#okay I might do a follow up to this one instead

[dilf-docs]

All Roads Lead To Rome

pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your boyfriend swears he isn't annoyed at your little surprise visit on the set of gladiator II; you might have to help him release his anger, one way... or another.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (BARK BARK BARK), smut, p. in v., bit of exhibition kink cause they fuck on his trailer, he swears he's mad but he just wants head, oral (m. receiving), he also uses his armor and skirt while at it bc its hot and not bc i totally want that to happen to me or smth!!!, brat taming, orgasm denial, breeding and daddy kink lowkey, i'm so down bad for him so there's fluff!!! + pedro being whipped cause that's exactly what i want in my men, the cast makes cameos bc i love them!!! use of spanish (i'm latina so don't even try me), pedro wearing a skirt tehee

word count: 3,519 words

side note: i'm about as FERAL and horny as much as one could be!!! damn u pedro, making me walk out in the middle of class and walk on foot to the nearest theather for an early gladiator II screening (bc they're cheaper and i'm a jobless broke student lmao) that mind u it's my first solo trip to the movies but it's okay!!!! nobody interrupt me on my horny dilf hours amirite I TELL U that cinema was almost empty: just me, pedro and hey there's a spot if u wanna join mescal (look at my blog banner IYKYK) so yeah!!!! enjoy this porn lovechild that steemed from it; my pedro renaissance that'd been asleep since tlou dropped AWAKES (u don't get it, i literally watched narcos just for him) i'm so fr i need this man BIBLICALLY!!

"Lemme guess, that's her, right?"

Pedro looks up from his phone, slightly red and embarrassed. He would blame the color on the sun, and as an actor, fake his way out.

"No idea what you're talking about, Paul"

The young man chuckles.

"I mean, every break we get, you take your chair, sit the farthest and pull your phone with the most ridiculous grin I've ever seen. I'm afraid to tell you, friend, you aren't as slick as you think"

He leans back against the chair, covering his face with his large palm.

"At least I tried" he finds no point in lying anymore, "seems like I'm addicted, but if it wasn't for y/n, I wouldn't touch it"

"I'm curious, though" Paul scoots his chair closer, "who texts who? You or her?"

"Me" he answers, but then corrects himself quickly, a bit ashamed of how that makes him sound, "but it's mostly her first".

"Right" he doesn't sound convinced, rather curious and annoyed, something he's too old and tired for, "I don't believe you"

He's about to lock his phone, but the wallpaper (a selfie with you) would probably earn him another mock from Mescal.

"Too bad I don't need you to"

Before he can do so, the irish man yanks his phone away.

"Give it back!" he shouts, earning a few glances from the crew around them, "what are you, ten?"

"No, twenty-eight" they look like kids bickering. "No need to fight me, Mr. Pascal, they haven't taught us the new fighting choreography yet" he mocks, before the phone chimes; they both stop at the sound.

"What does this mean?" Paul asks. "Malta's nice" he reads out loud, "were you talking about possible future vacations? I might have to tag along"

He doesn't follow the man's joke, instead, looking at the message on your chat. Malta's nice, says the little cryptic message, and yes―it is cryptic, because you were just talking about missing each other and some other corny stuff he'd take to his grave. Not vacations, and certainly, not about the european island, which happens to also be the place were he's filming his latest movie.

"No, we weren't" he replies confused, "what do you think it means?"

"Well, obviously, you boys don't know anything" May pops up from behind, laughing.

"Were you eavesdropping?" he asks playfully, albeit, a little offended.

"No, you guys are just too loud" she replies nonchalant. "Besides, you aren't very good at hiding it, either"

"That's what I said!" Paul backs, laughing on his face.

"Stop being misterious and just drop it"

"It means" she pauses―laughing at her own little dramatic effect, "that you're getting a visit soon"

When you met Pedro, you were working in The Last Of Us. Nothing fancy, just part of the technical cast of the show: helping with the filming and stuff.

During those months, it was easy to find yourself falling for the main star (alongside Bella Ramsey), especially when you spent months behind a camera, capturing all of his perfect features; learning them by memory until you could draw them without seeing his face.

Yes, you had fallen for the older man, because it was as natural as breathing; easy as being alive―the fall so gentle and so easy, it was hard to know when the feelings started. You just woke up one day, feeling different.

You liked to act up―always had what you wanted, and times had changed (so it's not like he had to ask first): why not? Which is why during your last day of shooting you took some liquid courage on your veins and went up his way. It was at a little gathering the crew you've grown to call family organized, while wearing your favorite and tightest dress, that you approached him.

It surprised you that he even recognized you, but that's who he was: warm, welcoming and caring.

To augment the surprise, turns out he had eyed you already, but was too shy to do anything. Yes, the worlds most famous Chilean man. It did stroke your ego, and maybe that's why you feel like most of the time, you've got the upper hand on your relationship, despite the years in between.

You know your boyfriend isn't exactly the type to scold or get mad―despite his strong figure, but going against the only thing he asked you might test him. Which is why you feel nervous, despite the happiness around you, everyone in the airport looking straight out of a picture perfect summer edition magazine.

Still, you feel like the last message you just sent was a bit too blunt. Now you sit at the tiny airport, pondering your next move.

And your theory is proven exactly right when you arrive impromptu at the Gladiator II set: making heads turn and guards almost kick you out, thinking you're a fan.

"You don't get it!" you protest, "he's my boyfriend".

"Sure", they laugh on your face. "you're not the first to say that".

"She's not lying" oh, how you love that gravely voice. But not today: not when he sounds like a parent scolding a naive child. Not when his eyes bore into you, slightly irritated.

So now he's dragging you among the set, right to were his trailer is.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" you ask, puffing your cheeks out in annoyance. He keeps dragging you by the arm, without sparing a glance in your way. Who does he think he is? "I wanted to tell Paul he made me cry―twice. You know I don't play about Normal People and Aftersun"

"But you do seem to play about my orders" he grunts out, opening the door to his trailer. The sunlight reflects against the white, slightly bothering your eyes with its shine, contrary to your boyfriend's gloomy behaviour.

"Are you being serious right now? You're not my dad to scold me. I just wanted to surprise you" you stand still, refusing to get inside. Pedro knows your character tends to be stubborn, and thought he finds it hot to reel you up sometimes, there are other times where he can't just stand that juvenile spirit of rage you tend to have when things don't go the way you want them to. "What's gotten into you?"

"I could ask you the same" he mocks. "Get inside. Now"

"Rude" you scoff, but obey regardless, and he breathes out relieved you didn't do a scene like last time; he still can't show his face on that restaurant to this day.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me" you say a tad bit dissapointed, and Pascal feels the pissed off feelings clouding his brain start to dissipate.

"I do, amor" he sighs, "just hate to see you do things I tell you not to; waltzing in here like you own the place".

You don't see the mistake, though. What's wrong with wanting to do a little surprise? It's not like you were a stalker or something; just a very clingy girlfriend who happens to miss her boyfriend.

"So, you're not mad?" you venture, "tell me you're not embarrassed"

He looks at you, the fondness of his gaze betraying him.

"I'm not the one wearing a skirt while trying to sound intimidating" you joke while caressing the crook of his nose, knowing you always get on his good side. Being mad isn't something that lasts, "if anyone should be embarrassed, that's you"

"Are you saying I shouldn't wear one because I'm a man?" your boyfriend looks offended, "Have you forgotten the movie I'm starring in? People feared the skirt-wearing Roman army"

"Well, I'm not intimidated" you stand defiant, and something dark tints his brown eyes. You can feel the excitement begin pooling in your stomach.

"You're not?" he grips your wrists and yanks you to him, then holds your chin, tilting your head between his calloused fingers. "Well, cariño, you should be"

Your body slams against one of the trailers walls, and you have to suppress a whine.

"You must be punished for what you did today"

You give him a doe-eye look, pretending to be all innocent, as if you weren't enjoying the punishment.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've been a good girl"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about" he clicks his tongue, "don't play dumb with me"

"I just came to visit you" you murmur, voice husky against his ear. He grunts, and with the proximity, his hard-on rasps against your bare legs, only partly covered by the flowy summer dress you're wearing, "is that so bad?"

"It is. Has sido mala, cariño" his hand travels down under your dress, carresing with his large palm the silhoutte of your ass. The rings on his fingers create a shock, cold metal against your warm sun-bathed skin. "Naughty girl"

"I promise I'll be good, papi" you purr, using that honeyed voice of yours that makes it hard: hard to say no and hard between his pants.

Pedro sits on a small couch he has inside the trailer, guiding you with his hand enveloped around yours, motioning you to follow with a care so soft, you'd doubt he's about to do to you what he is about to do to you. He pulls you across his lap, smiling (God, you love his smile) as your stomach presses against his tights.

"Don't worry" he breathes low, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll make you a good girl. Tell me, aren't you?"

You swallow, "I am"

He moves the panties easily to the side, rubbing your pussy a little. He then spanks it softly, making you mewl at the sting.

Pedro continues to trace over it, "Are you sure about that?"

"N-no" you shiver in delight, resolve dissolving as quick as it came. "I'm naughty"

"It's good to be aware" he murmurs, "Dilo otra vez"

"I'm a naughty girl"

He lifts your head by your hair. "Tell me what you did"

"Disobeyed your orders, coming to the set" you whisper. He lets go of your hair, his hands traveling down again, slowly teasingly rubbing your pussy while he humms.

"You were a little brat, amor"

You whimpered and mewled in delight. "I was a very naughty brat"

He pushed his fingers inside you, plunging his fingers into your pussy.

"Look at you. You're soaking wet" he pumped his fingers in you, making you moan, "Is that why you came to see me? Couldn't wait any longer for daddy to be inside of you?"

You bucked a little, making him stop. He drags his fingers out, causing you to beg for him to go back.

"Answer my question you greedy thing" He leaned closer to your ear. "Did you need my cock this much?"

You whimper, "I do! Missed you so much"

He pushed his fingers back into you, provoking a moan out of you.

"You're always so needy for me" your core tenses, making you shiver. "How badly do you want me? Tell me"

You whimpered "Badly, papi"

"Say it" his face contorts in satisfaction at your pathethic display; crying little mess, "Who's cock, fingers and mouth make you feel good?"

You can't think at this point, your brain fuzzy and pussy hot, leaking. You kiss his lips, moaning against them, "you!"

"Just me, yes? Nobody else can make you feel this good?"

"No one!"

You involuntarily roll your hips to aid you in pleasure, yet Pedro stops you just before you can reach your orgasm.

"Little brat." he tuts, making you groan. "Did you think I'd let you? You were naughty today, baby"

You huff in annoyance, used to having your way.

"That's your punishment"

"But I'll behave" you mewl against his ear, "I promise"

“Good, because I'm planning on fucking your brains out” his hot breathe whispers in your ear seductively, trying his best not to slur the words at the drunken haze that your arousal provokes in him, "but you have to help me first"

You get on your knees, looking at the garment he's wearing. The skirt and general costume makes this all the more hot, mouth watering at the sight. You raise the skirt, glancing at the briefs; just seeing his dick strained against the fabric makes you wet in anticipation.

He sees the pleasure bore into your orbs, and before you do any dirty idea of yours, he's already warning:

"You have to take this off, what if we-"

"Alright" you cut him off, "but the skirt stays"

"Sigue, pues" he growls, voice low yet demanding, following you in your little game.

As you pull the briefs down, his erection springs out enthusiastically, slapping up against his lower abdomen. You shifted your gaze up to meet his, his eyelids heavy and his proud smirk driving you absolutely wild.

"That's right" he chokes out, "show me how much you missed it"

You give him a proud lick, and Pedro hisses at the moment his preseminal fluid goes in between your hungry lips.

Your tongue darts to the head of his cock, running over it several times before bobbing your head down, taking most of him in your mouth. He keeps praising as you pump the base of his cock with your hand. Your head bobs, yet you peek up to hear Pascal's little sounds and facial expression, a motivation so intimate in the way his brows furrow and eyes roll, mouth agape at your movements while his lip suck on those pretty lips of his. It makes you keep going. With every bob you take as much of him in your mouth as you can, before slowly moving your way back up to the tip, increasing your suction the closer to his head you got. A throaty moan escapes the man above you when you now focus on the final lick, making him closer to coming, all while maintaining eye contact the entire way through.

"Don't do that" he rasps, yanking you by the hair again, as of punishment, but he knows you enjoy it, "you promised you'd be good"

You can't answer, so instead, you reach the head of his cock again, and now his eyes roll back, mumbling profanities that sound like heaven.

"Do you want them to hear us, brat? Qué necia eres" he manages to chastise while moaning.

You feel his dick stuck in your throat, and the way he's about to come; you think that after some time dating, you know him well enough.

You're about to leave with your mouth when he stops you.

"No" your eyes open in shock, "what? Did you think your punishment is over?" Pedro laughs, "don't look at me like that. Like you have never done it before"

He keeps you in place by the hair, the rings prickling against your scalp. You feel his muscles tense up, and before you can think anything else thick and hot shots of cum invade your mouth, making it sticky and warm.

"Don't pretend you don't like it" his voice goes dark, husky. "Swallow it all. Te han enseñado a no desperdiciar nada, ¿verdad? Show me your good manners, then"

When you pull out, your throat feels raspy.

"You gotta reward me" you cough out.

"I promised, didn't I?" his fingers trace your face delicately, with adoration.

"It's all about duty, General Acacius" you purr, and the dick springs out again. Hard.

"Princess..." he warns.

"For the glory of Rome" you joke and laugh, then cough, as your throat is still sore.

"Have you been reading my script?" as you avoid to answer, he just chuckles, "ay, nena"

"C'mere" he motions, and you sit on his lap again. Pedro lifts your dress, exploring the curve of your ass. There's anticipation as he hooks his finger around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to access your core.

"Fuck" you squirm at his touch, grinding your freed cunt against his hard cock. He grabs you by the hip, adjusting you right on his lap.

"You taste so good" he kisses down your throat, ending at the chest were your tits peak.

"Want them?" you offer, pulling your dress down. He kisses them, gently nipping at your perked up nipples.

A wave of pleasure courses through you, and with whines and moans, you show how desperate you are, the hunger making the meal taste better. After all those weeks missing him, you just want him to fuck you senseless.

His lips are rosy and swollen against yours, mouths clashing; starved of the yearned contact. Truth is, no matter how much you know how to touch yourself, it'll never be the same as having his hard cock tear through your tight folds.

Pedro easily aligns his leaking cock with your uncovered pussy, all while mantaining the kiss. He pushes down on you, your dripping cunt taking all of his rock-hard cock, fingers holding onto the soft brown grey sprinkled locs.

"Pedro" you cry out his name, full of ecstasy as the stretch burns so sweetly. His low grunts only fuel your desire.

You trace with your eyes his body, now bare without the upper part of the costume: his pecs and abs, flexing with every pump. With now free hands, your fingers travel to softly caress his stomach, even if your tits are jiggling and the pace frenetic.

"I miss your tummy" you pout.

"I miss eating too" he whispers out, tiredly. He's reminded of his old age, forgetting about it as soon as you two kiss, because you bring out a stamina he thinks he doesn't have anymore; almost animalistic. His bones creak and adding the tiring filming day under the hot sun, he feels his body start to give up, the orgams closer and closer.

"No matter how you look" you clash your lips onto his, the adoration translating through the smile you press against, a trail of saliva that symbolizes how interwined you are, "you always look so fucking good"

He blushes, feeling like a stupid school boy with a crush. What did he even do to deserve you? Never thought a pretty young wild thing like you would even spare a glance on his way, but now you're taking all of his cock inside with such greed yet loom into his eyes with a love he's only dreamed of.

You're real, and his.

As soon as those words leave your mouth your orgasm spills over him, some of it dripping onto the skirt, making him curse. You can't stop, still meeting his thrusts halfway, despite your trembling body after reaching your high.

"Mierda" he groans against your mouth,

You feel yourself collapsing on top of him, the weight of the jet lag catching up.

"Getting tired, baby?" he coos. "Shit, and I thought I was old"

"You are" you reply back; you can never not have the last word. And he lets you, because, God, doesn't he love you? He pretends to look offended by it, but the way your eyes shine tell him you didn't mean it that way. "You and your white hairs" tracing over his moustache, a soft hand combing through his locks, "These wrinkles... don't you know how much I love them? how much I love you?"

"And you have no idea how much I love you" he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling it coming through. "God, wanna make you mine. Sólo mía" his pace slows. It's coming, and yes, you will take it all. "Wanna make you a baby, mami. Want you to take it all like the good girl you are"

When he comes, filling you with burning hot cum until you feel like you might burst, you're numb. But there's a feeling so content that pools warmth in your chest, that you can't say anything else, resting your head against his bare chest, both covered in sticky sweat.

"No sé cómo voy a explicar esto" he speaks through ragged breathes, and you can only smirk, "a squirted and cummed roman skirt".

"That isn't my problem" he scoffs, and you feel your head rise against the movement, earning a laugh out of you, "I'm not part of the movie"

"You'd sure think so, with the way you walked in here"

You roll your eyes, face hidden against his chest, "can you let that go?"

"You're right" he pulls you closer to him, hand enveloping you behind your bare back. The quiet doesn't bother you as you lie closer to his chest, his heartbeat the only thing you need to be at peace, "I think punishment time is over. Think you've learned your lesson"

"Then, how about we go out? I've heard Malta's beaches are pretty"

"Relájate, cariño. Seems you've gotten your energy back" he quips, then kisses your forehead. "We need to wait for everyone to get out"

"That embarrased you are of me?" you joke.

"No" he can already imagine his fellow cast members making fun of him, starting with Paul and Joseph when they see you and Connie who she totally notices the fun sticky stains on the costume, "but embarrased of the explanation I'll have to give"

[scar-lie]

Omega Pt. 17 (Natasha)

Summary : you starting to reconcile?? To Natasha

Pairing : Alpha ! Natasha Romanoff x Omega ! Fem ! Reader

Warning : sad, panic attack, shout, hurt Natasha

Word count : 2,648

Too tired and lazy to write the murder/kidnapping/torture scene eheheh

Cherrylemontober

NO one has permission to repost my work anywhere, if you see it please let me know.

This is one of those days again where out of nowhere your tears are falling and you are being hormonal again, making you cry just at Natasha’s departure, and again, Wanda always knew that’s why she’s here, sitting with you on your balcony, offering silent comfort while the pups are sleeping peacefully on their bassinets after their 15 minutes of wailing again.

"Hey, are you okay? "Wanda asked when she saw that your tears had dried and you were just looking into the sky, completely lost in your thoughts, so she nudged you, making you get out of your deep thoughts.

“What? ”You look at Wanda with fresh tears running down your checks.

“I lost you for a minute there, you ok?”You sniff and nod at her and give her a smile.

“Yeah…yeah a little. I just really miss her, and I think the pups too.�� Wanda nodded, understanding the situation.

I mean, you're just starting to let your guard down again and letting Natasha in; you’re getting comfortable with her and, of course, the pups too, so the sudden absence of Natasha for over a week and a few days takes a toll on you and the pups.

“If it makes you feel better, I made you some cookies.” You smile at her and nod.

“Cookies sound nice,” you mumble and stand up to go downstairs to eat the cookies and some fruits before the pups wake up.

But the sudden opening of the door with force that makes a loud sound when it hits the wall makes you jump out of your skin and ready to protect and run to your pups, but when you see it's Natasha who’s standing in the bedroom door, you sigh in relief that it’s not an intruder.

"Hi,” Natasha pants, putting down the duffel bag she’s carrying on her shoulder and smiling at you.

But you didn’t meet her expectation, you running to her and hugging her—no, but instead—you just stand in your position, looking at her coldly. You don’t know what to say, do, or feel... but you know that you’re angry at her. That’s why you slap her right on the check when you get close to her, making Natasha speechless and shocked.

“Ok...” Natasha mumbled, looking at your teary eyes, that you refused to run down your cheeks.

“I deserve that,” then another slap right after she finishes her sentence, and this is the signal for Wanda to quietly walk out, pups following behind her with her magic, and give you two some space.

“And that,” she looked down at you again with an apologetic look, analyzing your reaction and body language, looking for any since you don’t want her in your room; in your nest.

“I hate you,” you said with gritted teeth, and a tear ran down your right cheek. Natasha swallowed the lump on her throat, cursing herself to ruin her family again, but she wouldn’t change a thing if she went back in time, and she was not sorry for what she did.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha mumbles, not stepping forward to give you space that you might want and need, but instead you're the one who steps forward and starts to punch her chest.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! "You keep chanting while punching her chest; Natasha just let you get out all your frustrations on her until you are tired; your punches are getting weak until you come to a stop.

Tears are running down your eyes while you look down; your shoulders are shaking because of the sobs you're making. Natasha slowly wrapped her arms around you, giving you time to react if you want to push her away or let her embrace you.

Instead you let her, your hands resting on her chest, leaning forward to have her warm body against you that you missed so much for over the past few days, your hands slowly traveling up to wrap around her neck, crying on her collarbone.

“Sshgh, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Malyshka,” Natasha whispers sweetly in your ear while rubbing your back and the back of your head.

When you didn't move nor stop crying, Natasha felt that all your weight was on her now, so she supported your body, kissed your forehead, and picked you up, closing the door with her foot and bringing you to the bed.

"Hey, hey, hey,” Natasha whispered, putting you on her lap when she sat on the bed, leaning on the headboard, hands gripping her sleeves, afraid she would leave again or maybe you're just hallucinating.

“Hey, Malyshka, look at me,” Natasha cupped your face and made you look at her when you're getting hard to breathe.

"Breath, Malyshka, breathe...” Natasha then gently put your head on her chest, making you listen to her heartbeat and feel her chest rising and falling, indicating for you to follow her.

“Follow my breathing, Malyshka,” she whispers, kissing your head and starting to inhale and exhale.

You nodded and focused your senses on Natasha, how she breathes, smells, feels, and how warm she is. You tried to follow her breathing, but when Natasha noticed it wasn't working, she quickly sang a Russian lullaby that Melina used to sing to her and Yelena.

When you hear her sing, you automatically focus on her voice, distracting you until you finally calm down, sniffling, and your shoulder shoke a little, but the tears finally come to a stop, making you sleepy until you pass out on her arms.

“I’m sorry, Malyshka,” Natasha whispers, laying you down gently, then going behind you and spooning you.

“I love you..so much, Malyshka.” You feel the shift of the bed and Natasha behind you, so you groan a little, turning around and gripping her shirt and nuzzling your face on her neck, under her chin, then you back into deep slumber, making Natasha follow soon.

—

You slowly open your eyes, groaning when you hear a faint crying, blinking your eyes to see more clearly and get yourself together, remembering what happened before you fell asleep.

“Natty? "You sat up; fear was evident in your eyes when you realized and saw that Natasha was no longer lying down beside you or anywhere around the room.

“Natty? "You called out again, getting out of the comfort of your bed, putting your slippers on to go proceed in the bathroom or the walk-in closet.

“Natasha? "Your panic got even worse when you didn't see her anywhere around the room, so you quickly ran out, heart pounding on your chest.

“Do you see Natasha? "You asked Sam when you saw him walking in the corridor, sweaty and out of breath.

“Uhm…no, I just got home from a...” You didn't let him finish you; quickly walk past him.

Going down to the common room just to find no trace of the redhead you've been looking for made you devastated, heartbreaking at the thought of her leaving again.

You're lips quiver, but you stop yourself to cry, so you go back to your room, head down low with a slumped shoulder, trying not to break down. Not at least you're in the comfort of your room, but instead you go to the witch room to see your pups and distract you for a moment.

“Wands? "You knock before you open her door, hearing the soft giggle of your pups, and when you open the door, you see them in the air with Wanda's magic surrounding them and Wanda entertaining them.

“Who's that? I think I heard Mommy calling "Wanda gasp, making them giggle a little louder.

“Hey, Y/N, what's up? "Wanda brought them down, and you sat besides her.

“Nothing, just wanted to be with these little cuties.” You smile at them and tickle them.

“You sure? "You nodded, not meeting the witch's eyes.

“Do you miss Mommy, huh? "You ask in the baby voice, and you make a face that makes them happy; you could feel Wanda’s eyes on you.

"And...” you look at the clock, seeing that it's near their naptime.

“It's nap time.” You give her a smile.

“You sure, you ok? "You hummed and nodded at her.

“Yeah, why wouldn't I be? "With that, you stood up, took the two pups, and came back to get the other.

—

Natasha sigh of relief when she finally got back from different stores. She does not want to leave the bed when she's so comfortable with you in her arms, but she also wants to do something special, simple but special, as a form of apologies and to just spoil you and the pups from now and to the near future.

She looks down at the bags she's holding, and only now she realizes how many she bought, but hey, who's complaining? No one, so she should be good.

“It's for then anyway,” she mumbles to herself while shrugging her shoulders and going to the kitchen to put down everything she bought on the kitchen island.

She started to short out everything she bought: foods, mostly your favorites, and a cheeseburger with onion rings and fries with some nuggets; baby clothes and their shoes; and a flower for you.

“I think I bought too much,” she mumbled, seeing all the things she bought, especially the food.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. Is Y/N awake? "Natasha asks, putting back everything in their bags and proceeding to your bedroom.

“She is Ms. Romanoff.” Natasha smiles and runs up to your room, knocking at your door before she enters with a smile.

But her smile faded when she saw your side profile with tears freely falling and a tired expression while looking down at the three pups, already asleep on the bed.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's wrong? "She quickly put down the bag and rushed to you, but before she could take you in her arms, you looked at her with pain in your eyes.

“STOP! "You put your hand up to make her stop.

“Hey, what's wrong? "She whispers softly that all you want to do is cave in and just feel her warmth again, but you shake your head.

“Stop, please, just don't.” Natasha stopped trying to reach out to her and stare at you; her heart was aching when she saw how hurt and scared you look.

“Please stop; she's not here; she's just my hallucinations.” You keep mumbling to yourself while gripping your hair, tugging the ruts of your hair.

“Hey hey, it's me; I’m real, Dekta, hey hey hey,” Natasha softly whispered, cupping your face and making you look at her.

“It's me, Dekta, I’m real,” you grip her wrist, tears slowly running down your cheeks while analyzing her facial structure.

“Natty? "You whispered, she whispered. Yes, for a moment you want to relish the warmth coming from her hand, but it quickly faded when you remember what happened a week ago.

You shake your head, taking her hand away from you, and quickly slap her across the face, leaving her stunt in her spot, eyes widening and confused.

“Get. Out,” you whisper, trying to suppress your sob and look away from her.

“Y/N-” you push her shoulder, but it takes more than a push and your strength to completely push her off.

“Now! "You growl, glaring at her. Natasha swallows the lump on her throat and nods, looking down.

“I’ll give you some space,” she whispers, and she proceeds to leave the room with a heavy heart. Natasha takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of her nose when the door is already closed.

“You ok? "Natasha looked up and saw Wanda just get out of her room.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. "Wanda takes a moment to take in what was going on, and by the devastated look on Natasha, leaning on your closed door, she takes it that it didn't go well with you two, so she walks forward and taps Natasha's shoulder with a small, soft smile.

“Give her a moment; she's not emotionally stable at the moment.” Natasha taps Wanda's arm as a sign of saying thanks.

With that, Wanda proceeds to go down to meet Vision for their afternoon stroll, and for Natasha, she stays at your door, waiting if you ever come out, which is not long after.

Natasha remains on the other side, not wanting to invade your personal space, but her eyes never leave you.

“I...” You look down with a frown while fidgeting your hand, and you slowly walk toward her.

“Does it hurt? ”Mumble and lean on her front when you come face to face to her and make her arms wrap around your body.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, wrapping your arms around her waist while you buried your face on her boobs.

“It's not; don't worry.” Natasha tightens her hold on you and kisses your head.

“I’m sorry too, for leaving just like that,” Natasha hesitates to tell you, but when you look up at her with those doe eyes, even if you try to hide it, Natasha clearly sees how upset, sad, and scared you are.

“I couldn't let them on the loose, knowing they could be around, wanting to hurt you again or the pups,” Natasha whispered, not proud of what she actually did; she wouldn't change any of what she did.

“What did you do? "You look up at her and make a small space between you two to actually look in her face.

“I go after them with Yelena... and kill them,” Natasha whispers, looking down at the floor, wanting to hide from you.

“You killed them? ”Your eyes widen, shocked by what you heard. You took a step back to ground yourself.

“I-” you quickly lift her shirt, looking for any sign of bruise, cut, or any damage around her body.

“Are you hurt? ”You asked in a shaky voice, and you quickly took your hands off of her when she winced when you touched her ribs, looking up at her, worried and concerned.

“I might have a broken rib,” she whispers, lifting her shirt more, and there you see a big bruise right below her left boob.

“And a few bruises on my back.” You turn her around and make her lift her shirt at the back, and you gasp when you see 3 big bruises.

“Then what the hell are you doing here? You idiot,” you shove her shoulder when she turns around to face you, but she winces again.

"Sorry,” you whispered and took her hand.

“You should be in the hospital; why didn’t you go there first, huh? ”You scold her for pushing the elevator button.

“I want to—” you’re not taking her excuses and continue scolding her.

“What if you’re bleeding internally? What if you pass out suddenly? Or worse..you—” Natasha took your face on her hands and made you look up at her; she caressed your cheeks and softly smiled at you.

“I’m fine; it's just bruises; I’ve had it worse.” Your lips tremble, and you hit her chest again.

“I hate you; you know that! "You sob when the elevator door closes and Natasha quickly pulls the emergency button to stop the elevator.

“I hate you for leaving; I hate you for being such a hardheaded; I hate you... I hate you! "You wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

“But I love you, and you're hurt,” Natasha's heart flattered, taking you in her arms.

“I’m sorry, I promise. I’ll never leave again. I’ll stay by your side forever, whatever happens. I'm sorry. I’m sorry, my Omega.” She kisses your forehead and pets your head.

“You're going to see Dr. Cho, end of discussion, ok?"You look up at her, and she nodded, pressing the emergency button.

“Whatever makes you feel comfortable and at peace, I’ll do it,” you nodded, hugging her back gently, not wanting to hurt her further.

[mc-lukanette]

"Luka, do you believe in soulmates?"

Luka nearly stumbled after that question left Marinette's mouth. While conversation was common between them on their walks - regardless of if it was a walk to go somewhere together, a walk to find inspiration, or a walk to simply walk - he hadn't expected a topic like that.

Just about anyone wouldn't, actually, not when a vast majority of the population had soulmate marks. Luka himself sported one, as did Marinette.

He looked to her for clarification, but her gaze was distant, drawn up towards the sky like it might give her whatever answer she was looking for. Wanting to consider her question seriously, he asked, "Are you talking about destiny?"

"No ...maybe?" Her brows furrowed and she appeared just as confused as him by her own thought process. Throwing a hand out in exasperation, she tried again, "We're chosen. That's the idea, right? Because someone, or the universe, or something did it?"

"Yeah?" He supposed that was accurate even if he didn't know himself. No one could ever agree on the true cause and evidence was nonexistent, so it was largely left up to interpretation.

More religiously-inclined individuals would call it a God giving people a sign of their all-knowing nature, or giving their approval of two people being together. Depending on one's view, that theory ranged from being about a holy entity asserting their omnipotence to being about the most powerful shipper to ever exist trying to pair up the population to their liking.

For others, it was just a force of the universe, whether a conscious one or not. The way the marks changed as cultures did could answer questions about that, or it may only add them.

Some theories left it down to the individual: that people were magical or that their souls called out and found another, which ultimately manifested in a soulmate mark.

Luka didn't know, and it wasn't something that kept him up at night. The pondering of why soulmate marks existed and what they truly meant held about as much weight to him as why some random person on the other side of the world chose to eat an apple instead of an orange that day.

Of course, it wasn't always like that. There was a time when he was younger when he looked at the mark near Marinette's elbow, listening to her ramble excitedly about who her soulmate might be and what kind of person she hoped they were, and he felt jealous. He'd loved her knowingly for years, probably loved her unknowingly even longer, but he was happy.

In a way, not being her soulmate meant that she had no incentive or suggestion to be close to him beyond enjoying his company. That alone held great value to him, and he liked the simplicity: importance to someone without need of a fancy fate tattoo slapped on at birth to show for it.

"Ugh," Marinette groaned, running both hands down her face. "I get a headache whenever I think about it. It doesn't make sense."

"Which part?"

"Mm..." She pouted. "The good part?"

He still wasn't following, though he did like hearing her talk. He was happy to be her black-and-blue rubber duck if she needed it.

"Everyone thinks that soulmate marks are soooo great," she continued with an edge to her voice, waving her arms wildly, "but they don't always think about who, or what, or whatever's behind it! What if it—"

"Look out."

Luka caught a glimpse of what was about to happen just in time, reaching out to grab her shoulder and pull her back, the honest-to-God cream pie that'd fallen from above splattering on the sidewalk below. He looked up to lock gazes with the person who'd appeared to either accidentally drop or knock it over, but they were already ducking back inside in embarrassment.

Giving a quick glance at her shoes to confirm that the pie didn't get on them, his eyes went to her face next. "Are you okay?"

She didn't answer, staring solemnly at the dessert on the ground, though that may have not been entirely accurate. It almost appeared as if she were looking at things all around it that weren't actually there.

He knew then what was happening in her mind before she spoke again.

"What if it doesn't care about you or thinks you're a joke? What if it gave you a soulmate just for a laugh?"

Marinette had never had good luck. Having known her since they were both kids, Luka knew that for a fact. He'd become so used to it that anticipating and preventing whatever insanely unlucky moments he could was like muscle memory to him. His body simply felt the signs and acted on its own.

Thus, her conclusion didn't come as anything strange to him, however depressing it sounded. The thought that there was some higher being taking delight in... whatever this was, it didn't sound impossible.

Cautious with suspicion of what her answer may be, he asked, "Did something happen with him?"

He normally wouldn't say anything about that relationship, nor do so much as to speak the boy's name. After countless times of watching Marinette lamenting some perceived failure that was, more often than not, either terrible luck or the universe personally spiting her, he stopped bringing it up. It made her miserable to talk about it and he had a dog in the proverbial race, so it was convenient for both of them if he kept quiet.

No matter how much he wanted and also didn't want to know how it was going or if any sparks were flying, that was her business and he would only pry if he felt it necessary. Most of what he knew was simply that she had seen the soulmate mark by accident and her soulmate had yet to see hers.

"Ha," she scoffed, turning her face away from him. "Nothing happened, that's the problem."

She went to keep walking, not feeling right standing in the same place on the sidewalk, and nearly stepped in the fallen pie before he caught her shoulder again. She tossed him a grateful look and they continued their walk side-by-side.

"I just wanted to get to know him better! Isn't it normal to want to know what your soulmate is like?" She huffed, face pinkening in shame. "But any time I try to talk to him, it all comes out wrong and it doesn't make any sense, and not even in a way that makes sense!"

She held her hands out, feigning holding a box.

"And the other day, I put a box of my parents' macarons on his desk with a note on it, but Chloe took it and told him they were from her! He even bought it!" She stopped talking, squinting at nothing as she turned to him and corrected, "Her story, not the macarons."

He nodded along and let her continue.

"Anyway!" She faced the sky with a glare, fists tight against her chest. "Like Chloe would ever be caught dead in my parents' bakery. She wouldn't even take the time out to buy a gift herself unless it was for herself!"

He chuckled, though there was sympathy too. He couldn't imagine what was crazier of a thought: that Marinette's parents would sell to their daughter's bully, or that someone would be unaware enough to believe such a story in the first place. The macarons couldn't have been that good.

Head tilted up towards the sky, she clasped her hands together behind her back and sighed. "Maybe my standards for guys are too high, or I'm missing something about soulmates. That's why I asked." Eyes drifting towards where her partly hidden mark was, she grumbled, "I don't think it's a coincidence anymore that it's where my funny bone is..."

Luka hummed, a question lingering in his mind but not one that was relevant to hers: in all of his knowing her, she'd never dated anyone, so he couldn't imagine where her "standards for guys" had come from, but he thought better of saying it aloud.

Turning his head to look at the rest of the world, so far removed from the little bubble they'd crafted for each other, Luka took in their surroundings: the pigeons flying overhead, the cars passing by, and a couple having snacks at a table outside a cafe. His lips twitched at the latter sight as a thought occurred to him.

"Do you remember when we were kids?" He met her confused gaze. "My favorite Jagged Stone song was Bottomless. I thought it was the deepest song I ever heard."

Marinette snorted, a delightful noise that he always loved hearing. "And when he got asked what it meant, he said..."

With a dramatic groan hearkening back to the emotions of his childhood self, he lamented, "That he was hungry when he wrote it."

Her chest heaved as she snorted again, putting a hand over her mouth as she tried to contain her laughter. It was all in good fun and he had fond memories of her comforting him at the time as if the revelation had destroyed his psyche, wanting to protect his innocence.

"I was devastated," he half-joked as he slipped his hands into his pockets, "but then I realized that it didn't matter."

Her laugh cut off with a choke, shocked by the statement. He didn't blame her, as he'd never really expressed the thought to anyone before.

And Luka Couffaine, not caring what Jagged Stone had to say about his own song? Unheard of.

"It didn't change how I felt about it, or what it meant to me," he explained. "Just because he was the one who made it didn't mean I had to see it the way he did."

Marinette was smart, and he could see the parallel clicking in her head. His thoughts on Jagged's song were much like his thoughts on his mark, or soulmate marks in general, in that he couldn't care less about anyone else's theories or ideas about them. Maybe his mark genuinely meant that the person with a matching mark was destined to be with him, or the exact opposite. Perhaps it was a warning about someone he could never get along with, or there was no person at all who matched his mark.

But he knew how he felt. He knew what he wanted, and it had nothing to do with a nonconsensual tattoo he had on his neck.

"What about you, Marinette? What do you want your mark to mean?"

They came to a crosswalk, the warning sign flashing red. Stopping along with her, Luka's hands fell back to his sides as he waited for Marinette's response. Her gaze was locked to her feet, which shifted against the sidewalk while she mulled over her answer.

"...I don't want it to mean anything. My life's already complicated enough without thinking about what I'm supposed to do about it," she decided. "I don't need a soulmate either, just something simple: someone to talk to, someone who comforts me like I comfort them..."

"I think that sounds great." He beamed, charmed by the promised simplicity.

She continued, voice quieting, "...someone to go on walks with."

...Wait.

She gripped the bottom of her shirt with the hand furthest from him, tangling her finger in the fabric. "Someone to hold hands with..."

Then he felt it. It was the lightest of touches, but he knew with certainty the feeling of her other hand's knuckles brushing his. The way her face pinked at her cheeks only supported that.

It was a question in the form of physical contact: Do you want this? Is this okay?

Without having realized, Luka had fallen into the trap of assuming everything about soulmates without meaning to, contrary to his own opinion. Marinette had put so much weight onto it when they were kids that he didn't dare to imagine anything else but that she wanted them romantically.

Had she really just wanted to get to know them? Or had she wanted him to be sure that she wasn't interested in them first? Was that why she'd asked him in the first place? To know whether it would matter to him or not?

A car driving by, causing wind to rustle their hair, brought Luka back to reality. Not wanting to be misunderstood for even an instant, he took her hand in his and brought it to his chest, holding it there so she could feel his heartbeat.

She gasped, but didn't pull away, staring at their joined hands in awe.

"What else?" he asked, sending every implication at her through his tone.

"Ah—" The pink on her cheeks spread further along her face, but she still answered, "S-someone who will touch my face, like..."

She trailed off, lost for a way to describe it, but Luka needed no further instruction. Taking a single step to be even closer to her, he raised his free hand. Fingers bent, he glided the backs along Marinette's cheek, a pleasant heat coming off of it.

"Anything else?"

She opened her mouth, paused to swallow, then gave him a hopeful smile. With only a hint of shyness this time, she requested, "Kiss me."

He did, his hand going from her cheek to the back of her head as their lips met. Cars continued to pass by, but he couldn't hear them over his heart pounding so loud he could feel it in his skull.

"Lu—" Marinette started to say, but whatever it was must not've been more important than kissing him. She tightened her grip on the hand he'd been holding, the other pulling at his jacket to keep him close.

As if he would've ever gone anywhere but right in front of her. The mere thought baffled him.

When they pulled away, hands still intertwined, it took Luka a few seconds for the world to come back into focus. The crosswalk sign signaled that they could walk now, but he couldn't say for sure whether it had done that recently or if they'd been kissing for so long that they'd missed a prior chance to cross. He couldn't bring himself to care either, not when she held his hand like it was something precious.

She smiled gorgeously at him and tugged him along. He followed after her eagerly, silently wondering if she had any further "requirements" that he could meet.

[rushingheadlong]

(Left: Photo from an ebay listing from Magnifico Vintage Magazines; Right: Photo from a PDF scan from worldradiohistory.com)

I stumbled across this article (from Record Mirror magazine, 30 March 1974) and wanted to share it because it’s a fascinating follow-up to this article I’ve previously shared from Melody Maker which was printed a week prior. 

The Melody Maker article looked at the role of big business in the music industry, specifically by using Queen and another band Merlin as examples of “hyped” groups i.e. artificially manufactured to generate maximum interest. While this may be somewhat accurate for Merlin, it’s not true for Queen at all - and as the Record Mirror article above shows, they were not happy about this comparison.

(Left: From Record Mirror magazine; Right: The photo in question from Melody Maker)

Lead guitarist Brian May picked up the paper and waves it under my nose. "This article is the biggest load of rubbish I've ever read in my life", he declares vindictively. "Look, there are people going to read this article - some of them won't have heard of Merlin and some of them won't know us. The headline screams out commercial pop. They've printed a very old picture of us, which we hate, looking extremely poppy and underneath it is the word HYPE. The whole article says in a suggestive way that Queen are a hype."

So Brian is certainly not happy with the Melody Maker article - or at least he doesn't like the photo they chose! I suppose he would've preferred something from the Queen II shoots instead, though it is rather funny for him to call a photo taken only a year prior a "very old picture of us".

But alright, surely the rest are concerned with things other than how they look...

(Left: Roger quoted in Record Mirror; Right: Freddie quoted in Record Mirror)

"Freddie and I used to sell old clothes. In fact Freddie used to design and MAKE our stage costumes. We've always taken care to make sure that our clothes are just right and look good. Perhaps they'd prefer it if we went on in dirty jeans, but we don't really think the public want to look at that. I think they'd rather see something that looks good." ... "Oh, really," [Freddie] exclaims in disgust, "this paper has no flair - I mean to print this picture three times in succession... and just look at my arms!" He was horrified, "look how fat they appear, now my arms aren't like that at all - what do you think?" He rolls up his sleeves for me to inspection and I'd like to state here and now that the poor dear's arms are quite, quite slender!

...okay, that's on me, I should've realized that the two fashionistas in Queen would have thoughts about their appearances and such. Or at the very least I should've expected Roger to bring up the Kensington Market stall! Poor self-conscious Freddie, but at least it seems like the interviewer reassured him about his arms!

Enough about clothes and photos though, I wonder what else the opinionated Roger Taylor had to say about the Melody Maker article?

(Above: Roger quoted in Record Mirror)

"That's exactly how we think it is," joined in their drummer Roger Taylor. "Supported by the fact that they've compared us to a totally new band who we've never heard of. We don't want to say anything against them, but apparently they're just a straight pop band. Whereas we've been playing and working up to this for years. Christ, I'm 24, Brian's 25, Freddie is 27, John's a bit younger 23. Plus the fact that we're all intelligent enough not to want to be put across in that way. We want to put our music first."

Honestly, Roger makes a really good point here. When the Melody Maker article was printed, Merlin had only been together in their current form for less than a year and had only released one single. Their first (and only) album wouldn't be released for over 6 months, and unfortunately they would be disbanded by this time the following year.

That being said, the emphasis on their ages is very funny to me because while Merlin might be a young band, the individual members weren't exactly far off from Queen's own ages and experience.

Their lead singer, Allan Love, was born in 1946 just like Freddie and had already been in the music business for seven years. The youngest member of the group was guitarist Jamie Moses, who was only 19 at the time, but even he had been performing semi-professionally for six years. In fact, all the members of Merlin had some degree of previous experience in other bands and the rest of them were right around 23-24 themselves, the same ages as Roger and John!

But speaking of John, what does he have to say about all this?

(Above: From Record Mirror)

By this time John Deacon (who reminded me of the Alice's doormouse) had woken from his slumbers (too many late nights and early mornings), he was reasonably cheerful for someone who had had his clothes ripped off the day before. "By the law of averages," he was saying, "it's someone else's turn to be ripped off today."

That's a lovely tidbit of wisdom at the end there, John, but what on earth is that about your clothes being ripped off?? Unfortunately there's zero elaboration on this in the article, so I guess it's just left to us to imagine.

So, any final opinions from the boys?

Above: From Record Mirror magazine

Phew! If after all that you think that the lads are hypersensitive to criticism and feel animosity towards their critics, then let Roger put you straight. "No, we don't hold grudges - we just go round and wrench people's arms and legs off. Or send them bags of wet cement, nothing too violent!"

Amazing response, perfectly executed by the one who would later refute a Rolling Stone article about Queen by writing them a letter on an airline sick bag.

Never change, Rog. Never change.

[letsgoletsgetit08]

ateez soft hours pt. 2

how they would treat you while you're on your period

maknae line

warning: mdni, period sex, smut

word count: 2k

author's note: I uh. yeah.

choi san: "What's up, babe?" He sounds out of breath over the phone, "I'm finishing up at the gym."

"Everything hurts and I want to die." You whine.

"Oh, no, my poor baby! Do I need to bring you any supplies on my way over?" His voice was sweet, always so attentive. You felt lucky every day that he grew up with an older sister.

"No, I'm okay with all that, but thank you. I just want you to come lay on top of me with your entire body weight."

"Anything you want, honey. You know you could come join me at the gym, exercise helps relieve cramps, allegedly." He was mainly joking.

You groaned, "Ugh, Choi San stop talking about exercise right now or I'm going to turn homicidal. You know any other day I would have gone with you."

He laughed at your dramatics, "I know, precious. I just had to tease, I'm sorry. I'll be sweet the rest of the night, promise."

"I mean if you really want me to break a sweat, I have some ideas for cardio we could do later." Heat curls in your aching abdomen at the thought of it. Glad your boyfriend has never been squeamish about period sex.

"Oh?" He asked, you were silent until the implication hit him, "Ohhhh. Well, yes, of course." His voice lowered so he couldn't be heard by anyone around him, "You know I'll take care of you, baby. Make you feel so good. No touching yourself until I get there, okay?"

Your thighs clenched together at his words, "Okay, yes, I'll be good." Your voice was breathy, already laced with lust.

"Mmh, good girl. Already getting all bothered for me, aren't you? I'll see you soon, honey." He didn't give you a chance to reply before the line went dead.

San was so good at picking up on your cues, happy to take the lead or to follow, depending on your mood. You liked him any way you could get him but your favorite was when he gently took the reins, giving you soft but stern instructions and showering you with praise all night, talking you through every orgasm. The thought of it made it hard for you to keep the promise you had just made to him.

You decided to shower instead, waiting for him to come home, feeling a little yucky after being in bed all day.

By the time you emerged in nothing but a towel, San was already there.

"Hi, gorgeous." He enveloped you in a big hug. He had showered at the gym, it seemed, hair still damp, cheeks rosy, comfy in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Sannie." You sighed into his chest.

He pulled back and trailed his hands down your arms, "Look at you, all clean just for me?"

You nod, looking down, feeling shy and exposed. Hormones, probably.

He pulled the towel open to look at you, "Oh, honey. I'll never get over how stunning you are." He pulled the towel all the way off, tossing it over the still-open bathroom door, reaching for you again, hands warm as they fell to your slightly boated tummy. He always made you feel so beautiful even when you felt like a hot pile of dog shit. "I brought something." He kissed your forehead then went to his backpack, pulling out a bottle of massage oil, "Thought this might be nice. I know your body is achey. Does a massage sound nice?"

"It sounds incredible." You smile at him, tears in your eyes, feeling especially grateful for him in that moment.

"Come on then, jagi." He leads you to your bedroom, grabbing a new towel on his way, to keep the massage oil - and whatever other potential bodily fluids - off of your bedding.

He has you on your stomach, deft hands turning you to putty at their touch, paying special attention to your lower back, where he knows carries extra tension. You're nearly in a trance when he wipes one hand on the towel, still kneading one ass cheek with his other hand, evidently able to tell what the massage was doing to you, your core becoming wet with arousal. He removed his other hand and you hear a squirting noise. When his hand returns, you realize the noise had been him applying lube to his fingers, which were now teasing your already slick slit, up and down, movements slow. Your legs parted further on instinct.

"Yes, baby, that's it. This is what you wanted, hm? Don't worry, I'm going to make you feel good." San’s voice was low and you felt yourself grind back into his fingers at it. "Patience, love." He chuckled, "We have all the time in the world."

His fingers found your clit, applying pressure to either side of it, before finally brushing over the top, just briefly before they slid down your folds once again, his other hand spreading your ass cheek as he held his fingers to your entrance. He didn't have to apply much pressure at all, you were so turned on that your cunt sucked him in greedily. He thrust them in and out a few times before curling them forward, hitting your sweet spot. Your back arched at the sensation and you could tell he was smiling behind you, "Mmh, so responsive, jagiya. I could do this for hours."

And you believe him, too. He sets a pace but slows down when you try to fuck yourself back onto his fingers, "No, no, sweetheart. Let me bring you there. I want you as relaxed as you were when I was massaging you, okay?"

"Yes, sir." You manage, face squished by the mattress, brain floating towards another planet already.

"Good girl." He says, fingers returning to continue their ministrations.

At some point, his thumb finds your tight ring of muscle, taunting him as it sat there within reach right above your now absolutely quivering cunt, circling it and adding just a little pressure. A gasp leaves your mouth at the sensation, surprised at how much you like it. "Mmh, so sensitive. You like this don't you?" You were so wet, every nerve alight at his touch, seconds from falling apart, holding on because you knew he would want to tell you when to let go. "You've been so good for me, angel, why don't you go ahead and come? On my fingers like a good girl."

Your body obeyed immediately, pleasure rolling through you. You thought your orgasm might never end, it was unlike anything you had ever felt before. "There we go baby, just like that. God, you're stunning." You were still clenching when he removed his fingers, just long enough to strip off his boxers and tank top, climbing back up and guiding the tip of his cock to your absolutely drenched core, letting you suck him in, inch by inch. The way he filled you had you immediately working up to your second peak, "Christ, honey, you're so wet. So. Fucking. Tight." He punctuated his words with the snap of his hips as your walls clenched around him again and again.

"Sannie-" You cried out in pleasure.

"I know, kitten, I'm right here with you." He purred. By the time you're worked up to your third release, he's cumming in perfect time with you, cock quivering as he pumped you full. "Oh my god, yes, fuck." He cried out. "You were made to take me, weren't you, baby? So fucking good for me." He praised you as he pulled out, collapsing beside you and dragging your limp body over to lay on his glistening chest.

"Sannie, that was... fuck." You couldn't form proper words, "Thank you."

"No need to thank me, jagi." He kissed your forehead, "The pleasure is all mine."

song mingi: He barely stirs as you roll on top of him, body aching, too early to do anything about it.

"Mmh, baby," Mingi’s morning voice is deep, raspy, one of his big hands pulls your leg up over his hips, the other tugging you closer to his chest.

You fall back asleep for a while. When you wake up, your head is a little more clear, and you realize you've bled through your underwear onto Mingi’s boxers. Heat flushes your cheeks in embarrassment and he stirs as he feels your body tense.

"'S wrong, jagi?" He rubs your back as his eyes blinked open slowly.

"Mingi, I'm so sorry, I-" you move your leg and he realizes what happened.

"C'mere." He pulls you back down into a slow kiss, apparently immune to your morning breath. You can't help but let out a moan as his hand finds your ass cheek, helping your hips grind into his thigh. "Yeah, you like that?" He all but growls into your ear as his hands work your stained underwear off, following with his own swiftly behind.

He rolls you over wordlessly, spooning you from behing, his already hard length in hand as you open your legs for him. He drags the head of his cock from your clit down to your soaked entrance, repeating it a few times until you're whining, grinding your ass back, begging to be taken.

"Oh, really?" He whispers, kissing down your shoulder, "You want me that bad, hm?"

"Please, Mingi, yes." You beg.

He holds his cock to your entrance, "Don't worry baby, I've got you." He pushes forward slowly, tip barely buried inside of you. "Go ahead, then." He instructs. You obey, working yourself down rather easily with the extra lubrication as you stretch over his large dick. You can tell he's watching himself disappear inside of you, his hair tickling your shoulder.

"Ah, fuck, jagi. You take me so well." He moans, beginning to lay long, lazy strokes. You knew when you first saw him dance on stage that his stroke game would be incredible, and you were pleased to find out how right you were when you started dating. It's only improved as he's gotten to know you better.

His hand reaches around to find your clit, fingers bumping into his shaft as he pleasures you, the perfect amount of pressure, circling and stroking. You were cramping so bad when you woke up but now your ab muscles had been given something real to focus on. You lean back, head falling to his broad shoulder as your whole body spasms in release. "Fuck yeah, just like that, baby." Mingi growls, his pace picking up as he works you through it, hips pumping harder and faster until he finally stills, and the feeling of his cock pumping you full of his seed is nearly enough to have you on the edge of coming again. All he has to do is play with your tender nipples and lay a few more strategic strokes and you're clenching around him again, breathless, whole body boneless, insides jellied.

You both caught your breath for a minute before Mingi spoke again. "Baby, I know we had plans for the farmers market today, but I'm sore from dance practice yesterday and I know you don't feel well. What if I make us some breakfast and start a load of laundry and then we can stay in all day and watch movies until I have to go to the studio tonight?"

You crane your neck around to kiss him, off-kilter from the odd angle, "That sounds perfect, baby."

"Mmh, good, I'm glad." He kissed you again, "Let me go grab you some Midol and start the shower, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you for being so sweet to me."

"Of course baby," He smiled as he extracted himself from your back, "I'm happy to. You always take care of me, it's the least I could do."

jung wooyoung: Hands on your waist startle you as you're washing dishes, audio book playing through your headphones concealing the noise of Wooyoung letting himself in.

“Ah!” You nearly drop the bowl in your hands, “Jesus! You scared the shit out of me!”

You feel yourself relax into his touch as he hooks his chin over your shoulder and moves one headphone off of your ear, “Baby, you're shouting.”

You huff as you place the bowl onto the drying rack, “Whose fault is that?”

He begins tickle you, “Not my fault!”

“Youngie!” You whine as you turn around in his arms, trying to evade his attacks, “Stop it!”

“Aw, grumpy,” his pout matches the one on your face.

You slap his chest playfully, “Hey, I have the right to be grumpy, my period just started.”

His expression turns sympathetic immediately, ���Oh, jagi.” He kisses your forehead, “How can I help?”

You considered it for a second, “Well, I bought ingredients to make dinner but I really don't feel like cooking, so I was thinking about ordering in instead.”

“No way.” He grasped your face in his hands, “I'm gonna get you set up in the living room and then I'll get started cooking, okay?”

“Are you sure? You don't have-”

He cuts you off with a swift kiss, “No protesting. I'm happy to do it.”

You watch one episode of the show you've seen a thousand times, curled up on the living room couch, but as you see the preview for the next episode, you realize it's one you don't care much for, plus, the smell coming from the kitchen is calling your name. You turn off the TV and walk in right as Wooyoung is bending down to put the food in the oven to bake, making yourself right at home behind him on the island. He shuts the oven door and removes your light pink oven mitts- which look adorable on him - turning to spread your legs open so he can stand between them, arms caging you in as he presses his forehead to yours.

“Hi, beautiful.” You've always found his voice endearing, but it's especially so with the slight rasp it gets when he's jonesing for a you fix.

“Hi, handsome.” You barely get the words out before he's kissing you. Slow, deep movements from his mouth draw a moan from yours.

You can already feel heat pooling between your legs at his proximity and you pull back to ask, “Baby?”

“Yes, darling?” He smiles, eyes dark with desire, reveling in how he knows he drives you crazy.

“How much time do we have?”

“Twenty minutes,” His hand skims the waistband of your loose sleep shorts, sending shivers down your spine, “Plenty of time.”

You don't get a chance to reply before his fingers find their way inside your underwear, circling your throbbing bud slowly before dipping down to gather the slick that has gathered at your entrance, taking his time as he trails them back up, exploring your folds before resuming his ministrations at your clit.

Your hand finds his waist to hold onto for support, getting carried away with the sensations he's providing.

His thumb takes over for his fingers as they work their way south once again, circling your entrance before plunging them inside, curling them to hit your sweet spot.

“Wooyoung-” You gasp, your muscles already tensing at the magic he's working.

His lips tickle your earlobe as he whispers, “Shh, jagi, I've got you.”

Your head falls to his shoulder as his fingers set a pace, the sound of how wet you are at his touch only serving to double it.

You whimper as your walls start to clench around them and you can almost picture the smirk he's wearing, “That's it, pretty, just like that. Come on my fingers.” His words only intensify the sensation of pleasure as you clench around his fingers, panting as you call out his name.

He pulls his hand out when he's sure you've ridden out the waves, holding his slick fingers, streaked in some places with blood, in front of his face, devilish look on his face, eyebrow cocked.

“Wooyoung!” You scold him, “Don't you dare-”

But it's too late, he's popped his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean, eyes rolling back in his head at the taste.

Beep-beep! Beep-beep! Beep-beep!

The timer goes off, interrupting you from further chastising him.

“What?” A smile takes over his face, “You taste good all the time, honey.”

You roll your eyes, but secretly find it cute.

He insists on feeding you bites of your dinner later, wiping the corners of your mouth with a napkin when you're finished.

Later, in the shower, you let him bend you over and hit it from behind, pulling out last second to finish, hot liquid landing on your back, your ass. He helps you wash your body to make up for it.

Once in bed, he kisses you all over, making you giggle and squirm before finally relenting and tugging you to his chest, stroking your hair as your breath evens out and you drift off to sleep.

choi jongho: You almost wonder if the man has logged into your period tracking app on his phone, uncanny in how he can pretty much always predict it. Eyes studying you a few days out as you tear up unexpectedly at a particularly sappy car commercial. You find your cabinets stocked with your favorite snacks the next day. 

The next morning, you wake up bloated, cramping, and grumpy. As you head into the bathroom, you realize Jongho has re-stocked your pain killers and period supplies. You call him when you get back into bed. 

He answers on the second ring, “Hi, princess, how are you feeling today?” 

“I swear you're more accurate than my tracking app, you fortune teller.” You can't help but be amazed at his abilities. 

He chuckles, “No, peach, I just pay attention.”

You smile at the cute pet names. He's always trying out new ones on you. You can hear traffic in the background, “You're the best. What are you up to?” 

“I'm about five minutes from your apartment.” He answers. 

“Choi Jongho!” You giggle, “How did I get so lucky?” 

“I'm the lucky one, jagi. I'll see you soon.” 

He's good to his word, chocolate and a teddy bear in his arms, backpack slung over one shoulder when you open the door to let him in. 

“Baby!” You all but squeal, “You're too good to me.” 

He puts his things down on the coffee table and pulls you into a big bear hug, “Anything for my perfect girl.” 

You pull back and he traces your cheek with his thumb before leaning in to kiss you, his lips slow and careful, hands gentle as he pulls you close. Your tongue probes into his mouth and he allows it, a moan coming forward from somewhere deep in his chest. He detached his lips, “Do you want to go to your bedroom, sweetheart?” 

“Yes, please.” You simper. 

He scoops you up bridal style and carries you to your bed, placing you gingerly onto the bed, climbing on top of you, kissing you into the mattress. 

“Baby,” You stop him as he reaches for the hem of your shirt.

“What's up?” He falls to the bed beside you, not wanting to crowd you. 

“I'm probably going to sound crazy and too needy-”

“Hush, don't talk about my girlfriend like that. Tell me what you need, ma chérie.” 

You giggle at his attempt at French, “I don't really want to like… have sex. Because I feel icky. But I still want to. You know.” 

He smiles fondly at you, “Where's your vibrator, gorgeous?” 

You blush, pointing to your bedside table drawer. 

He is relentless with your favorite toy, talking you through multiple orgasms, leaving your legs jellied, panting and sweating.

“So good for me, darling. I love watching you come.” He praises you as he switches the vibrator off, placing it on the bed beside him, pulling your boneless body to his chest. 

“Thank you for understanding,” you murmur into his chest, “Sorry I didn't feel like doing more.” 

“You never need to apologize for something like that.” He kisses your forehead, “Promise I'm happy to do it anytime. Anything to help my baby feel good.” 

The teddy bear he brought is the weighted kind you microwave to help alleviate cramps, which he fixes up for you before curling up with you on the couch, chocolate within reach. He turns on your favorite comfort movie without being asked, humming the score softly. The sound of his voice melts your heart. You feel yourself drift off to sleep before the movie ends, with Jongho’s strong, warm hands moving absentmindedly across any expanse of skin within his reach, heart feeling fuzzy with affection towards your sweet boyfriend.

[girlwithadragonheart]

Chapter 10 - Churros and Cioccolata Calda

This story contains major spoilers for Dragon Age the Veilguard. Read at your own discretion!!

Kalais x Lucanis

Summary: The gods are capturing Dalish as sacrifices. It's Kalais's job to stop them. Lucanis makes dessert just for her.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Swearing, tension

A/N: IT FINALLY HAPPENED!!

Chapter 9 DATV Masterlist Chapter 11

Lucanis wasn’t one for words, but the way he looked at me now spoke volumes. There was something unspoken in the way his eyes lingered on mine---heavy with gratitude, guilt, and something I couldn’t quite place. I tried not to let it get to me. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what it meant.

He had returned the embrace, hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. It was brief, just a moment, but the memory of it still sat on my chest like a live coal. The warmth of it, the weight of his arm, the way he’d held on just long enough to let me feel it. It wasn’t a dismissal, but it wasn’t a promise, either. It was… Lucanis. Complicated and restrained, a man who didn’t let anyone close without a fight.

I should have left it at that. I should have let him process whatever he needed to and kept my distance until he was ready. But I wasn’t built for waiting, and I wasn’t about to let him shut me out again.

I caught up to him as we walked through Dock Town back to the Eluvian, slipping my arm through his. “You’re quiet,” I said, falling into step beside him.

He bent his arm slightly, instinctively, as my hand fell into the crook of his elbow. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced down at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m thinking,” he said finally, his voice low.

“Dangerous habit,” I teased, hoping to ease whatever weight was pressing on him.

He huffed a soft laugh, more exhale than sound, and for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitched like he might actually smile. “You could say that.”

We walked in silence for a while, the quiet between us thick with things unsaid. I wanted to ask him if he was okay, if he meant it when he said he was ready. I wanted to tell him how much it had scared me to see him like that, lost in his own mind, unreachable. But the words tangled up in my throat, and I couldn’t find a way to say them without breaking whatever fragile truce we’d found in the aftermath of the Fade.

Instead, I said, “Don’t do that to me again.”

Lucanis stopped walking, turning slightly to face me with an expression that made my chest tighten. “Kalais…” he started, then trailed off, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have---”

“Don't,” I cut him off, my voice sharper than I intended. “Don’t tell me what I shouldn’t have done. You don’t get to decide that for me.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Too late,” I said, softer now. “I already did.”

His eyes widened slightly, the words clearly catching him off guard. I pressed on before he could recover. “Seeing you like that, Lucanis… it hurt. I couldn’t stand it. And I’ll do it again if I have to, because you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

He looked at me for a long time, his expression shifting through a dozen emotions I couldn’t quite name. Finally, he said, “You’re impossible.”

I smiled, though my heart was pounding in my chest. “You’re welcome.”

For a moment, I thought he might say more, but then he turned and started walking again. I followed, keeping my hand in his arm, letting the silence settle between us. It wasn’t comfortable, exactly, but it wasn’t cold, either. It felt like progress.

He didn’t look at me as he spoke, his voice low and deliberate. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I couldn’t quite breathe. “You won’t,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Not if I can help it.”

He glanced at me then, just for a moment, but it was enough. There was something in his eyes---something raw and unguarded---that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, we’d finally started to understand each other. 

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. For now.

—------------------

Taash, Lucanis, and I met up with Strife and Irelin at the Veil Jumper camp. They had been having some trouble with the Venatori, and we were going to investigate and deal with the issue for them. At least, what we could.

As we were dealing with them, we followed a trail back to some old ruins. A Veil Jumper there told us the Venatori were rounding up Dalish. I told him to report back to Strife, and we would handle it from here.

The closer we got, I started hearing their screams. The Dalish.

We’re coming, guys… I promise. There were about a dozen Venatori swarming another Dalish camp. They had them locked behind magical wards. When we finally freed them, they told me that the Venatori were rounding up the Dalish for sacrifice to the Gods. I wasn’t surprised, but I was disappointed and enraged.

The Veil Jumpers were going to meet us at the Lighthouse to discuss a rescue mission plan.

We decided to scope out the crater before starting anything. But when we met there, we ended up putting disguises on. Neve would lead us as one of the Venatori and Lucanis and I would be her entourage. 

As we moved, I could hear Elgar’nan in my head trying to whisper pretty words and promises. He said he could feel the sorrow etched in my bones. A lost child born into obscurity. And that he would be my salvation. His voice was a loving purr in my ear, drawing me in. 

I was tired. So, so tired of fighting.

He knew it. I knew. It would’ve been so easy to give in. 

But then I glanced at Lucanis and remembered I had something worth fighting for.

We reached the place he was giving his speech, some kind of blood magic influencing our minds. His Archdemon rose behind him, bigger than a fucking mountain.

It would’ve been so, so easy. All we had to do was worship, obey, love, and kneel. Somewhere outside my consciousness, I could feel Neve and Bellara working on his enchantment. Elgar’nan would notice someone breaking his old. We had to go, now.

We would only be able to handle so much. We needed to get in, get the Dalish out, and run like hell.

On top of fighting a million Venatori, they also had machines running on blood magic trying to kill us. And somehow, on top of all of that, we ended up in the fucking Fade.

After running through the same goddamn area for what felt like forever, I heard Solas speaking to me—something he had only been able to do in my dreams. He said he would be able to offer some assistance in distracting Elgar’nan. I soon found out what he meant as he shouted at the Evanuris in elvish.

With Solas distracting him, his attention was divided, and we managed to slip out of his trap. After a few more close run-ins with the Venatori, we made it to where the Dalish were being kept. I brought down the wards, letting them out. Solas led us back to his safehouse where we could escape back to the Lighthouse via the Crossroads.

When we regrouped at the Lighthouse, Strife thanked me for the help. He said Elgar’nan sacrificed the Venatori as a punishment for their failures. Those who escaped scurried back to Tevinter. Tomorrow, we would have to worry about another Archdemon. But for now, my stomach was calling me.

—------------------

I wandered into the dining room, drawn by the warm, savory aroma wafting from the kitchen. My steps slowed as I spotted Lucanis standing over a counter scattered with ingredients—piles of chopped vegetables, glistening pans, and a dusting of flour that had clearly missed its mark. He was focused, turning something over in his hands with surprising delicacy, but the moment he noticed me, he set it down and stepped toward me, wiping his flour-covered hands absentmindedly on his usually pristine shirt.

“Oh great, is it your turn to cook? What’s all this going to be?” I asked.

“Paella,” he replied, his tone casual, though a flicker of pride showed in his eyes. “Two of them. One without seafood for Emmrich.” He paused, an almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “And churros for dessert. They pair well with cioccolata calda.”

I blinked, taken aback. “Wait… Did you make dessert just for me?” My lips curved into a soft smile, warmth blooming in my chest at the thoughtfulness of the gesture.

“There’s enough for everyone,” he said carefully, as if hedging against the weight of my reaction.

“As long as they don’t mind having it with my favorite drink,” I countered, my smile widening.

“They won’t complain,” he replied with a shrug, but his voice held a distinct note of satisfaction.

My heart squeezed, and I found myself shaking my head. “You didn’t have to do anything special for me,” I said, though my voice betrayed me, laced with gratitude.

“Yes, I did,” he said quickly, his voice firm. His gaze met mine, unwavering. “I still don’t know how to apologize for… everything. And you…” He stopped, searching for words, his brow furrowing in frustration.

I cut him off with a soft laugh, stepping closer. “You made dessert! Just for me!” I repeated, letting the words roll off my tongue with deliberate slowness, as though trying to savor them as much as I knew I’d savor the churros later. My heart felt like it was melting, spreading that unfamiliar, gooey warmth through my chest and down to my stomach.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted, though his voice wavered slightly. “Or not enough.”

“It is,” I said firmly, daring to place a hand on his flour-dusted forearm. “And you are.”

For a moment, we simply stood there, the hum of the kitchen filling the quiet.

“And I’ll have you know,” I added, grinning now to lighten the mood, “I’m very easily bribed.”

He smirked, that slow, crooked smile I’d come to recognize as his version of letting his guard down. “I’ll have to keep that in mind,” he said.

I watched him for a moment longer, the light from the stove casting a golden glow across his sharp features. This man—who guarded his emotions so fiercely, who carried burdens he rarely shared—had gone out of his way to do something so undeniably kind. For me.

Without fully thinking it through, I closed the space between us.

“Kalais?” he said, his voice low and hesitant.

I reached up, brushing a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead and felt the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. “You’re a good man, Lucanis,” I said softly, not quite sure where the words were coming from, but knowing, somehow, that they were true.

His eyes flicked to mine, a storm of emotion swirling in their dark depths—uncertainty, hope, fear, and something deeper that I couldn’t quite name.

Before I could lose my nerve, I smoothed my hand over his hair, cupped the back of his head and dragged him down to me. Our lips met only briefly before I pulled back, not wanting to overwhelm him.

He looked at me, brown eyes wide with surprise and something else I couldn’t name before his flour-covered hands were pulling my hips into him, crushing his lips to mine like a man starved. 

The world seemed to pause around us. His hands slid to my waist, holding me gently like something to be cherished. When he pulled me closer, deepening the kiss, I felt my knees weaken. My hands roamed over his shoulders to run my fingers through his hair.

His lips were warm, tasting faintly of cinnamon and sugar, and I couldn’t help but smile against his mouth. I could feel his hesitation ebbing, replaced by something more certain, more real.

When we finally broke apart, my heart was racing, and I knew my cheeks were flushed. He looked at me like I’d just done something impossible, his breath hitching slightly as his thumb brushed against my side.

“I should make dessert more often,” he said, his voice rough but teasing.

I laughed, resting my forehead against his. “Don’t push your luck,” I murmured, though my smile gave me away.

Lucanis chuckled softly, his breath fanning against my skin as his hands lingered on my waist. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of my shirt, grounding me in the moment. For someone who often seemed so untouchable, his presence now felt impossibly close, intimate in a way that made my pulse race.

“Still,” he said, his voice low, “if dessert gets this kind of reaction, I might have to find a few more recipes to try.”

I raised an eyebrow, the corners of my mouth twitching with amusement. “Is that your way of saying you want to bribe me again?”

He tilted his head, his expression shifting to one of mock seriousness. “Depends. Did it work the first time?”

I laughed, the sound light and unrestrained, and shook my head. “You tell me, master chef. But fair warning, I might expect something equally thoughtful next time.”

“Next time,” he echoed, his voice softening as the teasing edge faded. His gaze held mine, and for a moment, the world around us seemed to blur. The golden light of the kitchen, the faint sounds of the others in the house, the lingering smell of cinnamon and spices—it all fell away, leaving just the two of us in this quiet, stolen moment.

I reached up again, brushing my fingers through his beard lightly. “Lucanis,” I began, my voice barely over a whisper.

“Kalais,” he interrupted, his hand sliding up my side to rest just below my ribs. There was a weight to his touch, a silent question in the way his thumb traced gentle circles over the fabric of my shirt. “Thank you. For… staying. For not giving up on me when you probably should have.”

“Should have?” I repeated, frowning slightly. “Don’t you dare tell me what I should or shouldn’t do when it comes to you.”

His mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile, but his eyes were serious. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is,” I said, leaning closer, letting my words settle between us like a promise. “At least for me.”

He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly, and I couldn’t resist closing the distance once more. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty. His lips met mine with a quiet intensity, and the warmth I felt earlier now spread through me like fire.

Time seemed to slip away as we kissed, a slow, unhurried dance that spoke of things neither of us was ready or able to put into words. When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“You know,” I said, my voice teasing, “if you keep looking at me like that, we’re going to burn the paella.”

He laughed, the sound rich and unguarded, and pulled me into one last brief, tender kiss before stepping back. “I guess we wouldn’t want to ruin dinner,” he said, his smirk returning. “But don’t think for a second I’m done with you, Kalais.”

My face flushed. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied, my heart still racing as I turned to sit at the table, the warmth of his gaze following me the whole way.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Duuuude I'm so psyched for the next parts

As always, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for Lucanis or this series :) <3

Tag List: @encrytpta

[karuvapatta]

buckle up, I'm gonna bitch about Arcane season 2 for a while.

disclaimer: the animation and art direction is absolutely stellar, writing and voice acting is mostly solid, music ranges from good to amazing, sound design is great, and it's a great show overall.

HOWEVER:

There were so many interesting subplots and ideas, but not one of them had enough room to breathe or time to develop organically.

(spoilers under cut)

Caitlyn - I love the subplot about her becoming a fascist dictator and Ambessa's pupil, I really do. But then it sort of fizzled? She faced no repercussions for installing a police state and using chemical weaponry against civilians? The last one got to me especially - her mother built this system claiming that "the people of Undercity deserve to breathe" and Caitlyn then turned it against them. Okay, Vi and Jinx both called her out and it left to her rift with Vi, but... she's still in charge at the end, having seemingly learned no lessons?

Vi - uh, she was there. Sort of. Most of the time. Again, she joined the Enforcers, and it led to SOME conflict, but... is she going back to being an Enforcer? how does she feel about that? Who knows - Vi was mostly there for Cait and Jinx's subplots than her own.

Jinx - her subplot with Sevika and Isha was my second favourite thing about this season. The idea of her becoming a symbol and uniting Zaun is great. That little moment in the prison was awesome. But, ultimately - it didn't amount to much. Her sacrificing her life for Vi (or not, I don't know if she actually dies) didn't hit as much because we already knew she was actively suicidal.

Isha - had the potential to be super annoying, but like I said, I ended up really liking her character. Her death rubbed me the wrong way, however - it was very emotional, but the framing was very strange. Were we supposed to find it inspirational? Tragic but beautiful? Proof that Jinx isn't irredeemable?

Sevika - again: loved her, loved her interactions with Jinx and Isha.

Silco - I found it weird how this season consistently framed him as a good guy. Jinx and Sevika remember him fondly, he was the only thing holding Zaun together, there are cute flashbacks / AU versions of him and Vander being happy... he's a complex character and we love him for it, but let's not forget his many, many crimes.

Singed - kinda weird that he got what he wanted with no repercussions.

Mel - all right, her subplot bothered me perhaps most of all. Mel is a joy every time she's on screen, true, but last season she had been established as a savvy politician and businesswoman, motivated by her mommy issues, and a corrupting presence on Jayce. She pushed for progress at all costs to fulfil her own ambitions and prove something to her mother. That's a great setup! But what we got in s2 is... random superpowers out of nowhere. Mel always had power - she was the richest woman in Pilltover and basically ran its Council - but now instead of confronting her with the potential side-effects of Hextech, the consequences of her ambitions, and the futility of proving herself to her abusive warmongering mother, she just gets... more power. Out of nowhere. And validation from Ambessa. It was just weird.

Jayce and Viktor - easily the most compelling part of this season, and my favourite subplot. And STILL - it felt rushed and incoherent. I thought at first that Viktor would become jealous and resentful because Jayce is everything that he isn't, and I am honestly so glad they didn't take that route. But instead, Viktor gets... brainwashed by the Hexcore I guess? Ascends to a higher plane of existence? His Jesus Days and his cults were fascinating, but I didn't get the philosophy behind them at all. I can see why Viktor would want to shed his physical body for a machine that has none of its weakness, and how he might convince others to follow that path, but instead he chose to brainwash his followers and then assimilate the entire human race? What? There were so, so many potential sources of conflict between himself and Jayce - the Hextech weaponry Jayce built, Pilltover's fascist takeover of the Undercity, Jayce reviving him against his will and not destroying the Hexcore, accidentally poisoning Ekko's tree through their irresponsible use of Hextech... but the conflict we got didn't built on any of that. And I don't understand why.

(But I get you, Jayce/Viktor shippers. You won this round.)

[tinkaaabutt]

Saturn—~— abby anderson

SubTitle: Strength in Your Arms

Summary: Abby’s tough exterior hides a tender heart, and tonight, you see the side of her she rarely lets anyone else witness.

The weight room was quiet, save for the rhythmic clink of weights and Abby’s steady breathing as she racked the barbell. She wiped her hands on a towel slung over her shoulder, her muscles still taut from the workout. When her eyes caught yours, a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Enjoying the view?” she teased, her voice low and gravelly.

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, trying (and failing) not to let your gaze linger too long. “Maybe,” you shot back, grinning.

Abby chuckled, shaking her head as she walked toward you, her towering frame filling the space. “You’ve been standing there for a while. You gonna keep staring, or are you here to challenge me to a sparring match?”

“As if I’d win against you,” you replied, pushing off the doorframe to meet her halfway.

She arched a brow, tilting her head. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got good instincts.”

“Good instincts won’t beat these,” you said, gesturing at her arms.

Abby laughed, the sound warm and rich. “Fair point,” she said, flexing playfully. “So, what do you want?”

You stepped closer, closing the space between you. “Maybe I just wanted to see you,” you admitted, your voice softer now.

Her teasing expression faltered, replaced by something more vulnerable. Abby wasn’t one for words, but in moments like these, you could see everything she felt in the way her shoulders relaxed, the way her gaze softened as it settled on you.

“Well, here I am,” she said, her voice almost shy.

You reached up, letting your fingers graze her cheek. She leaned into your touch instinctively, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment before meeting yours again.

“Come here,” you whispered, tugging her gently by the towel around her neck.

Abby followed without hesitation, her strong arms wrapping around your waist as you pulled her into a kiss. Her lips were soft, a stark contrast to the hard edge she carried with her everywhere else. She kissed you like she was afraid you might disappear, her hands gripping your hips as if to anchor you both in the moment.

When you finally broke apart, her forehead rested against yours. “I missed you today,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

“I missed you too,” you replied, threading your fingers through her blonde braid. “You work too hard, Abby. You need to let yourself breathe.”

She sighed, her arms tightening around you. “I don’t know how to stop,” she confessed. “Every time I slow down, it feels like the world’s going to catch up with me.”

You cupped her face, forcing her to look at you. “You don’t have to carry everything alone. I’m here. Let me share the weight, even if it’s just for tonight.”

Abby’s eyes glistened, and for a moment, she looked like she might argue. But instead, she kissed you again, this time slower, deeper. When she pulled back, she rested her head on your shoulder, holding you like you were the only thing keeping her together.

“Okay,” she whispered, her breath warm against your neck. “Just for tonight.”

The two of you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the quiet of the weight room settle around you. And for once, Abby let herself lean on someone else—on you.

End.

[a-dragons-explanations]

First off, thank you for hearing me out and answering genuinely - a lot of people don’t, and I know how hard that can be, especially when it’s a topic you feel so strongly about. Thank you also for taking the time to try to understand us - most people who send me asks like this haven’t, so I kind of assumed you hadn’t either, and it’s good to hear that I was wrong about that.

I can see where you’re coming from on the insecurity point. It can be a little scary, the way people talk about species dysphoria sometimes! But I have to point out, as much as I know people don’t like the comparison, that the same thing could be said of the transgender community about questioning how much dysphoria might be just because it’s them for some people. Why is it different when it’s species dysphoria instead of gender dysphoria?

Moreover, you are probably right that for some people that is true - that the dysphoria came first, possibly from other sources, and the nonhuman or alterhuman identity after. But if identifying that as species dysphoria and identifying as nonhuman helps someone deal with that, if they’re happier seeing themself as a dragon or a fox or a seal, is there inherently a problem with that? I don’t think there is - sure, there probably is the rare case where it reinforces problems instead of deconstructing them, but in my experience that’s not the case for the majority of otherkin. It’s an exception, not the rule. (And again, there will be cases like that in just about any community.) If it helps someone live a happier life and understand themself better, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.

“it’s actually hard to stand with my own thoughts on this, especially because I WOULD agree. why not? I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter”

I’m not sure I’m following you here - would agree with what? (I don’t want to misunderstand and then start talking about a point I’ve misunderstood completely, LOL.)

“I should again insist that your community is in fact comprised of humans, but the argument doesn’t hold up if I deny that it’s based on self-perception and you are arguably animals in some way. (arguably.) I do not know you better than you know yourself, but outside perception is also something to consider”

You’ve already said half of what I would here in talking yourself through this point, so I’ll just ask the follow-up question: Is outside perception something that needs to be considered, when it comes to internal experiences and personal identity? And if you think it is, then why?

Personally, I don’t think it is. People perceive a lot of things about me that aren’t true. They perceive me as a woman all the time, and I’m not. They perceive, or at least assume, me to be Christian (that’s the default assumption where I live), and I’m not. I don’t see a reason strangers, or even friends, should get a say in my identity. I’m not a democracy.

““Why does it bother you so much that I am the way I am?” I would say that is slightly confusing and kind of vulnerable to explain. I think I have some idea but I’m not sure”

That’s okay. Think about it for a while, to yourself if you don’t want to try to hash it out to me (while it can help to have a rubber duck, I also totally get that I’m a stranger and we’re in public here, and you’re well within your rights to not want to get into stuff that’s really vulnerable for you in this scenario). I’m curious to hear your thoughts if you’re willing to share them (even if they’re a little jumbled still!), because I think it might help me understand where you’re coming from better, but I get it if you want to chew on it privately for a while. I just encourage you not to shy away from it because it’s confusing and scary to think about - that’s often when we learn the most about ourselves.

To go back a bit and bring something you said earlier in your response back - admittedly, self-contradiction is one of the things that my questions are deliberately meant to expose. I’m of the opinion that if a worldview contradicts itself, that means there’s something fundamentally wrong with it and it needs further examination and refinement. After all, the parts of a self-contradicting statement can’t both be true - so either one of them is false (and should be discarded and replaced), or there’s a complication producing nuance that’s not being verbalized/consciously recognized (which should probably be figured out in the interest of self-understanding). It’s the exercise of asking yourself, what do you truly believe, and what is false biases you’re holding onto? That being said, sometimes you have to say the self-contradicting thing out loud before you can see it for what it is and pick it apart - so please, don’t be afraid to do so.

It sounds like you’ve maybe had some rough experiences surrounding this topic - if I’m right and that’s the case, I’m sorry for whatever hardships those may have been. It’s clear to me that you have a lot of strong feelings about this, and I can absolutely understand that. And I totally understand the fear of having to flip your beliefs on their head, especially if you’ve already had to do it recently! That’s a really hard thing to do, and it takes guts to look the possibility of doing it in the eye even the first time. Good on you for not just shutting down and doubling down immediately - that’s already a lot more than a lot of people are willing to do.

i don’t think my words hold much value to people like you, and i don’t think you would be willing to listen or take it to heart, but it’s still worth trying. i would like you to realise that you are human in every way. you are not an animal, you are not a dragon. (you probably already know this. maybe you’re in denial. i don’t know) either way, none of you would actually be willing to give it even a second of thought because you’re insecure about yourself, and you’re insecure because you know you’re human. i assure you that you will not reach full personal contentment until you live out your life without pretending to be a mythical creature. wtv have a good day

Ooh, I haven’t gotten one of these asks in a few years.

So I ask this, and every other question I will follow up with, completely genuinely, and if you’re willing to really get into the weeds discussing it I’d love to do so (though I’ll probably reblog any follow-ups to my other blog): why do you think you know me and my experiences better than I do?

Why do you think you can armchair diagnose me with insecurity? What evidence do you actually have for that, besides the fact that I’m nonhuman? What evidence do you have that I’m not already content and fulfilled in my life?

Is it possible that identifying as nonhuman is unrelated to those things entirely, and you’re making a false assumption?

I get it. It looks crazy, when you’re completely new to the concept. It’s weird - it is! But pause and listen to us when we talk about our experiences for a moment.

For many of us, myself included, finding nonhumanity is a moment of suddenly understanding - of pieces falling into place, of my life experiences suddenly making sense. Awakening is something that made me more content and fulfilled, not less - there’s a sadness in it sometimes, yes, but so too is there the comfort of understanding yourself in a new way, of realizing, oh. I’m not just weird. There’s not something wrong with me. There are other people like me.

(If this sounds a lot like the experience of figuring out you’re queer, there’s a reason for that.)

To use myself as an example of the flaws in your hypothesis: there’s… honestly not much dissatisfaction with my life right now. I’ve got a stable job with decent income. I’d like to be able to cut back my hours a bit, but that will come in time. I’ve got enough free time as it is to do my art and play my tabletop games with friends in my off time. I’ve got family and friends around me. Sure, I miss my wings, but I’m hoping to pick up powered paragliding in the near future and hoping that’ll scratch that itch at least somewhat. I’m doing pretty well, honestly. This isn’t the case for all otherkin, but it’s not the case for all orthohumans (people who aren’t alterhuman in any way) either. What it does indicate, however, is that your hypothesis that being otherkin inherently means you’re insecure and unhappy with your life is false, or at minimum flawed - if it were true, I wouldn’t exist.

So, I ask again: why do you think you understand my own experiences better than I do? And moreover, why does it bother you so much that I am the way I am?

The name for the thing you’re doing here, intentionally or not, is concern trolling - trying to push me out of an identity by professing concern for problems that don’t exist. Why? Why are you going out of your way to tell other people they’re wrong about their own identity? Why is your reaction, when you see an identity you don’t understand, to decide it’s unhealthy, or just make-believe, or whatever, and then to make that the problem of the people who identify that way? What exactly makes you think this is inherently unhealthy?

Would it not be better to devote that energy to trying to understand us, instead of trying to change us?

You don’t have to answer these questions to me, obviously, but I do encourage you to answer them to yourself at least. Pick apart your worldview for a minute and see if it actually holds up under scrutiny - it’s good for you, and mental enrichment to boot! If you are willing to really get into the weeds of this discussion with me, again, I’d love to do that - I love having discussions like this, and it’s good for me to have my worldview challenged every so often too! Please, genuinely, pick at the flaws in my logic if you see them - if it can be pulled apart under scrutiny, it needs to be pulled apart and rebuilt. No one on the internet is obligated to let a stranger do that, obviously, but personally I enjoy it - it’s a meat pumpkin for me - so let’s talk, if you’re up for it. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve gotten a good interesting antikin to debate with.

[euria-stratos]

Part 2: The Things They Usually Mention in Passing (2)

Please note that this is going to be multi-part series of AU notes and flash fictions depicting a “what-if” scenario:

What if the Cataclysm was stopped earlier and Khaenri’ah was spared from Celestia’s wrath, despite their sins 500 years ago... for a price?

------------

Excerpts from an old, torn journal with a label "C. Alberich" recovered from the outskirts of Dragonspine, Mondstadt. Currently stored in the archives of the Knights of Favonius Investigation Team:

"...been ages since I've written down my day-to-day experiences here. But I suppose being homesick has a way of making you return to old, familiar habits. It's funny, too, that where I am now is also my home, for better or worse. I just hope it won't return to how it was when Mama left it..."

---

"...currently staying in this eternally freezing mountain just south (or southwest?) of the city Mondstadt, conducting alchemical research with the homunculus alchemist Albedo. It has been a successful endeavor so far and we've manage to find some fine specimens for study! Like that Cryo mitachurl just a few paces down the mountainside where our current camp is..."

---

"...sometimes, I wonder if Papa would ever forgive me for settling here. I know that things would've been more comfortable for me back home, at least, money-wise. But I don't think he understands what I saw there everyday..."

---

"...could feel their eyes still watching me, always waiting for something to happen. Whether it was because of my so-called dirty blood or my "insufficient" devotion to Lord Purson compared to everyone else, their dead-eyed stares still bore into me and constantly doled out judgement. I'm sorry, Papa, I just couldn't..."

---

"...if someone said to me before that I would be working with the creation of our homeland's biggest persona non grata in a foreign nation that Mama ran away from, I'd have laughed at their face and tell them to cut back on the mead. But here I am, a good 15 years in, having just enjoyed a great dinner at Good Hunter with my family and the rest of the Investigation Team. I still don't know how I managed to make a life for myself here without much trouble nor worry. But I suppose I can't help but be grateful to the Knights, to Albedo, to my one and only Elise, and strangely enough, even to..."

---

"...I can only hope that things are still good with Papa back home, even if he does take longer to respond to my letters..."

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[iniziare]

While finally writing a thing, I suddenly remembered that I never shared (I don't think) when I HC Guizhong's birthday to be: the first day of each year, January 1st. Why? Well, I was thinking of the Guili Assembly, and how it seems really rather likely that it was created from the names that she and Morax, at the time, went by (not Zhongli, or... well, maybe that was exactly what he went by actually, come to think of it; why wouldn't he?) Which, to me, is further confirmed by the translation of the area's name's from the Chinese source directly. We have the 'Plains of Returning and Departing' (歸離原), which correlate with the meanings of a symbol in each of their names, the 'Gui' (歸) from Guizhong which means 'to return', and 'li' (離) from Zhongli, which means 'to depart'.

Now, regardless of the perceived nature of these two to others, I think saying that they're intertwined in stone (history) and memory either way, to hardly be far from a stretch at all. Now, keeping the above two translations in mind, and remembering that they put Zhongli's birthday in our western calendar on December 31st, I think January 1st would be a beautiful decision for Guizhong's. He represents the end of a fruitfal year, and she represents the start, or chance, of a new. I love the symbolism more than I can put into words.

[catastrxblues]

—

[poisonedfate]

literally in distress over my job rejecting my availability

[pallases]

ourgejjg

[pride-of-storm]

first day of work and :( my feet hurt :(

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

why didn't they just use franziska for literally all of this.