#i’ve reread this like five times

[caterpillarinacave]

Every person thinks about the battle of Cadair Idris once a day is a statical error. I, CaterpillarInACave, who thinks about it once every 3 to 30 minutes, am an outlier and should not have been counted.

[neixins]

[ID: a panel from chapter 189 of “yona of the dawn”; gija tells keishuk, “very well.” and jaeha looks at him with a comically baffled and frustrated expression; his speech bubble includes only an interrobang and outside the speech bubble, he says, “gija?”. end ID.]

help jaeha’s face in this panel is so fucking funny

[ectoplasmer]

overwhelming urge to just grab his face between my hands to stare at him for a while and trace over his features with my thumbs and kiss him until he’s smiling and laughing and

[deanofsam]

i’m back on my tony stark shit 🗣️🗣️🗣️

[23sanguinity]

I wish I could go back in time and force hoyo to include diverse skin tones from the start bc even if they change completely and do everything right, the fact that they have done so much wrong already will always be a stain on the games I love

[loverafey]

im on my period rn and in pain and thinking about soft rafe :( maybe something like 5 times rate takes care of u during ur period and the first time he has no idea what’s going on or what to do but each time he gets better and knowing how to take care of u when ur on ur period

hope you feel better soon dearest anon :[

five times + you being on your period  !   bf!rafe x reader.

          ꕀ warnings - none, pure fluff, rafe is trying his best and is just a softie. wc - 1.2k.

there are multiple occasions wherein rafe has taken the time of his day to genuinely care for you, though there were some five specific moments that never really left your month.

the first time when rafe knew that you were on your period, after an hour or two of completely being oblivious behind the reasoning behind your pain until you simply told him, he was nervous. he realised that he hadn’t been there for sarah, fuck, wheezie even. there was undeniable guilt flooding within him, though he couldn’t let you show that. instead, he opened google instead of confronting you about what you’d need because he didn’t want to embarrass himself by revealing that he had no idea how to do it. though you were quick to catch up.

“you don’t know how to deal with someone on their period, do you?” you’d ask him rather bluntly. unable to hold in a smile as you spotted him in the kitchen of his house, nervously rummaging through the packs of snacks he’d got for you along sanitary products of three different fucking brands. he clearly didn’t know what he was doing.

he turned to look at you, startled, cheeks quick to flush. “is it that obvious?”

“well, yes.” you giggled softly, walking over to hug him from his back, resting your face against his arm. “but i still appreciate everything. i really do.” at least he was willing to learn.

the second thing you recalled was a full on mess. right after the previous experience and with another period, rafe had misjudged the toll it’d be taking on your emotions. bombarded with work and deals he had to either sign or decline, smartfully at that, he had unintentionally become neglectful. so when he arrived home and spotted you angrily eating a bar of chocolate, eyes redshot and full of tears, he was taken aback.

“what happened, baby?” he asked, exhausted from work.

“i needed you for the whole day and- and… and you weren’t even here!” you rambled on, fumbling over your words, just so frustrated from him and these cramps ruining your day.

“hey, you can’t say that…” he unintentionally grumbled, words growing louder, not wanting to show his irritation as he stepped forward. “i’ve been workin’ my ass off for you, for us.”

“still could’ve at least texted me!” you snapped, and it soon dawned onto rafe that yes, he was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t even bother checking up on you, internally cursing himself for raising his voice.

“baby, i-”

“save it.” not giving him a chance to talk and knowing that it was just your emotions talking, you sniffled and stood up from the couch, locking yourself in the cold guest room of tannyhill.

rafe didn’t bother sleeping in his own bed that night, not liking it without your warmth in it, instead sleeping on the couch and thinking about how to make it up to you.

the third ‘incident’ you held close to your heart was simply ridiculous. you woke up in the morning and got all cleaned up, huffing as you walked down with sore legs and infuriating cramps, following the sweet scent that seemed to be coming from the kitchen. curious, you peeked in, finding rafe ‘trying’ to bake a cake, flour messily splattered everywhere and on his face, the thing within the bowl just an abomination, confusion written on his face as he constantly reread the recipe to see where he went wrong, holding the whipped cream a bit too tight, oblivious of your presence until you cleared your throat.

“rafe?”

he flinched in surprise, embarrassed as he stared at you, awkwardly leaning against the kitchen counter. “yes, baby…?”

“what are you doing?” you crossed your arms, sighing, unable to bring yourself to being annoyed at him because the sight in front of you was more so endearing than anything else.

“just wanted to surprise you. sweets help, y’know.” he masked his emotions by simply huffing, looking away, not catching the way a big smile bloomed onto your lips.

the fourth instance you held close to your heart was coming upstairs to lay on the bed and instead being met by a cozily arranged bed with pillows and a blanket draped over it, alongside your favourite snacks, a movie’s opening paused on the television and you instantly recognised it — it was your favourite.

“rafey…” you whispered out in shock, catching his attention while he was seated on the bed, a proud grin present on his mouth.

“not too much, is it?” he asked and you were quick to shake your head, eagerly climbing on the bed and joining him, feeling a hand beginning to gently rub your sore back as he let you lean into him in whatever position was the most comfortable for you.

“nope, it’s perfect.” you whispered, draping your legs over his lap as you curled up by his side, feeling him lean down to press a soft kiss on the crown of your head.

“i’m glad then, princess.” he whispered back, grabbing the remote to resume the movie.

the fifth instance was the most recent one. you had woken up in the morning and found the sheets bloodied, staring at the stain in horror and just shocked as rafe woke up with a groan, following where your eyes were staring at. fuck.

“rafe, m’sorry, i- fuck, i’ll clean it.” you mumbled frantically, your face burning and you just hated this feeling.

but rafe stopped you, his eyes softening up. sleepily, he stood up and began putting away the pillows, proceeding to take the sheets off. “no, baby. you’re not going to do a thing.” he said, making sure to keep his voice firm so you knew that there wouldn’t be any point at being stubborn. it was no big deal to him actually, seeing a stain was just natural. plus you’d gotten your period earlier than expected, there was no stopping this.

“wanna clean up, princess? it’s not your fault.” he reassured you, tossing the dirty bed sheet on the floor, watching the way you fidgeted with your hands, eyes downcasted.

“fine… i’ll clean up.” you huffed, still embarrassed as you scurried off into the bathroom.

when you came back, all fresh, everything was cleaned up. rafe took a shower after you, joining you for breakfast and taking care of everything else.

once you both were free, he gently led you back into the bedroom, noticing the little pained noises you were letting out, constantly clutching onto your stomach or back.

“hurts too much?” he asked, clearly worried as you nodded. laying down besides you, he pulled you into his arms, hand gently caressing the back of your head.

“do you want me to massage your back, baby?” he asked, causing you to shake your head.

“no…” you grumbled into his neck, nuzzling within him. “just… be my heat pad.”

that caused him to chuckle softly as he obliged nonetheless, holding you close to him firmly, letting his warmth soothe you down, even if a little bit.

[stewystew]

Ok time to finally finish The Scandinavian Defense

[perkypeony]

𝕋ℝ𝔸ℙℙ𝔼𝔻

Yandere Gojo Satoru x fem reader

The days blur together in a repetitive cycle. Trapped in Satoru's apartment with no phone and no human interaction, y/n begins to feel her sanity slip.

“Is he still mad at me?” she mumbles to herself. It has been five days since Satoru left for a mission. He told her that this mission would take three days, yet he's nowhere to be found. Not that she doesn't appreciate the alone time, but the thought that he might purposely leave her alone in this apartment to die and rot is too haunting to ignore.

She gets up from the bed and makes her way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she sees an egg. There isn't much left in there; a few more days without his return and she will be starving. She makes scrambled eggs and toasts a slice of bread. As she eats, her mind can't stop recalling her argument with Satoru the night before he left.

The soft glow of the TV bathes the living room in a warm light as y/n absentmindedly flips through the channels. It is one of the few things left that she can enjoy in her otherwise restricted life.

Suddenly, the screen goes black, and she turns to see Satoru standing by the TV, remote in hand. His usual smirk plays on his lips as he approaches her.

“Time for bed,” he announces, not giving her a chance to protest as he scoops her up effortlessly.

She sighs inwardly, the small amount of peace she had found in the TV now gone. As he carries her to the bedroom, she can’t help but feel a wave of irritation. She has spent the entire day at his side, catering to his whims, and now even the few moments she has to herself are being taken away.

In the dimly lit bedroom, he sets her down gently on the bed and climbs in beside her, pulling her close. “Cuddle me,” he demands, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You will miss me when I’m gone on a mission tomorrow.”

Exhausted and frustrated, she lets out a small huff. “Satoru, I’ve been with you all day. Can’t I just have a little time to myself?”

His eyes flash with anger, and he grips her arm tightly. “Are you being ungrateful?” he spits. “I’m a good boyfriend. I’m strong, handsome, and I give you everything. And this is how you repay me? By asking for ‘alone time’?”

She can feel her temper rising, but the fear of his wrath keeps her silent. “I’m not ungrateful, Satoru. I just… need some space sometimes.”

He scoffs, his grip loosening slightly. “Space? You need space from me? After everything I do for you?”

Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she blinks them back, knowing that fighting back would only make things worse. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He sighs, pulling her even closer. “Just close your eyes and sleep.”

Time goes by and without y/n realizing it, the sky has already darkened, signaling nighttime. She's laying on the lavish couch, rereading a novel that she's read twice before. The clock is ticking, and the longing she feels for Satoru grows stronger. As she's about to fall asleep, the clicking of the door lock jolts her awake. She immediately runs towards the door, wanting to welcome him home.

“Satoru, how was the mission? I've been waiting for you for days,” she says as she hugs him.

Satoru pries her away from him, earning a surprised and confused reaction from her. “I'm tired. Leave me alone.”

Y/n nods before making her way back to the couch and plopping onto it. She curls up into a ball and buries her face in her knees, finding comfort in her own embrace. Does Satoru not love her anymore? She doesn't think she can bear this situation any longer. Trapped in this apartment with nowhere to go, and worse, her captor himself doesn't care about her. The tears brimming in her eyes finally escape. Her body shudders as she pitifully sobs.

Suddenly, she feels a hand on her shoulder. “Princess, don't cry. I just wanted to test if you miss me.”

Y/n only cries harder. Satoru takes a seat beside her before lifting her body onto his lap, cradling her. “I didn't mean what I said just now. I would never feel tired of you.”

She clings onto him, though deep down she feels disgusted with herself for having to lean on Satoru to stay sane. He's the only human she can interact with. All her male friends are dead. As for her family and her close friends, she has to beg Satoru not to hurt them. She's sick of his twisted ways of loving her, but at one point she gives up and accepts her fate.

Satoru grins at the sight of her crying. He knows he has succeeded in making her depend on him, and him only.

[joannasprose]

just don’t leave me alone, wondering where you are

CW: harassment, violence, a little bit of angst.

I’m sorry for not posting for like. five billion years :/ here’s some vi x reader angst/fluff because I’ve been thinking about her :p

———

You dragged your feet against the hot asphalt as though you were being held down by a large anchor.

The street of the underside had become crowded during this time, the bustling streets and the cities merchants hoping to get a grab of whatever you had in the pockets of your pants.

It had been seven years since then. Since Vander. Since Mylo and Claggor and Powder. Vi’s name had always brought bitterness on your tongue. Since the day she disappeared, you had never once spoken it out-loud. It plagued your mind like a festering and undying disease.

As you stride through the already crowded streets—your eyes find The Last Drop. Memories filled your mind like a flood. You remember days spent in the bar, speaking with Vandar and indulging in Powder’s unfinished.

Most importantly, you remember Vi. Nights where the two of you sat on the roof and she listened to you talk about your day. The same old story with the same old ending.

Pushing those memories far from your head, you turn the street corner nearest to the well-known brothel, a familiar face comes into view, making you unknowingly heave out an annoyed breath.

“How’re you doing, sweetheart?” His voice calls, one that fills your head with an irritation warranted light just for him. One of Silco’s guards, his arm resting against the brick of the alleyway, a smile displaying his teeth and gums.

“Sam,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, putting your disinterest on display.

“Aw come on. Why the long face? You missed me that much?” His confidence is what stirs a smile on your lips. You can’t remember when he had first began to take an interest in you. Unfortunately, you wished you have have handled the days of being unknown with much more care.

Sam lifts himself from the wall, stepping closely towards you, and attempting to slightly graze the hair that hangs wildly out of place on your head. But before he has the chance though, you grab his wrist with as much force as you could muster up.

“Don’t touch me.” You say, venom laced in your words as his face once portraying a deep lust, now twisted into an agitated and offended expression.

He pulls himself out of your hands, his arms dangling at his side for only but a moment before he reels his right arm back, the palm of his hand meeting the skin of your cheek.

It stings. A harsh pain that you’ve felt a few times before. “I’ve been nothing but kind to you for months, and you’ve yet to give me what I want.” This time, you really do laugh. Is harassment really his judgement of kindness?

His brows furrow, anger tucked underneath. As he steps closer to grab your face, a figure pulls him back, throwing him off balance.

You can’t see their face. They don’t speak to you. Only harsh grunt from themself, and Sam, and the streets of the under-city are what clouds your senses.

Their fists meet his face unrelentingly. You hear him beg, pleading for the stranger to stop. You can’t see it, but you can hear it. Fist meeting bone with anger laced in the strangers knuckles.

You don’t say anything. No words escape the space between your lips as the stranger lets him go, and as he crawls away, limping frantically.

“Don’t come near her again.” That voice. So endearing yet harsh. Familiar yet distant.

As she turns to you, those light blue eyes creating heart ache and helplessness in you—you muster up the courage to speak.

“Vi?”

———

definitely planning on making this a little series! yes I know this is so obviously rushed but I really wanted to get something out because I’ve been gone for so long! but I promise the next part will most definitely be longer and well written <3

reread this and im cringing so hard omg

[facewithoutheart]

Five plus One, fic recs

A post is going around about fics you consider classics in the Snowbaz fandom. I’d like to take it a step further by asking …

What are five fics you consider your inspiration/influences for writing, plus one of your fics which you think best represents what you want to bring to the fandom?

5. Hang the Moon by @captain-aralias

@captain-aralias is, to me, the snowbaz fandom fic writer of our time. Her commitment to detail, to nailing Rainbow’s voice, while infusing every fic with a heart and purpose that will leave you changed. Every fic of hers is chef’s-kiss-perfection but I’m highlighting Hang the Moon specifically as a fic I often think about (Baz, wet tennis clothes, helping Simon fight the merwolves), and a fic that was my introduction to what fanfics could be/do. I think I finished this fic and just stared at the wall for an hour because I was just like, oh. Oh.

4. The Pitch by basic-bathsheba

Local Hero is one of my favorite fanfics but I wanted to highlight this fic because it’s just such a powerful and understated story. It’s love in the details. This Simon is the model for all of my Simon’s, just a complete simp for Baz haha but also a man who is comfortable and confident being the man who loves Baz even if he doesn’t get to claim it publicly.

3. Stay Up With Me by @sharkmartini

Not sure what to say about this that hasn’t been said a million times. It’ll break your heart; it’ll put you back together. The concept is brilliant and the exploration of two Simon’s will definitely put your emotions through a wringer. Time travel/what-if fics will always grab my attention but this one in particular makes the same case Rainbow posed in Carry On: what if the villain isn’t the villain? And takes it a step further, because Simon realizes he could be the villain, too. Absolutely beautiful.

2. Can’t Find My Way Home by @carryonsimoncarryonbaz

This is one of those fics that just has so much heart and sweetness. I love a good second chance AU, and this one has such Hallmark vibes in the best way. I just love the slow burn of it, and the amazing ending. A perfect holiday fic to snuggle up with. Reading this feels like being cozy up by the fire with someone you love. Actually writing this makes me wanna reread this so much; now that I live with actual Fall I wanna feel cozy like this again.

1. Basil Pitch’s Diary by @bookish-bogwitch

I know it’s a bit weird to rec a WIP as an influence, especially one that’s being written as we speak, but working with/beta-ing Em’s works have made me a sharper, smarter writer. I know this fic is a classic in the works and it’s something I think about on a weekly basis. The Baz Em gives us, to me, feels like canon Baz taken to the next level. What if Baz was the villain … but only to himself? Em’s writing really is just economical in the best way; every line hits, every paragraph teaches me something. And then the heart. It’s genuinely so hard to do what she does and I’m so lucky to get to see her work in realtime.

+1 This Will All Go Down In Flames

I think, at the end of my fandom career, I want this to be the snowbaz fic people associate with me (Spadey being a close second hahaha). But I do feel like it’s got a lot of fandom in-jokes, humor, and sweetness, plus the fun high-stakes of them being in the spotlight. I got to celebrate the Austin I love and miss, as well as poke fun at my own hipster upbringing. I put a lot of Me™ in this fic and it always feels so lovely when people like it. Besides, I got to work with the amazing @tea-brigade and their art just takes this fic to the next level. A dream collab.

(Throwing in the caveat that I started reading long before I got an ao3 account so it’s very likely I’ve missed some amazing fics from before 2021; I’m so sorry!)

Tagging everyone listed above and six more peeps to start: @cutestkilla, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @larkral, @ileadacharmedlife, @thewholelemon & @aristocratic-otter

[unholyhelbig]

https://www.tumblr.com/unholyhelbig/748001277238181888/ive-reread-the-entirety-of-oversight-again-and

i’ve done this as well. i think u should 😌😏😉☺️🥰

Title: Rose Colored Glasses [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Reader gets word that Natasha is hurt and rushes home to assess the situation.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): injury to nose & foot, slight blood, and shrimp

[a/n: Did someone request more oversight? Because I've got you covered. This is pure fluff, sorry for the lack of angst! It's short, and sweet, and not proof read because I don't have time :( ]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

A quiet house was never a good sign. Growing up in the foster care system teeming with other wards of the state had taught you that. Often, you were three or four to a room. There were bunk beds with sheets slotted against the ceiling or stuffed under the mattress above your own, just for some type of barrier. It was an illusion of privacy, most of the time. Because houses like that were never quiet.

When you’d moved in across from Darcy after your 18th birthday, things weren’t quiet. Above you was a Latin-American couple that would wait until just past midnight to turn on a slow, rhythmic song and dance. Their steps were soft, and calculated. They carved out time for one another every single night between shifts. Just for the two of them. You often let the thumping base lull you to sleep.

The city was just outside your window. In the summer, you could prop it open with a brick and let the sounds of cars become a backdrop. There were sirens, and when the fire hydrant on the corner was loosened, the world welcomed a cold blast of water, sprinkling into the street. That was the opposite of quiet. That made your chest feel light, and warm.

After marrying Natasha Romanoff, you settled into the loudness of her home. Your home. Veronica was constantly running around the twists and turns of the bottom floor, Clint or Kate or Darcy galloping after her with a big smile on their face. They slowed themselves to make sure they didn’t break anything, but they wanted her to win, too.

Yelena often came with the muffled sounds of Russian techno bands coming from the headphones around her neck. It was a staple to find her in the kitchen with her head down, slicing into an apple from the backyard with precision unknown. Natasha would tug the headphones off to get her attention, or to send her into annoyance.

The night that Natasha got hurt was stifled with the sound of rain. It had soaked you to the bone, dripping onto the linoleum floor and then the carpet as you ascended the stairs two at a time. You’d been at the docks later than usual, the storm that had plagued the side of the harbor was relentless and delayed shipments.

The captain of the shipping boat your family had utilized for decades wanted to discuss something over whatever crap coffee you could beat out of the machine in your office. He spoke with a thick southern drawl, his mustache was encrusted with salt and sand. You had shed your coat and tried to warm yourself up by hugging your mug to your chest. Nothing seemed to work.

While you weren’t opposed to giving the man a raise, you were not the final say. Natasha was, and you figured he could use the company more than anything. The captain flicked through books that were on the shelf, taking two or three for his next journey out to sea. It was like clockwork with him, and you indulged his need for quiet companionship each time.

When your phone rang, you never looked at the caller ID. Those who were privileged enough to get your number knew to talk without any of the pleasantries that they were used to. Clint’s voice came through the receiver in a smooth, hushed tone that made you believe he wasn’t supposed to be calling you in the first place.

“Look, y/n, there’s been an… incident.”

“What kind of incident?”

He was meant to escort her to one of the many cocktail parties that Carlos LaMuerto was throwing at his mansion that bordered the same body of water that you resided on now. They were lovely get-togethers that you often attended with your wife. This, however, was the fourth one this month and your stomach was turning at the idea of another cocktail shrimp and lamb pate.

Clint had offered, seeing the desperation in your eyes. And while Natasha was reluctant, she ultimately agreed. No news of a bust had reached you yet, nor had a gun blazing argument. While the Captain licked his dry lips and scanned the books in front of him, you continued in hushed tones.

“Nat’s hurt. It’s not a big deal, you can finish up your business. She’s just being stubborn is all.”

An escaped sigh “I’ll be there.”

No shit, she was being stubborn. Your wife was bull-headed and wouldn’t admit to the smallest defeat. It eased your nerves slightly, and only slightly, that Clint said it wasn’t a big deal. No gunshot to the back, or knife to the throat. It wasn’t good enough, however.

Natasha would be upset that you tracked mud into the house and left your boots sloshing by the door. You were panting by the time you reached the double doors that led to your bedroom. They were, of course, blocked by Clint and Kate. Yelena was leaning lazily against the railing that was parallel. She regarded you with an uninterested stare.

“You did not have to come here.” She said, “We’ve got it handled.”

“She kicked all of you out, didn’t she?”

“What? She certainly did not!”

Yelena’s voice pitched with her lie. Kate’s cheeks turned an off-shade of pink and Clint just rthe hallway, that was a good sign. Still, neither of the two moved to let you into your own room.

“If you’re not going to get out of the way, can you at least tell me what happened?”

There was a muffled reply from behind the door. With the way that the voice flitted, you knew that she was trapped on the bed. Otherwise, she would have leveled you with a glare right here and now. The words were simple “Do it, you die.”

“Oh, come on,” You whispered harshly, turning your attention to Kate instead. She was the easiest to break. “Katie, what is the harm in letting me through? I’m going to catch my death if I stay in these clothes.”

“Catch your death?” Clint scoffed “What are you? A poet from the 1800’s?”

“I’m about to be breaking your fingers if you don’t-“

“You can’t even break wind,”

The two of your voices combined as you kept at it. You didn’t’ miss the wary look that Kate shot Yelena. One way or another, you’d get into your room. You refused to be banished to the couch again, especially in wet clothes. If you had to threaten ruining the rugs with your muddy footprints, so be it.

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” You held up both of your hands, silencing the chaos of the corridor. “Nat, you are my wife, you’re hurt. Whether you like it or not, I’m coming in. Does anyone have any objections?”

Kate went to raise her hand, but Yelena yanked it back down and shook her head no. You tore into Clint with a look that could drop him dead. He relented and stepped away from the door. While you had a moment of peace, you walked into the dark of the room. She’d turned out the lights, save for the half-moon that showed a pale pattern against the carpet.

When you reached for the light switch on the wall, Natasha let out a noise that was similar to a wounded animal. You halted, your actions and made out her form on the bed. She was folded in on herself, her silhouette rigid.

“Baby,” you cooed, closing the distance between you and the bed. She grunted again, this time in pain. She attempted to turn away from you. You lowered yourself onto the sliver of bed, approaching the situation softly. “Can I turn on a light?”

“No, I’m hideous.”

You chuckled softly “I highly doubt that, my love. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Natasha had never liked being vulnerable around you. It had taken a full weekend of you nursing her back to her feet after the incident on the pier for her to let herself cry. You held her for hours, her nose pressed against the small of your neck. She’d gripped onto you, as if you’d leave. But you never would.

Eventually, you saw her shadow nod. Before she could change her mind, you flicked on the lamp on the side table. It didn’t’ have a far reach, but the light was less harsh on the both of you. It was impossible not to notice the blood that had dried against Natasha’s nose, a split right down the middle.

You’d seen her with broken bones before, bruises that wrapped around her midsection. You’d put ace bandage around her ribs after drawing her a bath. This was nothing to be ashamed about. In fact, she often saw them as battle scars that would heal in a pink gash.

Her foot was wrapped up with a bag of peas and one of frozen carrots that Clint, or even Yelena had situated. There was bruising around her ankle, it looked painful and you internally winced at the coloring. She groaned into the small of her elbow.

“I want to die”

“Natty, it’s okay. This is nothing a cozy weekend inside can’t fix.”

She said something that was quiet and muffled by her arm. You didn’t understand her one bit, but she squeezed a single tear from her eye that you wiped away dutifully before it could reach the silk of sheets.

“What was that, baby?” You asked gently.

She threw both of her hands down and glared at the ceiling. Her fingers eventually found yours, squeezing your palm in reflex. Her words came out in a quick breath, “I tripped over a carpet at the stupid dinner party and hit my face on the catering table.”

You were effectively silenced. That was very un-Natasha. But lately, you and Clint had been pestering her about her eyesight, especially at night. It wasn’t something she wanted to hear. In fact, each time you brought up the idea of glasses, she would effectively silence you with a glare, or even a kick to the shin under the kitchen table if you had company.

You bit the inside of your cheek and ran your thumb over her hand. She clutched your hand tighter. Now was certainly not the time to laugh, and while you fought back the initial giggle, you were more concerned about your wife.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“I bet you got right back up.” You said, pressing your palm against her cheek. “None of those fancy party types would dare question your influence on this city.”

“Shrimp went flying everywhere.” Natasha pouted.

“Everyone was tired of shrimp anyway, even the shrimp.”

She grasped at the collar of your jacket and pulled you closer to her, pressing her lips against your own. They were warm, the warmest thing that you’ve felt since getting caught in the passing storm. You were careful not to lean on her ribs, breathing in the rosewater scent of her.

Natasha pressed her forehead against yours, running a hand up your spine. She grimaced. “You’re all wet.”

“Well now I am,” You smirked against her jawline, leaving a little nip in your wake. “You need to get glasses.”

“Don’t change the subject. You’re getting the sheets all damp, and you smell like fish.”

“I smell like fish?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to the exposed part of her neck. You felt Natasha laugh too, using her hands to cover her face from the blush that was blooming against her cheeks. “We’re talking about me?”

She laughed harder, attempting to shove you off but you let your body go slack against her, not using your arms to hold yourself up anymore. “Yes! Go shower!”

“Mm, but you’re so warm.”

“You’re not going to be warm if I make you sleep on the couch.”

You gasped dramatically, pulling your head off her stomach and meeting her dark green stare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me. After the day I’ve had, I refuse to sleep next to my wife when she smells like a marina.”

Even while she said it, her voice was gentle, her fingers working over your scalp to brush the wet hair from your eyes. You pulled yourself up to give her another peck on the lips, careful to avoid the split nose and busted ankle.

“Fine, but only because you need more aspirin.”

She grunted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Can’t believe I let you through my defenses.”

“Uh-huh. Get some rest. I’m going to go talk to your defenses about getting you an appointment with an optometrist.”

You turned to move towards the bathroom, already craving the warmth of a shower and some clean pajamas. Two steps from the doorway and you felt a plush throw pillow hit you directly on the back of the head. Natasha had amazing aim, always had, and always would.

You bent down and picked up the gold upholstered pillow, giving her a faux glare. “You’re not getting this back.”

“Oh, come on, baby.” She stuck out her lower lip “I have to prop up my foot.”

“You should have thought of that before you launched it at my head.”

 [Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

[mintmatcha]

The Inevitable Things: chapter four

aizawa x reader fic

cw: cisfem reader, no quirks, office au, miscommunications, slow burn. full tags available on AO3 (linked in masterlist)

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Five messages. 

Four texts, one video. 

The message preview stares back at you, the LED screen aglimmer in the morning sun, screen bouncing with the tremor of your hand. You're breathing, you're sure of that, but you also think you may have died; no matter how hard you breathe, your chest feels like a popped balloon, deflated and too ripped to hold air. The rush of something whizzing past your ear must be blood, it's too resonant and all encompassing to be anything else--

Five fucking messages. 

You can’t bring yourself to open any of them.

You stand there for longer than you’d like to admit, trying to process exactly what you’re looking at. Maybe it’s a glitch, or a typo, but when you turn your phone off and back on again, the unread messages pop up the same. Five unread messages from Aizawa Shouta. It makes sense logically; Aizawa is right above AVOID AT ALL COST in your contacts, you must have just clicked the incorrect thing in your drunken stupor--

But what doesn’t make sense is the fact that he replied-- and he replied positively. Aizawa Shouta does not respond positively to anything. Not the first cup of coffee in the morning, not his interns, probably not even kittens and rainbows, and yet he messaged you back. I’ve always wanted you. You refuse to reread anything from last night, but that sticks in your head.  

I’ve always wanted you. 

You think about it the entire train ride, nibbling on the edges of your nails to kill the anxious buzz that builds in your jaw. Maybe you should quit. You could change your name and move to some mid-sized city; that’d be easier than the inevitable mess you're headed towards.  Suddenly, you miss yesterday, the yelling, the aggression-- 

It goes back to Touya. You know the question on everyone’s mind when they see you together, when they hear about the fights and the tension and the isolation: why? Why him, why stay, why wait, why, why, why? The answer is as simple as it is stupid: you stay because it's what you know. The turbulence feels like home. 

It's like sea legs. When sailors are on boats for a long time, they stop feeling the rock and roll of each wave. It becomes easy to walk straight, to live life like normal, until they return to shore. There, on level streets, long after the tide has pulled away, is where the waves hit.

You've learned to live in rocky waters- you’ve practically perfected it. Touya is your ship and you know his yaws and keels better than you know stability. 

 This whole situation is the equivalent of stepping ashore and being immediately hit by a semi truck.

The train pulls into your station and you debate staying on for a moment too long. I’ve always wanted you. That sentence makes your stomach turn. What does that mean? Is it solely physical? Is it more?

No, it can’t be. This man hates your guts; there’s no feelings between you other than mild, stupid lust.

Which makes you debate your own feelings. He's certainly… well, he’s not ugly. You’d even say, maybe, perhaps, in the right angles, he’s attractive, especially with this thick thighs and thicker cock-

The train doors almost close before you can scuttle out. Focus, girl, focus. Fighting through your surprisingly aching body and returning headache, you briskly walk the rest of the way to work, trying to think about anything other than the shitshow you’re about to walk into.

Prome is a half mile walk from the station, with only one tiny dash across a busy road. It’s not ideal, but it’s the only option you have right now. The interns have started a carpool, but you’re too old to be riding with them. Besides, Bakugo Katsuki’s car is nice. It’s embarrassing the have worse things than a college student-

  A familiar dented, red car squeaks to a halt inches from your ass, so close that you can feel the wind displaced. The squeal of tires steals your breath away and your body clenches in fear, so hard that your muscles scream. You jump and start blabbering in surprise, shouting out unearned apologies as you skitter back. It takes a second to gather yourself, but, when you do, you see a boy jut his head out of the window, all toothy smiles and bleach blonde hair.

“Hey!” he shouts. “If it isn’t my hero!”

“Denki?”

Kaminari Denki waves to you, sunshine personified behind the wheel of a truck without a bumper.

“Hold on, lemme park!”

The red monstrosity barely fits in a space. In its prime, it was probably a pretty car, but being owned by Denki clearly took a toll. The inside is littered with empty energy drink cans, clinking and sloshing as he throws the car into park and launches himself out. There's a reason he's not a part of the group's carpool.

“I could fucking kiss you right now!” He envelopes you in open arms, manhandling you side to side over and over in an overly friendly display. 

“Oh, please don't-- Denki!” 

He smashes his face into your cheek with a chaste, yet somehow wet smooch. When you try to squirm away, he doubles down; his lips actually make contact with yours, just for a moment, awful and impossibly damp. 

“Ew, gross! Get off!” You pry him off and wipe the slime off of your lips with the back of your hand. “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry, my bad, I’m just--” he laughs,  “Izuku told me you saved my ass!”

   You don’t mention the fact you’re the reason he was in trouble in the first place because you're too busy processing this information.

“Aizawa rehired you?”

“He called me yesterday and apologized, which was, holy shit, it was insane,” Denki says, with a wave of his hands, like it isn’t a shocking turn of events. “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I just, uh--” You grimace at the thought. “I talked to Toshinori. And cried a little.”

In retrospect, it does seem like overkill, but it worked.

“Do that more often!” He goes in for another hug and you reluctantly let him. He smells like axe body spray and cheap deodorant. God, he’s so young-- even the accidental kiss feels dirty. You have to remind yourself that he’s early twenties, really only a couple years younger than you-- wait, no. You’re thirty.  “I owe you my life! And my diploma!”

You still can't believe it. Aizawa, hard ass Aizawa, changed his mind? That couldn't be because of you. He's made people cry before, why would you be different-?

Oh. I've always wanted you.

That thought hits you like a punch to the gut.

Maybe it isn't just physical.

You have to shake your head to clear away that thought. You brush your clothes off and adjust yourself. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”  

“I’ll buy you a coffee.” He coos as you walk in. The security guard gives you both a curious look, eyebrows wiggling conspiratorially. You just ignore that and focus on getting to your desk. It's almost nine; you're both late.  “And anything you want-- alcohol, weed-”

“-We drug test here?”

“We do?” Denki gapes. “Fuck, good to know.”

Maybe saving him wasn’t a good career move.  You make it to your desk and drop your stuff on the group. Denki has been following you like a puppy, nipping at your heels the whole way.

“Just… please don’t get fired again." You jerk a head towards his department. "Go do your work."

“Absolutely!” He prances down the hall, wrinkled tie flapping in his wake.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

You can’t believe he’s here. Truly. All of that worry and stress yesterday feels worth it as you settle into your desk. You clack a couple of keys to wake up your screen-- but there’s no response. After a moment, you try again, then again. A wiggle of the mouse does the trick, but the keyboard still doesn’t wake up when you try to type in your password. 

Crap. You split that coffee yesterday. The circuit or whatever must be fried. Great. Today is going to be pretty unproductive if you don’t solve this issue.

Engineering probably has a couple of extras, but you aren’t sure you’re ready to walk straight into the lion’s den, especially now that you aren’t sure how you feel about it all. The fact he rehired Denki does make you feel a bit better; maybe Hizashi and Nemuri were right and he’s actually a good guy. And, you can’t deny that you’re a tiny bit attracted to him now that you’ve seen… everything. 

Ugh, you need to make up your fucking mind and decide how you feel about all of this--

At that moment, Aizawa Shouta stomps down the hall, expression as flat and hard as ever. He looks the same as he always does, stupid yellow sweatshirt, messy black hair, under eye circles deep enough to worry about, but your chest hiccups at the sight. You don’t have a plan for this, no prepared speech or anything. For a moment, you wonder if he’s coming to kiss you or ravage you, like in one of those romance novels that are popular online-

And then he passes you and heads straight for the coffee machine. Relief washes over you, then confusion.  Not even a hint of attention thrown your way. That’s fairly strange-- you usually get at least a nod or a lukewarm greeting. You push off of your chair and join  him the the station.

“Hey, um-” Your idle hands dig into the sugar packets, jostling them side to side. The pitch of the coffee hitting the inside of his mug changes as he pours, pitch creeping higher and higher.  His jawline is dusted with a five o’clock shadow, flickers of salt and pepper across his skin and down to the curve of his adam’s apple. You said something about shaving last night, you think. You wonder if he listened or if this is how it’s always been-

“Do you need something?”  He interrupts your thoughts, not even looking away from the station.

“I-” What do you need? Confirmation? Reassurance? An explanation? “Uh-”

You suck in a breath and steel yourself, legs shoulder width again from that extra boost of stability. Your voice comes out as a whisper, much shakier than it should be.  I've always wanted you. You don't feel the same, but maybe, just maybe, you could learn to.

“Yesterday-- or, uh, last night- I just want to--”

“Let’s save each other the embarrassment and forget everything that happened yesterday.” The coffee pot clinks back into place, only the legs of droplets left to cling to the glass. “We’re out, by the way.”

And with that, he’s gone.

And a second truck has sideswiped you.

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Four

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Nothing of note this chapter, except a moment of sickeningly awkward cuteness (I'm so sorry). All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.8k

A/N : The aftermath of last chapter. Tumblr is still only letting me tag five people at a time, so tags will be in comments again.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE

Chapter Four

You woke to find yourself on the sofa, covered with a blanket, alone and with only a vague recollection of what had happened the night before. Your hand had been bandaged and you felt worse than ever. The room was spinning, your head pounding, and finally you understood why; blood loss. You’d drawn blood and, then, you’d let him drink from you; it had been too much and you’d lost consciousness.

It took a moment more for you to remember everything else that had happened; how he’d pressed his body to yours, how he’d kissed you, and how you’d - oh god, your boss had made you come. 

Panic washed over you for a second, your hand reaching between your thighs, terrified that something had happened after you passed out. No. You breathed a sigh of relief and found yourself feeling silly for even thinking that Billy would do something like that. From what little you knew of him, you didn’t think he was capable of that.

Despite being completely alone, you pulled the blanket up, hiding your face and your embarrassment. You closed your eyes and all you could see was his face, blood covered lips and dark eyes filled with hunger - and not just hunger for blood.

You remembered his lips on your neck, the scrape of teeth - fangs - as you came. Gingerly, you ran your fingers over your skin, searching for puncture marks but, thankfully, found none. 

As much as you wanted to move, to go back to your bedroom, you were too exhausted and, soon enough, you ended up falling asleep again. 

Hours must have passed and you certainly felt better for it when you finally opened your eyes again.

At some point a bottle of water and a note had been left on the floor next to the sofa, though you couldn’t say if they’d been there the whole time or if he’d placed them there after you’d fallen asleep again.

You decided to start with the water, taking a slow drink to steady your nerves before reading the note. It was impossible to stop your mind from going into overdrive, from thinking of all the things that the note might contain; was he going to fire you for your unprofessional behaviour, was he angry that you broke the rule about being in the penthouse after 9pm?

Your fingers shook as you unfolded the note and started to read.

I want to apologise for my behaviour last night, it was unacceptable and I understand if you want to terminate your contract because of it. If you want to leave, please let Lissa know and she will retrieve your things from storage. If you choose to stay, you will have the next couple of days to yourself to recover. I’ll be gone until Friday and won’t need blood before then. 

Whatever you decide, I’ve arranged for my friend Karen to visit you tomorrow and, if you still want to, you have permission to go out with her for the day. If you want to leave, she will help you with whatever you need to do so. Please take care of yourself.

Billy.

You read and reread the note, trying to figure out what he wanted from you. The note felt so detached, almost like he was assuming you’d want to leave. 

(Did you? Was that really what you wanted?)

You read it again before sitting up, noticing the dried blood on your pyjamas. Common sense told you to leave, to get your things and get out of there as quickly as possible. Last night had been stupid and reckless, you’d done the one thing you’d promised yourself you’d never do; you’d let a vampire drink directly from you.

Okay, so he hadn’t bitten you, but what was to say that next time he wouldn’t? But, by the same logic, what was to say that he would? He could have done anything he wanted to you, but he hadn’t. And what he had done you’d allowed. No, you’d been an active participant. You’d enjoyed it. (Who were you trying to kid? You’d wanted it.) He’d told you to stay away and you’d ignored him. It had been your choice to feed him, your choice to let him kiss you, even though you knew he wasn’t in his right mind.

Embarrassed as you were, some part of you had wanted what had happened last night and, now, you had to live with the consequences. 

You read the note one last time. Please take care of yourself, you weren’t sure if those five little words made it better or worse. He always seemed so concerned with how fragile you were, and you still weren’t sure if it came from a place of caring or of liability, but it felt like he was staying away from his own home because of you.

No, you quickly decided, you didn’t want to leave. You couldn’t. You needed the money and last night was as much your fault as Billy’s. 

Staying was still far better than the alternative.

Eventually you managed to get up and move to your rooms, grabbing yourself a bowl of cereal on the way to bed. You put the TV on, but more for background noise than anything and spent the rest of the day dozing, only getting up to get more cereal.

Instead of thinking about what had happened, you started thinking about tomorrow, about finally being able to go outside and see some of New York City. What would his friend Karen be like? Would she be able to tell you anything about Billy? Finally, you had something to look forward to, even though you were worried that Billy had only arranged it out of guilt.

You felt much better the next day when you woke up, in part because you were excited to finally go outside and see some of the city but, also, because you were looking forward to meeting Billy’s friend and having someone new to talk to. The weather outside looked cold and wet, so you dressed accordingly, pulling a lovely blue jacket and pair of boots from your wardrobe to put on over your jeans and blouse.

Just before midday, you heard someone calling your name, and you quickly went out to greet them. She had stunning red hair and skin so pale you might have thought she was a vampire if you weren’t about to go out in daylight with her. It was enough to make you pause, to make you wonder how she knew Billy, an odd twinge of jealousy filling you for a second.

“Hi, I’m Karen,” she smiled and held out her hand. You took it and introduced yourself properly, even though she already knew your name. “Oh, what happened to your hand?”

Your cheeks warmed a fraction, looking down at your bandaged hand for a second. “I caught it taking some cookies out of the oven.”

“Ouch,” Karen winced sympathetically, seeming to buy the lie. “Billy said you wanted to go for coffee?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” you answered, feeling overcome with relief the moment you stepped into the elevator.

“You got any place in mind?” Karen asked, subtly looking you up and down like she was trying to get a measure of you.

“I - I don’t know. This is my first time in New York, I don’t really know where anything is.” 

“And this is the first time he’s let you outside,” she stated.

For a second you looked at her, confused, wondering how much she knew, how much she was supposed to know. Lissa had told you that Billy valued his privacy and you weren’t sure what you were supposed to say in this situation. The uncomfortable look on your face must have been enough to tip Karen off that you didn’t know how to answer.

“He has his reasons,” she started again as the elevator arrived on the ground floor and you stepped out, “I know it probably doesn’t seem like it right now, but he is trying to look out for you.”

“How do you know him?” You asked.

“I met him through his best friend when we started dating.”

“Oh. And is he...?” You left the question unfinished, not sure if it was polite to ask.

“A vampire?” She smiled the sort of carefree smile that you couldn’t help feel envious of, like she didn’t care what anyone thought of her. “Yes, he is.”

Stepping out onto the street, you couldn’t help but stop for a moment, turning your eyes skyward and taking a deep breath. It took a second for your eyes to get used to natural light and, all the while, Karen stood watching you.

“How long has it been?” Her question pulled you back to the moment.

“A couple of weeks, I think?” You tried to remember, but you’d lost track of how long exactly it had been after the first week. However long it had been, it wasn’t really long enough to warrant that sort of reaction from you. Your cheeks warmed a fraction as you looked at Karen. “I’m not really used to being cooped up indoors all the time.”

Karen just nodded, waiting a beat before starting to walk. You fell into step beside her, your eyes taking in the sights of New York. You had no idea where she was leading you but you didn’t care. You were finally seeing the city and you couldn’t be happier.

Less than five minutes later, you found yourself in a little coffee shop, looking at the pastries and cakes on offer before you realised something.

“I don’t have any money,” you told Karen, your cheeks turning red, an uncomfortable sense of shame filling you.

It hadn’t even crossed your mind; you always had a purse with you or your phone, but Lissa had taken them and you weren’t going to be paid until you’d completed a year in Mr Russo’s service. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Karen replied, starting to fumble around with her purse before pulling out a black credit card and handing it to you. “Billy asked me to give you this for anything you need.”

The card had your name embossed on it but there was nothing else to indicate - well, anything at all. You didn’t know if it was a prepaid card or if it had a limit, and there was no way of telling where the money would be coming from.

“The PIN is your birth year,” Karen continued, though she seemed more interested in eyeing the food selection than she was in you.

After a moment more, you decided that you’d ask Billy about it when you next saw him (assuming you ever saw him again, after the other night). You choose modestly, not wanting to spend too much on a card that wasn’t yours and that you couldn’t control. For all you knew, you were spending Billy’s money and the last thing you wanted to do was take advantage of this gesture of kindness.

And that was something Karen did notice, watching you from the corner of her eye with a somewhat bemused expression on her face as you calculated just how much money you’d be spending getting a drink, a panini, and a muffin. Then, you held your breath as you used the card for the first time, preparing yourself for the embarrassment of it being declined.  It wasn’t. You breathed a sigh of relief before following Karen to a little table by the window.

Your eyes were fixed on the street outside, watching as it started to rain, but you could feel her eyes on you.

“You’re not like the others,” she finally broke the silence. 

“What were they like?” You asked with a healthy degree of caution, still not knowing what the rules were and what you were allowed to talk to her about. “Lissa said that they disappointed Mr Russo?”

She sat back, biting her lip and trying to suppress a smile. You couldn’t tell what part of it she found amusing and you didn’t want to ask.

“Disappointed is one word for it, I guess?” she took a breath, obviously composing her thoughts before continuing. “Did you know that you’re the first one he didn’t interview himself?”

You shook your head; you’d applied for the job by email and had spoken to someone (you now assumed to be Lissa) very briefly over the phone. In retrospect, it seemed strange given the amount of money that was at stake.

Unless he didn’t bother because he assumed you’d disappoint him like the others…

“The problem with Billy - with the whole job, really - is that it usually attracts a... certain sort of person. Most of them have only been interested in the money and spending a year living in the lap of luxury. The others are...” she fell silent, smiling as the barista brought your toasted paninis over and, when you were alone again, she looked like she really didn’t want to finish her thought.

“The others are...?” You prompted cautiously.

“They’re the sort of people who want more from the arrangement than Billy is prepared to give,” she answered and, when you obviously didn’t catch her meaning, she continued. “Billy is a very rich man and he’s going to live forever. A lot of people find both of those prospects very attractive.”

“They want him to...” you couldn’t bring yourself to say the words, a lump stuck in your throat at the thought. Karen nodded. “And you’ve done this before? Gone for coffee with... someone like me?”

“Not quite like this, but I did spend time with some of them.”

“What do you mean not quite like this?” 

She paused half way through lifting her cup to her lips and, for a second you could have sworn she winced. Still, she took a drink and didn’t try to answer until her mug was back on the table again.

“His rules weren’t always so strict.” Her head shook. “Look, it’s not my place to tell you any of this. Billy has his reasons for why things are the way they are; it’s to protect you as much as it’s to protect him.”

You opened your mouth to ask more questions but no words came out. Ultimately, it didn’t matter how or why the rules had changed because you’d agreed to them. You’d agreed to the job and you needed the money, so the last thing you wanted to do was get Karen in trouble and maybe jeopardise future outings like this.

“Thank you,” you told her, then quickly clarified; “for telling me.”

Karen smiled, considering her words for a moment. “Billy is a friend, but trust me when I tell you that if I didn’t believe what he was doing was necessary, I would have told him so.”

“It’s okay,” you conceded quietly, shrugging, “I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to do this.”

You turned your attention to your food, cautiously picking up your panini, trying not to burn yourself on the molten cheese that was leaking out the side as you took a bite. It was heavenly; toasted just the right amount, the cheese was sharp, and the tuna -

You dropped the panini back to your plate, horrified with yourself.

No. No-no-no. How could you have been so stupid? You felt your chest tighten a fraction, your stomach tying itself in knots. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Karen asked, obviously concerned.

“Tuna,” you stated, your voice breaking. “I’m not supposed to eat tuna. It’s on the list. He’s going to -”

“Whoa-whoa, back up. What list?”

“The list of things I’m not supposed to eat,” you tried to explain, unable to conceal the panic from your voice. 

This wasn’t you - you didn’t break rules, you always tried to stay in line - and, now, you’d messed up. All you could think was that you were going to lose the job, that Billy would kick you out and you’d have no choice but to go home. You were going to end up back where you started all because of a stupid toasted sandwich.

“Hey-hey, calm down, it’s okay,” Karen tried to settle you.

“You don’t understand I can’t lose this job.”

“You won’t,” she reached across the table, taking your hand in hers, “if Billy finds out, we’ll tell him it was my fault, okay?”

“But -”

“No, buts. Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise.”

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to explain the panic that was clawing beneath your ribs. You’d been raised to be good, to be decent, to follow the rules and not cause problems. You’d been raised to fear consequences and, even though you were far from home, that mindset was difficult to escape.

“Here,” she offered, sliding her plate towards you, “we can swap, I got ham and cheese. You only had one bite, Billy will never know.”

It was like she understood, like she could tell just by looking at you how desperately you needed to keep the job - not just because of the money on offer but because you had nothing and nowhere else to go without it. 

Taking the offered plate, you ate slowly, quietly. From time to time, you’d catch her looking at you, concern on her face. Conversation that followed was stilted and awkward as you picked apart your muffin until it was gone. And, once your mug was empty, the outing was over.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay longer,” she apologised as you started back towards the penthouse. “I’ll make more time next week; we can spend a whole afternoon doing whatever you want. We’ll make it a regular thing, every Thursday.”

Agreeing, you thanked her as she rode the elevator back up to the penthouse with you, making sure you were okay before leaving you with the promise of seeing you again next week.

It was strange to know that you were completely alone in the penthouse for another day but, after the incident with the panini, you were very deliberate when it came to the rules. You sat on the sofa until just before 9pm, watching the cloudy sky slowly darken and give way to night before returning to your rooms, even though no one would have known if you’d stayed in the penthouse longer.

That night you laid in bed thinking about Billy - or, rather, you thought about what it was going to be like to see him again after what had happened. Was he as embarrassed by it all as you were? Did Billy Russo even get embarrassed? Maybe it would be better for the both of you if you just pretended that it never happened.

Friday passed in a blur. Every time you heard a noise in the penthouse, you would creep to the door to your quarters and press your ear against it, trying to hear if he was back. Of course, some part of you understood how ridiculous you were being; Billy was so light on his feet that you’d never be able to hear him. But, still, time and time again you found yourself pressed against the door.

After drawing blood, you moved across the penthouse as quietly as you could, looking for signs that he was home and finding none. Once you reached the kitchen and placed the blood in the fridge, you allowed yourself a sigh of relief before turning and -

There he was.

Standing between you and your rooms, a look on his face that you couldn’t decipher.

For a second your lips parted, wanting to say something, but the words just wouldn’t come. Your cheeks started to warm and the silence dragged on for at least ten seconds. Billy looked uncertain, so uncomfortable in your presence. His normally calm and collected demeanour was gone, replaced with a look that made you feel unsettled, guilty even. More than that, you couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked - you hadn’t even realised that vampires could look tired before now.

“You decided to stay,” part-statement, part-question. All you could do was nod, letting your feet carry you a couple of steps closer to him. “I’m glad. I didn’t think you would.”

“I want to stay,” you offered quietly, breathing slowly, trying to keep your heart from racing.

“I’m sorry for the other night. I never wanted you to see me like that,” he said, standing a little taller and seeming to regain some of his usual composure. “It won’t happen again. I never wanted to make you feel unsafe here.”

“You didn’t,” your voice still small as you struggled to find a way to describe any of the things you were feeling right now. “You told me to stay away and I didn’t listen, and I didn’t ask you to stop when I should have. But I just...” you trailed off, not sure how to say the next part.

“What?” He prompted softly, his attention entirely fixed on you.

“I need to make it clear; just because you’re paying me, it doesn’t mean you’re entitled to -”

“I would never think that I’m entitled to fuck you just because I’m paying you,” he interrupted, just as offended by the notion as you were. “Anything that happens here only happens with your consent.”

Did that mean it could happen again if you wanted it to? You didn’t dare voice the question, instead you just nodded.

His gaze dropped awkwardly and yours followed it, noticing something tightly gripped in his hands. A stuffed toy. Before you could ask, Billy had cleared the distance between you, holding out the toy to you. After a moment of confused hesitation, you took it, frowning first at the toy then him.

“When you said you were lonely, you mentioned a dog and I -” he let out an uncomfortable huff of laughter, “- well, obviously I can’t let you have a real dog here but I thought - I hoped - maybe this would help.”

Your gaze dropped to the stuffed toy in your hand, shaped like a beagle with floppy ears and a little pink tongue lolling out of its mouth. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had bought you such a thoughtful gift and that sad thought caused your heart to give an uncomfortable squeeze. When you looked back to Billy, you started to realise that there was far more to the man than you’d originally believed.

“I didn’t know what kind of dog you had, so I just...” he continued, trailing off when he saw your smile.

“Thank you. It’s perfect.” 

It was Billy’s turn to simply nod, seeming just as lost for words as you were for a few seconds before deciding to let you go about your evening. “Anyway, I won’t keep you.”

The conversation was over giving you the perfect opportunity to walk away and recover from whatever this had been, only -

“I broke one of the rules,” you blurted out without thinking, not wanting to carry the weight of it after Billy’s gesture.

A flicker of discomfort crossed his face but was quickly reined in. “Which one?” 

“I ate tuna in a panini when I went out with Karen,” you stated, sounding so ashamed anyone would have thought you were confessing to murder. “It was just one bite. I forgot tuna was on the list. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again, Mr Russo. I promise.”

You didn’t expect the laugh that followed, or the way the tension seemed to leave his body. His hand found your shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t matter.”

“But the list -”

“Tuna is on the list because I don’t like it. If I’d been here and had your blood, it would have been unpleasant for me, but I wasn’t here so I’m willing to forgive it.”

(Well, that explained why certain foods were on the list. They were things he didn’t like - did that mean he could tell what you’d been eating from your blood?)

“I spent twenty dollars,” you admitted a moment later, like you were confessing all of your sins to him. (Or maybe you just wanted to keep the conversation going a little while longer, keep his hand on you a little longer.)

His hand moved to your neck, his cold touch on your skin causing your heart to beat a little faster. And you knew he could tell, you knew he could hear the effect he was having on you. 

“You spent eighteen dollars fifty-five,” he told you, amused by whatever this was. “I don’t think you’re going to bankrupt me.” When his little joke didn’t manage to draw a smile from you, Billy sighed. “I’m the one that should be sorry. I haven’t really explained things to you, I guess because I didn’t think you’d even make it past the second week.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m asking a lot of you. Maybe too much,” he told you as his thumb began to softly brush against your jaw. “The truth is, I need things to be like this. I need to have control. I need to stay in control because when I don’t...”

He didn’t have to say it, you could fill in the blanks. The other night was what happened when Billy lost control, it was what happened when the monster overwhelmed the man.

“But,” he continued, “I know it’s not easy to be the person who’s being controlled. I know you don’t really want this.”

“No, I -” the words started to slip out before you could stop them. Billy looked at you expectantly, silently demanding you finish the thought. Your cheeks felt like they were burning, but he was giving you honesty and you needed to do the same in return. “I’m used to rules. I like knowing what’s expected of me. It doesn’t make things easier for me, but I like knowing where I stand. So, I guess I don’t mind following your rules.”

It was clear he had questions but clearer still that he didn’t want to ask them. You were grateful for that.

“You always have a choice here, little hummingbird, even if I sometimes make it seem like you don’t,” he told you, leaving his hand to linger on your neck a moment more before it dropped to his side. Somehow, you felt colder for the loss of his icy touch. He was quiet a moment before; “do you like Thai food?”

You nodded despite the very sudden change in conversation. “I love it.”

“I’ve got nothing planned this weekend, perhaps we could spend some time getting to know each other a little better? Maybe that would make things a little easier,” he offered, a small smile on his lips. “We could order from a great Thai place I know and I could try to answer some of your questions about things.”

Your fingers tightened on the stuffed toy as you smiled. Finally, you felt like you were getting somewhere, like this could become something bearable, something good.

“I’d like that,” you answered.

“Okay then, tomorrow evening at sunset,” he nodded and looked ready to leave.

Nodding in return, you finally stated to move back towards your rooms. Your hand was on the handle when he spoke again.

“Why did you help me?” You could tell from his tone that he didn’t want to ask the question, but the curiosity had gotten the better of him. “You didn’t have to help, you could’ve stayed in your rooms. Instead you put yourself in danger to help me. Why?”

You turned back, despite not knowing how to answer him. And, for a few seconds you found yourself looking at him. There was something there, something about his expression, something that made you wonder if anyone else had ever helped him before. It seemed like such an alien concept to him that anyone might go out of their way to do anything for him.

“You looked like you were in pain,” you shrugged, “and, even though I haven’t always felt completely comfortable here, I think you’ve always tried to be kind... in your own way. So, I couldn’t just stand by when I thought there was a chance I could help you.”

Billy swallowed, like he was trying to rid himself of a lump in his throat. Then he nodded, clearly lost for words. That look you’d noticed only seconds before seemed to intensify and Billy didn’t seem to know what to do with it.

“Thank you,” he finally managed, before giving you one last look and turning away. 

For a second you allowed yourself to watch him as he made his way towards the kitchen but you knew you couldn’t linger, not when the pounding of your heart gave you away. Slipping through the door, you quickly shut it behind you, pressing your back against it for a moment. Looking down, you realised that you had the stuffed dog clutched to your chest. It was silly, such a ridiculous gift, but the fact that he’d listened to you, the fact that he’d thought about what you’d told him, it meant so much.

End Note : Billy was having a Mr Darcy (Matthew Macfadyen version) moment when he handed over the stuffed toy. Place your bets on what she’s going to to call it. I know this one was slow and a little cutesy but I wanted to build some more tension before things start to ramp up next chapter.

As always thank you so much for reading! And thank you so much to all my new followers (I did not expect 200+ followers when I started posting on tumblr). I hope you all have awesome weekends!!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt. (Note: Tumblr is currently being stupid and only letting me tag five people at a time, so I'll be tagging people in the comments. Sorry if you get tagged twice!!)

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad @vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @glamourbabe17 @sweetserendipity65 @damagelove @strangerfromketterdam @a-starrynightwith-u @readingabouthim @countryday @weepingwitchofthewest

[superbsaturn]

arlefuri ; general dating headcanons

[ tw. last bullet point is nsfw! ]

arlecchino x furina (arlefuri)

it comes as a shock to furina that the first person to apologize to her since the end of her trial— and the successful avoidance of the prophecy —was none other than the knave. she never expected, nor would she force, her friends and ex-colleagues— or anyone, for that matter —to apologize for their treatment of her during the trial. however, it was certainly a shock when lyney arrived at one of her theater troupe’s rehearsals with a delicious smelling cake and a card meant for furina’s eyes only, which read in elegant cursive:

lady furina,

i hope you are doing well. i’ve requested that my children send you this cake to show my support to you and your troupe for any and all upcoming performances. while i had simply made a request for lyney to go out and buy a cake, he insisted on gathering a few of his siblings and baking it themselves, so i do hope it is to your liking.

i want to formally apologize and recognize your selfless acts as the former archon of fontaine. in our previous meetings i had been rather hostile towards you, and i am aware my presence leaves a less then pleasurable impression on you, however, i want to offer you some closure.

if you are interested in conversing with me, i’ll be at the cafe outside of hotel bouffes d’ete tomorrow evening around 9. should you wish to join me, it would be my pleasure, but i understand if you decide not to.

i hope you fair well, lady furina.

arlecchino.

furina had reread the letter about four times lying in her bed that night before she finally came to a decision. she needed this closure, whether she wanted to admit it or not. she was shocked to arrive at the cafe and find arlecchino stripped from her usual attire, wearing only a button down with the sleeves cut right at the dip of her shoulders, and her usual dress pants. she had already ordered herself some tea and was sitting with her legs crossed when furina sat across from her.

that night furina fell asleep with tears in her eyes, but for the first time in five centuries it was not because she felt self pity, but rather it was because arlecchino had said the exact words she had been needing to hear everyday since she had been cursed.

since then, the two would meet up once a week at the same cafe to enjoy fontaine’s nightlife, catch up on what could be shared, and enjoy tea, pastries, and one another’s presence. occasionally arlecchino would also attend furina’s theatrical performances, which caught the attention of a few steambird reporters. it didn’t help that a picture was taken of them at furina’s front door to her apartment after arlecchino had kindly walked her home.

eventually those walks home would lead to furina inviting her in for more tea and idle chatter, and those later turned into arlecchino cooking in furina’s apartment because she learned furina didn’t know how to make anything other than macaroni. one day, after some mindless contemplation, furina asked “would this be considered dinner dates?” without even thinking. she immediately blushed a scarlet red and was about to back track when arlecchino responded with a chuckle and a warm “i suppose they would be”.

that same night, when furina was walking arlecchino to the door to say goodnight and goodbye, arlecchino paused briefly and asked “would it be okay if i kissed you furina?” not wanting to startle her. there would be times where furina would involuntarily flinch when arlecchino moved too quickly, always quickly apologizing right after, but arlecchino understood. it was a fair reaction after all, so she was going to ensure that furina knew exactly what she was going to do and what her intentions were.

when a breathless “please” left furina’s lips, arlecchino hummed pleasantly, resting a warm hand on furina’s cheek and leaning down, kissing furina slowly but passionately, only deepening it when furina’s hands came up to grasp the lapels of her jacket. after breaking apart, a flustered, breathless furina returned back into her apartment, head spinning, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

she would later realize that what it was was a relationship with a very tender but stoic woman. it had been a long time since arlecchino had allowed herself to be an emotional being. with her children she showed them what she wanted them to see and nothing more, despite being a caring father. with the harbingers they only knew her on a professional level. but the night furina felt comfortable to finally— finally! —shed her gloves, she witnessed just how human the knave truly was.

although arlecchino hadn’t attended furina’s trial, she had received reports from her children and other subordinates of the events that took place. so she wasn’t surprised when her eyes came in contact with the burned skin of furina’s palm, which she gently took into her own hands, raised to her lips, and placed a gentle kiss upon it. “you can trust me, furina,” she whispered to the tearful woman, “i never want to see you hurt again.”

arlecchino was very gentle with furina, and while that mostly shined through in private, it was not odd— after a while —to see the two out and about with a gentle hand placed on the former archon’s back, or whispered words shared between them where no one else could hear.

nsfw: it’s why that night that arlecchino witnessed furina’s scar, she gently carried her through her apartment and onto her bed, carefully crawling over her and kissing every inch of skin that she could. she grazed her lips against furina’s neck, her hands carefully holding her close as furina whimpered against her. that night arlecchino showered the former archon in praises and compliments, leaving furina a blushing, flustered mess who hid her face against arlecchino’s chest at the end of the night. falling asleep with a peaceful smile on her lips.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

LOTR Newletter - Prologue

Thoughts as I read:

Delighted to learn from @astronicht that the Red Book of Westmarch is in fact a reference to the Red Book of Hergest, a Welsh medieval book that contains among other things the Mabinogion. I’ve been reading and rereading LOTR for over 20 years, and only now learning that there are piles of references that I’ve been missing. Thank you! your observations are always a delight!

I love the way Tolkien fully treats his Middle-earth writings as a reality. That’s been done by a lot of people, of course – in the 1600s and 1700s when novels were rarer it seems like it was viewed as almost required to provide some fictional ‘source’ for your story that you had merely edited. But Tolkien does it more convincingly than many, including writing of Hobbits as still existing and in the present tense (“they avoid us now with dismay and are becoming hard to find” and “Hobbits have never, in fact, studied magic of any kind”). He’s writing a mythology, not just a novel; and a key characteristic of a mythology is, I think, that the people who made it believed it. The words of one reviewer of The Hobbit express this quality wonderfully: “Has the air of inventing nothing. He has studied trolls and dragons at first hand and describes them with fidelity.”

I’m very amused that some of the hobbits’ characteristics are those of Tolkien, such as not liking complicated machinery and “being fond of simple jests at all times” (something he said of himself).

“[Hobbits’] elusiveness is due solely to a professional skill that heredity and practice, and a close friendship with the earth, have rendered inimitable by bigger and clumsier races.” ‘A close friendship with the earth’….what an evocative and intriguing way of putting it!

Tolkien seems to have a thing for dviding his fantasy races into three groups corresponding to hill/mountain-likers (Harfoots, Noldor), water-likers (Stoors, Teleri) and tree-likers (Fallohides, Sindar). The Harfoots are also said to associate more with Dwarves (as do Noldor), the Stoors with Men (and Tolkien’s main groups of Men are also more associated with water, due to Númenor), and the Fallohides with elves.

Hobbits are shorter than I remembered! I was thinking of 3-4 feet as normal, but Tolkien says “between two and four feet”, with the Bulkroarer (an exceptionally tall hobbit) at four foot five. Two feet tall is tiny! Harfoots (most hobbits, and probably including Sam) are on the shorter side; Fallohides (Tooks and Brandybucks are said to have more Fallohidish background, so that includes Frodo, Merry, and Pippin) are on the taller side.

I am amused that the one governmental service that Tolkien does consider essential is the post-office.

[beomiracles]

congrats on ur 500 serene!! would like to ask for a bonus scene from professor kang? tysm <3

500 BASH SPECIAL

#serene adds ✎... I have a crush on my math teacher, he's 6'5 sue me. he also lets me pass all exams even when I only answer like 3 questions! — anyway I went back to reread the original fic and my eyes started burning from my bad writing. at the same time it made me happy, it puts into perspective just how much I've progressed these past months!!

original fic here (I am apologising in advance for the writing of it)

cw, teacher x student relationship (reader is well above the age of 18, uni), taehyun kinda exploits his role as a teacher, porn photography, + suggestive make out

You knew that it was bad the second he placed your test results on your desk without as much as a glance in your direction. Your stomach drops as your gaze falls on the cursive writing. 12/35. Swallowing the lump in your throat, your fingers curl into fists around the flimsy material of your skirt and you keep your head down, hoping he wouldn’t address you. — It was weird, you never scored this low, never, especially not in physics. 

It was inevitable, you knew that, yet you still felt your heart leap as your professor beckoned you over after class. The walk toward his table felt miles long and when you finally stopped before him, your hands clasped in front of you as your head hung low, you drew in a short breath. — Your professor sighs as he leans back in his chair, pushing his glasses further up on his nose. “You do know why I’ve called you here?” Taehyun asks and you meekly nod. 

“And you understand that you do need to hand in extra material in order to pass?” His statement manages to draw your gaze from the floor as you look up at him with a frown, “am I not supposed to retake the exam?” You quietly wonder, your thumbs digging into the back of your hand as you try to calm your beating heart. Your professor shakes his head before reaching down to fish up a bag. Your eyes widen as you recognize the expensive brand, and before you know it, he’s shoved it in your hands. 

You blink as you peer down to study its contents, your lips parting as you realize what exactly he’s bought for you. — “Five photos will suffice”, Taehyun drawls as he studies your stunned expression. “Unless you would rather retake the exam, the offer still stands”, he muses and you let out a shaky exhale. Unable to tear your eyes away from silky lingerie, its bold and almost intimidating red color perfectly matched the one currently on your cheeks. 

“Five photos?” You ask and your professor nods. 

The smooth fabric felt nice against your skin and as you glanced at yourself in the mirror, you felt your face heat up at the erotic sight. You played around with angles, making sure to get a few that captured your tits, nipples on full display beneath the practically see through silk. Then a few of your ass, one of your hands sliding along the curve of it as you snapped a couple of photos. 

Once you were done, you walked over to your bed as you sat down to pick out five suitable ones. You hesitated as you attached the images to the email, checking over and over that you had the correct address before you finally sent them. — It took barely five minutes to get a reply back, and your jaw slacked as you read the short sentence. 

“7.30am, my office, wear it.” — Sent from Iphone 

Taehyun’s slender fingers easily slide your unbuttoned shirt off your shoulders as his eyes shamelessly roam your exposed skin. Fingertips tracing the curve of your breast, his thumb rubbing your nipple through the fine crimson lingerie. You shudder as your legs spread further, hands gripping on to the desk behind you, his graded tests pushed back to make room for you on his study. 

“T-The photos…did you like them?” You gasp as his hot mouth trails along your neck, tongue dragging across your skin as his hand snakes around your waist, instantly sliding under your skirt to grope at the flesh of your ass. He hums as his other hand creeps up your thigh, “five more and I’ll raise you to an A.” 

You blink as you consider the offer, your stomach fluttering at the thought of posing for him once more. His fingers slip beneath the fabric covering your throbbing cunt and you cry out as he slides them inside. “Your gpa would certainly benefit from it”, he drawls as he kisses the shell of your ear. 

Slowly nodding, you bite your lip as you glance over at the other student’s hard efforts, scattered across his desk, long forgotten as your professor’s attention remained solely on you. Perhaps it was wrong, unfair, and even selfish, but as his thumb grazed over your clit you suddenly didn’t care anymore. 

You scored an A after that.

→ want to get notified whenever a new dream is published? join my TAGLIST ᰔ © all rights reserved ─ @beomiracles 2024