#i should spend time with them i should eat with them i should never cost them anything and repay the debt as soon as i can

[anaalnathrakhs]

my parents aren't abusive in any way, but living with them is like... letting your kid cousin play with a prized collection, gritting your teeth and hoping for them to be done with it soon, knowing any second something could be broken, and anyway you'll have to put the whole thing back together right afterwards. and like the kid cousin, you gotta not necessarily keep an eye on them, but always be on call, thinking about WHAT the kid might be doing and WHERE they are, so you don't make them feel too unsuported or unheard

[helaintoloki]

Can I request something with Five Hargreeves where Five and Lilia gets back to their family after the 7 years (nothing romantic happened between them, just purely platonic), and when he sees the reader for the first time after almost loosing so much hope in seeing her again, he just can’t help but latch onto her and never let go, kissing her all over cause he finally gets to see the love of his life again :,D

a/n: ty for sending in this request anon i really enjoyed writing it <3 this is basically the “good ending” of the subway incident

warnings: fluff, mentions of five and lila but in a platonic way not the bad way

His lungs feel like they’re on fire as Five pushes himself to continue his sprint to your apartment. It’s been seven years without you, and after almost losing hope of ever seeing you again, all he wanted now was to have you in his arms as proof that he truly was back in his own timeline.

He never should have listened to Lila when she insisted on traveling the subway system in search of a solution to the Cleanse, but he had been desperate to find a way to keep you and his family safe no matter the cost. He didn’t mind having to eat subway rats and sleep in flimsily sleeping bags on dirty platforms for your sake, but with no end in sight the entire thing began to seem futile. What good was putting himself through torture if he could never go back home to you?

Thus, when he found the journal that detailed the way back home, Five did not hesitate to jump on the next subway car and return back to his own timeline. He didn’t feel sorry for practically shoving Lila out of the way as soon as the doors opened, and he didn’t waste a second waiting for her to follow before he was booking it out of the station and down the streets to your apartment. While it would have been faster to just jump there, he didn’t want to risk accidentally placing himself right back where he started, and he didn’t have the patience to wait for Lila to find a car and drop him off herself. Seeing you could not wait, and so he ran.

Though Five has experienced seven painful years of being stuck with Lila in the subway, only four hours have passed since you last spoke to him on the phone to discuss your evening plans. He was meant to be at your apartment thirty minutes ago so you could enjoy a lovely dinner at a nice restaurant, and yet here you were sitting painfully board at your kitchen island watching the minutes tick by. You knew he wasn’t exactly keen on eating out when he’d rather stay at home and spend quality time with you, but surely he wouldn’t stoop so low as to miss your date entirely.

“Screw this,” you huff in indigence as you snatch your keys from the counter and grab your previously discarded purse from its spot on the couch. “He’ll just have to meet me there.”

After putting on your coat, you fling the door open only to met with the sight of a breathless Five, his fist raised in the air as if he was about to knock before you beat him to it. He looks completely disheveled with his mussed up hair and wrinkled suit, his eyes blown wide as he swallows down a big gulp of air and takes in your features. You look more beautiful than he ever thought possible, and he can’t believe that he’s really here standing in front of you after being trapped in a time travel hellscape for seven years with his idiot brother’s idiot wife.

“Five?” You utter gently, brows furrowed in confusion and concern as you reach out to place a gentle hand upon his cheek. He’s warm to the touch, most likely a side effect from having sprinted for three blocks, but it worries you nonetheless. He nearly melts into your palm as his eyes flutter shut in contentment at the feel of your skin against his own. He’s missed this, and he’s missed you. “Where have you been, I was just about to leave without you. You okay?”

You jump at his sudden movement when Five practically throws himself into your arms. You lose your footing and tumble back into your apartment, and it takes you a moment to process what’s happening before you tightly return the embrace. You know Five loves you, but he’s never been so forward with affection like this, so his behavior takes you by surprise.

“Sweetheart, I’ve never been better,” he breathes out in relief as he takes in your warmth and your smell and your touch and everything good about you. He never thought he could miss anyone as much as he missed you, and Five swore in that moment he’d never take you for granted again.

“Are you sure you’re really my Five and not a total stranger?” You question teasingly, poking fun at his uncharacteristically tender behavior. While normally you would be met with a biting and sarcastic response in return, you are instead given a passionate kiss as he cups your face in his hands and desperately pulls you closer to him. Your startled gasp is swallowed by his lips as he deepens the kiss and pushes you further into the apartment before shutting the door with his foot.

“Five,” you manage to breathe out after he pulls away for air, your face hot and your mind frazzled as you struggle to comprehend the sequence of events that have just occurred. “Five, we’re going to be late.”

“I couldn’t care less,” he replies with a faint smile, reaching out to carefully tuck your hair behind your ear. “I missed you.”

“Missed me?” You repeat in confusion. “You saw me this morning. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll explain everything in time,” he assures you carefully, “but right now I just want to enjoy this moment with you.”

With a faint smile gracing your lips, you know you can’t argue with that. You probably will miss your dinner reservations, but none of that matters as Five pulls you in close and showers you with seven years worth of pent-up affection.

You could really get used to this side of him.

[honestsycrets]

Stung | [Miguel O'Hara x Reader]

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | after a discus malfunction, you're bitten by an anomaly and refuse medical attention. you're in a state that you refuse to show to miguel-- at all costs.

❛ tags | NSFW, sex pollen, mention of a wound, slight chase, miguel o'hara doesn't like to be ignored, cum eating, creampies, abnormal amount of fluid, venom bite, slapping, some insecurity, spanish is not translated, sexual memories.

❛ sy’s notes | my obligatory ABO-sex pollen fic for ATSV. i usually make a ABO/Sex Pollen piece per fandom I write in, so here's one for Miggy 🐝

“All done!”

You slipped out of HQ’s packed infirmary with a jaunty bounce in your step. Crispy, coppery blood was matted onto your forearm concealed behind a hastily tied bandage. You weren't concerned about it. It would resolve within the hour. Likely less. As would your elevated body temperature. Despite the doctor's prattle about the benefit of further testing, you found their concern to be a non-issue. These things were virtual non-issues, even if the doctor and your man thought otherwise. 

The hallways at HQ were like any other day in your city. Congested with the coming and going of spiders in their daily lives. A glimpse at any group might reveal decadent flirting and haughty laughter. Some were in a rush to their own worlds, but most were completing work assigned by the Spider Society. The one you were looking for reclined against a wall with his arms interlocked one over the other. His displeased rumble prompted you to his presence above all other voices in the crowd. 

“You should have let them run the tests.” His voice was teased with concern but became mild, little more than a drab sigh at your refusal. You blew off his concern with a shake of your hand, gone yellow and bubbly behind a bit of ineffectual gauze. His eye glazed over the wound. You couldn't tell what he was thinking behind his mask, but you didn't need to. You only needed to convince him you were right.

“It’s stopped bleeding, Miggy. It’s just a scratch,” You held up your arm, flicking it with emphasis. His eyebrows raised for a moment, then flattened, staring at you with a dull rictus. “It was just a brief malfunction of the discus.” 

Technically it was more of an impalement, but if Miguel wasn’t going to ask, you weren’t going to invite him to delve deeper. Otherwise, you might spend the next few hours of your life fixing a wound that surely would have closed up by the time results were back. The injury site mildly itched. That was all. Never mind, the slight, honey-colored rash migrating from the puncture site to your elbow. Or the referred pain. Minor things. 

“You’re being stubborn.” 

“You’re the one to talk.” You snapped the discus free from your sash and chucked it toward Miguel.  He caught it with an unsurprising amount of ease, claws clicking in unison against the ineffectual metal.

“¡Qué problema!” he mocked, his voice dry and absent of discernible emotion. 

You closed the distance between your bodies to slide your arms around his broad neck. His other hand came to your lower back. It was warm, the way he touched you, from the bundles of affection that fluttered in your belly to the heat dappling across your chest. You missed this every day. It made fleeing the infirmary all the more worth it.

“I put the anomaly in another discus. One that actually works, no thanks to your programming.”

“That’s what happens when you take things without asking.” He flicked the discus between his thumb and index finger, waggling it for emphasis. It was true that there had been nights that went with banging, clacks, clatters, and the occasional outburst when things weren’t quite going his way. There were a few discuses on his desk. You just so happened to take the one that malfunctioned. “I was working on it. ¿Qué era?” 

“Oh,” you mumbled. “Just some stingy bees. What harm could they do?” 

His eyes roamed your wound. You couldn't help but look down too, both horrified and fascinated by the way the rash had moved in just a brief few minutes. The colour had begun to fade. You glanced up, flattening your mouth into a slight, forced smile.

“Fine. If you're sure.”

To be fair, you secured many anomalies with and without the help of others. They all went into their cozy, temporary forcefield homes until they could be fairly redirected to their appropriate dimensions. In the downtime, you could help or hinder Miguel's progress. Then, your watch would alert you to another disturbance and the cycle would continue. 

Until that morning. 

Your watch blared, and blared, and blared some more. The early morning sun began to rise and cast offensive beams of light into your room. Usually, it didn’t bother you. But this morning, everything offended you from the scratch of silky sheets on your naked body to Lyla illuminating what darkness was left, all golden and cute. You wondered if that was how Miguel felt when you forgot to pull the curtains, strung out on the bed after he finished with you.

“Woah! Oops!” she turned, covering her eyes with her spindly fingers. A growing ache throbbed between your legs. It wasn’t quite the same dull soreness from Miguel’s late-night visit last night, either. “Sorry, sorry. Miguel--”

“He can handle it,” you bit out, snappier than you intended. It wasn't like you. “Or-- Jess. No, Gwen. Gwen can do it, she loves--” 

“He asked for you.” 

Of course, he did. You scrunched a pillow over your head. Your Miguel couldn’t see you this. Absolutely not. You debated getting up, ignoring what you called a negligible ache that was quickly morphing into a terrible pounding. You can't believe how quickly the thought fell apart, pushing yourself to sit up in bed. The ghost of his scent floods your nose, flashing memories of the night before.

Something at work set him off. Something that commanded no intimacy, but the mechanical release of his rage that wouldn't destroy precious resources. He sat on the edge of the bed, driving your mouth onto his cock with the aid of your hair bundled around his fist. You recalled the shakiness of his thighs under your fingers, his firm legs spread wide fucking your mouth with cold abandon. He chased his own orgasm selfishly, needing the release, needing to see your body painted by whips of his cum sprayed across your exposed breasts. He pulled you off in silence, inspecting the drool and cum that spilled down your chin and throat in rivulets. "What--"

Your face tightened, glancing down at the growing tension in your belly. Everything began to annoy you, especially the scratch of the sheets against your skin, your bed empty of his presence. How could you tolerate that uniform plastered to your ass? You buried into the offensive bed. This was fine. This was normal, recalling what you'd done last night. Surely, the burn had to do with the whole being launched through not one, but two crumbling buildings the day before. The dust and rubble. Were you close to your cycle?

“Tell him I’m dead,” and without another word, you resolved the call. Within seconds she popped up again, bent at the waist because this was your life now. Never could you just… take a day off. There was always something. You muffled your screams of protest into the mattress and dug your feet in, kicking off the sheets, the blankets, the pillows, all of it.

“Is this a fit? You’ve never had a fit before,” Lyla noticed. A fit? She thought the burning of your body was a fit? Damn AI. Resolve. 

Resolve. Resolve. Resolve.

It became cathartic after a good while. Or it would have been if not for your senses hyper-fixating on every minor change in your body.  Despite your apprehension, you knew. What was once a dull pain radiating from your forearm morphed into something much worse. Something you couldn’t blame on the rather average experience of being pelted through the average event of windows and concrete. It was more than a tingle. It burned as it coursed through your body. 

You stumbled over the bundle of bedding into the bathroom. It was there that you realized that to your horror, you weren’t just lubricated, now you were soaked. Your fluids coursed down your thighs as you dabbed the region clean with a bundle of tissues. It did little good. Touching the area exasperated the issue. Maybe you needed an orgasm, maybe ten. An hour or so later, you slammed the heel of your palm into the mirror, fracturing it into shards of terrible glass that crumbled onto the countertop. Beads of blood dabbled onto your reflection. 

“If you d--” resolve.

So not a reaction to your average bee sting. Correction. A great, big, fat colony of hissing, buzzing bees. The act of recalling information was like jamming your hand into fluid water to snatch a tiny hair tie. No matter how many times you tried to recall the information, you couldn’t quite grasp it. It was there, floating around your head, but inaccessible. Your mind traveled back to Miguel. How gentle his lips could be, trailing soft kisses along your neck and shoulder when you rode him in reverse. How deep he'd go. 

"Fuck off!" Your watch blared again. Its beeping filled your bathroom, echoing over and over. You reached behind the door to pluck a silky white slip from its hook and dragged it over your head. You were about to resolve the call again when the hot timbre in his warm voice saying your name gave you pause. Your Miguel, popping up in a golden haze. You found yourself gazing at his full lips, full and plump. If only he was here. He could have his lips on your--

“What are you doing?” 

Lost in thought, you failed to realize that Miguel had been calling you by name again. You shook your hazy mind free of the thoughts that formed a swirling cloud over your head. You slumped down the wall and onto the floor.

Help was what you failed to say. As your mouth opened, nothing came out. The words were not wording. The vulnerability of asking for help was palpable. You soothed yourself by shifting your hands underneath your skirt. What would he think if he saw you here-- ripped asunder by your own biology? Whore. Miguel lowered his gaze, his eyes squinting at the sweat dabbling down your neckline as he looked you over. He wouldn't want you anymore.

“Are you listening? ¡Coño! What is wrong with you!?” 

Resolve.

You resolved him. Your Miggy-- resolved. Oh, you swallowed dryly. He wasn’t going to be happy about that. It wasn’t a matter of if Miguel would come for you. It was a matter of when. When he had time to separate himself from trashing-- whatever was the closest object to him in the lab-- to take out his rage on you. You reached for your medicine cabinet. You had more important things to worry about. First on the list? The searing heat.

Your watch was better off tucked away in a chest in the closet.

Night came with no solutions. You crouched on your window sill, chest rising and falling. You sought to stare at anything but the mindless buzz of the tv screen inside. Even with light pollution, some stars winked in the distance. Your body was a bundle of warm heat, buzzing with irritation after a fruitless day of soothing your body. You grew accustomed to your pert nipples against your silky slip, the lubricant coursing down your leg. At first, denial. Now, acceptance. You thought tomorrow might be better.

You felt his presence before you heard, smelled, or saw him. Through the sea of scorched sensations battering your senses, there was one that stood apart. A tickle that niggled at the back of your head. It could have been anyone, but you didn’t have to guess to know who it was. “Lyla." 

“You haven’t called him all day,” Lyla squeaked. 

“Called all-- I answered his call!” Your dress was matted to your body, cloaked in an abhorrent amount of sweat. It was only minutes ago that you retrieved your watch confident that you could bullshit something, anything, for a few days of reprieve. You jammed your shaking finger to resolve the call. 

“Not all of them. Miguel was worried.” 

“Worried! Lyla, that is not worried,” you spat. That was your Miguel, scaling the side of your apartment. His talons cracking the siding of your apartment. The reverberations spiraled up your legs, sending waves of anticipation lapping at your core. After your long day, you weren't sure how you were still somehow upright. With every crack of his talon into the brick siding, you were running out of time to come up with an excuse.

In a bid to escape, you fell into your room. The hard floor knocked the breath out of your dry lips. You stumbled onto your feet and supported yourself with a bookcase of less than half-read books. “Lyla, he can’t see me like this!” 

“Then tell me what’s going on,” she popped back up. “C’mon, you can tell me, it can’t be that bad.”

If her tone was playful in some half-baked attempt to neutralize your fight, the threat was imminent. Your hand connected with the top of the window, applying pressure to close the window. A hair too late. At the same time, Miguel’s clawed hand curled around the bottom of the window sash. You were too slow for the man who excelled with power, speed, and efficiency. You weren't going to win this fight. Not with your body threatening to crack at the very sight of your man's strength.

Though you saw him nearly daily, he always took your breath away. His sinewy body was always a sight, his suit accentuated his thick and fine cut. You moistened your lips, longing to run your fingers through his thick dark brown hair as you did every night. You caught his sharp gaze a second longer than you should have.

 “Open up,” he whispered coolly.

He was a distraction. The wind was not on your side either, blowing wisps of his scent into your overwrought senses. His natural musk mixed with the sweat of a hard day's work. Somewhere in there, bitter blood. You could smell the caramelized scent of the flaky, buttery empanadas and hot coffee you shared the day before. It gave you pause, his intoxicating smell and the sultry trill of his voice. But you couldn’t let him see you, not like this.

“Oop, there he is. Just checking on you,” Lyla chittered. Resolve.

“Miggy, please go away,” you sobbed in frustration, shifting to shoulder the window. “Why are you so stubborn!?” 

“It’s who I am.” 

The window cracked all at once. With mere milliseconds to respond to the sash careening into the upper rail, you whirled past the bedroom door. Miguel broke into a run behind you with long strokes of his legs. He made contact, sending you barreling into your lazy sapphire couch from the impact. You saw stars for a fraction of a second before you lurched on your palms and elbows, scrambling off of the couch and across the floor. His hand caught your ankle and dragged you underneath his body.

“¡Ay!” you bit out. “No, no no no. Miggy!” 

“¡Callate!” 

His hand wrapped tightly around your throat to force complacency, pinning you back to the hardwood floor. Your palms slammed onto his chest, drawing lines down his chest. Bits of pathetic electricity fizzled on his broad, muscular chest, a consequence of your fading focus. That focus was eviscerated when Miguel threw his hips flat against your core. Your frantic fidgeting against Miguel soothed some of the terrible, buzzing pressure rattling between your legs like warm honey on a sore wound. The ache for his relief became more important than the impulse for substantial breaths.

“Don’t move. Why are you--”

“I can’t help it,” you cut him off, straining against his large palm to stare at his crotch. His gaze fell on yours, following the path to his soft cock. His eyes widened with the sudden attention. Tears threatened to spill over from your eyes, pricked with spikes of pain. "It's too much!"

You ate your shame with his body crouched between your legs and his large palm choking the air out of your throat. The influx of air not only brought your scent, but your day-long desperation to fix what you believed was wrong. He could smell it now. He could see it now. He could hear it in your voice. He knew why you failed to answer his calls. The violent jabbing of the resolve button. Throwing your watch into your cramped closet to ignore the calls. The pheromones that soaked your apartment. It was unavoidable.

“You can’t help it,” he repeated. Miguel considered you with razor-sharp eyes, nearly as sharp as the talons that rescinded into his arms. 

"I'll see about that." His hand left your neck to reveal bundles of bumpy shivers that soared across your skin. He raised his finger to wipe away the wet tears that fell from your flushed cheeks. Then dropping lower, Miguel chased the thin straps of your gown with his claw and slid the offending fabric off of your breast. The nub was as hard as it had been hours ago when you twerked the nipple between your fingertips and dreamed of Miguel.

“You’re...” he cupped your breast in your palm and massaged your nipple with one sharp twist of his thumb. The gasp that left your lips wasn’t one you were proud of. Your undulating hips that ground down on his cock weren’t entirely unwarranted. You needed it. "Hot. As if you're in heat."

This couldn’t be happening. From a ball of rage to one of arousal, he released a tiny amused chuckle. You spent much of the day in different parts of the apartment with your hand, toy, ice, and water into your body to soothe this terrible ache. So Miguel wouldn't see you like this. It was this moment you sought to avoid after your long day: The moment of Miguel's disapproval. Now he laughed at you.

“Happy?” you sobbed into the forearm that kept Miguel stable. “Go away, someone else could use your stupid help.”

“Don’t you need me?” Miguel dipped his head down. Strands of his dark hair tickled your hypersensitive skin. With the lightweight fabric of his suit, pressing your cunt back against his clothed bulge felt wonderful. You bit your lower lip and watched his cock jut against its fabric. You lifted your puffy eyes to his gaze and found a wicked gleam there. He knew it wasn’t enough contact for the pressure and painful spasms to abate. Deep down, you knew that Miguel was your only hope for relief. Who else could, or would, you call in this condition? Mostly because Miguel always fixed everything.

"Miggy," you murmured. After this pitiful display, he wasn't rejecting you? Your mind flowed weightless and light. The terror of your day faded under his careful caress. In its place, comfort that he would take care of you.

“Don’t you?” His hand snaked between your folds and found it soaked wet, the low throbbing of your pussy palpable. He retracted his fingers and spread the sticky fluid between his thumb and middle finger. At some point, silence became better than an answer. Miguel brought his hand down on your cunt for a sharp slap. Bundles of nerves cried out under the abuse. It shook free a squeal from your lips, bitten raw by the pressure of the day. Your head bobbed into a mechanical nod as to save yourself from another slap.

“You know how to ask. It’s si Miguel, por favor Miguel.”

You needed the warm sensation of his cum. But making those words proved too difficult. Your canines pierced bloody holes in your lower lip. You clawed up his forearms, trying to leverage and force him closer. Miguel grabbed your shoulders and thrashed them back down onto the floor. You felt bad for the downstairs neighbors. 

“Say it.” 

“Miggy,” you looked into his eyes. They were blown wide, nearly fully black with a thin outline of scarlet, chasing the outline of your exposed breast. For all his talk, you realized he wasn't immune. Even with his face tight, his eyes focused on the same thing you needed. Maybe, all this time, you were baiting Miguel with half-assed answers. They were invitations. Invitations to come to fill this need you had. You would be lying if you said that wasn’t what you wanted this whole time. Finally, you had him where you wanted him. 

Miguel broke eye contact first. He cupped his plush lips around your nipple, suckling the breast taut and wet. You cried out in surprise and arched into Miguel’s mouth, enticed by the fangs that grazed your nipple. As quickly as he came, he was gone.

You lurched up, palming Miguel's dick through his pants. His hips bucked into your palm. He refused to make any sound as he considered your next movements, releasing Miguel’s cock from his suit. Impatience and need coalesced into your brave movements, sliding your palm against him. He was impossibly thick and hard, dribbling at the tip. Miguel huffed a small noise as your palm ran over him. You dared to call it a moan.

Miguel sneered and shoved you back onto the floorboards. “I’ll only tell you one more time. Ask me properly.” 

"You do too, don't you?" You giggled. A noise that grated his ear. With the belief you wouldn’t bolt, Miguel shifted back onto his knees. You wouldn’t. There was nowhere left to run. Not that you even wanted to, fat and hungry off Miguel's growing desperation.

"Come here." He snaked his hands underneath your knees, dragged you close, and pushed them to your chest. Your eyes fluttered shut. Moments later, the sensation of his thick dick sliding against your engorged folds forced them back open. It gave you just enough relief through the pulsing pain to look at him with your hazy eyes. From this angle, you appreciated how large Miguel had gotten. His round cock-head bobbed and crested over your mound as it rubbed against your aching clit. His face was trained, focused. He wasn't going to relent first.

The nagging pressure never abated. You sought something more, something better, the sensation of being filled. With every glide, you squeezed your walls in protest to his absence. Your hips protested the restriction of your movement, shimmying against the firm hold he had that kept you in place. You wanted more than that. You wanted true relief from his teasing. Miguel drew back to inspect the fluid over his fat shaft as held you down. You gave in, whining at him like a brat.

“Por,” you scratched his forearms. “Por favor, Miggy. You don’t know what it's like.” 

“All fours-- face down.” 

The cacophony of desire battered and overcame any other human emotion you could have. You complied, crawling onto your fuzzy indigo rug for what came next. Miguel’s gloved hand skimmed across your ass, middle finger skimming toward the center. He followed up his gentle touch by reeling back his hand and cracking it across your ass, searing the nerves alive. Once, twice, and then a third. Tears pricked your cheeks again, a consequence of your nerves being overwrought and now assailed.

“Miggy!” 

He shushed you with fervor, another thwack beating the jiggling flesh hot and red. Your legs trembled under the weight of his slaps. “Ignore my calls again and you’ll get much worse.”

“I didn’t-- you wouldn't want me,” your lips parted in defense of what you’d done. Miguel dipped down to spread your folds, rolling his index finger along your pulsing walls. Your body drew him in, squeezing and urging him forward. Your swollen walls were impossibly tight, straining to bring him in more and more.

"You know I do."

The need for more devoured any other thought, any threats of what he’d do next time. You rolled your hips to ride his hand. In place of a slap, Miguel slid another finger slid in beside the first to stretch your walls open. He faltered at your next words and slid his fingers free.

“Not like… not like I need you.” 

“Who decides that?” he pressed on your upper back to force it down. You complied. Miguel stumbled forward, finally pressing his thick head to your pulsing entrance. His round head pressed, just barely, into your wet hole. You clenched down, inviting him into your warmth. You weren’t sure he’d actually give it to you. It was so damn close.

“You do, Miggy,” you murmured, pushing back. He watched as his shaft slowly disappeared into your body, your apprehension of retaliation rendered you too slow to finish.

Miguel snatched your waist and forced you to take the rest, a soppy squelch lubricating his shaft. The sound that slipped from your lips was entirely uncouth, punctuated by his unforgiving thrusts. Your walls strained around his cock. No matter how many times you took him, the drag of his cock and slap of balls against your body always felt somehow like the first. It filled that ache-- the consistent burning need to have him here, inside of your greedy body, scratching something that you could not itch all day. It’s what you wanted. 

“That’s right, I do.” Miguel rumbled, short, punctuated thrusts beating your clenching cunt into complacency. The pleasure ruptured through your cunt-- battering his dick in response. He let loose a sharp grunt followed by a string of curses. Your sweet release spilled over his dick and balls, dripping down your thighs. Your legs threatened to shook, but Miguel was unwilling to allow your trembling legs to give out.

"Ah! Miggy!" His fangs punctured your shoulder to force you to stay in position, his pelvis stuttering against yours. His growl punctuated the warm, soothing cum that soothed your walls like warm honey over a wound. Your walls milked him free of his cum, spasming in response to his orgasm. He pieced himself together against your back, pulling his fangs free and settling a soft kiss over the burning wound on your shoulder. As if he hadn't been the one to tear his fangs into the crook of your neck.

“You’re not letting go,” he hummed in annoyance. He turned his attention down to your ass, ghosting his fingers over the healing bruises over your backside. You squealed, jerking forward. He followed you forward, punching a hole in the floor by your side. “Fuck, don’t move!” 

You cast your attention back toward Miguel. He huffed forcefully out of his nostrils. He motioned toward your ass as if it were obvious-- your walls were clamped over his cock, unwilling or otherwise unable to let him go, as if he had any more cum to give in that current moment. You took it all.

“I. I didn't-- I can’t--” 

“Yeah, I know. That Bee venom does that. Mine should neutralize it.”

At some point, you murmured. It sure as hell wasn’t doing it now, keeping him seated into your cunt that bubbled with the mixture of his and your release. “You knew about it? I could have died!” 

Miguel chuckled. 

“You wouldn’t. You’re too stubborn to die,” he sighed, fiddling with his watch. The tests-- that you never had ran. Ones that he suggested. Ones that you refused quite openly. “Why would I deny myself the fun?” 

His cock slipped free. Your hips dropped and fell slack against the floor. You weren’t proud of the cum that oozed out of your ass over your decimated room, nor the fact that your useless neighbors hadn’t called for help once. Not that you needed it-- but still. You palpated your stomach, slightly distended. Miguel bent down and gathered the mixture of your bodily fluids on his fingers, suckling his own fingers dry. You watched his wet tongue swirl around his fingertips. It wasn't fair.

“Fun? What fun!? Do you know how long I-- You’re a mean man, Miguel O’Hara.” 

He lurched over, his breath tickling your lips. He kissed you, salty and sweet. Your nose scrunched up, pouting against his lips. He left the room for the kitchen, fetching a wet cloth to clean his body with. He zipped himself back into his suit shortly after and dropped the sodden cloth by the cum puddling under your ass.

��Never said I wasn’t.” 

[cupidkenji]

Gnaw

Now Playing: Gnaw - Alex G everything I knew was looking just as it should Pairing: Nam gyu (player 124) x AFAB!reader CW: smut, oral (r receiving), choking but not in a freaky way he literally chokes reader to get them unconscious (no somno), kidnapping kind of (he takes them back to their house), knifeplay 💀, restraints being used (reader's wrists are tied), noncon technically but again mentally reader is into it, toxic ex bf, he's really whipped tho, minor bloodplay, undertones of sadism, lokey father figure vibes from Nam gyu (i'm so sorry), probably kind of OOC, university AU Summary: After that night, you ran. You should know by now you can never get far from him. Disclaimer: Reader is always thought of to be chubby/bigger when writing but I do my best to not physically describe reader at all with stuff like skin tone or body type. Anyone can read this as reader is not depicted but if there's a slip up please let me know. <3 WC: 3.7k (again) this is a part 2! read part 1 here.

the worms are eating away at my brain i am going crazy. please for this story just imagine you have one of those bed frames that are individual bars w space in between them instead of like one solid thing. also i really need to start writing these earlier in the day so i have the energy to proof read them. i'm sorry for my sins have mercy on me.

The sunlight seared through a pair of shitty motel curtains, attempting to penetrate your shut eyelids. It was the sixth day you were waking up in a scratchy bed on the run down side of your already dirty town. It was the sixth day you would spend missing him. 

You knew it was wrong, immoral to even think of returning to the man who had done such a thing. Who was clearly at a place in his life where he could do such a thing. Even through all the intellectualizing of his actions, the pleading you did with yourself to be disgusted, you weren’t. You knew it the second he cleaned you up and went to sleep, and it was terrifying, so you ran. As soon as you were sober, you ran to the only sanctuary you could afford as a college student who was also renting an apartment and a vehicle. You had already overstayed your welcome, knowing that the six days would cost you more than you wanted to shell out. You didn’t know how long you planned to be gone, originally fleeing the scene to be able to think. It was only proving more difficult as the days ticked on. You’d come all the way out here to talk yourself into hating him, only to carve out an even bigger space within yourself that he was to occupy. You missed him. The more you thought about it, the more apparent it became, and that just pushed you to stay longer. To wait out the bruising feeling eating at you the more you forced yourself away. 

You skipped class, not daring to step foot on campus lest he be waiting for her. The thought made your head fizz, a horrified and excited feeling mingling as they wrapped around the nerves in your stomach. Just the possibility of seeing him overwhelmed you, but you were simultaneously sick from the distance. You were sick of your surroundings, too. The walls were gray and stained, and you feared the hygiene status of the bed you were sleeping in. You hadn’t had much time to pack when you’d left, grabbing miscellaneous clothing that had yet to be put away and shoving it in a backpack. You hadn’t brought a blanket or a pillow, something you regretted. The suffocating nature of the beige room prompted the nightly walks you’d been taking. It was a bearable temperature, and the full perimeter of the building provided a decent amount of ground to cover. You hadn’t grabbed a charger, leaving your phone dead and you bored. Without any artificial stimulation to occupy your head, you took notice of the normally unnoticeable aspects of such a place. There were bits of a wired fence on the right side of the parking lot, the few lamps that lit the outside up had security cameras on them that didn’t work. You couldn't sleep one night, so you’d gone to look at them, finding that when the cords reached the end of the pole, they’d been haphazardly cut. It looked rushed and frayed, like a child had done it with safety scissors. It was deceiving, truly. There was no safety in an already dim parking lot. 

On tonight’s walk, you mulled over the date you’d return by. You still needed to graduate, and realistically, you couldn’t avoid your life forever. You were getting progressively more tired, sleeping less each night you stayed, missing the comfort of your own bed. The ground was uneven and cracked under your shoes, reminding you of the gray, crumbling building you were supposed to retrieve your roommate from. Reminding you of him, how stupid all of this was. There was a familiar smell in the air as you rounded a corner, nearly back to your room. It was distinct, heady and musky, as if you were back on that street and looking up at the flowing smoke again. You did your usual observation of the desolate asphalt full of empty parking spots.

And what the fuck were the odds?

He was already looking at you, the end of his cigarette glowing orange as he took a drag, like a sniper taking aim. He was a mere silhouette being poorly lit up by a streetlight that barely worked, but you knew. It was this feeling of magnetism, the same way he knew exactly who he was looking at, you felt the world around you melt, the air around you became irrelevant as your eyes locked on him. There was another man there, leaning against the hood of his car with Nam gyu right next to him, taking no notice of you as he spoke. You couldn’t make out his words with how far away you were. The man you’d been avoiding making little sounds of acknowledgement while being completely trained on you, posture relaxed and comfortable. He found you.

His friend nudged him, mumbling something and standing up. The both of them walked back into what was presumably the man’s room after snuffing out what they were smoking. You didn’t even register your legs beelining for your room. You threw whatever you had into the backpack you’d brought. You needed to get the fuck out of here. It was an unfathomably cruel move from whatever higher power was in charge of this situation. The two of you were being forced together like sand and water. He was everywhere, no matter where you were he would inevitably catch up. Maybe it took him three months the first time, but clearly he was done waiting. You rushed the check out process, not knowing how long his friend would keep him occupied now that he knew you were here. Maybe he wouldn’t even care. The thought made your stomach twist, but still, you needed to go. Your car seemed like an endless walk from the front doors, parked in the corner closest to your room, dark and unsuspecting. In such an empty place, you didn’t want your car to sit illuminated, as if advertised. This motel had a reputation, and you wanted to keep your means of travel safe. 

Your hands shook slightly as you hit the unlock button on your keys, yanking the handle to the backseat and throwing your bag somewhere in the back. It was just clothes, you didn’t care if it rolled around or hit the floor during the commute to wherever you were going, you just cared about getting out. The slam of the back door shutting seemed louder than what was appropriate for such a bone-deep silence for this time of night. Opening the driver’s side, you barely had enough room to squeeze through before it was being shoved closed from behind you. On impulse, you tried to turn around, startled and drowning in adrenaline; but before you could, the crook of his right arm encompassed your neck, tightening like a snake who was readying the prey for consumption. Your hands shot up, grasping his forearm with a futile grip, as if you could will his arm away from you. The pressure on your windpipe was bleeding black into the edges of your sight, static mingling with your hearing as your head got lighter. You could hear quiet shushes and reassurances coming from the man behind you, as though talking a child back into sleep after a nightmare. You dug your nails into the fabric of his sweatshirt as a weak sob barreled out of your mouth. He only pushed a little harder, pulling you into him. The proximity comforted you despite his actions, and you used the last little bit of energy you had to condemn yourself, body going limp against him after the last internal inquiry of what the fuck was wrong with you. He had also noticed the camera situation, knowing that his actions would go undocumented in the empty little place. He walked you over the passenger seat, hauling you in and buckling you up like a kid in a car seat. He started the route to your house, it was a Friday, your roommate would surely be out. He knew she was barely ever at the house, after staying there on and off for two years, he thinks he could probably count how many times he saw her sleep there on one hand. It wasn’t a long drive, twenty minutes or so, and you’d be home.

–

The normally disarming lamplight of your bedroom reeled in your consciousness from the void it had been thrown to. It didn’t feel particularly calming - not now. Your head was on your pillow, a focused Nam gyu diligently knotting a rope around your wrists, bundling them together and lacing the restraint through your headboard. Your neck felt bruised, sore and pulsing with a light pain as the blood rushed to your head. Your legs tensed on instinct, noticing the motion was not detained. He hadn’t tied your legs. You tugged once at the rope, testing the endurance just as much as you were testing your own strength. Your muscles felt nearly atrophied, the action making an ache ricochet through the oxygen-depleted muscles. Your whole body felt tired, heavy. Your exhale was shaky, slowly deflating from your lungs as if your body was made of stone. 

“Oh, good.” He double checked the knot, tugging once to solidify it’s hold on you before standing up to look down on you. “I didn’t know how long you’d be out.” He sounded so casual, as if instead of choking you unconscious and dragging you home, he’d simply carried you in from the car after you’d fallen asleep in it. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Your voice was quiet and gravelly, like your throat was coated in sand. Your lip trembled at the feeling of being so close to him. God, you were like a fucking puppy; can’t even be away from him for a week without turning into a weird sentimental puddle upon seeing him again. “Please untie me.” Your eyes watered as you spoke. You’d barely been awake five minutes and you were on the brink of tears. Pathetic. 

His eyes flicked over your face at the sight of your eyes welling up, a little glint of something familiar sparking in them for just a moment. “I can’t.” He shrugged, imitating disappointment at the notion. “You keep running from me. How are we supposed to resolve this if you can’t even keep still?”

Resolve this. Your eyes closed at the words, attempting to stop the tears from spilling at the thought. You’d left him for a reason. It was repeated over and over in your head like a mantra. You had to stick to it even if you couldn’t remember what the desire to be away from him felt like. Even as your chest heaved slightly with panic, you hoped he wouldn’t move. You hoped he would keep talking just so you could hear his voice, be near him. It wasn’t a rational wish by any means, but you could feel the intensity of it in your fucking bones with how consuming it was. 

“I’m not a patient man, honey. I waited for so fucking long.” He leaned over your dormant frame, putting one knee on the bed and moving his other to mirror the motion, effectively pinning your hips down under his weight. “You know, it wasn’t even your roommate who wanted you there. She just left her phone unlocked, and I knew you’d show up if she asked.”

“What-” Your words halted in your throat as he drew a pocket knife from the pocket of his sweatshirt. Jesus.  “Please - you don’t understand-” 

“Relax.” The word was chuckled slightly as he cut you off, like the panic that shot through your eyes at the sight of the blade in his hands was unjustified, like you were being irrational. “I think I was too selfish that night, hm?” The look he was giving you felt like it could kill you if he really wanted it to. Intense and suffocating, full of excitement and devotion. “You clearly hadn’t been touched in months and I got ahead of myself.” He shook his head slightly as his eyes looked over you, your chest was moving quick and shallow as you breathed, stomach tensing as he lifted your shirt up just an inch, caressing the skin above the waistband with his thumb. It barely even seemed intentional, as if his hands subconsciously drew themselves to you, needed to be touching you. 

Any urge you had to respond kept dying before it could be expelled. What do you even say to a situation like this? He was so at ease, explaining himself like a truly remorseful lover would. To anyone who didn’t know his inflection, that’s where it would end;  but you were so in tune with him, you could hear the edge of entertainment that his words carried. Maybe he was sorry, maybe he just liked seeing you unsure.

“I’m gonna make it up to you.” Your breath stumbled as he said it, your wrists grating unconsciously against the confines. “But it hurt my feelings when you ran like that.” He put a hand to his heart as he spoke, emphasizing his words. “So I’m gonna hurt you a little, too.” You felt the point of the blade make contact with the skin that his thumb had been smoothing over minutes before. It was enough to make the first tear fall from the corner of your eye. There was no pressure, just the threat of his words ringing true. Even in this scenario out of most peoples’ nightmares, you still didn’t think he’d truly hurt you, not irreparably. He’d always had sadistic tendencies, you even sometimes - shamefully - thought about the potential that was undoubtedly lurking beneath the surface of his presentability. He could get mean sometimes, especially when he was high, but never like this. He was sober, you could see it in his eyes and the way he moved. He just wanted to do this, wanted to be in control. 

He could practically feel the mesh of emotion seeping from your veins, taking longer than necessary to talk just to watch you soak in it. “Just enough to teach you some manners, honey.” His thumb trailed a line of pure heat along your jaw. “Don’t worry. You’ll probably even like it, knowing you.” 

A weird feeling jolted through the active nerves in your stomach. It was such a direct callout, based in certainty that he carried in his voice. You felt caught, recalling all the times he most likely knew exactly what you were thinking. Another tear streamed down the side of your face. 

The steel in his hand glistened in the low light of your bedroom, the sharpness of it being dragged down the fabric of your shirt, severing the only semblance of modesty you had left; the material draping open and bearing your skin to him. You’d been practically ready for bed by the time you took your walk, foregoing any additional coverage underneath the shirt, leaving all of you vulnerable to the exploration of his eyes. He pushed the sagging cloth to hang more off your shoulders, grazing his hands over the naked parts of you. It was gentle, restrained, like he couldn’t bear the time it would take to touch all of you because he needed it that badly. 

You felt the sting of an opening wound a second later, a whimper barely fleeing your throat. It wasn’t deep, he didn’t push hard. His lips parted as the blood rose to the surface of the small cut, pooling within it and releasing a single drop to pour down the side of your stomach. Before it could gain traction, he smeared the runny crimson, letting the liquid coat the print of his thumb. His pupils dilated at the sight, his breath coming out shakier than he’d like as his blood seemed to thrum in his veins. 

Your face twisted at the feeling, molten lava pooling in your stomach and burning you from the inside out. You felt hot, immune responses and arousal both running rampant in your body. You’d never felt more awake. He lowered his head to your exposed collarbone, brutally reminiscent of the night that predated this one. “See? Not so bad.” He led his hand up to your mouth, palm skimming your side as he hovered his thumb above your sealed lips, muttering out a request to open your mouth for me and you did because he was inexplicably intoxicating. Your tongue was coated in bitter metal combining with the discreet and slight flavor of his skin. You felt dizzy. 

He mouthed down the expanse of your upper body, leaving patches of your skin shiny with his saliva and stinging from the occasional love bite he would leave. He marked his places of affection with small cuts, each one sending a wave of warmth lower and lower, fanning the flames down to where he would ultimately end up. He would kiss over each future scar he left on you, a bloody comparison to your relationship as a whole, his actions making your heart ache and your back arch. You had been trying your hardest to stay quiet, trembling exhales being the only thing you couldn’t suppress; but he had a way of wearing you down in the most pleasurable ways imaginable, gradually building you up to the whimpers that were slipping past your crumbling resolve. 

With caring hands, he pulled at the waistband of your pants, folding them out from under your hips and bending each of your legs forward to get them fully off of your legs, laying them back down once he had. The room felt colder than it ever had. He stared with pride at the state of your perpetually clenched thighs, groping at the tense muscles. “What’d I tell you, huh?” He tucked the blade of the knife under the seam of your underwear, pulling up and slicing clean through them. “I don’t know why you want out when you like it so much.” Cutting the other seam, he let the fabric slide off of you, discarding the shreds of useless hindrance and taking in the full sight of you. 

You didn’t know why you ran either. You did like it. You liked it so fucking much that it scared you. Maybe it was a fear of feeling good, or a fear of what this kind of connection would inevitably do to you, what kind of a man he was. You’d tried to leave him and ended up panting, wet skin glistening and covered in gashes; and the worst part was you liked it. How the fuck could you like something like this?

He left various other claims of territory on your thighs. Teeth marks, nicks from the knife, worshipping kisses of a man in love. Everything action committed against your wanting flesh had so much emotion laced in it that you could barely take it. You were overwhelmed, your brain half shut down, only stopping itself from going dark because then you wouldn’t be able to feel him, to accept what he was giving you. 

He pushed your thighs out of their locked state, soothing over the irritation littered on them with his thumbs and his lips, dulling the sting with an even greater ache that was bleeding directly into the center of you. You felt like he’d lit you on fire. 

The tip of his index finger scorched a line up the place you’d been anticipating, shamelessly gliding in copious arousal that had been pooling since you saw him leaning on the hood of that car. It was a touch that seemed to pump life back into you, invigorating and familiar. Something you missed so much that you were sure you’d never be able to fathom the depth of it. He cursed, quiet and breathy; and you groaned at the feeling of friction, even if it was just a little. 

His mouth on you was sudden, but not rushed; the spontaneity of it forcing a gasp from you. His actions were calculated, arms wrapping around your thighs to keep you open, malleable and pinned. His hands were tense on your legs, fingers digging in tight as if he was struggling with his own internal grievances. You weren’t sure if it was restraint, or desperation, or something uncharted between the two of you. It was scary to think that something could be undefined right now, that maybe he was lost too. 

The warmth of his mouth on you after already having your body thoroughly overworked nearly knocked you unconscious for the second time that night. Your head was as thrown back as it could be given the state of your arms, chest reaching for the ceiling. Your poor wrists burned in the grit of the rope, but it only seemed to add to the peak you were being pushed to. He brought his index finger to sweep through the bountiful wetness in between your legs, this time pushing in and curling up, his second finger joining soon after. 

“Gyu - please -” The nickname was so domestic, something that hadn’t left your lips in months but seemed to feel as natural as breathing in this moment. The loving tone hit him like a wave, drawing a reflexive groan from his mouth. His eyes were practically black from how much his pupils encompassed the iris, his own eyes looking a little watery as a less extreme mimic of yours.

“Missed the way you taste.” The auditory affirmation paired with his fingers and his mouth sent you toppling. His fingers never let up, his mouth detaching to plant light kisses on the bone of your hip, looking up at your breathtaking form with an awestruck gaze that you couldn’t see through your closed eyes and tilted back head. 

You panted, thinking it was over. Maybe he’d fuck you, or maybe he would make you tea and the two of you would finally talk about things. He just moved his soaking fingers up to your clit, your body jumping slightly at the sensitivity. 

“Wait-” 

“Shh, just take it.” He spoke low and moved back to where he was, starting again when you had barely started coming down. His declaration of making it up to you rung in your ears. How long was long enough to be considered even? You writhed with overstimulation as you thought about it. Ten minutes? Thirty minutes? An hour? Your second orgasm hit you hard in the middle of your useless inquiries, and you realize it didn’t really matter.

You were in for a long fucking night regardless.

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃❮𓁿❯𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃

tags: @mitsxuri @citarnosis @namgyunation (tagging you lovely folks because you all mentioned wanting more content. please let me know if you want your @ removed and i will do it ASAP <3)

[delight-angelsbliss]

Don't you notice how I get quiet when there's no one else around?

Heh I wanted to post this sooner but here we are

welcome to my February valentines special that will go on for the full duration of February!!

You may choose a prompt and Character from my list and request<3 this is actually my first ever special/event I'm doing lol S1 prompts from 1 - 11 are by @/novelbear they're really cool and have amazing prompts (^-^) there also inconsistent small and large texts so it's actually readable cuz it gets cut off sometimes lol!! I'd also recommend that when requesting u say which Season ur prompt is from for example "S1 nr 4 with ___" u can also request up to 3 prompts in one! I'll try my best to use it all<3 everything can be requested as platonic!! Edit: can you guys please specify gender and if it should be hcs or not? As much information as possible would be nice and helps alot

S1 Cute scenarios<3

Spending all day watching cute crafts and baking to do

Rom com marathon!!

Trying (and maybe) failing to make food heart shaped

Realizing you both have contrasting views on valentines

"Baby, I love you, really, but if I eat one more piece of chocolate I'll throw up"

Making the same reservations at the same time but different restaurants and/or the same one

"I thought you'd at least ask me to be my valentines" "we've been together for years, I thought that was a given"

Both not caring much abt valentines but get dragged to a double date by friends

"How much did this cost?" "Does that really matter?"

Spending the night walking through the city silently

Begging your partner to get matching sweaters until they say yes

Buying couple shirts and deciding the whole day which one to wear that u completely forgot ur date

Not leaving bed at all

Going to the carnival

Double dates

Confessing with a love letter

first kiss together on your first valentines

getting proposed on valentines

Picking grapes together

Making heart cake pops and eating them but they fall down

"I think I deserve a kiss"

"You didn't have to do all of this!" "Yeah, which is why I did it for you"

"I wish everyday could be like this"

"Is it just me or do your lips look softer than usual?"

"We don't have to go out"

"I can never get enough of of how pretty you look"

Ordering in and watching crime action series

"You remembered?" "Of course I did, I love you"

Trying to do pilates together only to fail miserably

Writing a love letter only to throw it away but they find it

S2 Yandere scenarios!:

"I just got some very wise advice from a wise woman..." U can ask more abt this btw and I'll explain a bit more what I mean with this

"Gosh, you smell so good when we cuddle like this"

"Do you think I enjoy punishing you?! I don't!"

"Tell me how much you love me"

"I'm jealous of the way you are happy with them but not me"

"This world is a ugly place, you're too beautiful for it"

"I know I'm sick in the head, but you'll be my cure"

"I love it when we're so close together like this"

"Of course I'm jealous! You're mine, not theirs!"

"Dont you get it? I would die for you if you asked me to"

"Your skin is so soft"

"I just love the last souvenir of your eye so much that I'd like the other one please"

"I could kill you if I wanted to"

"I live for you, you're like my oxygen"

"If you run, I'll break your legs"

જ⁀➴ ♡ Matchups

I actually do match ups which isn't really known cuz it's in my rules and dni lol but I do make matchups in case anyone wants one<3 this was added on 20:37 on 4th of February which is a bit later than this was posted

For a match up I need as much information as possible it's also allowed in a platonic form

If there's a preferred age range and gender

Hobbies

Likes

Dislikes

Special interests

And more would be needed (^-^)

[moki-dokie]

there's been a bit of a Hot Topic going around bsky (and twt too i guess) about why my age group (particularly in the US) doesn't cook at home much anymore

and there's been a whole lot of takes ranging from dogshit to good and intelligent to total confusion from folks in other countries. neat stuff right. decided to throw my 2 cents in from my own perspective as part of the demographic.

the tldr of it being: there are *several* factors that make it not worth it nor cost efficient anymore where it once was. obviously that isn't gonna be the case for everyone, but it is the case for an overwhelming majority, me included. and this isn't even including, you know, a whole population of disabled people who are physically unable to cook for themselves but I sort of figured that was a given. but maybe not, considering...

then this absolute genius comes in

thank you buddy for having no reading comprehension and missing quite literally every single point i made that it isn't strictly about the dollar amount of the meal itself. like. okay??? good for you i guess.

sure, there will be some meals where that is very true. I could make a bigass pot of ham and beans that'll last me a whole week for about $10. hence why i added there will always be some meals cheaper to make at home. but that completely disregards every. other. point.

it is not, and has never been, about the direct cost of the meal itself. that's just one of a handful of reasons that factor into the whole conversation. there are going to be times that eating out will be more expensive price-wise, but when it checks off like 5 different boxes i couldn't fulfill myself for whatever reason, that price balances out. and we really are in an age where we're having to negotiate the worth of every action we take and every minute we spend on something. i don't know why thats such a hard concept for people to grasp.

legit nobody is arguing it *should* be this way. it shouldn't. we all recognize this. in the ideal world it would be both worth it and affordable to make every meal at home and leave eating out for special occasions, as was the case when i was growing up. and i totally get it that our parents, many of whom raised us by their lonesome, managed to do it fine so in theory we should be able to as well. sometimes, yeah, it really is a matter of sucking it up and doing it no matter how exhausted you might be. that's true for all facets of life tbh. but it shouldn't be that way all the time every time.

and, i don't know about the rest of you, but for us? it really was a whole fucking To Do to clip coupons and plan Shopping Day. I'd spend a couple hours clipping from a few different newspapers and the mail fliers we collected. then we organized them by store. then mom would plan out which stores we would go to for which items,the route we'd take since sometimes it meant going outside of town, the timeframe for everything since it was typically an all-day event. like, a whole day of planning and a whole day of executing JUST to grocery shop, and that was back in the 90s/00s. Inconvenient, yes, but still actually worth the trouble. couponing saved SO much money back then, especially if you knew the stores that would double them. coupons like those don't exist anymore. period. now the ones that do are like, pennies off or bogo deals and otherwise it's app this and app that for any sort of savings - which even then might only be like a meager 10% off the purchase. in no way is it worth my time and effort today to do the same thing we did when i was young.

anyway. so yeah. for a hell of a lot of us, sometimes going out to eat or ordering in is in fact the most worthwhile way, and sometimes even the most cost efficient way, to feed ourselves anymore.

[phone4pills]

CANDY ACHE DAY 6

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ slow’s advent calendar!

You warned him. You warned him multiple times. At what cost? Both of you knew you were bound to end up there. In his bedroom where Chris lay, ceiling and squirming around the bed like a caterpillar turned on its side, a tight grip on his stomach.

He whine and groaned like there was no tomorrow. Like a little baby. And you sighed. “Chris, what did I tell you?” You were stood in the corner of the room, arms crossed as you leaned your back against the wall.

“Not to eat the candy canes.” His words came out strained and loud, as if they were a pain to speak. Probably were with the way his stomach was reacting to the unbelievable amount of full-sized sweets he’d managed to consume. “And what do you do?”

He groaned, letting out a deep breath before he spoke. “Ate them.” You really wanted to chuckle. Nothing about the matter was particularly funny, he’d be piling it all out in a matter of minutes. But you’d never seen Chris like this, and honestly it was a sight.

“And where did that get us?” He shook his head, knowing that it didn’t get either of you anywhere fun. Chris pulled a pillow over his face. Then he threw it to the other end of the bed. Then he grabbed it again and held it close to his torso, tossing and stretching his legs about the sheets to find a bearable position.

“Not in a good place.” He whispered, hissing about. You nodded, taking a seat at the end of the bed and reach out to stroke his hair. You had to admit you felt a little bad for the kid. He’d never been in pain like this before, who knew a few candy canes would do it.

“Mhm. So, you’re gonna take some medicine and drink some water. And then you can take a nap, okay?” You leaned closer when you spoke, planting a small kiss under his ear. Chris forced a tiny smile, siting up slowly and taking the pill off the nightstand. You began to walk out of the room but Chris grabbed your arm.

“Stay. Please, I want cuddles.”

This is a really short one but I hope you guys like it nevertheless. I want to take some time to spend with people I love this Christmas, as should you !! Thank you so much for all of the support. In just a few months my following has grown so fast. I appreciate every single one of you.

- ©phone4pills

[bellaxgiornata]

SAHD!Frank Castle Headcanons

I picture Frank being an amazing, hands-on father if he ever managed to fall back into that role again and I just think he'd make such a wonderful stay-at-home-dad. I couldn't resist sharing some of my SAHD!Frank headcanons so they're below the cut! And I'm also just going to make him a girl dad here because he absolutely is in my mind.

I could also certainly be persuaded to share some girl dad!Frank Castle headcanons...

With the ridiculous cost of daycare, you and Frank would eventually come to the conclusion that it was just more cost effective to have one of you stay home with the girls. And while you might be tempted to do it yourself, you'd also know how much Frank would cherish being present for every moment with his kids. He'd never want to miss a single thing after the tragic loss he'd experienced, and you'd have already seen his steadfast devotion during your pregnancy. While he would argue that you should be the one to stay home with them, eventually you would win out.

On weekdays, Frank would be awake early every morning--possibly even before your alarm went off. He'd always have a mug of hot coffee or tea made for you whenever you finally stepped foot into the kitchen. And when you did, you'd find him preparing breakfast for the girls. He'd always make you up a plate of whatever he cooked, insisting you eat something before you were out the door for work ("You gotta eat, baby. Just a few bites, c'mon."). And Wednesdays would forever be known as pancake day in your house.

Frank would never run out of activities to do with the kids, even if you found some of them to be very 'Frank.' He'd have them help him build things (a new bookshelf, a baby crib, a birdhouse, etc), and he'd teach them what tools to use while he's at it. He'd have them assist him with changing the oil in the car, fixing a leaky sink, or preparing vegetables in the kitchen for dinner (with child-safe knives that he always complained to you later about how "they can't cut for shit."). When playfully teased about the things he teaches them, he'd tell you he wanted your girls to learn "the real shit they won't get from school."

Every Friday is Library Day in the Castle house. Frank would take the girls to the library in the morning for story time where he would sit back and watch with a big grin on his face as his girls sat "criss-cross applesauce" among all the other kids and listened to the books with rapt attention. Aftwerwards, he'd let them pick out new books for bedtime for the upcoming week. Then he would always make the morning extra special by taking the girls out for brunch.

He loves nothing more than to free up more time for all of you to spend together as a family on the weekend, so he would be the dad running errands during the weekdays with a toddler holding each of his hands (or a baby strapped to his chest in a carrier). He'd be out grabbing groceries, hitting up the hardware/home improvement store so he could work on projects around the house, or he'd be taking the kids to their doctor/dentist appointments so you wouldn't have to think about it later.

Frank would be the cool dad at all the parks, the one not afraid to play with his kids and push them on the swings. He'd be making small talk with the other moms and setting up play dates for his girls. He'd also be the one all the other kids flocked to on the playground whenever he was there because he was known to easily be persuaded into playing hide and seek or tag.

A few times throughout the month, Frank would stop by your work just before your lunch break to drop off food with the girls as an excuse to see you ("Had to come see my favorite girl. Wanted to make sure you're not workin' too hard."). You always loved it even more on the random occasions that your lunch came with a bouquet of flowers--either store bought or freshly picked on a walk by him and your girls.

If Frank knew you had a big presentation coming up or that you were just having a rough week/day, you could always count on coming home to something he made with the girls--pictures they colored or crafts they made--to cheer you up ("S'posed to be a butterfly ring or something. Shit, I don't know. Girls wanted to do somethin' with pipe cleaners. Blame YouTube.")

At the end of a long work day, you'd come home to see that dinner was almost finished cooking most nights. You'd either find Frank out back with a beer in one hand grilling while the girls were playing in the yard, or he would be in the kitchen surrounded by high-pitched laughter.

And when you came home from a long day of work, you could always count on Frank greeting you with the biggest smile. He'd wrap you up in his big arms and give you the sweetest kiss, even if he had to pause cooking dinner ("Missed you today, sweetheart. Hope you're hungry."). It would be the thing you looked forward to most at the end of every day, especially on particularly difficult days.

[rileys-battlecats]

micaclan tumblr dash simulator

☁️ the-fluffiest-puddle follow

I cannot believe the things my friends talk me into. on an unrelated note where can you hide a baby coyote

#puddletalks #seriously where did they find that thing #and WHY did they keep it??

(3 notes)

⭐️ larkstar-unofficial follow

if you catch prey and eat it before bringin anything back to the clan i'll kill you on sight <3 many such cases, unfortunately

🌠 larkstar-official follow

Laureltail I know this is you. I've told you twice now to delete this blog. Meet me in my den this evening, we're having a talk

⭐️ larkstar-unofficial follow

chat i think im going to die tonight

#remember me #never forget my sacrifice

(24 notes)

🐆 speckled-trees-and-autumn-leaves follow

people looove to ask me "oh birchspeckle tell me the future, will the clan thrive this greenleaf, will i find a mate that loves me" but then the SECOND i tell them the exact time and date of their death suddenly I'M the bad guy?? like ok sweaty you're the one that was after forbidden knowledge you don't get to be choosy about what you learn

#justmedicinecatthings #seriously they get so upset when they learn this stuff like. how do you think i feel? #i just gotta sit on this information forever? im not allowed to vent?? #this is why i never hang out in the camp smh

(1 note)

🐦‍⬛ muddy-paws follow

anybody else finding the torment relentless

(0 notes)

💊 owlpounce-official follow

This is your reminder to stretch before partaking in any strenuous activity! The best way to stay healthy and happy is to take steps to avoid being hurt in the first place. Stretching first may seem like a waste of time, but I promise it's much better to spend a few minutes stretching your legs before hunting than to spend a few days in the medicine den recovering from a pulled muscle!

#PSA #selfcare #safe practices

(15 notes)

🍐 having-a-peary-good-day follow

I don't want to name any names, but I feel like we as a clan have an issue with delegation of labor when it comes to the care of our most vulnerable members. Watching the kits is all well and good, but as the only current queen in the nursery right now, I find myself doing so much repair work for the den walls all by myself. Nominally, our apprentices ought to be doing much of this work, but quite frankly, our 'paws simply don't have the necessary experience to fix the more delicate areas, and I have ended up redoing much of their work myself. This isn't to disparage our apprentices, they've been doing their best, but I have ideas as to how we might better address these issues as a clan.

Keep reading

#genuinely I think we could be doing this so much more efficiently #like I understand that the 'paws need the learning experience #but not at the cost of our kitten's warmth and safety #you know? #and that's not even mentioning the elder's den

(7 notes)

💫 swooping-hawk-rising-star follow

fffksnkd. Ssssssksdjsj,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,h

🪷 white-tipped-tail follow

You ok, Hawkpaw?

💫 swooping-hawk-rising-star follow

COYOTE PUP ON MY KEYBOARD

#HELP

(4 notes)

🦊 foxjaw-official follow

The dawn patrol spotted bear tracks this morning just past the northeastern border, near the old hemlock tree. The tracks were old, and did not lead into Micaclan territory. Be that as it may, remember to remain on guard, and to travel in groups of 3 or more until it can be confirmed that the bear has not remained close by.

#PSA #patrol reports

(15 notes)

🏞️ gullys-tuft follow

Why is Sandleap retching into the bushes

#should i really be asking? #do i even want to know?

(2 notes)

🌸 resting-on-your-laurels follow

gonna stuff a frog inside a squirrel for my morning meal. surf and terf

🌸 resting-on-your-laurels follow

dont do this

🔥 embers-and-sparks follow

you can't tell me what to do

🔥 embers-and-sparks follow

dont do this

🏜️ pocket-sand follow

It can't be that bad!

🏜️ pocket-sand follow

dont do this

#the texture #its so bad #i dont want to waste prey but. i dont think i can swallow this #not pogchamp

(13 notes)

—————————————————————————

[rahuratna]

Nanami Kento: Relationship Headcanons (now a fic), Part 7

Contents: relationship, establishing feelings, slow burn, office kisses.

Warning: Things get a little ... spicier from here on out. Content warnings will be given for the relevant chapters.

You lingered with him in the little alcove, listening to the rhythm of his breath in the grooves of your ear. You lingered on the stairs leading back to the car. You traced the elusive outline of his fingers with yours, again and again, committing them to memory. There were no words passed between the two of you, from the moment he'd kissed you outside the restaurant, until you parted ways outside your apartment. There was no need for words. Neither of you wanted to break the spell that this evening had cast upon you.

When he finally said goodbye, the hoarseness of his voice, the softness of it, was enough to tell you how much he wanted, how much leaving you there was costing him. It was the same in your mind, of course. Discipline, control over desires, the measuring of love in increments until some vital point was reached, what was the need for it all?

You'd happily open your front door to him, lead him into a place you'd make sure he'd never want to leave. And yet, there was still something holding you back. It must be the same for him. Something that had been slinging you both in natural trajectories, the orbit of celestial bodies that slowly swayed each other's tides until the season came for you to be closer than ever.

You could be patient for this. You could watch this sweet, gentle unfolding between the two of you, as patiently as a predator in ambush. If nature was to take its course, then it was well worth the wait.

The way Kento walked you to your door without touching you, but then snatched up your fingers and pressed them to his lips, told you how much he valued your time together. It wasn't so much that he had kissed your fingers, it was more like he was committing the feel of them to his lips, as if he'd drink from the sensation on every night he'd spend without you.

Until the night it wouldn't be necessary any longer.

He began to make an effort, of course, to bind your lives more fully together. The things that were important to him were things he wanted to share with you. Sometimes, those moments of sharing were performed unconsciously on his part, in ways that made you want to take his face between your palms and plant soft kisses on his eyelids.

On one fateful afternoon, he'd purchased some specialty mochi from a store near where he'd been posted for duty. He knew how much you loved them freshly made, with red bean filling.

You hadn't seen him for almost a week at this point, messaging him regularly to check up on his safety and whether he was eating and sleeping on time. He always replied promptly, unless deeply occupied with something.

When he strode into your office that evening, the small parcel in one hand, tie slightly askew, you knew he'd rushed to catch the last train to be here. Jujutsu Tech vehicles were not always on call at this time. You stood and beamed at him, watching his shoulders relax and the tension that hung about his face disappear.

At work, you both were very careful to keep gestures of affection to a minimum. Not that you were concealing what was growing between you. It was simply a matter of not wanting anyone else to intrude on the moments between you that were truly special. Nanami couldn't help himself, though.

Drawn across the room, as if in each other's magnetic pull, you both met halfway, his hands coming up to enclose your own. You gently extricated one of them and brushed it lightly over his forehead, smoothing out some of the lines there.

"What's this in the bag?"

"Mochi. The kind you like."

"You should have gone home and rested. The mochi could wait."

The soft smile you were giving him took the edge off your strict words.

"Hmm. But it was fresh. I saw them stocking the shelves."

"Come, sit. I'll make you some tea."

He sank onto the couch set to one side of the room with a sigh, loosening his tie. Unable to help yourself, now that he was in your presence, you traced the line of his jaw delicately on your way to the kettle. Kento leaned slightly into your touch. He didn't have to tell you how much he'd missed you.

The kettle was soon boiling merrily while you prepared the cups and saucers. You kept many different tea blends in your office, and you knew, by now, which ones he preferred. You could feel his gaze tracing down, over your shoulders and back, down to your hips and then to your fingers on the smooth porcelain.

He insisted that the mochi was for you, and that he wouldn't eat any of it. Kento could be as stubborn as a bull when it came to things like this. Sighing slightly, you took a sip of your own tea, then a bite of the mochi, Kento's eyes now following the shape of your lips over the rim of his cup.

You almost choked.

Now this was unexpected. Glancing down, you desperately fought the urge to burst into laughter when you realized what had happened. He'd purchased mochi filled with natto instead of red beans. In his rush, he must have got them mixed. Natto wasn't a common filling either, but this was a specialty shop, so it must have been made on the day.

"Something wrong?"

"Not at all. They're so soft and fresh. It's been a while since I've had any like this."

"Oh?"

He looked so pleased with himself that you silently patted yourself on the back for managing to conceal that so well. At that moment, the door to the office burst open and Gojo strolled in. Tall and charismatic as ever, he glanced around, gaze almost traveling right over you as he focused on the target of his attention.

"Nanami! Why are you holed up in here? I've been looking for you all over. Where's the report?"

The tension lines on Kento's forehead were back in full force.

"I'm attempting to sit down and take a break after a long day, as you can clearly see."

Gojo grinned and knocked Kento's knee with his shin.

"Okay, Mister Grump. But where's the report?"

"Filed with Ijichi, obviously. I always send my paperwork in first thing. You know this."

Gojo clicked his tongue and Kento's eye twitched alarmingly.

"Why you gotta be so proper. Now I have to go find Ijichi."

"You could have - "

"Ooohh, what's this?"

To your immense alarm, Gojo had spotted the mochi. Everyone and their grandmother knew about the special grade sorcerer's penchant for all things sweet. You attempted to push them aside slowly.

"Uh, you don't want these. They're - "

"Huh?" He pointed at you, scandalized. "Are you trying to keep them all to yourself?"

"What? No, I - "

Kento stood and folded his arms in a manner that showed just how much he meant business.

"Gojo, leave those mochi alone."

"Oh hell no. You go all the way to the mochi store I've been dying to go to all week, and you don't even get me any? What kind of friend are you?"

Before either of you could stop him (for very different reasons) he grabbed one of the mochi and popped it into his mouth. He chewed happily before stopping suddenly, face crumpling, gagging slightly.

"What the hell? Why is there natto in these?"

Kento turned, very slowly, in your direction. Studiously avoiding his gaze, you cleared your throat.

"That was at my request. I love natto mochi. That's why I tried to stop you from eating them."

Grabbing your half-full cup of tea, Gojo took a large gulp in an attempt to wash away the flavour.

"Natto mochi? Why? Just .... why? Oh, never mind. Thanks for trying to stop me anyway. Oi, Nanamin, you owe me some strawberry mochi for next time, okay?"

So saying, the whirlwind that was Gojo exited your office, footsteps shuffling away on the floor outside. You examined your fingernails. Kento's gaze was burning into the back of your head.

"Ahem. Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"No?"

"Why didn't you tell me these were natto?"

"I like natto."

"Liar."

You huffed out a small laugh, finally meeting his disapproving expression with a mischievous one.

"Fine. I'm not a fan of natto. But you were so happy to give them to me, Kento. I just wanted to see you smiling and looking relaxed for a change, so I - "

Before you could utter another word, he had plucked the glasses away from his face with a decisive motion and taken two strides into your space, his arms coming up and surrounding you in an embrace that pulled you like a vice into his chest.

"Kento?"

Your voice was a little shaky, not in an unpleasant way, as he leaned forward without hesitation, tilting his head. You swiftly dodged away, your breathless laugh mingling with his own unsteady breathing.

"The door isn't closed all the way. And I've just... wait! I've just eaten natto, you - "

His mouth was positively hungry on yours this time. Regardless of whatever flavour was lingering there, he was pushing you back until the desk collided with your thighs, his hand coming up to grasp and tilt your face until your mouth fell open helplessly against his. He was licking into you like a man starved, pausing in between to whisper to you about how he'd missed you, how he wanted you, how you looked so beautiful today and now his lips were on your throat, then on your mouth again, teeth knocking against yours, clumsy in his passion. There was something so fierce, uncontrolled, so primal about the way he was touching you, as if every restraint he had placed on himself (and by extension, yourself) had come crashing down among the rapidly narrowing spaces between your bodies.

Your hands were on his shoulders, and it probably looked as if you were trying to push him off you, but you were actually bracing yourself as something warm and molten started to run straight down the middle of your body, making you hyper-sensitive to his touch, to the feel of him on you. He was so large, so warm, so solid, the ripple of sinew against underlying muscle so evident under your fingers. You could run your hands over him like this forever, mapping out every new delight he laid bare for you.

Something like sanity was beginning to make itself known to the both of you now, the awareness of where you were, of the rules of propriety, and Kento removed his mouth from yours with a twist of his neck, looking away from you, breathing hard. He was now murmuring a soft apology, but you weren't having it. You covered his mouth with your hand and tugged slightly, making him look at you again, forcing him to take in your appearance, as he'd left you. He was none the better.

You removed your hand and took him in, the flushed cheeks, the blonde strands coming down around his ears, the glazed molten honey of his eyes and moistened lips. This man was so beautiful, he'd be the death of you. You told him so, and he gave a small, slightly disbelieving chuckle. But you let him read the truth in your regard of him all the same, the way you were drinking in the sight of him.

If you didn't know any better, you'd say Kento was overcome with a little shyness then. He lowered his face and his nose found purchase on your collarbone. You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly, but gently. After a few moments of him basking in your embrace, he pulled away and cleared his throat, smoothing out his shirt. You took in a steadying breath and did the same to your own rumpled appearance.

He spent the remainder of your shift seated at a safe distance behind the other desk in the room, using the desktop PC to order up a replacement for his leather blade holster that was showing signs of wear. At times, your eyes would catch his, regarding you with a certain kind of tenderness in the dim glow of the office lamps. That expression was new. You delighted in it, as you did in every new aspect of himself he revealed to you.

When your shift ended, he insisted on walking you to the train.

Of course, he apologizes for his behaviour later. Even though the thought has long since ceased to bother you, he has been going over it in his mind, as you expected. He was the one who initiated the kiss in your office, after all. When you arrive home, warm up the food you'd pre-prepared in the fridge and finish with your bath, your phone is lit up with a small, insistent reminder.

Unable to help the small laugh that escapes you, you read his message.

"I don't know what came over me earlier. Please pardon my behaviour. I'm not offering excuses, but I did miss your presence."

The infinite sweetness that wells up inside you threatens to have you type something that you might want to take back. Like inviting him over so that he can fall asleep in your lap while your fingers card through his soft hair.

"Please don't apologize. I enjoyed that as much as you did, and you know it."

"You did?"

"Absolutely."

There is a pause before his next message.

"I did miss you."

"I missed you terribly, Kento. Was it a tough week?"

"Not difficult. Just draining. On surveillance."

"Please go to sleep soon."

"Are you already tired of me?"

"Are you already being melodramatic?"

"Nobody has ever called me melodramatic before."

"You just hide it well."

"As well as my desire to hold you?"

Your fingers still for a moment. How brazen.

"Not as much as my desire to kiss you all over your handsome face."

"You find me handsome?"

You can clearly picture that subtly pleased expression of his and almost roll your eyes. Of course Kento wouldn't take much note of his own appearance.

"Can you think of anyone who wouldn't find you handsome?"

"That's a matter of perspective."

"Name one. Go on."

"Gojo."

"Now you're playing dangerous games."

"How so?"

"If he were to receive an anonymous email asking him to sing praises to your beauty all week ... "

"All right. I take it back."

"Too late. Now go to sleep."

"Have mercy on me."

There is a small pause before his next reply comes.

"Goodnight, my darling."

For a long time, before you go to sleep, your heart hums a pleasant, warm rhythm to that word.

@tsukimefuku @kentocalls @actuallysaiyan @g-kleran

[riediaries]

satoru knows every part of you. every things you like and hate. he's able to locate each and every mole you have on your body and how many it is. it's like knowing you have been a second nature to him. in order words, he knows your whole nature and that's how you fell in love with him.

he knows you don't like eating a watermelon with seeds on it. you don't want to spit it out after or let alone eat it.

satoru silently observes you as you payed all of your attention to the sliced watermelon on your hands. picking every black seeds you see in the fruit.

you were getting irritated and he sighs, picking a sliced watermelon on the table and removed all the seeds in mere seconds.

"here, eat this. i already removed all of the seeds." he hands you a sliced watermelon. the red juicy part was clean. no seeds. just like how you like it.

"ah.. thanks.." you murmur, accepting the fruit and that was first time you felt a fluttering emotion on your tummy as you stare at the watermelon he handed you.

"mhm.." he hums. "you don't like it with the seeds on it, right?" he asks and you nodded. he hums again, nodding his head in a subtle way.

no seeds on her sliced watermelon, got it.

you like the beach, especially the sunset. he remembers peeking on your phone one time and due to his curiosity, he opened your photo gallery and you have a folder named 'sunsets<3'.

it has a lot of your pictures in the beach, capturing the breathtaking sunset and there are also pictures with just the sun but he likes the pictures with you in it. you're prettier than the sunset, anyways.

"we should go here sometime. the four of us." he tells suguru as they walk on the sand barefooted.

they just finished their mission and their flight will be tomorrow morning so they're spending their time to relax.

satoru keeps his eye on the setting sun. pink and purples hues were seen on the sky.

picture.. yes. i should take a picture for her. he thoughts and brought out his phone to take a picture. he sends the picture to you.

annoying blue-eyed freak: sent a photo.

annoying blue-eyed freak: sunset's pretty here today. you might like it.

you take a look at the photo he sent and the photo's automatically saved on your folder 'picture he sends'.

sunset lover princess: thanks, love it.

he smiles over the three letter word you sent. yep, his day's now complete with just your reply.

unknowingly to him, suguru secretly took a photo of him and he captured the most breathtaking satoru gojo photo to exist.

it's a photo of him on his side, smiling on his phone and the background is the sunset.

cool bangs: sent a photo.

your phone dings. you thought it's another photo of sunset from satoru but no. it's satoru with the sunset but he's not looking at the camera.

you stare at it for good few minutes.

cool bangs: if you're just going to stare at it, you might as well save it. i might delete it.

that message from suguru alone had your fingers saving his photo and put it on another album. a secret album named 'photos i love'.

yes, definitely 'love'.

satoru also knows that you love movie nights with them. horror, romance, or action. name all the genres present. you once told him that it's not about the movie you're excited but being able to spend time with your friends.

being a jujutsu sorcerer at a young age costs your freedom as a child and to dream. you will never know when you will die or vanish from this world. that's why you're spending all of their freedom time with you and they're actually okay with it.

same feelings, as they said.

"ahh! suguru! tell me when the haunted dolls are gone!" satoru clings to suguru as he scream out of his lungs.

"no, you watch it satoru. be a big brave man." he teases the young boy more. "i heard she likes men who's brave and can watch horror movies with her." he whispers to his best friend.

satoru eyes his best friend with a look of suspicious. "are you... sure?"

"her biggest turn off is actually a scared cat like men." he hums, adding more false informations about your type. "meaning, a boy like you, satoru." he dramatically covered his forehead and his eyes to express his disappointment for his best friend.

suguru knows that even when his best friend is screaming like a lady, you'll still like him. even though he can't bear to watch a single horror movie, you'll still like him because he's satoru. the annoying blue-eyed freak that constantly running on your mind twenty-four seven.

the two best friends eyes the two of you. shoko and you, unimpressed on their nonstop bickering and satoru's screams and unbothered on the horror scene in front of you.

wow. just wow. what a scene.

ever since then, you always invite them to watch a newly released movie, mostly horrors but in rare cases, you want to watch romance.

"oh sweet. they're kissing like it's the end of the world." satoru commented as he pushes a mouthful of popcorn on his mouth.

shoko and suguru went out for a smoke since romance is not really their thing but they still agreed to watch just to see you happy. and they couldn't refuse when you were that cute begging them to watch it with them.

"because that's how they are desperate to be with each other." you reply. "i mean, you'll surely kiss a person like that when the world's trying to separate you. you will pour all of your emotions in that kiss to express your feelings." you further explains.

he raises an eyebrow at you. "i thought you're only interested in horror. why are you so knowledgeable about love?"

"books..?"

"yeah? and?"

"what do you mean by that?"

"have you ever kissed a person like that before?" his question caught you off guard and you turns to him.

"what? no! it's not like that! do i need to have an experience to explain those?" you defend yourself. you haven't been kissed yet!

"want me to give you an experience, then?"

you were caught you off guard and you didn't have time to react when he leans to you, kissing the side of your lips. too close to be called a kiss. too close to end your 'no first kiss' phase.

"i like you." he mutters as he looks at you straight in the eye. you're still close to each other and you can feel his breathe on your skin. "more than any of my favorite sweets." he adds, making you laugh.

"i like you, too. more than any favorite sunset i had captured and saw." you confess.

he smiles but his face immediately turns into a sour face. "even though i can barely watch a horror movie?" he asks cutely and you burst into laugh.

"w-who.." you can't stop yourself from laughing. "who said that?"

"suguru." he mentions his best friend. so, the dark haired male is the suspect on spreading false claims.

"I like someone who removes all of the seeds on my sliced watermelon." he smiles at that sentence.

"i like someone who will immediately thought of me whenever he sees sunset and sends me a picture of it." he smiles even more as he closes the gap between you slowly.

"yeah? and? you like someone who's very handsome, too, right?" he grins. "you like a certain someone whose contact name is 'annoying blue-eyed freak', right?"

it made you chuckle. how did he even know that one? you always made sure to lock your phone and keep the password to yourself only.

"i like someone who can't watch a horror movie with me and full of screams–"

he shuts you up by putting his lips onto yours and then pulls away.

your 'no first kiss' phase have officially signed off.

satoru clearly knows that you love movie nights, especially horror movies with him screaming but satoru knows that you love him even more than your collection of horror movies and the sunset you have ever captured and saw in your whole life.

[crag-dreams]

It’s the Saturday before Election Day 2024 here in the US, and stress/anxiety/fear/etc… is pretty high for a lot of people. That’s warranted, because another 4 years of Trump/GOP rule will harm so many people. You should do whatever you need to manage the next few days (including voting if you haven’t already), but I really want to encourage you to stop giving polls and “close race” media coverage much / any of your time or consideration.

Polling processes are wildly obsolete for how Millennial and Gen Z voters act compared to Gen X and Boomers (this is not a dig at these generations, just a factual observation). Polls are also easily manipulated to return a desired result, and the people running polls have a vested interest in getting your engagement. Keeping the results tight keeps eyeballs on them.

Similarly, the 24/7 media environment needs you constantly on edge and worried so you keep checking in and listening. They have no interest in a boring election or landslide victory. The majority of journalists have not risen to address this moment with the deliberate, in-depth reporting that we need. It’s far easier to throw together click-bait headlines to pump their numbers. It’s why they spend days covering the tiniest slip by Harris/Walz (and previously, Biden) while giving Trump/Vance a pass on every insane thing they say. Trump is *incredible* for news companies. He is so outrageous that their headlines write themselves, and as long as they don’t follow-up to truly report on him in a way that would end any other politician, they have unlimited content. Whatever you think about Biden, just remember: a single debate performance that wasn’t great was seized upon by the media (because it made for great engagement) and ended his candidacy. Trump can say the most batshit things (they’re eating the dogs!), and they minimize it at every opportunity, because he is good for them. They are sacrificing their journalistic integrity and responsibility at the expense of real people’s lives and rights.

So, what do we do if polls and most news coverage isn’t useful? Remember:

Trump lost the 2020 election. The Electoral College is the only reason it was even close. People were fed up then, and they are even more fed up now.

Roe was overturned by an activist Supreme Court that Trump is responsible for. In virtually every state-level election since then, the results have been outstandingly positive for Democrats, including in the Deep South™. This is why so many GOP politicians have stopped talking about abortion, even going so far as to remove their position from their websites, or directly contradicting themselves when asked about it. The only person making a decision about a woman’s body should be that woman, and these predominantly white dudes still don’t realize how badly they fucked up.

The majority of Trump’s former Cabinet and senior leadership have very publicly turned on him. While it would have been nice for them to do this earlier, it’s unprecedented to see so many prominent Republicans declare they will not vote for him. This doesn’t impact the hardcore MAGA crowd, but it absolutely speaks to more centrist Republican voters.

Trump has been convicted of sexual assault, and he is an adjudicated rapist. He’s been convicted of 34 felony indictments, with more to potentially come. Even though it seems like he never suffers consequences for these legal issues, it costs him voters. People who could justify supporting him before are finally reaching a limit, even if they don’t publicly admit it. (Some do!)

Also, more and more people who voted for Trump in 2016 and 2020 are willing to publicly admit they are tired of him and can’t do it again. His rallies are smaller and smaller, the crowds are less engaged, and, yes, people leave during his rambling rants more and more often.

Gen Z is getting to vote for the first time at any real scale. Say what you will about TikTok and other platforms, but they are more informed and showing up and caring about issues that didn’t move the needle for Gen X or Boomers. Remember the Access Hollywood, grab ��em by the pussy, tape? That should have ended his original campaign, but it didn’t. Gen Z has found out about that, and it’s just one of so many things driving them to get out and vote. The turnout is going to be incredible.

Because we still use the stupid Electoral College, this election largely comes down to swing states. The Trump campaign has done almost everything imaginable to lose those voters. Whether it’s bashing unions (Trump said a child could do the same job as automotive workers building cars, he bragged about not paying overtime, etc…), immigrants (they’re eating the dogs, GOP-led states demonizing them), Puerto Ricans (calling their home a floating pile of garbage, Trump denying hurricane relief for almost two years), or women (abortion, telling women they should vote how their husband wants them to, Vance thinking their purpose is nothing more than baby-making, stay-home, wait-on-a-man’s every need), they are losing the swing states.

Elections are *incredibly secure and trustworthy.* The Trump/GOP camp has attacked this at every opportunity with virtually no success. The few instances of voter fraud we’ve seen in the last few years are almost entirely from Republicans. They have already started the narrative that the election is rigged if Trump loses. This narrative will only increase as results start to roll in on Tuesday. Don’t even worry about it. They will lose every / almost every single lawsuit they try to bring. It will have no impact on the eventual outcome.

Early voting, including absentee and mail-in ballots, turnout is incredibly encouraging. The higher the turnout, the better, and people are showing up. There’s fatigue and embarrassment on the GOP side (you’re gonna eventually hear from those voters that they stayed home, voted for Harris, etc…), and there’s excitement and motivation on the Dem side.

Are there reasons to be worried? Of course. The Trump campaign is going to try and obstruct the voting process in every way they can. They’re blocking poll monitors in Texas and Florida. Drop boxes in some states have been attacked. Voter rolls have been illegally purged. They’re bringing lawsuits (most of which they’ve already lost) even before Election Day. They’re going to claim fraud. They’ll probably incite violence again.

These are the actions of a desperate campaign that isn’t trying to actually win, because they know they’ve already lost.

So, we can acknowledge our stress, anxiety, and fear, but we don’t have to let it ruin the next few days. Get outside and enjoy (hopefully) beautiful Fall weather. Snuggle your pets. Listen to your favorite albums. Read a great book. Hang out with your people. Vote.

We’re a few days away from a massive weight being lifted from our shoulders. Don’t let it weigh you down until then.

[kim-jongin-s]

svt fic rec (mostly nc-17; minwon, jeongcheol, verkwan, wonchan + other)

MINWON

"your boots on the gas of life". au. oneshot, 1.6k. nc-17.

mingyu: i can't have babies wonwoo: my sperm different

"happy to help". oneshot, 2k. nc-17.

Mingyu should go to sleep. He really should.

But today was so good. Why not make it better?

"good for you". omegaverse: omega!ww, alpha!mg. oneshot, 5k. nc-17.

Wonwoo likes routine, it makes life much easier when he knows exactly when his heat is due to arrive. This time it comes without warning.

"keeping score". au: streamer!ww, volleyball player!mg. oneshot, 5k. pg-13.

Kim Mingyu dates Jeon Wonwoo in secret for five years. He should, perhaps, be used to seeing his boyfriend get hit on in front of him. But he is not, in fact, okay with it.

So he copes. Kind of.

"all i need". omegaverse: omega!ww, alpha!mg. oneshot, 7k. nc-17.

Wonwoo starts showing pre-heat symptoms as Mingyu prepares to head to New York for Fashion Week.

"good little fox". twoshot, 8k. nc-17.

It doesn’t matter how friendly and sweet Wonwoo is with others, this is something only Mingyu can have.

"honeysuckle". omegaverse: alpha!ww, omega!mg. oneshot, 9k. nc-17.

Mingyu spends heat with Wonwoo for the first time.

"high tide". au: journalist!ww, model!mg. 3 chapters, 14k. nc-17.

“Wonwoo-yah,” Soonyoung hisses against Wonwoo’s ear, “I think pretty boy wants to eat you.”

"all roads, they lead me here". office!au. 9 chapters, 61.5k. nc-17.

Mingyu was willing to try to make a long-distance relationship work, but Wonwoo wasn’t.

Four years later, Mingyu is back for good.

JEONGCHEOL

"the kind of heartbreak time could never mend". oneshot, 2k. pg-13.

“No, no, I’m good, really. I’m good when I have all of you, you know that.”

He omits the crucial part; I’m okay when I have you.

"flatline". oneshot, 4k. nc-17.

Nothing feels better than being good for Jeonghan.

"meet me at the (haunted lesbian) apateu". au. oneshot, 8k. pg-13.

Jeonghan is content to live his life never telling Seungcheol how he feels. The ghosts in his apartment feel differently.

"rose tinted (dirt colored)". office!au. oneshot, 9k. pg-13.

Seungcheol has a secret admirer.

Well, either that or a stalker.

"i know a place". au, rule 63. oneshot, 12k. nc-17. ♡

“You’re thirty two and you’re going to experiment with girls now, is that it? Jeonghan-ah,” Seungcheol says, voice low and strung tight with something hot and dangerous. “If you want it so bad, I’ll give it to you.”

"not like i planned (looks like i'm going where i've already been)". oneshot, 14.5k. nc-17.

It’s interesting, as some kind of social experiment: being Choi Seungcheol’s boyfriend for a day.

"overhanging place". au. oneshot, 15k. nc-17.

A year after leaving Seungcheol to pick up the pieces of what they could have been, Jeonghan comes home.

VERKWAN

"left in bits". oneshot, 2k. nc-17.

Seungkwan likes to show off and Hansol likes to watch so it's perfect, basically.

"buzzcut season". au. oneshot, 6k. nc-17.

Seungkwan’s ex-boyfriend shaved his head.

"friday i'm in love". au: band member!vn. oneshot, 20.5k. nc-17. ♡

Seungkwan doesn't date musicians, but he certainly fucks them.

WONCHAN

"electronic network love". omegaverse. oneshot, 10k. nc-17.

Wonwoo meets Chan on a hookup dating site. Chan’s the ideal omega, and any alpha with a brain would find themselves wanting him. There’s just one problem.

"chlorine". au. oneshot, 19k. nc-17.

Wonwoo helps his brother's fiancé run away from his own wedding.

OTHER

"what a crash, what a rush!". jigyu. neighbor!au. oneshot, 14k. nc-17.

Kim Mingyu is stuck in a loveless marriage. Enter: Lee Jihoon.

"when fall came". seokcheol. fake dating!au. 6 chapters, 23k. nc-17.

Choi Seungcheol, boyfriend for hire. Available for services such as getting your jet-setting and exceptionally nosy roommate off your back and taking you on picture-perfect dates.

As Lee Seokmin learns, falling in love costs extra.

"(might go to) war with heaven". s.coups/wonwoo/dino. au: crime boss!sc, policeman!ww, barista!dn. 9 chapters, 60k. r.

Chan's life changes after unknowingly stumbling into a crime scene, landing himself as the sole witness to a murder investigation. He finds himself pulled between a seemingly cold police detective and a warm stranger, his heart going in two directions at once. As Chan struggles to make sense of his feelings he realizes that he's become a pawn in a game he didn't know he was playing.

[stereopticons]

On This Day in Schitt's Creek: March 19

2019

A Very Unfortunate Turn of Phrase [david/patrick, M, 648] by bigficenergy

Patrick is willing to let David win an argument, but at the cost of winding him up about something else.

Meet the Parents [david/patrick, M, 17,570] by @kelbottumbles @stargatewars

David has arranged for Patrick's parents to come to town for Patrick's surprise party. The only problem is that Patrick hasn't come out to them yet. Basically our imagining of what will happen in S05E11 'Meet the Parents'.

2020

Don't We Always Find a Way to Carry On [david & alexis, T, 4,958] by @doublel27

Johnny dropped the suit jacket and stood up, wiping his hands on his slacks. He wouldn’t look David in the eye. “Well, uhhh, you should know that she and Artie—” Dear God! David pursed his lips, sucking them between his teeth. He dipped a little, hands moving in tandem with his body. “We all know it’s not really about Artie.” A gurgle followed by a hiss signaled the water in the shower starting while David and his father stared at each other. Within a few seconds, his father started fidgeting, arranging his suit and glancing to the door. “I have some things—” David closed his eyes and threw his head back. This was how things went. Alexis was his job; she had been since the day they’d put her crib in the nursery with him. David opened his eyes, lips working overtime as he nodded, refusing to look at his father. “Yeah. Yup. Mmmhmm.” or Whenever Alexis falls apart, David is there to pick up the pieces. When things are really bad, though, he lets her wear his clothes.

keep my spirit strong, you do [david/patrick, T, 5,925, CW: eating disorders]

David has a very small, on-and-off problem. Or he used to. Patrick tries to make the burden a little lighter.

Privacy [david/patrick, G, 7,503/art] by another_Hero

artist!David gets back into old practices, joins an art community, and opens up a little

2021

Ghana [gen, G, 300] by Rosey_Peach

Honeymoon, what honeymoon?! [david/patrick, G, 1,024] by Rosey_Peach

However, things had taken a would-be-funny-if-you-weren’t-David-Rose turn of events when Patrick awoke early the day after saying goodbye to his in-laws and had a sudden and horrible thought… were they even legally married?!

Language of Love: Part 4 (Season 5) [david/patrick, NR, 404,785] by PandorasDaydream

This series (Part 4) starts before 5.01 and will meander through season 5.++++Chapter 1 starts not long after the ending of LOL: Part 3 Chapter 8. David and Patrick spend time together, working together, and navigating their relationship.

2022

[podfic] You Can Still Be Free [david/patrick, E, podfic, CW: rape/non-con, suicidal ideation] by HowOldAreWe

There were certainly prescient hints about David’s obligation to follow all commands given to him. For one, his own irritability over wanting to say no sometimes but seemingly being unable to do so. A modern-day AU in which David is cursed to follow any command he’s given, and the stark, rippling consequences of such a burden. Inspired by Ella Enchanted.

leave it all behind, and there is happiness [david/patrick, G, 1,057] by patrickbrewer

It hurts like absolute hell, knowing that she has spent at least a decade loving someone who could never love her back. Knowing that she has spent long, drunken nights alone in her apartment wondering when the hell everything would fall back into place. Knowing that she is going to have to travel home alone and come to terms with the fact that the future she thought she had all figured out is actually never going to come to fruition.

Lines [david/patrick, NR, 414] by @tyfinn

Patrick and David are in line to meet Patrick's baseball hero. David has a realization about his mother.

Wake Me Up Inside (Save Me) [david/patrick, E, 4,637] by px_papercrown

It's not often but sometimes, on special, random, not quite out-of-the-blue days, David will wake his husband in his husband's favorite way.

2023

Fall On Me, With All Your Light [david/patrick, M, 46,877] by @statueinthestonetoo

Patrick and Rachel are a married Hutterite couple who are unable to have a baby. Patrick isn’t really sure he wants one but he loves her and he cares about what she wants, so he makes a call. Then David Rose shows up at his house and everything changes. Or a story about finding love where you least expect it.

Wash Away My Sorrow [david/patrick, M, 100] by @legalgal421

It’s raining. There’s some feelings.

we should totally just STAB CAESAR! [david & twyla, G, 1,100] by @sarahlevys

"Welcome in!" Twyla waves to them both, then gestures to the chalkboard. "And a very happy Ides to you both!" She pauses, thinking, then says, "Or are the Ides of March about being sad?" Patrick's lips are twitching. David, though, is fixated on the chalkboard. "Since when do you have an Ides special?" "Since today!" OR: After Twyla learns that David loves the Ides of March, she organizes a little surprise for him with Patrick's help.

2024

Mr. Brewer, Mr. Rose [david & stevie, T, 57,893] by @colourcodedbinders

When the bell rings at exactly 8:15 am, just as it does every single day, just as it has every single one for the past three years David’s spent at this job, he can’t help but wonder how, of all the places in the world, he ended up teaching at Schitt’s Creek high school. It’s not that this is the worst job he could’ve had — quite honestly, all things considered, it’s a pretty good gig.The school is at a humble ten minute drive from his apartment, the staff is small enough that he can usually comfortably pick his courses, and David will admit, if absolutely hardpressed about it, that maybe, maybe he finds a modicum of self-satisfaction in being a tenured resident of the Schitt’s Creek High English Department. But still — 8-fucking-15 am. OR David Rose is a high school teacher. A new substitute shows up one day, and it absolutely doesn't ruffle any of his feathers at all. Not even a little. Because he's a seasoned professional.

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017 or 2018 2019: 2 fics/18,218 words 2020: 3 fanworks (2 fics, 1 fic/fanart combo)/17,756 words 2021: 3 fics/406,114 words 2022: 4 fanworks (3 fics, 1 podfic)/6,191 words 2023: 3 fics/48,077 words 2024: 1 fic/57,893 words Total: 16 fanworks (14 fics, 1 fic/art combo, 1 podfic)/554,249 words

[babbygirlblues]

Chapter 3: Ch-ch-ch-changes (Time may change me, but I can’t trace time)

By the end of the week your calendar has 5 ‘X’s’ from Tuesday to Saturday. On Sunday morning something magical happens. 

One of X’s pigeons flies through your window and small bits of dirt and feathers fall onto the fall as it skids across the floorboards. 

You untie the paper-wrapped package attached to its back and quickly go to get it some seed mix and a bowl of water.

Once the bird is happy eating and drinking on your living room floor, you skid back over to the package and rip it open. 

A set of tubes knock together with a glowing red liquid inside. 

A slip of paper is folded up between them reads: 

Should be enough for about 10 trips. 

Test: Earth, within 10 years

X

You carefully pour a tube into the little accelerator box, and take your place in the centre of the circular mat, another gift from X. You’re racking up quite the tab. 

Glass twists up your legs until it reaches your head, turning your skin a glistening lucid sheen. 

You take a deep breath and press the watch.

It clicks.

Did it work?

Your vision slowly creeps back in, and you immediately recognise the night you’ve chosen to come to. 

You’d put in these coordinates and this date almost instinctively. 

God! You’d forgotten how cold it was. 

You’re on the outskirts of St Petersburg, Russia for your first mission with Natasha. 

At this point, you were friends, close friends but your feelings for her had long changed from platonic.

Icicles form on the smooth surface of your skin that is tinged white and blue like the ice. 

It was the same that day. 

You look on from the otherside of the mountain, almost invisible against the white snow beneath you, and watch the two of you climb side by side. 

On foot you follow in Natasha’s footsteps up the snow covered mountain. You’ve turned to glass to avoid the deadly cold climates and feel a bit guilty for it. Fog puffs from Natasha’s mouth with every breath but she doesn’t seem cold though which makes you feel a bit better. 

The two of you are on the way to a base up ahead that was recently raided by an unknown enemy. 

Natasha has a worried and knowing look in her eyes but she refuses to say anything she may suspect about those responsible for the attack.

You don’t push her for answers and follow her lead loyalty. Missions like this were usually left to mid-level agents like Natasha. It was never something that Fury let you risk exposure for, even though it occasionally came at the cost of agents' lives. 

Curiously though, you’ve been posted for this one. You don’t care, if anything you’re just excited to spend time with her. It feels good to know that you’ll be here to help protect her if anything goes wrong. A welcome change from the times you watch her leave, and only to wait desperately for the moment she comes back off a carrier safe and sound.

The mission is simple. Salvage anything you can from what was abandoned, destroyed or set on fire. Then destroy what was left for real.

The base is hidden behind a rocky interface between two mountains. It looks dangerous. As you start to climb you drop back to follow behind Natasha in case she slips or a rock beneath her comes loose from the mountain face. It looks like a rocky landslide could take off at any moment. You’re prepared to catch her and carry her up, floating above the rocks at any moment. 

You’re not sure if it’s appropriate to offer her a flight up before anything goes wrong.

She stumbles a couple of times when the rock beneath her twists and —-. Each time your feet are off the ground and your hands are a hair's width away from her, ready to lift her from the rocky avalanche. But she always catches herself like a dancer who already anticipated the movement beforehand.

The base is small, a huge garage for helicopters that take agents to the base, rooms for armoury, file storage and dormitories. The control rooms are the worst damaged, computers with screens caved in, and most servers have been ripped from the racks and look like they’ve had hammers taken to them.

The whole time, Natasha moves like she’s in a trance. Skimming through file after file, electronic and hard copies like she’s searching for something. Every piece of garbage she picks up seems to add a piece to the puzzle that she’s solving in her mind. 

However, you feel aimless, digging through scraps of metal and paper, hardly understanding what’s in front of you. 

You can’t help but wonder again why you’re here. There is no pressing need for your powers and you can only string together simple sentences in Russian. You feel useless.

It took a few hours of searching before Natasha decides you’ve seen enough. She comes out of the last room and tells you that there’s nothing left to see. 

You pour a special SHIELD technology petroleum through the whole base and set it on fire. You stubbornly insist that she stay outside and at least 200m metres away the whole time. 

There’s no-one available for a pick up so the two of you get posted in a safe house until morning. You arrive at the door of an old cabin at sunset and it feels impossibly colder inside than out. 

Natasha takes a look at your shivering figure and is surprised by how charming she finds your arms curled into yourself. You could have stayed in glass form, but once the mission was officially complete it felt weird.

The cabin is a single room with a bathroom at the back. It’s completely barren except for a small couch and kitchenette, and a thick layer of dust has settled on almost every visible surface. The fireplace is black with soot and old charcol, but it’s calling your name.

“Do you want to search the cupboards for any food?” Natasha asks. 

She gestures to the fireplace, “I’ll get started on a fire.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

You go through every drawer and cupboard in the place until you find one of them has a few cans of tomato spaghetti. They expired 2 years ago, it’ll have to do. There’s a fork and spoon in one of the drawers and you grab them both. 

Natasha comes back in with a few logs and a handful of twigs, a blisters like wind follows inside before her, blowing snow and cold air through her hair and into the room. She lets the door slam shut behind her.

Kneeling in the fireplace to start a fire and with her bare hands you watch her rub sparks into one of the dryer logs. Somehow smoke starts to blow, the grass and sticks turn the sparks into flames and soon a blazing fire glows and starts to warm the room. 

You almost run over to her, entranced by the warmth and red glow of the fire. You offer her the cans you found. You take a seat next to her on the ground and huddle together to conserve some warmth.

She opens the lids with the knife strapped to her calf and places them on a rack above the fire to warm up.

Natasha chuckles at the way you aggressively rub your hands together and practically moan at the warmth from the fire. Your face is going red from the heat. 

“You can change to glass, you know.” She says. “I don’t mind.”

“And let you suffer alone?” 

“You’re the only one suffering.” She laughs. “I’m Russian, I don’t get cold.”

“That’s impossible.”

After you’d choked down the old spaghetti in silence, you got up to look at the sleeping situation on the couch.

The bottom pulled out to extend it into a bed and the backrest cushions made up the bottom half of the ‘mattress’. 

“Voila!” You display the bed to her.

“You can take it.” She says. 

“What?”

“I’ll take the floor.”

“There’s plenty of space.”

“It’s ok.” She insists and refuses to move from her spot on the floor.

“This is ridiculous, we can easily share the bed.”

Granted, you were incredibly nervous to sleep next to her. And worried about anything your mind might accidentally conjure up during the night. Your power can sometimes show up, sand creeping from your fingertips to create various objects in your dreams, but you haven’t had any incidents for many years. 

“Fine.” You relent to her wishes.

You pass her two of the cushions to make an improvised mattress on the floor. She pieces them together and sits on it. She turns back to face the fire and her hair drops to cover her face from you. 

You collect the other two remaining cushions and move them onto the ground next to her. A small gap between the two of you. 

“What are you doing?”

You lie down and your feet hang off the end, but it’s reasonably comfortable and warmer than sitting on the cold floor. You close your eyes and try to relax.

“Sleeping, what does it look like?” You try to keep the smile off your lips, but fail. You blink one eye open to take a peek at her, and she’s smiling at you like you’re an idiot. 

Eventually she concedes and lies down on her cushions, her body parallel to yours across the floor. The light from the fire dims slightly and the sun is long gone from the sky.

You wonder if she’s fallen asleep, because it's silent for a while before she speaks.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Go for it.” You say.

“The sand.” She says. “How does that work?”

She’s never really asked about your powers before. You’ve mentioned places you’ve lived, your mothers, but nothing much more. It was never important to her, even though it's all everyone else seems to care about.

It doesn’t surprise you that she’s curious to know more. 

“How can I make stuff?” 

“Hmm, yeah.” There’s something more to her question. 

“Well, you know about my mother, and how she had the same powers. She was born from her planet. The planet grew out from its core which was a powerful stone, one of the most powerful entities within the universe. When she was born she literally emerged from the sand dunes. My sand is the same, it’s a connection to the planet, and its core, the power stone.”

“What I make is basically up to me. It could be anything, the only limit really is my imagination.”

“But some things would be pointless to make because it can only be sand or glass. Swords are good, but a bed wouldn’t be that comfortable.”

“And it turns black once it loses connection to your body?”

“Yeah.”

The conversation lulls. You’re not sure what else to tell her.

Natasha breaks the silence. 

“The mission today?” She says

“Yeah.”

“I asked for you to come.”

“Oh.”

The silence stands still in the room and your mind reels for something more to say. Why? Ok. I’m glad you did.

“The base was one I’ve been to before.”

Oh. “KGB?”

“No.”

A heavy feeling presses deep on Natasha’s chest. She can’t get the next words out. 

“Whatever it is, I promise you can tell me. And it won’t change anything.”

She tells you about the Red Room. About her mother abandoning her as a baby. Training, graduation and then her career as a spy. When she’s finished, the fire is almost out. Her voice is weary and she’s too tired to hold back her tears. 

You reach across the space between you and gingerly loop your pinky around hers. She sniffles into the darkness and squeezes your finger tightly. 

With all the determination in your voice that you can muster, you tell her, “You are the most incredible thing in the entire universe.”

“That is so much, too much, for one person to go through. I’m so sorry.”

She sobs. You shift to hold her hand properly and try to inch as close as you can, almost tipping off the side of your makeshift bed. 

“Can I move closer?”

“Yes.” She immediately replies. 

You shuffle the cushions over until they press next to hers. 

“I wish things had been so different for you.” You whisper.

“It’s truly astonishing how strong you are. How kind you are.”

“No. I’m not a good person.” She warns you. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’ve done terrible things.” 

You tell her that anything she’s done for them was not her fault. You’ll tell her everyday until she finally hears you. 

“Love is unconditional.” You tell her.

She says she doesn’t deserve love.

“You deserve love from anyone you want it from.”

You don’t want to push her. The words on your lips are I love you, I love you! Please pick me.

“Anyone would be so lucky to love you.” 

There’s a moment where you fear you’ve pushed too far. Dread seeps through your stomach that you’ve made her uncomfortable after she’s just opened up to you. You curse yourself for taking her painful confession and making it about you.

Before you can apologise, Natasha leans over and presses a hot kiss to your lips.

~~~

You wish you knew earlier how the night would end. You’d kick yourself out just to take her place and experience it with her again. You watch the pair of you disappear behind the curve of the mountain, Natasha was right there and your heart calls out to her.

But you can’t stay. Years from now, Natasha is waiting to be saved and finally you have a way back to her. 

Yelena and Kate are waiting too.

You close your eyes, and with a deep breath, you tap the gadget on your wrist and let it take you back to your apartment in New York, present day.

[dippindaz]

Thank you again for doing my request!! You are so super good at writing all the characters, but I want to point out specifically Eddie because you manage to hit that exact mix of I want to strangle him with my bare hands but I also I want to kiss him passionately that his canon portrayal makes me feel. He is the most annoying person in the world. I want to put him in my pocket.

If you're still looking for requests, how about reader inviting them to hang out in a blankie fort? (Dealer's choice on what characters you go with!)

🥺🥺🥹🥹 you’re legit gonna make me cry. I try SO hard to get the personalities right and feel like sometimes I get too caught up in it. But I am SO happy you feel this way!!!! Thank you so much.

In light of the really sweet compliment and me feeling incredibly giddy I decided to do this request for the main four Eddie, Robin, Steve, and Billy, along with the addition of Nancy and Jonathan!

I hope y’all enjoy <3

Billy Hargrove

• At first, he scoffs at the idea, rolling his eyes and muttering something about how childish it is. “What are we, five?”

• But the second he sees you actually sitting in the blanket fort, looking all cozy with pillows and dim lighting, he hesitates.

• You challenge him—“What, scared you’ll actually have fun?”—and that gets him. He grumbles but eventually flops down inside, legs stretched out like he’s trying to act cool about it.

• Complains that it’s too small (even if it isn’t). You jokingly offer to build him a “Billy-sized” extension.

• Would 100% pull you into his lap instead of sitting properly. “There. More room.”

• If you have snacks, he steals them all. Doesn’t even apologize. “What? You should’ve brought more.” (He’ll end up not eating much, pretending he isn’t hungry so that you’ll eat some.)

• Despite his tough act, you catch him relaxing—head leaned back, arms behind his head, quietly enjoying the warmth of the blankets and your presence.

• If you fall asleep, he stays put, wrapping an arm around you and mumbling, “Fine. Guess I’ll stay a little longer.”

Steve Harrington

• Immediately into it. No hesitation. “A blanket fort? Hell yeah, I’m in!”

• Spends way too much time perfecting the setup—adjusting the blankets, making sure the pillows are just right, even raiding the house for Christmas lights to add ambiance.

• Brings snacks and insists on making it a full experience. “Movie night, fort style. I’ll grab the popcorn.”

• Dramatically flops in like it’s a luxury lounge. “Wow, babe, you really know how to treat a guy.”

• Very touchy—either leaning against you, pulling you into his side, or lying with his head in your lap, demanding head scratches.

• If you put on a movie, he’ll be the first to get emotionally invested. You’ll hear dramatic gasps, groans, and even yelling at the screen.

• Might fall asleep halfway through with his arms wrapped around you, snoring lightly.

• When you tease him about how much he enjoyed it, he just smirks, “Guess I’m just a man of sophisticated taste.”

Eddie Munson

• Dramatic gasp when you mention it. Clutches his chest like you just gave him the greatest invitation of all time.

• “A blanket fort? You mean a sacred realm of coziness and mystery? Babe, I thought you’d never ask.”

• Goes all out. Adds his own touches—throws in some band posters, grabs a flashlight for spooky storytelling, and insists that Dio should be playing softly in the background.

• “This is our kingdom now. We must protect it at all costs.” Immediately starts making up rules for the fort, like:

• No talking about boring real-world stuff.

• You must refer to each other as “Knight of the Blankets” and “Ruler of the Snacks.”

• Mandatory cuddling. (He swears he didn’t make that one up just for himself.)

• Very clingy—lays his head in your lap, throws an arm over you, and dramatically sighs, “Ah, yes, this is the life.”

• Tells spooky stories with way too much enthusiasm, making the fort shake as he acts them out. If you get scared, he grins and says, “Guess I’ll have to keep you close for protection.”

• Refuses to leave once you’ve settled in. “Nope. This is our home now. We live here.”

Robin Buckley

• Instant excitement. “Oh my God, YES. Why don’t we do this all the time?”

• Immediately takes over the building process. She wants this thing structurally sound—tucks in every corner, stabilizes the ceiling, and even makes a second entryway (“Just in case we need an escape route.”).

• Once inside, she gets super cozy—bundles herself in blankets and flops dramatically onto the pillows. “Okay, now I never want to leave.”

• Can’t sit still. She keeps shifting positions, rolling onto her stomach, then back to her side, accidentally knocking over part of the fort at least twice.

• Talks the entire time. About school, movies, work, random deep thoughts—whatever pops into her brain. “Do you think squirrels ever get bored?”

• Wants to play a game. Truth or Dare? 20 Questions? A made-up fort survival scenario? She’s down for anything.

• If you start getting sleepy, she teases you—“Aw, is my little blanket burrito getting tired?”—she finds it adorable.

• Eventually, she yawns too, then cuddles up next to you with a tired mumble, “Okay… this is the best idea ever.”

Nancy Wheeler

• At first, she gives you a skeptical look. “A blanket fort? Like, right now?”

• But when she sees how excited you are, she softens immediately. “Okay, okay. But only if we do it properly.”

• She takes full control of construction, making sure the fort is sturdy and won’t collapse the second someone moves. She probably even reinforces it with chairs and books.

• Once it’s built, she sits inside with perfect posture at first, but then gradually relaxes into the coziness.

• Brings work or a book with her at first, but you convince her to put it down and just enjoy the moment.

• Loves the quiet intimacy of it. She’s not as outwardly playful as some of the others, but she really enjoys the closeness—leaning against you, playing with your fingers absentmindedly, sharing whispered conversations.

• “This is actually… really nice.” She might not say it outright, but you can tell she’s grateful for a chance to just unwind.

• Falls asleep before she means to. You catch her curled up under the blankets, breathing softly, and you can’t help but smile.

Jonathan Byers

• Surprisingly into it. Gives you a little smirk and says, “That actually sounds really nice.”

• He’s not picky about the fort itself. He lets you take the lead on building it, but he helps hold things in place and offers suggestions.

• Immediately relaxes inside. He’s the type to lie on his back, arms behind his head, just soaking it all in.

• Brings music. He sets up a small speaker or plays a mixtape on a Walkman, making it feel extra cozy.

• Deep conversations. The fort becomes a safe space for talking about anything—your fears, dreams, favorite childhood memories. He listens intently and opens up about his own thoughts too.

• If you cuddle up to him, he just melts. Pulls you close without hesitation, resting his chin on your head.

• Definitely falls asleep. He’s so comfortable that at some point, you hear his breathing slow, and he’s out like a light.

• Wakes up groggy but happy. Mumbles, “That was way better than my bed.”