#there's so many times when it all fits together seamlessly

[mayhaps-a-blog]

Rereading Heir to the Empire (for... reasons), and this time I found the 20th Anniversary Edition as an ebook (my physical copy is in storage :( ). Which means commentary from Zahn, which is fun, but I also get to hear about all the bits that got run over by the prequels... and the bits that didn't, out of sheer dumb luck.

And honestly, some of it fits surprisingly well! I ran into the first Clone Wars quote, and not only did Zahn save himself a retcon by using "faced" instead of "fought" (he'd assumed, logically, that the clones were fighting the Republic), but the reputation for early clones to be mentally and emotionally unstable actually makes perfect sense - if you consider the effect of Order 66.

Consider: men like Pellaeon, who value order and discipline and loyalty about all else, watched the clones fight well and truly and all that. But by the end of the war, cracks are starting to show - one clone shoots their general in the back, another goes mad, it's revealed the Kaminoans needed chips to control things like "aggression", and barely a few months - weeks? - later, the clones turn on their commanders in a second and massacre them all.

And then after, some of them panic and claim that they didn't mean to, they were controlled, it was the chips that made them do it.

Even if it was under orders, troops that turn on their commanders in seconds would make any commander nervous. And the easiest way to excuse the claims about the chips would be to counter claim that those clones are just unstable, paranoid, their minds breaking down under poor cloning practices. Working out the kinks in earlier models, cutting corners in the later, you know how it goes, right?

Twenty, thirty years down the line, everyone remembers the clones as unstable, untrustworthy soldiers - not like the loyal, upstanding stormtroopers - and who's left to say differently?

[libraryofolive]

candy please!

featuring: Modern AU!Husband!Suguru Geto x fem!reader

genre: fluff, drabble

word count: 1.2k

synopsis: You and your husband decided to take your twin daughters trick or treating for the first time.

part two of spooky section, my 2024 Halloween event!

Nanako and Mimiko coming into yours and Suguru’s life truly was a blessing. The two young girls had fitted into your lives so seamlessly that sometimes you couldn’t even remember what life was like without them. So, when it came to their first Halloween with the two of you, you knew you had to make it special.

The idea for your family costume came quickly and easily, straight from the girls’ current favourite TV show. Suguru had taken some convincing - “but they’re dogs,” he had protested - but one pleading look from you and his daughters had any other objections dying in his throat.

The lead up to final day of October had been full of many other Halloween traditions: you had carved pumpkins (only slightly destroying your kitchen whilst doing so), taught the twins how to bob for Apples, and even taken the girls to a corn maze. But what everyone in your household seemed most excited for was the promise of free sweets in the form of trick-or-treating.

You and Suguru were stood in front of the girls, who were sat on your kitchen island, various different colours of face paint and cheap make up strewn all over it. The two of you had yet to do your own make up, deciding it would be easier to quickly do it yourselves whilst your little rascals got themselves into their outfits. Said rascals were giddy with glee, large close-lipped grins taking up most of their face as you painted Mimiko orange and Nanako was being painted blue by your husband.

“How much candy do you think you girls will be getting tonight?” You asked the two as you gathered more orange onto your sponge.

“Millions!” Nanako squealed in reply.

“Millions? You’ll still be eating it when you’re on old granny!” You joked.

“Yeah, you’ll still be eating it when you look like Uncle Satoru.” Suguru joined.

“Is Uncle Toru really an old granny?” Mimiko asked quietly.

“Mhmm - Nana, I need you to stay really still for this bit - yeah Mimi, Satoru is really old.” You looked over at Suguru to see his tongue peeking out of his lips slightly as he coloured in the tip of Nanako’s nose with a black pencil.

“How old is he?” The currently half-orange Mimiko asked.

“96.” You responded, a sly smile gracing your lips. You would be visiting your husband’s best friend later, and couldn’t wait to see what this conversation brought.

“Wow, that is old.”

“Oh yeah, you should ask him what life was like before cars.”

“He’s older than cars?” a gob-smacked Nanako gasped.

“Oh yeah.” Suguru agreed, “he’s like, super ancient.” There was a pause, “Right, you’re all done Nana, go get your costume on. Be careful of your make-up though!” He lifted the girl off the counter, and as soon as her feet were on the ground she was sprinting off to the costume neatly hung up in her room. Mimiko was soon following her, scurrying off to complete the transformation into her favourite cartoon animal.

You and your husband sat down at the counter, picking up hand mirrors and sponges to start your own make-up for the evening.

“I still can’t believe you talked me into this.” The man next to you sighed as he rubbed blue paint into his cheeks.

“As I recall, there was no talking needed. All we had to do was unleash the puppy-dog eyes.”

“Fitting, really.” You hummed, focusing more of your energy on perfecting the brown spot over one of your eyes. “You’ve really put a lot of effort into this.”

You sighed, “I mean, I just want them to have fun. And you know I’ve always loved Halloween.”

“The amount of costume parties you’ve dragged me to since before we were together speaks volumes in that regard.”

“Exactly. I just want them to love it as much as I always have.”

“Have you seen how excited they are for this? Honey, you go so above and beyond for our girls. They love you so much. And your enthusiasm has always been infectious.”

“What do you mean?”

“Babe, Halloween was always neither here nor there for me before we met. It was mostly just Satoru using it as an excuse to eat bucket-fulls of sweets and get himself shit-scared at some crappy horror movie. Then I met you, and all of a sudden I couldn’t imagine not dressing up, or going to a party, or even carving a pumpkin.”

“Don’t you dare make me cry my make-up off.” You threatened at his heartfelt words.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He stood up, officially finished with his make-up. “I’ll go see how the girls are doing.” He kissed the top of your head as he made his way out of the kitchen.

“And get your costume on! I want photos together before we head out!”

You pulled up to Gojo’s house, his being the test-run for the girls’ trick-or-treating. You had decided to trick-or-treat around his outrageously wealthy neighbourhood, and he had even offered for you all to stay at his home afterwards (although you and Suguru theorised it was an excuse to convince your daughters to share their stash of candy with him). You got the girls out of their booster seats and walked them to the front door, explaining what they should do.

“You shout ‘trick or treat!’, okay?” The girls looked at each other and nodded, before yelling it at the top of their lungs.

“No, sweethearts, you do it after he open the door, okay? How else will he know its you?” Suguru said through chuckles. He knocked on his best friend’s house, the door swinging open rapidly.

“Candy please!” The girls exclaimed, holding out their little pumpkin baskets to Gojo. You shook your head, half sighing-half laughing, whilst Suguru let out a roar of laughter. Nanako wandered straight past Gojo, as if to go and make herself at home, Mimiko trying to drag you with her as she followed her sister.

“You’re the family from Bluey!” Gojo said excitedly, looking at all of your costumes.

“No, Nana, Mimi you can’t just go into random stranger houses-” You rushed after your daughters, ignoring the white haired man completely.

“But he’s not a stranger, he’s Uncle Toru!” Nanako yelled from the sofa, where she had made herself comfortable.

“Yeah, but we’re going to lots of people’s houses tonight, and you can’t just walk in, okay?”

“Maybe we should try that again…” Suguru suggested from the doorstep, where he was still stood with his best friend.

“Good idea. Okay, girls, come with me.” They took your hands as you led them back outside, Gojo closing the door after you.

“Remember, you say trick or treat when he opens the door, okay?” Suguru said as he knocked on the door.

“Okay!” The two kids chorused. The door swung open once again to reveal Satoru Gojo.

“Is it true you’re older than cars?”

Like this? You can find my smaus here and my drabbles and other fiics here!

Do you have a request? You can find my rules for requesting here!

[ririsasy]

Show me another couple who hold hands as much as Alex and Henry do in a span on 2 hours movie run time because as far as I remember I think only this two who keep holding each other’s hands whenever they got the chance.

Hands are like the most significant way in Matthew’s story telling to show intimacy and the progress of these two men relationships. And I think it works so well to make the relationship feel so unbelievably organic and real.

The first holding hands as hostile relationships, it was harsh unfriendly, kinda bit of awkward formal hand holding.

Then we got the curiosity, the shy hopeful painful longing that’s also full of exploration and uncertainty kind of hand holding.

The full blown out passionate hand holding that make the statement of century.

The hand holding that could melt your heart because of how genuine and pure their love is for each other.

And then hand holding in the public eyes, the kind that they show to the world that they’re proud to be together and call themselves as an item.

There are so many other hand holding in this movie like each hand holding has a significant amount of screen time that I am still grateful for, I have discussed some in lengthy here and here as well about the significant of the hands in this movie. Even when Matthew want to show heartbreak he also presented it through the hands! Like the early relationship of Alex and Henry where Henry would reject Alex’s hand. It’s all so very deliberate to include hands as the most significant part of the storytelling.

I think it’s fair to also mention how whenever they hold hand they always intertwined their fingers together, their hands fit like puzzle pieces, they didn’t even need to look when they hold hands and yet their finger would interlock so seamlessly anyway like they have practiced this dance for century. For me Alex x Henry invented romance.

[atlasthegreatest]

A Hero's First Flight / BlackHill x Supergirl! Female Reader

During the Chitauri invasion, Y/n, a Kryptonian university student, reveals her powers to aid the Avengers but disappears before they can meet her. Years later, now known as Supergirl, she helps during the Winter Soldier crisis. After S.H.I.E.L.D.’s fall, Maria Hill and Natasha Romanoff track her down, and the three grow closer as they fight crime together.

Word count: 4259

A/n: This was requested by an anon. Enjoy it!

The day started like any other. Y/n was just a college student—Kryptonian heritage or not—trying to survive finals season. But when the sky over New York split open, and the Chitauri poured through the portal, all thoughts of exams vanished. It was the kind of disaster that demanded action. And for the first time, she couldn’t keep her powers a secret.

The chaos of the invasion was overwhelming. Buildings crumbled, civilians screamed, and the Avengers fought with everything they had—but they were outnumbered. Y/n made a split-second decision, shedding her normal life like a second skin.

With the wind in her hair and her heart hammering in her chest, Y/n soared into the fray. The makeshift costume—just her college sweatshirt and jeans—wasn’t exactly heroic, but she didn’t have time to care. Y/n hit the Chitauri like a meteor, fists glowing with heat vision as she tore through their ranks. Thor shot her a surprised look; Iron Man barely dodged her in mid-flight.

Natasha Romanoff and Maria Hill saw her too—briefly. Y/n locked eyes with them during a lull in the chaos. Natasha’s brow arched in curiosity, and Maria’s calculating gaze pinned her like a hawk sighting prey. But there was no time to talk. As quickly as Y/n had come, she vanished into the smoke and the sky.

Two Years Later – Washington D.C.

The years since the invasion hadn’t been easy, but they had shaped Y/n into a hero. Now, with a proper suit—a vibrant blend of red, blue, and gold—she was known to the world as Supergirl. She’d fought rogue metas, intercepted disasters, and even helped the Avengers once or twice. But today was different. Today was Hydra.

The helicarriers loomed above Washington D.C., ready to rain destruction upon countless innocent lives. And Y/n wasn’t about to let that happen.

While Captain America and his team fought on the ground, Y/n focused on the sky. Grabbing the first helicarrier by the underbelly, she carefully directed it toward the river. It took every ounce of control she had—raw strength tempered with precision—to land it safely without damaging the city below.

Y/n was guiding the third helicarrier down when she spotted them—Maria and Natasha—on a rooftop, both watching her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. Once again, their eyes met, and something flickered between them. Recognition. Curiosity. Maybe even relief. But just like before, there wasn’t time for words.

With the mission complete, and the helicarriers grounded without casualties, Y/n gave them a small nod before shooting into the sky, disappearing once more.

———————-

The fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. left a power vacuum in the world—and Maria Hill and Natasha Romanoff at a crossroads. They could’ve gone underground and vanished into the shadows like so many other agents. But instead, they tracked Y/n down.

When they showed up in Y/n’s city, it wasn’t with orders or missions—it was with the quiet promise of partnership. “We figured if you’re staying, we might as well help,” Maria had said with that calm, unflappable tone Y/n was beginning to associate with her.

Y/n wasn’t used to having partners—not in the long term, at least. But Maria and Natasha were patient. They followed her lead, slipping seamlessly into her routines as they patrolled the streets and dealt with smaller threats—smugglers, burglars, and the occasional rogue metahuman.

And somewhere between the fights and quiet nights, the three of them started to fit in.

It happened gradually, almost imperceptibly at first. The three of them began to sync—their movements on patrol flowing as if they’d trained together for years. Natasha’s dry humor kept the night light, and Maria’s steady presence grounded Y/n in ways she hadn���t realized she needed.

It was the little things that stuck with Y/n. The way Natasha’s hand would brush hers as they walked down dark streets. The way Maria’s shoulder would linger against hers when they stood side by side on rooftops.

And then, one night, things shifted.

They’d just taken down a group of smugglers, the adrenaline still thrumming in Y/n’s veins as she sat on the edge of a rooftop. Natasha leaned casually against her side, the warmth of her body seeping into her. Maria sat on Y/n’s other side, her hand resting on her thigh in a way that felt more like reassurance than necessity.

“You know,” Natasha murmured, her voice soft but amused, “you’re not half bad at this hero thing.”

Y/n huffed out a laugh. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Maria’s hand gave a gentle squeeze, her dark eyes warm with something Y/n couldn’t quite name. “It’s good to have someone to rely on.”

The unspoken truth settled between the three of you—none of you had to do this alone anymore.

The moment Y/n realized she was in too deep came on an unassuming night. Y/n was curled up on the couch with Maria and Natasha—Natasha sprawled lazily across her lap, Maria’s hand entwined with hers. The movie on the TV was little more than background noise, but none of them seemed to care.

It was peaceful. Warm. And for the first time in years, they felt… safe.

“I was wondering,” Natasha said lazily, tilting her head to look up at Y/n, “are you going to disappear on us again?”

Y/n smiled, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “No. I think I’m done running.”

Maria’s thumb traced idle circles over Y/n’s knuckles, a rare smile playing at the edges of her lips. “Good.”

Natasha smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Guess you’re stuck with us now.”

And in that quiet, intimate moment, with Maria and Natasha pressed close, Y/n knew without a doubt that she wouldn’t have it any other way.

———————-

Life as a hero wasn’t easy, and neither was love. But with Maria Hill and Natasha Romanoff by Y/n’s side, the impossible didn’t seem so daunting. Together, they fought crime, shared laughter, and found solace in each other’s arms.

And for the first time since the invasion of 2012, Y/n felt like she belonged.

She wasn’t just a hero. She wasn’t just Supergirl. She was theirs—and they were hers.

The adjustment to life with Maria and Natasha was seamless in some ways, and challenging in others. Y/n never had anyone to fall back on before, but now they were there—like a constant rhythm you could lean on. They fought crime together, shared meals, and unwound on late nights with lazy conversations and fleeting touches that lingered longer than necessary.

But letting people in was unfamiliar. Trusting them—trusting them—felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, hoping they’d catch her before she fell.

One evening after patrol, the three of them sat in Y/n’s tiny apartment, rain drumming against the windows. Natasha had commandeered the kitchen, assembling snacks with surprising skill, while Maria was at the table, cleaning her sidearm with meticulous precision.

Y/n hovered near the window, arms folded, eyes unfocused on the darkened street below. Something about the quiet felt heavier tonight—like the weight of the secrets she hadn’t yet shared.

Maria noticed first. She always did.

“You okay?” she asked softly, not looking up from her work.

Natasha glanced over her shoulder from the kitchen, her brow raising in subtle concern.

Y/n sighed, shifting her weight. “I’m just… not used to this.”

“To what?” Natasha asked, wiping her hands on a towel and moving to lean casually against the counter.

“This,” Y/n repeated, gesturing vaguely between the three of them. “Having people. Letting them close. It’s new.”

Maria set her gun down carefully, her gaze steady but not pressing. “We get that.”

Natasha crossed the room and stopped in front of Y/n, tilting her head slightly as if reading between the lines of everything Y/n hadn’t said. “We’re not going anywhere.”

The simplicity of the statement made Y/n’s chest ache. It was a promise, one that felt solid in a way few things ever had. Y/n gave them a small, hesitant smile. “Okay.”

And somehow, that one word carried more weight than any vow.

————————

Things shifted again during a mission a few weeks later—a coordinated takedown of an arms dealer operating out of the docks. The night was cold, the air sharp with the scent of salt and metal. Y/n and Natasha swept through the shadows while Maria directed from a nearby rooftop, her voice calm and clear over the comms.

The mission was routine—until it wasn’t. A group of mercenaries appeared, ambushing you from the side. Y/n moved faster than thought, intercepting a bullet aimed at Natasha’s back, the force of it barely registering against her skin.

Natasha turned just in time to see Y/n drop the gunman with a single, decisive punch. Her green eyes narrowed, sharp with something Y/n couldn’t quite place—something intense, almost dangerous.

“Thanks,” she muttered, but there was a flicker of frustration behind her gratitude.

Later, after the fight was over and the three of them were back at the apartment, Natasha cornered Y/n in the hallway. Her jaw was tight, her eyes stormy. “You didn’t need to take that risk.”

Y/n crossed your arms, meeting her gaze head-on. “I can handle a bullet, Natasha.”

“That’s not the point.”

Maria appeared in the doorway, her expression unreadable. “Nat…” she warned gently, but Natasha shook her head, unwilling to let it go.

“You scared me,” Natasha admitted, her voice quieter now, but no less fierce. “You can’t just throw yourself in harm’s way like that. Not for me.”

Y/n blinked, startled by the raw honesty in her words. “I’d do it again,” she said softly, and the truth of it settled heavily between you.

Maria’s gaze softened, and Natasha sighed, running a hand through her hair. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, but the fight had drained from her.

Y/n gave a small, crooked smile. “I learned from the bests.”

Natasha huffed out a reluctant laugh, and Maria stepped closer, threading her fingers through Y/n’s with quiet reassurance. At that moment, the tension dissolved, leaving only the steady beat of their shared connection.

————————

It happened on a quiet night, with no missions, no emergencies—just the three of them curled up on the couch. Y/n wore one of Maria’s sweatshirts, soft and oversized, and Natasha’s head rested in her lap, her hands idly playing with the hem of Y/n’s shirt.

Maria sat beside Y/n, legs tucked beneath her, reading a book she’d picked up from a local shop. The room was warm, lit only by the soft glow of a lamp, and for once, the world outside felt distant.

It was Natasha who broke the silence, her voice soft and teasing. “So… are we ever going to talk about this?”

Y/n blinked down at her, pretending not to understand. “Talk about what?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “This. Us. The fact that we’ve been dancing around it for weeks.”

Maria set her book down, glancing between Y/n and Natasha with a raised brow. “She’s not wrong.”

Heat crept into Y/n’s cheeks, but she didn’t pull away. “I thought we were doing okay without labels.”

“We are,” Maria said, her voice steady. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t want more.”

Y/n’s heart stuttered at the quiet honesty in her words. Natasha sat up, shifting so she was closer to her, her hand sliding along Y/n’s jaw in a way that sent sparks down her spine.

“We’re all in if you are,” she murmured, her green eyes searching Y/n’s. “No running. No hiding.”

For a moment, all Y/n could do was stare at them—two women who had slipped into her life with unexpected ease, who had seen her at her strongest and her most vulnerable, and stayed.

Then, with a breathless laugh, Y/n leaned in, pressing her lips to Natasha’s first—a kiss that was soft warm, and long overdue. She hummed in approval, her hands tangling in Y/n’s hair.

When Y/n pulled back, Maria was waiting, her gaze steady and unwavering. Y/n kissed her next, slow and deliberately, savoring the way Maria melted into her with a quiet sigh.

When Y/n finally pulled away, the three of them sat there in the warm, comfortable silence, tangled together in a way that felt permanent.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/n didn’t feel like she was flying alone.

The road ahead wouldn’t be easy. There would be more missions, more battles, and more moments of doubt. But Y/n knew now that whatever came next, she wouldn’t have to face it alone.

With Maria and Natasha by her side, the future felt less like a looming storm and more like a promise—a constellation of moments, each one brighter because Y/n had them with her.

And in that, Y/n found something she never expected: peace.

———————

It started with a text from Tony Stark. Y/n wasn’t entirely sure how he got her number (probably Natasha), but the message was clear:

Tony: You. Nat. Hill. Dinner at the Tower. No excuses. Bring a side dish.

Maria raised an eyebrow when Y/n showed her the message, and Natasha only smirked knowingly. “He’s persistent. It’s easier just to show up.”

And that’s how Y/n found herself standing at the entrance of the Avengers Tower with Maria on one side, Natasha on the other, and a homemade pie in her hands. Why a pie? Honestly, Y/n had no idea. Baking seemed safer than experimenting with a casserole that could get critiqued by Stark.

Natasha led the way inside, and it didn’t take long for Tony to appear, arms wide, wearing a smug grin. “Ah, the power couple. And our very own Girl of Steel. Welcome!”

“Technically, we’re a trio,” Maria said coolly, brushing past him without missing a beat.

Tony blinked, clearly caught off guard for half a second before a grin stretched across his face. “Well now. This just got more interesting.”

Natasha shot him a warning glance. “Don’t start.”

The common area was bustling. Steve Rogers stood by the counter, chatting with Sam Wilson and Bruce Banner, while Thor sampled everything on the snack table with enthusiasm. Clint Barton waved at Natasha from the couch, where he was lounging with an entire bowl of popcorn in his lap.

And then there was Y/n, standing slightly awkwardly with her pie as the most powerful people on Earth sized her up like a curious science experiment.

Thor was the first to approach, his booming laugh filling the room. “Ah, Supergirl! The woman of legend! I saw you lift a helicarrier—impressive indeed.” He clapped a heavy hand on Y/n’s shoulder.

Y/n gave him a small, awkward smile. “Thanks. It was… kind of easy.”

Sam chuckled from the counter. “You’re telling me she casually landed helicarriers and brought dessert? I like her already.”

Natasha rolled her eyes affectionately as she slipped an arm around Y/n’s waist. “Play nice, Wilson.”

“Relax, Romanoff,” Sam teased. “We’re just trying to figure out how you managed to land someone so far out of your league.”

Y/n snorted despite herself, and Maria gave Sam an approving nod. “I like him,” she said quietly to Natasha, who only smirked.

Steve stepped forward next, extending a hand to Y/n. “It’s good to finally meet you. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“From who?” Y/n asked, raising a curious brow.

Steve glanced toward Natasha with a knowing smile. “A little birdie.”

Natasha gave him a deadpan look. “You’re pushing it, Rogers.”

———————-

Dinner was as chaotic as Y/n expected. Tony and Sam took turns trying to outdo each other with snarky quips. Thor declared the mashed potatoes “worthy of Asgard” and challenged Y/n to an arm-wrestling contest that Maria promptly vetoed. Clint told a half-true story about Natasha’s time in Budapest, which she denied with an exaggerated groan.

Y/n found yourself relaxing into the banter, marveling at how easy it was to fall into step with this ragtag family. They had fought gods and monsters and saved the world more times than anyone could count, but here they were—bickering over side dishes and arguing about whose turn it was to do the dishes.

At one point, Tony raised a glass. “To our newest hero! Supergirl, savior of helicarriers, protector of pie.”

Everyone raised their drinks, and Y/n gave an embarrassed laugh. “I didn’t save that much pie,” she joked, nodding toward Thor, who was well into his third slice.

“It’s delicious!” Thor declared around a mouthful, giving Y/n an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

Maria leaned in close, her shoulder brushing Y/n’s. “See? You’re fitting right in.”

After dinner, things took a slightly more mischievous turn. Tony leaned back in his chair, swirling the last of his drink. “So… the three of you, huh?”

Natasha didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

“And we should probably not ask questions, right?” Sam chimed in, grinning.

Maria gave them both a look that could’ve frozen lava. “Smart men.”

Clint, however, was far less cautious. “Wait, so you’re telling me you, Nat, and Hill are—”

“Yes,” Natasha cut him off with a smirk, clearly enjoying the way Clint sputtered.

“Nice,” Clint muttered under his breath, looking mildly impressed.

Steve cleared his throat, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Let’s focus on what really matters—what’s the plan for the next big mission?”

Y/n shrugged, glancing between Maria and Natasha. “Honestly? I think we’ll keep doing what we’re doing. Small stuff, local work. Not everything has to be an alien invasion or an apocalyptic threat.”

Natasha nodded. “Sometimes the small things make the biggest difference.”

Maria gave a rare smile. “Besides, we’re exactly where we need to be.”

———————

As the night wound down, Y/n found herself on the Tower’s balcony with Natasha and Maria, gazing out at the glittering city below. The cool night breeze ruffled Y/n’s hair, and Natasha leaned against the railing, her hand brushing hers.

“Not bad, huh?” she murmured, a soft smile playing on her lips.

Y/n laughed lightly. “They’re not as scary as I thought they’d be.”

Maria chuckled. “Give them time.”

Natasha squeezed Y/n’s hand gently. “You held your own. They like you.”

Y/n glanced between them, feeling the quiet warmth settle in her chest. “And you two? Do you like me?”

Maria smirked, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of Y/n’s mouth. “We’ll let you know.”

Natasha laughed softly, wrapping an arm around Y/n’s waist. “You’re stuck with us now, Supergirl.”

And for the first time, surrounded by friends and the two women who had become Y/n’s whole world, she knew there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

Bonus Chapter:

The Avengers had a reputation for intense training sessions, and somehow Y/n’d been roped into one. It started with Clint taunting Natasha, which led to Maria getting involved, and now here they were—standing in the Avengers’ training facility with Thor, Steve, and Sam watching like kids in a candy store.

Natasha cracked her knuckles with a mischievous glint in her eye, and Maria stood beside her, arms folded, looking way too smug for Y/n’s liking.

“We’ve seen you take on alien armies,” Maria said with an edge of challenge. “But let’s see how you do with a little hand-to-hand combat.”

Y/n raised a brow, giving her a playful smirk. “You really think you two can take me down?”

“Oh, we don’t think,” Natasha said, rolling her shoulders. “We know.”

Natasha took point first, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. Even though you had Kryptonian abilities, Y/n knew better than to underestimate the Widow. She was lethal, and Y/n wasn’t about to get too cocky.

She moved fast—faster than most humans—but Y/n saw it coming. A jab to her ribs, a leg sweep, and a feint toward her face. Y/n dodged with minimal effort, twisting her body just enough to avoid each blow without having to go on the offensive.

“Not bad,” Natasha murmured as she circled her.

“Same to you,” Y/n replied with a grin. “You always this slow?”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, and the playful tension ratcheted up a notch. This time, she darted in close, attempting to trap Y/n’s wrist in an armlock. But Y/n was faster. Y/n caught her mid-movement, spun her gently but decisively, and pinned her against the padded wall.

Natasha’s breath came out in a soft huff, her lips inches from Y/n’s. “Show-off,” she muttered, though the ghost of a smile tugged at her mouth.

“Next?” Y/n asked, glancing toward Maria.

Maria stepped onto the mat, cool and collected as always. She gave Natasha a quick once-over as if mentally critiquing her performance, before turning her attention to Y/n.

“Don’t get cocky,” she said smoothly. “I know your moves now.”

Y/n smirked. “I know yours too.”

The two of them circled each other, tension thick in the air. Maria was more calculated than Natasha, each movement deliberate and precise. She didn’t waste energy on feints or flashy attacks—every punch and kick was perfectly timed.

But Y/n was Kryptonian. And though she tried to hold back, her reflexes were still leagues beyond human.

Maria lunged, aiming to catch Y/n’s off-balance, but Y/n shifted, spinning out of her reach and gently tapping her shoulder as she passed. “Missed me.”

Maria’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but before she could make another move, Thor’s booming laugh echoed from the sidelines.

“She fights like a Valkyrie!” Thor declared. “But with far more charm.”

Maria shot him a look that could’ve leveled a city block. “Stay out of this, Asgard.”

What happened next was entirely Clint’s fault. He leaned over to Steve, not bothering to lower his voice. “Ten bucks says Maria sweeps her legs in the next thirty seconds.”

“Deal,” Steve replied, shaking his hand with a grin.

Maria, overhearing this, muttered under her breath, “Idiots,” and lunged at Y/n again.

Y/n ducked—just barely—but in the process, Natasha decided to jump back in, catching her from the side. The three of them tumbled to the mat in a graceless heap. Natasha pinned Y/n’s legs, and Maria wrestled her arms into an awkward hold, but not before Y/n managed to twist and knock Natasha flat on her back.

“Really?” Natasha groaned from beneath Y/n, shooting Maria an exasperated glance.

“I thought you had her,” Maria replied dryly, still trying to maintain her grip on Y/n’s wrist.

From the sidelines, Tony’s voice echoed across the room. “This is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. Someone better be recording this.”

Sam leaned over and whispered to Clint, “I’m not even sure who’s winning anymore.”

Thor beamed. “Everyone is winning! This is glorious!”

After a few more moments of struggling, Y/n finally collapsed onto the mat in a fit of laughter, dragging both Maria and Natasha with her. They groaned dramatically, limbs tangled with her, but there was no real frustration—just the warmth of shared amusement.

“I think I win,” Y/n said breathlessly, grinning up at the ceiling.

Natasha propped herself up on one elbow, shaking her head with a playful smile. “You’re insufferable.”

Maria smirked, brushing a loose strand of hair from Y/n’s face. “We’ll call it a draw.”

Y/n chuckled, her heart light with affection for both of them. “Fine. But only because I like you two.”

Natasha leaned in closer, her breath warm against Y/n’s ear. “Careful, Supergirl. We might make this a regular thing.”

———————

Eventually, the three of them untangled themselves and got to their feet, still laughing. Maria dusted off her pants, and Natasha stretched, rolling her neck.

As they made their way off the mat, Clint clapped his hands together. “Well, that was amazing. I’d pay good money to watch that again.”

Steve chuckled. “Careful what you wish for, Barton.”

Tony sauntered over, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. “So, when do we get a rematch? I think I could take you.”

Y/n arched a brow, crossing her arms. “You? Against me?”

“Hey, I’ve got armor. It evens the odds.”

Natasha smirked. “No, it doesn’t.”

Maria shot Tony a dry look. “Please don’t embarrass yourself, Stark.”

Tony feigned offense, but the twinkle in his eye gave him away. “Fine. But next time, I want popcorn. And someone better get it on camera.”

Later that night, the three of them sat on the Tower’s balcony, sharing a bottle of wine that Natasha had pilfered from Tony’s stash. The city sparkled beneath them, and the cool night air wrapped around them like a comforting blanket.

Maria leaned against Y/n, her head resting on her shoulder, while Natasha sprawled lazily beside Y/n, her hand tracing idle patterns on her thigh.

“You’re getting good at this,” Natasha murmured, her voice soft and content.

“At what?” Y/n asked, smiling.

“This.” Maria gestured lazily to the world around them. “Letting us in.”

Y/n chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s not so bad.”

Natasha hummed in agreement, her eyes half-closed. “Told you. You’re stuck with us now.”

And as the three of them sat together, watching the stars flicker above the skyline, Y/n knew she was right. She’d found her place—her people—and there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

[rosellacwrites]

if you want to call me baby (just go ahead now)

summary: As it turns out, the language of love is — all of them.

pairings: Steven Grant x GN!Reader

rating: general audiences

warnings: weapons grade fluff, established relationship, pet names (so many)

word count: 577

author’s note: Written for the Moon Knight Spring Bingo @moonknight-events — this is entry #4 for “Ritual.” Happy reading! ❤️

dividers by @firefly-graphics

It had started, as do so many things between you, in bed.

“G’night, my dear,” Steven had murmured to you, pulling your back snug against his chest and burrowing his face into your neck, but you’d started to giggle.

“‘My dear?’ What are you, eighty?” you’d laughed.

“What’s wrong with that? You’re very dear to me,” he’d protested.

“And you are to me, too. You know that.” You’d twisted around, craning your neck for a kiss. “It just struck me as funny — you have to admit it has pensioner vibes.”

He’d huffed and kissed you back, and as you’d drifted into sleep you’d heard him say something along the lines of just going to have to find something tomorrow you like better, then.

You’d forgotten about it until the next evening, when he’d dropped a kiss on top of your head on the way to the kitchen and said “Do you want some popcorn, habibi?” When you’d looked up at him quizzically, he was grinning. “‘My love,’” he’d translated. “Arabic. No ‘pensioner vibes’ there, yeah?”

You’d grinned at him and said you supposed not, and the next morning you’d handed him a cup of tea and called him petit chou, and belatedly remembered that he spoke French well enough to know you’d just called him a little cabbage.

And from that point, it was on. You racked your brains for long-forgotten vocabulary words and pored over language dictionaries online, the authorized and unauthorized alike. After that first one, he refused to translate for you anymore: “go on, I want to see if you can find out for yourself,” he’d said. Most of them weren’t so hard, but he’d stumped you with nedjem, which turned out to be Ancient Egyptian (because of course it did) for sweetie.

In revenge, you’d resorted to something he couldn’t possibly spell just from hearing it. “Oh, that’s not playing fair!” he’d protested, and you were weak enough to give him a hint. Knowing where to start, and using his best attempts at phonetic spelling, he got there in the end, all the way to a chuisle mo chroí, Irish for pulse of my heart.

It became your ritual, each new name another star in your shared sky. Persian kharâbetam, I’m ruined for you, taking its place next to Brazilian Portuguese chuchuzinho, little squash, and Ojibwemowin niinimoshenh, sweetheart. You start secretly keeping a list so you don’t repeat yourself, filled with German and Russian and Igbo, liebling, solnyshko, obi’m, but your favorite so far is the Spanish media naranja, because it makes you think of you and Steven curled up together in bed, fitting into each other seamlessly like two halves of the same orange.

Some silly, some sweet, some passionate: you find yourself humbled before the infinite possibilities, marveling at just how many ways there are in the universe to tell someone that you love them.

One evening he comes up behind you while you’re making dinner, and wraps an arm around your waist, kissing you just behind your ear. He whispers your name, and something else, besides.

“Veux-tu m’épouser?”

It doesn’t sound like a pet name, with the soft, nearly tentative way he says it; it sounds like a question. Like an important question — the kind of question you’ll see written in tremulous hope all over his face and cupped gently in his other hand when you turn around to tell him in plain English yes, absolutely, a thousand times yes.

@juneknight @spacecowboyhotch (mod tags)

(pssst today’s my birthday so I wanted to post a little supremely self-indulgent fluff)

Title from here, of course. I’m gonna make y’all listen to my old lady music if it kills me.

[connorsui]

"In Every Thought, You’re There"

Hajime Umemiya x reader

Synopsis: Hajime Umemiya struggles to express the depths of his love for you, finding solace in quiet moments under the stars as he yearns for the courage to confess.

Genre/ warnings: Romance, Slow Burn, Fluff, Pining, Emotional Intimacy, Mutual Longing, Slice of Life, Domestic Vibes, Tender Moments, Unspoken Feelings, no warnings tho …ume ain't a heart breaker ..

Note: I always wanted a soft boy like ume to confess to me …like instead of teddy bears and store bought flowers, this man would grow that flower instead to show dedication 🍒

w.c: 1.8K

Hajime Umemiya, the embodiment of unrelenting force, was known for his quiet determination and fierce resolve. In the heat of fights, with adrenaline coursing through his veins and his blue eyes blazing with intensity, he was untouchable. Every punch, every strategic move, had a purpose. Yet, beneath that exterior of control and power, there was a different kind of vulnerability that came alive only when it came to you.

As the final blow landed, securing his victory, the rush of the fight still pulsing through him, his thoughts—inevitably, irresistibly—turned to you. The cheers of the crowd, the adrenaline that made his heart race, all of it was hollow until he saw you. His triumph, no matter how hard-fought, wasn’t truly real until he spotted you in the aftermath, your smile like a beacon that softened the edges of the fight. The bruises and exhaustion faded in your presence, the grin that tugged at his lips incomplete until you returned it with one of your own—a smile that made his heart stutter in a way no battle could ever manage.

And when the fights didn’t go his way—when the world felt heavier, the pressure of expectations became suffocating—it was your presence he sought. A rough day out in the streets or a sleepless night spent replaying the fight over and over in his mind would lead to a simple message: “You awake?” The words were plain, unassuming, but beneath them was a desperate hope for the comfort only you could provide.

Your replies,

no matter how mundane, always seemed to calm the tempest within him, and he found his mind quieting just at the thought of you.

In those moments when you were with his friends, laughing and fitting in so seamlessly with the people he called family, Hajime would catch himself watching you more than anyone else. There was a glow in your laughter, a kind of joy that struck him harder than any opponent’s punch ever could. From across the room, he’d pretend to focus on something else—his plants, his cooking, anything to distract himself from the urge to close the distance between you. But his heart betrayed him, his chest tightening with each moment you smiled or glanced his way. If you only knew how many times he’d almost crossed that line, almost let his guard down enough to tell you the truth.

But instead, he stayed silent, fumbling with excuses or averting his gaze when your eyes met his. It was maddening. For a man so accustomed to strength, so sure of himself in front of his formed “family”, this weakness—this inability to say what was lodged deep within his heart—felt foreign, terrifying even.

And then there were those nights, those sacred moments under the stars on the rooftop. The air was calm, the sky stretching endlessly above, and beside him, the sunflower you’d grown together blooming quietly in the corner. Each snapshot he sent you was a fragment of himself, a part of his heart conveyed through something as simple as a growing flower.

“It’s blooming more,”

he’d text, hoping each time you’d come sit with him under that open sky.

Lately, his thoughts about the future always included you. When he talked with his friends about life or what his next move would be, your name would slip into the conversation so naturally it felt inevitable.

“ — Do you think she will like a garden in the back or the front of the house?”

“— I wonder if she would like to plant another set of tomatoes with me again”

“ — She will like this tulip as a gift, right? ...I mean! Besides the sunflower, right?.....Sakura! What do you think?”

he’d muse, imagining it already—having a life so perfect with you by his side as though it was the only way anything would truly matter. And his friends, ever perceptive, would groan, knowing what even he couldn’t quite bring himself to say aloud.

Everyone could see it, except for you.

“Why doesn't he just ask her out already?”

“I've been questioning that too”

“Does she already know?”

“Nah she's as probably waiting for him to say something”

“Hey, Ume, if you don't ask her out, I will!”

But in the quiet, after the fights and the plans and the teasing, when the world finally slowed, he knew that one day he’d tell you. One day, when the right moment came, when the words no longer seemed like a fight he couldn’t win, he’d let you know what you had been to him all along. Until then, he would let the quiet moments and unspoken feelings say what his voice still couldn’t. Because you—just like every victory, every fight—were worth waiting for.

Though, the confession almost happened one evening, after a ride that felt like freedom itself—gliding along the coastline, the wind in your hair, laughter floating effortlessly through the air. As the day bowed out, the sky turned soft, all hues of peach and lavender, like the world was exhaling after a perfect day. You stood there, by the sea, framed by the horizon, and it struck him all over again: just how impossible it was not to love you.

You always had a way of looking at the world that left him speechless, as if the very act of seeing was somehow more profound when you did it. The way your eyes lingered on the waves, how your lips curved just faintly into that peaceful, distant smile—it was as though you belonged to the sunset, as though you were woven from the same golden thread that unraveled across the sky. He couldn't remember a time when looking at you didn’t make his chest tighten with a familiar ache, like the air had turned too thin for him to breathe. But this time… this time it felt different.

He’d watched you the entire ride, trying to swallow down the way his heart surged whenever you flashed a grin over your shoulder at him. It felt like trying to hold back a storm. You made him feel reckless, alive in a way that had nothing to do with speed or competition, and everything to do with the way your laughter wove itself into the air around him. With every passing moment, his carefully guarded composure chipped away, until he felt exposed in the softest, most terrifying way. His friends had teased him relentlessly about you, nudging him toward what everyone else had already seen. But tonight, he thought—no, he knew—it was time.

He walked toward you, his steps slow, like each one carried a gravity that pulled him closer to something he couldn’t walk away from. His hands, always so steady, felt oddly uncertain as they hung at his sides. Hajime wasn’t afraid of much—he was confident, even reckless at times—but when it came to you, the stakes always felt so much higher.

You turned at the sound of his approach, and when your eyes met his, he felt that familiar tug in his chest, the one that made him wonder if you had any idea what you did to him.

“It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?” you said softly, your voice a delicate thread against the hum of the sea.

“Yeah…,” he answered, though he wasn’t looking at the sunset, not really. His gaze was anchored on you, as it always was, and the beauty of the moment paled in comparison. The word ‘beautiful’ felt inadequate when it came to you, but it was all he had, so he let it settle between you, hoping you wouldn’t notice the weight behind it.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world around you was quiet, save for the rhythm of the waves, and he thought that maybe this was what peace felt like—this soft, quiet knowing that in a world full of noise, you were his only constant. He wanted to tell you then, to lay his heart bare and let you see just how tightly it beat for you. But the words—like so many times before—stayed tangled in his throat, held back by the fear that they might not be enough.

Instead, he fumbled for his phone, his fingers clumsy as he pulled up the latest picture of the sunflower you both had grown. "I wanted to share this with you ...its blooming more,” he said, his voice softer than usual, as if speaking too loudly would break the spell of the moment.

You laughed, that same lilting sound that always made him feel like he could conquer the world. “It's stunning, Ume! — I didn't think you would cherish it for so long?” you teased, but your smile held something warmer, something deeper.

He rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling, though the nerves still coiled tight in his chest. “How couldn't I?, it's a part of you, isn't it?” he confessed, the words slipping out before he could stop them. It wasn’t the confession he meant to give, but it was a piece of it—his way of saying that you were the root of everything good in his life, even if he wasn’t brave enough to admit it yet.

The two of you stood there, wrapped in the golden glow of the fading sun, and though the air had cooled, there was a warmth between you that neither of you acknowledged. He wanted to say it ...to tell you how his future felt incomplete without you in it, how every thought he had these days revolved around you like you were his North Star. But the words, still clumsy and unpolished, stayed lodged in his throat.

Instead, Hajime just stood there, his gaze steady on you, his heart heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. The way he looked at you—like you, were the very axis around which his world spun—was louder than any words he could have spoken. Because in that moment, in the soft, dying light of the day, you were everything to him. And that, he promised himself, was a truth he would say aloud one day. When the time was right. When his words could match the depth of what he felt for you.

But for now, he’d keep sharing those quiet moments, sending you photos of blooming tomato plants and planning trips that always had you at the center of them. Because, like love itself, sometimes the things left unsaid were the most profound.

Ugh, someone gimmie a Hajime

[writingwithfolklore]

How to Translate Feedback

              Beta readers are awesome because they see the work strictly from a reader’s perspective. However, this also means that their notes sometimes require a little interpreting to understand how it impacts the craft—translating, one could say.

Every interpretation of a piece is valuable, and often what your readers assume about things, what questions they have, and what they guess comes next is very telling for the messages your piece is delivering and how effective your lines are working together. Let’s get into some common comments you might receive:

“I was confused about this line…”

              Even if the line is explained in the next paragraph, or even the next sentence, don’t disregard this feedback. A confusing line is going to stop up readers, interrupting their mental image of the scene and sometimes concentration on the story. Confusion around a line tends to mean there isn’t enough context to make it feel seamless, or like it fits where it is. You shouldn’t have to be playing catch up with your descriptions.

              Take for example a story I wrote when I was in fourth grade (yes, literally):

Tracy took off her coat as she entered her cabin. She crept across the floor very silently. If she was too loud, she’d wake the howler monkeys and never be able to get to sleep!

              Notice how there’s no context provided for why she’s trying to be quiet, so you kind of get caught up on that line. I would fix it like this:

              Tracy took off her coat as she entered her cabin, eyeing the sleeping monkeys out of her window cautiously. She crept across the floor… etc.

              Now we have context, it reads a lot more seamlessly.

(If they guess something is coming that isn’t)

              This one hurts because I hate feeling like I’m letting down my readers, and an excited “ooh is this foreshadowing??” for something that definitely isn’t coming back up again feels like exactly that. Usually, when a reader guesses at a plot point or character detail that isn’t true or isn’t going to come back up again, it means you drew too much attention to it, making it seem more important than it is.

              I tend to take out the description of the thing, or adjust it so it points less heavily towards one thing and points more towards another. While yes, readers can make incorrect guesses all the time, it’s important to pay attention to where their expectations are being raised—both in the correct places and incorrect ones. Too many disappointments, and your story may leave a sour aftertaste.

“This feels out of character/I don’t understand the motivation”

              When writers get this note, they tend to want to add a paragraph explaining from the character’s POV why they’re doing what they’re doing. Unfortunately, all the explanation in the world isn’t going to fix something that feels out of character or out of the norm. This might mean that you’re trying to force a scene or plot point that doesn’t fit, or that the circumstances aren’t extreme enough to justify your character acting out of sorts.

              Try ramping up the stakes or intensity if a character has to make a tough decision that might seem unlike them—usually a time limit or ticking clock helps here. If you’re only using internal motivation, try adding an external force pushing them towards action (or vice versa).

              If all else fails, consider how you can progress the plot in a different way that’s more in-character.

Shoot me some more common notes you get and maybe we'll do a part 2 :-)

[daphnethebanjolover]

Thoughts on IF

Also known as "Ryan Reynolds Looking Hella Fine for 1 hour 44 minutes Straight"

You gotta watch this movie. Don't ask why. Just do it.

I've always wanted to know what Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends would look like in a live-action setting, and if John Krasinski has to be the one to bring that to life, then so be it.

I will admit, I was confused at the beginning as to why Bea was at the hospital when the mom was already dead.

Before I say anything else, the soundtrack. This is why music is in movies. The music always seemed to fit both the specific scene and the whimsical mood of the film as a whole.

Also, the CGI. All of the IFs fit seamlessly into the live-action scenery without being excessively photorealistic. I mean, there's one scene where Bea walks past Blue, and he casts a shadow on her. How do they do that?

Speaking of Blue, 10/10 casting. Steve Carell has the exact type of energy needed for Blue.

John Krasinski had to have heard of Foster's. I mean, come on. There's literally a character named Blue.

Blue: I'm Blue. Me: You're purple. Bea: You're purple. Me: (hits arm on armrest from laughing too hard)

We wear suspenders in this house.

The surprise I felt when I heard Steve Carell's voice coming out of that guy was exactly the same as when I realized Billy Crystal voiced Calcifer in Howl's Moving Castle.

I like that lil' freak who looks like the Faker from Jackbox, but he's gotta stop climbing onto people.

Also, that art mannequin guy looks kinda sexy. Is that just me?

That ghost guy just spent the whole time vibin'.

The Better Be Good to Me dance number has me convinced that this would make waves on Broadway. We just need the budget for Bea to re-imagine the house.

The underwater scene after Cal gets pushed in the pool was sick. This must be why people like that one Nirvana album cover.

I had a feeling that Blossom used to be Grandma's IF just from looking at Grandma's tutu in the picture. I didn't even notice her in the background.

The scene where Bea is by her dad's bed while he's sleeping makes me think this is the type of movie that would make my mom cry.

I know that the "picture was folded the whole time" trope has been done before, but that twist actually got me while also putting together so many pieces at the same time.

Seeing Ryan Reynolds in that dorky-ass clown outfit was simultaneously the most beautiful and the most hilarious moment in the entire movie.

Overall, 9/10. That 48 on Metacritic is wack.

[cherrychilli]

MDNI, NSFW, AFAB reader, Steve x Shy reader, inexperienced reader, oral sex(F), light pussy spanking, lil bit fluffy? just a smidge

Very much into the idea of Steve discovering his shy girlfriend's collection of steamy romance novels. I had to add a few lines from the first steamy book I ever read when I realized it was released in the 80's. For funsies and just because it happened to fit well in this little nugget of smut hehe.

On the outside they look just like any other cheesy novel, nothing on the covers that suggested otherwise. Completely ordinary looking with softly colored pictures of sun swept countryside's, flowery English gardens and misty meadows. Steve had never wondered about them, having seen them lined neatly on your shelf for as long as the two of you have been together. Even today, they still hadn't piqued his interest but you were yet to finish your shower and he had grown bored of waiting. He isn't selective when he pulls the nearest book out of its place, not very thick and small in his larger hands. The Bride, he mouths the title, looking and feeling unimpressed. He doesn't bother reading the back, choosing to settle at the foot of your bed and flip through it lazily. He lands on pages at random, face scrunching up at the mentions of highlands and lords and arranged marriages. Not his preferred reading material, he confirmed. He skips further ahead, not giving too much attention to the words until...

She tried to cover her breasts by bringing her knees up and leaning forward. "I don't have any clothes on" she informed him.

Steve paused. He goes back and reads it again, this time more carefully. He then wedged a finger between the pages to keep track of his place, quickly turning the book over to glance at the cover again to see if he'd misremembered it somehow within the last five minutes. It's the same as earlier, completely unchanged from his memory. Sprawling green hills, grazing horses and what looked to be a castle in the distance is all that's pictured. Not the kind of book he'd expected to find mentions of nude women being intruded on. "It can't be", he doubts still, flipping the book back open and reading ahead to see if he was really seeing what he thought he was.

Before she could even think to ask him what in heaven's name he was doing, he had her flat on the bed. She didn't have time to blush...

His brows raise slowly, interest very much piqued now. "Oh Princess", he lets out in a low chuckle, lips stretching into grin.

"Sorry to keep you waiting", you stepped out of the bathroom, smelling of peach scented body wash and dressed in your cotton shorts and pajama top. "What do you want to watch tonight?", you asked the boy who was yet to acknowledge you, only mildly curious to see Steve intently paging through one of your books because you couldn't see the cover with the way it was angled towards his lap.

"How about we read instead?" he lifts up the book to reveal the title to you, his lips pulled into the most smug looking smirk you thought possible.

Your body blazes when realization sinks in, eyes going wide with horror. You never thought to hide any of your raunchy books before. You didn't have all that many to begin with and they blended in seamlessly with the rest with their inconspicuous covers. You didn't see the point of tucking them away, letting them sit on your shelf in plain sight. You realize now that may have been a mistake.

"Sweetheart, you had me all fooled", Steve stared you down, looking so very amused. "Made me think you were some innocent little church mouse and here you are reading about...", he looks down at the book again, reading the first line he sees out loud with the widest grin, "her lips so soft, so pliant and when his tongue finally sank deep inside her warm mouth..."

You release a high pitched squeal, running to him to try and snatch the book away before he can read any more. "Steve no!, put that away!", you yelp helplessly but he holds it above his head and out of your reach with ease, craning his neck to read off another sentence with exaggerated glee, entirely too pleased with the circumstances, "I want to touch you the the way you touch me, please? your body belongs to me as much as my body belongs to you doesn't it?"

"Steeeeve!", you pound your fists on his broad chest, feeling a hundred degrees warmer.

He's laughing still but he takes pity on you then, handing you the book as you take it and clutch it to your chest.

"Baby baby, relax ok?", he places a hand on your shoulder reassuringly, laughter ceasing when he notices the troubled look on your face. "It's no big deal, there's nothing wrong with reading about that stuff, you know that right?". You knew it. Of course you knew it, even if your body betrayed you with a tumbling sense of embarrassment that you had found impossible to shake all your life. You answer with a little sniffle, peering up at him through your lashes. "In fact I'm glad you've opened up to it in a way you're comfortable with. I know when we...try things you're a little reserved", he offered gently.

Your face drops then, worry bubbling inside your belly because the last thing you wanted was for Steve to think that you didn't enjoy yourself with him. "It's not because I don't like it! I do! I really like it when you touch me, Steve!" you jump to reassure him only to reflexively shield your burning face with your hands when you realize how forward your little outburst made you sound. You hear him chuckle in that familiar way that he always did when you worked yourself up, feeling him tug lightly at your hands to pry them away from your face. "That's good because I really like touching you", he lets you know with a tender smile and a quick wink.

You relax a little again, looking at him apologetically, trying to explain. "It's just- I feel.."

"Shy" he finished for you. "I know, baby. I think it's cute", he rubs a thumb over your cheek gently. "And I'm sorry for teasing you", dipping down to place a kiss on your cheek in apology.

You smile for the first time since your stomach flipped at the sight of your not so secret book in Steve's hands. "It's ok", you accept. "I just wish I could be more...you know, assertive? And more vocal about what I like".

He looks down at you thoughtfully, mind working until his eyes light up. "Tell you what. You up for some fun?", he cocks an eyebrow up at you suggestively. "Because your book's given me an idea and I think I could help break you out of your shell a little"

You're more than a little intrigued to find out just what he's come up with. "How?"

"Again", he instructs sternly from between your legs and your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper when his sticky palm connects with your bare cunt again. It's never too hard but it's enough to make you jolt and whine when your swollen clit starts to throb again. "I'm sorry, Stevie", you let out in a shaky voice, breath noticeably shallow. "Go on" he prompts, tracing a finger along your folds. You open your eyes and try to focus on the page, looking for the sentence you stuttered through and struggled to finish. You'd been doing this for close to an hour now, playing the little game he had concocted for you. The rules were straightforward - you needed to read out the sex scenes clearly. No hesitation, no stuttering, no skipping, no mumbling and if you did it properly, he'd eat you out while you read. But if you messed up, he'd have to punish you, spanking you between your legs. You'd messed up a couple of times now, enduring several slaps on your soaked pussy but did notice your inhibitions starting to melt away, even if much of them still remained. Just means you have to keep practicing, right?

Taking in a deep breath, you started reading, keen to have Steve's mouth on you again. "He forced her fingers around his shaft, then thrust his fingers inside her again to rid her of her fear...", your voice starts to tremble as you read on, barely resisting the urge to moan when you feel him lap at your puffy folds again, all sensitive from his skillful tongue and forceful palm. He made it harder for you when he groaned against cunt, teasing your hole, sucking on your clit and flicking it with his tongue but you don't want the feeling to end, gripping the book tight as you continued "she welcomed the rush of blazing ecstasy consuming her..."

[husbandomail]

It's been getting super cold and windy here lately. Can I request cuddling headcanons for Mirio and Deku please?

Izuku:

While he tries to be polite about it, Izuku is physically affectionate to the core. Even before the two of you were dating, he’d find himself brushing his fingers against yours for reassurance, hesitant to take it too far but desperate to be near you. So now that he’s finally allowed to hold you, well— he can’t keep his hands off.

“It’s cold,” Izuku mumbled, and at first he wasn’t sure you heard him; his eyes were always trained on you, so of course he noticed the complete lack of reaction to his faux smalltalk. Your eyes didn’t stray from your laptop. He tried again. “You’d think they could turn up the heat in the dorms, right?” A nervous laugh.

He wasn’t sure why he’d gotten nervous— the two of you were close enough that he was hanging out in your dorm room anyways. Izuku was perched next to you on the couch as you finalized an essay; well, if ‘next to you’ meant ‘on the other end of the couch.’ It just happened to be a small couch. He could hear the quiet music pumping through your headphones that rested around your neck, long abandoned so you could seamlessly ask for his advice; he could feel your warmth, just a few inches away. And you’re busy.

“—hey, gimme your opinion on this one.” Izuku jolted when you shifted to lean against him; you just casually nestled right into his arm. You tilted your laptop so he could skim the screen, but Izuku, obviously, wasn’t thinking about your essay— his mind kicked into overdrive, assessing every tiny detail of the situation. Okay, okay, no need to overthink— just trust himself. Before he could convince himself otherwise, Izuku pulled the oldest trick in the book, faking a yawn to stretch his arm over your shoulder. Cringe as hell, but typical, and at least he’s cute about it.

Mirio:

You may have noticed, but Mirio is big. He’s also boisterous and doesn’t always think about the small things— from the moment you two became friends, he was slipping his hand into yours to tug you along somewhere, or tossing his arm over your shoulder to laugh loudly together. Because of that, the lines between you blur incredibly easily; dating? Just friends? Who cares, you fit well together.

“Are you ready?” Mirio’s voice boomed loudly from the other room. You knew he was always eager; no matter how much time the two of you spent together, it was never enough for him. A shame he couldn’t just carry you around in his pocket all day. “The commercials are almost over!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” As soon as the microwave beeped, you snatched the bag of popcorn by the corner; of course, it was scalding, so you let out a string of hisses as you darted back to the living room. Your boyfriend is right where you’d left him— his broad form stretched out across the entire couch, his feet hanging off the edge, all bundled up in every throw blanket you owned.

Mirio’s hero reflexes were never dormant; you tossed him the bag of popcorn and he caught it without looking, only to immediately drop it onto his lap. “That’s hot!” Despite his complaint, he tore the bag open as you climbed into his lap, holding it where you could both graze. Just in time, too— your movie flickered back on as you took your seat. One of Mirio’s arms snaked around your waist to keep you close, his chin nestled on your shoulder. He’s warm— he’s always warm, and the blankets are soft, and you’ve seen this show before. No matter how many times the two of you curled up together, you could never get enough.

[keehomania]

hiiya! can i please please ask for something, ANYTHING about hendery? i kinda want to see him subby, but it’s more like him being whipped but then he takes the lead. do whatever you want with this

SWITCH-UP — WONG KUNHANG (黄冠亨) (18+)

✧°, MDNI

field trips were often the same, no matter the school. Herding into buses with chatter buzzing, students bemoaning the long ride or rolling their eyes at the thought of a mundane museum tour. a typical day out of the classroom, yet not much different from sitting at a desk. teachers barely holding the reins, students sneaking off for a smoke or gossip in secluded corners. for most, it was a rare break from monotony. these excursions usually ceased after the third year of high school, as if to mark a rite of passage into adulthood, where such frivolities no longer held space. but your university—oh, it was different.

here, nothing followed tradition, least of all the idea that field trips were for the young and naive. your university wasn’t bound by convention, and why would it be? prestige and wealth had a way of bending the rules. field trips continued well into your final years, an indulgence rather than an obligation, a reflection of the privilege sewn into the very fabric of your life. you didn’t mind. in fact, you’d grown to love it, this life shaped by the whims of the rich.

money came easy, after all. so did publicity and popularity, two byproducts of your academic brilliance and sharp athleticism. it all fit together like a carefully crafted puzzle, each piece adding another layer to your identity. it was a package deal—the intelligence, the skill. you had learned to navigate it seamlessly, embracing the unspoken power it gave you. you knew exactly who you were and how to wield that knowledge to your advantage.

your only flaw, some would say, was that you were a bitch. you weren’t ashamed of it. why should you be? the world you lived in didn’t reward kindness; it rewarded control. and you had control in spades. no one had their way with you—no one ever would. you were sharp, unyielding, and yes, at times cruel. it wasn’t something you denied, not even to yourself. the whispers in the hallways, the glances exchanged in the bathroom as girls fixed their lipstick in the mirror—it was all the same. they called you a bitch, and you owned it. better to be feared than forgotten.

the only person who didn’t seem to see you through that lens was kunhang. where others whispered behind your back or trembled in your presence, he adored you. bright and bubbly, he was the rare exception, the one who refused to believe you were anything but assertive. he defended you relentlessly, as if worshipping your very existence. he was infatuated, and it showed in every wide-eyed gaze, every laugh that burst from his lips when you were near.

you had thought it was natural for a boyfriend to be protective, to spin the narrative in your favor, but kunhang wasn’t faking it. he looked at you as though you hung the moon, as though every sharp word and cool glance only added to the mystique that made you irresistible. whipped didn’t even begin to cover it. he was enamored, and while you didn’t let many get close, he had earned his place. perhaps it was his earnestness, or maybe the way he never flinched in the face of your cutting remarks. he didn’t just accept you as you were; he adored you for it.

you allowed yourself to be softer around him, just a little. when his hand found yours, you didn’t pull away. at first, the gesture had felt awkward—foreign even—but over time, you grew to hold it with pride. kunhang, ever affectionate, was quick to pull you in for a kiss or wrap you in a hug, and while you rarely initiated, you never denied him. his adoration was intoxicating in its simplicity, and in those moments, you almost forgot the weight of your reputation. you almost forgot that in the eyes of everyone else, you were untouchable, untamable—a bitch with no patience for weakness. but with him, you let yourself lean into something softer, even if just for a moment.

the only reason you had walked hand-in-hand through the dense forest toward the campsite, surrounded by your classmates, was because of him. kunhang’s grip on your hand was tighter than yours, but you didn’t mind. his smile, bright and pure, was contagious enough to make you forget the slight discomfort of the heat or the uneven path beneath your feet. as you both neared the site, his eyes lit up with barely contained excitement. “we’re gonna share a tent, right?” his voice was laced with eagerness, the undertone making your smile widen.

“i was thinking of sleeping alone,” you teased, letting your tone carry an air of false seriousness. for a moment, you saw his grin falter, a frown quickly replacing the earlier joy, and you nearly regretted your words. “i’m just kidding,” you added, the corner of your lips quirking upwards as relief washed over him, his radiant smile returning.

the campsite was nestled between towering trees, their branches draping like a protective canopy over the rows of tents that your classmates had begun setting up. the scent of pine hung in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the damp ground beneath your feet. it was simple, perhaps too simple for a group as accustomed to luxury as yours, but there was a certain charm in the ruggedness. the makeshift fire pit in the center of the site flickered with the beginnings of a small flame, casting long shadows across the clearing. logs arranged in a circle around it served as seats for your group, who laughed and chatted as they worked to establish a sense of comfort in the wilderness.

you leaned back in your folding chair, watching as hendery—no, kunhang, to everyone else—struggled momentarily with the tent’s poles. his tongue poked out in concentration, brows furrowed in determination. it was amusing, the way he worked so hard, so focused. he wanted everything to be perfect, to prove himself capable. and you—well, you were perfectly content admiring him from a distance.

“nice job, kunhang,” a voice chimed in from nearby, and you turned to see one of the girls from your class offering him a thumbs-up, her face lit with a smile. she seemed harmless enough, but the sight of her addressing him so familiarly made something inside you tighten. to everyone else, he was kunhang, the boy with the easy laugh and friendly demeanor. but to you? he was hendery, your hendery. the nickname was yours alone, something intimate that others had no right to touch.

“keep walking,” you snapped, your voice sharp enough to slice through the air like a whip. the girl’s smile faltered, her eyes darting to her friend for support before they both hurried off, the lightness in their steps fading into an awkward shuffle. hendery couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped from his lips, amused by the situation. he glanced at you, eyes filled with that familiar adoration, but said nothing.

the dinner that followed was as expected. adequate. passable. you couldn’t expect much from camp food, after all. it was edible, at least, and that was enough for the evening. you ate in silence, content to let the sounds of the forest and the chatter of your classmates fill the gaps. hendery, on the other hand, watched you with a quiet smile, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he was holding back a secret. you met his gaze, raising an eyebrow as you chewed. “what? is my makeup creasing?” you asked, feigning concern while your eyes glinted with humor.

he smiled softly, shaking his head. “i have to stare,” he murmured, his voice dropping low, almost reverent. “you’re so beautiful.” compliments had always come easily to you, especially in this world of wealth and admiration. but his words—his simple, unadorned praise—held a different weight. they felt genuine in a way that made your heart stutter, your cheeks warming under the softness of his gaze. you could never quite get used to it, no matter how often he said it. there was something about the way he looked at you, something that made you feel seen in a way that was both flattering and unsettling.

tonight, though, his gaze lingered too long, and it wasn’t just admiration that danced behind his eyes. there was something more—something heated, almost guilty. his eyes roamed, caught on the way your shorts hugged your legs, the loose strands of hair framing your face in the gentle evening breeze, the smudged remnants of your makeup after a long day outdoors. it was nothing special, nothing you hadn’t worn a hundred times before, yet his gaze made you feel exposed, almost vulnerable. you knew that look. it wasn’t just admiration; it was something far more intense, far more complicated.

“you must like me a lot if you think i look good like this,” you teased lightly, finishing the last of your meal before rising to take your bowl away. you expected him to laugh, maybe to throw back a quick retort, but when you glanced down, you saw the unmistakable flush that colored his cheeks, the way his eyes widened in sudden panic. it was an accidental glance, something you hadn’t meant to see—but there it was. the bulge in his sweats was impossible to miss, painfully obvious, and the shade of crimson that darkened his face only confirmed it.

“no way,” you scoffed in amusement, the laugh bubbling out of you before you could stop it. he moved quickly, bringing his hands up to cover himself in a desperate attempt to hide the evidence, but it was too late. his stammered apology came out in broken fragments, his voice shaking with embarrassment. “i’m so— i’m so sorry—” he didn’t know where to look, how to explain, and the sheer mortification on his face was almost enough to make you feel bad for him. almost.

“move your hands,” you commanded, your voice cutting through his flustered panic with the same authority you always carried. hendery hesitated, but he always did as you asked. slowly, shakily, he let his hands fall away, his eyes darting around to make sure no one else had noticed. but it was just the two of you now, and your laughter echoed softly in the quiet space between you. “you’re joking,” you muttered, half in disbelief, half in amusement. but no, there it was, even more prominent now, standing to attention as if mocking him in his helplessness. you met his gaze again, and his eyes, slick with unshed tears of shame, only made the situation more surreal.

acoffing, you set your bowl down with a sigh before reaching for his hand. you didn’t give him time to react, to protest, as you pulled him out of his seat and away from the others, leading him toward the shadowed cover of the forest. “what are you doing?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, sniffling in confusion. you tugged him along with little regard for his unease. “no one’s looking. come on,” you paused, turning to face him, “don’t cry just yet.”

the forest around you felt silent and still, the distant crackle of the campfire muffled by the heavy, thick air that clung to your skin. you didn’t care about anything else—not the others back at the campsite, not the thin veil of night creeping over the treetops. it was just you and hendery now, and the pounding of his heartbeat that seemed to echo through the night. you pressed him against the rough bark of the tree, the jagged surface biting into his back, and his breath hitched in his throat. his chest rose and fell in uneven, jagged breaths, each one sharper than the last. his eyes were wide, glistening with unshed tears of embarrassment, and he stared at you like a deer caught in headlights, his lips quivering as he struggled to hold back.

you leaned in closer, your breath hot against his face, and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his whole body trembling beneath your touch. “didn’t i tell you not to cry?” you asked, your voice rough, almost daring him to break the command. the weight of your words lingered in the air between you both, heavy and suffocating.

his response came in the form of a shaky nod, his hands gripping the tree behind him for stability as he wiped hastily at the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. you watched the movement, your gaze unwavering, hard. but then, as you let your eyes drop lower, to the obvious bulge in his sweats, it was impossible to ignore the way it strained against the fabric, pressing insistently as if begging for attention.

you tilted your head slightly, smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “what’s all the fuss?” you murmured, your tone shifting, softening like silk draping over his skin. the change in your voice had an immediate effect on him. you watched as his dick twitched visibly through his sweats, a reaction he couldn’t hide if he tried. a choked sound escaped his lips, something between a gasp and a whimper, and his cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of crimson. the embarrassment in his eyes was replaced with something else now—something more primal, more desperate.

“are you really that desperate?” you asked, leaning in closer until your breath was ghosting over his ear, your voice dripping with amusement. “are you that big of a pervert, baby?” your hand dropped lower, nails lightly grazing over the length of his clothed shaft. even through the layers of fabric, you could feel it—the way it pulsed, hard and warm, straining against the confines of his sweats as if begging for more. the touch was light, teasing, but it was enough to make him tremble, his knees buckling slightly as he leaned further back against the tree for support.

his mouth fell open as a whimper finally escaped, his head tilting back against the rough bark. “i’m sorry,” he whimpered, his voice broken and small, almost pleading. “i’m so sorry.” you scoffed, unimpressed by his pitiful apology, and in one swift motion, your touch went from teasing to something far harsher. your hand tightened around his bulge, squeezing with just enough force to make him cry out, a loud, needy moan spilling from his lips before he could stop it. his body jerked against the tree, and his breath came out in shallow, desperate gasps.

“you’re sorry?” you mocked, raising an eyebrow as you loosened your grip just slightly. his face twisted in a mixture of shame and pleasure, and you could feel the tension in his body, the way he trembled under your control. “show me how sorry you are.” your words cut through the haze of his mind, and before he had time to process them, you were on him again. your hand tightened once more, eliciting another loud, desperate moan from his lips as you pressed your body closer to his. without warning, your lips crashed against his, silencing his moans as your mouths moved together in a frantic, messy kiss.

he kissed back immediately, unable to restrain himself any longer. his lips moved against yours, hungry, desperate, his hands scrambling to find purchase on your body as his mind spiraled out of control. it was all too much—the way your hand gripped him, the way your lips claimed his with such possessive force, the way your body pressed against him, making it impossible to think, impossible to breathe.

every whimper, every moan that slipped from his lips was muffled by your mouth, and you could feel the way his body responded, the way he shuddered under your touch, utterly at your mercy. he kissed you like he was drowning, like you were the only thing keeping him afloat in the suffocating weight of his desire. and you knew, from the way he trembled, from the way he gasped into your mouth, that you had him exactly where you wanted him.

you pulled back from the kiss, leaving him panting, breathless, lips swollen from the frantic mess you’d made of him. his head hung low, hair falling into his eyes as he tried to collect himself, chest heaving with the weight of every desperate breath. his cheeks were stained red, a shade darker than before, and the faint shimmer of tears still clung to his lashes. “look at you,” you whispered, voice low and sharp, like the edge of a blade grazing skin. “what would they think if they saw you like this? if they saw how desperate you are for me?”

your words hit him like a punch, and his whole body tensed against the tree. his eyes shot up to meet yours, wide and panicked, as if the thought of anyone else knowing what was happening between you terrified him more than anything. but there was no escaping it, not now. you could see the conflict in his gaze—the lingering embarrassment colliding headfirst with the raw, unfiltered lust that was consuming him whole. “i—” his voice broke, small and weak, as he struggled to find the words, shaking his head helplessly. “i can’t help it,” he breathed, the confession falling from his lips like a prayer. “i’m desperate for you.”

his answer hung in the air, heavy and thick with tension, and you could see the shame in his eyes, the way he was utterly, hopelessly whipped for you. it was almost pathetic—the way he looked at you, wide-eyed and trembling, like he’d give anything just to feel you again, just to hear you speak his name. “desperate,” you repeated, tasting the word on your tongue, savoring it as you leaned closer, your lips ghosting over his ear. “is that what you are, baby? desperate?”

his breath hitched, a soft whimper escaping his throat as he pressed himself harder against the tree, as if trying to disappear into the bark, trying to hide from the humiliation that was burning him from the inside out. but he couldn’t hide—not from you. not when you had him pinned like this, trapped under the weight of your words, completely at your mercy. his eyes squeezed shut, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself together. the humiliation was etched into every line of his face, every breath that passed his lips, and yet the bulge in his sweats only seemed to grow more pronounced, more insistent with every word that spilled from your mouth.

“tell me, baby,” you continued, your voice softening, a cruel sweetness seeping into your tone. “are you ashamed? do you like being this desperate for me?” he swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he answered, “i—i can’t stop. i—” he broke off, breath catching in his throat, eyes flicking up to meet yours, pleading. “i just, i need you.”

his confession was raw, dripping with need, and it sent a thrill through you, a rush of power that made your lips curl into a smirk. you let your hand drift lower, fingers brushing lightly over his clothed length, feeling the way he twitched under your touch, the way his breath hitched in his throat. “of course you do,” you murmured, eyes darkening as you tightened your grip, feeling him pulse beneath your fingers. “but you don’t get to have me until i say so.”

a sharp gasp tore from his lips as you squeezed, his body jerking forward instinctively, as if trying to chase the touch, but you pulled back just as quickly, watching as his face twisted in frustration and need. his hands clung to the bark behind him, knuckles turning white with the effort of holding back, of staying still, of not falling apart completely beneath you. “such a sweet boy,” you mocked, the words dripping with sarcasm as your other hand slipped up to his jaw, forcing him to look at you. his eyes were glassy, tears threatening to spill over again, and it only made you smirk wider, relishing the sight of him so undone.

he opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat, and all that came out was a soft, broken moan as your hand drifted lower again, fingers slipping just beneath the waistband of his sweats. you could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his whole body trembled under your touch, and it made you laugh softly, a dark, amused sound that made him shudder. “you’re already this hard,” you noted, your tone a mixture of disbelief and mockery as you tugged at the waistband, pulling his sweats down just enough to free his length. it sprung up, hard and eager, and the sight of it only made your smirk deepen. “are you really that big of a pervert?”

his face flushed a deeper shade of red, and he bit down on his lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. but he couldn’t stop it, not with your hand wrapping around him, stroking slowly, deliberately, your grip tight enough to make him squirm. “i—” his voice broke again, barely a whisper, and he whimpered as your fingers grazed the sensitive tip, teasing him, driving him to the edge without giving him what he so desperately wanted. “please.”

you raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer until your lips brushed against his ear, your voice low and taunting. “please what, baby? tell me what you want.” he shuddered, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, and he tilted his head back, eyes squeezing shut as he tried to find the words, his whole body trembling with the effort. “please,” he whispered again, voice cracking, “i—i need to fuck you.” your smirk widened at his desperation, at the way he was so willing to beg for you, to completely submit to whatever you wanted from him. and you weren’t about to let that go unrewarded.

with one swift movement, you pulled his sweats down further, exposing more of him to the cool night air, and your hand wrapped around him fully, stroking with just enough pressure to make him gasp, his hips bucking instinctively into your touch. his moans were soft at first, barely audible, but as your pace quickened, they grew louder, more desperate, more needy. “you like this, don’t you?” you whispered, your voice dripping with amusement as you watched the way his face twisted in pleasure. “being so completely at my mercy.”

his response was a broken, breathless moan, and his hands scrambled to find something to hold onto, fingers digging into the bark behind him as his body shook with the intensity of it all. you could see the way his tears threatened to spill over again, the way his whole body trembled beneath your touch, and it only fueled the fire inside you, the desire to completely undo him. leaning in, you kissed him again, hard and unrelenting, swallowing his moans as your hand continued to work him, the heat between you growing with every passing second. his lips moved against yours, messy and eager, his desperation seeping into every kiss, every touch, until all that was left was the sound of his broken moans and the sharp, needy gasps that filled the air around you.

you pulled back, letting him pant against you, his eyes blinking open to meet yours, glazed with a mix of passion and despair. “you wanna fuck me? fill my pussy up?” you asked, your voice a low purr that sent a shiver down his spine. he nodded frantically, his breaths coming in short, stuttering bursts as he choked out a single word. “yes, please, fuck.”

you stepped back, your hand sliding away from his cock, leaving him standing there, exposed and desperate. your eyes raked over him, taking in the sight of his shaking legs, his flushed skin, the way he was barely holding himself together. “not yet,” you murmured, the smirk never leaving your lips as you turned away, heading back towards the tents. he stumbled after you, sweat glistening on his forehead, his eyes never leaving your retreating form.

you reached your tent, the one you’d so confidently claimed earlier, and without looking back, you slipped inside. you could hear his footsteps hastening, the sound of him tripping over a root, his gasp of pain muffled by the thick carpet of leaves beneath his feet. you didn’t bother with the zipper, letting the flap fall open behind you as you moved deeper into the tent, his eyes following you like a starving man watching food being dangled just out of reach.

his eyes never left yours as he stumbled in after you, his movements clumsy with desire. you let your shirt fall to the ground, revealing your lacy bra, your breasts heaving with every breath you took. his gaze dropped to your chest, his mouth watering at the sight, and you could see the way his cock twitched in response. “you sure you want it?” you taunted, cupping your breasts, your thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. his eyes snapped back to yours, a silent plea, and you laughed, the sound echoing through the tent.

you stepped closer, your hand reaching out to trace the line of his jaw before sliding down to grip his neck, your thumb resting against his pulse point. it was racing, a frantic drumbeat that matched the thundering in your own chest. “you can have it,” you whispered, leaning in until your breath mingled with his, “but only if you can handle it. can you handle me, baby?” your voice was a challenge, a promise wrapped in a warning, and he nodded, his eyes wide with need.

your hand slid down to the base of his throat, your grip tightening as you pushed him back onto the makeshift bed, the sleeping bag rustling beneath him. he lay there, panting, his cock standing tall and proud, begging for attention. but you weren’t done playing yet. with a wicked smile, you straddled him, your legs on either side of his hips, your pussy hovering just above his dick. the warmth of him radiated through the fabric of your shorts, making you wet, making you ache for more. you leaned in, pressing your chest against his, the feel of his heart hammering against yours as you whispered into his ear, “are you sure you can handle this?”

his only response was a desperate nod, and you couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound dark and thrilling. you reached behind you, unbuttoning your shorts with a flick of your thumbs before sliding them down, your ass cheeks exposed to the cool night air. his eyes followed the movement, his pupils dilating with want, and you knew you had him exactly where you wanted. “just like that,” you murmured, the praise sending a jolt of pleasure through him. “now, let’s see if you can be quiet for me, okay?”

you ground down onto him, the fabric of your panties rubbing against his cock, the friction setting your nerves alight. he groaned, his hands coming up to grip your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. but you slapped them away, a smirk playing on your lips. “no touching, unless i say so,” you warned, the words a hiss that sent a shiver down his spine. his eyes searched yours, desperate for understanding, for reassurance, but all he found was the same cold, hard stare.

his breath hitched as you reached back, sliding your panties to the side, and you could feel his cock, hot and insistent, pressing against your wetness. you took a deep breath, savoring the moment before you sank down onto him, the head of his dick parting your folds, filling you inch by delicious inch. his eyes rolled back in his head, a deep, guttural moan ripping from his throat as you took him fully, your pussy tightening around him like a vice.

the tent was filled with the sounds of skin slapping, the wet sounds of your pussy taking him, the harshness of your breath as you rode him, his muffled moans as you dictated the pace. it was intoxicating, the power you had over him, the way he was so desperate for you, so completely and utterly lost in your control. your hips rocked back and forth, grinding down onto him, each movement bringing you closer to the edge, your eyes never leaving his. but it took a turn, one that you could clearly see in his eyes. his expression darkened at the sensation of your cunt clenching against his slick cock, and you could feel your ego dissipate as he grabbed onto your hips. his hands were rough and stronger than anticipated as he pinned you down, his dick never daring to slide put of you.

his thrusts grew more demanding, less submissive, and a thrill shot through your body at the sudden shift. his eyes bore into yours, a silent challenge, and you felt something within you unravel, something that hadn't been touched by anyone else. your breasts bounced with the force of his thrusts, your nipples tight and sensitive against the fabric of your bra. you could feel the beginnings of your climax, the tension coiling in your belly, but he was relentless, driving into you like he was trying to claim a piece of you that you hadn't known was yours to give.

his teeth grazed your earlobe, his breath hot and needy as he whispered, “this pussy’s all mine.” the words sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you weren’t the one in charge anymore. you were just another person, a body that was his to use, his to claim. your pussy clenched around him as he fucked you harder, the sound of your slapping flesh echoing in the tent. you threw your head back, moaning loudly, and the vibration of the sound only seemed to spur him on, his grip tightening, his thrusts growing deeper.

his eyes searched yours, looking for approval, for a sign that this was what you wanted, and you met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between you. your hand reached back, grasping his neck, pulling him closer until your mouths met again in a kiss that was anything but gentle. your teeth clashed, your tongues battling for dominance as you both gave into the carnality of the moment. his fingers dug into your skin, leaving bruises that would last a long while. “some power you have over me,” he mocked, pausing to pull out before slamming back in with a growl. “what power? so bold while i’m splitting you in half.”

you threw your head back, a gasp escaping your throat as he hit just the right spot, the one that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back. “keep going,” you managed to murmur, your voice strained with pleasure. “don’t stop, hendery. please don’t stop.” and he didn’t. he kept fucking you, hard and fast, his grip on your hips unyielding, his rhythm punishing. you could feel yourself getting wetter, your pussy gripping him tighter with every thrust, and it was delicious, it was maddening, it was everything you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

his hand slid up to cup one of your breasts, his thumb flicking over the nipple through the fabric of your bra. the sensation was electric, shooting straight to your core, making you arch your back and push down onto him even harder. “you like that?” he asked, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. “you like when i use you?” you nodded, unable to form coherent words, and he chuckled, the sound dark and triumphant. he pulled the cup of your bra down, exposing your nipple to the cool air, and took it into his mouth, sucking and biting until you were writhing beneath him, your cries growing louder and more desperate.

his other hand slid down to your clit, rubbing in tight circles that had you bucking your hips up to meet his touch. the pleasure was almost too much to bear, pressure building within you that threatened to consume you whole. “cum for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice a command that resonated through your body. “let me hear you fall apart, fuck.” and you did. with a loud, guttural cry that seemed to shake the very earth beneath you, you came, your pussy spasming around his cock, your body shaking with the intensity of it all.

he didn’t stop, though, his movements growing even more erratic as he chased his own release. you could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tightened and his breath grew ragged. and then, with one final, brutal thrust, he came, his cum filling you up, the warmth of it spreading through your core. your eyes locked onto his, the intimacy of the moment so intense it was almost painful. for a few seconds, you just laid there, panting, your hearts beating as one, the world outside the tent forgotten. however, it wasn’t.

✧

a/n: this was lowkey rushed but it’s 2 am i’m so sorry

[bythepen98]

Zutara ❤

This was honestly supposed to be a quick one but I got too invested bc this is my first fa of this ship :')

Context:

Consider this an au where Aang never had a crush on Katara and the tension instead revolved around her and Zuko throughout the series. A spark at first sight so to speak. Fate would step in several times where they'd somehow end up separating from their groups and find each other in the same vicinity. They're both temperamental, so they'd naturally start fighting and exchanging barbs but would always hold back from truly hurting each other. There was disdain but also slight curiosity there. However, it would mostly go ignored, spitefully so in Katara's end after the catacombs debacle, until Zuko realises that he messed up and goes back to fix things.

Note: He never paired back up with Mai during this period bc my boy may have been in denial but he knew enough not to lead anyone on just for the sake of normalcy, especially when he was feeling all types of conflicted. On that note, he still got pushed to spend some together with Jin back in Ba Sing Se but firmly and point blank told her that it was not a date --

bc all he could think about were fiery blue eyes

--but didn't mind going together as friends.

He would definitely be more awkward around Katara once he joins the team and Katara would be just as vicious bc the betrayal, while painful in canon, would probably be more devastating here since personal unresolved feelings (that have been building up since their many accidental meet ups) are involved. He'd still do his best to help her out while also trying not to be an eyesore by watching longingly from a distance. The rest of the Gaang just finds this a bit sad but also hilarious.

Like canon, things get better after Zuko and Katara went on their lifechanging bonding trip to find Kya's killer but instead of the one sided awkward/hostility, they were now both awkward and would shyly but somehow seamlessly move as a unit while they worked around the site, especially when it came time to make meals for everyone.

Fleeting touches, eyes locking for a few seconds before looking away, sitting in closer proximity around the campfire, Zuko silently placing flowers in places where Katara would easily find it and Katara reciprocating by making little snacks and giving it to him every now and then, particularly after his training sessions with Aang. If they sometimes held hands while they sat in silence after a long, hard day, then that's no one's business but their own.

Idk. I feel like it's a good kind of irony that they're both so passionate people who used to fight each other on sight but have this slow and sweet exploratory type of romance that would mostly go unacknowledged (out loud, though both knew the feeling was mutual) until after the war. Fits the vibe I had for them while drawing this so it was fun.

[tallulah477]

Please, Mommy?

Kinktober Day 1: Handjob

Pairing: Lo’ak x Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Lo'ak, Mommy kink, Lo’ak is in rut, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Whiny Lo’ak, Dom Reader, Sub Lo’ak, Bondage/Restraints, Orgasm delay, Knot squeezing, Tongue licking (is that a warning? Idk, it's here just in case), Hand gag (covering someone’s mouth to keep them from talking)

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: This is my first work I've ever posted so I'm super nervous, but super excited! I hope you guys enjoy it!

Summary: Ruts can make even the most controlled of Alphas unstable. They can be possessive and dominant and territorial. But not Lo’ak. Lo’ak will go down, but only for you. Only for his Mommy.

Lo’ak’s pathetic whine makes you want to give up on this whole idea and just toss him on the ground and fuck him through the floor. 

But you’ve done that already. A lot. 

It’s been almost a full 24 hours since he’s been hit by his rut, turning him into a sad little horny mess who’s putting off pheromones that smell so good, it makes you want to eat him alive. Your pussy throbs at his smell, at the sight of him sweating and panting and begging ‘Please, Mommy! Please, please, please,” - and you want nothing more than to push him down, straddle his hips, and slide his beautiful, thick, perfect cock back inside you where it belongs. You want to ride him until he’s screaming, yanking against his restraints, desperate to get free and touch you.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. Focus. This is about Lo’ak, not you.

Besides, you’ve fucked him so many times already since his rut began that your cunt is already sore. Poor girl’s been beaten and pounded so much by your gorgeous mate that she deserves a little break. Plus, you want to savor this.

It’s rare to have two Alphas become a mated pair. They’re territorial, possessive of their things and the people they’ve decided are theirs. They’re dominant and demanding, always needing to be in charge - to be the leader, particularly when it comes to their romantic relationships. Too much of the same energy can clash, causing fights and all out brawls which is not ideal for a mated pair.

It’s not impossible, obviously. You and Lo’ak are a perfect example of that. Two Alphas: both headstrong and stubborn in what you believe to be right, ready to lay down your lives for your loved ones and for each other. And you both just work. You’re territorial of the things you share, possessive of each other in a way that lights both your souls on fire thinking “this person’s mine. Only mine”. Somehow, in most matters, your shared headstrong and demanding attitudes don’t frustrate each other too much. Your communication is swift and direct, firm yet kind, and you find that you agree on most matters anyway, which helps avoid any potential heated arguments.

You let him lead when he feels like he needs to, and you stand beside him, fierce and proud to defend him at all times.

And when it comes to sex: the compatibility is something you never thought possible. You play with each other so well. Submitting to each other when the other wants to dominate, switching your roles so seamlessly in the moment that you almost forget your instincts are supposed to be led by your second gender. You and Lo’ak just fit with one another, two puzzle pieces coming together to make each other whole.

And during his rut, when he should be at his most controlling and unstable, he goes down for you instead. Hard.

“F-fuuuuuck,” He groans, deep and guttural as he tosses his head back against your shoulder.

You smirk, pressing a kiss to his sweaty temple. “What’s up, baby? Something wrong?”

You have him pinned to you, his back against your front with your arm wrapped tightly across his chest to keep him against you. His arms are tied securely behind his back, unable to move or get free. Unable to touch you like he really wants to, but he loves it all the same. Loves you being in control right now, loves that you love him like this. This other part about him that anyone else might find strange or disgusting if they knew about it, like some people do with his more human features or ‘demon blood’ - but you love it, love it so much - love him so much, love pleasuring him . . . tormenting him.

And wow, is he beautiful when he suffers.

His cock is hard and warm in your palm, an excessive amount of precum and your own spit coating both his length and your hand as you work him slowly. “I asked you a question, Lo’ak,”

He whimpers when you squeeze the tip, head tipping forward to watch as you force more precum to flow out of the swollen and reddened head. You scoop it up, finger circling the tip teasingly before dragging your hand back down to wrap tightly around the base.

“Faster,” Lo’ak moans, head leaning back again against your shoulder as he pants against your neck. “Wanna cum,”

You click your tongue in disappointment. It’s too soon for him to cum. If he cums now, he’ll be ready to go again in a matter of minutes - and the goal right now is to give him some reprieve, allow him to sleep or relax for a while before the next wave hits him. 

And besides, he knows the rules. “Hm, doesn’t really sound like you do. Where’s your manners?”

Lo’ak whines when he feels you loosen your grip around his cock, hips rocking desperately to try to get back the friction. He leans in to press a sweet kiss against your jaw. “Sorry. Sorry, Mommy. Please? Please can I cum?”

The hand wrapped around his chest reaches up to grip at his braids, and you pull his head back slightly to press a passionate kiss against his lips. Your teeth latch onto his bottom lip, biting down and pulling enough to make him groan in pleasure before soothing it with your tongue.

“Good boy,” You mutter against his mouth, and Lo’ak preens at the praise, a pleased noise escaping from the back of his throat. Your hand tightens again around his cock, and you stroke him faster than before, but only slightly, working him up towards another orgasm even as you say, “But no. Not yet, baby. Mommy’s not done with you yet,”

“P-please,” He begs, lips brushing against yours. His eyes are heavily hooded, dazed and hazy from the intensity of his rut. “Please, Mommy. Need to c-cum. Need to--”

He cuts himself off at the brush of your tongue against the seam of his lips, breath shaking as his own tongue lolling out of his mouth, pleading. 

“What, baby?” You ask, teasingly. “You want to taste Mommy? Taste my tongue on yours, huh?”

Lo’ak nods frantically, dilated pupils swallowing up his eyes underneath his hooded eyelids as he stares at your mouth. Your hand strokes his cock faster, wet noises echoing through your shared hut as your fingers slide over his heated skin. You can feel his knot beginning to swell each time your fist slides over the base of his cock, and you know he’s close. But he’s such a good boy for you, and his head stays where you want it: turned towards you and tongue staying out, waiting for you to grace him with your own. 

So you do. You press a gentle kiss to the flat, wet surface before sliding your own against it, letting the taste of his spit, sweet like the yovo fruit he managed to eat before his current wave of rut hit him, explode on your tastebuds.

“You taste so good, Lo,” You tell him, licking across the appendage again greedily. You squeeze his knot roughly and you can practically feel the vibrations of his vocal cords from his cry through his tongue. “Like a delicious little treat all for me,”

“P-please!” He wails. Your hand leaves his knot to cup at his swollen balls and he jumps, thighs shaking from where they’re hooked underneath yours. “I’ve been good. Your good boy, Mommy. I need it. Need to cum. Need it so bad. Fuck, fuck! Please can I please, please, please, please,”

Your hand clamps tightly over his rambling mouth, silencing his pleas to mere moans and grunts. Your lips trace along the point of his ear, softly kissing the sensitive skin and laughing when his eyes squeeze shut and his ears twitch and press tightly against his head. 

“Look how swollen you are down here,” You whisper against his folded ear, gently rolling his balls in your hand and rubbing against the tight skin with your thumb. “So big and heavy. Just filled up so much, huh? Ready to burst any second now. And all for me, right?”

He groans against your palm and tries to arch his back against you, tries to get you to move your hand back to his cock. But instead, you go lower. 

Your fingers trail down to the strip of thin skin between his balls and hole, and rub against it firmly. You know the sensation drives Lo’ak insane, and he whimpers desperately against your hand, feet digging into the ground as he tries to close his shaking legs around your hand. But your legs that are hooked around his have his own trapped, and you delight in spreading your thighs more just to drag his own wider with them. 

“Nuh uh,” You giggle, fangs pressing into his skin as you smile against his cheek. “Good boys don’t run from Mommy’s touch.” Your wet fingers press harder into the skin and you’re just barely able to keep your hand over his mouth when he tosses his head back and forth in ecstasy. “ I know it’s overwhelming, baby. Feels so good, doesn’t it?”

He shakes and cries against your hand, amber eyes wide and clouded with overwhelming pleasure, staring at the ceiling even though you’re sure he’s not actually seeing it, as you continue to torture the sensitive nerves along the strip of skin. 

His cock is dripping like crazy, a steady stream dribbling onto his belly and leaving a small puddle. You have to bite your lip when you stare at it, torn between wanting to push him on his back and greedily licking it all up, and leaving it there to enhance the beautiful vision of your mate all tied up and helpless with his cock drooling with want. 

In the end, there’s really no option. So you leave it there, letting the puddle grow and grow as your fingers rub against his sensitive spots.  

When his moans and whimpers are a constant force against your restraining hand, you pull your fingers away from his fun little strip and scoop up his precum from his belly. 

“Alright, Lo. I think you’ve had enough for now,” You say, removing your hand from his mouth and placing your other one directly under his chin. “Let’s finish this. Spit,”

He’s panting, chest heaving from the desperate need to cum and he’s mumbling so incoherently you can’t understand a word he’s saying. He’s long gone, so far away from his own body that he can’t even focus. You can tell by the dazed, faraway look in his eyes, and you nudge your face against his to call him back. 

“I said spit, Lo’ak,” You demand and watch as he shakes his head slightly, as if trying to clear it. 

His mouth has to work for a bit before he’s actually able to spit in your palm. With a satisfied grin, you place one hand on his cheek to guide his face towards yours for a lazy kiss, while the other moves down to wrap around his cock, smearing the combination of precum and spit onto the purple head and down the throbbing shaft. It twitches in your fist as you stroke him roughly, hand sliding down over his swollen knot with each pass. 

“You can cum whenever you're ready, baby,” You tell him, and almost instantly he’s gasping against your mouth, cock pulsing in your hand as the first spurts of his release shoot against his stomach and down the outside of your fist. 

You swallow his cries eagerly, fist pumping his length, working him through his orgasm, before you're closing your hand around his thick knot and squeezing it relentlessly. 

He howls, hips bucking frantically into your hand, and his head falls back as he screams in pleasure. You take the opportunity to latch your teeth onto his neck, scraping them against his pounding pulse point and marking him as yours - the dark mark finding a home next to the others that you’ve littered all over his throat since his rut started. 

When he’s given you all he can, he slumps down against you, head resting in the crook of your neck as he tries to calm his breathing. You let go of his knot and slide the flat of your palm lightly up his still twitching cock, loving how he jumps in your hold and moans desperately against your shoulder. 

“Look at you,” You praise, pressing gentle kisses along his hairline. “So pretty for Mommy when you’re all fucked out like this. You did so well for me, yawne,”

You pull your hand from his now softening length and tug his lax upper body up just enough to be able to undo the restraints on his arms. There’s bright red marks and indents along his skin when the rope falls away, and you lightly massage the skin, helping to bring back some feeling into the limbs.

He falls back against you as soon as you let him, and you both lay on the floor of your hut, cuddling up to one another and intent on enjoying the moment of respite between waves, however short it may be. His eyes close and almost immediately his breathing evens out, fast asleep.

“No, wake up,” You say, nudging his shoulder. “You have to eat something first.” Silence. “Lo’ak,”

But he’s dead to the world. You sigh and place your head on his chest, making a mental note to make sure he eats something the moment he wakes up.

Even if that means he has to choke down his food while you choke on him.

**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

[emsprovisions]

Hi y'all! I read so many Tarlos fics this past month so I wanted to do a little highlight of some of my favorites! It was honestly very hard to narrow down the one shots but I tried 😂

Oneshots

Rain on Me by @ironheartwriter Rating: Explicit Word count: 6,622 Why I liked it: Lana has become such a dear friend in such a short time and I said one little thing in a tumblr ask response and something like two days later she busted out 6k words of pure magic! I love this fic, it's so sweet. We get to see our boys have some downtime to themselves and they truly truly deserve it!

breathing deeper than i've ever done by @your-catfish-friend Rating: Explicit Word count: 4,693 Why I liked it: This fic is so hot! This fic is heavy on senses, particularly the sense of smell. There's a part towards the end that really makes me insane where TK and Carlos are taking a shower together and it smells like "TK-and-Carlos" which makes me insane because they really are One.

Butterflies and Sky-High by @paperstorm Rating: Teen and up Word count: 8,031 Why I liked it: Demi!Carlos my beloved. I strongly subscribe to this headcanon and Andie, as always, you have executed it so beautifully! I loved this exploration of Carlos's labels, his spiral, his conversation with Paul, how he finally talked to TK about how he feels, it was all so beautiful.

This is The Sound of You Here and Now by @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut Rating: Mature Word count: 3,040 Why I liked it: I was sick with a cold and asked for sick fics of my boys to get me through those trying times. J, thank you so much for delivering! This was beautiful and genuinely it made me cry. I love how they take care of and love each other.

Long fics

Right Before Your Eyes by Goody Rating: Teen and up Word count: 19,894 Why I liked it: This one is so much fun! It feels like watching an episode, it is that realistic. Your characterization was amazing! Also poor TK, he suffers so much already and we just put him through more! But this was still really good! (and if anyone knows their tumblr, please let me know so I can properly tag them!)

to build a home by @freneticfloetry Rating: Explicit Word count: 63,872 Why I liked it: I don't think I will ever recover from the feels this one gave me. I love Carlos exploration fics. I love how well the angst was balanced with fluff and spicier scenes! I'm working on a wip rn that has definitely been influenced by the layout and flow of this gorgeous fic. It's melancholic in the best way, beautiful, and true to character. I won't stop thinking about it any time soon.

Series

Missing Moments by @paperstorm Works: 34 Complete: no Why I liked it: special shoutout to the fic from this series, Homeward Bound because I think about it often. I really, really love this series. Sometimes I confuse details from canon with details from these fics because they feel so canon to me. We needed the background scenes and you have more than delivered, Andie! Love this series so much and I can't wait to see what you do with the rest!

wherever you stray, I follow by @strandnreyes Works: 2 Complete: no Why I liked it: My latest obsession is this series. TK and Carlos are soulmates and now they get to live for eternity. Sometimes it's a bit bittersweet, especially in the second part, when Carlos thinks about all the changes that will happen to them someday, but they have each other and all the love and time in the world and it is beautiful. I love the setting, I love author Carlos, and I love how you adapted all the other characters and how seamlessly they fit into their roles in Castine. This au is gorgeous and I found myself wishing I didn't have to leave that world so soon. I can't wait for the next installment! I am excited to see where you might take it.

[tokiwarcube]

Someday

Give it enough time, and nearly any memory will warp. Left untouched, little details will change, or be forgotten. But thankfully, your little weekly smoke-sesh with Skwisgaar keeps one memory in particular as vivid as they day it was formed.

Or, in which you get high with Skwisgaar and think back on a particularly fond memory with him.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf/Reader (GN, Pining)

Fluff, Early-Klok Skwis, Pining, Weed. 1.5k drabble -- Enjoy!

Giggles bubble from your chest as you roll to the side, casting another fond look at the blond as you twiddle your vape between your fingers. His face is a mirror of your own smiling one, gazing back at you as he rests his head on his arm. How long the two of you have been laughing together for, you’re not quite sure — all you know is that you’re having a good time, and isn’t that what matters?

Nights like these are the highlight of your week — a routine that the two of you have kept up seamlessly over the past decade or so of knowing each other, and you wouldn’t trade the habit for the world. You take another drag, savoring the subtle burn of the sweet vapor as you take it into your lungs, and the taste of strawberry lingers in the back of your throat as you blow it back out — its not your favorite one, personally, but you can’t find it in yourself to choose anything else, with how Skwisgaar seems to like this one in particular. You pass the stick over to him, watching a little too intently to be entirely platonic as he repeats your own motion. Breathe in, pause, exhale. His hair fans out like a halo around him, gold strands glimmering against the white satin sheets, and like this, you can see why so many people compare him to a God.

You’d never admit that to him, though.

And beneath all the purple prose beauty, he’s still your Skwisgaar — so different, and yet somehow still unchanged, from when you first started this routine nearly a decade ago.

Earthy smoke mixes with the midnight air, carrying the scent away with the breeze that flows through the corridors of your shitty, shared motel. It’s not particularly cold tonight — the perks of a Summer tour, you suppose.

You bring the lit joint to your lips, inhaling slow, and allowing your eyes to flutter shut for a moment. You hold it out expectantly, loosening your grip when you feel it being plucked from your fingertips. Smoke permeates deep into your lungs, bringing the earthen scent back a bit more strongly just as you exhale… and then bring your hand to your mouth as you try to suppress a cough. Your muffled wheeze evidently doesn’t go unnoticed, judging by the laughter that erupts from your side. You peel your eyes back open, slapping Skwisgaar’s bicep playfully.

“How does it feel to be an big babys?” He takes a puff of his own, although he doesn’t break eye contact as he inhales. It’s strange being able to make such direct eye contact, considering how far he tends to tower over you; although, with the way he leans on the railing, you get a front-row seat to his relaxed, hooded gaze. His eyes crinkle as he stares you down, lips quirking up around the smoking paper.

You roll your eyes, leaning in yourself to watch him pull — entirely platonically, you tell yourself. You’re high, everybody stares when they’re high.

“Big talk, coming from our resident princess,” you grin.

He shoots you a sneer then, pulling the joint away and breathing the smoke out into the night — thankfully not in your face, unlike some people.

“Am nots a princess,” he says, “What, ams—”

Cough.

“Ams you—”

Cough.

“Ams you going—”

You take pity on him this time, placing a hand on his back and rubbing gently. He relaxes then, much to your relief, as he turns his head for the moment and allows himself the fit.

“Yeah,” you finish for him, “ams gonna go to big babys daycare.” He’s used that line at least thrice in the week the two of you have been smoking together — once for each of the cumulative three times the exhale has caught you off guard, although you take no offense to the light ribbing. You pluck the joint from his fingertips, tapping the ash off the railing, and smile when his coughs start to turn into little laughs — it’s a sweet noise, one that you’ve been itching to hear more of lately.

It’s not like either of you are strangers to smoking — hell, it’s impossible to dodge substances while on tour, and from what you’ve gathered, he’s not exactly new to touring even beyond Dethklok — but neither of you have quite indulged to the extent of some of your fellow bandmates. And while of course it’s always available, the funds aren’t — and so, your little routine started. You’d buy the cheapest joint you could, and sneak off in the middle of the night to pass it between each other… without anyone with a particularly high tolerance to smoke it all. Or have a particularly rowdy pair threaten each other half to death. Or have someone try to lead the entire band on some adventure.

And that bit of extra time you’ve been spending with the Swede has been fun, to say the least. You didn’t know what you were expecting when you first met him those short handful of months ago — the strange coldness he exuded was something that, frankly, you thought would never leave him. But he managed to surprise you — there’s a lot more to him than he lets on. Namely, his sense of humor.

You pass the stick back and forth, savoring the lightness in your chest even as the smoke infests your lungs — some of your giddiness is from the intoxication, sure, but there’s something else there, too. Something without words — felt, more than understood. Laughter takes over your conversation, distance closing little by little.

“It ams a laba— labra— the dog, it—” he pauses, giggling, “the dog—”

You lean into him, letting out a laugh of your own. You can’t tell if it’s from the weed, or from his delivery of the most 50-year-old-dad joke you’ve ever heard, but it seems to be the funniest thing in the world to you right about now. He leans back into you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder in attempt to stabilize the both of you from your hazy sway.

Everything seems a little more vibrant, then — the lights of the city below you; the white shirt that clings to his chest, practically glowing in the night; even the scent of his cologne seems to grow stronger, drawing you in further. Your eyes crinkle when you look back up to fire back a teasing retort, only to be met with the most beautiful shade of blue. Much closer than he was a few moments ago.

The two of you still as your eyes meet, laughter fading away gracefully like smoke in the night air. Smiles linger on both of your lips, even as you swallow thickly in the space between you. Even as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, your eyes tracing the movement. It’s only once you feel yourself leaning in that you feel your composure dissolve into something more openly wanting — breath intermingling in the inches between you, then centimeters, then—

“If these fucking douchebags are out here smoking without us, I’m kicking their fucking asses.”

You rip apart from each other at the sound, motel door latching shut just down the hall. One, two, three, then four pairs of shoes start to echo against the rickety floors, and it’s not even a thought in your mind when you link hands with the guitarist to drag him down the stairwell on shaky legs. Neither of you are too good at stifling your giggles in your intoxicated state, and the adrenaline of what your shared moment could have been swirl with the stickiness of the compounds in your lungs to cement a memory that would find its way into your blood, forever.

“What ams you thinking about?” He nudges you with the edge of your pen, speaking fluidly as the smoke rolls out of his mouth. You cast a look towards the dying wisps of vapor as they settle into the white fabric beneath your bodies, and you feel a softness come over you at the sight. You’ve spent years like this, and frankly, you think you could easily do another decade. You take the stick from him, resuming your mindless fidgeting with a grin.

“Thinking about how good you used to look in white.” You take a quick drag, blowing it out over your shoulder — “It suits you.”

He blinks for a moment, before recovering. “You flatters me. But you knows,” he says, spreading his legs on the bedspread, “I think I looks especially good when I ams wearing nothing at—”

His squawk as you bring the fluffy pillow down on his head, combined with his ensuing flailing limbs when he tries to defend himself from your attack, sparks a bubble of laughter from you. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

You’ll get that kiss, someday.

[slasher-dasher]

Vincent

︶꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

Starry, starry night

Candles lit up the area around him, flickering like the stars he hadn’t seen in who knows how many days now. The smell of wax invaded his nostrils more than usual as he poured the melted material over his latest piece of art. Bo had delivered her to the workshop himself, stomping down the steps with the proudest smile on his face before leaving her in the care of his twin.

Flaming flowers that brightly blaze

Vincent wasn’t sure if she had passed out or had suffocated from the hardening wax around her face, but he did notice that at some point she had closed her eyes. It was a shame. Vincent had liked the way her hazel eyes danced like the candlelight, flicking between his face and the brush in his hands. She had tried to reach for it at first. Not in an attempt to escape, but in an attempt to get his attention. Vincent tilted his head, taking in every detail he could as she tried to speak. The colors in her iris exploded in a pattern that made him think of sunflowers. His mother always loved that painting.

Swirling clouds in violet haze

He carried the weight of two titles, both passed onto him by his mother. Artist. One that was semi-forced into his blood. He liked watching her swirl the wax in her molds, delicately carving them to seamlessly match the rest of her sculptures. How many times had Vincent wished she would look at her children like those sculptures? He remembered the day she put a brush in his hand after he had pointed at her tools. It hadn’t ended well. Shaking his head, he brought his attention back to the girl on his table. The artist ran his brush over a fresh, purple bruise on her wrist, hiding the imperfection from any ghostly prying eyes.

Reflect in Vincent’s eyes of china blue

Vincent. After Van Gogh himself, his mother’s favorite artist. She had always adored art while growing up, but his paintings always inspired her to create when there was no other option. And here he was, continuing her legacy while starting his own. Bo had worked out the plan years before the boys found their way back to Ambrose, never stopping until he found the two again. Maybe the name was fitting. Two men with loving brothers who, deep down, knew they would do anything for. Two tragic artists with no one to listen to them. Two people with the same name, same signature, same occupation, in separate times. Vincent found it ironic.

Colors changing hue

The artist placed his tools on the rolling shelf nearby, taking a match to light some of the lesser-used candles. Waterfalls of wax dripped onto the floor, pooling at his feet with a few rusty nails he had yet to shove into another makeshift clock. While the wax dried, he gently moved her wrists and ankles into the restraints on the worktable, careful not to break the layers he’d already worked on. This was a rare sight for him. Someone who hadn’t tried to fight from the moment she came to town, just accepting that there just so happened to be a wax museum not far from where her car had broken down. It was obvious his twin hadn’t done much before bringing her down here, at most he had wrapped her wrists a little too tightly in that wretched chair before he glued her lips together. Lips that had become pale and chapped from the chill of the basement, now full of faux life again. All because of his craft. Vincent pulled a small tube of lipstick from the girl’s bag, another rare sight since Bo usually took them for the wallet before getting rid of them. The tube was set aside to be put in a much smaller batch of wax to be melted later. He would honor her color choice, it was common enough to do so.

Morning fields of amber grain

The sculpture’s eyes shot open again as a fresh layer of hot wax poured onto her torso, untouched by the substance until now. They scanned the room in a panic, realization finally setting in as the flowers in her eyes became blurry with tears. The extra light made the green halos around the edge of her iris appear almost yellow, distorting them further as the flames danced. Vincent worked quickly now, muscle memory taking over as he just tried to get this over with. His method worked, he knew this, but it still shocked him how fast pain and adrenaline could cancel each other out in the human mind. She took a few deep, desperate breaths from under the wax face, feeling hot rushes of air that did little to soothe her fear. Her eyes shot to Vincent, pleading and full of life that was snuffed out far too fast for his liking. They closed, hidden from the world for the moment, and he instinctively lowered his head.

Weathered faces lined in pain

Sleep deprivation was starting to get to him just as the heavy doors of the museum crashed open again, followed by familiar loud barking. Dinner time. Lester had likely been sent to get him, which meant Bo was in a bad mood. Then again, Jonesy wouldn’t be with him at this time if he didn’t already have food in tow. Vincent guided his hand over the girl’s eyes, opening them one last time now that they couldn’t be closed again. The artist sighed, taking off his apron to hang on a spare hook before climbing the stairs into the museum. He glanced around at his artwork, some of the newer additions glancing back at him. Vincent guided his hand over each sculpture, wondering if they knew how important they were to this town. A happy bark brought him out of his trance, not realizing he had accidentally cracked the wax of the man as he jumped. Jonesy happily trotted up to him, wagging her tail as he leaned down to pet her before following her to where Lester stood, admiring the House of Wax in all its unsung glory. The trio made their way back to their rundown home, Vincent dragging his fingers across the heavy wax door as he locked it in a silent promise to return.

Are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand.

Song - Vincent by Don McLean