#kind of a low-commitment thing to ease into it

[gourmetsimmer]

giving @lysiablr's whimsy legacy expanded a try <3

[uns4lted]

ɪ'ᴍ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ

pairings: karasu tabito x gn!reader, otoyo eita x gn!reader, kenyu yukimiya x gn! reader tags/warnings: reader and karasu are already together, pre-relationship stage in otoya's and kenyu's! genre: fluff synopsis: the first time the boys realized that they're in love with you. boys being so giddy lol.

── .✦ karasu tabito

It was just a stupid crush, really.

At least, that’s what Karasu told himself in the beginning. Liking you had been easy. You made things fun, kept him entertained with your quick wit and little quirks. Being with you felt like a game he couldn’t lose, but he didn’t think too much about what it all meant. Love? That was too heavy for something that felt so light.

But then there was that moment.

It wasn’t anything big. Just an ordinary evening in his place. You were on the couch, reading a novel, while some random show played in the background. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch with his own phone in hand, pretending to care about whatever it was on the screen.

You sighed, soft and quiet, but enough to pull his attention away. When he glanced up, you weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was distant, you were caught in a thought you weren’t planning to share.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice casual, not expecting much of an answer.

“Nothing,” you said after a pause, your lips curving into a faint smile. “I just feel lucky, that’s all.”

You didn’t explain, didn’t even look at him for long. Instead, your hand found its way to his dark blue hair, brushing through it in a way that was both careless and comforting. It wasn’t the first time you’d done it, but something about the way you did it this time made his chest feel tight. You were so at ease that being with him was the most natural thing in the world.

He stayed quiet, watching as you went back to your book like you hadn’t just shifted his entire perspective. It wasn’t just what you said—it was how you said it, it wasn’t something you had to think about. Like being grateful for him was as simple as breathing.

He didn’t know what to do with himself. Usually, he’d have some smart remark ready, some way to brush off whatever you were making him feel. But now? He just sat there, staring at you, wondering how he hadn’t seen it before.

He couldn’t pinpoint when the shift had happened. Maybe it was gradual, something that had been building all along. But in that moment, he knew with absolute certainty: this wasn’t just some crush or infatuation. It was deeper than that. You’d become something he didn’t think he needed, something he couldn’t imagine letting go.

Karasu leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes for a moment. The warmth of your words lingered, settling into places he didn’t even realize had been empty.

Love wasn’t supposed to sneak up on him like this. Somehow, you’d done it anyway.

── .✦ otoya eita

This goofy womanizer doesn’t do love or some shit.

Otoya wasn’t the type to lose sleep over anyone. Flirting came easy, and leaving things just the way they were made it even easier. He knew how to have a good time, how to make someone laugh or blush, but feelings? Commitment? Nah, that wasn’t his thing. Relationships were messy, and Otoya didn’t stick around long enough to get caught in all that.

Or so he thought.

It was late, the kind of night where the city outside his window had shifted to a low hum. You were over, laid across his bed and flipping through a magazine you’d brought with you. He leaned against the headboard, half-listening to you ramble about something you’d found amusing in the pages.

“Look at this,” you said, your voice bright as you held up the magazine. The glossy picture was of some ridiculous piece of clothing—a neon-green sweater with feathers along the sleeves. “Can you imagine someone actually wearing this?”

Otoya smirked, the corner of his mouth tugging up lazily. “You’d pull it off.”

“Oh, please.” You laughed, the sound light and effortless, but your eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “You’re just saying that so I won’t roast your fashion choices next.”

“Hey, my style’s flawless, thank you very much,” he shot back, nudging your leg with his foot.

The banter was easy, the kind he thrived on. But he's bothered with the look you gave him, your smile plastered on your lips, the sparkle in your eyes that paused just a moment longer than it should have. That did something to him.

“You’re so full of yourself, Otoya,” you said, shaking your head, but your smile didn’t waver.

“And you love it though,” he retorted, his grin widening.

But as the words hung in the air, he realized how much he wished they were true.

You rolled your eyes and went back to your magazine, oblivious to the way his heart was suddenly pounding harder than it had any right to. He tried to shake it off, but it was no use. His gaze kept drifting back to you—how comfortable you looked.

He didn’t know what was worse: the way you didn’t seem to notice how much of a mess you were making of him, or the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

When you stretched out your arm, holding the magazine over to him, your fingers brushed his for just a second. It wasn’t anything special, just an ordinary moment. But for Otoya, it felt like everything else faded for a heartbeat.

“You okay?” you asked, tilting your head when he didn’t respond right away.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, his voice too casual. “Just tired.”

That night, after you’d left, Otoya lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence felt too loud, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw you. Heard your laugh. Felt the warmth of your smile.

“Damn it,” he muttered, rolling onto his side.

He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to want someone so badly it hurts. But no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, he couldn’t ignore the truth anymore.

You weren’t just another thrill. You’d become something that had him turning and tossing in bed, wondering how the hell he’d let himself fall this hard.

── .✦ kenyu yukimiya

Kenyu had always been focused. Soccer demanded it, and so did modeling. Juggling both wasn’t easy, but he never complained. He’d chosen this path after all. What he hadn’t chosen or even planned for was you.

At first, he thought your support was just a pure act of kindness. You’d always been there, cheering him on, listening when he talked about the challenges of balancing his passions. But over time, it became clear that you weren’t just being polite. You genuinely cared—about his dreams, his struggles, even the small things he sometimes overlooked himself.

The realization didn’t hit him all at once. It came slowly, building with every little thing you did. Like today.

The two of you were at the mall, your idea after he mentioned needing new clothes for an upcoming shoot. Kenyu wasn’t bad at picking out outfits but you insisted he deserved a second opinion.

“Try this,” you said, holding up a sleek black jacket. “It’s simple but classy. Totally your vibe.”

He took it with a small smile, letting your enthusiasm guide him. You had an eye for these things, and he trusted your judgment more than he cared to admit.

As he stepped out of the fitting room, you were waiting, your expression lighting up when you saw him.

“See? I told you it’d look good,” you said, giving him an approving nod. “The fit’s perfect, and it goes with almost everything.”

He turned to the mirror, studying the way the jacket fit across his shoulders. It was nice, sure, but what stuck with him more was the way you looked at him. You weren’t just proud of the outfit but of him too.

"Didn't know you had such good taste." he said, half-teasing. “Maybe you should be my stylist.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’d love to, but I think your team would have a thing or two to say about that.”

The two of you wandered through the store for a while longer, you occasionally holding up shirts or accessories, and him silently appreciating the way you paid attention to the smallest details. You truly cared about how he felt in them, about making sure he was confident and comfortable.

At some point, as you stood next to him, you were holding up a scarf and debating its practicality, then it hit him.

This wasn’t just about being a fashion guru or supporting his career. It was about you—your thoughtfulness, your sincerity, and the way you noticed and valued even the smallest things about him.

His chest tightened for a moment that he forgot how to speak.

“Kenyu?” you asked, tilting your head at him. “Is everything alright?”

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Just… thanks for helping me with this.”

“Of course,” you said, brushing it off like it was nothing. But to him, it wasn’t nothing.

After everything had settled, the two of you decided to leave the mall. His thoughts kept circling back to the moment. He couldn’t remember when it had begun, but he knew now that this was more than just appreciation for your support.

He is in love with you.

The realization was unexpected, but it left him feeling lighter, as if he’d discovered something he didn’t know he’d been searching for.

likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! masterlist

[tadpolesonalgae]

The Burn Marks of Possession

Dark!Azriel x reader

a/n: heads up, reader’s slightly obsessive, and Az is slightly on the dark side. Not as dark as usual but better safe than sorry with things like this :) I also haven’t written in a while so this is a vague practice attempt at getting back into things 🫠

warnings: kind of dark!azriel, smut, arguably dubcon due to reader’s mental state, sadism, overstim, light breeding kink, implied somnophilia

Word count: 3,407

——————————————————————————————————————————————

It’s perplexing, when it begins shifting. Building again after years of managing to be suppressed. Coming to a simmer, gently bubbling while it remains constrained.

A heavy sigh falls from your lips, secondary to the unhelpful tremor in the tips of your fingers, shaking your knuckles. The boiling water spills over the lip of the cup, dripping over your thumb, and you wonder if it burns the same.

You remain quiet, reaching for the hand towel to dry the liquid, before putting it away again, stirring the cup absently as the metal begins heating, steam warming then stinging at your fingers.

Azriel

How your jaw clenches at the first syllable of his name, teeth grinding as if with frustration. How your tongue caresses the backs of your teeth upon the second, grazing the inside slope of the roof of your mouth. A slow trace of a feather-light touch, as if to soothe rise of tension.

Azriel

Azriel

Azriel

If you repeat it enough, you can remove the stress of his first part, softening the pronunciation until it’s no more than swallowing a light touch. A suggested whisper as it drips from your tongue.

A snake would say it better. With a friendly flicker in between, rolling the letters from its serpentine mouth. You wonder where he is.

It’s easy to picture him in your kitchen, lazing at the coffee table, sprawled across a chair, while watching you with slitted pupils, the corners of his mouth too sharp for a smile.

Tension in your body abates, muscles loosening as that familiar spread of warmth courses down your arms, easing in your chest—like inebriation has just been pushed into your bloodstream, feeling woozy and soft, lips curving a little. Fingers slide through the roughened handle of your mug absently, allowing the steam to rise and brush your mouth, the tip of your nose, feeling how his shadows do whenever they brush against your skin.

You feel cold and clammy as you lower it. Already missing its heat.

The sun has long since been swallowed by the night, removed from the sky to allow reprieve to morality. Nobody can always be perfect—it’s good to have moments to relax. When secrets can be committed.

The latch of your front door clicks, and you smile, taking another drink from your cup, settling back into its boiling heat as the liquid scalds your throat on the way down, swiftly spreading throughout your body, heating your fingertips.

“If I’d known you were coming, I’d have made another cup,” you murmur slowly, eyes closed as you listen to his approach. The almost inaudible rasp of shadow, the whisper of feet over carpet. Roughened hands slide softly around your ribs, solid muscle gathering at your back, gently bringing himself into you. Tucking you beneath his chin as shadows swirl and circle peacefully.

“You knew I was coming,” he replies lowly, feeling the slope of your shoulders, how your body becomes smaller as breath leaves your lips, exhaled from your lungs.

You’re glad he’s here again, reassured of his presence. You spend so much time together that the hours apart stretch painfully, like limbs being steadily plied from a torso over a matter of days, until at last they pop out, sockets splitting. It’s a warning you should know how to recognise by now, but every low of his absence encourages the high of his return, the sweet flutter of your pulse, the hitch in your breathing as his fingers stroke across the skin of your collarbones placatingly.

“At some point,” you agree quietly, shifting in his arms, revelling in the rasp of his clothes against yours, the counter top now pressing just shy of the base of your spine, his hands shifting to brace on the surface at your back. “Where were you?” You ask lightly, eyes scanning him attentively. He doesn’t doubt that if he could feel the abrasion of your gaze, his skin would be left slightly raw.

His shadows darken with pleasure.

“Out,” he murmurs. “Away.”

You frown at the answer, lips shifting with displeasure at the vagueness. “Where out?”

“Does it matter?” He asks coyly, hazel eyes gleaming as he peers down at you, kept between his arms. “I’m back now.”

You tilt your head, brows slightly narrowed causing the hairs at the nape of his neck to rise. He likes it when your curiosity is blatant. When you can’t manage to hide to your intrigue.

“You were doing something for the court?” You push, causing him to smile faintly. He doubts you’re even aware of your refusal to apply names to other people, as if it’ll ruin the purity of the moment.

The smile has frustration growing in the pit of your stomach, irritated by his lack of answer.

“You can tell me,” you urge lowly, still cupping the scalding mug of tea. “If it ever strains on you, too. You can always talk to me about it.” Does he not want to tell you about it? Is it private? Is there some reason he can’t tell you?

His smile widens a little, head dipping down so he can peer at you closer, inky strands of hair flopping over your brow as his nose brushes your own. “It’s not for your ears,” he answers lowly, that faint smile still on his lips, anger growing back into that simmer over his lack of sincerity.

“I want to know,” you reply, brows dipping down as you grip the mug tighter. “Come on, Az. You always do this.”

“Do what?” He replies, a spark in his eyes.

“This,” you snap, jerking your chin at him sharply. “Either answer or don’t, but stop playing games.”

“But you’re so enjoyable to tease,” he chuckles roughly, and you’re aware of how his shadows are stroking against your legs. Slow, lulling strokes as they wrap around the curve of your calves, over the bump of your knees, skimming the exposed skin just above them. He’s closer than he was before.

Your jaw tightens, the familiar rise of aggression burning your insides, the desire to lash out and maim over something so small. For making you so volatile. Turning the spiked pulse of your blood from peace to destruction so swiftly, like whiplash.

He’s so attentive, you’re certain he knows your frustration, how you crave his company, desperate for him to confide in you like you do with him. And yet he’s blatantly ignoring it—it’s cruel. Out of character for him, who’s usually so ready to listen, so perfect at providing comfort, seeming to understand you effortlessly. Why then, does he insist on pretending otherwise. Does he just not care any more? Does he not care that he’s your favourite? Does his world no longer revolve around you?

His smile softens as he feels the heat warming your cheeks, shadows reporting the grip you have on the ceramic mug. The dilation of your pupils.

“I’m here now,” he murmurs, liking how your breath hitches as his palm presses lightly against your spine, encouraging you to press into him. “You know I’ll always come back. That’s all that matters isn’t it?”

You’re silent, mouth set in a sullen line, eyes dark and resentful as they glare up at him. All that emotion. All for him.

Satisfaction settles deep in his chest, shadows flicking higher in reward.

He likes how malleable you are—for his hands only.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes lowly, a hint of amusement in his eyes as they skate across your own. “I’ll stop.”

His palm slides lower, making the slow descent over the curve at the base of your spine, hazel eyes practically pinning you to the ground, keeping you from moving.

Your pulse flutters, wanting to bite at his lip, lips that are dipping lower, your breath shallowing as he draws nearer…nearer… The tremor in your fingers becomes more pronounced as his mouth slants softly against your own, and you’re unable to help yourself as your teeth settle against him, eyes locking as you drag across his lower lip slowly. He doesn’t pull away, just watches you idly, as if interested in what you’ll do next.

Why didn’t he want to tell you where he’d gone?

You pull away, mouth feeling cold, before returning quickly, seeking the heat of his lips to warm you again, to burn like the scalding liquid in your mug. A pleased noise drags roughly from the back of his throat, rumbling in his chest, and his hand slides lower, settling over your rear, shadows wrapping around your thighs.

You inhale deeply, pulling his scent into your lungs. Committing him to memory—the slight roughness of leather that mixes with his scent, the dampness of the outdoors clinging to the strands of his hair. The cruel softness of his mouth as it presses deeper, wanting more from you, wanting to have more, to take more as he plies you open, swiping over the tingling skin of your tongue, numb from the burn of tea.

Azriel groans lowly, hands lifting you to sit upon the counter, moving you without asking so he can step between your already open thighs, shadows playing curiously beneath the cover of your skirts, grazing the soft skin of your hips, the pronounced curve of your stomach now you’re sitting.

Shakily, you bring your arms to wrap over his shoulders, keeping careful hold of the mug, heat biting into your fingers.

He pulls away, lips looking bitten and slightly raw where your canines have dragged over him, reddened from abrasion.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks lowly, voice rough and gravelly.

Both of you know the question is insincere, a purely superficial ask, inquired out of courtesy rather than genuine concern. This isn’t something either of you are in a place to stop. Neither of you want it to stop.

“Maybe,” you answer anyway, nails scraping against the nape of his neck. “Do you want it?” Do you want me? “Yes.”

Your insides flutter, but you…

Your brow narrows, hearing the doubt in your mind. Something holding you back from the male before you. “Where were you earlier?” You ask quietly, intently.

He blinks slowly, shadows pausing their exploration at the question, his lips curving.

Frustration ignites beneath your skin, and the mug slants in your hand.

He snarls in pain, hands gripping you with such force you think he might crack something as the scalding liquid streams down his back, hitting the nape of his neck and dripping over his shoulders into your lap. You slow the pour, righting the mug again as he presses his face into the crook of your neck, his arms like iron as he keeps you crushed against his front, gripping onto you desperately, furiously, obsessively. Finger biting into the tendon at the top of your spine painfully, breath catching in your lungs as your legs wrap around him.

His shadows hiss and whisper viciously, tightening brutally around the tops of your thighs, squeezing your waist like a serpent set on swallowing its prey whole.

Azriel pulls back, fury and hunger darkening his hazel eyes as they lock with your own, cheeks flushed with heat, tension abating now he’s understanding what he subjected you to in denying your question. He opens his mouth to speak, and you pour the rest of the mug down his back.

His eyes go wide, skin paling a little with fury, then his brow is narrowing, eyes squeezed shut as his head dips, hanging as he pants heavily, hand leaving your back to settle over your thigh, biting at the soft and supple flesh in a way he knows will bruise deliciously.

The liquid splashes when it drips onto the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, the only noise aside from his heavy breathing, and you wait from him to open his eyes again, at last feeling satisfied, justified now the unpleasant emotion has been expelled.

Slowly, he raises his head, meeting your heated gaze, his tan skin warm and flushed, lips parted invitingly as he evens out his breathing. “Happy now?” He breathes lowly, raggedly, so close you can feel each syllable over your mouth. So close to where he needs to be right now—all it would take is a slight incline of your head and your lips would meet again.

Teeth prod at your lower lip as his shadows at last pry the empty mug from your hands, feeling shy and warm all over, head dipping a little with the intensity he’s watching you with. Shy at having acted so boldly, so brazenly before him. Like walking past him in little more than your underwear and expecting not to get grabbed.

“Answer me, pretty thing,” he breathes, gripping your jaw lightly to tilt your head.

You nod, toes curling as one hand threads through his hair, damp at the ends, the other tracing down his back, making small, make-believe patterns. “I’m happy now.”

————

He’s had you bent over the table so long your bones hurt, thighs aching from the sharp angle, on your tippy-toes to find some kind of support, though the cotton of your socks keeps slipping over the smoothness of the tiles, making it difficult.

That’s no doubt something he intended, though.

You babble, tears wet on the wooden surface of the table, lips gleaming with saliva and…something else…

His scarred hand wraps beneath your throat as he leans over, pressing to your back as he pries you from the table, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Ready?” He taunts lowly, the chuckle rasping from his chest as you feel the bare heat of him between your legs, thighs sticky with steadily drying release, gleaming with swiftly refreshening arousal.

You try to respond, but nonsense gushes from numb lips, babbling as words bubble on your tongue, simmering in your mind but unable to wrap your fingers around their slick wetness, springing out of your grip and bouncing away.

“Answer me,” he laughs roughly, squeezing lightly at your throat in reprimand, thumb and fingers pressing beneath the softness of your jaw, adding pressure without impeding your ability to breathe. “Tell me you want me,” he urges, rolling his hips against you tauntingly, free hand returning between your thighs, fingers lightly circling your clit, making more tears drip from your cheeks and fall onto the table.

“A— Az…” you cry, nails dragging over the surface, squirming as you tremble, so worn out and so tired. “Az—… I— I can’t—!” He releases you abruptly, allowing you to flop forward, shadows cushioning the drop.

Instead his hands take up a bruising hold on your hips, and you cry out when he lifts you from the table, hands scrambling for purchase as you struggle with balance. It’s not very far…maybe the length of your forearm…but your feet can no longer touch the floor, and you struggle for some kind of stability.

“Az…” you whimper, panting heavily, squirming as you feel him press his tip to the soft, wet dip between your thighs. “Keep still,” he instructs hungrily, voice deep and rough, making your toes curl. You can’t take anymore…you can’t take another one. He’s forced too many into you, dragged them out with his teeth, plied them gently with his fingers, shoved them in with his cock and shadows. So full and empty you can’t think straight anymore.

“Or don’t,” he breathes, darkness tracing down your spine, pinching at your breasts as you leverage yourself on your forearms. “Struggle all you like.” Then he’s shoving the breath from your lungs as he fills you up in one swift motion, pushing shy, soft noises from your lips to make room for his cock.

You babble, spine curving as you squeeze him, toes pointed as you seek stability, but he’s holding your hips so effortlessly, as if you really are just a toy he can fuck and breed for as long and as hard as he likes. Even while his cum is spilling out of you, dripping down your silicon-made thighs.

Your arms tremble at the thought, as he keeps his hips pressed tight against the backs of your thighs for a minute, basking in the wet heat, the grip you have on him, so eager to take him while you’re trying to protest.

“How many more can you give me, hm?” He muses roughly, shadows stroking down your spine affectionately, soothing the jitter of your muscles as you begin to soften again. Reassured by the gentle touch, even if it won’t last long. That’s all it takes from him—a few gentle touches, a few gentle words, and he can have you like this.

“Two? Three?” He questions idly, moving slightly behind you, causing him to shift inside of you, cock pressing against a spot—saliva pools on the table, spilling over slightly parted lips, panting heavily, giving up and letting him hold you above the floor.

“Az…” you mumble softly, blinking away tears. “I can’t…I can’t do anymore…I’m tired…” Shadows raise from the table, rubbing gently at your cheeks, and you tilt into them, allowing them to cup your jaw, moving like his hands would if they were brushing the wetness away.

“No? You won’t give me anymore?” He asks lightly, as if he doesn’t particularly mind what your answer will be—it’ll have no affect on what he chooses. He knows what he’s going to do with you, and he knows you will let him. “You were telling me a moment ago how good it felt. How full you were and how badly you wanted me to—”

“Azriel!”

A flush of humiliation warms your cheeks, thighs trying to press together, heat bubbling away, already prepared for him.

“Embarrassed?” He chuckles lowly, your breasts peaking at the sound. “You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about around me. You deserve to be fucked full, don’t you?” Your toes curl, nails lightly scraping over the wood of the surface. Head dipping as heat flushes your cheeks more intensely.

Azriel hums, dragging his hips back slowly, and you squeeze him tightly, trying to suction him back in, already feeling so cold and empty without him heating you up. “Don’t you?” He repeats encouragingly, hungrily taking in the curved plain of your back—thinking how he could trail the knuckles of your spine with the soft flat of his tongue.

You swallow thickly, knowing it will please him to answer. “I deserve it,” you mumble into the table, head dipping lower to muffle your words. But of course it isn’t enough.

“What was that?” He muses roughly, pushing ever so slightly back in, urging more filthy confessions from your tongue.

The heat builds, and you push your face into the crook of your elbow, lips practically brushing the table top. “I can’t say it,” you mumble, features burning hot. “It’s embarrassing…”

“You’re not getting anything until you do,” he drawls, making to draw out of you entirely. Leaving you cold and empty on your kitchen table.

“I—…” you begin, panicked and rushed, whimpering when shadows pull your head from the table, tugging lightly on your hair. “I deserve it…I deserve to be fucked full,” you repeat, getting a strange sense of his pride at the confession, squeezing him hard in return. You’ve done your part…he has to fulfil his side now.

Azriel curses beneath his breath, before easing back into you, watching how your back shifts as you desperately pull air down into your lungs, feeling breathless no matter what you do. “Gods, you should see yourself right now,” he utters roughly, gazing down at your joining point, the broadening of your hips where you’re bent over.

“Fuck, you take me so well…” he groans, grinding against you. So much deeper now he has you suspended like this, his hands still gripping you tight.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom, shall we? Since you’re so tired.” He murmurs, able to hear the deep-throated hunger in his voice, slightly mocking of your stamina. Despite how long he’s been working on you. It’s not even light out anymore.

“Pass out if you’d like,” he adds, dipping down to nip at your ear, and you squirm against him, wishing he’d start moving again, now that he’s reignited the arousal between your thighs.

“I’d like to see what you do, when I fuck you back into consciousness.”

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general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya

dark!az taglist: @honeyandhalfmoons

[wildtooru]

Coffee Date pt. 2

Kenji Sato x reader

Summary: After an emotional coffee date, Kenji and his partner reconnect on a deeper level. Through whispered confessions and tender touches, they navigate their way back to each other, finding solace in their shared love. With a renewed sense of commitment, Kenji promises to make their relationship work, facing life's challenges together. Warnings: kind of NSFW.

Pt. 1

(Note: you can check more of my posts here @wildtobio)

"I've missed this," he admitted, his thumb gently tracing circles on your skin. "I've missed you."

You squeezed his hand, feeling the tension in your chest ease slightly. "I’ve missed you too, Kenji. It’s just… hard, you know? Watching you juggle everything and feeling like I’m on the sidelines."

Kenji sighed, his gaze dropping to the table. "I know. And I’m sorry. I never wanted you to feel that way. It’s just… between baseball, Emi, and… everything else, I haven’t been handling things well."

You reached out, lifting his chin so his eyes met yours. "You don’t have to do it all alone, Kenji. I’m here. We’re a team, remember?"

His lips curved into a small, grateful smile. "I remember." He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against your lips. "Thank you for reminding me."

"Want to come back to my place?" he asked, his voice low and inviting. "I think we could use some more time together."

You nodded, feeling a flutter of anticipation in your stomach. "I'd like that."

The walk to Kenji's apartment was quiet, the city lights casting a soft glow around you. When you arrived, he opened the door for you, ushering you inside with a gentle touch.

The apartment was tidy, but you could see the signs of his busy life. A baseball glove on the couch, a stack of newspapers on the table, and Emi’s toys neatly arranged in a corner. You turned to him, a small smile playing on your lips.

"You’ve been busy," you teased lightly.

Kenji chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "You have no idea."

He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. The tension of the past weeks seemed to melt away as you sank into his embrace, his warmth and scent enveloping you.

"I’ve missed this too," he murmured against your hair.

You tilted your head up, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. He responded eagerly, his hands roaming over your back, pulling you even closer. The kiss deepened, and you felt a familiar heat building between you.

"Bedroom?" you whispered against his lips.

Kenji nodded, taking your hand and leading you down the hall. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting shadows on the walls. He pulled you into another kiss, his hands sliding under your shirt, tracing the contours of your body.

You responded with equal fervor, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. The urgency of your movements was tempered by the tenderness in each touch, a reminder of the connection you both shared.

Clothes were shed in a flurry of movement, and soon you found yourselves tangled in the sheets, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten. Kenji’s kisses were everywhere, a mixture of need and reverence as if he were trying to memorize every inch of you.

"God, I’ve missed this," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion.

You arched into his touch, your own hands exploring the familiar lines of his body. The night was a blur of whispered confessions and lingering touches, each moment a reminder of the love and passion that had brought you together. As you lay entwined in the aftermath, you felt a sense of peace settle over you.

Kenji pulled you close, his breath warm against your skin. "I’m going to make this work," he promised. "For us."

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest. "I believe you."

[drgnflyteabox]

postcards from the coast [1]

part one -> the albatross || part two -> linens

series masterlist

pairing: kyle 'gaz' garrick / single mom!reader summary: kyle garrick is prescribed a year by the sea to cure his melancholia tags/warnings: grief, angst, depression, gaz was raised by a single mom truther, mention of past death (soap) w.c: 1.3k

He meets you at the edge of the world, surrounded by soaring seabirds and pale white sand, with the sound of frothing waves against craggy rocks behind him.

The weather hasn't committed yet, it's still cold, the kind of cold that's wet and salty and fragrant. His nose is numb and his mouth is dry, frozen in place, looking past the view he came for to focus on you.

They're not the same cliffs. Not the ones where they scattered Johnny's ashes, not so significant as that, where the world tilted on it's axis and grew emptier. There are still times when he thinks to turn and laugh with his friend, to text him, to send him postcards from his travels. And can't.

Vulnerability is a new feeling. Sure, he'd known as child that he could cry, that he could ask for help and embrace his feelings and admit when he didn't know things. This is different. It's feeling bereft, lost at sea, naked and open and unable to close back up around the space that Johnny used to occupy.

You break the circle of monotony.

For weeks he's visited this place, stared into the sea and thought of how he could come back to himself. Ignored John and Simon and and their messages, taking all his leave at once and then some. Calling his mom every Sunday and leaving it at that.

Having expected to be alone again, it's strange and startling to see you walking up the path, pushing a stroller, murmuring something with your head bent low to the crochet blanket covering the mouth of the stroller.

By the look of your wide eyes when you finally lay eyes on him, you weren't expecting anyone to be here either. It's a relatively isolated trail, but not completely uninhabited. He shrugs a shoulder and smiles politely, eyes still on yours.

"Hello," you look down, adjusting the blanket. Nervous, avoiding eye contact. "Do you mind if we…?"

"Of course," he says too quickly. He snaps his gaze away from yours, trying to put you at ease. "Been here too long, anyways."

"Oh no, I don't want to chase you away-" you're sheepish, still frozen on the path.

"You aren't," he shakes his head in placation, waving away your worries with one hand, while making to go by you. "Please, enjoy. And be careful by the edge, yeah?"

He doesn't know why he says it - it's not his place. But something in his chest squeezes when you nod quietly and slip by him.

"And that's all?" The barista clicks a pen against the counter, cup in one hand, hip cocked, waiting for him to confirm.

Black coffee, an almond croissant and and egg sandwich. Extra aged white cheddar. Trying to stir up an appetite outside of protein shakes.

"That's all, thanks," he pays with cash, safely, anonymously. Everything leads back to the job, even as he's here trying to forget about it. Guilt pokes through his numbness long enough to make him wince, forever feeling like he's letting the team down by being here.

Think this is a good idea for you, son, John had said. He tries to remember that on his worst days, when rest starts to feel like stagnation and atrophy. There's no mission, that's his mantra.

The bell chimes above the door and he pays no mind to it until he hears your voice again. Soft, timid, asking for dirty chai like someone's going to arrest you over it.

Watches you pay, one hand outstretched and the holding your baby. You're bouncing them up and down gently, almost unconsciously, lips close enough to brush the soft skin of their head.

"Hello again," it's bold, maybe too bold. You don't startle, but you're surprised. Maybe suspicious, guarded. Have you got a man in your life? Where is he?

"Hello," you smile politely, adjusting the wrap your baby is settled in against your chest. Soap would've called you a nervous little hen, patted Gaz on the back and encouraged him. Grief squeezes his throat with that thought and he turns away from you, breathing harshly through the feeling.

"Oh god, are you alright?" You're alarmed, hands hesitantly reaching and pulling back as if you want to help but aren't sure about touching a stranger.

He struggles against the tide, tethered to nothing. Who knew absence could be painful? Could catch you by surprise, worse than any sniper, anywhere and anytime?

Grief is strange like that. It almost makes him laugh for the absurdity of it. A smile pulls at his cheeks, painful and yet cathartic all at once. It's absence and it's not - Johnny will always be there, in the back of his mind or the forefront of memory. Gone and yet conjurable.

"Yeah, yeah," his voice has gone rough, so he clears his throat and smiles underneath eyes that prickle. "Choked a bit on air, you know how it is."

"Do you need water?" Your eyebrows pull up, concern all over your face, eyes wide. Aw, he didn't mean to scare you. Poor hen.

"No, that's alright, love," his coffee is up. The warmth is grounding in his hand, and soothes the pin needle feeling in his throat. "Haven't seen you around here."

"No. I just moved here," you offer, breaking eye contact to look toward the door. Defensive? Getting ready to run? "I should be going, though. You know how it is…" motioning to the baby with your free hand, he starts examining, analyzing. Your obvious anxiety, your pulling back. Sure, it could be because you're both strangers. Could also be because you're scared of something else.

"I hope I didn't overstep?"

"No, no, not at all." Your chai comes out before his food does, the smell of bread and cheese filling the cafe. You sip delicately at it, looking nonchalant to anyone but his trained eye. Sweat beads at your hairline, your free hand holding the baby tighter. "Just have some errands to run."

"That's fine, then. Need a hand with anything?" Leaning forward on his feet, trying to ask without asking, without assuming. Where's your husband?

Probably another overstep, another symptom of his brain being still for too long. Making something out of nothing. Maybe he's just creeped out the new mom whose just moved into a small town, like something out of a horror film.

"Thank you for offering," you smile without your eyes. He still hasn't seen your child, what they look like. So quiet, the both of you.

"Hello, dear." Mums voice is always a balm to the soul. He wants to call her more, not just Sundays. Wouldn't mind being the lad that calls his mum every night if it didn't mean that she was always using that tone of hers, the one she'd adopted after Johnny died. He knows she's balancing her own grief with her mothering, so he spares them both by limiting contact.

"Hey, mum. How's the garden?" Spring is big for her, always has been. She used to feed them half their meals right out of her plot in the backyard. John had nearly started calling him rabbit when he'd met her and seen the bounty. Thank god that never stuck.

"It's good, I've just planted my radishes, my turnips, my…"

Listening to her speak is like rocking in a hammock. He lets the sound wash over him, staring through his window at the falling dusk and picturing you again. The long, wool skirt you'd worn to the cliffs. Your eyes, wide and concerned.

This is a rental house, paid for with cash and a false name thanks to Kate. It's hard to feel grateful for it when he's gone from one emptiness to another, but he knows that John is home with his wife and Simon is off doing the same thing as he is. Recovering, taking a breather. Until the next mission.

"And I have your sister her, Kyle, she wants to say hello," he's brought back to the present, eyes crinkling when he hears her voice.

"Kyle Garrick! Have I been texting a brick wall? You haven't-"

Even upset, it's nice to hear her voice. To be scolded.

He leans into his rickety rented chair and lets himself relax.

[petrichorium]

I WOULD LIKE TO HEAR ABOUT EX HUSBAND SHANKS 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Okay I was thinking a relationship that’s like SUPER chill and casual. Like literally fuckbuddies turned lovers; u stay on ur home island and he’s off most of the time. Was based close by in the first year or two y’all met and got close so he was around more often but eventually it becomes him stopping by every few months for a few weeks and the two of you keeping up contact while he’s gone. The progression from just messing around to a committed relationship is slow and largely unsaid until Beckman tells you his captain has turned down every other woman for the past two years and you realize you aren’t much searching for other men yourself; soon enough you’ve got matching rings and as untraditional as it is it works.

And I’m just thinking abt how like…….. ur happy w ur life on ur little island, it’s relatively safe all things considered under his protection and you’ve lived there your whole life and all you rlly wanna do is keep your head down and stay there. Getting involved with Red-Haired Shanks puts a major flaw in that plan but it’s easy to forget who exactly he is. He doesn’t hide it, ofc not, but he’s so… unremarkable seeming that it’s difficult to remember, especially when your interaction with him is isolated to a scant few days or weeks when he’s most at ease and the only thing he’s thinking about is you.

But………. then you’re reminded otherwise. It’s silly really, because of course you know. It’s been years since you first met him, you’ve seen the wanted posters and you’ve heard how people talk about him, but knowing in abstract—contrasted by the man who’s managed to marry you, all wide smiles and incessant drunken love confessions and never dodging a well-placed swat from your hand—is far different from seeing in person.

You board his ship for a little trip; something small, only a few days to go retrieve a gift for you that Shanks had foolishly left a few islands away, low-risk and entirely in his territory. But it all goes sideways and you’re forced, quite suddenly, to realize just who you’ve managed to fall for—and exactly what kind of power and prestige he wields—while trapped with nowhere to go but remain on his ship with him and his crew for the days it takes to return.

You feel stupid more than anything, balking like this after one (frankly minuscule) fight. You don’t leave his cabin the whole trip back. He brings you meals, holds you when he can, tells you how much the crew misses you, but he doesn’t understand just how much you’re questioning. How much, you wonder, do you really know Shanks? Bordering on ten years is quite some time but when you only see him a scant few weeks out of those years, how much does it matter?

The ring on your finger, the way he looks at you—they settle on your shoulders more like a noose now, no longer making you giddy. How long until some bitter rival of his storms your home searching for you because they can’t touch him?

How much is he worth it when the lives of everyone in your hometown stand at risk?

You’re smart enough not to pick the fight until you’ve returned. You have it at the door of your home, long overdone and frankly terrified, all but melting down once you’re truly alone with him for the first time in a week. He doesn’t yell back—doesn’t do much, after attempts at soothing you fail, except watch you with a mildly surprised expression on his face.

For the first time in years you don’t let him stay the night, or see him off when he leaves the following day. You sit up on your roof and watch his ship disappear over the horizon and assure yourself that clearly you aren’t cut out for being his.

(But two months later that ship appears again, and an hour after docking there’s a knock at your door, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when you see that red hair beyond the peephole…)

[juvenillia]

~ Death of Peace of Mind ~ 02: too close

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader

photo credits go to very talented @ave661

a/n: this is the first time for me writing something like this, so bare with me if the actions scenes are a bit sloppy, I'll get the hang of it, idc about the actual height of reader, but we're at least the smallest in the group, also little extra note: I'll go on vacation upcoming Saturday and won't be able to write for two weeks, I try really hard atm to prepare as much chapters as possible for the time ahead

CW/TW: mentions of canon violence, smoking, closing off due mental illness

wordcount: 3.2k

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The first beams of sunlight broke through the window just above the bed. Your eyes trailing over the rays of light that were dancing on the ceiling. You lay awake for what felt like eternity. The night was somehow restless, again. By now you committed to a few hours of sleep. As few as possible but as much as necessary. Keeping the risk low to trigger your nightmares. Keeping the chance low to have to look into his eyes again. A lump was forming in your throat while you let your thoughts roam back and forth.  Maybe you should learn about a thing called power-napping, you read it in a magazine some time ago while sitting in a coffee shop. It really could save you one day.

With that thought you pushed yourself out of bed. Putting on a casual sports fit. Now that the sun was finally up, there was no need any more to stay in bed. You put a cap on, pulled your hair through the back. Laced your boots up and went out for some casual morning rounds around the base. Price already told you their usual morning routine and it was kind of funny, how all military bases had a quite similar routine. You sneak through the hallway to go outside. Trying to keep as quit as possible to wake no one. It was still early, even for the military. As soon as your feet touched the gritted ground you started running. Keeping a good pace while rounding the base. At some point you nodded your greetings to a few other people already awake and going after whatever, they pleased. You decided to pick up your pace. You didn’t want to waste all your energy, but still wanted to push yourself a bit further. You had quite some busy day ahead, so you needed to get yourself going.

You took a few more corners until you heard a voice. “Skadi.”, turning around you were greeted with a blissful smile. You stopped in your track, jogging slowly at the spot. “Madainn mhath!”, [Good morning] Soap breathed out after catching up to you. “Good morning.”, you replied with a quiet snicker. Your reaction earns you an even brighter smile from the Scot. “Yer understood?”, his eyes were nearly beaming. It was somehow adorable, and you knew, that the two of you would get along at ease. Maybe too good for your liking. “Seems like it.”, you shrugged off while keeping your legs busy. “Dae ya mind if I join ya?”, a nod with a slight smile was your only response. So, both of you started jogging around the base. Not talking much, at least for your part. You were rather listening to everything Soap gladly explained you. The way the team works together, each specialty, some pet peeves, their little rituals. Some fun anecdotes from after mission celebrations. He really was chatty, and you gladly listened in. He was so sincere and pure, plus all his words gave you a good overview about everyone. They also gave you a warm feeling around your chest. Even if you tried to avoid this kind of reaction, he was just too genuine.

Still, you barely told him about yourself. It didn’t sit right with you. He learned that you were quite an allrounder when it comes to the job and that you were obviously an early bird. He didn’t know that you were also a night owl. The sweet nemesis called sleep. A fight you’ll win one day, hopefully not on your last day. He also learned that Price and you met about three years ago. Not really how, but that it was for a coincidence that comes with the job. Also, he learned that you were quite capable of speaking a few languages and understanding even more. He quite often threw some Scottish at you and for once in his life (while being outside of his home of course) he didn’t get scolded for it. It was clear to see that he enjoyed your company, and you would’ve lied to say you didn’t enjoy his. It felt just smooth.

After some time, you came to a halt. Catching your breath, you couldn’t remember the last time you were talking so much while running. Stretching your body while bending down to grab the front of your boots. Halting the position on suspense. Suddenly you saw a bottle in front of you, Soap held it out for you to grab. “Thanks.”, you gladly took it and nearly downed half of it.  He only nodded, still a happy smile around his lips. How can a person be smiling non-stop. “Dinnea know about ya, but ‘m starving.”, he exhaled with a chuckle, drinking his own water. “Wanna head to the canteen?”, he looked at you with those clear blue eyes. As you gained your posture again you let out a slight sigh. “Sorry Soap. Still have to unpack and other stuff to do.”, you didn’t look at him. Sure, it was a half-assed excuse, but you didn’t want to get his expectations too high and if you were honest, you didn’t want to get too close. You already felt so comfortable in his company. Too comfortable. You needed to keep your guard up. He was a stranger after all. Maybe he wasn't even such a nice guy, maybe he only treated you so wholesome because of your gender and therefore some different assets. Maybe he had strictly different intentions in his behavior. You couldn't tell, and you shouldn't care.

But maybe that’s why you never called the cute barista guy from around the corner, back at your place. Because he was too genuine, too innocent. You gave it a lot of thoughts to be honest. He was a nice dude, he memorized all your preferred drinks depending on the weather and had them always ready when you came back from your morning run. You loved routine and you kinda enjoyed that he became a part of it, but sooner or later it would break apart anyways. He was just too good for you. He wouldn't be able to keep up with you. It surely wouldn't be something more than a lousy one night stand, what wasn't your thing at all. You were too complicated, too distant and you couldn't let yourself believe that someone could even show a glimpse of honest interest. Well, that's at least what you told yourself all the time to justify pushing everyone away. Same for Marc, or was his name Maik? Your neighbor next door, he even invited you for his wedding. Did you go? Of course not. You only send a card, not even able to look him in the eye to congratulate him.

This way you did what you could do best, you started closing off to the man in front of you. For the rounds it was different. Here it was only the two of you, two comrades having a morning run and just some little introduction, but heading for breakfast together, that was already a commitment. A commitment you were not capable of taking. You’d rather pick a quick snack before looking for Price. See what he has planned out for you today, and God, you hoped it was just getting to know everyone around the base. Spoiler alert, he had different plans.

To your surprise Soap did understand, still wearing a slightly disappointed glance, but he didn't push it and so, you parted your ways.

Going after your day wasn’t so hard. Price introduced you around, you finally got your keycard, you had to fill out a few formulars. Stuff was going along easily and most of the times you were on your own. Until you heard Price’s voice again. He told you, that they could need your help with today’s rookie lesson, and you gladly accepted the duty. Gladly, until you were greeted by Soap and Ghost. Latter didn’t really greet you, but at least he was polite enough to nod towards you. The men were already standing and watching a bunch of recruits still chatting away. You walked over to them with Price at your side. Standing next to Soap and watching the crowd not paying much attention to your arrival. Ghost only needed to step forward to gain the attention of every youngling around. He held an intimidating appearance.

 “Listen up.” He yelled out and you totally felt the thick air. He was already a behemoth of a man, but his voice plus the mask really made a silhouette that was frightening. It reminded you of something you’d rather forget. Yourself straighten up as he begun, but before he kept going, Soap stepped forward. Seemed like Ghost was only here to keep them in line and Soap was the official speaker. Maybe it was better for the recruits this way. Soap quickly explained that they were doing sparring sessions today. Especially learning how to read the intentions of your enemy and to be able to be a step ahead before their actual move. You remember how your first sessions were and how you were barely able to keep up with your opposite. How time flies, you thought to yourself and kept your attention on Soaps words. He had quite a way to motivate the younglings in front of him.

Your glance traveling over the faces and catching quite some few females as well. It always brought you a pleasant feeling in your stomach to see, that more and more women would join the army. Especially because you were always underestimated. Your path from the beginning till here was an odyssey. Not talking about the bone crushing weight on your shoulders by now, but to start through in the military as a woman was nearly impossible some time ago. Way too many prejudices.

 The recruits were told to find each other a partner for today's session. Soap and Ghost would give them a quick demonstration of what they were up to. So, Price and you would be teamed up in that case. That wasn’t to be going to be so bad, you heard your words echoing through your mind.

That was until you heard the raspy voice of the Lieutenant again. "Don't mix up genders. Shall stay fair.", he exclaimed dry and that way he earned a scoffed chuckle. He turned around and faced you with a death glare. Soap immediately turning around looking at the scenario with shock in his eyes. "Have a problem with that Seargent?", his voice went even deeper when he turned his whole body towards you. Soap made a gesture with his hand shaking before his throat, symbolizing you to stop what you were doing. Unlucky for everyone around - except your Captain - you were way too stubborn to retreat now. "Just a suggestion but let them pick their opponents themselves regardless the gender. Nobody cares on the battlefields either.", you stated calm, your glance not adverting. Price watched the whole scenery a bit too curious. He knew the two of your for quite some time and he already expected that the tension between you would become thrilling.

Ghost stepped closer to you. You couldn't read him, but you could definitely see that you pissed him off. His eyes burning into yours. "We should keep it easy by now.", he was only a few inches away from you. You stared back, looking in that chocolate iris. You could've just backed down, but it was too challenging. "So, you believe women are not worthy a challenge?", your eyes never retreating his state. He was so damn pissed. He stepped even closer to you, you could feel his hot breath even through the mask, brushing a long your skin and sending shivers done your spine.

Soap wanted to step in, but Price let just a hand rest on his shoulder, signaling him to stay out of this. "I'm only saying that they have to learn something without getting real injuries before even placing a foot on the battle ground." He hissed through gritted teeth. He didn't even know why he argued with you, but he couldn't stand it. He knew that one shouldn't miscalculate about the opposite gender. But the way you interrupted him, the way you looked at with him with such a stubborn glance.

It made him furious. But the way you didn't even reacted the slightest to his presence. Well, you did, but you were to pride to show it. "Then you underestimate them." - "They have to learn before proofing themselves." - "You only learn when you can try and error." - "Error doesn't mean getting real hurt." - "Okay, so you're sure about them getting hurt." It went on like this for some time. Back and forth, staying always in polite line, but the tension grew with each word.

Soap looked the most nervous of all watching the two of you battling with your words. Price still holding him back. Of course, a situation with only the team would have been better to test the waters out but he would take what he could. "You're stepping a line, Seargent." He literally growled at you. "Then you're also underestimate me, Lieutenant.", you hissed back at him. Right here, right now you noticed how close he was standing in front of you. Your breath brushing along his mask, and his hot steaming breaths dancing over your bare skin. He was way too close for your liking.

Standing across of each other and staring holes into the other person. You only realized now how huge he was, trying to literally stare you down into the ground. A ground you would gladly like to stand.

"Why don't you pair up and we will see who's right.", a mocking voice of the recruits let both of your heads snap out of the haze you were in. You leaned a bit back. You didn't even notice how you tried to make yourself taller in front of him. "That's...", just as Ghost wanted to scold the rookie, Price stepped in, "a wonderful idea. This way we can exactly demonstrate a perfect example." He stepped forward looking at both of you. A slight chuckle escaped your lips, still looking with vitally at Ghost. His chest was waving heavy. He tried to steady himself and his temper. "Why not.", you turned around to move to the mat that was originally reserved for Soap and Ghost. The latter following you. "Don't hurt yourself.", he teased and with that he only awakened an insatiable competing desire.

Soap wore a face of a mixture between curiosity and concern. He had pushed Simon a few times before, but this was somehow different. You had no suspicious about each other’s limits and you gladly pushed everything over the edge right now. "Don't hold yourself back, big boy." Even with the mask you know his face would be burning.

You already fought bigger guys than him, just keep your cools and be observant. Just pinning him down once would be enough to proof your point. Your mind literally switched and cutting all of the unnecessary surrounding out. He was nothing different to any of them, but oh lord, you were so wrong with that statement. You could see a switch in his eyes, something you knew too well yourself.

In a heated movement he already reached out to you, trying to get hold of you. For a guy with his build, he was especially fast. Something you didn't suspected. Before you could think of your first turn, his giant hands were already onto your shoulders pressing you down. Lucky for you, you were particularly flexible and even more agile. You find a way to bend yourself out, but Ghost was soon on it. Throwing one of his legs in your direction to block your way out. You reached with your free hand to use his thigh as support to push yourself further up. His hands gripped for your wrist to pull you down once more, but he missed, so you saw your chance. Throwing your legs up and literally over his throat. Forcing him down. His legs were weaker in the position he found himself in, so he slowly bends over. He reached for your waist to throw you over his shoulder, but you were quick to use your hands to get a grip of his statue. Pulling yourself further up, that you would literally split his arms away with your thighs. Your completely weight pushing him down, until his knees gave in, and he found himself with his back on the mat. Your upper half resting inches away from his throat, where you had placed one of your arms to give it a bit more strength. Hovering slowly over him. A self-content smile on your lips, you looked him in his eyes. He just stared back; his eyes quite blank. You could feel his heavy breaths onto you, his chest rising and lowering just like your own. Now you were the one staring him down.

Soap was completely paralyzed by the scene in front of him, and Price only chuckled watching his charges. He knew from the beginning that the two of you needed a lot of patience with each other, especially when pushing each other so far, but he also believed that you would fit in just perfectly. You could learn so much from everyone around so that the 141 could even grow better and closer. Ghost for his part was really glad he had his mask. His face burnt from the heat of his own skin. Ashamed, anger, annoyance. He couldn't tell it apart. So many thoughts flooded his brain while staring into your eyes. "You know how to retread, don't ya Lieutenant?", your voice pulling him out of his mind. He let out a completely pissed groan, before lifting his hand and tapping two times at your thigh. You gladly stood up from your place.

You knew he did spare you; he didn't used his full strength on you but this way he really did underestimate you. A mistake he would never commit twice. You reached out a hand to help him up, but he only ignored it and stood up with no problem. You shrugged it off. "Don't be such a sore loser.", Soap cried out behind your back, but Simon did ignore him. He rather shouted at the recruits to keep starting. You turned around and Price gave you a paternal thumbs up, which only made you shake your head. You didn't give too much attention to Soap though. Still letting the incident of the morning washing over your mind. Ghost also looked out for getting away as fast and as far as possible from the Scot. He knew Johnny would be nonstop teasing him about the situation, and Simon couldn't even blame him, therefore. His cheeks were still streaming hot.

taglist: open just lmk

@yyiikes @saffronimagines @originaldeerhottub

[lovely-pedrito]

It’s Written on Your Face

ꕥWord count: 1.2k

ꕥWarnings: Afab!reader x Pedro Pascal, idiots in love, semi-angst but also fluff, pwp, unprotected sex, slight size kink, praise kink, no use of y/n, hella pet names

ꕥA/N: I’m so incredibly down bad for this man it’s embarrassing. Also! I wrote this directly after I saw that interview Pedro did where he said he never falls in love bc it’s too painful. I just HAD to--he deserves love so much. Hope you like this one! ^^

You entered the steaming room with a smile, hugging the fluffy bathrobe closer to you when you met a pair of kind brown eyes.

“Warm enough yet?” You giggled.

Pedro shifted in the hot water, holding a hand out to you, “I will be when you join me.”

He smiled as you sauntered over to him and took his hand, slowly sliding the fluffy fabric off your shoulders, revealing your nude form. The man let out a low wolf whistle; a blush covering your face as his eyes unabashedly roamed your figure. You eased into the water and an involuntary sigh left your lips. You faced Pedro, moving your legs over his, falling on either side of his hips.

“My sweet girl,” He whispered as he gently turned your hand and pressed a delicate kiss to your palm, “You don’t know the things you do to me.”

You raised a brow, something igniting in you at his sultry gaze. “No?” Shifting your body to hover your pussy dangerously close to his cock. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

His eyes darkened, no longer the friendly chocolate brown you knew all too well. Although, it would be a lie to say you weren’t familiar with this version of him. You’d ended up here more times than either of you could count, unable to deny the attraction the two of you felt towards each other.

“Careful, flower.” He let out a borderline growl, hands reaching down to harshly grab your ass, “I don’t have much patience today.” His jaw was tight, like it was taking everything in him to restrain himself. He’d do anything to keep you from knowing it, but he was. He knew he had it bad for you, but you didn’t need to know, he reasoned.

You dipped your head down into his neck, pressing sloppy kisses in his most sensitive spots, making sure to suck on the skin. His breathing hitched, tightening his grip on your ass, his strong hands pulling you impossibly closer to him.

Your name fell from Pedro’s lips in a groan, “You want this? You want me to fuck you like the good girl you are?”

His gruff voice and hands on you lit your skin on fire. You nodded eagerly, already a mess for him. No longer thinking with your head, you grabbed his cock and slowly ran your hands up and down his length. He was so hard for you. His head fell back and hit the tub with a thud. If it hurt, he didn’t show it, too consumed with your hands on him.

He cursed under his breath as his hips bucked up into your hand. Without hesitation he replaced your hand with his own, aligning up with your entrance. Despite his desire, Pedro moved slowly, knowing that you would need time to adjust to his size. Your head fell and your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he bottomed out and gradually began to snap his hips into yours.

He moved slowly, despite the burning pleasure you both were undoubtedly feeling. In the midst of your haze you were actively committing everything to memory; his sinful groans and lip caught between his teeth, the wrinkles on his forehead, his hands guiding your hips in their movements. You had no reason to believe every moment could be the last, but stranger things had happened. You knew Pedro had a tendency to avoid relationships to save himself any heartbreak. You understood, but you hoped he knew that you would never hurt him.

Still, you couldn’t deny the fear in your heart that he may not love you back the same way you loved him. Not that you had told Pedro, no you were too fearful he would leave if you uttered those three little words. And so, you had kept it your little secret. The feeling keeping you warm at night when he couldn’t.

Truth be told, he found you captivating. Stunning. Every little mannerism of yours, every bright smile, every breath you took. All he wanted was to claim you over and over and over. To make you his. He was too afraid to admit the feelings blooming in his chest every time he saw you, both to himself and you, so he held back. He was caught in between not wanting to get hurt while simultaneously hurting himself through not being able to confide in you. He couldn’t win.

The man leaned down to suck on your nipples, making sure each one was given proper attention. You were vaguely aware of his beard tickling your skin, making you squirm. Although he denied it, Pedro was a boob man through and through. Yours had always been his favorite, just the way they were. The sensation of his lips on you drove you mad. The feeling went directly to your pussy and oh did he know. A smile lit up his face as he pulled away with a satisfying pop. You felt his dick twitch inside of you and his pace sped up. His hands found your clit, rubbing small circles there.

“My pretty girl, doing so well for me. Are you feelin’ good, sweetheart? You’re always such an angel for me.” If Pedro loved anything, it was talking you through your pleasure. More often than not, you weren’t able to respond with words, barely able to mumble a noise akin to an agreement but he never minded. It gave him a sense of pride, knowing he was the one making you feel this way. Him. Only him. His hips continued to ram into yours as you gasped for air and your eyes shut.

He lived for these moments with you. Something in his brain caved at how much smaller you were than him. How much softer you were than him. You were a fragile thing he had to protect. Had to. Maybe you’d never know, but you were his aphrodisiac. His kryptonite to the very end.

He placed a firm smack to your ass and a sinful moan fell from your lips. He knew just how much you loved his hands on your ass, kneading into the supple skin there. That action alone had you biting back moans and pressing your hands against his chest and he loved the sight.

You looked at him through hazy eyes, “I’m-I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that.”

“That’s rather the idea, baby girl.” He chuckled, “And I know you will. Always so willing. Let me give this to you, baby.”

You shivered as his words, silently begging for more. You’d kill for more of him. You wondered if he knew.

True to your word, it only took a few more thrusts for you to come undone. Endless praises from Pedro echoed in your ear as a rush of euphoria washed over you. Your head fell into the crook of his neck as he continued his movements, chasing after his own high. His movements stilled as he came inside of you, breath uneven.

As he slowly returned to earth, he let his glazed eyes wash over you. You meant more to him than any woman ever had. For you, he just might stay. And in his silence, as you looked into his eyes with a loving smile and hair a mess, he hoped deep down you knew the words he couldn’t say.

I’m so in love with you. I have been for ages, beautiful. Please stay with me.

[majesticwren]

following this post this concept is now a fic, sorry not sorry. I'm struggling trust me. (help me)

a/n: guess who's back, back again? did you miss me? I surely missed this project :') so much. I do not expect much after I've disappeared for like 6 months but I am quite glad I've put my hands back on it. now let's all prey it sticks @dizzypenguinxd @michaelasfearless @kikigrl2951 tagging you guys only because I thought you might be interested in an update - no pressure

Trigger Warning/s: slow burn (?) but is it, childhood friends to lovers, depiction of toxic relationships, intimacy and commitment problems, childhood traumas, jealousy, possessiveness, physical and verbal abuse, bullying, hints of anti-semitism, everyone is a walking red flag, angst, fluff, smut.

Masterlist Playlist

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part V

Chapter 4.

Stella stood silent and unmoving in front of a building she had never felt so unwelcoming before. 

She felt so cold. Shivers ran up and down her spine spreading through her muscles, shaking her. Her hair stood up on the back of her neck. Her skin was crumpled by goosebumps. However, she suspected it wasn’t because of the low temperature that had dropped through the night. It was a different kind of cold she felt through her flesh. It didn’t matter how much she tried to warm up, Stella felt it deep inside her bones.

Her feet were throbbing caged in those uncomfortable heels. But there was a layer of numbness coating over her emotions leaving her feeling detached and muffled, even from pain.

It was the shock. She knew it. 

She felt more like a ghost than a real person. 

The longer she looked at herself through the reflecting surface of the sleek glass covering the entire building, the more she couldn’t recognise herself. That other woman wasn’t her. She looked out of place. Scared to her bones. Lost. Only a shadow of the woman she knew to be.

Stella truly wanted to be mad. She had every reason to be absolutely enraged towards the man who dared to make her feel so small, insignificant and fragile. But her anger was muted, like every other emotion.

She was hugging her bag high to her chest, both like a shield and because it was her most valuable possession at the moment. That and her damn shoes.

She had run barefoot on the cold concrete of the sidewalk for a few blocks. She ran for an indefinite amount of time, getting as much distance and turns between herself and the violence she had left behind. She had run until she had finally felt safe enough to stop and catch her breath. That was the moment Stella had crumbled on herself as her adrenaline started to wear off and panic set through. 

She could still feel how the cold night air had burned through her chest. 

Her body still felt so sore and shaken. It hurt even in places that weren’t hit. It was hurting all over. Her head still felt heavy, but at least her pounding pain had started to wear off. And she wasn’t bleeding, that was a good thing too.

The skin on her face was on fire as hot tears cut through her cheeks leaving red marks behind. She couldn’t stop crying. As soon as she managed to get on a taxi, barely feeling safe closed up in the space of a backseat, despair hit her. 

She had just never felt so lost and alone, surrounded by a detached city like only Manhattan could be. It was one of the most beautiful places on Earth, and yet, that night, as cold crept through its streets, lit by all its pretty lights, it felt far from home.

“Miss?” The sudden stranger’s voice breaking the flow of her thoughts surprised her. Or better, startled her. “Can I help you?” Even though his tone was gentle, Stella still flinched and took a step back, looking for some distance between her and the doorman that approached her. 

She knew him. His name was Vanya. His voice was bent under a strong and familiar Eastern European accent. Somehow that helped her feel more at ease. 

He had been working there for years now. Always on the night shift. Higher pay, as he had said. She had known him ever since Max had moved into that building and consequentially, her visits became a usual occurrence. Although it didn’t sound like Vanya recognised her. Not yet at least. Funny that, she must have looked like a homeless person or a crackhead. Yeah. That was the one. A wonderer lost in the night off their heads on too much drugs. 

God, she must have been standing there for a long time if Vanya decided to finally go and check on her.

“Hi, Vanya,” she started, her voice was shaking and yet Stella still pushed out a smile, trying her best to pretend that everything was alright.

“Miss Stella?” His surprise was almost hurtful, “what has happened to you?” 

She raised her chin, swallowing the bile that had just come up her throat only thinking about it. She bottled it all up, doing what she did best, putting on a brave face. Stella tried to dry her tears, “Please,” she started, hiding her need to scream behind a soft tone. “I’d just like to go upstairs if that is ok with you.”

Vanya nodded and was ready to get to the door and open it up for her, letting her through. As they walked through the entrance to the lifts, an awkward silence fell between them. She could feel his looks. She knew he had questions. But she kept not giving it any attention. 

She let him do his job, calling her a lift. 

“Shall I accompany you upstairs, Miss?” Vanya wondered, trying to be helpful.

“No, thank you Vanya. I am fine.” 

Vanya still stood by her side, waiting patiently for the lift with her.

She should have called the police. She should have told him. Hell, she should have shouted to the world what had just happened, just so Greg could be torched. But she didn’t. Not yet. Tomorrow. She would have gone through with her battles tomorrow. Now, she needed to hide and recover.

Funny that the first place she thought to go and look for shelter was Max’s.

Even with everything that had happened with him that day and knowing she probably wasn’t welcome anymore, Stella still chose to go and hide at his place. 

She could have got a room in any hotel in town but she knew she would have lost her mind if she went anywhere else. Max’s place was the only one that felt safe.

“When will Mr MJF return home, Miss?” He wondered casually. She knew Vanya was trying to look after her, possibly out of pity or concern because her face had started to bruise up and it was undeniable she was in bad shape. But she didn’t ask him to.

“Tomorrow night.” Not that she had the right to be expecting him.

“You will get me if you need anything, Miss?”

“Thank you, Vanya, I will.” She still offered a polite, bland smile, hopping on the lift as soon as the doors opened.

“Goodnight, Miss Stella,”

“Goodnight,”

She waited patiently for the lift to get upstairs avoiding looking into any reflective surface. The last thing she needed was to catch a clear glimpse of her condition.

Stella slowly made her way into Max’s apartment, acting controlled. She fiddled with her keys as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Unlocked the door. She got through. Locked it. And disabled the alarm. Just like that was yet another night she decided to spend at Max’s.

Knowing perfectly well how his house worked, she knew he would have got a notification that exact instant since the door alarm went off. So, she turned towards the security camera placed in the corner. He would have seen the feed as soon as he would have checked his phone.

“I am sorry, I don’t have my phone on me. I didn’t have a way to warn you. I will be gone by tomorrow, I promise.” She started explaining, “I won’t be an inconvenience. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” She didn’t even know why she had said that. It’s not like it was true. But it was, in a way. 

There was nowhere safer for her. Even when Max wasn’t there. Not that she had the right to claim his space as anything at all to her. But she had decided to be selfish. It was what she needed and she would have taken it. 

Stella could have easily lied to herself. On the contrary to any hotel room, she could have found a fresh change of clothing at Max’s without having to go through the inconvenience of shopping for it. That was enough of a useful, proactive reason to be there, right?

But she had no intention of lying anymore. She was there because thinking about Max was the only thing that kept her from drowning.

Looking right into the black eye of the camera, Stella slowly started to feel overwhelmed. The air was tight around her. Her skin too. It made her feel itchy and uncomfortable.  

She dropped her bag and kicked off her shoes. The soles were stained by blood. 

Stella choked. She felt her chest sealing shut, pressed down by the pressure of panic. She stripped off the cardigan, throwing it on the ground. It wasn’t her clothes. It wasn’t her skin either, yet she wanted to rip it all off. She felt the need to scream and rip her hair out. 

But then, just like breathing fresh air, she was distracted by the soft chime of a tiny bell approaching. Looking down, Stella almost gasped as soon as she noticed Piper reaching for her and curling around her ankles, welcoming her with purrs.

She had never been so grateful to a cat before in her life. 

“Hello lovely,” Even when her throat was sealed, she still pushed out some words, trying her best to greet the real lady of the house. She picked Piper up and held her close to her chest, happy not to find resistance from the animal and appreciating the cat bumping her little head under her chin. The vibration of her purrs spread into her chest, calming her down. 

She needed a hot shower. She needed to wash off the phantom feeling of Greg’s hands on her body. She could still smell the booze in the air, it burned her nose and made her stomach twist. 

A hot shower would have fixed it all. That and maybe a drink. Or two.

More than anything, Stella needed a minute to assess the situation. She needed to know what to do with herself. She was a lawyer. She knew better than anyone how it was vital that she had a plan.

But she felt too tired. Thinking was exhausting.

Was it so bad of her to leave all her responsibilities and consequences, for tomorrow?

Stella released a soft sigh, for now, she only held Piper, going to curl up on the sofa. “Thank you,” she softly brushed her lips on the cat's head, truly grateful. 

She had decided everything else could have waited a bit longer.

Stella was woken up suddenly by a thud coming from the other room. It sounded like something heavy hit the floor. A ray of warm light cut through the bedroom from the door she had left ajar.

Stella was still disoriented by her sleep wearing off, and yet her first response was fear. She immediately jumped through the covers, alert, ignoring the pain cutting her breath short to the minimum movement she made. Panic slid under her skin, finding its way up to her neck, sealing her throat. What if Greg found her?

However, she seemed to be the only concerned one. Piper, who up to that moment was guarding her, curled up on the pillow by her head, was only bothered by Stella's jump. The cat lazily stretched on the covers, soft purrs spreading through her little body. Then, she hopped off the bed and trotted towards the door meowing happily.

“Daddy’s home?” Stella wondered as if the cat could reply to her.

Confused, she watched Piper slip into the living room and listened to the bell of her collar chime to the rhythm of her silent steps. 

“There’s my love. Did you miss me?” As soon as she heard Max’s soft voice reduced to a whisper coming from the other room, her only desire was to leap into his arms. “Of course, you did.” He continued, talking to his cat. Stella felt her heart jump out of her chest and ran to him. A hot shiver crossed her. It was the first time in hours she had felt warmth building back up inside of her.

She didn’t know what time it was and it didn’t matter. For a moment she wondered if she had passed out cold for an entire day.

She rubbed her face, cursing herself a second after she remembered she had taken a punch right to the eye socket and it was hurting like a bitch. She could barely keep her left eye open. God, she didn’t even want to know what she looked like. Hell, probably.

Stella did to throw the covers off herself intending to slid out of bed to go meet Max but, no matter how strong her will may have been, her body didn’t allow her to move one inch. The pain was too great and her aching muscles and bones seemed to be frozen, keeping her enslaved there. The more she tried to fight against her own depleted strength, the more raging became the bite of her soreness.

Stella gave up with an exhausted huff. The more helpless she felt, the more her anger grew inside of her. And with that, guilt and fear followed. 

How was she supposed to fix the mess she had just caused? 

How could she face Max? What was she supposed to say now to justify herself?

Where was she supposed to find the courage and strength to pull a brave face and keep going on with her life after what had happened?

And what about Greg? What was she supposed to do about him? About what he had committed? 

Thinking that she had to flee, leaving him free to roam in her private space like he more pleased was enough to make her head spin and her stomach turn.

As panic started to set its icy roots through her gripping and sliding through her insides, making her mind spin out of control, Stella didn’t even notice how she wasn’t alone anymore. A set of inquisitive, hard dark eyes studied her from the door as her figure was now exposed under the hall’s light.

“Stella?” His voice, no matter the level of concern bending his tone, was like a warm caress melting into her nerves.  

Stella gasped for air, looking over into the shape of the most familiar person in the whole world to her. Part of her was still startled, terrified he’d be someone else, but, deep down, her heart had already started singing for him. She couldn’t see his face well but it was enough for her to know he looked tremendously serious and imposing. Nothing about him was relaxed, his shoulders were tensed and his fists clenched. 

“Max?” She called softly, gripping on the covers. Her voice was no more than a whisper as she desperately tried to read him. He was angry. Possibly furious. Was it at her? Was it for what she had said, ruining their friendship forever? Was it because after all of that, she still dared to seek him?

"I'm-" she tried desperately to keep a straight face, but the trembling in her voice gave her away, "I'm so sorry," as words came out, so did tears.

Something inside of him changed drastically, it was like she could hear his chest creak under pressure.

Max was by her side in a second. “Don’t you ever apologise to me, kitten,” he kicked his shoes off, “I am the one who needs to apologise.” As he moved, she was drawn to him like a magnet. “But I am here now,” he took off his button-down, “You are not alone anymore,” he continued getting into bed with her.

His words had touched her deeper than she could ever express. She had been drowning ever since she had thought they were done with. Funny that she was still convinced that the idea of losing him was the worst part of her day. And now, she felt like breathing again.

Stella didn’t even wait for him to be settled to nest into his wide chest, not finding any resistance from Max. If anything, Max did nothing but cage her in between his arms, cradling her softly. The warmth of his body spread through her like fire, driving the shadows of fear off her heart. Her chest didn’t feel so tight anymore. 

Stella inhaled his scent deeply, letting herself get used to the idea of him being there. She traced attentively her hands on his chest, making sure he wasn’t a dream.

“I got you, baby,” he whispered kissing her forehead, “I won’t leave you again.”

“It’s a mess,” Stella whispered in between sobs, hiding away in the safety of his arms. “I’m a mess.”

“We’ll fix it. I promise you everything is going to be ok.” He kept her close, lulling sweet things into her ear, trying to reassure her, “You are safe now.”

“I am sorry for what I’ve said. I am so-”

“I told you already,” his lips brushed on the top of her head as he slid a hand through her hair, holding solidly onto her, “don’t apologise to me. I don’t want to hear it.”

A wave of relief washed over her. Her guilt and uncertainty disappeared slowly, leaving her feeling empty still, but relaxed in that cocoon that represented about the only place she’d feel safe in the world. 

“I thought I had lost you for a moment,” Stella let her thoughts escape her mouth.

“You can never lose me, kitten.” 

They both smiled and then laid there, silent, enjoying each other’s embrace.

They were far from being done talking about it, she knew well. It wasn’t like a kiss on the forehead would solve the problem they carried and hid from forever. But, for now, at least, she was willing to forget about it. It was ok to pretend everything was the same as always. And it was ok to know it wasn’t anymore. It was still Max and her against the world, and she needed to cling to that thought – to that promise, not to spiral violently and disappear into the shadows haunting her.

“Thank you for being here,” Stella nuzzled into the crook of his neck, feeling her body truly relaxing for the first time in hours. The hard clutch of her nerves was melting off, allowing her to feel nothing but relief. Even the pain roaring through her body was easily downgraded to barely discomfort. “Thank you for coming back.”

“What kind of friend would I be if I’d let you go through this alone?” he said it pressing a sad smile on her forehead.

That word “friend”, stung her ego more than she was willing to admit. But Stella bit her tongue. She could have easily pointed out all the things normal friends wouldn’t do in that situation. They wouldn’t hug so tightly, needing to feel skin on skin, with tangled legs and cradling hands. But she forced herself to let it go. It was a fight for another day, she had no strength left in her to face him.

“Are you going to ask me about what happened?” 

“Not tonight,” his tone was suddenly harder, like his hold on her. But it was gone in a moment. “I just want you to sleep now. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Ok,” she accepted his decision happily. The last thing she wanted to do was to recall what had happened, especially now that she found somewhere to hide away from her memories. “Are you going to stay with me all night?”

“I am not going anywhere, baby.” He kissed her forehead again and then pressed his cheek on her head. “Now, will you try to sleep? You need the rest.”

“I’ll try,” by that point, she was already dozing off. Now that her guard was down and she finally found some relaxation, exhaustion hit her dragging her down heavily. But, this time, she wasn’t scared about being unconscious and alone any longer.

[artbyblastweave]

Thoughts on the Institute vis a vis with Big MT/'Big Empty' and its Think Tank (and the Vault system in general) and what these glimpses into science-factions imply for the setting's tendency towards near-supervillain mad scientists? Because I definitely remember you being the one to say "the Fallout Universe was maybe three twists of fate away from being a superhero setting" and I'm betting you've got Thoughts on this

I remember a few months ago I saw a lore video on a location in Fallout 3 I never visited where there's a mad doctor sewing bomb implants into the heads of ghouls and super mutants as part of a bid to build a slave army. It's a set-up that he's implemented with scavenged resources in one of the most aggressively ravaged and unlivable areas of the Fallout Universe shown in canon to date, and he's doing it totally independently of all the other mad scientists in the region who have actual named quests associated with them.

The point I'm working towards is that Fallout shares a quality with superhero comics in that they both treat mad science as something comparatively low-overhead and accessible, something that a reasonably intelligent person can make a decent go at while working out of a literal garage with second-hand parts and tools; in superhero settings this ease-of-access serves as a mill for villains of the month, and in Fallout specifically this generates a lot of characters who would read as supervillains if they were consistently being opposed by superheroes. But they aren't. Because what's actually happening is that superhero comics with DIY mad scientists as supervillains were a subset of the greater ecosystem of pulp works that have mad scientists as the antagonists- Superheroes are one of the kinds of people who pop up to oppose them, but not the only kind of person. Super Spys. Private Detectives. Plucky Teens. Academics. Really smart dogs. The list goes on.

And what this means for Fallout, right, is that the superhero would have to be the one to initiate the idiom here, so to speak- they'd have to operate in large enough numbers to recontextualize the behavior of the mad scientists as properly supervillianous. Because all those mad scientists- the think tank, the vaults, all the one-off freelance weirdos- those are tropey to us, right? To the audience. But in the context of how their universe works, what they're doing is a feasible path to power. Fallout Mad Scientists only rarely end up that way as a result of deliberately cultivating the aesthetic- you just end up as one by default, as a result of pursuing your goals the intuitive way, with the tools and technology available to you. By contrast, superheroism in Fallout is always the result of somebody Committing To The Bit. Both Mechanists, Manta Man, The Silver Shroud (at player discretion), The Mistress of Mystery, the would-be vigilante at Parson State- even at their most effective, none of these people got that way by following an intuitive, signposted path to power. They aren't living in the ruins of superheroism implemented at Scale. It's an aesthetic that they had to pursue deliberately, and as first-adopters they looked weird.

If you wanted to stretch the text like taffy, this almost says something- the world is laid out in such a way that the exaggerated, pulpy evil occurs thoughtlessly, stemming from institutional inertia and precedent, but an equally exaggerated, pulpy good takes work. Work and imagination, and a heartfelt belief that things can change. Fallout's narrative doesn't have terribly kind things to say about the superheroes in practice, so I doubt that's what it's going for. But it's a nice thought, right?

[painted-bees]

Was there a specific event that lead Raf and Magritte to decide they were more than just roommate music buddies? Did they ever make it official or was it more a gradual thing?

You know, I am not...actually sure yet, but I think it was a gradual thing. They were definately fwb for a while before they *coughspecificallyRafcoughcough* couldn't pretend that it was just a casual, low commitment relationship anymore. Raf managed to weave Magritte quite deeply into his life (and she lent herself to it with zero resistance once she shouldered past her initial nervousness of the "becoming roommates" barrier), to the point that even he had to admit he'd have a hard time emotionally recovering if she decided it was ever time to move on to more serious commitments. And, if she ever did, he'd worry about her, always.

Magritte, being Magritte...is pretty chill to take any relationship as it comes, and felt no pressure or particular desire to question what she and Raf were to each other. They were what they were, it's nice, fun, it works, whatever! She kinda knew Raf was keeping it "friends only" for ease of escape if things got suddenly weird or scary for him, and she had no trouble with it. Besides, she's very confident that she's too much of a weird kinda gross goblin--with not a single domestic 'home keeping' bone in her body--to be wifeable lmao. Plus, the whole concept of [[vague guesture]] doing the family thing feels very alien to her.

Buuut in time, Raf probably just casually begins changing the language he uses when referring to Magritte, and eventually she's his partner/girlfriend when he's talking about her to others. Magritte follows his lead on that, referring to him in kind, and it just becomes...what it becomes!

I think if there were ever a discussion to be had about it, Magritte at most might be like, "haha guess we're dating now, hey?" And Raf would respond, "tbh I think we kinda skipped that bit, sorry bout that." Lmao

[liminalmemories21]

Does this one light the spark plug lim? 👀

Early days, between S1 and S2 - Carlos takes TK to his favorite art gallery in Austin 👀

He's half listening to Lexi talk about the new frontier of trying to date during COVID when it occurs to him that they've never gone on a date - him and TK, not him and Lexi. He pauses halfway to taking a bite of his sandwich and Lexi stops talking to stare at him. "I didn't know you cared that much Reyes."

He rolls his eyes at her because he's been her emergency get out of a bad date call more than once, and she grins. "What'd you just remember? Did you leave the milk out?"

He shakes his head. "I realized I've never taken TK on a date."

She lifts her eyebrows. "TK, your boyfriend? That TK?" She takes another bite of her sandwich. "You landed that without a date? Tell me your ways, Oh Mystical One."

He huffs a breath. "I don't recommend our process." She make a skeptical noise, and then a call comes in for them over the radio and the discussion gets shelved.

He thinks about it on the way home though. They'd gone to darts at the bar, and that was kind of a date. Sort of. But also not really. And, more specifically they haven't gone on a date since they became official, since they lay on the hood of his car and TK took his hand and called them a team. The 126 comes over to his condo for game night, and he's been to the Strand's for dinner with TK's parents, and TK sleeps in his bed more nights than he doesn't, but they've never gone on a date. There are reasons. The world shut down barely a week after the solar flares hit, and even if there'd been anywhere to go they'd both been too exhausted and too haunted by the world falling apart around them to even think about a date.

But things have settled now, some at least. COVID is still the headline in the newspaper every day, but it's possible to think about something else now, just making it though the shift doesn't require every part of his energy anymore. He has the breathing room to think about a date.

He hasn't exactly been on enough dates to have a usual. And, none of the things that are traditional date material are really an option at the moment anyway. All the restaurants he'd daydreamed about taking TK to are still take-out only, and even if he wanted to take TK to a club on a date - which he doesn't, he wants a different kind of intimate - they're closed.

It leaves him stuck for days, thinking it over while he patrols. It isn't until he's idling at a traffic light outside the LINE hotel staring up at the Women's Votes mural that he has a stroke of genius. He remembers early - when every moment with TK over lunch or dinner at taco stands felt stolen and chancy - the way that TK would stop to look at any gratified street art they came past, the way he'd cock his head and pause.

It takes him another week to figure it out, and then another week to wait for a day when they're both off with no commitments. He won't tell TK where they're going or what they're doing, just tells him it's a surprise, and to wear comfortable shoes.

TK spends the evening trying to wheedle and then seduce it out of him, and Carlos devotes himself to fucking him until TK's barely able to remember his name. He feeds TK scrambled eggs and buttered toast and grapefruit for breakfast and does not let the way TK moans around buttery bread distract him from his plans for the day.

He drives them across the South Congress bridge and eases his car into a space just barely large enough to fit it, and flushes when TK whistles low. "Nothing sexier than a man who can parallel park in one move, baby."

They wander down South Congress hand-in hand, detouring down side streets as they catch a glimpse of color that promises a hidden treasure. They pause for coffee, and then for nachos, and then ice cream. TK stops to say hello to almost every dog they pass, and hoists two small children up so that they can write a wish on the Chalkboard on Elizabeth Street and Carlos trades helplessly charmed smiles with their mother. She leans against a tree watching and says quietly. "He's a keeper."

He nods agreement. "That's the plan."

It's winding into late afternoon by the time they make it back to the car, footsore and a little burned from the late autumn sun. TK waits until they're in the car before he leans over the gearshift to kiss Carlos slow and soft. It's not chaste, but it's sweet and heavy with an emotion neither one of them has named out loud yet but he thinks they both feel.

When he pulls back Carlos licks his lips, chasing the taste of TK and the tamarind jarritos he'd bought on the way back to the car. "Does that mean it was a good date?"

TK rubs a thumb over his cheekbone. "Best last first date I ever hope to go on."

[willtheweaver]

OC questionnaire tag

Shoutout for the tag @kaylinalexanderbooks

My questions are:

1. What is your favorite thing about rain? What is your least favorite thing about it?

2. What is something you don’t mind waiting a long time for?

3. Have you ever been punished for anything you didn’t do?

These questions sound perfect for the birds of A Feather in the Forest! Let’s hear it from Reed, Dirge, and Sora

1. What is your favorite thing about rain? What is your least favorite thing about it?

Reed: There’s just something about rain I find soothing. Cleaning everything, washing away the old, and nourishing things…what I don’t like is when it stops on a hot summer day. The humidity afterwards is a killer.

Dirge: I like rain in general, more than most other birds. Some may say it is ingrained into the blood of all geese. Don’t know about that, but I love a gentle rain shower. What I don’t like is a thunderstorm; the kind that goes on for days with pounding rain, screaming winds, and lightning that keeps everyone awake and praying for their lives.

Sora: The tap tap of rain always puts me at ease. It’s also ideal to hide secret conversations. What I like the least is when the rain ends during the summer months. The humidity is the WORST.

2. What is something you don’t mind waiting a long time for?

Reed: Spring. I just love the melting of the snow, and new life coming forth.

Dirge: That perfect sunset. You know what I mean; a clear, cloudless sky, the colors shifting from red, to the blue of night.

Sora: Seeing a rainbow after the rains.

3. Have you ever been punished for something you didn’t do?

Reed: This is less of a question than the story of my life. Being low on the social ladder means that everyone above you drops their guano on you…and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Dirge: Do you really want to know? Some of those of the upper ranks just love blaming us for their mistakes. And having higher standing in the hierarchy means they get away with their crimes (it makes my blood boil).

Sora: (sigh) the list I’ve got is a long one. Coming from the bottom meant that those higher up can get away with quite a bit. Things aren’t much better now that I’m a member of the talí (the warrior ranks in bird society). Those born to the rank always like to remind me that they could end my career and my life if they choose to.

Tagging @thewritingautisticat @late-to-the-fandom @splashinkling @drchenquill @tabswrites @words-after-midnight @winterandwords @diabolical-blue @thepeculiarbird @spitefulbull and open tag

Your questions are:

1. If your best friend/spouse/family member admitted to have committed murder, would you turn them in?

2. What is your fondest memory?

3. What is the best piece of advice you can give someone else?

[apollos-olives]

I wanted to ask if you believed that God can give you signs? I asked God for one and got like four in a day, and after that I just really needed them when I was feeling low and I got them, but then I kind of became paranoid that it was just coincidence’s. I feel like they aren’t, they always come when I ask, but I always think why would I be getting a sign when I’m not the best with doing all my prayers and there are people out there better then me.

a very interesting question, but yes. i do believe god gives signs. i know this because he's given me some, or at least i know that his presence exists through various experiences of mine. i'm sure you don't want to hear about that though, so i'll just tell you this: you are not any more or less worthy of receiving signs from god. i know this is such an annoying thing to hear at this point, but god really does love all of us. just because you aren't perfect and that you don't do the best or most consistent prayers doesn't mean that you're less worthy of god's love or receiving his signs. in the end all god wants for you is to flourish and do everything to benefit yourself and others. your imperfections are exactly why god made humans the superior species- we were blessed with knowledge and we were blessed with being able to make choices for ourselves. god gave us this opportunity to choose our paths for ourselves, and he is always welcoming to those who want to get back to him, no matter whether or not they are the most perfect worshipper or the worst worshipper. you doubting yourself right now over your commitment to god is a blessing!!! and you receiving signs is a blessing!!! if god gave you a sign, who are you to doubt it or refuse it? and even if it's a coincidence, don't you think god is still looking out for you and wants the best for you? if you receive a sign from god, i think that means that not only are you worthy enough for him, but that you are one of the people that he undoubtedly wants to return to him in the end.

but idk i'm not a sheikh. i hope that does ease your worries though.

[financeprincess]

Could you talk a bit more about the “mental” part of glowing up? Taking those first steps and being intentional about changing yourself and your life?

A lot of it is about commitment to change and stepping out of your comfort zone. Stepping out of your comfort zone and trying new things, going new places, inserting yourself into spaces you haven’t been, all help break limiting beliefs. Imposter syndrome is super real especially if it’s been bulldozed into you from day one that you have to be the best at everything (speaking from personal experience) and especially if you’ve ever dealt with anxiety it can be tough to get over. I meditate a lot, journal, listen to high vibrational frequencies and bilateral stimulation music, read/write/speak/listen to affirmations, went to therapy for a very long time. Also it’s very normal to cry, I cried a lot when I first started to really change things because I felt like I was grieving an entire life I was leaving behind and was grieving for my past self because she had tried so damn hard to get it together but hard work doesn’t always equal the results you want. Manifestation and reaching your goals is easier in a state of receiving, flow, and ease. Write down how you want your ideal life to be and start thinking of the steps it takes to get there. Use a planner and dump everything you need to into it.

Read as many books as you can about things that interest you, especially nonfiction. Some of my favorites are finances, real estate, technology, biographies, fashion, politics, history, science, classic literature, and philosophy. Download DuoLingo and start learning languages that interest you. Invest in your hobbies. Try whatever you want to try: pottery, dance, horseback riding, painting, new workout classes, photography, musical instruments, sewing, baking, chess, the possibilities are endless.

Stop consuming low vibrational content: brain rotting TikTok videos, trashy TV shows, anything with excessive violence or gore, anything on social media that is exclusively for shock value or trying to illicit attention or controversy. If you’re consuming media you want to feel better or more informed after watching it. I love food and nature documentaries for this reason. Speaking of social media, delete everything you have on your profiles that doesn’t align with who you want to be. Or better yet, delete them altogether and either go ghost or start a new one. Do a dopamine detox and cut out vices as much as you can. Video games, excessive shopping, alcohol, nicotine, drugs, caffeine, sugar, social media, unhealthy foods, gossiping, etc. All of these give your brain a rush when you engage in them, amongst other habits.

Limit or eliminate time around negative people or people who just do not have it together. What kind of people do you want around you? Do these people elevate me or bring me down? How do they act towards me? You have to be ruthless with your personal boundaries because you can’t expect other people to read your mind. Ultimately it comes down to switching your mindset and taking radical personal responsibility for your own life. If you feel a sense of responsibility over everything around you, it will cause you to take action if you are not happy. Positive mindset and radical trust in God is everything too.

[camp-counselor-life]

What does the future hold for GS?

So I've been thinking about what the future is going to look like in Girl Scouting. And, while I imagine this will be a gradual shift, it's already happening. So here are my predictions for the next 10, 20, 50 years, below the cut because it is loooooong:

This is in no particular order because tumblr isn't letting me reorder stuff:

More multilevel troops - we're really seeing this in my council, but in a lot of areas single grade troops are a thing of the past. I don't think I know any in my council right now. I think we'll also see more demand for multilevel badges and Journeys, especially for Cadette and older (yes we miss the IPs).

More demand for progression building badges - GSUSA prides itself in Girl Scouting's progression, which is seen in some places but not in others. For example, it's seen in Safety Activity Checkpoints, with Girl Scouts getting more and more options available, and in travel, where you're supposed to start with an indoor overnight, then a one night activity, etc. However, a lot of the badges do not have that sort of progression. Some, like robotics, sort of do (although often they're super similar to each other OR lack the background needed for older girls they assume already earned the DBJ version and remember it), but others that are in the same series have little to do with each other (looking at you, Science of Happiness going with Home Scientist) and don't really provide the opportunity to build skills the way the Try-its, badges, and IPs I grew up with did. I think there will be more of a demand for all level badge themes, such as horseback riding, paddling, and specific types of arts and crafts.

More diversity in programming - this means programming beyond badges, programming beyond Journeys. I think that we're starting to see this, and some may say that this is the duty of other youth-serving organizations, schools, or parents, but I think that demand will by far outpace this argument. There's already a huge push for more outdoor/camp, so I think that will continue as well.

More demand for accessible outdoor programming - this means two things. One, it means accessible to those with disabilities, from better inclusion of autistic youth to making facilities more physically accessible (this is a huge debate in camping as a whole rn). Two, it means that it needs to be accessible in other ways, such as financially accessible, locally accessible, and ease of use.

Better badge resources - right now, a lot of supplemental badge resources are developed by councils, so they're very hodge-podge. GSUSA has made some starts, but lacks a comprehensive plan for supporting badges, especially more technical or challenging badges, or older GS badges. The VTK is a start, but tbh it sucks in both content and functionality, so GSUSA will need to do some serious overhauls of their resources in order to make things usable.

No more Journeys - Sorry, I do not think that Journeys will last the test of time, especially with the way they're formatted now. Troop leaders hate them, because they are challenging in a lot of ways, so there's a huge demand for council to run them, and like, they are not meant for a one and done Journey in a Day format. There's also the Take Action Project, which I feel is not part of a proper progression with how they dump new Daisy leaders in with similar guidelines as Seniors.

More emphasis on non-troop leader volunteering - this varies a ton between councils, and my council is in the infancy of developing non-troop volunteering (which is actually my job lol). But I think that less and less people are looking for the kind of volunteering required to be a troop or service unit volunteer, so there will be a greater demand from volunteers for short term or low commitment volunteer positions. I see this especially coming from young alums, but honestly for anyone looking for an organization emphasizing female empowerment without devoting hours upon hours to its service.

More emphasis on short term troop volunteering - again, people don't have unlimited time and bandwidth for leading a troop year after year. Having a short term opportunity, especially for young alums, college students, and busy professionals, will be an important way to increase volunteers and have Girl Scouts continue.

More non-parent volunteers - I think that this goes with the whole "millennials" aren't having kids trend. Right now, non-parent volunteers are an outlier, and sometimes treated like they're weird or creepy for wanting to work with kids that aren't their own. Grandparents, aunts, cousins, sure. Young alums without kids are acceptable. But just random adults who want to help? What are your qualifications and who "hired" you? Developing pathways for non-parents to volunteer with GS is definitely needed.

More embracing of gender diversity in Girl Scouting - this does not mean I think they'll allow in boys, but I do think they'll need to at least adapt to nonbinary participants, volunteers, and staff, because troops are already doing it and GSUSA has not caught up. It puts councils in an odd position, because leaders are doing one thing, GSUSA has been putting off commenting on gender stuff since 2020, and councils are in the middle, making up their own guidelines.

What are your predictions?