#feel free to critique / push back against a reading

[catofoldstones]

The thing about arya fans' argument that arya comes before sansa in the line of succession because robb disinherited her because of her forced marriage is the underlying misogyny and victim blaming of it, and their assumption that grrm thinks the same. We don't have jon [you know the actual person robb chose over sansa, and i think its time we start talking that the will specifically was about sansa and jon and that shit means something narratively] asserting that winterfell belongs to sansa despite everything and him not falling to the bait of stannis calling her a lannister, to just assume that according to grrm what robb did was OK. If people actually think grrm wants to show robb was right and girls truly are not important and thus his disinheritance of his sister's rights will be upheld, then they need their heads checked. Its not like he showed us that jaehaerys's sexism was what led to death of the dragons and downfall of targaryens even though grrm considers him a good ruler. Ultimately, catelyn will be validated when brienne saves either sansa or arya with oathkeeper and sansa will become lady of winterfell/qitn DESPITE robb's will. He [and arya fans] can suck it.

Hi soulmate anon,

Before we start, I have to let you know that one our previous posts was screenshotted and circulated in the arya stans circles because “we’re spreading our agenda on a neutral public platform” or something along those lines. Idk if you’ve seen that or not but I had to let you know before we go off kicking another hornet’s nest lol.

Anyway, that out of the way, to the Arya stans who are so hellbent upon removing Sansa from the Stark succession, Robb declared Jon as his heir, pushing Sansa further down the line (not disinheriting her jesus fuck) because through her Tyrion may lay claim to Winterfell, landing it in the hands of the Lannisters, exactly what Robb and Cat are trying to prevent. Robb didn’t “disinherit” Arya because he thought she was dead. Hope that helps.

WAIT!

the will being specifically about Jon and Sansa and that we need to start thinking about that narratively

SCREAM

Okay, I have now moved on (I have not). Though please feel free to talk about this more, I wanna know more. Guess I’ll now have to add jonsa tag to this answer hehe :P

I mean Robb did come from a place of “authority over the female members of his family” here with the will and that’s exactly the kind of thing we have to side eye. Taking it at face value and uncritically thinking about it is not a fair way to engage with the text I feel. You’re right when Jon himself reiterates Sansa’s claim over Winterfell, we are supposed to think twice whether Robb’s action was equitable or not. Stannis calls Sansa “Lady Lannister” to coax Jon into staking a claim over Winterfell so that Stannis gets a good reason to march to Winterfell and attack the Boltons (which he will anyway, but Jon’s, a member of the Stark family, support would mean political backing and reason). If we fall in the trap that Stannis thinks Sansa is now a Lannister, and therefore she is now a Lannister with no claim to Winterfell, then we’ve lost the plot and are coming from the same misogynistic hypocrisy (he wants Shireen on the throne if he dies but calls Sansa a Lannister, how does that work old man?) that destroys Westeros (your Jaehaerys example). And are no different from a crusty medieval era middle aged man btw.

It’s so fucking funny when the readers start emulating the same sexism that the author wants them to critique, and then start calling themselves feminists because they’re supporting a woman’s rights! Which woman’s rights besties? Because the one that clearly has them, you’re actively against her staking her claim. Wait till they read the books with their eyes open and realise that Arya comes at the end of the heirs to winterfell list, despite Sansa getting “disinherited” lmao. And I love Robb, he’s just a boy trying to do his best, but he truly made mistakes, especially with not listening to Catelyn. We also cannot deny the undercurrent of misogyny and chauvinism that Robb demonstrated with the will. Re Sansa’s rights and Jon’s decision to be with the Nights Watch. I will patiently wait for Catelyn to be validated and Sansa to be the Lady/QiTN not only because that subverts reader’s expectations and Westerosi patriarchal standards but because I want to see Sansa antis have a grand old meltdown.

[the1northlanderprincess]

And in the Darkness, bind them...ep 8 meta analysis, pt 1

**I decided to split this up because otherwise it'd get way too long. I've seen insanely lengthy meta before and it can be very hard on the brain.

It's go time, people!

Ok, I have finally (hah) watched the finale, so I could get some better context from the source as opposed to looking at soundless gifs (I'm weird like that). I'll be using screenshots to go over what I thought were the most important aspects of Haladriel's fight. I'll talk about the dialogue, the intonation, and even the music (which does include some critique of it).

The beginning:

Galadriel sees an opportunity right away to strike Sauron, as he has his back turned while kneeling by a very dead Adar. She sneaks up behind him, but, since he's Sauron, he senses her, and catches her sword with his crown. He has such intense eyes on her before turning his attention to the ring.

Upon seeing it, he says it's even more beautiful than Brimby described it. However, I feel there's more to it; a double meaning. Let's break it down. He hasn't seen her in goodness knows how long. Now that she's in front of him, Sauron is hinting at how attractive he finds Gal as if he's never seen her before, and has only heard rumors of her beauty.

Soon after, she frees herself from him and immediately goes on the offense, brought on by him demanding the ring. He parries her attack, in no rush to do much of anything. It's just as we suspected: he's playing with her. He's like, eh, I'll humor her. He goes as far as to tell her he "does not wish to harm her". But, much like a petulant five year old, she doesn't seem to care what she's told, and she is a little more forceful. Sauron's reaction is hilarious; he's like, seriously, woman?! I can't believe she's making me do this.

Later on, they move up to the ruins. Sauron has trapped her sword yet again, and he gives her the 'darkness' line again. When he says her name, it's in a chastising way, but there was something really attractive about it. He continues to press into her, pushing her against a boulder. A couple minutes later, this happens.

She talks about his illusions as Halbrand, but he tells her that "not all of it" was....in a completely breathless way, mind you. And, their faces are so close together! His expression is so vulnerable, likes he's mere seconds from getting on his knees and pleading for forgiveness. Anyway, some of you guys pointed out that he said it in his Halbrand voice. I'd like to think that he did it subconsciously; that, somewhere, deep down, a part of him is still present, which brings me to....

So, Gal gains the upper hand on Sauron and kicks him over the edge. When she creeps down the stairs, she's stopped in her tracks by the appearance of Halbrand in his armor. He repeats what he said to her on Their Log. I've read some posts saying he was mocking her. On the contrary, he sounded more melancholic and kinda sad. Meanwhile, she has this expression. Look at the poor girl; she's darn near ready to sob. I think I even noticed her lip quiver ever so subtly. He keeps his eyes on her as he walks back up, and she follows him as if she's in a daze. He has a hold on her, and I like that.

Now, while this was a lovely moment, I'm torn about the editing. So, the BTS vid shows him tilted his head up at her. The version we got is, like, BAM, he's right there. Also, Halbrand's theme here is a lot more subdued than it was in the released OST, and the music when we first see Halbrand is dark, then it cuts right to his theme. It's too stark. I like the chimes from the transition to the theme in the OST. Also, the underlying strings would add a more emotionally charged layer to the moment.

That does it for part one. Stay tuned for part two later on!

[klbwriting]

Who Am I Really?

Final Chapter

Fandom: Aquman

Pairing: Ormxfemale!Reader

Warnings: just fluff

Summary: Orm goes home

Notes: I hope you enjoyed! This is the end of this fic, but Adventures in Atlantean-Sitting still has about 3 more chapters left. Please comment/critique! Thank you for reading!

A year seems like a long time when you’re waiting for someone. Orm didn’t sleep a lot, he kept waking up from dreaming. Sometimes they were amazing, he was back with YN, helping with the animals, on the couch with her watching TV and laughing, or in bed feeling her pressed against him, and his heart would hurt so much he’d wake up and just stay awake, not wanting to feel that ache anymore. Other times he had nightmares. Someone had hurt her while he was gone, someone had taken her from him and now she loved them instead, or worst of all, she had just forgotten about him, her eyes blank when she saw him. Those dreams he would sit up for hours just trying to convince himself that wouldn’t happen. That year in Atlantis was his worst and yet his best also.

“I’m shocked you survived here all year without at least trying to sneak back to YN,” Arthur said on Orm’s final dinner with them. Orm shrugged.

“Was better than getting caught and having to go back to the desert,” he said. He was pushing food around his plate, unable to eat honestly. He was worried about tomorrow. Technically he could go anywhere as soon as midnight passed, but what if she didn’t want to see him? What if everything had changed?

“Orm, you don’t have to worry, YN Is just as excited and nervous about tomorrow,” Mera said. Orm knew they spoke sometimes, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. He was so used to having everything fall apart around him that he didn’t thing he could survive if YN changed her mind.

“When did you last speak to her?” he asked softly. Mera smiled.

“We talked yesterday, I went to visit her,” she said. “Brought over Junior and everything.” Orm smiled a little. YN loved kids, always got so excited when they came in to adopt a pet. She would listen to a toddler babble about their kitten, and she never got bored. At least not while they were there, after the family left, she might talk about how annoying the kid was, but still cute.

“Did she mention…”

“She only talked about how happy she was to see you, kept asking if you were coming back or if you had changed your mind,” Mera said. “She’s just as scared about you abandoning her as you are.” Orm frowned, how could she think he wouldn’t come back to her? Then again, he thought the same thing about her. Love was terrifying when the other person wasn’t around. He sighed and stood up.

“I’m going to bed, I’ll be in your office in the morning to get this thing off Arthur,” he said, waving his house arrest bracelet around. Arthur nodded and Orm went back to his room. He laid down and tried desperately to sleep just to make the time pass faster.

YN paced the shelter hallway, running her fingers along the chain link separating her from the dogs. They were sniffing, licking her fingers, some were barking, but she was barely paying attention. It was nearly 2AM and she just couldn’t sleep. In a few short hours Orm should be back and she didn’t know what to expect. What if he came back to tell her he had decided to stay in Atlantis? That she wasn’t worth coming back for? Worse still, what if he just didn’t come back? She might never know what happened. Mera had said he was coming back, that he wanted to be with her, but what if Mera was wrong?

She stopped by the window, looking out towards the lake. She might as well wait out there, it was a warm summer night, she would be fine on the beach for a few minutes. She sat down on the rocky shore, watching the waves. Before she knew it, she was asleep.

Orm took a deep breath as he waited in the lake. H should have brought her something. He had been in such a rush to see her after Arthur removed his bracelet and declared him free that he stopped to think. He had just needed to get back to her. Now though, he was wondering if he should have brought her something, maybe prepared what to say. How did you reintroduce yourself after a year? He took a deep breath. If he wasted more time, she might think he wasn’t coming, it was time. He emerged from the lake and smiled a little, seeing her asleep on the beach. He walked over, gently lifting her and carrying her back to her home. It felt amazing to have her against him, feel her in his arms. He set her in bed and covered her before seeing if she kept his things. He opened a drawer, and everything was still there. He got changed into something more surface friendly and slid in bed next to her. She must have noticed his movements. Her eyes opened and she smiled, breathing out a relieved breath.

“You’re home,” she said, reaching out and touching his face, making sure he was real. He kissed her palm and touched her hand.

“I’m back YN,” he said. “I’m free to be with you.” She moved closer, hugging him close. He kissed her deeply, having missed this feeling. When they parted, she sighed.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” she said. Orm nodded.

“Neither have I, how about we sleep now and later we can go get lunch at that place you like on in town?” he asked. It was like falling back into a comfortable routine. Everything seemed to be back in place.

“Sounds great. I love you,” she said, turning so her back with pressed to his chest. His arm went around her, and he kissed her cheek before closing his eyes.

“I love you too,” he whispered. He felt complete. He felt like he was finally home.

[rogerswifesblog]

Would you write a watersports fic with Lloyd (or anyone you want)? I know this is a hard kink and not many people are into this but I imagine it so hot when Lloyd and his lil pumpkin are having fun and she's whining and begging him to stop cause she needs to pee so bad but he's just degrading her and forcing her to let go on him while pushing on her tummy and they keep fucking cause he won't stop until he's finished n stuff and yeaaaaa okay I feel embarrassed now haha anyways lmk if this is something you would write 👉🏼👈🏼 if not then sorry if it made u uncomfortable feel free to ignore!! 💕

Kinktober - watersports

Hello! Thank you anon for this request! It’s my first time writing for watersports so please for some feedback if you plan on reading this! I don’t know if I’ll write it more often, but I could imagine doing so if anyone would be interested and would leave some critique! Thank you in advance <3 check out @jamneuromain they write amazing fics and are a great person😋 <3

If you don’t like this or don’t feel comfortable, don’t read it and just scroll!:) read the warnings!

Like mentioned above, comments, feedback and reblogs are very appreciated!

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x reader

Summary: you forgot to go to the bathroom this evening. Just this one time. And Lloyd seems to enjoy your suffering and humiliation.

Warnings: WATERSPORTS, p in v, unprotected sex, crying, (slight dub con? Lloyd doest stop when reader tells him to stop because she wants to go to the toilet:))

+18

You could feel it the moment Lloyd pushed his length completely into your cunt. The pressure right against your bladder as he pounded into you over and over again. He had you on all fours so his cock was hitting your bladder with every thrust.

Every single movement was like torture. You didn’t know how long you could hold it, but at the same time you didn’t want to stop-it wasn’t that bad anyway. Lloyd would probably come soon and then you’d be able to go to the bathroom quickly.

Itll be fine, you were sure of it.

Until it wasn’t.

After a couple of minutes you’ve noticed how Lloyd held back whenever he was close, making you whine quietly when you felt yourself slowly being unable to hold in your pee with every orgasm he was giving you. You were sure the wetness of your pussy wasn’t just from your orgasm.

“Lloyd-I-I can’t”, “shhh, I know you’re close sweetie, you’re squeezing my dick like never before. Are you going to squirt for me, huh? Or are so overstimulated-“ “I need to pee! Please-Lloyd, I really have to go”, you whined, trying to free yourself by moving away from him and to your surprise he let you-

But then he grabbed your arm when you tried to leave the bed and threw you onto your back, immediately placing his arms below your knees and pushing your legs up to your chest before thrusting right into your cunt. “Lloyd!”, you whispered, already feeling yourself leaking a bit from all the movements and pressure on your belly.

“My dumb little baby had to think of that before coming to bed, hm?”, he murder into your shoulder, pounding even harder into you than before. A dark chuckle escaped him when he heard you gasp again, this time in surprise and embarrassment as some more liquid leaked onto his thighs and bed. “Oh pumpkin, hold it a bit longer, I’m almost there”, he grinned mischievously.

You tried to move away, making Lloyd only push your legs even further open. It was hard for you to hold back anything in this position, he was hitting your g-spot with every thrust and putting so much pressure on your bladder, you felt like bursting any minute now. And you couldn’t tell if you’d come or piss yourself.

You were so fucking desperate at this point.

The tears fell from your eyes like a waterfall, as you sobbed Lloyds name-not knowing it only made him enjoy it all more. “Oh my Pumpkin, you should’ve thought about it before. I really need to finish what we started, you know? Without interruption”, he grinned, kissing your earlobe and sucking at it gently. “Come on, maybe you should just stop holding it in, hm? Let go, like a dumb little girl, hm?”, he chuckled, looking down at your slightly bulged belly.

“Look at that…what do you think happens when I do this-“ One of his arms freed your leg just to rub your clitoris again, his palm pressing onto your belly right at your bladder, making you bit your bottom lip harshly. “No-“, with a quiet whine you tried to push his hand away before wetness gushed out of you, not only from an unexpected orgasm but also from losing control over your bladder and drenching Lloyd and the bed in your pee.

Tears fell from your eyes as you turned your face to the side and hid your face in your pillow, crying. You felt extremely humiliated. Maybe Lloyd wanted to play a bit with control, but he definitely thought you were gross now because you really couldn’t hold it.

To your surprise you felt him kiss your face and tears away, as he came in your cunt, filling you with his load till it was leaking and adding to all the mess. “So sweet”, he whispers against your forehead, leaving kisses behind.

“You did so good for me, pumpkin”, he whispered, slowly pulling out and sitting back on his heels to watch the whole mess flow out of your abused pussy. “My beautiful baby…”, he scooped you up into his arms and kissed your cheeks again, kissing the salty tears away.

“You wanna go shower together?”, Lloyd didn’t wait for an answer before picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom and placing you in the bathtub.

You looked at him with your teary eyes, noticing a satisfied smile on his lips.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this one shot! If so, some feedback would be very appreciated and motivating to write more☺️

Taglist: @bisexuawolfsalt

Does anyone want to be tagged? If so, be active by liking, commenting and reblogging! Let me know if you wanna be added:)

[ily-fictional-women]

Lying to Herself

Summary: Being an Immortal witch you see and do a lot. This can make relationships rather intimidating. However with a chance meeting all that could change.

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut and angst

Word count: 3874

a/n: This is my second time ever writing smut. My first time was on Ao3 and I’ll probably remaster it soon. But since this is only my second time writing smut please read this with a grain of salt. (Reblogs are welcome and critiques/advice are heavily encouraged, but please no translating.)

Agatha sips on her drink hearing a creak in the bar stool next to her. “I’ll have what she’s having.” The bartender gives a quick nod placing a fresh wine glass onto the table neatly pouring the dark red drink into her glass. The woman next to her takes a sip, “You’ve got good taste.”

Agatha turns in her seat facing the other woman, “And who are you exactly?” The other woman puts out a hand smiling smugly. “Y/n, Y/n Y/n/l.” Agatha gives Y/n an amused smile shaking and kissing the top of her hand. “So what do you do for work Y/n?” Agatha asks leaning an elbow against the bar table.

“I’m a historian.” Agatha raises an eyebrow, “Why not something more-”

“Useful?” Y/n interrupts taking another sip of her drink. Agatha lets out a quick laugh, “I was going to say something more practical.” Y/n shakes her head smiling to herself, “I actually work at a museum about an hour from here. It pays pretty well.”

Agatha leans in closer to Y/n, “Oh really?” Her voice being so sultry and powerful makes Y/n lean in close too. “My apartment is a lot closer though. We could head over there and talk more. And I could get a better look at you outside this bar's dim lighting.”

Agatha’s eyes linger over Y/n looking at her carefully, “I like the sound of that.”

//

Stopping in front of the door of her apartment door Y/n fumbles through her keys finding the right one as Agatha leans against the door frame. Finding the right key Y/n slips it into the lock as Agatha leans at an angle partially blocking Y/n from opening the door.

Taking it as an opportunity Y/n leans in kissing Agatha. Following suit Agatha finds a grip on Y/n’s hips turning her to have her back pressed against the door. With the soft gentle kisses starting to heat up Agatha pulls away taking a breath, smiling smugly.

“How about you open that door and we continue this inside?” Nodding along Y/n quickly turns around unlocking and opening the door to the apartment. Immediately after entering the apartment, Agatha’s hand traced up to Y/n’s waist pushing her back against the door hard making her let out a soft groan before wrapping her arms around Agatha’s neck.

Peppering kisses all over Y/n from her lips going down to her neck Agatha rides up Y/n’s shirt feeling her bare waist griping at it firmly. She leans in right next to Y/n’s ear her voice breathy, “Take your shirt off.” Not wasting any time Y/n eagerly takes off her shirt.

Agatha hooks a finger into the waistband of Y/n’s pants pulling her just a little bit closer. “How about you show me your bedroom.” Y/n grins, “Gladly.” Making their way to the bedroom Agatha eyes the queen size bed. “You wanna unzip my dress?”

Y/n gives Agatha a quick kiss as confirmation pulling the zipper on the older woman’s back letting the dress fall flat onto the floor. The black lacy bra and underwear hugged Agatha’s body so perfectly that Y/n could barely keep eye contact with the woman.

However, Agatha snaps her back to reality placing a hand on her shoulder pushing her to sit on the edge of the bed before sitting on her lap. Tangling a hand in Y/n’s hair Agatha quickly pulls the hair back making Y/n let out a soft whimper. Agatha looks deeply into Y/n’s eyes using her free hand to gently caress her face.

“You look so cute like this,” Agatha smiles at the blush across Y/n’s face. Keeping her hair pulled back Agatha beings kissing Y/n deeply on the lips. As she tried to pull away to take a breath though she pulled back in with Y/n’s hand on the back of her neck keeping her in position.

After managing to finally pull away Agatha takes a deep breath nearly panting, “Such a needy little thing huh?” Agatha pulled back the girl's hair again one more time forcing out a small gasp this time. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Agatha says with a proud smile. With that Agatha pushes Y/n on her back, her kisses starting to linger from the lips to Y/n’s jaw.

But she takes her time on her neck making sure to leave a few marks to remind Y/n of her while gently rubbing her knee against Y/n’s pussy through her jeans. Agatha flashes her smile, “I made sure to leave you some keepsakes of tonight.”

“Th- thank you,” she can hear Y/n stutter cutely, encouraging her to make her way lower. “Arch your back a little sweetheart.” Agatha’s voice stayed calm but still held a commanding tone which made Y/n follow suit swiftly.

As Y/n arched her back Agatha reached her hand under her unclasping the bra Y/n was wearing tossing it aside before giving her tits the attention they so rightfully deserve. Latching on to one nipple Agatha uses a free hand to play with the other one occasionally flicking her tongue on the hardened nipple eliciting a muffled moan from Y/n.

Agatha moves her mouth from Y/n’s perky tits to her mouth kissing her once more. Pulling away she caresses her face again seeing how flustered she is. “Don’t be afraid to make some noise sweetheart. I want to hear how good I make you feel.”

Seeing Y/n give a quick nod Agatha tsks, “No. I don’t think that’ll do, use your words, honey.” Y/n gulps trying to form the right words so distracted by the heat building up in her core. “Ye- yes. I will. I won’t quiet myself.” Agatha kisses Y/n again smiling, “Good girl.”

Agatha slowly kisses down Y/n’s stomach using one hand to gently rub Y/n’s inner thigh building anticipation. Agath keeps a hand on the button of Y/n’s pants, “I need to taste you. Now. Are you sure you want to keep going?”

“Y-Yes!” Y/n blurts out in a moan, “I need you, Agatha.” Taking the confirmation Agatha begins to unbutton the pants with Y/n helping kicking them off. Agatha admires the wet splotch very obvious in Y/n’s underwear. “Already so wet for me baby girl?”

Y/n cocks her head back as Agatha slowly kisses her inner thighs her hips starting to buckle up in excitement. Agatha finally slides Y/n’s panties off tossing them to the side to admire the soaking wet mess she had helped make.

“Mm, you taste so good.” Lapping up the juices not immediately going straight for the clit. But with Y/n’s hips start to buckle more it forces Agatha to stop. “Do you need help staying still?” Agatha asks sternly, Y/n nods desperately not being able to form any coherent words.

Agatha puts both legs over her shoulder gripping Y/n’s waist firmly holding her down to prevent any movement continuing to lap up all of Y/n juices. As Agatha’s tongue starts to circle her clit Y/n lets out a loud moan tangling her hands in Agatha's curly hair tugging at it making Agatha let out a soft moan herself.

As Agatha’s pace starts to speed up Y/n can feel herself come to a climax, “I’m- I’m gonna cum!” Y/n wines. Agatha pulls away for a moment grinning, “Whenever you’re ready do it. I wanna feel you dripping off my tongue for me.”

Immediately Agatha gets back to work swirling Y/n’s clit in circular motions with her tongue. Letting out a loud moan Y/n’s legs tighten around Agatha’s head as she reaches her climax. “Yes. let it out, sweetheart. You’re such a good girl.” Y/n moans out a few more times at the praises slowly but surely reaching her decline her legs becoming limp.

Agatha moves Y/n’s legs to the side scooting up to lay beside her. Agatha kisses her a few times on the lips and cheek beginning to play with Y/n’s hair. “You did so good sweetheart.” As Y/n catches her breath she presses her head against Agatha’s chest her heart rate starting to slow.

Once Y/n has fully winded down Agatha gets up and starts to look for her dress. “What are you doing?” Y/n asks. Agatha keeps her gaze on the bedroom floor, “I’m looking for my dress, I don’t do sleepovers.” Y/n glances at the clock on her nightstand before looking back at Agatha.

“Agatha, just stay the night. It’s late and dark out. I don’t want you getting hurt.” Agatha begins to put her dress back on, “I can handle myself hon, I’ll be fine.”

“Agatha, please.” Agatha looks back up at Y/n in all her sleepiness and admittedly, beautiful nakedness. She drops the dress back to the floor joining Y/n on the bed. As Y/n pulls some blankets over the two of them she pulls Agatha closer to her tucking Agatha under her chin as they both fall asleep.

//

Waking up the following day Agatha blinks herself awake turning to see the woman next to her. She’s lying on her stomach, back exposed to the air the blanket low enough to cover her waist down. The morning sunlight seeping in from the windows lighting Y/n beautifully makes Agatha appreciate her so much more.

Overcome by the want to touch Y/n Agatha gently begins tracing shapes onto Y/n’s bare back with her fingertips. The small motions rouse Y/n from her sleep though as she shifts awake. “Moring,” she says giving Agatha a sleepy smile.

Agatha props herself up with her elbow admiring the woman next to her continuing to draw shapes on her back. Y/n nuzzles her face into her pillow slowly getting up, “I’ll get breakfast started.” Agatha cocks her head raising an eyebrow, “Oh, you don’t need to do that honey.”

Y/n simply shrugs making her way to her closet slipping on some shorts and an oversized t-shirt. “No, I insist. Plus I’m a great cook. You can borrow some clothes if need to, so you don’t have to wear a going-out dress so early in the morning.”

As Y/n makes her way to leave the bedroom Agatha stops her, “And how do you suppose I give you the clothes back after I’m done using them?” Y/n smiles suggestively, “I figured we could make this a regular thing, meeting up here or at your place every once in a while,” Y/n fake pouts, “unless this was only a one-time thing?”

Agatha's eyes Y/n up and down again like she did in the bar. She grins, “I wouldn’t mind doing this again.”

From that morning forward the two message each other whenever they need each other's company, only physically though. Admittedly there was some shared I love you’s. But they were never supposed to hold any meaning. They were never supposed to make either of them feel anything besides pleasure. Sometimes things don’t go as planned though.

//

Agatha pulls out her phone lying in her bed, she clicks Y/n’s contact. I’m feeling lonely, after typing out the message she looks at it for a moment before immediately deleting it. 'I want to see you tonight'. She stares at the message again, feeling satisfied with it she clicks send.

It doesn’t take long for Agatha to feel a quick buzz from her phone. ‘Just got back from work not so long ago, you should come over!’ Reading the message happily Agatha texts back a quick ‘Will do.’

Entering Y/n's apartment Agatha quickly skims the place finally finding Y/n in the bedroom Agatha hadn’t often seen Y/n in her work clothes but the out did something to her.

She wasn’t sure if it was the white button-up itself, or the way the top few buttons were already undone with the shirt still being tucked in. Or maybe it was the black dress pants cinched neatly with a belt.

She’s leaning up slightly in her bed a book in her hands legs sprawled out. "Hey, what's-" Y/n gets cut off by Agatha kissing her on the lips before being straddled by Agatha. "What are you doing?" Agatha asks, her voice sultry as her hands wander the curves of Y/n's hips. "Uh- ahm. Just reading."

"What are you reading?" Agatha asks her hands wandering down to Y/n's belt and the hem of her pants. Y/n quickly puts the book on her nightstand, "Okay what are we doing here?" Agatha giggles, "Darling, I think it's pretty obvious what we're doing here," she says starting to unbuckle the belt Y/n is wearing.

Y/n rests a quick hand on top of Agatha's pausing her before wrapping her own hands on Agatha's waist. "No I mean what are we doing here as in the two of us? You have a key to my apartment but we barely talk or do anything together."

Agatha hands begin to start unbuckling the belt again, "Oh sweetheart, we can talk as much as you want." Y/n's grip on Agatha's waist tightens moving Agatha to the side before cirss crossing her legs. "No, Agatha." Agatha furrows her eyebrows, "You said to I should come over."

Y/n sighs deeply, "I meant to talk. Or just enjoy each other's company without sex for once. I want a real, personal conversation with you." Y/n scoffs, "I want a real relationship." Agatha bites her tongue, "I don't do relationships."

Agatha begins walking out of the bedroom making her way out of the apartment with Y/n following her. "Why not Agatha? Why can't I love you?" Agatha's grip on the doorknob tightens. She doesn't bother looking back at Y/n, she knows if she does what she's about to say will hurt a lot more.

"Well I don't love you Y/n, I can’t love you. And I don't do relationships." With that, she immediately walks out the door feeling Y/n slam it behind her. And for a moment something keeps her there, staring at the door from the outside, something drawing her back in. But when hearing the sobs from Y/n on the other side of the same door she knows the damage is already done.

As Agatha makes her way down the street she feels tears start to well up in her eyes. It’s then she finally realizes she wasn’t just upset because she hurt Y/n. She was upset with herself for hurting Y/n because she loves Y/n.

Falling asleep in her own bed, alone, unlike how she planned Agatha clutches a pillow to her chest missing the warmth of someone else. Someone she could no longer have.

In the following days, Agatha caught herself messaging Y/n again attempting to resolve what she had done, what she had said.

Declined

Declined

‘Darling, please call me.’

‘Sweetheart…’

‘Please message me back’

Declined

‘How do I make you forgive me?’

‘I miss you’

Agatha would often check her phone hoping for a reply but there was never one. If she was lucky she would see that Y/n read the message which was a lucky occurrence. Soon enough Agatha feels like she should give up but it’s late at night and more the minutes pass the more she is tempted to try and call one last time.

Giving in Agatha clicks the contact, letting the phone ring expecting to be sent to voice mail she gets her last monologue ready but to her surprise Y/n answers. “Y/n?” Agatha sat up in her bed shocked Y/n replied this late at night.

“S- stop calling me. I dont wanna talk to you.” Her voice was winey as she was slurring her words. Concern starts to rush to Agatha’s head, “Y/n? Are drunk? Where are you.” She hears Y/n sniffle over the phone, “Mm not drunk. Just at that bar hanging out.” Agatha’s anxiety heightens, “What bar Y/n?”

“You know what bar.” While Y/n mubbles her reply there’s still some bite to that stings Agatha. Still worried though Agatha throws on a long coat putting on some shoes quickly. “Stay there alright? I don’t want you going home alone.”

Rushing out of her apartment Agatha hails over a taxi the bar being too far from her apartment unlike Y/n’s. While the drive isn’t far it feels like forever for Agatha, her heart starting to race like it was about to burst out of her chest worried about all the things that could happen.

Finally stopping in front of the bar Agatha quickly pays the taxi with cash rushing into the bar to see Y/n pased out on a bar table. Taking a relieved breath Agatha carefully walks over to Y/n brushing some hair out of the girl's face.

“Not drunk huh?” Agatha wraps one of Y/n’s arms over her shoulder beginning to lift her up to make their way out the bar. “Mm not drunk,” Y/n mubbles her eyes nearly closed. Agatha moves one hand to Y/n’s waist keeping her balance steady.

“Whatever you say hon.” Y/n wiggles away for a moment overwhelmed. “No don’t don’t ‘hon’ me,” she sniffles again, “I don’t want what we had again.” Agatha still keeps her firm hold on Y/n buzzing into the apartment building.

“Trust me I don’t either.” Once outside the apartment door, Agatha retrieves the key copy she had carefully unlocking the door while holding onto Y/n. Getting to the bedroom Agatha carefully sets Y/n on the bed they used to share.

As Agatha slips off Y/n’s jacket leaving her in a tanktop and jeans Y/n looks up at Agatha deadpaned, jaw clenched her eyes getting misty.

“You hurt me y’know? A lot.” Agatha bites her tongue remembering what she said that night, “Yeah, I know. I know.” Brushing a few more hairs to the side Agatha leaves Y/n alone for a moment retrieving a cup of water and aspirin knowing she’ll need it in the morning.

Coming back into the bedroom Agatha leaves the items on Y/n’s nightstand seeing her already passed out lying on her back. “Come on,” Agatha whispers pulling on Y/n’s shoulder. “You need to lay on your side in case you throw up.”

Y/n begrudgingly complies as Agatha tucks some pillows behind the girl's back to ensure she sleeps safely. Leaving the Apartment she locks the door behind her, she wants to stay of course. She wanted to hold Y/n like she used to. But not like this.

//

It had been about two weeks since Agatha had walked Y/n home, after that night she stopped messaging Y/n. Not because she didn’t want to, she did want to message Y/n but she knew she needed space. But her own want, to even just hear her voice overcame her.

‘Can we please talk sometime?’

After sending the message Agatha did anything and everything to get her mind off the text she sent. But when she heard the loud ping from her phone it was like time stopped as she read it.

‘Fine, I have a break in about an hour. You can meet me at the museum.’

Remembering back to the first time they talked Agatha leaves as fast as she can knowing an hour should be just enough time to get her there and not be late. Finally getting a taxi Agatha thinks to herself about how she finally has a chance to apologize for everything, to admit everything she had been keeping from Y/n.

About ten minutes from the museum Agatha could see the rain start to pour outside the car window fairly the opposite kind of mood she was going for but it didn’t matter. She’s close to possibly having another chance and that’s what matters to her.

Paying for the taxi Agatha waits outside the museum at the bottom of the steps. With practically no one in sight due to the weather, it was somewhat peaceful having the sounds of rain mixed with the busy streets.

“Hey!” She hears someone holler at her. Turning to look up at the top of the steps she sees Y/n black umbrella in hand. She walked up a few steps not getting too close to Y/n, she didn’t want to push too hard. “You’re soaked Agatha, you didn’t bother to look at the weather first.”

Agatha shakes her head shivering, “I wasn’t worried about the weather.” Agatha could see Y/n bite at the inside of her cheek. “Why are you here Agatha?” Y/n’s tone was blunt and serious, she was hurting so Agatha couldn’t blame her for it.

“I just want a chance to talk Y/n. About how sorry I am, about how much I know I screwed up, about how much I hurt you.” Y/n moves down the steps getting closer to Agatha, the small umbrella partially covering Agatha now.

“You said don’t love me, Agatha, you said you couldn’t love me. Do you really know how that made me feel? It made me feel unloveable.” Y/n’s tone was painful enough to make Agatha hurt at that moment.

“I lied alright? I lied about saying I don’t love you.” Agatha's voice was soft but her words brought no comfort to Y/n it just made her angry.

“Okay so?! Why would you lie about something like that?” Agatha runs a hand through her wet curly hair trying to build up the courage of what she had wanted to say for so long. “Because I was afraid Y/n, afraid of loving. And I was afraid if we had a relationship I’d hurt you more than how I did that night.”

Y/n inches closer to the woman, “Why couldn’t you just tell me that Agatha? I could have helped you. We could have talked about this together.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for lying to you Y/n. But if you just give me another chance I’ll show you how good I can be. I’ll tell you everything, about my life, about how I feel about you, I won’t lie anymore.”

Unknowingly Agatha had been inching closer and closer to Y/n, “Can you really promise me that?” Agatha moves only a little bit closer to Y/n their lips only a whisper apart now, “Yeah, I can promise that.”

“I wanna kiss you, Y/n.” Y/n leans in her lips practically grazing her lips with Agatha’s, “It’s a good thing I want you to kiss me then.” Instantly Agatha pulls Y/n in by waist kissing passionately. Caught up in the moment Y/n drops her umbrella wrapping her arms around Agatha’s neck.

The two kiss in the rain taking a chance on real love.

[weepylucifer]

24. "You're trembling." steban/ulixes

The whole mess starts like this: one afternoon, Ulixes doesn't turn up to the reading group meeting.

His absence is a stark confrontation with the fact of how alone Steban is. Thus far, as long as at least Ulixes was still coming to the meetings regular as clockwork, Steban could go on with business as usual and put off reckoning with how solipsistic his little pretense at a revolutionary cell has become. Pretend like any educating of anyone in matters of radical theory was still being done here... like other members could walk in at any moment and give the whole thing a purpose again. Now, with Ulixes absent, Steban sits and waits and drinks too much coffee and feels, though he tries to ignore it, a bit like an idiot with his metaphorical dick in his hand.

He considers his options: he could go out and try to recruit again, he could go to bed and have a depressive episode, he could do serious self-critique about where the reading group went astray and why, he could wallow in his misery about driving his friends away with leftist infighting. He could disband the reading group. He could steal Cindy's pyrholidon and get high. He could go to Uli's apartment and start a huge fight about his perceived betrayal. He could get high, go to Uli's apartment, and have a sobbing breakdown about how Uli is his only friend and Uli's absence would destroy his life.

All those destructive impulses are eventually pushed aside, and Steban decides he will go to Uli's apartment, to check if there's something wrong with him. Uli has never missed a meeting before. Maybe it's not betrayal yet. Maybe there's something he needs...

When he, an hour later, knocks on Uli's door, Ulixes opens looking perturbed and disheveled, but at least he doesn't seem sick or hurt.

"Hi," Steban says. "You--"

"Oh no. The meeting..." Ulixes looks so caught out and almost frightened that whatever was left of Steban's sense of betrayal immediately evaporates. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to miss it, I've been out all day and... I only just came back here, you have to believe me..."

Steban raises a hand. He doesn't like seeing his friend so anxious. "It's alright. What's going on?"

Ulixes suddenly slumps against the doorframe, his skinny form bending like a defeated reed. "It's Comrade Reading, he's... gone missing."

Ah, yes, Required Reading. Uli's new kitten. Uli's new kitten that Steban is all support for, because Uli having a gentle, non-violence-related hobby must be encouraged... as long as the cat doesn't come close enough to Steban to shed hair on him.

Steban likes houseplants. They're his preferred way of existing alongside nature as a communist should. They're pretty, quiet, predictable, and can be raised according to a manual. They don't yell at him in the middle of the night, or scratch him, or bite him, or break his things, or shit in a box he has to clean, or mess up his cleanly, tidy, pleasant little apartment. Besides, something about this particular cat is... strange. It meows and purrs and cuddles and plays and whatever else the things do, but there's something Steban can't put his finger on that is... weird. The less he sees of it, the better.

Still, if Uli wants a cat, a cat he shall have. If Uli wants to spend every moment of his free time with a cat and not his human best friend who can actually carry a conversation and doesn't smell like litterbox, well... so be it. Who is Steban to question his tastes?

"I opened the door briefly to get the mail and he darted out past me," Ulixes is saying. "I've been looking for him all day."

"Oh," Steban says, then makes an effort to imbue his voice with more sympathy, "I mean... oh."

Now, he expects, is when Uli is going to channel his concern for his pet into rage, the way he usually does, and vow some vague idea of vengeance onto the universe for making this happen to him. Now he'll say something over the top like swearing to murder whoever should dare harm or withhold his cat from him in several grisly and overly specific ways that will leave Steban a mixture of nauseated and fondly exasperated, because it's clear that while Ulixes dreams (in graphic detail) of violence, he has never actually experienced it up close, and these fantasies are just how he copes, and...

"This is all my fault," Ulixes whispers, and Steban is shocked to see his eyes beneath his glasses growing damp, "I'm so bad at this, and now I messed it all up."

He sits down on his desk chair and buries his head in his hands. "Why did I ever think I could take care of something? He could die out there, and it's my fault."

There's nothing for it. Steban's still not exactly fond of the cat, but... seeing Ulixes this quietly devastated turns the world inside out. Steban thinks, I need you like I need my limbs and blood and beating heart, and puts his hand on Uli's shoulder. "We'll look for him together."

----

They make missing posters and print them on campus, and Steban volunteers to help put them up around Uli's neighborhood. They spend the rest of the day looking for Required Reading, even when it gets dark, even when it starts to rain. Eventually, Steban makes Uli take a break. Ulixes resists it, but at some point, he does have to sleep. Steban stays with him as their rain-soaked clothes dry over the heater, and softly reassures him as he drifts into an uneasy sleep.

Two days go by. The rain doesn't let up. Ulixes keeps searching for Required Reading, and Steban supports him, though privately he's beginning to lose hope for the whole endeavor. Revachol is gigantic, and there are myriads of ways for a very small cat to vanish in it. And of course Steban is sad for Uli's sake, because Uli really loved - loves - that cat, and taking care of something small and vulnerable has revealed a new side of him, one that Steban finds intriguing. But... a part of him, a part he tries to ignore because he's not quite comfortable with having it in him to think so lowly, is... not too bothered by the prospect of things going back to how they were before Required Reading appeared. Back when he- when the reading group had Uli's undivided attention. When Uli was focused on him the cause. When Uli would look at him with adoring eyes and--

Stop, Steban tells himself. That's a scummy way to think, and wholly inappropriate when it comes to your comrade. Of course you want him to get his cat back.

He should interrogate that entire train of thought, practice self-critique and remind himself of the incompatibility of Mazovian thought with such... greedy possessiveness. But he's not ready to examine himself in this instance, so he pushes it all down and out of sight.

It's ironic then that, on the third day, Steban finds the cat first.

He's on his way to Uli's apartment. It's still raining and he doesn't have an umbrella, so he's steadily getting soaked through. All he really wants is to get out of the weather. Still, he pauses when he hears, from across the deserted square, a tiny cry, like a baby, or a...

...kitten.

They've pinned one of the missing-cat-posters to a lamppost on the sidewalk here three days ago. Now, under the lamppost, crouched under a soggy, discarded newspaper that offers only scant protection from the elements, there he is, meowing plaintively for help: Required Reading. His fur is plastered to his body with rainwater, but it is him.

(It would be so easy for a passerby to recognize that this is the cat on the poster. Almost as if he sat himself down here on purpose... but surely that's impossible. Cats can't read, or recognize themselves on pictures.)

(Weird.)

Steban shakes his head. It's probably just a coincidence. He'd better scoop the cat up before he runs away, hope he doesn't get his arms scratched up, and bring the little thing home to Uli. Cautiously, he steps closer.

Sigh. Here goes nothing...

Suddenly, he hesitates. A thought unfolds...

Maybe he could just... keep walking. Pretend he didn't see. Ulixes would never know. He'd be sad for a while, but eventually he'd recover, and then they'd spend time in their meetings again like they used to... no more cat hair on his clothes, no more mess, no more having to feign interest in an animal he honestly finds a bit off-putting... and Uli's attention would not waver again, and Steban would never have to ask himself what he even is without Ulixes.

He stands in silence while the rain beats down.

Required Reading has stopped crying. He's seen Steban and, doubtlessly, recognized him. He doesn't scamper up to him like Steban supposed he might. He simply looks at Steban with eyes that seem way too intelligent, and in this moment Steban is convinced that somehow the cat knows what he's thinking. Knows that Steban is considering abandoning him here.

Weird!

Or maybe that's just his conscience?

"This is nonsense," Steban mutters to himself. Of course he's going to bring the cat back to Uli. Because that's the right thing to do, and it'll take the anguish off of Uli's mind, and surely Uli will be so relieved and thankful. Steban can just picture it: his normally reserved friend smiling and hugging Required Reading close to him, and maybe then he'll set the cat down and hug Steban, too, and express his gratitude and regard for how Steban went above and beyond for him... maybe there'd even be a kiss on the cheek in it for him...

But no. Why would there be? Steban is used to kisses from his family members as casual displays of affection, that is just their way, but if Ulixes did that... if Ulixes kissed him on the cheek, it would be different, it would mean something.

Despite the rain, he blushes. What is this thought? What is he considering here? And anyway, he's not supposed to do things because he expects a reward. Again, what an inappropriate thought to have, about a comrade no less. He can't just stand here getting lost in... whatever this is. There's a task to do.

Slowly, carefully, telegraping his movements, he crouches down and reaches for Required Reading. By some miracle, the cat doesn't spook. He lets Steban scoop him up, his small, shivering body almost eclipsed completely by Steban's slender hands.

"Aww, pobrecito," Steban murmurs, dutifully, because that seems like the sort of thing one says. "You're trembling... come here, let's get you home."

"Mrreeep," Required Reading says, huddling closer to Steban's body heat.

Steban tucks him underneath his jacket and continues on his way. It's still pouring down upon him, and the cat sneezes into his armpit, but he barely notices, his head swimming with thoughts of what awaits him: the warm and dry apartment, maybe some hot coffee, the opportunity to bring Ulixes a wonderful surprise, the dread and self-recriminations leaving his comrade's face and being replaced with joy, the feel of his body pressed against Steban's in an exuberant embrace, the gentle rasp of his beard against Steban's own stubble when the--

Hm.

As Required Reading, bundled up under his jacket, starts to purr, Steban begins his struggle to contend with the fact that, apart from everything else he's got going on already, he now apparently dreams of his comrade's kiss.

[ceterisparibus116]

Recently read your one ask response about Karen and Matt and Matt putting her on a pedestal but I think it's remiss not to mention that Karen put Matt on a pedestal too. I often find that in critiquing their relationship only Matt gets the brunt of the blame for it not working out- that he told lies, kept secrets, put her on a pedestal and had specific expectations of Karen. But Karen is all that too and the same way towards Matt. She certainly expected him to be a goody two shoes man and pictured him incapable of violence. But I rarely see this pointed out and most of the fingers are pointed at Matt as the reason for their relationship imploding.

Ooh, this is interesting.

On the one hand, I do agree with you that a lot of the fandom tends to put all the blame on Matt for…well, for everything. The analysis can definitely be one-sided.

At the same time (and feel free to push back against this, Anon, or anyone else for that matter)…I don’t think Karen is responsible for their relationship falling apart.

By which I mean: their romantic relationship. I do think she contributed to their friendship imploding, so let me address that first.

I think Karen contributed to their friendship imploding by: her inability to understand him after his revelation that he is Daredevil.

Relevant facts:

Karen is analytical, investigative, and intelligent;

One of Karen’s strengths is her ability to understand why people do what they do, even when what they do is something she doesn’t necessarily approve of (see, for example, her approach to Frank Castle and Grotto);

She knew certain things about Matt, even if she didn’t know his full background (specifically: that he was an orphan who was never adopted, and that he has very few friends).

Based on those facts, I think it’s reasonable to expect Karen to have connected the dots between Matt’s background and his secret-keeping. Based on those facts, I think Karen failed by taking his secret-keeping personally. I do think we can criticize her for this.

But that’s not about their romantic relationship imploding. Let’s talk about their relationship imploding.

Relevant facts:

Karen admired Daredevil, even knowing all about his violence, and thought he was a hero;

Karen knew Matt was keeping secrets;

Karen repeatedly invited Matt to share his secrets with her (and, as far as I can tell, he never felt pressured by these invitations);

When they did break up, she explicitly tells Foggy that it was because of his lies and refusal to tell her the truth about whatever was going on with him.

Based on these facts, I think we can conclude that their relationship did not implode because she put him on a pedestal. Their relationship did not implode because she couldn’t handle his capacity for violence (which she didn’t even know about when their relationship imploded).

Why did their relationship implode? Because of Matt’s continued dishonesty.

Is that Karen’s fault? No. It’s Matt’s.

Now, I suppose it could be argued that Matt was dishonest because he thought Karen was putting him on a pedestal, and he thought she wouldn’t be able to handle his capacity for violence. Fine.

But whose fault is that? Karen’s? No—short of literally telling Matt: “Hey, just so you know, I’m cool with dating you even if you’re secretly a vigilante,” I don’t know what else she was supposed to do to assuage that fear of Matt’s. She literally admired Daredevil (repeatedly) out loud in his presence, and she never once shied away from reaching out to people who are violent (like Frank).

I find it hard to believe that Matt thought Karen was putting him on a pedestal based on anything Karen did. Instead, I think it’s clear that if Matt thought Karen was putting him on a pedestal, it was because he was projecting his own insecurities onto her.

That’s understandable. That’s relatable. That’s very human. That’s even reasonable for him to do, based on his history.

But it’s also his problem—not hers.

He’s the one who tried to read her mind and decided that she wouldn’t be able to handle hearing about Daredevil, and that’s on him—not on her.

Now, Anon, words are tricky here, because words like “blame,” “fault,” “responsible,” etc. might all carry some moral connotations. I’m not trying to say Matt was morally in the wrong for projecting his insecurities onto her, and I’m not even sure he was morally wrong for lying to her about Daredevil. I’m not saying any of that right now.

But I am saying that, if we remove moral connotations, Matt is still factually responsible for their relationship imploding. It was his issues (abandonment) which caused his choices (lying and secret-keeping) which caused their relationship to implode.

Not Karen.

(And I think there’s a lesson to be learned here. It’s tempting to always say that if two people are in a conflict, fault must lie with both of them. But that’s not necessarily true. And it’s tempting to say that we shouldn’t put all the responsibility on one person when we know that person wasn’t trying to do anything wrong. But sometimes all the responsibility does fall on one person, even when they’re not doing anything immoral. Matt wasn’t trying to hurt Karen. He wasn’t trying to ruin their relationship. His choices can easily be traced back to the ways that he was hurt by other people. But none of that negates his factual responsibility.)

Also, you mentioned "specific expectations." For the record: it's okay to have specific expectations in relationships! That's healthy, actually! What's unhealthy is to not communicate those expectations, and then go nuclear once someone doesn't meet those expectations.

But that's not what Karen did. Karen communicated her expectation: she expected Matt to be honest with her. Matt chose not to be honest with her. She responded, then, by ending their relationship.

That's healthy!

That said, I do think she would have done even better by being even clearer and telling him what the consequence would be if he chose not to meet her expectation. She should have said, "I expect you to be honest with me, and if you cannot or will not do that, I will not continue to date you." That would have been ideal.

But I definitely don't think her failure to be that explicitly clear means it was her fault that their romantic relationship imploded.

[icaruskey]

I know you're sick right now so feel free to not answer or wait to answer but you were one of the first people I saw actually critiquing Serano and a podcast I really like, It Could Happen Here, just released an episode that has her on as a guest and like... I mean it's great to give trans women a platform to speak on and she's talking about the latest edition of her book (according to the summary) but I also don't think I can bring myself to listen to it because I'm going to be afraid about how they talk about trans mascs the entire time

Like that podcast has a couple trans hosts and neither are trans masc which is fine, but then the vast majority of their trans focused episodes don't have trans masc guests and disheartening to see this as a pattern in a podcast I otherwise enjoy (I mean I don't listen to every ep because they release every weekday and that's So Much but I love the ones I listen to)

So yeah little vent to your blog I guess

I've been actually meaning to scroll through their trans episodes and check out the guests and see how many trans mascs they've actually had on (not that they only have trans guests on trans episodes but that's the easiest place to look)

I hate complaining about trans mascs being invisible every time they have a trans fem on because there shouldn't be *fewer* trans fem guests just *more* trans masc guests

I think I made myself sick from eating decent food for once :') So I should be okay in the long run, just. WTF body I thought you wanted probiotics and vegetables.

I still am just :/ on Serano. I'm glad people are pushing back against the talk around transandrophobia not being necessary as a word by citing her own writing, but from reading her current writings online it feels like she hasn't substantially changed on her underlying feelings about trans masculine people that I've seen thus far in Whipping Girl.

This still isn't touching on her racism. I'm still baffled she used a text written by a white man to talk about Navajo/Diné gender identities.

It's okay to feel uncomfortable, and I get the frustration of masc, nonbinary, intersex, and nonwhite voices remaining off the table. I don't want to say erased so much as not platformed? There's a but somewhere. Needing to understand and keep from falling into an echo chamber and try to see the good and/or humanity

idk this went downhill fast. I'm probably gonna give it a listen when I have brain cells again. So... post graduation? :''''

[beggingwolf]

I came across this tiktok and it gave me something to chew on

I fully agree with the critism of newer published (some self-, some traditional) authors being too sensitive to critique of their works—I've heard the stories, I've seen the ranting goodreads posts haha—but I was definitely left with something to consider about the "culture of niceness" commentary regarding fandom

that's arguably how I operate in fandom spaces these days, ESPECIALLY around fanworks. "say something nice or say nothing at all" was, to me, the acceptable way to interact with passion projects people were doing for free. it's interesting to hear someone push back against that mindset and actively miss days of fan critique!

like, I don't know... part of me is like "if I got someone thoughtfully wording constructive criticism, isn't that a growth opportunity?" as if I wouldn't immediately be put off and affronted by someone leaving critique in the comments of a fic of mine hahaha.

I think I don't have a particularly thick creative skin, and that's definitely a result of my fandom upbringing. hell, even when I was writing crackfic as a tween for twilight, I never got critique for it. I've gotten very few comments that could ever been construed as critque, and I think I've never gotten one that was outright hateful... which is good?

but I do see the pipeline there of "fic writers participating in a culture that only validates and never critiques" to "people who cut their writing teeth on fic who are now unused to dealing with varying opinions on their work".

I do think it's worth saying that I don't think fic should inherently be held to the same standards as published books—lord knows I've dashed off a couple thousands words and slapped them onto ao3 without so much as a second glance—but I think we also should be conscientious of not trying to have our cake and eat it too.

I'm reminded of those really annoying comments online where people are like "i'Ve ReAd FiCs BeTtEr ThAn AnY pUbLiShEd BoOks" and I just go...... okay well if it can be treated as serious literature (which... maybe it can!) then it needs to be able to withstand critique, and we do not have a current culture of critique in fandom to actually put those very good fics to the proverbial test. you know??

this isn't to say I think we should start a reading salon where everyone can loudly proclaim "I HATE THIS ONE FIC" or whatever but it's a complicated dynamic that I believe I have traditionally left unturned because I figured niceness is better than unsolicited critique. and also I don't really derive joy from offering someone unasked-for feedback and potentially ruining their night haha.

I DO get a lot of joy from working with my friends in a beta capacity and being able to really dig in and offer up a harsher look at stuff, AND I think I like receiving it (when I am in the right mindset to do so, as we all have nights where it's like "JUST READ FOR GRAMMAR, I CAN'T TAKE ANY PLOT HOLES POINTED OUT TO ME RIGHT NOW!" haha), but I like receiving it from people who I am DIRECTLY ASKING and whose opinions I already respect and value. getting critique from strangers is an entirely different skillset that has to be practiced, and you have to know when to start filtering out opinions because You Can't Please Everyone

anyways this has been a lot of words to say that I have complicated feelings about a "culture of niceness" in fandom and while I certainly know I ENJOY participating in a culture of niceness, there are downsides (see: people dogpiling anyone who in the FAINTEST WAY POSSIBLE does not precisely conform to the-never-critique-fic attitude) and it's good to at least think about alternate ways to do fandom/alternate ways in which fandom has BEEN done in the past

[keentrigger]

In this situation, the book club in question

didn't require the person recommending the fic to have read the fic beforehand,

the admin in charge of book club (who was also the one who recommended this fic without reading it) didn't delete or push back against harsh criticism made about the fic,

the author of the fic didn't know their work was participating in book club and wasn't a member of the server, and isn't a native English speaker,

when questioned about how this book club discussion was handled, fell back on "it's publicly published on AO3, therefore it's fair game for anyone to use and comment in any way"

Personally, I don't care what people say about my work, I have a thick skin. But fanworks are created out of love for free, and to see a fandom server not shut down harsh criticism of a work is really disappointing. Their claim in doing book club is to encourage discussion about fics and talking about how things are written and can be written better, but these things can be done without being mean to someone behind their back. In fact, they do encourage authors who are in the server to participate in book club when their fic is selected, so they are willing to defend their own members from harsh criticism but not someone who isn't a server member until called out about it.

Their original solution to the issue, after ignoring it at first, was to require authors to opt out of book club, including authors not on the server. This is obviously untenable and ridiculous, so several creators pushed back, requesting it be opt-in and to otherwise contact authors by comment or social media to let them know their work was being considered. I feel like, in fandom, this is at least a respectable way for someone to choose not to have their work critiqued if they don't want to.

I feel like creators aren't being listened to, that we're all forced to accept that people will be mean about what we create, but this is an organized server that is hosting an organized event treating creators like we don't need to be respected, which is so odd for a server that promotes creation.

Sorry for venting a little, but it's just frustrating.

so, that's rather interesting.

as of writing this, the admins/mods on the other server haven't reached an agreement, and rather wait for them to give us the opportunity to opt ourselves out from something that should've been opt-in in the first place, many authors and users of ao3 are now starting to tag their fics in an attempt to dissuade their use.

the ot4 server came up with a tag that hopefully (with ao3's approval) will become canonical soon: "Do Not Use For Miraculous Fanworks Book Club", and it is being used by authors who aren't even apart of our server, as well.

i've got a lot of fics to slap this tag on, but i'll do it, just for an attempt to stay away from a server that poorly handles events that should be treated with care.

the fact that we have to tag my fics in a way so that they aren't touched is... upsetting. the fact that the admins have no update, even after a week, is rather impressive. i hope they come to a conclusion soon. i hope they understand that what they did was ridiculous, and that it really puts it in their mind that this was a serious breach of privacy and trust.

this mess is ugly. there's still damage to fix in my own server with what you caused; many of the writers there are scared to post, wondering if they'll get mocked or ridiculed over what they write. this was insensitive. who knows how big your outreach actually was with this behavior.

do better.

[sethnakht]

Vader for the Character meme thing,

do I like them: like is not strong enough a word. j’adore this crazy murderbot, he’s like my emotional support animal. that being said, it would probably take writing a book to figure out why I would sell the moon for this trash can

5 good qualities: urk lbr he doesn’t even have five emotions

At his core, he loves wants his family intact and safe - wants to be loved.

He has a code - a very twisted one, but it’s more than one can say for most - of honor. That is to say, he asks for the very best from his men (Kreel, whom he even trains and sort of implores to carry on the legacy of the Jedi) and rewards merit (Piett) and sacrifice (Trios) regardless of gender (his female aide in Purge) or species (bounty hunters), if only so long as it is in his own interest to do so and without ever taking steps to change the status quo. Genuine or even grudging respect leads to some of his strangest comments (Kenobi was a teacher, if a failed one) and actions (the first time he tries to kill Aphra, he asks her to hold still - as though this would make asphyxiation less painful; what’s especially notable in this instance is that he doesn’t go for the death she fears most). On a related note, he seems to respect opponents who value dedication and sacrifice and (perhaps even in a certain way connected to his Force religion) life, who in effect share his honor code and/or zealotry - most prominently Leia.

There’s a reason he’s more effective than any other villain in the OT, and I think it’s this – he has empathy with his victims. Instead of destroying Leia’s mind, he chooses to understand her - it is Vader, not Tarkin, who pieces together that Leia will only ever reveal the base by going “home”. He understands Luke less well but is still able to lure him to Bespin - once again, I tend to think, because he understands Leia well enough to know how to make her broadcast pain.

This is not exactly a quality, rather a skill, but he is very good at manipulating the arrogance of others, at hiding in plain sight, at subverting expectations. As a slave it seems he learned the value of knowing as much as his master and more and also of hiding how much he knew - and so he is a master at appearing dumber than he is and showing his hand only through clipped sarcasm and/or during the sudden finishing blow. For what it’s worth, this lifelong strategy of never quite being what he seems - of allowing himself to be underestimated - makes it possible for him to get the jump on Palpatine.

Dedication. By his own admission, he’s a slow learner, but if he recognizes the need to learn something my sense is that he becomes obsessively focused on mastering it. This is speculation based on how much of a planner he is in both ANH and ESB. Perhaps he plans as a result of the hard lesson learned from being slower and more ungainly than he once was, but perhaps this tendency also reflects his need for control and absolute mastery of knowledge or a situation.

3 bad qualities: selfishness, which also covers his confusion of possessive and compassionate love and his gigantic, nearly unconquerable ego and his grudge-keeping; stubbornness, since once he convinces himself he is right about something he is never going to be totally unconvinced and since it works into his repressive complexes; MURDER

favourite episode/etc: easily ESB. I’ve talked about this before and perhaps too often so I’ll keep this short: the camera work and lighting is phenomenal (he dominates the camera bewitches it plunges the screen into darkness; he also owns the creepiest scene, the shot exposing his scarred head), plus we get to see him at his worst, at his most ruthless and possessive and malicious and clever.

otp: vader/pain. seriously, though, I have trouble imagining any sort of non-gen relationship with him - trouble imagining him wanting it (black swan theory: the suit and the extent of his burns and his guilt over Padmé and his utter devotion to the Force - he’s very Jedi as a Sith, almost completely unattached except to Palpatine). Also hard for me to imagine anyone wanting or, better: succeeding in getting close enough. Aphra makes for an interesting exception in that regard - she enters his life at a stage when, thanks to Luke, the rules are changing for him; she loves to live dangerously and to reanimate dangerous things, to put them into circulation once more; she seems to see him not as some man with power but as a living relic-weapon/extraordinarily volatile and powerful and scary object, which is arguably precisely how he wants to be seen (as Vader as mask not as that weakling); they have certain shared interests - fetishes - even beyond droids and weapons, if one recalls how he used to crave fast speeders and dangerous stunts; plus she’s smart enough to recognize a ticking time bomb, to not expect a future. But even here, I admit that I can’t imagine him letting anyone that close except to kill them until a post-ROTJ situation

brotp: if one can find a way to convince him not to kill them, Ahsoka and Aphra both make for wonderful foils, not least because both can find ways to unsettle him with their respective forms of honesty, because both know how to find and create the windows through which he can be reached. I have particular love for Ahsoka - Anakin loved her and she loved him, and that’s not something either can just forget, plus she’s got a sharp eye for his bullshit and an equally sharp tongue and can actually defend herself (whereas Aphra would have to escape) if he lashes out. She’s surpassed her teacher in many ways, and even if he can’t admit it, there’s pride to be felt (something of his old self to be loved) and lessons to be learned there.

ot3: if I can make this about gen, then let me say that I especially adore the particular gen combo of vader + leia + character growth that you, dear @chancecraz, have mastered

notp: vader/one of his kids omg

best quote: all of his lines are the best! but if I had to pick just one, it would be: “The Force is with you, young Skywalker. But you are not a Jedi yet” — the sheer malice expressed in the “yet” always gets me

head canon: he’ll never be free of the suit, at least not entirely. There’s an idea I like from old canon, I think it was that he was given an opportunity to upgrade the suit shortly before ANH, but decided against it because it would have involved shutting down his life support and have potentially killed him. In my head, he’ll always have a panel in his chest and tubes in his throat, even if he can ultimately reach a state where he doesn’t need a full or even partial mask. There’s also a psychological aspect to this fantasy of mine — I don’t think he would ever be able to give up some of the advantages the suit offered. Anonymity, the unreadable surface that let him subvert expectations so well (and spared him from having to emote or be seen as a burn victim), etc. For many reasons, I also think it would take quite a bit of work on Luke’s part to make Vader adopt Jedi robes again, to so completely negate the suit and his history by returning to that heroic role. The mental image I have of a post-ROTJ Vader thus tends to cover his face in sun-protective turbans and scarves and sight-enhancing goggles (to look, in other words, much like Rey in her establishing shots) and to adopt a dress similar to what he wore as a boy on Tatooine — a combo that offers even greater anonymity than the suit, that lets him blend into masses, that marks his choice to free himself from slavery but also as one who once was a slave, that keeps him from ever having to look anyone straight in the eye and silently lets him make his point to his children that no, he does not want his scars removed, no, he is never going to be Anakin Skywalker the Jedi the Hero With No Fear who btw was a Weakling and Never Should Have Existed —while still acknowledging that there are ways to be Anakin Skywalker, ways perhaps the Sith and Jedi made him repress, he can now invent or reclaim.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

Summary: A hot tip turns into a hot night.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

Characters: Soldier Boy x unnamed female character/female reader (1st person POV) x William Butcher

Tags/warnings: explicit, tiny bit of angst?

Words: 1700

Author’s notes: Thank you again to the best beta ever @brrose-apothecary for your read-throughs and support and for being also on of the best friends I’ve ever had. Love you.

Gonzo journalism is an energetic first-person participatory writing style of journalism that is written without claims of objectivity, often including the reporter as part of the story using the first-person narrative, and it draws its power from a combination of social critique and self-satire. The word gonzo is believed to have been first used in 1970 to describe an article about the Kentucky Derby by Hunter S. Thompson, who popularized the style.

Butcher’s in the shower. After they snorted the rest of the Molly off every viable surface of my body, he took his phone and the extra bottle of whiskey to the bathroom, so who knows when we’ll see him again. 

Soldier Boy’s wrapped around me from behind, languorously thrusting into me. His downside arm is looped under my neck and wrapped securely across my shoulders. His free hand is heavy between my thighs.

“You take it all like a champ, you know that? Not one complaint.” He murmurs against my ear, gently swirling two fingers around my clit. 

I’ve come so many times today that I will never know the count. At this point, I’m humming with constant vibration and light. Maybe they infused me with V somehow and my superpower is that I’m perpetually orgasmic.

“I can’t imagine you getting complaints,” I sigh, and then immediately realize I’m being disingenuous — even if I didn’t intend to be.

Before this little adventure, I was like any other male-attracted individual who grew up in the 80s; I had a crush on Soldier Boy and carried that crush for decades. Then I became a journalist and was slapped in the face with the darkside of Vought and the equally dark real Soldier Boy story.

I promise this is not a Magic Cock trope, but in the time I’ve spent with Soldier Boy (and the kind of time I’ve spent) these past eight hours, he’s become real in his own right. 

He chuckles, rolling me to my stomach, staying buried inside me, and spreading my legs with his knees. “Most women, they like the way I look,” he swivels his hips, “the way I fuck.” He leans forward and presses his lips to the side of my neck, making me shiver. (How can he still make me shiver?) 

“But they don’t like me,” he continues, pushing upright, pulling my hips back with him, and picking up his pace. “And they’d take orders from me, but only because they were afraid of me, or so I was told, but you… you wanted it.”

I push back into him and moan. “I do,” I groan into the bedding, feeling him rattle my spine and the insides of my chest.

“Yeah, you do,” he murmurs, squeezing my hip with one hand and running his other from my tailbone to my shoulder.

I love sex, and sex with Soldier Boy has proven to be the best I’ve had in my decades of experience. In addition to being more attractive than any other person I’ve ever met, he’s utterly human, which may seem like a bland observation, but... he’s a supe. Furthermore, he’s skilled, inquisitive, and competent in a way that not many supes or humans tend to be. The latter qualities are more than likely what made him the perfect candidate for Vought’s 1944 trials.

“Shit, I don’t even have to try to make you come anymore.” Soldier Boy laughs quietly and breathlessly as I frantically squeeze him to follow my orgasm. “Really fucking wish you’d been around back in the day; probably would’ve had 10 kids by now.” He drops to his back, arms thrown wide, and stares at the ceiling.

I never wanted kids. Turns out, I couldn’t have them anyway so that tracks. Yet his words say less “I’d breed you ‘til you were nothing but barefoot in the kitchen” and more “imagine the possibilities”; because back in his day, that’s what you did when you wanted to appear successful and happy — you settled down, married, and had as many kids as possible, even if you desired something else entirely.

“What the fuck is taking him so long in there?” He grumbles over the whereabouts of Butcher. “It’s not like I didn’t fuck every ounce of libido out of him; he can’t be jacking off.”

I huff a laugh. “I’ll check on him.” I swing my legs over the side of the mattress and round the foot of the bed. Before I reach the bathroom, Soldier Boy snags my wrist.

“We get this last piece of intel, and you stay put, you hear me?” The intensity of his gaze and his demeanor lodges something in the center of my chest that I haven’t felt in years. 

I suppose I should be offended that this virtual stranger firmly believes that he has every right to tell me if I can stay or go, but I’m not.

“I can’t do that. I came here for the story, you know tha-”

He stands, cutting me off with immovable resolve.

“And you’ll get it,” he reassures me. “We’ll make sure you get the story, okay? But no human belongs in the middle of a superhero pissing match, and I know he’s not giving you any of that shit to pump you up.”

It’s his tone of voice and his posture —  he’s doing his perceived duty to protect me. 

And I relent.

“You have to wear a wire or bodycam, or something so I can at least hear...”

He nods. “We’ll figure it out, but you’re not going up to that tower.”

“... and she made the ultimate sacrifice when she stopped the Russian-radicalized Soldier Boy.”

I stare at my screen with my cursor hovering over the option to ‘submit’. 

I value journalistic integrity. I’ve never lied or obfuscated what I found to be true. Working with William Butcher has always given me the kinds of jobs that I knew would allow me to produce a story with an angle unlike anyone else’s and without compromise.

This time is different, though.

I don’t understand what happened this time, even after seeing and hearing everything Soldier Boy saw and heard. 

Homelander got to his son. (I learned after the whirlwind showdown that Victoria Neuman provided him with the safe house's location.) He used his son as a chess piece to win his own father’s affection, but it didn’t work.

I cannot fathom what Soldier Boy was thinking when that small boy came out from behind Homelander and called him ‘grandpa’, but I would have thought... I would have sworn he’d want to be with him. 

Instead, he followed through with Butcher’s initial plan, to take down Homelander no matter what, not knowing that Ryan is just as important to Butcher as he is to Homelander if for different reasons. 

And it all went to Hell, including the ear-piece and body cam I’d outfitted him with. 

I’m disenchanted to say the least. I’m confused. I feel betrayed. Once the dust settled, Grace Mallory was the one who told me what happened; not Butcher. He couldn’t even do me the courtesy of calling me himself. 

“Grace, where is he?” I asked, packing a bag to meet my airport-bound uber. I was determined to pick up where I left off with my own version of The Soldier Boy Story.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Come on, Grace.”

“He’s safe,” she paused. “And so are the people of New York City.”

“Bullshit. The public is not safe with Homelander and his son out there, you know that as well as I do.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and grabbed a jacket on my way out the door.

“Just trust me,” she pleaded. “Remember when you trusted me?”

“Grace,” I sighed as I pushed through the stairwell door to start jogging to the ground. I do remember when I trusted her, but those days are gone. “Does Butcher know where he is?”

“No,” she answered too quickly. In all the years I’d known Grace, she didn’t lie. She omitted things, but she would never put me in danger with lies. 

I exited the building just as my driver rolled up. “Well, if you can’t tell me, I’ll have to find him another way.” Before waiting for her answer, I disconnected the call and dropped my phone in my bag.

I spun my wheels in New York for five days before finally giving in and flying back to DC. Every source I’ve counted on in the last ten years was terrified to give me anything, or they were dead.

I decided it was time to take a break. Maybe I’d get one of those AeroGardens, grow some tomatoes on my balcony or write my memoirs. 

I bought a cactus and called it a day.

One Saturday morning, three weeks after my return home, I receive an anonymous file on my private server while sipping my third cup of coffee. 

My heart rate picks up and my palms begin to sweat. I open the file to find two videos and a note.

He’s alive. Second one’s for your personal collection.

~ B

“Son of a bitch,” I whisper, opening the first video. 

Soldier Boy is stripped bare and masked, probably being pumped full of novichok, as armed guards roll him into containment. Grace Mallory watches from an otherwise empty observation room. To her credit, she appears tense and discomfited. 

Where are they? Who captured him and delivered him to her? Is she acting on behalf of the US government, or Vought? What do they plan to do with him? 

And, on a personal note, how the fuck is he locked away and Homelander is allowed to roam free, lasering the heads off anyone who dares challenge him?

I open the second, much longer video, hoping that it holds answers to my many, many questions. 

“…and this… is Soldier Boy, love.”

“She knows who I am, don’t you, princess?”

Butcher never confirmed that he’d set up AV to record our tenuous afternoon as we waited for Hughie’s call. I should have known he’d find a way.

“Of course, I do,” I purr from my laptop. “Why else would I be here?”

I was appealing to his base instincts and it worked. For all of us.

Then that deep, thick chuckle overrides the tinny audio, and reaches through space and time to grab me by the throat.

“I thought you were here for a story, but I can give you so much more than that.”

I secure my AirPods and turn on the noise canceling before settling in to relive that day weeks ago.

Who knows? Maybe it will hold some answers. 

Fin.

Soldier Boy and/or Butcher

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[jeonfiiction]

BTS Reaction: You giving them the silent treatment

A/N: My first reaction!!! I made this awhile back so the reader is female but look forward to more. Some male readers and also nonbinary reader reactions! Enjoy!

Warnings: Slight Angst, Fluff, Suggestive Themes, Cursing, A kind of sorta breakup, female reader.

Kim Seokjin

It had been a week. One entire week since you had spoken a word to the eldest member and your prized boyfriend. His words echoing in your head.

‘Leave me alone!’ Jin yelled at you when your hand went to reach for his. Your worry about his mental health bringing about the sudden skinship but his yell piercing through your heart. “You are so annoying sometimes!”

“Kitten?” Jin’s soft voice echoed off the walls. Your body slumped against the couch, book open on your lap. The door shutting with a soft click before the light footsteps of your boyfriend followed. His body slowly sitting next to yours. Your eyes never leaving the book refusing to give in after his hurtful words last week.

“Baby…” Jin mumbled. His hand coming up to push the book down, eyes meeting yours. Guilt and regret shining clearly in the brown orbs of your lover, except the sight not doing anything to stop the sadness inside your heart.

You don't respond, like always. Turning your face away and pulling the book back up to your face. Not really reading. Very much aware of your boyfriend’s stare.

“Please baby, I...I didn't mean to blow up at you.” Jin pleas as you slowly close to book. Setting it down on your lap and looking back at the older boy. “I was so stressed and that gave me no right to blow up but...please.” Jin’s begs made your heart ache. The book falling to the floor as you moved. Slowly, gently wrapping your arms around him.

“...ok.” You let out a small breath as you spoke. Voice quiet. Jin reacting instantly. Arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer to him.

“Please forgive me, please. I love you so much Y/N.” Jin states quickly. Kissing your head and rubbing your back. Arms of yours holding onto him gently.

“I do, I forgive you.” You breath out. Resting your head on his shoulder. “I love you too.”

Min Yoongi

  “Will you stop ignoring me?” Yoongi asked with a huff. His earlier greeting earning nothing but a glance from you. The same response he had been receiving for the past few days, since his unexpected blow up.

  “Get the fuck out.” Yoongi ordered Slamming his hands down on the table in frustration. Eyes snapping to you as he growls in annoyance again. Standing up, the chair hitting the wall and startling you.

  “Yoo-"

  “Get out!”

  “Baby, come on.” Yoongi sighed out. Leaning across the counter as you cooked. Your eyes watching your hands as you cut some vegetables for the soup. The boy slowly moving around. Arms wrapping around your waist and pressing his chest against your back. His head nuzzling into your neck. Breath fanning against your skin. Small pecks being made, his lips trailing down. The knife dropping out of your hand, eyes closing briefly. A small sigh slipping from you after so long without Yoongi.

  “...Yoongi. I’m still mad.” You said simply earning a soft hum from the boy. His lips busying themselves by kissing up your neck. Hands around your waist pulling you closer to him.

  “Let me make it up to you.” Yoongi whispered. His guilt shining clear in his low voice. “Let me show you how sorry I am.”

  “...Fine.” You gave in. Yoongi smiling against your skin. Turning you around to face him. Dark eyes capturing you as his lips connected with yours sweetly.

Jung Hoseok

It was so unlike Hoseok, Mr. Sunshine of BTS to get so stressed he lost it. His bubbly attitude and down right loving nature preventing him from ever taking his frustrations out on anyone, expect last week. The new dances and constant critiques made about his moves sending him into a frenzied panic.

  “Please...just go.” Hobi muttered. Already rewinding the song. Fanning himself with his shirt with his free hand. Face red from the amount of work, sweat dripping from all the exercise. The bags under Hoseok’s eyes revealing his lack of sleep.

  “No, you need to sleep.” You argued. Stepping to him and reaching for his phone. Worrying filling you at his state.

  “I don’t need or want your help! Go away!” His yells sent you flying back. Tears pooling in your eyes and his own dark orbs reflecting Hobi’s instant regret.

  “Just talk to me!” He pleaded. J-Hope’s eyes wide with the need to hear your voice after a week of pure silence. His hand touching yours where they were folded on your lap.

“...Please.” He begged. Voice low in sorrow. “I know I messed up, but please...let’s talk about it.” Your heart ached at his pleads. Letting out a small huff of defeat.

  “Okay.” You mumbled. Hoseok smiling brightly. Squeezing your hands as he began to explain himself. Each word already healing the wound on your heart.

Kim Namjoon

“I wouldn’t have asked you out if I would have known you were gonna be this damn annoying!” He yelled. Pulling away from your touch. His hands yanking on his own hair in frustrations. Your heart shattering, even if you knew Namjoon didn't mean it. Words still slicing through your soul.

  “...I didn’t mean to insult you.” Namjoon whispered. Your back facing him in bed, eyes having been closed since he had arrived. Leading the man to believe you were asleep. His hand touching your arm gently. “I was frustrated, mostly at myself. Not only because of all the work piling up but also because, I was having to push you aside.” Namjoon’s voice cracked as he spoke. Soft words turning into a quiet sob as you turned around. Your boyfriend looking shocked at the sudden movement.

  “Hey, hey.” You whispered. Cupping his cheek and wiping the tears as they fell. “Don’t cry Joonie.” His warm hands wrapped around your wrists. Eyes flickering across your face to study any sigh of anger.

  “I...I love you so much.” He managed to push out. One of Joon’s hand letting your wrist go to wrap around your waist. Pulling your body to his. Your hands moving to press against his chest. Head resting on his upper arm as he laid it on the pillow.

  “I love you too.”

Kim Taehyung

  “Just leave me the hell alone.” Taehyung snapped. His tone filled with annoyance and exhaustion. Your constant affection only furthering the stress in his mind and leading him down a path he would never had never thought was possible. Hurting you.

  “I...fine. How about...you just, find someone who doesn't bother you as much as I do then.”

  Those had been your last words to him since two weeks ago. Missed calls and texts from Taehyung filling up your phone to the point where you just stopped using it. Your work even calling you after the first week of absence and then sending you a text not to come back the next week. Pieces of your life falling apart. Heart heavy with the loss of Taehyung, heavy from his words you knew deep inside he hadn't meant.

  “Baby! Come on, open up!” Taehyung’s voice sounded from the door. His loud knocks echoing through your otherwise quiet apartment. Each jolt of the door sending a pulsing pain through your heart. “Please! We need to talk!” Tae pleaded. His knocks stopping and a sound of his hand moving down the door faintly filling the room as you stood. Slowly opening the door to reveal.

  The boy’s eyes found yours. Fear and sorrow twirling through his. Bags under them revealing his lack of sleep. Hair disheveled, clothes thrown together. Taehyung appearance never having looked so bad in your entire life knowing him. “Baby...im sorry.” He whispered. Hand pressed against the doorframe to balance him.

  “Why did you do it?” You asked in a whisper. Taehyung’s eyes lighting up slightly at the sound of your voice.

  “I...I was stressed and stupid. You didn't deserve that, at all. Please...I...I cant live without you.” Tae’s pleaded and the sound made you step forward. Slowing hugging him.

  “I love you.” You whispered. Taehyung repeating it as his arms wrapped around you. Making you feel at home once more.

Park Jimin

  Jimin had to miss an interview. His voice needing time to rest but despite his free time, the boy had closed off. Blaming himself for letting down the boys. Even as they all understood.

  “Babe, we all have times where we need to rest.” You stated gently. Running a hand through his hair and wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind.

  “Baby, just...let me be alone for now.” Jimin muttered. His tone thick with annoyance and frustration, mostly with himself.

  “Jimin...listen to me. Please.” You begged Hating his down mood and just wanting to help bring back the cheerful Mochi.

  “Just leave!” He yelled loudly. His eyes dark with frustration when he looked at you.

  It had been months after leaving him to tour without you. Going back home after his blow up. His texts and calls going unanswered. His anger something you hadn't deserved and you were determined to show him that.

  “...Princess?” Jimin’s voice filled your house. Your eyes flickering to him from you bed. His own eyes filled with guilt. Guilt and sadness. Bag dropping to the ground by the door as he slowly moved to lay next to you. Scooting over as he did. “Oh baby...please.” He begged. His hand slowly wrapping around your waist and pulling you to him. His chest pressed against your back. Face nuzzling into her neck. Your heart racing at finally being near him, despite being upset at him.

  “...I don’t want to...be around you after that.” You managed to get out. Jimin’s lips leaving kisses down your neck as you spoke.

  “Please, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blow up at you. I was wrong too.” Jimin pleaded softly. His lips trailing down your neck more. Holding you tighter against him. “Please. I love you so much baby.”

  “...I love you too.” You mumbled. Knowing he really didn't mean it. Leaning your head back for him. His hand moving up as he nipped at your skin.

Jeon Jungkook

“It’s been a week. Talk to me.” Kook snapped out. His tone soft despite the annoyance behind his words. He hated being ignored and maybe it was wrong to use that to get your point across, but it worked.

  “I messed up, I got hurt.” Jungkook mutters to himself in anger. Having a hard time as he prepared for the show. Shrugging on his jacket and glancing at the chair he would have to sit on. The entire time.

  “Baby...things happen.” You cooed. Trying to make him feel better. Slowly helping to fix his jacket. Jungkook’s eyes remaining on the chair with resentment. Pushing you, gently, off him. Hurt flickering in your eyes.

    “Go away.” He growled in frustration. “I don't need you to sugar coat things and baby me.”

  And you had left. Hadn't even been able to comfort him when he started crying on stage due to his leg and guilt for pushing you away.

  “Babe. One entire week, this is outrageous. Please.” Kook spun your chair again to make you face him. His eyes watching you carefully.

  “You closed me off.” You finally said. Jungkook’s eyes lighting up at the sound of your voice. Touching your arms with hope.

  “I know and I was wrong to do that. Please...im sorry.” Your heart betrayed your mind. A small smile spreading across your face at his joy of hearing you speak. Nodding a little as his lips connected with yours.

[luvluvnitrodynamite]

random dates with jujutsu kaisen characters

ft. itadori yuuji, fushiguro megumi, kugisaki nobara, zenin maki, inumaki toge, nanami kento, and gojou satoru

g/n!reader (except maybe for maki but that's more personal pref)

itadori yuuji - "hey!-", you were essentially muted as itadori plops a strawberry in your mouth. you bite down, wrinkling your nose up at him in fake upset. he just smiles and laugh, as you drop the pout and laugh with him. you two were on a picnic, drinking lemonade and watching the hours melt away into the sunny sky. currently, you two were demolishing a carton of strawberries, the green tops abandoned on a plate next to you. you swallowed, relishing the sweetness lingering on your tongue.

taking one last berry, itadori reclined and sprawled on the blanket while putting his hands behind his head. you laid down on the blanket next to him, placing your head on his chest. he glanced down at you and took one of your hands in his, his thumb starting to trace gentle circles on your palm. with your free hand, you pointed up to the clouds in the sky. "that one looks like a bus," you suggested. "mmm, i think it looks like a log," he responds. "that one looks like a cat." "i think it looks like a log." "ok, that one looks like a tree." "mmmmmmm i think it looks like a log," he says again. "yuuji, you think all of them look like logs," you say. you can feel his laugh bubbling in his chest as he says, "because all of them do look like logs." he points up at the sky at different clouds, "that one does....and that one does....i think these are actually all logs in disguise." you playfully swat his hand and turn your head up at him, saying, "you need to use your imagination a bit. if you're only looking for logs, all you're going to find is logs."

instead of responding, itadori shifts forward and captures your mouth in soft kiss. you respond, pushing your lips against his in a sweet dance. his tongue finds its way into your mouth, deepening the kiss. his hand has slipped out of yours and now is on the small of your back, pushing you closer into him. he smiles into the kiss, pausing. "what?" you ask, temporarily affixing your head above his. "nothing," he responds, "i just hope we can stay like this for a little while longer."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

fushiguro megumi - he's is nursing a cup of black tea in a porcelain cup and saucer, while he chews on a black ballpoint pen. fushiguro is in a cafe across the street, but you can see him through the window. as you walk in, the bell above the door jingles and he glances up at you. he smiles and clears a pile of papers, making room for you at the table. you sit down across from him, noticing that he's already ordered a cup of tea and a croissant for you.

"hey 'gumi. what'cha up to?" you ask, lifting the cup to your lips. "working on this latest batch, but it's tough. did you bring your stuff?" he asks. you pull out a small notebook, untying the ribbon that holds the pages shut. "of course i did, i want your feedback on my latest poems," you respond. "this is the most recent one i wrote." in the garden of my mind/you sink my heart into my soul/blooming into something unknown/glassy eyes speaking of that garden untold is what you hand to him. he furrows his brow as he reads over the lines, once, twice, three....ohmygod how many times is he going to read it? is it bad??? you catch your lip between your teeth as you wait for his critiques, anxiously tapping your fingers against the table. finally, he looks up to you. "i like the use of garden as a metaphor, but i think you could expand on it more. it's a short poem so i know you don't have much room, but i'm really fixed on this idea of a garden. what grows there? who takes care of it?" he questions. his brows is still furrowed and you can practically see the wheels turning behind his poofy hair.

you smile over at him saying, "well, megumi i think you already know the answer to your questions." he blushes and looks out the window. the wheels are turning in his head again, but for a different reason. you know fushiguro isn't exactly the greatest with his feelings, so you give him a minute. he still gets flustered when you even allude to loving him, it's so removed from his own view of himself that he needs to take a minute to process. in the meantime, you rip off a fluffy piece of croissant and feel the buttery layers melt on your tongue. you look out the window, quietly drifting off to another world. "did you want to read my poem?" he asks, snapping you back to reality. you nod, picking up the piece of paper he passes you. your eyes focus on the first line: i love you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

kugisaki nobara - you love nobara, you honestly do, but sometimes you forget about that when she gets in a yelling match with the man at the ice cream truck. you're pulling your hat over your head, hoping to spontaneously melt into a puddle while the two of them go back and forth. "i don't know what you want me to say! i'm sorry i gave the wrong flavor to them, but i can't change it," the vendor says exasperatedly. nobara wrinkles up her nose in disgust at the vendor, retorting, "this business is absolutely shameful. i come all the way here for ice cream, and you can't even properly fulfill my order. what if i reported you to the better business bureau? hmmm? would you be a bit more cooperative then?"

yeah, it's been going on like this for a few minutes. you think you're going to evaporate into thin air when you realize the arguing has stopped and nobara is on her way back. and...omg...she's holding a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone!! you immediately perk up. "you got it!" you exclaim, quickly taking the cone from her. you take a bite (do you bite ice cream???? lick??? v unsure), and faux-swoon at how good it is. forgetting your previous embarrassment, you swiftly press a kiss to nobara's lips as a thank-you. "thank you nobara, this was so sweet of you!" her face deeply reddens, every ounce of toughness from the earlier altercation dissipated. she tosses her hair, trying to play it off. "oh, you know, it wasn't difficult. you just had to ask nicely." you smile at her, suddenly wanting to pay her back for the embarrassment she dealt you before.

before she can react, you quickly leave a flurry of kisses all over her face. you zing from her cheeks to her nose to her lips to her forehead and back around so fast it makes her dizzy. if you thought she was red before, she's somehow gone an even deeper shade of brick. now she's the one pulling her hat down over her head. "y/n!! cut it out, we're in public!" she hisses at you, but there's no real venom behind it. "sorry, i couldn't help it. you just looked too pretty to resist," you say, and start walking toward the city. even through the brim of her hat, nobara can see you walking away. before catching up, she's rooted in place wondering how on earth she got so lucky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

zenin maki - "y/n, i look stupid. can i take this off?" you smile at her, only your head sticking out from your door. "nope!!," you gleefully respond. maki stands outside your room with an annoyed look and crossed arms, wearing the maid outfit you dropped off at her house this morning. you quickly close the door and speedily drag your socks up your thighs and tuck the matching headband into your hair. admiring yourself in the mirror one last time, you opened the door and shyly step out in your own maid outfit. "how do i look?," you say, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

maki.pdf has crashed. her eyes flick up and down your body, a slight blush forming on her pearlescent cheeks. you note her silence and flounce over to her. tucking your hands behind your back and rocking on your heels, you lean forward. "maaaaaaaaki," you languish in her name, dragging out the syllables. "cat got your tongue?" she snaps back to the real world, a coy smile on her lips. she moves swiftly, and before you know it she's pressed up against you with a hand on your lower back and the other hand tilting your chin up at her. "of course not, darling, but i wouldn't mind getting yours," she says, gently stroking her thumb over your lips. you momentarily flush, a pretty pink haze spreading over your face. you wiggle out of her hold and kiss the tip of her nose, before dashing down the hallway.

confused, maki watches as you return with...a broom. "c'mon! maids clean, don't they?" you say as you hand her the broom. maki bemusedly watches as you pull out a rag and a can of pledge. "y/n. you called me here, with a maid outfit, so we could clean your house?" she ask. "yep!". oh my. maki watches as you spray chemicals over the table, then polish it clean with the rag. fuck it, she starts sweeping your hallway. "am i even going to get anything out of this?", whining, she stops sweeping. you pause and smile. "of course maki. after all, i have to pay you for your services." maki smirks at you, resting her hands and head on top of the broom. "oh? and what would that be?" she says, raising her eyebrows. "anything you want." maki's smirk deepens, and she goes back to sweeping. "and if i want you?" you too go back to your cleaning. "well, in that case, i suppose you have to do a really good job of cleaning."

your house has never looked cleaner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

inumaki toge - you dip your paintbrush into the water, swirling it around and making sure it was clean before dipping it into bubblegum-colored paint. inumaki sits on the other side of you, though part of him is obscured by his easel. you would have asked him to move a few hours ago, but luckily you were almost done painting him. the sun was starting to set, so the colors of the setting were changing a bit but you were sure inumaki wouldn't care too much if you took some artistic liberties. you added the pink streaks in the clouds, trying to fluff them up as much as possible and make them look sweet. you frowned as you went a bit too far, having to clean your paintbrush and then touch up the painting with white.

finally, a few more mistakes and fixes later, you think you're satisfied with your work. it was a portrait of inumaki, sitting on his artist's stool with the blue sky and green hill in the background. a few hours ago it would have been an almost perfect rendering of the scene, save for the fact that you decided to paint him without his trademark collar over his face. you happened to love the seal on his face and tongue, but his covering of it made him more insecure about it as time went on. as he got used to seeing his face without it, he wondered if it would just be better if he didn't have a seal on his face at all. now he barely pulls down his collar, only ever to shout out cursed speech commands. "toge can we see each others' paintings now?" you ask. "okaka!" he responds. you sigh and say, "okay, let me know when you're done." you continue to add a few more cursory details until you hear "takana!" from the other easel. you poke your head around, asking, "do you want me to go first?" inumaki nods, and gets up.

you hold your breath as he walks over to survey your work. you feel him stop behind you and just...stare. no tsunamayo, no sujiko, not even an okaka. "what do you think?" you ask. he says nothing, and just points to his painted mouth. you look at him and feel a little bit crushed; he doesn't look angry or anything, but rather a little deflated. "are you upset i painted the curse seal?" you ask him. he responds with a slightly desolate "okaka" and your chest clutches a little bit. you wanted to show him how pretty he was with the seal, but you supposed you would have to go a bit further. "toge can you come a little closer?" he complies and moves right next to you. you quickly jump off the stool and clasp his face in your hands. slowly, you pull down his collar, revealing the seal. you hold his gaze for a moment longer, and then gently press kisses along the surface of the curse. you make sure to touch every angle, feeling the heat of his skin rise each new time your lips touch the curse. you pull your head back and say, "i think the curse seal is pretty. the way it curves along your cheek is just gorgeous, it's such a rich shade of black, and it looks the best when i see you smile. but most of all, you make it look pretty. i like the curse seal because it's a part of you." inumaki softly smiles when he hears this, and just wraps you up into a hug. you two stay like that for a minute or two, interrupted only by "can i see your painting of me now?" "shake."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

nanami kento - you two are at home in the kitchen. normally you both take turns cooking and cleaning, but tonight you decided to make dinner together. nanami is cutting up vegetables for your curry, while you focus on cooking the chicken in the sauce. soft music plays while a delicious aroma fills the room. nanami finishes cutting up the vegetables, neatly zooshing them into the pan with the knife. you add coconut milk and spices, stirring as the sizzling gets loud, and then gently recedes into a soft bubbling. you watch the pan carefully as nanami shifts behind you, wrapping his arms around your front. his face rests on your shoulder as you both watch the pan bubble away.

he gently bites your ear, asking, "how was your day?". your hand comes up to rest on his cheek, sighing contently. "fine. i was a bit busy, but nothing out of the ordinary. how was yours?". nanami sighs, the air lusciously dancing around your ear. "mmmmmm...annoying. or, more aptly, gojou was." you laugh, imaging all the ways the he could have been a nuisance. "is that so?," you say. "yes, but i don't want to dwell on it. work is work, and i'd rather focus on my time outside of it," nanami says. "like focusing on you," he breathes into your ear. he gently spins you around so that you're facing him, and pulls you closer to his body. he wraps his arms around your back, and you wrap your arms around his neck. you two begin to softly dance to the music, not even moving from the spot you're currently in. it's not perfect dancing by any standards; in fact, you think you're off-beat. still, with nanami humming in your ear and such a comforting aura surrounding you, you don't really think it matters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

gojou satoru - for once, you two aren't running around and acting crazy. instead, you've just woken up to rain pattering on the window and cloudy skies overhead. gojou is still asleep in bed, blindfold slipped over his face with his closed eyes revealed to the world. you smile, enjoying the sight. it's not often you two get time to just be together, with gojou being gone all the time, his students needing his attention, and your own life and responsibilities. you slip out of the room and into the kitchen, cutting up fruit and making coffee. you bring it back into the room, the smell waking up your drowsy boyfriend. crystalline eyes look up at you, filled with love and adoration. you sit on the bed as he sits up, passing him a plate and a mug.

"hey, i just had the craziest dream," he says, mouth full of raspberries. "oh? would you like to tell me about it?," you respond, sipping your coffee. gojou smirks at you. "well, normally i would say to never tell a bad dream before breakfast because that's the surest way to make it come true, but i don't believe in that, and anyways i could kick the dream curse's ass if it came to it. so, itadori is a woman, and sukuna keeps taking over to play with boobs, right?". he rambles on, and you think he's actually making some of this up on the fly, but it's entertaining and you don't want to interrupt him. he tells you the whole story, and by the end you've both finished your breakfast. you're still laughing at the part where inumaki is left at the alter by nobara chasing after maki, when he picks up your plate and mug and places it on the little table beside the bed.

"satoru, what are you-," you're interrupted as he swiftly pulls you into his lap, your back flush against his chest. confused, he hands you the book on the side table while he picks up a stack of reports. he opens them and starts reading, while you look at him in confusion. he apprehensively pauses and looks at you. "we don't get to have a lot of quiet time like this," he hesitantly explains, "so i thought we could just do something with each other, even if it's just reading. i have to read these reports and you wanted to finish that book anyway, so i thought we could start like this." he smiles down at you, and it's like he shoots warmth straight into your chest and fans it out to the tips of your fingers, toes, and eyelashes. you ghost his cheek with a kiss and burrow into his chest. "of course, 'toru. this is absolutely perfect." you feel his chest skip a beat through your skin, and try to hid your smile. you open your book while he resumes his reports, and bask in the comfort of shared love.

[watermelonlipstick]

Septic

This was written as a request for anon, who asked:

I was wondering if I could request one with Dean. The reader's injury gets badly infected and she gets a high fever and they are stuck somewhere and can't go to the hospital (maybe a cabin during a snow storm or something else if you want?). Anyway her condition keeps getting worse and dean is doing everything he can to keep her alive? As for their relationship it's up to you, whether they're dating or hiding their feelings...?

I hope this is something along the lines of what you were thinking. I decided to go with a ‘hiding from Leviathans’ angle because that seemed the closest to canon compliant to me. Thanks in advance for reading; I would love any advice or critiques!!

Title: Septic

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2124

Summary: Unable to go to a hospital for fear of getting trapped by Leviathans, Dean tries his best to manage the reader’s worsening infection and fever. 

Warnings: fever, illness, swearing, implied threat of death, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff (maybe? if you squint)

           “Dude, I have a fever, I haven’t been decapitated. Can you stop pacing? Sam’ll be back in a couple days, I’ll take some Tylenol and sleep it off, we’ll be good as new in no time.”

           He glared down at you where you laid on Rufus’s couch with flared nostrils. “You’re shivering under every goddamn blanket in this place and it’s been 3 days already. We’re going to a hospital.”

           You rolled your eyes at him and tried to hide the way you snuggled deeper into the woolen bundle. “So dramatic. As if we wouldn’t get made walking in the door. And if you’re so worried about me, why don’t you make yourself useful and get me a hot water bottle and some tea?” You tried to give him your most casual smile in reassurance.

           Dean appraised you with a hard set to his jaw and a twinge of concern at his eyebrows for a moment before relenting. “Fuck, fine. One more day and if the fever hasn’t broken, then we’re going.” It was only a few steps to the kitchen, and you heard him putting a pot of water on to boil. “You sure I can’t just do coffee? I don’t know how you drink this stuff.”

           Like it always did, Dean’s aversion to tea made you laugh. “It’s literally just mint flavored water—you act like you haven’t drunk all kinds of potions and hangover cures.”

           “The fact that I have drunk all kinds of potions and hangover cures should show you how gross it is.” He tossed a hot water bottle covered in worn waxed canvas on top of your blankets and you shimmied it under your feet while he got the tea together. After a moment, he set the tea (and a plastic bear full of honey, which made you smile to yourself) on the coffee table next to you. “Can we at least watch something else? These chicks are driving me fucking nuts.”

           That made you laugh hard enough to shake loose the blanket corners tucked in under your chin. “You might be able to trick Bobby into thinking you don’t like the Real Housewives, but I’m not buying it for one second.”

           He shot you some side eye but didn’t protest, patting your feet in a signal to raise them so he could sit with your legs in his lap. You didn’t remember past the first few minutes of the next episode.

           “Hey, come on, you gotta drink something.”

           You squinted up at Dean, feeling the sickly stickiness of dried and re-soaked sweat in Dean’s stolen sweatshirt where it bunched around your neck. “You want me to sleep, you want me to wake up, pick a lane, asshole,” you tried to joke, feeling each word like a stab in your, well, stab wound. It took more focus than it should’ve too hold onto Dean’s face where he perched on the coffee table right in front of you.

           “You’ve been asleep for 16 hours, Rip Van Winkle. And you’re sweating like a whore in church, gotta rehydrate.”

           “Thanks, Nurse Ratched,” you croaked, carefully keeping your face neutral around the throbbing ache in your side as you sat up and accepted the bowl of broth from Dean. When his hands were free, he put the back of his hand to your forehead in a very maternal way that might’ve made you giggle if you weren’t in so much pain.

           Dean’s lips pressed into a tight line and he breathed a hard “fuck,” as he sat back. “Lemme see it.”

           “If you wanted to get me naked, all you had to do was ask,” you tried to joke.

           “No slick shit, I’m serious. The fever’s getting worse.” There wasn’t even a touch of playfulness in his tone, tight chord of anxiety clipping his words.

           “It’s going to be pink and raw like every other set of infected stit—”

           “Cooperate or don’t, but my bet is there’s no way you can slip out of getting pinned right now.”

           “Who knew you were so kinky, Dean?”

           He didn’t rise to the teasing at all, the just-this-side-of-friendly banter you normally had, and it made the nervous bile rise a few degrees in your throat. You eased back and slowly flipped down the blankets, immediately started shivering as you pulled up your damp layers to show him your stomach.

           It was worse than you’d thought it would be even before he tenderly pulled back the tape to see the injury itself, the gauze a mottled tie-dye of blood and greenish pus. The stitches strained against swollen, angry tissue oozing at the corners, and you looked away to hold onto a little denial that you weren’t completely fucked. “Jesus Christ, kid,” Dean murmured. He reached behind him for a bottle of rubbing alcohol and you didn’t even try to argue, hissing and grabbing his wrist when he poured it over the wound. Dabbing off the worst of the external mess with the moisture, you watched as his mind raced.

           You decided to try to grab the reins of the situation before he locked you both into a crazy plan. “Help me up, I want to take a shower. I feel disgusting.”

           “Can you even stand?”

           You rolled your eyes at him exasperatedly.

           “Roll your fucking eyes at me all you want, you look like Marvin the Martian. Can’t believe I let your dumb ass talk me out of taking you to a hospital.”

           “I’ve got a much better chance of beating a little infection than I do the combined force of however many Leviathans are looking for us and the full force of the federal government. Now get out of my way if you’re not going to help me up, I need a shower.”

           He pushed back the coffee table and watched you stand up, grabbing your arm and waist when you immediately swayed. “Goddamn it, sit back down, I’m getting your shoes.”

           “Dean. I am not going to a hospital. Especially not before Sam gets back. Not a negotiation. I just—you’re freaked out, I get it. I just need you to please let me call the play for once.”

           His jaw muscles tightened into firm balls and you could see the flare of panic behind his gaze as he flicked between your eyes. Ultimately he didn’t say anything, just giving you a tight nod and offering a hand to guide you up and to the bathroom. When you’d gotten there, he hovered in the doorway as you started to peel off layers, hoping that your leaning on the sink didn’t look as obvious as it felt. “Think I can take it from here, chief,” you offered, hoping he’d take the hint.

           “Not adding a head injury to this bullshit stew, sorry.”

           “No way, psycho. You’re not watching me shower.”

           His face screwed up in a scowl. “I’m not going to watch you shower, I’m just staying in here while you do in case you get dizzy again.”

           “Dude—”

           “Not a negotiation,” he growled, spinning your words back on you. You held each other’s stubborn gazes for a long beat before you gave in, getting in the tub and yanking the curtain closed with the rest of your clothes on, shucking the rest of them off and dropping them outside the tub behind the plasticized shield and curtain. You turned the water on and held onto the dial for support, hearing Dean’s movement in the bathroom as he sat down on the lidded toilet next to the shower. Laborious as it was, it felt a lot better getting clean. You’d started washing your hair when he started to talk.

           “You know what you’re asking me to do, right?”

           “Let me take a shower in peace?” You didn’t want to acknowledge the elephant in the room—what was the point?

           “If you’re not septic yet you will be in a day or two.”

           “By which time Sam will be back and you guys can strong arm some vet into giving me antibiotics like the mafiosos you fancy yourselves to be.”

           “Don’t deflect.” It was quiet but firm, and you blinked away the way your vision was starting to fuzz out at the edges. Something about it finally got you to drop the joking, if only for a second.

           “I know what I’m asking you to do.” You hoped he could hear the resolution in your voice.

           Dean was silent for a long enough beat that you thought maybe he hadn’t heard you, but you heard the roughness in his voice when he finally replied. “Please don’t make me?”

           The shower washed away a hot, stupid tear when it shot out of your eye like a kamikaze at his vulnerability. “I can’t be the reason you guys get caught.” You were clean now, but something about the confession-style quality of the shower curtain and the way it was letting both of you say what you really meant held you in the stream of water anyway.

           “I’m not—it’s going to fuck me up forever, you know that, right?” It was almost a grunt, the way Dean’s voice strained as he pleaded with you.

           “Long as you guys are alive.”

           He didn’t respond.

           After a long minute you felt your legs start to turn to jello. “You have something out there I can put on?”

           You heard him clear his voice, sticky and coarse. “Gimme a second.”

           A callused hand shot behind the shower curtain with a towel before Dean’s footsteps got quieter, and you tried your best to dry yourself off without stumbling. Not 15 seconds later, a bundle of clothes came in the same way. You smiled to yourself at your underwear and yoga pants with Dean’s t-shirt; he would’ve had to deliberately go into 2 different bags to get the clothes, no way it was an accidental grab. When you were dressed, you tugged the shower curtain back and didn’t argue when Dean wrapped his arm around your waist to ease you out of the tub, let him guide you back to the couch and fussily rearrange your blankets and pillows before he got out his first aid supplies.

           You watched his face as he worked on cleaning the wound again, knowing he just needed to be doing something, that he couldn’t just sit still and hope it got better. You could give him that, sat stock still even when it stung like a bitch and didn’t even tease him when he made you swallow a handful of vitamins as though that would help. Another cup of soup eaten silently and two mugs of tea later, your eyelids were beginning to droop again.

           “Tired?” he murmured, messing with the cover of the hot water bottle before ultimately getting up to refill it.

           “A little, yeah. Will you, um, will you sit with me?”

           Dean mercifully didn’t acknowledge the shake in your voice, nodding gently and sliding himself beneath you on the couch, tucking you under his arm and onto his chest, burrowing you both into the cushions. You reached your hand out of the blankets to place your palm over his heart, feeling the vibrating thrum of his pulse under your fingertips and cheek. His hand shifted so that he was smoothing the drying hair back from your temple, and after a few beats he bent his neck to kiss the crown of your head. The tenderness of it, the giving in to your request, pulled another tear out of your eye that fell straight into the cotton of Dean’ t-shirt underneath you.

           He sounded like he’d just woken up, that sleepy-syrupy sandpaper of a long night on his vocal cords. “You know, right? If it was going to be anyone for me, it would’ve been you?”

           The weight of it turned the blankets on top of you into a hug. You were nodding into him before you could speak, the tears turning your voice creaky-soft. “Same to you, dummy.” He chuckled once nostalgically at the ribbing, and you felt the rumble of it under you. “Thank you, Dean.”

           You felt the tension of the hiccupped breath before Dean got it under control to answer. “I love you, kid.”

           “Love you too.” It was the only thing to say, and neither of you had to answer or explain this undercurrent that had never been acknowledged so plainly before, no matter how rock solid it might’ve been for years. You laid there together for a long time, beating of Dean’s heart underneath you something constant to hold onto, warmth off his body better than any hot water bottle. The last thing you remembered before passing out was hearing Sam walk through the front door.

-

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[nextdoor-neighbors]

What Friends Are For

Link to Part Two!

Request: Hi! Idk if you’re taking requests but I got this idea and it won’t leave my head lol: reader is best friends with the twins and/or closest to George (like platonic soulmates) and wants to lose their virginity so George is basically like “yeah sure I can help you out, what are friends for?”

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Smut, language

A/N: Sorry I’ve been gone for a bit guys, but here’s this, I hope you all enjoy! It’s been a while since I’ve written a George one!

You were the last virgin in your friend group.

You hadn’t told anyone, mostly because you were slightly embarrassed. So, your friends were just under the impression that you’d hooked up with someone one night and lost your virginity, but wouldn’t tell them who.

It’s not that you didn’t want to have sex. You did. It was just the matter of finding someone to have sex with that was difficult.

But one night, the pieces finally come together, as you sit with your best friend, George Weasley, in his dorm. The rest of his roommates and your friends are out, but Merlin knows where. You guess that Angelina and Fred are probably off hooking up somewhere, because when Fred wasn’t with you and George, he was always with her. Not that it bothered you; you’ve always enjoyed alone time with George. The two of you had always been closer than you and Fred, because George always seemed to understand you better. You’re convinced that he knows you better than you know yourself.

Now, you lay on his bed with him as he reads to you (an activity that you always kept from Fred, knowing he’d tease you endlessly about it), but your mind is elsewhere. You’re more focused on how close you are to him in this tiny bed, how your arms are pressed together, and how you can feel his body heat.

An idea pops into your head, and the second it’s there, you know it’s not going to leave.

“George,” you say, abruptly.

He stops reading and glances over at you.

“Yeah?”

“I wanna lose my virginity.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow so you can turn to look at George better. A look of confusion crosses his face, his eyebrows furrowing.

“You said you already-”

“I lied,” you admit, “because I was embarrassed that I was the only one in our friend group that hasn’t had sex yet. And since you guys talk it up so much, I just... I don’t know.”

George sets the book on his nightstand and turns his body to face yours. There was no denying how attractive he is, and plus, he’s probably the person you trust most in the world. What better person to get some experience from?

“You didn't have to lie, Y/N,” George says softly, “we wouldn’t have judged you because of it, or anything, if that’s what you were worried about.”

He reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, which, any other time, you wouldn’t think twice about. But now - with these thoughts of losing your virginity to George on your mind - the simple gesture takes your full attention.

“I want to, though. Lose my virginity. And-” you continue, knowing George, “not just to fit in, or whatever you’re thinking. Because I want to experience it.”

George pulls his lower lip in with his teeth, and you know him well enough to know that he does that when he's thinking about something.

“I mean...”

You wait for him to continue, not wanting to jump the gun, but you somehow just know that the two of you are thinking the same thing. You usually are, after all.

“I could...I could help you out?”

You can’t help but smile nervously. “Are you sure?”

George returns your smile, looking much more at ease than you feel. “Yeah, what are friends for?”

You laugh, but it’s quickly cut off by George pressing his lips against yours. You make a soft noise of pleasure against his mouth as you scoot closer to him, wrapping the arm that’s not propping you up around his neck and sliding your fingers into his hair. His hand finds your waist and grips it tightly, his fingers digging into your skin.

He half rolls so that he’s on top of you, pressing his body down against yours so that you can feel practically every inch of him.

His mouth leaves yours, kissing and sucking alone your jawline and neck. You tilt your head back to give him better access, pleasure flooding your body. You feel yourself growing more wet by the second as his tongue traces your collarbone and his hands slide under and up your shirt.

George pulls away, sitting up, and you worry that something’s wrong until he says,

“Take your shirt off.”

You immediately listen to his command, removing your shirt as he does the same. You take a moment to look at his toned chest, the freckles spattered over his pale skin. He gazes at you in return, eyes searching your body before he makes eye contact with you again.

“If at any point you want to stop, Y/N-”

You shake your head. “I want this, George.”

A small smirk forms on his lips as he moves his attention to your lower half, pulling at your skirt. He tosses it aside, leaving you in your bra and underwear. He drags his fingers down your stomach and along the hem of your panties teasingly.

“George,” you whimper, bucking your hips up towards his hand.

“What?” he says, innocently, that smirk still on his face as his hand finally slips under your panties, his fingers teasing your entrance.

You let out a moan as he pushes a finger inside of you.

“You’re so wet already,” he murmurs, his other hand coming to rest on your thigh, gripping it tightly as he begins pumping his finger in and out of you.

“Fuck,” you say, tilting your head back at the pleasure, but George’s hand leaves your thigh and wraps around your neck.

“Look at me,” George demands, adding another finger, so you do exactly that, meeting his eyes. Between the eye contact, his hand around your neck, and his long fingers curling inside of you, the pleasure is almost too much to handle, building inside of you and spreading down your legs.

Much to your disappointment, George takes his fingers out of you and lets go of your neck. He begins to get off the bed, undoing his belt. Your eyes are glued to his bulge straining against his pants, because you can already tell that he's big, which is confirmed once he pulls down his pants and boxers in one move, his erection springing free.

“You’re so big,” you say, and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to take him.

He grins, joining you back on the bed and straddling your legs, pulling your panties down and tossing those to side, just as he did with your skirt.

“I’ll be gentle. If it hurts, let me know, and I’ll stop, okay?” George says, guiding your legs, pushing them up so that your knees are up and your feet are planted firmly on the bed. He pushes your thighs apart, looking you over a few times.

“You’re gorgeous, Y/N. Absolutely stunning. I say that in the most friendly way possibly, by the way.” He winks at you as he positions himself at your entrance.

You can’t help but giggle. “Right. Of course.”

He leans down to kiss you, hard and passionate, before beginning to push himself inside of you. You gasp at the sensation, at how big he is, and how he fills up every inch of you. It definitely hurts, due to his size, but you don’t want him to stop.

“Fuuuck, Y/N,” he groans, “you’re so tight.”

He pauses, once he’s mostly inside of you, letting you adjust to him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice quiet and strained.

“Yeah, George, keep going.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He starts slow, trying to be as gentle as possible as you get used to him, but quickly begins increasing speed. He lets out groans and grunts as he thrusts into you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You clutch at him, digging your nails in his back.

“Fuck, George-”

“You feel so good, Y/N-”

You feel yourself edging closer and closer to orgasm, and judging by George’s less controlled thrusts, you guess that he is, too.

“I’m close, George,” you whimper.

“So am I,” he breathes, “Cum for me, princess.”

After a few more thrusts, you release, the pleasure shooting through your body. You let out a loud moan, and George finishes shortly after, inside of you, groaning into your skin.

He pulls out of you, slowly, and grins at you as he looks you over, his chest rising and falling quickly.

“What do you think?”

You smile back, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him. He looks gorgeous like this: flushed, hair messy.

“Are you asking for a post-sex rating, Weasley?”

He laughs, pushing himself off the bed to grab his shirt off the floor, which he tosses at you. You don’t hesitate to put it on, laying back down after you do so.

“Yes, Y/L/N, I am. If you have any critiques, I’ll gladly hear those, too. Anything to improve my game.” He winks at you before grabbing his pants and pulling them back up.

You laugh. If you were being honest with yourself, you wouldn’t mind doing that again, with George. After all, it’s just a friend helping out another friend.

Right?