#i gotta argue with IRS :(

[vashti-lives]

nothing like being on hold for a super long time for getting irritation to overtake anxiety.

[coralinnii]

I love the villain scorned by the world feat: Leona genre: budding romance note: continuation of the sequel to Villain/ess au Leona’s ver., not gender-specific reader, no pronouns used, established political relationship, Leona and reader are adults, roughly 1.5k word count, reader is interpreted as extremely ticklish,

Series masterlist

The Royal couple is in trouble!

No, not the King and Queen. And you and Leona are not really in danger, nor are you breaking up or anything…ok no one is really in trouble.

But there’s definitely some tension between the newlywed couple as the servants fear the honeymoon phase has finally fizzled (though you wanted to argue that there never was such a phase to begin with).

First, it started with the lover’s quarrel (the lovers part is also debatable, you muttered) the day Leona revealed fresh scratch marks on his shoulders and chest. The knights recalled the frustration and embarrassment on your face when you verbally tore into Leona over the marks, yelling at the young prince how humiliating it was that King Farena himself had to mention it.

Leona’s words didn’t help your ire, casually replying, “I couldn’t care less what my brother or anybody says about me or our relationship, and neither should you”

Unfortunately for him, you don’t agree with that as you left the training grounds right after calling him a “tactless housecat”. The knights kept their awe for you internally so as to not get caught by the stunned prince. No one but you could ever call Leona Kingscholar that and leave unscathed. Kudos to you

Since then, you have avoided your shared bedroom with your husband, making excuses of obligations and signs of illness (a huge migraine counts, right?). but no one knew you were actually just fearful that Leona would exact his revenge on you through tickling. You don’t regret pissing off the great Leona, you just regret showing a vindictive beastman your weak spots.

Leona was pissed but not because you called him a housecat (ok, maybe a little), it was mostly because your absence has disrupted his naps.

Since your union, you two were obligated to share a bed frequently to maintain your relationship despite having your own personal rooms. At first, it was a pain for Leona to share his peace and quiet with someone but he has grown accustomed to you as the two of you come together to sleep.

The warmth of your body that radiates that perfect amount of heat beside him, the pleasant waft of your scent that sticks to the sheets and pillows that doesn’t overwhelm his senses unlike the obnoxious perfumes of those gold-diggers, your soft breathing that lulls him to sleep as he unconsciously inches closer to you to hear and feel you better. He finds himself waking up in a much better mood and more well rested after your shared nights. You can’t just take that away from him after getting so comfortable.

You ruined his napping routine so you gotta fix it now.

Leona came up to you, calling a truce to “that incident” and promising not to tickle you as revenge for your yelling and insults. You immediately picked up his wording, noting he didn’t say he’ll stop tickling for good, but you figured that’s fine for now.

Ironically though, you really did have obligations that required you to stay in your personal bedroom. You have been exchanging letters with someone from a neighbouring kingdom who was planning a visit soon. So, you were now avoiding sharing a bed with Leona since you didn’t want to disturb his sleep as you stayed up to make preparations for the visiting Royal.

With your prolonged avoidance and Leona’s growing grumpiness, the castle has been tense with worry that the peaceful alliance may be at risk. Everyone was on edge and nearly in tears, especially one young lion cub.

“The kingdom’s in danger!” Cheka bawled as he buried himself into your arms, clutching to your clothes. He had walked into your bedroom with tears in his eyes, towards your seated position by your work desk and climbed into your lap.

You were at a loss at the young cub’s sudden proclamation. You turned to Leona who was lying on your large bed, spreading himself across the mattress like he owned it. He only shrugged his shoulders, confused as you are (though clearly not as worried).

“Cheka honey, what do you mean? Did your father say something today?” You asked worriedly, wondering what news could lead to such a statement.

But Cheka shook his head, still holding onto your shirt. If you weren’t so concerned with his words, you would have joked about how the young heir acts more like a koala than a mighty lion right now.

“Then spit it out, you brat” Leona irritably said, earning a side glare from you which he ignored, “What do you mean the kingdom’s in danger?”

“Hic…everyone is saying you two are gonna b-break up” Cheka choked out, tears filling his eyes again, “Then the union is gonna fail and everyone might go to war”

…

There was now silence as you and Leona processed the child’s words. That was one hell of a stretch of a scenario. Sure, your union with Leona was one of political benefits, but you weren’t crazy enough to start a war with an entire kingdom over a bad break up.

“We ain’t breaking up”

“Oh right, that too” you thought, realizing the obvious that Leona pointed out with an angry growl in his throat, his tail thumping down against your bed in visible annoyance.

“You and Unca aren’t?” Cheka asked, finally lifting his head to look up at you with hopeful eyes. You smiled at the cute cub beastman, weaving your hand through his fluffy hair.

“No, your uncle and I are perfectly happy. We’re not breaking up anytime soon” you reassured your nephew, too distracted to notice the way the aggressive thumping on your bed had stopped.

“Happy? Like mommy and daddy?” Cheka asked with a quizzical look, leaving you to gush internally over such cuteness.

You absentmindedly nodded your head. “Yes, just like your mommy and daddy”

“Then how come Unca and you don’t kiss?”

Oh, the silence is back.

“Mommy and daddy are always happy with each other, and they kiss all the time” Cheka continued, tapping his mouth to show where he sees his parents leave kisses, “If you’re happy, don’t you kiss each other?”

You’re cursing to yourself a mile a minute in your head, a rush of emotional stress going through your body. You didn’t want to explain the complexity of your relationship with Leona to the young Cheka, especially when you didn’t want to destroy his views of love and romance.

“How dare King Farena call me out on my PDA with Leona when he goes ahead and does this?” You frustratingly thought as you looked to Leona who has been unhelpfully laying on your bed, suspiciously quiet for a while. You glared at him while tilting your head to his nephew, wordlessly demanding help from your husband.

Surprisingly, it looked like Leona was willing to help you afterall. He finally got off your comfy bed and walked towards you and Cheka, settling to place his hand atop the backrest of your chair and leaned down towards your head.

“Yea, why don’t we kiss?”

You take back everything you thought. Leona Kingscholar is never helpful and you’re a fool to ever think that. You hoped your glare would eventually burn Leona, but sadly he still stood proudly over you with a smug look on his handsome face. Damn his handsome face.

“It’s your move, herbivore” Leona said, purposely baiting you by calling you a herbivore. He took the teasing further by leaning further down towards you, eager to see your next move.

He’s calling you out, waiting to see if you’ll chicken out and make an excuse to Cheka as he was watching you with anticipation. Fine, you’ll make the great Leona Kingscholar think twice before testing you.

You made the first move, boldly capturing the cocky prince’s lips with your own.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. The two of you have done it before on your wedding day. It should mean nothing to you as it did that day, just a formality to show your dedication to this alliance. Just a meaningless skinship between adults, right?

But why did it feel so good?

Why did you enjoy the surprising softness of Leona’s lips, or the way he didn’t seem shocked by your sudden attack but instead pressed his lips further onto yours. Why did it feel so nice to feel the Leona’s warmth on you, his natural scent strangely attractive to you. Even the stray locks of his dark mane felt nice as it lightly tickled your cheeks. You rather perish than to verbally admit, but your prideful husband was a good kisser. Firm and confident, if a little strong.

Actually really strong, why is he getting more aggressive?!

You had to fervently whack the tall prince on his shoulder to signal him to get off, to which he very slowly did. He backed away from you slightly, a little annoyed but still satisfied according to his little smirk. He certainly enjoyed the flustered mess of your face.

“Yay! No break up!” Cheka’s chirpy voice broke your daze and he cheered over your apparent “happy” relationship.

You sighed, but at least you were thankful to settle this weird confusion. You should probably speak with the servants to clear the misunderstanding around the castle.

But Cheka once again surprised both you and Leona

“Now, you and Unca can sleep together again!”

The life of royalty is not easy.

[aughhay]

Raian and y/n fight so he pulls over the car and teaches her a lesson!!

𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲? || 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐞

“𝗍𝖼𝗁, 𝗇𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗋.”

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭; dubcon, blood, dirty talking, arguing, cursing, slapping, hair pulling, degradation/humiliation, public sex, raian’s wearing sweatpants.., cramped space, biting, facefucking, rough play, you & raian are complicated, cum in mouth

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞; smut with gn!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 1.2k+, scrapped the actual sex part.

a/n; i did not proofread any of this shit 😦 im so sorry but WE HIT 40 NOTES ON THAT OHMA FIC IM SO HAPPY

18+ !!!

it’s about that time at night where raian turns into an egotistical asshole while driving, he starts noticing the streets are almost bare and grows a petty smirk. raian’s brain lights up with ideas to fuck with the remaining drivers on the road, make them pull over out of sheer fear or argue with them back and forth whilst going over the speed limit. it’s nothing new, but you’re sick of dealing with it as his passenger princess.

“raian, slow down a little.. you’re speeding..—“

“speeding? ha, you think this is fucking speeding?! this is nothing!.. i’ll show you and all these other bastards real speed.”

raian’s grin was as malice-filled as it was dark. his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he glanced over at you. he chuckled, barely audible, the sound mingling with the growl of the car engine as he pushed the pedal even further. your figure plunging back into the leather seat without warning. your head is in a swivel, hearing the beast's uncontrollable laughter as your body tries to adapt to the frenzied speed of the car.

the tension in the car became unbearable, the mix of danger and adrenaline filling the small space. his eyes flicked back to the road as you contemplated his words, the car's speed climbing with his expectations.

“stop the fucking car! it’s not funny, take me home raian.”

“you’re not going home ‘til i say so, and i say you keep your dolled up ass frozen in that passenger seat.”

his implications hang heavy, tangible as the charged air between you. raian’s hand, powerful and capable, finds a resting place on your thigh, digging into your skin without remorse. a reminder of his presence, his power. though your protests aren’t getting through to him one bit, the sound of your stern voice gets him hot, coaxing more out of you.

the car's interior feels stifling, tension thick between the two of you as headlights and street lamps streak by. you can tell by the tenseness of his jaw and the unwavering hardness pressing against his pants that his ire was vying with raw need. the silent car became a den of smoldered urges, one palpable exhale away from combusting.

“tch. little bitches like you always like to chat, don’t they?—“

“you may think you can bully all these other people on the road, but not me! you need to treat me with respect!”

“what makes you think you deserve my fucking respect? the fact that my cum was swishing inside of you last week makes you think i gotta be fucking jolly to you? hah! what a fucking joke.”

“fuck you!”

“fuck me?”

“fuck you! pull this car over now!”

raian’s scratched voice had a sick grin emerge deep inside. his eyes crinkling from a smile that could cause a god fear.

“if you were so worried ‘bout it... maybe you should have done somethin' to distract me, hah? could’ve curbed my fuckin' enthusiasm. but whatever..”

to hell with that alleyway three feet ahead as he swerved into it, his car jerks to a halt in the seclusion of the dark space. every tick slowed as he turned the headlights off and locked the car doors. even as time felt like it slowed, the hand that laid on your thigh switched to your locks in a quick snap.

“ah!—“

your squeak is muffled by the tight grip in your hair, raian’s jaw ticking as he watches the range of emotions play across your delicate features. he releases a chuckle, a sound scarred and throaty.

“d—don’t touch me!”

“that’s it, isn’t it? you love pissin’ me off ‘cause you know exactly what it leads to. fuckin’ freak. you’re lucky i’m hard too, would’ve kicked you the fuck out by now.”

“gonna make good use of you.”

the words come with a growl, his lips inches from yours as he leans closer, a silent promise of retribution or perhaps a dark form of foreplay.

without warning, his lips crash against yours, an aggressive and possessive kiss that leaves you breathless. it wasnt the kiss itself that made you feel that way, it was the harsh bite on your lips that took the air out your longing lungs. the anger that had been simmering between you diffuses gradually with each forceful movement of raian’s blood covered tongue against yours, seemingly battling for dominance. the sensation of being so thoroughly claimed by someone as fierce and relentless as this man sends a thrilling shiver coursing through your body.

your hands meet with his chest, at first to push him away. this kiss stings, it hurts along with his hand still tangled near your scalp. but as his tongue meets with yours, your head feels fuzzy and your hands relent against his shirt.

raian pulls back his face, mouth open tongue exposed, the mixed saliva dripping from the tip of his tongue as he pants.

“yeah, gonna use you ‘til you break.”

his hand pushes you to his crotch, un-busied hand pulling down his sweats as he stares down at you with anticipation. but as his cock pops up in front of your face, you just can’t stop yourself. his musk is too addictive as you kiss up and down each vein, his member twitching against your crimson red lips.

raian isn’t impressed, at all. a bored expression as he grumbles and slaps your cheek, not full of pain but enough to sting for a few seconds. his hips forcefully separating your soft lips as he uses your mouth. pushing your head down to the base where his pubes tickle your skin. you salivate and gag on his cock, looking up at his face as your head bobs up and down on his length. eyes hazy, you turned into a mess in seconds.

“fuck yeah.”

his gruff whisper barely slices through the stillness, his large hand tangled in your hair, guiding your head in a gentle rhythm. you feel his girth stretch your lips, his hand tightening ever so slightly each time he meets the deeper side of your throat.

every rough thrust interrupts your breath, leaving you gasping, eager, the sound of your muffled gagging mingles with the leather seats squeaking. raian’s assertiveness envelops you, his satisfaction clear in the grunt that escapes him when you hollow your cheeks, the slurping sounds filling the tight space of the car.

he hears the undeniable sounds of your commitment, the involuntary noise that escapes you as he continues to test your limits. the car jostles lightly from his movements, the energy of your eagerness causing the heavy vehicle to rock gently. raian’s breathing becomes ragged, a stark contrast to his usual, nonchalant demeanor.

the sounds of your lewd dedication, the steady rhythm of your gagging, drive raian closer to the edge. with his focus now entirely on you. moments become stretched, every touch, every noise heightened as he surrenders to your oral ministrations, his release imminent.

“fuck— gah!”

his words cut off, a deep chested grunt filling the car as his grip on you becomes a vice, his body tensing. you feel his pulse quicken, the unmistakable twitch as he empties himself, your devotion unwavering. his cum splurts into your throat without warning, your coughing audible as it sticks inside your mouth and makes it a struggle to swallow.

raian laughs at your tussle, pulling you away and into the backseat.

[boltupbitches]

Cheers to Us - Justin Herbert

Part 3 of the Layla Herbert series

Part 1 - One Day at a Time

Part 2 - Today's the Day

“Oh my god.” Justin groaned in exasperation.

“It’s honestly fine, babe. She’s ok!” Alex adjusted his collar, careful not to bump his cast. 

Alex was helping Justin get ready as his younger brother kept Layla preoccupied. The two-month-old had started crying when she saw her favorite uncle. He had shaven his mustache off the day before and Layla, although just two months old, was not feeling it at all and cried at the sight of him when he came over to pick her up.

“He’s going to give her nightmares,” Justin grumbled. “I told him she’d notice, but he’s an idiot and said she wouldn’t. I know our daughter, Alex.”

Alex rolled her eyes and sighed at her husband’s ire. “Alright, go, go, go. You’re done.”

Justin wasted no time rushing back into his living room to rescue his fussy daughter from her mustache-less uncle. 

“She was fine with me!” Patrick protested as his brother scooped Layla up with one hand. “That’s seriously dangerous, Justin. What if you dropped her?”

“You were making her cry with your face. I am adept at holding my daughter.”

“Says the dude with only one arm currently in use. You probably can’t even wipe your ass without Alex helping you.”

Justin went to retort, but he was interrupted by the loud. “Alright, that’s enough!” Called from the doorway.

Both brothers looked towards the doorway to see their mother and the rest of the family. They had just arrived and were invited in by Alex. After hearing her sons bicker, Holly wasted no time to break it up.

“Arguing in front of a baby? You two are so childish!” She admonished, walking forward to scoop her clueless granddaughter out of her older son’s hold. “They are so silly, aren’t they Miss Layla? Just the silliest. Grandma is here now though. I’ll keep them in line.” She stopped cooing at her granddaughter to give her sons a warning look.

Their dad came over to greet them and laughed at the pouting look on Justin’s face. “You aren’t seeing that baby for the next two days, son. All she’s talked about the last two weeks was seeing Layla again.” He gazed over at his wife as she showed off the beautiful tree Alex decorated to an enraptured Layla, who stared at the bulbs in wonderment as her grandma pointed out the beautiful colors.

Justin’s eyes shifted to his girlfriend speaking to Mitch and his wife. She looked absolutely gorgeous in the deep red dress she was wearing. Her hair was pinned to one side, her hair beautifully curled. The red lipstick she wore caught his attention and he stared in a brief trance at her lips as she continued speaking animatedly to his older brother and sister-in-law.

He didn’t realize that he had walked off from his amused father who wasn’t even hiding his knowing grin. Patrick just rolled his eyes at his lovestruck brother, focusing his attention back on his niece in hopes of winning her over by the end of the night. She’d get over the lack of mustache, Patrick was certain of that.

Justin found himself standing just behind his girlfriend when he decided to wrap his good arm around her and startle her, smirking at her squeal of shock.

“I was about to ruin your surprise there,” Mitch smirked. “But I figured you’d pout some more if I did so. Mom already got you doing that enough with her hogging Layla.”

“Yeah don’t remind me. We don’t even exist anymore since her first grandkid entered the world. I gotta compete with her to hold my daughter when she’s in town visiting.” Justin complained. 

“It takes a village to raise a child,” Alex mused, finding humor in her boyfriend’s jealousy. “She doesn’t get to see her all the time. She just loves her granddaughter.”

“She FaceTimes us every day to talk to Layla. She probably has that rental out front loaded with gifts too.”

“She does,” Mitch chuckled. “She came well-prepared. It’s the reason we needed two rental cars.”

“Oh god.” Justin looked over at his parents and younger brother. “Well, I suppose we get off diaper duty tonight?” He turned to Alex, leaning down to peck her lips. “Maybe we can have a night of full sleep too.” ‘And a little something else as well.’ He thought as he peeked down at his girlfriend’s cleavage.

She blushed and smacked his arm, both ignoring the gag Mitch made and his wife laughing at him for being so dramatic. “Behave.”

“I always am.” He smirked. “That’s how Layla got here after all.” He mused as his girlfriend quickly walked off to the kitchen to check on the food, his sister-in-law following after as she reached out to punch Justin’s shoulder with a “calm it down there, tiger.”

“Sooo.” Mitch started talking, “You guys are official now?”

“We are,” Justin confirmed as he took in the sight of his living room decked out and festive for the holidays. All thanks to Alex’s good taste. “We became official a month ago, but we’ve been taking our time and keeping it between us.”

Mitch nodded. “I’m glad you guys worked it out. You almost missed out on a great girl, Justin.”

Justin agreed to that without hesitation. “I’m just glad she was willing to give me another chance. It’s been amazing.”

He took in the sight of his fussy daughter, who was wearing a cute sweater dress. She was the best gift he’d ever received. Not even being drafted in the NFL compared to the feeling of being Layla Herbert’s father. The more he stared at his daughter, the more he felt his heart warm with feelings of love and happiness. 

He couldn’t wait for what the New Year would hold for his little family. He was excited to see Layla reach her milestones as she grew and with it, he’d hope that his and Alex’s relationship would continue to strengthen.

The ring he kept locked away in a small safe under his bed was waiting for its time to shine. He just hoped 2024 would be the year he’d get to break it out.

“Say, ‘come here, papa.’” Holly had her granddaughter focus on her dad. “Say, ‘papa, papa, papa.’”

Layla stared at her grandma in confusion, causing Patrick to snicker, and instead reached for her dad and let out a loud “ahhhh,” with a grabby hand towards her dad.

Justin immediately went over to her. “Why are you so fussy, Laylay?” He reached for her with one arm, using his cast-covered hand to support her bum and his other hand to hold her head against his chest as his daughter quieted down. “She’s been fussy all day.” He told his mom, who was staring at him with teary eyes. “She was just getting over an ear infection.”

“Oh Justin,” His mom cooed. “I still can’t believe this is real. Just look at her. She’s so precious. You and Alex made the most beautiful baby. I swear.” She wiped her eyes, trying not to get too emotional. 

“Wait - what if I have kids someday? Won’t they be beautiful?” Patrick protested.

“They will be,” Justin said. “Just not as beautiful as mine.”

“She’s only beautiful because of her mom. It’s definitely not because of your ass.” Patrick sneered, yelping when his mom pinched his arm. “Oww!”

“Don’t be mean, Patrick! Your brother is not ugly.”

Justin smiled at his brother behind his mom’s back. “Well, Alex is beautiful and so is Layla. Can’t deny that.”

Before anyone could say anything else. Alex had called them in the dining room for dinner. Mitch had joined her and his wife in setting the table.

As Justin was walking in with Layla, Alex stopped him to ask for Layla. “Why don’t you eat first? And I can bottle feed her.”

“I was going to breastfeed her in the kitchen,” Alex said.

“Honestly, it’s fine. I’ll bottle-feed her from the milk you stored in the fridge. You eat and enjoy dinner with everyone. My mom will end up abandoning us anyway to come see Layla in the kitchen if you stay in here.”

Alex nodded at that, knowing he was right. “Ok. Let’s go eat then. Go get settled and I’ll get her bottle warmed up for you.”

Justin nodded and smiled at his wife. “I love you.”

She smiled back shyly, “I love you too.”

They stood there for a few moments until Layla fussed again and started pulling at Justin’s shirt, mouthing against the material. “Ok, ok,” He soothed her, reaching for her binky that was clipped to her dress. “We’re getting it, Ms. Fussy.”

Layla suckled on her binky, staring up at her dad with scrunched eyebrows, showing her displeasure with him. 

“You look just like your mom when you make that face.” He mused at his daughter as he walked into the chaotic dining room and took a seat. “But I wouldn’t have it any differently.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

Justin’s mom and dad gripped each other’s hands, looking at each other with knowing looks as Alex returned to the table with a bottle for Justin.

What was once fear of the unknown for their son had blossomed into excitement and adoration for his situation. Layla was a blessing. They were sure of that. She gave Justin so much happiness and fulfillment in life outside of football. Alex, his girlfriend, was a wonderful woman as well. They had hoped someday to call her their daughter-in-law.

2023 was a year of trials and tribulations for their son. Yet, by the end of the year, he was given one of the greatest gifts of all. A daughter to love and raise. 

“Cheers to Layla.” Mark said suddenly, lifting his glass, “Cheers to Christmas. To our family. And to a Prosperous New Year.”

“Cheers!” The rest of the table echoes.

“Cheers to Layla.” Justin cooed to his daughter who smiled around the nipple of the bottle. 

Justin smiled at his girlfriend who smiled back at him. “Cheers to us,” He said quietly. 

Alex lifted her glass of sparkling grape juice to him with a smile. “Cheers to us.” She agreed.

[ichinoue]

I love that IRs are so salty about that IH pic. Sweethearts, the series is over. It’s canon that Ichigo and Orihime are married and living happily ever after with their son, and that Rukia is loving her best life with her hot, tatted up husband and their daughter. That ending isn’t changing just because you couldn’t read.

Yeah, and it's not even just the fanart that the animator created that's making them mad, it's Bleach being back in general with all the hype surrounding the anime, after they declared Bleach was "dead" and said that no one cared about it anymore because IR wasn't canon.

And now that the people who work on the anime know which pairings are endgame, I think it gives the animators more freedom to talk about or show support for the canon pairings without having to remain neutral or be vague just to keep up some element of surprise. So, they can be more blatant about Ichigo/Orihime and Rukia/Renji being romantic couples and speak about them more factually as so, because they are, factually, couples in the end. And that really seems to bug IR shippers lmao because I think they like to think that IR is the "true canon" that everyone ships, and that IH/RR should be treated as total flukes that shouldn't even be acknowledged, unless it's to acknowledge them as something that never should have happened.

Plus, let's be real, the final arc was brutal for them. IchiRuki was so starved for content, practically the entire time, while Kubo spoiled IchiHime and RenRuki with goods throughout, and now that it's being animated, IR shippers have to relive that nightmare all over again: watching us celebrate as new episodes come out and more IH/RR moments are animated, knowing full well where it's all leading to--their marriages and children in the end.

I mean, as much as they like to say "IH shippers only had chapter 686, while IR shippers had the entire manga!" (as they ignore the fact that IR's screentime greatly plateaued after the first two arcs) it's gotta be difficult to argue that they had the entire manga while we had nothing, when they know just how few moments they have to look forward to being animated compared to us. All they have is the hospital scene, and the peach ass scene. Both of which took place fairly early on in the final arc. After that, it's crickets. Unless Kubo adds some more interactions in, which he very well might, since he said he's going to be adding in more things that didn't make it into the manga. But even then, we all know that any new moments between Ichigo and Rukia are going to be the same old platonic nakama bond moments as always.

While on the other hand, any new IH/RR moments that Kubo adds in will be created with the full knowledge that they're both going to be revealed as romantic pairings in the end.

[bwoahtastic]

I feel like between Susie and Geri girl max has such good mother figures on the grid (one as a racing mentor and one as a life mentor) and then she also gets Toto and Christian as actual positive father figures who for sure are rivals on track and in terms of team but realize they need to put those differences aside when it comes to their girl.

Also toto and Susie being mentors for girl este (because Toto used to be Esteban’s manager)

Plss yes!! Maxy has such good examples around her, and Christian and Toto are so nice to her too she can't quite believe it. They all care about her and openly show affection so sweetly and so easily!

Also Toto and Christian having to get alone cos of max wkdksk pls they are so soft for her and their wives will kill them ir they argue too much lol.

I love toto and susie being mentors to Estie too! Maybe estie and Max don't get along super well at firdt because they are a little jealous of each other, but then learn toto will easily fuss over both! And they do help each other cos girls gotta stick together!

[master-sass-blast]

S'mores for Two.

Happy New Year, everybody!

Summary: The students at Xavier's get shipped out for an educational, late-Summer/early-Autumn weekend camping trip! You and Piotr go along to help supervise. Shenanigans ensue.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, Ellie Phimister x Yukio, and Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin.

Rating: T for mild spice and Wade being Wade.

Word count: 5.8k.

Set after "Base Chemical Desire."

Your knee bounces up and down as the SUV rumbles over yet another pothole. “Good fucking God, can we please just be at the cabin already?”

“Mne zhal, myshka,” your husband apologizes. He steers the car around another bump in the road, then turns when a brown wooden sign with yellow letters indicates the cabins are to the left. “We should be there any minute now.”

You cross your legs harder and do your best not to squirm. “Not any minute soon enough. Baby’s using my bladder as a beanbag chair.”

Piotr croons sympathetically, then drives the car around another bend bracketed by dense thickets of trees and ground cover—

And then, mercifully, the cabin comes into view.

“Oh thank fuck.” You undo your seatbelt as your husband parks in front of the cabin –the car’s going slow enough that there’s no safety risk—then shove your door open before he even has the keys out of the ignition. Nearly pissed my fucking pants, holy shit—

“Good morning, campers!”

You grit your teeth when your beloved brother in spirit slings an arm around your shoulders –thus preventing you from reaching the porcelain nepenthe. “Wade—”

The merc with a mouth, however, is blissfully unaware of your bladder’s plight. He inhales deeply, the eyes on his mask widening before going back to normal size. “Ah, nature. Gotta love the smell of squirrel shit in the morning!”

Ellie grimaces as she gets out of the van ferrying most of the teens; the Institute’s high school class and a few chaperones had trekked out to upstate New York campgrounds for a long weekend school retreat in early September. “Don’t be gross, Douchepool.”

“Excuse me, Negasonic Knuckles; gross is what I do best! That, and milking my pro—”

Your husband’s car door slams with unnecessary force. “Wade.”

You growl, then shove Wade’s arm off you. “Wade—”

“What, no love for lil ol’ me?”

“I do love you, but if you don’t get out of my way, I am going to piss in your sleeping bag. Possibly within the next two minutes.”

Wade hops to the side and gestures to the cabin door with a flourish. “By all means, madam and passenger.”

Piotr takes the steps to the front porch two at a time, keys already in hand. “Hang on, myshka. Just one moment.”

…

You do, miraculously, make it to the bathroom in time.

You let out a guttural sigh of relief as you exit the commode (having flushed and washed your hands, of course), rubbing one hand over your swollen belly. “That’s so much fucking better.”

“Language, dorogoy.”

“You try staying sane when you have a lil’ flesh bell pepper sitting on your bladder,” you grumble.

Piotr chuckles, good-natured, then holds one arm out to you. He holds you against his chest, rubbing your back soothingly when you lean against him. “I know. You are doing so well, moya lyubov’. I am so proud of you.”

You press your face against his chest. A lump rises in your throat, and you find yourself blinking back tears. “Thank you.”

“You are so strong.” He kisses the top of your head. “So incredible.”

“You’re gonna make me cry, Piotr,” you say with a soft, watery laugh. You pat his chest when he chuckles with you, then tip your head back and pucker your lips for a kiss. “Love you.”

He dips his head and presses his lips against yours. “Ya tebya lyublyu.” He breaks the kiss, lifting his head when he hears some squabbling outside, then sighs and pats your back. “Come on. We should supervise young ones.”

…

The squabbling, it turns out, is Kitty and Ellie arguing over how to arrange the tents.

“You need to place them on elevated ground!” Ellie snaps, nose scrunched up with ire. “That way if it rains, we don’t get a massive-ass puddle underneath the tents!”

“Yeah, except your spot is, like, way too close to the road!” Kitty huffs, putting her hands on her hips. “Some pervert could hide in the bushes and watch us sleep! Or a drunk could lose control of his car and drive right through us!”

Russell glances between the two teens, then over at Piotr and you with a pinched expression. “People aren’t going to hide in the bushes to watch us, right?”

Nikolai –who came along to help with food and chaperoning—answers before his son can. He chuckles, pointing to his wife with his thumb. “I think Alexandra has us covered.”

Alex looks up as she sets a massive, matte black duffel bag on the ground (which rattles suspiciously, as though she has an entire armory of guns and ammunition inside). She looks to her husband, then to Russell, then shrugs. “I have security covered.” She drops another duffel bag onto the ground (this one lands with a soft whump), then gestures to her three dogs. “Noise alert system.” She stops to bring Misty –her young, excitable, gray and white Pitbull—to heel, then nudges the suspicious duffle bag with the toe of her boot. “Pervert removal devices—”

Piotr sighs. “Mama.”

She chatters at him in Russian, then reaches into the van for another bag and withdraws a bag of mini-marshmallows and a plastic air-powered rifle. “…And incentivizing for stubborn teenagers.”

Nikolai chuckles, shaking his head, then carries a cooler into the cabin.

“Since when,” Kitty pipes up, now distracted from her argument with Ellie, “do any of us need incentivizing?”

Alex shrugs, smirking in good humor. “Many possibilities. Perhaps getting out of bed in the morning.” She pauses to scoop up her tawny Chihuahua, Butters, into her arm, then grabs both her duffel bags and strides towards the cabin.

You chuckle at Kitty’s –as well as the other teens’—disgruntled expressions, then grab a few pillows and carry them into the cabin as well.

…

The tents wind up going between Ellie and Kitty’s suggested spots.

“Alright –enough!” Alex strides over, snatches the tent back up when the two teens get into a tug of war over it, then gives each of them a stern look. “We compromise –halfway between each spot. The incline is still sufficient to prevent flooding, but it’s also a safe distance away from the road. Khorosho?” She nods when both girls mutter their assent, then sets the tent bag in the newly selected spot. “Let’s get to work.”

…

Setting up tents with a group of teenagers that’ve been cooped up in vans for a couple hours and Wade is, shall we say, not an easy task.

Fortunately, due to your “carry on,” you are excused from all menial labor tasks you don’t want to partake in and thus dub yourself “Supreme Supervisor,” set up a camp chair near the cabin, and watch the chaos unfold.

In a testament to Alex and Piotr’s chaos-wrangling skills, though; The cluster of tents –two for the boys, two for the girls—are almost completely erected in under an hour.

“I didn’t know tents came in giant size,” Wade remarks as he steps back to admire the tent –which, since it can hold twelve people, is truly gargantuan. “Guess we gotta go big for the ol’ Ruskie, eh?”

“The big man gets to stay in the cabin,” you pipe up from your throne. “As the official foot massager.” You wink at Piotr when he smirks and shakes his head, then continue. “The tents are big to fit multiple people, and so everyone can stand up inside.”

“Colossus would, like, still probably have to duck,” Kitty comments as she carries her duffels into one of the girls’ tents. She sticks her head out the front flap moments later. “Can I inflate my air mattress in the cabin?”

“‘Air mattress?’” Ellie squawks, nose scrunched up in indignation. “You hauled an air mattress and a pump all the way out here?”

“It has a built-in motor. I just need to plug it in,” Kitty fires back, sticking her tongue out when Ellie rolls her eyes. “I’m not sleeping on the ground! It’s bad for your back!”

“Yeah, that’s why you use a bed roll, Princess.”

Kitty tosses her hair with a huff. “Or an air mattress, purist.”

“What, so the rest of us have to walk around your bulky inflatable bed just to take a midnight shit—”

“I can take a corner so I’m out of the way, you fucking gatekeeper—”

“Language, both of you,” Piotr interjects, “and enough.” He fixes them both with a stern look, hands on his hips, then resumes speaking when both girls mutter their apologies for arguing. “Kitty, you may inflate your mattress inside, but please be considerate when choosing spot in tent. Other campers need space as well.”

“Naturally,” she says as she hauls the carry bag for her air mattress out of the tent. “I was already going to do that.”

Ellie rolls her eyes again. “High maintenance.”

Kitty sticks her tongue out at the younger girl. “Asshole.”

“I think Mr. Rasputin already said ‘enough,’” you pipe up. You cross your arms over your chest and fix both girls with a steely stare. “Any more of this, and you two are on permanent kitchen duty. Understand?”

The two girls deflate slightly and mutter, “Yes, Mrs. Rasputin,” in unison.

“Glad to hear it.” You watch as Kitty heads inside whilst Ellie steps in to help Alex get the last tent up –they have to work with Wade, so it’s anyone’s game as to who will “win”—then wince as the slowly setting sun slips through the tree canopies and hits you directly in the eyes. And here I was hoping to keep my retinas in pristine condition. You shade your eyes with your hand, then look around for your sunglasses. I just had them in my hand, where the fuck did they –ah.

They’re on the ground next to your chair. They must’ve fallen out of the little built in cup holder on the chair’s arm.

You contemplate leaning over to pick them up –then grin when a better option occurs to you. “Hey, baby? Can you get my sunglasses for me?”

“Konechno.” Piotr steps around from the back of a tent –he’d decided to handle hammering in the stakes since most of the boys had started tossing around the mallet like a football—then stops and frowns when he spies your spectacles next to your chair. “Myshka –they are right there.”

You grin impishly when he points to the spot next to your chair. “I know. Can you grab them for me?”

Piotr tucks his tongue in his cheek. A slow smile tugs at his lips. “They are right next to you.”

“I can’t pick them up.”

“You cannot pick them up?”

“They’re too heavy.” You giggle when Piotr rolls his eyes –good natured, of course—then gesture to the sunglasses helplessly. “Please?”

He grins, shakes his head, then ambles over to your chair. He grunts slightly as he stoops to pick up your glasses, then brushes them off before carefully placing them on your face. “Better?”

“Immensely.” You angle your head up for a kiss, humming happily when your husband presses his lips against yours. “Thank you.”

“Konechno –anytime, myshka.”

You waggle your eyebrows at the sarcasm in his tone, then giggle when he grins and shakes his head again.

…

Dinner is not hotdogs roasted over a campfire –much to many of the campers’ disappointment.

“Is not good to have hotdogs every night,” Piotr reasons when the teens protest. “Balanced diet is best.”

“Says you,” Wade fires back, ever the one to stir up chaos. “I happen to know that the intestinal tract can take about four straight days of wieners before a major revolt.”

Your husband sighs, longsuffering. “Wade—”

“And I didn’t even necessarily eat all of them to find that out.”

“Wade.”

Nathan puts an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders when the teens start laughing –or, in some cases, groaning. “Easy, gorgeous.”

So, no, dinner is not hotdogs; Nikolai oversees it, and has the teens make foil pouches filled with potato chunks, diced vegetables, and pieces of ham steak (already cooked, of course, though Kitty uses baked chicken), then place the pouches around the campfire as an experiment on cooking with indirect heat.

You get a similar meal –but prepared in the kitchen in the cabin, due to Piotr’s concern about everything being cooked thoroughly for you.

Hey, you’re not complaining. You get to lounge by the fire while your husband makes you dinner. What’s not to love!

You tip your head back to kiss his cheek when he brings you your plate. “Thank you, honey.”

You do, however, partake in making smores with everyone else. Perhaps a bit too… vigorously.

“Myshka,” Piotr says when you break a graham cracker for your fourth s’more. “Do not make yourself sick, please.”

“Hey!” You protest as you place a piece of chocolate onto one graham cracker. “I’m eating for two! That means I gotta multiply everything by two. So, if a normal serving of s’mores is two, then I need to eat four.”

Piotr shakes his head while everyone else chuckles. “I do not think that is how this works, dorogoy.”

“Sure it is. Two times two is four.” You grin when everyone laughs again. “I did pass elementary math, Piotr.”

Your husband sighs, shakes his head –then snatches the marshmallow bag out of your lap once you bite into your fourth smore.

You squawk around a mouthful of marshmallow goop, melted chocolate, and crumbling graham cracker. “Hey!”

He hands the bag off to the nearest student. “Keep this away from Mrs. Rasputin, please.”

“What is this mutiny?” You give your husband a stink eye –though it’s worth the loss of marshmallows, what with how the students are delighted to partake in your husband’s usurpation—then jab him in the shoulder with your index finger. “Just for that, buster, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

…

The following morning goes as such: wake up at eight, breakfast (which is overseen by Nikolai again), then getting dressed and cleaned up before going on a hike for the purpose of plant identification, observing flora and fauna in their natural habitat, and ending at a field for a nature-scape drawing session with Piotr.

You don’t get to go on the hike, per Doctor Reid’s suggestion to reduce the strain on your body during your pregnancy. You hang back at the cabin with Nikolai and Alex, basking in the sun and enjoying the tranquility of the wilderness around you.

“Ah, there you are, ptitsa.”

You look up with a smile as your mother-in-law joins you on the cabin’s porch. “Hey. How was sleeping in the tent?”

Alex shrugs as she leans against the porch railing. “Fine. Girls were a bit wound up before bed, but they settled well enough.”

“No further fighting between Ellie and Kitty?”

“Hm.” Alex smirks and lifts one eyebrow. “Storm and I decided it would be best to separate them into different tents. Prevent further disagreements.”

“Ah.” You nod in agreement. “Probably for the best.”

“Do they usually fight like this?”

“Usually, yes,” you say, laughing slightly. “They’re two very different fish in the same pond –not to mention they’re both teenage girls.”

She chuckles and shrugs, then nods to you. “How are you?”

“I’m alright,” you answer honestly. “A bit tired.”

“Eh, comes with territory. Have they started moving yet?”

“Not yet.” You rub your swollen stomach with one hand, smiling fondly. “Dr. Reid thinks it’ll be a few weeks before I feel any movement, since this is my first viable pregnancy.”

Alex nods along. “That’s usually the case.” She smiles faintly, gaze going distant with nostalgic reflection. “Second babies, not so much. Mikhail started moving four months in.”

“Wow,” you chuckle. “So it’s been like that from the very start with him, huh.”

She grins. “That it has.”

The two of you laugh, then lapse into comfortable silence –save for the sounds of the woods around you—after a few moments.

You keep rubbing your belly, drifting further away into rumination.

It’s almost hard to believe you’re going to be a parent in a few months. After all the trying and failing, it’s like a dream come true. After your childhood, after how hard you had to work to recover from everything your parents did to you…

Alex narrows her eyes when she notices the tension in your face. “Something wrong?”

“Just… thinking about my parents,” you answer distractedly. Without thinking about it, you curl both your arms around your stomach. They’ll never hurt you. They’ll never even touch you. I promise.

As though she can sense your thoughts, Alex sighs and takes a seat next to you on the porch swing. “They’ll never get close to your children,” she assures you. “Or you. Never again.” She puts one arm around you and rubs your shoulder when you lean against her. “There’s an entire army of people who’ll see to that.”

“I know,” you murmur, “but I still fucking hate them.”

“And that’s normal,” Alex replies without hesitation. “It’s even okay. They were terrible people.”

You nod, lips pressed together in a tight line. “I still worry that I’m gonna hurt my kids the way they hurt me.”

Alex shakes her head automatically. “You won’t.”

You tilt your head up so you can see her face. “You sound so certain.”

“Because I am.” She exhales roughly when you grimace, and the hand not on your shoulder starts fiddling with one of the pockets on her black cargo pants. “Compare you and I. We both went through our versions of hell and came out of it. I raised my children, you are about to start your journey with yours.” She pauses, jaw working as she chooses her words. “I did fuck up my children. I didn’t mean to, but… I had very little help –at least in the way that would’ve prevented so much damage.” She purses her lips, then looks down at you and shrugs. “You have knowledge ahead of time. You have already done so much work to get better. You will not be perfect, but you will not remotely fuck your baby up like your parents did with you.”

You draw in a shaky breath, then nod. “Okay. Yeah. Thank you.”

Alex squeezes your shoulder gently—

The front door swings open, and Nikolai steps out onto the porch. He smiles when he sees you and Alex sitting together, but it fades when he notices the pinched expression on both your faces. “Vse v poryadke?”

Alex replies in Russian –you catch a bit about her reassuring you, but the rest goes over her head—then offer your father-in-law a melancholy smile and shrug when he looks over at you. “Just… thinking about my parents.”

Nikolai tuts and shakes his head. “All will be fine.”

“I know,” you say as you rub your stomach with one hand, “but that doesn’t stop me from worrying.”

“Is normal,” Nikolai agrees with a nod of his head. “But you have good support community. Good family. Good therapy.” He smiles reassuringly. “Everything will be okay.”

Alex hums, nodding along, then pats your shoulder before turning her attention back to her husband. “Tebe chto nibud' nuzhno?”

“Ah.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder towards the cabin’s interior. “I could use help making lunch for students.”

“Sure thing.” You stand –which is a little tricky with the angle of the porch swing and your pregnant belly, but you manage—then pump one fist in the air as you head inside. “Let’s go –Davayte idti!”

Alex chuckles as she follows after you. “Davayte idti, ptitsa.”

…

The clearing the group settled in is nothing short of picturesque. Trees surround the grassy knoll on three sides, while the fourth side is open and stretches out into an endless, rolling meadow. Wildflowers dot the long grass, attracting butterflies, bees, and other pollinators in search of a snack.

The top of the grassy hill –which is closest to the road you, Alex, and Nick take to bring lunch over for everyone—has a few picnic tables set up for hikers and other campers. Currently, the students are clustered around the tables with the other chaperones, working on their landscapes while Piotr instructs and assists them in turn.

You can’t help but to take a moment and admire your husband as he advises a student on how to shade in his trees. If I wasn’t already pregnant, this might just do it.

“Food truck’s here!” Wade announces, bouncing up from his seat at the sight of a welcome distraction. “Do you think they have tacos?”

“Sandwiches today,” Nikolai chuckles. He opens the rear hatch on the van, then eyes the multiple bags of food before looking over at the students. “Perhaps… would be best for students to come to food.”

“Vy pravy.” Piotr sets his sketchbook down on the table, then tucks his pencils and eraser back into his pencil bag before zipping it shut. “Alright, let’s break for lunch.”

The van’s quickly surrounded by a gaggle of hungry teenagers –a dangerous force to reckon with under the best of circumstances.

“Easy –one at a time, please,” Nikolai says as Alex nudges the kids into some semblance of a line. “Ah! Katya.” He grabs a bag marked with a drawing of a cat when Kitty reaches the front of the line, then hands it to her. “Rye bread, no dairy.”

Kitty takes her sandwich with a grin. “Spasibo!”

Once the students are settled with their food, you grab a bag for you and Piotr, then head over to the picnic benches and sit down next to him. “Care for company?”

“With you? Always.” He puts one arm around your shoulders, kisses the top of your head, then accepts the bag you hold out to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” You unwrap your sandwich –cold cuts, cheese, and other fixings—and take a bite while you admire the scenery. “It’s beautiful out here.”

Piotr nods as he crunches down on a carrot stick. “Very peaceful. Bezmyatezhnyy.”

You take another bite of your sandwich, then sigh wistfully. “Y’know,” you reflect once your mouth is clear, “I wish I’d thought to bring my sketchbook. I could stand to draw outside my comfort zone, and this area is perfect for drawing.”

“How about this?” Piotr offers. “After you eat, you can borrow my sketchbook.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Really? I wouldn’t want to ruin it.”

It’s Piotr’s turn to raise one eyebrow at you. Then, he smiles softly and shakes his head. “Myshka, you will not ruin it.”

You smile back, then lean over and kiss his cheek. “Alright. Thanks, honey.”

…

“—Jupiter will be visible just above the tail of Capricornus, whereas Saturn will be positioned in the larger triangle—”

You tip your head back, gazing up at the night sky while Ororo guides the students on how to find visible planets in the night sky.

It’s gorgeous. The lack of city lights means that the Milky Way band is visible. The inky night sky’s glittering with billions of stars, more than you’ve ever seen. Combined with how fresh the air smells and the orchestra of crickets and bullfrogs in the woods, and it’s almost like something taken straight from a fairytale.

The students are peering through binoculars and telescopes, filling out lab reports on celestial bodies via flashlight in between periods of studying the sky.

You, however, are content to admire without magnification –and to not fill out required homework. Graduating has its perks. You smirk at your own wit, then look up when a familiar, heavy hand lands on your shoulder. “Hey.”

“Privet.” Piotr smiles down at you, then presses the back of his hand against your arm. “Are you warm enough?”

You roll your eyes fondly, then pat his side reassuringly. “I’m fine, Piotr.”

“There is cool breeze tonight; we will be stargazing for another hour, at least. I do not want you—”

“I’m fine.” You smile reassuringly at him, then lean against his chest when he acquiesces and puts his arms around your shoulders. “Besides, if I get cold, I’ve got you to warm me up.”

He chuckles and squeezes you gently. “If you get cold, I have jacket for you in car.”

“That, too.” You smile up at him, adoring, then roll up on the balls of your feet to kiss his jaw. “Love you.”

He returns a kiss against your temple. “Ya tebya lyublyu, myshka.”

…

There’s a lake a couple of miles from the cabin and other campsites. It’s remote, used mostly by campers and locals for fishing, kayaking, and swimming. The basin itself is surrounded by trees on all sides, and edged by gravelly beaches.

Despite not being a major body of water, it’s also monitored by the local park ranger association for bacteria and poisonous algae counts –which is what you tell Piotr when he fusses about you going for a swim.

“Dr. Reid said that swimming is the best form of exercise for me,” you remind him on the drive to the trail that leads to the beach. “And it’s not like I’m going for an Olympic record here, sweetheart. I just want to cool off; it’s been muggy as hell the past few weeks.”

“Contaminated waters could pose infection risk—”

“For all of us, Piotr.” You shoot him a stern look as he pulls into an open parking space. “I checked with the ranger’s office before we headed out. They test the waters four days a week during the on season –which so happens to be right now.” You arch one eyebrow when he pulls the keys out of the ignition with a sigh. “Look, I love you, but it’s hot as hell and I’m carrying your baby. You can try to keep me from swimming over your dead body, capiche?”

Piotr grimaces, but capitulates. “Khorosho. But at least wait until students are done with school work? Makes things easier for teachers.”

“That,” you say as you lean across the center console to kiss his cheek, “I can do.”

…

The lake, predictably, is heavenly.

You do wait for the teachers –Logan and Ororo this time around—to walk the students through their morning work. There’s a lesson on the natural fauna and flora found in and around the surrounding habitat, an exercise on identifying rocks on the lakeshore with the help of a geological guidebook (all rocks are returned to their natural environment to prevent erosion, naturally), and another art lesson with Piotr before the students are released for swimming and suitable shenanigans.

You wade in up to your hips, sighing with relief as the cool waters help relieve the sun’s unrelenting scorch. You duck under the lake’s surface briefly, resurfacing seconds after to wipe water away from your eyes.

Most of the students are already in the water –Russell’s hanging back on the shore with Wade and Nate, and Kitty’s chilling on a towel under a sun umbrella.

You nod to yourself, satisfied that the students are doing well, then go back to wading around.

A few minutes later, there’s a loud splashing sound. When you look over, you see Piotr striding into the lake. He pauses for a few moments to send a few splashes towards the more rambunctious students, then resumes his stride and heads towards you.

“I’m fine,” you say once he’s within a few feet of you. “I’m pretty sure flying precludes drowning.”

Piotr opens his mouth, considers, then closes it and holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “I thought water looked nice. Wanted to spend time with my wife.”

“Well,” you muse as you wrap your arms around his waist, “I suppose I can permit that.”

“Spasibo, myshka.” He puts one arm around you in return and admires you for a moment before asking, “Did you apply sunscreen?”

“Ten minutes before wading out here. You can relax, Piotr.” You pat his chest –which is delightfully bare, and if you were alone right now, you’d be trying to coax him into something suitably inappropriate for the students to watch (no pregnancy hormones required, though they certainly don’t hurt). “I’m not going to fall apart just because I’m pregnant.”

“Ya znayu,” he concedes. “I want to take care of you, is all.”

You soften –because how can you not with a line like that and the earnest expression on his face. “Well, thank you. You’re doing a great job of it.” You smile when he kisses the top of your head, then wade in further. “I think I’m going to go a little deeper—”

“Myshka.”

“Relax.” You stop once the water passes over your stomach, so it’s just below your chest, and let out a relieved groan. “I just wanted to take some of the weight off my back.”

He hums, understanding, then steps behind you without further argument. He squats down a little, then hooks his arms under your shoulders and takes the rest of your weight so you can just float.

You sigh, relief coursing through your aching back and hips. You tip your head back against his shoulder and let your eyes slide shut. “Spasibo.”

“Pozhaluysta, myshka.”

…

After a break for lunch, the chaperones elect to suspend the rest of the lessons for the day so the students can swim –a concession to the writhing afternoon heat.

You and Piotr, however, head back to the cabin; your husband, in all his mother hen nature, doesn’t want you overheating or getting worn out.

This time, you’re happy to acquiesce –mostly because you’ve got something else on your mind.

“We should shower,” Piotr says as he ushers you into the blissfully air-conditioned interior of the cabin. “Best to clean lake water off skin.”

“Mhm,” you purr as you look your husband up and down; his swim trunks and cover up shirt are still damp, and they cling to his broad, muscular body in the most delightful ways. “We really should.”

Piotr catches the glint in your eyes and stops in his tracks. A slow, knowing grin spreads across his face. “I take it,” he murmurs as he puts his hands on your hips, “you have… ideas.”

“Oh, plenty of them.” You smirk when he tugs you closer, then trace the tip of your index finger over his chest. “And since the kids will be swimming for the next couple of hours, we have time to explore all of them.”

He sputters slightly, laughing. He shakes his head, then lowers his head to whisper in your ear. “This is not time for sex marathon, myshka.”

“On the contrary.” You slide your hands around his waist and squeeze his ass, grinning when he growls and pulls you flush against him. “I have the utmost faith in your stamina, love.” You kiss his jaw, then grab his hands and tug him towards the bathroom.

Piotr follows without hesitation.

…

The final day is slotted only for fun activities –competitive games, more swimming, and a bonfire in the evening for a hotdog and s'mores dinner.

“Alright, next up is the wooden skis challenge!” you announce as the teens catch their breath from a relay race around the cabin. “Teams of three; Mr. Summers and Mr. Wilson will help you get the skis on correctly,” you explain, gesturing to long, narrow wooden boards with three foot stirrups attached to each. “The race is from the cabin porch to the oak tree over there,” you continue, pointing to the tree –which is about twenty feet away—in question. “First team there wins some special chocolate for tonight’s bonfire.”

Kitty raises one hand. “What if, like, we just want to eat it?”

“You’ll have to divvy it out with your teammates,” you chuckle, “but, yes, you can eat your share beforehand.”

The teens waste no time in deciding on teams –and, in a surprise move that has all the adults raising their eyebrows at one another, Ellie, Yukio, and Kitty all team up together.

Here’s hoping this doesn’t end in a screaming match. You wait until the teams are all set and positioned in their skis by the porch. “Alright. Three… two… one… go!”

It’s hardly like a day at the races –unless one was racing turtles instead of horses. All of the teams lurch in place, sputtering, stumbling, and swearing in a few cases as they try to figure out how to get momentum going.

“Okay –there we go. Just like that!”

You watch, equal parts awestruck and impressed, as Ellie, Yukio, and Kitty start inching forward.

They’ve clearly got a strategy figured out. They’re standing shortest to tallest –Yukio in front, Kitty in the back—so everyone can see what’s in front of them. They’re holding onto the shoulders of the person in front of them, and Yukio has her arms outstretched as well for balance.

“We all need to lift at the same time,” Yukio says when they get stuck again.

“Left, then right,” Ellie decides. “Let’s go! Left… right… left… right…”

Slowly but surely, their team starts pulling out ahead of the others.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Ororo murmurs to you as she watches the girls with a smile.

You chuckle and nod. “Who says miracles aren’t real.”

“Left! Right!” the girls chant in unison as they pick up speed.

“I think we’re coming up on that tree stump,” Kitty announces, craning her neck to one side to see ahead of them. “We’d probably be better off going around.”

“We could sidestep,” Yukio suggests. “One step to the left should give us enough clearance.”

“We need to move forward a few more feet so we’re past the ditch,” Ellie points out. She keeps a careful eye on the ground, then nods. “Okay –left side first!”

Alex sidles up next to you and Ororo, smirking. “They’re communicating better than some military operations I’ve taken part in.”

“Hey, don’t you know girls run the world?” you fire back, grinning.

Unsurprisingly, given their stellar performance, Ellie, Yukio, and Kitty win. They all cheer when they reach the oak tree miles ahead of the other team, then quickly work their feet loose from the stirrups so they can all hug each other.

“Congratulations!” You applaud along with the other adults. “Very nicely done.”

The girls tear into the first prize basket –which is just an assortment of various chocolate goodies—like a flock of vultures picking over carrion for the best bits.

“Can I have the dark chocolate?” Kitty asks as she sorts through the various treats. “Those have the best shot of being pareve.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Ellie and Yukio answer before sorting any of the dark chocolate options out of their choices.

You smile and lean against your husband as he walks up behind you and puts his arms around your shoulders. “It’s one of nature’s miracles.”

Piotr chuckles. “Perhaps.”

“You think there’s another explanation?” you ask teasingly, tipping your head back so he can see his face.

He shrugs with a smile. “Victory is great motivator.” He nods to the three girls, who are also divvying out a few pieces to the other students in the spirit of good sportsmanship. “And so is chocolate.”

You laugh, then pat his arm as you go back to watching the teens haggle over candy. “Can’t argue with that.”

[irlkisukeurahara]

IR / IH related thoughts (ship & shipper)

People who actively participate in IR/IH discourse aren't welcome, I'm just blabbering because this is my blog and I do what I want. If you're offended over ships that's your problem not mine

it feels like some Ichiruki fans dumb down their relationship to just being a romance. like it's always been beyond a romance, more than a romance, deeper than a romance, and not intended to be a romance. but you're not inherently wrong to see it as such, but it's more than just "they're in love." it's always been more than that. they're soulmates for sure, but that doesn't always quantify as romance and it doesn't have to be. even if they don't fuck their relationship runs deeper than water

There's one problem with Ichihime -- one, and it's a glaring one. Kubo's a misogynist, so he fumbled the bag on Orihime's character. Orihime and Ichihime do have a lot going for them -- The problem is that Kubo just decided to forget why Orihime was so important because he wanted to remind you that she has large boobs, in case y'all forgot.

The ending is abrupt and boring but of course people only rage about it because it didn't have the ship they wanted?? Like there's actual problems with it, with Kubo, and the line you draw is "Ichigo didn't fuck Rukia"??? like I think they're cute and all but that's not the problem here.

Both sides of the ship war are toxic, okay? Can a certain section of IH fans accept that people can like something that doesn't 100% adhere to canon? Like if you hate non canon ships there's literally no point of shipping. you don't have to send death threats over a goddamn manga. Are y'all allergic to fun? And can a certain section of IR fans accept that you can dislike a character or a ship without making it sexist? Like you don't gotta like Orihime but calling her the R slur is super not okay my guy

some ichiruki fans I've seen really forget a big aspect of Ichigo's character-- like-- no he's not going to stay in the soul society unless he fucking dies. not the man that values his family and friends in karakura so highly. bros not gonna stay in the soul society to date rukia because he's not gonna abandon his sisters or his friends fuck no

only semi related but -- shipping Kazui x Ichika outside of the context of A.) A human AU or B.) A puppy love crush that doesn't blossom into anything else that fades away over time is lowk weird. they're gonna stop aging at the same rate by the time they're like 10. then ichikas gonna stay 10 for like 60 years or something. but kazui's probably gonna age like a person so that relationship cannot last.

And no, the same logic that justifies Ichiruki doesn't justify Kazui x Ichika. Cause they were born at the same time. Rukia is 10x older than Ichigo at the start of the story but they're both a similar age in terms of appearance and maturity. So it's not the same with them

Hate shipping discourse? Wanna know how to solve your problems? Be a polyshipper! Hate arguing over IR vs IH vs RR and blah blah blah???? Ichirenruki + Ichirukihime. Boom. Problem solved. I saved the day. You're welcome 😎

[liliansun]

WAOT THE SPOIELR S I GUESS THEY MAEK UP WITH EACH OTHER??? BUT IDK IR FEELS TOO SOON AND I KNOW THESE TWO IDIOTS ARE TOING TO ARGUE AGAIN ALSO.

JENO IS BEIG SO FEISTY WITH HER but he's right but STILL i literally identify with both sides it's insane

YOU STILL GOT TWO CHS TO GO THROUGH AND YOU WILL KNOW HOW WE GOT TO THAT POINT. ofc they gonna argue,, i gotta feed y’all somehow bc all the angst is gonna make me cry so i’m trying to stir the pot somehow my brain is fried ngl 😭 like a chicken leg atp

ALSO HE REALLY IS SO SASSY W HER BUT SO IS SHE AND ITS SO FUNNY TO WRITE I SWEAR

[leaderpinhead]

Camryn (OC) - A Fox, A Snake, and A Cap'n

Side Note: This scene takes place before the Twisted Wonderland story officially begins, meaning the second years (like Riddle and my OCs) would be in their first year.

“I’m not one to usually complain,” Camryn stated with a sigh, “but when you said you had a gig I’d be interested in, I was honestly expecting something a bit more…profitable.” 

“Is this not up to your standards?” Caha asked. Camryn’s ears twitched at the hissing undertone he caught in Caha’s laugh. “I imagined you would be absolutely thrilled by such an easy task.” 

“It’s not that I’m against an easy job,” Camryn argued. He leaned his shoulders against a pillar in the shade of the breezeway, careful not to uncomfortably squish his tail. “You gotta admit this is pretty boring though. I actually pity the guy who thinks he can jumpstart his career by being a background extra.” 

Caha hummed but didn’t say anything to the contrary. Across the courtyard, Vil directed a few members of his club into the positions he wanted. Camryn hadn’t paid much attention to the short film’s synopsis, but he assumed it was something dramatic from the way one guy kept swooning. 

He turned to James, who stood stiffly beside him watching the club members play out their scene. “What say you, Cap’n? You as bored as I am?” 

James’s eyes narrowed when the Pomefiore student fell into another dramatic swoon that had Vil shaking his head. “I don’t understand what any of this has to do with a modern retelling of an infamous pirate crew.” 

“Perhaps they are the infamous data pirates we were all warned about during the technology boom three decades ago,” Caha said. “I heard there was quite a profit to be made pilfering information from our grandparents’ calculators.” 

Camryn snorted when he saw the tiny smile Caha tried to hide. James outright scowled at the snake beastman. “If that’s your idea of a pirate, then you lived a horrendously sheltered life.” 

Camryn whistled low enough not to catch Vil’s ire. “That’s a big word coming from you. You been catching up on your reading with Riddle as your housewarden?” 

James’s face turned red in record time, which Camryn knew it would. Heartslabyul’s freshman housewarden was a sore topic for James. “My vocabulary has nothing to do with Rosehearts!” 

“Cam has a point though,” Caha egged on. He rubbed the corner of his mouth with his knuckles to hide his stretching grin. “You’re a very one to two syllable type of guy. I almost thought you were mute until I saw you passionately debate Trein on the historical evidence for the existence of the Eloquent Captain.” 

“He was real!” James argued. His voice slightly cracked with its rising volume. Camryn fully leaned back against the pillar, his tail swishing around his ankles. “There’s plenty of evidence proving the sea the Eloquent Captain sailed is the north-eastern part of the Coral Sea. There are even oral stories started by the mermaids who had once encountered him and his crew!” 

Camryn gave the impression of an aimless shrug. “Yet you’ve even got the campus’s biggest history buff shooting down your so-called evidence. None of it’s been proven, bub. That’s why it’s considered a legend.” 

“It’s a legend because no one wants to believe it!” Caha and Camryn shot each other a grin while James flailed his hands to make his point. “Because if they did, then they’d have to admit to the existence of the wild tribe of boys led by an never-aging fae child, who frequently kidnapped the local children when he had to get rid of the ones who grew old enough to question his leadership. The Eloquent Captain was constantly attempting to save those children from that cruel fate!” 

Caha bit down on the corner of his mouth. “But James, even you’ve admitted to the one fact that disproves your own argument.” 

“What?” 

Camryn really did try not to chuckle, but James was a funny fellow when he got riled up. “You’re always opening the story with them living on a star, Cap’n.” 

James froze. His expression of sheer disbelief broke Caha’s careful restraint, and a small laugh slipped from him. Camryn’s ears twitched in the direction of the Film Research Club, who had called cut to discuss the boy’s ineffective swooning. 

James’s face exploded into an interesting shade of burgundy. He flung his arms into the air. “They lived in a star-shaped cove! The one that was discovered in the archipelago off the coast of the Queendom of Roses.” 

“Yeah,” Camryn said. His cheeks were starting to feel the strain of his wide grin. “A cove no one can conveniently get to now because of a cluster of deadly whirlpools.” 

“How convenient,” Caha agreed. “A land they can never reach. Like a star.” 

“Which star was it again?” Camryn pointed at the blue sky. “The first or the second one?” 

“I’m about to punch you both if you don’t shut up!” 

“You three!” It took Vil appearing beside Caha for the three of them to realize he was speaking to them. Vil’s face was set in a stern frown. “I asked for three unobtrusive extras for my background. You are gaining more attention than my swooning lead. If you do not quiet down, you will have to leave.” 

James thrust a finger in Vil’s direction, crooking his finger into a hook shape. “Your modern take on pirates sucks. I hope your film crashes and burns. And find a better swooner! My four-year old brother is a better actor!” 

Camryn cackled in the wake of James angrily stomping away from them while Caha could barely apologize to a stunned Vil through his hissing giggles. 

[thisisasupergoodidea]

Whumptober Day 5

Blood loss

—

continuation of: day 3 (impaled)

—

Emil had not been adequately prepared to have his guts run through today. It’s certainly one of the more… unique experiences of life, though not something on his personal wishlist- and he can’t honestly say his own life feels particularly enriched by its unexpected occurrence here and now. Quite the opposite, in fact.

As his flesh warps around the rough wooden shaft of a hunting spear, as his organs shift and rupture and chafe distressingly in the presence of the intruding object, and as lifeblood flows in sick pulses from the wounds, Emil feels the weight of his mortality more heavily than he ever has before.

The other two, Rogelio and- what was his friend’s name?- well, the attacker, are arguing about something or another. It’s becoming difficult to concentrate on much else besides the pain. And breathing, which is now a delicate process. He hobbles over to the nearest tree to lean uncomfortably against it for support.

“So let’s hurry and interrogate him already, before he dies,” Rogelio’s friend says.

“…We’re not doing that, Lorenzo.”

“What’s your problem? We hunt dangerous animals all the time; why is this bothering you now?”

“He’s not a fucking animal!”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Lorenzo glances over at Emil with nothing but loathing. “He’s the enemy, remember? We wanted him to stop terrorizing us!”

“Not like this! Not murder!”

“Well, too late: problem solved. You’re welcome for doing what you couldn’t,” Lorenzo sneers.

Rogelio shoves him so hard that he stumbles and falls on his ass several feet away. He then walks calmly to Emil and begins examining the wound on both ends, scowling to himself as he does. It is mildly refreshing to see that ire directed at someone else for a change, Emil thinks.

“Shit, dude,” Rogelio mutters. “You’re only gonna bleed out faster if I remove this right now. How are you even still standing?”

“It- would hurt more- to fall.”

Emil’s response is stilted and breathless and requires significant effort to produce. His injury punishes him for it, the shock shooting across his entire body. He looks down at himself pathetically lamenting the gruesome state of his clothes.

“Hey now. Save your breath.”

“You- asked.”

“Yeah, alright smartass. Starting now. Can you walk?”

“What… are you doing?” they hear Lorenzo ask. He’s standing there watching Rogelio fuss over Emil, flabbergasted.

“Saving him. I’ve gotta get him to the healers.”

“Is- Is that supposed to be a joke?”

Rogelio doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

“Just stop. You know damn well they won’t take him in. No one will. And what about Dani?? Rogelio! Why are you-?”

“Shut up,” Rogelio growls.

He must have realized it too, though. That none of his normal protocols or resources are going to work here, regardless of his own status in town. After a few moments of reconciling with this fact, he swears loudly and racks his brain for another solution.

“Okay. New plan. Go home, Lorenzo. Don’t talk about any of this. Ever. If somebody asks, I stayed out to look for Dani. Got it?”

Lorenzo’s aloof attitude wavers more with every passing minute; his gaze slides past him to Emil again, narrowing suspiciously.

“…What did that mage do to you that’s got you acting like his dog?”

“Don’t look at him, look at me,” Rogelio butts in, even going so far as to physically step between them. “I need to hear that you understand what I’m saying. If you tell anyone what happened here, I’ll make damn sure you suffer for it.”

Emil’s lips quirk slightly, hearing that. Loath as he would be to ever admit it, he does nevertheless get profound satisfaction from Rogelio showing concern for his well-being. It’s yet another way in which he is cursed- or so he will continue to insist. Silently. Keeping his feelings locked within to the bitter end.

He is hard-pressed to truly be smug about anything in this particular moment, however. The spear through his chest makes it rather difficult. But at least the one who did this to him can’t indulge in his smugness either.

And at least… Rogelio is…

Coherence leaves him, and so does his strength. He shudders and begins to slide to the ground, his hand trailing bloody streaks down the side of the tree.

“Shit! Emil!”

Rogelio whirls around to help him, turning his back on his friend- who uses this opportunity to flee in the direction of Kaluss. Emil watches him vanish, at least until a warm hand swoops in to support and adjust his head.

“Look at me. Stay with me, okay? I’m not gonna let you die,” Rogelio says, trying desperately to sound optimistic. “Don’t die.”

Emil passes out.

—

continued in:

day 8 (everything hurts and i’m dying)

[tropes-and-tales]

Silence is Golden

Day 20:  Gagging (Agent Whisky/Jack Daniels x F!Reader)

(For the 2021 Kinktober event offered by @beeschaos and @withlove-sid.  The original post and calendar/list can be found here.)  

CW:  Smut (PiV; protected); 18+ only.

Word Count:  4704

AN:  This is very late - apologies!  <insert Jeff Goldblum voice>  Life, uh, found a way (to make me busy)

It’s a difficult thing, getting Agent Whiskey to shut the hell up.

He’s always talking.  Worse, his words never carry any weight.  It’s not like he talks about substantial things – books he’s read or movies he’s seen or feelings or deep thoughts.  No, Jack’s talking is just…dross.  Babbling.  Mostly innuendos, dirty talk disguised as his folksy, aw-shucks Southern charm.

You?  You are more of the quiet type.  Not mousy, as Jack proclaimed early in your partnership.  Just…quiet.  You don’t see a point of talking unless you have something worthwhile to say, and silence never bothers you.  You don’t need to fill it with noise like Jack does.

So it grates on you, his never shutting the hell up.  Usually, you can just sorta choke down your ire, go to your happy place and all that bullshit.  But sometimes…

“Can you just shut the hell up for, like, a minute?” you snap at him.  Jack has spent the last half hour babbling about his conquest from the previous evening, the kept mistress of the gun runner the Statemen is targeting.  Jack’s nonstop narration of his previous night is unnecessary – you had been in the hotel room next door, listening in.  Unfortunately.

“I’m just tellin’ you – “ he starts, but you hold up a silencing hand.

“And I’m just telling you,” you say.  “I don’t want to hear it.  I’m not one of the guys.  I’m not your little down-home buddy who wants to hear about it.  I don’t need to.  I heard it all last night, remember.”

Jack tilts his head at you, and a sly smile creeping across his face.  “Why, you sound jealous, sugar plum.”

You roll your eyes at him and go back to punching in the coordinates to the gun runner’s next drop point.  “I’m not jealous.  What is there to be jealous of?  I’ve heard more titillating dialogue on free porn in the internet.”

Jack’s smirking smile never falters, and he sidles up closer to you.  Close enough for you to smell his cologne – he always wears too much of it.  

“Well, that was just acting, sugar,” he says.  “The real thing is much different.”

Another eye roll.  “So more talking, then?”

He frowns at that, but it’s a mocking frown.  He’s still playing, and isn’t that what irks you the most about him?  He’s a great agent, and a great partner in that regard – but he never says a single serious thing.  Never can take a serious moment with you and open up.  

“You hurt my feelings, sweetheart.  Why you gotta be so cruel to ol’ Jack?”

“Why does ol’ Jack gotta run his mouth all the time?  Why can’t ol’ Jack ever just sit comfortably in silence?”

For some reason, your words seem to hit him, make him turn serious.  His fake-frown cedes to a real frown – the furrows in his brow give it away.  He opens his mouth to say something, but the computer pings with the location of the coordinates, and it’s back to business.

-----

Another day, another mission.  

Another day of Jack running his ever-loving mouth.

At least this time, there’s no conquest.  You don’t have to listen to any overly dramatic, theatrical fucking between Jack and some mark.  You slip a tracking device onto a car, and you track said car to a hideout.  At the hideout, you stun the occupants with a sleeping gas, leave them to the local authorities after securing their hard drive.  

Mission accomplished.

In the Statesmen jet, he talks and talks and talks.  It’s just so many words washing over you, but if you don’t answer him or respond enough, he nudges you and repeats whatever he just said.

“Please, Jack,” you plead after a while.  “Can we just…be quiet for a little bit?”

For once, he doesn’t argue.  The little smile on his face falls, but he nods.  Something about his expression makes you feel like utter shit, so you sigh.

“I’m just tired, Jack.  It’s not you…I’m just tired.  This mission was a long one.  We skipped around a lot of time zones.”

He nods again, but then he eases the tablet out of your hands.  He powers it down and sets it aside.

“How about you lie down?”  He reaches into a console and pulls out a blanket.  He shakes it out and then hands it to you.  “Rest, and I’ll wake you when we land.”

This is why you can never stay mad at Jack for long.  It’s also why you get so frustrated with him.  Stuff like this – the gentle way he can be – makes his slick, superficial façade even more maddening.  You can guess that there’s a deeper side of him that he hides away.

You yawn, and Jack laughs lightly at you.  He pats your knee, then watches as you lie down across the bench.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he tells you softly, and it doesn’t take long before you are asleep.

-----

A few missions later, something happens.

It’s sometimes easiest to get to a bad guy through the bad guy’s woman, which is why Jack spends so much reconnaissance time between the sheets.  And why you spend so much time nearby, listening in like the world’s most unwilling voyeur, on standby if something goes sideways.

This mission, something goes sideways.  Or so you think.

In your earpiece, Jack is just getting started, all his sweet talk.  The woman is cooing at him (to your cynical ear, she sounds like a toddler in awe of something shiny)…but then everything falls silent.

Instantly, your irritation disappears, and you snap into action.  Gun drawn, out your door, down the short hallway to their hotel room.  You kick in the door, expecting to find the worst, but you only see Jack – bent over the woman, who is unconscious.  He turns and grins at your confused face.

“Are you okay?” you ask.  “What is going on?  I heard you go quiet…”

His grin widens.  “Ain’t used to Jack going quiet on you?”  He gestures at the prone, unconscious woman.  “Had Ginger make me a knock-out pill.”

“Isn’t that risky?”

“Nah.  She’ll wake up in the morning none the worse for wear.”  He pauses, and his grin falters a little.  “Didn’t want you to have to listen in anymore.  Seems to bother you a lot.”

“Ah.”  You give a knowing nod and step around him.  The woman’s phone is lying on the nightstand, and you take it.  You pick up the woman’s lax hand and hold her thumb against the lock screen.  From there, it’s easy to put the tracker on the phone.  And from there, it should be easy to find her husband in the future.

“What I can’t understand is if you’re jealous or if you really just don’t like listening in,” Jack says as you work.

“Not jealous and I don’t like listening in.”

“I think you are a little jealous,” he says.  “And you don’t need to be.”

It makes you laugh, his audacity.  You glance at him out of the corner of your eye and see how he’s got his patented Jack Daniels megawatt smile plastered on his face.

“Yeah?  Why not?” you ask.

“Because if you ever wanna saddle up this ol’ cowboy, all you gotta do is ask.”

You laugh again, but you also roll your eyes.  “I wouldn’t saddle up unless I had a muzzle for you,” you joke.

“My pillow talk is great!”

Another eye roll.  “Oh, sugar, you’re sweeter than a Georgia peach.”  You dropped your voice half an octave to mimic the lines you’ve heard a million times through your earpiece.  “You’re as pretty as a sunrise in the Smokey Mountains.  You make me as hard as a piece of my grandmama’s blackstrap molasses cookies.”

“I’ve never said that last one,” Jack grumbles, and his face twists in a frowning pout.

“Close enough.”

“Well, what is your pillow talk like then?”  He puts his hands on his hips and stares at you challengingly.

“Why do you even need to babble in bed anyway?” you counter.  “Why can’t you just be…in the moment with the person you’re with?”

Jack gestures at the woman lying unconscious on the bed.  “Why would I want to be in the moment with a mark?”

It’s a fair point, and you tell him so, which makes him nod in satisfaction.

-----

There’s another mission, this time in Rome.  And this time, you get to seduce the mark.

Jack is furious.  Livid.  His handsome face is dark with how red he’s gotten beneath his tan, and his eyes practically glitter in the low light as you get ready.

“I don’t like this, sugar,” he spits out.  You put the finishing touches on your makeup, carefully applying the crimson lipstick and then blotting it.  Jack stands in the doorway of the bathroom, uninvited but not caring.

“You don’t like that for once I get to dress up and swan about instead of sitting in a hotel room and listening in?”  You tease.

He shakes his head.  “I don’t like you being in danger.”

“You’re in danger all the time.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”  You turn and face him, and he shakes his head again.

“Because I’m usually seducin’ some trophy wife or arm candy or whatever.  They ain’t any sort of trouble.  You’re…” He trails off, and his furious expression turns to one of concern.  “This guy’s bad news.  He could hurt you.”

You step past him, and you pat his cheek lightly as you do.  “Good thing my backup is nearby.”

He reaches out and lays a hand on your upper arm, turning you a little to face him.  “Be careful, honey.  You say the word, I’ll be there in a flash.”

-----

The mission goes well, and it is comforting, knowing that Jack is listening in.  Like a guardian angel, kind of.  

The mark is also bad news, just as Jack said.  He’s handsy and not in a sexual way – his meaty paws grip your arms hard.  Hard enough to bruise.  Hard enough to hurt.  You guess that he likes to hurt women, so you play along a little as he leads you to his penthouse.  You know Jack is posted one floor down, and you know he has access to the emergency stairwell, so you aren’t worried.

Even if Jack weren’t there, you wouldn’t be worried.  You have a secret weapon crafted especially for you by Ginger.

It’s an easy thing, letting the mark kiss you.  He kisses just as cruelly – mashes his lips against yours, pressing against your teeth until it hurts.  He whispers some sick shit about what he’s going to do to you, and you simper along – and you know Jack can hear.  A mean little part of you considers it payback.

But then your secret weapon takes effect, and the mark’s eyes roll into the back of his head.  He goes down like a stone, and the sudden silence must affect Jack the same way it did you, a few missions back.  It seems like only seconds pass and then your partner is there.  Battering down the door, sprinting into the room with his gun drawn.

Taking in the scene – the mark out cold on the floor, and you standing over him with your lipstick a little smeared.

“What – “ Jack starts, but you wave him off.

“Ginger made me a knock-out potion of my own,” you tell him.  You pluck a tissue out of your clutch and carefully wipe away the laced crimson lipstick.  “Simple antidote for me, and anyone who kisses me gets a good ten hours of sleep and a splitting headache when they wake up.”

It’s quick work from there.  Lifting the mark’s fingerprints, using them on the safe hidden in the wall.  Stealing the drives full of client information – all of the offshore accounts of an international ring of slave owners.  

You make sure to gift the mark with a swift kick to the groin on your way out.

Jack is silent on the drive back to the jet.  When you chance a look over at him, he’s scowling.

“Thought you’d be happy, not having to listen in,” you offer.  

“Heard plenty, honey.”  His words are bitten off.  Brusque.

You roll your eyes.  “So a minute of making out is terrible?  I’ll remind you that I’ve heard much worse from your missions.  Making out and post-coital chatting and all the messy bits in between.”

He glances over at you from under a furrowed brow.  “Didn’t like hearing even a minute of it,” he mutters.

“Then imagine how I felt, all those times before.”

He only grunts at your words, and the rest of the ride to the tarmac is in a terse silence.  Normally you’d pay money for Jack to hold his tongue; now it feels heavy and uncomfortable.  Like your comfortable working relationship is under strain.

He’s silent on the drive, and silent as you load up the jet, and silent as it takes off.  You’re still in your evening gown, so you slip off to change into something comfortable – leggings and a warm sweater.  You wipe off all of the makeup, and you frown at your reflection in the mirror.  You’ve seen Jack upset a lot of times.  Angry, frustrated.  But never so angry to go silent.

And never angry at you.

You have the thought to go talk to him about it, but when you exit the tiny bathroom, he’s standing right there.  Right there – crowding the narrow hallway, startling you.  You take a half-step backwards, and he follows right along until your lower back is pressed against the lip of the sink.

“Jack, what – “ you start, but he doesn’t let you get any further.

It’s hard to know what part of him touches you first.  His hands – one on the back of your neck, the other on your waist.  Both hauling you to him, and then his mouth on yours.  It’s brutal too, but it doesn’t hurt the way the mark’s kiss did.  Jack’s kiss is possessive, his mouth slotted over yours, not even letting you catch your breath before his tongue is pressing against your lower lip, begging for entry.

Which you grant him without much thought.

When you part your lips to him, he groans against you, and it’s so laced with need, almost tortured, that you wonder how long he’s wanted to –

“Wanted to kiss you ages ago,” he mutters when he breaks away a moment later.  He moves his mouth to your ear, and his mustache tickles against the sensitive skin there, making you shiver.  “Hated hearing you kiss that fucking asshole.  Right in my ear, heard it all.  Like it was inside my fucking head.”

You reach up and lay a hand alongside his face, and you push his head back until he’s facing you.  Looking at you.

“Are you jealous, Jack?”  You don’t say it to tease or challenge – you never thought he saw you that way.  You always thought he considered you a partner at work, nothing more.  Sure, he flirted sometimes, but his flirting with you was tame by comparison.  Hell, he was more raunchy with waitresses and hotel staff than you –

“Always,” he answers, and you can see the truth in his eyes.  There’s no guile there.  No deception.

“What do you mean, always?”  You frown at him.  “This was the first mission where I – “

“I mean always,” he huffs out.  “Always jealous when you talk with other men.  Joke around with them.  When you hang back after meetings to talk with Tequila – “

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.  You’re left gape-jawed and stunned, and Jack stares back at you warily.

“You had to know,” he says.  “How I feel.  How didn’t you know?”  

You shake your head.  His hands are still on you, but the look on his face is uncertain now.

“I’m always sweet-talkin’ you,” he adds.

“You sweet-talk everyone, Jack.”    

He offers you a smile, and it’s not his usual wide, smarmy one.  This one is a tiny, tremulous thing, and it makes you smile back at him.

“Maybe I do,” he concedes.  “But I only ever really mean it with you, honey.”

*****

It’s an easy thing, giving in to it.  For as long as Jack has known you, he’s fought it.  Fought to keep it professional. Fought to not ruin the amiable working relationship the two of you have.  Fought to keep his feelings stuffed down deep.

It was a wonder he even has feelings.  He had been so numb, so deadened by the loss of his wife and unborn child, that he often thought he had died too.  That he was just some revenant walking the earth, waiting to finally die for real and join his family in the great hereafter.

A strange thing, then, when he found himself falling for you.  Loving you.  Loving your mule-headed nature.  Loving how seriously you took the work.  Loving how you never said much, but when you did – well, hell.  You could command a room full of Statesmen, himself included.

But never in a million years did Jack think you might feel the same.  Sure, you teased him about his undercover work and how it usually led to the bedroom.  Sometimes he caught a whiff of jealousy.  But he never thought much of it. Thought his feelings were one-sided and unreciprocated.

But they aren’t.  On the jet, in the cramped bathroom, he kisses you.  And you…you don’t slap him or shove him away.  You kiss him back.  You put your warm palm on his face and he practically keens into the touch.  You force him to look at you and explain himself.

His explanation doesn’t make you laugh.  You don’t shove him away or tell him to dream on.

Instead, you lean forward and kiss him.

So it’s an easy thing, giving in.  Sweeping you into his arms, carrying you to the small bedroom in the back of the jet.  Usually reserved for agents who need serious sleep, but it can serve this purpose too.

Easy to strip you out of your comfortable clothing.  Easy to take off his own clothes, shucking them so fast that he stumbles and makes you laugh before you steady him.  Steady him with those hands of yours – how did he never notice how warm they were?  How gentle?  

Easy to lie you down on the bed.  You look like a goddamned vision, and he tells you so as he fumbles the condom onto himself.  He babbles out words….so many words.  Every word he knows that he thinks may describe you, every hackneyed metaphor to try and express himself…

“Hush,” you breathe out against him.  “Just…you don’t need to talk, Jack.”

He can’t stop himself though.  His mouth drifts over your neck, settles against the lush curves of your breasts, but he can’t stop panting out praise against you.  He tries to bite back his words, and part of him realizes that he’s saying the exact same things to you that he’s said to other women, to marks…all those phrases…it’s not the first time you’ve heard them, and he realizes it…

You push him off of you, pull some slick maneuver you learned from Statesmen training and flip him onto his back.  You straddle him, and he can feel the hot press of your core against his straining length, even through the latex of the condom.  The sensation makes his vision go a little fuzzy, and he tells you so…tells you how good you feel, how perfect –

“Jack, please.”  You steady yourself with one hand against his bare chest, but your other hand reaches up to still his mouth.  Silenced, he gazes up at you and sees the strain on your face.  His guess is probably correct – you are weighing his words now, measuring them against the words you’ve heard in your earpiece a hundred times.  The exact same words…

“Please just stop talking,” you whisper.  “Just…can you be in the moment with me?  Without talking?”

He nods his head, but when you pull your hand away from his mouth, he jokes, “you didn’t bring a muzzle, honey?”

You laugh, but it’s breathless.  Whatever you’re feeling – it’s as intense as what he’s feeling.  He tries to oblige you, but he’s so undone by the moment.  He tries to stay silent, but when you reach down and take him in hand, line him up with your entrance and sink down onto him – he can’t help but talk.  Fuck’s sake, you feel too good not to.  The molten feel of you, the tight grip you have on him as you settle your weight onto him.  It’s not at all like with the marks, but he can’t say so without blurting out the ‘l’ word, so he babbles pure nonsense.

“Fuck, Jack,” you groan out, and he finds your hand clapped against his mouth again.  “Please shut the fuck up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says – or tries to say.  It comes out muffled against your hand, and he shifts his head a little.  You gaze down at him, and that fucking ‘l’ word is so close to the surface, bubbling up from his chest and up his throat, right against the back of his teeth, so close to coming out.

It’s an easy thing, silencing himself with your hand.  He reaches up to take your hand in his, and he folds back your pinkie and ring finger into a half fist.  Keeps your middle and index fingers extended.  He opens his mouth and catches your gaze with his own.  Stares at you as he silences himself with your fingers, sucks them into his mouth.  Encourages you to press them forward until he can feel your fingertips against the back of his tongue, dangerously close to his gag reflex.  

It’s unlike anything he’s done before.  A strange sensation, maybe, but also oddly intimate.  He wasn’t expecting that.  He just thought, in lieu of having a muzzle handy, he’d let you gag him, but it’s erotic, being at your mercy like this.  You could press deeper into his mouth and make him gag against you.  He could bite you.  

It’s a strange balance of trust and power between the two of you, and it makes you look at him with an expression that he thinks may be…well, it may be that damned ‘l’ word too.  Maybe you feel it for him too.

Jack’s never been quiet in bed, but he is now.  He has to be – his words are stoppered up by your slender fingers in his mouth, and suddenly the entire rushed, frantic moment slows down.  Way down.  He had stripped you quickly, laid you down quickly.  Now, mounted on him with one hand braced on his chest and the other silencing his mouth, you take complete control.  

And you go slow.

Jack has no choice but to be in the moment, just as you asked.  And it rearranges his entire world.

When has he ever gone this slow?  He knows the answer, can’t voice it, but he knows:  not since his wife.

You go so fucking slow.  It’s a sensual, languid pace, you riding him.  The bite of your nails in his chest.  The careful press of your other hand in his mouth, and when he sucks gently against your digits, you moan softly.

There’s not much noise.  There’s the low, constant thrum of the jet moving through the sky, and there’s the low groans both of you are making.  But there’s no talking, and Jack’s hearing sharpens in the absence of much noise.  He can hear when you get close, the way your breathing picks up, the ragged way it catches in your throat.  The softly muttered curse, and then the gorgeous sight of you coming – your body arching over him, your head thrown back in wanton pleasure.  He can feel it too, the clenching against his cock, the sudden rush of warmth.

Jack would happily let you ride him as much as you want.  Let you use him, let you wring as much pleasure as you can out of him.  Why not?  When will he ever get this chance again?  Maybe it’s just a bit of unrelieved lust from the mission, or maybe you just want a release.  Why not stretch the moment out as long as he can?

But you don’t prolong the moment for yourself – you pull your hand from his mouth and you bend down to kiss him.  Not giving him a moment to say a single word, you kiss him.  Fiercely.  With so much passion and feeling, that hope sparks up in his chest.  Maybe this isn’t a one-time thing after all.

“Come for me, Jack,” you murmur against his lips.  

There it is – that word threatening to spill out of his mouth.  So he nods once, and then he raises his head enough to kiss you.  To groan into your mouth as he comes, your permission setting off the chain reaction as he raises his hips to gain an extra fraction into you before he comes, spilling himself in the condom.

It’s the after that is difficult.  Easy to give into his growing feelings for you, easy to fall into bed with you.  Difficult in the after.

You both clean up separately, and you both get dressed.  You yawn a jaw-splitting yawn, which makes Jack chuckle, and he convinces you to lie down with him.  Nothing salacious now – just the two of you curled up on the rumpled bed, covered by a light blanket.

He doesn’t say much else, and of course you notice.

“You’ve gone quiet on me, Jack,” you murmur against his chest.  “Didn’t think that was possible.”

“Just thinking, honey.”  He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head and doesn’t say more.

After a long beat, you add, “if you’re having regrets, we don’t ever have to mention this again.”  There’s something in your voice, a softly injured tone that makes Jack’s chest ache.  That you’d even think he’d have regrets…

“Not at all,” he tells you, and he veers as close to the truth as he dares.  “I care about you.”

You snort.  “You care about me, but…there’s always a ‘but’ following that phrase.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve heard that line before,” you say.  “’I care about you but I think we should just be friends.  I care about you but I think we should see other people.’  It’s an old line.”

Jack reaches down, cups your face in his hand and carefully tilts your head until you’re looking up at him.  “I care about you but…” he says.  “…but I should have taken you out on a date before we did this.  I care about you but I shoulda treated you like a lady.  Wined and dined you first.”

You smile up at him, and it looks a little fragile.  Completely unlike yourself – you’re usually so self-assured.  Confident.  You look like you want to believe him, but that you can’t quite trust what he is implying.

“I guess I saved you some time and money then,” you joke weakly.

“Nah.”  He kisses you again, craning his neck this time to reach your mouth.  “Just means we’re doing some of this out of order.  Still want to wine and dine you, honey.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Maybe have you over to my place,” he muses.  “I grill a mean steak.  We can have a fire outside, open a bottle of wine – “

“You can talk my ear off,” you interject, and he pinches your side lightly, laughing at your squeal.

“You love my talking,” he says.

“It’s growing on me.”

He tugs you a little closer to him, tucks the edges of the blanket more securely around the two of you.  Maybe there’s a happy medium to be had, he thinks.  He always wanted noise to distract him from his lonely life, but already he can picture you in it:  curled up just like this, maybe outside around the fire pit.  Watching the stars together in comfortable silence.  Silence that he can maybe abide now, since he doesn’t have to bear it alone.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas  @rachelxwayne   @stardust-fray   @massivecolorspygiant   @imspillingcoffee   @amneris21  @paintballkid711   @mad-girl-without-a-box   @bestattempt   @rosiefridayrogersunday   @strawberrydragon   @hoeforthefictional   @greeneyedblondie44  @leannawithacapitala   @stardust-galaxies  @isvvc-pvscvl   @mrschiltoncat   @danniburgh​   @stillshelbs   @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics    @tobealostwanderer​   @nuvoleincielo​  @knivesareout​  @frankie-catfish-morales​    @prostitute-robot-from-the-future​@dianilaws  

[narumi-gens]

Okay but would Naoya have a secret breeding kink when blue ball queen was dirty talking him about “filling her up” or would he just be infuriated 👁 👄 👁

note: even a broken computer isn't enough to keep me from digging in the trash 😣 warnings: smut, impreg kink, misogyny (naoya, duh) words: 1.7k (because I’m the trash queen) related drabbles

As Naoya watches you underneath him, practically folded in half from the way he's pushing your knees to your chest with his hands on the backs of your thighs, he finds himself angrier than usual.

But for once, he can't blame it on you despite how much he wants to. He can't blame it on your disrespectful mouth that never shuts up or your inability to recognize him as your better.

No, he's angry at himself. Because instead of focusing on the way your tits bounce with every brutal thrust or how your fingers are furiously rubbing at your swollen clit or the string of moans escaping you, all he can pay attention to is your stomach.

Or more precisely, all he can pay attention to is the thought of what it would look like if he didn't pull out like he usually does.

The last thing he wants is for you to end up pregnant with his kid. He doesn't need any bastard kids running around, especially not ones that would tie him to you for the rest of his life.

But the thought pumping you so full of his cum that your pussy is overflowing is too tempting for him to ignore. He imagines your stomach swelling, your tits getting big, your body changing like nature intended because of him. 

In spite of himself, he finds his hips pounding into your ass even harder as his grip on your thighs tightens.

He wants to be the one to show you that all you're good for besides fucking is getting pregnant and having kids. He wants to force you to accept that you are truly the weaker sex by design. He’ll make you see that any notions you have about "self-worth" and "agency" are nothing more than misconceptions.

He’ll turn you from a foul-mouthed, ill-tempered, disrespectful jujutsu sorcerer into a wife and mother who bows her head when she talks to him and knows her place. 

The thought of breaking you in is so tantalizing that it almost has him coming on the spot.

"Gonna show ya," he pants, his eyes squeezing shut as his mind paints the image of you so fucking big with his kid on the backs of his eyelids. "Ya ain't good fer anything else."

"Shut up," you're quick to reply between moans, but it only urges him on. You won't be so mouthy when you're taking care of his kids, when you're cleaning up after them, when you're breastfeeding them.

He lets out a low groan as he pictures how big your tits will get when they’re full of milk for his kid. It's enough to push him over the edge and before he knows what he's doing, his burying himself as deep as he can inside of you and coming with an almost animalistic growl.

His hips give a few jerks as he fills you with his cum, his hold now so tight on your thighs that finger-shaped bruises are a guarantee. His shoulders rise and fall rapidly as tries to catch his breath.

When he lets his cock slip from you, he can't tear his eyes away from the way his cum slowly leaks out of your messy cunt and trails down the crack of your ass. He continues to hold you in place for a few moments longer before collapsing onto his back beside you in bed with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, already reflecting back on how that may have been the hardest he's ever come before. He pointedly ignores the fact that imagining you pregnant with his kid was the cause.

But while he's busy luxuriating in the aftermath of his orgasm, he's completely ignorant to the storm brewing beside him.

"You fucking came inside me!" you shout, sitting up in bed and hitting him hard in the face with the pillow that you had been using.

He recovers quickly and grabs it from you so that he can place it behind his own head with a smirk.

"Yeah? And?" he asks, his tone bored. He watches you from the corner of his eye as you angrily get out of bed and pick a discarded shirt up from the floor that you slip over your head.

"You're so fucking lucky I'm on the pill," you hiss as you storm off to the bathroom, loudly slamming the door shut behind you.

"Good! That means I don't gotta keep pulling outta ya anymore!" he yells after you with a sadistic grin. He wonders what you're more upset over -- that he came inside of you or that you didn't get to come.

You're only gone for a few minutes. He hears the toilet flushing and the water running before the door opens and you come back into the bedroom.

"You're fucking useless," you mutter and he closes his eyes as he stretches with a loud yawn. "I should've just gone with my vibrator. It doesn't have a mouth and doesn't make a mess. And it also makes me come every time."

"That ain't my job," he scoffs, a truly amused smirk playing at his lips at the idea that he's here for your pleasure.

He cracks an eye open when he hears you sliding opening the door to the balcony just off your bedroom. He catches just a glimpse of you holding something in your arms before you disappear onto the balcony for a few moments. When you return, your arms are empty.

He watches you as you pick up his boxer briefs before slinging them at his face. His reflexes are quick enough that catching them before they hit him is an easy feat.

"Get the fuck out," you say without sparing him a second glance on your way out of the bedroom and he chuckles to himself. Frustrating you is almost as gratifying as sex. 

His amusement persists even as he sits up and slides on his boxer briefs. But it doesn’t last much longer because he’s quick to see that your bedroom floor is now empty, his clothes nowhere in sight.

He glances at the sliding glass door that’s still open and his eyes widen when he suddenly remembers that you had carried something onto the balcony, only to come back without it. 

No. 

You couldn’t possibly have.

No.

In the blink of an eye and with the speed he’s known for, he’s on your balcony and tightly gripping onto the railing as he searches the mostly-empty street below. When he sees his shirt, kimono, and hakama scattered on the sidewalk, pure rage explodes in his gut.

“Fucking BITCH!” he yells with no care for your neighbors or the late hour. 

He’s moving so quickly that in the back of his mind he wonders if it’s the fastest he’s ever been. One moment he’s on your balcony and a millisecond later, he has you pinned on your back on the couch where you were sitting. 

He straddles your hips as he wraps a hand around your throat, his grip growing tighter when he sees how your eyes are dancing with mirth.

“You already up for another round?” you ask, a slight wheeze to your voice from how hard he’s squeezing your throat. His fury is so all-consuming that he doesn’t even notice the way his cock twitches.

“You fucking bitch,” he seethes. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

You raise an eyebrow at how his anger actually has his Kansai accent easing, like his ire is great enough that it’s actually able to override any pronunciations and verbal ticks.  

“Well, before you do that, you might wanna go get your clothes,” you point out, sounding almost bored. “The bars are getting ready to close and all it takes is one person who can’t hold their alcohol before they’re throwing it all up.”

He wants to argue with you, call you a bitch some more, and punish you for thinking you have the right to talk to him like this and treat him this way. But he  also knows you’re right. He needs to recover his clothing or else all he’ll have to wear on his way home is a tight pair of boxer briefs. 

“It shouldn’t be too hard to get them back for the world's fastest sorcerer," you mock with a rasp and he lets his hand close even tighter for a few moments, wanting you to think your life is truly in danger, before he releases you. 

He’s gone before you even know what’s happening and he’s already halfway through getting dressed by the time you make it out onto the balcony to watch him struggle. He ignores the heat of your gaze on him, as well as the stares of the few passersby who stumble upon the bizarre scene playing out in the middle of the street.

“Oi! Zen’in-sama!” you shout down to him as ties his hakama. He refuses to acknowledge that he’s heard you, although how could not have with how loud your voice carries. It’s enough to catch the attention of everyone down below. The mocking tone is gone with your next words, your voice as cold as ice. “I know my cunt’s so sweet that it’s hard to resist, but the next time you come inside of me without permission, I’ll cut your balls off so that you can’t make that mistake again.”

He looks up at your balcony, but you’re already gone. He growls to himself, seething that despite everything, you’ve still somehow managed to not only end up with the last word, but also to have humiliated him.

Now that he’s no longer buried ball deep inside of you, he can think with a clearer head and even through his anger, there’s an irritating note of relief that you’re on the pill.

It’s already bad enough that he can’t seem to give up your pussy, but that’s at least a habit he hopes to one day break. A kid would keep you in his life permanently. 

A chill runs down his spine at the idea, disgust curling in his stomach. He tries to ignore the hint of arousal that lurks just underneath it. 

[lazyliars]

/rp

Before I get into it, I want to state that is EXPLICITLY an analysis of the Characters, and is not intended to touch on how the cc’s played them in a meta sense unless specifically stated otherwise.

Also, this is technically a part two to my other post, which took a more in depth look at Techno and Phil’s reactions to Tommy’s death. It’s not necessary when reading this post, but I don’t address their reactions here.

So. The question must be asked.

Are we [the Syndicate] the baddies?

Yes.

The End.

 Why are the Syndicate the baddies?

They got damn logo is a wither skull.

The End.

That's not how this works.

Yeah, yeah. You’re right.

The Syndicate's goals as an organization are not inherently bad. They seem to have good intentions behind them, and the focus on the freedom of it's individual group members is important to remember when talking about it; It is not a government. There is no hierarchical power system. No one is forced to do anything against their will, or surrender any of their rights or power to remain a member. It is not a government.

I also want to address Techno and Phil backing Ranboo into a corner – I see them getting a lot of flack for this, but I personally do not think it is relevant to the greater discussion, or necessarily representative of any contradictions within the organization. It was clearly played for laughs, and after they back off they clarify to Ranboo that they won't force him. Then later when Phil and Ranboo are alone, Ranboo feels safe enough to express that he felt like he was pressured into it, and Phil assures him he is allowed to leave whenever he wants; He is not being forced to do anything, and he is not being coerced or blackmailed.

None of the Syndicate members have done any wrongs against each other in the context of the Syndicate, OR gone against any of the Syndicate's core principles.

That, said, holy shit are they the baddies.

Listen, there's trying to telegraph a meaning or message to the audience and then there's having your logo be wither skulls on blackstone. That is straight out of the skit I keep referencing, seriously.

Okay, but, they laughed at it! It was played as a joke, just like the Ranboo thing!

The Ranboo thing was improv, the Syndicate's headquarters were planned – the artistic choices that they made reflect on what role they want the build and the organization inhabiting it to play in the future storylines.

Wither Skulls kind of have some CONNOTATIONS. Techno is an English major, I don't think he chose the most threatening imagery possible on accident, and then joked about the way people would interpret it just to stir the pot. This reads as hugely intentional.

And beyond that, the jokes they make during this part aren't “haha yeah, we look bad but we're actually good!” they're “you can tell by looking at these that we're the good guys wink wink, this is good guy stuff right here :)” It is a joke about how they are definitely not the good guys. This isn't even a case of unreliable narrators, this is one step down from flat out saying the meta intent.

But okay, I hear you, I'm talking about things that haven't happened yet. The Syndicate hasn't used any Withers, they could be an aesthetic choice.  Lets look at what they do in practice.

So, they barge into private property, assess Snowchester's right to continue existing based entirely on their own ideals of what Freedom is, and then only once Tubbo assures them that they have no standing leader do they grant the place their approval to, and I gotta stress this part, continue existing.

 In my Quackity meta, I already talked about how Government in the context of a M1necraft RP cannot be compared to IRL Governments on a one-to-one scale. They don't serve the same purposes or have the same type of power. What I didn't talk about was Agency in the context of m1necraft governments.

In an irl government, if you are born into one, you can't really leave without committing a massive overhaul on your life, which can be expensive and difficult, if not impossible for many people. Even in a “benevolent” government, the simple physicality of where you were born can prevent you from leaving it easily.

The same hurdles do not exist in the Dream SMP. People who join M1necraft governments choose to. They want to, either at the beginning when they form one, or later on when they join up. So far, no Government has just Sprung Up and forced the current residents of an area to become dependent on them, except maybe the Eggpire, who's status as a government is... shakey.

And even when people want to leave or separate from the government, they have been historically able to do so without any trouble or any effort from said governments to stop them. Jack Manifold emancipated from Manberg. Fundy and Quackity both left to start new nations. In all cases they were allowed to do so without any attempts on the part of the governments to stop them, either through force, or institutions preventing them from doing so.

The most anyone has lost when leaving a government is their house, which is still usually their property anyway, and is something that is easily rebuilt elsewhere and is inconvenient to move anyway.

The only exceptions to this might be Schlatt exiling Wilbur and Tommy - but even then, they weren’t trying to leave, they were trying to get back in, and of course the original L’manberg revolution, where Dream attempted to force L’manberg back into the Dream SMP, which wasn’t even a government at that point in time.

I don’t consider Phil’s house arrest an example of a government forcing someone to stay a citizen - that was treated less as a matter of a citizen wanting to leave the country and more as a threat to national security. Still pretty fucked up, but it’s a different issue.

What I'm saying is, If Tubbo wants to create a government out in the middle of nowhere, threatening no one, forcing no one to join either through force or desperation, and allowing people to join willingly because they want to, then he should be allowed to do that.

The Irony of the Syndicate, a group of people consisting of some of the richest, strongest people on the server, going around and enforcing 'Freedom' that entails no one person having more power than any other, is absurd. 

It shows an extreme lack of self-awareness and/or self-righteousness, as they seem to think that they deserve to be the ones who decide what constitutes a government.

Snowchester is a small independent nation - they shouldn’t have to live in fear of being obliterated if they don’t walk on eggshells to meet an arbitrary standard decided by people who’s only authority on the matter COMES FROM THEIR PERSONAL POWER. No one elected them! No one chose them! They were not “approved” by the server at large to enact this kind of law.

The Syndicate are not a government, but they are an unsupervised power structure exerting their ideals on a land that did not ask for them. Like, These people have invented an actual Authoritarian-Anarchist faction. How the hell did they manage this?????

Back on topic.

Tubbo shows them the crater left by his nukes. The reaction is oddly positive – the nukes are fine by the morals of the Syndicate, apparently. I'd argue that they come across as more impressed than anything else; they seem to respect Tubbo for having gotten ahold of “real” power.

(There's a few good memes out there about “We can excuse nuclear weaponry, but we draw the line at Government!”)

So. By the Syndicate's standards: A single person or group of acceptably equal persons with weapons of mass-destruction are only worth “keeping an eye on” because they might provoke other people.

Like, I consider Project Dreamcatcher to be one of, if not the most morally ambiguous thing Tubbo has ever done, largely because it was all on his own initiative. He holds some culpability for The Butcher Army and Phil's house arrest, but they weren't his ideas and he was mostly following Quackity at that point.

And Phil tells Tubbo, IMMEDIATELY AFTER SEEING THE NUCLEAR CRATER:

“Looks like you've reformed a little bit Tubbo, I'm proud.”

And it's fine. Crimes against nature? Fine. A sign of healing in fact!! Tubbo is having a sweeeelll time and he definitely didn't make these nukes specifically in fear of being attacked by these exact people! Tubbo is doing great. Tubbo is doing fine. Tubbo. is. FINE.

Anyway.

I don't think this presentation of the Syndicate was an accident. Looking at the greater lore of SMP right now, after the Egg is done, their list of enemies is slim, and considering that they seem solely invested in taking down governments, that leaves maybe Snowchester, Kinoko Kingdom, and Eret and the greater Dream SMP.

Snowchester has not been shown to be corrupt, evil, or have any intent to go down that route. The most ambiguous thing they've done is, again, is the nukes. Other than that, it's pretty much your average cottagecore snow village.

Kinoko is presented in an even more morally 'good' light, Karl having founded it specifically for his Time-travel library purposes, which are currently being treated by the narrative as a selfless act, if not downright heroic.

Eret is also a fairly 'good' aligned character atm. He's been on that redemption grind since the og betrayal, and doesn't seem keen on backtracking. He's actively tried to leverage his position as king to make things better, and hasn't been quiet about that. He was also 'validated' by Tommy*, a character who has been described both by his allies and enemies as “the hero,” so take that as you will.

What I'm getting at is, all of the current potential enemies for the Syndicate aside from the Egg, are currently being cast as 'good,' and if they were to be attacked, they would undoubtedly have the moral high-ground, unless something drastically changed.

The only potential shakeups I can think of is are a Dream escape and/or a Wilbur revival, both of which could draw the Syndicate's attention and ire, depending on how things go. That said, it's just as likely that either or both of them would join the Syndicate – Dream still has that favor, and Phil and Techno both seemed to think Wilbur would've agreed with their blowing up L'manberg.

Both of those characters are currently **villains – the fact that they're both prime candidates for the Syndicate is a huge indication of the direction it's going to go as the plot moves forward.

((*I know some people are gonna come at me for painting Tommy as the “deciding factor” of what is morally good, so lemme just stop you there. I'm not talking about Tommy somehow having the 'right' to decide who is and isn't good, and definitely not the right to decide who should and shouldn't be king. I'm saying that Tommy, a character who the narrative treats as, if not a good person, then a person who is trying to be good, was in support of Eret, a character who has also been trying to be good.

Eret doesn't gain the moral highground because Tommy said so, he gets it because a character who the narrative treats as trying to do better, acknowledged Eret's earnest attempts at doing the same.

**I'm referring to Wilbur here as a villain because Tommy seemed convinced he would be if he were to be brought back. There is always the possibility that he's wrong.))

So, to summarize this: I read the Syndicate as being intentionally positioned as future antagonists, if not outright villains of a future arc. They are NOT a Government but their goals are contradictory with their means, and it is important to keep in mind that they plan to enforce their own brand of freedom on people who did not grant them either the authority or permission to do so.

So, uh. Can you tell I loved these streams? They were seriously so good. I kept switching between Ranboo and Techno's POV's trying to keep up with everything. I still have to watch Niki's!

All in all, I'm super, super excited for whats coming next, egg stuff, Syndicate stuff, Tommy stuff, all of it.

[purringbookworm97]

Mushroom Risotto - a nice lil’ autumn recipe

Good evening, folks! How are you mighty fine-looking ladies, gents, and otherwordly beings, today?

I come to you with something that might interest a few! Yes, it is your long-time missing uncle’s autumn recipe, and it’s nothing less than the long-held family recipe of Mushroom Risotto, straight from my proud italian lineage!

Why this recipe? Because I made it yesterday, for one, which means I have a fresh picture to illustrate my words, and because it’s shroom season for the northern hemisphere of this round earth, and also spooky season where you might wanna impress friends, demons and family alike with your cooking skills!

Therefore, for a mouthwatering mushroom risotto, you will need:

Two cups of risotto rice, for three good eaters (the grains are round, not long, it’s glutinous rice)

two onions (I usually use white onions, but we ain’t no racists in this house so use whatever eye-pricking root you find, a’ight?)

mushrooms!!!! (I used ceps here cuz I love them, they can be fresh or dried if you can buy some at the grocery store) Use as much as you want honesly, but I’d go with two-thirds full cup of dried shrooms, which should be a full cup when fresh (but add more, come on)

chicken stock (or whatever but chicken tastes better, take one cube, you heard me)

one and a half cup of white wine!!!! (cooking or otherwise, doesn’t matter, that bottle you wanted to finish? It’s gotta go)

parmigiano, bish (parmesan cheese, yeah, and you’ll measure that shit with your heart after grating it to thin flakes, no arguing with me on that)

To make the dish, you’ll need to follow these particular steps:

prepare the onions by chopping them as thin as you can (or bigger if you like a chunky piece of onion, you barbarian)

if your shrooms are dried, it’s you cue to drown the hell outta them, go on

if not, proceed

pour some oil with a good bit of salt and pepper (olive oil tastes better btw) in a large pot (I mean it, go bigger than big on that one) and get that to sizzling heat

add the onions and stir fry them until they’re nice and crisp

now, take your shrooms, and fry them in a separate pan (trust me) then let them aside

add the rice in the pot and stir fry it until the grains have gone a bit translucent

pour the wine and let it cover the rice (make sure all the rice is in the wine ir I swear I’ll slap you)

add the stock cube and make sure it melts fully (no one like to bite in a chunk of stock)

wait till the rice has absorbed the wine, then add approximately one liter and a half of boiling water so the rice is entirely immersed (you see? big pot)

lower the heat

cover

At some point, the rice will have absobed the water, and will make a sexy squeliching sound when you’ll stir to make sure it doesn’t stick to the bottom of your pot

that’s your cue to add the shrooms and stir

now comes the last step: add the parmigiano!!! Drown that rice in it!!!! make them feel your wrath and the power of your italian nonna!!!

you’re done now.

congratulations.

That’s it folk! Serve in a bowl, plate, or piece of fire-hardened clay, drink some red wine or apple juice with it, whatever, and enjoy with your friends or yourself! No matter how many yourself there are! I hope this recipe will bring some joy to your spooky-season, and on that note, bon appetit!

[hangovercurse]

Teeny Tiny Secret

After months of trying, you and Colson finally get those two pink lines… the day before tour starts.

Request: “I know that requests are closed, but I HAD to share this before it left my mind. When you have an opportunity, could you please write a story where y/n is in super early (not showing or anything) stages of pregnancy and on tour with mgk. She & Colson make a plan to keep it from the bandmates for now. It becomes difficult when he becomes super over protective (not letting her carry anything, not wanting the guys to crowd her), unconsciously put his hand on her stomach, and ordering non-alcoholic drinks for her. The band suspects something. Y/n talks with him to try to get him to calm down a little. It works until the guys ask you both about it directly and Colson's the first to crack.”

Colson Baker x Reader

Warnings: Cursing

A/N: Y’all are all up in that spring baby fever… this is like my 3rd or 4th baby request recently

Word Count: 2211

You and Colson had been talking about having a second kid for months but stopped trying a few weeks before tour started. You didn’t think it had worked until you woke up three days before tour and rushed to the bathroom, morning sickness wrecking your body. Colson felt you getting out of bed and followed a few minutes later, tiredly. When he found you hunched over the toilet, his whole demeaner changed.

You knew for sure the day before tour, after multiple pregnancy tests you had gone to see an OBGYN for confirmation. Sure enough, you were pregnant. The universe sure knew the definition of ironic timing.

Colson’s immediate reaction was to have you stay home. “All the traveling and partying isn’t gonna be good for him.” He said, pacing around your bedroom while you laid on the bed. “Tour life is not good for babies.”

You raised your eyebrow, “him? It’s been one day and you’re already setting unrealistic expectations for our unborn child.” You joked, a small smile on your lips.

Colson’s mouth gaped before he continued, “Y/N, we need to be serious about this. You can’t come on tour if you’re pregnant.”

You rolled your eyes, “Colson, I am not letting you leave me here while I am pregnant. I’ll be fine. I won’t drink and I’ll take it easy. You just have to make sure the guys don’t smoke around me and we’ll be fine.”

His eyes went wide. “Shit, the boys.” He paused to think as confusion crossed you. “If the boys find out about this they’ll freak out and then the whole tour is gonna be a shit show.”

It was kind of funny how much more worried he was than you were. “Babe, come here.” You motioned for him to come sit in the bed with you to which he complied. You leaned your back against the headboard, expecting him to follow. Instead, he laid so his head was next to your stomach. He pressed a small kiss into it, making your heart fluttered, the reality of the situation hitting you and making you insanely happy. “Why are you so worried?” You asked him softly, combing your hand through his hair.

He reached, moving your shirt up so he could kiss your bare stomach. He mumbled against your skin, “I think I wanna keep this a secret for now.” You hummed and he continued, “just for us, y’know? I wanna enjoy this.”

You nodded, “I’m still coming on tour with you, though. I don’t wanna be alone right now.”

He smiled against your stomach, finally moving up to sit next to you, pulling you towards him for a soft kiss. His hand went to your stomach, rubbing circles into the skin. “I can’t believe we’re gonna have a fucking baby.”

You smiled against his lips, a thought popping into your head, “can we tell Casie at least?” His eyes lit up at your suggestion, a quick nod of his head affirming the idea.

 The next day was hectic, as all first days were. You had gotten a list of everything you could and couldn’t do from your doctor, and the all-clear to fly for the first trimester. So, you and Colson found yourself with the crew at LAX airport bright and early in the morning. Ashleigh passed you an itinerary, letting you know that you would all be meeting the bus in Cleveland, where the first show was.

Colson’s arm hadn’t left your waist since you got to the airport, holding you to his side all morning. Occasionally you could feel his thumb rubbing circles near your stomach, something that was definitely becoming a habit of his. At one point he ended up standing behind you, hands resting on your stomach as he held you against him. You tried not to give anything away, but you found it adorable how excited he was. He wanted to be as close to the unborn baby as possible at all times, his hands constantly near your middle.

Eventually you arrived in Cleveland, walking down the long hallway to the baggage claim, taking in the small Cleveland hall of fame that the airport had created. You spotted your suitcase and went to grab it, but Colson beat you to it. “I got it, babe.” He gave you a look that let you know you wouldn’t be carrying anything.

You sighed, “I can get it Colson.” He shrugged, grabbing his bag off of the carousel next. The man now had a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder and two suitcases in his hands. “Seriously, it’s not that heavy.”

He shook his head, “I’m not letting you carry anything heavy. I can do it.” You sighed but let him, knowing you wouldn’t win this battle.

Unbeknownst to you, Baze had seen the whole interaction and was very confused.

 Later, once you had arrived at the arena, you were hanging in the dressing room with Slim and Irv on the couch. You guys weren’t really talking about anything in particular, mostly just cracking jokes about Rook’s outfit for the night.

When the younger boy heard Slim say he looked like “if Willow Smith and Gerard Way were put into a blender,” he came over, blunt in his hand.

Rook started jokingly arguing with Slim and you were all laughing at his distress. In the middle of their argument, however, Colson came over and grabbed the blunt out of Rook’s hand. He put it out in an ashtray before returning to you, squeezing himself between you and Irv.

Everyone, including you, stared at him, dumfounded. “Dude why the fuck-“ Rook started, only for Colson to cut him off.

“You shouldn’t smoke in here.” He shrugged, arms wrapping around you. He squeezed your waist, letting you know why he really did it. You were somewhat thankful; smoke was bad for the baby. But there are less obvious ways to have gone about that.

Rook grumbled but didn’t attempt to light another one. Slim looked at you, an eyebrow raised in question. You shrugged your shoulders, pretending to act innocently naïve to Colson’s behaviors.

Eventually the three boys travelled from the couch, leaving you and Colson alone. “Babe, you gotta try and be a little more subtle about that shit.” You mumbled, turning to face him.

He scrunched his eyebrows, “he shouldn’t be smoking around you. What else was I supposed to do?”

You sighed, “I don’t know, but that wasn’t subtle. If you keep treating me differently, they’re gonna figure out that something’s up.”

Colson lets out a breath through his nose, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry, I just don’t want anything to happen to…” he trailed off, trying to keep a low profile.

“I know you’re just being careful. It’s sweet, and I really appreciate it. But either we tell the guys what’s going on or we figure out how to be more subtle.” You thought you guys were being quiet, but once again Baze was standing just within earshot, hearing your entire conversation.

 Colson demanded you stay backstage instead of in front of the gates like normal tours. “I don’t care if they think something’s up, you are not getting anywhere near that crowd.”

This was something you could actually agree on, not wanting any crazy fangirls to try and reach over the barricade and hurt you by accident (it had happened before). So, you were stood backstage before the concert, like normal, only this time you had a spot next to the stage picked out just for you to watch. Colson came over to you, jumping up and down in excitement.

You giggled at his happy demeanor, feeding off his energy. “Good luck kiss?” You offered to which he happily nodded. You pulled him in by his shoulders, intending to give him a soft kiss. Colson being Colson, however, decided that this was the perfect time for an extremely heated make out session.

You didn’t complain much as his hands explored your waist, paying special attention to your stomach, where a small bump would soon be forming. His lips against yours were heaven.

“Okay loverboy!” Ashleigh called, making him pull away from your lips but he kept himself close to you. “You’re on.”

He nodded towards her, giving you one last peck before running off to the stage. Before he left, his hands lingered on your stomach just a little longer than normal, his eyes glancing down to it for a split second.

Then you watched the love of your life run towards the stage, a grin on his face. “I love you!” You called. He turned to you right before he got on stage and mouthed the words back to you, knowing you couldn’t hear him anymore. You smiled, the sight of him living his dream making your heart melt.

Slim was on the side of the stage closest to you, and had caught the last moments of your intimacy, including Colson’s attention to your stomach. He perked and eyebrow at the sight but shook it off as Colson being into some weird new thing.

 After the show, everyone was hyped up on adrenaline and alcohol. The crew decided to move the party to a nearby club. Colson wanted to take you back to the bus and stay there with you all night, but you made him go. “Colson, I have been in this condition for all of 3 days. I am fine. You just finished the first show of your tour. We,” you pointed between the two of you, “are going out to celebrate, even if that means I can only drink water or pop.”

He rolled his eyes but gave in, letting you drag him down the street towards the rest of your friends. When you got to the club, you grabbed a table with Ash, Irv, Baze, and Slim while Colson took Rook to get drinks for everyone.

When the pair got back, they started handing out drinks. Colson set a glass of water in front of you, causing the group to raise eyebrows at you two, which you just shrugged off, sipping the water. As much as you would have loved to get wasted with your friends, you knew it would hurt the baby. You tried to act as nonchalant about it as possible, realizing that it was gonna be hard to hide your secret if you got water every time you went out.

This was going to be a long 9 months.

“I wanna dance.” Ashleigh said, grabbing Irv and Rook and dragging them to the floor. You grinned, about to stand up and join them when you felt a hand on your thigh. You turned towards Colson, who was currently stopping you from having fun, giving him a glare.

He shook his head slightly at you, leaning close to you to whisper in your ear. “There’s a lot of people here, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes, whispering back, “can you ease up a little bit, please? I’ll be careful. I want to have a little fun before I’m not able to move at all.”

His face was stern, the two of you having a silent argument with your eyes. You pleaded with him, trying to get him to crack but he just shook his head.

Meanwhile Baze and Slim watched you two, trying to figure out how the hell you were communicating without actually talking. “Is everything okay with you two?” Slim asked, pulling your attention to the two men.

You nodded, smiling, “yeah, we’re great.”

Baze cocked his head, “you sure? Because he’s” he pointed at Colson, “acting like you’re pregnant or something.”

You felt Colson’s hand on your thigh tighten, his entire body stiffening. You giggled, trying to play off the comment. Baze started laughing the moment he saw Colson’s expression, which you turned to see was like a deer caught in headlights. Slim’s eyes went wide, “holy shit, for real? Congrats guys!”

You laughed, rubbing Colson’s shoulder, “good job, babe. You did a great job at keeping this between us.”

He looked down at you with a sheepish expression, “sorry, I thought we were being subtle.” He mumbled and you laughed.

“Cols, I was being subtle. You were acting like I was gonna die if someone so much as touched me.” Slim and Baze chuckled at this, and you turned to explain. “We found out for sure yesterday and didn’t want anyone to get freaked out or throw off the tour or anything. So, Colson here,” your head nodded towards your boyfriend, “thought we could keep it a secret for now.”

He frowned, his friends still laughing at him. “Dude, you are the worst secret keeper ever, man.” Baze said. “It took one push and you cracked.” You giggled, nodding your head in agreement. “But seriously, congrats guys.”

“Thanks, B.” You said, “but listen, both of you. If anyone on this tour tells me what I can and can’t do because I’m pregnant, I’ll cut their dick off.” The two boys nodded in understanding.

“Am I really that bad at keeping secrets?” Colson asked, still upset that he spilled.

You giggled and nodded, “Yeah, darling. You are.”