fire, a deep throbbing pain coming from her scar. The man who had officiated had left, the only semblance of his presence being the words that continued to echo in Shera’s mind. 

The union of Jacaerys Velaryon and Shera Stark is now absolute, in every respect. They are wed in the eyes of the Old Gods and the new.

It felt like a curse— a curse she knew was coming, a curse she had been waiting for. Something she thought thwarted by giving into her heart’s throes with Aemond.

How silly of an idea to avoid fate.

Her stomach was in knots, or mayhaps not there at all. “Jacaerys,” Shera whispered, a familiar feeling of weightlessness catching up to her. “I’m going to fall,” she squeaked, “Please don’t let me fall.” her plea wasn’t out of want for comfort, but rather necessity.

The prince untied the sash and supported Shera with a hand on the small of her back. “Like this?” 

“My… my hip,” she continued. “It is where… where Moongeist holds himself.” she lamented to be touched any further, her skin on fire and writhing with each misplaced caress. But she would hate to fall, legs crumbling beneath her like a newborn fawn. She felt like a tortured child, her feelings all too large for such a small body to handle. Her mind went back to the basest of needs— she wanted Aemond, she wanted Helaena, she wanted Moongeist. 

Jacaerys adjusted his hold with a confused and slightly anguished look. “Mother,” he addressed Rhaenyra, who looked on in stoic concern. “She needs… she needs a cane, or… or something.” 

Rhaenyra’s face didn’t crease in traditional consternation, her features unmoved. There was only a twitch of her brow and the dilation of her pupils that gave away the inner turmoil. “Go fetch the maester. He will have something made up for her, surely. I will escort her to your chambers.” 

Your chambers. Your chambers. No, not hers. Jacaerys’ chambers. The realization and panic washed over her as unforgivingly as a riptide. Was she expected to consummate the marriage?

“N-no, please,” Shera blubbered as Jace helped her into the arms of his mother. “I want to go home, I want to go home.” 

There was a solemn hollowness in Rhaenyra’s voice as she helped Shera walk down the corridors. “You are home now, dearest,” her voice was fauxly soothing, “I know it is difficult. I wouldn’t have wanted this for you— not… not like this,” there was something inherently warm about her touch that broke through any outward reservation, her hand caressed Shera in a way that could only be described as maternal. “I will do everything in my power to see to your comfort. You’re safe now, Shera.” 

Her body and mind were at odds with one another. Her brain told her that this wasn’t right, it wasn’t— it was all a facade, it had to be. Her body, however, leaned into Rhaenyra’s hold, her gentleness stirring something long dormant inside of Shera. 

She never really had a mother, in truth. Her life was riddled with surrogate mothers like Alicent and whomever her father had assigned to take care of her when she was a babe. Alicent did her best, of course, but there was always a fine line separating Shera from her own borne children. The nursemaids and stewardesses alike at Winterfell never had a gentle touch or affectionate words— not like a real mother would. Out of Shera’s myriad of issues, the mother-shaped hole in her heart was the least of her worries, easily pushed and locked away like a bad memory. 

But times like these— times where Shera’s constitution of mind and body were being tested, broken past her already fragile limits, the hole turned into a chasm, swallowing up the earth beneath her feet and making any further pain unbearable. 

As Rhaenyra sat Shera down on the feather-filled bed, she pushed a stray auburn lock from her face. 

Shera grasped at her hand, holding it with both of hers. “P-please, don’t go,” she whispered, her voice broken and far-away. She hardly recognized it as her own, thinking it more alike to that of a young child. “P…please, I do not… I don’t wish to be alone… n-not yet.” 

“Jacaerys will return quickly, dearest, you won’t be alone for long,” Rhaenyra replied, letting the frightened woman hold her hand, head cocked in slight confusion.

“N-no, no,” she cried, squeezing tighter upon the queen’s hand— a plea, a cry of a child long gone, forgotten. “Please.”

Rhaenyra was quiet for long enough that Shera thought she might’ve left, even if she was still holding her hand. A soft breath left her nose as she shifted, sitting down next to her now good-daughter and wrapping both arms around her, taking her into an all-enveloping embrace. 

No more words were exchanged, only the sound of Shera’s wheezing breaths, shaking body wracked with sobs filled the room. 

Jacaerys did return to his chambers, with the cane in hand, but upon seeing his weeping wife and mother, he bowed his head out and didn’t return that night. 

Rhaenyra stayed with the poor girl all eve and into the early hours of the morning, shifting Shera into a lying position on the bed and covering her with a blanket. It gave her some despair to see her cry herself into exhaustion and eventual sleep. 

As the queen left the room, her mind was flooded with thoughts, swirling like tumultuous waves. 

Have I done the right thing? Am I righteous in my choice? 

She passed her son in the halls, Jacaerys bowing his head to her. “Is she… alright?” he asked, eyes dark as he already knew the answer.

“You know her better than I,” Rhaenyra looked back to the closed chamber doors. “Is that… her normal air?”

“No, it isn’t her usual demeanor. She is very… morose, of course, but this– what exactly are you letting Daemon give her to render her so?” his tone took a turn, almost accusatory in its nature. 

The queen was taken aback by the snap in his words– it was unlike him, always the dutiful and polite son. Courtiers walked by them in the hall, their gazes averted, but she knew they were staring, listening. She pulled Jacaerys into an alcove. “Daemon has been dealt with for making such rash decisions without my consent,” she hissed, “You must trust in me, Jacaerys— as your mother and your queen. This is just one of the many pieces moving on the board, moving towards my ascension, to my throne.” 

“Shera is just a pawn, then? A means to an end? And by marrying her to me, am I not the same?” Jace folded his arms over his chest, moving back from his mother. “Am I merely fodder for your fight against the usurpers? Usurpers, amongst whom is your dearest childhood friend? You and Daemon talk so openly of war, but you had cast the first stone with Shera’s… abduction!” 

“What would you have me do? Ask kindly for my birthright back? Chalk it up to a misunderstanding and give them pats upon their backs and a place at my court?” Rhaenyra scoffed. A thorn lodged in her heart at Jace’s implication of Alicent, a ghost who had haunted the queen’s very thoughts since she heard news of Aegon’s crowning. “My father was a great King in many ways, his reign one of peace— but he was blind with inaction. I will not stay my hand when the time comes to strike. I will have my throne, in fire and blood if I must.”

Indignation flashed in Jacaerys’ deep brown eyes— but like a storm, it dissipated into calm waters and clear skies. “You’re right, mother,” he murmured, bowing his head. “Your grace.” 

— 

Shera finally felt well enough to walk by herself. Although, her legs felt cold and wobbly without Moongeist. It was midday, the skies clear around the island. The sun was even shining, warming her skin just a touch.

The maester upon Dragonstone had prepared a walking cane for her— an instrument hewn from dark gnarled cherrywood. The exterior was a deep brown, whilst the inside was a deep, bloody red. She had worn small grooves on the top of the handle with her nails, exposing the inner layer of cherry, the color staining her fingertips sanguine. 

Rhaenyra had instructed Shera’s handmaidens to dress her in a more Valyrian-style wardrobe to ‘help her adjust’. She felt like an impostor wearing the garments, usually tailored in red, black and gold, coupled with intricately braided hairstyles, fashioned to her head with a dragon pin. A small veil was afforded to her after much pleading, one that only concealed her eyes and left her nose and mouth barren. Her choker was replaced by looping golden chains, imbued with rubies. 

Shera’s nails laid in the indents of her cane as she arrived into the dining hall. The Queen apparently likened to having her family lunch with her at least once a week— a tradition that became more sparse when the war began. 

She slunk into the hall as quietly as possible, the scattered sounds of Viserys and Aegon playing, as well as Lucerys and Joffrey conversing animatedly about swords and dragons, muffled the noise of her cane hitting the stone floor. She settled into her seat next to Jace, who looked irritated, a mood that befell him more often than not as of late, as he tried to serve in his mother’s war council, but was met with blockage after blockage from the other courtiers— something that Shera didn’t hear the end of for at least a fortnight. 

Despite the newly wed couple’s proximity to one another, Shera sleeping next to Jacaerys each night, they weren’t intimate in any way. They had come to an understanding, knowing their souls were each entwined with another’s. They didn’t need to muddy the waters any further with meaningless sex. 

That being said, they did confide in one another to some extent. Or rather, Jacaerys would vent his frustrations of the day, of the bickering of the council, of Daemon’s recklessness, of his own mother’s discounting of his skill— and Shera would listen intently. 

“Wife,” Jace murmured, clasping a hand over Shera’s as she took her seat. His jaw was clenched, bone grinding against bone. “Thank the Gods you’ve come.” 

“Has something… happened?” she whispered, glancing around the table. The children were unphased— but the older ones had an air of ice around them. Baela had both hands on the table, head angled downward as she bore holes through a wall. Rhaena was despondent, looking down at her hands. 

Daemon, however, was lazed. He leaned back in his chair, inspecting a singular grape as if he had no care in the world. “Shera,” he said, not meeting her gaze. Rather, he addressed her with such informality that it made her cringe. “A Valyrian vision you look to be. Mayhaps we should send her into the Dragonmont to bond with a dragon, since she now looks so much the part.” 

“A sheep changes wool rather easily,” she began picking at some fruit on her plate, stabbing her fork into a juicy piece of cantaloupe. 

“Ah, yes. Our wolf in sheep’s clothing, is it? Or mayhaps, a wolf in dragon’s clothing, better yet,” he squeezed the grape until it burst between his fingers.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra cut in, hand up to stop him from saying anything further. “How are you doing this morn, Shera?” 

“I’m… well,” Shera kept her eyes down at her plate, wishing to shrink into nothingness. 

“Enjoy the fruit while it lasts,” Baela piped up. “They’re blockading the island.” 

What? Blockading? Her mind raced with the possibilities, but she stayed quiet. 

“I’m sure we can go without such frivolous things like fruit,” Jace scoffed, pushing his plate away. 

“Fruit, grain, most meat, silks,” Daemon drawled. “I don’t understand why we don’t stop the situation.” 

“Do we wish to go toe-to-toe with Vhagar? Sunfyre can be easily dispatched by Syrax, but do you believe Caraxes can survive her?” Rhaenyra snapped, placing down her cutlery on the table. 

“That hoary old bitch is cumbersome,” he continued, dismissing any shred of Rhaenyra’s concern as if it were nothing. 

Vhagar. Sunfyre. Something bubbled in Shera’s chest at the mention of the two dragons, who were undoubtedly with their riders. She continued to stare down at her hands, trying to contain a smile, biting her lip until it bled. 

“Cumbersome she may be, but her jaws could snap any of our dragons with ease. Mayhaps Caraxes and Meleys may pose a threat to her but…” the queen’s voice trailed off, her fingers drumming on the table. 

“… there’s been no news from grandmother, nor Driftmark, your grace,” Baela sighed. “The ships appear to be… dispatching any ravens attempting to cross the Gullet.” 

“We will just have to wait, then. They cannot fare forever against Corlys’ fleet. Jacaerys, any word from the Greyjoys?” 

Jacaerys shook his head. “Our letters have gone unanswered.” 

“Lord Greyjoy is just a boy of sixteen, Rhaenyra, no older than Lucerys. Untested in the matter of war, unblooded. We must seize Harrenhal and raise a land army.” Daemon stared at his wife, brow furrowed in agitation. “I will go with or without your leave. I have no need for passage.” 

There was a long stretch of silence, the chatter of the children stopped— it was as if the whole of the table held its breath. 

“We will speak upon it later, Daemon.” Rhaenyra finally said, the bags under her eyes more prominent than usual. She opened her mouth to speak once more, but was overcome with a strangled sigh. “Gods,” she whispered, clutching her stomach. It was almost easy to forget that she was in her last days of pregnancy, belly round with child, all whilst the war was being waged just outside. She writhed slightly, face pinched.

“Mother?” Joffrey spoke, his voice small and scared. 

The entirety of the table erupted as handmaidens, maesters and nursemaids alike were summoned, gathering around the queen as her labors began. 

Shera stayed sitting, watching as Daemon glanced over the situation before leaving the room, no doubt off to skulk. 

Soon enough, the room was empty. She blocked out the cacophony of agonized screams echoing from the corridors as she stood up to leave. A small pool of blood was beginning to dry in Rhaenyra’s seat. A chill passed through Shera then as she turned to the window, leaning against the sill. 

A green dragonfly rested upon the trellis of growing vines on the wall of the keep, the leaves withered and crusted in salt. 

Hordes of boats were littered in the sea, arcing around the island like a noose. Glancing to the cliffs, she sees a glint of gold off in the distance, coupled with a hulking mountain that almost reminds her of… 

No, it couldn’t be. 

It isn’t.

She wouldn’t let herself look again, she knew it would only end in disappointment.

As she went to walk away, something pulled her back. She clung to the window, peering out as if in hiding. 

Her hopes were true as the golden vision of Sunfyre came into view, the sun shining off his pale yellow and pink scales. Next to the gorgeous beast laid a stirring mass— the Queen of all dragons. Vhagar. 

Shera’s heart raced, thumping against her ribcage like a caged bird. Aemond— Aemond and Aegon had come to save her, they had! She vowed to never let herself be separated from Aemond again, never to let them be apart. Surely Aegon would dissolve her marriage to Jacaerys and let them marry, wouldn’t he? Oh, of course he would. 

The giddiness she felt was elating, her swimming pain and sorrow temporarily abated. She watched as Sunfyre took to the skies, Vhagar behind in a slower pace. They’re coming to get me now, they are! 

The dragons climbed in altitude and drifted off from the bay— in the opposite direction of Dragonstone. They were flying away from Shera. She stood still for what felt like an eternity, not breathing. That can’t be right.

Any semblance of happiness was crushed instantaneously, her feverish pulse stopping for a beat. They were leaving. They were leaving without her. They weren’t coming to get her. 

[n3on-graveston3s-calling]

No Plan [ The Still of Your Hand ]

Characters: Shanks, Benn Beckman ( Briefly ), Reader Rating: E Word Count: 4,874 Warnings / Tags: Medical trauma (brief), phantom limb syndrome, medical talk, Reader is the ship's doctor, Dom!Reader (surprise), Shanks needs a break Author's Note: This is 13 pages of smut with some plot. I hope you enjoy. Also, my requests are open if y'all want anything... Specific. MDNI: THIS IS 18+ CONTENT.

Part II of the Think I Need Someone Older series [ Part I: Mihawk ] ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Sweetheart, give me a hand, yeah?” Shanks called out, drawing your attention away from the journal you’d been writing in- tracking your progress in logs as you sailed with the infamous Red Hair Pirates. You weren’t necessarily a permanent part of the crew- moreso, they were a means to your end. You abandoned your journal for the time being, rising from your seat on the deck of the ship to cross over to the captain. Restocking from the last port you’d docked at; he’d opened up a box of medical supplies. 

Another reason you were here- to play temporary doctor while their own was laid up. 

“Sure, sure. Make me do all the hard work,” you teased, grabbing hold of the box of rubbing alcohol- ten glass bottles. He’d paid a pretty price for these supplies, you noted. “‘S like you got a mini hospital runnin’ on this ship.” 

“I like to be prepared, love.” He shrugged, lips curving into a wide grin. It’s not a big surprise, really; after what he’d gone through over the years, of course he’d want to be prepared. You never know when a Neptunian is going to rise out of the water and take a bite out of you. 

You turned, shuffling your way into the small room that was used as a med bay as he followed after, a box tucked against his side. You could hear Roux laughing through the wall; the kitchen was on the other side. No doubt, he was bothering Benn while cooking up the crew’s dinner for the evening. You’d never tasted better cooking than what Lucky Roux could make. “Are we expecting to be overrun?” You couldn’t help but joke, drawing a laugh out of the other. “I mean, granted- your supplies were low when I joined you.”

“We’re not the best at keeping up with supplies-”

“-that aren’t liquor? Yeah, I’ve noticed.” A roll of the eyes as you lean over at the waist, sliding the remaining bottles into a cabinet.

Shanks paused, hand raised, sterile cloth clutched in hand as he watched you. He couldn’t deny the lust that coursed through him when he thought of you; the way you’d bite back at the comments from the crew with no hesitation. How you’d stood up to Benn when he’d questioned your decision regarding the treatment of Yasopp’s latest injury. How you hadn’t minced your words when talking to himself. You had a spine of steel and a bite to match. And by the Gods, he liked that. Not to mention the view you were giving right now. His gaze traced over the dip in your spine, the way you stretched forward, how your thighs spread-

You rose.

His gaze averted quickly, placing the sterilized cloth in a container. “We like to drink.” He mumbled, a feeling of almost shame washing over him. It was broken though by a phantom pain racing through where his left arm would have been. A gasp spills free from between clenched teeth, his brows drawing inward as he drops the box, grasping at the stub that remained. He could swear he could feel his hand in that moment- or what it would feel like, clenched into a tight fist. 

“Shanks-” You murmured, reaching out to settle a hand on his remaining arm, brows raised in alarm and worry. “Shanks, sit down- you’re pale.”

“‘M fine,” he tried to argue, yet allowed you to lead him to sit on the edge of the cot. It took your hand against his chest for him to lay back, drawing shallow breaths in. This was… Not normal, necessarily. Sure, he’d gotten phantom pains on occasion, but it had been months since the last occurrence. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“I know. But it’s also time to change out those bandages, right?” You offered a small, disarming smile. The bandages prevented the skin from growing agitated and raw due to the salt in the air- and the water. “C’mon, old man. Let me see.”

“Old man?” He scoffed, shaking his head as he let the coat fall from his shoulders. “I’m not that much older than you… Am I?” His lips pursed into a frown as he considered his age. He’d only just turned thirty-eight, he wasn’t that old. Hell, by the standards of the men on his ship- and the men and women he’d sailed with in the past- he was still young! 

“You’ve got a good few years on me,” you hummed, winking playfully as you turned your attention to the tied sleeve. Without thinking, you reached forward, gripping the edges of his shirt- only to have his hand reach out quickly, grasping your wrist. You looked up, meeting a playful crimson gaze and a slowly growing smirk.

“Now, if ye wanted me out of my clothes that badly, all ye needed to do was ask.” Shanks teased, a soft edge of a growl to his voice that had your heart skipping a beat. Oh. Oh, you totally understood how men and women alike fell under him with ease. 

“That’s not-” You argued, only to huff and tug his shirt up- and over his head, covering his face. “Smother.”

“Oy, oy!” He laughed loudly, reaching up to tug the shirt the rest of the way over his head. Torso revealed, he leaned back against the inclined bed casually, grin spread across his lips. “Happy, Doc?”

“You’re insufferable.” You rolled your eyes before setting to removing the old bandages. You’d heard the story about how he had lost the arm, but it was still riveting to think of. A Neptunian- and he survived. Whoever had handled the care when it occurred had done a damn good job. “Are you still having the phantom pain now?”

“No.” Shanks sighed, looking over to study your hands. “Not now that I can-... Well, see.”

“Right.” You hummed, careful with your touches. “You’re staring.”

“Can’t help it.”

“Why’s that?”

“... Anyone ever tell you that you have beautiful eyes?”

“Yep. Tons.” You grinned cheekily as you began to rewrap the amputated appendage. “Though, I’ll gladly hear it from you more often, if you’d be so kind.”

“Did you paint your nails?” His question caught you off guard. 

You tied off the knot before pulling your hands back to study. You had painted them the night before, a vivid shade of ruby. You showed your hands to your Captain, who watched your every movement like a hawk. How… Curious. “I did. Do you like them?”

He reached up, grasping one to draw it closer- before he leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “I think the color is… Very flattering.” He spoke against your knuckles, the rasp of his voice stirring the coals of want. Your voice felt stuck in your throat as his stubble scraped gently against your fingers. “Such beautiful hands…” 

The sound of footsteps broke you both apart, Shanks not dropping your hand but sitting upright. You, however, pulled your hand back as Benn appeared, a brow raised as he studied you. “Logs?”

“Ah, shite.” Shanks sighed, grabbing hold of his shirt to tug back on, followed by the coat. “Fine, fine. I dunno what I’d do without you, Benn.”

“Be in trouble.” Benn commented with a knowing smirk, meeting your gaze over Shanks’ head. “Yasopp also wants to know where the box is with his ammo.”

“It’s a box. Marked ammunition.” You grumbled, tossing the scraps of bandage into the trash, hiding the way your cheeks had flushed at being caught. But nothing had happened. Nothing- except for Shanks holding your hand to his lips, except for the needy rasp in his voice, except for the way he’d looked at you as if he wanted to devour you on the spot. 

Your captain wanted you.

You wanted him. 

What a dangerous game.

You ducked out after Benn, crossing over to the forecastle deck, retrieving your journal and inkwell from the box you’d set them in- to save them from sliding about deck. You couldn’t remember what you had been writing, too flustered over what had just occurred. Swallowing roughly, you focused instead on the horizon- on the gathering clouds. A storm? The wind had shifted, rain cooled. It would be a rough night, it seemed, unless the ship was able to skirt the storm. 

-

It was a storm. A nasty one that had all hands on deck. You yelled over to Yasopp, only for your voice to be drowned out in the sound of waves crashing onto the deck. You cursed as you grabbed onto the railing. Even on the edges of it, the sea had turned against you for the night. Shanks stood at the wheel, shouting commands as he steered the ship into the angered waves. Roux grabbed your arm and dragged you below deck; there was only so much you yourself could do in this situation. It was better to stay below and wait it out with a few others of the crew.

You felt the bow rise high, watched as barrels rolled and boxes slid or fully toppled over, before the bow crashed and the stern rose. Into the waves, Shanks had said. That was the safest way to ride this out. If they went with the waves, the keel would break, and everyone would drown. 

You weren’t sure how long it was until the ocean settled. Long enough that you had managed to find a space where you wouldn’t fall over with each rock of the ship. You rose to your feet, stretching with a grimace as you wandered from your hiding spot. Something was tugging at the back of your mind, leading you through the ship. You found your destination in the form of the Captain’s Quarters. A glance behind you showed that the sun hadn’t risen yet; the moon was still in the sky, though steadily falling towards the horizon. But light spilled from beneath the door, signifying that Shanks was still awake. You knocked, waiting-

“Enter!” He called, voice muffled by the heavy wood. 

You opened the door, stepping in before closing it behind yourself. “You’re still awake.”

“Unfortunately.” He offered a weary smile; the shadows beneath his gaze showing just how exhausted he was. He sighed, leaning back in his seat. “Wanted to make sure we’d be clear of the storm.”

“It’s to our southeast now,” you made your way over, leaning your hip against the desk. “You need to rest, Cap.”

“Too wound up, now.” A vague gesture about; you understood that. Adrenaline in the system weaned away, leaving nothing but anxiety and muscles tensed too tightly to relax.

Your fingers tapped upon the wood, drawing his attention once more. You didn’t notice at first, until he didn’t say anything else. No followup quip. Head tilting, you studied Shanks as he watched your hand, enraptured by the movement of your fingers. An idea came to mind, one wicked enough to prompt blood to rush to the surface of your cheeks, to have your thighs squeezing together at the mere thought. 

“Let me help you.”

“Pardon?” He pulled his gaze away, watching as you moved around the edge of the desk, stepping closer to him. He pushed his seat back, gaze roving over your form, drinking in how you looked in the golden light of the oil lamp. Hair slightly mused from the little sleep you’d gotten, bottom lip swollen from you biting it. “How?”

“You need to… Relax, yes?” You didn’t settle on his lap like he’d been expecting- but rather, you stood behind him, hands resting upon his shoulders. “Let me help you relax. Take away some of this awful tension you’ve been keeping.” Your fingers dug into the muscle beneath, drawing out a pleased groan as his head dropped forward. “Gods, Shanks- you’ve got more knots than the ratlines.”

A humored chuckle escaped, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he straightened up a touch, leaning into your touch more as your thumbs dug into his shoulders, drifting closer to his neck. He exhaled slowly, the subtle rumble of a groan coloring the sound. The sound drew a shudder across your skin; this was dangerous. But you couldn’t stop, even as one of your hands settled around his throat, the other under his chin, prompting his head to tilt back. Auburn tresses shifted back with the movement, baring the scars that laid across his eye- and the hunger within his gaze, pupils blown. You squeezed against his throat for a moment, pressing in at the sides rather down against the windpipe-

He moaned.

Eyes falling shut, mouth dropping open, the sound spilling forth like music to your ears. 

“I can reach better in bed.” Your voice was barely above a murmur as you retracted your hands, watching as his gaze snapped open at the loss of touch. “If you want more.”

“Please.” He breathed, rising slowly to turn towards you. Shanks was a tall man, towering over your form. He reached out, cupping your cheek as he leaned down. His lips met yours in a slow, languid kiss; no rush to it, but the heat had your knees buckling, reaching up to take hold of his shoulders. “Please,” he repeated into the kiss, backing you against the window frames, pressing into you. He hungered for you, you realized: his kiss was full of the same kind of greed a man starved would harbor. You pulled back, only to graze his lower lip with your teeth. 

“Go,” you whispered, watching the way he grinned, turning away to saunter into his room. His shirt was tugged off and tossed to the side carelessly. You didn’t undress, not yet- though, you did unlace your boots and kick them aside before following. You had a plan for this- a plan to help your beloved captain relax. 

To release the tension that ate at him. 

“On the bed.” You ordered, watching as he paused. “Did I stutter?”

“No.” He answered quickly, shaking his head as he made his way to the bed. It was certainly fit for a captain- large enough to fit four, with bedsheets that you were certain cost more than you had on your person. Shanks grinned as he climbed onto the bed, settling on his knees in the center. “Aren’t you going to undress?”

“Not yet,” you smiled sweetly as you approached, steps slow- measured. He was already nearly bursting at the seams- quite literally, you noticed by the way his trousers strained at the front. “I have an idea. You’ll let me take care of you, won’t you?” Your lip fell into a subtle pout as you reached out, cupping his cheeks as he shuffled closer, leaning into your touch as it trailed from his cheeks, to his jaw, to the base of his throat. “You’ll let me ease your worries, yes?”

“Yes,” he breathed, lips parting as your hands smoothed over his chest, taking a moment to massage his pecs. His lips titled up in a smile.

“You’ll let me,” you began, hands settling on his hips, offering a gentle yet firm squeeze before one hand drifted forward, drifting across the bulge that sat prettily for you. He shuddered, eyes falling shut at your touch. “Take away your stress?”

“Yes, please. Please,” oh, he nearly whined as you undid the button of his trousers before tugging them down. You weren’t shocked to see a lack of underwear. Of course not. “Gods, you’re perfect.”

“That’s my boy. Look at you- already hard just from a massage and a kiss. You poor thing!” Cooing, your fingers traced along the prominent vein that sat upon the underside of his cock. Shanks shuddered at the light touch, his eyes falling shut as he shuddered. You couldn’t resist, leaning into pepper kisses along his jawline as you continued your featherlight touches, feeling the way he twitched at the teasing feeling. 

His hand reached out almost hesitantly, grasping at the front of your shirt, pulling hard enough on accident to send you both toppling onto the bed. A bark of laughter escaped as he sprawled on his back with you atop him. “Not what I planned, but I like this, too,” he grinned up at you as you pushed yourself up to hover over him. With his red hair splayed out about the sheets, your breath caught in your chest. 

Shanks was a remarkable sight. Skin tanned to a warm tone, gaze bright despite the lust that clung to him, the faint smattering of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, unable to hold yourself back. An appreciative sigh spilled from Shanks as he reached up, cupping the back of your head, holding you closer to deepen the kiss. Teeth nipped at your bottom lip, stirring the heat that had already begun to spread through you. 

No- no, he wouldn’t get the upper hand here. You returned the nip in a harsher manner, pulling free a startled gasp from your lover as you pulled back, licking at your kiss bruised lips. “Be a good boy- take off your shirt,” as you spoke, you moved, turning to face the headboard. You adjusted the pillows, stacking them to offer your back respite as you settled down with a sigh. Better, much better. 

Shanks rushed as he pulled his shirt off, tossing it to Gods know where before turning to face you. His cheeks flushed, a breathless smile curving his lips as he sat upon his knees proudly. 

“Pants, too.”

“Bossy,” he muttered as he took a moment to wiggle out of his trousers, letting them slide off the side of the bed to the floor below. They’ll be fine down there, you decided as you beckoned him closer. His smile turned dangerous as he shuffled closer-

“No, no. Not like that, sweetheart,” you shook your head, watching in amusement as he paused, visibly confused. “Come, lay back against my chest.”

“Lay- oh. Oh!” Realization dawned as he understood your plan, coming to settle his back against your chest, his head resting on your right shoulder. “What about you?” He asked, turning his head to press lingering kisses along your throat. “When do I get a taste of you?”

“Later. This is about you, Captain,” your hand smoothed down his side, nails digging into tanned skin, drawing forth soft red lines along his pelvis. His hips jerked at the pain, a hiss of breath sucked in between clenched teeth. A living work of art, you thought to yourself as your hand smoothed upwards, pausing to tweak a nipple. Another hiss, another shift of his hips into open air. “How often do you get treated like this?”

“Not… Often,” came the soft admittance as he busied himself with sucking bruises into your throat, bound and determined to try to get you as worked up as he was. “Usually, I’m the one in charge.”

A soft moan slipped past your lips at the feeling of his teeth sinking in; that would certainly leave a pretty bruise come morning. “What a shame. I know that must get so tiring for you, yes?” Your fingers settled on his jaw, tilting his head away from your neck. You shifted slightly, adjusting to get a better view as you tapped your fingers against his lips. “Open for me, darling.” Not a request.

Shanks obeyed. His lips parted, allowing your fingers entry before he closed his lips around the digits, eyes falling shut in tandem as his tongue laved at your fingers. You could imagine- rather vividly- what else that sinful mouth could do with the way his cheeks hollowed out, how his tongue curved around your fingers, coating them liberally. Sure, you could have been crude and spat in your palm- but this was better, far better than you could have ever imagined. 

Especially as your free hand settled on his chest, massaging his pec slowly, squeezing the sensitive muscle. Fingers traced his nipple, watching as it hardened beneath your touch, as goosebumps broke across his skin. It was almost cute, you thought to yourself- how sensitive, how receptive Shanks was to your touch. You withdrew your fingers, though he wasn’t satisfied yet- reaching up to grasp your wrist, tongue laving along your palm.

You squeaked. 

“That should do it, eh, treasure?” Shanks rasped, grinning up at you as you shook your head in disbelief. He knew your plan, the bastard. He reached over to the bedside table, tugging the drawer open to pull out a small glass vial. “Though, this might work a touch better.”

“Said the man who was just giving my fingers essential fellatio.” You quipped, cheeks flushed as he laughed, watching you wipe your fingers clean. “Give it.”

“Here,” he settled it in your palm, though took your momentary distraction to sweep in, stealing another kiss from you. You gripped the bottle in one hand while the other swept upwards, cupping his cheek. The angle was a tad awkward, but that didn’t matter- not with the way Shanks seemed bound and determined to get a reaction out of you from a kiss alone.

And a reaction, he got, as his hand settled on your waist, smoothed down to palm between your thighs. You gasped raggedly into the kiss, pulling back from him to frown. “You’re an ass- now lay back, for Gods’ sakes.”

“Can’t help it. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted you- wanted this. To touch you,” his back settled against your chest once more. Your arms wound around his middle as you worked the cork out of the bottle, using the lube to slick up your fingers and palm. “How many nights I’ve spent in this bed, thinking of what it’d be like to have you here.”

“That so?” You hummed, listening to the hitch in his breath as your hand settled around him, dragging upwards slowly- base to tip, back down again. “What did you picture? Tell me your fantasies, Shanks,” your free hand settled at the base of his throat once more as his head tilted back, brows drawn inwards. “Did you picture me under you? Begging for your touch?”

“Fuck,” he hissed, hips shifting to slowly grind into your touch, thighs tensing at the subtle scrape of your nails along the sensitive skin of his cock. “Yes- yes, of that. Of how your mouth would feel around my cock. How- oh- how I’d love to watch you take every inch of me.”

“Every inch?” He twitched in your grasp as you circled the head. Curiosity got the better of you as your palm smoothed over the tip- and oh, what a reaction that garnered! His hips stuttered upwards, his words failed as he moaned loudly, hand flying up to grab at your wrist. 

“Shit!” He gasped out a laugh, eyes hazy as he shook his head. “How- yer a little minx,” his accent had grown thicker as he fell beneath the waves of arousal that crashed over him. “Don’t stop.”

“Keep your hand to yourself, and I won’t.” It was interesting- to be in control of this situation. Shanks huffed, but reached up, taking hold of your free hand to lace your fingers together. Such an intimate gesture… You smiled to yourself before regaining your pace. Faster, now- eagerly jerking him off as he continued to moan and writhe beneath your touch. How precum leaked from his tip, aiding in the glide of your palm. You broke your pattern, reaching down to fondle his balls, offering the barest hint of a squeeze.

Shanks nearly sobbed out at the feeling. “Close- close, dear Gods I’m so close, don’t stop!” He pleaded with you, turning his head to tuck in against your throat. 

Your fingers circled his base- and squeezed. 

“Oh, you BASTARD.” He gasped, panting against your throat as you staved off his impending orgasm. 

“Did you really think I’d let you cum that easily?” You grinned as you began to touch lightly once more- as you did in the beginning. “I told you I’d be taking care of you, didn’t I, Captain?”

“I didn’t think it’d be… Oh- ha- like this,” he mumbled against you, his hips twitching up into your touch. You hummed, your grip tightening and holding still, letting Shanks rut up into the warm squeeze. “Oh, my treasure- please, please-”

“Please what? Don’t tell me you’re close again already!” 

“Can’t help- can’t help it!” He whined- and oh, how that was music to your ears as he fucked in earnest into your grip. “Please!”

“No.” You drew your hand away completely, listening to the frustrated groan that escaped Shanks. “You can wait a little longer, yes?”

“You’re evil.”

“But, baby,” you murmured, tilting his chin up to meet his gaze. Hazy- hard for him to focus. He wasn’t one who dabbled in edging often, you noted; he truly wouldn’t last beyond one more round, not unless you wished to deal with consequences. That was a boundary yet to be discussed. “Tell me it doesn’t feel good. Tell me you don’t feel like pure lightning right now.” Shanks sighed, drawing in a calming breath. “Good boy, just like that. I promise I’ll let you cum this time-”

“Oh, thank Gods-”

“If you beg.”

“Beg?” He blinked, the haze clearing from his gaze for a moment. Beg? That’s all he had to do? Oh, he could beg. His grin sharpened as he settled back down, your hand pressing against his chest, pulling him down. “Beg for ye?”

“Beg for me to let you cum.”

“I don’t beg.”

“Then suffer.” You grinned, palm smoothing over the head of his cock, fingers curving down as you rotated your wrist, stimulating the glands in ways he didn’t know was possible. 

He jolted against your hold, a hoarse cry escaping his lips. “Sweet Eros!” He sobbed to the God of Pleasure, stomach tensing up as your hand began to stroke in earnest. 

You leaned your head down, your lips caressing his ear. “I’ll be nice- you don’t need to beg this time. Next time, you will, but this time? I want you to cum, Shanks. I want you to cum for me. I wanna hear you cry for me. Can you do that? Can you be a good boy and cry for me? Let everyone know who’s gotten you to this point?”

Your words, the way your hand was twisting, it was all too much for the Captain. His head fell back against your shoulder as he moaned out your name- long, loud, repeating it like a mantra as he spilled over your hand, onto his stomach, making a mess. You pressed kiss after kiss his temple as he shuddered through it until his hand gently pushed at your wrist; the overstimulation too much for him. 

Your- now dirtied- hand settled to the side while your clean hand smoothed over his chest, feeling the way his breathing gradually evened out over the next few minutes. “You did so good,” you murmured, pressing another kiss to his temple as he sighed, stretching. “I expected no less from my Captain.”

“You must be a siren,” he decided as he sat up, looking at you over his shoulder. “Here, I’ll get a-”

“Nope.” You had already clambered out of the bed and made your way to his private bathroom. “Stay. I’m grabbing a towel!” You called back, though you took a moment to study the marks he’d left on your throat. Five of them. Five. On one side. And one was certainly a visible bite mark, the dog. You returned with a warmed wash cloth to see Shanks lazing on the bed, arm behind his head, his gaze tracking your movements like a cat of prey.

This was far from over, you thought distantly. 

“How do you feel?” You asked as you wiped his stomach clean, taking a moment to teasing lick a spot clean just to hear the way he’d hissed. 

“Relaxed,” came the admittance as he reached out, taking your hand to pull you in. You tossed the rag aside, climbing into bed beside him. His arm wrapped around you, holding you in against his side. “You didn’t-”

“Wasn’t about me.”

“... Do you want to?”

You turned your head, pressing gentle kisses along his jawline. “Later, you can make it up to me. For now, you should rest. That was a lot- more than what you’re normally used to, right?”

“Mm. Normally the one edging others, not being edged.”

“Exactly.” You grabbed the blankets- blessedly unsoiled- and tugged them up, covering your legs. “Get a few hours of sleep. Ben can handle the morning, can’t he?”

Shanks didn’t argue, shuffling down beneath the blankets. He sighed deeply as you settled against his side, arm tossed over his stomach, leg over his hip. “Could get used to this, yeknow,” he mumbled, sleep already starting to drag  him under. 

“So could I,” you whispered, listening to the pleased hum that rumbled in his chest. You smiled to yourself as Shanks fell asleep, your own eyes closing. A few hours of sleep could do you both good. 

You’d need it, for what he had planned in retaliation. 

[darcytaylor]

You may be tired of this discourse and in that case, feel free to skip this lol, but I was thinking about some things today after rewatching S3 and seeing the new pap attack on N&JD and Tom H getting fed up with Zendaya being swarmed by fans, and I was thinking, what would I do if I was in their position or I was the normie partner of a celebrity? Like, I can't even imagine dealing with something like that, but if I had to, what would I do?

I was also thinking about why I was really put off by A's latest photo dump and I've come to some realizations. I was aware of her existence early on but I wasn't deep into the fandom until May, so I wasn't phased by the stuff with her and L that came out after. I didn't look into her much because frankly I wasn't interested and I was very vocal about people giving her grace or barring that, at least ignoring her. I felt like whatever she did, the fandom would find a way to hold it against her, so she might as well live her life. That is why when people spoke of her "playing SM games", I scoffed at it and interpreted her posts as typical GenZ SM activity. But that started to change for me when she posted those two stories where she literally bent over backwards to show us that L was her phone background, and resurfaced again with the latest summer dump, where she went out of her way to post parallel photos with L when he'd made every effort to make this paid-for promo as free of any hints to his private life as possible. And I started to think, why would she do that, especially if it was a sponsored post (which, mind you, is still up), which he would be expected to be professional about? If I was the partner of a celebrity and they clearly wanted us to be private, and made every effort to make it so, why, out of everything I could be posting, would I post things that would be sure to rile up a trigger-happy fandom and heap further hate onto my partner? Why, after everything that's happened, would someone do that? The only reason I can think of is - they care more about the attention they're getting from being with that person than the person's actual wellbeing.

Both him and his entire friend group changed their posting behavior post-Sorrento. Everyone... Except A. Now, I don't know what goes on in her comment sections, I don't go there nor do I wish to, so I don't know what she might be responding to with her posts. However, when everyone else in their circle has pulled back and learned lessons about fame and unhinged stalker behavior, why hasn't she? I used to make the argument of, well, she's a model and dancer, and therefore she has to maintain an SM presence to book jobs. Yet... These kinds of posts - the hints, the random limbs, the implied company, the specific timing and locations... These are things that contribute nothing to her professional aspirations. Most of them are empty landscapes and very generic photos without her in it. There's no purpose to them other than to maintain a back-and-forth with a small but captive audience that's build up around her. I now realize that I got this all wrong because to me, desiring and actively seeking out attention or fame is an alien concept - I don't understand why anyone would. But something about watching Portia say "my girl" to Pen after her speech and then remembering that that's exactly what A's mom commented on the papgate pics made me realize that I need to look at this from the POV of her having gone on a talent show and having a dad who's a DJ and how chasing fame (or in A's case, it's moreso notoriety) might not just be normalized, but perhaps even the "done thing" in her household. If my mom saw me plastered all over the tabloids with me and my partner looking freaked out and miserable, I'd really take issue with her if that was her reaction. What about that sordid incident was to be celebrated??? I understand now why so many people felt strongly it had been staged.

So now that my lens has shifted, I've been analyzing her actions from the POV of - what if they're calculated? And while L isn't entirely without fault here, he has course-corrected, so what's her endgame here? Both of their careers seem to have suffered. If I'm not mistaken, she used to be able to book better gigs, and while the Hollywood downturn is something that is happening, one has to wonder if all of this drama hasn't impacted L's ability to book roles, especially when compared to his costars' bookedness and busyness.

I was also thinking about all the WT-related events that she awkwardly tagged along to and what I would've done if I was in a situation like that, getting bombarded with hate from strangers over my very existence, but I liked the person and I wanted to stay with them. And honestly? I wouldn't have gone. Or at the very least, I would've been as discreet as possible. And while it's clear that it's L who had to invite her and he's the one who waffled on launching her until someone else did it for him, she could've conducted herself differently and at least flown under the radar more. Yet she elected to be photographed on red carpets, stepping out of cars with his family, knowing that people would pay attention to that group of people. What did she think would happen? That the public would swoon over her, someone with very little to her name? And it's like, at this point, she could stop. She should stop. L, R, S all have, to the best of my knowledge. But she can't seem to help herself. She had to make it known that she was in Spain with him, and for a second time, too. At this point I can no longer reasonably attribute these patterns of behavior to her age or inexperience. She's not changing her ways because she's feeding off of this. I mostly wasn't paying attention, but I was also naive, because I don't think like people who desire fame think. I just wonder where L is at with all of this and why he's going along with it still, is it rose-colored glasses? Does he feel guilty for everything that's transpired? Is he now stubborn and feeling petty, so he'll keep indulging her and trolling the fandom by proxy?

I was thinking about how there are so many celebrities whose partners I couldn't pick out of a lineup - I know they exist, but they aren't front and center. Some even have rabid female fanbases, yet they've managed to keep their private lives on the DL. I couldn't tell you what David Tennant's wife looks like, or Dan Stevens', or Jamie Dornan's, to name a few. There are actors who have been with their partners for a long time but almost never take them to events and they're still fine. So, I don't know if N&L landed in the spotlight too late in life so they still think of themselves as regular people and couldn't really anticipate this, but in A's case, given everything I know about her now, I'm honestly done giving her the benefit of the doubt. My biggest question now is - why does L continue to? And for how long? Is he complicit in these games or does it not even occur to him that's what they are, like in my case? I guess if we don't look too closely at things, we can't see them for what they are.

Anyway, I hope you're having a fun rewatch like I did and I hope our faves are safe and happy and DM burns to the ground, amen.

I wasn’t too sure if I wanted to respond to this ask because I was concerned it might add unnecessary drama to this whole situation. However, I thought about it and realised that you seem to be approaching this with a lot of empathy and depth, which I really appreciate. Your long, drawn-out paragraphs (which I definitely appreciate!) tell me you’ve put a lot of reflection into this.

You raise some interesting points about navigating a relationship with a public figure, especially when the partner isn’t someone in the public eye (and maybe they want to be and their family wants it for them as well). It’s understandable to wonder what someone would do in that position, especially when you see posts that seem to clash with the other's desire for privacy. Something about it feels like it's part of a social media game - or even a subtle taunting of the fans/fandom.

I do like that you questioned if it could be Antonia being Gen Z and that it might just be part of that always-online mentality, where sharing life moments (even indirectly) is natural, without considering public repercussions. But at the same time, if you’re dating a public figure who wants privacy, it would make sense to be more mindful. Part of being in the public eye is knowing that people will observe your every move, and when those closest to you don’t understand that reality, it will create issues.

I understand the shift in your perspective. When actions repeatedly go against someone’s implied boundaries, it raises questions about motivation and whether they’re prioritising attention (self-image or fame) over respecting the relationship they are in.

I noticed the change in the friend group after the Sorrento trip as well (I think I also mentioned it somewhere in a blog post), and while I will say Antonia did change her habits a bit (she deleted a number of Instagram posts of her trips with Luke), I agree that out of everyone, she’s still the one who continues to post and make it known that she may be with him (but then fan's also imply and spiral over the smallest things as well). It’s strange to continue doing that when you know these posts will only fuel ongoing speculation rather than help reduce it. And honestly, I think that, at this point, reducing speculation could only be beneficial for Luke. Antonia's posts seem more detrimental than supportive.

I’m sure fame would be hard to navigate, and I think it’s fair to say that, in certain situations, some people might see an opportunity to maintain or even leverage attention, regardless of how it might play out publicly.

In the end, I have no idea why any of the people in this situation continue to do what they’re doing, or why they keep posting things that only fuel more drama. I’ve mentioned before that maybe this is Luke’s way of not letting the fandom dictate his life - but, like you said, maybe he’s seeing things through rose-coloured glasses, or even feeling a sense of guilt or responsibility to make Antonia happy given the amount of hate she’s received. It could be any combination of loyalty, stubbornness, or simply him wanting to show support, even though the public perception won’t be positive. Luke could be trying to balance his desire to keep things private with Antonia’s approach, which may be different. But we won’t know for sure without knowing him personally (or being him!). It's all speculation and guesswork.

In the end, these kinds of things are complex, and I think reflecting on why people make the choices they do is absolutely valid and normal. But like I always say, there are so many possibilities for why things are taking place and unfolding the way they are. There are countless options and scenarios, both now and in the past, that could explain each action. Even if something seems clear, as fans, we don't know anything about motivations or anybody’s relationship status.

I really enjoyed reading your ask - it offers a lot to consider about how fame and notoriety affect both personal and professional lives, especially when someone’s actions seem intentional or at odds with their partner’s approach to privacy. So thank you!

I am having fun with my rewatch! I also wouldn't mind if DM burnt to the ground!

[missmugiwara]

Now There's an Idea

Summary: gn!reader x Rengoku. You talk to Rengoku about your love life. Warning: None! Just some cuteness. I hope you like flirting! Note: I had way too much fun with this! Please enjoy!

It was late out.

A yawn escaped your lips as you rested your arm on the hilt of your blade. There was a full moon, a gentle warmth in the humid summer air, and crickets chirped somewhere far off in the distance. Mid-yawn, your gaze wandered over to the man with you on this fine night. Rengoku was quiet, an ever-present smirk on his face while his arms were crossed against his broad chest. He hadn't let out any indication of being tired, and here you were yawning. While on patrol. While waiting for a report from scouts sent ahead earlier in the day. There was a possibility that a particularly strong demon was in the area, and so the master sent two of his finest hashira: Rengoku and you.

It wasn't unusual that you two were paired together. In fact, it happened often enough where you could affectionately say Rengoku's presence made you quite comfortable. Any mission that he was joining you on instantly made you feel giddy. The flame hashira was just so kind. When you first met him he was quite intimidating with his bright, sun-like eyes and loud nature, but after getting to know him he was extremely charming. You were thankful for the friendly relationship that developed and for how easy it was to speak to him about nearly anything.

So seated on a rooftop, you swung you legs over the side and kicked them back and forth out of boredom. You looked up at the moon and softly hummed a song while your eyes became lidded. You had been thinking a lot about life lately, particularly romance.

It was starting to get difficult lately.

What exactly? It had been a long time since you were wooed and had a proper date. It seemed that every time you finished one mission, exhausted and burnt out, another one came up. Constantly on the move, never getting the chance to try and find a special someone. The feeling of being held in someone's arms, to have butterflies in your stomach, to have one's lips against yours - you sighed dreamily at the moon in yearning.

"Kyojuro, you ever think about getting married someday?"

As soon as those words left your mouth, it was instant regret. It had slipped out without thought. Eyes widened in embarrassment, cheeks blossomed into heat, and immediately you turned to see if his expression changed at all. Surprisingly it didn't, but what was even more concerning now was trying to read his face and determine if you had crossed a line. That was kind of personal information to ask, but… Rengoku was yours. Well, uh, your friend! Friend! Was there really any reason to be so bothered asking that to a friend? Besides, upon further thought, was he even the marrying type? He seemed like he would focus on his career first.

Rengoku closed his yellow and red eyes. The proud smirk still played at his lips, and he tilted his chin downward.

"Yes."

He answered softly. You twitched in response as another heat erupted onto your face. Oh, Rengoku's response was unexpected! It reminded you that he too was just a normal person like anybody else. And it revealed that Rengoku was not the type of man consumed with his work.

"And what about you, my dear?"

Those words echoed in your ears. Your heart thumped against your chest. This sensation was new. My dear. You never really paid attention to that until now. Why was that? Your friendship with the flame hashira was strong, and he called you that for years out of endearment. He never did it out of flirtation nor ever expected any cute names in return. Moreso, you were surprised he didn't rebuttle and ask why would you want to know. Perhaps asking that wasn't as personal as it seemed, especially with the connection you two shared. It was only fair you answered back honestly. He deserved it.

"I… I do." you smiled gently and locked eyes with him, "I want to fall in love."

It was so easy to share something so intimate with him. His presence alone just made you become honest to a fault. Plus, he would never laugh at you for this.

Rengoku beamed with a slight pink blush, "That's wonderful!"

You smiled back at him cutely. You took a pause to rub the back of your head bashfully and laughed, "But… I'm afraid I'll never meet anyone with how hard I work! I barely get the time to go on dates anymore."

The blonde and red-haired man took a moment to think. He stared at you with a light smile. "You could meet plenty of people! How about someone in the corps?"

Lips pursed in thought, you blinked before looking up into the sky in a reflective manner. "Someone from the corps? Well, I never thought about that before. I guess I could… but I don't know…"

It was interesting that Rengoku mentioned potentially dating a coworker. That seemed like it could get awkward if the relationship went sour. It also seemed strange for someone of his character to suggest this. Rengoku shuffled in his seat, seeming to understand your hesitation. He uncrossed his arms and then his legs, swinging them over the side of the roof to mirror your position. The smile on his face somehow changed into something a little bit more enticing.

"How about… a hashira?"

The air stilled.

Rengoku blushed. You blushed. You completely froze on the spot at what Rengoku was implying. Did he… maybe mean himself? Was he flirting? Your lips parted out of shock. Somehow in this state, you whipped your gaze to him. Eyes still widened, lips still parted. An intense staredown bewteen a smirking, proud hashira and a stunned, flustered one. Rengoku's eyes were lidded, and the expression he wore was quite alluring. Another pause was shared, before you realized you kept him waiting.

In that instance, your eyes softened. You had maybe thought about him like that a few times before, and… dating Rengoku sounded very pleasing. He would make an excellent partner. He was truly handsome. And strong. And kind. That longing gaze in your eyes matched his, and you could have sworn you saw his throat bob when you gave him such a lascivious look that was aimed at his lips. Gently, you gripped the side of the roof in your hands.

"You know… I wouldn't mind that."

Hopefully the lusty, breathy tone in your voice was enough, enough to tell Rengoku that you might possibly know he was referring to himself. It was not in his nature to dance around in conversations and to be more straightforward - but this was kind of cute. He was an unexpected flirt. But you wanted to play it safe, after all. He was your friend.

Other times… he was so much more.

Perhaps you should have been more forward like how Rengoku usually was. Or perhaps, he already understood what you admitted. The look he gave you then could only make you spiral even further.

Rengoku's lips curled upward into a delectable smirk.

"Hmm. I see."