#realistically these things take time i know but at some point i have GOT to resist the urge to just scrap all the stuff ive done
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Damsel in Distress
summary: every once in a while you need rescuing. melissa is usually there.
WC: ~2.4k
It’s a well known fact that Melissa Schemmenti is not the warmest and fuzziest soul that walks the Abbott halls- by both students and teachers alike. Of course, there were always people that she felt comfortable letting her guard down around, and each and every student would venture to say that while the redhead was quite the opposite of her counterpart, Janine Teagues, Melissa Schemmenti was fiercely loving and protective when push came to shove.
So when you start your career as a first grade teacher opposite Gregory Eddie, you’re warned right away of the rough and tough teacher.
“Melissa… she’s my girlfriend’s grade level partner,” Gregory informs you during the staff meeting that morning. “And she’s going to try to push you around. Don’t let her tough Philly streets kind of personality turn you off from her- she’s got a good heart.”
Your gaze follows his finger, where he’s pointing to his friends as they walk in. And because he’s in with them, they come and take a seat with you.
“Who’s the newbie?” Melissa immediately questions as she rolls her eyes. Oh, wow- her eyes sparkle despite the fact that she looks less than enthused to be here. “And how long is she going to be here before she runs outta here like everyone else?”
“Melissa,” Barbara, the kindergarten teacher Gregory had told you about, scolds as she gently smacks the redhead’s perfectly manicured nails. “Be nice. We need all the help we can get around here.”
“Y/N,” you smile charmingly. “And hopefully a long time.”
“What makes you say that?” the second grade teacher challenges as she sits across from you.
You shrug. “I grew up around here. I know how it goes.”
“You? You grew up around here?” Melissa challenges as she gets a look at your appearance. You’re dressed quite nicely. “How’d you make it out and do this well for yourself and then fall back to teaching?”
“I’ve actually been teaching for a few years,” you hum out. “Still live in South.”
“You from South?” You just nod before turning your attention to the meeting that seems to be beginning.
When you told the redhead that you were planning on staying at Abbott for a long time, you meant it. Working in a district and a school like this is where you’ve always done your best work. You’ve been around. Working in the suburbs of Philadelphia is an entirely different job. You’ve worked with rich kids, who you honestly had a hard time connecting with. You’ve worked with middle class kids who were somewhat grateful for the work that you did, but there was still an aura of entitlement that you just did not appreciate in the slightest. You’ve worked in districts similar to the greater Philadelphia area. But when push comes to shove, your heart belongs to the city of brotherly love, and you pounced at the opportunity to come back to the city.
In the time that you’ve been at Abbott, you’ve been able to do wonders for your students. Yes, Jacob and Janine bring wonderful new ideas to the somewhat stuck in the past school, but there’s something about you that just… makes it all work. The other difference between you and the other two younger teachers? You’re a bit more… realistic- jaded. You, unlike the other younger teachers- your grade level partner included, understand that some things simply don’t go according to plan. And when plans don’t pan out the way you quite hope or expect them to, you simply adapt with grace and elegance that doesn’t get past Barbara or Melissa. Even Ava, the principal who is known for her lack of attention, picks up on the fact that there’s something special about your teaching.
And when Melissa Schemmenti realizes that you genuinely were planning on sticking around for a while and saw your work, she was on your side wholeheartedly.
While you’ve done amazing things for your students and been praised up and down by the district, there are still a few teachers who have somewhat of a gripe with you, claiming that you’re changing too much all at once for them to keep up with you. They state that you’re bringing in new methods that simply won’t work for their students- because why would you fix what isn’t broken?
And that’s exactly what you’re speaking about during your share out time at the staff meeting today. You have quite a few visual learners in your class, as well as students who learn through experience.
“So, as Howard Gardner’s theory of multiple intelligences goes,” you say from your spot. “Everybody has different strengths in how they they learn.”
Gregory smiles. He had taught Janine physics in that way- that everyone plays to a different strength when it comes to learning and picking up new skills.
“And I have quite a few visual learners, so as opposed to just lecturing, I’ve found that connecting it to real world situations that my first graders will understand and drawing it on the board will help. I’ve also come to realize that many of my students grasp ideas through the art of doing. So, for example, when we were learning about the phases of the moon, I found that a lot of my kiddos understood the cycle more clearly when we used an oreo to model it. In having a visual, auditory, and kinesthetic-”
“Now why are you trying to make us work harder?” one of the third grade teachers pipes up and interrupts you. “What I’ve been doing for a decade seems to still be working out for the most part.”
“Well,” you sigh as you bite your lip and glance to your group of friends. “The good thing about all of this is that most of us incorporate these different approaches without realizing it.”
“So then what’s the point of this share out, newbie?”
You go to respond when you feel a hand on your shoulder, and it isn’t Gregory’s or Jacob’s like you would expect. It’s not even Barbara. No, it’s Melissa.
“Why don’t you let her talk, Delores?” the gruff voice practically barks. “Just because we can sometimes inadvertently use these tactics doesn’t mean it’s not something we should draw attention to and try to do more consciously.”
“All I’m sayin is-”
“I don’t care what you’re saying,” Melissa growls. “Her lessons are a hell of a lot more effective than your boring ass lecturing, and maybe some of us would like to take a note or two about how we can improve our teaching.”
“Why are we trying to change the way we-”
“Did you ever realize that teaching is an ever-changing profession?” the redhead spits out. “That how we were taught doesn’t work anymore because there are always new practices and approaches coming out? Or did the nuns beat the sense out of you when you misbehaved in school?”
“Melissa,” you whisper and nudge her gently.
Green eyes turn to you. “Keep talkin’.”
Nobody dares to cross you again when it comes to your share outs during staff meetings again.
It’s later at lunch that you approach the topic of what happened in the library earlier today.
“Thank you for standing up for me,” you smile at Melissa while your lunch is in the microwave. “I really appreciate it.”
“It was nothin’,” the second grade teacher tells you with a wave of the hand. “I’ve been wanting that ol’ bat to retire for ages now, and I think she might now that she’s realizing she can’t keep up with the way the education world is going.”
It’s a few weeks later when Melissa Schemmenti stands up for you again- on a matter that you really expected her to be opposed on.
This morning, you had woken up a bit late, so instead of your usual sandwich and salad for lunch, you’re stuck with a bag of chips, a handful of grape tomatoes, and a stick of string cheese.
And while you’re eating quietly, Janine is making a fuss over it.
“Melissa, get on her!” the shorter second grade teacher huffs. “She’s eating what I eat!”
The redhead glances over at your rather unconventional meal and sighs. “That’s your lunch?” You just nod, preparing yourself to be berated by Melissa. But she doesn’t. Instead, she simply shrugs and turns her attention back to her phone.
“Melissa!” Janine admonishes.
“What, pipsqueak? She usually has a decent lunch. We all have our days of going back to the basics.”
“This is ridiculous!”
You just chuckle when you see that Melissa is silently portioning her own meal and sliding you half of it.
Once again, you’re sitting in the library for a staff meeting where Ava has asked you to share out how you teach english language arts- a subject that your students are excelling in because of your unique approach to the sometimes difficult concepts. And once again, Delores is doing everything in her power to diminish your successes.
“Would you just shut up?” Melissa intervenes. “Ava asked her to speak out, and again, some of us aren’t old dogs like you who can’t learn new tricks.”
Your jaw practically drops at those biting words, but they do get your colleague to stop interjecting with criticism. Green eyes look to you again, and you have to hide the blush that wants to creep into your cheeks.
As luck would have it, after a rough staff meeting, your students are just not cooperating with you the way that you wish they would. You sigh softly as you lead them down to the lunch room before heading towards the faculty room for your own meal. It’s a Friday, which means that they’re already bouncing off the walls with the excitement for the weekend- but it’s also a long weekend, and you happen to know that Janiyah is having her birthday party that most of your students are attending. So they’re worse than they usually are on the last day of the school week.
You drop into your chair quietly, not yet reaching for your lunch bag. Instead, your fingers find their way to your temples, and you begin to rub them softly, hoping to alleviate some of the pain and discomfort.
“Rough day?” Melissa asks you quietly.
“Rough week,” you chuckle weakly. “After this morning, and then with the long weekend, my kids are giving me a run for my money today.”
“They’re menaces in my room today too,” the redhead tells you. “Sounds like you need a drink after work.”
You can’t help but feel inclined to agree. “Sure, why not?”
“Oscars, for happy hour?”
That’s how you end up at the local dive bar that your coworkers usually head to after a long week of work. Although this time, it’s oddly just the two of you. The rest of your friends already had plans. So, you’re sitting on one bar stool while your redheaded coworker is beside you, sipping your second margaritas.
“Damn,” you breathe out heavily. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”
“Me too,” Melissa sighs out. “I can only take so much of Delores and her bullshit… I don’t know how you put up with all of her shit. I can’t take it anymore.”
“I don’t quite think I’ve earned it yet enough to even attempt to put her in her place,” you laugh as you take another swig of your drink.
“I don’t even care anymore,” your colleague shrugs with no remorse. “Barb’s always tellin’ me I should try being nicer, but I don’t see the point; if she’s going to be rude, why can’t I?”
“Some people think that you should be nicer,” you giggle out as your gaze lingers on her lips. “Not me though. I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”
Maybe you should slow down the way that you’re drinking. You hadn’t meant for it to slip that you think she’s perfect.
Green eyes are rolled so hard you think they may get stuck. “You just say that because I always stick up for you.”
“And how nice is that?” You lean in and lay a gentle hand on her forearm, eyes once again flickering down to her full lips. “You’re perfect.”
“Am I?” the redhead chuckles as she finishes her second drink. She looks to you expectantly. Of course, you oblige her silent request and finish your own off despite the fact that you’ve thought about how you should slow down.
You’re able to get the bartender’s attention to order two more before turning back to Melissa. “I’d say you are. You’re- you’re funny, and smart, and sweet, and gorgeous.”
“Gorgeous?” A perfectly sculpted brow is lifted, a smirk apparent on the redhead’s face.
Your cheeks tint red. “I- I-”
“That’s quite the compliment coming from you,” the redhead says.
Your brows furrow in confusion. “What?”
“Someone as beautiful as yourself telling me that I’m gorgeous? Now that’s quite the compliment.”
“Y-you think I’m pretty?” you stammer out.
“Of course I-” The bartender places down your drinks in front of you, and Melissa pauses to thank him before turning back to you. “Of course I do. Why do you think I defend you all the time?”
“Because you’re nice?”
“Because you’re gorgeous,” the redhead corrects you. “And sometimes it’s fun rescuing the damsel in distress.”
“I am not a damsel in distress!” you protest.
“So you’re tellin’ me you want me to stop rescuing you from Delores?” Melissa asks you with a frown.
“N- no,” you stutter out. “I- I like when you do that.”
“Can I rescue you from something else?” the redhead leans in closely.
“And what would that be?”
“I’ll save you from yourself,” Melissa smiles as her eyes lower to your lips. She kisses you softly. “You’ve been staring at my lips since we got here. How long was it going to take for you to kiss me?”
You bite your lip before pulling her in softly again. When you pull away, you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up out of you. “Thank you for saving me from myself… and from the others.”
“Always will,” the redhead laughs as she pulls you in again.
And Melissa makes good on her words. Once the two of you begin dating, her fierce protectiveness of you only shines more. And each time, once the two of you are in the comfort of your own home, she’ll tease you quietly.
“My damsel in distress,” she’ll chuckle softly before pulling you in.
TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead @schemmentits
#abbott elementary#abbott elementary fanfiction#abbott elementary fanfic#melissa schemmenti fanfiction#lisa ann walter#melissa schemmenti fanfic#melissa schemmenti#melissa schemmenti x reader#melissa schemmenti x you
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Hi everyone, I just figured out the images from the last clue on his treat of ‘Bill’s Files’. Not sure if anyone else did it. I haven't seen it somewhere else yet.
It was really a map, for something. I just didn’t know what. I saw the thingy about the doc of the wallpapers, the theory was completely right, the images layer upon one another, but to create a bigger image, I knew it was it. So I went for it just for fun to see if it were like a collage. I connected where they could.
The first ones are those from the doc on reddit GF, so I have to thank them for their views. After this, the Tree. I knew was the center of the image because, well. It's the page talking of the codes and all.
Then the connection with the thunder. Their heads seem to be drowning, even the tree at some point connects with earth and in some images you have to flip it horizontally. I just had to really look for boards and what in the image continues another. Bill's elbow literally places above the skull, it’’s wayyy too perfectly placed. Here some clues:
Also the mini story at the right side>>>
here appears to me the nightmare realm and how he’s dreaming of being somewhere else, singing we’ll meet again. remember: the place between realities is black and white. the image is black and white.
It seems here he’s cutting reality.
andd here. seems like he got it straight to the ‘physical world’ in a joyride slide.
Pure terror, to make these layers just give us more profound visual motifs of the layered universe and all.
Within the full image, we also have a mini story. There are two moons. (Moons are connected to our creative world.) Showing to us two different perceptions/awareness/universes. Whatever you feel most comfortable with; the Mindscape Realm Moon and the Nightmare Realm Moon. It starts with Fiddleford, using the gun to make him forget just like what we saw happen to Bill by being erased. We thought. But then, he uses the backdoor through the voidness. (Consciousness is also referred as the infinite ocean, all connected.) Bill explains to us a little bit in his book. And he talks of the Atlantis chapter implying he had made us forget about. Actually we had forget it loong time ago. It is just things in the depths of our universal consciousness.
The fourth state of consciousness is a state of awareness that transcends the waking, dreaming, and deep sleep states. It's also known as Turiya, which is a Sanskrit word that means "the fourth".
This backs up one theory of mine that Euclydia to being a state of awareness/consciouness, they got higher into those other realms. That’s why we see ‘LIFE FORM NOT FOUND’. I have a huge theory but I can only talk about this image right now.
The heads seems to point to it. And the part where he has a card up his sleeve, he had the idea of other parallels universes, it seems. But well, this is his seeing through other windows/people's eyes talking. A light bulb. A idea. Remember, beyond this full scope, there are the Cuckoo House that’s hiper realistic, and what is seems to be motifs of life and death. If he learned anything from Theraprism, to fullfil or least being able achieve some of his 'plan'. He has to humble down and pass through the reincarnation process. The images doesn’t say it, but he’s pointing at a bunker. Near there’s the message ‘KOOK’ putting in the website is literally the clue for the image, a big Cipher. Not in actual way he is now as we know it, but to be bigger/different/take another form. To being able to properly be here, he has to see the Bigger Picture.
idk if there’s a code or how to put it into the website so, if it is a code, someone pls could tell me because this is a clear reference to the computer.(i tried, not working, i know it points to other code of the stan twins but ???)
if there's any typo/grammar mistake i'm not native of this language so thks and ily for reading until this point<3
#gravity falls#bob#thisisnotawebsitedotcom#bill cipher#book of bill codes#hopefully will post this on reddit and all#tbob#the book of bill#book of bill#stanford pines#gravity falls codes#book of bill website
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bad timing | logan howlett
this is just a little thing about cas and logan running into each other in the kitchen (takes place while reader is in the bathtub during baby, am i your little secret)
↳ summary: reader’s roommate (aka cas) goes into the kitchen at a bit of a bad time, and ends up encountering… a stranger?
word count: 1.5k (sorry lol)
pairings: old man!logan & reader’s roommate, old man!logan x fem!stripper!reader (mentioned/referenced)
content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), sexual references/innuendos, no use of y/n, third person pov, age gap (cas and reader’s ages are unspecified but they are both adults), gun (not used), cas is down bad for logan (lmk if i missed anything!)
↳ a/n: so this was absolutely NOT supposed to be this long but i had so much fun writing that i just got caught up in it… anyway enjoy my semi self-insert LMAO
✧・゚: *✧・゚:*
Logan has been rifling through the cupboards for what feels like forever. Realistically, he knows it’s only been two or three minutes, but he can’t make heads or tails of the organization in this place and he just wants a fucking cup to get you some water.
Then he hears the door open from down the hall. It wouldn’t be you- too soon. He sniffs the air, just once- nope. Not you. Back and forth footsteps, the quiet click of a closing door- and then the sound gets closer.
Breathing. Quiet, nearly held, but not quite. A heartbeat that’s just a little too fast.
Someone’s there.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:*
Cas had tried to wait it out. Really, they had, swear it. But they’d just gotten to a massive story beat in their newest favorite game, including a betrayal, and anger makes them hungry. Really fucking hungry. Plus they probably hadn’t eaten since long before their roommate got home. They’d lost track of time, which was, admittedly, their fault. All of this kind of was, if you exclude the fact that they’d just been seeing red over this stupid video game.
Anger also makes them forgetful.
So it was only natural that after a long period of ignoring their hunger, then finding out that a friendship built up over the entire game was a lie, they were kind of distracted and maybe forgot that their roommate had company.
Like I said, it’s not their fault!
Anyway. They’d slipped off their headphones only to immediately pull them back on when they’d heard the sounds from the room next door. Not the first time, probably wouldn’t be the last. They waited impatiently, scrolling through TikTok until they deemed it had been long enough for them to venture out of their room. At this point, they didn’t care what they heard, they were fucking starving.
When they pulled off their headphones again and were met with silence, they thanked the lord and began making their way towards the kitchen.
They hadn’t even pulled their bedroom door shut when they heard something- the closing of a cupboard. They froze, ears perking up, and they could pick up on the sound of water splashing from the bathroom. Jesus, in the bathtub? Cas was going to have to remind you to clean it.
But if that was the case, which they so foolishly completely fairly assumed, then whoever was in the kitchen was probably an intruder.
Okay, listen. They’re paranoid, alright? Anxiety will do that to you, especially when meds that work are about as hard to come by as an ounce of common sense in today’s society- and Cas, tonight, has neither.
They caught the door before it closed, slipping back inside their room and getting the gun from their safe. They pulled the door closed behind them as quietly as possible, feeling rather than hearing the click as it shut, their gun gripped tightly in their hands.
So that’s how we ended up here. With your roommate stepping cautiously down the hall towards the kitchen, convinced that someone has broken into your apartment.
Which they haven’t.
When they reach the doorway, they spot him. An old older man, rummaging through the cupboards with a frustrated huff as he tries (and fails) to find what he’s looking for.
What the fuck is he doing? Cas thinks to themself, holding their breath as they linger in the doorway, watching for any sign of what this man might be up to.
“Where do you keep your cups?” He grumbles, opening another door, met with various painted bowls laughing back at him.
Cas stays quiet, brow furrowed. He doesn’t look like a thief- but looks can be deceiving, right?
“What, are you just gonna stand there? Where are your fuckin’ cups?” Is he talking to-
He turns around, eyeing them up for a brief moment before meeting their gaze with a hardened expression.
Cas is frozen in place, eyes locked on the man as he stares at them impatiently. Their grip on the gun tightens to the point that their knuckles are white, but something keeps them from raising it. They may not have common sense, but they have damn good intuition, and this guy is not a threat.
“Um- my- you.. what?”
His gaze darts down to the gun in their hands. Immediately, his entire stance changes. He’s tense, on edge, ready for a fight. This guy has to be pushing seventy, there’s no way he can do anything, right? But his muscular arms visible beneath his white undershirt, the way his eyes were trained on the weapon almost immediately, the lack of any panic or fear in his expression, all suggest otherwise. “You her roommate?” His tone is much less friendly now (if they could have even called it that to begin with). Despite being the one holding a gun, Cas is pretty sure that one wrong move will leave them dead on the floor in seconds.
But also, this guy just mentioned you. Which means… he’s your company?
Before they can think too long about whether or not this guy can even get it up anymore, they realize they should probably say something. Cause, you know, they’re still holding a gun.
“Uhh.. yeah.” They stammer. “Sorry. I’m, um, a little paranoid.” They stumble over their words with a nervous laugh, cautiously setting the gun down on the kitchen counter.
“I can see that.” His stance relaxes some, but the tension in his bones remains evident.
“Sorry.” They say again. “She told me she had company, I just thought you two were in the bathroom. And I thought you’d be… well, um…” Younger. Much younger. Not someone’s grandpa, holy shit. He raises an eyebrow, and upon further consideration, they decide it’s probably best not to tell this very dangerous looking man how ridiculously fucking old he is. (Like, seriously?) “Nevermind.”
He seems to know what they were going to say, but thankfully moves on from the subject. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Oh, yeah. Last one on the end.” They point, and sure enough, when he opens that cupboard, the inside is full of various cups, mugs, and glasses. He picks out a tall one, moving to the sink to fill it with water. “Don’t.”
He turns, looking at them with a gaze they’re pretty sure could turn people to stone. Who the hell is this guy? “I’m getting your roommate some water.” His tone is low, bordering on menacing.
Cas, having determined that this man is very much not a threat if you brought him here, is now very quickly beginning to understand why you took home such a specimen.
Yeah, okay, they’re a masochist. And probably have something wrong with them. Sue them, or something, but holy shit, they kind of want to pick the gun back up just to see what he’d do about it.
There’s definitely something wrong with them.
Anyway.
“No, I- I know, I, um-” Fuck. As much as they’d like to think they’re some kind of badass who could stand up to this guy even a little bit for the sake of getting a good punishment, every coherent thought in their head has gone out the window. Spit it out already! “We have a pitcher in the fridge. You can get it from there.”
He stares at them for a moment, nostrils flaring- but then, suddenly, he relents. If they weren’t so worked up they thought they might be delusional, they’d be convincing anyone that would listen that this man had a fucking smirk on his face. “Thanks.” He says as he turns away, pulling the pitcher out of the fridge.
“And you can get ice from the freezer.” God, they sound like an idiot.
While he’s turned away making you a glass of water, they can’t help but stare. He’s big, tall, veins on his arms that make Cas wonder if he has them anywhere else- nope, stop, not thinking about him like that. He’s clearly whipped for you.
“D’you know what snacks she likes?” He turns around again to ask the question. How does he stare so intensely yet look so unbothered at the same time? “I didn’t think she’d want much since it’s late, but…”
“String cheese. In the fridge.” Cas has given up on trying to rein in their thoughts, instead settling for getting him the fuck out of here as quickly as possible. They tap their fingers on the countertop, trying to act like they aren’t staring when they absolutely are.
Before he can leave, they speak up again- they just can’t help themself. “Did you get some for yourself?”
He looks at them with a confused frown. “What?”
“Water. Did you get some? I’m assuming no, since I had to tell you where our cups are.” If there’s one thing Cas is good at keeping a firm tone for, it’s taking care of other people, and there’s no way in hell this old man doesn’t need a long drink of water after fucking you.
“I’m fine.”
They wave a hand, interrupting him. “Water. Now.”
For a moment he just stares at them, and they gulp, feeling heat rise to their cheeks.
Yep, they really did just tell this man what to do.
But for some reason, he listens, pouring himself a glass of water and downing it, eyes locked on them the whole time.
“There. You happy?”
“Could be better, but that’ll do for now.” They ease into the banter with him naturally.
He huffs, grabbing the things he got for you. “Yeah, alright. Night.”
Even a goodnight? What a gentleman.
“Goodnight!” They call out, watching him go before they begin to make themself something to eat. They’d almost forgotten entirely about their quest for sustenance and their intense gaming session- and while those things take precedence for the rest of the night, that old man lingers in the back of their mind.
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As An IzuOcha Shipper…
…them not ending up together isn’t the problem.
Horikoshi taking the “leave it up to interpretation” approach and then proceeding to COMPLETELY AVOID ADDRESSING their relationship status is the problem.
Horikoshi failing to tie up that one last loose end for Uraraka’s character arc (not closing off her feelings) is the problem.
Again, I ship IzuOcha. Still do, because I’m stubborn. Would I have liked for them to end up together, even if it was only a somewhat blatant implication that could be handwaved? Obviously. But you know what? Maybe I would be upset if the story went out of its way to explicitly de-confirm any chance of Midoriya and Uraraka being a romantic pairing, but I’d at least respect it and understand it a lot more if the story let Midoriya and Uraraka actually talk about this, or at the very least SHOWED US them talking about this. I’d understand if Uraraka completed her character arc by having a heart to heart with Midoriya and telling him that her feelings have changed, her priorities have changed, and Midoriya understands and they remain good friends. Let’s be real, romance isn’t Horikoshi’s strong suit, despite his many attempts to leave romantic implications throughout the series. I’d completely understand if he just had Midoriya and Uraraka talk and they didn’t end up together, because at least then it still provides both of their characters with closure.
But no, that’s too simple. Let’s just “leave it up to interpretation,” because it clearly wasn’t that important, right?
Well, as many people on the internet have already brought up, if it wasn’t so important, why did you spend so much time putting emphasis on it? Why did you have Uraraka, up until the FINAL WAR, have her crush on Midoriya be a crucial part of her character (it wasn’t her only character trait, mind you, but it was still important)? Why did the penultimate chapter have the class come to comfort Uraraka and tell her that they can talk to her… and then come the next chapter, Uraraka apparently hasn’t done anything regarding her supposed crush on Midoriya? For literal YEARS!?
…see, this isn’t even a shipping problem anymore. This is a character problem.
Horikoshi, for whatever reason, chose not to include a romance for the main character and his supposed love interest. And again, that’s fine, not every story needs to be a romance. Two problems with it here though (well, one problem and an observation):
1) Choosing to not at least address the romantic subplot with a “I think we’re better off as friends” encounter, thus actually concluding the subplot and providing a sense of closure, not only leaves the result feeling underwhelming and frustrating, but also actively damages Uraraka’s character arc. We can have her address the problem that caused people like Toga to exist, but heaven forbid she talks about romance with Midoriya.
2) Despite his supposed aversion to romance, Horikoshi still went out of his way to give Gentle and La Brava wedding rings… he’s willing to establish a side romantic pairing without bringing too much attention to it, but he can’t be bothered to do something similar for the arguable MAIN pairing? It’s the “Togata has special clothes so he doesn’t end up buck naked, but Hagakure’s still gotta go commando” debacle again…
I’ma go ahead and wrap this up ‘cause I don’t wanna keep y’all much longer, but like… being optimistic, this ending was… functional. I’ve got my problems with it, obviously, I don’t think it was BAD bad… but it certainly wasn’t good. It works. Barely. And it’s ‘cause of stuff like this.
Midoriya and Uraraka didn’t need to end up together, truly. All Horikoshi had to do was put the smallest amount of effort and give us something of substance, something with closure. Instead, we got what we got.
I get that he was exhausted and wanted the manga to be over… but that excuse only holds up for so long.
#14 August 2024#bnha critical#mha critical#bnha 430#mha 430#bnha spoiler#mha spoiler#bnha spoilers#mha spoilers#should I put this in the main tag?#...screw it#bnha#mha#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#i'm pretty basic/casual when it comes to how i consume media but like...#this was NOT it chief#horikoshi decided to not put in the work (even if it was somewhat understandable) and that backfired. HARD.#midoriya doesn't get to be a hero? well at least he's a respectable teacher at an accredited academic institution!#...except the story frames that as all midoriya was doing for that time period. no consulting on hero work. no helping with investigations.#just teaching. which is all well and good... if all of the teachers/mentor figures throughout the series weren't various levels of garbage.#that's a different discussion tho#or how about this new development in hero society will mean the heroes will finally have some serious free time... except they don't.#even with the lowering villain count they're all still too busy to have more than a few of them get together at a time.#at least actually reading makes it clear they didn't outright ghost Midoriya but like... something about that feels wrong.#“bUt It'S rEaLiStIc” AFO was defeated after a second resurrection by the power of friendship and other ghosts#edgeshot bakugo and gran torino survived despite all the fatal hits they took. this series doesn't know its stance on realism.#bakugo's finally got some serious character development! except y'know... he's still okay with telling off civilians.#y'know... the same thing that caused him to fail the provisional license exams? something he should have really figured out YEARS later?#at this point I can't even take him leading the charge on the power suit project seriously... it feels less like natural growth for
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World's most frustrating feeling: having multiple ideas and character designs but despite working on the thing for nearly 5 YEARS still being nowhere close to having a coherent plot 💀
#yeah ok this is UBER specific lmaoooo but u get me#idk man i think im really proud of my character designs (finally) especially the prsonas ive been designing lately#and i have a character i adore so much and i KNOW many things about him#but apparently cant come up with a decent plotline. like alirght#cool cool brain#sorry to be bitching ill probably delete this in the morning#but i was thinking about this as i was playing royal and thinking about how he would react to the situations#even thinking out dialogues and how id change small lil things now that hes there#but i cant realy go in depth if i dont have a plot to introduce him huh#yeah basically back to the drawing board again. for the like. 7th time idk i lost count#realistically these things take time i know but at some point i have GOT to resist the urge to just scrap all the stuff ive done#and start over going this time itll be different!#look in the grand scheme of things this really doesnt matter i just wanted to get this off my mind LMAOOOO#sorry friends <3 hope you dont mind me losing my mind over a fictional au i created for FUN again 💀#i will now be going to sleep because lets face it thats whats really wrong with me
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god the amount of art i would pump out if i stopped letting lineart talk me out of it i would be unstoppable
#this is a rant @ me and not to sound like i'm bragging when i say what i'm about to say#but i swear to god it takes more time/effort for me to do a cartoonish drawing than a photo realistic-ish drawing and i hate it#because sometimes i just want to do a simple drawing that's just lineart. maybe SOME shading.#but i fuss so much on how the lines should look and where to add more/less lines and what kind of thickness and blah blaaah#i have SO many art ideas i want to bring to life i stress myself out about it#i know that sounds so stupid#like yes just do art! do it bad! it's better than nothing!#but it's... deflating. especially when i literally have an art degree like#5 years of art school and i was barely taught anything about line art#'oh well that's in animation so you'd want to do a degree in television' ???#and those few times lineart was relevant was when there was a naked person in front of us when you're told to just replicate what you see#but we rarely had any variety between models and when i'm in that setting drawing someone my mind is just#~oh god naked person don't stare but i must don't think about it but it needs to be right oh god naked person i'm uncomfortable -+#like it was just overwhelming stress of getting it right rather than actually learning anything#which honestly sums up my art school experience overall#but it also doesn't help when you hate your own body so much and the idea of someone trying to draw you is just humiliating#(like at one point we had to partner up with someone and both paint their portrait AND model their head with clay#and i nearly had a breakdown and refused and asked if i could use someone at home instead#bc I've got plenty of scars and deformities and my face isn't symmetrical and i knew that was either going to be overlooked or exaggerated#and when it's the other way around i try my best to pay attention to detail but it's becoming this debilitating anxiety#of doing exactly that back. and it's made me paranoid to do anatomy related stuff) ANYWAY#it would have been good if people weren't ALWAYS naked and they helped us narrow down how different fabrics work on bodies and stuff#and to help us convey that through LINEART instead of needing to do whole ass paintings and detailed sketches and stuff#[SpongeBob voice] WHAT I LEARNED IN ART SCHOOL IS--- 😬#anyway if any fellow artists have any tips they'd be willing to share i would very happily listen#like i've got my drive back to draw things again which in itself is nice but man#it would be nice to not lose steam 5 minutes after anything i start drawing because i freak myself out#okay rant over if anyone's still here thank you for your patience and interest#me ranting
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not to be sad on main but I miss my mom
#especially our phone calls#she always had some wry take on something that found a way to make me laugh#grief tag#may as well toss that in there#but yeah i just really wish i could talk with her right now#I'd feel a lot less crazy if i could just call her and joke about how weird my life is right now and beg for some advice#even if realistically I'd take about 23% of it and ignore the rest to her ire#I'd kill to hear her tell me that it'll be fine. just one more time wouldn’t be enough but I would still take that in a heartbeat#i just had my 25th birthday recently and it felt so empty to experience a milestone without her#i know it's not that big but it got me thinking about bigger milestones#and it all snowballed from there#my dad and i have also been having trouble since earlier this year for reasons relating to her passing which has thrown a wrench into things#i wish i could call my mom to ask her how she would really feel about it. or just bitch about the situation for a while.#as it is it feels like my only two options are to grin and bear it at a detriment to myself or to speak my mind and hurt the relationship#and while she may not have a simple answer ready for me she would still listen to me and emphasize with my point of view#while also pointing out when I've gone way off base and have misunderstood the situation#idk um. if you got this far thanks for reading my ramblings ig?#mumblings
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so this post is definitely about me lol & i just wanna say that
me only having mental illness is a really big assumption
the experiences i talked about were my own & some friends i'd had while going to an alternate school, they weren't secondhand or made up
idk what is wrong with this person but they are super fucking ableist, & going through their blog, it's clear they love to accuse everyone of faking being disabled or needing accommodation for some reason & are obsessed with interacting in bad faith.
just gonna assume they're constantly having a really bad day every day but man if you're gonna make multiple blogs dedicated to speaking about disabled issues, maybe don't alienate a majority of the community & accuse them of not being "disabled enough" for you to fucking listen to them
#i think when your advocating of one specific group turns into putting down everyone else .you've failed#if you want to be a voice for a community you have to be able to speak coherently about a subject without getting aggressive#& picking fights with anyone who even breathes in your direction#which this person seems to love to do btw holy shit they are super fucked#anyways was just reminded of this dipshit. this screenshot & some other shit they said (like accusing me of thinking disabled ppl are gross#was in response to me saying addiction is a disability & they flipped the fuck out about that#my point was that you can't cater to every single disability all at once. there is going to be some conflict & you have to problem solve#like imagine a person who's super cold & another who's super hot#the person who's cold can keep putting on more layers but the person who's hot can't. so the cold person is gonna have to compromise#& turn the heat down & just put on a jacket or something#OP said that taking medication in public should be normalized & (while that is hyperspecific region-wise) that is true#but also you need to work with other disabled people (like addicts) when making things accessible#because an accessibility option might be great for one person & horrible for another#because when i was at that alt school there were a bunch of kids who were recovering addicts or parents were#& so i was asked to take my medication away from them & i did. because i'm not a fucking asshole#it would be cool if you could take your meds whenever wherever but that just isn't realistic#if you can help someone with trauma or an addiction without negatively impacting yourself then why not#like why would you force someone else to suffer just because you're personally angry about an imaginary slight#if you can't leave or leaving would fuck things up then let them know you take your meds at that time so they can leave beforehand#or if it's an emergency then just fucking take the meds & the other guy can decide what to do with themself#like there is a nuance here that the OP refuses to acknowledge because they don't actually care about disabled people#they only care about themself#like cool advocating. still ableism#anyways if you got this far for blocking reasons the user is disbabeled
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Trans Tim off handedly mentioning random things that just confuse people more and more because he never told them he was trans (only Bruce and Alfred know)
Tim: "For the mission I'm thinking I'll go undercover, but it'll take some work to hide the bruises I got earlier. They're everywhere"
Dick: "Oh I think Steph is free right now!"
Tim: "...Ok?"
Dick: "Don't worry I'm sure she'll help you out with this! "
Tim: "That's awesome but I don't think I'll need help. I know how to use makeup."
Dick: "Really-? Ohhh, yeah your public image is like, way more public than ours. That must be tiring, having to hide the bruises all the time."
Tim: "Well yeah but I knew how to use makeup before that. For like, galas as a kid and stuff"
Dick: "...yeah..."
-----
Steph: -Complaining about a man- "And then he said "Oh you should smile more" like "you look like you don't want to be here" like what- what the fuck-??? Maybe I fucking don't dude."
Tim: "Oh yeah I hate when they do that. Like you've spent the entire time bitching about the consistency of snails, I can close my mouth for a few seconds."
Steph: "..."
Tim: "...What-?"
Steph: "Well- I mean yeah but- you know I have to deal with it like...way more, and it's just a bit weird that like, you as a guy are, I dunno, trying to relate? I mean you don't have to deal with it litreally everyday"
Tim: "Well yeah not anymore, but, you know...I still did."
Steph: :...What-"
-----
Tim: -Resting against one of the rooftop ledges-
Jason: "Woah, I can't believe it, Red Robin, slacking. What would Bruce do if he saw this!"
Tim: "Fuck off, it's just period cramps." -Jumps off the edge of the building-
Jason: "Yeah whatever Timblina...
Your fucking what-"
-----
Bruce: "And for this mission, we'll be needing someone for the Caroline disguise, but we already know who that is so-"
Dick: "Wait does Steph actually know how to fight in heels-??"
Bruce: "...N-"
Steph: "Yeah Bruce, I mean, you could at least actually ask me before volunteering me to go fight crime in that dress."
Bruce: "You-"
Jason: "I mean no offense, but literally who else would do it? Cass isn't here right now and I don't think any of us are willing to get a boob job for the mission"
Bruce: "No one's getting a boob job-"
Steph: "Yeah! This is bat tech, Bruce probably has ultra realistic titties in everyone's color and size! Jason you wouldn't even need an attachment."
Jason: "I don't think Caroline Hills has fifty gun shot wounds and muscles the size of most those guys heads."
Steph: "Yeah bu-"
Bruce: "None of that will be necessary because none of you" -Pointing at the right side of the table- "Will be going. No one at this table will be needing any prosthetics...Or boob jobs."
Steph: "...Ok but who the fuck is going then-"
Bruce: "Tim."
The entire table: "..."
Steph: "Tim are you really willing to put on boobs for this-"
Dick: "I don't think that's the best idea-"
Jason: "You just said no prosthetics- Oh this'll be fucking rich"
Tim: "...
I...wouldn't need a boob job?? Or prosthetics?"
Jason: "Timbo, that dress is a pretty low cut, and, no offense, your training hasn't given you that many enhancements."
Tim: "...Thank you for the binding compliment?"
Dick: "The what-"
Tim: "Guys I- I already have boobs-"
The Table: "..."
Steph: "WHAT-"
Dick: "You do-?!"
Jason: "Bruce if you made Tim get boobs for some weird mission-"
Tim: "What- No! No one made me get boobs??? Besides, I don't know, biology I guess??? Genetics maybe???"
Dick: "...I'm extremely confused"
Steph: "WHO GAVE YOU BOOBS-???"
Tim: "I'm not really sure seeing as I was born with them"
Dick: "...
OHHHHHH-"
Steph: "What- is this like a birth defect or something???"
Dick: "Tim- Tim I think you're just gonna have to-"
Tim: "I'm trans."
Jason: "...That's-
Yeah
Ok yeah no that- that explains...a lot."
Steph: "..." -Head in hands- "I am such a fucking idiot"
#tim drake#timothy drake#timothy jackson drake#dick grayson#jason todd#stephine brown#bruce wayne#red robin#nightwing#red hood#batgirl#spoiler dc#dc universe#dcu#batman#batfamily#batkids#trans tim drake#batfamily incorrect quotes#batfam#batfam incorrect quotes
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“What’s got you so grumpy?”
Sukuna dodges your finger. It fails to meet its destination of his cheek as he tilts his head to the side, earning a frown from you before you huff and try again.
He looks up from his phone with an irritated glance when your fingertip digs into his face.
“What are you talking about?” He grunts.
He knows exactly what you’re talking about. Normal Sukuna is irritable enough—grumpy Sukuna is about as bad tempered as a hornet who’s had its nest kicked. (Which is to say: he’s pretty fucking unfriendly at the moment.)
“You’re sulking,” you point out—and that statement earns a sharp glare from him as you seat yourself on his lap. (Still, he makes room easily for you, leaning back on the couch and putting his phone down to the side so his hands can rest on your hips. Grumpy Sukuna is never grumpy enough to push your body away—if anything, it’s the one way to get him less agitated).
“I’m not fucking sulking,” he says. It’s almost petulant, but you have enough grace to spare his dignity and not point it out. “I don’t sulk.”
“Are you sure?” You raise a disbelieving brow—he clicks his teeth at the way you choose to question him, but it softens considerably when your lips peck his jaw delicately. “You look pretty sulky to me.”
“Get your eyes checked.”
“Can’t. Then I might see you for all your ugliness. We wouldn’t want to throw years down the drain once I come to my senses do we?”
It’s his turn to raise a brow, sarcastically snorting as you give him a cheeky wink. “If you wanna try ‘n be a smart ass, at least be realistic about it. Saw you checking me out just this morning through the mirror.”
“Maybe you need your eyes checked,” you huff, “I was not checking you out.”
“Pretty sure you were,” he smirks, lips pulling into a haughty grin. Getting under your skin with his smugness is about the only way to cheer him up, it seems, because he looks rather pleased when he adds, “it’s okay. Don’t blame ya for bein’ possessed by my impressive physique.”
“Too bad your personality isn’t as dazzling,” you quip back easily.
It’s meant to be lighthearted, of course—but it seems to be the wrong thing to say. Quite wrong, in fact, because as soon as the words escape you, he tenses before locking his jaw.
There’s a flash of something in his eyes. Something you don’t think you’ve ever seen in Sukuna’s face—doubt. It’s a little odd, in all realness. Sukuna is not a doubtful person. He’s confident, and he’s confident enough that it’s almost to a fault. He’s cocky and smug and sometimes a little too self-assured for it to be considered good for his health.
It’s a bit unsettling to see his face almost fall at something you say, especially when you just say it for the sake of light banter.
“Yeah?” He chuckles dryly. It sounds dangerously self-deprecating—enough that it makes you frown. “Good thing I have my abs to keep you glued to my side then, huh?”
“Well, it’s not just your abs,” you hum, one hand smoothing over his shirt to feel the ridges of his muscles through the shirt. “Your boobs are pretty great, too.”
To prove your point, you give his left pectoral a gentle squeeze. He scowls before shoving your hand away as blush creeps along the back of his neck.
“You fucking freak,” he mutters.
Something is bothering him. You know you can’t directly ask it out of him, otherwise he’ll deny it left and right, but something is bothering him. Sukuna is not good with words or emotions. In fact, he’s pretty awful at anything that has to do with anyone’s feelings. (He’s better about yours more than other’s, but he’s pretty far from good.)
You don’t mind. There’s something oddly charming about witnessing the way he navigates softening up for you—it’s like watching a baby take their first steps. Wobbly. Slow. Unsure. Pretty badly executed, but endearingly rewarding all at the same.
Except, this time, it’s not your emotions he’s navigating. For some reason, yours are easy than his own. Navigating yours means he doesn’t have to try. He knows you better than he knows himself. Knows when your feelings are hurt by the twitch of your brows alone. Knows you’re sad by the dimness in your eyes. Knows you’re pretending joy when your laugh is quieter than usual. Knows you’re faking it when your smile is a much more tight lipped and a less bright version.
But his own feelings are complicated. A lot more than he cares to try and understand them for. In true Sukuna fashion, he always aims to ignore his problems until they seemingly disappear.
But you’re too difficult to let that slide. He brushes things under the rug, and you pull the rug from under his feet and make him fall face first into his problems.
“Hey,” you nudge him, cupping his face with your hand gently, “what’s gotten into you? It’s weird when you’re not pissing me off a couple of times every hour.”
“And that’s supposed to be a good thing?” He challenges, like your words seem to tick him off more, “what are you sittin’ here for if I’m always pissing you off?”
Oh, you think. So that’s what it is.
You smile, humming before you gently tilt his face up. Something vulnerable is attached to that frown of his. Like he’s waiting for your answer because he needs something to hold onto. Some metaphorical lifeline where your feelings are attached to his own, just to keep you chained together. Where you’re always somewhere that he also is. Where he doesn’t have to care about his emotions because what you feel is what he feels, too, and as long as you’re okay, so is he.
But you care. You seem to care a pretty great deal because you lean in and brush your nose against his as you kiss his lips softly.
“Who cares if you piss me off?” You snort, “I piss you off better. I’m pretty good at it.”
“You are,” he agrees instantly.
You give him a fleeting huff against his mouth as you mumble, “you don’t have to agree so fast.”
It pulls a small laugh from him, making his arms snake around your waist and tug your body closer. Chest to chest, heartbeat thumping in two, synchronized rhythms.
“What happens when I’m all old and expiring and my abs are gone?” He raises a brow. You hum, stroking a thumb along his cheek as you smile and admire him.
“We’ll still be pissing each other off, I bet.”
“That’s supposed to be good?” He repeats, this time much more unsure. Anyone else could hardly catch the air of hesitance in his words, but you catch it instantly.
“Why not?” You shrug, “it always worked for us, hasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he scoffs, “that’s until it doesn’t.” He spits the words out, not meeting your eyes. It’s like they taste acrid is mouth and he can’t bring himself swallow them down.
You don’t say anything. Instead, you lean in and just press a line of kisses from his chin to the corner of his lips, purposely dodging his mouth and littering small, delicate pecks along his cheek. And then his forehead. And then the bridge of his nose.
Never his lips, though. And he gets increasingly frustrated by it.
“What are you waiting for?” He grumbles, eyeing you with a look that screams: quit fucking around.
You fight back an amused smile. “Does it piss you off?”
“Course it does. Kiss me properly or back off my face—”
“Cause you love me right?” You ask cheekily. He pauses, thinking on it for a moment before slumping wearily.
“And if I do?”
“You piss me off too. Because I love you too,” you whisper, forehead against his as your hands cradle his cheeks. Because you do.
When he texts late, and makes your blood boil, it’s only because you love him. When he’s brutally honest and doesn’t say what you want to hear, you’re only mad because you care what he thinks so much. When he’s stubborn and refuses to meet you halfway, you’re only angry because there’s no one else you’d rather cross the bridge with than him.
He pisses you off. You care enough to be pissed because it’s him. And when you piss him off too, he cares enough to deal with it because it’s you.
It’s a funny, twisted little way to love and be loved, but it works. For some odd reason, it does. It’s a seamless, smooth, crackless road.
You don’t ever fix something that’s not broken.
“That doesn’t make sense,” he sighs, resigning himself to your weird, roundabout explanation. You laugh, pinching his cheek as you grin brightly.
“That’s because you’re a bit dim.”
“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes, “okay. Anything else?”
“Yeah, actually. I love you.”
He pauses. Swallows for a moment before his arms tighten their grip on your hips just a smidge before burying his face into your neck and mumbling, “me too. Love you so much, it pisses me off.”
“I like to get under your skin like that,” you stroke his hair, beaming as you add, “guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”
His lips stretch into a small grin before a low, rumbling chuckle breathes itself against your skin. “Guess so.”
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a/n: insecure modern! au sukuna who doesn’t admit it and refuses to acknowledge that he’s aware he’s difficult to love and can’t understand why you love him but he also doesn’t want to question it for fear of scaring you away is very near and dear to me and i’ll be talking about it from my grave still. you’ll just hear my ghostly voice spooking you through the night talking about how he’s a softie deep down under all the layers. like an ogre okay? ogres have LAYERS.
#—rivistyping!#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna fluff#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna fluff#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fluff
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You can write werewolf × reader!Fox fem (enemies are lovers), where we constantly tease him)) (fuck)
Pairing: Male Werewolf x Fem Fox Hybrid Reader
Warnings: Sex, unprotected sex, public sex, breeding, creampie, knotting
I hope you enjoy ❤️💕🖤🖤💕❤️
Realistically, your feud with your massive werewolf neighbor was not something you should spend so much time and energy on. In all fairness, he started your little feud when he trampled over your flower garden on his way back from one of his runs.
You confronted him once you saw it, and he told you to stop being so sensitive and grow more flowers. From that point on, he became enemy number one. If he wanted to be an asshole, you would be petty and make him miserable. It started small with things like sending him anonymous packages that shot out hot pink glitter when opened and sprinkling his entire front yard with orbeez the night before it rained. He always matched your energy, giving just as good as he got.
Months later, you needed more ideas. However, a new thought pops into your mind as you see him arrive home from a run. You have lived next to him long enough to know his rut should be starting tomorrow, and he is always particularly wound up the day before.
What better way to torture your werewolf neighbor than to tease him right before his rut? You quickly run to your bedroom and change into a very short sundress, deciding to forgo panties.
You make your way to his house and knock on the door with a sickly, sweet smile. Upon noticing your presence, he answers the door with his usual scowl. His voice is gruff and slightly raspy as he asks, “What do you want?”
His voice sends tingles straight through your core, and your brain falters momentarily as you take in his scent. Your pussy begins to slick with arousal, and you squeeze your thighs together. You recover quickly, watching as his eyes rake over your figure and his hands clench, his claws biting into his skin.
You bat your eyelashes and reply, “Well, I was going to make some cookies and realized I am out of sugar. I was wondering if you had any I could use.” He looks at you skeptically before he licks his front teeth and says, “No, I don’t have any sugar.”
You give him a pout, smiling internally as you watch his eyes flicker to your lips. “Ok. I figured, but it was worth a shot”, you say as you begin to make your way back down the steps of his front porch.
Right as you get to the last step, you give a small jump to get down to the ground. The small rush of air causes the short skirt of your sundress to rise. You use your tail to flick the skirt even higher, clearly showing your lack of panties and spreading your arousal through the air.
You make it one more step before his strong arms pull you back and into his large chest. He dips his head low, his snout brushing your ear as he says, “You shouldn’t have done that, little fox. I have been fighting for control since I opened the door to you in this fucking tiny sundress. I’m starting my rut, and you decide to come over here and put your ass on full fucking display. This slutty little body is just begging to be bred and knotted”.
You know you should stay strong and pull from his arms. This is supposed to be you teasing him, not giving in to him, but as you feel his massive cock rub into your lower back, you can’t help but moan and rub back against him. He growls before pushing you onto your hands and knees right in the front yard.
“Wait, we need to go inside. People could see us”, you say, moving to get back up. He places one of his hands on the back of your neck and shoves your chest against the ground; your ass is high in the air as he flips the bottom of your dress up and over the small of your back.
“I don’t think so, little fox. You weren’t so concerned about others seeing this perfect little ass. I’m going to fuck you and breed you right here where everyone can see you being my little slut”, he says. Before you have a chance to respond, he thrusts inside of you, and you scream out at the stretch.
He sets a brutal pace as he fucks you with the sole purpose of knotting and breeding your tight cunt. You can’t help but meet him thrust for thrust, as he rearranges your insides. He manages to hit every fucking nerve ending in your dripping pussy, pleasure crashing over you in tidal waves.
You should be embarrassed by the spectacle he is making of you. A small glance up shows that your neighbors are indeed watching him breed you; your moans and screams clearly caught their attention.
He leans down and gives a low chuckle as he feels you cream all over his cock again. He gives your ear a little nip before teasing, “You like this, don’t you? Everyone watching me claim and breed you. I can feel your tight cunt cumming all over my cock, and you haven’t even gotten my knot yet, little fox,”.
You can’t even respond, too overwhelmed with pleasure as he gives your ass a harsh smack, grabbing your tail and pulling on it to drag your pussy back to him with each thrust.
His thrusts speed up and become harsher as he works to fuck his knot inside you. Your nails dig into the dirt as he gives one last push, his knot popping in and splitting your pussy wide open. Your scream as you cum harder than ever before, your legs shaking and tears pouring down your face as your try and fuck yourself back on him as much as possible.
He moans loudly as his cock finally starts filling you up with his seed, his knot keeping everything locked in tight. He holds your trembling body close to his own as his orgasm finally comes to a stop, your pussy and womb overstuffed and full of him.
He holds your lower half against him tightly, trying not to jostle you on his knot too much as he stands. He begins returning to his house as he says, “Get ready for when my knot goes down, little fox. That was just a taste; I haven’t even truly started my rut yet, and you haven’t seen what I plan on doing to this gorgeous little body now that no one is watching”. Your cunt clenches around his knot, already excited for what’s to come.
❤️💕🖤🖤💕❤️
#monster boyfriend#monster x reader#monster husband#monster smut#teratophillia#monster x human#monster fucker#monster fudger#monster lover#monster fuqqer#monster x monster#werewolf x you#werewolf x female#werewolf breeding#werewolf imagine#werewolf romance#werewolf fluff#werewolf x reader#werewolf husband#werewolf smut#werewolf x hybrid#fox hybrid#werewolf x fem!reader#terat0philliac#monster romance#hybrid smut#hybrid#monster#werewolf#werewolves
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moth to a flame
bucky barnes x reader / winter soldier x reader
"I know you. even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."
word count: 4.9k
summary: bucky is triggered into the winter soldier during a mission and then goes MIA, until he seeks you out in the middle of the night.
warnings/tags: SMUT, canon divergence (bucky hasn't been successfully deprogrammed in this), kind of dub-con, language, some violence, reader is afab, no use of y/n, friends with benefits situation, angst with a happy ending, 18+ only
“You've reached Bucky. I can't answer the phone right now but leave me a mess–”
You hang up before the voicemail recording finishes. You already knew he wasn't going to answer, just as he hasn't answered any of the other thirty-something times you've dialed his number over the course of the last few days. Or read any of the two dozen text messages.
The messages had stopped delivering and the calls had started going straight to voicemail almost two days ago at this point. And yet you still got your hopes up every time you checked your phone, only to be met with gut-wrenching, nauseating disappointment.
It had now been three days of this - not to mention picking your cuticles until they bleed, flipping back and forth between every news station on your TV in hopes (and fear) of seeing his name, a few collective hours of sleep each night, and too much Red Bull.
Just when you were thinking about trying to kick your caffeine addiction, too.
Three days of feeling completely and utterly helpless.
You place the phone back down on your coffee table, staring down at the thick, white cast encasing your left leg from your foot to just under your knee.
Useless.
You knew you were doing what you physically could - the spread of laptops and tablets on the table in front of you continuously supplying data from facial recognition programs across the United States.
Realistically, you knew he could be on the other side of the world by now, but that didn't stop you from checking. It was the only thing that you felt you had any control over right now.
But it wasn't enough. Not when Steve, Sam, Natasha, Sharon, and every other currently able-bodied team member are out scouring every safehouse and known former HYDRA base in the tri-state area while you're holed up in your apartment with a fractured fibula and a brain that won't let you stop reliving the moments before he went missing.
“This is as straightforward as it gets,” Steve re-assures you both for what felt like the dozenth time that day. “You'll be in and out in no time.”
“So straight-forward that you're going to hang back here while we do all the dirty work?” You joke as you make the final adjustments to your parachute.
“We've been monitoring this base for months,” he reminds you. “This place is as abandoned as they come. Get in, get the intel from the database, and get back to the jet.”
“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Bucky adds with a devious grin.
“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Steve agrees.
If only things had been as simple as he had expected.
You had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach from the moment that you and Bucky landed on the ground outside of the HYDRA base. You told yourself that you were being irrational - but you couldn't shake the looming feeling that something was going to go wrong.
“See?” Bucky says after removing the USB drive from the computer. He sticks the device in the breast pocket of his tactical vest before edging you towards the desk. “Easy-peasy. You've been worried for nothing.”
“I have not been worried,” you deny, leaning against the edge of the desk. “This place is just old, and smelly, and creepy.”
Bucky takes a step closer to you so that there's no space left between you. He places his hands on the desk on either side of you, enclosing you.
“You think that I can't tell when you're nervous?” He says quietly, studying your face. You can smell a lingering hint of cool mint from his mouthwash. “That I haven't spent enough time learning your body to read you like an open book?”
Your thighs clench together and your nipples pebble at his words. You're almost embarrassed at how easily his voice, his scent, his closeness elicits a physical response from your body. Almost.
“What I think,” you murmur against his mouth. His hands come to grip your hips as he nudges your thighs open, standing between your legs. “Is you're crazy if you're thinking about trying to fuck me in an abandoned HYDRA warehouse.”
He exhales a dramatic sigh. “You can't blame me for trying.”
“I am relieved to know that you'd even want to do that here,” you say, hopping down from where you're perched on the desk. “I really think that shows you've processed your trauma–”
You're cut off by the room going completely dark. Every light, every computer, turns to black.
Bucky's flesh hand instinctively reaches to grab your wrist in the dark, tugging you to him.
“What the fuck,” he groans under his breath.
“We need to get out of–” you start to state the obvious but close your mouth when the computer that you and Bucky had retrieved the data from turns back on.
And then a computer to the right - and then across the room - and another to the right - and one to left - until every computer is on and showing the exact same screen. Bucky's hand grips yours so tightly that it borders on being painful.
Displayed on dozens of screens throughout the room is the face of a man. A man who you've never met, but recognize immediately.
“Zola,” Bucky whispers almost inaudibly.
“Sergeant Barnes,” Zola addresses him with a perverted smile. “Welcome home,” his voice pours from every computer speaker throughout the room and echoes off the walls.
“Steve?” You whisper urgently, clicking on the communication device hidden in your ear. “Steve, we've got a prob–”
“There's no use in that,” Zola interrupts you. “It's too late. They're almost here.”
The following sixty seconds were a jumbled blur that you were still trying to piece together in your mind.
You remember hearing the stream of words spoken in Russian.
Longing. Rusted. Seventeen.
You remember Bucky screaming at you to run, the sound of Steve's voice in your ear telling you that back-up was on the way and asking a dozen questions that you were too overwhelmed to respond to.
Daybreak. Furnace. Nine.
You remember begging Steve to hurry. You remember pleading with Bucky to come with you to try to get away; pleading with him to just look at you, just stay with you, help is coming -
Benign. Homecoming. One.
You remember the moment that Bucky went completely still as the room was infiltrated by HYDRA agents.
Freight car.
You knew that Bucky wasn't there anymore. You could sense it in his stance, in the way he wouldn't meet your eyes, in his silence.
Before you could say anything else to him, close to a dozen HYDRA agents came barreling towards you both. He charged through them, taking down one after the next with ease, until there were just a few left standing.
It was a side of Bucky you'd never seen. You thought that you had witnessed his strength, his agility, his determination, his ruthlessness working beside him in this field - but you then saw just how much he had been holding back.
He fled past the remaining few, out the door and down the hallway of the warehouse. The agents turned to follow him, forgetting about you - until you threw a knife directly into one's neck from behind.
Another agent shot at you, the blow hitting your bulletproof vest and sending you flying backwards onto hard cement.
Before you could catch your breath, there was a sharp cracking noise and a blinding pain radiating from your lower leg - but it was short lived.
The last thing you recall is the man's boot swinging towards your face.
You woke up some number of hours later, in a hospital bed with your temple throbbing and leg elevated in a cast.
“Hey,” a soft voice calls from your right. Natasha stands up from the singular chair in the room, both concern and relief evident across her features. “You're okay,” she begins to assure you. “You have a concussion and a fractured–”
“Where's Bucky?” You interrupt her, your voice scratchy. You clear your throat. “Is he okay? Did Steve find him? Did HYDRA get–”
“HYDRA didn't get him. Steve took care of the last of the agents after him,” she stops you from rambling. There's an immediate sense of relief wash over you.
“But we haven't found him yet,” she adds carefully. “Everyone is out searching for him now. You know we won't stop until–”
A gentle knock on your apartment door snaps you back to reality.
You freeze, your heart jumping to your throat. You stand as quickly as you can manage, grabbing your crutches propped up next to you on the couch.
“It's just me,” a feminine voice calls from the other side of the door. Your heart goes from your throat to your stomach. Not him.
“I'm sorry, I should have text you first,” Natasha continues. “But I brought you food. Street tacos from–”
You turn the deadbolt and unhook the chain lock before swinging the door open.
“You look–”
“Like hammered shit?” You finish for her, nodding your head towards the inside of the apartment as indication for her to come in.
“I was going to say exhausted,” she says, walking past you with a large paper sack of take-out food. Your stomach growls at the aroma - when was the last time you ate something more than a bowl of cereal or granola bar?
“Your favorite,” she tells you, placing the bag on the kitchen counter. “Extra salsa verde and lime wedges. Have you gotten any sleep recently?” Her eyes skim across the empty energy drink cans littered around the kitchen.
You maneuver yourself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen's small island, leaning your crutches on the edge of the counter.
“Yes,” you mumble. “For forty-five minutes from 2:30 to 3:15 today.”
She lets out a long groan, rolling her eyes at you.
“You're supposed to be healing from a concussion,” she reminds you, taking a seat for herself. “Which generally doesn't include sleep deprivation and excessive use of computer screens.” She stares in the direction of the array of laptops that overcrowd the limited space of your coffee table.
“Did you find anything in Connecticut? What about Sam, is he back from New Jersey?” You ask, ignoring her concerns as you unbox your food.
“Connecticut was a dead-end,” she sighs. “We're still waiting to hear back from Sam. There's a safehouse up in Vermont that Steve wants to head to tomorrow–”
“You don't think there's a chance of him letting me tag along for that, do you?” You tap the edge of your cast against the base of the island with your foot.
Her eyes soften as she looks at you. You already knew the answer.
“I know this is really hard for you,” she says delicately. “I may not know exactly what has been going on between you and Barnes these last few months, but it's obvious you care a lot for him. We all do. We are going to find him and bring him home,” she assures you.
You nod at her in agreement, not quite trusting your voice enough to speak.
Your eyes sting as you attempt to blink away the tears that threaten to spill over. You had yet to allow yourself to spend any time crying these last few days and you didn't wish to start now.
Her words remind you that no one knows exactly why you are taking Bucky's disappearance so harshly. You assume that your friends have their suspicions about your and Bucky's arrangement but the two of you had agreed to keep it between yourselves.
They didn't know it had started off being a weekly occurrence - late Sunday evenings, your apartment. Or how it had quickly escalated from once a week to twice, and then from two times a week to three - and instead of just your apartment, it would happen anywhere the two of you had a private (and sometimes public) moment - up against the wall of the communal showers at the compound's gym, in the back of the Quinjet after missions while everyone else would be sleeping on the flight back home, even during team meetings with his hand creeping between your thighs while you try to stay quiet enough to not draw any attention to yourselves.
They didn't know you were supposed to be friends with benefits but that at some point during the days and nights spent underneath one another, the line between friends and something more became blurry for you.
You had just been too chickenshit to tell him.
Natasha sits across from you as you inhale the Mexican food that she brought you. She doesn't say anything else, just keeps you company in a comfortable silence as you eat your first legitimate meal in days.
“Thank you,” you tell her as you're finishing your food. “I appreciate you. I've been going a little crazy here by myself,” you add meekly.
“Of course.” She stands back up. “I would stay longer, but I've got to prepare for Vermont. We're leaving early in the morning.”
“Be safe. All of you,” you remind her. “Let me know if you guys find anything. Just tell me if there's anything at all I can do. And please let me know when you hear from Sam–”
“You'll be the first to know when there's anything to know,” she assures you gently.
“Thanks, Nat.”
“You just try to get some rest, okay?” She requests as she walks toward the door. “Maybe drink some water, possibly consider taking a nice, long shower…”
“Goodbye, Natasha.”
She's chuckling as she closes the door behind her.
You lower your nose to your armpit as soon as the door clicks shut, inhaling.
Maybe she makes a valid point about showering.
Half an hour later, there's a heavy rain beating against the windows of your apartment when you finish bathing. You secure a towel around your chest before yanking off the garbage bag that you had wrapped around your cast well enough for you to rinse off.
Belly full and body clean, you felt somewhat better; at least physically.
You listen to the rain pound down as you sit on the edge of the bathtub, massaging lotion into your skin, and wonder where Bucky is right now - if he's safe, if it's raining wherever he's at, if he's somewhere dry -
You come to a sudden halt in the middle of brushing your teeth. It's hard to tell over the deafening roar of the rain and your bathroom fan, but you could have sworn you heard the creaking of a door or window from your living room.
I double checked the door locks after Nat left, you rationalize to yourself. This apartment is on the fourth floor, no one is going to climb the fire escapes to–
There's an unmistakable shadow visible through the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door. It's gone as quickly as it appears.
Shit. You start to panic as you realize you left your cell phone in the kitchen. As quietly as you can, you look around the small room for something to defend yourself with. A hair dryer, dental floss, a few week’s worth of dirty laundry..
You hear the creaking of floorboards as footsteps seem to creep closer and closer to the bathroom door.
Crutches. You have two crutches. You can clobber them with your crutches.
“I can hear you,” you call to whoever is just beyond the door. “I know you’re out there.”
Silence. No hint of any further movement.
You place one crutch under your left armpit for support, keeping the other one ready to wield as a weapon. “You have ten seconds to get out of my apartment,” you say a bit louder, willing your voice not to waver. “I have a weapon.”
Yeah, a weapon. If you can call it that.
Ten seconds come and go, followed by another ten seconds.
You weren’t going to let someone play this game with you in your own home.
Taking one last deep breath and tightening your grip on the defense crutch, you sling the bathroom door open quickly.
“Oh my god,” you exclaim, immediately relaxing your weight against the crutches, releasing the death grip that you had on your uninjured side.
It’s dark in your bedroom save for a few pale orange string lights hung around your bed frame and the light that spills in from the bathroom, but you would recognize his broad frame anywhere.
“Thank fuck you’re okay,” you exhale, swinging yourself over to where he stands at the foot of your bed. When you’re a little over a foot away from him, you realize he’s sopping wet - his hair dripping water droplets and his skin dewy. His clothing, the same clothing that you last saw him in three days ago, clings to his body like a second skin.
He remains still as a statue, and as silent as one.
“Are you okay?” You ask him apprehensively. You give him a once over, from head to toe. You don't see any noticeable injuries, but he is trembling.
“Bucky?” You ask in a small voice.
His lips are set in a hard line. He doesn't answer, just stares at you. Stares at you like he’s trying to figure out why he’s here.
Stares at you like he’s trying to decide if he knows you or not.
The immense relief that you had felt at knowing he's alive is washed away by a sinking feeling.
His eyes trail from your face and slowly down your towel-clad body. He pauses when he gets to your foot, glancing back and forth from your cast to the crutches on either side. His brows furrow together - almost like he's in pain.
“I'm okay,” you assure him in a shaky voice. “It's just a fracture,” you explain. “I'll be healed in no time.”
You notice that his features relax a bit at your words - just enough to give you hope that Bucky, your Bucky, is in there and he's listening to you.
Do whatever you have to do to keep him here. Don't let him out of your sight. Help him remember who he is, your inner monologue screams at you. Just don't let him run away again.
“Are you cold?” You ask him. You're not necessarily expecting him to answer, you're just trying to put him at ease. “How about we get you some dry clothes?” You add, nodding towards his drenched henley.
You retreat into the bathroom, grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that he'd left over the last time he had stayed the night - the night before he went missing. They were at the top of the laundry basket - maybe not the cleanest, but better that the wet, dirty clothing he's in currently.
You limp your way back over to where he stands at your bed, leaning against the mattress for support. You set your crutches down and hand him the shirt and pants, which he hesitantly accepts. He makes no move to remove the wet clothes from his body, instead gently places the dry clothes onto the mattress beside him.
“Would you like some help?” you offer cautiously, terrified of doing anything that could cause him to run. You slowly reach towards the clothing that he had just placed on the bed, but he stops you before you can pick the t-shirt back up - grasping your wrist in his vibranium hand.
You can’t stop the small gasp that escapes past your lips. His hold on you is firm, but not painful. You could rip your hand from him if you wanted to - but you don’t.
Instead, you let him hold your hand as he begins to rub his metal thumb in a circular motion next to yours. You’re frozen; watching him carefully as he examines the movements his metal digit makes on your skin.
The goosebumps that appear in the wake of his touch don’t go unnoticed by him. His eyes trail from where his hand holds yours and up the expanse of your arm, until they land on your exposed neck. The towel covering your midsection has started to come loose, hanging low enough to reveal the top of your breasts.
He drops your hand, taking a step closer to you. You have to remind yourself to breathe - your Bucky is in there. Your Bucky, who is gentle, and soft, and would never do anything to cause you harm.
You have to trust that.
He brings his vibranium fingers up to the edge of the towel, trailing them across the mounds of your breasts. Your nipples harden right away, visible through the thin material of the towel.
You would let this play out however he wants it to. However he needs it to.
When his index finger stops where the towel is tucked into itself at your side, you forget how to breathe. He pauses for a split-second before unhooking the cloth and letting it fall to your feet.
He drinks in the sight of you bare before him, his jaw clenched and pupils dilated.
Dozens of times he has seen you like this, and never have you felt so completely vulnerable under his gaze.
And still there's a slickness gathering at the apex of your thighs.
He brings his flesh hand to your waist, putting the faintest bit of pressure against your skin. You close your eyes at the sensation - he's barely fucking touching you and you could melt into him.
Your name falls off of his lips - it's barely even a whisper, nearly inaudible but unmistakable. Your name. He remembers your name.
“Bucky,” your voice cracks when you whisper his own name back to him. His eyes snap up to yours, a mix of realization and hesitation brewing in them.
You bring both of your hands to the tail of his wet shirt, giving him time to pull away before you start to tug the shirt upwards. He doesn't stop you - in fact, he raises his own arms to help you tug the soaked fabric off of him. You toss the shirt in the general direction of your bathroom.
You didn't think there would ever come a time that the sight of him getting naked for you wouldn't make you want to drool.
You unsnap the button of his tactical pants, keeping your eyes on his face the whole time, hyper-analyzing his expression for any sign of reluctance.
You dip your fingers past the waistband of his boxers, his eyes fluttering closed as your hand travels lower.
He's already fully hard as you hold him, stroking him as best you can from inside the confines of his underwear and pants. You pump him in your hand and his head rolls back so that he's looking up at your ceiling.
Fuck, it takes all the restraint you possess to resist leaning forward and sucking on his neck.
Another time, you tell yourself, anxious about overwhelming him.
He curses under his breath - something in Russian that you don't recognize but the expression on his face indicates it to be a praise. There's a shift in his initially reserved, unsure demeanor when you begin to pump him faster.
His head snaps back down, his eyes raking up and down your body once more before he brings his hands to your lower back, maneuvering you against the bed.
You scoot until your back comes in contact with the cool satin of your pillows, relaxing into the bedding. At last Bucky begins to shed the layers of wet clothing covering his lower half, not taking his eyes off of your body as he removes his boots, followed by his pants and boxers.
He kneels on the mattress, crawling above where you lay. You want nothing more than to grab him by the shoulders and pull his mouth to yours, but you are going to let him call the shots.
He nudges your thighs apart with his knee, nestling himself between your legs. He grasps your breast in his vibranium hand, giving it a firm squeeze before rolling your nipple between his icy fingers.
He lowers himself so that he's belly down on your mattress, his face inches away from your pussy. He removes his hand from your breast and you let out a small whimper of disappointment at the abrupt lack of sensation. He uses that same hand to hike your uninjured leg over his shoulder, securing his head between the soft interior of your thighs.
He kisses you, starting at your belly button and working his way to your center. His lips feel like fire against your skin. You keep your hips planted firmly on the bed, fighting the urge to thrust your pussy up to his face.
“Please,” you whine. “Bucky, please.” You swear you can see the faintest trace of a smirk that looks so undeniably Bucky.
You clench your thighs around his face and he lets out a low, guttural groan as his mouth makes contact with you.
Normally, Bucky closes his eyes while he's going down on you - gets completely lost in it. Right now, his eyes are wide open - making sure he doesn't miss the way your mouth gapes when he rolls his tongue around your clit and the way your chest heaves when he nudges his tongue inside you.
You don't know which you find hotter.
You can already feel the tightening of a coil in your lower belly, making it impossible to resist rolling your hips to meet the torturous pace he's set with his tongue. You grind against his face, the thin layer of stubble that's grown across his jaw since you last saw him scratching against the sensitive flesh around your cunt.
You're approaching your climax when he pulls away, making you mewl at the loss of contact. His face glistens with your slick.
He flips you onto your side, placing you on your left side so that your injured leg rests against the mattress. You prop your head up with your hand as he slides in behind you.
His chest presses against your back, the heat of his body warming you all over. His flesh hand juts between your thighs, raising your right leg high enough for him to slap his cock against your pussy.
He strokes himself in his hand while he teases your folds - lubricating himself with your juices.
You turn your head to look at him right as he sheaths himself inside you, filling you entirely in one swift motion.
Fuck, you have to taste yourself on him. You can't handle not having his mouth on yours for another second.
You tilt your head back enough to connect your mouth to his - every worry you once had about coming on too strong and overwhelming him melts away as he opens his mouth for you, moving his lips against yours in an effortless rhythm.
He starts slow, quickly working up to a rapid pace as he repeatedly slams into your cervix from the sweetest angle. The sounds that you're making for him are pornographic - moaning into his mouth as his flesh hand comes around your front, landing on your engorged clitoris. He rubs languid circles while he continues to pound into you from behind.
You pull your lips away from his when you feel your orgasm building. “You always make me feel so good, you know that?” You ask him breathily, your mouth now right next to his ear.
“Every time you fuck me, I'm more sure that no one could ever compare to you. You've ruined me for everyone else. There’s only you for me.”
“Fuck,” he curses and groans your name again - it's the closest he's sounded to his normal self, which only spurs you on.
“I’ve become so fucking addicted to you in such a short amount of time,” you say in between moans as the head of his cock hits your sweet spot just right. “Think about you anytime you're not near me, drives me fucking crazy.”
He flips you - doesn't pull out - so that you're now underneath him. He goes right back to the same brutal pace, bringing his flesh hand to cradle your face as he stares down at you.
Clarity - you recognize it plain as day on his features.
He gives you a few more fast, hard thrusts before you're milking his cock through your orgasm. You crash your lips to his and he's coming - filling you up with his warm seed as he kisses you senseless.
He gradually stills inside you, his body going limp on top of yours as he rests his face in the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms around him, peppering kisses across his scarred shoulder, where flesh meets metal.
“I'm so sorry if I scared you,” he murmurs against the sweat-slicked skin of your throat after a moment. “I wasn't myself. Not even entirely sure how I ended up here - it's like I was pulled in this direction - to you,” he sighs.
You're overcome with such an immense relief at hearing him speak that you could cry. You tighten your hold around him, rubbing your hands up and down his back.
“You could never scare me, Bucky,” you assure him. He pulls out of you, rolling off of you onto the bed beside you and tugging you to his chest. Your cheek rests just over his heart.
"I know you. Even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."
♡♡♡♡♡
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thanks for reading! as always comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated!
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x you#bucky x you#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes one-shot#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes fanfiction
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So far this file is called 'birdritch'. Those of you who follow my art tumblr might know where this is going. I needed something light to write, been a low day. There has been zero editing or reading through and it is past 2am, sorry and enjoy! (Don't need any typos pointed out, ty.)
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“You are supposed to be home.”
Danny blinked up from his work to find Lucius Fox standing in the doorway of the lab. The man had the sport of expression one wore around a child who had just done something disappointing.
(Danny was used to the look, even if it had been a long time since he'd been a kid. Or seen his parents, for that mater.)
“Okay, but,” Danny started, “we agreed that I could start at ten and take my eight hours and one for lunch—”
“A mandatory one hour for lunch away from your desk,” Lucius interrupted.
“Yes, yes, I’ve been doing that! I’ve been eating out on the rooftop garden or even leaving the building and eating out or taking lunch to the park. I’ve been behaving, Lucius, I promise.”
Lucius raised a judgmental brow. “It’s after eight, Danny.”
“What? No. I have an alarm on my phone and everything… okay, well, that only works if my phone is charged.” Danny jabbed uselessly at his phone screen. He followed the charger, which was plugged in, all the way to the wall. He resisted the urge to let his head fall against the wall. “I guess Leslie fried the outlet again or something. I’m sorry, Lucius.”
“It’s fine, Danny,” Lucius said, “but only because, one, I know you have been trying, and two, I am going to buy you the most embarrassing alarm clock I can find and mount it to something in this lab. Now it is late and I am going home and so are you, Mr. Fenton.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Fox,” Danny said and made an exaggerate show of packing up his backpack, dead phone and all.
Lucius gave a little snort at the antics, but left with a ‘get home safe, Danny’. After his boss was gone, Danny took the time to actually make sure everything was in his bag and secure. He still didn’t get why he couldn’t just work late, but apparently WE had something of an insistence of work life balance. According to Lucius, Danny crossed the line too often and so was being kept in line. (Danny didn’t think mention he didn’t have much of a life, literally and otherwise, would help his case.)
Still, Danny mused as he stepped inside the empty elevator, the rules did keep him from becoming his parents. And that was a very, very good thing! Being a mad scientist in Gotham usually ended up landing someone in Arkham. It was just that after the chaos that Danny grew up with, going back to his empty apartment was depressing. It wasn’t as if Danny never got out and did things, it was just that all those things were mostly on the weekend. Most days he just didn’t have a reason to go back to his place.
There was no getting out of it tonight, the great and powerful Fox had spoken and Danny knew better than to try and sneak back up. He lifted his hands over his head, stretching as the elevator descended the last few floors. Oh well, at least it was before ten. He could still grab something on the way home and have a full, warm meal to take his pain meds on. By the pull along his forearm he would need them.
“Night, Bill,” Danny said as he passed the security guard who was on the evening shift. He got another ‘get home safe’ in response and gave a little wave in reply over his shoulder.
Even after the few years in Gotham, it still amused Danny how much everyone wished everyone else some sort of safe travels here. As much as Gotham was a city of hardened realists, there still was so much hope about it. Hope people got home safely, that the Bats would get where they were need in time, that the city would rebuild again and again and again. The undercurrent of hope was so strong that Danny could practically feel it moving through the city like a river.
It had been one of the reasons Danny had taken the job.
He could use hope.
He also had been very careful not to look too closely into it all. While Danny’s early life may have been dominated by the occult, he tried to stay away from it these days outside of the necessary visits to the Realm for his health. As much as the Far Frozen was full of ghost yetis, Frostbite was still a being of science and being there felt more like a cold vacation to his weird relatives than anything else those days.
Danny was actually worried that he was getting close to needing another visit. He shouldn’t, not yet. He wasn’t actually due back for another three months, but the thought of visiting Frostbite had been pulling at the back of Danny’s mind. The most annoying part of it all, is that there wasn’t any concrete reason that Danny felt he needed to go, just a lot of little things: the ache was deeper in his bones, he’d been missing noticing little things, his near constant vertigo was worse, and, oddest of all, he had been feeling chilled.
Maybe he should just take a long weekend and go for a quick visit.
Lucius would undoubtedly approve of the break.
Tomorrow, Danny would ask tomorrow.
(As long as he remembered.)
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I was just playing gotham knights again and noticed some passive dialog regarding Babs having a back brace, which is at least acknowledging that there was damage done, but I'm a little sad for the loss of some really cool disability representation. What are your feelings on her (and on a similar note Batman's) miraculous recovery from paralysis in DC?
I think Gotham Knights handled her disability fairly well, considering this is a universe where magic, nanobots, and puddles of evil green goo that can heal the dead exist. All things considered, it would have been very easy for them to either erase it entirely or just handwave and say, "She worked really hard and got better," as previous iterations of the canon have done.
Because she did work hard and get better, but the hard work is ongoing because they depict her issues as chronic.
She's got a limp (it's the most obvious in her Talon suit with no cape in the way), which means she can't rely on speed or high kicks like the others can (I mean, she can kick, but it's her slowest motion, and until you max out her suit, it's the most liable to get her thrown to the ground), so she falls back on precision and her tech.
Jason punches for maximum pain, Dick moves with dizzying speed, and Tim's gonna sneak up on you and drop you like a rock, but Babs is going for the pressure points with ruthless precision. Not to mention her drones.
The conversation with Tim, realizing she might need help boosting her suit to compensate for her pain/strength issues, is a nice little way of making the player aware that she's got these ongoing problems because, honestly, a casual observer could mistake her back brace for athleisure wear if they didn't recognize the shape of it. It's also a good way of throwing in some exposition about how she's still going to physical rehab and that her PT would like her to "wean off" her back brace, but because her PT doesn't know her actual job as a vigilante, Barbara admits she can't and is essentially finding ways to manage her own care and create her own accommodations. Accommodations which they are all shown to be willing to help with.
It's a nice little touch when superhero narratives tend to revolve around self-sacrifice to the point of self-destruction. Alfred giving Dick into trouble for pushing himself too far and hiding injuries is a nice touch, too, even if it's like trying to bail water on the Titanic with a teacup.
I also like that not only do you see her wheelchair lurking around the Belfry—along with the disability adaptations they put in place, like the ramps, the wheelchair elevator, and the desks that move up and down to wheelchair height—but that she also still uses her chair from time to time.
[ID a screenshot from Gotham Knights showing the Belfry. Light streams in through a giant clockface, showcasing a bank of computer screens. In front of the screen, Barbara Gordon is using her wheelchair as Dick Grayson stands behind her, probably making a bad pun.]
Whether she's using it because she's tired or simply because it's more comfortable than the computer chair is never revealed. Nor is it brought up or commented on. It's just something that's normal for Barbara to do, and I like that. I like that it's normal. It's not a part of herself she's trying to erase. She works with it, not against it.
Is it perfect? No. Do they outright erase her disability like so many of the comics are guilty of? Also, no. I'd argue that, in fact, they kept her disability. They just changed the nature of it.
Barbara now has a dynamic disability, one which fluctuates and requires different management based on her day-to-day (or night) activity. She's in active treatment for it and will be for the rest of her life. Are some of the physical feats she achieves realistic for someone with an injury of her nature? Not really, but again, this is a world where nobody stays dead, and there are zombie assassins coming out of the walls. I'll take the attention to detail and care they put into her story any day over the "Willpower Fixed My Spine" narrative we could have gotten.
As for Bruce getting healed by magic, again, it's Batman. Comic book logic is wibbly-wobbly at the best of times, and realistically speaking, they couldn't leave Batman paralyzed. His whole deal revolves around being stealthy and punching the shit out of people. He wouldn't be Batman anymore, and frankly, I don't trust the comic writers as far as I could throw them to handle that right.
By contrast, the Gotham Knights writers handled Barbara with much more care and nuance than I ever expected. And I'm thankful for that.
---
*I also like that both Dick and Barbara are often shown wearing joint braces. Dick's are especially reminiscent of the way gymnasts and people with hypermobility tape their joints to reduce pain and prevent injuries. It's a nice little touch. They're not invincible. Their bodies hurt. They're just like me but with money and much bigger problems like giant killer robots and zombie assassins.
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III — GAMBARE, GAMBARE // In the world of crime and blood, Sukuna knows what's off limits. You certainly are one of those things and yet, he's unable to stop thinking of you.
contents: smut, little angst-ish in some places, mafia!au, unprotected sex, a hint of body worshipping, violence, mentions of death, subtle threats, reader discretion is advised — 3,2k words
a/n: third part, thank you so much for support guys! it means the world to me to see how INSANELY big is the tag list now. i literally love y'all~ ❤️ also, just as the first part got inspired by the absolutely menacing quote from our king, it only felt natural to include the famous gambare, gambare (do your best) into this one.
ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ | masterlist
Sukuna prefers to think of himself as one of significant intelligence. Over the years, during which he ruled over the entire criminal milieu, he proved himself to stand atop of anyone who dared to even think of overturning his jurisdiction. All the exceptionally dumb bold ones that once wished to take the position of a boss from his hands had learned the hard way why troubles with Sukuna Ryomen are the least desirable fate of anyone who bears any volume of oil inside their brains.
It’s not only tactical or business intelligence that he’s priding himself with. It’s also the excessive knowledge about general rules of life that allowed him to comfortably push and pull the edges of what’s right and wrong, bending his own reality to his liking. Now it’s intuitive – he just knows where he can put more pressure and where it’s not worth his time. He knows what to bet his money on and what won’t realistically pay back. And most importantly, up until that point, Sukuna thought he can tell with his eyes closed which people he should consider crossing paths with, what men can be useful whilst he aims to reach his targets and which crowds he shouldn’t mess around with – for various reasons, most of which being just business and inconvenience. Same thing concerns women. Ryomen’s position works like a magnet and not a day passes by without girls, often way too young to even think of him, throwing themselves at him, led by fantasies of money and power veiled in the shades of love. If he wished, he could have a different toy every time the night falls and if he’d be just slightly less trained, he might have fallen for the temptation. But he didn’t.
Sukuna learned it from experience, not exactly his own, but of his pawns, that allowing random women in the proximity of their profession usually leads to catastrophes. Girls get persistent, they grow attached, they fall in love sooner than it’s even logical and then they threat, they blackmail; all of which eventually leads to their deaths because dealing with just barely adults that weaponize tears and screams is something he doesn’t allow in his circle. There were no exceptions, any man bearing similar power to Ryomen knows that there’s no place for romance in the world of death and bones, the one that’s stained in red and sorrow. If there happens to be love, it’s always of people from inside the criminal circle, sharing the same set of broken morals. Mafia should never tie itself romantically with civilians. Especially him, the leader, the menace that he is in the world of misdeed, murder and corruption, knew all too well why he should never, ever, even think of someone from outside of his tale as of anything more than one time plaything. That would be irresponsible, straight up naïve. It would be foolish. He knew all of that and not even once he felt any need to engage into any kind of relationship with someone that he deemed non-profitable to his general targets.
Then why the fuck he kept thinking of you? Why he kept seeing you after what was supposed to be a fun one-time fuck? Why did the taste of your lips and the sweet scent of your skin made him so completely addicted that he couldn’t focus on his own business without his mind wandering to the memory of you at least once an hour? He just liked your body, he told himself every time he thought of sending you a message. You were a good lay, it was purely physical. You did, after all, take his dick like you were born solely for this very purpose. He was meeting you only for sex and it was an accident that some of these meetings began with a dinner. All of the gifts he showered you with were just a form of payment for the service. Sukuna knew much better than to let his emotions take control of him.
“What’s on your mind?” Your quiet voice tore Ryomen out of the realm of his self-criticism. The tone that you spoked with was raspy, the testimony of the rough, throat-fucking he had used you for just few hours prior, and yet, it still somehow flowed with cottony softness, so characteristic to you.
“Nothing important,” he replied bluntly, lowering his gaze to where your face was buried into the broad muscle of his chest; your frame completely hidden in his own, much larger and stronger. It was another night you spent in his house, one of those that began with the reservation in one of Tokyo’s best restaurants that served traditional Japanese cuisine. You showed up in a dress made of dark olive silk, long enough to reach your high-heeled sandals and clinging to your shapes as if it was made to be worn over the divinity that was your body. The long, scandalous slit exposed one of your legs and the thin straps accentuated your shoulders and cleavage just perfectly. It was a dress that he himself bought and ordered to be delivered to you in an expensive box before that day. Now that very same gown was laying somewhere, discarded on the floor in the living room of his mansion.
“Sometimes I feel like you’re plotting my death,” you chuckled against his skin, the vibration of the act made him scoff because both him and you knew that the scenario you offered wasn’t exactly falling into the realm of fiction.
“If I were to kill you, I wouldn’t need to plot it. One bullet is all it would take,” he retorted with calm and despite any logic, instead of creating some distance, instead of running away you hummed at his statement and pressed your lips to the center of his chest.
You were way over fearing Sukuna and his world. The few months that you spend seeing him, you came to terms with the heavy weight of tragic fate that was now resting on your shoulders. It couldn’t end well, you shouldn’t tangle yourself with a man such as him, the path of your normal life should never come even close to the blood tainted one he was walking through. You should have never left the club with him and once you did, you should have run out his house the moment he gave you a chance. Instead of that, you stayed. That night, after the time of Ryomen’s pursue and the unfortunate event with Naoya and his gang, soon turned into two. Then just few more and then many more. The one-night stand evolved into continuous romance and though it was strewn with roses and intimacy, it came also with the realization that the more you see him, the less days you have left. There was no way for someone like you, an outsider, the mere civilian with no mafia bonds whatsoever, to be living a long life. Sukuna has enemies, there are people that want the power he holds and will eventually target you. That is, of course, if he doesn’t kill you himself over time – out of boredom or prevention. You knew a lot, he had told you more than he should.
But you loved him. You had seen him do some pretty dark things that would make most people’s eyes water, and in all honesty, it did the same thing to yours, but then, with you, Sukuna was always protective. You loved the way he always seemed to know just what you needed, the way he read you like an open book and knew just what to say or do to put you at ease. You loved the way he made you feel like the only woman in the world, how he made you feel beautiful, even on the days you felt like a total mess. He was a danger, a threat so deadly you shouldn’t play with it, he was a flame that you were bound to burn yourself on, but he was also the only person in the world you felt so safe around. Ever since you met, he had protected you. Even if his words were harsh and his own deeds rough, he never failed to envelop you in a bubble inside of which nothing and no one could hurt you.
“Oh, how much you’d miss me,” a certain sense of amusement hinted in the tone you used as the sheepish smile stretched your lips. Ryomen acted suddenly, grabbing the tiny thing that was your body and pressing your back to the mattress. His fingers wrapped around the frail of your neck; it wouldn’t take much of his strength to snap it and yet, you seemed rather comfortable with his grip secured around your airways. Over the time you managed to grow enough trust to know he won’t hurt you for no reason. Your lover was a man powerful enough, there was no need for seeding fear in you. You were also smart enough to differentiate the real danger from the playful acts. If Sukuna truly wanted you to be scared, you most definitely would be scared shitless.
“You think so?” His tone dropped an octave as he crawled above you; your bare figure now trapped underneath the weight of his presence. He got your legs between his initially, the heavy shaft of his dick rested over your lower belly as he shifted his hand from your throat down to cup your breasts. Your body seemed to never stop attract him, no matter how many times he touched and tasted it. You looked almost angelic in the dim light of that morning; the remnants of sleep still painted over your features and the only things that disturbed the innocence of your picture were the marks he had left on your plush, velvety skin. Red and angry spots that he sucked onto your flesh adorned the beauty of your frame, ultimately making you his own. “Aren’t you a little too confident?”
“I think I’m confident just enough,” you grinned playfully, smoothing over his hands, one staying on top of his palm on your breast and the other reaching up his arm to touch more of him. There was always a hunger lingering inside of you, you were never completely satiated and even if your body was utterly exhausted, you were always happy to take more. Sukuna made you feel ecstatic, like you were really his only one and though it was an illusion that you chose to believe in, it felt good to imagine yourself as his only care.
“And why would I miss you, huh? Aren’t you only a plaything for me?” The question he asked was meant to sound venomous but the sound of his voice betrayed the lighthearted intention. “Do you think I’ll blink twice when discarding you when I get bored of what you can give me?”
“I don’t think you’ll hesitate,” a chuckle once again shook your chest gently as you watched how Sukuna gently pulled your legs up from underneath him and brought one of your ankles to his face. The kisses he smeared along your shin were delicate, completely contrasting with the threatful impression that he was trying to make. He was worshipping you so openly, it made you blush every time. “But even though I know you wouldn’t think twice before killing me, I also think you’d miss me afterwards.”
Once the tender caresses finished, your calves landed on top of his shoulders as he leaned forward, squeezing a breathy moan out of you as he pushed his length into you to the very base of it, sliding on enough spit that it made the entrance easy. Ryomen learned your body through and through, he knew you can take it, he knew you’re always ready and eager to take him. Even if it’s early, even if it hurts. No matter when and where, if he told you to sit on his dick in the middle of a grocery store, you’d probably do just that and ask no questions. And yet, he knew where the boundaries are. Not once he pushed you when you were feeling bad. Not once he used you when you were not ready. The knowledge he now had about you came from observation.
“I think I would miss you,” he purred, his lips so close that they brushed against yours as he spoke. He’s got you in a mating press, filled to the brim with his bricked-up manhood and completely at his mercy. “You are addicting.”
“So keep me safe,” you whispered, cupping his face and chasing the kiss he was yet to give you. The request caught him slightly off guard. The pleading undertone made his heart clench; a feeling that he’s gone without for a decade at least and though he hated the odd sensation in his chest, he also couldn’t deny the warmth that spread throughout his body.
“You are safe with me,” the reassuring lie he followed with a heavy press onto your lips, sealing his words with his own tongue and silently promising you his protection. A vow that he wished to keep and yet, feared he won’t be able to. But now, it wasn’t important. Now you were here, in his bed, on his dick. Now there was just you and him.
Your dainty fingers found their place in his hair as he began thrusting into you. The new slick that combined with the remnants of the night made his movements easy as he dragged his hips back almost all the way out and then pushed back to the point of his pelvis clashing with the back of your thighs and your ass. The pace he set wasn’t fast. It wasn’t anything of what he’d most often pick, there was no violence intertwined into the melody of his hips. That morning it was sensual, it was deep and just rapid enough to stimulate every sweet spot inside of you. Stroke after stroke he was driving you crazy, he just barely started and already you felt yourself dripping. The filthy, wet sounds filled in the early aura and the muffled moans and whimpers accompanied them.
Sukuna allowed your legs to fall lower from where they were pressed against your chest and you hooked them around his hips. The newly earned access to his neck and shoulders you immediately used by allowing your hands to wander in the area, scratching his skin just to force a low purr from his throat. Every sound he made, you swallowed greedily as the kiss continued. Your tongues were dancing to the fiery rhythm of intimacy.
The coil in your stomach tightened all too quickly, you wished it to give you more time to enjoy what he was willing to give you but no matter how much you wanted your body to calm down, he made it absolutely impossible to achieve. Your veins were running with pure ecstasy and lust, the heated flurry that now was your brain was focused only on him, on the rhythm of his hips, on every sweet little lie that he whispered to you. Ryomen knew how to make you weak, he knew just how to angle his body to hit that one spot, the most sensitive one and you could feel him grinning against your lips. He knew you were close. The delicious squeezes that your cunt did on his girth were enough of a hint to notice and it gave him a sense of pride to be able to make you come undone so easily.
“Just few moments more,” he murmured and you nodded eagerly. Tears prickled in your eyes, gathering along your lash lines like crystals that he wished to kiss away, but was now too engulfed in the taste of your lips to part. His movements got quicker, just a little heavier as he began slamming into you with more force than at the beginning. Mornings tend to rid Sukuna from the ability to last – the ones that he spends with you in his arms, with your naked body pressed against his, unknowingly shifting against his dick for hours. That makes him unable to keep his composure for too long. Sometimes he feels like you strip him of all qualities that he once prided himself in, leaving him bare only to your eyes, with only the most primal needs exposed and he felt good with that kind of freedom.
“…don’t stop, oh god, ‘kuna~”, you were whimpering, arching your back underneath him and squeezing your little hands over his shoulders. “I can’t, I—”
“Oh, you can. Do your best,” Sukuna chuckled, teasing you with such impossible tasks. Your head fell back, your thighs were trembling against his sides and he could tell he’s losing you. You were far too deep in the realm of desire to hear his words; all of your world now came down to what you felt, to how you felt him and Sukuna loved your blissed out state. He loved the way he was the one to push you so far over the edge that you wouldn’t notice if the world was ending. But what he loved above that, was how you were gripping onto him; holding him tightly, pulling him closer as if you never wanted him to move away, as if he was everything you needed. And he was.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered against your throat, painting the skin over there with wet trails of kisses and new, red marks – the ones gentle enough to fade in a matter of hours. You moaned something incoherent. “Cum for me,” he allowed, not even sure if you’re registering his words. It had to be unconscious; the way your brain caught his voice between the blurry lines of everything else.
Your climax hit you like a rock; his name was slipping over your tongue continuously, so sweet and breathless that Sukuna was once again reassured that he never wants to hear anyone else calling him. Your walls were squeezing his throbbing length, he twitched and flexed inside you, groaning with satisfaction and before he allowed himself to come, he pushed himself up. As he sat on his heels, he pulled you with him; your body now on top of him and he used his hands to guide your hips up and down his dick. You wrapped yourself around him, finding a safe space for your face right where his neck connects with his muscular shoulder and all he needed to feel the bliss was the sensation of your teeth sinking into his skin.
White seed painted your insides as he shot it as deeply as he could reach with you on top of him. Few more moves, few more groans and you could feel him relax. His strong arms snaked around your waist as he shifted slightly to lean against the headboard, straightening his legs in front of him. You stayed pressed against his chest, catching your breath and feeling the tension leaving your body as the morning went by. And as Sukuna held you so close to his heart, he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that it felt so right and that made the question bloom inside his brain. Was it still strictly physical? Was it ever only about sex?
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About your language brainrot. I see your "Reader's writing can't match tyvat's long and flowery writing" and bring you "Tyvat isn't used to books over 50 pages long so a short story to the Reader is a whole dictionary to tyvat readers".
Seriously, have you seen how thin the books are? They don't wrote novels, they write short chapters formatted in the way really old stories are. As in, summarizing all the events down into one smooth story then adding a few quotes. Fanfiction writers are insane. They will willingly sit down and write hundreds of words at a time. To them, a proper modern day story of maybe, oh 10k words or so, would probably be like the Oddessy itself.
If we were to combine the two headcanons. It would end up as many historians being intimidated by this insanely long written scripture in the language of the forgotten.
I'm going to take this a step further and say that if the creator asked some people to proofread their things, it would establish a hiarchy of who is able to actually finish the book the creator read and who isn't.
NOW THIS, THIS IS MY FUCKING JAMMMM
I'm so sorry this is so old!! u probably all know this by this point that I've really slowed down as the year has gone on, but I graduated university and then got my first job so its been pretty crazy!
Sun: Reader (you/they/them)
Orbit: Headcanons-ish
Stars: dash of all the book/nerds of Genshin, heavy on Sumeru?
Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Cussing, 16+ Mature Audiences, Spoliers for Sumeru Archon Quests/Scaramouche, & Trigger Warnings: mention of shipping/characters shipping themselves with you.
Comment if any missed, please.
☆
FULL STOP.
THE AKADEMIYA, FONTAINE RESEARCH INSTITUTE, HAVE BEEN WAITTTINNGGGG ON YOUR ASS LMAO
You fall from the fucking sky like a 5 star, or pop out of the Irminsul or whatever
and immediately are mobbed by scholars. LMAO jkjk (not really, bc that's what it’d feel like)
can you even imagine the dread older stories(”the classics” to them), that was instilled in the poor students around Teyvat??
id like to think ur works are the most preserved over the thousands of years of Teyvat archeologists excavating them, in comparison to other authors (teyvat just likes you more, suck it William Shakespeare)
also, bc I cant resist language differences/world building I'm sorryyyy 😭 😭
the vocab of Genshin lang vs. ours, has significantly less vocabulary like their actual dictionary is 1/3 the size of ours type of energy
(Omfg all ur fanfics being considered like insanely long realistic romantic classics or tragedies like Jane Austen-level, and only the richest and biggest play companies put on plays about ur stories bc the script goes on for hours)
(ur plays only get put on for rlly big events bc of this, like Lantern Rite or like a Summer/Winter festival/your birthday, which is, yes, an international holiday)
dude the sheer power move of anything you’ve written being essentially “Journey of the West” to them, like Damnnn.
endless like adaptations, plays, Teyvat-short stories condensing it, (THEIR OWN FANFICTION ABOUT UR STORIES)
the power is, in fact, going to your head every time another scholar both deflates at how long ur stuff is, but also lights up bc they get to read it
speaking of scholars… you know who snatched you up first. you know. you don’t even need to read the next line.
Alhaitham.
sneaky bastard he is, absolutely manipulated, mansplained (and manwhored bc he knows he’s handsome, cheeky little shit) his way into getting you to sit down with him and interview you about both translating other classics, your own, giving your own analysis of others works and ur own, and picking ur brain apart of how/why you wrote urs, etc. its fucking endless,
Kaveh had to come rescue you bc u were starving to death after getting stuck with the Haravatat scholar in his office for nearly 7 hours of interrogation discussion about literature
and Alhaitham wasn't even nearly done, he’d informed you as you left that he already had another appointment for later conversation scheduled (how?? you don't even know ur own schedule??? you have a schedule???) and was looking forward to more of your “creative and enlightening input” :)))
(you’re never going to escape him, not even Nahida herself can save you from his stubborn ass)
On another note, Xingqiu is quaking when you agree to autograph his copy of your stories (of which he has all hard covers of the first edition translations)
Zhongli/Rex Lapis is known for having a near-lifelong passion for searching for your works specifically, and learning how to translate them better into Teyvatian vernacular
like the same way he can absolutely speak on Rex Lapis facts/rocks/adepti info, is the same confidence he speaks about knowing ur work lol
(yes he did also ask for several autographs and another sit-down talk about the works, tho a lot more sneaky then Alhaitham bc he just casually gets u guys into it during dinner)
Barbatos/Venti has written some of the most famous songs based on your stuff, he has his favorites too,
but he always claims the best songs are any that have been written in the story, like either when a character sings something, or there are like quotes from songs ur fanfics are based on lol
(he also demanded to hear what they actually sound like from you, yes, you have to sing them for him lol)
Venti also can surprisingly drunkenly ramble the entirety of at least one of ur stories, like, word for word lmao
(Diluc gave in and did give him a drink on the house for that one, just once, Venti doesn’t remember it lol)
(I forgot to mention, u guys still speak the same language, just like, different versions of it)
ur works being one of the few things all the Archons can freely talk about with each other, like it’s neutral ground bc they’re all fangirling about it lmao
Furina and Neuvillette have had like,, fierce debates over the decades about character dynamics and the general drama of ur stories, they’ve gotten into it enough they’ve stopped talking to each other for a couple days a few times lol
Albedo, Sucrose, Kokomi, Yae Miko, Ei, Raiden, have read every single work they’re gotten their hands on in Teyvat (it took them like a literal year or longer)
Albedo drew you fanart for every single story, bc he’s hyperfixated on everything related to you ngl,
Kokomi had commissioned smaller pocket versions of ur works (which later got popular thanks to Yae Miko) both the OG and the Teyvat shortened versions
THE HARBINGERS ARE THE MOST DOWN BAD LMAO
Childe has literally tried to recreate battle scenes from ur works lmao
and gets especially riled up about fighting someone who resembles any characters from them (esp villains, what a cutie)
You cannot fathom the amount of research throughout Teyvat that has been secretly or indirectly funded by Pantalone/Tsaritsa
from the experts to analyze them, to funding play companies to act them out, to actually excavating places to get more of ur stuff unearthed
(the Harbingers absolutely are the first group of people that got to read several of ur stories first bc of this, like the world’s most exclusive secret book club lol)
Scaramouche used to clown on Childe all the time about how he was too impatient to even “sit down and read the King’s classics”, and he was downright insufferable when he found out about Tartaglia’s habit of recreating battle scenes/that being what motivated him to fight sometimes lol
that being said, Wanderer surprisingly never forgot ur stories.
Even when his memories were wiped for a bit, he found comfort in these fantastical epics still sticking around, even when his old names did not
(he mayyyy or mayyy nottt have secretly namedhimselfafteroneofthetragicprotagonistsherelatesto- )
oh btw, Nahida also found joy and comfort in ur stories when she was trapped, they also helped her literally grow as a person bc she had ur stories to help her sort of process the world/what life was like outside of her dreaming prison 🥺💔❤️🩹
◇
OMFG
ANYWAY FULL TONE SHIFT LMFAO-
the ABSOLUTE SPIRAL-RED-STRING-CONSPIRACY-THEORY-BOARD ENERGY IF THIS WAS A BLUNT LANGUAGE AU LMAOOOO
like specifically how Teyvatians like to give all the context ever thru their words, but older deities/beings like you just do simple phrases that can have deeper meanings (whereas teyvat just explains all the meanings behind their words)
STOP there’s like an official display at the Akademiya and Fontaine Institute of red string theory boards 😭😭 (look what you’ve done to themmm LMAO)
for like every story of urs, INCLUDING THE FANFICS STOP
IMAGINE THE SHIPPING WARS IF U EVER WROTE ONE THAT WASNT EXPLICIT OR LIKE ONE OF THE MAIN ROMANTIC INTERESTS HAD CHEMISTRY WITH OTHER CHARACTERS HAHAHAHAA
that's actually what Akademiya scholars argue about the most viciously, it’s like politics you can’t just bring up ships from ur stories casually in regular convos 💀
(poor Cyno has to deal with a shipping war once a year bc someone always makes the mistake of reading ur work for the first time (without being told to not talk to others abt ships lol) and it starts an all out brawl in the cafeteria every time LMAO)
Also yes.
Cyno is a fanboy.
(he has read Creator x Reader-insert fanfiction.)
(As have most of the characters mentioned, and those not lol)
…
(I'm gonna make a whole Creator x reader fanfic post one day i stg lmao)
☆
an iced coffee? for me?? :0
ok but real talk…
wtf do you guys wanna see for new years!!
i didn't do a inktober/october days thingy bc i felt too unprepared (and bc id wanted to post that 1000+ followers eldritch au for Halloween)
but now i kinda wanna, at least for a few days :o
ill post a poll in a minute, so check it out!! but still, please feel free to comment some ideas here! :)
Safe Travels Deafening Dreamer,
💀♒
If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"
(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")
♡the beloveds♡
@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily
#this looked a lot longer on desktop#fuck it#anyway sorry if im slower again guys!#i got sick again :(#my voice was completely gone for days#im onyl just recovering#so finally felt decent enough to write more#check out my other posts for the poll btw!#genshin sagau#genshin impact#sagau#genshin isekai#genshin imagines#genshin impact sagau#aqua asks#genshin x reader#self aware genshin#genshin self aware#more like isekai heavily but this does rely on u understanding they could/have had ur stories for years in their world#so kinda#<3 u guys but DO NOT TAG AS YANDERE/DARK#bc its not <3#gonna start putting that reminder in the tags
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