#naturally I can see places that now feel rough around the edges - I would never choose that title now

[letterstoalonewolf]

Crimson Fate

Jasper Hale x Reader

Summary: Jasper was a storm, quiet but unrelenting, and you were caught in his current long before you realized you’d stopped resisting. There was no friendship where soul-deep devotion lived—only the inevitable fall, slow and all-consuming, into something neither of you could deny.

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The air between you and Jasper was always charged, a live wire crackling with an energy that had no name. It wasn’t just attraction—it was something deeper, something that settled in your bones and made you ache in a way you didn’t have the words for.

You’d known him for months now, but it still didn’t feel real sometimes, how effortless it was to be around him. Jasper Hale—the quiet one, the intense one. The boy with golden eyes that seemed to read you like an open book and a presence so grounding that it felt like standing on the edge of something vast and endless.

And the worst part? He knew. He knew exactly what he did to you.

"Here, darlin’," his voice, smooth and edged with the faintest trace of a Southern drawl, interrupted your thoughts as he plucked the books from your arms before you could protest.

"Jasper," you sighed, exasperated but secretly touched. "I can carry my own books, you know."

His lips twitched in that almost-smile that made your breath catch. "Not while I’m around."

You didn’t bother fighting him on it. You never won.

Instead, you walked side by side through the hallways, bodies close enough that the backs of his fingers brushed yours with every step. You swore it wasn’t an accident. Not with the way his touch lingered, featherlight but deliberate. Not with the way his pinky hooked against yours for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before slipping away like it never happened.

Heat bloomed beneath your skin. He felt it too—you knew he did.

Jasper had an uncanny ability to read emotions, a gift that should have made you wary. But it didn’t, because he never used it against you. He never forced you to say things you weren’t ready to. He just... waited.

And watched.

Across classrooms, across hallways, from across the cafeteria where he sat with his family, his golden eyes would find you. Hold you. Strip you bare without a single word.

You should’ve looked away. You never did.

Lunch was loud, but it all faded to the background the second Jasper slid into the seat beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. He smelled like something woodsy, like leather and the crisp bite of autumn, a scent that had become so familiar it made your stomach tighten.

"You're quiet today," he murmured.

Your fingers played idly with the hem of your sleeve. "Just thinking."

"’Bout what?"

You hesitated. "You."

Something shifted in his expression, something unreadable but sharp. His hand, rough yet careful, found yours beneath the table, his thumb tracing along your knuckles in slow, soothing circles.

Jasper never pushed. He never demanded. But the way he looked at you now—like he was waiting for something, for you to finally say the things you were both dancing around—made your throat dry.

Instead of answering, you turned your hand over in his, fingers slotting between his like it was second nature. His grip tightened for a fraction of a second, almost like he was afraid you’d pull away. You didn’t.

It happened after school, when the sky was fading into hues of violet and the air had that crisp edge that hinted at impending rain.

Jasper walked you to your car, as he always did, your bag slung effortlessly over his shoulder like it was his to carry.

"You don’t have to do this every day, you know," you teased, leaning against the car.

He stepped closer, close enough that you could see the different shades of gold in his irises. "I know."

There was a beat of silence. Then—

"Y/N." His voice was quiet but steady, his gaze so intense it rooted you in place. "You know this won’t last forever."

Your stomach clenched. "What?"

"Us," he said simply. "Being just friends."

Your breath hitched. He was too close, the warmth of his body seeping into yours despite the crisp evening air. His fingers brushed your cheek, knuckles trailing featherlight across your skin before he cupped your face completely.

"You feel it too," he murmured. Not a question. A statement.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering against your ribs. "Jasper—"

His thumb traced along your cheekbone, lingering at the corner of your mouth. And then—so close, too close—he leaned in, pressing the softest kiss just beside your lips. Almost.

When he pulled away, his eyes searched yours, waiting.

He was right. You knew it.

Sooner or later, you wouldn’t be able to resist him anymore.

[cartograffiti]

Roses 2: Electric Boogaloo

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast, Juno Steel series Rated: M Warnings: No archive warnings apply Word count: 22,890 - Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel (Jupeter), Duke Rose/Dahlia Rose, Rita/Sasha Wire, Buddy Aurinko/Vespa Characters: Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev, Rita, Sasha Wire, Buddy Aurinko, Vespa [Ilkay], Brown Jacket [Jet Sikuliaq], Alessandra Strong, Small Fry - Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev have lived together for a year now. Their happiness would be complete if only people would stop asking them about their plans for the future. They're overdue for a conversation about it, but why rock the boat? Buddy and Vespa Aurinko have a niece who's fallen in with a bad crowd. Has she volunteered her brilliant mind for evil, or is she a hostage? Clearly, only one thing can solve everyone's problems: a fake marriage mission. Undercover again as Duke and Dahlia Rose, the detective and the thief navigate the glittering dangers of [Space Monte Carlo]. At least they'll look fabulous doing it. Roses 2: Electric Boogaloo. A story about desire, commitment, and living dangerously. No longer canon-compliant.

This was written for the 2018/19 Penumbra Mini Bang.

This fic was posted in 2019. I'm sharing it now because I want my Tumblr to have a nicely organized link to each of my fics. Some I've shared with such inconsistent tags I can't find the links myself, and many I've never blogged about at all! This one I know I have, but this is an easy way to get organized.

[puckinghischier]

Just sitting here thinking about how Jack would usually fuck you nice and slow, praising you the entire time and putting your pleasure before his, but one night after a really tough loss where nothing went right for him and the team, he just loses it and immediately comes home to let out his frustrations on you. Manhandling you like a rag doll, spitting on you, yanking on your hair as hard as he can, and choking you until you see stars and you'd be loving every second of this version of Jack and he'd pick up on that, calling you degrading names and mocking you for being such a dirty fucking slut that he never knew about you

WARNING!: degradation, name calling, choking

the change of pace was surprising to you, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t unleash a new preference of yours. the commanding, harsh, and derogatory nature of the entire night is something you never expected from him, but damn if there wasn’t a part of you eating it up.

from the second he got home you knew something was off. he slammed the door, threw his bag against the wall and stomped right over to you, wordlessly picking you up and carrying you to the shared bedroom. he threw you onto the bed, the large bounce you did causing your heart rate to spike.

“jack, honey, what’s going on? i don’t-“

“shut up. don’t fucking talk to me,” he interrupts you, your mouth instantly snapping shut. the look in his eyes was like nothing you had ever seen before — wild and dark.

he starts removing his clothes, standing naked in front of you before you could even blink. not knowing what to do, you start removing your sweatshirt, slowly bringing the thick material up and over your head. jack stood watching you, an expectant look on his face.

“god, can you go any fucking slower? hurry up. off. all of it, off,” he spits out as you start to grab your t-shirt, removing the fabric from your goose bump ridden body.

“for the love of god, are you fucking helpless or something? i said hurry up,” jack raises his voice, reaching down to grip your ankles, pulling you towards him harshly. once you’re sitting at the end of the bed, he grabs your shoulders, forcing you to sit up. he rips the shirt the rest of the way off of your body, throwing it across the room.

he doesn’t even attempt to unclasp the bra you hadn’t taken off from running errands earlier. instead, he tugs the material so harshly you can feel the piercing sting on your sensitive skin, feeling the plastic clasps snap apart, rendering the undergarment useless as it falls from your chest.

a gasp falls from your mouth, but it’s lost in the grunt he lets out as he shoves your shoulders back down onto the bed, gripping the waist band of your leggings as he tugs them down — along with your underwear — in a singular movement.

“now, was that so fucking hard?” he growls, pushing your ankles back up onto the bed, moving you away from the edge as he crawls onto the mattress with you.

you’re surprised at yourself, because not once during the entire interaction did you wish jack was his usual, soft and caring self. instead, you found every single harsh word and rough action traveling straight to your core. an unfamiliar warmth of arousal now stirring in your stomach as you watch him crawl towards you.

“up, on all fours, ass towards me,” he commands you, not waiting even a millisecond before grabbing your body and placing you into position himself. he starts caressing your ass, taking the soft flesh into his hands and kneading handfuls. “don’t even get it. don’t even know all the shit that happened tonight, do you?” he talks, pinching and squeezing your skin even tighter.

“tell me, maybe i can-“ you start to squeak out, but a harsh smack to your ass stops you. you involuntarily let out a sharp squeal, not expecting the action.

“when i say don’t fucking talk to me, it means don’t fucking talk to me,” jack rubs soothing circle around the red skin. “you don’t know what went on tonight. what coach said in the locker room after the game. what an embarrassment the whole team was tonight. the way the refs let us get our asses kicked all night long. so there’s nothing you can say that’ll make me feel better, you understand?”

you nod, looking back at him over your shoulder, surprising yourself when you jut your ass out further towards him, all but asking for another smack. he smirks, gladly granting your request.

he raises his hand, bringing it down even harder than he had the first time, your whole body jolting forward at the impact. your yelp sounded almost like pleasure this time, your brain going in a million different directions.

“now this? this makes me feel better. this makes me feel in control again. because i am, aren’t i? i’m in control right now. because you’re just my own personal slut, here to use as i see fit,” his voice dropped a few octaves, gravelly and thick.

before you can even fully register his words, a moan slips past your lips. you feel yourself clenching around nothing, your cunt slick with desire at whatever this new persona is coming from him.

he slides a hand down towards your entrance, interested at how turned on you seem to be by all of this. when his long, slender finger swirls around the still clenching hole, he chuckles, amused at your current state.

“you like this new side, huh? my sweet, innocent girl likes being called a slut and treated like some whore i picked up off the street, doesn’t she?” it’s more of a statement than a question. another clench of your pussy answers his question, his finger nearly getting sucked right into your sex.

“too bad this isn’t about you, isn’t it?” he clicks his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head at you, even though you can’t see him. “tonight is about me. making me feel better. in fact….” he trails off, bringing his cold fingers up to start attacking your clit, rubbing so ferociously your arms holding you up nearly give out from the friction. “…you can’t come at all tonight,” his fingers suddenly drop, your labored breaths stopping altogether as his words register.

your head whips around to glare at him, but the second you have him in your sights, you feel his cock slam into you without warning. your body lurches forward so much your nose nearly smacks into the head board.

jack pulls out almost immediately, slamming back into you with quick, full thrusts. he grabs your hips, pulling them back with each movement to meet his thrusts.

he can’t see your face, but your mouth is hung wide open in a silent scream, not being able to even think about anything but how you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

you finally let out a whimper at a particularly deep thrust, feeling one of his hands leave your hip to grab a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back. he keeps easing your head back, neck fully extended, so much so you’re now able to see his face hovering above you.

“can’t believe you’re this cock drunk already. barely even started, baby. not been a peep out of you, has there?” you want to shake your head, say something, moan, anything. but the angle of your neck prevents any of that, only allowing you to look at him with your wide, rolling eyes.

he can feel the familiar flutter of your walls, signaling your impending release. he releases your hair, but so abruptly that your face flies forward like a rubber band has snapped, chin smacking against your chest.

he pulls out, leaving you a whining, pathetic mess. he takes his arms and flips you over so you’re now on your back. taking one of your legs, he extends it up and rests your ankle on his shoulder. he stands on his knees in front of you, looking at you with anger and annoyance.

“told you you’re not coming tonight. it’s about me, not you. it’s always about you, you greedy whore. you can’t just let me have this one night, huh?” he literally spits at you. the silky string of saliva leaves his mouth, its trajectory landing right on your stomach, mixing with the sweat there. he watches the rapid rise and fall of your chest, noting the stiff nature of your nipples.

as if he’s in a trance, he brings a hand up fully slapping one breast, watching it fly over and smack the other. then repeating the action with the opposite breast.

you jolt again, whining out a high pitched moan at the feeling of your heavy tits being smacked around. he smirks down at you, repeating the action a few times, each smack harder than the previous.

once he decides he’s had his fill of playing with your tits, he trails his hand down your stomach, swirling and smearing his spit around your skin. when his gaze falls back onto your glistening cunt, he snaps back into his previous task, smirking before once again, ramming into you without caution.

thrust after thrust, he can feel himself reaching the edge, moving in and out of you with ease, watching your eyes roll into the back of your head. there was one thing, however, he wanted to test before he let himself go.

he brings a hand up towards your face, running a finger from your temple to your chin, watching you. he brings his hand to rest on the side of your throat, thumb rubbing up and down the center. “d’ya trust me?” he whispers to you, typical, soft jack making an appearance.

you nod at him eagerly, assuring him you trust him, wholly and completely. you risk breaking the rules, a small “always” leaving your lips. he looks at you with love in his eyes, but you watch as they switch, once again showing the wildness you’ve grown to like tonight.

he moves his hand slightly so his whole hands covers your throat, and he squeezes. hard.

you sputter and wheeze, eyes wide at how much pressure he’s applying, not even easing into it. but you’re not scared. if anything, the pressure building in your head is dizzying, adding to every sensation coursing through your body.

he doesn’t stop, squeezing tighter by the second. just as he’s about to let up, worrying he’s gone too far, he feels that flutter from your core once again. his sign you’re enjoying this far more than he ever thought you would. he holds his grip for a few moments longer.

you’re starting to see stars in the edges of your vision, but you’re so turned on you never want it to end. with a final, small caress of the side of your neck with his thumb, he lets go. you suck in air, actually a little worried he might have left a mark once you gain your wits about you again.

the whole time, he never stopped rutting his hips into yours, thrusts growing sloppier by the second. he leans forward and lines his mouth up to hover above your breasts, collecting a mouth full of saliva and letting it fall from his lips onto your full, bouncing breasts. and again on your chest. and your stomach. and where his dick is sliding in and out of you. then he moves back up your body, taking a hand and parting your lips, watching his foamy spit land right into your open mouth. the fluid drips right into the back of your throat.

watching you early swallow his spit, then opening your mouth and begging for more, is what does him in. he feels the band about to snap, so he pulls out of you, drops your leg from his shoulder, and moves to straddle right over your stomach.

he strokes himself a few more times, then aims his release to fall in a sticky mess all over your spit covered tits, watching the milky substance roll and drip over the fleshy mounds. he strokes himself until the sensitivity takes over, slumping down, but careful not to put all of his body weight on you.

you wiggle and writhe beneath him, trying your hardest to reach a hand down to your pulsing center, needing now more than ever to reach your own release.

jack feels what you’re trying to do, and grabs your hands, trapping them both above your head.

“what did i tell you earlier, you dumb slut?” he’s clearly not done with being an ass just yet. “only i get to come tonight. and i did. so now you’re gonna go clean yourself up, come back to bed, naked, and if you can behave for the rest of the night, you might get to wake up to something nice,” he bends down to place a chaste kiss to your lips, releasing your hands and moving to sit beside of you.

you sit up and start to get off of the bed. once you’re stood fully, jack takes the opportunity to reach over and smack your bare ass again, smirking at you when your head whips around to look at him.

“hurry up, i may be pissed tonight, but now that i got all of that out of my system, i want to cuddle,” he tells you, his tone back to your normal jack, but eyes still wild as ever.

[doumadono]

Congratulations! You desetrved every follower you have!

For the celebration I'd love to order:

Raspberry ice cream in a cup with Maple syrup and Cherries!

All of this for Kai Chisaki!!!

STAY AMAZING AND NEVER CHANGE! THANK YOU FOR ALL THE FICS THAT MADE MY LIFE A LITTLE BETTER.

Warnings: smut w/o plot, fem!reader, pussy fingering/eating, rough p in v, overstimulation, yandere Overhaul

Synopsis: after a fruitless meeting with Shigaraki, you're the only one who can help Overhaul cool down

A/N: thank you very much for your support, dear Nonnie!

MY HERO ACADEMIA

Overhaul had an aura that was impossible to ignore. His obsessive nature and unwavering belief in his cause were both terrifying and captivating, a dangerous combination that drew you in like a moth to a flame. You were his girlfriend, a fact that both thrilled and terrified you.

One day, the meeting with Shigaraki Tomura hadn't gone as planned, and as you left, you could sense the simmering anger radiating from Overhaul. His jaw clenched tightly, and his usually composed demeanor was marred by frustration.

Despite the tension between Overhaul and Shigaraki, the latter was surprisingly kind to you during the meeting. In response, you maintained a polite demeanor, careful not to trigger any further conflict. Kai noticed Shigaraki's unexpected civility towards you and responded by acting even sweeter than usual. He gently brushed the top of your palm with his gloved fingers, and at times, he would possessively wrap his arm around your shoulders, particularly when he sensed Shigaraki's gaze lingering on your face for a little too long.

After the meeting, as you walked back to your flat, Kai remained silent, lost in his thoughts. You could feel the tension building between you, and you knew that it was only a matter of time before his anger would spill over.

Once you were home, Kai suddenly turned to you, his eyes flashing with intensity. "I can't believe that fool!" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "He thinks he can just walk all over us! "Did you see how he checked you out?" he asked bluntly.

You blinked, tilting your head in confusion, completely taken aback by the sudden question. "Who? Shigaraki? He wasn't."

"Of course he was. I'm sure his thoughts were damn dirty. What a pervert. But you're mine. Always been mine."

You reached out to him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "Kai, please calm down," you urged softly, trying to soothe his agitation. "You'll figure something out. You always do. You need to cool down now."

Kai took a deep breath, visibly trying to rein in his emotions. "You're right," he conceded, his tone still edged with frustration. "Damn it!" Kai shouted, his fists clenched at his sides as he paced back and forth in your living room. "I won't stand for this disrespect!"

After watching you for a moment, he scoffed, realizing that he could easily unload his frustration on you and relieve himself of the burden. So he approached you, his steps slow and deliberate. He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw, his touch surprisingly tender. His eyes, however, were were dark, filled with a hunger that made your heart race. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "I need to relax a bit before I return to plotting more."

His words sent a jolt of electricity through your body. You nodded silently, understanding exactly what he meant. He gently took your hand and guided you to the bedroom without a word.

The room was dimly lit, the shadows dancing on the walls as Kai closed the door behind him. He turned to face you, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to undress.

You watched, feeling your breath catch in your throat, as he swiftly discarded his shirt and jeans, revealing his toned body. His cock stood erect, already hard and proud, leaving you unable to tear your eyes away.

Overhaul smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. He moved towards you, his hands reaching for the hem of your dress. He pulled it off in one swift motion, leaving you standing in nothing but your lingerie. His eyes roamed over your body, appreciation clear in his gaze. He reached out, undone the clasp of your bra, and then his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. He pulled them down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You stepped out of them, now completely naked before him.

Overhaul's gaze darkened, his cock twitching in response. He pushed you back onto the bed, his body covering yours as he kissed you deeply. His tongue invaded your mouth. He moved down your body, his lips trailing kisses along your warm skin. He reached your pussy, his tongue darting out to taste you. "Fuck."

You gasped, your hands fisting in the sheets as he licked and sucked on your clit.

He slid two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out as he continued to lick and suck on your sensitive folds, feasting on you. "Fuck, that's what I fucking needed," he groaned.

You moaned, your hips bucking against his face. "Kai," you gasped, "I'm close…"

He hummed in response, his fingers moving faster, penetrating your pussy and massaging that sweet spot inside.

You cried out, your orgasm hitting you like a wave as you arched your back, grinding your pussy against his lips.

Overhaul didn't stop however, drawing out all of your pleasure until you were begging him to stop.

"Kai, Kai, Kai! I can't! Please! I can't breathe!" You whined, suffocating yourself on your own moans and pants.

He moved back up your body, licking his way up, his cock nudging at your entrance shortly after.

You looked down at the right moment, watching as he quickly pushed inside you; his cock's red, mushroom tip disappeared into your warm, wet pussy. "Oh, fuck," you moaned, your eyes fluttering closed as he filled you completely. "O-Oh God!"

Chisaki groaned, his eyes glued to the spot where your bodies were joined. He pulled out almost completely, observing how his cock shimmered with your sweet juices, before plunging back in, his hips maintaining a relentless rhythm. "Fuck, yeah, yeah, you're so fucking good, bitch."

You cried out, your nails digging into his back as he fucked you. "Harder," you begged, "Fuck me harder, Kai."

He obliged, his thrusts becoming rougher.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with your moans and Kai's grunts.

"Yes," you gasped, "Yes, yes, yes." You could feel another orgasm building, your body coiling tight.

As the overwhelming pleasure washed over you, causing your eyes to roll back into your skull, Kai didn't hesitate to slap your cheek a few times. "Look at me, bitch," he commanded, his voice low and demanding. "Look into my eyes as I fuck your stupid cunt senseless, you fucking bitch."

Kai reached between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, sending you over the edge.

You screamed, your body convulsing around his cock as you came. Your breath caught in your throat, stifled by your own moans and gasps, creating a quiet, wheezing sound.

Overhaul groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic before he stilled, his cock pulsing inside you as he came. "Fuuuuck." He thrust into you a few more times, ensuring every last drop of his cum was deeply embedded, before withdrawing and delivering a sharp slap to your pussy. "That's my good slut," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

You could feel his cum leaking out of your pussy, and you reached between your thighs, scooping some on your finger and bringing it to your mouth to taste it. You hummed in appreciation.

Kai rolled off you, pulling you into his arms. "Mine," Kai murmured, his lips pressing against your forehead. "You belong to me. You're fucking mine. Remember that."

[crimsoncandy04]

This is my first post but I feel like the world needs my vision so here it is.

Imagine actually getting The Wanderer to see you in a desirable way. I honestly feel like he'd still be rough around the edges (and with you too) simply because even though he wants you, this is still showing deep vulnerability which is uncomfortable for him.

So I picture him sort of passively trying to steer the conversation towards the topic and really trying hard to make it seem like you're the one who wants it and not him. And if he succeeded, he'd be so openly thirsty after that. (This man has craved the feeling of being wanted for centuries. You give him any greenlight and you're a done woman;))

He'd be so focused on making YOU feel good too. It's in his nature to serve after all. Even if he claims it's not.

He'd start gentle. Careful not to go too far right off the bat and risk scaring you away. Gently stretching your pussy open with his fingers as he asked if you were enjoying it. He'd pay close attention to every expression you make. Every sound from your lips. It doesn't take him longer than a minute to find your sweet spot either. And once he does he'd continuously massage it in a way that made those adorable moans escape from your throat that he secretly loved! He's a yapper too.

Calling you cute and also pathetic for cumming on his fingers so many times like the hopeless little slut you are ~

If you asked, he'd definitely try to taste you too.

He'd be curious anyway. Even if he never openly expressed this. But as you feel his tongue slide between your folds you can easily feel it. His tongue laps against your already sensitive inner walls as he holds you in place by your hips. Pulling you against him so he can taste as much of you as possible.

His tongue might accidentally graze your clit too. And the second you make a sound, he knows.

He'd cautiously give your nub another lick, testing the waters to see if you in fact liked that. Your soft moan being all the confirmation he needs as he begins to eagerly suckle and lick your pleasure spot knowing you're completely at his mercy and touch now.

He'd keep going until you told him to stop too. (Or at least until he got you to squirt. A sign he'd learn to take that he did well and would always strive for from then on)

And when you were on the brink of passing out and were all but spent, THEN he'd try to fuck you with his cock.

And because he's not a normal man, he's bigger than expected. (Clearly whoever decided to give him one wanted to make sure he was well equipped;))

WAY bigger.

You gasp and try to stifle the little whine that comes from your mouth but he's already heard it. He'd smirk at you, and would openly taunt you for going this far and yet still struggling to take him like a pitiful virgin but in his mind he'd be concerned and would start at a slower and softer pace until you got used to him. And when you finally adjust, he'd begin to get bold.

This man loves to be in charge as much as he loves to feel wanted and needed, so I feel like he'd put you in positions where he held the most control.

He'd start by flipping your knees over your head. Pounding deep into your still sensitive pussy as his tip kisses your cervix and your cries of pleasure echo throughout the room.

He'd hold you in his arms while standing. Gently bouncing your body up and down on his cock as he went in for a deep kiss.

Anything that involves you being under him or dependent on him while he pleasures you so that your entire world is nothing but him in that moment.

He'd end up being a little rough near the end but his aftercare is world class.

He'd hold you close and ask if you feel sore or pain anywhere. Telling you how good you felt to him and how pretty you looked. He'd be no where close to exhausted due to his physical composition and would bring you anything you needed without complaint. Food? Done. Water? Say no more. A massage or bath? Gladly.

Anything to make you feel comfortable after the number he put you through.

And though he wouldn't openly say it, you are basically his wife now.

Not even a girlfriend.

This man would be at your side from that day onwards and would absolutely get jealous if you tried to get close to anyone else.

But are you his girlfriend?

No that's stupid! As a puppet, he has no need for such trivial human connections nor emotions! He's told you this a million times already after all.

The little dates, gifts, and things he does for you are simply an exchange!

And he can't have anyone else ruining this special arrangement between you now can he?

[spicyspiders]

force of nature part 2

first part

1.7k words

Warning for smut (bottom male reader), inappropriate use of the Force, and armpit kink. It's only two paragraphs, but if you want to skip over that part stop reading at "You panted into his now sweaty chest" and you can start reading again when Qimir calls the reader a filthy thing.

You woke to the warm sensation of lips on your back. Accompanying the warmth was the tickle of facial hair that left a rough impression that Qimir soothed over with his wet tongue. 

“Finally awake?” He asked, his voice rough and an octave deeper in the early morning light that shone through your window. 

“You thoroughly wore me out last night,” you responded as you rubbed your face into the pillow, hoping the act would wake you further. Not like you really needed to do it, knowing that Qimir was going to attend to that job himself. 

“Let’s get you out of these,” Qimir murmured when he got to the waistband of your pants, “you shouldn’t have worn them in the first place,” he grumbled, seemingly jealous about the article of clothing. 

“It gets cold here at night, I told you that,” you responded as you helped the man pull the clothing off. You flopped back down onto the bed, your naked body filling in the warm spot Qimir slept in. 

“You’ve got me to keep you warm at night now,” he said, running his warm hands across your skin to emphasize his point. 

“And this?” You asked, placing a hand on his forearm to run your fingers across the goosebumps on his skin. “Or these?” You questioned, your other hand going to his nipples, hard in the cool morning air. 

Qimir let out a breathy moan as your fingers tweaked his nipple, his eyes half-lidded and filled with lust. 

“C’mere,” you said in a low voice as you used your hands to pull him up. 

His half hard cock met your stomach when you wrapped your arms around him and brought him down, but you weren’t going to focus on that. Instead, you paid attention to his hard nipples, now in the perfect spot to latch your mouth onto one. 

Above you, Qimir moaned louder as you ran your tongue over the perked skin. His cock twitched against your belly when you added your teeth to the mix. His hips jerked down into your skin, making a mess of precum when you sucked on the skin in your mouth. 

You could feel more of the liquid drip from the head of his cock when you went to the other. Once done with it, leaving it wet with your spit, Qimir was fully hard, grinding his cock down into your warm skin. 

You panted into his now sweaty chest and ran your tongue along the skin, wanting to taste the salty flavor of his skin. His scent smelled of sleep and of something that was darker and all Qimir, an addicting smell you wanted more of. 

The smell only became heady when you turned your head to his armpit. It was unfamiliar. You had never needed a man so bad that you wanted to taste the skin where your tongue was licking. The smell you found there was deeper, more intoxicating, making you moan into the skin. 

“Filthy thing,” Qimir said, moving down to where he could put his forehead against yours, “what am I going to do with you?” He questioned, his warm breath hitting your lips. His hair fanned his face, looking like a dark halo in the rays of early morning sunlight that cut through the curtains of your window. It was a beautiful sight, one that had you feeling oh so lucky to be able to see it. 

Your fingers carded through his soft hair before landing on his cheek to run your thumb along his cheekbone. Qimir leaned into the touch before his face edged closer. 

The kiss started out soft, but once Qimir lowered himself slowly on top of you, it became much more heated. Morning breath be damned, your tongues tangled together as your hands moved to his broad back. Careful to not dig your nails into the scar along his back, you moaned into the mouth above you as you mapped out the wet cavern with your tongue. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled back from the kiss with a groan as your hard cocks met in a slick slide. You were content to lay there and grind your hips together, but Qimir had other plans. 

While still continuing to rub your cocks together, he reached out to find the lube from the night before. It shot to his hand in a flash with the Force, and you couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“You couldn’t have gotten up?” You asked, pressing your lips to his. 

Your lips came apart with a soft smack when Qimir pulled away to answer, “and leave you?” He questioned back, nipping at your bottom lip. 

“I managed for months of you being in my head without actually being here, didn’t I?” You asked, feeling eager as you watched him uncap the lube. 

“I don’t plan on being away from you again,” Qimir responded, his voice low and dark. 

He arrived on your planet not too long ago and since then, you two had been practically inseparable. During the times that you did have to be away, the connection you had through the Force always felt bright and open, only changing when you had to go into town for food or supplies and Qimir felt a passerby was getting too close.

”You probably don’t even need it,” Qimir murmured as the wet tip of his finger touched your hole. “I bet I could slip right inside,” he whispered against your mouth. It fell open with a gasp when it finally went inside. 

Much faster than the night before, a second finger joined the first, the pads quickly finding your prostate. “Please,” you said, not specifying whether it was for another finger or his cock. 

“I know,” Qimir cooed, “I know exactly what you need,” he said, a third finger beginning to join the first and second. 

“I can take it,” you said, your hips coming off the bed so your cock could meet his. 

“I know,” Qimir responded before pressing his lips to yours softly, “doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you.”

Qimir’s three fingers against your prostate had your back arching off the bed, reminding you of the night before. Through the connection, you sent through the swell of need you felt, making the man above you moan and his cock give a frantic twitch. 

He kissed you wet and slow, swallowing the noise you made when he pulled his fingers free. You both moaned into the messy kiss when the head of his wet cock breached your hole. You gasped for breath together as he bottomed out deep inside your body. 

The first touch of his cock to your prostate had you moaning loudly into the air of your bedroom. The air which once was cool was now hot and stuffy at the heat your bodies made together. The heat had your bodies slick as Qimir’s hips met your ass with the resounding noise of skin on skin. 

It took a few moments for your brain to catch up to Qimir, who had ducked down into your sweaty neck, and realize that alongside the grunts and moans he let out, he was speaking to you. 

“Made for this,” he said into the sweaty skin of your neck when he pulled away from sucking a dark bruise into the skin, “made for my cock,” he said after another thrust into your hole, “made to be mine,” he said into your ear. 

Over and Over Qimir thrust in your hole, carving a spot deep inside your body no one would ever be able to reach. You were his and he was yours. 

You moved one of your hands from where it was balled up into the bedspread to grasp your hard cock. It laid in a pool of precum and sweat, and you knew that the two mixed together made a lube perfect for fucking your cock into your fist. 

“I’ve got you,” Qimir said softly, chasing after your lips to meet his. He folded your fingers with his and instead used his powers to touch your cock. 

If only your old master could see you now, using your abilities to cum. It sent a thrill through your bones. 

Qimir’s other hand was on your hips, holding your body in a tight grip to get your body in the perfect angle. He held himself up on his strong thighs and held your body up at the hips. You knew that there would be bruises later, especially when he pulled his hand from yours to get on your other hip. 

He held your body up at an angle to where he was thrusting down into your body, his cock hitting your prostate on each thrust. Qimir watched you closely, taking in just how much you were enjoying the care he was showing your body. 

You felt the familiar feeling of your orgasm build in your cock, from your balls to the head. They drew up  before cum shot from the slit of your cock, making a mess on your chest as your orgasm washed over you. 

Qimir answered the moans you let out with ones of his own as he continued to thrust inside your body. It only took a few thrusts after your orgasm into the tight warmth of your hole that he came. His head fell back as he let out a loud moan, strands of his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. 

He looked down at you with dark eyes when he brought his head back up, still gasping for air as he came down from his high. He ran his fingers soothingly of the skin on your hips, almost like an apology of the bruises he knew would be there later. 

Your legs slowly fell from his hips as you raised your hands up to grasp at Qimir’s sweaty skin. You pulled him to lay down beside you, right in the spot that he slept in. 

“Okay?” He questioned softly as he ran his fingers across your cheek. “Worn out again?” He asked after you gave a nod. 

You picked up the blanket from the bed, which was on the ground from your… activities, using the Force. Once it was over both your bodies, you used your hand to pull the blanket up to your chin. 

Qimir took the act as a response like you hoped and gave a soft laugh, his arms wrapping around your body under the covers. 

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

Sway The Stars Which Dazzle Like Pearls

Pairing: Din Djarin x female!reader

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Warnings: reader is mute due to trauma that isn't specified and uses sign language taught to her by Din, everything in italics is being signed.

A/N: I feel like I haven't written anything in forever and I was worried about not being able to get this done in time and that if I did that it wouldn't be good enough anyway. But, here it is, good or bad. If I got anything wrong as far as communicating via sign language, let me know so I can do better! My fic for the Summer Lovin' 2024 writing challenge. @pedgito @chaotic-mystery

The planet they land on seems to have an eternal night, a never ending full moon and black sand beaches. Here, the stars reflect perfectly in the still waters, a mirror image of the galaxy spread out above. She walks down the Razor Crest's ramp silently, assessing these surroundings with a sharp eye.

He watches her squat down on her haunches to scoop up a handful of the dark sand, crushing it around between her fingers like she's feeling for the quality of an expensive fabric woven on a far off planet. Her face gives little away of what she is thinking.

Din doesn't know much about her past, about what happened before he found her stowed away on the Crest and petrified of her own shadow after his (first) explosive departure from Nevarro, the tiny green kid in tow.

All he knows is that she can't talk. The words are there, he can see them tumbling around behind her eyes, but they seem to get clogged up in her throat, like a gummed up hyperdrive. So he'd started teaching her to sign.

Her footsteps crunch the gravel-sand as she makes her way over to his side, brushing her hands together to clean off the excess sand but some grains still cling to the creases between her fingers, almost sparkling in the moonlight like jewelry. She pins him with a questioning gaze and signs

'Why?'

"Why what?" he motions backs and she fumbles another word, face scrunched in frustration until she finds her rhythm

'Why are we here? Bounty?"

Din shakes his head, considering what he would call this little excursion between jobs before he replies with

"Pitstop, for fun"

"You do fun?" she pulls her mouth into a smirk, pleased at her little joke.

Din tries not to sigh. He's glad they can communicate so freely now, it's light-years better than their rough early days where any movement to sudden or big had her flinching away violently. But he has no idea how she learned to put so much sarcasm into her gestures. Not that he minds now. Anything is better than seeing that unfiltered terror in her eyes.

"Come" he turns and takes a step toward the gently lapping waters edge but doesn't hear her follow, he turns back with a questioning tilt of his helmet

"What is it?" she asks, expression concerned, still rooted in place

"Something good" he assures

"Promise?"

"Yes."

When they reach the water, the ship and the sleeping green child inside it are only a few yards away, a hulking silhouette jutting out of the otherwise flat landscape.

Pulling off his gloves and tucking them safely away, Din crouches down, the toes of his boots touching the water. His companion mimics him, watching carefully as he slowly submerges his hands in the water before carefully feeling around in the wet sand below.

She taps her knuckles into the soft place just below his beskar pauldron, knowing from unfortunate experience not to catch the armor with her bare hands, furrowing her brows when he turns to look at her, seeing her ask

"What are you looking for?"

"Just wait" Din says aloud and she leans back to sit properly on the ground, still curiously watching him dig around, one of her own hands drawing meaningless shapes in the sand beside her.

It takes him a few tries before he finds it, a small orb made and shaped by time and natural forces until it was washed ashore, waiting to be found.

Sitting back beside her, Din holds out his find nestled in the palm of his hand. It stands out stark white and shining in the odd moonlight.

She signs something he doesn't recognize at first, she watches him for a moment, waiting, and then tries again

"Diamond"

"No, pearl" he says out loud and signs it once, twice, then watches her repeat the motion.

The first few times are uncertain as her eyes dart between her hands and his, studying the movement he makes which shapes this new word. Then a couple more times, each with more confidence until

"Pearl" she signs, grinning over at him

"Good" Din smiles beneath his helmet, holding out the pearl to her, an offering.

"Mine?" she quirks a brow at him, still uneasy with receiving things she doesn't feel she has earned.

Din just watches her, hand outstretched and waiting patiently for her to accept this small gratitude.

Eventually, with the barest brush of her fingertips across his naked palm, she takes the pearl. Holding it reverently, worry flashing across her face before she curls her hand around the gifted treasure.

Din had learned to sit with silence long before he met her, so he turns his head out toward the water, then upward just a little, like he's watching the stars.

He isn't. He is giving her the privacy to feel those sometimes tumultuous emotions that come with receiving a gift.

She frowns at her closed fist, lips pulled down in a deep scowl. If her eyes look a bit glossy, she would never admit it. There's a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, a roiling feeling that urges her to not accept this. Not to trust.

But she can see the Mandalorian from the corner of her eye, pretending to watch the stars, nervously rubbing the tips of his fingers together and smearing the gritty sand there until it sloughs off and back onto the beach.

Her courage feels like a finite thing, urgently flopping around in her chest like a gasping fish on land. She leans over closer to the Mandalorian, sees his helmet shift but not quite turn fully toward her as she wraps her arms around his bicep, the pauldron on his shoulder cold even through her shirt.

Hugging him feels like a monumental leap, her cheek pressed against the mudhorn sigil on his beskar shoulder. Her courage has waned and she feels weak, vulnerable, but the little pearl clutched in her hand reminds her that it isn't gone for good.

That it is okay to lean into her companion, her friend, who seems like a forever sturdy rock in the storm that has eclipsed her life.

Awkwardly, arms still wrapped around her Mandalorian's arm, she tells him

"Thank you."

Din makes a sound of acknowledgement, smiling gently beneath his helmet and watching her from the corner of his eye. Her face seems content and his chest constricts in pride, to see that he has hopefully earned her trust enough for her to relax in his presence.

"You're not even looking at the stars" she softly accuses, leaning forward to fully grab his attention

"Neither are you" he retorts.

She huffs a small laugh, tilting her head and raising a hand slowly toward the smooth metal cheek of his helmet. She guides him so they are face to face. Sort of.

They stare, her watching the reflection of the stars in the visor of his helmet, wondering just a little if his eyes are bright beneath all this beskar. If he's looking at her as gratefully as she is him.

Din watches her face, unsure about the hand she has on his helmet, but far more distracted with trying to decipher her expression. Joy seems too big, maybe contentment?

Either way, neither one of them is watching the stars turn above them, a precious pearl clutched between them, a symbol of more. Of hope.

[munariplans]

is there someone else? | n. romanoff

synopsis: you and natasha have been going through a rough patch lately. wanda comes in and shows you everything natasha is unable to offer.

natasha romanoff x reader | slight wanda maximoff x reader

word count: 4.9k words

read part 2 here and part 3 here

warnings: angst, almost(?) cheating, discussions on pregnancy and treatments

masterlist

“nat, you have to be patient!”

“i am patient!” the woman before you screamed, red hair almost matching the redness on her features, as she gripped the edge of the table in your shared bedroom. “i have been patient; for days, weeks, months, i have been patient! but this is not working; whatever tony and bruce have been cooking in that lab, is not working!”

“these things take time; natasha, you cannot—”

“—no, not for me,” again, your wife cut you off; hot tears brimming in her eyes now, “not for me. It’s not a timing issue, it’s my body’s issue. the reverse hysterectomy doesn’t work, and the IVF won’t work either.”

this time, you knew better. reaching out towards her, you ignored her flailing arms half in protest, half in desperation, to push you away. you embraced natasha with all that you had; holding on to her as if it would piece her broken pieces back together. and it was precisely then that she broke down; her body physically melting against your own and her sobs filling the atmosphere of the quiet, bleak room. the room that had once been the sanctuary for the both of you; late night rendezvouses against the knowledge of the other avengers, patch-up sessions where natasha would trust you over any medic to see her scars and wounds and not judge, it was even the safest place for natasha to run into after particularly hard missions. 

the place still looked all the same, with the addition of natasha’s belongings now taking up eighty-percent of your space (in what was essentially a room for one, but the both of you had been reluctant on upgrading to a bigger room in the compound with the memories made in your room). but the feeling was not the same. 

you held her tighter. “it’s only our fourth round, so what if it doesn’t work? we can always try again.”

“what if i’m tired?” she asked, voice too small, too fragile. “what if it doesn’t work again? what if it’s just a me problem? i can’t have children, i can’t give you a baby, and i never will.”

“don’t say that, don’t say things like that.” were the only comforting words you could offer, a little tired, a little irritated, at her repetition of insecurities being voiced after each IVF round the both of you went through. 

you led her to your shared bed, and when natasha tried to reach out for you in the night, she felt you shift closer to the edge of the bed, and away from her. 

–

common side effects of natasha’s fertility treatments included frequent mood swings, this you knew from bruce’s multiple warnings before. he had taken special care to explain it to you, and had even advised you to seek help from clint if necessary. you remembered brushing him off with, “i think i can handle my wife’s emotions just fine.”

if only you knew what you were getting yourself into, you chided yourself now, staring at the back of natasha’s head, sighing. a little pissy and agitated would be a fine understatement. 

you were the assigned leader for the mission; you had thought it was natural that everyone followed your instructions and heed your warnings. not for natasha. 

she had taken a path that was more direct to the enemy’s line of fire, and considering her complete disregard for her own safety, and the fact that it was right around the time that she could be pregnant from a previous round of treatments, it was very clear from your point of view that she was putting herself in imminent danger, and that you had to step in. 

you remembered steve asking why natasha was so far off from her tracker, and it was the moment everything clicked. you knew your wife. you knew precisely why she had taken off her tracker. 

“nat, fall back.” you spoke into your comms, knowing full well she had heard you. there was no response. 

“natasha. ”

two enemies had thrown themselves at you, and in the time taken to take them down, natasha still had not responded. 

you were about to call her for the third time when her comms crackled to you. “kinda—busy—here.”

behind her was the sound of gunfire. screams, cries, the occasional thunk of metal hitting against bones. you thought it was natural that you freaked. 

“natasha, i am this mission’s leader. i am ordering you to fall back, i repeat, fall back!”

“no! i can get the chip faster this way, i’m right in their comms room!”

“agent romanoff, this is not a request. if you don’t fall back now, i am reporting you to fury for insubordination of a direct order.”

she had turned her comms off. the whole team practically heard you scream through their comms, “fuck!”

steve was kind enough to cover for your spot, while you ran headfirst into the comms room to extract natasha. and although her being swarmed and outnumbered by a large margin of enemies was something you expected, it could not compare to the horror that spread through your system at the sight of her pinned down, gasping for air as an enemy tried to wrestle her for the gun she was holding.

he was gone in the next second, as natasha rolled over to catch her breath. she cursed under her breath, preparing for the onslaught of another one tumbling towards her, but when it was you that filled her vision, helping her stand and leaning her onto your body, she wasn’t so sure if it was any better.

“i—told you—” natasha tried to say, but you cut her off. 

“—you disobeyed a direct order, nat. you could’ve gotten killed.”

–

though, back in the quinjet, it felt as if the roles were completely reversed. natasha was berating you in plain view of everyone else, while you could only sit back, and accept the harshest words that were coming out of your wife’s mouth. 

“do you not trust me? how many missions have we been on together, and how many have i parted to take care of things on my own? how many missions have i gotten injured, or killed? i am not some fragile, brittle object, you know! i am—”

“—romanoff, i think she gets your point,” tony tried to cut in, but the glare shot his way was enough to make him shut his mouth faster than he had opened it. 

“—i am capable, and you know i was, of extracting the chip myself! we could’ve avoided so many casualties! and now, look where we are, no chip, building destroyed, and civilians dead. all because you wouldn’t trust me to be able to take care of myself.” natasha jabbed her finger to your shoulder roughly, as if to only rub in your humiliation deeper.

but you only sighed, and stood up. a resigned look on your face, you called peter forward, and as he approached the table nervously, eyes darting between you and natasha, she spotted it. spider-man pulled the chip out of his suit, and handed it to you. 

you showed it off to her, and the rest of the team, and shook your head. “we would’ve gotten the chip regardless. you didn’t have to put yourself in unnecessary danger, and you didn’t have to undermine my leadership.”

you retreated back to the darkness of the quinjet, hearing natasha sigh irritatedly and march right up to the front again. 

–

halfway on the trip back home, natasha finally made the decision of risking seeing you to get herself some water, seeing as the supply was all the way at the back of the jet. she had unbuckled her seatbelt, ordered peter to step in for her, and made the short, but agitating journey to where you were. 

but you were not near your designated seat near the supplies, or anywhere where she thought you would be, as she unscrewed the water bottle and discretely scanned the jet for you. i’m not worried for her, i'm glad she’s not in my line of sight, is all, she tried to convince herself.

but what she saw next, as she was walking past another part of the jet, made her stop in her tracks. you were next to wanda in the makeshift medical bay, your suit unzipped and tied around your waist, fireproofs lifted up to reveal a huge wound that Wanda was tending to. 

you seethed as the scarlet witch tried to draw back the bleeding with her magic, grabbing her hand and chanting, “gentle, gentle, please.”

fuck. natasha couldn’t believe she missed out on the fact that you were injured. she had thought your gait looked a little strange when you were escorting her to safety earlier; and there was blood in her hands as she let go of you, but she had chalked it up to being an enemy’s. you had sat through her beration, her humiliation, and had said nothing to her of your injury.

your eyes were shut, as wanda navigated the stab wound, but her own eyes then drifted up, catching natasha’s. the scarlet witch didn’t budge, looking up at natasha almost in defiance, mostly in resentment. 

a weird feeling settled within the woman, but she shut the curtain to the medical bay, and returned to her seat. 

–

natasha watched yours and wanda’s friendship begin to bloom. It seemed as if the avenger had found a solace within your company, as she naturally gravitated towards you in most social settings; team dinners, tony’s outlandish parties, even during team meetings and discussions. in those moments, natasha held your arm against hers closer, putting extra effort to drape her body as close to yours as possible as a warning. if you noticed (you did), you didn’t say anything to her, merely welcoming her into your open arms and letting her find comfort at the same time. 

however, no matter how much natasha wanted to keep you close and all to herself, her own hormones got the best of her on her worst days. more IVF sessions had passed with little to no success, brimming and breaking hope simultaneously, and natasha was finding it harder and harder to sit through you merely reassuring her that it takes time. on her worst nights, she would find even your mere presence in the room an abhorrent sight, instead shunning you out into the common areas or mentioning that she wanted to sleep alone tonight. 

natasha never missed the heartbreak, or desperation, in your face. perhaps you had been too nonchalant towards her mood swings, perhaps you had paid too little attention to her needs, or perhaps, and you hated yourself for thinking about it, natasha was slowly growing out of love for you. you never missed the mixed emotions on hers, as you so often grabbed your pillows and headed out to sleep on the couch. 

–

one particular night, where a stupid argument about paperwork that you had syphoned off to natasha, preventing her from going out into the field had ensued, and finished, it ended once again with her yelling at you to get out of the room and sleep somewhere else for the night. the both of you were certain, by that point, that the whole compound could hear all of the words exchanged and screams torn. but natasha was headstrong, you never were, and you gave in, as always. 

left with nothing but the bitter taste of natasha accusing you of underestimating her, and the fact that your relationship was on such a thin thread that was affecting the morale of the whole team as well, you exited the room. 

but when natasha tossed, and turned, and tossed again that night, the absence of your body beside hers and only the coolness of the sheets on her skin, the guilt began to settle in. as it always did. she could have been more thoughtful, should have considered your own workload, should have cared more about your feelings too. 

with tears hot in her eyes and a resolution to apologise, she left the room, still in her nightgown, to search for you in the common area. when she did find you, however, you were hunched over said paperwork that you had thought to pass off to her, the stack that she screamed would prevent her from going on her mission the next day.

you had wanted to ensure that she could still go, eventually. 

she called out your name, but when you turned, all the apologies that she had wanted to spill, the invite to return back to your room, were silenced; for wanda’s own head had popped up beside yours, evident that she had been laying on your lap and accompanying you at work. 

she realises that wanda is there for you in all the ways she never was these days. she realises the outlet for you to share about your day, your frustrations and worries, was not her now. no, of course it wasn’t her, why would it be her? not when she picks a fight for every little concern you voice out, not when she dismisses your every attempt to talk to her now. a scarier feeling began to form; natasha realises that wanda may be your home now, not her. 

“yes, nat?” you said, your face devoid of any emotion. 

she could have screamed, could have cried, could have threatened wanda with death and tore her away from you right away. she could even have accused you of doing something you promised you would never do to her when you got together; but she didn’t. natasha wanted to trust you, and she didn’t want her own insecurities to get the best of her, and the worst of you, again. 

instead, all she did was nod towards wanda, swallowing a huge lump in her throat. “n-nothing. come back to our room when you’re done with that. the bed’s too cold.”

–

it was in the way wanda voluntarily paired herself up with you for missions. the way you could conveniently shove her out of the way of raining bullets, putting yourself in the line of fire for her without a second thought. 

the way you were the first person wanda looks for at the end of said missions. the way you allow wanda to ease her worries by laying her head against your shoulder afterwards. 

the way wanda hugs you just a little too tight, too long, right after the team worries of your cut-off comms from a particularly hard mission. 

natasha hates herself for noticing all of it. 

–

tony called out your name to the common area one night, despite you and natasha agreeing to have an early night-in for a round of doctor’s visits the next day. she was a little annoyed at you for being so ready to heed his request, but followed you anyway, hoping it would be quick. 

“as you can see,” tony spread his arms, gesturing around the room to the other avengers, “your best friend isn’t around. she’s been gone from us for exactly two nights in a row now, and we want to know why.”

his game show host-style of speaking ticked you off, but you swallowed it down in favour of everyone else around, and smiled politely at him. he continued, “rogers says it’s her time of the month, which, might be true, is totally boring and not helpful to this discussion at all. danvers says she’s probably just sick of our shit, which, might also be true, but is being a debby downer and i do not stand for it. with the amount of vomiting vision hears from his room, he says it’s because i gave her food poisoning when I tried to cook dinner on monday, which is the least likely option there is, so i’m disregarding it. what do you say, huh?”

“she told me she has a stomach flu.”

this time, thor chuckled from the corner of the room. grinning, he sneaked in with, “classic pregnancy symptoms, i say. natasha’s been the one trying for a child, but have you accidentally knocked the wrong woman up, kid?”

he didn’t need your furious glare and natasha’s choked sob behind you to know he had voiced out every insecurity of hers so perfectly, as the black widow practically stormed straight back to your room, with you hot on her heels, trying desperately to call out her name. 

–

“it was just a joke, nat, and he knew it! you and i know it!”

“was it really?” natasha’s eyes were red and raw, throat hoarse from screaming, “was it really a joke to you? or have you really gone and fucked her and gotten her pregnant?!”

“that’s impossible and you know it!” you retorted, taking one step closer. natasha took one step back. your hands had raised, trying to reach out for her to see reason, but seeing her retreat only sent a knife straight to your heart, and you threw them up in the air, giving up. “nat, i—i—wanda’s a friend. that is all she is, all she will ever be. i don’t understand why—”

“—do your friends touch you like I do? do your friends get to lie their head on your shoulder, hug you goodbye and welcome home after every mission, be the outlet for your frustrations and worries, your celebrations and joy? do your friends matter more than I do?” she cut you off, shoving you against the wall this time. 

you took the opportunity to grab her wrists, tilting your head so you were directly at her eye level. “natasha.”

she refused to meet your eyes. “natasha. look at me.”

she shook her head, refusing to give in, refusing to let you see the insecurity, heartbreak, and jealousy in her green eyes, now dull and wearier than the emerald they once were. “fuck you.”

“natasha, what is going on with us?” you asked sincerely then, begging her to see reason, to see you. “we fight everyday, we barely spend any time together, and you don’t even bother trying to listen to me. to help me help you see reason. you hate me on most days, you despise what i am, what i do, and i don’t know how to fix this. have i become so broken, so unlovable, that you cannot even stand to be in the same room as me anymore?”

natasha slowly lifted her gaze, blinking away the tears. “you don’t seem to mind.”

“because I don’t want to ruin whatever we have left!” you shouted, exasperated. “i don’t want to lose whatever shred of love my wife has left for me, i don’t want to make things worse, and i don’t want to make you feel worse. tell me, is it the baby? is us trying for a baby too much for you, nat? is this not something you want anymore? because ever since we’ve started trying—”

“—it’s not the baby, it’s me,” natasha freed her wrists from you, turning away. “it’s me, and my inability to be a wife, a proper wife, to you. fuck, i can’t even give you one thing every married couple wishes for, a fucking child, and now you have to run off to an actual woman who can. i’m a fucking failure, that’s what i am.”

“nat, not every couple wants—not every couple needs—a child. i’m perfectly happy with—”

“—are you really? are you really perfectly happy with the way things are? do you not wish for more, something I can’t give? someone who can understand you, love you, better than I can?”

you knew where this was going, and you rubbed your forehead in frustration. “what are you getting at, natasha?”

“don’t tell me you don’t see the way she looks at you.” 

you sighed. “i honestly don’t.”

“of course you don’t!” natasha’s voice broke, uttering the next words, “but I do. because she looks at you the way i look at you. the way i wished you looked at me.” 

“nat, don’t do this. don’t do this to yourself, and don’t do this to us. i can assure you wanda is…is…” you trailed off, not believing the incredulity of it all. 

“is what?” natasha hoped with all of her heart you could finish the sentence. “is what…? tell me. younger? better? easier to love, than i am?” 

but you could only shake your head once more, furrowing your eyebrows. “you know what, nat? i give up. i truly give up. if you can’t get over yourself and your own insecurities, even though we are married, even if you knew i only love you, i cannot help you. i need a break…we need a break.” 

you didn’t tell her for how long, you didn’t tell her what you were going to do, or what she could do to fix things. you merely brushed past her body folding in on itself in anguish and absolute heartbreak, and packed your things. that night, you had left her all to herself, and she had only felt loneliness like this once. 

suddenly, natasha was twelve again, all alone in the red room to fend for herself. she had lost her parents, she had lost yelena, and now, she had lost you too.

–

wanda was browsing through the menu, seated in front of you at the hotel balcony, celebrating the end of another successful mission together. it was a few weeks after the incident with natasha, and with no end goal or date in sight of when you were returning to her arms, you had resigned yourself to stick to wanda, much to the scarlet witch’s pleasure, too. 

“an aperol spritz or a negroni?” she had asked, but you were busy staring right at her. 

wanda’s eyes were blue, wide and ethereal. Her hair was a lighter colour than natasha’s, hands softer as they wrapped around yours, hugs tighter. 

natasha was all that you had ever known, and loved. you have been together for so long, you find it hard to believe that what you feel for wanda could ever be real. 

she was kind, patient and understanding; wanda never complained, never screamed or raised her voice at you. you remembered when the feeling began; the very night where natasha had practically banished you from your room, and her footsteps came pattering down to the common area where you were. wanda had just returned from a mission with thor and sam, but still insisted on staying up with you. as her head laid on your lap that night, her big, blue eyes staring up at yours, you felt something stir in your stomach; a feeling that you hadn’t felt in a long while with natasha. butterflies anew. 

you became concerned, protective, of wanda during missions. always worrying if she had eaten before a gruelling day, taking extra patience in training her for combat practice, you began wondering if you had really looked at her as just a friend all this while. when wanda and natasha both came home with a bullet graze on their arms on one mission, you found yourself worrying for wanda almost as much as you did for your wife. 

perhaps that was the moment you knew, and so did natasha. 

–

wanda called out your name lovingly, half-laughing as you stared into blank space yet again, dissociating as she stepped out of the shower. 

“you still upset that I chose the negroni?” she teased, and you rolled your eyes playfully. 

getting up to change, you tried hard not to hyper-focus on the beads of water dripping down wanda’s body, as she bent down to find a spare change of fresh clothing. “of course. criminal, that you order everything but an aperol spritz in Italy, of all places.”

you found the t-shirt that she had been looking for, and whistled for her attention. but right as the woman stepped forward to take it off of you, you tugged it under her grip, side-stepping further into the room.

“apologise, for the spritz, for me, and everyone else in italy.”

wanda shot you an incredulous look, before your own serious resolve broke too, and the both of you ended up laughing, nearly tumbling forwards towards each other.  somewhere along the line, wanda decided to take the opportunity to try to take the shirt, but your reflexes kicked in, and right as she reached forwards, you went for her legs; throwing her onto the bed to dodge her attack. 

giggling, still, wanda tried to sit up as you pinned her down. but the woman managed to take one of your own, as she grabbed your hand, and with one swipe, had your wedding band in her left hand, taunting it over you. 

“got something of yours, too,” she grinned, handing out her other hand for an exchange, “now give me my shirt.”

your eyes widened at the sight before you then. wanda, dressed only in a towel that was barely hiding anything from view, the compromising position you were in, the wedding band she had taken off of you at that moment. 

heart to heart, yours beating as fast as hers, wanda finally noticed too. slowly, but surely, her red magic came up to envelop the both of you, the warmth in them flowing through your senses, making your head fuzzy and lightheaded. 

she leaned up, mouth just inches from yours, hoping, begging, for you to close the distance. her towel had almost fallen off her body then, arms around your neck. if you dared look down, nothing would be hidden from view. 

“come on,” she murmured against your lips. 

you hesitated, the grip on her waist suddenly disappearing. “i…no.”

wanda pouted, you remembered shaking your head. “i’m married, wanda.”

“please.”

you snatched back your ring this time, throwing the t-shirt onto her body and looking away just as quickly. opening the door to the balcony, you found it hard to catch your breath. “i can’t. i’m sorry.”

–

though, that night, watching her sleeping figure sprawled out on the shared king bed, you took another swig of the gin leftover from the bar, wondering if you had made the right choice. 

the opportunity had presented itself, and yet you didn’t take it. 

natasha had left a text earlier on your phone, and you cursed when you remembered what date it was. it was almost an asshole move to simply text her back ‘happy anniversary to us’ too, when she had sent a long paragraph apologising for what she had done, and begged you to come back to celebrate your five-year wedding anniversary together. 

–

sleeping on the couch, and as far away from wanda as possible, you felt your phone vibrate in the middle of the night. 

getting up groggily, you had almost thrown it back to where it was, until another text came in, and another. they were from Natasha. 

i have to tell you something. you had texted her back with a question mark, but her only reply had been that she refused to tell you over text, and that you would only know when you got back. 

considering the state of your relationship with her, and the way you had practically ruined whatever hope of rekindling her affection for you with the anniversary text, you almost knew what it would be already. she would be taking the first step in ending your relationship, and marriage. 

looking back at wanda’s sleeping form then, you selfishly thought again if you should have proceeded with the kiss.

–

natasha was already waiting with the other avengers when your quinjet landed. wanda had gotten off first, looking back at you awkwardly, reaching her hand out to help you disembark, after an injury to your right rib. you smiled at her, but rejected her help. 

natasha strode towards you in two cool, calculated steps. you offered her a half-smile, but her face was determined, and hopeful. her arms were around your waist in the next second, and for the first time in the last year or so, the black widow tipped you over, pressing her lips against yours in the most passionate, loving kiss. In front of everyone, in front of fury, in front of wanda, natasha claimed you as hers. 

“what—” before you could finish your question, she was already dragging you to your shared room, leaving you even more confused than before. perhaps it was a goodbye kiss, perhaps natasha had felt the need to claim you one last time before parting ways, perhaps she had simply missed you over the time you were gone. the last one seemed most impossible. 

“sit.” she had gestured, forcing you on the bed. “close your eyes.”

you groaned, the injury on your ribs resurfacing. “nat, i’m really tired, the mission was a success but my side is—”

“please,” natasha begged this time, “please.”

you relented, and closed your eyes anyway, hoping whatever this was, would be over soon and that you could have a full night of uninterrupted sleep for once.

natasha rummaged for something in her bag, and opened your palm up. three small, plastic sticks were placed in them, leaving you more confused than ever. 

“open your eyes.” 

your heart sunk into the depths of your stomach when you saw what they were. time came to a standstill, the glaringly obvious image before you the prophecy for your past, present and future. three pregnancy tests, all positive. 

you finally looked back up at natasha, her eyes brimming with tears of joy and hope. her arms encircled your neck again then, tears fresh on your shoulder. 

“i’m pregnant,” she murmured into your skin, as if it would solve everything. as if it was the answer to all of your problems together. 

a/n: who's side are you on?

[nerdynarrator28]

Unexpected Protector

Summary: When living in a small town everyone tends to know everybody, except for one day when running your family Diner you come face to face with a six-foot-five of a man who looked like he could be trouble? Who is this man? What does he want? You were about to find out!

Jack Reacher X Reader

word count: 682

warnings: Just Straight Fluff!❤️

a/n: This is my very first Reacher (Prime) x Reader fanfic, I hope you all will enjoy!

The first time you saw Jack Reacher, you mistook him for trouble. Six-foot-five of solid muscle, hands like sledgehammers, and eyes that seemed to see right through you. But trouble, it turned out, was what he specialized in solving.

Your family's diner had been in Millbrook for generations, but lately, things had gotten rough. Protection rackets, vandalism, and not-so-veiled threats. The local police seemed helpless - or worse, complicit.

Reacher had wandered in one rainy Tuesday, ordered coffee and pie, and somehow ended up dismantling a criminal enterprise by Friday. You'd been skeptical at first, but watching him work was like witnessing a force of nature.

"Why are you helping us?" you asked him on the third day, as he pored over town records in the back booth.

He looked up, those piercing eyes meeting yours. "Because it's the right thing to do."

Simple. Direct. Just like everything about Jack Reacher.

You found yourself seeking out his company, bringing him fresh coffee, sitting with him as he explained his theories. His mind was as impressive as his physical presence - sharp, analytical, missing nothing.

By the time the dust settled and the corrupt officials were in cuffs, you realized something had shifted inside you. The way your heart raced when he entered a room. How you hung on his every word. The dreams that left you flushed and breathless.

You were falling for Jack Reacher.

On his last night in town, you closed up the diner late. He was still there, nursing a final cup of coffee.

"So," you said, sliding into the booth across from him. "Where will you go now?"

He shrugged. "Wherever the road takes me. That's the way I live."

Your heart sank, even though you'd known this was coming. Reacher never stayed in one place long.

"I... we'll miss you around here," you managed, trying to keep your voice steady.

He studied you for a long moment, and you felt exposed, as if he could read every emotion on your face.

"Come with me," he said suddenly.

You blinked, sure you'd misheard. "What?"

"Come with me," he repeated. "Just for a while. See some of the country. You've spent your whole life in this town. Don't you want to know what's out there?"

Your mind raced. The diner. Your family. Your whole life was here. But then you thought about the spark you'd felt this past week. The excitement. The way Reacher had awakened something in you that you hadn't even known was sleeping.

"I... I can't just leave," you said, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

Reacher leaned forward, his eyes intense. "You can. The question is, do you want to?"

You took a deep breath, feeling as if you were standing on the edge of a cliff. Then, slowly, you nodded.

A rare smile crossed Reacher's face. "Pack light. We leave at dawn."

As you rushed home to throw some clothes in a bag, your heart pounded with a mixture of terror and exhilaration. You were about to embark on an adventure with a man who was practically a stranger. A dangerous, brilliant, compelling stranger who had swept into your life like a hurricane.

You didn't know where this road would lead. You didn't know if Reacher felt even a fraction of what you were feeling for him. But for the first time in your life, you were choosing the unknown over the familiar. And as scary as it was, it felt right.

Dawn found you climbing into Reacher's latest used car, your small bag tossed in the back. As the first rays of sunlight painted the sky, you took one last look at your hometown.

"Ready?" Reacher asked.

You turned to him, heart full of hope and budding love. "Ready."

The engine roared to life, and you set off towards the horizon, towards adventure, towards the promise of something new. With Jack Reacher by your side, you felt ready for anything.

@ellieslittleburrow

[overtaken-stream]

King The Wildfire NSFW headcanons

! !NSFW! !

Warnings: female reader, King likes it rough, strangulation.

⚠️DARK THEMES (blood play) Read at your own risk.

I refuse to believe this man is a virgin, It's just that sex isn't something he often indulges in because he is a busy man. And when he isn't, he is usually pissed about one of the All-stars, Tobiroppo's shenanigans, or random soldiers who couldn't do their job right.

King is not soft during sex, he tries to be, but often he ends up letting his lust-filled mind take over. Holding back is hard when King has only a night without any responsibilities and a month worth of pent-up frustration that's in desperate need of release, and boy do they pour out like a waterfall.

Despises his mask in bed, especially because he gets overly sweaty in it, his naturally high temperature sometimes boils the sweat, causing small burns that (at the time) he couldn't even notice, due to his fast regeneration– but also, because his mind was somewhere else. It wasn't until he smelled burnt leather that he realized what the problem was. Not to mention his breaths are cut short, which isn't something he wants when he is relentlessly and vigorously thrusting inside you round after round. He found this all out rather quickly.

As I mentioned he had a few flings before you but nothing special, they were only for his enjoyment alone, so what of all the women he didn't give the pleasure back? (He doesn't know how to (⁄ ⁄•⁄-⁄•⁄ ⁄) or cared enough to give it back lol)

You probably started out being one of his flings, since he rarely interacts with civilians outside of business.

Revealing his face to you does not affect him, (except in bed, because finally. He can breathe...!) he is happy to have someone so dear to him to the point that he revealed one of the biggest secrets he hid from everyone to you, but King does not want you to make a big deal out of it.

He is one for leaving marks, he likes seeing them on your body, bruises, burns, scent, hickeys, it scratches that possessive side of him but he'll never deliberately bring that onto the table, you would have to speak up if you are into that.

Hair pulling. Grab ahold of his roots and drag the strands out, King won't follow your movements, staying in place while you grip tightly onto his head, his scalp is so sensitive, years of not letting anybody touch, let alone pull them built itself so you could spread that burning feeling, so delicious, across his body and down south, he cannot help but let a quiet groan slip from his tightly shut teeth. He might not express it often but the action brings incredible pleasure to him.

King has an eye for pretty things and you are no exception, after finally confessing his desire to keep you, he would like to see you in the most luxurious kimonos and golden body jewelry, the ones that he'll gladly shower you with.

He likes seeing you in them while blowing your back out,

``Like a present.``

he says while unwrapping you out of extra clothes, slowly and surely, delicately.

Unintentional manhandling is his thing, though again, he is not aware of it. The way he grips your body against him and changes his position like your weight was nothing, makes the butterflies awaken in your stomach.

King is into edging, seeing you panting on his massive pillows while your legs shake, he can stare into your tear-stained eyes forever, while holding himself back.

He finds safety in control, and sometimes that safety invades your boundaries and crosses lines he shouldn't.

His hand looks impossibly huge as it locks around your throat, cutting your access to precious air, you were out of breath previously from the position but now you could only look down at the place where you ended and he began, the tears in your eyes spilled endlessly down your cheeks, as your useless gasps were met with the tightening of his fingers around your sensitive neck.

You were showered with heavy huffs coming from King as your knees bounced off of his shoulders and roughly folded to your collarbones. Your hands uselessly pushed the man's chest, to slow him down. Your tear-filled eyes could only roll back and drop down as he finally let his grip weaken, leaving the palm to hover on your sweaty throat.

You could feel his tongue lick the tears away.

Regardless, as dreamy as he is as a green flag, man is a sadist. One of the most attractive things, the peak of ecstasy for him is blood play. He often gets thrills from activities where he is/you are exposed to potential risk. From knives that you dig into his skin(especially his neck or on his wings/the place between them) to the brand marks on your thighs. To get the full experience, King would eventually put out the fire on his shoulders, feeling the blood that drips from his injury makes him ejaculate faster than usual.

Taking care of you in general, fuels his ego even if most of the time he doesn't know what he is doing except listening to his instincts to attend to you. However, he doesn't know how to take care of you after sex, tired and overstimulated, the most he is going to do is shower together and make you drink water.

The next morning he loves discovering the marks you've left behind, too bad that he has to light the fire on his back to keep the pirate facade up.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Oh I remember the Silent Night Au (laughs evilly)

Since all their clothes probably have holes to accommodate their wings, any clothes the yans give Reader is gonna show off their scars from their wings. For reader, it means freedom. Those scars were their choice, and that choice got them away from their abusers to the happiest years of their life ( Sad as that is). For the yans, it's a representation of all their failures. Because of their actions, reader can never fly again. They treated reader so horribly that reader felt safer permanently mutilating their body and hiding among people who would kill them rather than go back to the yans. Cause to reader, the yans certainly would kill them, at least with humans there is only a chance they'll be killed and thats if they get found out.

Also I can see yans keeping Reader's old wings in a cabinet, like in the Malificent movie. Like they are hoping to one day reattach the wings to the reader. (Despite them being way too small for them now cause Reader has hit puberty and grown quite a bit, the edges of fleash where they cut are rough and jagged, what hasn't been freeze dried by snowstorms is rotted away, and the bones are basically fossils now.)

I love it.

Reader is doing their best to hide, run away, or sleep in odd places, wanting nothing to do with their old abusers or even the new kids they have with them. Reader knows everyone can see their scars, that everyone flinches or shudders or makes sad crooning noises... and for Reader, while they don't enjoy it much, they're not going to hide their scars unless someone starts trying to touch them. Those scars are a part of them, the part they had to sacrifice to survive, amd they don't want to act like it never happened. Reader just wishes everyone would leave them alone or let them escape in peace...

The platonic yans keep Reader's wings preserved, but they aren't on display for all to see. They're in a lab, where they can study them, or feel their guilt in full swing without an audience. They hat what they caused. What they did. What they've made Reader feel. They view this as their fault, and want to fix it, to make Reader whole again. They can't reattach their old wings; they're too rotted and dead for that. But they can try to regrow them, make genetic copies, and grow the cloned ones, then simply reattach them to Reader... Or, they can plant them in Readee, and let them grow a bit more... naturally. They don't want to hurt them, but... they want, no, need, Reader to have their wings again. To be able to fly. To be able to clean them. To be able to let them have their instincts again. They know it's hard, for Reader to he around them. But they keep trying to run away, amd they keep having to hunt them down and bring them back. They want to be a family with them. They do. Amd hopefully they can work on it while Reader is getting prepped for having their wings back...

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I’ve been dreaming of the Spearman of Spades.

The journey was tough, and the battles tougher. At the height of his success, he's his own worst enemy.

With this spear and his strength, he will dutifully serve his sovereign.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Deuce hardly recognizes the young man in the mirror.

It's him--it's very obviously him: navy bangs, aquamarine eyes, the spade mark on his left eye, Heartslabyul uniform--but it doesn't feel like him. Not the same stiff, awkward first year that had stumbled onto Night Raven Campus, all his rough edges still not sanded down. The time had flown by, rounding him out.

Second year Deuce is different. Built studier, packed with more muscle from track meets. The wild glint in his eyes is tamped down, shielded by a certain seriousness.

It’s still me… right?

Deuce swallows, anxiously fidgeting with the brim of his hat. It's a keepsake passed down from his senior.

"I won't be needing this for my internship. It's yours now," Trey had told him. "Wear it well, okay?"

"... Do I deserve to?" he mumbles to his reflection. Me?

"Of course you do, idiot. Quit doubting yourself."

Deuce startles--but calms once he feels an arm sling around his shoulder, and a familiar cheeky face joins him in the mirror. Ace hangs off of him easily, the two troublemakers peas in a pod.

"Hey. Nervous?" his friend asks with a smirk.

"More than ever," he confesses. His breathing is shaky, despite his best attempts to wrestle control of it.

"Well, don't be." Deuce rolls his eyes at the simple, snarky response. Very Ace of him. "I don't care what anyone else says, you'll kill this." A pause. "If you don't pass out before then, that is."

"Thanks for the encouragement." The sarcasm is palpable.

"Don't mention it!" Ace replies cheerily. "Where would you be without me, huh? Better put in a good word on my behalf."

“Can’t guarantee that.”

“Ah, come oooh! Cut your buddy some slack here. I’ve been behaving myself recently, I deserve something nice.”

“Being nice should be its own reward.”

“Bro, you sound like the headmaster,” Ace remarks, wrinkling his nose. Clearly, not a compliment.

Ding!

Deuce lifts a brow. “Is that…”

“Huh? Oh—it’s my phone.” Ace whips out his mobile device, checks his messages, and groans.

“Something up?”

“Yeah, uh… It’s a special guest we’re receiving. You know! For today’s ceremony. They got lost in the hedge maze, so they told us they miiight be running late for this very important date.”

Deuce frowns. “We’re starting in a few minutes and Rosehearts-senpai can be really strict about punctuality.”

“Don’t worry about it!! I’ve got it covered. All you gotta do is go to that ceremony and soak up all the praise.”

Before Deuce can protest, the fanfare of distant trumpets meets their ears. It is a victorious song, one ushering in new beginnings. He shares a look with Ace, who grins wickedly.

"Aaaand there's your cue. Talk about timing.” He aggressively smacks Deuce on the back. "Go ahead, everyone's waiting for you. I gotta go help out our special guest, but I’ll be in the crowd! Catch ya later!"

"See you…” He has barely finished speaking, but Ace is already gone.

Deuce sighs and fixes his posture, shoulders squared and head held high. He runs a hand through his hair, letting his locks fall back into their natural place. His gaze is deep, contemplative—an ocean wondering whether to let a wanderer sink or swim.

A generous gulp of air for his shaky confidence.

Out with the old and in with the new.

With that, he steels himself and makes a bold stride into the gardens.

Heartslabyul students stand at attention, making way for his entrance. Their best tablecloths and decorations are set out, and a band is in full swing. Even the rose trees seem celebratory today, letting loose a scatter of petals dancing in the breeze.

The sunshine, a solitary spotlight illuminating his path.

All eyes on him.

Deuce follows the road paved for him by a crimson carpet. His dorm leader, in all of his finery, awaits him at the other end with a scepter and a stern smile. When he reaches Riddle, the redhead clears his throat.

At once, the trumpets cut off. The song, at its end at his command.

Deuce immediately lowers into a kneel. His eyes are kept trained on the ground, both to steady his stance and to keep from being ill on the spot.

Riddle looks to the waiting crowd, his authoritative voice projecting outward. “Students of Heartslabyul! We are gathered here today to witness the ascension of one among you: Deuce Spade.”

“Yes, dorm leader!”

“He has proven himself worthy countless times over,” Riddle continues, glowing with pride. “Deuce entered this institution with a crude attitude and barely comprehending basic mathematics—but with time and rigorous study, he has risen from delinquency to the ranks of the honor roll.

“What’s more, Deuce has demonstrated immense honor and strength of character. Countless times has he held true to his own moral convictions, defending the weak and the downtrodden. His goodness is immeasurable—a model for us all to follow.

“Deuce Spade wholeheartedly embodies the spirit of strictness extolled by our dormitory. I can think of no better man to have as our next vice dorm leader.”

Riddle gently brings his scepter down upon Deuce. First on the right shoulder, then the left.

“You may rise.”

He does, newly knighted.

“Heartslabyul!” Riddle lays a hand on Deuce’s arm, spinning him around to face the audience. “Your new vice dorm leader!”

The students erupt into applause and cheers. Card suits of all kinda, gathered to celebrate him.

How far he has come.

“Congratulations, Deuce! Congratulations, vice dorm leader!”

“Th-Thank you!” he manages. His nerves are still in control, and his next sentence seize in his throat.

“Any words for them?” Riddle asks quietly. “Something to inspire confidence.”

An acceptance speech?! Deuce completely locks up. I-I didn’t prep for this…

“Um, I’m not sure if I…”

But he sees the eager faces of his peers, thinks of the expectations places on him. His eyes frantically search, seeking another way out, another answer. Then—

In the corner of his vision, figures darting out from the rose maze.

It’s Ace, sprinting as fast as his feet will take him. His cheeks are cherry red from exertion. He falls in line at the back of the crowd, doubling over, hands on his knees, and gasps for his breath.

Ace is followed by a woman, her bobbed hair streaked with blonde and navy—a navy not unlike Deuce’s own. She is dressed modestly, her cap and jacket stamped with a white rabbit logo, aquamarine eyes piercing through the shadow of her hat. Her lips painted a golden brown, a spade dangling from an ear.

Their special guest.

Mom?

"Deuce!!" she calls out, waving an arm at him. "I wanted to be here--to see you on your special day! I'm not too late, am I?"

"Mom...!" his voice rings out, carrying across the garden and to her. "Of course not. You..."

You're always there for me.

Deuce straightens, his courage gathering. He is a flower, freshly watered and reinvigorated as he addresses the onlookers.

“For a long time, I thought I was a bad kid... that I would always be a bad kid, no matter how much I tried. But I'm here. I've made it."

Deuce glances around the assembly. At Ace, at his dorm leader, at Riddle, at the spaces once occupied by his upperclassmen.

"So... thank you very much for giving me a second chance...! For this opportunity! I promise, I'll keep doing my very best from here on out and get better and better every day!"

He bows.

The audience is uproarious. A sharp whistle--from Ace. Riddle nods approvingly.

His tears well in spite of himself.

When he at last raises his head, he sees his mother is sobbing too.

So proud of him.

[symphonic-scream]

So. It's gay time

Uh. Just random stuff from Fool Makoto

So I've determined what I'm gonna do in regards to Goro and romance for this. It's. Chariot Goro with Emperor Ryuji. Takes a long time

Okay but yeah Gay Time.

So in the game we know Joker is mysterious and has some base charm and shit. But this is Makoto. Socially she's kinda cringefail, and I'm dying on that hill. She gets better of course, but. Her first friends are Futaba, Goro, and Haru. She's, pretty bad at social shit

So the fact that her and Haru are together by the Hermit Palace? Real fucking luck. Makoto falls first, and it's more like tripping and eating shit on the sidewalk. Haru is naturally very pretty, cute as hell, and introduces herself to Makoto in class, when the rest of their class doesn't. The rumours aren't as severe as the Joker ones, but y'know. Still rough

And Haru starting out is real subdued. She's practically being groomed by Shido, and is on the edge of having to do things she doesn't want to, believing it would help her father. But, she catches on that his son and the new student are up to something, and they give her an in to rise up and save herself

(and. During her awakening to her Persona, you just know gay disaster Makoto isn't thinking a single thought besides "girl". Goro has to smack her upside the head a little so they can help Haru in the fight so they can escape)

And. Haru probably can tell Makoto has feelings for her. But, she's a little caught off guard that she doesn't do anything with it. Never outright flirts, just, treats her as a friend. Compliments her new uniform a little awkwardly, but it's genuine, and kind.

On the Makoto side, she's in that "oh she don't like girls" thing and still dealing with overcoming the shit from her adoptive parents, so of course she's not trying anything. She doesn't feel like she can or should. Just, appreciates being her friend. Wants her to be happy

A big change for this is that for Emperor Ryuji, he doesn't "go for" Haru, but Makoto. The Fool. Trust me I got it worked out but that's not for here. So you'd have Haru who feels off about it but doesn't know why, and Makoto who doesn't notice and is trying to just help Ryuji, and.

Well. It's during the Priestess Palace that they get together. It's during Haru's social link, of her teaching Makoto to cook, and. She sees her with her hoodie sleeves rolled up, apron dirty and a bit of flour on her face, listening and asking and being super genuine, and a dork, and just. Suddenly she's dropping a whisk and crossing her own kitchen and grabs at that hood and just

"is it okay if I kiss you now?"

And gayass Makoto stutters, pauses, and nods in a way that it's hardly visible, and they're kissing in the quiet Okumura kitchen, their meal abandoned for a moment, and. They talk about it sure, and maybe kiss a second or third time, but yeah. They're both very new to the dating thing, and both a little hesitant to be fully open about liking womfs (Makoto in this is lesbian, Haru is Sapphic for sure, but doesn't know how she feels about guys)

They're soft, and learning how to be together. Gentle study dates at either place, the shy waves as they see each other in class. Maybe standing a little too close on the subway, with Haru nearly tucked under Makoto's arm. They tell the team after a few days, and aren't outright with affection in the Palace or Mementos, it's more little things. The smiles, the glances, the brushing of fingers

Haru's dad isn't around a lot, and they tell Sea and Tae about their relationship before Hermit Palace. It's easier to reveal a wlw relationship to other wlws, afterall. Haru ends up being around the Takemi home a lot more, and they end up sharing Makoto's bed after a tough day in Morgana's Palace.

And they start on the couch in the basement, just holding each other and internally going over what happened, and before Haru even mentions she should head off, Makoto tucks her face into her shoulder, holds her close, and. "Would you, be willing to stay the night? I don't think I can sleep down here alone."

There's no debate on not sharing the double bed. The only hiccup is Haru asking for something to wear, and coughing when Makoto goes to grab pj's, and looks pointedly at her discarded hoodie. They lie close, just watching, before Makoto holds open her arms, and Haru snuggles close. Head under her chin, arms around each other, legs entwined a bit, "we'll save him. I know it,"

"we have to,"

They wake up shifted around, not as close as they were when they drifted off, but with Haru, back to Makoto, cradling the arm Makoto had draped over her side to her chest. And I always believe in team "Makoto sleeps like the dead and is nearly impossible to wake up", so Haru would wake first, kiss at the hand she's holding, before turning to watch Makoto

They totally make breakfast together, and Haru keeps Makoto's hoodie on, and they trade soft kisses and giggles as they cook, and they move around each other so easily

Haru stays over a lot after that. Her apartment is lonely when her dad isn't home, and Sae and Tae adore her, and Morgana is her second biggest fan. Cause, no one beats her awkward simp girlfriend, who tries to be poetic in her compliments, but it comes out stilted, and yes she once compared Haru to eggs. Somehow.

And they share a room during their school trip (not Hawaii I am considering a different location), and aren't out at school or among their class, so when they're in their room, it's romance city babee

Eventually, probably like, during the Empress Palace, Haru tells her dad she likes girls. Has a girlfriend. He takes a few days to come to terms with it, to come up with a proper response, and Haru is flighty and fidgety, and in her head. Makoto cooks for her during that time, tries to make coffee, then buys her coffee, and makes sure Ryuji and Ren are around to keep her distracted when her and Morgana aren't enough

He doesn't get it, but he hugs her when he asks her to come home and talk. Says he's sorry for pushing her to be someone she's not, and that his absence made her so afraid to tell him. He's a Decent Father in this, just busy with work, and overseas a lot. He tries to do better after she tells him she wants to be a chef, and then comes out. He would totally go over for a special meal around Christmas at the Takemi place to meet Makoto and her family

Oh, and gosh. The bit of angst for Nov 20. Haru would have to act normal, but she'd be baking and cooking up a storm to distract herself until she gets the message that Makoto got out, and that after a day or so, she can visit. And, it hurts like being hit by a truck to see Makoto looped up on pain meds, lying on the main floor couch cause Tae wanted to keep an eye on her

Haru cups her face, with watery eyes, and tells her she's glad she made it. Makoto, unburdened by thinking before she speaks due to painkillers, grins and "I'll always find my way back to you, Haru," and god. That's when Haru tells her she loves her

She makes sure to repeat it when Makoto is better, and less out of it, and Makoto goes all red down to her chest, and stumbles through her own confession, and your honour? They're gay

Alright using a cut here. Royal and Strikers stuff below folks, along with the Boys™

Okay so Royal is a bit warped here cause it's a big warped au so. To keep it short, it's the Royal Trio (Fool Makoto, Justice Hifumi, and Faith Ann) coming to terms with what Councilor Kawakami has offered, and it's rough on all of them.

Makoto is going through it cause she just fought god to get what she has, and to imply she could have that and more without that? Has her pissed

Ann has her self view shattered and y'know, realizes she's been living a lie but is it so bad? But, is it really what's actually best? Has she been wrong? But...

And Hifumi. She was okay with dying. But she's back and there's the offer to not have to face the consequences of her actions, cause "she was misled", but that's bullshit to her

So. They're having emo hours. Spending time talking about it, going after Kawakami mostly on their own, and all

That's the context. So, the gays.

Makoto feels like shit as a girlfriend. They're in love and doing well, and she felt secure in herself and now? She's struggling and she just Can't ask Haru to go through most of it with her. She hates saying no to plans or cancelling on her to go work things out with the other two, and she-

Haru knows. She gets it, somewhat. Knows she can't be the one to be there for Makoto this time. But, she assures Makoto that she's not the worst, she still loves her no matter what, and that she'll be here for when she needs her. Just, asks her to communicate, not lock herself away, and let Haru in as much as she's willing

So it's real background there. They talk through the whole thing, and both make an effort to keep them good

Strikers is much gayer though

Strikers is a year and a half after everything. So Makoto and Haru were in Second Year for the plot, and for Strikers it's the winter break of their first year in college/uni

They go to the same school, have an apartment together, and they're domestic as fucking shit. They share a tent or cot the whole trip, and are openly together, all the time. They're not overboard with PDA or anything, but theyre not acting platonic in public. They're just, fully out and together and in love they're really fucking gay

Anyways. Gay.

[avirxy]

115. "Please don't touch me." But Werewolf Claire? (I love ur au btw)

She wakes up with blood in her mouth, cracked and dried along her lips, stained in rivulets down the hollow of her throat.

Claire blinks, wincing as she turns her head away from searing sunlight overhead.

It parts through the leaves, glinting across dry, withered underbrush. Spring is approaching but cold still nips and bites at the foliage, making it an off wicker brown that soaks up everything.

She doesn’t immediately see anyone or anything, just endless woodland. Curling her fingers into the soft earth the trickling sound of running water hisses nearby, not man made, to rough and tumbling.

The stumbling trip is made in short bursts of leaning against nearby trees, her feet catching along roots that rise from the ground. But she sees it eventually, slightly sloping lower into the earth.

Claire drags herself to the bank, aching for a drink, to get this—disgusting, tangy…sweet blood out of her mouth and off her hands.

It’s under her fingernails, wedged along each bed.

She doesn’t recognize the creek either, sandy little outcroppings, the trees, sometimes she can piece together a relative location, like once she woke up near the lookout or by those weary abandoned straggler cabins belonging to some sort of nature preserve.

The unknowing scares her, of what she did, or didn’t do.

Ice cold water stings her skin, but the want for a drink is far outweighing any chill she’s experiencing. It’s easier to focus on, keep the task simple so her mind can’t stray.

Claire almost doesn’t care as it drips in-between her fingers, soaking her ruined clothes.

She hears him long before she sees him, as she’s cupping another palm full of water, the twigs he keeps stepping on, his rushed breaths.

Something could hunt him down so easily, in the woods, where the beast knows best, it could be on his back before he has the chance to defend himself.

Jim’s an incredibly capable fighter, and part of her knows his rush is to reach her, uncaring with the noise he’s stirring up. But he couldn’t stop her when the moon hangs full and heavy in the sky if he tried, and he wouldn’t.

Even if it hunted him he’d play offensive, Jim would never hurt her and that terrifies her, because she knows the wolf doesn’t hold the same values.

She could end up over his body one of these days.

Claire’s already seen enough of that in her nightmares.

Ones that keep her sleepless and cagey, desperately fiddling with the tab of an energy drink before first period because she can’t close her eyes without seeing flashes of what might be true or not.

He’s breathing hard when he crests the edge, a tattered bag slung over his shoulder. Toby calls it something really stupid and joking, a recovery bag but the exact name is blanking her right now, too early for her mind to fully be slotted back into place.

Housing whatever Jim has carefully packed into it for her today. His eyes widen at the sight of her, relief the only emotion spread across his face.

It should be disgust she thinks bitterly, using her sharp nails to scrape at the dried blood still sticking to her wrists, but she can’t get it all off, even days later the ghost of the feeling lingers, the guilt.

Claire swears the blood is still on her hands sometimes, soaked into her skin as a reminder.

“I got turned around twice,” He talks so light, so softly, “this magic compass could definitely use some tweaking.”

He’s also awful with directions so, the cards are stacked against him.

He kneels down, carefully slipping the bag off his shoulder. Jim’s sword sits at his hip, he doesn’t take any chances after one month when a Ogre decided no one was allowed to cross his bridge without losing a limb. Funny it wasn’t a troll.

It’s never been used against her, not yet, likely not ever, not willingly.

His heartbeat thumps in her ears, so loud it’s almost enticing, closer still he approaches, bringing with him that—

Gold flashes violently across her vision and Claire shies away instantly, inhaling sharply.

“Please don’t touch me.”

It’s not that she doesn’t want his comfort, his touch. She’s covered in someone…something’s blood though.

And his heartbeat is far too leering.

Jim doesn’t press, he never does, gaze flitting across her face worriedly. Sitting down in the mud there’s ample space between, he’s safer that way.

Claire stares at her reflection, watching it twist and warp as the water ripples, just like last night. The nearly unrecognizable figure stays human though, untamed brown hair, the blaring strip of white. Her eyes look weird though, fighting between flits of gold.

“Did I…”

“No,” He assures steadily. “You stayed to the east of town the entire time, never got close, Darci had a spell going all night.”

Her bottom lip has been worn raw from the drag of her teeth. “And you didn’t find anything?”

Jim seems to infer what she’s asking. “It was probably an animal.”

“And if it wasn’t?”

“Claire, I don’t think you’d do that.”

She wouldn’t, but the wolf would, it did, she still doesn’t think Toby’s fully forgiven her for Mr. Fluffy, the poor thing was found mauled in a ditch not long after the full moon a few months ago.

“Why do you keep doing this for me?”

He wakes up before dawn, or maybe he doesn’t even sleep, treks through mud and grime, exposes himself to the danger of the woods.

All to find her.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know how you stand it.”

Claire doesn’t phrase it as a question, because she already knows the answer. If it were him, instead of her, if he was cursed to become a monster, to roam the woods under burning moonlight she’d do everything in her power to help him.

He smiled softly. “You can’t chase me off with a little blood,”

Would she chase him off with the fact that this is forever, there’s no cure, there’s nothing in the world that could possibly help her.

“Claire?”

The tears burning at the edges of her eyes are becoming harder to fight off, blurring her peripheral.

She tries to swallow the thick, wallowing knot in her throat unsuccessfully.

“Hey,” He breathes in a whisper, fast and worried.

“Can I?”

She fights with herself for several moments before nodding, squeezing her eyes shut.

Jim grasps one of her bloodstained hands, clasping his fingers across her own and Claire feels fresh tears sting her eyes, it’s done so gently she trembles at the force of it.

“It’s okay,” He murmurs as the first of many sobs escape past her teeth.

“Claire, it’s okay.” Jim repeats as she twists on the bank and grasps the edges of his shirt, hating herself for getting blood on his clothes.

His arms wrap around her, carefully, holding her up as Claire cries, burying her face in the space between his neck and shoulder.

She hates it—

She hates that she’s crying in front of him.

Claire hates that she can’t stop herself, that she can’t wait an hour until she’s sitting in shower as the water rubs her skin raw to sob, to cry until her voice is hoarse and her eyes are so blurry with tears it’s hard to see.

Jim just keeps murmuring the same two words, over and over.

Gently reminding her, staining his hands with blood just like her’s already are.

[ominous-faechild]

Happy Worldbuilding Wednesday! Where in your setting would you most like to visit, and where would you avoid at all costs?

This is an interesting question! And a really rough one, haha.

For one, it would definitely vary in the time period / exact moment in time regardless of the location, haha. But I'll pick from overall time periods! (And assume I can easily speak the native language.)

For those who don't know the countries in my world, check this out!

MOST ENJOY VISITING:

Haha, sooooo I technically have a tie here??? And both technically wouldn't work for one reason or another. 😂😅

MINOGUA (during RFtA)

Minogua is a country that's drawn a lot of inspiration from Latin America + Hawaii and, uh... well previously had a lot of themes of colonialism. That's why it feels a little rough to want to go there as a kinda tourist, haha.

But! Shortly before the time of RFtA, they evicted the direct authority from the colonizing countries! So by the time the story comes around, they've had a few decades of trying to turn their country into what they want it to be / what it was before they were invaded!

I grew up both in Texas (there's a LOT of Mexican people and influences there!) and Florida (near-tropical and has a lot of Puerto Rican people / influences!). I may not be Latina, but two of my closest friends are (and one is now my gf 😂) and I have a lot of positive experiences relating to the culture. I think that's a huge reason for my fondness for Minogua and Tzakah, haha.

Besides that, as I (hopefully) alluded to, Minogua is also a tropical country! It's got a rich, surprisingly friendly culture and I'd absolutely love visiting it on holiday. It just... would feel wrong due to the whole "colonization" history, haha. 😅

To be fair, I don't think a majority of them would mind it. But it's only been a few decades since they got rid of the direct authority of the colonizing country, so other people exploiting their history for their own "entertainment" would definitely not rub some of them the right way!

TZAKAH

The real place I'd most like to go... if I'd even be able to remember the experience!!! 😭😭😭

So, the problem with Tzakah is that they're kinda hidden! They're actually a massive city built into a seaside cliff in Cirrane's rainforest as well as an isolationist "country" (read: city-state) with no connection to the rest of the world!

See, there's two ways to go if you'd like to leave or enter Tzakah: through the forest or by the sea. Only... there's a couple problems with that.

Go by sea, and there's practically endless storms raging off the coast. And not just your average nasty equatorial storms--but hurricane-type stuff! Not close enough to bother Tzakans, and actually not even permanent! But any time anyone goes near that approximate area of the world, knowingly or not, storms begin to barrage them until it destroys their ship or they (wisely) flee the area.

Many around the world refer to that area "the Gods' Land", theorizing that the gods' home is past the storms and the storms themselves are meant to keep out all but those who are worthy.

Making the storms "the Gods' Trials", of course.

Tzakah is lucky to just barely be at the edge of the Gods' Land, managing to avoid the Trials even when they go out to sea for fish. Besides that, they don't travel much further--they learned a long time ago of the dangers associated with it.

On the other side, they have the rainforest. And, somehow, it's worse.

Beyond the usual dangers of wild nature, Cirrane's rainforest is known to be haunted by malicious spirits--theorized to both be faerie in origin and those of deceased victims--that kill all who encroach on their territory.

Those who wander too far into the forest are known to never come back. Most--the Cirranians on the other side of the rainforest--don't know exactly why people who wander into the forest disappear. Again, they just theorize it's spirits--they don't know for sure. All they do is that they should never go past a certain landmark in the forest... lest they never be heard of again.

Those of Tzakah, however, know of the "spirits" by name.

The Melijé.

Merciless hunters they're locked into perpetual war with, and will be forever until the end of time... or until one finishes the other off.

Why?

Well, for the horrible crime of having left the Melijé centuries ago!

OH, YEAH, BUDDY, IT GETS DEEP! I LOVE TZAKAH!

Anyway, yeah! Tzakah is a safe haven hidden in-between the Gods' Trials and the Melijé haunting the forests of {insert forest name here, probably sounding vaguely like "Melijé"}. Uh, I've definitely named the forest, don't worry! I'm just too lazy to look it up! Yeah...

Tzakah was formed by refugees who fled from the Melijé long ago. They're a peaceful people--descended from those who hated the Melijé's violent and hateful ways--and have created a completely pacifistic utopian society for themselves... outside of a select group of warriors who've trained under Torcaiz (their god of Protection) to repel any Melijé attacks. However, they're all warned of the struggles and pain associated with it beforehand, and accept the burden.

The people of Tzakah are isolationists due to the whole "actually kinda separated from the rest of the world" thing, and... another piece of their history that makes them see the rest of the world as a much darker place than their utopia. (Which obviously is fair. I mean, have you seen most of my worldbuilding??? It's bad.)

However... that Very Purposely Ambiguous "Piece Of History™" has also made Tzakans cautious of the very few outsiders that do make it there. (There's a few ways, but it's mostly them rescuing people who got lost in the rainforest before the Melijé kills them... or idiots who try to sail through the Gods' Trials, thinking they're "worthy".)

Instead of welcoming outsiders in with open arms like they'd want to (but they pretty much still do--), they're more cautious of and careful with them. Outsiders tend to get questioned by one of Tzakah's gods--usually Torcaiz alongside one of the others to keep him from deeming them all "unworthy" 🤣--to verify they don't have any ulterior motives.

And then, if and when they leave... they're stripped of their memories of their time there.

Yeah. Another one of the Tzakan gods--Marmorin--is able to completely remove people's memories. Except... he doesn't 99% of the time. Instead, he messes with the memories to "repress" them--leaving the effects of their time in Tzakah, but making it so, at best, they'll remember it as a dream.

Soooooo... if I were to ever visit Tzakah, I'd first have to put my life at risk and then be forced to lose my memory of my time there, anyway!

Haha, definitely not worth it, unfortunately.

In spite of all of that, Tzakah is an awesome place to visit. Like Cirrane (which the Melijé was once associated with) and Minogua, Tzakah has strong Latin American influence! They're in the middle of a rainforest, but obviously completely locked within the "city" itself!

(There's always at least one Melijé huntress patrolling the woods outside of Tzakah. Their rivalry is bitter, harbored and continued mostly by the Melijé, and one of Torcaiz's jobs as their god of Protection is maintaining a barrier that keeps the Melijé out.)

Again, their culture is very utopian, with most everyone being incredibly supportive of one another and each others' problems. The few who don't feel that way are instead given space and patience to do whatever they wish. Many of which eventually become (or already were) Warriors and develop a solidarity with the others, or leave Tzakah under the watchful eye of another god...

BUT YEAH, I LOVE TZAKAH AND WOULD LOVE TO VISIT IT IF I COULD REMEMBER ANYTHING ABOUT THE VISIT!!!

(To anyone wondering, the Melijé aren't any sort of "native peoples are inherently violent" thing or whatever. They're actually in the minority being that way in my story! Most of the time--like with Minogua--it's the opposite. Native peoples just want to be left alone. The Melijé's history actually separates them from most indigenous groups, tbh. Send an ask if you want to know more about them or Tzakah in general! Though please specify what specifically you want to know more about...)

AVOID AT ALL COSTS!!!

CIRRANE

Aaaand on the other end of the rainforest is CIRRANE! (Somehow there happens to be both a utopia and dystopia separated by nothing but a rainforest, some magical nonsense, and a ravaging cult bent on destruction of all others and growing their own power...)

I've spoken about Cirrane before, but it's definitely scattered across posts, haha. Long story short? Since this post has been LONG--

Cirrane is an incredibly impoverished nation with a massive wage gap and next to no middle class. Their way of "solving" that?

Bread and circuses!

... no, I mean it. Almost literally--

Context! The origin of the term "bread and circuses" to placate the masses is actually from Ancient Rome, where they'd use food ("bread") and entertainment ("circuses", which originally referred to what are now called coliseums)!

So... want to guess what Cirrane does?

Yeah, so, basically people have the option to risk their lives by fighting in arenas / coliseums to raise their status. Likewise, it's incredibly cheap to buy into and watch them! Lowkey, their entire economy is based around the arenas and the whole "political structure" around them.

Even the current monarch has fought in the coliseums before!

(In order to display their sheer magical prowess to the masses and intimidate them into falling in line.)

Similarly, Cirrane is known to be a debt-trap country, which will often try to entice people (but especially outsiders) into gambling... and using that to hook them into the many available vices.

I'm sure you can see why Cirrane is the "AVOID AT ALL COSTS" country.

Oh, and btw? It's VERY relevant in Rising From the Ashes! 🥰

Yeah, so, you'd really think it would've been Glavnran, but no. Somehow, as bad as Glavnran is, Cirrane is worse.

(PS: "Melijé" is pronounced "Mehl-ee-hey")

Worldbuilding tag list: @honeybewrites @the-golden-comet @illarian-rambling @ashirisu @urnumber1star

@the-letterbox-archives @48lexr @aalinaaaaaa @paeliae-occasionally (Ask and ye shall be added)

[senka-mesecine]

What do you think Barnes would do if his partner genuinely needed comfort? Like his efforts to either wait their problem out or silently just be there proved obsolete and they just needed him to be openly sweet and soft, at least for a moment.

---

See, I think he is capable of sweetness and comfort.

Why wouldn't he be?

However frightening it sounds, Barnes is human.

It is just that I also think he firmly and almost unflinchingly believes in 'time and place'. Or rather, that there's a proper time and place for everything. What does that mean, you may ask? Well, he's been in a war so long he's effectively become war, as much of a stereotypical thing to say that may be, and in war, there is no place for sweetness and comfort. At least not in a way a civilian would understand. Instead, you have to become war to survive it and master it. Meaning that I tend to view Barnes's more tame and mellow proclivities like a muscle that's atrophied somewhere along the way due to deliberate lack of usage over the years. He knows how to do it or at least has some vague, faint recollection what tenderness used to look like the way someone seeing a wild animal they've never observed in the flesh represented in a book and being able to identify the illustration before them just based off of common knowledge; but, thing is, his circumstances and surroundings never gave way for him to do it, to enact said sweetness, that is, so he didn't, because you don't go around being sappy when you're in an active warzone.

That's how you get yourself and others killed.

That's how everything goes to shit in his opinion. How the machine breaks down.

That is, though, when he cares about you, I think he legitimately starts exercising said atrophied muscle because the time is now. The circumstances are calling for it.

This too is part of a machine, albeit a different one.

His devotion is needed for you to keep going.

You're hurt and he's uncharacteristically focused and even lenient, like you could break any moment if he simply touches you wrong if he goes about utilizing his usual roughness. His expression can turn somber to the degree he looks frighteningly and unsettlingly like a little boy when faced with your discomfort; like a nearly forty year old man with the expression of a kid. You're in pain and his fingers and thumb trace the outline of your face as you close your eyes to try and get some rest, his hand big enough to envelop your entire head as he caresses you, like he is trying to grab a hold of the invisible threads of whatever's bothering you and take them upon himself because he can handle it and would want to handle it instead of you without arguing. You're laying down and you're sick and he might just lay down behind you, his arms wordlessly embracing you because he doesn't give a rat's ass what he gets infected with; whatever you're down with is probably child's play compared to the type of crap he's been through anyway. His hand hovers over you when he wants to console you and downright feels cringed out with himself as he does it because it's been so long but he's there biting a bullet and doing it anyway, patting your scalp like a child's. You cut your finger and his mouth is there, sucking away the blood and tenderizing the tiny wound. You're crying and his knuckles come up to wipe away the tears, almost like he's witnessing something unprecedented and forgotten; when's the last time he himself has cried? Has he ever? Well, shit. Is it words of wisdom you need in your situation? Well, shoot, whatever he says to you might sound crude initially because that's simply his manner, but the more you think about it and re-wind his words in your mind, it is probably some of the most sagely bits of counsel you've ever been given by another person.

In general, Barnes's peculiarities and characteristics take time getting used to.

Rough around the edges as he is.

I think it takes time to recognize them all, all these quirks.

He isn't a naturally lovey-dovey person like that, you see. Far from.

Empathy is possibly there, under several seals that say 'for later usage'.

That later usage being when he's emotionally involved.

He rips off that seal when he's with you because he undoubtedly has this mentality where he feels steadfastly and ride-or-die responsible for you as the weaker one of the two and by extension, responsible for keeping you alive and well.