#or anything beyond what i've shared here

[spartev]

(Not) About Us - Karina x reader

synopsis: A young idol's mental fatigue messes up her life beyond expectations but when the world is cold Karina is your warm home.

warning: angst/smut, little discussion, make-up sex, slaps, comfort

a/n: Chat I would kiss her so sofly :(

I've been wanting to write a bit of angst for a while now, so I hope you like it :)

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The walk home was quiet, eerily quiet. In the noisy streets of Seoul, tiredness was the loudest noise in people's minds. As a young idol in the industry, your days were almost always busy and tiring, but despite that, the walk home usually felt good, almost as if the world was redeeming itself by giving you at least 15 minutes of rest.

It was in these turbulent times that you began to question yourself... About your career, your personal life, your choices. Maybe it was just the difficulties of being in this industry knocking on your door, weighing your body down and changing your attitudes. Maybe it was just a phase.

The hood of your sweatshirt covered most of your face and the mask helped you hide your identity. The hallway light turns on as you step out of the elevator and cross to your door, your hand reaching for the doorknob, taking a deep breath as you hesitantly type in the password.

You already know what to expect, but you open the door and walk through, taking off your mask and hoping that maybe today won't be like the last two weeks. But you spot the figure sitting in the armchair on the darkest side of the shared apartment's living room.

Your fingers reach for the switch, turning on the light and revealing the expressionless face of the woman you loved. Your eyes watch her run her fingers through the pages of one of the books you had given her for her last birthday. She doesn't say anything at you and you think that maybe silence would be better than another argument to fill your ears.

Then she leaves the book on the stool next to her, gets up, puts on her little slippers and walks towards you, passing straight past you with her body lightly brushing against yours, following the corridor that led to the room.

You finally exhale, realizing that you've been holding your breath and your body tense since the moment you set foot here.

Your eyes scan the room before turning to the hallway, hands clenched as your feet drain all the courage you have in your body to walk to the room.

Opening the already open door, you can see her leaving her glasses on the table next to the headboard of the bed, she lets her hair down and it flows perfectly down her back, long dark and soft curls.

You finally walk in and she doesn't look at you again. Sighing, you sit on the bed with your back to her, taking off your sweatshirt and quickly getting up to go to the bathroom. You take your time in the shower, feeling the hot water soothe the pain in your back.

The wrinkled fingertips betrayed your commitment to avoiding the inevitable — and necessary — conversation. The sight of the sweatsuit waiting on one of the pieces of furniture decorating the room made your heart clench. She had set it aside for you, even during this moment.

You take your time to brush your teeth, already wrapped in the comfort of your clothes. The sight of her lying with her back to you fills your vision as you approach the bed.

The secondary lamps are the only source of light that illuminates the room. Your eyes stare at the ceiling for a long five minutes after you insert yourself between the heavy blanket and the large, soft bed. But you can't help but look back at her, far enough away that you miss her warmth, her smell, and the sound of her breathing.

"Karina." You whisper as you turn towards her, your hands itching to touch her but you don't.

She doesn't respond, nor does she move.

"Jimin... Please." You whisper again. And you see her body shiver.

"What do you want?" She tries to speak firmly, but you can hear the fragility in her tone.

The room is silent as you select your words.

"Can we talk?" Your voice comes out carefully.

"Now you want to talk? You've been avoiding me all week, Y/N." She says irritably.

The words don't come out of your mouth and she continues.

"You leave early, you stay there longer than you need to, you take a long time to get home and when you get home you hole up in that damn studio." The grinding of her teeth is clear as she raises her voice, turning to you.

Your words falter, swallowing for a moment the shame of your own actions.

"So what do you want now?" She repeats, staring at you with her brow furrowed in anger.

"I just... I thought we could talk, like... A real talk. No yelling." The words come out slowly, at this point you can see the anger bubbling in her eyes as she takes her time watching you.

"Okay. So where have you been? Who have you been with?" She shifts on the bed, towering over you. "When you're not at work and don't even come home." Somehow you know she's been thinking about this often, maybe because of the way she immediately mentioned it.

"You know I always stay longer than my office hours." You say, sitting up in bed.

"I know?" An unhappy laugh is uttered. "Yoona assured me that you weren't there during the twenty times in a row I called to check on you." She refers to the leader of your group.

You sigh, not believing what she's implying. "Jimin... please. I'm not always in Yoona's sight." Your tone can describe a bit of discontent.

"Come on, Y/N. Be honest once and for all." The voice echoes in a delicate thread about to break.

“I’m not cheating on you, Jimin.” You make sure to meet her eyes as you say this. “I could never do that.” Your head falls back, closing your eyes and sighing before turning your gaze back to her. “It’s not that.”

"So what is it? What makes you come back late, avoid me and dodge around." Her tone gives her away, the restrained words coming out as if they were stuck in the back of her throat.

"I just... I've been going through some things. Work..." Your throat tightens. But you have to do this, you know you have to make sure she knows that... "It's not about us."

"But you're the one doing this to us." She whispered, tears starting to stream down her face. And fuck... That hurt, it hurt more than when she pointed her finger at you about her suspicions, it hurt more than the angry words exchanged over the past few weeks, because you knew it was true, you knew it was your fault.

"Jimin..." This time you don't hesitate, your hand reaches out to reach her, sliding over the tears that were streaming down the woman in front of you. You can feel the warm skin in contrast to the cold tears that ran down your hand.

As much as she briefly thinks about pulling away, she can't. She misses you, she misses your touch on her, your love.

She chokes, trying at all costs to stop crying but the small sobs come to the surface with the persistence of her tears.

"Don't cry, please don't cry." You gently beg, your voice low as your hands cup her face.

Your fingers stroke her sadness-stained cheeks and her blurred eyes look up at you. You step closer to her, your faces inches apart.

"Shh... I'm here. It's okay." You stated, trying to reassure her. Your foreheads were now touching, your gazes locked even though she couldn't see much in her current situation.

Her hands reach out to grip the hem of your sweatshirt, her grip firm as she tries to make sure you’re really there.

"My love." You whisper, placing kisses on her face. She continues to pant as her sobs fill the room. "I'm sorry I did wrong to you." Your hand moves to the back of her neck, caressing every skin it touches.

"I thought..." She shudders before completing her sentence. Her chest rises and falls unevenly.

"No, no, never." You insist, nodding. You can feel the pressure of her grip on you, pulling you toward her. "There's only you." Her eyes meet yours again, swollen and watery.

"Do you promise?" She whispers, her voice weak and exuding fragility.

"Babe, I promise." The gentleness is present in your tone. "I'm so sorry." Your lips brush against hers as she gasps for breath, her tears stifling.

Your mouth moves forward millimeters, feeling the softness of her lips and the great gusts of air that enter and leave her mouth. You press your touch to the warmth of her half-open mouth, the delicate contact expressing all the care and love you have for her.

Her lips slowly meet your, effectively sealing them in a kiss. Parting for another breath of oxygen and meeting again.

Her tongue slid over your lip, exerting pressure to enter your mouth. Your saliva mixed and her taste intoxicated you like a sweet warm shot of tequila.

She gasped into your mouth, pulling you desperately towards her. Your sighs were inevitable as her nails scraped the skin of your waist through the gap in your sweatshirt. Your body followed hers, carefully laying her down on the bed and placing yourself on top with her legs on either side of hers.

"Mmmph..." She bites your bottom lip before you pull away, you lowering yourself towards her neck.

"Jimin..." You whisper into her neck between wet kisses, sending goosebumps across her skin. Her legs open to receive your hips.

All you hear are the murmurs she lets out whenever you run your tongue over her or catch the skin between your teeth, marking her with a red that makes her sigh.

Your hands slide down over her pajama shirt, settling on her hips to squeeze the soft flesh. Gently your hands rise along with the fabric, with her help you manage to remove what was blocking the view of your paradise.

Your eyes travel down her figure, trying to imprint the image in your mind. Her rosy face and closed eyes furrowing her brows, her blotchy neck and her large breasts moving with her rapid breathing.

Her tapered waist and wide hips painted by the pale skin your hands touched. She has no flaws at all, and you feel guilt build up in your chest.

The path your hands trace is warm, the skin that fills your palms is firm and soft. Her eyes open as your fingers tighten, squeezing her boobs.

The heat that takes over her is expressed in the way her hips advance beneath you, seeking contact.

"Oh..." Escapes her mouth, her low, gravelly voice reaching your ears as you lean down, your tongue snaking across the bristling areola.

Your tongue runs over the entire breast before wrapping around the nipple and sucking it between your lips. Your hand never stops working the other, teasing it with small pinches.

"Y/N!" She exclaims louder, your teeth working on the sensitive area. Her full breasts are pink with darker spots from the hickeys you've beautifully distributed all over her.

Her hips move, grinding against you. Her hands hang on the back of your neck, pressing your face even harder into her, you can feel her nails digging into your skin as you pulls harder between your lips.

She lifts her hips off the bed as your hands travel to the edge of her pants, pulling her panties off with them. Your mouth trembles with desire as you see her pale, shapely thighs squeezing her intimacy.

Your fingers wander again over the slender body laid out below you. Feeling yourself throb as you gaze at her.

"You're so beautiful." It escapes your mouth without you even questioning it. Her bright eyes staring deeply into yours, her body moving vaguely in a hurry.

She likes it. Karina loves having your eyes on her and your compliments directed only at her. Seeing your tongue moving over your lips as you saw her exposed made her feel desired, powerful, loved.

When she was like that, with her legs opening slightly to give you the pleasure of her glistening folds, and you saw your brain stop for seconds, completely enchanted by her. All of this made her own mind imagine the feeling of having you inside her.

"Y/N, please." She asked in the way she knew you liked, low in a growl. Trying to rub herself against your thigh next to her.

You quickly removed the sweatshirt that covered your torso wrapped in a tight tank top. Your hands hurried to lift her legs, making her sigh due to the pressure of your fingers on her open thighs.

She felt the cold air in the room in contact with the throbbing heat that was already seeping out by now.

Her hands squeezing her own breasts, before having you between her legs. Your mouth kissing and sucking the white skin of her inner thighs, on the way to paradise.

Her scent filled the air, filling your lungs with the most delicious aroma. Your mouth glided along her sides, kissing her larger lips. The feeling of being on the edge of an abyss about to fall.

She gasps with delicious sounds as your tongue slips over her soaked folds. Gliding smoothly over the soft skin, dipping into the slit that expelled the liquids into your mouth.

"Oh, oh... Fuck!" She moaned needily, pressing your head into her and lifting her hips to grind herself into your mouth.

Her mouth drops open as her eyes roll back at the pressure of your tongue on her sweetest spot.

"Tell.... Tell me you're mine." She begs through gritted teeth, fucking your face hard. Your scalp is starting to feel sore from the way she's gripping your strands and forcing your head down.

"I'm yours. Only yours." You reply messily with your mouth full of pussy. Your teeth scraping deliciously against her swollen clit and your tongue pressing against her entrance.

Her mind is confused and aching from the impact of her pussy with her face. She starts to rub it on his face, enjoying the way her liquids make him wet, and how his eyes express nothing but an empty mind desperate for her pussy.

"Ah... Yes, you're mine." She moans softly, reveling in the sensation of your mouth devouring her. Her hands reach up to her hair as you sink into her.

"You're mine," you say through gritted teeth, sucking her clit between your lips hard as your hands work to keep her legs open.

The soft flesh spreads in your hands, filling them completely. Your body begins to shudder in his hands, your hips stuttering as they thrust into you.

"Fuck, fuck... I'm gonna cum."

You allow her thighs to close around your head, pressing her pussy hard into your face as she melts into you.

The moans echo in sequence as you feel your mind go numb for a few minutes due to lack of air.

She takes several deep breaths, panting with pleasure. Her arms fall to her sides and her legs slacken around her, demonstrating her lack of strength after orgasm.

You partially raise your torso, watching her mumble some nonsense to your ears.

Her thighs tremble slightly at your soft touch on them, roaming inside her, squeezing in some places for the pleasure of hearing her gasp, still dizzy with pleasure.

Your wait isn’t long, she barely recovers before your fingers are wandering even closer to her throbbing cunt. You can feel the heat emanating from her core, her sensitive hips pulling away ever so slightly, only to press back into the touch.

"Ugh... I haven't... I haven't recovered yet." She struggles to catch her breath.

"Let me show you how much I love you. Hm?" You state more than ask. Your fingers, which had previously been pressed to spread her legs, now touch directly to her core.

Wet skin, sliding over your fingerprints, her hole opening and closing slowly, pulsing as if begging you to fill her. Your fingers press against her, but return to roaming calmly around her sensitive clit.

"Ah... I..." She can't find the words to speak when she feels your fingers tug lightly on her hard spot. Her hands fly to her hair when she doesn't know what to do with them. She feels herself shiver, her throat closing and her womb tightening with the pressure of your fingers.

Your fingers slide down her slit, now inserting one inside her. Slowly getting used to it, you know she's too sensitive, her walls gripping tightly around your length.

You can feel them opening and closing as your finger pushes deeper, reaching all the way to the base of it. You arches inside her, hitting her pleasure spot, her hips jerking up with a loud moan.

"Mmmph..." She bites her own hand to keep from screaming when you insert the second finger at once. You're almost certain she hurt herself with the force of the bite.

Warm walls expand around you, molding themselves to your shape. The high blood pressure makes it all better, the clenched fingers squeezing all the remaining sanity from your needy body.

Your fingers start to pound hard inside her, in sync with your other hand that moves towards her face. Forcing her to open her eyes to look at you when you hold her by the jaw, you can see her cloudy and shiny eyes, her swollen and open mouth that drips a trickle of saliva.

A firm slap makes her eyes widen as your palm touches the now red skin, your hand immediately caressing the spot. Her pussy throbs at the same time, pulling you deeper inside, sliding around you, the texture of her insides leaving your brain overstimulated.

"Take it. Take it all." You command, your fingertips hitting her most pleasurable spot.

"Oh... Uh... Fuck! Ugh..." Her moans are cut off when you shove your fingers inside her mouth. Sliding over her soft tongue, bathed in her saliva.

She works her mouth over you lazily as your fingers pound inside her holes. You feel her gasp as her pussy begins to convulse in your hand, her juices spilling over your palm and wrist, dripping onto the expensive white sheets.

Your hand speeds up, fucking her hard even as her thighs struggle to stop the impact. She starts to whimper as you slap her breasts again, turning the marked skin red again.

"It's my love, take it." You whisper in her ear as you lift up to kiss her neck.

"Ugh... Y/N!" She exclaims once again, completely melting into you. Her nails tearing into your back and her legs squeezing your hand between them with her hips chasing her pleasure.

"Oh..." Her breath echoes loudly through the room, her body softening beneath you. Your fingers tremble inside her to pull out. "No... No, leave it there. Leave it inside." She begs, her eyes dazed from her recent orgasm.

You laugh, pulling your hand out slowly, she stops you halfway, both hands grabbing your wrist to push back in. You look into her eyes and know that even though they look silly, she's not joking.

"Baby, let me taste you a little. I promise I'll put you back in." You wait for her to let you, your grip on her hands loosening hesitantly.

Your fingers come out with a sigh from both of them, lifting them your mouth to suck on them. You run your tongue between them to taste the milky cum with a moan. She keeps her eyes on you even though they are heavy with fatigue.

"So delicious, my love." You climb on top of her to seal your lips gently. She moans into your mouth feeling her own taste flavor the kiss.

"I'm so sorry... It won't happen again." You whisper against her lips, your regret expressed in all your actions, in the shine in your eyes.

"It's okay now. I understand." She matches your tone. "We'll deal with this together." Her fingers caress the arm hanging over her waist.

"Yes." You affirm with conviction. Her hands move down your arm to your hand, her lips pressing back to yours in a calm kiss, her hands directing yours to the middle of her thighs.

You giggle as she places you in her warmth, your fingers filling her again and she moans into your mouth.

You settle into each other as comfortably as you can, your bodies intertwined in a lovely warmth.

"I love you. I love you so much." You say, caressing her sleepy face, removing the strands of hair from her eyes.

"I love you too." She smiles big, falling asleep in your arms within minutes.

For the first time in about a month you feel at peace with life, with yourself again.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Malleus Draconia - New Year's Attire Voice Lines

Due to event restrictions, Groovy related lines are locked until the event has been cleared. I will update once these are unlocked. Login line has been captured.

A Happy New Year to you. I bestow upon you a blessing of good fortune for your coming year.

Summon: If anything catches your eye, you would do well to call upon me without any hesitation. Allow this opportunity to pass you by, and there may never come another chance to experience my personal hospitality.

Groovification: Well, well... Aren't you a bold customer to challenge me to a ＴＡＫＯＡＧＥ battle.

Home: And so a new year begins.

Home Transition 1: I see that sales have a way of bringing joy to people. Even a shop mired in the bustling chaos can seem like such fun.

Home Transition 2: All this hindering snow need only be melted with a cast of a spell. Is it simply a human propensity to crave manually piling snow on high mounds?

Home Transition 3: I've had my fair share of attire that require much care to wear, but this garb is unlike any other. This is a rare experience, indeed.

Home Transition - Login: Working at the shop is rather taxing. I've become used to waking up in the mornings ever since I enrolled here, however being required to rise even earlier is taking its toll.

Home Transition - Groovy: Is my customer service lacking in any way? Most often I've found people have either fled before I've had the chance to approach them, or they've stood frozen in terror.

Home Tap 1: While on break, Leech spoke on the proper way to provide customer service. He said it all comes down to changing up the tempo every so often... What sort of tempo should we be operating at while serving customers?

Home Tap 2: I've laid myself down in a snowfield before at the suggestion of an old acquaintance. I found the way it cooled my body down after breathing fire to be especially soothing.

Home Tap 3: The way Howl starts working waiting for instructions is an admirable trait. He could only be bettered by becoming more flexible in his thinking.

Home Tap 4: The products in this shop are beyond fascinating. I saw Viper gingerly returning to the shelves a magical item that even I know not how to use.

Home Tap 5: Is there something on my head? Ah, you simply find my hairstyle different. ...To be quite honest, I still have not grown accustomed to seeing it this way, either..

Home Tap - Groovy: If there is a product you cannot reach, you should call upon me. See, I can use magic to retrieve it for you.

Duo: [MALLEUS]: You should simply sit back and watch, Viper. [JAMIL]: It'll be dangerous if you go overboard, Malleus-senpai!

Requested by Anonymous.

[alsofoundinpeas]

(Trying) to Teach an Old Dog New Tricks

Summary: You convince Spencer to do a TikTok trend with you.

This was inspired by this TikTok :) <3

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Alcohol consumption mentioned. Age gap relationship (reader is 25, Spencer is 38). Reader is Spencer's student (only for a bit). No smut, lots of fluff (K posting strictly fluff?? Shocker ik).

Pairing: Professor!Spencer Reid x fem!reader

A/N: I've been busy with moving and such but I missed writing so I decided to work on this cute lil idea and came up with this :) I very very rarely write fluff only so I hope you guys like it LMAO :') As always, please let me know what you guys think and if you do enjoy it then please like, reblog, and share it with your friends. <3 Thank you and I love you all!! :)

Spencer had always felt older than those around him. It wasn’t surprising, considering how quickly he’d advanced through school and then started a career that would age anybody well beyond their years. Even so, he’d tried to hold on to whatever scraps of youth he had left. 

He was notorious for his baby face (earning him the nickname Pretty Boy the moment Morgan had laid eyes on him all those years ago). He still clung to hobbies he loved as a teen, such as magic or anything Sci-Fi related. His socks were typically mismatched and colorful, with one usually having a silly pattern. And yet, no matter how many times Spencer convinced himself that 38 wasn’t old and that his bones weren’t beginning to ache when he got out of bed each morning, you’d somehow always inadvertently find a way to make him feel downright geriatric. 

You, with your bright smile and enthusiasm for his class, had him entranced from the first moment he laid eyes on you. He’d never met a more radiant person in his life. You were like sunlight personified. A walking Van Gogh original—at least in his mind, which had become a muddled mess of bleak grays after everything he’d been through over the years. 

Spencer had put up a fight—albeit a weak one—against his poor heart every time it thrummed to life in your presence. Wanting you felt wrong considering the whopping thirteen years between your ages. Not to mention the fact that you were his student. But he was helpless to the magnetic pull you had on him. Completely, utterly helpless. 

It started with the looks. The lingering stares during his lectures. You’d make sure to sit front and center, hanging onto his every word as he tried (and failed) to stop meeting your gaze. 

Then came the touches. Brief, fleeting touches to his hand when he’d pass out assignments or graded paperwork. Touches he was convinced would send him into cardiac arrest. Touches that made his cheeks flush and his breath stutter as he tried (and again failed) not to think about how soft your skin felt against his. 

Lastly were the office hour visits. Sometimes you’d have genuine questions, sure. But a majority of the time you just wanted to be around him without distractions. You’d bring him coffee or something sweet, plant yourself in the chair across from his desk, and spend as much time as you could getting to know him and letting him know you in return. 

And now here you are. Six months later, standing across from him in a dress that made him forget how to breathe with the patience of a saint as you explain for the third time how to do some TikTok trend. 

It should have been simple, really. All Spencer had to do was rush into the frame, sweep you off of your feet, and then spin you. He had three PHDs for crying out loud. A five second video shouldn’t have been so hard to do. But he kept missing his cue. 

To celebrate your graduation, he’d taken you to one of D.C.’s most elegant restaurants (he’d have to remember to thank Rossi again for pulling a few strings to get the place reserved for just the two of you during their final hour and a half). The night was a perfect blend of intimate conversation, candlelit charm, and mouthwatering meals. Spencer didn’t drink—he’d only had water and a mocktail, coaxed into it by your soft “Spence, we’re celebrating. Please?” and fluttering lashes—but his flushed cheeks and dizzy thoughts made it feel like he’d downed every cocktail you had. Alcohol wasn’t needed for him to feel that way. You were intoxicating enough. 

Thankfully, the parking lot was empty save for his car and the few parked cars of the remaining employees that were closing. That meant no one could witness his bumbling attempts at this trend or the way your head tipped back and laughter bubbled from your lips as you’d restart the countdown timer each time he messed up. Chuckles flowed from his own lips, giddy from the sight of you so happy despite his own embarrassment. 

“Okay, okay! Anddd…go!” 

You giggled, pressing start on the timer before stumbling back into place and spreading your arms. Spencer shook his head fondly, waiting for the music to play. 

“You better lock your phone…” 

At your small nod, Spencer rushed into the frame, picking you up and twirling you underneath the lone street light. He heard the audio looping vaguely in the background, letting him know the video was done recording, but he didn’t care. He kept twirling, fueled by your delighted squeals. When you slapped lightly at his shoulders, he placed you gently on the ground, wrapping his arms around your waist to steady you. Your hazy grin up at him while you placed your hands on his shoulders had his heart melting in his chest. 

“I’m so in love with you, my darling girl.”

His voice was filled with reverence, heavy with a yearning he hadn’t thought he was capable of before meeting you. That was something that both terrified and fascinated him about you—your ability to make him feel again. After every devastating thing that had ever happened to him, he had felt so battered that he thought he was damaged beyond repair. But then you came along and proved to him over and over that he was worthy of a life he thought he didn’t deserve, and for that, he vowed to give you the world. 

Your eyes crinkled with the bashful smile you offered him, your fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of his neck as you met his gaze. “I love you too, my old man.” 

His offended scoff was swallowed by your lips, the sweetness lingering on your tongue distracting him from the teasing remark. He’d get you back for it later (maybe). But right now, he decided to savor the feeling of you in his arms, stealing the air from his lungs with giggly kisses and filling his veins with warmth.

And in that moment, he knew that he'd finally found his forever.

Continued A/N's: Thank you for reading!! :) Again, feel free to let me know what you think :') <3 Also, I'm 15 followers away from 500 sooo be on the lookout for my 500 followers event soon!! :) I love you all MWAH!! -K <3

REMINDER: I do not give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please just ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

[elsecrytt]

Professional (Kento Nanami)

A gift for @eevwrites <3

Summary: Kento Nanami is your OBGYN. The father... isn't present for this journey, but that's okay. Nanami always takes care of his patients.

Warnings: Themes of pregnancy, parenthood discussion of abortion, childbirth (semi-graphic), paternal abandonment, toxic relationships, yandere.

Reader is pregnant and WANTS the baby. Nanami is 1000% feminist, he just also happens to be a yandere sdfhslghg

Nanami Kento considers himself an excellent physician, even if some would call his bedside manner 'gruff'.

Obstetrics and gynecology is a sensitive subject for many and he strives, every day, to maintain the height of professional decorum.

As a professional and as a physician, he would never admit to having a favorite patient.

As a man, something soars inside his chest whenever you walk into his clinic.

You're so young to be a mother - that was his first assessment, though of course he'd never say as much out loud.

As your doctor, he asks questions purely on the basis of being able to provide the best care possible. The more he knows about your circumstances, the more assistance he can offer.

That was the first time he'd felt that warmth in his chest - the look of utter relief and gratitude in your eyes, nearly tearing up.

Nanami watches you try to compose yourself, discreetly slides the tissues closer to you as you tell him a much-shortened version of your story.

The father isn't present because he doesn't want anything to do with this child.

It's a disheartening tale, made no less so by the fact that he himself had always dreamed of being a father.

At a young age, he'd discovered that he was completely sterile. So becoming a doctor and delivering them had felt like the closes he could get.

But there's this glow in your face. A sheepish sort of smile accompanied by a little tear and a "I know it's stupid, but I've just always wanted to be a mom, and have a family, and - well. Anyways, I want this baby."

And he could be excused if his heart is moved a little. It's not professional, but is it professional when he holds the hand of a woman whose husband was too nervous to come into the room with her?

It it professional when he gives a woman one of his rarest smiles, tells her she's doing great, she'll see her baby soon?

It it professional how his heart leaps as the infant starts crowning, how it races in his chest as he helps to deliver this new life into the world?

It is professional when he assures worried mothers that they're still beautiful, that their bodies are perfectly natural and healthy even if they never appear identical to how they were before?

Professional is not always what's best for his patients. And being a good doctor means being what his patients need, not the model of a distant physician.

So Nanami doesn't think about being professional when he reaches out to hold your hand, telling you with a smile that he'll help you get through with this.

He provides resources, walks you through getting aid from different programs, helps you in any way he can. Above and beyond.

So what if he's blurring lines? You're his patient. You're all alone in this journey. He's the only one here to help you through this. Of course he'll go the extra mile to help.

Nanami is only human. He could be excused for having a favorite patient.

He watches you grow more and more anxious as your body changes. He prescribes you sleep aids, nausea medication, prenatal vitamins.

When you get the ultrasound, he's the first person you show it to. You tell him with a laugh that he's the only one so far, and he can't help but embrace you, boundaries be damned.

It's beautiful. You're having a girl, a beautiful baby girl, and he's sure she'll look just like you. He asks you what names you're thinking of and you're bursting with ideas to tell him.

It occurs to him, heartbreakingly, that you're the only person he has to share this with.

So animated, so creative and full of life. How could anyone abandon a wonderful young woman like you? Who wouldn't want you in their life?

Security lets him know that there's a man who's been waiting outside the clinic. They've seen you arguing with him - gone out to break things up, too.

Your conversations with him grow more hesitant. You're nervous, and he's perhaps a little pushy in asking why, reminding you that stress isn't good for the baby.

You laugh sheepishly (why? why are you always so demure? you act like you're just waiting to be struck down. it terrifies him.), telling him that 'the father' has recently come back into your life, and you're not sure.

There's a little sigh you make that tells him he's in, you're about to spill. And he doesn't like what he hears.

Your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend - didn't want the baby at all at first. He blew up at you, telling you to get an abortion, or get dumped.

Obviously, you kept the child, and he'd summarily left. You stumble on your words and Nanami wonders just how amicable that parting was.

Apparently, he's outside the clinic now to "reconcile". His parents, traditional and wealthy folk, have threatened to cut him off. He's talking about getting married now, you mention with a bitter laugh.

It doesn't pass his notice, the contemplative nature of your tone, how you pause and look away before you rub your neck and mention something about how you shouldn't be so harsh, he's trying and it was selfish of you to want to keep the baby when you knew he didn't want it.

Something dark and terrible boils up inside him at the thought. He has never, ever tried to sway a woman for or against terminating a pregnancy, only informed them.

And he comes across them every day. Men like this, who thought women and their pregnancies were props, mere fixtures in their lives to be taken down or put up whenever they wanted.

What he wouldn't give to have a child of his own. To deliver a baby and just... keep it in his arms, knowing he would take that fragile, teary creature home. Knowing he would watch it grow up alongside the woman it came from.

You laugh it off, haltingly. Ask Nanami, with your head hung low, if he knows any programs you can sign up for, or places that sell prenatal vitamins at a discount.

Nanami tries very hard to ignore the thought that springs up in the back of his mind.

I could take care of you. I would take care of you.

He ignores the thoughts, dismisses them, and then the daydreams start.

It's not like he doesn't have money. He's a doctor. There's money in the bank, but what does he have? Working long hours every day only to come back to an empty home, empty bed.

Empty life. No friends, no family, just work, work, work.

And it's for a reason. He loves his job, he loves helping you - women like you. He spends his days caring for women and their pregnancies, only to deliver and hand off the child to another man.

But these men wouldn't take better care of these children than him. Who could take better care of your aches and pains and struggles than him? Who could understand you, empathize with you, support you like he could?

It's not the man that lurks outside the clinic with an angry look on his face. The man who discarded you like trash, and now wants to pick you back up like a misplaced toy.

So Nanami makes a choice. You're his favorite patient, after all.

He doesn't want to do this. He's a doctor, he's sworn to do no harm. But some things are simply inexcusable.

Nanami's done a lot of favors for a lot of people. One Fushiguro Toji, whose wife he saved on the operating table, one well-connected former classmate Gojo Satoru, and the man disappears.

You come to him the next day, crying. Tears in your eyes. Your former boyfriend - the one who said he would reconcile, the one who wanted to see your daughter - he didn't show up.

He takes one of your hands in his, nodding and humming at all the right parts. Sympathy pouring out through his eyes.

It's terrible to see you like this. It really is. You never deserved this, none of it. You're an angel, really, heaven-sent, and you'll be such a wonderful mother, once the baby arrives.

But since he's dead, it's not as if his name needs to be on the birth certificate. You could put any name you wanted on there. That's for later, though.

Right now you need comfort and reassurance. You need someone to take charge, to help you through this, and he's been the one doing that this whole time.

You've been on your own, trying so hard, waiting for a man who didn't deserve you to come back and treat you with basic human dignity. And Nanami had spared you that fate.

One day, you'll be grateful things turned out like this. For now, he just holds you, strokes your back while you cry, shushes you.

Nanami smiles to himself. It isn't professional.

It isn't professional, but being professional comes second to being a good doctor. To being the person you needed in your life.

Based on your delivery date... he's quite sure he could make it a June wedding.

[thatoneangel222]

u still mad at me? - t. fushiguro x black!chubby!reader

hiiiiii! this is my first ever work so I'm a bit shy about it :3 (I say as I release the freakiest thing i've ever put out on the internet) I'm a super active tumblr reader but I wanted to try my hand at writing cuz everyone is always saying that if you want a specific fic you gotta write it yourself. most if not all of my work will be written with a black, chubby/plus size reader in mind (totally not because i'm self indulging whatttt nooo) though I would write for any gender. let me know what you think!! lowercase intended

꒰ঌ 1.8k words ໒꒱

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it was supposed to be a fun outing, a special occasion because your schedule at the new law firm you began working at combined with the two of you constantly taking care of little megumi rarely allowed a night for you and your husband to spend together that didn’t include passing out from exhaustion at 9 pm. things at the bar ran smoothly at first, shared fruity drinks and flirty little touches from you as toji eyed you hungrily, his gaze constantly drawn to your lips curled into that signature smile of yours as you laughed at his jokes. he’s leaned against the wall, your manicured hands (that he paid for) on his chest and his arms around your waist, tucked into a small corner and midway through another cheesy pick up line when someone approaches you two, clearing their throat dramatically. 

there stood your coworker, howard, and toji’s already pissed that your time together is being interrupted. “how’s it going rookie? you here alone?” the douche slurs out with a soft smirk and it’s nowhere near as sexy as his own toji thinks to himself with a bored huff. you’re no better, looking around confused because toji was clearly standing right behind you. moments later it becomes clear that howard is beyond drunk as he shamelessly tries to flirt with you, making crude jokes while his friends attempt to drag him away as they eye toji’s relaxed form fearfully. suddenly, he’s jerking away from them and stumbling his way back over to you and your husband is immediately alert, glaring at the man and standing up from the wall. his full height towers over the other man as he steps in between the two of you. 

“walk away from us man” toji says calmly, the same relaxed smirk on his face even as he stares him down, eyes dark with a silent rage. howard rolls his eyes with a dramatic groan, “listen dude, I’m not talking to you im talking to your bitch”. you immediately wince, already knowing his fate and in an instant toji’s fist is colliding with his nose. a sharp CRACK rings through the area and it’s chaos, fists flying and blows connecting. you made your way to the car before toji could say anything, already knowing what he expects of you in a situation like that. “you sit your pretty ass in the jag and wait for daddy to come get you, yeah?” he’d said to you the first time you’d seen him get into a bar fight, blood dripping from his nose and his signature smirk still on his face. “can’t bail me out of jail if they book you with me baby girl” he’d laugh every time as you’d worry and coo over his injuries. 

the driver’s side door had been thrown open, toji climbing in with a laugh like he always did when he got into a fight. he’d turned to you with a wide grin on his face, ready to “debrief” with you as you and your homegirls would call it. it’s then that he notices the frown on your face and he groans softly, “really? m'not even that hurt-” he had tried to explain. it’s only when you’ve buckled up and turned to look out the window, completely tuning him out that he’d realized you were truly upset. 

--

that’s how you had ended up here, your head thrown back against the soft pillows, hair damp with sweat and splayed delicately around you head. it softly tickles your knees as strong hands push back on your plush thighs. what had really been an hour felt like an eternity- you’d lost count of how many times toji had brought you to the edge, pushing you over and filling you up to your heart’s content.

“you wanna cum again doll?” he smirks down at you as you nod frantically, a whiny “please daddy!” falling from your glossy lips.

“fuck, when you’re askin’ so nicely-” he’s cut off by a low groan forcing it’s way through his chest at a particularly tight clench from your sweet, drooling cunt. “and she’s practically beggin’ for it huh?” he questions with a breathless laugh as he brings a thumb between your sticky thighs to swipe through your pretty lips spread around his cock, his hips never ceasing their movement as the plap! plap! plap! of his heavy balls slapping against your tight rim while his cock sinks back into your cum filled pussy fills the room. there’s nut leaking from your hole with every thrust and your pleas have become mumbles by now, any chance of forming a coherent sentence pounded out of you by toji’s deep strokes. his calloused hands tighten on your thighs, pushing your legs further apart and closer to your head as he folds your body further in half, barely breaking a sweat as he picks up the pace.

“y’still mad at me doll?” he mumbles as he slams into you repeatedly, leaning down and following your face when you try to turn away from his eye contact. you shake your head but the fire in your eyes betrays you when he’s looking down at you with that goddamn smirk again and suddenly it’s blazing and your lips are forming another frown before you can help it. he slows his thrusts before you can cum, the spark slowly fizzling out as he drops his head to mouth at your neck, leaving marks that you’ll surely have to cover tomorrow. “already told you i didn’t know he worked with you mama,” he whispers gruffly in you ear, thrusting deeply “said ’m sorry a hundred fuckin’ times” he murmurs, annoyance evident in his tone even as his slow, deep thrusts beg for you to forgive him. 

you look up at him pointedly, that knowing look in your eyes. “it’s n-not me you should be apol-logizing to” you try to stand your ground through your moans, especially when you swear you can feel him harden more from you’re whining about the issue. your cunt clenches tightly around him as his tip grinds tantalizingly against that special spot deep inside you and of course he’s rolling his eyes at your response, something suspiciously close to a pout falling over his lips as he huffs. “s’not my fault baby,” he’s panting in your ear, his slow thrusts begining to take a toll on him as well, “nobody told your ass to wear that dress.” he says through gritted teeth as his hand comes to tangle in your hair, almost as if to ground himself. 

you could admit he had a fair point, your classic little black dress had been known to make him a bit…feral. with the way it hugged your curves perfectly, showing just the right amount of cleavage and short enough for him to see your pink thong nestled between your pretty brown lips when you’d bend over to take pictures for instagram and the girlies groupchat in the full length mirror in your shared bedroom, you definitely knew what you were doing wearing it to the bar with toji tonight but you hadn’t known it would escalate into this! the dress tied with your flawless makeup and an effortless hairstyle framing your face? toji knows you’re the shit, his wife, so what exactly do you expect him to do when another man tries to disrespect you? 

“didn’t have to break his nose, everyone at work is gonna knowww toji” you whine weakly for the umpteenth time and at this point toji is so over it. your eyes practically turn into hearts as he leans in closer to speak sharply right in your face, a charming grin decorating his lips despite the dark glint in his green irises. “I don’t care that I broke his nose” and you’re whimpering again at the intensity in his voice, he leans down to kiss at your neck, his thrusts beginning to pick up pace again. 

before he can stop himself he’s ranting into your ear “just hate when boys look at you, think they have a shot with you. it’s like- im right fuckin' here dipshit, can’t even look me in the eye” and he’s basically talking to himself at this point when his hands begin sliding down your body again, finally releasing your thighs only to flip you over onto your stomach. One large hand moves to grip your hip and move you into an arch while the other slides to your cheek, keeping your face firmly smooshed into a fluffy pillow while still allowing you to breathe. 

his tone grows desperate as he takes in your perfect form, sliding back into you with ease as he notices all the little details on your face. fenty gloss and drool smudged around your parted lips and mascara running down your warm cheeks. “gonna fuck a kid into you baby girl, that way they know you’re mine. you’d like that wouldn’t you doll? huh?” his words come out more needy than he’d like to admit, you’d go as far as to say he was whining but who can blame him when your cunnie is squeezing him dick just right, desperate to milk another load out of him as your ass bounces back against his hips. "gonna let daddy fill this pretty fuckin pussy over. and over. and over.” he whimpers quietly into your neck with his big chest pressing you into the mattress, his words punctuated with deep, sharp ruts, each one stronger than the next while a rough hand sneaks under you to pinch and twist your dark nipples. 

he’s pounding into you desperately now, the squelching of your creamy pussy around his cock making him twitch as his hands find yours before he brings them behind you to pin against your back, a choice that sends a shiver down his spine when his eyes find your left hands entangled. both of your wedding rings are glinting in the dim light and your sounds are so sweet and suddenly you’re cumming and you’re- god, you’re his and it’s all just too much before toji’s eyes are rolling back and he’s spilling into you with a final deep thrust, stuffing his thick cock as deeply as he can inside your warm pussy as what feels like endless spurts of hot cum fills your already full hole. 

you’re panting like you ran a marathon (which confuses toji since he’s the one doing all the work) when you turn over, lashes fluttering as you open your eyes to look at the man above you, your husband, who’s already smirking down at you only slightly out of breath with a thin layer of sweat over his strong build. he leans down to kiss your plump lips, not minding the stickiness from your ruined makeup. “i’m sorry?” he tries again but the smug grin is still on his face. you roll your eyes with a huff in response and begin to move away from him but he can only shake his head as he grabs your hips, pulling you back down into another wet kiss as he prepares himself for round…

what round was this again?

[yarafamily2022]

I've had my donation link active for 9 months now, but sadly, not a single donation has come through

Every day that passes, I feel more overwhelmed and helpless.

I'm a university student from Gaza, and I’m in my final year.

I still haven’t paid my tuition fees — and without that, I can’t register for my internship.

This isn’t just about a degree… it’s about my future, my family, and my only way to move forward.

At the same time, my family is struggling.

We’re lacking basic essentials — food, supplies, even the simplest things are becoming harder to find.

Everything is expensive, and the situation here is beyond what words can describe.

I started this campaign because I had no other choice.

Not for luxury. Not for extras. Just to continue my education and support my family with the little I can.

Every donation, every share, every prayer makes a difference.

Please, help me reach my goal — help me stand on my feet and give back to the ones who believed in me.

"My campaign is officially verified and legitimate."

@irhabiya

@bilal-salah0

@gaza-evacuation-funds

Tag to reach ;

@thedragonagelesbian @the-eldritch-it-gay @heritageposts @gazavetters @butchniqabi @khangems @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @babyanimalgifs @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @kordeliiius @stopmotionguy @strangeauthor @bryoria-annafaye-hall-blog @7bittersweet @toiletpotato @fromjannah @omegaversereloaded

[chantersboard]

Lovely To Be Rained On With You

Summary: 3K. Reader and Joel rush to find shelter from the storm

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, post-outbreak, oral f!receiving, unprotected PIV, creampie

A/N: okay I have spent so much time on here reading other Joel fics and enjoying myself so I kinda wanted to give back. but first of all I need to get three things off my chest. one, it's been a long time since I've written anything. two, this is my first writing The Last of Us. three, and probably most important as I beg for kindness, it's my first time writing smut. this has been sitting in my docs for too long so Imma just press post and walk away. enjoy! AO3

EDIT: This was a one shot that got continued! You can find it here: Lovely To Sleep With You

The weather was changing rapidly. Not long ago it had only been partly cloudy, but now, for as far as the eye could see, the sky was one massive, threatening cloud. The leaves danced on their branches as the gusting wind flowed through them; their rustling a constant melody accompanied by the quickening beat of two pairs of boots.

Tightening the grip on your rifle, you look up at the darkening sky. The weapon could protect you from a lot, but not from this. It had been four days since you left camp and it was still another day’s walk until you returned. 

There was no outrunning this storm.

A few feet ahead of you Joel Miller marches onward, his broad frame and long legs setting a rapid pace you struggle to keep up with. The pack on your back is overfilled and heavy with recently looted goods. It causes your steps to be slow, more cautious and measured. 

You take a deep breath, “Joel…?” you begin. You’re both thinking it. Someone has to say it out loud. “It’s gonna pour in any minute.”

His graying curls dance along with the leaves in the wind. He steps over a fallen tree then turns and offers his hand to help you over. You graciously accept it, sliding your fingers over his calloused hand. The weight of the bag digs into your shoulders as you step over. Had it not been for the heavy sack you would have been closer to camp by now, but those supplies are the sole reason the two of you journeyed so far away.

“I know,” he says as you join him on the other side of the log. 

“We’re too far from camp—”

“I know,” he repeats, his brows furrowing. He scouts the distance, bright eyes scanning left and right, through the trees and beyond. A bead of sweat slowly falls down his face, the unseasonable hot May weather demanding to be acknowledged.

“There was a cabin…” he trails off, lost in thought. You look ahead, only seeing trees. “D’you remember? Was it before or after all those alliums we saw?”

You think back and try to remember this area from a few days ago but a lot had happened since: Joel injured his shoulder wrestling with a jammed door; you found and promptly devoured a can of ravioli; there were two separate attacks with solitary infected; finding the motherlode of supplies in what looked like a doomsday prepper’s basement; oh, and then there was last night. 

Still riding the high of finding all those medical supplies and ammunition (and a bottle of bourbon), the two of you spent last evening in high spirits. You shared stories and laughed and drank. Joel hummed a tune that had you swaying your hips and smiling towards the obsidian sky. For a moment things felt so easy and normal. 

At some point that night, with only a sliver of the moon in the sky, you stumbled in the darkness and fell into Joel’s arms. You had looked up at him, your hand rested on his strong chest as you breathed in the scent of him. Your body tingled where his hands pressed into your waist. The stars twinkled above him as he smiled crookedly and whispered, “y’okay, sweetheart?” and you nearly confessed. Nearly told him how you truly felt about him. Nearly revealed you knew he watched you when he thought you couldn’t see. 

Nearly kissed his gorgeous face. 

But then he dropped his hands, the magic of the moment gone, and you swallowed your feelings. You fell asleep last night wishing things were different. Wishing Joel was yours. 

A single raindrop plopping on your forehead brings you back to the present. “We saw the cabin first,” you recall. “And then the flowers.”

Joel nods, walking forward even faster than he had before. He too must have felt a raindrop. 

The two of you continue onwards, the sky teasing you with singular drops of rain as you migrant the woodsy terrain. It doesn’t take long until you see them in the distance. 

Alliums. The purple flowers, towering high on skinny stalks, sway in the wind. The bulbous plant, petals like bursting fireworks, are scattered across the field. The sight of them brings you relief. It shouldn’t be much longer until you find the cabin. 

Just as you walk past the last bunch of flowers the sky begins to open up. The rain comes softly at first. Small drops that slide off your skin and moisten your clothing. Foolishly, you believe if it continues like this you’ll be fine. But as lightning shoots across the sky and thunder shakes your body, the drops grow heavier, their frequency increasing. 

The rain continues to fall harder as you trek on. The sound of water blanketing the land drowns out everything else. Joel turns and looks behind at you, his normally bouncy hair weighted down and plastered to his face. Another clap of thunder rings as the rain soaks through you. It seeps all the layers of your clothing, through your jeans, through your socks, pooling in your boots. 

Walking is becoming more difficult as your boots sink into the mud, your clothes are soaked through and heavy and your cumbersome backpack doesn’t help. You’re about to yell ahead, tell Joel it doesn’t even matter anymore, that you’re too tired, but then you see the cabin. 

It’s a tiny little thing. The sheltered patio leads into one cozy room. To your right is a kitchenette, directly in front of you is a small living space, and further back, against the wall rests a bed. There’s a closed off area there as well, presumably a bathroom. 

Joel crosses the cabin, his hand resting on the pistol holstered to his hip, and peers into the smaller room. His posture relaxes and he gives a quick nod. The cabin is safe. 

You rest your rifle against the wall by the door and unceremoniously drop your bag. Relief spreads through your bones. You arch your back and stretch your arms upwards, pulling the muscles along your spine. You glance across the room and there it is again—Joel is watching you. His eyes travel your body and linger where your soaked top clings to your chest.

He’s lost in the sight of you. You raise your arms higher, his gaze warming your cheeks and your core, and you push your chest further out to taunt him. The wet fabric is unforgiving and you're sure he can see your hardened nipples even from across the room. 

You decide to break the silence. “You think it will last long?”

Joel snaps to attention, his eyes finding yours as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Huh? What was that?”

“The storm,” you pause to lick your lips. “Do you think it’ll last long?”

Joel sets his backpack down at the head of the bed. “Not too sure,” he looks past you out the window at the turbulent weather, “regardless, we should stay here for the night.” He opens his bag and begins to rummage through it. 

You nod as you walk over to the foot of bed. With your back facing him you sit on the edge. “In that case I’m gonna get out of these clothes.”

You wrap your fingers under the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head. You toss the clothing and it lands with a loud slap on the wooden floor. After kicking off your boots and socks you lift your hips off the bed enough to push your jeans to your thighs. You struggle to get the tight and stiff wet denim off your legs. 

You lean back on your forearms and look behind at Joel. He’s suddenly very interested in his bag. You watch as he digs around, the muscles in his arms pressing against his tee. His face is glistening wet and it highlights the slope of his nose and the curve of his jaw. He’s just as handsome as always. 

“Hey, Joel?” You bite your lip and wait for his attention. 

His hands still as he looks down at you. “Yes, sweetheart?”

The endearment makes your heart swell. You swing your dangling legs. “Can you help me out of these? They’re giving me trouble.”

He looks at the jeans halfway down your thighs. You’ve changed in front of Joel before but after last night, after spending so much time alone with him, things have gotten intimate.  You feel exposed half undressed in your mismatched undergarments, but it’s also exciting and your breath quickens under Joel’s glare. 

“Yeah, I can help,” he nearly whispers. He drops his bag on the floor, the stuff within no longer important, and rounds the bed. You lift your legs when he gets close and await his touch. 

He holds your ankles first. Gathering the material there, he attempts to pull, but the jeans barely move. So his hands climb up, over your calves, then behind your knees, and when they reach your thighs he pauses. He hooks onto the edge of the material, his thick fingers touching your bare skin, and pulls.

The jeans start to give way. As he tugs your body jostles, your breasts bouncing lightly in your worn bra, each jerk becoming more arousing. Once he’s peeled your pants off he discards them onto the floor along with your shirt. 

“There ya go,” he says as he comes between your legs and leans in. “Will you be needin’ anything else?”

He looks at you, his eyes intense and questioning. He’s so close you can feel his body heat, even with his cool wet shirt brushing against your bare torso. A flash of lightning briefly brightens the room. You swallow hard and wait for the resounding thunder. You won’t repeat last night. You won’t let this moment pass. 

“Kiss me,” you whisper. 

And suddenly Joel’s lips are pressed against yours. He kisses you hungrily, mashing himself against you, finally feeding the longing you’ve both felt for some time. You part your mouth and allow his tongue entry as you melt into him. You explore each other, your hands running along his chest as you’re rendered breathless under his kissing. Your fingers tangle in his shirt. You pull at the fabric wanting to feel his skin against yours. 

Joel breaks from the heated kiss and straightens his body. His eyes are dark and filled with lust as he yanks his shirt off. You watch him as you scoot back on the bed and fully lay down. He kicks off his boots and undoes his belt and jeans. His body is strong from years of manual labor. There’s a line of hair on his soft belly that trails under his boxers.  

“What else do you need, sweetheart?”

You can’t tell if the roaring in your ears is the sound of the rain or of your quickly beating heart. Joel waits for your answer as he unclips the gun holster from his belt and rests it on the floor. His hardening cock springs free when he drops his pants and boxers. 

He strokes himself slowly and you watch as his cock gets harder in his grasp. You rub your thighs together, desperately seeking relief for the growing ache between your legs. You unclasp your bra and cup your breasts. Joel softly grunts when you pinch your nipples between your fingers. 

The sight of him bare and beautiful leaves you breathless. He looks so handsome with his hair slicked back and glossy from the rain. The sight of his cock, hard and ready for you, sets you on fire. He licks his lips and all you can think about is those lips on you. On your mouth, on your tits, on your cunt. You have never wanted someone so badly. 

“You, Joel,” you finally say. “I need you.”

He smiles at your answer and makes his way onto the bed. He takes his time crawling up to you, planting kisses along the way. He pauses when he meets the apex of your legs. 

His fingers curl around the band of your panties and he pulls them down and off. You open your legs, inviting him in, so desperate for his touch. 

He looks up with hungry eyes. “I want to taste you,” he says as his fingers part your pussy lips, opening you even further for him. 

Joel opens his mouth and presses his tongue against your cunt. He licks up, takes his time savoring you until he passes over your sensitive bundle of nerves. The sensation has you moaning and lifting your hips to meet his mouth. 

“Oh, Joel,” you whine as he continues sucking and licking you, alternating between the flat of his tongue and the point of his tip. One of his large fingers finds the entrance to your hole and pushes inside. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me already,” he mumbles into your folds. “One of my fingers isn’t enough, is it?”

Your hands run through his hair as he inserts another finger inside you, your walls clenching around him. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, curling them into the spot within you that has you moaning his name. 

Your pleasure grows as Joel finds his rhythm, his mouth and hand working together to bring you closer and closer to orgasm. 

“Please, Joel,” you’re begging, pleading with him. “Don’t stop! I’m so close, please don’t stop!”

So he doesn’t. His moans join your screams of pleasure until the pressure in your core finally snaps. Your back arches and your legs shake as your orgasm rips through you. Joel’s fingers continue to work through your high, prolonging your pleasure until your legs relax and your grip loosens from his hair. 

“Fuck,” you exhale as Joel crawls up, his strong body caging around you. He leans into you, the touch of his skin on yours and the weight of him soothing your body. He nestles his face into the crook of your neck as one of his hands squeezes your breast, his fingers playfully twisting your nipple. 

He’s planting kisses on you again, on your neck, along your jaw, then on your lips. You moan when you taste your own release on his tongue as he slips it between your lips. You spread your legs further underneath him, a fire burning in your core that only he can put out. His cock rests thick and hard between you. 

“I still need you,” you whisper, lifting your hips to grind yourself against the length of him. You need all of him, every pound and every inch. You need his touch, his lips, his moans. You need him around you. You need him in you. 

He grunts as you rub against him, your wet hole eager to be filled. 

“I need you too,” he whispers back as he reaches in between your bodies. He grabs himself and aligns the thick head of his cock at your entrance. 

You whimper as he slowly pushes himself inside you. Inch by inch your walls stretch to accommodate his shaft. Seeds of pleasure start to grow when he’s fully inserted into you. 

Joel stills inside you and looks into your eyes. His face is twisted in bliss. “Goddamn, your pussy is squeezing me so tight,” he rasps. He sharply exhales when you flex your cunt around him. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. He begins to pump his hips then, making soft shallow thrusts until he’s gotten used to the feeling of you. He moans into your mouth as he picks up the pace, nearly pulling himself out of you entirely before plummeting back into your depths. 

His dick is intoxicating. Waves of pleasure wash over you each time he rams himself deep in you. He fills you completely, your wet hole stretching around the length of him. 

Joel begins stroking faster, his hips snapping into you at a blinding pace. Your fingers dig into his back when he rocks into the spot that makes you arch your back and moan his name. 

He smiles, satisfied with the pleasure his cock gives you. “Right there?” He asks as he continues to mercilessly drill into you, pounding your sweet spot over and over again. 

“Yea—oh my god, Joel—yes!”

He’s already pushing you towards your next orgasm and he can sense it. He repositions your bodies, folding you nearly in half as he brings your knees up. 

You scream out as the altered position lets him stroke deeper inside you. His cock hits your cervix, pain and pleasure meshing together, forcing you closer to the edge. 

“You like that, sweetheart?” Joel asks as your moans increase in volume. “Look at your pretty pussy juices making a mess… so fucking wet.”

You look down where the two of you are connected. You watch as he disappears inside you and then reappears again, shiny with your slick. The image makes your head spin. 

“I… oh fuck! I’m gonna… I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna cum on my cock for me? Huh?” His strokes are becoming more erratic, his own orgasm approaching. “Gonna let me feel that pussy grip my dick while you cum?”

Joel’s filthy words combined with his dick destroying your cunt sends you over. You yell out as your orgasm knocks over you. Your pussy pulsates around Joel, pushing him over the edge. You milk his cock as he cums, his dick twitching inside you as his warm seed fills your hole. 

The two of you lay there a while, Joel softening inside you as his body envelopes yours. When your body has relaxed and your breathing has slowed Joel softly presses his lips to yours. He rises and slowly pulls out. You feel your combined arousal spill out of you once he’s completely out of the warmth of your cunt. You immediately miss the fullness he gave you when he rolls over to lay beside you. 

The storm continues on outside. Fat raindrops pellet the cabin and the wind rattles the windows. Staying in was a good call, the sky was already darkening with the approaching night. 

You look over to Joel. His eyes are closed, his face is soft and relaxed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so calm before.

“Y’okay, sweetheart,” you ask, mirroring Joel’s words from last night. 

Joel chuckles as he intertwines his fingers in yours. “Yeah. I am now.”

[epiphainie]

buck meta

ohhh boyyy. i've been putting this off for weeks because it takes me a minute to be objective about buck with how it feels about him around here sometimes but i wanna put all my thoughts somewhere for once and all so here you go, for my 20 followers who like to read my meta 💛

now i've been thinking about how to frame this entire thing, and i keep going back to buck's passivity that people (including me) has talked about since the breakup because this is one thing i never felt in consensus with. when people say buck's passivity it's always about him not calling tommy when he wanted to, how he should go after him and tell him he loves him, and to this day i cannot see what that would change. even if tommy was willing to reconsider his stance during the breakup because all he needed to hear was those three words (which i don't think he would). it would only put them back into this pattern where buck's passivity during the relationship would continue to be an issue.

@alchemistc wrote this awesome tommy meta the other day about how tommy's way of talking about his past in this polished way where he presents these facts like they have no emotional bearing on him anymore created an environment where buck had no way of knowing more about tommy without pushing. now i'm not gonna rehash that because i think her meta is perfect, but i wanna bring it back to buck here and his unwillingness to push. buck who's known for inserting himself in places where he's not even welcome (with eddie's entire life, with taylor and her dad, with abby and her mom). but also buck who has kept hearing he's "too much" or "making things about himself" and has a string of failed relationships in his past, suddenly finds himself in one where it feels as transformative and special as the first time he fell in love. he's comfortable, he's happy, they nominally have started on really strong foundation etc. now this is kind of a side note but while i think part of this is due to how tommy treats buck, i think another part is the freedom he finds in not having to act like "the man" in the relationship, which is awesome because heteronormal roles in relationships suck and buck has always been the giver in his relationships, but only till it skews the other way and you forget the "mutual" part of being in a relationship.

i think this combined with tommy's "water off my back" way of bringing up things about himself that again catie mentioned, and i also wrote about here, really made buck unwilling to rock the boat. do i think he was ignoring tommy when tommy was bleeding his heart open to him? no. again, the way tommy shares things about himself (like just look at the way he talks about gerrard's 118 being oppressive or the one time he brought up his dad; which he again does with the eddie reveal but we'll come back to that) doesn't really invite more digging, especially from a guy like buck whose way of inserting himself in places and wanting more has cost him many relationships.

then the abby fiasco happens. this is likely the first time buck has felt anything conflicting about tommy, especially something he has a personal connection to (now tommy doesn't know this obviously but the way he talks about being closeted with abby and breaking abby's heart is also so reminiscent of how he talks about anything to do with his personal story lol what a guy) and buck genuinely SUCKS at dealing with conflicting emotions. he's such a head in the sand guy when it comes to things that concern him personally and emotionally. he refused to acknowledge that abby had left him for a year, spent almost as long ignoring that him and taylor were on a downward trajectory, pretended eddie leaving didn't make him feel weird till it came out as him acting out and being passive aggressive, he didn't even crack open the book on his sexuality beyond what this relationship means. it is SO in character for buck and i felt this way since the moment i watched 8x06 when people were going "that's so ooc of him" to deal with the storyline (my daily reminder that characterization in an ongoing story is dynamic and there's not one true way for characters to act)

so he learns about abby, he's already unwilling to dig too much into tommy lest he hit something tommy doesn't wanna show, and this time he also has a personal connection to it. he's not gonna "make it about himself" in front of tommy obviously, so he tries to resolve and process the entire thing before the next time they even see each other. he makes peace with it, he's ready to go back to their undisturbed bubble of peace, there's no reason for them to not continue on as they have been.

then he miscalculates his level of damage control.

now i genuinely think that all buck has told tommy right before the breakup is earnest, in that he wants to be with him as long as they can see into the future, he'd love to live together, hell maybe he even thought about marriage, but his motivation for saying these at this time is all wrong. namely that he wants to forget about the one thing he perceived as threat to their relationship so far, pretend he resolved it all in his head, and they can be back in their honeymoon.

then tommy breaks up with him. now i keep going back to tommy's insecurities about buck outgrowing him or finding someone else (someone else later becoming eddie) is a smokeshow to cover for his actual fear of investing in this relationship longterm and seriously, not because he's flaky, but real commitment would require him to open even more of himself to buck. because while these insecurities might have been building up, it's buck's mention of their future that triggers tommy. now i always give tommy more credit in terms of how aware he's of the situation, what he's doing/feeling, but also what buck's doing/feeling, under his layers of bullshit, so i think a part of him foresees the pattern with buck that doesn't spell out confidence in the longevity of their relationship. but this is not what buck hears.

buck doesn't hear "you can't even bring up your issues to me" or "you never ask for more when you seem overtly invested in everyone else's lives" what buck hears is "you're great, i would like to be with you, but you will hurt me whether you mean it or not, so i can't give us a real chance" tommy leaves buck with nothing to reflect on other than that what he's feeling is not forever and he'll cause tommy heartbreak.

now this is where i get back to buck calling tommy in the aftermath. i genuinely think buck calling tommy in the mindset he was in post-breakup would be useless, and the 118 not encouring him was the right thing, because look at buck in those eps. he's upset but he's upset about being in the state of tommylessness. he doesn't do any introspection about what motivated the breakup, what would cause tommy to think that (partly because tommy doesn't give him much as mentioned above lol), and most importantly how he feels beyond "sad" he's not angry, he's not hurt (on the surface), he's making up scenarios about tommy being injured so they can reconnect and take each other back and pretend it's okay. to me THIS is buck's passivity. his unwillingness to take things apart in himself.

so months go by, they're both in a limbo, then they see each other again, and immediately fall into acting the same easy way. buck brings up being dumped but only as a joke because that's the diatance of how willing he is to think about it, tommy sidesteps that comment entirely, buck doesn't ask for more, and they're two amicable exes who clearly still have sexual chemistry and are down to fuck, sex is the easiest thing to buck and they have a great night.

in the morning, buck thinks tommy has left and why wouldn't he? as the party who said "i can see a future for us" and in response got broken up with with "well i can't" i'm not even saying that buck was entirely blind to the possibility of tommy's mind changing, i'm not saying his "what changed?" was in disbelief because tommy is so tightly closed, but i also can't see his "this doesn't have to change anything" as him throwing tommy's feelings in his face (between this line and "tommy is so vulnerable" i lost a couple of years of my lifespan). it's an out in case they're not on the same page after their great night together and can you blame buck for being cautiously optimistic instead as the person who was told their relationship won't last because his feelings are not permenant and will cause the relationship to fail?

i see people taking buck's "are you not scared anymore i won't break your heart?" as him thinking he could never hurt tommy but i think the exact opposite. buck who takes on the blame of things that are not even his fault (like chimney leaving in s5), to the point it genuinely feels like he's making things about himself, who punishes himself emotionally, in my opinion, would just chew on that line for months. especially when tommy didn't give him anything else. why would tommy think buck will break his heart when buck was being so careful with this relationship to begin with? i think buck is aware of his capacity to hurt tommy (or anyone for that matter) especially because we've already seen him hurt tommy, apologize, and ask for a second chance right at the beginning of their relationship, but i don't think buck quite grasps not pushing can also hurt their relationship, come off as disinterest, make tommy latch onto every little think because he's already looking for ways to sabotage himself.

anyway i think, "this doesn't have to change anything" is clearly just an optimistic prompt for them to actually talk about what changed, and "you're not scared i'm not gonna break your heart anymore?" is buck hopeful tommy believes him now when he says he wants a future for them, and i think tommy sees it as that as well but then. he does his own cautious thing where he brings up eddie by downplaying what he felt re him during their relationship. what i love the MOST about this scene is how tommy's careful way of dropping personal nuggets was the one reason buck held back from pushing at all, but here precisely the way he brings it up sets buck off. i genuinely think that if he gave buck any other reason or this reason presented differently, without making a joke of tommy's own insecurities but also buck's feelings, buck would just take tommy back. he was willing to the moment tommy first walked out of that loft, he's had ZERO DESIRE to question tommy's choice or how it made him feel, but this pushes him into the territory where we for once see him feel something about this breakup other than "sad bc i'm alone again". he's justifiably angry because he's hurt and it is so delicious to me after how the show sets up their breakup where maddie suggests if buck's scared tommy will hurt him like he hurt abby, to which buck obviously says no because buck never even thinks other people can hurt his feelings, and then the breakup plays out with tommy leaving him hurt, precisely for the reasons josh spells out.

tldr; to me so many of bucktommy's issues boil down to both treading so carefully because of how much they wanted to make it work and neither being willing to share much of their baggage and not asking more in return. will it change? eh. do i think the show will have buck process all his feelings in front of tommy? i don't think so. at most we'll get an "i'm sorry, i didn't mean that thing about not having feelings for you" and we're lucky tommy responding with "i'm sorry i left" then kiss kiss smooch smooch. which i will take, i will take all the crumbs, but i think it'd be awesome for buck's character and their relationship if buck felt comfortable to bring up all his hurt and conflicting emotions to tommy, realize he can push with his own bullshit but also push tommy to share back more of his bullshit. my kindgom for buck and tommy to be the safe haven to each other where they can lay their hurt, neediness, insecurities, fears, anger with.

[andy-15-07]

hi! can i request a friends to lovers fanfic where the reader is a surgeon and met pedro through mutual friends, but then they grew apart because of their busy schedule. After a few years they meet again and decide to date, thanks 🖤

From Friends to Forever

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader

Word Count: 2074 | requests are open!

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The upscale restaurant buzzed with a lively energy, the clinking of glasses and the soft laughter of patrons creating a warm, inviting atmosphere. You sat nestled in a booth, a rare evening off from the whirlwind of your life as a surgeon granting you this moment of respite. The long, grueling shifts, the constant pressure of life-or-death situations, and the emotional weight that clung to you like a second skin had left little room for anything beyond the sterile walls of the hospital. But tonight was different. Tonight, you found yourself face-to-face with Pedro .

The memory of your initial meeting, a serendipitous encounter orchestrated by mutual friends, flashed through your mind. His infectious laughter and the warmth that radiated from him had drawn you in immediately. You'd spent hours engrossed in conversation, bonding over shared passions, late-night musings, and a mutual appreciation for the simple pleasures of life, like sharing a bottle of cheap wine and debating the merits of obscure indie films.

However, life had a way of intruding on even the most cherished connections. His career had skyrocketed, propelled by a string of critically acclaimed roles, while your own life was consumed by the relentless demands of your surgical residency. Phone calls became less frequent, texts went unanswered, and the vibrant thread of your friendship gradually frayed, fading into a distant memory.

Yet, here he was, sitting across from you, that same mischievous glint in his eyes, that familiar warmth emanating from him. "How long has it been?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, laced with a hint of surprise and a touch of nostalgia.

"Too long," you replied, taking a sip of your wine, the cool liquid a welcome respite from the sudden flutter in your chest. "You've been busy becoming a household name, while I've been buried under a mountain of surgeries."

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair, a comfortable ease settling over him. "Fair enough. But look at you! Surgeon extraordinaire. You always had that drive."

"And you always had that charm," you retorted playfully, earning a genuine laugh from him. The ice was broken.

The rest of the evening unfolded with a surprising ease. The years that had drifted by seemed to melt away, replaced by a comfortable familiarity. You found yourself drawn into his stories, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as he described the challenges and triumphs of his career. In turn, you shared glimpses into the demanding world of medicine, the adrenaline-fueled chaos of the operating room, and the profound satisfaction, and sometimes the crushing weight, of saving lives.

As the night wore on, the restaurant began to empty, the initial buzz replaced by a lingering sense of contentment. Pedro glanced at you, his expression softening, a question unspoken hanging in the air. "Hey," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "do you have a moment? There's a little coffee shop around the corner. Want to catch up properly?"

You hesitated, glancing at your watch. You had an early shift tomorrow, the exhaustion of the past few weeks threatening to catch up with you. But the pull to reconnect, to delve deeper into this unexpected reunion, was undeniable. "Sure," you agreed, grabbing your coat.

The coffee shop was a haven of tranquility, the warm glow of the lights casting a soft halo over the worn leather booths. You settled into a cozy corner, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Pedro ordered two lattes, his gaze lingering on you as he spoke to the barista.

"So," he began, his voice low and sincere, "tell me everything. What's it like saving lives every day?"

You smiled, tracing the rim of your cup, the warmth radiating through the ceramic. "It's rewarding, incredibly so. But it's also...intense. The hours are long, the pressure is immense. You're constantly on the edge, dealing with life-and-death situations. Sometimes, it feels like there's no room for anything else."

He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze searching yours. "Sounds lonely."

"It can be," you admitted, a tinge of melancholy coloring your voice. "But I've learned to find joy in the small things. Like this," you gestured to the steaming cup of coffee, "these quiet moments, these unexpected connections. They remind me that there's more to life than just the operating room."

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. "I get that. Acting can be the same way. It's easy to get lost in the whirlwind, to become consumed by the character, the performance. You lose sight of everything else."

For hours, you poured your heart out, sharing your fears, your dreams, the joys and the sorrows that shaped your life. He listened intently, his eyes reflecting a genuine interest in your story. In turn, he opened up about the challenges of his own career, the constant scrutiny, the pressure to maintain a public persona while navigating the complexities of his personal life.

As the night deepened, you found yourself captivated by his honesty, his vulnerability. The years of distance seemed to melt away, replaced by a comfortable intimacy that had been dormant for far too long. As you parted ways, a sense of warmth, a feeling you hadn't realized you'd been missing, lingered in your heart.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of reconnection. Texts and calls became a lifeline, a way to bridge the gap between your busy schedules. You shared stories, laughed until your sides ached, and discovered a renewed appreciation for each other's company. Late-night phone calls became your refuge, a space where you could unwind, share your deepest thoughts, and simply enjoy each other's presence.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day at the hospital, your phone buzzed with a text from Pedro. "Hey, are you free this weekend?" he asked, his tone unusually hesitant.

"I think so. Why?"

"There's this little art exhibit I've been dying to see. Thought maybe you'd join me?"

You smiled, touched by the invitation. "I'd love to."

The exhibit was a feast for the senses, a vibrant explosion of colors and textures. Pedro's enthusiasm was contagious as he guided you through the gallery, sharing his insights, his interpretations of the art. You found yourself captivated by his passion, his ability to see the world through a different lens. At one point, you caught him watching you, a thoughtful expression gracing his features.

"What?" you asked, a playful lilt to your voice.

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "Just...happy you're here."

Something shifted in that moment. The air between you thrummed with a subtle energy, a connection deeper than mere friendship. The realization hit you with the force of a tidal wave – this was more than just a casual reunion, more than a friendly catch-up.

The weeks that followed were a delicate dance, a slow, tentative exploration of a burgeoning connection. His gestures became more pronounced – a lingering touch, a compliment that lingered on your mind long after he'd spoken. And then, one evening, as you walked along a quiet street, he stopped abruptly, his gaze fixed on you.

"I need to say something," he began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "I've been trying to ignore it, but I can't. I like you. More than a friend should."

Your heart pounded against your ribs, the weight of his words sinking in. "Pedro..."

"I know it's complicated," he interrupted, his gaze intense. "Our schedules are insane, and it won't be easy. But I'm willing to try. If you are."

Tears welled up in your eyes, the intensity of his confession overwhelming you. "I'm willing," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The transition from friends to lovers was a gradual, organic process. You navigated the complexities of your careers, finding solace in stolen moments, late-night phone calls, and weekend escapes. His unwavering support became your anchor, a constant source of strength during the most challenging days. You would wait for you outside the hospital after a long shift, bringing coffee and a warm smile that could melt away the exhaustion of the day. You would spend hours on set with him, watching him transform into a different character, marveling at his dedication and talent.

One evening, as you sat on the edge of his bed, watching him read a script, you noticed a small, silver locket tucked into his jeans pocket. Curiosity piqued, you reached out and gently pulled it out.

"What's this?" you asked, turning it over in your hand.

He looked up from the script, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Oh, that." He hesitated, then continued, "It was my grandmother's. She gave it to me before she passed away. She told me to hold onto it, to remember the things that truly matter."

You opened the locket. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a faded photograph of a young woman with kind eyes and a warm smile.

"She was beautiful," you said softly.

"She was," Pedro agreed, a touch of melancholy in his voice. "She taught me about love, about family, about the importance of cherishing the moments that truly count."

He reached for the locket, his fingers brushing against yours. "I want to give you something," he said, his voice low and husky.

He pulled out a small box from his bedside table and opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of satin, was a delicate silver bracelet, a single diamond sparkling in the center.

"It's… it's beautiful," you whispered, your breath catching in your throat.

He slipped the bracelet onto your wrist, his gaze intense. "It's for you. A reminder of the moments we've shared, and the many more to come."

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his. The kiss was slow, tender, a culmination of weeks of unspoken emotions. As you pulled away, you looked into his eyes, and you knew. This was it. This was the beginning of something truly special.

The following months were a whirlwind of stolen moments and unexpected joys. You navigated the challenges of your demanding careers with a newfound sense of ease, your love a constant source of strength and support. You learned to cherish the small moments – a shared cup of coffee in the morning, a stolen dance in his trailer on set, a quiet evening at home, watching a movie curled up on the couch. You discovered that even in the midst of chaos, there was always time for love.

One evening, months later, Pedro surprised you with a weekend getaway to a secluded cabin in the woods. The crisp autumn air, the crackling fire, and the peaceful silence were a balm to your souls. As you sat on the porch, watching the stars twinkle in the night sky, Pedro turned to you, his eyes filled with a love that transcended words.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Will you marry me?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you nodded, unable to speak. He pulled you close, burying his face in your hair. "Yes," you whispered finally, "yes, a thousand times yes."

The wedding was a small, intimate affair, held in a charming vineyard overlooking the rolling hills of Tuscany. Your friends, family, and a select few colleagues from both your worlds gathered to celebrate the love that had blossomed between you. As you stood at the altar, exchanging vows, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace and joy. You had found your soulmate, the one person who made your heart sing and your life feel complete.

Years later, as you sat on the porch of your own cozy cabin, watching your children play in the garden, you couldn't help but smile. Life had thrown its curveballs, but you had navigated them together, your love a constant, unwavering force. You looked at Pedro, who was now reading a bedtime story to your son, and you knew that this was just the beginning of your happily ever after. The clinking of glasses and the laughter of friends faded into a distant memory, replaced by the sound of children's giggles and the gentle rhythm of your own lives. And as you watched them, you realized that the greatest adventure of all was not the fame or the fortune, but the love you had built, brick by brick, a testament to the enduring power of connection and the magic of finding your way back to each other.

[mylight-png]

I have thoughts in regards to That Photo of Shani Louk receiving an award.

But first, I'd like to address something I've seen in our community about how the situation has been handled.

Many people I've seen have been sharing their anger and pain in regards to the photo and the award, rightfully so. However, many of these people have shared those thoughts alongside That Photo. While I understand the intent of this, I'd like to just ask for people to not do that.

Do not distribute That Photo in any way, please.

Shani Louk's family has asked for that photo not to be shared. Her family has asked for her to be remembered for her life, not her death.

Instead, I encourage you to share your views alongside a photo of Shani from her life. Share her as she lived, not as she died.

Let Shani's memory be who she was, not what was done to her.

Now, I know there's little I can say about the photo and award that hadn't already been said. I'd like to talk about it anyway.

First and foremost, receiving an award for photographing a woman being subjected to the worst a person can endure is disgusting. That award was given for taking a picture of a woman who has been raped and killed, and of her body continuing to be violated and paraded around. Not for protecting her, not for intervening, not for doing anything to help anyone.

Additionally, as I mentioned before, Shani's family has asked for that photo not to be spread around, and the resurgence in publicity that this photo is getting as a result is a direct blow to the family's wishes.

In that photo, for the purpose of that photo, Shani is used as little more than a prop. It is dehumanizing and violating. It is beyond that, but I cannot even come up with words to articulate how horrible it is.

I'm sure we've all heard the phrase, "people love dead Jews" at this point. This photo receiving a major award is simply confirmation of this. This photo, a photo of a dead Jewish woman, receiving such a highly esteemed award, proves this. I am sick to my stomach just writing about it.

There is nothing about that photo that would merit an award and it tramples upon Shani's memory and dehumanizes her even further than she already has been.

In protest of that award, I encourage you to share photos of her that aren't of her lowest moment.

Share photos of her life, share photos of her art. Do not share photos of her death.

Here are some photos I am choosing to share:

You can find these photos online, there's a whole Instagram account dedicated to sharing photos of her life. The first and last photos are from an article about her art being put up in an exhibition. These photos are out there, just find and share them please.

May her memory be a blessing and may it be protected from further desecration.

[akazzzaa]

A/N- I saw this on Pinterest and thought it was so cute so I wanna try and write about child! reader x demons (platonic obvs) Credit goes to the artist @lll_123_lll

Summary- Short story for each demon interacting with a human child- Kokushibo, Akaza, Douma, Hantengu, Gyokko, Daki

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- None

Part one(here|| Part two||

Kokushibo

As Kokushibo walks through a peaceful village, he notices a small child playing with a wooden sword. Intrigued by the child's innocence, he decides to approach and kneels down to the child's level. The child stopped and looked at him wide eyed, '' Are you a samurai, mister?'' Kokushibo expression softened, ''Indeed, little one.''

The child jumped up in excitement, ''Wow, Can you show me some cool moves? Pretty please!?''

For a moment, Kokushibo, contemplates the request. Surprisingly, he decides to humour the child. With grace and precision, he performs a series of fluid sword movements, creating an intricate display of swordsmanship.

The child clapped in glee, '' That was amazing! Can I try too?''Kokushibo hands the child a small, wooden practice sword, showing them a basic stance. The child mimics his movements, albeit with less finesse. ''Excellent effort, young one... With dedication, you may become a skilled warrior.''

Douma

''Why do you have fangs? Are you a scary monster?"

Douma was taken aback but then chuckled softly, amused by the innocence of the child. "These fangs are a part of what I am, I need them to eat!''

The child, not completely satisfied with the answer, pointed to Douma's mouth and said, "Can I see them up close? I want to look!!''

Douma hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to allow the child to get so close. However, he had no ill intentions and decided to humour her curiosity. With a nod, he opened his mouth wide, revealing his sharp fangs. Unfazed by the intimidating sight, The child leaned in closer to inspect the fangs. She reached out tentatively and touched one of them with her small fingers.

"They're sharp," she observed with wide-eyed wonder.

Douma, surprised by the child's boldness, couldn't help but smile. "Indeed, they are. But remember, appearances can be deceiving. It's essential to look beyond what you see on the surface."

Akaza

The moment the girl spotted Akaza, her eyes widened with excitement. She approached him fearlessly, her curiosity overcoming any apprehension she might have had. "Wow! Your hair is so pink! It's like cherry blossoms! Can I touch it?" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm contagious.

Akaza, taken aback by the girl's boldness, hesitated for a moment. Demons were not accustomed to such innocent interactions. However, something about the child's pure fascination touched a chord within him. "Uh, well, it's not something people usually ask," he replied, unsure of how to respond to such an unusual request.

The little girl beamed, undeterred by Akaza's initial uncertainty. "Please? I promise I won't pull it or anything. I just want to feel it! It looks so soft and pretty!"

Akaza couldn't help but crack a small smile at the girl's sincerity. Slowly, he nodded, allowing her to approach. Gently, she reached out and delicately ran her fingers through the strands of his pink hair. The texture surprised her, and a giggle escaped her lips. "It's softer than I imagined! Your hair is really nice, mister demon!"

Akaza found himself chuckling. Emboldened by the positive response, the girl continued to play with Akaza's hair, creating impromptu hairstyles and sharing her infectious laughter.

Hantengu (Main body)

The child's eyes fixated on the peculiar lump on Hantengu's head. "What's that big lump on your head?" she inquired, her concern evident in her voice.

Hantengu's faces displayed a mix of embarrassment and discomfort.'' I- I dont know, I've always had it! I'm not lying this time either!''

The child, being a compassionate soul, couldn't bear to see anyone in distress. Without a second thought, she took a step forward and planted a small, innocent kiss on the lump. Hantengu's face immediately transformed into expressions of surprise and gratitude.

"There, now it's better," The child said with a smile, her eyes sparkling with kindness.

Hantengu, touched by the child's pure heart, felt a warmth spreading through his body. "Thank you, little one. You possess a kindness that is rare even among humans."

Gyokko

Gyokko observed the child doodle in the dirt with a small stick, a display of untapped creativity. Intrigued, Gyokko decided to share his passion for painting with the young artist.

Gyokko teleported beside the child. In his hands, he conjured a set of vibrant paints and brushes, as if summoning colours from the very air. The child's eyes widened in amazement as Gyokko presented the tools of creation.

"Art is like the dance of a butterfly," Gyokko spoke, his voice gentle like a breeze. "Let the colors flow, and your heart guide the brush."

Gyokko dipped his brush into a pool of blue paint and began to demonstrate fluid strokes on a blank canvas. the child, fascinated, mimicked the motions with a mixture of excitement and concentration.

Gyokko and the child painted side by side, creating a masterpiece that mirrored the beauty of their newfound friendship.

In the quiet of the night, Gyokko spoke words of encouragement to the child. "Every stroke tells a story, and every colour holds an emotion. Let your imagination soar like a bird in the sky, young one."

Under Gyokko's guidance, the child discovered not only the art of painting but also the power of expression and self-discovery.

Daki

Daki's beauty was enhanced by the intricate layers of silk, vibrant colours, and elegant accessories. She moved through the crowd gracefully, her presence drawing both admiration and whispers. Unknown to her, a wide-eyed human had been trailing behind, mesmerized by the ethereal vision.

With her innocent curiosity, tugged on the hem of Daki's exquisite kimono, her eyes filled with admiration. Daki, though known for her short temper, couldn't help but soften at the sight of the little girl.

"Wow, you look so pretty!" The child exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with wonder.

Daki turned her attention to the child, a small smile playing on her lips. "Thank you, little one. You seem to have an eye for beauty," she replied, her voice as silky as her attire.

Undeterred by the imposing aura of a demon, asked, "Can I look pretty like you too? I want to wear such beautiful clothes!"

Daki crouched down to the child eye level, her long, silky hair cascading around her. "Of course, you can, little one. Beauty is not just in the clothes we wear but in the kindness of our hearts.''

As Daki spoke, she noticed the simple charm bracelet on the child's wrist. She reached into the folds of her kimono and took a delicate flower hairpin. "Here, take this. It will make you look even more beautiful."

The child's eyes widened as she accepted the gift, a radiant smile spreading across her face. Daki, for a moment, found herself enchanted by the purity of the child's joy.

"Thank you, miss!" The child exclaimed, twirling around with newfound delight.

Daki watched as she skipped away, her heart touched by the innocence of a child who saw beyond the dangers of the world. As the festival continued, Daki couldn't help but feel a warmth in her heart, a reminder that beauty, in its truest form, transcends appearances and lies within the bonds that connect people.

A/N=Added Gyokko and Daki

[aventurineswife]

I've just had a devious idea

What if something from the Void, something that the Creator was standing as a gate against, somehow broke through into the material realm?

I see the Creator absolutely going to fight it, to take it down before anything serious happens. Not out of benevolence or the need to protect the material realm, but because it is not yet time for these creatures to breach into the material realm.

There is an appointed time that they will break through, and the Vreator will not tolerate any slipping through before this time.

How do you think the characters would view this?

I can see many of them that just blindly follow Them see it as an act of benevolence. Because of course their beloved Creator would defend them against such monstrosities.

But people like Herta, people who have gleened the Creators intentions, they see it as a prelude to something worse. That this isn't an act of protection from the Creator, but a show that the end is nigh, and that at the end of it all the Creator won't lift a finger for them.

Another point, because I don't really want to throw it into another ask: Who's having Creators child? Basing them heavily off of Yog-sothoth (to the point they literally are just Them), Yog-sothoth has a child named Hastur with a human female.

I can absolutely see Herta volunteering, but not because she sees it as an blessing or anything of the sort, but rather because this is a chance to study something completely new to her.

Oh, this is peak cosmic horror storytelling. The Creator as a gatekeeper, not out of kindness, but out of adherence to a timeline only they understand? The idea that the real horror hasn’t even begun yet, that this isn’t a rescue—it’s just keeping the schedule intact? Absolutely chilling.

The Worshippers

They see the Creator rising to fight and immediately interpret it as an act of divine protection. To them, this is proof that their faith was well-placed, that the Creator loves them, that they will be spared from the horrors beyond the veil.

The Skeptics

The moment they realize why the Creator is intervening, their blood runs cold.

Herta watches with fascinated horror. She understands now—the Creator is not here to protect them. They are not a benevolent god. This is merely a correction, a keeper of the timeline ensuring that the true end arrives precisely when it is meant to.

Aglaea is terrified. The brief moment of relief when the Creator fights the void is crushed by the weight of what this means. If this was premature, then what is coming will be so much worse.

Mydei, if aware, would be deeply disturbed. His life, his struggles, his victories—they were all preordained. He suspected it, but now he knows for certain.

The Pragmatists

Castorice sees this and, for a moment, feels relief—the Creator is here. The one being that cannot be touched, that cannot be harmed, is intervening. But then she realizes—this is not protection. It’s maintenance. And if she prays for help when it is truly needed, the Creator will not answer.

Phainon and Tribbie are stuck between dread and resignation. They knew the Creator was powerful, but now they see it: their world is an ember in a storm.

The Trailblazer and Dan Heng already knew the Creator wasn’t some merciful god. But watching them fight only for the sake of keeping the timeline intact? That cements it.

And the worst part?

The Creator wins. The breach is sealed. The void is pushed back. And everyone else is left to stew in the knowledge that their world is living on borrowed time.

Oh, this is cursed. But also incredibly compelling.

Herta Absolutely Volunteers

But not for some sentimental, worshipful reason. No, she does it because this is a new frontier of knowledge. A chance to glean something about the Creator that no one else could ever comprehend.

To her, this isn’t divine conception. This is a grand experiment.

The idea of creating something that shares the nature of the Creator, something that might let her understand even a fragment of their mind, is too good to pass up.

The other Aeons, the Heirs, the Genius Society? They are horrified.

Castorice would want it, But for the wrong reasons

She would never say it out loud, but if she knew it was possible? If she knew she could forge an unbreakable connection with the one being she can’t harm? She would take that chance.

Sunday & Argenti would consider it a divine blessing

They’d fight over the opportunity, believing it to be the ultimate devotion. But would the Creator even entertain the idea? Or would they look upon them with amusement, indifference, or something worse?

The Child Itself? A Living Paradox

Would it be mortal? Immortal? A being beyond comprehension?

Would it be a key to the void, or something even the Creator cannot control?

Would it inherit knowledge of the timeline? Or would it be a blank slate, doomed to be shaped by the horrors its own parent allows to unfold?

Herta, ever the scientist, wouldn’t care. The risk is irrelevant. What matters is the discovery.

And the Creator?

They would allow it.

Not because they care.

Not because it is an act of love.

But simply because they find it… interesting.

[moonmaiden1996]

Totally agree 💯 with your thoughts on Sanji as a romantic partner (he's my favourite 🥰). What is your opinion on him as a sexual partner? I somehow see him still as a virgin (would have died from that massive nosebleeding) 🤣 and shy, afraid of not pleasing his woman. Maybe more vanilla than into kinks. Lot of cuddling, kissing and holding hands. 🤔 What you think?

I love this question. Sanji is also my fav- you have good taste.

Okay, buckle up, folks—I've put some serious thought into this, and here comes a full-blown essay.

First off, I’m convinced Sanji is a virgin. Hear me out. I think even Oda might’ve hinted at this somewhere? The guy’s all about the romance of the relationship, not the deed itself. His intensity about love probably scares off anyone looking for casual fun. Add to that his chronic nosebleeds at even the hint of affection or attraction—it’s safe to say it takes someone very special to get over him losing his entire supply of blood through his nose to get to that level.

But let’s talk about Sanji as a lover. The man is a giver, full stop. His happiness comes from making you happy, no matter the lengths he has to go to. Sanji’s the kind of guy who could literally lose himself in your pleasure—like, "Oh, you’re enjoying this? Great, I’m done!" He’s probably the type to cum in his pants while he’s focusing on you.

In the early stages of your relationship, Sanji would be laser-focused on perfecting his technique. Picture him pouring over every guide, every book, every questionable magazine he can find to up his game. And don’t think he’d stop there—oh no, this man would shamelessly eavesdrop on his fellow crew members for tips. And yes, I absolutely believe he’d practice on a half-eaten peach in the privacy of his room. (RIP peaches, forever ruined for him he can't go near them without his pants tightening .)

Being the hopeless romantic he is, Sanji’s all about slow burns. He’d wait until marriage, all while showering you with kisses and cuddles—he thrives on emotional and physical connection. That said, if you weren’t a virgin, he’d be down for a little extra physical affection before marriage and the big event (cue eyebrow waggle). He wouldn’t mind your past; he’d just be thrilled to share this new chapter with you. And hey, if you’ve got pointers? Even better. Sanji’s a fast learner with a willingness to please.

Now, if you were a virgin, Sanji would handle it with the utmost care. This man would be terrified of messing it up and you never want him to touch you again (I feel like this is the biggest fear for him getting physical with you, that and hurting your even the slightest bit). Hence lots of prep, oils, and constant check-ins to make sure everything feels just right. He’d follow your instructions to the letter, treating the whole experience like a sacred ritual.

Now for the spicy part: fetishes.

I’m torn here. On one hand, I could see Sanji keeping things vanilla—classic positions, whatever works best for you, with a side of soul-stirring romance. But let’s not forget, this man is also prone to dramatic flair. I wouldn’t be shocked if he pulled out some next-level One Piece tantric lovemaking just to keep things interesting.

On the kinkier side, I think a breeding kink might be on the table. Sanji dreams of a big, loud, loving family, and the "practice makes perfect" mindset tracks perfectly with his character. Beyond that, he’d be open to experimenting—but with clear boundaries. Anything involving harm or discomfort? Absolutely off-limits. Sanji wants you happy and safe, always. Nothing you do or say will persuade him. Side note thought - he would be very down to mark you up with hickeys, something that doesn't hurt you but tells everyone your his really hits his possessive needs.

That said… I do get strong "step on me, mommy" vibes from him. Just putting it out there. Take that as you will.

At the end of the day, Sanji is all about love, care, and devotion. Whether he’s cooking for you, cuddling with you, or, ahem, other things *wink wink*, he’s 100% in. He lives to see you happy, and your joy and pleasure is the greatest reward for this passionate, hopeless romantic man.

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

hey so can I have a scenario with Kurt wagner having a crush and he’s kind of hanging with the group, and the topic of “your type” comes up cuz crush just got asked out by the group very hot bad boy hero and crush is just like “Oh I don’t find bad boys or tough guys attractive at all. I like the opposite”. They like men who are cozy basically? (Kurt is cozy to be around once you know him).

~You Know You're Just My Type~

Pairing: Nightcrawler x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: none

Genre: fluff

Summary: A conversation about your type leads to some discoveries you were not prepared to make today- carpe diem... you guess

***

"I've got a question for you y/n." Jack announces as he walks back into the room that you're all hanging out in.

"Shoot." You say dismissively. Jack's cool and all but nothing good ever comes out of his mouth when he begins like that. Plus all did was go get a soda, what could he possibly have discovered he needed to ask in that 5 minutes?

"When are you going to let me take you on a date?" He asks. Across the room, Kurt hold his breath at the question. Jack had a habit of flirting with you, but he'd never asked you on a real date before now. Or at least not that he knew of. But Jack is attractive, Kurt's never seen anyone say no to the guy before and he's not convinced you will either.

"Excuse me?" You blink at him and then burst out laughing. "That's the funniest thing you've ever said if I'm honest." You shake your head and Kurt feels beyond relieved as he sighs.

"Give it a rest man you're barking up the wrongest of trees." Logan scoffs.

"And how would you know?" Jack looks at Logan.

"Because he's got a brain." You say.

"They're practically attached at the hip dude, if any person here would know what's what with her dating preferences it'd probably be Logan." Jean says.

"Blasphemy!" You scoff.

"Defamation!" Logan chimes.

"Character Assassination!" You add.

"You're literally leaning against each other as if you can't sit up on your own right now be serious." Scott scoffs.

"Wait a second, that's a good point- are you two dating?" Jack asks.

You and Logan share a look.

"Gross." You both say.

"Why would you ask that?" You scoff.

"We just established the two of you are basically one person." Jack says.

"Yeah- platonically." You say.

"Have you never been friends with a girl dude?" Logan asks.

"I mean yeah, I'm friends with Jean, and Storm, and y/n- we're just not as close as you and y/n seem to-"

"Well hang on you just asked y/n on a date, so that automatically makes things a little different." Logan cuts Jack off.

"You're telling me you wouldn't date y/n?"

"I'm not answering that. You're being weird." Logan says, shaking his head.

"Yeah and don't talk about me like I'm not right here." You say.

"Fine, why won't you go on a date with me?" Jack asks.

"You are not my type darling."

"Nonsense." He rolls his eyes.

"So what is your type?" Jean asks.

"More importantly, how is it not me?" Jack asks.

"Do we have to do this?" You sigh.

"I think we should, I wanna know." Jack smirks.

"You're rowdy and obnoxious and kind of a dick sometimes and surprise there's only room for me to be close to one guy who's kind of a dick- Logan's already taken the spot." You shrug.

"So if you stop being friends with Logan-"

"Hey, tread carefully asshole." Logan points at him.

"Yeah that sounds like the start of a threat." You say.

"Don't team up against me." Jack shakes his head.

"Fine so we know they're not your types but you still haven't answered what is." Jean presses.

"Does it matter?" You scoff.

"Why are you being so secretive about it?" Storm asks.

"I just don't think it changes anything for most of you." You say.

"But for some of us?" Scott asks.

"Maybe Jack here." You say.

"Just Jack?" Logan smirks.

"Go die." You side eye him.

"Just answer their question." Logan chuckles. You sigh heavily.

"I like someone kind, gentle, I guess more on the soft spoken side? Not a pushover but not abrasive. I want someone calm, none of the adrenaline junkie shit."

"Can you guess who she's thinking of?" Logan smirks. His eyes flit very briefly to the subject of his oh so subtle insinuation.

"Shut up. You piece of shit." You shove him slightly, but you are still leaning on him so not with enough force to knock him down. You hope no one was able to pick up on what he was trying to hint at to the rest of the room. Although with Kurt being more quiet than usual you can't help but wonder if he knows.

"Wait, are you thinking of someone particular?" Scott asks.

"No." You say firmly.

"Logan?" Jean presses.

"She says no." He shrugs.

"You are such a dick. You know they're not gonna let this go! I will have no peace so long as they think I was describing someone in particular." You groan.

"Well-"

"Shhhhh! You're the worst. I'm never telling you anything of importance ever again." You smack Logan's chest.

"So there is someone specific?" Storm asks.

"That why you won't date me? Because you have a crush on someone else?" Jack asks.

"I! Did not say I have a crush on someone else." You say.

"No but your second head basically did." Jean says.

"Okay, just so we're clear, I won't date you because you're you. Whether or not I have a crush on someone else is irrelevant to that decision." You tell Jack.

"Ouch." Jack grabs his chest as if you've wounded him.

"You'll be fine, walk it off." You roll your eyes.

"Come on- you can trust us. You know that." Jean says.

"That is so not the problem here. I didn't want to talk about any of this in the first place. Can we drop this? Now?"

"Okay when y/n wants us to know anything about that she will tell us herself guys." Scott says.

"Thank you Scott." You say. "I'm going to get a drink. Anyone want anything?" You ask standing up. You need a break from this nonsense.

"I just came back from the kitchen, I could've got you something." Jack says.

"I didn't want anything then."

"I'll take a beer." Logan says.

"Great- be back." You say, leaving the room. You walk down to the kitchen and grab a beer from the fridge for Logan and a bottle of water for yourself.

"Do you- actually have a crush on someone?" Kurt's voice surprises you as you shut the fridge door.

"Fucking Christ!" You shout as you clutch your chest.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you." He blinks in surprise.

"We need to get you a bell, you're too quiet when you walk." You say waiting for your heart rate to slow.

"I'm sorry. Logan asked me to refill on snacks." Kurt says

"It's fine dude, what'd you ask me?"

"Just- if Logan was telling the truth about you having a crush on someone or just taunting you like he does?" Kurt asks. Your knee-jerk reaction is to lie, tell him Logan was just being a dick and there's no one, but how bad could it be if he knew- I mean he's asking after all.

"Uh- well he was definitely trying to tease me but he wasn't lying about it I- was describing a specific person, yes."

"Someone we know- I assume?" Kurt asks hesitantly. He's not even sure he wants to know what the answer is.

"Correct." You nod. This conversation feels so awkward. You wish he would just ask who it is if that's what he wants to know.

"And you... want to keep it a secret, who it is?"

"I want the person to know before everyone else does." You say. Quit beating around the bush and tell him already my GOD

"I don't want to pry." Kurt says.

"Kurt the person I'm talking about is you." You blurt out before you can convince yourself not to. Again.

"What?" His eyes snap up to meet yours.

"I was talking about you."

"Oh." He whispers.

"It's not a big deal and I'm only telling you because Logan's been giving me grief for the past couple of months and after what just happened I'm starting to think he'll tell you before I do so- I wanted to get it out there. While we're on the subject or whatever."

"You- you like me?" Kurt asks, astonishment laced through his quiet words.

"Don't make me regret telling you."

"I- I had no idea."

"Yeah I'm pretty good at that."

"No I mean- I didn't even know you paid attention to me."

"Of course I do."

"I like you too."

"You do?"

"More than anything. When Jack asked you out earlier I thought for sure you'd say yes and- I really hated the idea."

"I hate the idea of saying yes to Jack too." You quip. Kurt chuckles and you're glad that at least some of the tension has been cut by the joke.

"So- what happens now?"

"Now we go back in there and pretend this didn't happen because- I want us to figure things out before we tell everyone else." You say. 

"Okay, but what does figuring things out look like?" Kurt asks.

"A date. How's Friday?"

"I can do Friday." He nods.

"Okay, good, I'll meet you in the foyer at 8?"

"Where are we going?"

"Wherever the night takes us." You shrug.

"How do I dress for that?"

"Something you'll be comfortable in."

"Okay. Friday. 8pm. Now we go back in there and be normal?"

"Yep. Until at least Friday at 9."

"What happens after 9?"

"Depends on how the date's going."

"Cool- you should head back first you've been gone longer." Kurt suggests.

"Good idea. See you in a few." You say leaving the kitchen. You're a little confused on how that all just happened but you're pretty sure you have to thank Logan for that? You're not totally sure why yet, but later, when you're alone with your thoughts and able to dissect this whole evening properly, you'll hopefully understand what the hell just took place.

***

[the-irreverend]

Checkmate Kriselle Stans: Episode 1 - That's the Tea!

Hello and welcome to a very special series where I dissect and destroy absurd, asinine, and otherwise flat-out bullshit takes about Kriselle (and other ships in the Deltarune fandom)!

On today's episode, we're taking a look at one of the arguments used against Kriselle: the teas for Noelle and Kris and how they both react to drinking it and are healed by it.

Now I've seen a lot of people factor in the so-called "Tea Theory" when discussing the ships of Deltarune. And naturally, this has led to a lot of smug and insufferable antis eager to wield it against certain ships. The way I see it, "Tea Theory" is best used to supplement the ship you like, and NOT as some kind of holy scripture that tells you which relationships are romantic or not.

Like, come on. How would you Suselle fans feel if you saw people arguing that this scene here is evidence that Susie is better off with goddam Berdly because Noelle doesn't share her taste for birdseed?

But I digress. So, with all that said, there are many interpretations of why the teas have the effects they do and what they indicate about how a character feels about another or how well-developed their relationship is.

It can get very complicated. We can clearly see that Noelle drinking Susie’s tea has more healing than Susie drinking Noelle’s tea, which is fitting because of Noelle’s massive crush and because Susie had yet to discover and develop her feelings for her little doe.

With Ralsei and Kris, although Ralsei is very fond of Kris, seeing how their tea heals him more, Kris's relationship/feelings toward Ralsei isn't as developed. Not to mention that Kris and Susie are very much on the same wavelength personality-wise and have spent more time together, which would explain why their teas heal each other more.

So, how does this explain why Noelle and Kris’s tea heals each other only a little more than Noelle and Ralsei sharing their teas? If they understand each other’s quirks and qualities so well and have had such a deep relationship, then why wouldn’t it at least be on par with Kris and Susie’s?

I adamantly believe there are two critical reasons for this.

1) Their relationship isn’t at "full capacity".

If the tea’s effects were only decided by their feelings for each other, then it wouldn’t make sense why they wouldn’t heal each other more. We see clearly that Noelle still gets along very nicely with Kris, even as far back as Chapter 1, as she reassures them about Susie, gives them a pencil as they know they’ve a knack for losing it, and other moments that indicate they have a deep and intimate understanding of each other.

But they still clearly drifted apart a while back, so that while that mutual understanding and camaraderie for each other is still intact, the relationship that resulted from that isn’t where it should be, due to factors beyond their control, rather than just them losing their feelings for each other on their own. That said, they still care about each other deeply, and the fact that there are two instances in Chapter 2 in which Kris can get Noelle all blushy blushy does hint that their feelings for each other are changing into something more than just platonic friendship.

Not to mention how Kris blushes when they hear Noelle talk about getting flirting lessons from them in Chapter 4:

But there’s another factor that more people should consider, one which I think is impacting the tea more than anything.

2) YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I really don’t think people give a lot of credit to how much the player impacts Kris and Noelle's relationship and how they (re)develop it. And would you know, that impact also extends to their respective teas (especially when you consider the meaning behind the Weird Route). An interesting thing to note is that when Noelle drinks Kris’s tea, she gets excited as she tastes cinnamon, only to notice it has a “strange aftertaste.” And seeing how Noelle points out TIME AND TIME AGAIN that Kris is acting like their usual self, it therefore stands to reason that YOU, THE PLAYER, are impacting the effect of the tea.

Our control throws a giant wrench into their opportunity to reconnect with others as they would and SHOULD normally do. And I don’t know about you, but I think it would be kinda hard to connect with your estranged childhood friend and share how you feel about them and everything else if your personal agency was severely hampered by an unfeeling cosmic horror in the shape of a red heart.

In fact, this is very much a recurring theme throughout the entire weird route: that Kris and Noelle can’t genuinely reconnect because our presence is sabotaging it. Granted, there is something to be said about how Kris shows more enthusiasm drinking Susie's tea and gets more out of it and therefore they should show just as much enthusiasm drinking Noelle's tea, if not more so. Thus, our control shouldn't impact how they express themselves when drinking it, should it?

However, even so, I don't believe it's a huge issue for Kriselle's validity since it's Kris' relationship with Noelle that's primarily affected by our actions, rather than their relationship with Susie.

Long story short, it is not unreasonable to conclude that the reason for the Kris and Noelle's tea lacking effects is not due to them lacking feelings for each other or them not wanting to have a relationship with each other, but rather: A) the estrangment they experienced when they were both little, and B) the effects of the player's control on Kris.

[eveninglakehomeworld]

hi friends and lovers, I've gathered a small collection of dialogues from Zevran in DA:O regarding Antiva & the Crows.

I got this together mostly for myself, but thought I'd share in case anyone who is maybe looking to flesh out their new Crow OC, write fanfic involving Crow characters, or is looking for a refresher on early Crow lore would like something to reference. I trimmed down dialogues a bit, so mostly just information relevant to the Crows, Antiva in general, and Zevran's own attitudes about being an assassin are present.

this post has dialogues from Zev's recruitment event and a couple of early game camp conversations. because it's only a handful of dialogues, this is, ostensibly, part 1 of several. I plan to post more as I progress through my replay of origins. enjoy! <3

Recruitment

Warden: "What are the Antivan Crows?"

Leliana: I can tell you that. They are an order of assassins out of Antiva. Very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done... so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man.

Zevran: Quite right. I'm surprised you haven't heard much of the Crows out here. Back where I come from, we're rather infamous.

Warden: "You came all the way from Antiva?"

Zevran: Not precisely. I was in the neighborhood when the offer came. The Crows get around, you see.

[After being asked if he's loyal to Loghain]

Zevran: Beyond that, no, I'm not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service.

Warden: "And now that you've failed that service?"

Zevran: Well, that's between Loghain and the Crows. And between the Crows and myself.

Warden: "When were you to see him next?"

Zevran: I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results... if he didn't already know. If I had failed, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least, as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain then.

Warden: "How much were you paid?"

Zevran: I wasn't paid anything. The Crows, however, were paid quite handsomely. Or so I understand. Which does make me about as poor as a chantry mouse, come to think of it. Being an Antivan Crow isn't for the ambitious, to be perfectly honest.

Warden: "Then why are you one?"

Zevran: Well, aside from a distinct lack of ambition, I suppose it's because I wasn't give much of a choice. The Crows bought me young. I was a bargain, too, or so I'm led to believe. But don't let my sad story influence you. The Crows aren't so bad. They keep one well supplied: Wine, women, men. Whatever you happen to fancy. Though, the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you. If you were considering joining, I'd really think twice about it.

Warden: "Aren't you at least loyal to your employers?"

Zevran: Loyalty is an interesting concept. If you wish, and you're done interrogating me, we can discuss it further.

Warden: "I'm listening. Make it quick."

Zevran: Well, here's the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead.

Warden: "And what's to stop you from finishing the job later?"

Zevran: To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I've paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can't touch. Even if I did kill you now, they might kill me just on the principle of failing the first time. Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you.

Warden: "Won't they come after you?"

Zevran: Possibly. I happen to know their wily ways, however. I can protect myself, as well as you. Not that you seem to need much help. And if not, well, it's not as if I had many alternatives to start with, is it?

Warden: "Why would I want your service?"

Zevran: Why? Because I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks. I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more... sophisticated... now that my attempts have failed.

A few early game camp conversations

Conversation 1 Warden: "What does it take to become an assassin?"

Zevran: Well, the Crows would have you believe that it is an involved process that takes years of training, the sort that tests both your resolve and your endurance. Survive that process and maybe, just maybe, you're good enough to start being considered one of them. But quite frankly the truth is that all it requires is a desire to kill people for a living. It's surprising how well one can do in such a field.

Warden: "It doesn't take any special skill?"

Zevran: I don't know about that. It's simply a slightly different skill set from your average killer, as I see it. An assassin simply specializes in striking from stealth... and in maximizing that first attack to be as lethal as possible. Debilitating your foe, either by poison or by crippling their limbs, makes any follow-up combat you need to engage in that much simpler.

Warden: "That sounds like it could be useful."

Zevran: See? Getting paid for the act is beside the point. An assassin is more a tactical choice than a lifestyle. Of course, the Crows like to pretend that their abilities are trade secrets, shrouded in shadows and wrapped in a blanket of mystery. So let's just keep this between you and me, shall we, hmm?

Conversation 2 Warden: "Why did you want to leave the Crows, exactly?"

Zevran: Well, now, I imagine that's a very fair question. Being an assassin, after all, is a living, at least as far as such things go. I was simply never given the opportunity to choose another way. So if that choice presents itself, why should I not seize upon it?

Warden: "You didn't choose the Crows?"

Zevran: Mm? To be truthful, I didn't even know the Crows existed when I joined them. I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased. For three sovereigns, I'm told. Which is a good price, considering I was all ribs and bone and didn't know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end. The Crows buy all their assassins that way. Buy them young, raise them to know nothing else but murder. And if you do poorly in your training, you die.

Warden: "That sounds awful."

Zevran: "Oh, I don't know about that. The Crows who are actually good enough to survive come to enjoy some of the benefits. In Antiva, being a Crow gets you respect. It gets you wealth. It gets you women... and men, or whatever it is you might fancy. But that does mean doing what is expected of you, always. And it means being expendable. It's a cage, if a gilded cage. Pretty, but confining. [note: I transcribed the first line of the last section as it was written in the subtitles because it seemed to make more sense in context, but when Zevran speaks it aloud he actually says "That does not mean doing what is expected of you." presumably an editing error, but can't be 100% positive which is the intended message.]

[After being asked what he thinks his future might hold]

Zevran: As for what I'll do in the future... presuming that there is one... I truly can't imagine. It might be interesting to go into business for myself, for a change. Far away from Antiva, of course. For now, naturally, I go where you go.

Warden: "Won't the Crows eventually find you?"

Zevran: [laughs] Eventually can be a very, very long time if one plays one's cards right. Come, now. Enough chit-chat. Talking about the Crows summons them, you know. Any Antivan fishwife could tell you so.

Conversation 3 Warden: "Do you actually enjoy being an assassin?"

Zevran: And why not? There are many things to enjoy about being a Crow in Antiva. You are respected. You are feared. The authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses. Even the rewards are nothing to turn your nose up at. As for the killing part, well... some people simply need assassinating. Or do you disagree?

Warden: "You've never killed an innocent?"

Zevran: Now there's an interesting word, "innocent." How many men do you know who can claim to truly be innocent? But if you're talking generalities, such as children and relatives and bystanders and such... never on purpose, but it happens. It's unfortunate, but death comes to us all. If not me, then some wasting disease. Or a fall down the stairs. Or at the hands of a darkspawn. It's all relative in the end.

Warden: "I suppose that's true."

Zevran: "Death happens," as we like to say. And when I get paid for it, death happens more often. As far as enjoying the act of killing itself, why not? There is a certain artistry to the deed, the pleasure of sinking your blade into their flesh and knowing that their life is in your hands.

Warden: "I know what you mean."

Zevran: There are many things I did not enjoy about being a Crow, of course. Having no choice, being treated as an expendable commodity, the rules... oh, so many rules! But, simply being an assassin? I like it just fine. I will continue to do it, if I can, even if I am not a Crow. Honestly, could you picture me doing something else?

Conversation 4 [note: I trimmed this one down a lot bc it's just one of the ones where he tells you about a job and there's not a lot to be gleaned about Antiva, how the Crows operate, etc] [In response to being asked, "The Crows were willing to anger the Circle of Magi?"]

Zevran: In Antiva, nobody is too important to escape the reach of the Crows. They have killed kings and queens. That's simply how it is.

[After elaborating on how he fumbled an assassination attempt and the mark died accidentally, instead of by his hand]

Zevran: Then I found out she had told the driver to take her to Genellan instead. She has planned to lose me in the provinces. I would have looked very foolish to the Crows. As it was, my master was very impressed that I had done such a fine job of making it look like an accident. The Circle of Magi was unaware of foul play, and everyone was happier all around.

Conversation 5 Warden: "Tell me a little about Antiva."

Zevran: Oh? You wish to know about Antiva, do you? The only way to truly appreciate it would be to go there. It is a warm place, not cold and harsh like this Ferelden. In Antiva it rains often, but the flowers are always in bloom... or so the saying goes.

Warden: "Don't you want to go back?"

Zevran: [sighs] It is not really a matter of wanting to go back. I cannot go. At least not yet. I hail from the glorious Antiva City, home to the royal palace. It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva City. Do you come from someplace comparable?

Warden: "I'm not from any glittering gem, no."

Zevran: No? That is too bad. If you were, then surely you would spend as much time boasting about it as I do! Hmm. You know what is most odd? We speak of my homeland, and for all its wine and its dark-haired beauties and the lillo flutes of the minstrels... I miss the leather the most.

Warden: "Is that some kind of euphemism?"

Zevran: [laughs] It may as well be! But not this once, no. I mean the smell. For years I lived in a tiny apartment near Antiva City's leather-making district, in a building where the Crows stored their youngest recruits. Packed in like crates. I grew accustomed to the stench, even though the humans complained of it constantly. To this day the smell of fresh leather is what reminds me most of home more than anything else.

Warden: "That's a little bizarre. There's leather everywhere."

Zevran: Ah, but it's not Antivan leather, is it? I do not know what the Antivan tanners do that is different, but ther is no leather more supple nor more fragrant.

Warden: "You sound like you've been away from home forever."

Zevran: Oh, not so long, I know. It is my first time away from Antiva, however, and the thought of never returning makes me think of it constantly. Before I left, I was tempted to spend what little coin I possessed on leather boots I spotted in a store window. Finest Antivan leather, perfect craftsmanship—ah, but I was a fool to leave them. I thought, "Ah, Zevran, you can buy them when you return as a reward from a job well done." More the fool I, no?

Warden: "Your home is still there, Zevran."

Zevran: True, and it's a comforting thought. One simply never knows what is to come next.

Now, if it is all the same to you, I would prefer not to speak more of Antiva. It makes me wistful and hungry for a proper meal.

Bonus banter snippet because I found it amusing:

Morrigan: You assassin types have a death wish, I see.

Zevran: [laughs] Only the really good ones.