#or at least small snippets of it here and there

[hobidreams]

Hello 🌸,

I just so finished your first Jimin fic warm hand, ice cold heart and i wanted to tell you how much i liked not only the fic itself, but your way of writing. You write in such a warm and heartfelt way that it truly consumes you into the fic, and lets you feel all of the raw emotions. At first, i thought Jimin is some douchebag, Oc an innocent girl that was dragged into this whole mess and Jungkook the true victim. But then, the story went on and i saw how much of a soft sweetheart jimin is, and that oc is the main ,,problem“. And then i actually thought that Oc will choose Jungkook after all that had happened, but when she had this talk with Jimin, i truly understood everything and wanted nothing more for her to choose Jimin. Oc and Jungkook had their time, but it ran out. What i got from this, is i think that they were too comfortable with each other. And dont understand me wrong, comfort is good and should be on top of the list of every relationship. But i think there are two types of comfort. And Oc and Jungkook had the type of comfort that gave Oc the feeling of being… lost ? does that make sense ? like they are both on standby with no future ahead ? just floating without looking forward ? and i think thats bad. Its sad that Jungkook after all this time still couldn‘t grasp this. I mean sure, a relationship is not always perfect and the spark that two people have eventually will at least flunker, but not to an extend in which you do not seek any physical, nor mental touch and emotion from your partner. Im happy that Oc admitted what was plaguing her mind this whole time and they both gave each other a chance. Now Jimin and Oc can both have the future with each other they thought they could never have. And i also hope Jungkook can let go like Oc did and find someone who wont let his spark go away ( and someone he wont let wait 6 years to make his wife cause thats just ouch 🥴 ). Now onto your next fics love !

- 🧚🏻

omg 🥺🥺🥺🥺 thank you so much for reading wh(ich)!!!! it remains one of my favorite things i've written with all the new things i tried with it and just how it broke my own goddamn heart haha. awwwwee im so glad that you were able to feel the emotions too and that it felt natural that oc chose jimin in the end. that was probably my biggest anxiety abt it--that it felt natural for oc to gravitate towards jimin in this new part of her life. it's so hard to let go of our feelings when nothing is specifically... wrong but it's not exactly right either, yeah? ahhh you got it perfectly. that floating feeling 🥰🥰🥰 thank you so much for this detailed review and for truly connecting with the story 💗 i like to imagine JK meets his next partner fairly soon after this, though he doesn't realize that she's the right person for him until it hits him all of a sudden one day and then BAM he's in it. and they're married not long after that hahah. this JK is so passionate and full of love to give!!!! thank u for making my inbox so bright with this review <3 please enjoy my other work and take care!!

[tls123]

Oh my god HOW DID YOU LIKE SVSSS!!!!!

i liked it more than i thought i would but overall less than i might have given the potential of the story, i think in general i really enjoyed the characters (mxtx never goes wrong with characters, she creates them in a way that makes me feel unhinged) and the world building but the pay off to the set up—which i really liked!—felt a bit........ i mean, just alright.

the dynamics too are pure mxtx, personally the bin/gqiu dynamic specifically really was the least interesting part of the whole story. to me!! but individually i loved both characters. my interest was just elsewhere because """elsewhere""" felt way more fascinating idk how to explain it

was very, very happy about the extra with airplane and the yue qingyuan / shen jiu one because that's exactly what i wanted more of in the story itself as well as just more shen yuan/qingqiu interacting with cang qiong mountain

maybe it's my orv brain but like i told jana a while back i think i would have enjoyed svsss way more if it was more about shen yuan (loner; hater; etc) suddenly finding himself among all of these people (disciples looking up to him; sect siblings relying on him one way or another; common folk admiring him; etc etc) and starting to.... live? again?

Shen Qingqiu hadn't noticed that, unconsciously, he no longer considered the disciples around him (...) to be mob characters the novel had described in a scant number of words.

^from volume one, he starts seeing them almost immediately because he's not actually that separate and he genuinely cares. all the time. about everything. even before that we get:

This was only a book, and all the people were constructs, imaginary characters. Logically, Shen Qingqiu was very clear on this fact...but when a character was actually being taunted and bullied right before his eyes, it was just flat-out unrealistic to expect him to be completely unmoved.

like why are you lying, shen yuan (<- svsss tagline if there ever was one)

just the idea of this really lonely detached guy finding a community, i know it's not the story mxtx was trying to tell but again, with the set up i really wanted to see it go in that direction.

there's one line from vol two where liu qingge goes "you fear becoming a burden to cang qiong mountain (...) but cang qiong mountain fears not your burden"

and basically what i'm saying is that i wish the story had been about THAT

(and also ning yingying's lines in that same chapter about shizun always taking on everything himself and why is it always you like that whole moment with the cang qiong mountain almost begging him to see that they care. idek what i'm saying but you know)

(also foaming at the mouth that we only got tiny tiny glimpses of shen yuan's life from before, those handful of times he mentioned his siblings i wanted to take a bite out of my kindle. tell me more!! dear fucking lord tell me more!! keep talking! elaborate!! he really felt very "kim dokja and his fourth wall" at times, sorry once more about the orv brain)

tldr: i guess i wanted a story about shen yuan/qingqiu but mxtx created svsss to be a story about bin/gqiu. and i just have to be okay with that.

[dragontamer05]

No lie I can't recall the last time I did like just one long continuous thread.

Like sure still doing small side stuff, asks ect but just idk but also letting muses grow and develop through one long continuous - and not always having to say resort to completely dropping if whatever currently is going on has run its course and instead just time skip with it but let it keep going.

And I say this as some one who is also 100% happy to time skip and jump around.

And hey you want to go back in time and explore a scenario that could have happened earlier in their relationship / knowing each other

or jump forward to something way later or even just explore a what if scenario that doesn't have to happen but could depending how things go/ how we feel about it ect

Hell yah love it all - trying to have some time line consistency is good obviously and as long as we can agree on even a loose idea of How they got to Y or where X fits and what not then sure.

Am fine with even the longest of threads eventually getting a wrap up if things simply happen to feel right in the moment and is what gets decided, doesn't have to be an infinite thread - certainly not about to force one to go on if its reached a point it kinda feels dead but idk call me easily attached but there's sometimes where I can still find / feels like their might be still potential to be found in a thread and all it needs is a bit of tweaking.

The chapter came to an end but the book isn't over kinda thing. Maybe all it needs is a small time skip / scene change but there's still things to be explored within said plot/scenario / whatever is going on with the characters - that would still also work/fit within said thread instead of separating.

Similarly but kind of reverse is I am equally as happy generally to return to threads that were long previously dropped/abandoned. Whether cause someone wasn't feeling it any more or simply we ran into a writing wall and at the time were lost on how to continue it so was better not to force it. But if something new comes along be it from plotting / just newer interactions or simply with having time away from it whatever the reason if a spark suddenly arises and hey suddenly what if we connected - old thread to new idea - or any other reason to want to answer/continue go for it.

idk mostly I this is was just a really long rambly way of saying how I miss long threads. Short quick snippets are fun and fine but 9/10 I promise i am very much interested and fine with carrying a thread for as long and far as it'll go.

[waywardsalt]

is this anything

[the-weeping-dawn]

Live footage of me thinking I will ever finish the fic I'm working on.

[hplonesomeart]

Old record player spin my beloved <3

[chuluoyi]

✎ wife

- gojo satoru x reader

in which the new batch of first years are unaware that their eccentric teacher's wife is the pretty woman roaming the school grounds

genre: fluff, crack, gojo being a silly little menace as always, yuji and nobara are confused, an attempt at humor, lovesick gojo, mention of breastfeeding

note: it’s so silly but i had fun writing this! based on a request by anon (thank you!) but i tweaked it a bit and partly inspired by this fanart. reader is also a teacher at jujutsu high and has a baby with gojo—loosely a continuation of protect

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

"Take that off immediately!"

"Kyaaah~! Yuji is here, you pervert!"

Yuji was a laughing mess. Megumi and Nobara collectively sighed. Nanami attempted to retrieve his once-immaculate suit, now a crumpled mess, from the one and only Gojo Satoru, who found humor in stealing his signature attire and impersonating the stern-faced Nanami in front of his fresh batch of first years.

"He is incorrigible," Nobara grumbled, her eyes slitting. They said that he was a strong sorcerer, possibly the strongest there was, but she found it really hard to believe.

Megumi threw her a deadpan stare. With many years of putting up with this kind of antics under his belt, he pitied her for not knowing that this was far from the worst. "Yeah, he is."

"How does anyone ever put up with him?"

That was actually a good question. "We don't..." Megumi paused, recalling each and every occasion where he tried to do so. "His wife is probably the only one who can."

Nobara sputtered, spinning towards him. "What the—wife? That annoying man has an actual, living, breathing wife?"

"Who? Gojo-sensei?" Yuji chimed in, jumping into the conversation, leaving the supposedly two adults in their catfight. Nanami was still clawing to get his suit back, and Gojo continued to giggle and evade him, playfully running away.

Nobara scoffed. "I bet the woman just married him for the money. He comes from prestigious clan, yes? That must be it."

Yuji felt his eyes would pop out of its sockets. "What are you talking about, Kugisaki!? What woman—"

"Shut up, Itadori! Don't be too loud!"

Nobara and Yuji's unharmonious ruckus irritated Megumi to the bone, and he decided that the best course of action now was to leave them all in the dust. With a glare and a shake of his head, he stalked away.

And thus the two new first years were left with half-truths that would lead them into a major misadventure later that day—

—which happened when they spotted Nanami with you, whom they were still unfamiliar with.

They were convinced that Gojo’s wife must be some sort of boring tramp eyeing his wealth and not this positively radiant, mature woman, and so ruling that possibility out, they positively swooned at the sight before them.

"He's irresponsible, egotistical—" snippets of Nanami's frustrated words conveyed enough to paint a picture of Gojo's character. He was definitely ranting about Gojo to you.

"Is that Nanamin's wife?" Yuji mused, a hint of pink tinting his cheeks. "She is so pretty..."

"They... look cute together," Nobara hummed with dreamy eyes, and then looked at Yuji sharply. "And yes, she's indeed pretty, but know your place, Itadori!"

"I know!"

Based on how the two of you interacted, they concluded that you must have been close, with the way Nanami visibly relaxed around you, and not as formal as he was with anyone else. They highly suspected that the two of you were married, as you wore a ring, which was the ultimate sign.

"And how's the baby?" Nanami asked then, directing the question to you with a smile on his face, prompting surprised gasps from both Yuji and Nobara.

You were glowing, to say the least, and when you let out a small giggle at his question, even both students couldn't miss the way your expression exuded pure happiness. "He is well. Ah, I really wanted to bring him along too, but he was a little messy after eating so I left him at home. You can see him later…"

Yuji gaped. "So it's true..."

"Oh my gosh... and they have a baby." Nobara almost squealed.

And that sealed it. The headline of the day: Nanami is married to this stunning woman wandering the school grounds.

So imagine their utter shock when the second time they found you, you were with Gojo, and he was shamelessly snogging you in the hallway.

“Why are you here?” Gojo was breathless after the soul-sucking kiss he smothered you. His tone remained playful yet carried a clear undertone of concern. "You're still on maternity leave. I'll make sure Yaga knows that."

“Satoru,” you whined, and the use of his given name made Yuji and Nobara gasp in disbelief. “I’m perfectly okay and I don’t need to breastfeed anymore. I should start getting back to work.”

Nobara seemed to finally understand the implication. But Yuji didn’t. His mind flitting from one scandalous idea to another—

Gojo-sensei seducing Nanamin’s wife? Nanamin’s wife cheating on him with Gojo-sensei?

In the brief period he spent with Gojo, Yuji realized that he didn't exactly have a reputation for decency. So despite himself, he could only muster up this one word: “Homewrecker. Homewrecker!”

Yuji’s shriek took all three of you by surprise, and now both you and Gojo were aware of his presence.

“You absolute idiot,” Nobara hissed, face-palming.

“Oh, Yuji? Nobara?” Gojo genially asked, his concern towards you quickly dissolved into a meaningful smirk on his face. “And what do you mean by—?”

Yuji yelped. “You! You are! You’re trying to seduce Nanamin’s wife!”

Silence. Gojo’s eyes twitched beyond his blindfold. You blinked. Nobara wanted to save herself from the second-hand embarrassment. And his loud voice caught the attention of Megumi too, who was close by.

“You seem to be mistaken. First of all, Nanami isn’t married,” Gojo said with a strained voice, maintaining his smile. He then gestured at you, showing you off with pride. “And this here, is my wife.”

“Y-your wife?!” Yuji exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger. “H-how?! I saw her with Nanamin! Talking about a baby—”

“That would be my baby.”

“But how?!”

“Yuji, do you want me to give you a crash course in baby-making—”

“Satoru!”

You sent him a glare and turned to the young first years with a smile. "You must be the new first years? I’m Y/N, and I’m in charge of the second years.” You gestured towards your husband. “And please, ignore most things he says. He’s a bit crass, and if you ever feel he's harassed you, don't hesitate to report it to me."

“Wifey! How could you!”

“Shut up, Satoru! You’re embarrassing yourself!”

“What are you doing here?” Megumi inquired with a deep frown, getting between Yuji and Nobara as they stared at Gojo in total bewilderment.

Yuji exclaimed in disbelief, pointing at you. “Fushiguro! Gojo-sensei’s wife is a beauty!”

“…I know that already.”

Nobara whipped her head towards him. "You knew?! Since when?!"

“They… took me in.”

“THEY WHAT?!”

Gojo grinned at their chorus of surprise. “And what a fine boy he turns out to be, eh?”

Megumi scowled, but Gojo wasn’t bothered at all. If anything, what offended him was—

"What makes you think my dear wife here belongs to Nanami instead of me?" he joked with a mock scoff, earning an eye roll from you.

Nobara and Yuji blurted out their thoughts simultaneously.

“They look good together?”

“Nanamin is dependable?”

Gojo gasped dramatically, one hand flying to his mouth. "So, not only do I not look good with her, but I also don't seem dependable enough?" He turned to you with the most aghast expression. “Tell me that isn’t true—”

You shot him a withering look, deadpanning, “Actually, you might be.”

And Gojo clutched his chest, letting out an anguished cry.

Epilogue

“Satoru… come on, you know I was joking.”

Your dramatic ass of a husband had his head on your lap, hugging your torso tight. The pout on his face hadn’t faded a bit ever since he was done with his class, and now on your marital bed, he was clinging to you with all of his might.

He shook his head petulantly, clicking his tongue. “You’ve embarrassed me in front of my students. You’re so mean!”

You sighed. “I’m sure you have made a fool out of yourself far often. This is insignificant.”

“Hmph! How could you say that?! I don't care if it's me, but I can't believe that it's coming from you! I shower you with my undivided love each and every day!”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Somehow seeing him like this made your heart lurch. He reminded you so much of your baby boy who was sleeping right in the next room that you couldn't resist smiling and pinching his cheeks.

“Okay, okay. My husband is handsome, looks good with me and definitely someone I can rely on,” you relented, and like a lightbulb going off, Satoru suddenly beamed so wide that you were certain his cheeks hurt.

“That’s more like it! Now, now, there’s only one way that can prove how responsible I am! Let me just fill you up with another baby—”

You smacked him on the head.

[katakaluptastrophy]

I think what's so interesting about Gideon as a narrator at the anniversary dinner is the fact that there's clearly tensions that she's just not picking up on because she's only there to eat a dessert.

But these people are all the immensely powerful leaders of the Houses and consider themselves to be in competition for literal godlike powers and the favour of the emperor.

There's so many little snippets that are potentially intriguing: why is Teacher trying to prime the Ninth to consider the Fifth a threat? Why are the Third and the Sixth "sizing each other up like prizefighters"? The Fifth absolutely knew what they were doing when they sat the teen heads of the opposing cults near each other.

Through Gideon's lens, Magnus' speech is a little awkward jokey thing. But...the seneschal of the House that is known to be actively trying to absorb another House is saying it's such a shame they're all so remote from each other and what do they all have in common (and it's so quiet you "could have heard a hair flutter to the floor") - that had to feel a bit different to people who aren't Gideon.

Palamedes' is dissecting the meaning of "Master Warden" and at one point compares it to a prison warden. 'Dulcinea' asking about whether Magnus and Abigail have children is perhaps less small talk and rather more pointedly political. Harrow's apparently stilted conversation with Protesilaus is clearly her actually probing his limitations like he's a bad Chat GPT-run chatbot.

And then 'Dulcinea' tells Gideon she liked the dinner because it was "useful". In her typical "I never lied to you" way, Cyth wasn't lying when she said Abigail had to die because of her hobby - Abigail Pent let loose on the Facility would have risked blowing Cyth's cover sky high. But what does a Canaan House look like where after the dinner party, the Fifth go down to the facility, get a key, and survive to continue their 'the Houses are going to get along or else' agenda? We've seen Fifth House soft power on a smaller scale in HTN: and it looks like inviting a teenager round for coffee, lulling her into a false sense of security with small talk, and then physically preventing her from leaving the room until she does what you want, while smiling the entire time. A series of little coffee chats could probably have led to a lot of cooperation in Canaan House, one way or another.

Gideon jokes about Silas marrying Ianthe because of their similar colour pallete, but it does raise the fact that there seems to be some tension around the Third, its succession, and the *point* of Ianthe. Why is Silas openly saying Ianthe should have died at birth? Combined with Judith's comments in the Cohort Intelligence Files about succession on the Third, it feels like there's something else being said here that Gideon isn't picking up on.

And of course, Harrow wasn't the only one desperate to become a Lyctor because her con was unsustainable. Presumably at some point Corona and Ianthe would be expected to marry, or at least take on more separate roles as Corona prepared to take over the throne and Ianthe was funneled off elsewhere. At some point, their package deal would have become unsustainable and Corona's cover would have been blown. But much as Harrow wants to become a Lyctor so she can reveal the state of the Ninth without repercussions, Ianthe is probably in part motivated to become a Lyctor for the same reason. Because otherwise, what would Ianthe's expected role have been? Amidst the suggestion of anxiety about the Idan succession, the dinner party also presents the fact that the reason Abigail and Magnus' infertility isn't a succession crisis for the ruling family of the Fifth is that Abigail's younger brother dutifully married in his early 20s and had kids. We know there are branch families in Ida - Babs is from one. He may be a prince, but he's not treated well, and you do get the sense that the stakes to stay in power in Ida are high.

We don't learn anything about the political situation in the Houses themselves during HTN or NTN, but in the wake of Canaan House, you have to suspect there are a number of tensions and concerns.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Sergei Kravinoff x mutant fem!reader

Summary: Sergei is captured and his only source of salvation and light is the young woman who visits him every day to bring him food and heal his wounds.

Genre: hurt and comfort <3

Warnings: reader has healing abilities, kidnapping, torture, blood, violence, drugging, shitty men, protective!Sergei

~ thank you 💜anon for this idea! i didn't make it smut but i hope you like it anyways ~

SERGEI KRAVINOFF MASTERLIST

The Hunter. They'd captured The Hunter by. 

That was all you knew from the hushed whispers as they guarded your door. His name caused excitement around the compound and your curiosity was piqued. You stand from your small cot, limping over as the blood from your leg spills from the bandages. You press your palm against your door, catching snippets of the conversation in Russian, as you hold your breath. 

When you hear the latch to your door snap, you stumble back. The man with the scar enters, a smirk on his face. "Ah, you're up. Good. We have a new guest. You know what to do," he walks over and caresses your cheek, causing you to flinch, and he glances down at your leg. "And don't let him get close to you, not like the last one. Understand, pet? Cleaning you up was a fuckin' mess."

You nod, earning you a light tap on your cheek as he gestures for his men to come in with a tray of food.

The Hunter's cell is grim and dark, the drip of water from the ceiling is heard in the corner. Your eyes widen when you see him. He's suspended from his arms, rusty chains digging into his skin. He's shirtless, scratches and gashes of various stages litter his back and shoulders. He's breathing deeply as you walk in. He turns his head a little, catching your eyes and he lets out a sharp laugh, spitting out more blood.

"Is this some kind of joke?" He coughs up more blood, seeing the food on the tray. You circle to the front, resting the tray on the ground as you look up at him again. "They send you in to do the dirty work, принцесса (princess)?" 

You don't answer him, instead glancing at the security of the chains holding him. They're strong. Unbreakable you would guess and you look into his eyes again. You tear some of the bread and stand up, walking closer. Unlike many other prisoners, this one doesn't immediately lunge for you. He seems to be keeping his strength, simply observing your movements. You hold out the bread for him to bite out of your hand, but he spits blood at your shoes instead. 

"I don't need your food," he growls and tugs on the chains, turning his torso as he hisses in pain. You see a large gash on his side and your expression softens. You're here to heal him, at least so he doesn't die until he gives them the information they want.   

"I can help," you whisper, walking forward and reaching your hand to touch his side. The man inhales, readying himself to push you down—to do anything. He doesn't trust you. However, that plan falls through when he sees a glimpse of the bruising on your cheek. Someone has already hit you. He falters and then he gasps when your cold hand presses against the wound. 

"Shh," you soothe, bracing yourself, "this will only hurt for a moment. I promise."

"What are you—"

He grunts, feeling something sting and turns his head as best he can, twisting his torso. You pull your hand away, revealing the mostly healed wound. It's still badly bruised and you explain; "I can't heal the bruising. I c-can only help the process."

You sound scared of him and he looks back over to you, eyes dark. You just healed him. He looks at your hand and he sees that they're shaking. His eyebrows scrunch as he examines you. You're breathing heavily, looking exhausted. 

It drained you. 

Suddenly, there is a loud bang on the door, and a man's voice booms into the room and orders you back out in Russian. You catch your breath, holding out the bread for the man to take. You still want him to eat at least a little. Once he reluctantly eats the bread from your hand, you grab the tray and hurry out the door. 

The man hears the shout and he grimaces, pulling on his chains again. The wound doesn't hurt as much and his head is reeling from what had just happened. 

Who were you?

* * *

The next time Sergei sees you, he's chained to the wall, blood trickling down the side of his head. He hears the door enter and he smells you instantly. You smell sweet, not like the men who come in who stink of death and sweat. He turns his head, cracking a smile, as blood drips from his mouth. You set the tray down, kneeling in front of him on the dirty ground. Sergei's smile drops when he sees more bruising around your cheeks. They're hurting you too. His blood boils and he tries to fight against the chains once more, his body weak. 

He watches you silently as you take a syringe from the tray. Your hand is trembling and you look up at him. He knows what the liquid is, usually the men administer it when they torture him. It weakens him, making it impossible for him to break the chains that hold him in place. He growls like a hurt animal and you rest your hand on his arm. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper, testing the syringe as the green liquid pours out and drips onto the ground. "They think you'll put up less of a fight if it's me—" 

Sergei narrows his eyes, the gold irises flickering underneath the surface, and he snarls; "Don't do this," he says but you gently push his head to the side, your hand on his forehead as you sink the needle into his neck. He grunts. No wonder the men are asking you to do this; it's dangerous for you. He could easily turn his head and bite you in this position. Usually, they prick him in the leg or somewhere safe that still works, but not as well as it could. They're becoming impatient it seems and they're now willing to turn you into a pawn. Perhaps, that's the reason he doesn't hurt you. He knows what that's like.

"I'm really sorry," you sob, holding his head as your hand trembles even more. Once the liquid is gone, you pull away. He looks calmer now, the drug already working. You drop the syringe and break some more bread. "Please eat," you whisper, pressing the stale bread to his lips, as if trying to counteract the drug by feeding him.    

He opens his eyes, reluctantly listening to you as he eats a bite. "They're hurting you too," he says and you shift uncomfortably, avoiding his intense glare. "Why? And why can't you heal yourself?" He'd noticed your limp the moment you walked and smelled the blood from your knee, even underneath your pants. You're injured. 

You sit back, touching the bruising along your eye, and look up at him. "You aren't the only prisoner they give that horrid liquid to," you whisper, looking at the syringe and then tilting your head and showing him the needle mark on your neck. "They like m-my ability, but only in moderation—"

Sergei groans, his chest burning with anger. He shakes his head when he sees you begin to clean up. "Who? Who are they?! Who has me!? I can help you—if you—wait—stop—" he watches you walk out helplessly. He groans again from the pain in his side as he shifts his position. Sergei realizes you haven't healed him today. He supposes that would go against the point of the fucking drug. 

Hours later, when he finally falls asleep, all he dreams of is you. 

* * *

"What is your name?" Sergei asks one evening as you run a warm cloth on his face, wiping away the dried blood from the beating he'd received. He hasn't cracked yet, not that he will. You startle a little, not expecting him to ask you that question. You glance up, meeting his gaze, and you whisper your name. 

"Kraven," he introduces. He wants to tell you his real name, but he doesn't know if he can fully trust you. Sergei winces when you swipe your hand across a cut on his cheek, healing the small wound. He pulls against the chains keeping his arms up. He groans, realizing it's useless. "How long have you been here, Y/n?"

You move to rub the cloth on his bare torso, going even quieter. "A year."

"Do you have a family?"

You shrug, turning away and preparing that damned drug again. The men have given up administering it and have charged you with that task instead. Sergei grimaces and when you look up, your hand gently turning his head like it always does, he doesn't fight you. Instead, he whispers, "Y/n, don't give it to me. I can get us both out of here. I won't hurt you. I promise." He's not entirely sure how long he's been here but he's desperate now. He locks eyes with you, almost pleasing. 

You wrap your arm around his nape, shifting and your voice shakes when you whisper, "They're watching. There is a camera— it can't hear us but it can see us." 

Sergei winces, feeling you prepare the syringe; however, he pauses when he looks to the side and sees that the needle is near the bare skin of your arm, the one covering his nape. "They make sure it's g-gone, this is the only way. Will your powers regenerate in one night?"

Sergei nods, his blue eyes are wide and he's a little alarmed when you administer the drug to yourself.

"They're watching us. Please, you have to pretend I gave it to you if you want this to work." 

"Will the drug hurt you?" he asks, knowing you're purposefully hiding what you're doing to the camera in the corner of the ceiling. 

You shake your head, pulling away and hiding the mark on your arm with your sleeve. "No– I just won't be able to use my powers for a while. It's okay. That's all it does. That's what it's been doing to you—weakening you." You gather your supplies with shaking hands as Sergei breathes heavily, keeping his body calm as you said. 

"I won't let them hurt you again," Sergei promises before you leave. You turn around to look at him, your eyes sad, as he whispers, "I'll find you, принцесса (princess)."

* * * 

"Wake up, Hunter." Sergei hears a loud bang as a metal pipe slams against the wall near his head. His eyes shoot open, his body not feeling as weak anymore and his gaze locks onto the two men who've been torturing him these past days. His eyes narrow and his hand twitches in the chains but his heart leaps when one of the men, the one with the scar on his lip, pulls you from behind the other man, his hand in your hair. "We have some exciting news," the man sings-songs and adds, "since ya seem so fond of each other."

Sergei's eyes frantically bounce from your scared expression to the men holding you, his jaw clenching. 

"Since you don't quite break when we break you, we must change our method, you understand," the other man laughs, unsheathing a knife and running it in your hair. You squeeze your eyes shut, controlling your breathing. "Now, if you continue not to give us anything, we'll just have to break your little girlfriend instead. And," the man laughs, "we promise with the damage we'll cause she won't have time to heal herself—"

Sergei's eyes narrow. The men are too busy laughing at the tears that fall from your eyes to notice the glimmer of gold behind his irises—but you do. You hold your breath, unsure what's about to happen but you know it can't be good considering that the drug you'd been giving him for the past week had faded so quickly. Sergei licks his lips, his sharp fangs showing for a second before he lunges for the men, the chains previously holding him easily ripping. 

You gasp, falling to the ground as you grasp the floor, scooting to the opposite side of the room, pressing your back to the wall as you watch as Kraven tears into one of the men's throats, growling like an animal would. You scream, covering your eyes with shaky hands as gunshots ring out and you hear more growls and ripping.  

Once the scream stops, you feel someone's presence over you. You peek through your fingers, your gaze stuck on the splatter of blood across his features. His eyes have returned to their normal blue and he crouches down, like an animal showing its submission as his knuckles skim your cheeks and wipe away your tears.

"Are you okay?" He mutters, his voice hoarse. You nod hesitantly and when he scoops his hand under your knees and your back, you accept and wrap your arms around his neck. 

"I'm here," he whispers. 

Your hands tremble and you nod, finding your voice as you squeeze your eyes shut again so you don't see the lifeless bodies he'd left in his wake as he walks to the exit. However, you can't bring yourself to feel pity; those men had tortured him. And they'd tortured you for even longer. "Thank you, Kraven," you say quietly and he holds you tighter. 

"Sergei," he says, "My name is Sergei."

You hum, resting your eyes as your head falls onto his chest. When you open your eyes again, you're in a truck. Sergei is on the phone, talking in Russian, and you understand snippets of his conversation. You're buckled in, your head resting on the passenger window as the headlights from the other cars blind you. You groan, your head is pounding. "You slept for hours, is that normal,  принцесса (princess)?" Sergei asks, putting his phone in his pocket as he continues to drive. 

"Where are we?"

"Russia," Sergei says and he looks at you with a worried expression, "We've always been in Russia—did you not know where they were holding you?" You shake your head, a little embarrassed. You really didn't know. Sergei clicks his tongue and runs a hand over his face. He's cleaned himself up, the blood is gone and he looks in much better form. He senses you staring and he looks over, "I made some calls. My brother—he has connections," he tells you, explaining the truck. 

"Where are you taking me?" you ask quietly. 

Sergei's eyes narrow. "My home," he pauses, "just so you can rest, I'm not sure how long that drug will last on you, but once you're better, I can take you home."

"Home," you whisper and look down at your lap, picking at your nails. "I have no home."

Sergei is quiet as he looks at the road again. "Well, you can stay with me then. I'll take care of you." 

Silence looms over you as the truck rolls along icy roads, the hum of the engine filling the air. You glance at Sergei again, your gaze softening. He looks different now—calmer, more composed, less weak and frazzled. His knuckles are no longer bloodied, his breaths even now, and yet, there is something simmering underneath, like a fire that hasn't quite burned out.

"You really don't have to do that," you tell him, staring out the window. "You have already done enough."

He just chuckles, low and rough. "Enough? I went through hell, принцесса (princess), I'm not stopping now." He glances at you, his eyes sharp as they lock onto yours and his voice almost wavers when he says. "You saved me first. I owe you."

You press your lips together, unsure how to respond. He sounds so serious, as if nothing you say would sway him. You decide not to speak. Your body is heavy with exhaustion, the aftermath of the drug still dulling your senses. You sigh and shut your eyes, leaning your head against the window again as the lights from outside lull you asleep.

Once the truck finally stops, you wake to the sound of Sergei opening your door. Snow crunches under his boots as he reaches in and effortlessly lifts you into his arms again, ignoring your half-hearted protests. 

"Stop fussing, will you," he mutters, his voice softer now. "You're still weak."

The large house he carries you into is cool, the scent of pine and something faintly sweet greeting you. It's a small but comfortable cabin, filled with old family trinkets and photos of a family of four; two young boys sitting on their mother's knee.

Sergei wordlessly sets you down on a couch, draping a blanket over your shoulders before crouching and starting a well-needed fire. Once the flames crackle, he turns and his hands hover over your knees, uncertain, as if he's not surewhere to begin. 

Finally, he lifts his arms and brushes some hair back from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Rest," he commands. His tone is calm and serious but the corners of his mouth twitch upward as if he's hiding a small smile. "I will make us food."

You still don't say a word as you watch him retreat to the kitchen, the tension in your chest easing for the first time in a long while. The danger is gone, replaced with a warmth you haven't felt. You glance around the room and you realize that for the first time in a long long time, you feel completely safe.

You smile softly, watching the fire burn and listening to Sergei walk around the kitchen. 

[moon-ttokki-x]

♡ ‧₊ ot8!𝗌𝗄𝗓 𝗏𝖺𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌' 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅 ‧₊ .ᐟ

pairing: ot8!skz x reader imagines

summary: just a snippet of what i think skz would do for you on valentines' day

genre: pretty cute and sappy, lots of fluff, slight crack, mentions of eating

a/n: yet another year of having no valentine, but at least i can buy chocolate half off

Chan who surprises you and shows up at your door with a bouquet of flowers and an outstretched hand. He's in a dark fitted suit, handsome as always, and there's a big smile on his face as he runs off the cheesiest pick up lines, handing you a singular rose as he does. He waits in your living room while you get ready and then offers his arm as you both walk to his car. He takes you to a classic night out, a candlelit dinner in some city restaurant, the lights low and ambient music swirling around your heads. Hushed giggles and feeding each other bites of food are done over intertwined hands.

"You look beautiful under the lights, baby. Here, eat some more..."

♡

Minho who pretends to forget what day it is and leaves you feeling a little downcast. That is, until you're in your office working and the cats walk in, each holding a rose of a different colour; one red, one pink, and one white. He appears at the door with a smirk on his face and strokes your hair as you whine about him pretending to forget. The roses are clutched tightly in your hands as he leads you to the kitchen, where there's a small arrangement of gifts. He isn't one for grand gestures but you're satisfied and cosy, sitting in his lap as you open little trinkets, the cats watching on.

"You're so cute when you whine. You really thought I forgot, huh?"

♡

Changbin who is also a hopeless romantic, who is endlessly in love with you, who shows up to your workplace with a hand full of heart-shaped helium balloons and a big grin on his face. He loudly declared his love for you in front of your coworkers, completely unashamed, and watches with a massive, cute smile on his face as you turn the colour of the balloons he's holding. But the gigantic, warm, though slightly crushing hug he gives you is warmer than your cheeks.

"Happy Valentines Day, bunny! Here- Ah, your face has gone so red..."

♡

Hyunjin who told you to show up at his apartment at exactly six o clock dressed in something classy but comfortable. He blindfolds you as soon as he opens the door and leads you to his living room, where he's set up two canvases opposite each other. There's a platter full of finger food, two glasses and a bottle of some fancy drink he took from the company. He's hung fairy lights around the room and he watches affectionately as you show him your slightly messy impression of the love of your life. His is much better, but he kisses you anyway and says he'll hang it in his room above the bed.

"You're so talented, my love. I'm going to hang it up right away..."

♡

Jisung who pretty much kidnaps you as soon as your shift at work ends, telling you to dress in one of his hoodies. When you come out of his room, he's set up a massive mess of pillows, cushions, and fluffy blankets in front of the TV, which is set up to play a game. He hands you a controller and tells you he's ordered so much food. You know he's done it so you can both spend time together without it ending in the kitchen burning down, but it's appreciated nonetheless. He lets you beat him every time and watches you sit up in victory and cheer at his defeat, your fingers covered in cheesy french fry salt.

"Aww, jagi, you keep beating me. When did you get so good at this?"

♡

Felix who, when you come home, surprises you by setting up a few things in the kitchen so you can both bake and make a few things together. He sets up bowls of chocolate and lets you add the food colouring, turning each bowl pink and red. You both dip strawberries and candied orange slices into the bowls, dripping chocolate over the counter before laying them on a tray to set. You mix the rest of the chocolate together and pour them into heart-shaped molds, marbling the colours together with fingertips stained pink.

"Sunflower, we made such a mess! At least the counter isn't stained pink..."

♡

Seungmin who takes you shopping to the cutest little pop up store, telling you to dress in pink, cream, and white. He meets you at your door and holds your hand as he drives you both there, letting you browse excitedly amongst the shelves for mini figures and plushies. You both come home loaded with a ton of accessories, cuddly toys, and matching items. He then sets up pink lights around your bathroom mirror and takes a whole album's worth of selfies with you.

"I like these necklaces... come on, let's be matching. It'd be cute..."

♡

Jeongin who takes you to the arcade and doesn't even try to let you win. It turns into a competition of who can do the best and he keeps kissing you while you're playing the games so you lose your focus. He teases you each time and promises to let you win the next time. He doesn't, and it's all in good fun until you whine about him being too competitive. He just kisses you again and makes it up to you by taking you for a night-time joyride before stopping at a petrol station, where you both buy convenience store snacks and lie on his car roof, talking about everything.

"Look at all the pretty stars up there. I think you shine way brighter..."

a/n: happy valentines' day to all of my loves ♡ !

[fanaticsnail]

"Good Boy"

Masterlist here

Word count: 3,200+

Synopsis: Eustass Kid didn't know exactly when it happened, but now he craves to be praised by you. He thrives beneath your words, but the one time you didn't call him a "good boy" has him in a bratty rage.

Themes: mutual pining, kid x gn!reader, fluffy, praise kink Kid, he just wants to be a good boy, no kisses just praise.

Notes: it's past 1am where I am, and I physically couldn't get to sleep until I got this request by @remisloves out of my mind. It's all about praise and softening rough characters lately with me. Good night everyone! Sweet blorbo dreams

Tag list: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @feral-artistry @carrotsunshine

A shudder erupted from the base of Eustass Kid's spine to the top of his cranium. Downturning his chin, he attempted to disguise how wide his smile had risen to his lips beneath the shadow of his blast goggles. 

Never one to shy away from a challenge, Captain Kid pushed himself to the absolute limit to best his latest opponent. Blood dripping from his body, his bones bent to the point of nearly breaking. The weight of his metal arm overencumbered his body, his brute strength no longer enough to propel his legs forward. 

Successful at last, he claimed their loot in their vast treasury, selecting a few key pieces that caught his eye to present back to you: a former thief, his ships’ appraiser, and now his curator of chronological dialogue, items and routines. 

What would possess this hulking captain to risk his body and his crew to collect this small piece of art to present to you? Why would he ever risk such a heavy physical toll for a mere trinket? 

Because he was a good boy. 

And you always informed him as such.

While Kid saw no need for a chronicler initially, he very quickly warmed to the idea of maintaining one on his payroll. When Massacre Soldier Killer suggested a small snippet of their adventures be cataloged in journals, Kid never knew that reading the words back would prompt a rapid boil beneath his skin. A craving. A need. 

Seeing those words scribed on paper held him hostage. Those doting, praising, uplifting words that held such passionate composition regarding his exploits; they pushed him to go further, drive harder, propell longer in his adventures. This was all in an attempt to dream of seeing more of those beautiful words describing him articulated upon paper. 

Well, his exploits at least. 

Most of all, he craved to hear them depart from your lips. You managed to slip a single verbalized expression of praise once upon his return from doing a menial task. Since then, he was hooked on the rush it brought him. 

“Oh, wow! Captain, you've done so well! So unbelievably well!” was that first door opening to the praise he needed. 

That small snippet from you, was all well and good in his opinion. He did enjoy your recognition of his talent, but it was not what he craved the most. 

And what he wanted the most, was to be told he was, “a good boy.” 

He couldn't explain it, but the thought of hearing those words flee from your lips had his eyelids half-hooded, eyes glazed, pupils blackened and blown, and a droopy smile lazily draw itself up onto his lips. 

You had only ever come close one time to praising him personally, rather than the talent of his exploits. He felt the flutter of his heart rapidly igniting his veins with adrenaline, screaming with his eyes for you to utter the words he so desperately craved. 

And you said it. 

You finally said it today. 

His feet thumped upon the wooden deck, after he hoisted himself over the small opening on the side of the ship. The ‘away team' had finally assembled together and began greeting those who remained behind. 

Rushing to greet your Captain, he shot you a reciprocated, triumphant and winning smile, while happily presenting a small object up to you in the center of his right, flesh hand. 

“You found it? You actually found it?” your eyes widened, reaching your hand out to Kid's extended right palm. His body was still dripping with the blood of his enemies, a visible shake in his fingertips as he elevated the trinket up to you. 

“It nearly cost me my other arm,” he winced through the words, his forearm beginning to twitch beneath the strain of his exhaustion, “But I brought it back for you-...” he halted his words, pondering whether it was now time to make his affections known or not “...-to add to the collection.”

“For me?” your eyes widened, looking at the shiny and ornate gold filigree design. In the center of the flattened piece lay a single garnet: small, something one would cast aside should more items be presented. But to you, a prized piece in an antique collection you had been dedicating your life to find. 

“It's the missing piece, yeah?” Kid smirked, huffing through his words as the rest of the crew assembled atop the Victoria Punk, “The one you told us about last Friday?”

“Honestly, Captain, I don't remember half of what happened last Friday,” you confessed sheepishly, up turning your brows as your fingers brushed against his palm, “You'd think my liver would be able to tolerate being aboard your ship, drinking that slosh alongside the crew by now.”

He barked a cracked cackle at your confession, prompting your own to rise in your chest. His laugh was contagious, a laugh that could be felt through his whole body springing and vibrating up within your own. 

“Thank you, captain,” you expressed your deepest gratitude to the taller man, your head nodding in praise, “You don't know what this means to me.”

After a moment's pause, he looked down at the object before bringing his whisky-coloured eyes back up to meet with your own. He inhaled a shaken breath, baited and waiting within his lungs while anticipating his next words. 

“S-So,” he stuttered over his words, scolding himself under his own anxiety, “Did I do good? Is this the one you needed? Am I a-...” he didn't want to lead you into giving him the praise he desperately sought, but didn't want to not hear it either. 

With all the patience you could muster upon such a triumphant moment in your life, you prompted him with your eyes to have him complete his sentence. 

“...Am I a good-...” trying so, so hard to say the final word, he physically couldn't have them pass his lips, “...-Captain?” He mentally slapped himself, knowing that those were not the words he craved and how stupid that must've made him sound. 

You took a moment to carefully think about your next words, noticing how bruised he was, how bloody his knuckles were, how a lot of the crew that went with him on this private ‘away mission' were faring upon return. 

“Of course you are. You captain us extremely well, sir,” you uttered with a soft smile, “I'll adjust my findings accordingly in the journals, if I may be excused?” 

A small puff of air flew from his lips, defeat almost tangibly thick as it shrouded his shoulders with its presence. He looked away after giving his nod of dismissal, his gaze fixed on the wood of the deck below his feet. 

Your smile widened, claiming the object from his palm and holding your hand within his for a moment longer, before withdrawing completely. Fluttering your eyes over each fixed point of concern on his features, you searched for what his body seemed to be screaming for. 

Thanking him with a curt nod, you turned on your heel and abruptly halted your next step. 

At this moment, it fully dawned on you exactly the words your Captain wanted to hear. Eustass Kid, captain of the Kid pirates, champion and leader of the Victoria punk, devil-fruit user and wielder of Haki… had a praise kink. And he wanted you to praise him. 

A playful smile spread like warm honey up your cheeks, a scrunch in your nose as you rolled your next words over your tongue. You turned your head over your shoulder, guarding your intentions close to your chest as you spoke two words that almost had your Captain fall on his knees in gratitude. 

“Good boy.”

From that moment on, he was simply smitten. No matter what he did, whether it was aiding his crew with carrying supplies, carrying out great acts of violence, defending his Nakama from their enemies, or simply finishing his vegetables at meal time - he would look to you in anticipation, that anticipation being met with those two simple words. 

“Good boy.”

They echoed within his mind, swirling around within the chasms of his brain as slumber eluded him. He did not mind in the slightest having his lack of rest consumed with praises departing from your lips. 

Your voice plagued him, haunted him as a spectral ghost would hunt down their unfinished business. He did not mind such a haunting, in fact: he wanted more. He wanted to have more praise, more compliments, more of your verbal, beautiful words crying out from your perfect lips. 

He was smitten, completely smitten, by your compliments. The way your talented tongue made his name sound, the way your lips curved up in a knowing smirk each time you told him he was a ‘good boy.’

Until the day you didn't. 

Eustass Kid was in a foul mood, one that nobody knew the cause nor the cure for such a horrid, stampeding mess of a captain. Food, ales, meads, even gold - nothing appeared to pry him from his raging temper. Breaking tankards, tipping over tables, scattering documents on his captains’ desk, nothing was safe from the wrath he was wreaking on the furniture. 

Hunched over your desk, you continued cataloging and appraising the latest haul of trinkets and treasures thrust into your office. It was overwhelming for you, the sheer number of items scattered around your room. You attempted to alphabetize them, sort them accordingly and lump them into itemized piles. 

The toll the elevation of work raised onto your shoulders had you dismiss all those who presented you with various finds, including your Captain. He rocked on the ball and heels of his feet, eagerly awaiting and anticipating his sought-after praise - but found nothing but an anxious sigh and scratch of your neck in response to his hard labor. 

This was the reason for his intense rage.

After leaving your office, and selfishly paying no mind to your exhausted expression, he began to spiral.  

“He was so good. Why didn't you tell him he was? Was there something he could've done better? Something he could've pushed harder to strive for?” all circled within his mind as he tore piece after piece of his office apart. 

Several hours had passed, and you carved a hefty chunk of your work apart and managed to get a fair bit done. It was nowhere near complete, but it had you feeling a sense of anxious accomplishment. 

A knock at the door prompted you to raise your chin, eyes panicked and overwhelmed with the amount of work still required to be completed before mealtime. 

“Need help?” The light flickered off the cerulean and pearl colored mask of the first mate, who peeked his head around the doorframe. 

“Please,” you sighed, gesturing to your position kneeling on the ground beside you. Killer promptly entered your office, crouching beside you and sifting through the uncharted treasures still needing to be sorted. 

“What we up to?” he elevated his hand, gesturing out to the various piles in front of you both, “I think I see where they need to go. You written down them all?”

“All recorded in the book, down to the last drooped earpiece,” you confirmed, nodding to the mess in the center of the room, “They just need to be put in the right piles, locked in the treasury, and then we can call it a night. Maybe have an ale, if you're up for it, Kil?”

After a moment's pause, both of you rolling the items in your fingertips and placing them within the according: gold, silver, platinum, gemstone, raw material, ceramic, wearable materials, and weaponry piles. 

“Leave this with me,” Killer uttered, placing a throwing knife within the weaponry stack, “And you go and perform your other job.”

“What other job?” your brows knit with confusion, “I've already done the journalling of the exploits, the timetabling of the crew shift-changes, notarizing the stock we need within the kitchen-.”

“-Oh, no, buckaroo,” you could audibly hear the smirk behind Killer's mask as he teased you, “the other one. The one nobody pays you to do.”

“Which is, champ?” you taunted in return, nudging him with your shoulder roughly against his, “Be specific.”

“The one where you-...” he took this brief pause as an opportunity to sigh in huffed frustration, “...-where you tell our captain he's a good boy. Although, in his current state,” Killer rotated his neck to relieve the tension on his shoulders, “I might even go so far as to suggest you call him a bad one, considering that's exactly how he's behaving.”

Your confusion knit your brow down in the center of your face, your mind focussing on when the last time you praised the puppy you had turned your Captain into. 

“Oh, fuck! I didn't praise him when he brought in the loot!” your eyes widened in shock, promptly rising to your feet and brushing over your pants, “I just got so overwhelmed by the sheer bloody number, I couldn't think of anything else. Oh, I'm an idiot.”

“You're not an idiot,” Killer interrupted you, rising to his own feet and cupping your shoulders in an attempt to halt the rise in your anxiety, “Hell, you're not even dating him. It shouldn't be your job-,” he brushed over your shirt, adjusting the crumpled material to make it more appealing to the eye. 

“-Yet here you are,” he concluded, nodding at you before glancing down at the piles of treasure, “And here I am: the first-mate, the best friend, the confidant. The one who is unable to tear him away from his absolutely shit-house mood, because all he wants is you.”

You attempted to stifle the warm flush that drew itself up to your cheeks. Captain Kid was a tall, broad and intimidating man - those were the three assessments you initially made when you were hired to serve aboard the Victoria Punk. Then you got to know him, and were made privy to truly see who he was beneath the surface. 

The twinkle behind the feral rage, the purity in his unbridled emotions, the lack of restraint in all his advances: you adored him. When he began to seek out your praises, you were immediately swooning at his attention. 

He wanted your words, not just due to the fact words were your job, but because he wanted you to speak them. Just to speak his praises to be granted the luxury of a light tingle in his ears, a blush rise to his cheeks and a smile decorating his lips with such beautiful words. 

Now within the doorframe of your captain's office, you arched your brow and crossed your arms. Leaning on the wooden panel, you continued to watch his chest rise and fall with each exasperated and berzerk breath. Your eyes never left his body, each arch of his back and ripple of his muscles straining under the taut fabrics atop his shoulders. 

“All this because I didn't call you a good boy?” you addressed him in a low and dangerous tone. His feral eyes snapped over to you, widening as he truly witnessed the devastation in the destruction in his office. 

“You've been a bad boy, I see,” you continued in your dark tone, promptly stepping into his office and closing the door behind you, “Look at all this mess. Tsk, naughty.” 

The click of your tongue had Kid arching his back, straightening his spine as he bit back a soft whimper. His brows triangulated in the center of his face, bottom lip now quivering under the weight of your disciplinary tone. 

Circling his body, fingers brushing against his large right hand beside his hip as you leaned into him. You shook your head, stooping down and beginning to collect the paper, stationary, tankards, and paperweights that had been flung against the floor. 

Before you could say a following, disciplinary word, Kid immediately fell onto his knees and began hurriedly picking up the items he threw onto the ground beside you. 

“I-I’ll pick it all up,” he nodded his head as to confirm his words further, “I'll tidy up all this shit. Please, I-I’m sorry. I just-.”

“-Just wanted to be praised, hm?” you hummed at him. He hid his head from view, his painted lips pouting while his eyes held their attention firmly against the mess. 

He nodded, the weight of finally admitting his craving lifting off his chest and shoulders as he received the items you were holding atop the stack he was forming. 

“Tidy up your mess, handsome,” you smiled, elevating your right hand to capture his pointed chin within your thumb and index finger, “I'll watch every step you take, and let you know how good you're being, if you do it properly.”

Kid’s breath caught in his lungs, a pink dust settled against his cheeks and ears. He hurriedly rose to his feet, up-turning his askew desk and dusting off his captains’ chair. He extended it outwards, wordlessly and politely gesturing for you to take a seat. 

“My, my,” you commented, rising to your feet and accepting his invitation, “Such a gentleman, you're being. But, you've gotta’ work a little bit harder to earn that title you crave.”

Captain Eustass Kid was a dutiful, whimpering puppy under your watchful eyes. He was, almost, happily rearranging all of the objects he had thrown askew. He even took the time to appropriately categorize the pages he didn't complete prior to his little tantrum.

“Hm, very good. Well done picking up after yourself.” He blushed further at your words, but craved so much more. 

“Oh, look at how much time you're taking on that bookshelf. I can even see how clean you're making each of the panels. Look at you go, big boy.” That praise had him whimpering, his eyes fluttering shut as he continued to clean in silence. 

“So strong, picking up that heavy weight all by yourself. So proud of you.” He could not stop the audible gasp, nor the rush of blood seeping to places they had no business in flooding to at that moment. 

He completed all this while glancing over his shoulder and thriving beneath the giddy feeling rushing to his chest upon being the center of your unwavering gaze. 

Upon the last paperweight being placed and straightened atop his desk, he knelt between your knees and glanced up into your eyes. He looked innocent of all wrongdoing, all prior anger and malice fleeing from within his silent pleading. 

He was desperate for those words, those two simple little words that he so yearned for. Noseying up further between your knees, his shuddering metal and flesh hands cautiously placed themselves gently on your calves. 

Soft and slow circles were traced against your legs, his eyes never leaving yours as they began twinkling with hope. All his mind was screaming, silently and internally, was a simple repetition of: “Please, please, please. Say it, say it, say it.”

And you obliged him by leaning down, caressing his left, scarred cheek and drawing your lips close enough to taste the tingle of his breath upon your skin. Hovering before contact was made, you floated your gaze between his whisky-hued orbs and his parted lips with a soft smile. 

“Good boy.”

[chdarling]

ok so, I can't, like, set a precedent for every time there is a catastrophic event in my country I post a TLE spoiler because let's be real, that's gonna be every day for the next four years at least and I only have so many non-major-spoilery TLE bits to share. But I'm making my way through an emergency bottle of prosecco and texting my friends about how in the face of the endless onslaught of late stage capitalism, fanfic -- a community built purely around love and joy and not a single drop of money being exchanged -- is in a small way something radical and precious and dare I say holy (did I mention I was drunk) and that should be honored on today of all fucking days, and ALSO we should all spend less time staring at gifs of that evil-ass motherfucker doing nazi salutes and more time crafting joy and creating community with each other so

here is a lil snippet from TLE3

as with all my spoiler snippets, I reserve the right to completely rewrite this before the final draft because honestly this was mostly an exercise in me learning how to craft sentences again mid-burnout, but!!!! here, have a lil moment of joy, maybe. i love you.

Excerpt from The Last Enemy: Marauders’ End

“So, what do you think?”

Sirius turned expectantly to his best mate, who stood beside him as the boys peered through the doorway of Sirius’s second bedroom. The room had been unoccupied at the time of Sirius moving into this flat a few weeks ago. Now…it decidedly was not.

“Er…” said James, who did not quite seem to know how to answer the question.

“Her name is Lola,” Sirius added in a reverent tone.

“She has a name, does she?”

“Of course she has a name, you pig.”

“Right,” said James. “Well, then frankly, I’m a bit hurt you moved out and left me for Lola.”

Sirius knocked his shoulder against James’s. “Come on. I didn’t leave you. We’ve been over this. I’m of age, I was going to have to get my own place eventually.”

“Yeah, okay, sure, but you barely made it a month before you shacked up with your new flatmate, Lola.”

Sirius grinned. “She’s sexy, isn’t she?”

“She’s…very shiny.”

“She’s the goddamn love of my life.”

“Okay, ‘she’ is a motorbike, mate. You’ve gone completely batty.”

Sirius laughed and strode further into the room where indeed the Muggle motorbike had been set up, dominating the space. It was a thing of beauty, all sleek lines and silver glint. The floor around the motorbike was haloed with the detritus of Sirius’s last few delicious days: all sorts of mechanical bits and bobs, empty beer bottles, an ashtray, a crumpled up bag of crisps, a few oily rags, and a confusion of Muggle tools, the names of which Sirius kept mixing up — a socket wrench, he thought that one was called. The spare bed that had once been the primary feature of this room — a springy mattress James had transfigured for the nights he was too pissed to apparate home (“Mum won’t mind, she put the security spells on your flat herself.”) — had been shoved into the corner to make room for this new sacred altar.

James did not seem as impressed with Sirius’s new acquisition as he felt his friend ought to be. “You’re just jealous,” Sirius told him, “that you’ve never known a love so true.”

“Ha. Touché.”

Sirius pulled a rag from his back pocket and began to lovingly polish a spot on the seat of the motorbike.

“You know,” said James, still observing from his post at the doorway, “I’m not sure it’s healthy, you spending so much time by yourself.”

“What time by myself?” laughed Sirius. “You’re here almost every day.”

This was true. Hardly a day had passed so far this summer that James hadn’t found a reason to come by. Not that Sirius minded. Though he’d never admit it, he liked living on his own rather less than he’d expected.

“Yeah, well…” James strode closer to inspect the motorbike. “Someone has to make sure you don’t go completely bonkers, all on your own here. Lola, I ask you. You know, if you start talking to the bike, mate, I’m hauling you off to St. Mungo’s too.”

Sirius leaned down and whispered to the handlebars: “Don’t listen to the mean man, Lola. I’d never leave you.”

James sat down on the spare bed with a mournful creak. “Besides,” he said, “Potter House is too quiet now, with you gone and dad all…entombed. Some days I think if I don’t get out, I’m the one who will go bonkers.”

Sirius turned back to his friend, suddenly somber. “Hey, you know I’m just joking, right? You’re always welcome over here. I love having you here.”

“Yeah,” said James, though the faintest tint of melancholy compromised his credulity. Sirius watched as James plucked an oil-stained rag from the bed, sniffed it, then tossed it aside with a wrinkled nose.

“How are things…?” Sirius ventured. “With your dad?” Fleamont Potter’s health had been in steady decline for years, but last Christmas things had taken a turn for the worse. The diagnosis seemed to be simply that he was old…though Sirius had a hard time wrapping his head around that. “Have things gotten any better?”

“No,” said James shortly. “And they’re not going to. It is what it is.” He glared at the wall for a brief moment, then sighed — a deep, intentional sigh, as though exhaling all his miseries in order to transform himself back to Sirius’s good-natured friend. “So…does she work?”

“The fuck d’you mean, ‘does she work?’”

“Well,” said James, “it hasn’t escaped my notice that the bike is in your spare bedroom, rather than, say, on the street. So either you and Lola have a far kinkier relationship than I care to know about…or she doesn’t work.”

A pause.

“She’s a work in progress, okay?”

“Knew it,” grinned James.

“Hey, have some respect,” said Sirius. “I’m fixing her up myself. It’s far cooler than just buying some shiny toy from a shop. This is my bike. Mine. I’ll make her fly, just you wait.” He stroked the bike handle. “Isn’t that right, Lola?”

“Yep,” sighed James. “Completely bonkers.”

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BLACK NOIR | EARVING (the boys)

—

“Promotion” (Black Noir x Fem!Reader)

| Being Black Noir’s new handler and him becoming obsessed with you since Mr. Edgar himself assigned you to him.

| SFW, vought employee!reader, (TW: Noir is kind of stalking the Reader, who’s uncomfortable but adapting mostly)

| 1k+ words

“You want me to…what?”

“Be Noir’s new personal handler.” He fans his hands out on the table with a shrug and gives you a disarming smile. “You’ll be expected to parlay direct mission instructions from me, accompany him to said missions and stay with the deployment team. I expect you to give written reports on his performance at the end of every day, active mission or not…”

Your eyes continue to widen as his barrage keeps going. This job would require you to be present for everything short of Noir wiping his ass and even then you’ll be outside the restroom.

Mr. Edgar finishes, gives you an expectant look, and you clear your throat.

“And, what if I don’t want the new position?”

“I don’t see why not.” He shrugs, “I mean unless you don’t think you’re good enough for the promotion. Then I suppose I’ll just have to tell Ashley her recommendation was for naught.”

You laugh.

“No no, that’s fine. There’s no need to tell her anything…” you gulp, watching the man just look back at you before taking a second more to inhale, “…ex-cept that her recommendation payed off.”

He tilts his head and it feels like his eyes are boring through your own, boiling your brain to mush. Your voice is small as you push the rest of your words out in one exhale.

“And that I’ll be starting my new position tomorrow. Sir.”

You stretch a smile across your face and hiss out a sigh of relief as that finally gets the man to respond.

He instantly reanimates, reaching atop his desk to hand you a secure black portfolio made from hard plastic.

“That’s great. I’m glad you decided to take on this new journey, Ms. L/n. May it serve you well. Have a good day.”

You don’t dare drop your smile as you take the offered portfolio and shove it under your arm.

“Right.” You take a moment to mourn the loss of your old job before nodding, “Thank you for the opportunity, Sir. You have a good day as well.”

The older man nods back at you, attention immediately gone back to his computer monitor afterward. You blow out air from your nose and then turn on your heels.

It’s not until you’ve left the board room that it hits you.

“Shit.”

The man had just played you. Goddamn Edgar and his resoluteness. Once he’d decided to “ask” you about the upgrade in position he never intended for it to be an actual request.

You rub your temple and head to the restroom. At least you had the rest of the hours in the day before tackling your new job.

You hunker down in the stall after peeing to look over the papers Mr. Edgar gave you. As you're skimming through a whole lot of shit marked “classified” or “redacted” you have the stray thought to be glad that Translucent’s creep ass wasn’t here to ogle you and be all in your business anymore.

Thank the higher power for small mercies, you suppose.

All the snippets of information you're gathering are kind of baffling. Legal name: Earving (of all things), biological male, six foot two, African-American (that’s fun; may be the reason he took such a liking to you too, not many black people made it to the top floors of Vought after all). You dog-ear a packet about some sort of imaginary animals he sees in his mind before looking over a page about a severe peanut allergy. Hmm.

By the end of the day you’ve nearly gotten all the way through Noir’s portfolio, and you’ve also worked up an itch to get out of your skin that means you’re not working overtime worth a goddamn.

At six o’clock on the dot all of your crap is already quite thoroughly packed, your former workspace - barren thing that it already was due to regulations - was cleaned out and ready for the next poor soul, and you’re in the elevator heading for the sub-level garage.

Dead stare locked onto the floor numbers you become acutely aware of the bags weighing your eyes down.

“Fuck,” you sigh.

Black Noir's Personal Handler.

Despite Mr. Edgar’s clear efforts it was more than a little known open secret that personal handlers rarely got to retire. Madelyn Stillwell’s death might’ve been something none of you dared discuss for fear of either Edgar or - heaven forbid - Homelander catching wind and putting you back in your place, but it was a pattern of the job that you all were well aware of.

Though you’d take Mr. Edgar’s culling over whatever Homelander could possibly come up with.

Something about his blonde, blue-eyed, ass didn’t sit right with your spirit.

Far as PR and wrangling went though, short of maybe Starlight, any wrinkles Black Noir managed to make would be the easiest to smooth out.

Plus, even with you and Noir having some form of a pre-established relationship it was in no way dependent or built upon you being Noir’s emotional epicenter like Madelyn and Homelander’s weird…dynamic was.

You had seen and heard far too much in your years working for Vought to think for a second that there wasn’t something dark and twisted going on with The Seven, but Noir still seemed mellow in comparison to the rest and their constant ego trips and dick measuring.

You had zero clue how letting the fully covered man teach you a few notes to a song at the Christmas party when everyone was drunk off eggnog and watered down booze and sitting with him when he was crying on the floor once led you to this.

Sure the silent man and you had somewhat hit it off - so far as you were one of the few non-supers he didn’t intimidate or just flat out ignore - but to be made so intimately in charge of him seemed like a bit much.

Noir had seemed endlessly patient with you as he played for you and then eventually decided he’d teach you how to play the piano yourself, the sides of your bodies’ shifting incrementally until you were pressed flush to one another in both of yous concentration, so you could really only hope he kept that same levelness with you as his handler.

You bank the corner, work bag and portfolio on the same arm, and fish out your keys so you can unlock your trunk and shove your shit inside.

Hope truly was the name of the game here unfortunately. You could only hope Noir kept up his “good” streak, and that that streak wasn’t just a farce that you were now in charge of covering up. Hope that he didn’t end up getting angry or reckless and making you one of those *redacted* cases with a ‘cause of death, unknown’ attached to your name, because you could do nothing to stop him if he wanted to kill you.

Shiver racking up your spine and turning your blood to static, you snap your trunk closed, turning to leave when—

“—Fucking Christ!”

Eyes gone wide and spit having nearly choked you from your sharp inhalation before your exclamation, you do your best to appear composed as Black Noir himself steps out from a conclave of shadows to stand in front of you.

The Devil, you find yourself thinking. Had he been following you this whole time?

For his part Noir doesn’t move aside from cocking his head to the side.

Steadily, you force calmness onto yourself. Ignoring that your voice is too high when you call his name.

“Black Noir,” you say, trying to seep the professionalism back into your tone while smoothing down the creases in your pantsuit, “surprised to see you here. What can I do for you?”

The smile you offer him feels wonky even as you command the muscles up, but it’s the best you can do with your heart hammering against your chest as if it wants to run off and leave you behind.

For a couple more beats the man doesn’t do more than size you up presumably before finally - as you were weighing the pros and cons of just getting in your car despite his presence - raising a hand to point at your trunk.

You catch on to his meaning fairly quickly, your smile dropping to something more natural whilst you huff a tiny laugh.

“Oh yeah, guess Mr. Edgar must’ve told you. I’m your new handler - you know, if you had one before that is. I don’t…actually know…” you trail off, shifting on your heels when Noir only continues to keep his stillness.

“Mhm,” you mutter, rocking backwards, just staring until finally Noir shifts and there’s suddenly a pad and pen in his hand.

He flips casually to a clear page before starting to write and you’re fairly sure this is the first time he’s ever actually ‘talked’ to you.

Huh.

Not long after does the pad get flipped over and brandished to you. You click your teeth together.

‘Edgar says you’ll do good,’ he scribbles, writing absolute chicken scratch and letters far too large on the medium sized pages, before flipping the pad back to himself and writing some more.

‘Believe in you!’ and a whole bunch of smiley faces is what meets you once he lets you see.

You blink. Noir puts the pad back wherever he had it initially to give you two thumbs up.

You muster a slightly bigger half smile for his efforts.

“Thanks Noir,” you say, words more sincere than you’d been expecting.

A nod and an eternity more of silence and staring is what he gives you in response.

You’re getting ready to shift, to awkwardly relay that you’d like to be getting home soon, when Noir stiffens suddenly - and isn’t that startling, a man so tall and so strapped with sharp explosive deadly things going so alert like that - head tilting like he’s listening for something.

A few seconds go by like that where he doesn’t do anything else and you fight to keep yourself still, smile gone and part of your lip caught firmly between your teeth.

Then Noir’s giving you a nod and leaving just as silently and unseenly as he had come.

You wait another two-three beats before scrambling into your car. The sound of your lock engaging sounds like salvation and the steering wheel feels like a lifeline as you grip it with stiff nearly foreign fingers.

God.

You force a deep breath into your lungs, make sure it comes out more steadily than it came in.

At least Mr. Edgar didn’t dump you onto Homelander’s lap. Something in you shrivels up and dies at the mere prospect. You nod, your hands flexing on the steering wheel.

This was definitely better.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

This is a semi companion story to “Pandora’s Melody” if you’d like to check that one out as well.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[linaslivery]

౨ৎ LOSS ౨ৎ

masterlist / rules / requests & talks with me!

SUMMARY౨ৎ it was a rough weekend to say the least. sadie's first tennis tournament didn't exactly go as planned in her mind. how does oscar handle his little girl being to down with herself?

PAIRING ౨ৎ Not really a pairing, but reader makes multiple apperances 🩵

WARNINGS ౨ৎ sadie being a perfectionist :( (me tbh)

A/N ౨ৎ I HAVEN'T SEEN IT FULLY BUT I SAW SNIPPET OF IT 🥹 i can see this happening 100% 🩵 (minus the karting! little sadie is a tennis player in the future 😋) small little imagine for today before i do school notes!! (sadie is about 7 here!)

Part of the Dad Oscar mini-series 🩵

Two sets. Two sets was all it took to get eliminated from her first tournament final.

Sadie sat in the backseat of the car, arms crossed and gaze fixed out the window as the ride remained quiet, with Oscar glancing at her in the rearview mirror, noticing the way her lips pressed together tightly.

She wasn’t one to cry easily. If anything, she hates crying. But at this point, the lump in her throat was undeniable.

Oscar gave a sigh before speaking, “Sadie, you did great. You know that? Getting second in your first ever tournament is amazing.” he smiled softly.

“If i did great then I wouldn’t have lost.” Sadie replied bluntly.

He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. God, how he wished you were here right now. You’d know what to do. “Sadie, you didn’t lose, you came second. And that’s something to be proud of.”

“Second is first to lose.” Sadie replied, rather quickly as she fiddled with her fingers while looking out the window.

Oscar gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, the weight of Sadie’s words hanging in the air. He understood her frustration all too well, but it was hard to see his little girl already feeling the pressure of expectations.

“I get why you're upset, Sadie,” Oscar started, glancing at her in the mirror. “I really do. But you know what? I didn’t win all the time either, especially not at the beginning of karting. It takes time, and every time you play, you’re learning something new.”

Sadie didn’t respond right away, her eyes still fixed out the window, but Oscar could see the slight frown on her face.

“And you know, you always keep the memories with you,” Oscar added softly, remembering what he had said in that interview not long ago. “Every match, every race, every time you give it your all—it stays with you. It’s not about always being the best. It’s about getting better and enjoying what you do.”

“Do you always remember the times you lost?” Sadie asked quietly, her voice breaking the silence as she turned to look at him.

“…Some more than others.” Oscar replied.

“What about wins?”

“Everyone remembers when they win.”

“Even your first win in Hungary that the team messed up the pit stops making the whole race behind Lando and when lando didn’t change positions until the very end?” Sadie asked, tilting her head slightly with her blunt tone.

“…You know, you’re making this really hard for me to comfort you now.” Oscar blanked.

“I know,” Sadie replied, the corners of her lips twitching up ever so slightly, despite her sadness. “That’s why I said it.”

Oscar couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, “Well, thank you for that, Sadie… but seriously,” Oscar said, his voice softening again, “I know it’s tough, but you should be proud of yourself. It’s not about comparing yourself to me, or anyone else for that matter. Tennis is your thing. It’s your journey. You love playing, right?”

Sadie’s frown deepened. “…mhm.”

Oscar noticed Sadie’s eyes wandering to the tennis bag in the backseat, her small fingers tracing the strap. Her thoughts were clearly elsewhere, but he took the opportunity to continue. “Nothing comes from nothing, Sadie. It’s okay to be sad and want to do better, but don’t ignore the amount of effort you put into it.

Sadie was quiet for a moment, her little fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt as she mulled over Oscar's words. "But it’s not enough," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar's heart squeezed at the sight of his daughter, so young and already feeling the weight of expectation. “Sadie, you don’t have to be the best at everything right away," he said gently, “and you don’t have to be as good as me, either… besides, I’m barely any good at padel, let alone tennis.”

Sadie finally turned to look at him, her expression serious. “But you’re always good, Daddy. Everyone always says how great you are.”

Oscar bit his lip, trying to think of how to explain it in a way she would understand. “That’s because I’ve been doing this for a long time. Sadie, you’re young. You have time to grow.”

Sadie stayed quiet, though her frown softened just a bit. Oscar smiled softly, taking that as a sign to keep going. “You love tennis, right? That’s what matters. If you enjoy it, you’ll keep getting better. And guess what? I’ll be there to watch every match.”

“You really think I did good?” Sadie asked hesitantly, her voice smaller now, as though she was afraid to believe it.

Oscar nodded, catching her gaze in the rearview mirror. “I know you did. I was watching, remember? Every single serve, every single shot. You didn’t give up, even when it was tough. That’s what makes you great.”

Sadie finally met his eyes in the mirror. “But I wanted to win.”

“I know you did. But you’ll have more matches, more chances. It’s okay to be sad now, but you should also be proud of what you did today.” Oscar paused before adding, “Plus, second place means you’re already better than most people on the court.”

That earned him a tiny smile from Sadie. "I guess.” she mumbled, her hand resting on her tennis bag.

“Now… ready to show your Mum your trophy?”

`· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑

“Second place? …In your first tournament?” You asked, stopping what you were doing to look at the pair that just returned home.

Sadie stood next to Oscar, her tennis bag slung over her shoulder and the silver trophy cradled in her arms. Her gaze was still shy, as though unsure whether her result was something to be proud of.

Oscar gave you a small, knowing smile, as if to say, Please help me here.

You knelt down, meeting Sadie’s eyes as she shifted on her feet. “That’s amazing, Sadie!” you exclaimed, your voice full of pride. “Second place in your first ever tournament? That’s incredible!”

Sadie blinked, as if she hadn’t expected your reaction to be so positive, her lips parting in surprise at the compliment, making her cheeks slightly redden. She looked at you for a long moment before glancing at Oscar, who place a hand on her shoulder. "But I wanted to be first…" she whispered, her voice trailing off.

"I know," you replied softly, nodding in understanding. "And that’s okay. It’s good to want to win, but it's also okay not to win every time. What's important is that you did your best, and look—" you pointed to the trophy in her hands, "you still achieved something incredible. Second place out of all those players? That’s huge."

Sadie’s eyes finally lifted to meet yours, and you could see the tension in her shoulders ease a little, though she still looked unsure. "You really think so?" she asked, her voice small.

“It’s not just me.. we know so.”

Oscar watched the exchange, his heart swelling as he saw the tension ease from Sadie’s small frame. You always knew exactly what to say.

“Now,” you said, pulling back slightly and smiling at her with a playful glint in your eyes, “how about we put that beautiful trophy somewhere special? I think it deserves a place on the self, don’t you?”

Sadie nodded, her earlier disappointment fading away bit by bit. “Yeah… I think so.”

Besides, there was still more that the future holds.

[florencebirdsong]

Wandanat Breeding Kink - WIP Wednesday

Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Authors note: happy wip wednesday! Here is a sneak peak of the poll winner :) Thank you to those who voted <3

Tags: 18+ minors DNI, snippet, bondage, strap-on mention, mommy Wanda, dom Natasha

Wanda grabs your wrists in a bruising grip and shoves them against the bed. A second later the padded cuffs are around them. It takes you a long moment to catch up. You hadn’t even realised you’d been touching her. You tug at them and Wanda gives you a scolding tap on the thigh. You give her a pleading look. You didn’t mean to.

She happily ignores you and leans over to the bedside drawer. You watch curiously. You haven’t been naughty enough to be worried. Natasha uncrossing her legs catches your eyes. You look up to find her solely focused on you, a small smirk playing about her lips. She knows something you don’t. You turn your head back to Wanda as she pulls out a strap-on and harness. A bit bigger than usual but the dim lighting doesn’t let you see anything significant. It doesn’t look familiar.

Wanda settles back on her heels and looks down at you with blown pupils.

“Mommy bought a special toy for tonight,” she says in that breathless excited way she sometimes gets. You perk up curiously. Is it a vibrating dildo?

“Why don’t you let me put it on for you?” Natasha asks. You try not to smile. Normally she wouldn’t ask but she’s pissed Wanda off enough to be a little submissive. Or…at least not so directly dominant.

Wanda gives her a considering look. Natasha hasn’t protested once about the side-lined position Wanda has put her in and she’s listened to every command she’s been given so far.

Wanda nods and waits for Natasha to come to the bed and hold her hand out. Wanda grabs it and Natasha helps her gracefully off of the bed. Natasha kisses the back of her hand as she slowly lowers herself to her knees.

Wanda had lost her shirt when getting you into bed and Natasha takes advantage of this by pressing gentle kisses over Wanda’s stomach while she unbuttons her jeans.

Natasha kisses a path down Wanda’s thigh as she pulls her jeans and underwear down her legs before stopping to allow Wanda to step out them. Natasha toes the line when she sits back up on her knees to nudge Wanda’s clit. Her tongue sneaks out and Wanda’s head falls backwards with a soft moan. She basks in the attention for a few moments, until Natasha dips her tongue lower. She immediately pushes Natasha’s head away and clicks her tongue.

“That’s not what you’re here for,” she says.

[rye-bread-soda-iceberg]

I saw some light discourse going around hsrtwt about Ratio being bad/good/morally ambiguous

I'm not gonna comment on that too much cause I wanna talk about smth else but clearly he's a good person, probably one of the nicest people we meet compared to the war criminals and murderers. his major crime is that he's blunt, mean and makes his students cry (which is something about him I don't particularly enjoy for personal reasons, but still)

what I like, something that i feel like people tend to forget, is that he's very openly kind and caring

of course there's the basic stuff, like the fact that he pours his whole heart into making the universe a better place, has eradicated a whole illness called 'the king of illnesses' (so, supposedly, very deadly) and the entire not getting into the genius society because he cares about humanity too much. but also, you know

first of all, he has canonically made various statues depicting himself making a heart with his hands while smiling warmly. I've always found it endearing how he mildly prides himself on 'keeping the world at bay' and just being generally mean while also doing this so casually. I mean, it's a clear message: 'I love you' that's what he's saying, and he's saying it in a silly way

something a bit more hidden is these quotes from hoyolab's post. we all know the 'ignorance is an ailment' quote is directly taken from his character stories, making it canon. that subsequently makes the other two just as canon. obviously it's an official post, but I sometimes see people doubting the validity of these silly little snippets into the hsr universe

I don't particularly know if he is saying those last two quotes in general or to someone/a group of people in particular, but it's like... one of the sweetest (and corniest) things ever, and it makes me giggle a little bit. it almost felt out of character to me the first time I've seen these, but if you think about it, it's always been there

this one is from the valentines day ""event"" on twitter from earlier this year. I like his reaction to the gift for he still has some of his usual, you know, 'I cannot bear to hear such foolish questions'. he's being nice in his own way here, his demeanor is just barely reserved but the sentiment behind his words remains a positive one

another quick thing, though I don't have more examples for this one. he's always going on about how you should always consider whether the question you're about to ask already has an answer (so encouraging you to think for yourself) but he's still Always offering to help. in this and, if I remember correctly, in the mail description you get when you used to receive him for free he's making it clear that he's willing to help you discuss things for you to understand them better and will answer any question as long as it's not a 'stupid' one. he is a teacher, after all. the biggest thing about him is that he wants people to do better. other than this, despite his slight reluctance to help others himself, he does say in his character trailer that sometimes a little encouragement is required

and he does encourage people openly when they do good! no 'I suppose this is acceptable' nor 'I guess you did good'. when someone or something impresses him, he genuinely expresses it. I like to point this out because I see so many people say he's self absorbed or puts himself above others, when that is simply not true. which, I mean, can also be seen in his small little interactions with Herta, Ruan Mei and Screwllum (he literally praises them)

then he also says this a couple times. I don't exactly know what he considers courtesy or discourtesy, but it's clear that at least not all his blunt or mean words are meant to offend. this is something I'd love to look further into, but for now simply want to put here with the rest cause it's an interesting thing about him. he is already described as elegant, which implies a certain level of basic courtesy and politeness when interacting with others, though this just slightly crashes with his 'rude' demeanor

supposedly, you could make the argument that while he canonically realizes how non-endearing he can be (knows his own shortcomings, one of the exact traits he praises) perhaps he actively struggles with coming off as nice. and seeing all I've pointed out so far, maybe all those instances of him being nice are how he'd prefer to come off as (some times). that is unless I missed some bits of canon dialogue where it's implied otherwise

this isn't that detailed or well made of a post, nor the first time someone has pointed out this stuff. in fact I reblogged an incredibly good, lengthy post some time ago that talks more in depth about how nice/kind of a person Veritas Ratio really is

I simply cannot stand when he is described as cold, uncaring, selfish, self-centered or someone incapable of being gentle and loving. and it's not nearly as subtle as people seem to think it is