#sorry that I’m also kind of attracted to men but only men who will acknowledge and respect and be attracted to my masculinity.

[sunsoak]

Everyone’s all “nonbinary is included in every sexuality” until a nonbinary person who is on hormones prefers men who like men and women who like women and all of a sudden I’m being problematic and offensive to…….. well everyone I guess

[carlyraejepsans]

It’s not a bad thing to address the problems and complexities the problems and issues that female characters AND THEN acknowledge the problems and complexities of the male characters who are connected to them.

IT IS A BAD THING when you hold those same (female) characters up to a double-standard or attempt to attribute their faults/flaws to their identity, which is unfortunately more common than most would like to admit.

Misogyny (like all forms of prejudice, supremacism, and systemic bigotry) is more than just a negative attitude or a bad argument. It’s a parasitic symbiosis in which one community of people profits off of the unequal treatment of another.

You can still be a “friend” to a person of a particular group and still be harmful/toxic to the group they’re a part of because seeing someone as a “friend” doesn’t mean anything if you don’t see them as an equal.

P.S. It always irks me whenever someone thinks that they’re making a character more complex and nuanced by ignoring the complexities and nuances of another. I’ve seen ppl do that to Toriel AND Asgore, although I have noticed they do it significantly more to the former than the latter.

P.P.S. And don’t even get me started on what this fandom has done to Chara.

P.P.P.S. Forgive my little temper tantrum, and I’m sorry if I misread/misinterpreted anyone.

if you're bringing up misogyny in the context of fandom communities and the way they approach the text specifically, i think you're oversimplifying things by defining it as just "one group profiting off of another." an overwhelming percentage of fandom is, in fact, comprised OF women, at least on the story/character analysis/fiction writing front. you can't really say they're profiting off of female characters being ignored over male ones. by that logic, female characters should be uplifted more than anyone else in fandom spaces, and yet that's far from the case.

this is because misogyny isn't just a cultural system of oppression, it's literally baked into our cultures. our customs, our instincts, our sense of shame and justice and morality. those double standards aren't a conscious decision to oppress, it's an instinctual mental mechanism reinforced by habit and custom. it's something that feminists have spent (and still spend!) an insane amount of time unwrangling and breaking down. and a lot of people just... don't apply that kind of analysis to their own behavior. women in the story are just instinctively less sympathetic. less pitiable. less justifiable. less interesting, or "not complex enough to care about".

i do have a theory that this attitude is also tied to 1) a personal unwillingness by female fans to engage with their own oppression in a space dedicated to a hobby (ie: basically just escapism) and 2) fandom's popularity largely deriving from being a space to express sexuality and engage with erotica/archetypes that appeal to the reader, and the vast majority of fandom users are either straight or attracted to men (ie: the people making fancontent think men are hot so the more men the merrier. girls who?). but that is not always the case, and very often those attitudes go right in hand with misogyny and act as a shield to it, so it's only a small mental note in the corkboard of my brain.

[fortuositywritings]

I Said No (Wanda x R): Pt 8

Summary: Did someone order a fluff stuffed pizza with extra cheese? 

Warnings: Language, also a bit of violence

The following day starts as most have the past week, only this time you are not dreading waking up early in the morning for a hike aka jogging at an incline with Nat. In fact, you wake up kind of pumped for it and decide to forego the usual coffee. Nat looks at you like you are crazy. You shrug. “Not all of us need caffeine to live, Natasha.”

But you do, you find out mid-hike.

“Fuck me!” you groan, dragging behind Nat.

“No, thanks. You’ve got Wanda for that,” Nat quips. When you don’t reply, she continues, “What? No comment?”

“I’m saving my energy. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. If I die here from exhaustion, hit me with a rock or something. Make it look like a cooler death,” you say. She laughs. “What happened to not needing coffee?”

“Caffeineless-Me is a delusional me. Don’t ever listen to her,” you huff.

Luckily, you smell coffee when you get back to the house. You hear voices in the kitchen and make a dramatic entrance. Clint, Pietro, and Sam’s conversation halts at your interruption. Finding Clint responsible for the coffee, you butter him up in exchange for the coffee cup he hands you. “You know, I told Laura, you were it. I said ‘Laura, you’ll never find another like this one. A king among simple men.’ True story.” Used to your antics, Clint ignores you but Pietro and Sam laugh.

You spend the afternoon at the arcade with Wanda, Pietro, and Peter. You in fact do beat Pietro at skeeball, rubbing your win in his face. He beats you at everything else. It’s hard to be a sore loser though when you are too busy having fun and entertaining Wanda. 

Wanda pulls you all into a photo booth. The group does their best to fit in what is meant to be a two person booth. Wanda ends up on your lap, you sitting next to Pietro, and Peter sticking his head into the frame. You shoo the boys out after the group photos, wanting a strip of you and Wanda. Despite the free space, Wanda stays seated on your lap, not that you mind it. The first two photos are silly. You kiss her cheek for the third and simply smile for the last one in which Wanda sports a blush looking at you. 

You ask Wanda if she is ready to go to the bookstore yet, not forgetting what you promised. She refrains from saying yes when a game calls her attention. She says you can leave after one more game. Wanda challenges you to Guitar Hero and the results are embarrassing. You stare at her score in shock. You refuse to believe it. “What? There is no way! How?” She giggles when you turn your face to her with your hands on your cheeks. “No wonder you’re so good with your hands.”

She blushes at your comment. “Do you play guitar?” You ask, but before she can confirm or deny, you stop her, “Wait, no. I don’t want to know. ‘Cause if you do, that’s too attractive and we can’t have that.”

“Why not?” She tilts her head to the side.

“Because it will ruin our dynamic, You see, we both bring certain things to the table. You bring in the kind hearted, easy on the eyes superhero thing to the table. Me, I bring in the funny, cute, one year away from graduating college kid thing. My two years playing the trumpet as a child could never match even the thought of you holding a guitar,” you explain.

Wanda looks at you curiously. She smiles cheekily, before saying, “I’ll have to play for you someday then.” She laughs when you groan saying she ruined it all and tugs you by the hand to where the prizes are. You both trade your tickets in for small inflatable sledge hammers that you immediately use against each other standing off to the side of the prizes booth. You feel the employee who helped you out stare at you both and feel like you are getting in trouble, so you stop hitting Wanda.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to stare,” the employee says. “The two of you just make a really cute couple.”

“Oh,” you say surprised, but you don’t correct him, unbeknownst to you, making Wanda suppress a smile. “Thanks.”

“Come on, you promised me a bookstore,” Wanda says, taking your hand and pulling you toward the exit. You spend an hour in the cute bookstore, which Wanda could have easily made two but she took pity on you, seeing you get a little restless walking around the store in circles. She leaves the store with two new books in hand that you had insisted on buying and a smile on her face as you hold the door open for her.

“I would say ‘I got you next time’ but I wouldn’t want to force you to actually read words on paper,” she jokes.

You roll your eyes at her playful remark. “No, we wouldn’t want that.” 

“So, how about we get some ice cream instead?” she offers, hoping to spend a little more time with you out in the town. Your ears perk up at those words. “Now we’re talking, Maximoff!”

“That reminds me. You still haven’t told me your last name.”

“And I’m not talking.” You mime zipping your lips and throwing away the key. Wanda jokes, “Well that’s a first. That was the only key, right?”

Wanda laughs when you roll your eyes and eagerly take the bag with her books out of her hand to carry it instead, replacing it with your own as you practically drag her to the ice cream shop. She tries not to react when halfway to the shop you interlace your fingers and smile at her, but her heart doesn’t get the message.

Tanya smiles when she sees you both back again at the shop. She raises an eyebrow, looking at your hands in question. You catch her look and shake your head in denial at Tanya while Wanda is busy looking at the flavors of ice cream. Tanya purses her lips disapprovingly and you nearly groan. Wanda turns to you and asks if you know what you want, unaware of the silent conversation that occurred before her. 

You tell her to order hers first. Although you see her eyeing the strawberry flavor for a good amount of time, she orders the cotton candy flavor. You look at her surprised. “What? Maybe I want to try something different.”

“Well, in that case, Tanya, I will have two scoops of the strawberry on a cone, please and thank you,” you order. Wanda gives you the same look you’d given her, so you decide to throw her words back at her. “What? Maybe I want to try something different.”

Wanda pays for your ice creams, which of course Tanya would not let slide without commentary. “She’s making you pay for the ice cream? It’s no wonder Y/N stays single. You would think she’d know how to treat a lady.” Tanya shakes her head at you, making you scoff. Wanda laughs but defends you. “She does. This is a small thank you for how well she’s actually done that.”

“Yeah, Tanya! You hear that? I treat people well,” you reiterate as you take your prepared cone from Tanya. “I even did as you said and took her to the fair.” As if it is so unbelievable, Tanya looks at Wanda for confirmation and looks nearly impressed when Wanda nods. You add to pick on Wanda, “All for her to dance with someone else for most of the night.”

This time she scoffs and you try to suppress your smile at how easy you could rile her up. “It was one song,” she defends herself. When she sees that you’re just pulling her leg, she huffs, “You’re annoying,” and goes to sit at the small table by the entrance. Tanya speaks up when you just stand there looking after Wanda with a smile. “Don’t leave her to eat alone now.”

Tanya’s voice startles you out of your trance and you make your way to sit across from Wanda. “It was two songs,” you say, continuing the banter. Wanda retorts before trying her ice cream, “Two. One. What’s the difference?”

“He got one more song with you than I did,” you shrug. You see her make a face of disappointment at the flavor she chose. She replies, “It could have been none with him if someone just asked earlier.”

“Noted. I will let someone know and pass on the message for you,” you tease, earning you a light kick under the table from Wanda while you start with your ice cream. You can only watch her struggle to eat her ice cream and look at yours longingly for so long, before you eventually just snatch hers from her hand. 

“Hey! I was eating that,” she complains. 

“Oh, is that what you were doing? That was a very sad attempt at best. Here, try again,” you say and hand her the rest of your strawberry ice cream. She tries to hand yours back. “I’m not going to take your cone. It’s not the one I ordered.”

You shove the rest of the ice cream you stole into your mouth and eat it as quickly as you can. Wanda stares at you in shock. You try not to make a face at the brain freeze you get. “Well, I just finished yours so now you have no choice.”

Wanda giggles. “You have a brain freeze, don’t you?”

Nothing gets past this woman. You try to deny it anyway. “Nope. Brain warm, actually.”

You don’t fail to make her laugh. She thanks you and you smile as she finishes the strawberry ice cream. You decide to head back to the arcade before the guys get worried. You are surprised they have yet to call or text to ask where you and Wanda were. Wanda says she wouldn’t be surprised if they did not even notice your absence. 

Someone spots you making your way out of the ice cream shop with Wanda and decides to approach you. “Well, well, well. Look who it is,” a loud voice taunts you, making you and Wanda turn your heads to see a guy your age and not so much taller than Wanda approach you. You know him as Abby’s (grocery store lady’s daughter) ex-boyfriend. 

You don’t try to delude yourself into thinking this exchange could be an exchange of simple pleasantries especially given your history and the condescending sneer he throws your way. You huff, mumbling under your breath, “Never move to a small town, Wanda.”

She gives you a questioning look but you ignore it as the ex-boyfriend stands before you both. You give him an obviously fake smile, acknowledging his presence. “Jack,” you say tiredly, not wanting to give anyone the impression you want to actually interact with him. He, on the other hand, has a bone to pick with you and does not plan to let you off easily. 

“Y/N, I see some things never change.” He laughs bitterly, giving Wanda the once over. Not appreciating this, you try to avert his attention back to you and speak in a more fed up tone. “What do you want?”

“What? I can’t say hi to your little girlfriend? You were always so eager to say hello to mine. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t show the same courtesy,” he says, scorn clear in his voice. You really do not have it in you to put up with him and the mess you made that you never dealt with, but you’ve had enough of this biting you in the ass at every corner in this town.

“Look, what I did wasn’t cool. I know, okay? I’m genuinely sorry for not taking your feelings into consideration or talking to you about it before and ignoring the whole thing after it happened. Alright? Can we just move on from this?” you ask, sincerely. Jack looks at you in shock as you await his answer, wanting nothing but to finally move past this mess. Wanda on her end is impressed by your ability to recognize a mistake and apologize. You can feel her looking at you and Jack notices it too, the act riling him up more than anything.

When Jack saw you, he finally found his chance to let everything he was holding back out and seeing you with someone else only assured him he was right about you being this asshole who just goes around stealing people’s girlfriends. He was not expecting an apology. Although it seems to be sincere, it still does not satisfy him and seeing the girl you’re with looking at you the way she is because of it just ticks him off.

So he doesn’t accept your apology. Instead, he turns to Wanda. “It’s a little late for apologies, L/N. Hey, sweetheart. Some advice, best go apologize to your boyfriend before it’s too late, ‘cause whatever you think this is,” he says waving between you and Wanda, “it’s not gonna last.”

Trying to form some semblance of a safety blanket against his fiery gaze, you pull Wanda to stand behind you. Now you’re feeling very irritated. You’re not going to hit him or anything of that nature. God knows you would only hurt yourself. You’ve always strayed away from getting into fights. Besides, why bruise your fists when you could bruise his ego?

“Hey, assface. What do you know about lasting? Last I heard you weren’t doing too well with that. Some advice for you,” you taunt him, using the same tone he did with Wanda, “when you are finally doing something right, which you’ll know since Abby’s not really a quiet one, give her neck a little squeeze and-” You snap smugly. “She can thank me later.”

The whole time you were talking, you could practically see steam coming out of his ears. It’s logical to stay clear when you see the signs of a volcano about to erupt, but when you are standing two feet away from the danger zone, it’s a little hard to avoid getting hurt. You see it coming but you are not quick enough to dodge it. Suddenly, your ass is on the sidewalk, vision impaired as your hand covers the left side of your face that is throbbing in pain. Wanda would say her vision is also impaired as all she sees is red. Not caring if anyone sees, she uses her magic to hold him by the throat, red wisps tightening around his neck. She sees the panic in his eyes but doesn’t ease up. 

“Don’t you ever lay a hand on her again. In fact, from now on you don’t talk to her unless she’s speaking to you. Don’t look at her unless she calls your name,” Wanda threatens him, her voice deadly calm, you would almost define it as soothing. Jack wouldn’t. “You know who I am, don’t you?” Jack nods to the best of his abilities, starting to feel light headed. “If you even think about touching her again, I’ll know.” 

She releases her magical hold. He coughs, bringing back oxygen into his lungs. Jack sees the red fade from the witch’s eyes but her stare still holds a fire. Not wanting to enrage the witch any further, he sprints away as soon as she says, “Leave.”

As soon as he is out of sight, Wanda turns to check on you. She finds you already on your feet but your hand is still over your face. She pries your hand away and sees the damage, a bruise already forming over your cheek. You flinch when she prods it gently. Wanda gives you a questioning look when you unexpectedly giggle.

“Sorry, it’s just. Nat always said my big mouth would get me into trouble like this one day. I was really hoping she would be wrong about this one,” you explain, looking away from her but still giggling. Wanda doesn’t find it funny. She gently takes your chin to face her. “It’s not your fault. He had no right to lay a finger on you.”

Wanda’s intense stare doesn’t waver. It’s almost demanding you to understand that what happened can’t be brushed off as a joke and it works. Your mind replays the events and you feel a lump in your throat. Wanda brushes a tear away from your cheek. You hadn’t been aware of the tears forming in your eyes. The sound of a car passing by snaps you out of your emotional state. You haven’t had a good cry in a long while, but like hell will you allow yourself to break down on the sidewalk in front of the ice cream shop where you used to work.

You chase away the tears and clear your throat. Today was a great day for the most part; you weren’t going to let this bump in your trail keep you from continuing on to have a great day and ending it on a good note. Your eyes are a vault of tears, and though you know one day that door is going to open and possibly drown you, today would not be that day. 

You pull away from Wanda’s touch but before she can say anything about it you hold that hand in yours. “Thank you. I’m lucky you were here.” You avoid cringing at how your voice breaks halfway through, evidence of the lump in your throat you cleared away. You manage a small smile instead. 

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I hope I didn’t frighten you,” Wanda says, suddenly embarrassed at her quick tempered reaction. This brings out a genuine giggle out of you. “Are you kidding me? Frighten me? The only scary thing about your reaction was how attractive I found it!” 

You can tell Wanda doesn’t believe you, searching your face for any sign that you may be lying and saying this just to humor her. “No, seriously. His pants were wet out of fear. My pants were wet in an entirely different way,” you press. She laughs with glowing red cheeks. As the color fades, you and she decide to head back to the arcade after you refused her offer of getting you something cold at the store to rest against your cheek.

Pietro and Peter didn’t notice you had left the arcade, but they do notice your bruised cheek quickly. After dismissing their concerns, you ask if they were ready to head back. They say they still have to trade their tickets in, so you let them go do that. It isn’t too long until you are back to the car.

It turns out you are the only one in the car with a license, but you’re not feeling up to driving back to the house. Peter looks nervous at the prospect of driving, barely having taken two lessons at school, so he isn’t going to drive. Wanda wants to sit by you, so she lets Peter sit up front. That leaves Pietro to drive.

Big mistake.

You make it home in one piece with your bruised cheek, a massive headache, and a date with the church on Sunday after promising God you would go if you make it back home alive. Pietro brakes hard when pulling up right behind Nat’s car. Luckily, he didn't hit her car. You didn’t need to survive Pietro’s wild car ride, just so Nat could kill you after. 

The twins are arguing. “God, Wanda. No one likes a backseat driver,” Pietro says as he puts the car in park and takes the key out of the ignition. Wanda yells, “No, but I’m sure we would all like to live to see past our 20’s and Peter past high school!”

At the mention of his name, Peter finally opens his eyes and loosens his tight grip on his seatbelt. “Oh, we’re here? I, um, have to go to the bathroom.” He excuses himself before basically ripping the door open and running into the house on shaky legs. Pietro also storms out of the car but more so in irritation from his sister.

“Are you okay?” Wanda asks you, taking off her seatbelt. You unbuckle yours and laugh to ease her concerns. “Yeah, just give me a moment. I don’t think my life is done flashing before my eyes yet.” 

Wanda giggles as you act out seeing your life replaying in your mind. “Okay, almost done. Exercise with Nat, board games, seeing you naked.” You laugh when she punches your arm. “Arcade, your brother almost killing us all, and finished. Wow, I lived a pretty good life.”

She shakes her head at your silliness, before practically pulling you out of the car. Most of everyone is in the living room when you come inside. You guess your bruise must be very noticeable, your cousin gasping upon seeing your face. She rushes to your side with the help of Clint and sees the damage.

“Y/N, what happened?” she asks, a motherly type of concern slipping into her tone.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise.” You thank Nat when she sits you down and helps place an ice pack on your injury.

“It looks pretty bad, kid,” Clint says, not helping ease the concern on his wife’s or his best friend’s face. 

“You should have seen the other guy,” you say, acting like you actually did anything other than stare mouth agape as Wanda took care of Jack. The disbelief on everyone’s face when you said that, including Sam’s, was insulting. You scoff, “Okay, ouch. I could have taken care of business if Wanda wasn’t there, thank you very much.”

“So, Wanda was there?” Nat pries and you tell them everything. Laura thanks Wanda for doing what she did and Wanda, being of humble heart, claims it goes unsaid that she would do that for any of them and there was no need to thank her. Nat doesn’t say ‘I told you so’ but she tells you it’s time to learn self-defense as she wants you to quote unquote “be prepared next time god forbid something like this happens again”, which to you was another way of saying ‘I told you so’, 

Nat says she will personally see to giving you your first lesson tomorrow. Clint laughs at the thought and suddenly everyone is amped to watch Nat teach you some moves in the morning, inviting themselves to be your audience as if embarrassing yourself in front of Natasha was not going to be enough. Everyone leaves you alone to get ready to sleep after that. 

After changing into your pjs, you pull out your phone and scroll through your camera roll sitting on the couch. You have at least fifty or so new photos of just today. You smile as you watch the video you recorded of Wanda and Pietro playing Dance Dance Revolution. Watching them interact today, you are reminded of you and Laura and Nat and if their bond is anything like yours, you are happy that Wanda has someone like that in her life. 

Wanda comes downstairs to check up on you before turning in for the night. She hears you before she sees you, your giggles cutting through the air. She follows the sound, curious as to what has you in such spirits. When she is close enough, Wanda sees you are laughing at something playing on your phone. 

“What are you watching?” Wanda asks from behind you.

“Just some of the stuff I recorded today. Come look.” You invite her over.

Leaning over your shoulder, she finds out it is a video of her and her brother playing the dancing game at the arcade. She fails to see what you find so funny but as the video plays on, you kept zooming in and out of Wanda’s face as she pouts every time she missteps but the look of determination never wavering. 

You think it’s a cute video but you aren’t surprised when Wanda lunges for your phone in an attempt to take it and delete the video. You lean forward away from Wanda on time so that she cannot reach it. She groans, “Delete it.”

“Mmm, no.” You shake your head and laugh when Wanda wastes her energy to maneuver around the couch to take the phone away only for you to hide it behind your back away from Wanda’s hands. She looks down at you unimpressed. “Y/N, do you really think that’s going to work? I can take it with a wave of my hand.”

“Tsk tsk tsk. Always relying on your magic. Afraid you can’t get it without twirling your fingers?” you shoot back with a smirk. Your cockiness is short lived as you see Wanda sport the same look of determination she wore in the video you took. She surprises you by settling onto your lap, basically straddling you. She holds you by the shoulders. You nearly whimper when she leans into your ear and whispers, “I’ll show you twirling my fingers.”

She leans away from your ear and looks you right in the eye as one hand begins to wander down your chest. You hold your breath when she gets to your belly button. You should have known better, misreading the smirk on her face. It all takes a turn when she brings her other hand down and begins to tickle you. 

You try fighting her off with one hand, keeping the other with your phone behind your back, but she’s relentless. You flail around and you end up lying on the couch, Wanda still on top of you. You can’t help the tear that slips and you take that as your cue to beg her to stop. “Mercy! Mercy! Stop!”

Wanda eases up on the tickling, giving you time to catch your breath, but she makes no move to get off of you nor to actually take your phone away. She rests her hands on your stomach and watches you, amused when you wipe away your tear. 

“That wasn’t nice,” you breathe out. She chuckles. You stare at her as if it is your turn to gaze at her in wonder. She takes you by surprise again when she asks, “Can I kiss you?”

She’s kissed you before. Hell, you’ve done a lot more than that, so you’re wondering why she’s even asking at this point. At the confusion on your face, she explains, “I mean, can I kiss you just to kiss you?”

Finally understanding what she is asking, you sit up and give her your permission. “You can kiss me whenever you want. It doesn’t have to lead to anything.” She hesitates to move so as a show of faith you peck her lips, startling her. “See?”

Wanda smiles and leans forward to kiss you. It’s a slow but still rather chaste kiss. It takes your breath away and when she pulls back she giggles as your lips unconsciously chase after hers. She gives you what your lips were seeking for, pulling you further into her by your neck and tangling her hands in your hair. You are kissing slowly but then you’re not when you slip your hands under her shirt to grip her waist. You pull away and kiss down her neck. 

Wanda starts to feel hot. She doesn’t know when she started to grind onto you, but her hips are actively working to find some friction to relieve the feeling that’s bubbled up. You’re both wearing too many clothes, she thinks. She pushes you away and goes to take off her shirt, but when she had pushed you, you’d come to your senses. You stop her and pull her shirt back down. 

“As much as I’d like to, Clint and Nat seeing me in boxers haunts me to this day. I don’t want to imagine what they’d do if someone saw us less than decent on the couch,” you explain. 

“Oh,” she says, almost a little dejectedly, but Wanda understands. She honestly forgot they were in the living room, open for anyone to accidentally walk in on them. You crack a joke at her sounding so bummed. “Sorry if I gave the idea that I’d be comfortable putting it all out there for show. I don’t know what kind of things you and your ex-robo-boyfriend liked to do, but not everyone can be as free spirited.”

Knowing what comes next after a joke like that, you are quick to grab her wrists before she punches your arm. “Or as violent,” you add, laughing when she pouts at not getting her way. You wrap your arms around her before falling back to lie on the couch. Wanda stretches out her legs to get more comfortable, which is hard to do given your arms are still wrapped around her holding her arms down as well. 

“You’re the worst,” she mumbles into your neck. You laugh. “Hey, don’t start comparing me to your exes. It’s hard to compete with a lab-produced man. He’s probably over six feet tall and can do long division in a blink. Probably does the cheesy things you like, like serenading you and lipsyncs as the song actually plays from his mouth.”

Your arms loosen up as you speak, allowing Wanda to shift more so beside you. Wanda giggles at your rambling and throws an arm around your stomach. “He’s not an Alexa, Y/N.”

“Are you sure? Or you just never tried saying ‘Vision, play Summer by Calvin Harris’?” She bites your shoulder instead of swatting at you. “Ow. What kind of name is Vision anyway? I mean that can only mean he’s packing some serious stuff cause moaning out ‘Vision’ is just not it, you know? I mean, it’s better than ‘Brad’ but honestly most anything is better than Brad.” 

“Ugh!” Wanda lets out in frustration and a hint of embarrassment. Her face turns pink but she tries to hide it behind her hand. She says something else you don’t catch as it’s muffled by her palm. You grab her hand and move her arm back to its original position around you. “What was that?”

“I said ‘I don’t’,” Wanda repeats. 

“You don’t, what?” you ask. Wanda waits a second for you to catch up. “Wait, you and he never?” you ask. When she shakes her head, you are too bewildered by that possibility that you have to confirm. “Never ever?”

She rolls her eyes at you. “Sorry, it’s just that,” you pause. A thought that nearly shuts down your brain takes over and you have to ask, but you weren’t sure how, not knowing if she would want it brought up in case the answer was yes. “Wait! Were you? I didn’t, um.. Did I…”

“Did you, what?” Wanda cautiously asks, noting how hesitant you are to ask whatever it is you were trying to figure out. You clear your throat. “Was I your first?”

You don’t know what you hoped the answer to be. Yes? Being someone’s first can be a big deal and if you were hers, Wanda’s first time, you’d have to move to a mansion for the size of your ego. But another thought arises. Did you live up to her expectations? Her body language seemed to say yes, but maybe she’s just really good at lying. Did you actually disappoint? Wanda disrupts your thoughts by laughing… loudly. 

“Well, damn. A simple ‘no’ would’ve been sufficient,” you pout. Internally, you are a little relieved to not have been the first. When she leaves here, you’ll probably be brought up at an odd time or another in conversation. Three of the small group of Avengers will probably remember you as Wanda’s fling, but you wouldn’t be able to stand being seen as that goof that deflowered the second youngest member of the team. 

“Do not take this the wrong way, Y/N, but I’m glad you were not my first,” she says. Obviously, your response is “Ouch. I don’t know how there is any other way to take that.” She continues, “Because I got to enjoy myself with you. The first time for me was not fun. I didn’t even really like him, but I was tired of everyone comparing me to Pietro, who is as you say more of a ‘free spirit’, and I guess I wanted to prove I could be too.”

With one hand you run your fingers through her hair and with the other you rub her arm in comfort. “Well then in that case, I’m glad I wasn’t your first as well. Also, I enjoyed it too.” She giggles, making you smile in return. “Just sayin’.”

“What about you?” she asks. 

“My first time?” She nods. You hesitate to get into it and she gives you an out. “You don’t have to.”

“No, it’s only fair. My first was actually Skye,” you say. Wanda looks surprised. “I know. A lot of firsts with that one.”

“How did you meet?” Wanda keeps the conversation flowing after a heavy pause.

You chuckle remembering how it happened. “It all started with what Laura coined the great animal rescue,” you start. You tell her the beginning, the middle, and the end of your first and really only relationship. 

“Was she the girl in the picture you showed Peter?” Wanda knows the answer. Why does she do this to herself? Maybe to try to get it through her head that there is someone out there that knows you the way she does and maybe better. Of course, a straight yes or no is too much to ask from you. “Daisy Ridley? I wish! Could you imagine? Rey Skywalker?”

“Maybe Sam has a right to tease you. You are a nerd.” You scoff, “Excuse me. Anyone would be lucky to date ‘only the prettiest woman alive!’” you repeat Peter’s voice, trying to make his voice. Wanda laughs at your impersonation of the young hero.

You remove Wanda’s arm and get off the couch. She frowns. “Where are you going?”

“Getting us a blanket and pillows. It’s way late and although I can talk with you until the sun rises, I need to get some sleep before Nat kicks my ass tomorrow. I’ll be right back,” you say with a smile before turning to grab said items.

You come back, hand Wanda a big pillow you decide you would both use, and stretch the blanket out over her before getting under it and back to the way you were before. 

“Are you comfortable? Do you want the other pillow?” you ask her, which she really appreciates. Once she tells you she’s all good, you kiss her head and wish her sweet dreams.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Wanda replies.

She can’t understand how Skye held so much of you and let you go. Holding you and talking through the night with you, she knows it’s going to hurt when she will have to do the same in a few days. She holds you tighter and closes her eyes, hoping to dream of you tonight.

“Does Vision come with WiFi?”

“Y/N, go to sleep,” Wanda mutters, though she tries not to laugh.

“Sorry, just wondering. Goodnight, Wanda.”

Did Vision have wifi? He doesn’t work like a router, does he? Could she have had a personal hotspot the entire time she was dating him? Wanda needs answers.

“I bet you’re thinking about it now too, huh?” 

“Y/N.”

“Sorry, sleeping now.”

____________________________________________________________________

@madamevirgo @marvels-writings @gayarchnemissis @myperfectlovestory @purplemeetsblue @magicallymaximoff @b0mbdotc0m @helloalycia @ironscarletwidowsoilder @cantcontroltheirfear @trikruismybitch @your-my-mission @imagine-reblog @fayhar @idek-5 @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo @bemyvitamin @musicinourlips @paumxmff @wandamaximoffsrings @yeetus-thyself @lostandsearching @when-wolves-howl @euphoriaszn2 @gingerbreadcookieforlife 

[x-childish-x]

Hello!

May I ask for a scenario where reader is talking to Kurt about how they’re scared to be alone forever because they are asexual (but not aromantic) but Kurt comforts them and says that he actually liked them since they arrived at the Institute… just a getting-together scenario

Sorry about the big paragraph and the broken english (it’s not my first language ^^). If you can’t it’s okay ❤️

Thank yoooouuu ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Secret Comfort

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x asexual!reader

Fandom: X-Men

Warnings: Asexual reader, gender neutral reader, sadness, angst, mutual pining, fluff

Word Count: 677

A/N: Enjoy the 400 follower spoil-fest!!! Hello lovely, I truly hope I was able to write this the way you were hoping. I'm sorry it took me so long, but here it is! This is my first time ever writing an asexual reader, so please help me in making sure I'm writing accurately and non-offensively. Thank you for all the love and support, enjoy!

Summary: When confiding in Kurt about your asexuality you get much more than you ever expected.

(gif not mine!)

Kurt admired you for so many different reasons. He admired your beautiful, kind, caring soul. Kurt admired your friendliness to humans and mutants alike, and he admired your bravery, your fire, your confidence. The list went on and on. Truthfully, if someone would listen, Kurt would rant about you for hours and hours, explaining each and every reason why he loved liked you so much.

Kurt seized every opportunity with you. He didn't even care that it resulted in relentless teasing from Peter and Scott. He panicked at first, noticing that you were missing from the group's usual weekly meet-up to go watch a movie. Kurt acted upon instinct, immediately teleporting to all your favorite spots before finding you sitting in the rose garden.

"(Y/n)?" Kurt called softly, trying his best to not startle you.

"Oh! Kurt!" You yelped, rushing to wipe your tears, "Sorry, what's up? Is everything okay?"

Kurt frowned, quickly walking to you, "I should be asking you that. Why are you crying? Did someone hurt you?"

"No! No!" You nervously laughed, "Just... thinking."

"I'm always here to talk to," Kurt spoke softly, tentatively sitting beside you.

"I don't want to bother you with my stuff Kurt," You smiled at him, "Thank you, though."

"You don't bother me!" Kurt quickly defended, reaching for your hand, "I would love to help!"

You nodded, acknowledging that you knew Kurt would always help you, as you would love to help him. A gentle silence fell over the both of you, however, each of your thoughts seemed to be screaming into the air, begging you to speak up. Finally, you made up your mind. You would tell Kurt.

You hadn't imagined telling Kurt everything this way, but part of you knew it was safe. It was always safe with Kurt. Here, in the rose garden, you knew that you could confide in Kurt to be your secret comfort. Taking a deep breath and squeezing Kurt's hand, you sat up straighter, looking out directly in front of you.

"I'm scared," You whispered, tears rising to your eyes, "I'm afraid I'm gonna be alone forever because... I'm asexual. I'm not aromatic, I mean, I still like people, I just... don't feel sexually attracted to people. I just... I'm so afraid nobody will ever love me or accept me because I'm not interested in that."

"What if somebody was already attracted to you and accepted that part of you?" Kurt asked gently, taking your other hand.

"W-what?"

"(Y/n), I've liked you since you arrived at the mansion," Kurt smiled, squeezing your hands, "I don't care if you're asexual... that isn't important to me. I could care less about sex. I... I love your personality, your kindness, and your bravery. I admire everything about you, and... I'm rambling."

Tears rose in your eyes at Kurt's confession. You dropped his hands, unable to resist the urge to throw yourself into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"Kurt.." You cried softly, "I liked you too, I have for so long. I was afraid you wouldn't like me because of me being asexual."

Kurt hugged you back tightly, relishing in the feeling of you pressed to his chest, where he could keep you safe from everything, "(Y/n) that doesn't change a single thing about how I feel for you."

"Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Your soft cries slowly grew closer to a sob, "Thank you for accepting me, thank you for supporting me."

"I always will," Kurt smiled, squeezing you tighter, "It'd be a bit unfair for me to judge you for being asexual when I not only have a tail, but I'm also blue."

A chuckle slipped through your lips as you sat there, wrapped up in Kurt's arms, feeling safer than you had in a long, long time. Nobody's opinion mattered at that minute. Kurt liked you and accepted you for who you were. A multitude of feelings swarmed over you, drowning you in them and giving you the strength to conquer anything, as long as Kurt was by your side.

General Taglist: @nowthisisdark​ @techssexythighs​

[paroleswerespoken]

Beyond redemption

Sorry for my scrambled thoughts 

So, Yashiro got raped by Inami in between the time skip after he had already made love with Doumeki, I think that happening is a crucial turning point for Yashiro’s character development. It is implied at the moment that Yashiro is “impotent” because he can’t get aroused by having rough or casual sex. Yashiro being raped after everything that happened with Doumeki made him hit a low point in his life, he even said he thought of himself as someone who was beyond redemption. Yashiro has always had this inner conflict (a lot of us might relate to when we indulge in something we shouldn’t and then regret it immediately after) he’s conflicted by the fact that despite being raped by men he can’t help but be attracted to them. On top of everything he doesn't hold himself to a high esteem (hence his self-destructive tendencies.) But at least we know Yashiro thought of changing, although what Yashiro needs more than anything is to receive professional help. In chapter 8, when Yashiro was shot, he says “I’ve come to know the loneliness of loving someone, and the despair of that person being a man.” that line gives us an insight on his inner troubles. That could’ve meant that he knew that by Kageyama being a man that they would never be together or as I interpret it based on my understaing of the story, it was more like “I feel in love with someone who’s not going to love me back, and on top of that that person is a man.” There’s also a time when he mentions to Doumeki that before he even knew what being attracted to someone was, he was raped by his step dad after Doumeki asked him when was the time he started to like guys. To me Yashiro’s feels guilty to a certain extent and maybe even blames himself, of course that is all thanks to the trauma he went through of having someone constantly tell you “This is what you want” “you enjoy this” “I’m doing this because you let me” etc. I must note in chapter 4 when Yashiro had Doumeki dressed in the cop outfit Doumeki makes a remark that upsets Yashiro, he says “It’s not rape if the victim wants it.” To hear that from Doumeki must have been disappointing for him. I mean Yashiro was only a kid when all that happened and as a survival mode, he learned to agree to whatever that man asked and maybe subconsciously he started to believe that. In the present you can view Yashiro’s ways as a coping mechanism but I see it more as self-destruction, he has been on the verge of death multiple times and has stated that he wouldn’t mind if he died right there on those occasions. So, the way Yashiro goes about sex is more of a consequence of the guilt he feels and his inner conflict of “If I was rape by a man why do I like men?” Having sex with Doumeki was kind of like a sexual awakening for Yashiro, he realized that there was more to sex then what he knew. So now in the present we have a Yashiro who can’t get aroused, still blaming himself and believes that in some way the universe in punishing him.  From my point of view Yashiro never sees himself as a victim, to me that seems more like a coping mechanism, the fact that we have never seen Yashiro show any great resentment towards anyone and is able to co-exist with those who have harmed him without wishing them or doing them any wrong is proof that he sees himself as the problem instead of acknowledging that he was abused or holding those who abused him accountable.  In the end I wouldn’t say Yashiro is impotent, if we compare him to Doumeki who wasn’t even able to get aroused by someone who he was clearly attracted to, (Though his trauma was also an important factor) to Yashiro’s who like I said kind of had a sexual awakening with Doumeki, if you were to compare them, I wouldn't exactly say Yashiro is impotent. I think is more so an effect of his realization that he could enjoy sex without it being violent or sacrificing his body to such acts, and that is a great deal to his character development. Although Doumeki believes that there has been no change in Yashiro after four years, I think he will be in for a treat once he discovers everything that has gone down and I can’t wait.

[shadyteacup]

Hello! If you’re free, I was wondering if I could have a request where 15y/o Dazai meets his future s/o which he feels comfortable around them and has good impression abt them. Like he’s wandering somewhere and suddenly run into them. They have a chitchat abt their thoughts on something and have fun talking to each other. Then leave and meet again when he joins ADA. (s/o is a weird kind of person, like out of this world)

I’m not an English speaker so sorry for my terrible English y-y. Btw, i love your writings!!💟

This is such an amazing idea! I had fun writing this! And dw, your English is spectacular ♡ Enjoy, dove!

Dazai Osamu x gn! Reader||Reader has a time traveling ability

Timeless

You were a time traveler. Your ability allowed you to visit places from different timelines. The only drawback was that you aged no matter where you were, even if you were using your ability. This meant that if you wanted to enjoy the present, you had to ensure that you didn't spend much time in the past. You couldn't visit the future.

But that was okay. You loved finding out the root of all problems. That's why you joined the ada. Your ability helped them to identify who the perpetrator was. You would travel in the past and be there at the crime scene at the right time. Then you'd come back and reveal important information like the hiding place of the murder weapon, or if they had been looking at the wrong suspect all along.

You were currently investigating the death of a businessman. His body had turned up near the docks. It was highly decomposed, and probably atleast 2 years dead. You decided to travel 2 years into the past, and made your way to the docks. While searching for the potential crime scene, you bumped into someone. A mop of brown hair stood a few steps ahead of you. The boy wore bandages all over his arms and neck, and had an eye covered. Judging by the absence of any outline of his eye on the bandage that covered it, and the lack of moisture, his eye probably wasn't injured at all. He was probably only wearing bandages to appear weak. But this was just an assumption on your part.

"Ah, I'm so sorry, boy. I didn't see you there!"

He looked at you with a dead look in his eye, then gave you the fakest smile to ever exist.

"It's alright. May I ask what you are doing at a place like this?"

You were taken aback by his cold demeanor. It reminded you a lot of your own self.

"I'm here to investigate a death."

You said. His eyes darkened at your words.

"You see, the body will be discovered two years later. No tangible evidence will be recovered, then. So I must find something useful here, now."

The boy smirked.

"Time traveling ability?"

You smiled.

"Yup."

His smirk dropped and he glared at you.

"I see. This is a dangerous adventure, dear. You might get caught in a string of trouble, one that might lead you to harm."

The boy's aura and dark look had made you suspicious about his employers, but now you were certain that he worked for the mafia.

"Don't worry. I'm pretty positive that the murder wasn't committed by someone from the mafia."

His surprise was momentary, but obvious. It caught your eye.

"Before you ask, no, I don't know your future self. Also, the method of the crime doesn't match the mafia's M.O."

He nodded, thinking.

"Well in that case, I don't think you and I should be enemies."

He chirped, a happy look on his face.

You were taken aback by the sudden change in his mood.

"Sure, kid."

You said, patting his shoulder and walking away, trying to find the crime scene. The area was littered with compartments and shipment goods. It all looked so similar, almost like a maze.

"Hey, kiddo, can you lend me a hand?"

He blinked in confusion.

"Um. Sure."

He was confused as to why you weren't afraid of him. You clearly knew he was from the mafia, but you still acted so casually around him. It made him think that you either represented somebody powerful, or worked for an influential employer.

You rummaged through your pocket, trying to find the picture. Handing him the the snap of the crime scene, you observed him as he peered into the paper.

"This way."

He said, walking between two cargo containers, and leading the way.

"I never got your name, boy."

He shrugged, peering at you over his shoulder.

"Does it really matter?"

You mimicked him, raising your shoulders in a lazy shrug.

"Maybe, maybe not. But I'd like to call you something other than 'boy'."

He hummed in thought.

"How about 'knight in shining armour'?"

You scoffed.

"I get the whole 'I'm helping you, so I'm a knight' thing, but I'm no damsel in distress."

He smirked.

"Oh? And what if I were to abandon you here? What would you do?"

You smirked.

"I'd find my way on my own. I don't need you, eye-patch."

He grinned at you smugly, stopping in his tracks and moving towards you. He leaned in, his face almost touching yours.

"And what if I were to overpower you, hmm? What would you do then?"

You shuffled closer to him, much to his surprise. You whispered near his ear.

"I'll ensure that you'll never be able to have kids."

Pushing him back, you snatched the picture from his palm, and continued searching for the location. He was astonished at your bravery. He always comes across as intimidating, and that was putting it mildly. You were very courageous.

Following you like a lost puppy, he watched you hide behind a bunch of wooden crates.

You patted the space next to you, beckoning him to sit there.

"The show's about to start, eye-patch."

You took out your camera and were ready to click.

That's when two men, clad in expensive suits walked over. One of them was explaining something to the other.

You began clicking a few snaps.

The guy who was observing, turned his back on the other for a second. That's when he brandished his knife and plunged it into the other's back. You were furiously tapping away on the camera's button, determined to get every detail of proof.

The victim suffered atleast 50 stabwounds, 53 to be exact, when the killer decided to stop and hide the body. You snapped every single second of the ordeal.

When the killer left the crime scene, the two of you got up, and dusted your clothes.

"Do you have any plans after this?"

He asked you.

"Well, not really. I was planning to grab a drink, maybe something to eat, before heading back."

You said.

"Or heading 'ahead', since I'm going to the future. I don't even know."

Dazai nodded his head.

"How about I treat you to a drink?"

You eye him suspiciously.

"I have no reason to harm you. You literally don't belong here, so I've got no reason to hurt you."

You hum in acknowledgement.

"Okay then. Lead the way."

....

"How old are you?"

He asked, swirling his drink in his glass.

"A few years older than you."

"Cryptic."

"Intrusive."

"Touche."

"You have so many questions, don't you, eye-patch. "

Dazai hummed, taking a sip.

"Consider me intruiged by your... ability."

He turned in his bar stool to face you.

"Why didn't you prevent it from happening?"

"Because if I break the flow of time, or even mess with it, everything will go haywire."

"And if you were able to prevent it, without disrupting the flow of time, would you have intervened?"

You gaze at your own glass.

"I would do some heavy research before I make my decision."

Dazai was curious. Did you not want to save people?

"Everybody has a reason for murder. Nobody wakes up one day and decides to kill someone. I'll dig into their lives and find out why the killer did it. And I'll decide whether or not preventing the murder would save an innocent life, or harm many others in the future."

"So, in short, you intend to play God."

You chuckled.

"If given the power, who in their right mind would turn down the offer? Everybody wants to play God. Our entire society is built that way. The one who has more money, more power, more influence, has the right to play God to those beneath them."

Dazai found you very interesting. The way you viewed the world was so unique. You were a textbook 'good person' but could easily become the 'bad guy' if given the resources. Good or bad doesn't really matter to him, he finds the difference between the two very confusing.

"Doesn't that make you, and everybody who has power, a "bad" person?"

You chuckled.

"Funny coming from a mafioso."

Downing the rest of your drink, you answer his question.

"The distinction between good and bad is so distorted. The same set of actions can be termed as good for certain circumstances, and bad for others. The villain is always the hero when you try to see the world through his shoes, and the hero is always the villain for those supporting the so called 'bad guy' ."

"I agree. I don't care about what's 'good' or 'bad' ,either."

"Then what do you follow?"

"What do you mean?"

"There must be some set of rules that you abide by. What are they?"

"I.. Don't have any. I'm a free bird!"

You tap your chin in thought.

"One must have something to fall back on when they don't know what to do. Something to blindly follow. For example, I follow a set of rules created by my morals and values. When I don't  know how to proceed, I remember them and act accordingly. "

Dazai observed you as you spoke, absorbing every single syllable that floated out if your luscious lips. He was attracted towards opinionated, strong and focused people. He adores the look on people's faces when they speek about their passions, and express their opinions on matters. Even if he disagreed with them, the fact that they have a strong reasoning behind their actions, and the way they calmly portray their points so skillfully, makes him like them more.

The way you were effortlessly articulating your inner thoughts was something that he was fascinated by. He had so much going on inside, so much turmoil, that it was impossible for him to express it out in words. But you seem to be so sorted and disciplined. He loved that about you.

"You'll get there someday, eye-patch. Don't worry. "

You comforted, smiling at the young man.

He smiled back at you. For the first time that day, he had given you a genuine smile.

"You should smile more. It suits you."

He blushed at your words. It was a weird feeling for him. He didn't understand why his face was heating up, or why his ears felt like they were on fire.

Flicking your wrist to check the time, you sighed.

"Well, time to leave."

Dazai held your wrist as you were about to get up.

"Wait!"

You looked at him quizzically.

"Will we meet again?"

You tilted your head and smiled at him.

" I can't say for sure, but I do hope that we do."

With that, he watched you walk out of the bar. He only respected Odasaku. But now, he respected you, too.

....

Time skip to a few weeks later.

....

"L/N san, please get yourself together, we're expecting a new member to join us, soon."

You laid on the couch of the ada as Kunikida rambled on about how everyone must be in their best behavior to greet their newest member. Yosano was handling most of it, so Ranpo and you had no work to do.

"Yes, yes, Doppo. Also, it's Y/N."

You said, stretching your arms above your head.

"Y/N kun, you need to try this new type of cookie. It has two different flavors!"

Ranpo said, offering you a cookie from his bag.

You smile at him, accepting it.

"Yum!"

"I know, right!"

"Ranpo san, Y/N san! Please come here! Our newest member has arrived!"

Both of you lazily got up and strolled over to the front of the office.

"What is the big deal, Doppo-"

You stopped mid sentence when you saw the person standing at the doorway.

"Eye-patch!"

Dazai's eyes widened when he saw you, the one person who had managed to intruige him other than his deceased friend, standing in the office. The office where he was to work at, today onwards.

"Damsel!"

He said, pointing at you.

You scoffed at his choice of nickname.

"Ha! I knew your eye was fine!"

"Do you both know each other?"

Kunikida asked.

"Ofcourse they do. They met a long time ago, right, Dazai?"

Ranpk said, muching on his sweets. Ofcourse, he figured it out.

"Well, not that long ago for me."

You smiled.

Dazai had finally met you. He was elated.

"I'm glad we met again."

"Don't worry, eye-patch, we have a lot of time to catch up. ;)"

[littlesniggy]

Savior

Anon: IT‘S OPEN AGAIN! 🎉 im the Anon who asked for the Sakazuki request at the 100 followers event. Would you do a scenario where he takes female readers virginity ? I just can’t imagine him being the best choice for it but maybe you have a different take on it! Love your work so much and thank you!!! 💖

Sakazuki taking reader‘s virginity Anon here! I’d say maybe reader is not in a relationship with him but if you can’t come up with a scenario where this could be the case then can also be in a relationship. It’s up to you! Thank you so much !

Well...this is rather long and I apologize. I couldn't come up with a scenario where he would take reader's virginity without them being in a relationship except for this one. It has a lot of story in the beginning so feel free to skip to the dirty part if it's too long....anyways, I hope you like it and let me know!

Warning: 18+, nsfw, masturbation, superior x subordinate

Parining: Sakazuki x female reader

Word count: 4.1k

He had saved you when you were a child; kidnapped by pirates and to be sold off to god knows where. He, a Vice Admiral at the time, and his men caught the pirates off guard like a sudden storm, the outlaws not having anywhere to run. You watched him from afar, barking orders at his men and not paying you any attention. He scared you more than the pirates did, with his cold eyes and his unapproachable aura.

You joined the marines when you were old enough, wanting to stop piracy and the suffering pirates caused to innocent citizens. Oddly enough, Sakazuki became like a role model to you in his consequent behavior even though you had no interactions whatsoever. It was also no surprise to you when he was promoted to be an admiral. You admired him, wanting to climb the ranks like him and in the process became somewhat ruthless in your pursuit of pirates as well though not to the extend he was.

He came to the base you were stationed at, ordered by Sengoku to help catch the rising numbers of pirates sighted in this area. Apparently, he was not amused about it, thinking all of you had done a terrible job of letting this happen. First thing he did was give an angry speech to everyone, scolding you for the lack of effort in catching the pirates. The Vice Admiral’s got an even bigger scolding; everyone leaving the meeting room smaller than before.

You were called into his office a couple of days later. One of your superiors had recommended you to become Sakazuki’s assistant for the time he was here, not wanting to do it himself. You felt excited to be even thought of, wanting to see the admiral in action. So, you knocked on his door, waiting for him to call you in.

“Hello, Sir. I’m-“

“You’re late, marine.” His voice was harsh and annoyed, his eyes boring into yours, making you swallow. To say he was intimidating would’ve been an understatement – he was terrifying! You were taken back to more than ten years ago when you first saw him. You felt like a small child that did something wrong and was to be scolded by their parent.

“Sit down.” He ordered you, gesturing to the empty chair in front of the desk. You nodded, hurrying over and sitting down, not wanting to let him wait any longer. Your enthusiasm had dropped significantly; you weren’t even able to look him in the face, your hands fidgeting in your lap. You felt his eyes mustering you in irritation and it made you even more uncomfortable.

“I’ve heard you were the right one for the job but when I look at you I’m wondering what kind of marines work here when you’re the best they can offer as an assistant.” His words stabbed you like a knife in the heart. But he was right? The moment you entered the room you felt so nervous, not even a kid would take you seriously. Taking all your courage, you looked up and right at his face, feeling the need to look away immediately but pushing this urge away.

“Don’t you have anything to say, marine?” he got more irritated by your silence and you could understand; you were not making a good impression on him. “I’m sorry I was late, Sir. It won’t happen again.” You finally managed to say, trying to sound more confident than you actually felt. “That’s what to be expected of a marine. I don’t need any half-assed assistant who I can’t even rely on being punctual. Next time this happens you’ll be punished.” He said, meaning every word he said. You swallowed again, nodding at him. “Understood, Sir.”

From then on you spent a lot of time together. You were mostly ordered to run from A to B to collect reports or documents for him and being yelled at when you did the smallest mistakes. The first time you boarded a ship with Sakazuki, however, was the most exciting moment in your life so far. Over the last three weeks you’ve been his assistant for you have gotten used to him and somewhat could anticipate which mood he was in (most of the time not in a good one). Your admiration for him never really wavered; just the respect you had for this man grew even more.

“Y/n, is everything ready for departure?” he asked, standing at the bow of the marine ship, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Yes, Sir. Everything is set and we will leave any moment.” You informed him. Akainu simply nodded, turning around and walking towards a Vice Admiral, talking to him. While he was gone you were following your own train of thought. You never told him that he was the one who saved you and you doubted he actually remembered. You wouldn’t even know how to address it, never finding the right moment. You also doubted he actually cared enough to listen to what you had to tell him so you made the decision to not mention it at all. At least at the moment.

“The admiral wants the reports from today. Bring them to him.” Your Vice Admiral told you, handing you the reports his subordinates had written over the day. You nodded, making your way over to Sakazuki’s office. Cold wind blew inside the small room when you entered, closing the door behind you.

“Do you have the reports, Y/n?” he asked, not looking up from his desk. “Yes, Sir. They’re all here.” You replied, handing them over to your boss. He nodded, not acknowledging your presence any further. You were about to leave when his deep voice caught you off guard. “Have I told you to leave?” he asked, still not looking up. You were confused, stopping in your tracks. “No, Sir.”

“I want you to take a look at this an tell me if you find anything suspicious.” He said, holding a piece of paper up. You nodded, still confused but took it and sat on the other chair, starting to read. You felt his eyes on you, watching you while you read and it made you feel nervous. It was hard for you to concentrate, your eyes looking up at him from time to time, needing to find where you had left before and taking unnecessarily long. Of course, he noticed.

“Is there a reason why you stop reading all the time?” he wanted to know, a scowl on his face. “N-no, Sir. It’s just difficult to concentrate.” You mumbled, pressing your lips shut after realizing you said it out loud. The admiral raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?” he insisted. You shook your head, trying to let the topic drop. “It’s nothing, Sir.”

“I want to know why my assistant is getting distracted when I gave her an order. It must be something very important when it takes up your mind this much.” He narrowed his eyes and you knew you had to tell him something believable. But coming up with a lie was rather difficult with his intense stare so your only option was the truth. “I-it’s just a little distracting when you….look at me like this. It makes me feel nervous.” You admitted.

Sakazuki was silent for a moment, making the whole situation even more unnerving for you. Then he huffed, leaning back in his chair. You looked up at him again, his stare now even more intense than before and with a blush you lowered your gaze again. “If I make you nervous I suggest you get used to it.” He just said. “I guess so, Sir.” You mumbled, trying so hard to focus on the sheet in front of you.

Out of the corner of your eyes you saw him get up from his chair and walk around the small room, waiting for you to finish reading. You felt his presence behind you, your body tensing unconsciously. You imagined his eyes wandering over you back up to your neck, creating small goosebumps on your skin. You wondered what he was thinking about. Your mind all of a sudden went crazy, the most bizarre scenarios played in your head and you lost your focus completely.

Your face as beet red at the thought of him possibly considering you attractive, him thinking about seducing you, him thinking about touching you – all those thoughts and you didn’t know if they were actually true. Your mind was playing tricks on you; the time you’ve spent together apparently had you develop feelings towards this man behind you and you caught yourself more often than not imagining being intimate with him.

There was this one time where you accidentally saw him shirtless in his office, after he had spilled something on his shirt (he denied it of course) and was changing into a new one. That night you had your first wet dream about him but you tried to play it down, telling yourself it was just the close proximity you two were sharing that naturally made you feel sexually attracted to him. But it never stopped. Soon, you actively fanaticized about him and you felt ashamed about it.

“Are you done, Y/n?” he brought you back to reality and you slowly shook your head no. “I-I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t seem to be able to concentrate. I think I might be too tired.” You said, hoping he believed you. You didn’t dare to turn around and look at him but you put the paper down on the desk in front of you, showing him that you were being honest. Akainu huffed. You heard footsteps coming closer to you until you saw his shoes next to your chair.

You looked up at him unsettled, anticipating his scolding.

“You seem awfully tense around me the for the past week. Is there something you need to tell me? If not, I suggest you get over it and take your job seriously. I don’t need someone who gets distracted so easily.” You couldn’t possibly tell him that you were thinking about him being naked and between your legs!

“I just wanted to say how thankful I am for getting this opportunity serving under you, Sir.” God! This sounded wrong! What if he thinks I want to have sex with him? Well, technically I do but he mustn’t know!

Sakazuki didn’t know what was going on in your head but just nodded. You were sure he didn’t believe you but also knew you wouldn’t tell him. So, he left it at that. “If you can’t do a better job tomorrow, I will replace you.”

You were ordered to stay on the ship today for whatever reason. The admiral was probably still not pleased with your performance yesterday that he wanted to punish you for it since he kind of knew how much you wanted to fight. Besides you there were a handful of other marines still on the ship but it was quiet over all. You had the order to organize the various reports in his office.

When you couldn’t find one you were sure you had seen yesterday you looked for it in his entire office. When you still couldn’t find it you thought that he might’ve taken it with him last night to his room. You were not allowed to enter his room but maybe this was an exception? Plus, he wasn’t here yet and it probably wouldn’t take long. But when it was gone, he would know that someone was in his office. But maybe he wouldn’t be too mad…

Before you knew it you had opened his door (surprisingly it wasn’t locked) and stepped inside his room. It was dark and you needed to turn on the lamp. The dim light barely illuminated the room but you could see enough to find your way around. On the nightstand you saw them – the five missing reports. You hurried over and picked them up, you were almost out the door when a thought hit you. You stopped dead in your tracks and turned around, looking at his neatly made bed. It was huge.

You slowly walked back, stopping in front of it and contemplating with yourself. You should just leave and never come back here! But you really wanted to lay down in his bed – just once – and see how he was sleeping. Without thinking twice you laid down on his big bed on your stomach and pressed your face into his pillow, closing your eyes. It smelled like him; he had this distinct smell of musk and a hint of cologne that made your knees go weak every time you were close to him.

Unconsciously, you let your hand wander down and between your legs, pushing pat the restraints of your uniform pants and panties. You felt your sex getting wet the more you smelled the pillow, your finger starting to rub against your folds, spreading your slick on your cunt. You moaned into the pillow, imagining it being his hand stoking you, his weight pressing down on you and his hot breath tickling your neck.

Your fingers entered your core, moving in and out, imagining his thick dick taking you as he pressed your head into the pillow. Another moan, this time a little louder, when you entered a second finger, spreading them inside of you. You’ve never had sex but you liked to imagine what it would feel like. His dick going deeper and deeper, taking your virginity as he praised you how good you were making him feel.

You turned on your back, pulling down your pants, spreading your legs, and taking the pillow from under your head, pressing it to your face with one hand while the other one entered your core again, thrusting inside of you. Your mind was in a frenzy, now imagining how he would take you like this, his cold eyes looking down at you with this cold gaze. You shivered, your fingers thrusting in and out faster.

“What do you think you’re doing there, Y/n?” You stopped dead in your tracks, your body tensing at the sound of his voice. Why was he back yet? He wasn’t supposed to be back for at least another hour! You were frozen in place, not being able to move, not wanting to pull the pillow aside and look at the man that was standing in the room, watching you fuck yourself on your fingers in his bed.

“I asked you a question.” You could hear his footsteps coming closer and soon after the pillow on your face was being lifted, making you look at your superior. “Are you having fun?” he asked, his harsh eyes staring right at you. He’s gonna kill me! Your mind screamed. A huge lump had formed inside your throat, making it impossible for you to answer. He let the pillow fall next to you on the bed, his eyes not leaving your face.

“If you need to masturbate this badly, why don’t you do it in your own bed, Y/n?” You couldn’t reply, shock was written all over your face. His gaze now wandered down your body to where your fingers were still buried in your went cunt. You didn’t know what he was thinking, his face this unreadable mask. He didn’t sound mad but he didn’t sound pleased either. But maybe this was a good sign.

“Don’t you have to say anything to your defense? Nothing like ‘Oh, my bed is broken so I used yours, Sir’?” Your face turned red and you slowly pulled your fingers out, his eyes following the motion. “I…..” you started but didn’t know what to say. “I should throw you out just like this, making everybody see what you’ve been doing in here.” He mused.

“P-please, don’t do this.” You found your voice, horrified at the possibility of him going through with this thought. “And why shouldn’t I?”

“I-it was a mistake, Sir! I was just….I wasn’t thinking!” Akainu huffed and amusement, his eyes finding yours again. “Is that so. What made you think it was acceptable to masturbate in your superior’s bed? Does it give you some kind of kick?” You shook your head and were about to pull your pants up but his next words stopped you.

“Were you thinking about me while you fucked yourself on your fingers?” mortified, you looked at him. “Were you thinking about how it was me fucking you?” you didn’t know what to say, too horrified to answer. “What makes you think you could handle me, Y/n?” still, no answer.

Sakazuki tilted his head to the side, watching you in slight amusement. “Take the rest of your clothes off.” His order caught you off guard. “S-Sir?”

“Did you hear me stutter? I said, take the rest of your clothes off.” His tone was harsher, leaving no room to argue.

With shaky hands you sat up and unbuttoned your uniform blouse, revealing your bra which followed soon after. You weren’t sure what he wanted to do; maybe he would throw you out like this, completely naked and humiliated. But you weren’t prepared for what came next. The admiral unbuttoned his shirt as well, revealing his muscular chest and more of his tattoo. Your eyes grew wide in disbelief. What was going on.

“I take it if I fuck you now you’ll become more focused on your tasks again, right?” he asked while opening his pants, pulling out his still soft member. You were afraid of your eyes popping out at the sight, inching away from him by instinct. He kneeled down on the mattress, towering over you.

Your heart was hammering in your chest when he positioned himself between your legs, pulling you closer to him. His hand started stroking himself. You watched in amazement as his dick turned harder and harder until it laid heavy in his hand. “Let’s get it done and over with, shall we?” he made it sound like a transaction at a crowded supermarket where he just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“W-wait! I…You…you shouldn’t…” but he pressed a hand over your mouth, shutting you up. “What I should and shouldn’t do is none of your concern.” He positioned himself at your wet entrance, sliding his dick over your folds, making you mewl in response. He took his hand away and put it right next to your head, kneeling over you completely. When he was about to enter you, you inched away, looking at him scared.

“P-please….be gentle….” You pressed out, realizing that his dick was way bigger than you had imagined. It would hurt, you were sure of it. Akainu pulled you closer again; you could feel his thick mushroom head at your entrance again. “Please…! I….I’ve never had….I’ve never done it before…” you stuttered, averting your eyes. The admiral’s eyes narrowed in response, looking your body up and down again.

He didn’t answer, you only felt his weight press against your entrance, his dick slowly but surely sliding inside your body. Your whole body tensed up, pain filling your core as he pushed further and further. You grabbed his arm next to your head with you hand, clawing at his skin in discomfort. “S-Sir! Please…give me some time!” you pleaded, eyes tightly shut.

You could hear his slightly uneven breathing and felt his big member slowly fill your up. The stretch was more than uncomfortable and your body tried to move away from him with every new inch he added. You felt a hand come up to your breasts, playing with them and squeezing them. You opened your eyes a little, looking up at his stern face. You looked down, seeing your hips raised to meet his dick, ass hanging in the air. You saw his dick not even buried half inside of you and it made your heart skip a beat in fear. This was never going to fit completely!

He pulled out a little before moving back in. “Ungh!” you gasped, your grip on his arm tightening at the feeling. He repeated the movement, each time pushing in a little further. His hand moved down from your breast and between your legs, finding your clit and circling it lazily with his thumb. You legs twitched at the feeling and you wanted to close your legs but he wouldn’t let you; his hips were in your way so you had to let him do.

“S-sir…..this feels kind of good…” you panted, trying to concentrate on his thumb on your clit. “Just because it’s your first time. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be this kind.” His words made your stomach tingle inside. So, he at least cared a little about you. Your legs slowly wrapped around his hips as good as possible and you pulled him a little closer, looking him in the eyes while you did it.

Sakazuki grinned a little, starting to pick up his pace. His thrusts became deeper and deeper, filling you out more and more. His thumb pressed down in your clit, adding a little bit of heat, making you moan out in pleasure. “S-sir!” you panted, grabbing at his wrist. “You want me to stop playing with you clit?” he asked, about to pull his hand away. “N-no! Please, keep doing this!” you begged, looking at him desperately. “Then let go of my wrist.” He replied.

You let your hand lay next to your head while the other one was still grabbing the arm right next to your head. Akainu’s thrusts became harder, the fabric of his pants scratching at the back of your thighs and his heavy balls slapping against your ass. He was filling you out all the way, your cunt pressed flush against his pelvis.

Your moans got louder, the uncomfortable feeling already pushed to the back of your head thanks to his thumb on your clit, adding heat from time to time. You saw your tits wiggle at his thrusts, you back arched when he hit a special sweet spot inside of you. The admiral groaned above you, slamming his dick inside of you without mercy.

He put his hand that was next to your head on your hip and hold you in place, panting heavily while he fucked you without any hesitation. Since you needed a new source of support to grab on you reached over your head to head of the bed, grabbing the the mattress and clawing your fingers into it.

Sakazuki closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him with every thrust, ready to milk him. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to make you cum, being it your first time but he was honestly more fixated on his own at the moment. His hips snapped back and forth, your moans filling his room your writhing body underneath his – it all was really appealing to the older male. He wouldn’t say it out loud but when he found you lying here on his bed with your legs spread he would’ve loved to take you at once but his self-control was stronger than his instincts.

“I…I think I’m gonna…I’m gonna cum, Sir!” you moaned, raising your hips more to meet his thrusts, your legs pressing him closer to you to feel him even deeper. He watched you trow your head back, your small body tensed underneath him before your muscles spasmed around his dick, clenching and unclenching as you came with a loud moan, your back arching, you tits bouncing a little.

The admiral huffed and groaned deeply, joining you in your orgasm soon after. Before he came he pulled out though, mind not clouded enough that he might forget it. His slick semen was covering your stomach, his hand stroking himself eagerly to let every drop of his seed come down on your body.

You were panting heavily, watching thick ribbons of cum cover your stomach. You reach out, collecting some of it on your finger and licking it up, tasting him on your tongue. It was salty and bitter, nothing like you expected but it was somewhat good nonetheless. You bit your lip at his stare, feeling so shameless and dirty to just taste his cum like some whore but you simply couldn’t help.

“Are you gonna be able to focus on your tasks from now on, Y/n?” he asked while he pulled out, inspecting the mess you two have made. Blushing you nodded shyly, pulling your legs to your body and closing them. “Good. We wouldn’t want this small incident to repeat itself, now would we?” you blushed even deeper at his smirk, knowing this probably wasn’t the last time. After all, this mission would take at least another month.

[ladywhistleclown]

Benedict Bridgerton x M!Reader: Valentines Fools

Summary: Benedict does something special. Word Count: 3334 A/N: I read this post about Valentines in Regency England, and found it so interesting that I had to write about it. of course, I made it gay. duh. Also, I wrote the ‘poem’ later myself, but its inspired by many LGBT poets/writers from history who wrote poems like it, about hope for future LGBT folks, just very simplified. This is some of my best work, and I don’t want it to get snubbed just because its not f/m, so like, give it a chance! MLM fic is also fun :) Enjoy! Warnings: Fluff, Drinking, Giggly men doing giggly men things (being stupid) -- Valentines Day, in your mind, was a rather dreadful event. Ladies and Lords spent days agonizing over hand-made letters, writing disgusting poetry about love, or rejection. You had never partaken in the act, partly because you had never had anyone to write to, and partly because even if you had, you had neither the patience nor skill to craft such detailed notes of devotion. You thought it best to leave such things to artists and ladies, of which you were neither. This year was only slightly different. After having met Benedict at Lord Granville's, striking up conversations about art, women, and your places in society, you had developed a rather strange relationship, one that you would almost call a courtship, if it wasn’t so clearly an impossibility. Benedict simply wanted to explore something new, something outside the realm of society and expectations, and you, lovesick fool that you were, happily obliged him. It was nothing more than attraction and curiosity. Second son or not, Benedict could never marry a man. Even if he wanted to.

At least you could drown yourself in booze at Lord Granville's. He was a good listener, with even better advice, and you knew that he understood exactly your pain. It was here you found yourself, a day before Valentines, throwing down your sixth beer and lamenting to Granville, who sat patiently by your side. “Society is not kind to those like us.” You sighed, running the tip of your index finger along the outer edge of your glass, staring blankly at it, as though if you drank enough, the answers would appear in the liquor. “No, it isn’t. But we are kind to each other, and ourselves.” He replied, looking over you with pity. You had never been much of a drinker, not for as long as Granville had known you, but your infatuation with Benedict had brought it out in you, and he wondered if it was a mistake to invite the Bridgerton boy here, if it caused an old friend to suffer in a way that was very familiar and personal to him. He knew the pain of impossible love too well, and saw himself reflected in your morose state. “Of course. You’re too kind to me, Granville. I talk your ear off about my foolish troubles with Bridgerton, but never think to ask of yours.” “I am not nearly as troubled as you are. And as I said, we must look out for each other, as the ton certainly will not.” he lifted up his own drink, pausing just before it reached his lips to glance at you, “Perhaps I should dis-invite Bridgerton from future events?” “Oh hell, Granville, don’t torture the man on my account. He enjoys the art and the company, and besides that,  I’d rather him here than at some brothel.” you grimaced as soon as the words left your mouth, an embarrassing slip revealing just how deeply attached you were. “Apologies. The alcohol has loosened my tongue.” “No bother. I understand that jealousy quite well.” Granville said, his voice still light and amused, and you couldn't help but laugh as he took a sip, winking at you before putting his glass down. “What jealousy?” Came a loud voice from directly behind you. You jumped, Granville almost knocking his drink over in his shock. Of course, he would arrive now, when you were drunk and foolish. You breathed out quickly, praying that you would say nothing incriminating before turning to face Benedict. He looked confused, glancing from Granville's face to yours, before reiterating, “What jealousy, Granville?” “Merely of other artists. I’m sure you know it too.” He recovered, taking another drink before gesturing to the table, “Care to join us?” Benedict sat in the chair closest to you, and you shot Granville a look of pure spite. In your drunken haze, everything seemed too much. His voice was too smooth, his smile too large, and the way he draped an arm across your chair, caging you in, was entirely too casual. You promised to whatever God was listening that you would slaughter Granville for this. “Of course I do. You know better than anyone.” He agreed, sliding easily into the conversation. You remained silent, not trusting yourself in your inebriation to respond beyond a simple hum of agreement or a grunt of displeasure. If you allowed yourself to speak freely, no doubt you would be weeping in Benedict's arms like a little girl within minutes. “What do you think?” You started, retreating from your thoughts to find both Benedict and Granville looking at you. Benedict’s eyes shone with thinly veiled concern, tilting his head and gently shaking you by the shoulder, while Granville simply smiled in amusement. “I..was lost in thought. My apologies.” You said quickly, waving Benedict’s hands away and sitting up completely. You were drunker than you thought, and briefly you wondered if you would even be able to make it to your carriage without help. You figured if you couldn’t, you would force Granville to escort you. He certainly owed you, after pulling this little stunt. “You’re wasted. Perhaps you should head home.” Benedict said gently. You huffed, shaking your head. “Don’t concern yourself with me, I can take care of myself. Now. My opinion on what, exactly?” “Valentines,” Granville supplied, glancing into his empty cup, “we were talking about all the effort that goes into such cards and letters. Artistry, in a way. What do you think of it?” “I find the holiday wholly unnecessary. And it takes far too much time to make such delicate things. A canvas is much more secure.” you huffed. Benedict stiffened beside you, although in your semi-consciousness, you barely noticed, your eyes fluttering between shut and open. “So you wouldn’t make any?” Benedict asked. “No.” “Would you receive them?” “I suppose it would be rude to deny such labors of love. But I have never received one, and I doubt I will this year. Ladies don’t send cards to men like me.” you shrugged, drooping over the table. The longer you sat, the harder it was to hold yourself up. If you passed out, it would be a good escape from such intimate topics with Benedict, so you allowed yourself to slump on the table, sighing. “Alright, that's enough. I’ll help you home.” Benedict declared, standing up and taking you by the arm, heaving you up. You groaned in protest, but didn’t fight as he slung your arm over his shoulder and half dragged you away from the table, Granville following behind. “Apologies, Bridgerton. Next time I won’t allow him to indulge quite so much. You may end up getting more than 10 minutes with him that way.” He said cheerily. “I’m sober enough to know when I’m being mocked, Granville.” you opened your bleary eyes to glare at him, finding his eyes twinkling with amusement. He patted your shoulder. “It’s no trouble. I was about to head home, anyway.” Is all Benedict said as he helped you into the carriage, climbing in after you and seating himself on the same bench. Granville waved you both off as Benedict rapped his knuckles on the carriage, directing your footman to take you home. “Now you have me alone and vulnerable. Not very gentlemanly of you, Bridgerton. What would the ton think?” you teased, leaning lazily against the side of the carriage, away from him. You hoped it was subtle, that he thought you were just drunk and loose and tired. You couldn’t bear the thought of him finding out just how weak you were for him. Then he would leave, and you would be crushed. “They would think nothing, because we’re men.” He pointed out, leaning closer to you. You hummed, acknowledging his words, but didn’t reply beyond that. It was only then that you realized how precarious a situation you were in. Drunk, alone, with a man you loved, who seemed to be moving closer and closer by the minute, although maybe you were imagining that part. Anything was possible when you were this drunk. “They would be wrong, though.” Benedict finished softly. He reached over, brushing his fingers along your jaw, moving downward to loosen your cravat. You sighed, tilting your head back to allow him easier access, cursing yourself but unable to shove him away. You were such a fool. “Are you planning something?” You asked. He finally managed to pull your cravat away, revealing your neck to him. He laughed at your question. “With you this drunk? No. I only wanted you to be more comfortable.” He tossed the cloth onto the other bench, leaning safely away from you to stare out the window after. While you were partly disappointed, you were mostly relieved. You wouldn’t have been able to resist, and only would have brought yourself more shame and confusion in regards to him. But Benedict was a good man, and he would never take advantage of you in your current state. Your heart squeezed. Too good of a man. “I’m sorry to be such a burden tonight.” you blurted suddenly. Benedict looked at you, his head whipping away from the window so quickly it almost made you dizzy. “I shouldn’t have drank so much. It was foolish.” “You’re never a burden to me.” He said, his voice soft and indignant, almost as if he was offended by the mere idea that you had inconvenienced him. “You shouldn’t have to chaperone me home like a weak debutante.” “I’d rather you than a debutante. Trust me.” You chuckled, shaking your head and glancing out the carriage window. You could see the square, and your home, fast approaching. It appeared as though your time with Benedict was over for tonight. Relieved and downtrodden, you sat up and attempted to right your swirling vision as the carriage came to a stop. Benedict stood, helping you up and out of the carriage. After explaining the situation to your housekeeper, he hauled you all the way into your home and bedroom, even being kind enough to help you out of your boots as you lay back in your bed, arm over your eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning. “I’ll be going, then.” He said quietly, standing up and brushing his hands together. You lifted your arm, making certain you weren’t going to puke before crooking one finger, beckoning him closer. “Come here.” You breathed. He obeyed, moving dutifully to your side, remaining silent despite the question in his eyes. You sat up slowly, ignoring your dizziness. Placing a hand on the back of his neck, you pulled him closer. Benedict, realizing what you were after, leaned down and forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You flopped back into your bed after he pulled away, grinning, although you couldn’t see it, having already rolled over and buried your face in the covers. “Goodnight. I hope you enjoy tomorrow.” He said ominously, the clicking of his heels against the marble floor the only indication you had that he had left. Before you could even think of the meaning of his strange farewell, you were dragged into rest. -- The first thing you registered after waking was the pounding behind your eyes. Moaning in pain, you lifted your arm over your face, blocking out the light that your butler had let in through the curtains. “My apologies, My Lord. Should we have a cure made?” He asked politely, noticing your haggard state. “Quickly.” You begged. He nodded, bowing before swiftly leaving the room to procure you a bit of relief. Sitting up, you turned away from the windows completely, opting to try and find your balance. After a moment, you were able to make your way to your wardrobe, pulling on your breeches and doublet. Today you had no need to dress formally. Valentines was a day you dedicated to staying completely shuttered away from the rest of the ton, tending to your estate and business ventures. It was easier than being bombarded with reminders of love, and much easier than running into any Bridgerton, although one, of course, you wanted to avoid above all else. It would only pain you to see him giving or receiving such intimate letters, especially with the women of the ton. Once your butler had delivered your cure, and you had thrown down the slimy, disgusting mixture, you were feeling much improved. You made your way to your study, smiling at your maids as they bowed before rushing off, no doubt in a hurry to finish their work and make off with their sweethearts for the day. You felt a twinge of jealousy, smiling sadly as you opened the door to your study. Oh. In your study sat piles and piles of cards, all handmade, some gilded with gold while others were trimmed with lace. You picked one up, in awe at its intricate gold-foil flowers, embossed on the front and lined with sharp swirls and embellishments, all clearly hand done with a calligraphy pen. You opened the card. The script inside was as lovely as the rest of the card, although it was the words that brought tears to your eyes. I sit and I look into your face And I see those before us, Who have loved as we do, And I see those after, And I pray that our impossibility Will become their reality. Yours. You choked on a sob, quickly closing the card and setting it down. The last thing you wanted was to ruin something so perfect with tears. It was not signed, and it didn’t have to be for you to know. Benedict. You looked around the room. There were at least 3 large piles of cards, enough to last an entire year, all handmade and intricate. You wondered how long this had taken him. It would take you days just to read them all. Surely, your servants thought you were either the biggest rake in the ton, with all these notes. You couldn’t care less. You gathered them all, handling them as gently as you would glass, slipping them into your desk cabinet and locking it. They were yours, no one else's. Benedict's words were just for you. Dazed, you leaned back into your office chair, holding the first card, running your fingers over the edges and rereading the lines over and over. It wasn't quite a poem, nor a letter, but a sentiment. A dream, a wish. You would be lying if you said that it wasn’t your dream too. A future where love like yours would be special, not sinful. Love. You jolted. And then laughed. How could you ever have doubted him? Surely, it was only love that would drive him to do this. Only love that would have him escort you home, make sure you were safe and comfortable. That would make him sit for what must have been weeks, if not months, working tirelessly on card after card just to take advantage of the one day where letters between unmarried men and women could be sent freely. Of course, he did so for a cover. But was that not also love? He wanted to protect you from ire, from harm, and so he delivered all the letters he felt he couldn’t today, just to keep from drawing unwanted eyes. Crying and laughing all at once, you pressed the note to your chest. How had you doubted his love for a second? His devotion? You truly were a fool, although not in the way you had expected. It took you half an hour to calm yourself, and by that time, your headache was back and worse than before, thanks to your emotional outburst. But another thing was back, too. Your butler, standing in the doorway with an impassive look on his face, glancing about the room, no doubt looking for the heaps of cards the servants had dropped off. “Do you know what card came from which maiden?” You asked, holding up the first card. It was the only card you had yet to put away, and though you were loathe to show it to him, you thought you should make it try and seem as though you had no idea who they had come from. “The cards were delivered mysteriously early this morning, My Lord. No names, no signatures.” “I see. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. None of them will be receiving a response.” You laughed, setting the card down. “What is it?” “A visitor, sir. The Second Bridgerton. Says he has something to discuss with you, about Lord Granville's gathering last night.” Your heart stuttered. “Send him up. No doubt he wants me to apologize for making such an ass of myself last night.” You joked, and he smiled back, giving a quick nod before rushing off to fetch Benedict. You quickly tucked the last letter into your desk drawer, pulling out a decanter of whiskey and pouring yourself a small glass. “No better cure for a hangover than more drink, right?” Benedict stepped into your study, shutting the door behind him even as he teased you. You laughed, pouring him a glass as well. He took it gratefully, sitting down in the chair across from yours, the desk between you two. “You may mock me if you wish, Benedict, but I am feeling positively delightful.” you said dramatically, lifting your cup in cheers. Benedict touched his glass to yours, and you took a sip. He did not. “Would that have anything to do with any deliveries?” He questioned, a secretive smile spreading across his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” “That’s why I asked.” You snorted, shaking your head quickly. “It would, if you must know.” Dropping all pretenses, he leaned forward, smiling even brighter now. “So you’ve got them. Do you like them?” “Of course I do,” you breathed, leaning in as well, dropping your voice to a whisper, “how long did they take you? They’re beautiful. True artistry.” “Much too long, as you said last night. But they were worth it, if you like them.” You nodded once. Smiling, he brought one hand to rest on your desk, palm up and spread open. You took it, intertwining your fingers. “Do you truly...love me? In that way?” you asked nervously, avoiding his gaze in favor of staring at your two hands. “No, I spent hours of my precious time making hand crafted love letters for a man I consider a friend.” He rolled his eyes. “If anyone would do such a thing, it would be you, Benedict.” “Certainly not. It would be Colin.” You laughed, and he grinned. Standing, he quickly rounded your desk and pulled you up by your still connected hands, pulling you against him and kissing you firmly. It was sudden, but not unpleasant, and you wrapped your arms around him, carding your fingers through his hair before resting your hands on the nape of his neck. After a long moment, he pulled away, eyes shining mischievously. “I do love you.” “And I you.” you said quickly, desperate to reciprocate. You had spent so long convinced that Benedict only saw you as good fun, that the revelation of love had left you reeling. But you would be damned if you passed up this opportunity to tell him of the affections you had kept secret since your first meeting. In response, he kissed your jaw once before pulling away, still smirking. “But you taste of garlic and egg. You truly should not have indulged so much. Now I can’t kiss you.” Groaning, you turned away from him, clamping your lips shut even as he wraps his arms around your middle, pressing kisses to your neck and cheek lovingly, cooing affections like a lovesick fool. You smiled at that passing thought, leaning into Benedict and returning his whispers in kind, leading him with purpose to your bed chamber. Perhaps you were both lovesick fools. You could live with that.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Drown In My Desire

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: siren pls see ao3 for the full list of tags, this is... something edit: some formatting got fucked up and I had to make some adjustments, sorry if there are any wonky bits now 😅

Geralt is barely off the boat back from Skellige when he hears about the contract. There's a lone Siren causing trouble along one of the trading routes; drawing the ships closer until they wreck on the jagged rocks of the bay. The fishermen complain loudly about it as he disembarks and as soon as his feet hit dry land, Geralt makes straight for them. It's basic Siren behaviour, likely to be an easy job and then back on his way.

The men are offloading barrels and Geralt keeps out of the way as he approaches the one giving orders.

"Heard you've got a Siren problem," he says and the man straightens up to look him over.

"Aye, we do. You're a Witcher, right? You'll take care of it for us?"

"What are you offering?"

"Godsdamn anything at this point. Things wrecked six shops, we've lost 11 good men, countless hours of labour... Name your price, Witcher, we'll pay it."

"Five hundred," Geralt suggests.

"Fine by me. Bring back proof of the kill and you'll get your coin."

"Agreed." Normally, Geralt would request half in advance, but he's dealt with Novigradian merchants before and they're reputable and trustworthy most of the time. Plus, this is a simple contract, probably not even worth the 500 he asked for.

He stays to get the rest of the details from the merchant, then heads into town to rent a room at the Kingfisher. He won't be in town long, but he may as well have somewhere comfortable to sleep when he inevitably comes back cold and wet.

Geralt bribes a local fisherman to take him out to the bay or as close to it as possible - no one will go right in any longer. They moor on the far side and Geralt disembarks, thanking the man and paying him a generous fee for his service. He didn't have to bring him out here, and many other men wouldn't dare go this far.

He hears the song immediately and it makes him pause. Geralt has heard the Siren song before, has even fallen under its spell in the past, and this is not it. This is a Siren, for sure, and he is singing, but his song is... sad. Geralt frowns as he makes his way over the swell of the hill, the beach sprawling out before him in a wide arc.

It's sandy, devoid of rocks and debris but the tide is down and large, jagged rocks break the surface of the water. Waves roll up gently onto the shore and Geralt scans the shoreline, looking for any sign of the Siren. The song is coming from the far side of the small bay, but he sees nothing.

Readjusting the belts across his chest, he makes his way down to the beach and across the sand.

He spots him shortly, tucked under a shelf of rock out of the sun, curled around himself. Geralt thinks at first, that he may be injured, hence the despair in his song, but as he approaches he recognizes a sense of desperation in the tune. Approaching further, he catches the creature's interest and he looks up at him, his confusion a mixture of desperation and fear and resignation. Geralt looks him over as he approaches, not trusting the Siren not to jump out and attack. He knows well enough they're crafty and wouldn't stop short of setting a trap in dire situations.

But when Geralt is within a few feet, the Siren still makes no sign of wanting to hurt him. If anything, he looks miserable to have been discovered and Geralt does a quick once-over for injuries. There are none visible, but as the Siren unfurls himself, stretching out to his full length, Geralt pauses.

He doesn't know a lot about Siren anatomy past what a sorcerer will pay for what, but he's seen enough pricks in his life to know one when he sees it.

Jaskier whines internally and shuts up as soon as he sees the figure approaching. He was trying to attract... well, not him. Not a Witcher. He needs someone to solve his problem, not to be killed as the solution to someone else’s. But maybe that would be better than going through this every five years out here alone. Maybe the Witcher will be kind and put him out of his misery and then- well, at least he wouldn't be stuck here on his own like this.

But the man approaches and doesn't do anything. He just looks, walking closer until Jaskier could nearly reach out and touch him. Slowly, as non-threateningly as he can, he uncoils himself to prove he's not a threat. His cock aches and he's reminded of the fact that it's very blatantly on display, but that's the least of his problems now.

"You're the one who's been wrecking ships?" the Witcher asks and well, yes, Jaskier assumes that's his fault.

He's seen the wreckage washing up on shore, seen the men floating lifeless amongst the waves. He tries to help, but in this state, it's impossible to do much before the burning need overtakes him again and he's rendered useless.

"I didn't-" he starts, but he doesn't think a Witcher will care whether he meant to or not. He just wants a companion, wants someone to help ease this ache as his own attempts aren't helping any longer, he didn't mean for the humans to get in the way.

"Didn't what?"

"Didn't mean for them to get hurt." Jaskier doesn't look at him, but the Witcher is quiet for some time and then,

"It’s... a mating song?" he guesses and something in Jaskier’s stomach twists uncomfortably that he could figure it out so quickly. Jaskier avoids his eyes looking instead at the way the sand coats the toes of his boots.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Jaskier's head snaps up at that and he looks the Witcher dead in the eye. He's never heard of a monster being given a chance to tell their side of the story, to redeem themself. The Witcher drops to the sand, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs.

"I-" Jaskier starts, unsure if this is some sort of twisted game. "I just- I was hoping someone might be nearby to hear-" he feels pathetic, his only consolation the fact that the Witcher doesn't know that he came here willingly, he left his family willingly to go out and explore the vast oceans and now he’s miserable.

"How long have you been here?" the Witcher asks, "you've never caused problems before now."

"Before now I wasn't-" he rolls his eyes in frustration at himself, slapping his tail against the sand. "Sirens," he starts again, "go through cycles. I'm in heat and I'm alone and every attempt I've made to reach out has only ended in ruin." Jaskier scowls at his own confession.

"I tried to help," he adds solemnly, "I just... I can't focus, I don't have the strength to pull them to the surface- I tried," he persists, "but I'm not much use like this." His cock aches and he groans at the timing. "I hardly think that deserves a death sentence." He wraps his tail protectively around himself, hiding the evidence of his situation.

"Not here to hurt you," the Witcher explains, "just here to keep people from dying. I could... help?"

Jaskier starts at the offer, his wings snapping tight against his back. "What do you mean, help?"

The Witcher huffs a light laugh and Jaskier tries not to be too hopeful. He's never strayed beyond his race, though he knows many who have and if he were to, well, the Witcher isn't awful to look at. In fact, Jaskier thinks, taking in his shining golden eyes and shock-white hair tied back in a loose bun, he’s quite lovely.

"Now, I know you're not stupid," the Witcher says, almost sounding amused. "The offer’s there. I'll help if you stop with the singing."

Maybe it's the need coursing through him, or maybe it's the fact that no one has ever been so kind to him before, or maybe there's just something about this man's smile that makes him weak. Jaskier agrees.

"Not here," he says. "Can you swim?" The Witcher cocks an eyebrow at him. "I'd prefer not to have to do this out in the open where anyone could just wander upon us. I do have some sense of decorum."

"Where are we going?"

"Home," Jaskier says simply. "It's not far." He shifts in the sand, sitting up and gesturing out toward the sea. "A human could make the swim, surely a Witcher can as well."

"Fair enough. I'm Geralt, by the way. And I can swim."

"Jaskier."

He squirms in the sand, trying to force his cock to withdraw, but it's no use. Geralt rises, kicking off his boots and removing his gear, tucking it away into a crevice in the rock. He bends down, scooping Jaskier into his arms. It's a shock and Jaskier is helpless to do anything but wind his arms around Geralt's neck and hold on, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the way his cock juts out obscenely, betraying him.

Geralt walks into the waves, releasing Jaskier as soon as the water is up to his waist. He holds his breath, lets Jaskier take his hand, and follows him down beneath the surf. Jaskier feels marginally better out of the sun and sand, in the cool water, but not much. He swims quickly, eager to return home and get on with... whatever Geralt has in mind to help.

He ducks into the narrow tunnel, dropping Geralt's hand and gesturing for him to follow behind. He does, and Jaskier leads the way back to an underwater cave. Glowing coral grows near the ledge of rock, where the water gives way to open air again. It gives off a little light, but Jaskier can see perfectly well and he knows Witchers have night vision.

He slips up onto the stony cave floor and offers a webbed hand to Geralt as he breaks the surface. To Geralt's credit, he only seems a little out of breath as he's hauled up out of the water.

Jaskier flops back on his side, watching the way Geralt rises to his feet, tugging his soaked shirt off and wringing the water from it. His trousers remain in place and Jaskier finds himself disappointed, curious to see what's hidden beneath. But this isn't a fun romp for the sake of it; this is an agreement, Geralt is simply doing him a favour.

When he seems pleased with the state of his shirt, Geralt lays it out and lies down next to him, lining his body up with Jaskier's. He's... stunning up close and it takes more of his effort than it should not to simply reach out and touch him just for the sake of it. He remembers fucking other Sirens, the touching, the press of bodies - he misses it, and he finds himself wishing this was something more than a simple favour. But that's selfish; Geralt is already offering him so much, for so little in return and nothing, even, for himself.

"You'll have to walk me through it," Geralt says with a smile, "I've never fucked a Siren before."

"Oh. You can just... touch me?" Jaskier says and Geralt reaches out tentatively, slipping a hand over the swell of his hip.

"Like this?"

Jaskier nods. It's not exactly what he wants, but it does feel nice and he's not about to try and direct. Geralt's hesitation is short-lived and he slides his hand up Jaskier's chest, brushing his thumb over a nipple and Jaskier's breath catches. He watches the movement of Geralt's hand as his fingers press into his skin, warm, despite the swim through cool water.

He shifts slightly, leaning up on one arm and pressing back down, over the swell of Jaskier's hip and he tugs him forward before abruptly before dragging his fingers up the length of Jaskier's swollen cock. He's slow, but delicate like he's learning his way around, but it feels incredible and it's hard for Jaskier not to just thrust up into the touch and take the pleasure from his hands.

Geralt's fingers slip over the ridge at the base of him, curling around him beneath it and squeezing as he pulls up over it.

"What is this?" he asks. He sounds intrigued, curious, and Jaskier can't help but indulge him.

"'S hard to fuck underwater," he hums, moaning as Geralt's fingers reach the tip of his cock. One dips into the slit, pressing against it, and Jaskier whimpers. "Keeps me from... slipping out." The noise Geralt makes in response is hard to determine, but it sounds interested. He moves his hand back down to squeeze around the ring.

His fingers slip over the swell of skin, pressing against it and running his thumb along the edge. He likes it, Jaskier realizes. It prods at something inside him and he presses his hips forward encouragingly.

"Does that feel good?" Geralt asks and Jaskier nods, pressing his forehead against his arm to keep from moaning out loud. He wants to show his appreciation, wants Geralt to know he can do as he pleases with him, but he doesn't want to push too hard.

Geralt’s light touches grow bolder, pressing more firmly, jerking him quickly and firmly and as Jaskier whines and squirms beneath him, Geralt grows more confident. His fingers slip down, pressing between the folds of his sheath, pressing right down to the base of his cock and within. No one has touched him like this before, the sharp jab of a Siren's claws not conducive to pressing inside.

Something warm spreads through his chest and he finds himself pulling away, embarrassed by how vulnerable he suddenly feels letting a stranger touch him this way, a Witcher no less. Immediately, Geralt withdraws his hands and the look on his face implies worry.

"Sorry," he blurts, then softer, "tell me if it's too much."

"No, I just. No one's ever-"

"I'll stop."

"No," Jaskier says again, a little too abruptly. "No, it was good, it just... caught me off guard." Geralt doesn't wait to be told twice, but his fingers move more slowly as they slip back into place at the base of his cock. Jaskier gives a little thrust on encouragement and Geralt presses his palm against him, giving him something to rut against while he explores.

Jaskier rocks against him, burying his face in his arm as the need takes over. Given an inch, he's no longer able to control himself, so needy for it that he's invited a perfect stranger into his home to fuck him. But Geralt doesn't seem to mind his desperation, doesn't mention it. He picks up quickly on Jaskier's most sensitive spots, going back to rub over them, pressing his thumb beneath the swollen ring and Jaskier's mind goes blank with the pleasure of it.

He's never noticed how sensitive it is there; the use of hands in Siren coupling is rare and limited to squeezing and jerking, not prodding and rubbing like Geralt does so easily. It's hardly Jaskier's fault that he can't contain himself in the face of this new, wonderful sensation.

The swell of his climax creeps up on him slowly, his mind too preoccupied with where Geralt's fingers are and what they're doing. It's not until Geralt wraps around the base of him, pushing as far into his sheath as his fingers with reach, that Jaskier realizes how close he is. His hips jerk hard and Geralt's other hand shoots out to steady him, holding him close as Jaskier writhes against him.

There's not much else he can do like this, just squirm and try to press as much of his cock against Geralt's palm as he can. Otherwise, he's under Geralt's control, letting him do what he wants, take him apart as he will. Geralt's thumb presses along the underside of his cock, pressing up toward the tip and Jaskier jerks hard as his orgasm washes over him, spilling over Geralt's hand and up his arm.

His hips twitch, cocking slipping easily against Geralt's arm with his own spend to slick the way. He'd be embarrassed, coming so quickly with so little stimulation to anything but his cock, but Geralt hums, sounding very pleased.

He continues touching him, fingers slipping through his spend and using it as slick, rubbing down the full length of him and rubbing against the slit at the tip.

"Good?" he asks and Jaskier can only nod and whimper, still struggling to catch his breath.

Geralt leans in, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck abruptly and Jaskier shifts onto his back to allow him better access. He likes the warmth of Geralt's breath on his neck, the soft press of his lips and the occasional flick of his tongue against his skin. Geralt says nothing as his kisses become firmer, pressing down the column of his throat and down his chest.

His hand remains on Jaskier's cock, stroking slowly as he kisses down the length of his body, not even pausing as pale skin gives way to shimmering scales. He seems unbothered by it and Jaskier likes the feeling of his lips on his tail. Geralt doesn't release his cock until he's moved fully down the length of Jaskier's body, straddling the end of his tail.

Geralt kisses around the base of his cock, not touching it but for the barest brush of his cheek as he passes. Jaskier holds his breath in anticipation, arching off the bed with each kiss that gets closer to where he wants it. When Geralt's lips finally press against him, he lets out a strangled groan and arches off the ground, hands immediately and automatically groping for Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt kisses up the length of him, teasing the tip with his tongue before moving back down again. Jaskier wants his mouth, wants to feel that wet heat around him, so different than the cool touch of one of his own kind. It wouldn't be the first time he's had a mouth around his cock, but he's used to sharp teeth, to slow and cautious strokes. When Geralt gets his mouth around him, he's anything but.

The moment Geralt's lips wrap around him, quick and eager, sliding his tongue over him and pressing his lips in close, holding him tight as he sinks right to the base. His tongue presses in where his fingers had been and Jaskier knows now that he likes exploring, likes discovering what makes Jaskier squirm and taking advantage of it. And he's incredibly good at it.

His fingers that had, up until now, been happily settled on his hips, push up to brush against his skin. One hand remains, seeking out the smallest part of his waist and settling in the dip as the other moves down again. Jaskier's foggy mind suggests that he intends to wrap around the base of his cock, but Geralt gets distracted somewhere between. His fingers pass over Jaskier’s slit and he pauses. Slowly, Gerlt lifts his head, licking up the length of Jaskier's cock and looking at the opening beneath his fingers.

"Can I?" he asks and Jaskier nods.

This is... new. He knows for women it can be pleasurable to be touched this way, but he's never had anyone do it to him. As a child, they told stories about men who fucked each other like this, the way they fuck women, but Jaskier had been young and naive and passed them off as nothing but stories. He'd never found anyone who wanted to touch him that way and had assumed, like most things children talk about, it was a rumour.

But Geralt's fingers tease the opening and sparks rush over his skin. Jaskier's cock throbs and he pushes himself up to watch. Geralt catches his eyes for a brief moment, before dropping back to his work and pushing inside.

"Oh," he breathes, "you're wet." Jaskier squirms, as his body gives way to Geralt's finger, quickly joined by a second.

As with everything, he moves slowly at first, pushing deep and rubbing into him. It feels good, much better than Jaskier could have expected and then Geralt bumps against something inside him and Jaskier cries out, digging his claws into Geralt's shoulder.

When he realizes what he's done, he releases him quickly, but Geralt seems unfazed and he's smiling when he meets Jaskier's eyes again.

"You like that?" he asks and Jaskier lets out a breathy, yes. Geralt grins at him and ducks down to wrap his lips around the tip of Jaskier's cock.

Geralt's fingers work in time with his mouth, picking up speed as Jaskier's groans become more frequent, less controlled. It doesn't take him long like this, with his cock slipping down Geralt's throat and Geralt's fingers constantly pressing against whatever that is inside him that feels so fucking good.

He comes with a gasp as Geralt thrusts up into him again and Geralt makes no attempt to keep him from pushing his cock deeper into his throat. If anything, he seems glad for it, and when Jaskier slumps back against the ground again, Geralt pulls off his cock with slow precision, careful to wrap his lips tightly around the head. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and his chest heaves, but he's aware of Geraly lying back down next to him.

"That felt... good."

"No one has ever touched you like this?" Geralt asks lightly. Jaskier waves a clawed hand at him in response. "Mmm, understandable. But you liked it?" Jaskier huffs a tired laugh and turns to face him.

"Very much."

"Can I?" Geralt asks, already sliding slick fingers along his waist.

"Please."

Geralt rises to his knees, straddling Jaskier's hips for a moment before dropping to the ground on the other side of him. He presses right up against him, slipping an arm under his neck and holding him close as his other hand presses flat against Jaskier's stomach, sliding downward. He crooks two fingers, pushing inside him and seeking out that same spot again.

He finds it with ease and when Jaskier jerks hard, Geralt pulls him in against his chest. He drops his forehead to Jaskier's, breathing hard against him and Jaskier shuts his eyes, letting the pleasure wash over him. Geralt thrusts into him, quick and precise, then slows to tease at the opening, fingers slipping slowly in and out, and Jaskier can't decide which he likes more.

When he's quick, it punches the breath out of him, leaves him mindless and aching for more, but then he slows, gently caresses and rubs into him and it's like a slow fire burning within him, gradually burning brighter. His mind goes blank, foggy with lust, and he wraps himself around Geralt's shoulders, drawing him close. Even with Jaskier wrapped around him, he never falters and before long Jaskier is writhing again, his tail slapping hard against the floor as pleasure courses through him.

He's overwhelmed, so entirely encompassed by pleasure that he can't do more than cling to Geralt and whimper until, at last, he comes, his cock untouched where it spurts over his hip.

Slick drips from his slit, mixing with his come and Geralt pulls out slowly, swiping his fingers through it and sliding them around Jaskier's cock. He cries out at the first touch, oversensitive from multiple consecutive orgasms, but it still feels good underneath the sensitivity and he can't bring himself to tell Geralt to stop.

When Geralt finally lets him go, Jaskier flops onto his back and stares up at him. Geralt is watching him, his eyes dark but bright, and he smiles. Unthinking, Jaskier reaches up, wrapping one hand around Geralt's cheek and tugging him down toward him. At the last second, he realizes what he's doing and hesitates, but Geralt closes the distance, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss.

It doesn't last long and Jaskier has to keep himself from nipping at his lips when they part. Geralt presses up close and for the first time, he feels the hard line of Geralt's cock beneath his trousers and it makes his breath catch. For a moment, he just stares at him, enthralled by the idea that Geralt is turned on by this.

"You're... aroused?" he asks and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I'm fine."

"Could I touch you?"

"Mmm, if you like."

Jaskier grins, shifting onto his side and pushes Geralt over. He laughs and goes easily, watching as Jaskier spreads a hand over his chest. He maps out the planes of his chest, pushing clawed fingers through soft chest hair before dragging them lightly down toward the hem of his trousers.

He rakes his eyes over the jut of Geralt's cock, but doesn't touch, afraid of pushing too far. A favour, he reminds himself, Geralt is doing him a favour here. So he slips his hand back up to his stomach, mimicking the way Geralt touched him at first, exploring the little dips and rises in his skin, careful not to catch his claws.

And when he looks up to him again, Geralt is watching him. Something in the way he looks at him makes Jaskier's chest tight and he dips down again, catching Geralt's lips in a kiss. Geralt kisses back with enthusiasm, wrapping an arm around so he can pull Jaskier on top of him.

Both hands move down, cupping the swell of Jaskier's tail and rocking him slowly forward. Jaskier's cock, still sensitive, presses against Geralt's through the rough fabric of his trousers. He hisses at the drag, but Geralt moans at the friction and the sound goes straight through him. This time, Jaskier does it on purpose.

They find an easy rhythm between the two of them and even with Geralt's trousers in the way, the sensitivity soon gives way to pleasure and Jaskier ruts against him, kissing him hard despite the lingering fear that he'll bite too hard. Geralt however, seems unconcerned. He's got one hand buried in Jaskier's hair, the other pressing between them, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. It takes him a moment, but he gets them undone, finally pulling his cock free and Jaskier groans as he ruts against him.

Geralt is hot, his cock even more so, and Jaskier basks in the warmth, pressing himself closer, even with Geralt’s hand still between them. He's sure he could come just like this, happy to rut against him, but then Geralt's fingers are pressing against his slit again. His fingers come away slick and he winds his hand around Jaskier's cock, stroking him slowly.

"What do you need?" he asks and Jaskier whimpers.

"What you did before," he breathes, "could you... do that again?" In an instant, Geralt flips him onto his back again, dragging his fingers up to his slit, but Jaskier stops him. "Could you... with your cock?"

"Oh. Fuck, yeah."

Geralt shifts, pushing his trousers down and kicking them off before pressing up close again. He pulls Jaskier into a deep kiss, his hand sliding away to bring his hips closer. He ruts against him, pushing through the slick and come and when he catches on Jaskier's slit, Jaskier lets out a little gasp and grasps at Geralt's shoulders.

Geralt pushes forward pressing into him and Jaskier holds his breath as he stretches open on his cock. Geralt's eyelids flutter as he settles and then he rocks forward, slowly at first, just short little thrusts that leave Jaskier aching, pushing himself onto him, wanting more.

And Geralt gives it to him. He sinks deep, hooking a knee over Jaskier's hip to hold him close as he ruts, his cock pressed firmly against that spot that makes him wild. Jaskier bucks and whines, his own cock slipping against Geralt's with every thrust. He delights in the feeling of Gerslt inside him, of his warmth and the stretch of his cock, sliding into him and filling him wholly.

He's surprised to find Geralt as breathless as he is when he looks up at him and he can't help but tip forward and nip at his lower lip. Geralt groans and kisses him hard. He pushes him onto his back so he's straddling his hips and when he sits back, Jaskier's cock presses between his cheeks.

He rocks his hips, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat around his cock and Geralt shudders as he pushes back against him. His eyes flick up to Jaskier's and he licks his lips.

"Can I try something?" he asks and Jask nods enthusiastically.

Geralt withdraws immediately, pressing his fingers into Jaskier's slit. When he withdraws, he reaches behind himself, and Jaskier burns to know what he's doing, but the slick fingers wrap around his cock, and Geralt sits back on him. Jaskier groans low as Geralt's body engulfs him, heat seeping into every inch where they touch and he reaches out, fingers digging into his thighs, so careful not to leave scratches.

Geralt rocks back onto him, taking the full length of Jaskier's cock and grinding back against him. He rolls his hips and squeezes around him, pulling right up to the tip before dropping back down the length on him. Jaskier is breathless, helpless to do anything but squeeze Geralt's thighs and bite his own lip.

Tentatively, he wraps one hand around Geralt's cock, slipping webbed fingers over the head of his cock. Geralt moans softly, sliding one hand over Jaskier's and guiding it down. Jaskier nearly stops breathing as the head of Geralt's cock nudges against his slit and then he's sliding in again, filling him up even as he squeezes around Jaskier's cock.

It's so much. Jaskier's body sings with the twin pleasures of being filled so wholly and sinking into Geralt himself as he shifts his hips up.

"Fuck" he groans and Geralt drapes himself over his chest, kissing the moan from his lips.

He finds a rhythm, a careful balance that keeps them joined in both places and Jaskier has never felt such overwhelming pleasure in his life. He meets Geralt's thrusts, thrusting in deep as Geralt sinks into him and it's hardly surprising when he finds himself creeping close to the edge. Geralt's thighs shake around him and he wants to hold out, to make Geralt comes first, but Geralt reaches up, nipping at the sensitive skin over his throat and the pleasure that zips through him is too much.

His hips snap up hard and Geralt kisses him through it, deep and hard, his whole body arching against him. He follows shortly, burying himself deep in Jaskier's body and rutting into him urgently. The moans and pleas that drop from his lips do nothing to ease Jaskier's persistent erection, but as Geralt slumps against him, Jaskier feels the exhaustion creeping in.

Geralt, too, seems tired and Jaskier withdraws reluctantly, mourning the loss of Geralt's body around him. His cock remains stubbornly hard, still unsheathed, but the aching desperation wore off some time ago and he flings himself into the water, quickly rubbing himself down to prevent waking up sticky and uncomfortable. A moment later there's a splash as Geralt rolls off the ledge next to him.

He swims closer enough for Jaskier to reach him and he makes a point of wiping Geralt down first before wrapping a hand around his cock and sliding slowly. Geralt's eyes drop shut and he winds his arms around Jaskier's neck with a soft, shuddering moan.

"How long does this usually last?" he asks and Jaskier shrugs.

"Anywhere from a week to six."

Geralt gawks at him. "Six weeks?"

"On and off," Jaskier huffs, amused. "I don't swim around with an exposed prick for six weeks. And besides. It's usually two, though it is much more in much more... concentrated bursts."

"Meaning I should stick around?"

Jaskier's heart thuds heavily at the suggestion which is, realistically, ridiculous. He's known Geralt for all of a few hours and under normal circumstances, the man would have just killed him. But the idea of keeping him close spreads warmth through his chest.

"You don't have to," he says anyway. "You kept up your end of the deal. I'll be quiet."

"Mmm," Geralt agrees, nosing at his neck, "but it'll get bad again. What would you do with no one here to get you through it."

"Are you..." Jaskier starts, hesitant. "Are you saying you want to stay?"

"Maybe not exactly here," Geralt shrugs, "I'd appreciate being warm and dry part of the time. But I don't intend to go far. Maybe I'll camp out on the beach."

"Will you stay for now?" Jaskier asks hopefully.

"Yes."

Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge the way his heart clenches a little. He shouldn’t want Geralt to stay, shouldn’t care what he does with himself now that he’s fulfilled his end of the bargain, but as they finish cleaning up, he seems happy to be there.

Once they're both clean and Geralt has managed to pull another orgasm from him, they settle on the ground, Jaskier curled up around him. His cock rests perfectly against the cleft of Geralt's ass and he has to be careful not to move too much, lest he work himself up again. He spreads one wing out over Geralt, using it as well as he can to keep him warm.

“You should go back,” Geralt says quietly and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say he sounded almost disappointed, “leave here and find more of your kind so you don’t have to suffer alone next time.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Jaskier admits, “but I like it here.”

“Mm,” Geralt hums sleepily, “guess I’ll just have to come back then, hm?”

Five years later…

The need returns, just as it always does, creeping up slowly and then hitting him all at once, but this time it's worse. This time he has the memory of his Witcher, soft and sweet touching him and kissing him and working him through it. And the memory only serves to make the need stronger.

But he made a promise.

So Jaskier holes himself up in his cave and deals with it as well as he can on his own and when that quits working on the first day, Jaskier swims to the surface in the hopes of coming across some other passer-by who might be willing to risk their life to fuck a Siren.

But when he breaches the surface of the water, there's a figure on the beach, moving oddly. He keeps low in the water, just his head breaking the surface and when he gets closer he realizes it's a man taking off his boots. It takes a couple of seconds to register as the man strips completely naked, but as he gets closer, as Jaskier swims further, he recognizes him. There's a swell of something warm and pleasant that settles in his chest and his heart beats just a fraction too quickly.

Geralt came back for him.

[skipps-writes-for-gojo-satoru]

I'm not sure Gojo has ever even shown an interest to any girls.

He calls Utahime weak and teases her by making fun of her, essentially- which she hates. Mei Mei is incredibly strong and beautiful, and Gojo acknowledges her skill but that's it. I also noticed that in the anime (the manga doesn't have honorifics, so please correct me if I'm wrong) but he calls her Mei-san rather than Mei Mei. Therefore, I don't think he ever tried to get much closer to her than the interactions we've seen. When she asks him if he'd comfort her if she cried, he tells her that's she strong- she wouldn't cry. I thought it was interesting that while Mei Mei's question was slightly flirty, Gojo answered so simply, without any teasing.

He calls Shoko by her first name, which is understandable since they spend more time together being in the same grade. He realizes that her ability is rare and useful, but like with Utahime and Mei Mei he doesn't go any further than that. He mostly speaks to her about work related things and doesn't flirt or tease much at all.

Honestly, I think Gojo actually respects his female colleagues and mostly pokes fun at Utahime because she's so uptight and strict. Shoko and Mei Mei are more relaxed and self-assured, and Gojo recognizes their skills and compliments them for it rather than teasing them. I doubt Gojo really thinks Utahime is truly weak more than he just loves riling her up. Other than that, Gojo's pretty respectful.

Also, in the Hidden Inventory arc, Gojo was bombarded with screaming from all the girls excited to see him. Other than pulling his shades down so they could see his face- after they asked him to, btw- he didn't really do much else. He didn't even react much to the teacher giving him her phone number. His only comment was "what a fun school," and it's interesting to see that while lots of girls do appreciate his looks, he acts only mildly amused.

Other than that one model as his wallpaper, we don't really see Gojo flirt or show interest with anyone. He only really teases Utahime to piss her off- I suspect he hates how much she follows the rules like Nanami does, who he teases often as well. He likely just enjoys annoying people so stern because rules just don't sit well with him (especially because of what those "rules" had done to Geto).

It's just a possibility, but he could be one of those guys who's more interested in work than pleasure- I know, he's handsome, but not all handsome people are players and cheaters. I think that's a horrible stigma and a lot of attractive people irl are judged and criticized solely for their looks. People make too many assumptions on someone just based on their genes, and I think it's pretty shallow to think Gojo's a womanizer just because he's attractive. And he knows he's attractive- but when did being confident in yourself make you a philanderer? Gojo has never used his looks manipulatively at all.

It's definitely a possibility that he would be a womanizer, but I'd say it's unlikely based in what we've seen. To sum it all up, Gojo doesn't show interest in anyone. He teases Utahime often, likely for the same reason be teases Nanami- they're too uptight. Shoko and Mei Mei are both incredibly skilled and beautiful sorcerers, and he does acknowledge and compliment them for it, but he doesn't tease or flirt with them. He's respectful, and he works with them as his colleagues. He didn't get distracted by the teen girls fawning over him either, or suddenly get overtly cocky or show off, only sliding his glasses down so they could see his face, and even then he acted only mildly amused. Also, when Miwa asked him for a picture, he didn't even stay and chat with her or anything (I know she's a minor, but if he truly was a womanizer, he would have at least stayed to hear her compliment him or anything to feed his ego) Maybe ask her "Oh, you want a picture with me? The strongest? How cute~" A flirty comment, a joke, something to fuel his own ego, but he doesn't do that. He doesn't act in a way that conveys he openly pursues attention from women. He just takes the picture with her and walks off casually.

Therefore, other than the fact that he's handsome- and I know many people who would assume things about someone based on their attractiveness, which is a terrible stereotype- Gojo doesn't show much interest in flirting at all. He could be the type of guy who works more than plays- and there's plenty of guys who are handsome but aren't super interested in playing around. Being handsome doesn't automatically mean he's the type to sneak around and have affairs here and there. It's completely realistic for a handsome man to be uninterested in any kind of relationships- not all men are sex crazed, and being a tease to his friends doesn't make Gojo a flirt either. Teasing your friends is perfectly normal.

Therefore, Gojo being a 28 year old virgin is totally possible- not everyone's a sex crazed teen who only thinks about what's between their legs, and basing it on what normal Japanese teens do is unfair. Neither Gojo or his lifestyle is exactly normal, and there's definitely barriers when it comes to experiencing normal youth activities for Gojo's generation- especially Gojo's generation. Yuji's generation definitely has more freedom to do fun things because of what Gojo has done to give the youth more freedom- things he hasn't been able to experience himself in his youth, like playing baseball during the exchange event. That was the first time they ever did something different to tradition, and that was only because of Gojo's consideration.

Gojo's youth was filled with blood, exorcising, and choosing between life and death. The deaths Yuji and co. witnessed were what Gojo experienced as well, if not worse. Gojo's task in his youth was to protect the weak, and he found that burdensome. At least, until Geto betrayed them, and Gojo realized the new burden he had to bear in changing the Jujutsu world because of what it had done to his only best friend.

There are definitely more important things in Gojo's mind than just losing his virginity, like saving people and choosing who to save, whether he should kill or not kill.

Gojo is the strongest, but he also bears the biggest burden- and that burden is something he chose to bear, and being the strongest is something he chose to be. Because before Geto left, it was "We are the Strongest." Now, Gojo worked tirelessly so that he could say "I am the Strongest."

And that's not something you can do while sleeping around. I think a lot of people fail to recognize just how hard Gojo works for himself and others. They just think, oh he's the strongest, so it should be easy for him. But it's really, really not that simple, is it? Especially when you have to do it on your own, and even then Gojo realizes that his strength alone isn't enough to save people. He can't save everyone by himself- It's not enough for just him to be the Strongest, so he works diligently to build and inspire his students to stand with him.

He's actually a very deep and emotional man who cares about his students and especially, even now, his best friend. Everything he does is for their sake- he sacrifices the normal life he could have lived, like Nanami had done, for their sake. And he fights with the higher ups, takes the brunt of their ire, and laughs it off, acting as if he fine, like a dad pretending he's superman for his kid's sake. But Gojo is burdened, and he's tired, and he hardly sleeps, and he has the most missions- he's the Strongest, which means everyone needs him, and he bears it.

Sorry for ranting again tho. I think I went into two different topics lol oops- 🤔

OUR SAVIOR 🤔 EDUCATING PEOPLE pay attention ya'll another thing I've noticed in the latest episode is that in his phone contacts he actually writes Utahime's name properly like formally no emojis or teasing shit he actually sees them as his colleagues people he can rely on his field of work and yes about the whole thing when he bursted into riko's class man was absolutely clueless just silent as a teacher tries to give him his number. I'm pretty sure as a child Gojo wasn't allowed to attend public schools due him being in danger or putting others in danger so he doesn't know much about public schools or normal people in general since he spends all his time with people from the jujutsu society.

That is definitely true just because someone is good looking that doesnt mean he's some cheap womanizer. I see a lot of people shipping him and Utahime together which is understandable ship who you like but I don't think Gojo as any ulterior motives like wooing Utahime by teasing her he just is plainly teasing ya know like friends do but in this case Utahime hates his guts and he doesnt know. I mean it takes some amount of hate to try to throw hot tea at someone 😂

While certainly I agree Gojo's teen like wasn't the best it was like he literally had a full time job at that age but who's to stay he didn't go messing around one time? I'm sure during his teen days he wanted to experience things he didnt get to to but now could because he lives on his own now. But maybe he didnt at all who knows? Which also raises another question, I wonder if he has any romantic experiences? And this was all before what happened in the hidden inventory arc after that I can see him more becoming invested in his duty and with what happened with geto as well would of definitely had a huge impact on him to try harder even though hes the strongest so that the next generation wouldn't have to experience the things he went through.

It's really sad if you really think about it what hes been through and what he has to shoulder all while keeping the facade that he's okay, I bet there were times he cursed his powers and his life....but he bears with it anyways because everyone is counting on him....

And don't be sorry at all! I am actually really learning alot about Gojo from you. Please continue to tell us your thoughts and feelings. I don't mind at all ❤ and thank you for taking the time to write 💕

[avewritesmr]

Can you do where GOT7 has a boyfriend who is too tall (2.00cm or 6ft5)?

Reaction to their boyfriend being very tall (2.00m/6ft5)

A/N: I picked 3 members at random again, I really love writing for GOT7 this has been the most enjoyable thing I’ve written since I got back to writing now that school is finished, I hope you like this, it took forever and is a little on the shorter side so I’m sorry 💖

Mark Tuan

Mark doesn't quite meet the ideal height for men (the fact that such a thing exists is just 😔), he falls about 10 centimeters short and has been on the shorter side (by a couple centimeters) in a few friend groups or large gatherings with people.

To make up for his (slight) lack of height Mark has amazing posture (he honestly does have really good posture and I am very jealous of him for it) so people very rarely comment on his height.

Like Jaebum height isn't something he notices most of the time, he does notice y/n's height, only because of a comment made by Jinyoung about y/n's height during an award ceremony they are attending.

He notices y/n is tall, it's hard not to notice really, but he just doesn't bother with it, like who cares if this amazingly handsome man is freakishly tall? Definitely not Mark.

Mark is a confident man, he has no trouble walking up to someone he deems attractive and striking up a conversation but backstage at an award show the whole process of walking up to someone to talk casually or introduce yourself becomes infinitely harder.

Mark doesn't end up talking to y/n that day, it leaves him a little bummed out and disappointed for the rest of the night.

Mark brushes it off and goes about the next few days of filming new years content and vlogs but sometimes he remembers and that he wanted to talk to y/n and is just a little sad.

A week latter he is filming with his members and they don't get back to the dorm till midnight, their manager, who is tasked with getting them food because they haven't eaten since lunch, calls to tell them he is stuck in a traffic jam and he might be an hour before he can get them the much desired food.

Among a cacophony of groaning and whining Mark, being the kind man he is, volunteers to go down the street to a convenience store to grab snacks and small sandwiches to tide everyone over.

As Mark walks out of the convenience store and into the dark street he collides into the back of a very tall male human being.

Mark wastes no time bowing down to apologies hitching his face mask just a little higher to avoid recognition.

When he rises again he comes face to face (more chest to face but you get what I mean) with the boy whose smile he has been dreaming about for the last week.

"I am so sorry I didn't mean to bump into you, I wasn't watching my way." y/n has his mask pulled down to his chin so Mark can see the blush adorning his cheeks.

Mark is gaping like a fish trying to remember how he is supposed to talk, "You're y/n...."

Mark can feel a blush creeping up his neck and his ears turning hot as he attempts to stutter out a sentences that doesn't make him sound like and idiot.

"Uhh.... I mean, I'm Mark.... from, like GOT7."

Realization dawns on y/n's face and the younger is immediately bowing 90 degrees and apologizing for being disrespectful.

Mark rushes to tell him it's okay and tell him that there is no need for honorifics.

Turns out they're heading the same way so they end up walking together, Mark laughs a lot during their conversation and y/n blushes a lot.

They exchange numbers before they split up and that is how they end up texting basically everyday.

They don't get to meet up at all because they're both very busy but after award show season their schedules are freer and they have more time so they go out together and it is then that Mark begins noticing y/n's height.

At first y/n's height is nothing of importance to Mark, he has developed his relationship with y/n on a very emotional level and not physical level so y/n's physical apperance doesn't matter much to Mark.

But he'll notice y/n hunching his shoulders when they walk together sometimes or frowning a little when he reads a comment or someone points his height out.

Mark doesn't say anything at first, he doesn't want to make y/n uncomfortable at all so he comes up with subtle ways to tell him that he likes how tall y/n is.

For example when their sitting together Mark will put his head on y/n's shoulder and make a small comment about how their heights work out perfectly together.

If he sees a couple in a drama with a height difference he'll point out how cute the height difference is making a vague comment about how that resembels them.

Sometimes Mark will massage y/n's shoulders when he notices their hunched in y/n's attempts to look a little shorter.

Mark glares at people when they bring up y/n's height and the other becomes obviously uncomfortable.

He is just over all very supportive and caring but very subtle with his support and attempts to help.

And when the day comes that y/n makes a positive comment about his own height or he won't hunch his shoulders while their walking together Mark will just beam up at him and make a joke about how his good posture has rubbed off on y/n.

A very wholesome couple, Mark silently reassures y/n that his height is amazing and y/n always gets snacks off the highest shelf for Mark.

Lim Jaebum(JB)

(Sorry this turned out a little short but I just felt like everything I wanted to express was expressed better in this short list of points than a whole scenario like I normally do)

Jaebum is tall, Yugyeom only has an inch and half on him and he's the second tallest in the group.

He has never really paid attention to height, it just never truly mattered to him how tall he was (he refuses to acknowledge the slight fear he had during 7th grade when most of his friends had grown like a foot and he didn't but thank god for delayed growth spurts).

He doesn't care about people's height, like he just doesn't think about it.

Of course when he started dating y/n he noticed the other was extremely tall, between people commenting on it and just his own observations he could tell y/n was close to 6'5".

Did he ever ask about y/n's height? No, because quite frankly he doesn't care.

Whether y/n had been taller or shorter it wouldn't have really changed their dynamic together at all.

Height just isn't a determining factor in their relationship and Jaebum makes it a point to shut down (obnoxious) people who find it necessary to comment on their height difference or just y/n's height in general.

Besides sometimes y/n's height comes in really useful, like some day's Jaebum just doesn't want to climb up on a chair to dust over the counters and y/n can just complete the task without needing to get on a chair. It is a mutually beneficial relationship, Jaebum now has dust-less counters and y/n got some exercise out of the experience.

Just because Jaebum doesn't care about someone's height doesn't mean other people don't and Jaebum is fully aware of that.

Being the leader of his group Jaebum has heard both Yugyeom's worries about being too tall and Jackson's worries about not being tall enough so he has (a little) experience with trying to reassure people over height insecurities.

He doesn't really notice his boyfriends insecurity (if he has any), he notices that sometimes when he stands next to y/n, the other hunches his shoulders and back to appear shorter.

Other times y/n will look dejected if someone tells him he's too tall.

Usually just a reassuring hug does the trick, just a reminder from Jaebum to y/n that Jaebum himself doesn't care, what other people say doesn't matter, straighten your back and let the short people be jealous.

Jaebum is the only person in the world who can convey all that with a simple hug but that is a story for another day.

Kim Yugyeom

Yugyeom is the tallest member in the his group and he’s struggled with comments about his height and feeling a little out of place because he is taller than his members.

Being the youngest in the group makes the fact that he towers over the other members a little hard as well, he feels awkward when it comes to affection and being babied or pampered because he is just taller than the older members and even though he appreciates all the attention he feels like he doesn't quite deserve it.

Now having a taller boyfriend is one of the best things Yugyeom could have ever asked for.

Of course height isn’t the deciding factor in the relationship and Yugyeom loves  his boyfriend for lots of reasons  other than the fact that he is taller, but, the height difference is definitely a plus in Yugyeom’s opinion.

Basically Yugyeom loves having someone taller than him to baby him because he feels less like an impostor when the personal is physically taller than him.

He loves being hugged tightly and being the little spoon and being held against a chest and he likes y/n’s chin resting on his head.

Yugyeom loves feeling smaller than someone.

Like he just likes the idea of someone who can physically take care of him and protect him especially since he doesn’t get to experience that often, all his members try really hard though and he appreciates their effort.

He loves it when his boyfriend rests his chin on his shoulder or head and wraps his arms around him and pulls him into his chest.

Having been criticized for his height before as well he also recognizes when his boyfriend is struggling with being comfortable with his height especially when other people won’t stop bringing it up.

In these situations it's Yugyeom to the rescue, he just reassures y/n that all is good, comforts him or massages his shoulders to try and get him to silently relax and unhunch his shoulders.

The same applies for Yugyeom, on days when there seems to be more comments about his physical apperance y/n will notice the slight discomfort in the way he walks and the way he tries to make himself look shorter and step up to reassure him that it doesn't matter.

"Being tall is a huge advantage, people who don't like your height are just jealous they can't reach the top shelves at a store." "Yeah, true, Jackson hyung gets angry over that sometimes." Yugyeom replies with a smile.

"See, your height is amazing, not only can you reach all the top shelves but your still short enough for me to use you as a head rest."

Yugyeom pouts and shoves the other man away from, "Hey, not my fault you stopped drinking milk and lost those 5 inches on me."

Even both Yugyeom and y/n sometimes have trouble being the tallest people in a room they learn to come to terms and appreciate their heights and help each other feel comfortable in situations that were previously uncomfortable.

Yugyeom has the added benefit of being able to laugh whenever y/n hits his head against a particularly low hanging lamp or short door frame.

[yrbutchgf]

hey, i'm feeling a bit insecure in my identity rn and i was wondering if you have any... tips, or anything like that. i'm a lesbian who feels more comfortable in a masc role, and i think i would identify as butch... but i feel like i'm too emotional. i cry SO often. my mental health has been less than stellar for the last 10 years or so lol, so that plays a part, but i'm also just a crier. things that make me cry: criticism, heated discussions, presentations, movie/game/book endings, all music with violins, some music without violins, christmas commercials, those miniature food clay charms... literally everything. and it's always in public too, which is embarrassing enough as it is. and i know that doesn't have to mean anything for my gender identity, but the whole "boys/men don't cry" thing kind of did a number on me lol. i always feel like a little girl when others watch me cry, even though i want to be the protector. sorry for rambling, but i feel like you always have good takes on butchness and stuff like that, so i was wondering if you have any tips on feeling more secure in my butch/masc side :)

ok before i say anything else, thank you, i’m honestly really flattered you think that highly of my takes lol <3 i do try my best, i’m glad i’m able to help people to whatever extent i do with my posts. also, bit of a length warning -- i always set out with the intention of writing succinct responses to asks, but it always gets away from me, and this time "getting away from me" meant "turning into a manifesto." well, oops. c'est la butch/femme.

now to start this answer off: i definitely relate. i’m also pretty emotional. when i get stressed i get really shaky, especially in my hands, and then after that my body turns on the waterworks. i also have a fairly exuberant personality in general, and i'm very expressive with my hands & body language. the only times i’ve ever really fit the stoic archetype have been on accident, usually when i’ve felt uncomfortable in a social situation and it’s come off as strong silence. at the same time, i also don’t like when people see me cry or be emotional in general, especially in public. it makes me feel vulnerable in a way that i don’t like to give most people, and the fact that i can’t fully control when or if i do is uncomfortable. and i think disliking that feeling is totally normal, or at the very least it’s a common boundary to have. regardless of sexuality, gender, or presentation, there’s a social urge to cover up when we’re feeling our feelings, but even beyond that there is, i think, a reflexive, self-preservation level urge to cover up what can be easily damaged. so to an extent, i think it’s natural to shy away from vulnerability.

at the same time, the urge to push down one’s tears is not necessarily a HEALTHY urge, only a COMMON one, because you’re right: emotionality has no bearing on your gender or what roles you can take up. some of my best butch and masc friends are also extremely emotional people, and they’re very open about it, and in a lot of ways that openness almost feels to me more masculine or more butch, because they’re embracing their feelings, and that’s obviously a really hard thing to learn to do, so it’s powerful, admirable, and also to be honest, it’s attractive! the ability of someone to be brave enough to be vulnerable can in many situations make the people around them feel more at ease, and i think it can become a very steady, very stabilizing sort of masculinity. in other words, someone who is very comfortable in their tears is also very good and healing to be around. so i think in a lot of ways, when you learn to own your emotions rather than push them away, that can very easily augment your butchness rather than take away from it.

now obviously everyone views butch/femme differently, whether as genders/sexuality labels/dynamics/what have you, but for me no matter what at the center of these terms there is always this nexus, this core focus, of care. in the dynamic, butch/femme is about butches & femmes caring for one another in complementary ways both in- and out-side of romantic relationships. so when we talk about butchness standalone, you and many other people reach for words like “protector,” and i don’t think there’s anything necessarily wrong with that, i think protection can and often is a key role, but my point here is, where is that urge to protect coming from? it’s from love, from caring about the people you love. and i think it’s important to remember that and to frame it that way, because when you do, it becomes pretty simple: your emotionalism is more than anything a sign of that urge to care/protect/provide in you, or a driving force to those urges, however you want to frame it. far from taking away from your butchness, your emotions are at the very foundation of what it can be. i talked about this in the butch/femme server a bit, and thren @lesbiandaemon said it perfectly:

i genuinely think i (and many others!) would feel so much safety and security being w someone who allows themself to be vulnerable and earnest abt their emotions and it definitely augments butchness, from my perspective as a femme. i envy and care deeply for the butch whose emotions and vulnerability are on display, there's a strength in that imo, even if you've been made to feel self conscious and dysphoric and "less than" bc of that. i think of phrases like "the strength to remain tender", "the violence it took to be this gentle" in the lens of trauma but if that applies and you're ok w it, i think it could also apply here too [...]

whether ppl know it or not, sometimes the way one carries themselves can be projected onto others; there's already an example in how anon mentions the "big boys/men don't cry" thing, vulnerability being shut out and dismissed/disparaged isn't going to make anyone more eager/open abt their emotions. and like, going back to the butch/femme dynamic, it does feel so much more stable and steady if someone has the courage to acknowledge and let themselves feel their emotions, it's very welcoming and validating, knowing that someone can have a strong image and show their tenderness, knowing that you're safe and free from mockery/scorn to do the same when someone protective of you knows how it feels and will care for you because they feel touched to their core and have let you know in more than one way.

and i want to add an important caveat here: obviously not everyone who cares very deeply is going to be outwardly emotional or show it in the same ways. that’s true for all kinds of reasons. i think a lot of the stoicism we see in traditional depictions of butches can come from how people relate emotions to masculinity (that is to say, how people view masculinity as inherently based around a distance from one’s “softer” side), but also, honestly, i think this may also have roots in the historical coping mechanisms that a lot of butches took on in the face of a world that was unkind to them.

in stone butch blues, for example, there’s a lot of talk about this idea of “hard” versus “soft,” or “going stone,” especially when jess is first getting into the bar scene and she’s still fresh-faced to violence. and going stone in this context isn’t just about sexuality, it's also about how so many butches learned to stop letting people in even at a basic emotional level. for them, hardening up was an inevitability of circumstance, not an inherent facet of their personality or a building block of butch identity. i’m sure plenty of old-school butches would be glad to know it’s no longer inevitable or necessary for a butch to close themselves off completely in order to survive.

of course there are also plenty of butches who are just naturally reserved with their emotions, and that’s also fine -- that doesn’t mean they don’t feel things, or that they don’t care. they care -- all of us do! some of us showing it more or less than others doesn’t reflect badly on any of us, whether we’re of a more stoic or a more open variety. but some of us really can’t help showing it, and that’s okay. that’s just how the love spills out. the right person won’t see that as weakness or a crack in the fine china of your masculinity or whatever, they’ll see it as a lovely and endearing part of your whole and warming butchness. so embrace your emotions. do your best to honor the role they play in butch/femmeness. try to love your emotions, or at the very least not to be afraid of them. and remember: you are strong. your tenderness will not destroy you. in fact, it’s what built you to begin with.

[xjoonchildx]

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter one: fan mail

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 2.8K

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

***************************

You stare at the words for a moment before folding the paper in half and slipping it back into the envelope you pulled it from.  

Honestly?  

It’s not the first time you’ve gotten a threat. It happens from time to time in this line of work.

But this note plucks a chord of anxiety inside of you. Must be the eleven missed calls you suspect go hand-in-hand with your little love letter. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing for a half-hour now.

“Are you okay?”

Hyejin’s voice filters through your thoughts. She’s taken stock of the strange look that crosses your face in the split-second before you school your features back into a mask of calm.

She’s observant like that.

“Oh yeah, it’s nothing,” you say, shaking your head.  “Just some fan mail.”  

Your phone buzzes against the papers on your desk -- again -- and Hyejin raises an eyebrow.

Make that twelve.

“Tell you what,” she says, standing to stretch her legs. “I’m ready to go blind from reading these files and I could use an Americano.  You want one?”

“Actually yes,” you exhale.  “That’s exactly what I need. You’re a lifesaver.”

She gives you one last are you sure you don’t need to tell me anything? look before opening the door to your office.  You reassure her with a soft smile but the second the door to your office closes, you blow out one long, heavy breath and reach for your phone.

you: what the hell? [ 3:15 PM ]

namjoon: this can’t wait [ 3:15 PM ]

you: clearly [ 3:16 PM ]

namjoon: come in ASAP [ 3:16 PM ]

You groan.

Namjoon knows you avoid that place at all costs.

It’s not a good look for you to be seen there -- and so as a rule -- you’re not.  Your brother is usually understanding about your stance on the matter. But it’s not like him to push so there’s probably a damned good reason why he’s summoning you to his office like some wayward employee.

You glance back at the stack of files on your desk, riddled with notes and highlights.  Even after a morning spent tag-teaming with Hyejin, there’s still a shitload of work to be done. But then you look back at that envelope sitting on your desk and pick up your phone again.

you: give me thirty minutes [ 3:19 PM ]

namjoon: okay [ 3:19 PM ]

Paperwork is going to have to wait.

*****************************

You’re not a moron.  

You know what people say about your family, what they say about you.

You know what they whisper when you show up to charity galas and fundraising dinners. You know what they murmur the second their false smiles fall and you turn your back. They say that the money that paid for your prep schools and top-notch legal education is blood money; paid for by one of Seoul’s oldest and most powerful crime networks.  They say that you took a job prosecuting crime to assuage for your family’s sins.

They’re not wrong.

Your father -- your cruel, unsophisticated father -- shelled out top dollar to put you in fancy schools and fancy clothes and fancy riding lessons.  He threw elaborate birthday parties where he showered you with extravagant gifts in front of guests who were only there to celebrate because they feared turning down the invitation.

So others saw your material good fortune and mistook you for a pampered mafia princess. None of them had to come home every day to the stench of death and destruction. None of them had to endure the gossip and the looks and the cold shoulders.

That was a burden you shared with only one other person.

You and Namjoon huddled together during your lavish and turbulent childhood, leaning on one another for strength because no one else understood. He was the only safe harbor you had in the storm you both lived every day.

And then you left.

You walked away from your father and the Gajog and crossed the country to study law.  Far from the vicious gossip and prying eyes and violent drama that always awaited you in Seoul.  You walked away and decided that you weren’t going to live that life anymore.  

But you also walked away from Namjoon.

Now it’s a cold comfort, seeing your brother seated so naturally at the throne of power your father vacated when he died.  The old-school brute-force organization your father ran for decades is a thing of the past.  In its place, a well-oiled, highly-organized machine -- making far more money and far fewer mistakes.  

Namjoon single-handedly pulled the crime syndicate into a new era, dusted it off and dressed it up.  He legitimized parts of the business, took up residence in one of the city’s most expensive buildings, and basically dared law enforcement to come get him.

They still haven’t.

And there isn’t a day that Namjoon doesn’t cross your mind.  

There isn’t a day that you don’t pray that the menace that existed inside your father never takes root inside of your brother.  You pray that he can shoulder the burden of his responsibilities without rotting from the inside out.  

If anyone can, you tell yourself, it’s him.

**********************

Namjoon cuts an imposing figure behind his grandiose wooden desk.

He’s seated when his assistant first opens the door to his secure private office, but as soon as you follow her inside he makes to stand.

He looks so tall now, you think -- as though it’s been years since you’ve seen him.  

In reality, it’s only been a few months since your last brief encounter, but it’s still hard sometimes to recognize the handsome, polished man in front of you as the kid you grew up with. You’re hit with a pang of regret that it’s been so long since you’ve seen one another face-to-face.

Two men stand guard on either side of Namjoon’s desk, which doesn’t surprise you. Your brother is always surrounded by guards these days.  

The only one you recognize is Min Yoongi, who gives a slight bow in your direction as you cross the broad expanse of the office.  You’re certain you’ve never seen the second man, who stands eerily still on your brother’s other side.  You can feel the stranger’s stare from a distance and avert your eyes.

You bow to Namjoon and take a seat in the plush chair facing his desk.  A fond look passes over his features but when he opens his mouth to speak his tone is businesslike, serious.

“I know you don’t like coming in here,” he begins carefully, “and so I have to apologize for asking you to make an exception.  I hope you understand this can’t be helped.”

“Yes, of course,” you say softly. “Sorry it took me a while.  I’m buried with a new case.”

Namjoon nods.

“That case is the reason why we’ve run into a bit of trouble in the past few days,” he admits. “Some of our friends across town are pretty upset about it.  Apparently very agitated and hoping to leverage the fact that you’ve been assigned to this case to their advantage.”

“I see,” you murmur.

You knew the men you’d been assigned to build a weapons trafficking case against were part of a rival organization -- but on paper they were low-level foot soldiers, considered expendable in a business like theirs.  Why the Ssijog were so worried about losing a couple of nobodies from their ranks was a bit puzzling.

“I guess that explains this,” you say, reaching into your bag for the letter delivered to your office.  

You hand it to Namjoon and he reads the words with a tight expression before turning it over to the man you don’t recognize.  It’s a relief when the stranger’s focus moves away from you and onto that paper. You take the opportunity to get a closer look at him.

The first word that comes to mind is sharp.

Everything about the man is sharp -- from his meticulously tailored suit to his severe jawline to the angles of his body.  Intense dark eyes set in honey gold skin and black hair carefully styled off of his face. You’re caught staring when his eyes snap up from the paper and back to you.

You clear your throat, gaze darting back to your brother.

“They want you to make this go away.”

You sigh.

“I can’t do that. I don’t have that kind of authority. And besides, it would attract all the wrong kinds of attention to me and -- “ you pause, choose your next words carefully, “ -- to my ties to this organization.”

Namjoon concedes your point with a slow bob of his head.

“Right.  So we have a problem,” he admits.  “Because the message we’re getting is that they’re willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want.  And it’s been made quite clear to me that hurting you is not off the table.”

You take in a deep breath.

“This is Jung Hoseok,” Namjoon says after a short silence, motioning to the stranger at his side. You straighten when the man acknowledges you with a barely-there bow.  

“I’ve assigned him to your detail.”

“Detail,” you repeat slowly.  “Like a bodyguard.”

“Exactly like that.”

“Namjoon, I -- “ you look away from the man to turn your attention back to your brother,  “-- I can’t have one of your guys following me around.  People are going to talk.”

“Amsaja,” he sighs, “They talk anyway.”

You bristle at his use of your childhood nickname.  

You know it’s meant as an endearment but it still feels infantilizing in front of his men -- one of whom hasn’t seen you in years, one of whom knows nothing about you at all.  You’re a grown woman, a successful prosecutor, and more than just Kim Namjoon’s little sister.

“Joon -- “

There is annoyance behind the way you fire off his name and one of your brother’s eyebrows lifts in warning.  A silent reminder that in this room, in this building, in this realm, he is the absolute authority.  You swallow back the argument on the tip of your tongue.

“Namjoon,” you start again, this time with a restrained calm.  “Please. Let’s have this conversation in private.”

He drums his fingers across the surface of his wooden desk before nodding his agreement and raising a hand to motion his guards out the door.  You wait until both men are gone and the heavy door to Namjoon’s office clicks shut to speak again.

“You’re putting me in a terrible position here,” you exhale. “I’ve worked so hard to -- distance myself.  I can’t walk around with a reminder of my family history at my heels.”

Your brother stands from his seat and walks to an ornate sideboard, pours liquor from a heavy crystal decanter into a highball glass.  He takes a slow drink before speaking.

“You are worried about your image; I’m worried about your safety.  Those two concerns are not equal. Not to me.”

Your face heats at the kernel of truth in your brother’s assessment.  

Certainly, it’s about how it looks, but it’s so much more than that. It’s about the life you’ve worked so hard to build away from the drama surrounding your family name.  It’s about a future that depends on the burial of your past.

Namjoon leans against his heavy wooden desk, arms crossed.

“You should know me by now,” he continues.  “If I thought these were empty words, I wouldn’t have bothered you with them.”

“I know that,” you admit quietly.  Doesn’t make the pill any easier to swallow, though.

“Hoseok is under orders to stay with you at all times. Obviously, he won’t be physically at your side while you’re working, but he will be close by.  And he will be staying at your apartment for the time being.”

You blink.  “In my apartment?”

A flash of irritation crosses your brother’s face. “Yes, in your apartment.  I’m privy to information you don’t have.”  He takes a long drink from the highball glass.  “It’s necessary until we have this situation under control.”

“I don’t know this man,” you argue, and that eyebrow lifts again at the rising heat in your tone. “Can’t you give me Yoongi or Seokjin or someone else?”

“No.”

“Thanks for considering that, Joon.”

You don’t even bother to hide your displeasure now, climbing out of the plush chair and walking over to the massive window that makes up the back wall of your brother’s office. You look down at the street. From this height, the cars below look like toys and the people look like ants.  

Namjoon joins you in front of the window, drink in hand.

“I don’t want to fight with you, I want to protect you. Jung Hoseok has worked for me three years now and he spent many more years serving in the military.  He is the man I want for this assignment and I need you to trust me on that, too.”

You say nothing, staring out the window and feeling suddenly exhausted.  You hate everything about today -- the letter, the case, this arrangement you now have to endure.  You hate that this is the first real conversation you’ve had with your brother in months and you’re locking horns.  

“Okay,” you whisper after a while, reluctant to let the tension escalate. Your brother has asked so little of you since you severed ties with the Gajog -- and effectively, with him.  You swallow past the taste of guilt when you turn to look him in the eye.

“I’ll play ball, Jaegyueo.”

Your brother seems to soften when you use his childhood nickname in return, shoulders relaxing as he takes another sip from the highball and looks out over the city he basically runs.  

“Thank you, Amsaja.”

*************************

Hoseok

“Has she seen this?”

Hoseok stares down at the glossy photograph in his hands.  

There’s little to be gleaned from the details in the picture.  There are no shadows, no reflections, no personal items to give away any clues as to who took it or when.

You are asleep, one bare shoulder peeking out from underneath your plush bedding -- your hair spilling out onto your pillow. You appear blissfully unaware of the danger standing just a few feet away.

“Hell no,” Namjoon exhales.  “And I would like to keep it that way. She’d probably never sleep again if she saw that shit.”

Hoseok hands the photograph back.

“I need the two of you to figure out who got into her apartment.  And then I need you to bring him here.”

Namjoon doesn’t finish that train of thought -- he doesn’t have to.  Hoseok and Yoongi hear clearly everything he hasn’t said.  

“We’ll find him,” Yoongi vows, and Hoseok nods his agreement.  “It’s gonna be handled.”

Namjoon scrubs a hand down his jaw, eyes still glued to the picture on his desk.

He’s an uncharacteristically even-tempered boss, particularly in this line of work.  Seeing him this unnerved is unnerving to Hoseok, who’s seen him handle countless shitty situations with an unnatural calm.

“She’s my sister,” Namjoon says quietly.  “I don’t expect any of you to understand our dynamic, but I need you to know that her safety is my top priority.”

“Understood,” Hoseok murmurs and in that moment, the heavy door to the office opens wide. Namjoon shoves the photograph into his desk drawer.  

Hoseok studies you as you trail Namjoon’s assistant across the length of this massive office.

The first word that comes to mind is small.

You’re much smaller than Hoseok imagined you’d be, basing that assumption almost entirely on Namjoon’s tall and solid frame.  Physically, you are nearly the opposite of your brother, delicate features set in smooth skin, any appearance of height owed directly to the high-heeled shoes you’ve carefully matched to your business suit.  

Hoseok notes that you have the same stubborn set to your jaw, though -- a defense mechanism that slips momentarily when you lock eyes with your brother.  He catches the brief flash of sadness in your face before you manage it away.

In the years he’s been with the Gajog, he’s only heard your name a handful of times --  almost always followed by hushed exchanges and pained expressions.  Never once has anyone breathed your name in front of Namjoon, though.  That appears to be an invisible line everyone understands not to cross.

But now you’re here, in the flesh. One piece of the puzzle revealed.

Hoseok watches your exchange with Namjoon with curiosity. It’s not the easy back-and-forth one would expect to see between a pair of siblings -- but there is an underlying affection between the two of you. A quiet respect.

Amsaja, Namjoon had called you.  Lioness.

Hoseok doesn’t see a lioness when he looks at you, though.  

He sees a rich girl desperate to prove how much better she is than her own flesh and blood.  He sees a social climber so eager to make a name for herself in this city that she walked away from her own brother to make it happen.  

This is the moment that Hoseok decides that you’re not the kind of person he could ever respect.

Because unlike you, he would never put ambition above loyalty.

Never.

**********************

tag list:

@yoongbug @brilliantlybasicb @lemonjoonah @illnevertrustmyselfagain​@sunkissed75 @taetaewonderland @shadowhale​

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Salvation, Damnation

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Heahmund&Reader (brother/sister relationship)

Summary: “Where the reader is Heahmund's sister (or some kind of close relative) and she ends up meeting Ivar, but while Heahmund's always seen her as quiet, shy and insecure, she finds Ivar attractive and starts hitting on him and openly flirting with him in front of any and everyone. Ivar notices that it bothers Heahmund, so he flirts with her back until they end up spending 1 on 1 time with each other (something cute and romantic) and he starts to genuinely like her.”

I am so sorry anon if I dissapointed you, this story got away from me.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Mentions of violence and death, nothing major. My awful attempt at masking my dislike for Heahmund. Horrible, horrible attempts at writing sexual tension. Subtle (and not so subtle) D/s dynamics. Implied sex. Implied bondage, and knife/blood kink. Nothing exactly explicit, but still.

A/N: I really need to put my foot down and write a meek reader character at some point, they always turn out being crazy or annoying little shits. Or both.

Also, alternate title to this: two switches try to out-dom one another for 3k words. Hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick​ @ietss​ 

Heahmund paces in front of you, head low and hand gripping tightly at his cross.

“You will be sent to Kent, I have friends there that can-…”

“No, I will not leave you.” You argue, to which your brother replies only with a sigh.

“I want you safe.”

“I will be safe with you, not surrounded by old men and priests somewhere in Engl-...”

“Can’t you see we are surrounded by enemies!?” Heahmund’s voice doesn’t rise, but it still makes you tremble, “We can’t afford to stay together.”

“Then why make that Viking take me from Lindsey? You put me in his grasp.”

“Lindsey won’t hold under English control for long,” He promises, voice almost a whisper though you can still hear the anger, the impotence, the fear bubbling beneath “It is too close to York. You’ve seen their army, they’ll…they’ll crush them all.”

“And yet you fight for them, for pagans.”

“I don’t have a choice,” His hands are warm on your arms, “But you do. I have to send you to Kent, I have to keep you alive.”

“Why would they kill me?”

“Punishment for a failure, maybe. Ivar knows he needs only to threaten your life to have me do his bidding.”

“And you think he’ll allow you to ship me away? The one thing that keeps you on a leash?” You shake your head, “Brother, this is madness.”

“I don’t care if he allows it,” Heahmund sentences, voice grave and certain. “Whatever punishment befalls on me, I shall endure.”

You shake your head again, and you want to fight back, argue, but you know that dead look in his eyes, you know that deadly stillness, that terrifying certainty.

And so you lower your eyes, and accept his words with a nod of your head.

He needn’t know you retrace each and every one of his steps, and undo his plans for sending you off to England. You will die before leaving your brother alone at the mercy of these heathens.

____

“Does your sister know how to play?” The Viking asks, moving a wooden piece on the board. Without missing a beat, he adds, “Or are nuns not allowed to learn chess?”

“She’s not a-…” Heahmund closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “She does.”

The Viking looks down at the board, and his expression twists into a mix of surprise and disapproval at your brother’s move.

“Hopefully better than you,” And it seems answering a question about you, acknowledging your presence, was a wrong move on your brother’s part. “Does she have a tongue?”

You keep your eyes on the pale ones of the youngest son of Ragnar.

“I do.” You reply slowly. The Viking only seems to grow more delighted with this little game of his.

“And you know who I am, don’t you, little dove?”

“There are more fun ways to make me say your name, you know.” You quip, and not even a thousand years of teachings of chastity and restraint could keep you from smiling when the Viking’s eyes widen, right before he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, looking…hungry.

The youngest son of Ragnar stands, using the table and then the crutch at his side to stand tall and walk towards you.

When your brother growls his name in warning, Ivar only laughs darkly, and continues approaching you until he towers over you, eyes dark and set on you.

“What would those ways be, little dove?” He reaches down, and hooks one finger on the rosary bracelet you wear, tugging on it and reminding you strikingly of bindings.

“Hands-on practice is much more…rewarding than lessons.”

“Hmm,” The Viking muses, eyes studying you with an intensity that should make you uncomfortable. He doesn’t release his hold on the rosary on your wrist, for a moment tugging on it harder and making it tighten on your skin like rope. He chuckles, “I like you. You are…interesting, for a Christian.”

“And you are…intriguing, for a Viking.”

Ivar the Boneless only huffs a laugh, but there’s still a spark of excitement in his gaze, of pride, of satisfaction.

He turns his head to the side, and addresses your brother, ordering him to leave.

Heahmund hesitates, of course he does, and his hand goes to the handle of his sword at his side. You hold your breath.

But after a moment, with the restrained anger of a dog brought to heel, the threat that he might take these Vikings and this kingdom down single-handedly if you are to come to harm written in his dark eyes; your brother takes his leave.

The Viking’s hand closes around your throat, and you only stare back at him with wide eyes as he corners you towards the wall. He is so close to you, with each breath you take you feel his armor against your own chest, you can discern every speck of blue in his eyes.

“What game are you playing?” He snarls, but you cannot find the words, your heart beating wildly in your chest and the blood in your veins singing with fear and something else. “Answer me!”

“I am not playing anything!”

“I don’t believe you,” He snarls without hesitation, lips curved into what looks like a beast threatening to attack. The hand on your neck moves up, cupping your jaw roughly and moving your head to the side. You feel his breath on your neck as he speaks again, quieter, “I don’t like being lied to.”

“I am not lying, you brute. Now get your hand off me.”

“Or what?”

Your eyes widen, but something in your blood sings at his defiance, something in his blue eyes as he dares you makes your heart quicken.

“What?”

“You heard me, little dove. What will you do, if I don’t do as you say?”

You are pushed against a wall in some Viking kingdom, with the most feared Viking alive holding you by the throat, and yet you smile at him.

You reach up with your hand, and, the same way he did earlier to you, you hook a finger on the metal arm-ring on his wrist, and tug, hard enough he feels the strain of the makeshift binding.

“Why don’t you do as I say?” You prompt sweetly, “I prefer rewarding to punishing, I have too soft a heart.”

Ivar’s lips part at your words, and naked want is written in his face. It is barely a moment, where the mask slips, the game grants you a victory, and you see him feeling the siren call of giving in.

Still, slowly his lips curve into a sinister smile, and he leans even closer.

“I don’t.” He promises by your ear, what you could swear is the scrap of teeth against the shell of your ear before he lets you go.

You stay there, back against the wall, trying to regain your breath, regain your control, as you watch him walk out of the room.

It is an easy, fun game to play, this push and pull you engage on with the Viking. Circling one another over and over, taunting one another, testing one another; waiting for the other to pounce or retreat.

You know on your end there’s more than pretense and empty words, and you dare think on his end it’s the same.

It is fun, and thrilling and liberating; and you soon find yourself enthralled by the Viking and his captivating voice, his depthless eyes that give so much away.

You know it is wrong, you know it is sinful and awful, you know no Christian would speak, wish, dream, of such things, much less with a heathen of all men.

But, at the end, you were never a very good Christian.

And so, much to your brother’s horror, you grow closer and closer to the Viking. In between the games you both play, in between the taunts and the defiance, grows what you dare call a comfortable intimacy, an understanding of one another.

It doesn’t hurt your cause that Heahmund cannot even dream of taking you right from under Ivar’s nose now, send you off to England so you can be safe, but alone.

____

A sharp tug on the rosary on your wrist draws your attention to Ivar, and you turn to him with questions written in your eyes.

“We will sail for Vestfold in two days,” He tells you, smiling slightly when you make a point of wrenching your wrist, your bracelet, from his grasp. “Will you be coming with us?”

“Are you asking me to?”

“If I were, what would you say?”

You offer only a smile, partly exasperated and partly enthralled.

Heahmund stands up from his place in the table in front of you, and with a grunt of your name stalks away, to a place of relative privacy. You notice Ivar’s eyes following your brother’s retreating back with what strikes you as suspicion, as disdain, and so you hurry to follow Heahmund.

He runs a hand through short dark hair, and shakes his head as if to try and dispel himself of his anger.

“What on God’s name are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything,” You reply innocently, before your eyes find those of the son of Ragnar across the room. A thrill runs through your spine when you find he was already looking at you. “He is rather handsome, isn’t he?”

“Are you mad!?” Heahmund says lowly, in that way of his of yelling at you with a whisper. His brows furrow, “My sweet sister wo-…”

“Your sweet sister refuses to be shipped off to England, Heahmund,” You finish for him, “I would have believed you knew better than to expect me to leave you behind.”

“You put yourself at the mercy of Ivar the Boneless! That monster has none!”

You hear the Viking call your name from across the room, and even if you didn’t have a point to prove, you know you’d answer the call.

“I bought us -you- time, if anything.” You tell your brother, before you go off to sit at Ivar’s side.

____

The Viking King he takes you to meet -Harald, you remind yourself- is a strange character. A man that makes a strange thrill of disgust and fear run down your spine.

You don’t miss the implication of Ivar’s display. While your brother is brought in chains and forced to kneel at Harald’s feet, you remain standing at the Viking’s side, Ivar’s hold on the rosary bracelet you wear for once not the promise of thrill, of lust, but a silent oath of protection.

You awaken in the dead of night to the soft sound of knuckles rasping against your door. You hold on tight to the dagger in your hand, even though you know if any of these men wanted you dead you would be so.

Ivar stands at the other side of it, and it steals the breath from your lungs, the words from your lips.

Still, you let him in, and watch with wide eyes as he takes a seat on a low settee near your bed.

“Doesn’t it scare you? To be all alone with a heathen?”

You shrug, and find your voice again,

“If I were to fear, it would be for being all alone with a murderer, with a warrior. Not a pagan.”

“And why is that?”

You study him in silence for a few moments, before offering, “I am not my brother, I don’t share his…conviction.”

“His faith.”

“His fervor,” You correct, before sighing, “Maybe it will damn me for eternity, but…I ought to fear you, to hate you, for the things you have done and the things you will do, not the Gods you follow.”

“And do you?” The Viking asks, and your eyes narrow at his question. After a breath, eyes searching yours, he presses, “Hate me.”

“You care about some nun’s scorn?”

“You definitely aren’t a nun,” He offers, the hint of an amused smile on his lips, “And you are…fascinating, I’d like to know if you despise me.”

“I don’t,” At his strange expression, you press, “You’re disappointed?”

Ivar shrugs, head moving side to side as his mouth curves downwards, indecisive.

“I don’t know. There is something to be said about a poor Christian nun at the hands of a Viking; fearing, fighting, resisting.”

His words, the images they conjure up in your head, make a thrill run down your spine, a rush of heat settle low on your stomach. You lick your lips, and because you cannot help yourself, you offer a counteroffer,

“There’s also something to be said about a Viking at the mercy of a wayward Christian. Makes one wonder what it takes to have him…cave, obey, beg.”

Ivar laughs, shaking his head, “I’d like to see you try, little dove.”

There’s no mistaking the darkening of his gaze, the quickened breaths, the hunger in his expression, though. He wants it as much as you do, he craves control as much as he craves surrendering it.

You cross your legs and try focusing on the matter at hand.

“But you didn’t come here to talk…hypotheticals, did you?”

Ivar sobers, and you could swear he grits his teeth as he toys with the crutch on his hand.

“Harald promised us support. We will march for Kattegat soon.”

“I don’t have my brother’s strategic mind, I’m afraid,” You offer when he stays quiet. “I fear I won’t be of much help.”

“Lagertha could be dead, in a matter of weeks. I could…I could finally kill her.” He confesses, eyes falling from yours, and there’s the clear tell of anger in his expression. Anger at what you are sure he considers weakness, anger at having you be a witness to it.

“That is what you want, is it not?”

“To you Christians…my people are monsters, are we not?”

“You honor your Gods with blood, you value death over life, you pillage and burn and conquer. Of course my countrymen think that, of course they fear you.”

“Do you think I’m a monster, little dove?” Ivar asks you, taking you aback. If you weren’t so used to him, if you weren’t so familiar with the tones of his voice, with the subtle tells in his expression; you’d think he’s daring you.

You wouldn’t have believed, months ago, when he barged into Lindsey with an army at his back trying to find Bishop Heahmund’s sister, that one day you’d be sitting on front of Ivar the Boneless and see his eyes shining with hesitation, with vulnerability, with fear.

The answer you can offer is a smile, and a shake of your head. The answer he demands is the bruising kiss he presses against your lips, is the breath he steals from your lungs.

____

For all the ruckus planning a battle implies, for all the chaos that comes before a siege, for all the months of war talks and battle plans; the battle for Kattegat sneaks up on you.

On your happiness. On your sin.

Ivar presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist, eyeing the marks of rope on your skin with careful eyes. You only watch him, sated and tranquil and at peace; letting him make inventory of the marks, of the evidence of your surrender.

“Tomorrow we will march,” He tells you quietly, rough fingers still circling your wrist delicately. “Kattegat could be mine in days.”

You hum an agreement, and stretch. Because you cannot help it, you burrow into him, your face hidden at the crook of his neck, and trace your own marks on his skin, the evidence of his surrender.

The faint cuts of a knife are still visible in his chest, and when you trace your fingers over them, Ivar shudders. You smile.

“Ivar the Boneless,” You whisper against his skin, before you give in and press a soft kiss over a darkening bite mark on his shoulder. “King of Kattegat.”

He huffs a breath that could have been an amused chuckle.

“When it is all done, I…I will send your brother to York.”

Your heart drops to your stomach, and your breath shudders past your lips.

“York?”

“To defend us from some Danes that threaten it with capture. He won’t fight Christians, you have my word.

But that isn’t what made you freeze under his touch, and he knows it. Ivar swallows, and returns his gaze to the ceiling.

His hand tightens on your wrist, before he takes a deep breath.

“I want you to stay with me,” He confesses, not looking at you. “I want you at my side, I…I want to make you Queen of Kattegat.”

Your eyes widen, and you lean back, even though he doesn’t release your wrist.

“Ivar…”

“I’ll release Heahmund from his vow, he will be free, and safe. You…if you want, we can marry before your God after we marry before mine,” He promises, rushed and anxious. You realize he’s giving you reasons to say yes, as if you didn’t have enough of those written in his gaze, in his burning touch, in the marks that litter both your bodies. “I-…

You lean in, and kiss him. It has always been surprisingly useful in getting him to stop thinking, to stop talking; and you realize when he presses back against your lips with a soft sound, when his hand tangles in your hair and he brings you closer, that it continues to be so.

When you part, his eyes open slowly, and when they meet yours you see in them that emotion neither of you has been brave enough to admit yet.

“Marry me.” He whispers.

You press your brow to his with a breathed laugh, happy and mad and warm.

“Yes,” You reply, voice hushed, eyes shining. You steal a kiss from his lips, and another one when he continues to stare up at you, surprise and awe and hope written in his pale eyes. “I love you, Ivar.”

His eyes search yours, looking for the lie, for the mirage. When he finds none, Ivar smiles, wide and hopeful and happy.

“I love you, little dove.”

That night, he promises his love between fervent kisses, brands it against your skin in the mark of his fingers on your hips. That night, he demands your love with whispers of your name, steals it from your lungs in the air he robs you of with skillful fingers and tongue.

____

Soooooo, whaddya think?

Ik I need to write smut at some point, but I’m too much of a coward atm. At some point I will, and mark my words, I will return to this one shot.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it!! Love you!

[janedoe-eyes]

Neighbors in a Mask

This is my Secret Santa gift for @theatreandcomicfreak - I hope you like it! I had the help of a wonderful Beta who made this infinitely better😂. Merry Christmas! @maribat-secret-santa-2020 -  I’m also posting it on ao3 😁

“Ok - ok, you can do this! This is just a friendly introduction, what could go wrong? New town, new place, new start.” A wet nose nudged her hand in agreement with her little self-pep talk, and she smiled at her furry companion. Marinette squared her shoulders and knocked on the apartment marked ‘655’, the mantra ‘new town, new place, new start’ ran on repeat in the back of her mind. She fidgeted listening for signs of life on the other end of the door.

She jumped when the door suddenly and silently opened to reveal a man her age - half-dressed, extremely attractive, and wearing the least welcoming glower she’d ever seen.

“Yes?” He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“I… uh… next door… chest moved in… shirtless - I mean!” She sputtered, face resembling a tomato and she barely managed to grab the plate of macaroons she’d lost her hold on while  she flailed. Holy hell, I haven’t sputtered  this much since…

That thought sobered her right up, and she shook her head to clear the nervous clutter. She took a big breath and started again.

“Sorry - I just moved in next door,” she jerked a thumb to her left, indicating the other condo in the pair. “I wanted to bring these over and introduce myself - I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and this is my dog Squishy.” She gestured to the cream-colored Pit Bull, and he glanced down for a half a moment. “I just moved here from Paris! I’m a fashion designer and novice gardener-”

“Look, I have a lot of work to do,” He cut her off with an exasperated sigh. “I am not interested in whatever you are selling - whether it is a product, business deal, or yourself.” Her jaw dropped. “I do not socialize beyond what is forced upon me by my family - so you have wasted your time. Good day.” He nodded stiffly at her and shut the door.

What the fu…

She stared at the same spot on the forest green door until Squishy whined and nudged her hand. She looked  to see the dog leaning on her leg and slowly wagging her tail.

“Squish… did you hear him say what I think he said?” She asked, looking at the door. She received  another nudge, this time from her purse on her other side.

She peered down to see Tikki’s blue orbs looking at her  with  concern. Marinette  smiled in reassurance.

“I’m fine Tik -  just rebooting.” A small giggle sounded from the bag, and Mari’s smile grew. She gave the door one last look and huffed.

“Oh well,” She shrugged. “Might as well head home.”

She stepped off his stoop and strolled over to her own, her deep red door already decorated with a spring wreath - little ladybugs hidden throughout. She shut the door behind her and caught  the plate  for a  second time when  a black blur zipped right in front of her face.

“Hey Bug, I overheard your  little exchange… want me to phase over and cataclysm his TV or something?”

“Plagg! What have I said about startling me? You’re gonna give me a heart attack!” He ignored her, floating in lazy circles near her ear. She continued to grumble about the cat as she continued to the kitchen - Tikki flying out of Mari’s purse to join her other half.

“No cataclysms!” The Luck God scolded him, crossing her paws. “We can’t risk anyone becoming  suspicious of where the guardian is - anyone who knows  the temple returned will be on the hunt!”

“Please,” Plagg scoffed. “I can pop  in and out without him noticing and not leave a trace - it’d probably at least annoy the hell out of Mr-stick-up-his-”

“As much as I’d like to get him back for his rude  comment - seriously, where does he get off?!” Marinette interrupted with a sigh and a small smile. “Tikki’s right, and it wouldn’t be very guardian or Ladybug-like of me besides.”

“Fine - but the offer still stands.” The little floating cat huffed, flying over to where Squishy cuddled  in her bed by the window, watching her owner for signs of needing her.

It was odd how well the dog and cat god got along - Plagg refused to acknowledge he was fond of the Pit Bull, but they were found more often than not sleeping curled  together on Mari’s bed at night, and Marinette suspected he snuck  her treats.

“As long as we don’t see each other much beyond going in or out of our places - it shouldn’t be a problem.” She shrugged, popping a cookie from the plate in her mouth and handing one to Tikki who happily accepted. “With how ‘busy’ he alluded to being - it shouldn’t be hard.”

*******************************************************************************

Turns out -  easier said than done.

She saw him the next day in line at a coffee shop accompanied by  a man a few years older than him who looked as if  death had warmed over. Mr. Grouchy made eye contact with her and scowled before turning away with a tsk.

She rolled her eyes and focused back on the barista. “Hello,” she smiled as much as she could manage at the buttcrack of dawn. “It’s a longshot, but do you happen to have any ‘Black Insomnia’ or ‘High Voltage’?” The blonde behind the counter paled.

“Not another one.” She whispered, her eyes darting over to the man being tugged along by her neighbor.

Marinette tilted her head in question, and the barista seemed to shake it off.

“We are well stocked with Black Insomnia, what size will it  be and how would you like it made?” She asked, her customer service smile  strained.

“The largest you have - as black as you can make it.” She smiled back and took her receipt, walking over to a booth, overhearing her call out for a “Suicidal Wayne” just as another worker called out for the same drink.

The older boy, the one who looked in desperate need of a good night's sleep, leaned on Mr. Pissy as if he was the only thing keeping him upright - but at the mention of the order, his eyes snapped over to her. He gave her a small wave, and she returned it with a quirked brow. He looked close to  moving  over, but Sir Scowls-a-lot stopped him with a hand on his arm. He spoke in a low voice, and the tired man’s face melted into a mix of disappointment and exasperation. The man shot her an annoyed look and turned back to the front.

She wanted  to go over and demand to know what he could  possibly say   having met her once for five minutes, but the barista called out three names - hers, ‘Tim’,  and ‘Damian’. She walked  up before the two could move and grabbed her cup, thanking the woman, before brushing past ‘Tim and Damian’ on her way out. She was in a rush - there was a show coming up next week and she had fittings all day, she didn’t have time to deal with her asshat of a neighbor and his friend with good taste in coffee.

*******************************************************************************************

As the days passed, they continued bumping into each other. Their dynamic well-past talking, favoring annoyed glares and eye rolls. He wanted to scare her off (the Wayne lawyer way or Robin way - he hadn’t decided yet), but his father and brothers refused - insisting she hadn’t done anything deserving of any kind of action.

Yet. His mind supplied.

There was something off about her - the sixth sense he’d acquired through his life was never wrong, and she set it  off like fireworks whenever she was near. He couldn’t get a read on her intentions, but he wasn’t one to wait for the other shoe to drop - he planned to keep his eye on her.

*******************************************************************************************

He saw her again on patrol a week and a half after she first knocked on his door.

He was in costume uniform tailing a group of five men who  had recently left a warehouse that  belonged to  the Penguin. Red Hood stationed  across the street following parallel to him.

The men turned the corner on Hood’s side, and Robin signaled he would wait until they were out of earshot before grappling over. Hood nodded and continued trailing them.

Robin waited for a beat, then shot his hook out to grab the highest ledge available.

“Shit.” Hood’s voice through his comm made his hand jerk and his grappling hook missed the mark. He released his own curse and reshot as soon as the cable  fully retracted.

“Report, Hood.” He snapped, flipping at the arc of his swing and sailing over the first building.

“They’re targeting a girl - she looks  your age, tiny, at least partially Asian,” Hood grunted lowly.

Damian groaned.

“Acquaintance of yours, Demon Spawn?” Red Hood teased.

“No names in the field, Hood.” He hissed. “And it’s  my new neighbor - she keeps popping up like a bad penny.”

“The one you said tried  to butter you up with cookies, and drinks the same motor oil as Replacement?” Hood asked. Robin landed beside him, leaning over the ledge to watch the girl’s progress as she leisurely strolled down the street with several shopping bags.

“<Tt>, idiot,” Robin muttered under his breath. “That’s her.” He glanced at Hood who nodded.

“You know - I still say you might have misjudged the situation - Timmy said she didn’t seem the cozy-ing up type and seemed  kinda openly pissed at you.” Red Hood mused.

“No. Names. In. The. Field. Hood.” Robin grit out, tired of this conversation - he’d had  versions of it with his family ever since the coffee shop incident.

Everyone insisted the  Dupain-Cheng girl was trying to be nice - but he looked through her records, and found  an unprecedented amount of bullying accusations against her in high school, and she’d quit her job at ‘Agreste’ with no warning - but that was oddly heavily-guarded information. He had been locked out of many of even the simplest social media accounts and public records - especially anything to do with the Agreste brand founder. A  familiar itch on the back of his neck told  him he was onto something big - and his suspiciously friendly neighbor was connected.

Hood took a breath as if to continue the conversation when Robin put a hand up and signaled downward.

They both looked to see the tiny girl turn sharply across the road and into a dead-end alleyway. She’s even stupider than I assumed , Robin mentally groaned as he and Red Hood scrambled to follow.

They dropped to street-level and ran over to the alley, prepared to find the young woman in need of saving, only to see three men passed out near the entrance.  A dented trash lid resting nearby.  The small girl, who looked like Red Hood could lift her with one hand, flipped  a fourth over her shoulder with ease.

“Holy Mother-” Hood gaped at the scene and  sidestepped  the flying body - it landed behind him on top of the others.

Robin didn’t flinch as the man sailed past and ruffled his cape. His eyes were fixed on the girl as she high-kicked the last man under the jaw - knocking him out immediately. He couldn’t stop the words ‘almalak almuharib[1]’ from slipping past his lips in an awed gasp. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in all his life.

He shook himself, scowling at the foolish thoughts that rose unbidden. Perhaps she is a shaman or spell caster. That is it - this must be a  spell. He reasoned to himself.

He watched, still unable to move, as the girl dusted off her clothes and reached into her bag.

“Are you two gonna help, or do you plan to stand there with your mouths open like a couple of fish.” She asked as she turned around with a handful of zip ties, eyebrow quirked.

“You have  one hell of a kick, kid.” Red Hood broke the silence, moving forward to grab a few of the proffered zip ties (even though he had plenty of his own).

“It was nothing.” She brushed off the complement with a wave of her hand and a light rose dusting on her cheeks.

Red Hood scoffed, “Whatever kid, that was the most badass take-down I’ve seen in a while - and I know Wonder Woman.” He extended his fist for a bump.

Her smile fell  from her face as if she’d been slapped - her eyes fixated on the proffered fist and starting to water.

“Uh…” Red Hood lowered  his arm, “I ain’t trying to hit you kid… you guys have fist bumps in Europe, right?” He laughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck.

“I… It’s nothing - you just... reminded me of a friend.” She whispered, taking in a shuddering breath and turning  sharply to secure the last guy she knocked unconscious.

Robin shared a look with his brother (an odd thing to do through a helmet, but they knew each other well enough for  it to work) and shrugged, before taking out his own zip ties and turning to the pile of three large men.

As they finished  with the other four, Marinette walked past them with her bags and a quick “I’ll leave them to you, then” - and left the alleyway, disappearing from sight.

“That… was weird, right?” Hood said, staring after her. “Shouldn’t we make her stick around to give a statement?”

Robin shook his head slowly. “I think… it would be best to let her go... this time. We have both seen that look before.” In the mirror every time we lost a teammate in battle, he glared   where he’d last seen her retreating figure, and puzzled  over the new information.

“Wait, wait, wait, I agree she can fight  and all, but are you really saying that the little pipsqueak...” He choked out in surprise, Damian could tell his eyes were bugging under his mask.

“I’m not sure, but she’s certainly no average civilian.” He cut his brother off with a shake of his head. “I suggest we keep an eye on her.”

“Hey, if you two have finished your little intrusion into the poor girl’s life and traumas, the police are  a minute out.” Barbra, or rather, Oracle’s voice sounded from their earpieces.

Damian took one last look at where she’d disappeared to before turning away with narrowed eyes and a “<Tt>”.

*******************************************************************************************

Marinette withdrew following  the encounter in the alley - barely acknowledging her surly neighbor, Squishy refused to leave her side, and Plagg and Tikki often needed to call her name several times before she’d respond… The  Kwamii were worried.

“Tik… we only just pulled  her out of the slump she was in back in Paris after…” Plagg’s normally light and expressive face fell, his tail, ears, and whiskers drooping.

“I know… It’s never easy to lose one.” She whispered with a pained wince, past memories flashing in front of her eyes. She floated over to her other half and pulled him into her, petting the back of his head as stuttering purrs overtook  his shaking.

“If she continues to relive it, we’ll lose her too - remember  Keket.” Tikki shuddered at the reminder of the young girl.

“No… we can’t let that happen again,” Plagg growled, the memories of the long lost kitten painful even all these years later. They couldn’t let that happen to Marinette. Tikki nodded firmly into his shoulder.

*******************************************************************************************

Marinette stretched out under a large oak tree in the city gardens, her sketchbook open on her lap and Squishy laid  over her legs - keeping guard. She stared at the blank page with unfocused eyes, memories swimming  in her head out of order and distorted.

“*Sniff* Mommy... Daddy…” A small voice sobbed, pulling her from her musings. She closed her book and set it aside. Squishy took that as a signal to get up and look around, her ears swiveling alertly.

“Where is it coming from, Squish?” She reached  to rest her hand on the dog’s back, Marinette stood  and looked  around intently.

Her dog gave a soft *wuff* and tugged on the leash. Marinette turned and allowed the Pit Bull to direct her. As they neared the bushes the sound came  from, Marinette stopped  short at the sight of a familiar well-kept head of dark hair and moved her and Squishy to peek around them to the bench beyond.

From her position, she saw  her prickly neighbor crouching next to a boy of about five or six whose cries turned into soft giggles as a Great Dane licked at his face, tail wagging wildly.

“Alright Titus, let the boy breathe.” The man grunted, tugging lightly on the large dog’s collar. “Now, have you calmed enough to tell me your name?” He asked in a surprisingly gentle voice, turning his attention to the boy. The kid nodded, sniffing and reaching out to pat the dog - who happily leaned in.

“E-Ethan… My name’s Ethan Sorensen, Mr. Wayne.” He said shyly.

“Ah, you recognize me?” The younger boy nodded, still stroking the dog.

The Wayne Heir returned the nodd. “Good - at least you didn’t talk  to  a complete stranger. You should be more careful though, the world - and this city especially - are dangerous places for someone  young and inexperienced.” He scolded with a frown.

The boy shrunk in, and Titus nudged further into the boy, whining slightly. The temperamental man sighed and hesitantly put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“I do not mean to be harsh - I am merely  glad I found you first.” He gave the boy a strained smile and it received a laugh from the kid. His eye twitched in annoyance.

“<Tt>,” He groused, pulling back and taking out his phone. He tapped a few times before placing the phone against his ear. “Gordon, I have a boy named Ethan Sorensen alone in the Southeast end of Robinson Park, have there been any missing child reports?” He nodded at whatever response he received. “Good, let your father know we will wait  for them on a bench... Yes, of course I plan to remain with him! He is no older than six!... Yes, yes, I will stay behind to issue a statement to the officer… Goodbye Gordon.” He hung up the phone and returned it to his pocket before turning back to the boy.

“Your parents are on their way, would you like to play fetch with Titus until they arrive?” He received a shy nodd in return and handed over a yellow batman-themed ball which was enthusiastically chased  once thrown.

Marinette watched a few more throws before retreating to the tree where she had left her bag and packed up.

“So he can be sweet,” she mused to Tikki under her breath.

The Kwamii poked her head out of Mari’s pocket and giggled. “Though he didn’t seem super comfortable with the situation, he went out of his way to be kind to the boy. He stepped  up when needed.”

“Yeah, I guess our grumpy-goose next door can act like a human - now and then.” Marinette laughed, turning toward the park’s exit, a light flutter in her chest  after watching her awkward frenemy do something kind.

*******************************************************************************************

That night, Marinette seriously considered  donning her mask for the first time in over a year.

She couldn’t explain why, but watching Damian’s secretly sweet nature peek through had  lifted her spirits. She felt more like her old self than she had in a long time.

The dark and handsome man was obviously out of his comfort zone in interacting with the boy, but his desire to help another person outweighed his own discomfort. Mari’s guardian senses could see the effort it took to overcome the deep-seated parasitic darkness that latched onto his being. .

Her bones buzzed with an energy that had been absent for  a year. She didn't call for a transformation though - her Guardian duties came first, and she needed to understand the city as a healer before she could take on an active protector role.

Using the recovered energy, she took back up a project she'd been working on - knitting hats, gloves, and scarves with needles Wayzz helped her infuse with a warming charm. She planned to give them away at the shelter she volunteered at on weekends when the weather turned in a few months.

She had four sets of mittens done and adjusted the needles to start on a fifth when a loud crash sounded from the other end of the wall. She jumped up and grabbed the retractable baton she stored in her crafting room, sliding into a crouching position. Tikki and Plagg flew over from the cushion they were lounging on to hover next to her.

They waited in suspense  - listening for clues as to what was going on beyond the wall.

After a few moments, a pained groan sounded along with another, smaller crash.

Was it… her surly Wayne neighbor?

She shared a glance with Tikki and Plagg, and the three nodded. Plagg phased through the wall, and Tikki flew to Mari’s shoulder. An anxious minute later, Plagg returned, stifling laughter with his paws.

“Oh yeah - he’s gonna need some help,” He snorted. “And what is it with you attracting all the weirdos?” He cackled, flying over to the mini-fridge she kept stocked with Kwamii food and phasing through.

“You’ll want to bring the first aid kit,” he continued, exiting the fridge with a small wheel of cheese and taking a large bite before continuing. “Probably keep the baton with you in case there’s trouble - the kid may not be much help  watching your back.”

That snapped her to attention, and she rushed off to her bathroom to grab the enormous first aid kit she collected over  years of hero work. She pulled on a coat - Tikki slipping into a pocket - and shoved her feet into her deep red combat boots, quickly tying them before rushing out her front door and over to the stoop she’d glared  at in passing for weeks.

Marinette ��took a deep breath to calm herself before testing the door - which was of course locked. She huffed and pulled out the lock-pick set she stored in the inner lining of her boots. She unlocked  the door after two frustrating minutes - it seemed her neighbor wasn’t satisfied with the standard locks that came with the condos and installed his own.

Once inside, she closed the door behind her and re-locked it  - noticing a blinking red light on a small black box along the side of the door.

Probably a silent alarm, she mused, No matter - I’m here to help and have no intention of harming… Oh geez, I don’t even know his name - what will the police think when they arrive  here?! What names did the barista say  at the coffee house? - Tim and… Damian? Gah! It doesn’t matter - he still needs help! She shook herself and continued along the hallway with the first aid kit in her left hand and the baton in her right - raised and ready for trouble.

“Um… Hello?” She called out, deciding it was better to alert any robbers than to scare her injured neighbor. “It’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng - your neighbor next door? I heard a crash and someone in pain, so I let myself in…” Having cleared the first floor, she turned to the stairs at the back of the house past the kitchen. “Mr. Wayne?”

A pained grunt sounded from the top of the stairs and she tensed further, not foolish enough to rush  ahead after the warning Plagg gave  - even if it wasn’t bad enough to insist on coming himself.

“Is that you, Mr. Wayne?” She called, narrowing her eyes as she reached the top of the stairs.

“I...in here...” A deep male voice coughed from the last room to her right, and she heard a low growling as she entered the room.

“I’m going to turn on the light.” She called a moment before she did.

Muttered cursing sounded at the light and drew her eyes to the floor under the window where the young Wayne lay on his side, clutching a gash over his chest, and surrounded by glass. The  man was dressed in a ripped Robin uniform she’d become familiar with due to all the merch that littered the city.

“Oh…” Marinette  whispered, Plagg’s comment on attracting weirdos now making sense. She heaved a deep sigh.

“His name is Titus, right?” The dog twitched at his name, and his master nodded stiffly. “Will he  let me take a look at your injuries?” She retracted the baton and set it on the ground slowly with the kit, keeping her movements slow, and returning to a standing position with her palms empty and up.

“Titus, hda[2].” The dog slowly relaxed his tense position and looked back at the boy on the ground behind him. “Rahab[3].” The man said,  nodding toward her, wincing as it pulled at one of his many injuries.

Though she didn’t understand the language of the commands, their meanings were obvious - she sank to the floor again and turned to her side, slowly offering her hand for the great black beast to sniff. He cautiously approached her and watched her body language intently as he snuffled at her hand - leaving a cool trail behind, which would have made her giggle in  another situation.

Finally deciding to trust her , he licked her cheek and released a whine - tugging her jacket sleeve over to his injured master. She reached back to grab her kit and allowed the dog to pull her forward.

“Where are you hurt most severely?” She asked, kneeling beside him, ignoring the few pricks of glass in her legs as she did so.

“The gash on my chest is the only one that needs looked at immediately... the others are superficial.” He wheezed lightly, his voice strained.

“Was your head or spine injured to your knowledge?” At the slight shake of his head, she carefully slid her arms under him and gently lifted him into a princess carry. He let out an indignant and surprised manly squeak and she tried to hide her smile.

“Your partners, do you want me to contact them?” She asked, entering the connected bathroom and flipping the switch with her shoulder.

“My communicator and tracker are busted - though if you came through the front door, they were alerted and will send someone to check when  I do not respond.”

She nodded and set him into the tub as gently as she could, shooing Titus away from sticking his head in as close as he could get it to the man. She set her kit on the floor and pulled out a pair of scissors. He snorted at the sight.

“Those will not even make a scratch in -” She grinned at his stunned silence as she nearly glided through the material, snagging  a few times on previously patched parts.

“...” He stared at the scissors as she shifted to cut the sleeves. “This is the highest grade kevlar… how in the…” He turned to meet her laughing eyes and quirked an eyebrow.

“I have my secrets,” She gestured to the suit she was tearing into. “And you have your’s.” He pinned her with a look, but she raised her own brow as if to ask ‘you don’t actually expect me to tell you, do you?’

He scoffed and turned to the wall.

She laughed and moved the last of the material out of the way - turning back to her kit to gather her supplies.

“I don’t suppose you’d let me give you any Lidocaine?” He gave her a ‘what do you think?’ look. “That’s what I thought - want something to bite on?”

“I’ll be fine.” He grumbled, turning away again.

“Alright tough guy, I’m gonna just dive in - if you need a break or want to change your mind, let me know.” He nodded, and she threaded the hooked needle, glancing at him once more before starting in.

She was amazed at how little he reacted - a few face twitches at most - and she made sure to get through it as quickly as possible. After tying it off, she cleaned around the wound and taped gauze over it, and nodded to herself in satisfaction.

She turned  to grab more alcohol swabs, only to find the injured hero unsteadily climbing  to his feet.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” She asked, exasperated.

“The rest is livable - I will be fine. Thank you for-”

“Thank me when I’m done patching you up, you stubborn fool.” She rolled her eyes, pushing him back down.

“How are you so strong?!” He huffed. “I don’t know of many civilians who could lift a grown man without an issue…” He left the statement trailing like a question, and she laughed.

“I grew up in a bakery - I’ve been lifting bags of flour my whole life.” She shrugged, taping up his finished arm and moving onto another gash.

“Sure…” He scoffed, not believing for a second that was all there was to it. She shrugged in response.

They sat in silence until she finished , tapping on the last square of gauze.

“Alright,” She helped him to his feet  and over to his bed. “Is there anything else you need?”

He shook his head, giving a soft ‘Thank you’ - reaching out to catch her hand as she began walking over to retrieve  the baton she’d left by his door.

“Truly - I… I would have been in trouble if you had not found me when you did. The others are in the middle of a fight and my beacon was broken before I could activate it… there might  still be  time before they worry.”

“Happy to help.” She smiled, patting his arm. He nodded, breaking eye contact again and patting Titus who jumped on the bed  to snuggle  the man.

“By the way…” She started. “What is your name? I know your last name is Wayne - that’s what the boy at the park said anyway, and I think it’s either ‘Damian’ or ‘Tim’ - because those were the names the barista gave at the coffee shop…”

“Wait,” He stopped her. “You… don’t know who I am?”

“Um… should I? The way the boy said it made it sound  as if you’re well known here - but I’m only familiar with Parisian celebrities.”

“Oh, then… I believe I may owe you an apology.” He scratched the back of his head, still avoiding eye contact.

“Yes, yes you do - but what are you referring to?” She started with a irked look, and he had the decency to look abashed.

“When you first came to my door… I thought it another instance of someone trying to get in my good graces because I’m a Wayne. My father and brothers have warned me against social climbers, and I find it best to avoid encouraging them by making my disinterest known right away.” He still refused to meet her eyes and she reached out to touch his shoulder.

She waited until he met her eyes before speaking. “I appreciate and accept your apology, and  I understand. ” He raised a disbelieving brow.

“No,” she chuckled, “Really. Back in Paris, I had a few friends who suffered from  the same problem - an Olympic fencer, a model, a rock singer…” She shrugged. “I get it… but I’d also like to start again if you’re up for it?”

He stared at her for a moment, taking in her sincerity, before he slowly nodded and extended his hand.

“Hello… I am Damian Wayne.” She grinned and grasped his hand.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

*******************************************************************************************

Dick burst into the apartment moments after Marinette returned to her own home - leaving her phone number behind with strict instructions to call if he needed anything. He explained what  happened - causing Dick check for a concussion when he openly admitted to misjudging her - and was taken to the cave.

Alfred was impressed with Marinette’s stitch job, and only needed to re-bandage the wounds he’d checked. His father had interrogated him for several hours when he found out a near-stranger  knew at least Robin’s identity. He was talked down from all-out kidnapping the girl for answers only because Damian insisted on it - and he rarely stood up for his family, let alone strangers. So, they decided to keep a close eye on her when she went out (Damian living directly next door kept them from over-bugging the outside of her home).

They discovered she worked  in a small boutique in the Fashion District, and volunteered  at a shelter. When she wasn’t at either of those places or running errands, she wandered the city for places to sit and sketch. They had the sneaking suspicion she knew of their presence , but hadn’t caught her looking directly at them yet.

They were all  wary of her but eventually  eased up on their suspicions the more they were around the little - but strangely strong - ball of sunshine.

*******************************************************************************************

A few nights later, Damian awoke to the sounds of muffled cries. He instinctively jolted out of bed and reached for the sword next to his nightstand. Listening, he found the sounds came from Marinette’s apartment. He popped open the door to his balcony located  on the same wall as hers.

Leaping over - narrowly avoiding knocking over one of the many pots strewn on  every surface - he slunk over to her door and peeked inside, expecting  a struggle and looking for the best opening to intervene.

What he saw was his small neighbor (friend?) curled  on her bed, tangled in her blankets, with tears streaming down her face. She thrashed, a whimper loud enough for him to hear through the glass slipping through her lips.

He sighed and set his shoulders - he’d seen enough night terrors from his brothers, the Titans, and even members of his grandfather’s League to know he wouldn’t leave her to suffer, but not looking forward to explaining how he entered .

Working on  the simple lock, he slid the door open silently, and closed it behind him, leaning his sword against it where she wouldn’t notice it unless she paid attention. .

A whine halted his approach, and he paused, noticing the butter-colored Pit Bull at the foot of the bed - having obviously knocked off in her mistress’ movement - and reached a hand out. The dog sniffed hesitantly, her tail stuck firmly between her legs, and her ears flat against her head in worry.

“It’s alright, girl, I am here to help.” He soothed, rubbing at her ears until her tail uncurled and began to half-heartedly wag.

“NON!... CHAT!” The girl on the bed sobbed, her arms flailing as if reaching for something.

He was at her side in an instant, grabbing her arms and readying himself in case she fought him.

“Mari!” He called, shaking her none too gently, “Mari! It is a dream! You need to wake up!”

It took several tries, but soon her eyes shot open.

She sat up, latching onto the first thing she found, and as he still held  her wrists, (and her dog was on the floor) he found his arms full of a sobbing Marinette. She gasped, muttering in French  how sorry she was, how she should have been stronger, how it was her fault…

He held her, as his brothers did for him for months after he came back from the pits and awoke from his own nightmares. He started to rock back and forth - smoothing her hair, and she cuddled in closer, her cries pittering out.

The city’s ambience filled the room - interspersed with the slight creaking of the bed at Damian’s continued rocking motion.

“Do you wish to talk about it?” He asked after what felt like both a moment and an eternity.

She hesitated, before starting in a small, frail voice.

He learned  what  transpired in France with the villain the League had been forbidden from interfering with. She told him of  the emotional trauma - having to police your own emotions, watching loved ones be used, watching them die horribly, only to have them come back with no memory of the fact.

And then - she told him about Ladybug.

She didn’t swear him to secrecy or threaten him if he told anyone - it spilled out with everything else.

She had been alone.

As a civilian, she was isolated, and as a hero - she had no one to lean on, especially once  entrusted with the Guardian title. She had only her Kwamii (whatever that was - she made it seem like some  all-powerful sprite) who knew her identity, and she couldn’t properly vent for fear of becoming ‘akumatized’.

She told him about the final battle. How it turned out to be the father of a friend who terrorized  everyone, how her partner had nearly fallen apart in grief - as it was his father - and how her partner, her friend, had died saving her from his father’s blade. The blow caused his own power, a "cataclysm" to defensively implode, destroying everything in the vicinity - even the bearer of the ring. Marinette's saving grace was her own power, the ultimate balance to destruction, which shielded her from the blast.

She sobbed into his shoulder after the tale was done until she eventually fell into a deep sleep.

He set her back into the bed gently and covered her with the blankets. Moving to the chair in the corner he  slumped down,  head in his hands,  absorbing  the emotion and information her story had left him with.

A wet nose nudged his arm, and he looked down to see her dog slowly wagging her tail and giving him sad puppy-eyes. He gave her a small smile.

“It’ll be alright…” He shifted to search for a tag to find  her name - not remembering it from Marinette’s initial introduction.

“It’s Squishy.” A small, high voice called. He jerked his head up to watch a red fairy-bug…thing float down to rest on the dog’s head. “Mari found her rooting through some trash in an alley a week after the final battle - they’ve been inseparable  ever since.”

They eyed each other for a moment before he broke the silence.

“...Tikki… right?” That was the name from Marinette’s story. She nodded, her big sky-blue eyes analyzing  his soul.

“I am Tikki, Kwamii  of Creation and good luck. Thank you for helping my chosen tonight - Plagg and I couldn’t wake her.” She drooped. “This one was particularly bad.” He nodded, and another sprite floated over, this one pitch black with a tail, small pointed ears, and ancient, acid green eyes.

“I’m Plagg - Kwamii of Destruction and bad luck - and I won’t hesitate to cataclysm you into oblivion if you hurt my Bug with the info she trusted you with tonight - or at all, for that matter.” It should have been impossible, with all of his experience, to be frightened of such a tiny being, but Damian found himself shuddering at the fierce protectiveness all the same.

“Understood.” Damian nodded.

“Good.” And just like that, the eyes were half-lidded and looked bored. “Do you have any fancy cheese at your place? The Bug cut me off from the good stuff after I tangled  her  expensive yarn or whatever.” He rolled his eyes and crossed his ‘arms’.

“Plagg! Can you not think of your stomach for once?!” The red sprite cried, exasperated.

“I spent the whole night watching Spots and trying to wake her when the dream started, then I threatened the birdboy - that’s a long time!” He pouted, and Damian huffed in amusement at how much the tiny cat reminded him of Todd’s bottomless pit of a stomach.

“There’s blue cheese and brie in the fridge.” He pointed down and to the side where his kitchen lay, and was shocked as the cat passed directly through the wall without a word.

“Sorry about him ,” Tikki said with a fond sigh. “He’s worried about Mari, and pretending he doesn't care is how he copes.” She took on a serious look and pinned him with it.

“I know you’re  a hero and used to keeping secrets, but the miraculous are the most powerful artifacts in the world. We existed  before the dawn of man, and we will far out-live your kind.” He stared at her, the ancient power from the cat now pulsed  from her, telling him she wasn’t to be trifled with.

“Mari is all alone in this, and we planned  to convince her to seek help from your “league of heroes” soon, so this is not entirely  inconvenient - but she trusted you. She is  gifted with excellent instincts - both as a Ladybug and a Guardian - I don’t oppose her choice, but I warn you - should you cause any harm to befall her, you will answer to me.” Damian shuddered for the second time that night - the second time in years - and nodded solemnly.

“I understand.” She searched his eyes for another minute before her own softened.

“I see  you do. You’ve  endured your own trials.” He looked at the lump on the bed to avoid her stare. “I think you will be good for each other.” She mused, rising from Squishy’s head and floating over to the wall connecting his home to Marinettes’.

“I’m going to make sure Plagg hasn’t eaten everything you own.” She giggled, and phased through the wall.

He released a shuddering breath and slumped down from his stiff position - reaching over to pet Squishy’s head as she leaned in and began to thump her tail against the floor. He smiled softly at the sight and sunk further back into the chair with a deep sigh.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, trying to sort through how to help the neighbor he’d assumed was after his money and name. He winced at his previous misconceptions. He  needed more practice at  learning to accurately read people - perhaps he could convince Cass to coach him in nonverbal cues.

He shook his head, helping Marinette build  a support system was top priority. He’d always bemoaned his family getting in his way - but at least he’d never been left alone. From her story, it seemed like she’d run  the entire Paris operation on her own the four years Hawkmoth had been at large.

The first step was to involve  his Father and siblings  - they’d know how to execute a plan  - but he felt it had to come  at her own pace. From what she said, she’d had no choice but to play catch-up during her entire battle - since she was twelve.

He continued to chase his thoughts  in a dizzying dance until he eventually succumbed to sleep, not noticing when the kwamii crept back and snuggled in alongside Marinette.

*******************************************************************************************

Three months later - a tiny girl in a dark red and black ensemble was spotted running on rooftops alongside Robin, Red Hood, and Nightwing, her light, bell-like laughter ringing out into the Gotham night.

The local media pages blew up - the people of Gotham fell  in love with their ‘Ladybird’ and her sweet nature which  opposed the stoic and gruff bats. It was interesting for them to see her banter and fight alongside the other members of the team -  especially Robin, who became  her shadow, rarely leaving her side.

She had several blogs dedicated to her feats and theories about the miraculously healed injuries and repaired battle sites. It didn’t take long for people  from France to find the numerous articles, and start the rumor she was once their ‘Ladybug’, but there was no solid evidence. The two looked and acted completely differently.

Ladybird was free-spirited and light of heart, whereas Ladybug was serious and professional. Many speculated the  Ladybug miraculous  traded hands, but, as there was no supernatural Cat seen, it  remained an unlikely theory.

Unfortunately for the bloggers, it was hard to snag  a good look at the bats, as they thrived in the darkness. Others  commented on Robin’s costume change, but Ladybird’s appearance  took the spotlight.

If they had caught a closer look, they would have found Robin’s red and yellow colors gone , and the forest green was replaced with a more muted-toxic tone. Thankfully, his hood hid the most significant changes as he now sported two small velvet ears that reacted to sound and emotion, and his usual katakana now had a pitch-black blade with green detailing on the hilt.

In completely unrelated news,  the youngest son of Gotham’s resident billionaire was  in the news frequently as he’d taken to hanging around a petite Asian-French girl who was rumored to be a famous designer from France. She was photographed numerous times on outings with Damian and both their dogs - who got  along even better than  their owners.

Due to her kind nature and enchanting  smile, she quickly gained the  nickname  ‘Sunshine of Gotham’ and the tag trended frequently  on Twitter.

During an interview with a fashion magazine, she was asked if she’d ever leave the city of crime, and the answer she’d given was proudly displayed in the Gotham Gazette the next day.

“The people of Gotham have heart and spunk which  can’t be matched - I was welcomed here after a difficult time in France, and I don’t see myself growing tired of being challenged and cared for in the way only Gotham can.”

*******************************************************************************************

[1] Almalak almuharib - ‘Warrior Angel’ in Arabic [2] Hda - ‘calm’ in arabic [3] Rahab - ‘greet’ in arabic

[discyours]

Thank you for your comment on the “fake bisexuals” post, those attitudes are exactly why I thought I was just an overzealous ally until I was 20 and learned FROM gender critical feminism, that if I have the capacity for sexual attraction to women, as a woman then I’m not straight. After an initial mental breakdown bc I couldn’t understand how I could have been so “wrong” about myself loudly proclaiming I was straight amongst my lgbt friends groups for two decades, once I recognized that truth, over the last few years I’ve undergone the natural process of upacking my internalized homophobia and misogyny which had been subconsciously hidden behind the thin veneer of the liberal feminism I had been so invested in. And gradually I began to see women more neutrally, then positively, THEN I was able to NOTICE my sexual and romantic feelings towards them. In hindsight I’ve had female crushes my whole life, but living in a homophobic society & family, on top of that attitude in the post being very prevalent, I had never even considered to think of them that way before. Like, one’s libido doesn’t dictate your innate sexual orientation! Different people experience attraction in different ways, the whole “If you don’t look at a woman and I want to eat her pussy then you’re not SSA” doesn’t even apply to all SSA women, or even to how I as a bisexual woman view men who I’m sexually attracted to, and on that post they were all but ignoring how bisexual women understandably have been impacted by the misogyny and homophobia that’s surrounded them all their life. I think more of us bi women never realize we’re not straight than straight women thinking they’re bisexual. Being bisexual doesn’t somehow automatically make us invulnerable to societal conditioning, and I think the fact that we also experience OSA can make unlearning that more is more “optional” for us *in a way* (ykwim?) because we have the option of dating the group we as women have been pressured to please our whole lives. Also, there are women who are 100% homosexual but did not realize until later in life. Sexual orientation is innate, but that doesn’t mean we all innately understand it right away or experience it in the same way. Honestly, I believe there must have been millions of bisexual people who have lived and died on this Earth never realizing they were bisexual. Anyway sorry this got so long but I just wanted to say thanks!! Bc I didn’t want to put myself out there publicly in disagreement w a topic I’m so emotionally sensitive about so I’m very glad you said something <3

It's a complicated issue tbh. Technically anyone who experiences any level of attraction to both sexes is bisexual, but I'm also heavily sympathetic to the idea that you shouldn't openly call yourself bisexual if your same sex attraction is so minor that you're functionally straight. it just feels alienating when you're very attracted to women and you meet a woman who insists on using the same label as you, but then goes on to say she's only ever dated men and is grossed out by the idea of actually sleeping with a woman. Both of those factors can be caused by internalised homophobia and it's 100% okay to struggle with that, but doing so to such an extent while still proudly calling yourself bisexual is gonna upset some people and I think that's fair.

I'd like more acknowledgement of how broad bisexuality is and how much societal conditioning can affect the way you interpret and express your attraction. I feel like the bi community has skipped straight past that step and just goes "oh you kind of like boobs but can only picture yourself ending up with a man? Welcome to the community, please know that you're no less "queer" than the rest of us and don't unpack anything whatsoever".