#everyone's so tiny it feels pointless to tag them

[salteytakesonmanga]

“We’ll just sail around again” is the most incredible statement, considering only one other crew has ever managed it even once. But I love the idea of Luffy just looping the Grand Line over and over again, as many times as he wants, because there’s always something new to see and a new adventure to be had.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Calling Your Name - No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: This one’s very sad, and very horny. I’m pregaming for Chapter 21. Title from I Don't Want to Live Forever by Taylor Swift and Zayn Malik.

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary/Warnings: Ben's first birthday awake isn't great. Takes place in Chapter 19. Usual warnings, with extra emphasis on smut.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, angst, smut

The last birthday Ben had celebrated was his 68th. Big fucking party, with lions and champagne, where women who Ben couldn’t remember the names of had thrown themselves at him, and men he’d never met in his life had congratulated him on turing 27.

It had been his eighteenth 27th birthday party. In another twelve years, he'd be 28. 

The event had cost a small fortune. Likely the GDP of one of those tiny fucking European countries that had been forming as the Soviet Union fell apart. Vought had rented him a castle—Ben hadn’t even known America had castles—and flown thousands of people Ben didn’t like out to celebrate.

Today he was 106, and alone in a haunted apartment as Her voice in his head called him old.

Did you take your meds this morning, grandpa?

No. Mallory still won’t just fucking give me drugs.

He could picture Her teasing pout. Woe is you, Pretty Boy. 106 and nobody to buy you cocaine.

He sighed into the empty room, and a small part of him still hoped she’d just appear. She’d walk out of the bedroom door or in from the hall, and she'd throw herself into Ben’s arms. She'd call him a grumpy cunt, and he’d get to kiss Her until she moaned and pleaded, and tell her he loved her. Maybe she’d get on her knees, or let Ben fuck her right here on the sofa. She’d smile at him. She taunt him and ask if Social Security had an expiration date, but she’d be smiling at Ben the whole time so he’d just scoff and let her.

She hadn’t told Ben her own birthday. He’d asked, once, all the way back in the safe housem, and She’d laughed. Told him she stopped celebrating her birthday when Homelander kidnapped her. 

“It loses the magic, Pretty Boy.” Her voice had been amused and bored, but there had been something hollow in Her eyes. “Being legally dead makes birthdays seem kind of pointless.”

He’d dropped it then. Now he wished he hadn’t. Ben wanted to know so that he could be a pain in everyone’s ass about it. He’d make them throw a party, and someone would provide a cake—homemade, chocolate, with a disgusting amount of frosting and ice cream just in case She hated cake—and everyone would sing that stupid birthday song in a voice worse than Hers until She felt loved. 

He’d make sure she felt loved. Ben would buy her a gift—he wasn’t sure what, but he’d figure it out—and it would make her feel seen. Then he’d stand silently behind Her while everyone celebrated how fucking perfect she was, and cut the cake so he could make sure she got the largest piece. 

Then he’d fuck Her. He’d carry her home, into this same apartment, and up the stairs into the bed so he could fuck Her. Romantically. If Ben got to do this, it would have to be romantic. In this perfect world he was creating for himself, they’d been fucking for a while now and he’d already told Her he loved her, so he’d know all the things she likes in bed, and which of them made Her come apart the fastest. Ben would be able to use that knowledge to throughly wreck Her—turn her into a sweaty, moaning work of art below him—and remind her that he loved Her the whole time.

That was what he wanted for his birthday. Her, home, in Ben’s arms so he could fuck her and tell her he loved her. So he could get some proper fucking rest tonight, and wake up with Her at his side. So everything could finally be good again.

He didn’t have a cake. He hadn’t told anyone it was his birthday, because it didn’t really fucking feel important. They had work to do, and no one on the team was going to jump out of their chair to celebrate one of Ben’s infinite birthdays. So he grabbed a candle from the cabinet—Balsam and Cedar, Her surprisingly aggressive purchase—went to light it, and realized they didn’t actually own a lighter. She was a walking lighter, so neither of them had bothered to purchase one.

It was almost midnight. This dogshit fucking day—where he’d eaten dinner with the team and combed through Vought records and tried not to think about how She was here, wasn’t home—had been the same as yesterday. Would be the same as tomorrow. All the days would be the fucking same, numb, thoughtless shit until She was home.

She’d tell Ben her birthday when she got home. He’d figure out a way to get Her to tell him. He wouldn’t be able to trick it out of her the way she was always somehow getting Ben to say what she wanted him to. If he asked, she’d ignore him or tell him to shut the fuck up.

He could fuck it out of Her. That was the only field between them where Ben seemed to have the slightest advantage. She wasn’t as fucking excellent at hiding how much she wanted Ben as he was at hiding how much he wanted Her. But he had months of practice. Weeks and weeks in the safe house of fucking his hand to the thought of Her without her catching on. And every time Ben had touched her she’d whimpered his name and fallen apart and fucking begged, so that’s how he’d figure out Her birthday. He’d make her cum on his face once—just because he wanted to—then he’d fuck Her into the mattress until Her perfect, insane, brilliant fucking brain was empty and she was molding into Ben’s body.

He’d lean down, lips against Her ears, and hiss the question.

“When’s your birthday.”

She wouldn’t answer immediately. She’d just moan and stare at him with lust-blown, pretty eyes. So Ben would pull all the way out of Her until she whined, and slam back in hard enough to break the bed before asking again.

“Tell me your birthday, beautiful, or you don’t get to fucking cum.”

It would be a bluff. She was a goddamn force of nature when she came, and Ben wasn’t strong enough to deprive himself of watching Her lips part and head throw back, feel Her back arch off the bed and her cunt squeeze around his cock like it had before on his fingers, hear Her scream his name. Maybe She’d squirt. Ben had felt how fucking wet she could get, maybe if he fucked her right, She’d squirt.

And She’d call the bluff. Even in the haze of Ben’s  body over hers, between moans and begs, she’d call him on his shit.

“Fuck,” she whimpered when he repeated that same move again. “Fuck you, Ben-“

“Birthday.”

It would take a while, likely several minutes of that exact dance, but he’d get it. Ben would lean down to Her mouth and kiss Her, sloppy and deep, fucking her faster, and tell Her he loved her. 

Then She'd tell him, and cum.

This was a foolproof fucking plan. Ben was a goddamn genius.

Maybe I don’t have a birthday, Benjamin. Have you considered that?

Everyone has a fucking birthday.

Well, what’s yours?

Ben frowned into the air. She was a figment of his imagination, she should know his birthday. Today.

Oh. The room was silent for a second. I forgot, I guess. Sorry. 

Don’t apologize. If you want to do something for me, come home.

It wasn’t really worth saying. This wasn’t Her, and even if it said, of course, Pretty Boy. For your birthday. The real her would still be across the river at Vought tower. And Ben had to be okay with that.

I want to. You know I want to, but I can’t. I miss you and love you, Ben, more than anything, but I can’t come home.

He sighed. I miss you and love you too.

Stop saying that-

Shut the fuck up. If you’re allowed to say you love me, I can say it back.

But-

No. It’s my birthday, no telling me I can’t say that I love you on my birthday.

Silence, then okay. For your birthday. Old man.

I love you, brat.

I love you too, Benjamin. Happy birthday.

End Note: I made Ben a Taurus, and I stand by that.

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If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@manicjk @lordofthunderthr @artemys-ackles @brtodd

[hypnoneghoul]

Sundown: Chapter 4

WC: 2,6K

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: Transfeminine Mountain, AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain, First Time, Bottom Swiss, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cuddles, Love Confessions

...and boobies

“Do you wanna go back to bed?” the barmaid asks and Swiss’ jaw quite literally drops at the intention glinting in her eyes. “You–you wanna…?” he stutters dumbly.

Notes: Thing are finally getting spicy! This chapter is another commission for my bestie @jazz-bazz <3

Read chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 4 under the cut or on AO3.

Three months in Sundown. The happiest and most peaceful Swiss has ever been and somehow it only keeps getting better.

His horse is finally well fed and properly taken care of, even he himself is eating well—he’s even got a little bit of a tummy already—he’s got friends, and a comfortable bed to sleep in, with the most precious little bed warmer included. He’s got his girl and Swiss still can’t believe it’s not all just a dream.

It’s just barely afternoon, the saloon is empty except for him and Mounty behind the bar. She’s just busying herself with wiping down some glasses and rearranging bottles on the rack—humming as she does so. Swiss, as usual, is being a creep sitting in one of the boots with his legs crossed and sipping a drink as she stares at her. Though, he supposes, he’s got the right to stare after those two months of actually being together.

The barmaid seems to get bored with the pointless tidying up of the already tidy bar and she wanders up to Swiss. He grins as she gets closer, hoping she’d sit next to him and let herself be pulled in by him, but instead she wipes that smile off of his face, turning it into a stunned expression as she pulls her skirt up to straddle his lap right there.

“H–hi,” Swiss stutters.

“Hi, cowboy,” Mounty replies before leaning down to kiss the shock off of his handsome face. He huffs into her mouth and regains a tiny bit of composure, just enough to kiss his girl back.

He has no idea what possessed her but he is not going to complain.

Swiss wraps his arms around her, hands wandering down to squeeze her ass through the long skirt now covering them both. She does the same to his biceps, digging her little claws into his light linen shirt.

Swiss is pretty sure Mounty sucks his brains out through his mouth, because he has absolutely no idea what’s even going on around them; all he can think of is his girl nestled right over his chubbing up cock and her soft lips glued to his.

Mounty latches her mouth onto his neck and all Swiss can do is whine as his cock kicks pathetically in his pants. He nearly forgets they’re still in the open, that someone can come in at any moment and even though everyone knows they’re together—and even though they are both clothed—Swiss doesn’t particularly feel the need to be walked in on by some random person. Or worse, Dewdrop.

“Do you wanna go back to bed?” the barmaid pulls back and asks and Swiss’ jaw quite literally drops at the intention glinting in her eyes.

“You–you–you wanna…?” he stutters dumbly at the idea alone. Mounty grinds down on him as she grins.

“Mhm.” She nods simply. “Think it’s time, don’t ya?”

“Uh-huh, y–yeah.” She giggles at him as she climbs off of his lap and Swiss could cry. Not for long, though, because in the next moment she’s grabbing his hand, pulling him up and dragging up the squeaky stairs to their bedroom.

The next thing he knows he’s being pushed onto the aforementioned bed and Mounty is crawling over him to kiss the breath straight out of his lungs again. She settles himself over his lap, but keeps hovering and not making contact besides their lips. Even though Swiss’ arms feel like they’re covered in lead he moves to place them on Mounty’s thighs and tries to pull her down.

“Nuh-uh, wait,” the barmaid tuts at Swiss before playfully snapping her teeth at the tip of his nose. “So eager, cowboy.”

“M’sorry, sweetheart, you–you’re–”

“Already got you so stupid? I didn’t think you’d go down so easily.” Mounty pulls her hands away from Swiss’ face and stands up. She digs under her skirt to fumble with her panties and the man’s eyes widen when they get thrown at him—he doesn't know if them landing on him was the barmaid’s intention. He fights the urge to grab them and bring closer to his face, instead staring at them laying on his chest in near horror as their owner continues getting rid of her clothes piece by piece.

Swiss is able to look away from the discarded underwear only when expanses of bare skin catch the corner of his eye and somehow they widen even more. Mounty’s left only in her skirt and a tiny piece of a flimsy fabric covering her tits. Swiss has never wanted to shove his face into anything more than those.

She smiles at him and takes a step in his direction to take care of his own clothes. The shirt he’s wearing is mostly unbuttoned and so loose it’s more off him than on him, but the pants are tight. They’re tenting anyway.

Mounty takes a moment to run her pretty hands over the bulge and pull a breathy grunt out of the man before she gets to freeing him from the leather prison. She pops the button and drags the zipper down with a smirk on her face. Swiss is out of his mind and his pants aren't even off yet.

But not for long, because—even though he’s not very helpful—Mounty gets them off of him soon, and it’s him who’s cock is being left on full display as the barmaid is still clothed where it matters. She wraps a hand around him, just to feel, and her skin is so soft Swiss chokes on his own spit trying to simply breathe.

“That good?” she asks and he nods so fast his ears start ringing. His jaw is still hanging open and he might just be drooling.

“Sweetheart, please, can I–can you…boobies?” Swiss begs dumbly and Mounty can’t help but snort. She’s really got him wrapped all around her little finger. She’s not cruel, though, so she pulls away to get rid of yet another piece of clothing. The barmaid lets it fall to the ground and that’s when Swiss really does start drooling—just a small trickle from the corner of his open mouth.

She chuckles at him and deems him messed up enough to finally get rid of her skirt, too. She’s not ashamed of what’s under it and she isn’t worried about Swiss thinking less of her in any way. He knows what she’s got—since the day they met—and they wouldn’t be where they are if he had any reservations. The light blue fabric pools around her ankles and she steps out of it with grace.

Swiss is pretty sure he’s dying. He doesn’t know where to look, because Mounty’s tits are the two most beautiful perky little things on Earth, but her cock is just gorgeous. It’s not big by any means—it’s rather small, actually—but Swiss wants to drool on it anyway. Which reminds him–

“Sweetheart, I don’t–don’t know how to say it so it’s not weird,” Swiss starts—sobering up a little bit—and it fades out into an awkward little chuckle as he scratches the back of his neck, “but I’ve never done anything with…with another dick.”

Mounty snorts loudly again–so loudly she embarasses herself a little and quickly puts a hand over her mouth. The man raises his eyebrows in offense, painfully turned on and equally enamored. “Sorry, sorry. Well, you have a dick, too, so you should know what feels good, yeah?”

“Uh-huh…I guess,” he mumbles.

“I can show you…more. But only if you want.”

“I want to…I want whatever you have to give me.” The barmaid walks back to him, steps in between his spread legs and kneels just on the very edge of the bed. Swiss’ eyes divert again when she leans over him and her tits bounce slightly right in front of his face. Seconds ago he was drooling, but now his mouth goes dry. “Please, sweetheart.”

Mounty smirks; Swiss may just regret saying that in the future. Today, though, it’s all for him. She will show him everything.

She moves to kiss him again and fully pull his shirt off so she can press their chests together. Truth be told, Swiss’ own boobs aren’t much smaller than hers, but neither of them seem to mind—or even notice. The man moans into the kiss and grabs at her bare waist, gasping at how soft her skin is all around. Maybe it’s just that he hasn’t touched anything so delicate in years, but Swiss knows he will never, ever, touch her without reverence.

Mounty drags her hand down the man’s torso—playing with the hair covering his chest and stomach on her way—and to his cock. She strokes him lightly a few times, gentle movement up and down, and just then she gathers some of the precum that’s beaded on his tip to smear it on her palm.

Swiss is lost in her mouth as the barmaid wraps the same hand around both of their shafts and squeezes to stroke them together. They moan in unison; although Swiss’ is way louder.

“Oh, fuck, oh, sweetheart, that’s–” he whines. Mounty understands

It's not what she has planned, though, and she doesn’t want to run her man down too fast, so she gives up on the slow petting soon enough.

“Do you want to top or try bottoming?” the barmaid asks him and even though the question makes sense, Swiss feels so high he can’t make any of it.

“Wh–what does that mean…exactly?” He’s flushed so deeply he feels like he’s on fire, and Mounty doesn’t tell him, but to her it makes him look impossibly more attractive. Or maybe it’s just her perversion.

Still, she explains. Rather bluntly. “Do you want me to put my dick in you, or do you want to put yours in me?”

“Oh, I–I think I…uhm…” Swiss stammers, suddenly flooded with performance anxiety.

“Hey. It’s okay to want it. To want to try.” Mounty both senses and sees his doubts and can easily imagine all the gears in his head working in overdrive. “It won’t make you any less of a man if you like it, too.”

“Uhm…o–okay.” The man has no idea how just a few of her words can be so soothing and reassuring—enough to instantly calm his mind. He lets out a shaky breath. “Okay, I want to try.”

“Tell me. Tell me you want me to fuck you.” The barmaid smiles brightly and Swiss’ stomach twists. He’s never been so fucking turned on.

“Please, sweetheart,” he mumbles. All quiet and weak. “Please, fuck me.”

Mounty nods and pulls back just to reach up and put three of her fingers into Swiss’ mouth. “Make ‘em wet, cowboy.”

Swiss wraps his tongue around the digits and tries to obey and not choke as Mounty shoves them down his throat to the third knuckle. He drools—all sloppy—and he supposes that was the barmaid’s plan.

She did want them wet and she does pull them out soon enough, satisfied. She uses her clean hand to hook one of Swiss’ muscled legs over her hip and give herself room to work, but before she does anything else she leans back down to kiss the man again.

“I’m gonna put my fingers into you. Is that okay, are you ready?” She asks—right into his mouth—and the sheer gentleness in her voice makes Swiss shake. He nods frantically, and reaches out for the barmaid’s free hand. She smiles as she takes it and squeezes it reassuringly before bringing the other hand down between Swiss’ legs. 

Mounty keeps her eyes on the man’s face as she circles his rim with the tips of her finger before slowly and gently pushing her index finger in. Swiss breathes heavily, but there’s no discomfort showing on his face, so the barmaid thrusts it further in, until it’s buried in him up to the third knuckle. “You doin’ alright, cowboy?”

“Uh-huh,” Swiss murmurs, staring right into Mounty’s soul with wide eyes. She nods and pulls the finger back a fraction before pushing it back in. She doesn’t curl it yet, focusing on making the man used to the feeling of having something inside him and stretching him out gently.

Soon enough the barmaid deems him ready for another finger, then another, and Swiss all but blacks out as she pets inside him like that. It’s maddening and it’s so good he can’t even feel embarrassed about the fact that his girl has her pretty fingers up his ass. Especially when she–

“OH,” Swiss moans loudly and his whole body jerks as Mounty finally curls her digits and finds a spot inside him that makes him truly see stars—that he didn’t even know he had. The barmaid chuckles, clearly proud of herself, and pulls her fingers out. Swiss can’t help but notice how empty and cold he suddenly feels.

Not for long, though, because Mounty settles herself over him properly and the tip of her cock is kissing Swiss’ hole and he is shaking. “Please, sweetheart, gimme, I–I need you.”

Mounty kisses him when she pushes in and Swiss’ mouth falls open as he cries out in pleasure. She can’t help but beam at how it’s her who this big, strong man moans for, who he falls apart under, who he let show him the world.

The barmaid starts to thrust slowly—a gentle pull back and forth, but every move still knocks Swiss’ breath out. He’s absolutely out of his mind, he doubts he’s ever felt so good. He’s truly floating.

He wants to warn Mounty that it’s not going to be a long ride, but his tongue feels too heavy and too light in his mouth all at once. He holds her hand with an iron grip and he’s so lost in her beautiful eyes he’s not even looking at her tits swaying with her every thrust. Gut-punched noises keep spilling from his lips and when they get loud Mounty drinks them all up from the source.

Swiss gets close embarrassingly fast, but neither of them cares. Mounty isn’t far behind; drunk on all the sweet reactions she’s pulling from the man. She knows it’s time when he starts clenching around her uncontrollably and when his cock kicks where it’s trapped between them. The barmaid latches her mouth onto his own again and thrust that little bit harder. It doesn’t take much more for Swiss to go right over the edge.

“Fuck, oh, fuck, I love you, oh god, I love you, Mounty, I love you, I love you, I–” Swiss babbles deliriously and the barmaid freezes—for just a split second—at what’s falling from his lips. He cums, spilling pearly white between their stomachs and goes boneless right there under the other.

Mounty grunts as she pulls out and strokes herself once before she cums, too, staining the sheets between Swiss’ legs. The man heaves for breath with his eyes wide and pupils blown and Mounty smiles. She did him good.

She pulls the dirty sheets out from under Swiss and uses them to wipe down his stomach and herself before throwing it onto the floor. Mounty grabs a blanket and crawls up the bed to curl up against Swiss’ chest, covering them both with the soft fabric and it doesn’t take long for the man to come back down with her soft, warm skin plastered to his.

He wraps his arms around her to return her embrace and Swiss shudders.

Mounty has to ask, though, “Was that… You love me?”

“Shit…” Swiss curses as she reminds him of his babbling. A bolt of dread shoots through the barmaid at his reaction, but the man isn’t done. “I’m sorry, it ain’t how I wanted to…but I do. Yes, I love you, girl. I love you so much.”

“Good,” Mounty grins, “‘cause I love you, too, cowboy.”

Swiss sighs deeply with relief, before promptly blurting out, “Thank fuck.”

[zuppizup]

Angsty Rayllum baby centric fic ahead. Read the tags, my lovelies

———

Rest

Rayla hates being pregnant. Not for the typical reasons people joke about to her, though she is frustrated with how ill she feels, and how delicately everyone treats her.

No, she hates how anxious it makes her. How every moment feels filled with thoughts of the baby, if she is comfortable, if she is growing…

If she is alive.

After all this time, she finds she cannot relax.

From her swollen belly it is clear that the baby will be born any day now, but she finds her worry only grows with each passing day. She doesn’t think it will abate until she finally holds her baby in her arms, until she can truly see she’s real and well and… alive.

They’ve been through this too many times before. Her heart cannot take one more break.

Not this particular one, at least.

It’s been broken many times before, she thinks, but this type of loss is something different. Mourning for what might have been is so different from mourning people that were, that others knew.

It feels silly and pointless. Why be sad for what never was? Why look upon an empty crib and think of the baby that might have been but over and over never was.

This one seemed to stick.

It came to a point where her frame could no longer hide and the rumours were growing and growing and eventually it seemed ridiculous to try and dismiss the obvious.

She hated all the well wishing though. All the congratulations and the excitement.

The hidden losses robbed her off her innocence, she thinks.

Everyone seems to see this as a time of joy, of celebration.

It feels wrong for her to dampen others spirits with her constant concerns.

And so, even now, as people seem more and more excited and happy and confident, she wants nothing more than to shy away, to be alone. Just her and Callum.

She does not want to mourn with an audience.

Callum is supportive, as he always is. Patience and understanding. Always willing to listen.

She cannot explain the ache though. The fear. The anxiety.

She doesn’t want to breathe life into it.

He doesn’t believe in fate, has defied it more than once in his defence, but she cannot help but worry… what if she’s bringing this upon them? What if her endless running thoughts are the reason why they never stay.

She’s gazing at the full moon when the first ache hits her. Dull at first, but persistent. Callum is snoring behind her, and she elects not to wake him because who wants to be woken for bad news?

She’s felt this ache before.

Eventually the pain becomes too much though. She cries out, despite her best efforts and Callum wakes suddenly.

She worries he’s going to yell at her, annoyed that she kept another thing from him, but instead he rushes to the guards, insists they call for the midwife and that’s when it truly hits her.

The baby is coming.

The midwife is too far away and Rayla has no idea what she is doing. She was too afraid of tempting fate. The books Callum procured for her untouched on her bedside table.

True to form, Callum has been reading and he coaches her through it.

She thinks she can’t do it, it’s all too much, too painful, too terrifying but then there’s a pain worse than anything she could ever imagine, followed by a tiny, strangled cry and Callum is laughing and crying and looking between her and a pink sticky bundle in his arms and she realises, the baby is real, screaming and grasping... and alive.

And a boy.

Tiny and pink and screaming and perfect and real.

She cries too as she holds him, strokes his tiny squished cheek and finally feels herself relax.

He’s here.

He’s real.

He’s alive.

He has Callum’s eyes and her nose and perhaps both of their lungs because he is clearly furious about the bright or the cold or something but Callum swaddles him in a blanket and pushes the hair back from her sweaty brow and he’s crying and she is too, and they have a baby, a real baby, a tiny little son.

Even now, days later, it all seems so surreal. He’s got over his abrupt and sudden entry to this world (as babies do) snuggled against her breast and sleeping soundly. Callum is sleeping too, drooling on her shoulder, his arm lazily lying across both of them.

She smiles at him, still amazed by how much their son looks like him… by how much love and adoration she feels for both of them. How warm and happy and content she feels.

She looks at her beautiful, healthy, amazing son and the man that helped her bring him into this world and feels she can finally relax.

She assumes people would scoff to hear it, new baby and all, but she feels she can finally rest.

[rjthirsty]

Kinktober2023 - Dub-con

Chevalier/Dahlia (OC)

Words: 3.1k

Tags: Dubcon, No Smut

The door to Chevalier’s private library opened, though Chev didn’t need to look up to know who it was. He had heard Clavis long before he walked through the door, talking animatedly with… 

It must be Belle.

Chev heard the soft footsteps that accompanied Clavis. Based on the number of steps they took, they had to be a woman. The shoes didn’t clack the way dress shoes would, it was something more durable. Clavis wouldn’t speak to a maid or servant that way, either.

He turned the page on the book he was reading, sitting in the only chair inside this partially hidden room. His legs were crossed at the knees, and while his attention was on the book, he could concentrate on that while remaining aware of all the things going on around him. So he sat and read, and listened to Clavis boast and try to win Belle’s favor.

Clavis wasn’t interested in the throne, though, he was interested in Belle because he wanted her approval. He wanted her, along with everyone else, to love him. And he wanted someone to tell him that his lifelong efforts of ridding the world of the brutal beast that was his older brother was appropriate, or at least acceptable.

Chev turned the page on his book, once again thinking about how foolish his brother was.

His foolish brother began stacking books on a shelf, another order he had had Clavis pick up for him. Belle bent to help. They were talking about him, now. Pointless chatter. Belle knew the truth of him already, it didn’t matter what his fool of a brother said to her, she knew the beast he was, and she still believed he had a human heart.

He turned the page.

Clavis’ voice dropped lower. Chev could still hear him - because he was meant to hear him. Clavis wrapped his arm around Belle’s waist. Her back was to Chevalier, as was intended by Clavis so he could try to rile him up, but Chev refused to play into his brother’s childish antics.

His finger paused for a moment.

Clavis had pulled Belle closer, and while she had protested, she couldn’t easily slip free of his brother. His foolish, ridiculous brother. The one that leaned forward and whispered into Belle’s ear. And she listened.

Chevalier’s eyes moved up to the two of them. Clavis let out a loud laugh, entirely too gleeful for the occasion. Belle glanced over her shoulder at Chev, her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes darted away from his. Clavis lifted Belle’s hand to his mouth, pressing a reverent kiss on her knuckles, his eyes on his older brother who was staring coldly at him. His lips lingered too long.

“I’ll be sure to meet you for our rendezvous tonight. I’ll let myself in.” Clavis promised as he headed to the only exit in Chevalier’s library.

“Please don’t.” Belle said flatly.

Chev followed him with his eyes until Clavis had opened the door to leave for good, then he looked down at the page he had paused on. He had intended to read more, but the nagging thoughts of the way Clavis had touched Belle kept resurfacing. It was an odd feeling– and that was the problem. It was a feeling.

He didn’t feel. At least, he told himself that. Ever since he was a young boy, he had simply lacked the ability to feel much of anything when it came to emotion. And as he learned how inconvenient human emotions were, he decided to cut that part away and discard the tiny amount of feelings he had. But something was changing in him.

His eyes cut to the woman in front of him. Belle browsed the shelves, looking for a book to read. She had requested use of his library, and he hadn’t opposed it. Since then, she had visited time and time again. To say he was growing fond of her was absurd, but he had maybe, perhaps, started to look forward to her visits.

Her fingers stroked the spine of each book she passed, sliding down the cover in a way that was almost sensual. It was like she was affectionately promising to return to each one on another day, marking the feel of it on her fingertips before moving on to the next. Like the way she let others touch her.

“You’re too friendly with them.” He said.

Her eyes went wide in surprise, snapping to him as she let shock show on her features. He waited, giving her time to work it out on her own. The surprise that he initiated conversation would wear off in mere moments and then the gears inside her head would begin to turn.

There it was. That look in her eyes as she attempted to draw conclusions from the information placed in front of her. He had seen her puzzle her way through many things since she arrived. If she had had a proper education, she would be as intelligent as some of his brothers. But that was not in the cards for the life of a commoner.

“Who, exactly?” Dahlia asked.

“My brothers. And the foreign guests.”

Dahlia’s eyes moved to the closed door where Clavis had just exited. “All of them?”

Chevalier didn’t answer. It wasn’t worth an answer. Belle was too kind and too soft and allowed more than just Clavis to put their hands on her. Some of them likely fancied her, and some of them, like Eyepatch, had other motives for getting close to her. It annoyed him.

… It annoyed him .

He lowered his eyes to his book again, trying to figure out this ridiculous thought process. Why should he care what others do with Belle? Or why they do it? The whole Belle process was pointless, and only a tradition that continued because no one had put a stop to it. It clearly wasn’t the best choice, considering the former king. What did it matter to him what she thought, or what others thought of her?

“Prince Chevalier?” Dahlia waited for his dismissal, but when he stayed silent and continued looking down at his book, she knew that was his way of telling her he didn’t care if she continued.

“Why does it matter to you how friendly I am with the other princes?”

A crease formed between his eyebrows. It was slight, but it was there. His frown seemed to deepen. He remained silent. It looked like she wasn’t going to get an answer from him. Dahlia let a silent sigh escape her. She had hoped when he decided to speak with her that he was developing some sort of relationship with her, rather than someone he allowed in his presence.

When Clavis had shown her Chevalier’s private library, and Chevalier had permitted her to come and go as she pleased, she had thought perhaps he wasn’t as cold and scary as the day she met him. And since then, she had spent countless nights reading in this room, while Chevalier also read. As much as she should have been frightened of the brutal beast, it was actually a comfortable sanctuary to be holed up with all these books in a place no one dared to enter but Clavis, Chevalier, and her.

Dahlia turned back to the books, perusing the selection again. Most of them were romance stories, and that was a favorite of hers. Apparently, Chevalier simply enjoyed reading, but the reason he had so many romance books was because he wanted to study the emotions he claimed he didn’t have. It was a funny thought to her. She didn’t think it was possible to not have any feelings, and no one went out of their way like this if they didn’t like what they were reading.

Secretly, she liked to think that Chevalier was a hopeless romantic that hadn’t had the chance to interact with someone who would let that side of him appear. Most people were so terrified by his everyday intensity that rarely anyone would even attempt a conversation with him. Maybe he just hadn’t met someone that treated him enough like a person to let him act like a person.

A quiet click of a metal tumbler being activated pulled her from her thoughts, the sound was strange in this place full of paper and leather and not much else. Dahlia glanced towards the sound, just in time to see Chevalier turning away from the door to face her. He was a good ten feet away, but suddenly she felt frightened and cornered with the way his eyes were coldly focused on her.

“Did… you just lock the door?” Dahlia’s heart began pounding and warning bells were ringing in her ears.

“Don’t ask questions you know the answers to.” Chevalier said, standing stock still by the door. Somehow that was more intimidating than if he were moving, because at least if he went back to his seat he was acting normal.

“Why did you lock the door, Prince Chevalier?” Dahlia changed the question.

“You’re a foolish rabbit who wandered into a beast’s personal territory. Do you not have any consideration for your own safety?”

Chev could feel the anxiety radiating from Belle. It was less than most others in his presence, but it was present. As soon as she saw him by the door her heartbeat must have picked up because her breathing became shallower and faster. At least she had some survival instincts. She was aware she was in danger. She just didn’t understand why, yet.

“I don’t often feel threatened when I’m with you, Prince Chevalier.” She answered, lifting her chin to attempt to show she wasn’t afraid.

“An unfortunate mistake on your part. This palace is full of beasts and you’d do well to remember that every beast finds himself hungry at some point.” His tone stayed even, there was nothing to suggest he was teasing.

Belle clenched her hands in her skirts, trying to hide the way they were shaking. She thought this was a test of will - a way to show the strength in her character. It wasn’t. Chev didn’t care how strong she could be if pushed, he was sure he knew where her limits were from observation.

He was craving her in a way he hadn’t craved another, and she had made sure to present herself on multiple occasions as open to the idea. Maybe not in so many words. But once again, tonight she came to be alone with him. She looked at him differently than others did. She said ridiculous things to him and about him, claiming she could see the human inside him.

What now, little rabbit? Do you still find me human?

Chev strode forward, ending right in front of Dahlia. She didn’t budge, whether from fear or choice, he wasn’t sure. He had been blocking the only exit, surely she knew there was little chance for her to get away. Her eyes hadn’t left his form, and now she stared into his icy eyes almost defiantly.

She was determined to prove he didn’t frighten her, though he knew the truth of it. He was frightening. He was a beast in human skin. But even a beast can watch humans interact and learn from them.

He reached for Dahlia’s hand, taking up the same one Clavis had, and pressed his lips to her knuckles in the same manner his fool brother had done. Dahlia blinked, clearly not expecting the motion from him.

He lowered her hand, then brushed his gloved hand over her hair. Number One had done the same thing on several occasions. Awkwardly, he pet Dahlia’s head. He must have been doing something wrong, because she continued to stare up at him, looking confused.

He dragged his fingers through her hair, taking up a strand and bringing it up towards his lips. He dipped to kiss the lock of hair - Black was responsible for this one.

“Uh… Prince Chevalier?” Dahlia gawked at him as he lowered her hair. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Not at all.” He answered, sweeping her into a hold with his arm wrapped around her waist. He pulled her close against him and leaned in close to her ear, breathing hotly against it. She shuddered against him and tried to pull away, but he held her fast to him. “I don’t like others touching my prey.”

He knew Eyepatch had said that same thing to her, and he was starting to understand the feeling behind it. Out of all of them, Eyepatch was most similar to him. It didn’t please him to know that he could understand why he would consider her his prey, but he felt the same way. If he had to describe what was nagging at him - what had annoyed him about today - it was that everyone was touching her except him.

“I’m not your prey.” Dahlia pushed against him, squirming in his hold.

“You are now.” Chev said, then bit her earlobe.

She sucked a sharp breath between her teeth that turned to a soft moan as Chevalier played his tongue on the sensitive spot. This whole thing was extremely confusing. The way Chevalier was talking, he seemed to be saying he was going to devour her, and while his actions showed that his intent was true… they were oddly affectionate. 

But affectionate or not, this wasn’t appropriate. Gathering her senses after the sensual tonguing of her earlobe, she shoved on Chevalier again, but he wasn’t moving. “Let go of me, Prince Chevalier.” She demanded.

“I will not.” He grabbed one of her hands and lifted it above her head, pinning it to the books lining the shelves.

Dahlia had a brief moment of panic. He could easily overpower her, and she was completely at his mercy. In this room that no one dared to enter but Clavis, Chevalier, and her. He had locked the door. And even if she wanted to connect with him, and saw him as a man with a human heart, this wasn’t what she had imagined.

But at the same time… What if she had been right and he was the secret romantic that she thought he was? What if this is the way he knows how to express himself? Conflicting thoughts and emotions began to swirl within her. She certainly didn’t want him to take advantage of her, she didn’t want him to force himself on her. She never believed he’d be the type to do such a thing. So what was he doing right now?

“Why?” Dahlia quietly asked.

Chev paused, his lips were about to make their way down her neck to find her pulse and press against it. His breath gusted across her skin as he wrestled with an answer to the question. He didn’t normally have such difficulty finding how to state a reason for his actions. But when that question came from her, from the woman in his arms, his mind was filled with murky thoughts that he couldn’t quite make out.

He just wanted to. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to mark her. He wanted to overlay himself on every part that another had touched, to make that spot his instead of theirs. He wanted to be the only one that laid a hand on her, or put his lips on her, or… was this desire? It straddled dangerously close to possessiveness.

Without answering, he brought his mouth to her neck. He licked and nipped against her skin. She quietly whimpered and moaned. He felt her racing pulse against his lips, then dragged his teeth against the fluttering beat, causing her to shiver.

“Please, don’t.” Her voice was weak, subdued. Chev wondered if she meant the quiet plea or if it was something she felt was expected from her.

He released her wrist that he had pinned to the books. She didn’t push him away.

He let go of her waist, giving her the freedom to slip away from him. She didn’t move.

Chev drew back, one hand still on the bookcase to let him lean over her. His eyes ran over her face, studying her, taking in the cloudy chaos that darkened her consistently clear eyes. She stared back at him. He brought his finger to his mouth and bit the fingertip of his glove, pulling his hand free. Turning his head, he dropped the glove from his mouth, letting it fall to the floor.

With his now bare hand, he hooked his fingers under Dahlia’s chin, setting his thumb on her bottom lip. He slowly brushed the plump curve of her mouth, then pressed the middle of her lip, prompting her to part her lips. She obeyed without complaint. He edged his thumb into her mouth, dipping it in enough that she opened her jaw and her tongue came to greet his finger, grazing against the intruder.

Something in her eyes wavered.

He withdrew his thumb and brought it to his own mouth. His lips parted and he flicked his tongue to lick the same spot she had.

She shuddered again. She looked away - head turning with her eyes to avoid his piercing gaze. She had ample opportunity to flee if she wanted to. He was doing nothing to hold her in place. He made no move to keep her within his reach. Yet she didn’t move.

“You would choose to stay when the beast has shown his intention to devour you.”

“You locked the door.” Dahlia said with her head still turned away from him.

“A lock that can easily be turned open, even by a rabbit.”

“You pinned me here, Prince Chevalier.”

“Your window of opportunity is shrinking with each paltry excuse you make.” Chevalier warned.

Dahlia closed her eyes. He didn’t have to say it out loud. She knew they were flimsy excuses. It wasn’t fair of him to trap her here and force himself on her, and then back away and ask if she wanted his affections. It confused her and left her craving his touch.

She pressed her lips together, afraid she’d answer in the affirmative. If she did, she wouldn’t be able to take it back. But refusing to answer was as much as making her decision known; she didn’t leave despite the availability. If she stayed, she had an idea what would happen - and in a way, she wanted it to happen.

Chevalier grabbed her chin and turned her to look at him. She opened her eyes and the heat of desire was burning in them. Her lips that were pressed into a thin line relaxed and opened like a blooming rose. Chev covered her mouth with his, tasting her nectar as his tongue plunged into her.

It was too late to turn back now. He had given her the chance. She had refused to take it. His hands roamed her body, peeling back layers so he could claim all of her. He swallowed her protests and moans between kisses. She was his, now.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I am so in to König and the confident solder lady (btw we need a tag name or a callsign for her, maybe a poll?) but anyway I go insane for that dynamic!❤️‍🔥 I am on FIRE after I read your stories and it's NEVER enough 😭🤣

so I imagined this scenario about them

They are out on a mission to capture someone. When König finds the target the lady solder, still under the effect of how brutal and efficient König is with his hands disposing of the enemies, says to him:

L - Bag n tag me...I mean HIM

K - *looks at lady solder while filthy thoughts run through his mind*

now both of their minds are in the gutter...as well as mine, but mine never left😈

Confident soldier lady is so unhinged even König is at a loss sometimes 🤨 And our soldier babe? She gets off on those baffled, bewildered looks a little too much (shame on her).

One day when they're cuddling, sweaty and spent after another heated session that was supposed to put her in her place – how curious that it does actually work, even if only for like 5 minutes – she crosses another line.

"König… Could you kidnap me sometime? You know, in a roleplay fashion," she asks while drawing circles on that godly, muscled, sweaty chest.

The said godly muscled sweaty chest almost stops breathing.

"Kidnap you?" König repeats, appalled and with pure loathing in his voice. "I hate kidnappers... And I hate slavery."

She nearly rises to give him a pointed remark about how funny it is that he hates that shit when at the same time, doesn't have a problem with treating her like a possession. But calling a man like König out on his double standards would be futile, so she settles for seething with quiet resentment while curled up there in his arms.

Right.

Yeah… Of course this guy wouldn't know what roleplay even means.

..........

Next week she's walking back to the bus after visiting a sibling, a bit anxious about getting back to base and seeing König again. She still has over a week's worth of leave left, but she wants to go back to spend it with him.

It's sick... Everything about this relationship is sick, twisted, and crazy. She’s always running back to him like a cat who hears her owner has opened another canned tuna in oil. She's so in her thoughts about how to torture that jerk in return that she doesn't quite notice a white van pulling over right next to her.

He barely fits inside the cargo space with her, almost folds her in half while ducking and stepping inside. The car groans under the weight, slants slightly to the side, and she starts to panic and squirm from realizing this is actually happening.

Next thing she knows, she's being picked up from behind like she weighs nothing. A large palm lands over her mouth the minute she’s about to scream – she makes a tiny little noise through her nose but the palm moves to cover that as well.

The street is silent, it's a lazy afternoon in the suburbs, everyone is at work and children are at school, and no one can hear or see how some psycho hauls her inside that van.

"Shh. Stop fighting," a familiar voice bleeds into her ears, muffled and warm.

It can't be…

But then again, didn't she just make a wish upon a psycho star?

He notices she has stopped fighting, just like he ordered her to. He feels how she surrenders to a far stronger beast – just like she's supposed to. And then he purrs.

"Das ist eher so… Be good now. Be a good girl."

Yep...

No one speaks German like that. No one calls her a gut girl like that.

The palm leaves her mouth, and she's being lowered gently on the floor of the van. She turns to look at her captor with both hope and dread pounding inside her chest.

"König…?"

It's pointless to utter that name when the man before her is exactly his size and build, moves like him, has those same cold, blue eyes that gain a warmer tone every time they land on her. The only thing that makes her take a double check is that he's not wearing a hood this time but a black balaclava. Oddly enough, it makes him look a bit more human. She can see the shape of his jaw, the perch of his nose, usually disguised by the baggy sniper hood he's so fond of...

But what the new mask also does is that it makes him look even more menacing: he looks like some of those terrorists they've always fought against. He looks like the biggest bank robber ever put to this earth, he looks like he's about to shoot dozens of innocent citizens and then kidnap someone to take as his prize and drag them into his rape lair.

The notion should not make her squeal like she's looking forward to being that person…

"You're mine now," he looks down at her, lying at his feet like a stray cat about to be taken back home, then turns to walk out of the van. By the time he slams the doors shut, she's smiling – she might be in need of some serious help, but she can't deny König is at his best when he comes out to play.

….....

His house is surprisingly neat, albeit it is no doubt also a man cave for a soldier who rarely spends time at home.

She’s not carried into a cold lair or a secret dungeon underneath the house. No, she gets to stay in his bedroom, on a soft, king-sized bed. He "forces" her cook for him, and praises her meals like they’re some sort of gourmet dishes. It lights a little flame inside her chest, a fire that doesn’t burn but only feels warm. She starts to tidy his place on her own accord.

It's cute, and it's fun, their little kidnap game.

It’s also kind of entertaining to play house with König like this, especially when her "kidnapper" comes to her every night and takes her gently but intensely, with a passion that renders her silent.

It starts to resemble the most domestic little scene until after one week, she snaps out of it.

She doesn't fight back at all.

He calls her his, asks if she has everything she needs as they lay together on his ridiculously large and nice bed. She doesn’t miss her hard army bunk one bit.

She snaps out of it because he brings her a dress.

She fucking hates dresses.

Well, perhaps she doesn’t hate them... but she hates the particular dress he bought her. It's white and has flowers on it – yuck – is she supposed to cook him a nice, healthy meal while wearing that? Let him lift the hem and take her against a counter whenever he wants? Does he think she’s just going to open her legs for him every night after serving him like a docile, doting little wife?

That night, she fights like a wildcat when he comes to her. She enjoys the way he's panting by the time she finally surrenders to him. He sounds like a dog in heat, he's grunting like a man who has one job too many, trying to restrain his little alley cat so that he can push that heavenly cock inside her. She's dripping wet by the time he gets there, looking up at her captor with lightning and thunder in her eyes.

"What's gone into you now, meine Wildkatze?"

"That stupid dress, that's what's gone into me," she hisses as he tries to be gentle again – she suddenly hates it that he's gentle.

"You'd look good in it," he tries, and she almost spits on his face. Her heart hurts for some unfathomable reason, her lower lip juts out with a furious pout.

"Well you'd look good in rags…!"

And just when she thinks he couldn't make it worse… he makes it worse.

He just laughs. Gently, and heartily.

"Is that the best you can do, little one?"

"You'd make such a good wife..."

The only thing she can do is gasp for air as he makes love to her, as those eyes hold her captive gently, so gently – has he become so gentle just because she cooked him for a week and cleaned up his stupid man cave?

Did he kidnap her just because he realized that would be the perfect way to trick her and transform her into a good little housewife?

Good god...

"If you don't set me free tomorrow, I swear I'll… I'll run away!"

She’s the one panting now, and her threat has little effect save for the hauntingly familiar flash of dare that makes those blue eyes look brighter for a second.

"That's what cats do sooner or later," her King tilts his head – the cock inside her gives a demanding pulse, and she has to fight the urge to moan.

"…but they always return home."

[khae-writes]

entwined by fate [ xiao/reader ]

tags: open ending, female reader, soulmate au, the red string

header

            There had always been this tiny little string that followed right behind the teal-haired yaksha. It was thin and seemingly fragile, however unbreakable. He had tried to cut it off with mere scissors, use his choice of weapon, and even go as far as using anemo to try and cut it off as it hindered with his battles. The other end of it was too far for his eyes to decipher but he knew it pointed north — Mondstadt, he assumed. And that was incredibly far. 

He had no problem crossing scorching deserts and land coated in pure white snow — he wouldn’t , at least. But his duty was to protect Liyue and its people. 

It wasn’t as if he could just leave the inn just to traverse through mountains and climb rocks just to see where this tiny pathetic little string leads.

He had come forth with this problem with Rex Lapis, who was no help in any way. He only smiled and vaguely told him with that same amused but also calculative expression he gave to everyone he found the least bit entertaining.

“You’ll meet them eventually.”

Who was ‘them’?

Xiao scoffed that time he heard that — he knew Morax was not underestimating his abilities, nor toying with him and his emotions. But that was honestly a much more anticipated reaction than the cryptic one the former Geo Archon gave then. The Guardian Yaksha could never fathom why he didn’t just say it outright. But he supposes even the most serious people have their own sources of joy and amusement.

“What do you mean I’ll ‘meet them eventually’?”

Zhongli smiled at him. “The one who is truly destined to save you — your soulmate.”

Xiao didn’t understand; he didn’t want to either. So instead of further humoring the taller man, the vigilante yaksha simply stood up from his seat and walked away, leaving Zhongli alone on his table sipping a cup of tea.

---

 He counted the hours.

He counted the minutes.

He counted the seconds.

But of course, sometimes, he’d lose count. So he’d start again, and again, and again — this would happen every time a random no-good bandit pops by, or danger lurks near the Wangshu Inn.

As if the world didn’t want to grant him a moment of serenity where he could just sit around and watch the night sky, counting numbers and time until he’d fall into a slumber. Every so often, his mind would drift back to his last interaction with the tall brunette.

If there was anything he picked up from that , it was that the guardian had a feeling it would be a life-changer for him. Rex Lapis never lied to him, and he doubted he even had the capability to do so — so him saying that the person destined to truly save him from this despair with such confidence — it shocked Xiao.

Xiao almost snorts in amusement.

But it had also exhausted him.

This whole thing where he could only do nothing but wait for the other end to come to him instead.

Yet, he had grown tired of waiting; how many months have passed? How many years have passed?

Why was he even waiting?

Did he want to be saved after all?

Morax said this person would save him completely — he couldn’t have been lured in by that sweet talk, right?

It has been a little over a century, Xiao believes so. The string was yet to throb and move — a motion that people around him would’ve expected to have already heard swing around and be held into a straight line; the sign that his ‘savior’ had arrived. 

But nothing happened over the century. 

A century .

“... this is pointless.” Xiao sighs, pinching the string with his index finger and thumb, bringing it closer to his eyes as he observed it with an analytical gaze, wondering how to separate it from his body without hurting himself and by that, he meant chopping off his arm. There really was no guarantee either whether the string would be cut off or not even after his arm had been cut off.

He sighs, plopping on top of Wangshu Inn’s roof, watching the lanterns light up the sky. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands — he watched them all with a relaxed and contented expression.

A gentle breeze fleets by him, the feeling of the cold wind breezing by his skin tickled him a bit and he liked the feeling of peaceful moments like these — none of his karma to ruin him, no enemy to shed blood of.

Liyue was peaceful; Xiao closed his eyes — although no smile reached his face, he relished in the comfortable silence.

The tug on his pinky finger snaps him to reality. He feels a wave of slight annoyance and he pulls his hand to his chest, as if pettily reminding the string who was alpha — that this mere thread shant keep him caged for some unexplained reason.

A rumbling noise from under the roof he sat on interrupted yet again his doze. He kept his amber optics peeled for any suspicious movement, his spear already on his hand. The weight of the string on his pinky distracted him a bit but it did little to hinder his speed and strength. He jumps down to the ground with a loud thud to encounter the person who he presumed to be out to steal the inn’s money and antique while the owners and visitors were out to watch the lantern festival up close.

Whoever this stranger was that dared to steal at such a solace night — Xiao would be sure to punish them severely.

The noise continued to rustle just behind a bush. His dominant hand suddenly felt much heavier — this time, the weight was overwhelming and the teal-haired man furrows his brows, nearly doubling forward at the sudden gravity. The string no longer limped, Xiao took notice as well.

His heart raced. 

The red string — vermillion and cerise — it was in a horizontal position where it connected him to whatever or whoever it was behind these bushes and the call it was singing to him, it was as if it was luring him to the other end.

He neared, he stepped forward.

Xiao pulls apart the shrubs standing in his way, his weapon long gone before standing over a young woman. His amber-colored contacts met (e/c) orbs and for a moment, silence instilled. It was as if time froze. 

The red string by his pinky, it led to this (h/c)-haired woman battered on the ground who was patching herself up with gauze and bandages.

Then the thread snapped, floating away to wherever.

The girl gaped at him, a shine glossing over her eyes as she immediately dusts herself when she stands. She leaned over to see him clearly. Xiao takes a tentative step back, cautious as she gives him a wide pearly-white grin.

“You’re my soulmate!”

Xiao felt his heart burst into a flutter of emotions — he couldn’t pinpoint what it was, however.

[katyspersonal]

Some responses

Oh jeez...... Guys, I did not expect my post to resonate with so many people. I was aware that the problem of people feeling excluded and mocked just for less common headcanons had to be big, but I still thought this post would stay between me and all five of my followers, hahah; I am glad that some people feel really heard here! Some are for very different reasons, too?

I ESPECIALLY want to point out this one, because it is exactly the result I've been seeing a lot:

@tsunbath I've heard similar things from (former?) Malenia fans, and also I know at least two friends for whom Maria was ruined as a character because of how toxic her fans were. You are VERY right about the fact that Malenia would've hated to be the symbol of gatekeeping and bullying in the fandoms! I feel like the same would go for Maria; there is no direct confirmation, but I doubt many people can argue that she IS compassionate soul. Like... how do those toxic fans keep making the deep, compassionate, tragic female character into THE symbol of mockery, exclusion and aggression? Beats me.

It just deeply resonates with me how actions of the bad type of fans can create aversion to a character or a ship. I've had this phase with Mariadeline ship tbh. My advice would be - avoid searching content for the character/ship, try to find a tiny pool of people that likes them but are normal and respectful about it, allow yourself to feel identified with "normal fans of the thing" pool rather than dread of identifying with toxic gatekeepers by association... Like, the ship got recovered for me this way, same as Maria's character herself. Just remember that toxic fans and normal fans are not the same entity... It is a very rare case where division is HELPFUL! Hopefully you will be able to recover Malenia for yourself and not think of those l00sers anymore.

@mycopok I know Mal, easily the best person to have ever crossed BB fandom, and nothing will ever replace her </3 I am just happy that her positive influence still lingers even after becoming way less active, like... yeah, fans just should be allowed to explore any idea they want. Maria x Laurence is SUPER interesting concept! In fact, the initial post WAS made because of someone venting that they were afraid to post their Maria x Laurence stuff out of fear of being ostracised!

@underworldsheiress Yeahhhh again, you are not the first one I hear a story like this from. I also heard takes like 'tomboys are the grossest aesthetic, either come out as a trans or get back in line' (not exagerration). It is REALLY unfair how a woman looking masculine should be either her being a butch lesbian, or... well, no longer being a woman in the end. Infighting and forcing pointless norms on each other is a huge problem with LGBT+ community, you'd expect people to gather to support each other but... people will be people I guess :/ Anyways gigachad move of you to wear what you want.

@alma-amentet I don't quite agree with your tastes on body types maybe not gonna lie; However what you pointed out (not so much in the tags, I saw what else you said heh) is a very good example of how fandoms are open spaces and everyone should feel welcomed here. Like, the girls in the fandoms will have absolutely ridiculously specific tastes regarding male characters - not liking shorter height, not liking slim build, prettifying their canonically not-so-attractive face, judging them in sexy look contests, throwing insults towards their appearance quirks at times...

But once someone tries to pull similar things with female characters - all HELL breaks loose. Double standards in the fandoms regarding genders of the characters are absurd. I even once saw someone in BB fandom whining about how someone attempted to discuss which female character was hotter with them...... after we, as a fandom, CONSTANTLY have shit like 'sexyman contest who is sexier Mico or Brador vote now from your phones!!!!'. .... Like idk if you need to hear this as well or not, but everyone should be allowed to say 'muscular women aren't my taste' for the exact same reason why everyone is allowed to say 'muscular men aren't my taste'.

@fantomette22 @rhythmloid Devotees of the Biphobic Order are the bane of every western fandom's existence at this point for real though :/ They will see a female character that wears pants and kicks ass and start shaking over her like Gollum with The One Ring, ignoring all the context, nuance, her personal story, other possibilities, etc... Like I said - feelings of real people who just try to enjoy the fandom are more important than some toxic bunch's creepy obsession with the character they want to crown as their token masculine lesbian based on stereotypes, no less. I say if they really care about masculine lesbians, they should direct their activity towards real world and real people. Because, again - fandomry is not activism.

Anyways thanks everyone for speaking, and sorry if the tagging annoyed you or something fdsjhfh I really appreciate that, and I do hope you all will be able to find your own group in the fandom that'll keep you mentally safe from the toxic fans ruining characters for you. Like a power barrier in the middle of the chaos! I know I did find mine, lol

[arcademyth]

was thinking about my current main ocs and i realized something (the venn diagram between them is dangerously close to a circle)

bonus blorbo rambling under the read more that was initially me yelling in the tags but it turned into a veritable essay

okay as amusing as the similarities are to me i do feel a need to clarify that these two are still very different. probably the most blatant difference between them personality-wise is that lann sees violence as an absolute last resort, will do everything he can to talk his way out of a situation before things turn bloody, and will 100% hide behind his (more powerful, less terrified) friends during a fight. ash, meanwhile, knows and more or less accepts that he's seen as a living weapon and he acts accordingly. he'll absolutely give people a chance to resolve things peacefully, but he'll only tolerate about 30 seconds of pointless bullshitting before he's ready to throw hands. he's also doing everything he can to make sure he's the target in a fight rather than his allies. so honestly these two would probably get along great in a party together

...although ash might not love lann's propensity for trying to get everyone around him to open up and talk through their feelings. lann is very "wow this shit is awful and traumatic, time to apply what i've learned from the 234892 self-help books i've read" while ash is very "wow this shit is awful and traumatic, time to bottle it all up until my very soul fractures. again" (he's getting better after endwalker but it is. a struggle)

side note, i didn't draw them with their actual height difference because it causes me immense psychic damage. in my head, lann is definitely physically weak but he's a perfectly average height, meanwhile ash is a certified Little Guy™, my tiny baby boy. but the truth is lann is 5'8" while ash is 6'4". ash just seems like a little guy compared to all the other elezen in his life who are way taller and beefier than him, but when he's next to lann it's like "oh god that's right this is in fact The Warrior of Light who can and has ripped right through a guy's sternum"

but. no matter how similar or different they are. they are both my sons and i love them dearly. little pieces of my heart and soul taking the shape of pointy-eared disaster gays

[solace-at-last]

Title/link: The World Ended, Just Not For Everyone

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, kidnapping, human experimentation, torture discussion/aftermath

Tag: #world ending by solace

Summary:

Wilbur was really sick of this. Really fucking sick of it. There was no end in sight, either. Just more torture and experimentation. So what choice did he have other than to give up? He wouldn't get a happy ending, he knew this very well. It only made sense to quit trying to save the dying ray of the setting sun that was his hope.

Except, not everything is always as it seems. The sun's light is gone, but it can't be night forever.

Read with Ao3 link above or below the cut!

Life hasn't been easy since the kidnapping.

“No shit, Wilbur.”

That’s what Tommy would say, Wilbur muses. He couldn’t be completely sure, Tommy wasn’t here after all, but he had thought of it quite hard and he had lots of time to think. Too much time, in fact. There wasn’t much else for him to do.

Wake up. Stare at the wall. Eat. Stare at the other wall. Eat again. Get experimented on. Wonder about the afterlife. Sleep. Repeat.

Every single day, for one year, two months, and seven days. Yes, he counted. What else was he supposed to do? Pray for someone to save him? No. He stopped doing that on day 200, September 14th. His birthday, coincidentally. That year, his only present was his own gift of starting to ignore pointless fantasies. He had long since given up on escaping on his own by that point, daring to hope of escaping stopped when experiments began on day 20, so what was the harm in fully calling it quits?

It worked out, sort of. Dr. Four seemed to appreciate it, if the addition of a proper bed was anything to go by. That was nice, Wilbur was sick of sleeping on the floor. Maybe that makes two gifts, now that he thought about it. That probably should’ve made him feel better, but it was pretty fucking depressing, actually. Basic human decency shouldn’t be a gift. Then again, with his captors every tiny little not-terrible action was something to be grateful for.

On the other hand, it was hard to be grateful when Dr. Flame proudly announced that Wilbur was ready for the next stage of experiments. Something about good behaviour, as if this was some sort of reward.

‘“Physical replacement sounds just fucking peachy.” He knew the sarcasm was clear in his scratchy voice, but Dr. Four didn’t acknowledge it. The leader wasn’t pleased, though. The horrid smiling mask stared down at him, cruel as ever as he slapped Wilbur just like he always did. Bastard.

At least, as he always did back then. Nowadays, Wilbur was smarter and kept his stupid mouth shut. Speaking never did anything to help him. Unless you count his time before the kidnapping, but that was so distant it hardly counted. No amount of charisma changed his captors’ minds, so what did it matter?

God, the captors. He hated them. More than he had ever hated anyone before, more than he ever thought he could hate someone.

Warden was the least terrible, but that was far from enough for Wilbur to like the guy. ‘Not as bad as the others’ did not mean good by any means. All it meant was that the Warden had only hurt him in the beginning, when he tried to escape. It stopped when Wilbur threw away hopes of getting out. After all, Warden always had to have a reason.

The same could not be said for Dr. Flame. Unlike Dr. Flame, the only redeeming quality of Dr. Four was that he didn’t revel in Wilbur’s pain. Not outwardly, at least. The sick bastard could’ve been cackling internally for all Wilbur knew- and for all he cared, really. He was more pissed at Dr. Flame’s twisted laughter as Wilbur writhed and screamed in agony. Bitch didn’t even try to hide it.

Dr. Four still came with his own set of problems. His stone cold expression haunted Wilbur nearly as much as Dr. Flame’s glee. His eyes were always covered by those obnoxious goggles, but that did little to help. His thin-pressed mouth wasn’t the worst part, far from it. Dr. Four did most of the experimentation on Wilbur. He was behind the most unbearable pain. Dr. Flame mostly watched during the tests, waiting to beat the shit of him when it was over. He called it training. Wilbur called it torture.

President wasn’t any better than Dr. Flame in terms of violence. In fact, he was much worse. Wilbur didn’t know what his purpose was, other than to torment people. Perhaps he was just there to break people’s spirits. If so, he was certainly successful. He broke every one of Wilbur’s fingers and toes once, and tried convincing the doctors not to heal it. Fucking asshole. By the end of that day, Wilbur was so relieved for the pain to stop that he nearly considered thanking Dr. Flame.

Yet, none of Dr. Flame or President’s cruelty compared to the leader. Wilbur was never given a name to refer to him by. Wilbur just called him ‘bitch’ in his head. Never out loud, for obvious reasons. Not even in the beginning, when he had a fire burning inside him and desperate determination to be free. Even back then, Wilbur knew better. Right from the start, he knew that the leader could only be described as pure evil. Not a trace of humanity left in him, no hint of any compassion for his victims. There was no remorse in his actions as he did things that were better left unsaid.

He was also the one in charge. As the name suggests. It was him who told the others what to do. It was him who led the group that kidnapped and experimented on Wilbur and god knows how many others.

Oh, right. The others. Where to begin on that one? The living ones should probably come first.

There was Unity, in the cell to his right. His real name wasn’t Unity, but everyone in the compound got a new name upon arrival. Wilbur’s was Soot, probably after the cigarette he was smoking when he was taken. Back to Unity. He appeared taller than Wilbur, despite looking to be in his mid teens. His hair was split dyed black and white when he first got there, but it had since grown out to show dull brown. His eyes were different colors, reddish-brown and green. Wilbur thought it was contact lenses at first, but it had been ten months without change, so evidently not. That was really the most interesting thing about the kid. Unity never spoke. Unless you count a few periods of frantic muttering to himself about memories that is. That was odd, and annoying. How would you like to be kept up at night by some weird kid’s crazed ramblings? You wouldn’t, or at least Wilbur didn’t.

Moving on, in the cell to his left was Second. She wore a mask similar to the leader’s, disturbingly enough. Wilbur saw her trying to take it off once, when Warden was taking her out of the cell. She pulled and pulled, screaming the whole time, but it didn’t budge. He didn’t want to know how or why it was stuck there, though it did make him wonder if the leader was in the same boat. Not that he especially cared to know. Speaking of the leader, Second must have had some connection to him. He spoke to her differently than the others. He spoke to her like there was more to her than his test subject. Wilbur had a theory that they knew each other beforehand. There was no way to prove it of course, but it gave him something to think of other than self loathing and the family he lost. On that same train of thought, Second must have thought about family a lot too. She talked in her sleep, crying out for someone named Clay. She had only been there for one month and 13 days, but Wilbur was already very sick of it.

Goat, on the other hand, had been here a long time. Well before Wilbur arrived. His cell was somewhere further to his left, too far for Wilbur to see it from his window. Wilbur didn’t have much information on him. He had never seen him, since his cell door was out of sight. All he had was his voice. He sounded to be about the same age as Unity, around the same age as Wilbur was when he was taken, but Goat was much younger when he ended up here. He said he was nine when he was brought in. Wilbur shuddered to think of it. He could hardly imagine spending years upon years in this hell; even though that was exactly what was in store for him. Enough getting off track. Goat was strange. He was the only one who still spoke without a reason to. Talked about nukes, death, and supposedly being only partially human quite often. It was a little disturbing at first, but Wilbur grew used to it. Sometimes he even responded, if he knew no captors were around. He did feel a little bad leaving the kid talking to air with no response other than echoes on the wall and occasionally beatings to shut him up.

Those three were the only ones he knew. Wilbur didn’t doubt that there were others, but everyone else was like Unity and stayed silent. The only reason he actually knew Unity was there at all was because Wilbur had seen him being taken from his cell for his own round of experiments. Second and Unity were the only two he ever saw, and no one else but Goat talked, and thus he was only certain of those three people’s existence. Or, well, current existence. He did know of two others that had, at some point, been here.

Demon’s death was announced not too long after it happened. Wilbur was wondering if they’d acknowledge it for days after he last saw Demon. He stopped expecting it on the fifth day, but on the one week mark the speakers crackled and Dr. Four’s empty voice came out. It was as detached as one would expect from the fucker.

“Subject 19, Demon, has unexpectedly died during the experimentation process. That concludes this announcement.”

That was it. No details, no emotion. He thought that maybe they only announced it so no one would get their hopes up. It also served to quell questions of what happened to him. Not that it stopped Goat. He didn’t stop until President took him for a few hours. Poor kid didn’t talk for 15 days afterwards. It took an additional 20 days for him to return to his previous amount of chatter. He could hardly blame him, though. Wilbur himself was shaken by it for much longer, and he hadn’t even been tortured over it. It wasn’t pleasant, knowing that his captors would kill someone and state it with such apathy. At the very least, it was a tiny bit easier than always wondering what happened.

Wilbur would know. The second person to disappear was more mysterious. Unlike Demon, there was no death announcement. There was no acknowledgement at all. Wilbur might’ve thought he imagined him, if not for the strangeness around him. The fact that he was gone with no trace almost made Wilbur think that he escaped. Impossible, probably, but it was something to think about. His name was also interesting to think about. He was dubbed Vice President, Vice for short. Unlike Second, Wilbur knew for certain that Vice had a prior connection to one of the captors. President didn’t treat him like the others. Vice was the only one President never took away for torture. Unless you count psychological torture, President did say a lot of wretched things to Vice. Wilbur did his best not to think of them, and didn’t dare to further ponder those words, but despite his wishes he still was able to piece things together. Vice and President were lovers, once. Vice betrayed President, presumably breaking up with him. President, being a sick and twisted bastard, took Vice here. It wasn’t a detailed story, which Wilbur was thankful for. Even the little bit he did know made him sick to his stomach.

All of this did.

The walls, the captors, the experiments, the food, everything. It made him sick. Thankfully, he had long since stopped throwing up every time he ate, but there was no helping the spinning in his head every waking moment. He couldn’t prevent the pain in his chest when he thought too much about it, and he couldn’t ignore the phantom taste of vomit as he forced himself to eat the disgusting food. He didn’t even want to eat, but he would die without it.

Now, the thought of death was nothing new to Wilbur. It was something he thought about nearly as much as the past. Yet, even though he was pretty sure that any afterlife had to be better than this, he couldn’t quite stomach the thought of ending it. It felt wrong. For some stupid fucking reason. There was nothing to base it on, but the feeling lingered no matter how hard he tried to suffocate it. Trust him, he tried. He didn’t know why. Logically, he should have accepted it as his only option. He wanted to. Yet, his traitorous heart didn’t get the memo. Despite his pleas, his hands still tingled as he thought of the possibility of choking himself and his throat still itched as he thought of finding a way to slit it. He was stuck.

There was no solution to pursue, no way to finish this. There was no end in sight. This was just how it was, and that’s how it’d always be. This was his life, the pain he’d never fix.

This was his unfinished symphony.

[mittensmorgul]

For anyone interested in long-term residence in the supernatural fandom, please have some observations I’ve made over the decade I’ve been here. Take it or leave it as you will, but I’ve found all of this info useful over the years I’ve been here.

I wrote this yesterday, and it achieved its mission of identifying the sort of folks who would react negatively to it (i.e. a lot of block lists have been updated), so now that it’s been edited for content, it’s going under a cut (because that is how we do things on tumblr in general, unless we have a deliberate purpose for annoying readers with excessively long text posts) for the sake of people who actually do care about the fandom and its history. If that’s not you or your reason for being here, then keep on keeping on with your own thing, I guess. For those who are interested, there’s a lot of fandom resources some of us have been building for years that you might enjoy knowing about.

First off, I’ve been informed by a few friends who’ve read through this for coherency’s sake that it sort of reads like a *shakes cane from porch* fandom grandma complaint, but honestly... I earned this rocking chair and goshdangit imma rock now. So apologies for any “back in my day” vibes or faint aroma of tiger balm this post might give off. Then again, it’s loosely based on a similar post from 2012 so like... time is a flat circle anyway I guess.

1. There is no such thing as “tumblr famous,” unless you’re referring to the hilarious and delightful fic of the same name (please go read it, you will cackle). Posting Hot Takes for imaginary Clout™ on this site is kind of pointless in the long run. Sure you can post solely for the sake of stirring shit and getting notes, but the majority of the folks who do aren’t long term residents of the fandom. They’re just tourists moving through our little beach town for spring break. If you’re actually intent on moving to this corner of the fandom for an extended stay, please bother to really feel out the permanent residents and understand the culture and general mood of the neighborhood. It bears no resemblance to whatever’s going on across town where all the bars and beach parities are happening, and those loud, drunken revelers are, again, gonna disappear back to their regular lives or on to the next party eventually. That doesn’t mean the fandom is dying, it’s just evolving.

(funny how I had several comments implying that I’m just trying to keep the fandom from evolving with this post, because I sincerely do want the fandom to continue on for years to come, and that is impossible without evolution. We can evolve without self-immolating, though. mostly i included point 1 for an excuse to push ancient but hilarious fanfic on you.)

2. Once you post something here, it’s been unleashed to the fandom winds. You never know where it will end up, or who will comment on it or add to it. Remember that time Misha tweeted the link to the Epic Cockles Love Story post? No? It was wild. That was 2012. They all know we’re here, and how to find us if they want to. Please don’t take it to their doorsteps.

Obviously if someone is being a dick on your posts, please feel free to block them, but the whole entire point of this site is to engage people with your posts. Being big mad that someone reblogged your post with comments or supporting evidence, or happy headcanons or “HECK THIS IS GREAT BECAUSE (insert personal story about their experience or whatever else made them Feel Things about your post)” is frankly ridiculous. If your goal is to avoid any sort of engagement with your posts, then maybe try instagram instead. From what I understand, there is a SPN fandom presence there, and nobody can tarnish your original posts with unwanted commentary. But the ability to reblog with additional commentary is a FEATURE of tumblr that builds community through conversation. Otherwise we’re all just talking to ourselves in a vacuum, and that’s what actually kills fandoms.

(and for the folks who just want to blog how they want to blog and don’t want people to engage on their posts at all, please feel free to block anyone you want, as well... nobody wants to step on your toes, but most of us also don’t want to walk on eggshells wondering if this post is one of the “do not add comments for any reason” sorts of posts, either. This is a huge fandom and most people can’t even begin to keep track of every creator and their url du jour, and what their personal rules might be regarding interaction with their content. Including a “please don’t add comments” note at the bottom of your posts-- and not in your tags that won’t even show up on reblogs, but in the actual body of the post-- would sincerely help avoid any awkward or unwanted interactions, too. At the end of the day, you are in control of your own fandom experience and the block button exists.

For the record, I block zero fandom blogs (which is why I posted this, I wanted it to reach a wide scope... refer to the opening paragraphs as to why).

3. Since this post was partly inspired by a tag I left on that post going around about how “previous tags” mean fuckall on this site (which you can read here), just a reminder that if you like someone’s tags or feel they add value to the post, part of the Peer Review structure of tumblr encourages you to PASTE THEM INTO A REBLOG. If you do this, then at least credit the person who actually wrote the tags! Don’t just copy someone else’s tags into your tags on your reblog of the post without credit either. They were not YOUR tags. (I have had this happen to tag rambles I wrote and someone else got credited with them on a subsequent reblog and it is FRUSTRATING). Just... don’t even bother to write “previous tags” because WHAT PREVIOUS TAGS?! Nobody is gonna bother to chase back the chain of reblogs trying to find where the mystery tags came from, friendos. That way lies madness.

(for the record, since some folks seemed to focus on this point solely, writing “previous tags” on a post isn’t inherently a BAD thing, but for anyone who actually is here for more than one-off shitposting, then it’s sort of a pointless thing in the long run. This wasn’t intended to suggest people who ARE here for one-off shitposting are bad or “doing it wrong,” but for people who might actually want to preserve that hilarious joke or insightful comment. People delete posts and entire blogs all the time around here. Links break. I get that the upcoming generation just shrugs at that and moves on with their lives, but heck... you don’t have to accept that all entertainment is disposable if you don’t want to. There’s a bizarre sort of nihilism plaguing us all about the impermanence of pretty much everything that feels like something we should be fighting against rather than buying into wholesale, even in our escapist entertainment. I’m just exhausted by the complete loss of joy in community.

*shouts from the peanut gallery* IT AIN’T THAT DEEP, JUST GET SOME FRESH AIR AND LOOK AT A PUPPY OR SOMETHING

Yes... yes it isn’t really that deep, but bigger picture in the state of reality we’re all entirely disillusioned with, are we supposed to just give up on everything, including the things we cling to because they bring us a tiny spark of hope that we’re not all just trapped in this dystopian nightmare and things might actually be worth living for?

*peanut gallery clinging to burnt husks of peanuts in a barren peanut field* but this is how we have chosen to cope

Okay... you do you... I feel bad for you but if that’s the case then this post is NOT FOR YOU. AND THAT’S FINE. I honestly do not care if you don’t care! I mean, I’m sorry anyone has to live in a world that drives them to that mindset, but I understand. This post is for anyone who might look at their lives and their choices and think “no wait, I unironically enjoy this and want more from the experience of that enjoyment than I’m currently feeling.” Everyone else can continue with their lives as usual.)

4. CONTENT THEFT IS NEVER OKAY. PERIOD. Things like “credit to the artist” or tagging gifs or images you found on pinterest as “not mine” isn’t actually credit. If you can’t source an image or gif set, DO NOT POST IT! We don’t REPOST (i.e. save an image and then create a new post with it as if it was our own creation). We REBLOG (click the little square arrows and reblog from the actual creator). That goes for gif sets, fanvids, screencaps, meta, fic... everything.

(hopefully everyone here already understands this one, but I felt compelled to include some “these are stupidly obvious” reminders anyway, since this is ostensibly some sort of advice column. This is the equivalent of the warning label on your toaster reminding you not to use it in the bath. Like... duh...)

5. Close kin of item 4 is SOURCE YOUR SHIT. 

(for 100% disclosure purposes, I specifically discussed this one in this specific way because of an influx of anon ask messages I received in the wake of the finale. Literally the inciting incident for creating this entire post was what I can only assume was a joking ask about a comment Misha made at a con years ago. Someone actually bothered to take the time to type out those sentences to me. I have no idea what they were expecting in reply, or what could possibly motivate them to send this comment about something so entirely random from, again, several years ago. Just a joke? No idea, but whatever... it got me thinking that there might actually be people who are new to the fandom who MIGHT actually care about the fandom history, and maybe they just don’t know where to go for that info, or how to even begin searching through 16 years of history for things they might actually find enjoyment in, rather than just hauling random out of context garbage out on main and pointing and laughing about it now. People are actually allowed to care about things. It’s not cringeworthy to actually care about things, and you are not alone in actually caring, and there’s this whole big room over here full of people who are thrilled to share in that with you. This post is intended FOR THOSE PEOPLE SPECIFICALLY, so if that is not you, please just continue walking by.)

Yes, I know lots of y’all are new around here right now, but dredging up stuff from years ago that fandom has completely debunked and presenting it as TRU FAX again is just exhausting. We’re not trying to be party poopers, but seriously, we have seen it all and are mostly done with extinguishing bags of flaming dog poop on our front porches for the umpteenth year in a row. I’ve seen a lot of posts that have the same tone as “I saw Goody Proctor dancing with the devil” or “I heard kylo ren has an eight pack” and just... the information is there for anyone who cares enough to find it.

This goes double for “why is nobody talking about this thing I just discovered while watching the show for the first time?!” And, oh hon, we have talked it all into the ground over the last fifteen years. We’re happy you’re discovering it again, but I promise we talked about it plenty when the episodes originally aired. We have such a rich meta history that lots of us have worked really hard to preserve. I encourage you to seek it out, if nothing else than as historical artifacts. The way we have discussed the show has been a 16-year evolution. People have written literal doctoral dissertations on this show. Your shitposts are fun! We love reliving our own experience through fresh eyes, and seeing your wonder at experiencing it all again for the first time! But y’all didn’t invent this fandom in the last six months, either.

Meta Sources and Minerals provided by our friendly neighborhood fandom archivist, @lets-steal-an-archive

Academic books and articles about SPN 

A collection of Meta Essays going back to s1 and organized by topic (all of this has happened before, all of it will happen again)

SPN Heavy Meta Archive (s1-3)

Mel’s Dreamwidth archive of meta (s1-12)

Oranges8hands Dreamwidth archive of meta (s1-15, with many similar entries to Mel’s... though ymmv on viewpoint in a lot of these too)

Anyone remember Fandom Wank? Not the concept but the actual LJ... No? Okay have a link to SPN topics that ended up there. Through 2013. We have seen so much... including several fandom containment breaches.

for all your art sourcing needs, please see @theroadsofararchive, the repository for so much fandom art.

need to find a gif of something? canonspngifs is a vast repository of gifsets of the entire series. If the gif you want to use in your post happens to be the first gif in the gifset, in the tumblr gif finder thingy just paste the permalink to that post from canonspngifs (which is easily searchable by episode, character, location, situation, quotes, and sometimes even color and clothing items the actors are wearing... it’s really well organized, especially for tumblr >.>) and the first gif will be automatically linked with credit to the gif creator attached. It makes life easy that way. It’s also convenient when trying to remember something specific but can’t remember what episode it’s from. I’ve used the site to jog my memory before going to the superwiki armed with more specific search results to find episode quotes and references. Or sometimes I just scroll through all the nice gifs for fun, too.

Need a screencap of something and know exactly which episode it’s from? Try Home of the Nutty. You might not find the exact screencap you’re looking for, but they have a complete set of caps of every episode, and it’s an incredibly useful resource for quick reference checks and the like. Just give pages a chance to fully load before clicking on the next one. The site is easily overloaded, but it’s still free to use (and again, with credit... Pretty much every screencap on my entire blog is from HotN unless otherwise credited).

As you can see, this is a fandom built on preserving our history. You absolutely are not required to engage with any of this if that’s not of interest to you, but I can only assume that there are people who would be interested in it if only they knew it existed and how to find it. Well, now they do.

6. A few more notes on tags, and how they work on tumblr. The first 20 tags on your ORIGINAL posts are searchable sitewide, so if you want to be able to find something again, tag that thing first before going on general tag rambles. The only place tags on reblogs are searchable is on your own blog. So you don’t have to put 50 tags trying to get a post seen if it’s a reblog. You’re just spitting into the wind at that point. If you have a filing system for finding things again, then by all means add those tags (again, in the first 20, so they’re searchable), but you don’t need to tag a reblog “destiel” and “deancas” and “dean” and “cas” and “dean x cas” or whatever. Pick one for your personal blog’s filing system, that’s all you need.

(this was only added because tagging and searching on this site is so very broken... I get that a lot of folks don’t care about ever searching their own blogs again for anything, so this one only really applies if you do often find yourself trying to find old posts. If not, then it’s not really relevant.  It took me years to work out a decent tagging system, and at the beginning of my time here I never thought I’d end up camping out here for a decade and falling this deep into the fandom, and I regretted my lack of consistent tags only years later when I realized I actually wanted to be able to go back and find specific old posts again. So... for anyone who wants to err on the side of caution, working out a sensible tagging system really helps if you’re here for the long term. I personally tag content by episode, because some of my other general tags are so large as to be practically useless as a search term. But whatever system you choose to file stuff on your own blog, it really only has to make sense to you. And again, if this is pointless advice for someone who has no intention of settling here for the long term. Please feel free to ignore it. I just wish someone had explained it this way to me ten years ago and saved me the hassle of retroactively tagging something like 30k posts... especially now that using the mass tag replacer is the fastest way to get your entire blog deleted... oops? so yeah, don’t use the mass tag replacer either >.>)

7. Tags on Tumblr DO NOT WORK LIKE TAGS ON TWITTER. If you @ someone in the body of the post, it will show up in their notifications (if they’re the sort of person who even checks their notifications... not all of us do. For the record, I generally don’t...), but putting actor or ship names in the tags on a tumblr post does absolutely nothing. It’s not the same as tagging the actor’s twitter account in a tweet. Nobody’s getting notifications about you tagging a post about Jensen here as “Jensen Ackles.” There is a difference. Please learn it. (and don’t take headcanons and ESPECIALLY RPF or otherwise explicit art or fic from tumblr to twitter and tag the actors in it. That’s just... not okay.)

(I have seen the pearl clutchers getting all in a huff about the mere existence of RPF or even explicit content of fictional characters if it doesn’t meet their purity standards, but tagging those things allows people who don’t want to see it to actively avoid that content here. Nobody has a right to tell people their fictional content shouldn’t exist at all, or that creators of that fictional content somehow deserve harassment or threats for having dared to create such “immoral” content, won’t somebody PLEASE think of the children... and no... you do not do that here. Don’t be the problematic behavior you wish to ban from the world. Learn to use tags to protect yourself from, as i have attempted to emphasize here, fictional content you are personally upset by. That’s a you problem, not a problem for the creators of potentially upsetting content that they tag appropriately for.)

8. General formatting stuff: If you’re writing long text posts, visually break them up so people aren’t faced with one long wall of text. The enter key is your friend. Also, if you put long text posts under a Read More break and send people to your blog to finish reading, please ensure that your blog is actually visually accessible (tiny text, or light grey text on a dark grey background, or a visually busy background might be aesthetically pleasing to you but nobody can actually read it. Loads of folks won’t even try. Which is great if you don’t actually care whether people are able to appreciate your content or not, but something to at least consider if you *do* actively want to encourage engagement with your work. Confirm how your blog looks on both mobile and desktop and make sure it’s actually functional in both, too).

And since I mentioned that most of my experience on fandom tumblr has been in the SPN fandom, here’s a bit of a reminder for folks who are new around here. With the reminder that I have been here more than a decade and still feel like a newbie myself sometimes...

This is an OLD FANDOM. There are many, many people who have been at this longer than some of you have been alive. The average age for creators in this fandom is older than you think (I think of my friends in their 30′s as young’ins okay? okay). With that understood, you are responsible for the content you consume and are exposed to. Curate your experience. Ship and let ship. YKINMKATOK. Don’t deliberately expose yourself to content you find upsetting for whatever reason. Tags and warnings are your friends, not targets for you to attack in some sort of purity war. People will ship things you do not like (or in specific ways you do not like), will say things you do not agree with, and will find their happiness in things you abhor. That is not your concern. Find what you do like, and support and engage with it, and ignore (or block, or unfollow) the rest. Tumblr has a feature that lets you blacklist tags so the content you’re trying to avoid won’t appear on your dash.

Remember the paradox of tolerance.

It is not your job in fandom to police how other people enjoy the fandom. It’s not *my* job to police how *you* enjoy the fandom, UNLESS your enjoyment is in actively harming other real human beings in the fandom. If you don’t like their take on the character or the show or the plotlines or their ships or anything else, you don’t need to engage with their posts at all! The necessary corollary to this is that clarifying misunderstandings or correcting factual misinformation is not “policing.” 

(this is where the peanut gallery reminds me it ain’t that deep, and I plead with them to put down the social media and find just one (1) thing to actually believe in in this godforsaken life, find something other than disdain and cynicism and spite to live for. If those things motivate you to find a larger cause for yourself, then great, use them to your advantage, but use them to find something that makes you a better person or brings you a modicum of joy and connection to your fellow human beings despite living in a dystopian hellscape of a world)

I have seen a lot of posts lately that are founded on the sort of authority that comes with “I watched through tumblr for a few months and then watched the last three episodes of the series” and as such are just... missing the larger context of the entire show, and are unfounded entirely in canon. I 100% appreciate the new enthusiasm for the fandom that we’ve been living in here for years, and it’s wonderful to see new people enjoying the thing we love. Your headcanons are valid, you are valid, but recognize that your headcanons aren’t canon. All of us finale denialists have accepted this in some measure, so we feel you. We truly, truly feel you. But regarding actual canon, we have a resource for that: the Superwiki. Learn it, live it, love it, as Metatron would say.

(which you could discover he said in 10.17 Inside Man, thanks to the superwiki! accept no substitutes!)

(and again, there have been people who have been involved in fandom for years who haven’t engaged with canon in years, either! You can play in this universe however you choose, BUT FOR PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT CANON AT ALL, WHICH I AM AGAIN POINTEDLY SAYING MIGHT NOT BE YOU, READER, AND I’M NOT SUGGESTING YOU ARE WRONG FOR NOT WANTING TO ACTUALLY ENGAGE WITH CANON, but if you DO want to engage with canon, please have some useful resources. Why do people feel personally attacked by being presented a list of helpful resources? Absolutely baffling.)

(also: words have definitions. “Canon” is a specific thing, meaning in this case “the finished media product that aired on television.” Anything beyond those limits is secondary canon (think: john’s journal, which is not canon but canon adjacent at best...), word of god (i.e stuff said by the writers and showrunners), or headcanon (which includes actor commentary-- they may have helped create the show with their acting choices and whatever, but they are not in control of the story overall). If there’s something you dislike about actual canon, you can reject it and supplement it with your own theories or preferred outcomes-- that’s basically what fanfic is-- but that doesn’t make your theories canon (much to all our dismay, that’s just not how any of this works. This is not to invalidate how anyone engages with the show or the fandom, just trying to clarify what seems to have been a source of unintentional misunderstandings. Your theories do not have to be “canon” to be legitimate interpretations.)

***I am setting this section apart, and did make a separate post of just this following information, because this is where we go from being relatively chill about different parts of fandom choosing to interact in different ways and you do you and blog however you want, to “hey can everybody please understand that the way you are interacting with this specific material might be harmful for specific legal reasons, and stating that you do not care about the consequences of your actions does actively make you the asshole here...” Okay, now that we have that understood:

The spnscripthunt collective has been steadily acquiring new scripts (which are posted in full on the superwiki for everyone to enjoy, for free). The language around how some folks are talking about these scripts is... concerning. For very real legal reasons, actually, and not because we’re feeling precious about the collection and don’t wike it when meanies use them in shitposts.

-First off, these scripts are not “leaks.” They are all verified and legally purchased (or gifted, in some cases, but still acquired entirely above board. we didn’t whack anyone over the head in a back alley for these scripts, or swipe them out of someone’s trailer on set).

(in case anyone was unaware, these scripts are the copywritten protected property of Warner Brothers. So yes, how we use them and share them with the fandom could have legal repercussions. We present them as a collected resource of fandom history which SHOULD fall under Fair Use doctrine, but this is untested legal water. Insinuating that the scripts are somehow not entirely legally obtained, or that posting them for public access involved less than 100% transparent and entirely legal transactions is incredibly concerning.

Once again for the peanut gallery, if you don’t care about any of that and are just having a good time with it, at least be mindful of the work and expense a large group of people have gone through to acquire and present the content you’re all too eager to exploit for cheap thrills. Some of us do actually care and are not exactly comfortable with the fact that others don’t seem to care about burning it all to the ground. We can’t force you to listen or behave as we’d hope you might, but at least be aware of the potential consequences of your actions. All we’re asking is for you to not be the douchebag who sets the whole neighborhood on fire with your illegal fireworks display. Is that too much to ask for? more on that in a second, first... a psa)

-If you see a script for sale and are unsure if it’s legit (or believe it might already be freely available in our collection), please feel free to ask us for advice. Our goal is to make as much of our fandom history available to the entire fandom, and we absolutely do not want anyone shelling out money for stuff you can already find for free.

(seriously, we’ve seen a bunch of resellers cropping up selling printed versions of the scripts we bought and uploaded for everyone to enjoy free of charge, or scripts that are otherwise of dubious origin. We’ve been at this for years now and know what’s actually out there. We don’t want anyone to fall for a scam if we can help it)

-Also, the usual reminder that the scripts we acquire ARE NOT NECESSARILY THE FINAL SHOOTING DRAFTS. In fact, the majority of scripts in our collection are NOT. Changes are made daily to scripts, even during filming. Comparing a Production Draft (white pages, effectively the first “final draft” of what usually becomes a series of drafts before filming wraps) to a much later revision (say... green or goldenrod revisions, several of which we DO have in our collection for comparison) and how those earlier drafts often differ wildly from the aired version versus how similar a much later green draft is to the aired version, for example, can teach you a lot about the television writing process. The link above to the superwiki scripts page has a nice little explainer about how this process works.

Differences between our posted scripts (many of which are white drafts, aka FIRST complete drafts, which will likely go through multiple rounds of revisions before filming even begins) and the aired version of the show are not all “acting choices” or a director or editor just cutting whole scenes on a whim. It’s insulting to everyone involved in production to suggest that’s the case.

(and yeah, fine... whatever, make any sort of posts you like regarding how those changes came about, but at the very least understand that it’s not actually the truth about how any of this works. Don’t care that that’s not the truth and want to make the posts anyway because shitposting is fun and that’s the extent of your sense of humor? FINE! You’re entitled to do that! But at least you DO know the truth now, and hopefully so do the people who engage with your posts. Deliberate ignorance isn’t cute, smooth lions notwithstanding)

There’s probably a whole other post to be made on fandom tagging etiquette, but again I don’t really use the tags enough to know what’s going on with that whole situation. I’ve also probably left a lot of stuff out, so please feel free to add things I’ve overlooked.

Thanks also to @trisscar368 and @thayerkerbasy for help compiling this, too. They were kind enough to escort me through the park to feed these pigeons. Now I need to take them out for ice cream. :’D

So I guess welcome to the neighborhood. Make yourself at home, but like... try not to trash the place while you’re here. Some of us live here by choice, lol.

[salteytakesonmanga]

HERE WE GO, HERE WE GO, Whisky Peak is one of my favorite mini arcs for these next few chapters alone.

I love that Zoro’s primary concern here is that the crew get to catch up on their sleep. After all, Zoro slept through all the storms earlier so he’s in top form for exactly this sort of thing.

[bktaro]

seven-three (part 2)

pairing: nanami x f!reader

themes/rating: explicit, 18+, clubs, bars, masquerade parties

tw: drinking, sex clubs, rough sex, daddy kink, slight bondage, dom/sub, slight degradation, size kink, face fucking, dacryphilia, squirting, fingering, oral

wc: 6.5k

ao3 | part 1 | part 2​ | part 3

tagging: @angelofthorr​ @lilalalila​

Nanami Kento had a hardened shell surrounding his personal life. Clocking out at five ‘o’clock on the dot every day, he left little to no room for others to get to know him better— leaving him as an unsolvable mystery amongst the office.

Likewise, you too aimed to clock out at five ‘o’ clock. You preferred routine during the workday, finding comfort in maintaining equilibrium and peace and wanting to do nothing more or nothing less than what was required of you.

Little did you know the two of you shared an interesting weekend hobby.

Nanami always did consider himself to be a man that wasted no time, and tonight was no exception.

Time was of the essence. Nanami wanted to waste not a single minute further on idle things that could be used in exploring your body and making you feel pleasure like never before.

“You’re right, I think we are a good match— we understand each other well. I completely agree with what you said earlier, I also hate wasting time.” Nanami’s hand reaches upwards to caress the side of your cheek, tilting your head up to look into your eyes. “So, that’s why I’m just going to say exactly what I’m thinking to you.”

Nanami’s other hand slides down your bare arm, until it lays on top of one of your smaller hands scrunching up the hem of his shirt. He motions you to release your grip from his shirt, and when you oblige, he takes the opportunity to grab your smaller hand within his larger one, lacing your fingers in between his own. His figure is quite taller than yours, prompting him to bend his body over to whisper into your ear.

“Let’s get out of here already so I can fuck you stupid.”

You grin at the request, a low throb jolting in between your legs at his words. He had cut right to the chase— and you loved that.

“What are we waiting for then?” You give a hard squeeze to his hand intertwined with yours, alongside the corners of your lips tugging further upwards into a larger, cheekier grin. “Let’s go.”

—

Within what felt to be mere minutes, with his hand in yours Nanami had placed a wad of cash at the concierge desk connecting the club to its sister company of hotel rooms with the request for the finest room they had to offer. The staff didn’t ask further questions, already in understanding of the nature of most of its clients. Much like the club, from the outside the hotel seemed to be a standard, elegant establishment— but in reality it served to act in partnership with the club as a ‘love hotel’ of sorts instead.

“The penthouse suite?” You ask, watching him slip the key card into the pocket of his tan blazer. “A fancy guy, aren’t you?”

Nanami lets out a low chuckle, leading you inside the elevator that was now open in front of the two of you. He steps in first, pressing the button to the desired floor, but you’re just behind his tail, following him inside instantly and standing beside him.

He’s frankly a bit astonished to find the elevator is empty, fully expecting another couple to already be partially within each other’s pants when the steel doors part open in the middle. But a new thought arises in his head— he thinks perhaps the two of you could be that couple. Elevator public sex was on his bucket list, after all.

“I like a good view, and I’ll get the best money can buy me.” Nanami replies instead, shaking the thought out of his head. He had to at least have some self-control… for now. And it wasn’t completely a lie either, he did like all things beautiful, especially the simple, natural things in life like a beautiful view with an equally beautiful woman on his arm. “The sunrise is beautiful from this high up, you’ll see later.”

A moment of foreign silence envelopes the air in between the two of you, the only sounds being the dinging noise signaling the closure of the doors soon, and the faint mechanics of the elevator whirring in the background. Although brief, the silence churns your thoughts, making you realize it’s the first time you've probably ever been alone with Nanami. At the office, your department was one of the largest in the company. Being alone with anyone was slim to none— especially Nanami who typically went out of his way to avoid pointless interaction with others.

So, you start to think you’re one lucky girl. Maybe you’ve saved a nation in your past life, something remarkable of that nature to be in the position you’re in now.

Nanami doesn’t give you much more time to get lost in your thoughts, however.

The instant the steel doors of the elevator shut close once again, you gasp at the sudden force of movement. Nanami leans his back against the wall of the elevator and pulls your hand to drag you in front of him, making you stumble in between his legs. His hands find themselves on the small of your back, supporting your balance, and all you can do is look up at the mischievous smirk that has formed on his lips.

“Maybe I also want to show you off to the entire city below too. Fuck you right up against the window so everyone can see.”

Your cheeks begin to feel warm, feeling a sudden tinge of embarrassment strike at your chest. You give out a silent prayer in thanks to the mask that conceals your now blushing face, swallowing the lump in your throat and mustering up the courage to respond in the most confident way you can.

“Oh, so you’re not fancy at all— just plain old nasty .”

Nanami lets out another laugh, this time louder than the previous. God , the sound of laughter is like a sweet melody, just as gorgeous as his smile. Maybe you really did save a nation in your past life to be able to be alive in this very moment.

“Ouch, that one hurts. Aren’t ‘fairies’ like you supposed to be nice?”

You laugh alongside him, both your hands trailing up to rest flat on his chest. Standing up on the tips of your toes, your face comes inches away from his and your eyes trail to look at his lips in front of yours.

“Aw, did I hurt you, handsome?” You give me a quick wink, a hand grabbing his silk tie to pull him forward towards you. “Don’t worry, I can kiss it better.”

Nanami follows your lead, tilting his head and leaning forward to catch your lips on his. Contrary to your conversations filled with urgency and lust, the kiss is gentle, a soft greeting to each other's bodies for the first time. His lips are plush against yours, a little bit of tongue slipping in when his tongue swipes yours and grants access but still remaining tender, molding effortlessly in sync together. All you can do is close your eyes, completely indulging in the moment at hand.

You pull away moments later, much to your dismay in the need for air. When your eyes reopen, you catch the curve of Nanami’s lips hitched upwards in front of you into a satisfied grin, resulting in another giggle surpassing your lips.

“What? Fairy magic got you feeling better already?”

“Absolutely. You’re quite a phenomenal kisser.” Nanami’s grip on the small of your back dives lower, his hands now gripping the curve of your ass in an effort to pull your body even closer to his. “I think I’m addicted already— give me some more, will you?”

He doesn’t need to ask you twice.

Your hands move to wrap around behind his neck, closing the gap between your bodies. With your body in between his legs now completely latched on to his, your hands tangle the back of his head, bringing him down for another kiss.

The kiss this time around is desperate, needy, and in the search for more. Lips now acquainted, they waste no time in smashing against each other, tongues likewise dancing to explore one another deeper. Clothes began to feel constricting, and the seconds felt excruciatingly long during the remainder of the trip up the elevator to the top floor, hands exploring every inch of the skin available to both of your reaches.

You’re frankly not too sure how exactly Nanami managed to do so, but he successfully guided you into the correct suite without his hands and lips ever tearing away from yours. They only leave you momentarily to unzip the thin fabric of your dress off and on to the floor, tossing your now nearly exposed body onto the king-sized bed and pinning you underneath his larger frame.

Just from the way his hands worked, gripping and grabbing onto every inch of your skin he could, you could tell he’s already insanely rough in bed— and a tiny smile creeps up on your face at the pleasing thought.

Nanami Kento is truly nothing like the reserved, timid and calm man from the office you thought you knew.

“You’re a real freak, aren’t you?”

Nanami leans his face lower, lips hovering over yours. A proud, cocky smirk forms upon his lips at your words, the canines of his teeth peeking through.

“Maybe I am.” His voice is low, dripping with lust at the sight of your partially naked body, now merely inches away from your lips. “But something tells me you’re not that much different from me.”

You let out a chuckle, reciprocating the smirk on his lips afterwards with your own while your fingers begin fumbling to undo the buttons of his blue dress shirt.

“Maybe I am too.” You mimic his words, pausing your efforts to undo the buttons momentarily to grab onto his patterned gold tie again, pulling him even closer. “Maybe I’m just as freaky as you — so give me everything you got.”

Before Nanami even gets the opportunity to respond back, you bring his lips onto yours. The kiss is passionate, his lips swollen and plush from the earlier make out session, tongues now more than familiar with each other, yet still desperate for more.

“ Everything ? Are you sure?” Nanami asks, pulling away momentarily. He had to ask you now where the boundaries lay, immensely cautious of your limits and not to cross them. “I’ll stop anytime if you ask, the last thing I want to do is anything that might make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure, as long as it’s nothing entirely soul crushingly degrading and humiliating.” A small, reassuring smile curves on your lips. “Seriously though, I’ve never been surer about anything. And I’m on birth control too.”

Nanami smiles half-hardy back at you, and you can sense the hesitation still lingering behind. He liked his sex rough, and he just wasn’t too sure if you did too yet. Plus, he knew how sleazy certain people could be in these environments— he wanted to make it a hundred percent clear that you weren’t obliged to anything and had the power to opt out at any time.

You were genuinely appreciative of his concern for you, noting that he was truly a kind man at heart— another thing you wouldn’t have known about him from just his presence in the office. But you sincerely did just want the man in front of you to fuck you senseless and use your body in whatever way he wanted too. You had to take it up a notch for him to sincerely ease his apprehension— and you had the perfect idea.

“Look, I’ll let you know immediately if I feel uncomfortable, okay? So don’t worry about going too far for anything.” You bring a hand up to his jawline, gently stroking the soft skin in encouragement. “But what I really want is to help you grant your wish— daddy .”

Nanami’s eyes widens, a newfound flame burning up fueled by lust flowing across his body and a small, genuine grin now forming at your response.

All it took was one, single word to shake off his hesitations, replacing them with a newly awakened beast. Unknowingly, you’ve unlocked a new side of Nanami Kento he himself rarely finds activated.

Sure, he’d been with many women during his weekend rendezvous, but he’s beginning to find truth in Gojo’s words— there was no one quite like you who had the right talk and walk, flicking on a switch in his brain that made him a man that wanted nothing more in his life than to fuck the shit out of you.

“You’re saying then you can take anything daddy gives you then, right?”

His thumb grazes over your bottom lip, and in response you open your mouth just a bit wider, wrapping your lips around his thumb.

You were more than prepared to take on this new challenger— Nanami Kento had met his match.

“Use me however you want— I’m your little slut.”

Nanami sucks his teeth at your words, the other free hand now working to loosen the tie around his neck. The bud of his thumb presses harder down the pad of your tongue, and your lips wrap tighter around it, holding onto his hand with yours and looking right at his eyes visible through the eyeholes of his mask.

“You want to be my little fuckdoll tonight, don’t you?”

Unable to speak with his thumb in your mouth, you nod your head, looking up at him and grinning the best you could. Nanami smiles again, satisfied with your response.

“You’re going to be my little slutty fuckdoll...”

The long silky gold and speckled black fabric of Nanami’s tie soon finds its way around his hand. Releasing his thumb from your mouth, you let out a gasp with wide eyes as Nanami grabs a hold of your wrists, bringing them up to the headboard above you and tying them together with his tie.

You were now completely under his discretion, your body laid out in submission, truly like a doll only for him to use however he liked— and the thought is enough to initiate another familiar throb in between your legs.

“... and you’ll do just as daddy says.”

A small shiver travels down your spine, feeling Nanami leaning forward and trailing soft kisses from the side of your jawline and down your neck, taking his time to lick and suck the sensitive areas of your skin.

He pauses when he meets the cleavage of your breasts peeking out from your bra, hands gently guiding you to arch your back off the bed. Lean fingers skillfully undo the clasp on your back, sending the strapless piece of fabric to join your other discarded garments on the floor and leaving his mouth watering at the sight of your naked, perky nipples in full view.

“My gorgeous fucking doll.”

Large hands cup and roughly squeeze the mounds of flesh, resulting in a soft, breathy whimper to leave your mouth. His tongue works on one perked nipple, licking the sensitive bud while he pulls and pinches the other with his thumb and index fingers, repeating the process again and again until you’re left squirming under his touch.

Nanami finishes giving attention to both your breasts, proudly eyeing the trails of small bruises peppered over your chest afterwards. The tip of his index finger gently begins to dance upon your skin, beginning in between your breasts at the center of your body. He traces the small love marks, loving the way you shiver and let out a small whine at even the slightest touch and slowly slithers all the way down only pausing when they reach the wetness of your cunt, concealed past your damp underwear.

“Won’t you look at that.” Nanami smirks, pressing his fingers against your underwear. “Someone’s drenched already, aren’t they?”

Your body flinches when his fingers dig deeper in between your folds, a muffled moan escaping past your lips at the slight roughness of the fabric digging into your cunt.

“Tell me, doll, who made your pussy this soaked already?”

Nanami brings his face to hover over yours again and tilts your chin upwards to look you in the eye, awaiting your response.

“ You , daddy.”

The proud grin on his face widens, a thumb joining his index finger to slowly rub your clothed clit in small, teasing circles. Your breath hitches at the new sensation on your most sensitive bud, arching your back off the bed once again and letting out an airy moan just slightly louder than the previous.

“You’re really such a good girl, listening to me so well.” He coos and leans forward, leaving you a tender, yet teasing kiss that leaves you wanting more against your lips. “Makes me want to just eat you right up.”

“Then why don’t you?”

Nanami arches his eyebrows behind his mask, slightly taken aback but simultaneously impressed with your reply. A stifling chuckle soon breaks past his lips, bringing his hand up and squishing your chin in between his fingers, causing your mouth to partially open, tongue sticking out.

“You’re right. Good, slutty girls like you deserve a reward, don’t they?”

His hand moves again, this time finding its way past the band of your underwear and inside the fabric instead. Two fingers slowly stroke past your bare clit, and then in between your wet folds, touching just enough to give you some sort of relief, but not enough penetration to fully relieve you. It leaves you whimpering, loving the touches you’re getting, but wanting even the slightest bit more .

“Tell me another thing, doll.” The finger covered with your slick leaves your underwear, Nanami bringing it up for both you and him to examine in between your faces. He spreads his two fingers apart, and the both of you watch the glistening slick stretch between the two fingers. “How do you taste when you’re all wet because of me?”

Nanami’s two fingers press down on your tongue again, and you close your mouth, embracing the digits with your tongue. Your tongue laps around his fingers, eyes looking right into his as your tastebuds savour the flavour of your own juices. Your tongue hangs out when you open your mouth again, freeing his fingers from your tongue after you suck all the slick clean off of them.

“It tastes so delicious...”  

“My pretty girl likes her own flavour, hm?” Nanami’s grip on either side of your cheeks gets the slightest bit firmer. “Let me get a taste for myself.”

He leans forward, giving you a single, slow lick against your tongue with his, another whimper vibrating in your throat at your now pulsating core. When he pulls away afterwards, a low chuckle can’t help but leave his mouth, looking at your needy expression in desire for more than what his mere teasing leaves you with.

“Hm, I’m definitely going to need a better taste than that, don’t you think?”

Nanami doesn’t wait for your response, already beginning to leave a trail of kisses down your body. You slowly pry your legs open for him when he reaches your pelvis, allowing him to shift his body to lay flat on the bed in between your thighs. A tender kiss is left on one side of your inner thigh, ushering you to prop your legs upwards so he can get a better view, and you can’t help but let out another shudder at his lips ghosting closer to your most sensitive area.

His hand trails upward towards the band of your underwear, fingers latching onto the sides of lacy garment resting on your hips. With the tug of his fingers, the fabric peels off of your body, a glossy string of slick trailing from your wet cunt to the center of your underwear now stained with a patch of wetness. Nanami assists you eagerly in pulling the garment all the way down your legs, until he’s able to grab them in his hands and toss them somewhere in the floor of the hotel room to join your previously discarded clothing.

It’s a sight that makes his mouth water and cock stiffen inside his pants even more, suddenly starving in the pit of his stomach to get even the tiniest taste. It’s a sight he’s again, seen numerous times before in his weekend rendezvous, but the first to get him riled up the way he was before he even truly began to explore your body.

Your legs are spread and propped open, drenched pussy glistening with slick dangerously close to staining the sheets below, and arms still bound by his tie tied around the headboard of the bed. Your breaths come in shallow pants, heavy in anticipation of whatever is to come next, your body squirming desperately searching for even that tiny moment of relief. And in the middle of it all, watching your every movement is Nanami in between your legs— a smirk plastered on his face and a glowing twinkle in his eye.

You were a feast laid out just for him, a beast wanting nothing more than to devour his prey.

And so, he decides to do just that.

“Daddy’s going to make you feel so good baby, your pussy will be wet just like this all week thinking about me.”

Nanami leans forward, spreading your cunt with his fingers and taking the first, agonizing slow lick up your dripping slit, collecting the juices threatening to spill on to his tongue. You let out a whine, head instantly thrown back at alleviating sensation.

“Fuck…”

Your pleased curse comes out in a mutter, but it’s more than enough to fuel Nanami. He traces his tongue back and forth on your slit, occasionally sticking his tongue in and out of your cunt, and increasingly picking up his pace every time he hears you whimper in delight and your body gradually wriggling more and more. The sound is music to his ears— a melody of sorts he’s more than determined to play all night.

When the tip of his tongue deliberately finds its way to brush on your clit, your body jolts, and another, breathy moan fills the air. Nanami instantly holds you down, wrapping an arm around your thighs, restraining your movements to jump away from him, and allowing him to continue to attack on your most sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Oh…my god… please…” You whine, your tied up hands searching for something to desperately grasp on to but finding nothing. “...please don’t stop… ”

It’s all you can groan out, Nanami showing no mercy in sucking on the swollen bud, flicking his tongue rapidly against it like it’s all he knew how to do. His tongue is incredibly skilled, and Nanami knows it too— simply by the way your body was thrashing already under him, a sign he knew too well of what was to come next.

He wonders how much farther you can go, what kind of reaction he can get from your body if just plays around with you just a bit further. Curiosity controls his movements, a long, lone finger on his free hand coming up and teasingly stroking your wet cunt, before inserting itself effortlessly in.

And you like it— so much so you feel yourself dripping even more , without a doubt now staining the bed sheets below when his finger curls and picks up the pace, fucking your cunt alongside his tongue working on your clit. But both Nanami and you know one isn’t enough, despite the fact he can hear your whimpers grow louder and can practically feel your cunt clenching, throbbing on his one sole finger, he knows he needs to stretch you out even further to fully prepare you for the main course— his dick in his pants that was now harder than ever.

You were close, so close already, hips thrusting to fuck his finger and face the best you could being under his grasp. When Nanami adds a second finger to join the first, fingering your pussy relentlessly, your eyes shut close, the pit of your stomach tightening and your body beginning to convulse from the intensity of it all.

“Oh my god… I… I’m going to—”

With one last final cry, your back arches the best it can under Nanami’s strength, holding your thighs down while your first orgasm of the night rips out, liquid squirting all over him.

Nanami lets you ride your orgasm out on his fingers and tongue, leaving slower, gentle licks and flicks on your clit and cunt. When your thrusting stops, he pulls away, a grin forming on his face now wet from your squirting, looking at the scene of liquid splattered on the bed sheets, the skin of your stomach and thighs, and your puffed, swollen clit.

You’re left panting, body now completely relaxed on top of the bed in an attempt to recollect yourself. You’re truthfully a bit in a state of shock, not only from how mind blowing it was to be eaten out by the Nanami Kento, but how fast it all happened. You weren’t normally one to reach an orgasm, let alone be so turned on and fucked good to squirt the way you did so quickly and easily— but you really shouldn’t be that surprised. Nanami Kento was definitely nothing remotely close to your ordinary hookup.

Nanami adjusts his body to sit back upright, undoing the last few buttons on his shirt before letting it fall onto the floor behind him. You can’t help but lick your lips at the sight of his now naked torso, his upper body somehow even more chiseled and built than what you fantasized it to be.

It leaves you wondering what other areas—specifically below the belt— will be even better than what your fantasies envisioned them to be.

“You made a mess.” Nanami’s tone is stern, yet simultaneously integrated with a hint of pride knowing he’s the complete reason why the mess is there in the first place.

You lift your head up, examining the damage done. He’s entirely correct— drops of your liquid drip down his chin, his chest, and ultimately join the damp bed sheets below.

“It’s your fault.”

“Maybe it is.” Nanami leans back in hovering over your face once more, leaving soft kisses on the side of your neck in between his words. “But you know, I think you should still be responsible for cleaning up after your own messes.”

Continuing to leave your neck with gentle kisses and nips, his hands work to swiftly undo the knot that binds your wrists together. The soreness of your arms bound together alleviates almost instantly when they fall onto the bed, allowing for a moment of peace and calmness to overtake your body.

Indisputably, it lasts just a moment and not even a second longer. Time was of the essence to Nanami, after all.

In a blink of an eye your body is flipped. You were now laying on top of Nanami, an arm wrapped around the back of your waist and the other lifting your chin up towards him once more.

“Lick it all clean off of me, and maybe you’ll get a reward you’ve been waiting for at the end.”

Nanami grips your chin, pulling your face in for another passionate kiss on your lips. A faintly salty flavour remains on his lips causing you to graze your tongue against his in the hopes for a better taste, and when you do you can’t help but to express your satisfaction through a small, moaning against him.

“My sweet, dirty doll.” Nanami smirks against your lips in between the kisses. “You like the taste of yourself that much, don’t you?”

You pull away, countering a smile back.

“I’ll like the taste of you better.”

Parting from his lips, you shuffle your body again to sit on your knees in between Nanami’s spread legs, his back now against the headboard behind him. Leaning forward to rest your upper body on his pelvis while your hands roam the muscles of his toned abdomen and forearms. You begin to trail down his body, slowly tracing with your tongue the liquid droplets across his neck and torso, cleaning and wiping them away from his skin and onto your tastebuds.

Your eyes flicker upwards, watching Nanami’s eyes pierce at your every action in awe observing you drag your tongue lower and lower across his body until your fingers start to play with the waistband of his pants. Your breasts push up against the now evident bulge in his pants, his cock throbbing for anything more you could give him— causing Nanami to desperately chew on the insides of his bottom lip to prevent himself from just pinning you back down on the bed and fucking you senseless already.

“You’ll let me taste you, won’t you, daddy ?” You bat your eyelashes up at him, and even through the eyeholes of the mask Nanami is struck by your request, hard in more places than one. “I want to make you feel so good you’ll cum in my mouth and I can taste how delicious you are.”

Unfastening the button of his pants, you bring your finger to slowly undo the zipper, teasingly brushing against his cock desperate to be released from its constriction past his briefs. The bulge is even bigger than you imagined now released from the one thicker layer of the fabric of his pants, making you gulp in anticipation.

“You want to make daddy feel good?” Nanami hisses, a hand sneaking up behind your head to tangle in your hair.

You tug at the rest of his bottoms, pulling down the remainder of his pants and briefs until they pooled to his ankles, kicked off and discarded with the other articles of clothing on the floor. Your breath gets caught in your throat at the sight before you— his veiny, erected cock standing proud, both extremely generous in length and girth.

Nanami definitely was in no way exaggerating earlier in the night when he used the numbers eleven and six to describe his cock.

A flurry of questions enter your mind: how was something of this caliber supposed to fit inside you? Down your throat? But how would something this large feel? Your cunt throbs at the imagination alone, subconsciously rubbing your legs together just the slightest.

There was only one way to find out the answer to your questions.

“You got so big and hard— just for me…” You whisper, wrapping a hand around the base only to let out a breathy exhale when you see how it’s not enough to even grip the entire circumference. “... I can’t wait to taste you…”

Gathering a pool of saliva inside your mouth, you let a trail of spit land just on the tip of his dick, covering the head with a new, sheen gloss. Your two hands begin spreading the saliva onto the remainder of his dick, slowly stroking up and down his shaft in what Nanami feels is an almost painfully agonizing pace.

It takes an immense amount of self control from Nanami to hold himself back again from just thrusting his hips upwards into your ajar mouth, jaw dropped simply due to how mesmerized you were by the shape and length of his cock. Unknowingly, your breath is hot, and mixed with the warmth of your hands wrapping tightly up and down makes it insanely difficult for Nanami to keep his composure intact. He wonders what you would look like if he just shoved his dick in your mouth right now, pushing far enough so his cock would protrude out of your cheek, maybe causing a tear or two to escape your eyes because you're choking on his cock, far too big for your tiny mouth.

But in this exact moment, all he can do is watch you, patiently waiting in anticipation of your next move and when you’ll free his throbbing cock from it’s imprisonment. He doesn’t see the need to dwell in imagination any further— he would make sure to see it play out soon enough in reality.

“Oh!” Your eyes go wide for a second, before a small smirk spreads across your face when you realize just what that unfamiliar feeling under the palm of your hands is. “I felt that… you’re thinking something nasty right now aren’t you?”

“I’m thinking about you .” Nanami groans out, voice caught in between your hands gently squeezing just a bit harder. “How pretty you’ll look when I fuck that cute little mouth of yours, making you choke on my cock until you cry.”

You let out a small giggle, grazing a thumb across the slit of his cock that causes another wince upon his face. A small ooze of precum seeps past the slit, and you can’t help but lick your lips at the sight.

“Do it then.” You lean forward, taking a single lick of the tip of his dick, eyes locked onto his pupils behind the mask while the salty taste bombards your tastebuds. “Fuck my pretty little mouth just made to suck your big cock.”

Your tongue slowly begins to swirl the head of his dick, a thumb coming in between to graze across the sensitive slit. You can feel a particular prominent vein rubbing down the shaft of his cock throb under your grasp once more, inspiring you to trace your tongue along it up and down in the hopes of calming it down.

But you and Nanami know all too well it doesn’t—  in fact doing quite the opposite in reality. His cock becomes even more stiff at the sight of your tongue providing just a tease of what he needs, hungry and desperate for just some relief.

Nanami ultimately begins to think you're more of an angel instead of a fairy. A horny, beautiful, ethereal being that answers his silent pleas at last when you finally take his dick in your mouth.

You wrap your lips around the entire head, taking his length into your mouth and beginning to bob your head up and down. His dick is too big, your mouth only able to take barely half of his length, one hand working in its place to pump the remaining area your mouth is unable to reach.

The breath Nanami has been holding back finally escapes, eyes fluttering shut and head tilting back succumbing to the ecstasy of your tongue working in sync with your puckered lips, swirling around his shaft just perfectly every time his length enters the depths of your mouth. Nanami’s blown away at how good— really fucking good— your tongue works his cock, and he begins to become convinced maybe your mouth really was made to suck cock.

Yet, he thinks with a little help from him, you could make it an experience even better than ever before.

“You suck my cock so good, doll.” His hand lands gently on the top of your head, caressing it in encouragement briefly before it sneaks past to the back of your head again, tangling his fingers in your hair to pull it back and away from your face. “But I know you can do even better than this.”

The hand on the back of your head guides your pace, raising the speed of your head bobbing back and forth alongside the increase of spit formulating onto his cock, dribbling out the corners of your mouth. The sight of trails of spit coming down your chin releases an almost animalistic groan from Nanami, holding your head down just the slightest bit further than before and allowing the tip of his dick to meet the back of your throat.

Nanami holds your head there, watching your eyes begin to glisten looking right up at him. Your entire mouth is filled with more of his length than you could take, now being unable to even breathe properly, choking on his cock instead.

The sight is just as good as his imagination, perhaps even better . Messy, dirty, and sloppy— Nanami’s favourite type of blowjob, done effortlessly by you.

You gasp for air when Nanami releases your head, a trail of spit connecting your bottom lip to the tip of his cock. A smile curves on your lips looking up at Nanami’s expression above you, chest rising up and down in the growing lack of steady breaths, a bead of sweat rolling down from the side of forehead, teeth gritted, and a hand pumping his now wet cock.

“You like choking on cock, don’t you?” His free hand comes up to grab just under your chin, lifting your face up towards him. “That little cunt of yours is probably just dripping wet after taking a fat cock down your throat.”

Your hand trails down your body, feeling the wetness of the dripping saliva and sheen of sweat beginning to coat your body. A different type of wetness is found when your fingers reach between your legs, however, enough present to drench your entire cunt.

“I love choking on daddy’s cock…” You moan out, slipping a finger effortlessly in your own lubricated pussy. “...it turns me on so much, makes me so horny for more.”

Nanami curses under his breath, subconsciously pumping his cock faster watching you whimper and whine at your own finger fucking your cunt.  

“Open that fucking slutty mouth again.” Nanami commands. “You’re going to let me fuck that throat of yours until my cum is shooting down your throat— and add another fucking finger in your pussy while you're at it.”

You oblige without hesitation, slipping another finger inside your cunt while opening your mouth once more. Nanami’s hand rejoins the back of your head, holding you steady before sliding his cock into your mouth.

It becomes incredibly difficult to breathe, the little air you do have used on moaning against his cock repeatedly thrusting without mercy into your mouth. The head of his cock continuously attacks the back of your throat, now sore from the consistent assault but you can do nothing but take it, a situation that makes you throb between your legs.

You were being used just like a doll, his doll— and in this moment there was nothing more you wanted than that.

Stars fill your vision, and you’re not entirely sure if its from how good your cunt feels, fingers knuckles deep fucking yourself, or if its the sound of Nanami’s moans filling the air growing louder and louder as his hips start to lose their pace. Perhaps it's the combination of both, unwinding the familiar knot in your stomach that makes you release a loud, muffled moan against his dick, your fingers frantically riding out your high.

The vibration of your moan against his dick is the last straw for Nanami, letting out one last groan before shooting his ropes of white cum down your throat, the salty flavour bombarding your tastebuds. It’s a taste you’ve been dying for, and you savour every last drop, swallowing it all down your throat.

“Show me.” Nanami pulls his cock away from your mouth, instantly gripping your chin one again, forcing you to open your mouth. “Show me you swallowed it all.”

You lick your lips, before opening your mouth wide open, sticking your tongue proudly out to display the cleanness of the pad of your tongue.

“Two out of seven.” Nanami smiles, leaving a kiss on your lips that’s tender and comforting before the grip on your chin firms once again. “Five more baby, we’re only just getting started.”

[hillnerd]

For the headcanon ask game - Romione + rain?

For the headcanon ask meme <-feel free to send a couple and a prompt- i'll either write a short blurb of headcanon or write a drabble my headcanon is that Hermione loves rainy days and Ron doesn't- she wins him over to them eventually:

RAIN

Hermione had always loved the rain. None of the other children in her class did. They'd moan and wail when they had to stay inside during playtime. As they all mourned the loss of their beloved tag, Hermione would squirm in delight.

While everyone else would suffer through checkers and building blocks, adventures and deserted islands waterfalled into the room with every drop of rain. Why deal with getting actual dirt under your nails, when you can imagine walking on beaches. Why deal with lines for the swingset and being elbowed off the climbing frame she could barely manage to stay on for more than a few seconds, when there were chapters of friends to spend her hour with.

-------------------------

Rainy days were absolutely, without a doubt, miserable! That's what they were. On a sunny day Ron’s brothers would let him come along and maybe even hang out a bit. He might just be target practice for an apple, but at least he was on a broom, and at least he was having something akin to a nice time with them.

Instead he was locked in, roped into chores, and no one would play him chess anymore. He'd just finished helping his mum mucking out some of the junk from under the sink when he felt his leg get crushed and he let out a string of curses.

“Get your legs out the way!” Fred hissed, giving him a light kick for good measure.

Utterly miserable.

-------------------------

Hermione wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck as a gust of rain-loaded wind made her umbrella quite pointless. The Quidditch Pitch was so misty she had no idea how the players were able to avoid colliding.

“Damn this weather is shit!”

A warm cloak was draped around her shoulder and she hurriedly leaned into Ron’s side.

“You shouldn’t curse.” She did her best to school her smile into a formidable frown of disapproval.

Ron laughed and shook his head. Droplets from his hair flicked onto the last dry bit of her face.

“Y’know, we’ve been friends for two years. You should probably get over my cursing. I’m not going to stop.”

“It’s impolite!”

“Worse things to be than impolite, aren’t there? I could be an arse like Malfoy.”

“And that’s the scale you’re grading yourself on? ‘Not as bad as Malfoy?’”

“Don’t be jealous of my lofty goals,” he said, putting his nose high in the air before squinting. “I hope Harry catches the Snitch soon. My bum’s going dead from the cold. Know anything that could warm it up?”

Hermione tucked her head behind her hair as heat radiated through her.

“There’s a hot-air-charm.”

“Oh yeah! Blow some hot air on me!”

“I don’t know it yet… I’ve only seen it.”

“Same.”

“And warming charms aren’t until fourth year.”

“Bit shit, that. It’s getting colder by the second out here. We should all know a good warming charm. Plus we live in a castle in Scotland! It’s bloody cold!”

“Ron!” she said, giving him a small elbow in the side.

“Sorry! I’ll try not to curse so much, I swea—”

“No! What’s that over there?”

A swathe of darkness rushed the field, undulating like a dark ink spill across the Quidditch field.

“Oh no…” Ron moaned. “Dementors!”

He gave another string of curses as they rushed towards the field.

Despite the cold, misery and terror encroaching, a bit of warmth kept the Dementors from fully affecting her as they had on the Hogwarts Express. It was Ron’s large hand holding hers all the way to the field.

She loved rainy days.

-------------------------

The wet squelch of his shoes echoing off stone hallways was the only sound left in the castle. Ron was alone, which was all for the better. He’d always loved Quidditch, but now it felt like a scimitar ready to come down and end him. At this point he’d welcome a good beheading— at least then he wouldn’t feel so bleeding miserable.

His sodden robes left tiny droplets, and he’d wrung out one giant puddle, in the halls. If Filch caught him, he’d probably give him a good dressing down, but Ron didn’t care. He deserved one.

How could Quidditch abilities have passed him by so thoroughly? He thought he’d been a good Keeper at home. He always got stuck in the position, but over time he grew to like it quite a lot. Not anymore.

His robes thwarted against the portrait whole as he drug himself through to an empty Common Room. Not wanting to face his dormmates he went for a seat by the fire, but found Hermione. She sat in one of the larger plush chairs, her little legs curled up under her in a way that would make his long limbs go numb in under a minute. All around her were parchment and books. She was working on a Charms assignment he knew was not due for another three weeks. She looked up from the work and gave a warm smile. Despite himself, he smiled back.

“It’s miserable enough with all the rain. Why compound it with Charms?” he asked.

“I wanted to wait for you. I don’t like the idea of you practicing in a storm like this. Especially by yourself! It’s not worth it.”

“Well I can’t quit,” he said, feeling mulish again and collapsing into the opposite chair with a great heave.

“I wasn’t suggesting you quit. Just maybe wait for nights where there isn’t a maelstrom?”

“Ah, but then there’d be loads of other people wanting to practice, and then they’d all see how I suck eggs.”

“I’ve seen you fly and you don’t ‘suck eggs,’” she said, finishing her sentence with a flourish of her quill.

“There’s a whole song about it.”

“That song…” she growled, casting a charm on her paper to dry the ink.. “Malfoy’s the one who sucks eggs! He’s a little monster and I’m a bit in shock the professors have done absolutely nothing to stop him.”

“Why would they?” he said with a shrug.

“Because it’s a monstrous display of bullying? Because it’s targeting a student and making the whole school absolutely toxic? It’s wrong? It’s harmful? Take your pick!”

Ron straightened in his seat as she pointed her wand at him. Suddenly he was hit with the most satisfying warming charm, followed by a water wicking spell.

“You’re good at Keeping! I’ve seen you do it every summer up against the twins, Ginny, and even Charlie. But you’re no good to anyone if you get struck by lightning, fall from your broom, or catch pneumonia from being out in this weather! And what are you smiling at?” she asked, brows furrowed enough to make that cute little line appear between them.

“You.”

“You should take what I’m saying seriously!”

“Fine, I won’t fly in this weather alone.”

“Well who will accompany you?”

He hesitated a moment then replied, “You, if you’ll come.”

“I can. As long as I’m ahead on my revising.”

“Then you can always come, as you’re always ahead,” he said putting his feet up on her arm rest.

“I also meant it about the Keeping. I think you’re good.”

“Yeah, well… Quidditch isn’t your strong suit.” She shoved his feet off the chair and he gave a chuckle. “But, I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Despite wanting to be so ahead in her studies, Ron noticed how she ignored her parchment the rest of the evening for him. For a rainy evening, it was quite nice.

[mummybear]

Borrowed Time - Chapter One - The New Guy

Words: 3173

Warnings: Swearing... think that’s it for this chapter :)

Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader, Mark (OC), Tiffany (OC), Mentions of Sam Winchester

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

A/N: So this is the first series I’ve written in a while or at least the first one I’ve posted! So I hope you guys like it! The next chapters will be out every Friday, until it’s finished :) The series will probably only be around 6 chapters long, but I really hope you enjoy it! Let me know If you want to be tagged in this series or in any of my other taglists :D

Beta: @negans-lucille-tblr​ Thanks babe ❤😘

Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/mummybear

Series Masterlist

You let out a shaky breath as you take your seat at the back of the class, hoping that he will just leave you alone today. One of the new guys at school had developed a thing for you, ever since you’d ignored him on his first day, it was like he was determined to get you to talk to him. Lately though he’s been getting under your skin, and you’re so close to giving in. Sure the guy was hot, in fact, he may have been the hottest guy you’d ever seen, but he was also one of the biggest players in the school. The exception being in the last two weeks, where he had barely spoken to another girl who wasn’t you. Safe to say that had started the rumour mill. Then you hear the murmuring starting in the room, and that unmistakable feeling prickles across your skin.

You fight the urge to look up, but it’s like your eyes are drawn to him, like some kind of magnet is connecting the two of you. You finally give in and look up to find him already watching you, gorgeous green eyes locked on yours. Trying to look away is pointless, you know that by now. You do you best to calm your nerves enough so that you’re finally able to drop your eyes to your desk, and start pulling out the things you need for the upcoming lesson. 

That doesn’t stop your entire body tensing when the chair beside you scrapes along the floor loudly as it’s pulled out. It’s almost like you can feel the eyes of everyone in the hall turn on you. You can’t control the way that your body responds to the sound of his deep voice.

“Mind if I sit here, Y/N?” he asks quietly. You try and ignore the gasps that practically echo around the large room, as you force yourself to look up at him again.

Swallowing around the lump in your throat you nod.

“Um, yeah, sure. If you want to,” you answer shakily. You hate how your voice sounds, but if he’s noticed then he doesn’t let on. He gives you one of those panty dropping smiles as he takes the seat next to you, and you could swear your entire face flames bright red.

You inwardly roll your eyes when you see Tiffany Chase heading over to your table. You never understood how she had come to be the most popular girl on the campus, but clearly dating every guy in existence was a good trait to have these days. That was yet another reason you were glad about not being “popular”, whatever the hell that even meant. 

She leans on your desk, until her tits are practically in Dean’s face, but to his credit, and your surprise he doesn’t look. Instead he sits back in his chair, eyes immediately fixed on hers, not wandering her body, or the cleavage she's so blatantly offering him. She makes a point not to even spare you a glance, which is completely fine since you have no interest in what she’s giving away.

“I thought you were gonna show me your car, baby? Why don’t you ditch the charity case and come and have some fun with a real woman?” she purrs seductively, curling her fingers around Dean’s loose tie.

You wish you were anywhere but here, but you know there’s no other seats in class now, so your only other option is to pray for the ground to swallow you whole. You’re a little taken aback though when Dean’s large hand wraps around her tiny wrist and pulls her hand away, still remaining surprisingly gentle, especially with the look of thunder that’s overtaken his features.

“Sorry, Tilly. Change of plans, I told you last week, and a few times this week… if memory serves. Besides, there’s only room for one woman in my life.” As he says this you feel his hand resting on your knee, and you turn to look at him to tell him to move. But you stop yourself when you see the pleading look on his face.

Tiffany scoffs in disbelief, and has a look on her face like he just slapped her. 

“It’s Tiffany,” she corrects him sharply, before she turns her gaze on you. And you have to fight every instinct not to push your body back into your chair, instead you sit straighter, trying to keep your face neutral.

“Can you like… move or something. Dean and I really need to talk, I think you’re making him uncomfortable,” she huffs, as if your mere presence disgusts her. 

“Sorry, Tiff. I think you're the one  who’s making my boyfriend uncomfortable, actually. He’s just being too polite, could you please just leave us alone now? I believe he’s asked you enough.” 

It takes everything you have not to throw up the contents of your stomach, where the fuck did that come from?! You inwardly scold yourself, trying to hold your nerve. But to your surprise, Dean takes your hand and gives it a squeeze, and throws his other arm over your shoulder.

His lips press to your ear, and you can’t hold back the shiver.

“Thank you, I owe you,” he whispers, and you can already feel the blush creeping up your neck, the entire class is staring at the three of you like you’re aliens. But Dean’s currently more than enough of a distraction.

Her shrill laugh echoes around the room, followed by most of her bitch club behind her.

“Oh sweetie, no. Don’t be silly now. There is no way on this planet that you could be his girlfriend, you’d be extremely lucky to get a pity fuck with a normal guy, but Dean? No way. Now move, before I move you.” 

Your heart drops into your stomach, but you refuse to look away from her. However, before you can even utter a word, Dean’s voice drops to a low growl.

“I don’t give a shit about your name, or you. You don’t get to talk to her like that, and you lay a finger on her, I promise you’ll regret it. So, whatever your name is, unless you want me to tell Mark that you’re trying to fuck me... and just about every other guy you set your eyes on, I suggest you go back to your own seat. But first, I think you owe my girlfriend a fucking apology.” You watch the colour all but drain from her face.

You lick your lips nervously as you turn to look at him, seeing the fire burning in his eyes, but his eyes don’t move from Tiffany’s face. 

“Dean, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter,” you whisper sounding a little desperate even to your own ears. You rest your hand on his tensed bicep, trying to ignore the way you're clamping your thighs together, because this might just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever been a part of. Even if you had only started this ruse to get him out of an awkward situation. Nobody had ever defended you like this before, especially not this publicly.

“Oh, it does matter, baby girl. Isn’t that right?” Dean asks, mock sweetness in his voice and his arm tightens around your shoulders.

“F-Fine. I’m sorry, Y/N,” she responds the best she can with the amount her voice is shaking, before hurrying back to her friends.

The teacher walks in the classroom, forcing everyone's attention to the front, and you try to ignore the sense of loss you feel when his arm leaves your shoulders. But that feeling is quickly replaced when he takes your hand and links your fingers with his, and rests them on the table top between you.

“Dean, we should talk,” you whisper, when the teacher turns back to the board.

“Later, sweetheart, wouldn’t want you getting in trouble,” he smirks, pressing a lingering kiss to your already flaming red cheek.

-

Unfortunately, you don’t get time to talk to Dean, and you don’t see him after your last lesson either. You try to ignore the snickering and staring as you start to walk through the parking lot to make your way home, though it affects you more than you’d care to admit. When you don’t see any sign of him, you continue to walk lost in thought, knowing that it will take you at least half an hour but it’s worth it, because you can’t stay here. 

You’ve been walking for about ten minutes when you hear a car roll to a stop behind you, the soft purr of the engine calming slightly as the window is wound down. You can’t help but smile as you turn around, and sure enough, there he is. Sitting in the driver's seat with a cocky smirk on his face. He leans over to the passenger side and pushes the door open, “you gonna get in, sweetheart? We can talk while I drive you home.” 

You walk closer and fold your arms over your chest, raising your eyebrows at him through the now open car door.

“And what makes you so sure I wanna get in your car?” you ask through your own smirk.

“Come on now, is that any way to speak to your boyfriend? Just get that sexy ass in the car so that we can talk.” There’s a teasing note to his voice, and your smile widens despite yourself.

“Fine. I’ll get in… but only because we do need to talk,” you tell him, trying not to laugh as you climb in the front seat and close the door behind you.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, princess,” he laughs, tossing his sunglasses in the backseat. You give him your address, and he quickly works out the new route, before starting to drive again. He clears his throat and shifts awkwardly where he sits, before glancing between you and the road.

“I owe you, for what you did today in class. You didn’t need to save my ass, but you did it anyway. I really appreciate that.”

You blush shyly as you look at him, “I was going to apologise honestly. I don’t know what came over me, I guess I just wanted to help out… somehow, I know people can be a lot for anyone, no matter who you are,” you laugh awkwardly, rubbing your clammy hands over your skirt.

Dean shakes his head, and a smile crosses his plump lips. 

“Sweetheart, don’t apologise, you did me a massive favour and I really can’t thank you enough,” he sighs regretfully, as he pulls into your driveway. 

You thank him for the ride, but before you move to climb out of the car he grabs hold of your wrist gently, and you turn back to him questioningly.

“Is everything okay, Dean?” you ask nervously, wondering what he might say. You’re not sure whether to lean in or turn away when he turns in his seat to face you.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you with a smile, “can I have your number?” You’re a little surprised at how shy he sounds, but you smile as you take his phone. 

“I just think it might be a little odd trying to play along with this, especially if we can’t even get ahold of each other.”

“You make a good point there, Winchester. But for the record, I would’ve given it to you anyway,” you smile fondly, phoning yourself from his phone, so that you have each other’s numbers, before handing it back.

“So… How long do you wanna play boyfriend and girlfriend?” you wonder aloud, noticing the way that he blushes and scratches at the back of his neck, before focusing back on you again.

Dean clears his throat and shifts closer to you.

“About that…” he trails off, and you feel a blanket of nervous confusion settle between the two of you.

“What about it?” you question nervously.

“Would you be okay if we stayed together, at least until I have to leave town, I know it’s a lot to ask, but…” before he can continue you cut him off, resting a hand on his thigh.

His eyes snap to yours, and you quickly pull your hand away and clear your throat.

“You don’t need to explain, Dean. Besides, it was my dumb ass that got us into this mess. It’s really the least I can do,” you smile genuinely, and an obvious moment passes between the two of you, a moment which is completely unexplainable. But there’s a knock on the window closest to you that pulls the two of you out of it.

You jump back harshly, your back practically slamming into Dean’s shoulder when someone leans against his car, and his head is already half way through the window.

“Damn, I almost didn’t believe it when Tiff told me you were seein’ some frigid bitch, Dean. You hit that yet?”

Dean growls, and you can feel him stiffen beside you as he wraps a protective arm around your waist, like he can shield you from Mark’s words. It’s actually really sweet of him.

“Maybe you should tell your girlfriend to mind her own fucking business, and you should do the same, Mark. Before I put you on your skinny little ass.” 

Mark lets out a deep boom of a laugh, and leans further into the car, his eyes sweeping over your body, clearly not taking Dean’s words seriously. It makes you feel nothing like Dean makes you feel when he looks at you, this guy makes your skin crawl and your stomach lurch.

“Shit, that’s gotta be one sweet pussy if she’s got you so whipped already.” 

Before Dean can speak, you sit up a little straighter, and glare at Mark. Feeling Dean stiffen behind you gives you the confidence you need to get these words out.

“Why don’t you tell your whore of a girlfriend to stop trying to fuck my man, it’s really kind of pathetic. He’s not interested,” you huff out, hardly able to stand looking at him, so you turn to face Dean who’s smirking right at you, and way closer than you’d first imagined.

Mark starts to grumble something behind the two of you, but neither of you are really listening, and you can’t stop staring at Dean as he cups your cheek in his big hand.

“What she said,” Dean agrees easily, his husky voice sending shivers up your spine. You let his thumb brush your bottom lip, “you’re even sexier than usual when you’re jealous,” he smirks confidently, leaning in a little closer.

You swallow thickly, your fingers just barely manage to wrap around his wrist.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, watching as his eyes flick down to your lips, and he licks his own. There are so many reasons this is a bad idea, but for the life of you you can’t currently think of any. 

Dean doesn’t even hesitate, before you can blink his lips are pressing against yours. The kiss is firm and his lips are so soft that you quickly lose yourself in the kiss, and you feel like your entire body is being drawn in by him. 

He pulls back all too soon. His eyes are lidded as he looks at you, and his hand moves from your jaw, to cup the back of your neck. His hands feel huge, as he tugs lightly at your hair and you gasp against his parted lips. 

“I s-should probably get going,” you whisper shakily, letting your fingers trace over the skin of his chest, where his shirt buttons are undone.

Neither of you even attempt to move, and before you think about it too much your lips are brushing against his again. He pulls you against him tightly and deepens the kiss, making you all but melt against him, and his hands remain firm against you as he effortlessly takes control of the kiss. You feel yourself edging closer, heart pounding in your ears and your head foggy, it takes everything you have to pull away from him, but you just about manage it. Looking up into his lidded eyes as you both pant hard, you swallow thickly and look over your shoulder, relieved to find that Mark has gone.

Dean cups your cheek when you turn back to him, his face the perfect picture of lust. 

“You should go in, sweetheart. Or I might change my mind about letting you go… but I’ll text you tonight, okay?” he rasps, pecking your lips.

You can feel yourself blushing as you nervously bite your lip. 

“What makes you think I want you to let me go?” you giggle as he leans in closer again, he’s so warm and smells incredible. 

“Oh trust me, if this had anything to do with what I want to do, you’d already be screaming my name,” Dean all but growls.

“Dean.” His name is a whisper on your lips, and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears again.

Dean lets out a deep groan and shifts awkwardly in his seat.

“Shit, you don’t make it easy on a guy, sweetheart,” he smiles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“You live here by yourself?” he asks suddenly, nodding over to your house, clearly trying to change the subject.

You shake yourself from your heady daze, trying your best to concentrate on what he’s saying.  Clearing your throat you give him a small nod, unable to stop the smile from crossing your lips.

“At the minute, yeah. It’s usually me and my best friend, but she’s away visiting family this week. It’s good though, much closer to campus than my parents’ house,” you explain happily, remembering the way that she had told you to take advantage of the free house, but then you notice a strange look crossing his face.

“Sounds nice. I’ve never really had anywhere like this, my family didn’t really stay anywhere too long, not since my mom died. My dad has to travel a lot for work, and I’m learning the ropes, so I can take over one day.”

Your heart aches for him, and you have no idea how it’s even possible to feel this close to someone you’ve only known for a little over a month.

“I’m so sorry, Dean. It doesn’t sound like you’ve had much time to just be you. If you ever need to get away, I have no intention of moving any time soon, you’re welcome to stay here,” you tell him softly, resting a gentle hand on his arm, until he finally looks at you again.

“Thanks, sweetheart. That means more than you know, and I promise I’ll text you later. We can talk more then, okay?” 

You lean in close and press your lips against his, the kiss lingers a little, before you finally pull away and whisper against his lips, “I’ll be holding you to that, Dean.”

Bold wont tag guys sorry!

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[wrenhyperfixates]

I’m Here For You

Pairing: teen!Loki x female teen!reader (platonic) Summary: Loki comforts you when he finds you crying over school. Warnings: none :) A/N: Here you go nonny! In my head the reader has a tiny crush on Loki, but this can be read as an entirely platonic relationship. Hope you like it :)

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Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Reincarnations were a pesky business, really. Loki had been through it more than enough times to know. Unfortunately, his latest one didn’t go exactly as planned, and he’d ended up a kid. It wasn’t all bad, though, as now he had happy childhood memories. He still had the old, haunting ones too, but he no longer viewed youth with nearly so much disdain.

For the past number of years, he’d been living in the Tower with Tony, who he called his uncle but really was more of a father to him than Odin ever was. Thor dropped in fairly often too, and their brotherly bond seems to have benefitted from the little reset Loki went through.

Life on Midgard was different than Asgard, especially when he wasn’t being raised as royalty. Admittedly, he enjoyed the more laid-back life. He took walks in the parks, hung out with friends, went to the mall, and attended school just like everyone else. Ok, maybe not exactly like everyone else, considering he did still have thousands of years of knowledge.

Anyway, he was in his last year of high school, with only a few months left before graduation. Most of the people he knew were obsessing over their next step in the journey of life: college. Not him, though. For once, he was living for himself, and decided to take a gap year. College would still be there after. That is, if he wanted to go at all. Again, he did still have his old memories, so maybe he’d never even feel the need to. Maybe he could just travel the world helping others or work with Tony in the lab. Either way, he wasn’t in any particular rush to figure it out.

Loki was about to head into the renowned Tower he called home when he swore he heard sobbing coming from somewhere. He shoved his keycard back into his messenger bag and walked around the small campus to where he thought the sound was coming from. Stopping in front of some bushes, he saw the outline of a girl hunched up into herself through the leaves. The young god cleared his throat to alert her of his presence, which prompted her to quickly stop making noise. Though, he still could see her body convulsing from the now stifled sobs.

Sighing, he sat on the ground. “Hey, is everything alright back there?” No reply. Maybe it was more than just embarrassment stopping them. Maybe they also weren’t supposed to be here. He decided to try to lighten the mood with some playfulness. “You know, Tony doesn’t mind people being on the campus, but I gotta warn you, he’s kind of cheap with tissues he buys. I’m thinking of getting a handkerchief. What do you think? Is it possible to make me look any dorkier than I already do?”

That earned him a light chuckle. “You don’t look dorky at all. Like ever.”

He startled and said your name, not having realized it was you back there, but recognized your voice. “Is that you? Hang on, I’m coming back.”

You were Stark’s newest prodigy intern. He’d started the program a few years ago, giving some kids an inside look and experience in the tech field. This year, your application had been chosen out of thousands. You were a bright teen, so it made sense to Loki. He’d talked to you a few times before, but the conversations were incredibly short as you were extremely shy, barely even lasting two full minutes. Still, he’d been sure to give you a wave and a smile when he came across you, but it didn’t really ever do anything to help you out of your shell.

After crawling through the greenery, he plopped down next to you in the small, squished space between the bushes and the building. You’d scooched over a little so there would be room for him. He hated the way you were still holding in your cries.

“It’s alright. Just let it all out, ok?” he hesitantly said. That seemed to be all the encouragement you needed before your tears took over again. Slowly, so you could pull away if you wanted to, Loki wrapped you in a hug. When you calmed down, for real this time, he finished rubbing a last few large circles on your back before pulling back a little to look at you. “Feeling better?”

You nodded. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” he parroted back in question. His thumb caught one of the last tears trickling down your cheek. “Whatever for? There is no need to apologize for having emotions.”

“Your shirt,” you sniffled.

He looked down to see it was, in fact, wet from your tears. He just shrugged. “I’ve got more. Besides, it’ll dry.”

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“No worries, kid. Want to come in now? I could make you some tea or coffee or hot cocoa or whatever. Name it.”

“Can I have some cocoa? I-if it’s not too much trouble,” you mumbled, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.

“Of course! And you know I was kidding about the tissues, right?” he chuckled, fishing a pack out of his bag.

Once you’d cleaned yourself up a bit, the two of you crawled out from your hiding place, Loki offering his hand to help you stand. Then he led you up to the kitchen to get your drink. Tony would have had no problem with you using the kitchen—or any of the rooms in his home, really—but you were too nervous to overstep and never actually did. You were both seated with mugs of the thick, steamy, chocolaty liquid before Loki tried to find out what was wrong.

“So. What’s up?” he began.

“Oh, nothing. I’m fine,” you replied with a falsely bright smile.

“Kid, I know a thing or two about crying. You’re not fine.” You ducked your head in shame, and he was quick to clarify himself. “And that’s not a bad thing! You’re  human, you have human emotions. No one’s ok one hundred percent of the time. And... And you don’t have to talk about it, but maybe you should. It might make you feel better. So, if you want to, I’m here.”

“It’s stupid,” you shook your head with a wry laugh. Your lip was quivering, more tears threatening to spill. “School is stressing me out.”

“That’s not stupid, it’s how you feel. And, might I add, it’s perfectly understandable and valid. I mean, not only are you trying your best there, but you also come here every day for your internship. Norns, you must be freaking Supergirl or something.”

You chuckled at the colloquial from his home world. “I dunno about that now. It just... It seems like no matter what I do, I’m not good enough. I don’t have the best grades, or the most friends, or the prettiest looks, or the greatest anything, really. Ugh, it all just feels so pointless sometimes.”

“You know what? You’re right. It does all feel pointless. But it’s not. Don’t get me wrong, school doesn’t measure how smart you are; it measures how good you are memorizing stuff and taking tests. Which is incredibly frustrating! But it helps you explore some subjects and have fun with the friends you do have. The most important thing it does, though, is teach you perseverance. Like we said, school’s hard. But you keep trying, no matter what. And I see a smart, talented, beautiful young girl before me. Your feelings are valid, but don’t let them consume you. Trust me, you have a lot to be proud of.”

Loki picked at his nails while you stared at your mug, mulling over his words. He worried he said something wrong or overstepped in some way, but he’d been where you were not too long ago.

“Thank you,” you finally said. “I don’t think I can just fix everything overnight, you know? But what you said really does mean a lot.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Loki responded with a warm, friendly smile. He took a swig of his own drink, choosing his next words carefully. “No one should expect you to fix anything that fast. As long as you’re trying, you’re doing something right. A lot right, actually. You deserve breaks too. And if you ever need someone to vent to or whatever, I’m here.”

“Thanks again. And I’m here for you, too.”

He gave you a natural, lopsided grin as the two of you exchanged numbers. He was glad to see you were much more at ease, though still considerably shy with him. Still, he could imagine you becoming more bold as your friendship blossomed. You timidly ducked your head when Tony walked in.

“Oh no. You better not be turning her to the dark side,” Tony teased as he made himself a cup of coffee. “I’ve had enough pranks for a lifetime.”

“Relax, Uncle Tony. I haven’t recruited her for any mischief... Yet,” he joked back with a wink in your direction, causing you to giggle behind your hand.

“Whew, that’s a relief. Well, if you two aren’t plotting my untimely demise, feel free to head to the lab whenever you want, kid.”

“Actually, I’m good to go now, Mr. Stark.” You stood up and grabbed your bag from beside your chair where you’d left it earlier. “Bye, Loki. Talk soon! And, uh, thanks again.”

With one final smile, you scurried off to your destination. Loki smiled back and waved as you left, feeling some sense of hope and direction bloom in his chest. You’d given him an idea.

“Hey, Uncle Tony. I was thinking, how would you feel about another Stark Industries youth program?...”