#they probably stand above that but come on
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mouthfulloftoothpasterry · 3 days ago
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A Cure
Summary: very cute and very horny firefighter Harry x author wife 🥹
Warnings: unprotected sex, very horny husband and wife, humiliation, all that jazz AND slight voyeurism if you squint!
Wc: 6.4k
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The sound of knuckles rapping against her office door pulls Y/n out of her trance. She blinks her eyes after minutes of them sitting unfocused on her white laptop screen full of words she's not sure make any sense to her anymore, or maybe they didn't in the first place.
After another minute she hears the knocking again, rubbing her strained eyes. “Are you in there, baby? Or am I embarrassing myself.” Her husband's voice booms from the other side of the door, he really isn't that loud at all but it's probably because the only sound she has heard for the past couple hours are the sniffles and sobs as she reads her publishers emails she's been avoiding for at least five days.
Y/n clears her throat, standing up. “Yeah, Hi, sorry.” Her voice is barely above a whisper when her husband comes into view. He stands tall above her, his strong arms wrapping around her shoulders. He looks down at her with a large smile carved into his face, pearly whites and dimples only an angel could make.
“How is writing going?” She lets out a puff of air before returning the smile
Y/n is currently working on her second novel after her debut was a big success, catching the attention of readers everywhere on social media; it soon became a number one best seller. Following the success, she's been pulled in every direction and spread too thin as her team pressures her to get this second novel out as soon as possible so she stays relevant and readers stay buzzing about her.
“It's going…” he gives her a soft frown, pressing a gentle kiss to her pouted mouth. “Well, I'm about to head out for work.” She nods, relaxing into his delicate touch as he runs his nose against her brow bone. “So soon?” He huffs a laugh, pulling his arm away from her to look at the watch on his wrist. “Well, considering I'm about to be late…” she grabs his wrist, looking at the time. 11:30, already?!
“Oh my god! I didn't even realize it, sorry I've just been knee deep in emails and I've got about twenty different documents going at a time and-” He cuts her off with a kiss, his big hands coming to cup at her cheeks. Y/n lets out a sigh of satisfaction, sinking into him deeper as her shaky hands come to clutch at his forearms, as if she's pulling him back to stay so they can spend the whole day like this.
He pulls away with reluctance, another laugh leaving his lips as her mouth follows his. “I've got to go fight fires, baby. Kinda my whole job.” She has what feels like a permanent frown on her face, but nods nonetheless. “I'll be back soon, my baby. I love you.” She smiles, watching him slowly back away while he squeezes her hand. “I love you too, H.”
📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:・🕰-'♡'-
Y/n sits at her desk, sipping on another random energy drink so she can keep her eyes open to write maybe one sentence that will actually make it into her book.
Her first book came easy. After over a decade of only dreaming of getting a book deal and becoming a huge author it finally came true at twenty six. She wrote the novel about her own life, swapping the names and dramatizing some situations for entertainment- but all in all it was exactly her and Harry's love story. A classic second chance romance, highschool sweethearts who break up during college because long distance is too hard, then once the male main character comes back to town they see each other after two years and instantly fall back in love. Happily ever after and all that.
It's true, for most of her life with Harry it has been a fairytale, and that's exactly why her book has been such a big success. Everyone fell in love with Brooks as she had with Harry. The cute, shy, overly kind, highschooler turned mushy, soft, sexy, firefighter husband was an easy drawn in as readers described it as the “love story of a century”.
She decided not to continue with Brooks and Summer’s love story because it had been told from start to finish, highschool to marriage. Now, she's focused on a new couple, struggling with names at first, now their story, family, their emotional backstories, everything. The only thing she was confidently writing was the cameos from Brooks and Summer since they were all friends in this series she was trying to create.
She's got the names, Ruby and Noah, but she has no clue what the fuck they are doing. She's looking forward to writing about their ski trip, where she's going to make Ruby and Noah hook up after summer's constant nagging that Ruby should give him a try. Enemies to lovers this time around.
She loves writing trips, she's not sure why. Maybe because as her characters have a get away it seems her mind does as well. She gets to pour everything into imagery while she describes the snowy trees and the beautiful big cabin they stay in for a week.
Maybe that's what she needs to crack this writer's block, a nice getaway. But unfortunately, that's not possible with Harry's job right now. They are short staffed on firefighters and even the teen volunteers aren't doing much to compensate for the lack of employment.
Y/n’s head falls back against her chair, groaning and slapping her hand on her keyboard. She looks over at her scribbled notes on the random legal pad she found in her desk drawer. As much as she had planned for this winter getaway, she couldn't find it in herself to write it. She's been painfully getting through writing the drive up to the cabin through the past couple days and she isn't even halfway done.
This particular scene is supposed to be big for Ruby and Noah, Ruby finds out more about Noah's childhood and she begins to feel differently about him. She finally makes sense of why he's so standoffish and reserved, all these years she thought he was just a selfish dick.
Y/n groans, crumbling up the paper and throwing it across the room because she can't bear to look at the plans she so excitedly wrote down a few nights ago when she's now in one of her worst blocks of her writing career. It's worse than when she forgot about a five thousand word essay in college and had to hurry up and write something two hours before due.
“Maybe I'll just take a walk.” She sighs out, lifting from her numb legs and finally exiting her dark office. She pads down the stairs, sliding on shoes and pulling a light coat over her clothes.
Her eyes take a moment to adjust to the sunshine after hours of staring at the artificial blue light her computer gives off. She breathes in the crisp early afternoon air. Hopefully this works.
📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:・🕰-'♡'-
The walk didn't help much, it definitely cleared her mind like walks usually do- but that worsened her case if anything because now she can't think of a single thing to write while they drive up to that stupid cabin.
Might as well get some chores out of the way, she thinks, as she fills up a water bottle after living off coffee and energy drinks. She walks out of the kitchen and back up the stairs where she opens the door to her and Harry's bedroom. She opens the closet door, looking at the mound of laundry they both have piled up, better get to it. She groans as she lifts their shared laundry basket, it's overflowing and has now piled onto the floor. Harry helps out as much as he can but with his crazy work schedule and y/n being locked in her office all day they don't get as much done as they would like.
She tosses clothes into the washer, pouring detergent in and closing the lid to start the load. In the meanwhile, she goes back to their room and pulls a big load of clean laundry onto her bed.
She begins folding them and tossing them into piles, one for pajamas, bras, boxers, and so on. She walks to the big closet to grab a stack of hangers, tossing shirts and dresses and pants over the hangers and placing them on the rod one by one.
She shoves her hand onto the dwindling pile of clothes, a lace material rubbing against her finger tips. She pulls at it, revealing the tiny babydoll she had worn for Harry one long night… almost two months ago. She sighs, hanging it up on one of the nicer hangers out of the random collection of mismatched ones they've collected over the years.
She bites her lips, staring at the pretty fabric. Her and Harry both have quite high sex drives, maybe because they are still in the early years of their marriage, maybe that's just how they are despite everyone saying they would get bored of each other especially because they were each other's first everything.
But between them being short staffed and Y/n getting swept up in the marketing and press of her book, they haven't had that much time for each other. She's lucky she has a touchy feely husband, because that's what comforts her. She needs to be in her husband's arms to feel better again. And since it's been so crazy, she hasn't gotten more than a lingering kiss for weeks and weeks.
She hangs the garment back up, ignoring the nagging feeling as she continues her chores.
Once the laundry pile is all folded she switches out the now clean laundry into the dryer and starts another load, plopping on the couch until Harry gets home.
📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:・🕰-'♡'-
“I'm home!” Y/n hears Harry shout through the house, perking up and dusting off the t-shirt she has over her little matching bra and panties set. She closes her laptop, she was sitting on the couch, trying to write as a distraction until her husband came home. “Hi,” Harry softly sings, a big cheesy smile on his face as he finally spots his wife after hours of working. She rises, stretching up and wrapping her arms around his neck. He hums, giving her a squeeze and rubbing up and down her back.
“I missed my baby while I was away.” He mumbles, kissing the side of her head over and over. She smiles, inhaling his smoky smell that has grown to be comforting. It's him. A deeply sweet- almost fruity scent mixed with the ash and smoke of fires. “I missed you, H.” She whispers, pulling away and leaning in to kiss him. Her hand rests on his chest, opening her mouth slightly to slide her tongue against his.
She can feel his lips curling into a grin, his hands slide down, lifting her up and into his arms. “You missed me something special, Hm?” She nods then pushes her hands into his hair. “Take me upstairs, H.” He does as told, starting to slowly and carefully walk them toward the staircase.
A ring ruins the moment, making Harry sigh, sitting her down. Y/n sighs, wiping the side of her mouth. “Fuck,” He sighs, shaking his head as he looks down at his phone. “H?” He looks back up, his heart breaking as he looks at his wife. “Baby….” she frowns, trying to push back the urge to cry. “It's work. I'm sorry. I've got to go be a firefighter.” He softly smiles, attempting to lighten the mood.
It doesn't help though. She wraps her arms around herself, feeling stupid and childish that she's so emotional over her husband having to leave her to go fight a fire and potentially save lives. “I'm sorry, baby. I have to go.” His hand pulls away from her, waving before he walks out of the door.
She swallows the lump in her throat, walking up the stairs alone and straight into the bedroom. She pulls off the matching set she wore to surprise Harry, tossing it into the empty laundry basket. She pulls on normal pajamas, just a big shirt and a random pair of pajama shorts before washing her face and brushing her teeth.
She gets in bed, preparing to wait up and make sure Harry is alright before falling asleep.
📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:・🕰-'♡'-
Working from home is pretty lonely. Harry can be up and out of the door as early as four in the morning and sometimes gets calls all throughout the night. She got pretty used to being alone once Harry became a firefighter, and she even liked it. Being alone with her thoughts was great for her writing. She reminisced on the early days of her relationship, laughing at all the awkward stages and feeling emotional at how far they've come from the goofy teenagers they once were.
“I'm writing as fast as I can! It's not going to be good if it's not organic.” Y/n stresses over the phone, trying to push down the lump in her throat that strains her words. “Yes, Y/n, but we need to get a publish date on this book and get the ball rolling.” She groans, feeling tempted to throw her phone next to the discarded ball of paper from yesterday- but she knows that's a bit dramatic.
She hangs up, too frustrated to talk- or think about this goddamn book. She needs her husband, she needs his touch. A hug, a kiss, anything from him right now would ease her anxiety.
Time to start stress baking.
For as long as she can remember baking has been an outlet for Y/n- she's not sure why. Taking the horrible thoughts of the day and the physical anxiety and turning it into something yummy that puts a smile on everyone's face was fulfilling. She even put her own little recipes at the end of each chapter dependent on whatever Summer had made for Brooks- which was once again very much based on her and Harry.
White chocolate cranberry scones, chocolate cake, lavender lemon loaf, she is bound to be busy with all the different recipe cards laid out in front of her on their kitchen island.
She sifts the flour, bowls covering the table with a load of dishes already going in the dishwasher. The timer from the oven goes off, pulling her away from her distraction of yet another sweet treat. She pushes her hair out of her face, opening the oven and adding it to the collection of pastries that are making her house smell so good. Thank god she's got hungry firefighters to feed. She scribbles a note on the white board that's magnetized to the fridge to remind her to box up some of everything for Harry to bring in.
She's the fire chief's wife, she's has to keep them fed.
After what feels like days of baking, she's finally done. Two different cookies, two different loaves of bread, scones, and a cake.
Y/n flops down on the couch, turning on some trashy TV to keep her mind anywhere but that book she's supposed to be writing.
She gets about halfway through a forty five minute episode before she gets a glimpse of the time. She shoots up, starting on dinner knowing that her husband will arrive home anytime. He seems just as stressed out as she is about work, he just doesn't let it show as much, so she wants to make his life easier when she can.
Dinner didn't take long, she just whipped up something easy and quick for them. She flops back down on the couch, keeping the food on low so it will stay warm.
“Hi, baby.” Harry smiles, tossing his keys onto the table and coming to flop down next to her on the couch. He wraps his arms around her, cuddling into her. “What smells so good?” He sniffs at her neck as if she's covered in perfume, making her laugh and push away his touch even though she craves it more than anything right now. “Lots of random baked goods.” She softly laughs, pressing a kiss to his lips. He gives her an empathetic smile. “stressed, huh?” She shrugs, sitting up and he quickly follows.
“I made dinner too.” He thanks her. Kissing the back of her hand and trailing them up her arm. “How about after dinner we finish what we started the other night… maybe it will help you unwind?” She feels her stomach tighten. She wants to say no, take me right now before you're whisked away again, but she doesn't. She nods, closing her eyes and sinking into his touch before it's taken away.
He kisses her head, standing up and pulling her with him. “Let's get you fed and ready for me, huh? Can't have you losing energy half way through.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head with a smile on her face.
They eat dinner together, sitting at the island together instead of the proper dining table. They make small talk, catching each other up about their day, Harry telling her all about two kittens that were stuck in a tree that he had to rescue bright and early this morning. “So that's why you crawled out of bed at four in the morning?” Harry nods, standing up and pushing their bowls aside. “Yeah, but now we’re going to head back to bed.” He smiles, holding a hand out for her, which she takes.
Harry leans in, slotting his lips with his wife's. Another ring sounds through the silence of their kiss. Harry groans loudly into her mouth, obviously irritated. “I swear to god-” he yanks his phone from where it was sitting on the table. “What?!” He spits to the other person on the line, obviously frustrated. “Fuck.” He nods once more to the caller before hanging up. “I'm sorry, baby. A restaurant downtown is completely engulfed in flames, I have to go now.” She nods, trying to bite back her frown.
She loves that Harry is a firefighter, it's sexy and has made him build up the strong physique that holds her and protects her. She loves that he does so much for the city and has saved so many lives and homes, but as he's out saving others' homes it feels like he's abandoning theirs. He's home basically just to sleep, and nothing else. Their relationship is still strong, and their love will never fade, but not having quality time is taking a toll on both of them mentally.
“I promise, baby. I'll be home as soon as possible.” He rushes out of the house, running towards the door.
Y/n is once again left in the house all alone.
📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:・🕰-'♡'-
Y/n is woken up with a gentle shake, slowly blinking her blurry eyes open. “What time is it?” She slurs, sitting up when she knocks her open, timed out laptop off of her chest. Harry quickly catches it, softly laughing and placing it on the coffee table. “It's only been an hour since I left. You fell asleep while writing, baby.” He rubs her back, placing a kiss to the side of her head.
“Oh shit!” She shoots up, grabbing her laptop. “That is due at midnight, I need to send it to my editor!” Harry stops her from running up to her office, hooking an arm around her. “Hey, hey. Slow down, baby.” She huffs, sitting next to him on the couch.
“Are you still struggling to finish this chapter?” He kisses her head again, brushing her hair out of her face. She nods, feeling the anxiety build up in her body at the thought of not getting this chapter done in time. “Yes. It's so frustrating,I just feel defeated. Like I need… a cure?”
Harry taps on his bottom lip with his pointer finger while he's thinking. “A cure?”
Y/n nods, “a cure.”
“Well, go try to finish writing so your editor doesn't get mad at you. If you need any help or words of encouragement I'll be in our room.” She nods, rising up from the couch, collecting her laptop in her arms before kissing her husband. He smiles when she pulls away, giving her ass a small smack.
“Go get to it, baby.”
She walks up the steps, still sleepy as she sits back in her desk chair and cracks her screen back open. She gets to typing, putting any coherent thought down to try to make it make sense, she can always have her editor put it into better formed sentences that flow better with the rest of the story.
It's a little past 1:30 when she finally gets into bed, crawling in next to her shirtless husband.
Harry groans, wrapping both his arms around her while he keeps his eyes closed- too sleepy to actually open them. She cuddles into him, finally relaxing after what seems like days of tense muscles and mental gymnastics. “Did you find your cure?” She shakes her head, “no cure yet. But I got it done.”
He whispers a cheer, squeezing her. “Good job, baby. I knew you'd do it. Now go to sleep, we'll celebrate tomorrow.” She giggles into his neck, wrapping a leg around him.
“Celebrate?” He nods, basically snoring. “I'll finally fuck you, promise, baby.”
📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:・🕰-'♡'-
“Guess what the fire chief got called in for?” Harry asks, walking into the house surprisingly early. Y/n spins around in her chair, her eyebrows shooting up. “You're home, H!” He nods, walking over to her. “What did you get called in for?” He stays silent for a beat to dramatize and leave her in suspense.
“A fourteen year old kid got his head stuck in a fence. And they called me, the fire chief, to get him out.” Y/n laughs, almost choking on her water. “So,” Harry starts, grabbing her water from her hand and taking a sip of it. “I said don't call me, don't bother me, I'm taking the day off to spend with my wife.” She smiles, scanning him up and down.
He's still in his red suspenders, fire pants, and the navy blue shirt that hugs his pecs and biceps more than should be allowed for everyday firefighting. His hair is crazy, pushed back with a strand flopping in his eyes. His skin is covered in black ash and soot, and he smells of fire but it only heats her skin.
His pointer finger curls to lift her chin up, his thumb softly resting under her bottom lip. He slots his lips with hers, making her whimper with need. Her hand clutches at the short sleeve of his shirt, feeling his toned muscles under it. “Hop up” he lifts her into his strong arms, walking them up to their bedroom.
He slams open the door, throwing her on the bed. They both laugh loudly, her arms reaching out for him again. He knees the bed, on his hands and knees while he hovers over her. Neither of them care that he's covered in black ash on their light duvet.
His hand slides up her t-shirt, smiling at the feeling of her warm skin even though he knew she was braless. “Take this fuckin’ thing off.” He half-jokes, pulling at the bottom of her shirt and lifting it over her head. Harry pulls his suspenders down, yanking off his tight shirt. Y/n hated to see the shirt go, but she loves saying goodbye. Her hands slide down his chest and onto his chiseled abs. “Keep the rest on.” Harry's eyebrow raises, his mouth slightly popped open.
“Keep it on?” She nods, then slides a suspender back up his arm.
Harry smiles, unbuttoning his pants and pulling his hard cock out. It slaps against his belly, making Y/n's mouth water. He yanks at her pants, making her shuffle down the bed. They both laugh as he pulls her pants down, giggles flying through the room as her pants fly through the air.
He takes in her naked body, his eyes dragging down her almost like she's his prey. Suddenly she feels shy under her husband's heavy gaze, pulling her arms in to cover herself. “Don't. You. Fucking. Dare.” He practically growls, yanking her arms away. He opens her legs, his hand sliding over cunt.
“I'm going to absolutely devour you. I'm not going to stop until you're shaking.” She smiles, wrapping her legs around him.
Harry grabs his cock, lining it up with her. “Are you wet enough, baby?” He asks, his hand slipping down for a moment to touch her pussy. “Oh,” an evil grin forms on his face. “You're dripping, huh?” Her face heats up, looking away because she knows she'll be too embarrassed to look him in his eye.
Harry softly but quickly pulls her face back toward him, opening her jaw with his thumb and spitting into her mouth.
She pulls him in with her legs, moaning. He lines himself up with her, finally pushing it. Y/n cries out at the feeling of him finally being inside of her after so long, it only eggs Harry on.
His constant thrusting shuffles her up and down the bed, and he loves every second of watching her tits bounce while his cock is stuffed deep inside of her. “Fuck, H” she gasps, reaching out for his arm to somewhat stabilize herself. “Feels good, baby?” He slips his thumb inside of her mouth, watching her perfect pouty lips wrap around him. She frantically nods, breathless and already shaking from the feeling of her husband's big, thick, bare cock inside of her.
“H, fuck, I don't know if I'm going t-” he cuts her off, smashing his mouth into her. She can hear how wet she is as the sound of wet squelching and heavy pants fill the room. It's enough to turn her cheeks red hot again, trying to ignore it. “Do you hear how fucking wet you are?” Harry says, biting at her neck. All chances of her not being humiliated are thrown out of the door the second Harry opens his dirty mouth. She almost forgot how embarrassingly filthy he can talk.
“Tell me, baby, do you hear how wet you are? Your pussy is dripping all over the sheets, you're making an absolute mess of me.”
She ignores his mouth, trying to keep some of her dignity.
“Tell me right now, or I'll stop fucking you.” She whines, gasping as he hits her special little spot. Her eyes roll to the back of her head and her back arches as he sends electricity from her head to her toes. “I'll stop right now.” His hips come to a vault, and suddenly she's sobbing out her answer. “Yes, fuck, H. I'm so wet. I'm so fucking wet and it's all for you.” She falls into a chant of “it's all for you, all for you H” until he starts fucking her again now that he's gotten exactly what he wants.
“So wet, and tight, and warm for me, baby. I think your pussy was made just for me.” She nods, she's so cock drunk she thinks she might sign all her rights away if asked. “Cause my dick fits perfectly in you, it hits all those special little spots that puts that little pout on your lips.”
She gasps, gripping his arm tighter as she gets closer. “Yeah, you're going to cum? Cum on my cock, it's okay. You can cum baby, I know it's been so long.”
She moans a mantra of his name over and over again as she finally orgasms, feeling like a weight has been lifted off of her.
Harry cums shortly after her, moaning in her ear and telling her how good she makes him feel.
He flops down next to her after he carefully pulls out, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. “You okay? I didn't go too rough?” She shakes her head, resting it on his bicep. He presses a soft peck to her lips then gently rubs her cheek with his thumb. “No, H. It was perfect.” He smiles, glancing away like he didn't just say the dirtiest things she's ever said to her. “I'm sorry we haven't had a lot of time to be together. I hate being so busy.” She nods, “it's okay, H. I know you can't help it.” He bites at the inside of his bottom lip, sighing.
He moves his head closer to hers, closing his eyes and rubbing his nose against hers. “I love you.” She smiles, sliding her hand down his arm and threading their fingers together. “I love you too, babe.”
He sits up, on his knees. “What are you doing?” He grabs her legs, tossing them onto his shoulders. He kisses her ankle, “I didn't forget about my promise. I want your legs shaking. I'll carry you around everywhere tomorrow.” She giggles as he stretches her legs out, bending to suck and lick at her nipples.
She pushes him away, making him laugh. “Not gonna let your husband get a little frisky?” She rolls her eyes with a smile, “I've been letting you get frisky since we were sixteen, I've had enough.” He scoffs, sliding inside of her again.
He presses kisses over her leg, using his over hand to press into her lower belly. She gasps, grabbing his wrist. “Am I too big?” She attempts to roll her eyes at his cockiness but is cut off with a moan when he presses into her again.
Harry starts thrusting in and out of her, painfully slow. All of his touches are amplified, she can feel every vein on him. “Fuck, babe,” she hardly manages to get a word out of her mouth as her hips wiggle. She's inconsolable as she lets out sobs, her back arching and hips rolling against his.
She clenches around him, sending a chill rolling down his back. “Fuck, baby. Do that again.” She clenched around him, spasming around him as he perfectly rolls his hips. Thank god he knows how to use all that.
She whimpers his name, begging for him to give her anything he can. A blissed out smile frames Harry's face, his pearly white teeth peaking out while he bites his lips to silence his grunts and groans. She pulls him in even closer with her legs and he bottoms out inside of her. He gasps her name, his hand clenching at her calf.
“Don't hide, H. I want to hear how good you feel.” His mouth falls open at her words, his hazy eyes falling closed in pleasure. He shudders, letting out a shaky breath. “F-fuck, baby.” She clenches around him once again, holding it as he pushes back inside of her.
“You f-feel like heaven, you're so fucking perfect. So perfect.” He moans, his mouth open while he thrusts in and out of her. He whines, making Y/n want to bite a pillow and scream into it from the noises her husband is making. “I fucking love this pussy, baby. Tell me whose it is.” Her back arches, letting out a pleasured sigh as she grips the sheets. “It's your pussy, H. You're the only one who gets to cum it in.” He smiles, nodding.
They both cum at the same time, their moans blending as they cry each other's names.
Harry finally lets his fire pants drop, kicking them off the bed once he's calmed down.
“I'm hiring more people as soon as possible. There's no way I went so long without you.” She laughs as he kisses her, both of them laying together in their post-sex bliss. She fidgets with his wedding ring, her head on his chest. “Yeah, I miss having you around the house.” Harry nods, squeezing one of her fingers. “Me too.”
They both relax into the bed, staying silent and enjoying each other's company.
“Round three in the shower?”
📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:・🕰-'♡'-
Y/n looks over at her office door which is now open, her sleepy husband stands in the doorway, the only thing he's wearing is low hanging pajama pants. He rubs at his sleepy eyes, his hair going in every different direction. “Why are you awake?” She softly laughs at his question, looking at the time on her laptop. “H, it's almost 11AM.” His sleepy eyes go wide for a split second before they return to their tired half-open state.
“Well, you should be in bed with me.” He creeps over to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders while she sits in her office chair. “I'm writing?” He dramatically gasps, pressing a kiss to her neck. “You're writing?” She nods, continuing to type even as he kisses her.
“Did inspiration strike?” She nods, smiling. “Last night kind of inspired me. I think it's exactly what I needed.” Harry raises one eyebrow, his fingertips coming to pull the laptop closer to him. “Can I read it?” She nods, letting him pull it into his arms, watching him scroll back up to the start of the chapter.
After last night she finally had the inspiration strike to write Ruby and Noah hooking up at the ski getaway. This will be the peak in her book, now that they are together the rest will be a breeze to write.
She watches as his pajama pants slowly grow, making her hands shake with anticipation. “Holy fuck. You wrote that based on last night?” She smiles, blushing and nodding.
“That was your cure, huh?”
She didn't think about it that way. “I finally got my cure.”
Harry sinks down onto his knees, sliding his hands up her thighs, under the shirt of his she was wearing to bed. He hooks his fingers into her panties, dragging them down. “Now I need my cure.” He whispers, sliding her panties down her legs and into the pocket of his pajama pants. “I've got a big problem,” he looks down, cupping his large bulge. “And you're the only cure for it.”
He parts her legs, smiling at the sight of her wet cunt.
“Oh god, baby. How long have you been like this?” He pouts up at her, touching her with delicate fingers. “So long, H. I've been thinking about you since I got up.” She whines, pushing her shirt back so it doesn't block his view.
He lets out a sympathetic whine for her, his eyebrows pinching together with a worried expression. “My poor girl, I've got to take care of you now. You woke up with a throbbing pussy thinking of me, Hm?” She nods, carefully watching his every move.
Her breath shudders as her eyes follow his head sinking down to between her legs. Her eyes go wide, feeling his tongue slide into her. She whimpers, closing her eyes at the feeling of his warm tongue sliding up and down her cunt.
“No, no. Go ahead and write. It's the only thing that cures your writer's block.” She gulps, her hands shaking as she goes back to writing with her husband's head between her legs. She slowly types onto her document as he licks her up and down. She tries to keep her eyes open, typing whatever comes to her mind- which she's more than sure will be a jumbled mess for her to fix later. “H, please babe.” He shakes his head. “Your publisher will be mad if you don't write it.” He licks her clit, pulling it into his mouth to suck at it.
Her hand falls to the top of his head, threading her fingers through his hair. He shakes his head again, grabbing her hand and placing it back on her keys.
She moans, rolling her hips. She's fully given up on writing, her head fallen back as he continues to eat her pussy.
“Baby,” he laughs, kissing her thigh. “Well, I can't be mad. I guess you deserve it after working so hard.” He lifts up to kiss her, laughing at her failed attempt to write like he previously ordered her to.
He sinks back down between her legs, flicking his tongue against her clit. She groans, arching her back and whimpering. She throws a leg over his shoulder and he instantly wraps his arm around it. “You taste so good.” His mouth is loud against her, making lewd noises as he sucks, licks, and flicks his tongue against her skin.
“You always taste so good, baby.” He groans against her, losing himself in the smell, feeling, and taste of her. He moans against her over and over again, sliding his tongue deep in her to taste her wetness straight from the source. He loves how wet he can get her, how just the thought of him gets her so worked up she spends the whole morning with a wet, throbbing cunt until he takes matters into his own hands.
He often fantasizes about catching her touching herself- just because he knows her writing is always based on their experience and when she is writing a particularly spicy scene she tends to get worked up.
He can imagine silently creeping into her office to catch her with her legs open and her small hand down her panties trying to satisfy herself when they both know it's his hands she's craving.
She falls to pieces above him, her chest rapidly falling and rising while her mouth drops open to praise him and all the pleasure he's giving her. “You can cum, baby. It's okay.” He closes his eyes, enjoying the last few moments of her on his tongue. He loves the silky feeling of her, how warm and soft she is.
“H, I'm cumming!” She moans, gripping at his hair while she rolls her hips trying to get herself there. Seconds later she cums all over his mouth, leaving him to clean her up.
He wipes his mouth, sucking his fingers off before he yanks her down to give her a messy tongue kiss to let her taste herself.
She tries to catch her breath, giggling now that she's come back down. “Do you feel better now?” She nods, kissing him again.
“Just needed your husband to take care of you, huh?” She nods once again, wrapping her arms and legs around him as he wraps his big, strong arms around her. “Now go sit back there in case I need you again.” He agrees to it with a large smile on his face, walking back to the much bigger and comfier chair she normally uses for reading.
He’s always been the cure.
A/N: WOWOWOW!! beside a small 1k word blurb this is my return to writing after almost a year and a half! I thought about making an Author y/n one random day in the shower and with a little help from my beautiful, amazing, creative best friend @ziallslvr firefighter Harry and author Y/n was born 🥹!!!!
I feel so passionate about these two! They are my sweet babies❤️ This specific Y/n is straight from my heart, and might be a little self indulgent! I hope you all love her as much as I do ❤️
PLEASEEEEEE!!! IF YOU LIKED THIS REBLOG AND SHARE YOUR THOUGHT WITH ME :D
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canine-witch · 2 days ago
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What Omens Have You Missed?
With the New Year comes new energy, and also new omens to look for. I recieved message that some of you have been getting omens, visions, or symbols that you have either failed to heed or ignored entirely. In the chaos, we can often forget to notice and be grateful for what we have. This reading is to tell you and show you what you have missed, and reveal the information you need to know.
Drink some water, pick a pile, and feel free to discard what does not resonate with you.
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
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⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
Group One ~ Gray Clouds
You haven't been noticing the omens in nature, seeker. The world may seem mundane at this moment, but there are signs for you. Watch for omens in living and dead creatures, especially foxes and moths. Dead flora and fauna may indicate a warning, perhaps for some negative energy, infighting, or bad luck coming your way. Living flora and fauna, especially ones that seem out of place, indicate good luck and prosperity on the horizon. You may be looking up at the sky more, this is your sign to watch for omens through the clouds, stars, and birds above you. Farms and feasts may be symbolic. Your angel numbers are 111, 555, and 777. Listen carefully seeker, the blessings may be promised where you least expect them. Use discernment and your intuition.
Group Two ~ City Clouds
You have been misinterpreting your omens, seeker. There may be many strange omens around you, which may initially frighten you. Depictions of monsters, especially those which look like serpents or goats, may carry good omens. Keys, raging stormy waters, chains, and grapes may also be popping up in your life. For some of you who work with mirrors, you may have seen an image in the mirror, or became frightened by something in your mirror. These are all symbols of your journey reclaiming yourself. The demonic or scary images you've been taking as bad omens, represent recalling something of yourself others took from you, especially in romantic relationships. You are recalling your appearance, your identity, and your destiny, and you are not a monster for doing so. Your angel numbers are 111, 333, and 666. Don't be scared of yourself, seeker, you are blessed and protected. Use discernment and your intuition.
Group Three ~ Twisting Clouds
You don't want to hear what the omens are telling you, seeker. The situation you are in right now, is something you are either reluctant or unready to give up. You have been ignoring the signs in normal life, for signs given to you in social media or popular culture. You are drowning out the truth with targeted content that cannot apply to you. Dogs, birds of prey, sea animals, and horses may be important to you right now. You may be hearing wind chimes or strange whispers. You may be crying a lot, as purging. You may be ignoring the number 11. The omens are telling you it is time to move on and let go, and even though change is hard, there is promise of freedom on the horizon. Your angel numbers are 222, 444, 555, 888, and 999. You will be okay, seeker, your guides will never let you go without blessings. Use discernment and your intuition.
Group Four ~ Above The Clouds
A person you least expect has delivered you an omen, seeker. This may be a person you distrust, have argued with, or someone you are not close to, but they have verbally delivered a message to you, which you have doubted and chosen to ignore. But, this message is a promise of a new beginning. This person may have been standing in a doorway or under an arch. You may be looking out the window more, or spending time on your porch. You may be seeing people give to charity and do good works. Leaves or feathers may be symbolic to you right now. Fairy circles and rolling plains may be images or places you are drawn towards. You may be noticing hands holding money. This person probably is not the vessel of your good fortune, but they delivered a sign and a promise to you. Don't turn your nose up at them. Think about what they have said, and remember forces work in mysterious ways, even in places you may never expect. 222, 333, 444, and 777 are your angel numbers. Never judge a book by its cover seeker, this person is a test to see if you are ready to recieve your blessings. Use discernment and your intuition.
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
Thank you for joining me seeker, I don't normally channel energy in this way, and I hope I have been of service. Blessings be to you, as I have said, so mote it be.
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forlovvers · 22 hours ago
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⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ can’t wait
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pair: coworker!heeseung x f!reader | genre: office au, fluff, suggestive | warning(s): making out, skinskip, slight pining, alcohol consumption | wc: 1k | synopsis: in which lee heeseung is a very impatient man, especially when it comes to you.
lynne’s notez🗒️: why is he oiled up in ts pic bye #needthat
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SAFE TO SAY, it’s awkward when you see heeseung the next day at work. you keep your head hung low as you do your best to avoid eye contact with him when you see him walk towards you. you notice he’s wearing the same suit as yesterday and his hair isn’t all nice and gelled down like it usually is.
not looking at him has its downsides because when you aren’t completely paying attention (probably due to your rapid heartbeat) you bump straight into him, sending your papers flying everywhere. immediately dropping to your knees, you begin to gather all of the strewn papers.
heeseung also bends down, hands reaching for the papers that flew the furtherest away. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to bump into you.” he says, a look of sincerity taking over his face. he absentmindedly hands back the papers as you both stand back up, his hands lingering over your skin a little longer than they should’ve.
when you finally look him in the eyes, images of last night materialize in your head.
you didn’t mean to go out that night. you didn’t mean to get tipsy and approach heeseung. and you definitely did not mean to end up in his car with his lips and hands all over you.
pulling away, you tilt your head back to give heeseung easier access to your neck and he wastes no time by placing frenzied kisses from your jaw and trailing down to your collarbones. “hee?” you say, your voice just above a whisper. he doesn’t respond fully, just a simple hum to acknowledge you as he’s a bit preoccupied with leaving small marks on your skin.
“heeseung,” you try again, and this time heeseung looks up at you with big, wet eyes full of adoration. you swear you melt further into him when he does this which is why your heart breaks just a little with what you’re about to say next. “this is a one time thing, okay?”
a momentary look of disappointment casts across his face but before you can even register it, his cocky demeanor is back. “can i change your mind?” he leans back further in the driver’s seat, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the sides of your hips as he holds you firmly.
you let out a small chuckle, your hands finding themselves entangling with his hair again. “probably not. you’d have to try really hard for me to change my mind.” you lean in closer to him and he smiles that smile that makes your stomach flip.
“good thing i’m a try-hard,” he says before finally closing the distance between you two.
“y/n? are you alright?” heeseung’s waving his hands in front of your face when you finally come back to earth. “did i bump into you that hard?”
“no— sorry, thanks for the help.” you say quickly, moving pass him and towards the copy room. you hope he doesn’t notice the blush blooming under your cheeks and the way you can barely hold eye contact with him.
“hey! wait up,” heeseung follows you into the copy room, and closes the door as quietly as he can without you noticing. you’re stood over the copy machine, eyes trained particularly hard on the papers in your hands and not him, which makes him feel just a bit more discouraged but he advances anyway.
“did you really want it to be a one-time thing?” he asks, his voiced laced with a certain sadness you can’t quite place.
your eyes go wide at the mention of last night, “can we not talk about that here?” you say harshly, refusing to look at him.
“why not?” heeseung shrugs nonchalantly, but his heart feels like its racing a million beats per minute. he starts helping you run the papers across the scanner as he realizes he doesn’t have your full attention and the only way to achieve it is to speed the work up.
“firstly, it’s unprofessional,” you let out an exasperated sigh before you continue. “and i don’t want to start something serious with a guy who won’t take me seriously.”
“what?” the shock in his voice is so incredulous it almost makes you laugh.
you finally drop the papers and look him in the eyes. “i overheard you and jake talking about how you can’t get over this one girl and no one else compares, no matter how many other girls your talk too and i just don’t want to be another rebound to you.” the silence eats away at you and you feel yourself shrinking under his gaze.
but to your surprise, heeseung starts laughing. how could he be laughing when you practically just confessed to him?
“y/n, for someone so smart, you can be a bit dense sometimes.” heeseung can’t suppress his smile as he laces his fingers with yours, tugging you closer. he leans down, his lips just above your ear, “you’re the girl i can’t get over.”
before you can even react, heeseung presses his lips to yours, and you almost immediately reciprocate by leaning in closer and placing your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss farther. he brings his hand up to cup your cheek as he slyly pushes his tongue passed your lips with no hesitation. you’re so lost in him that you almost don’t notice the door open.
as soon as jake understands what’s happening, he quickly walks back out, loudly shutting the door behind him without a word. you pull away, eyes wide at the thought of getting caught. “heeseung!” you whisper, slapping his shoulder lightly when he doesn’t let go of you. “you are going to get us both fired.” despite your words, there’s a small smile on your lips.
“‘m sorry love, can’t wait.” and he leans in again.
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mixolya · 2 days ago
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ᓚᘏᗢ — two worlds apart !
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ᯓ★
pairings﹕ itoshi sae x gn!reader
contents﹕ one shot, angst, lovers to strangers, wc: 836, proofread
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the time difference between japan and spain was eight hours. it wasn’t just time that separated you, though. it was the ocean, the unfamiliar cities, and the fact that itoshi sae had a life that didn’t include you anymore.
you hadn’t planned on falling in love with him. it had just happened. like breathing, like the way the sun set and rose again.
sae was like the tide, calm and steady, but he had always been destined to leave. you knew that from the start.
“i'll come back,” he’d said once, his voice soft but resolute. “when i'm where i need to be.”
you'd believed him because it was sae, and you wanted to believe.
but believing didn’t make the ache go away.
your phone rang at 2 a.m.
bleary-eyed, you fumbled for it on your nightstand, barely registering the name on the screen.
sae.
your heart leapt, even though you knew it shouldn’t.
“hello?” you whispered, your voice thick with sleep.
“were you asleep?” his voice was quiet, almost hesitant.
“it's two in the morning,” you replied, rubbing your eyes. “what do you think?”
he didn’t laugh, didn’t say anything for a moment. The silence stretched thin between you.
“sorry,” he muttered finally.
“it's okay,” you said quickly, sitting up. “what's up?”
“i just… wanted to hear your voice.”
your heart clenched. it was cruel, the way he said it, as if he didn’t know what those words did to you.
“sae…”
“i miss you.”
the words hit like a punch to the gut. you closed your eyes, letting the weight of them settle over you.
“i miss you too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.
but missing him didn’t change anything.
the thing about sae was that he was good at making you feel special, even when he was thousands of miles away.
he'd send you random photos, of the view from his apartment, of the Spanish streets lit up at night, of the meals he’d cooked but probably hadn’t eaten.
he'd text you good morning when it was midnight for you, good night when your day was just beginning.
and you’d let yourself believe, for a while, that this was enough. that his fragments could fill the emptiness he’d left behind.
but they couldn’t.
it happened on an ordinary day.
you were sitting in a café, your phone buzzing with notifications. a message from sae sat unopened on your screen. you hadn’t replied to his last one yet, too afraid of what your answer might mean.
when you finally opened it, it was a photo. sae, standing in a stadium, his arm around someone you didn’t recognize.
the caption read: Another win. Hope you’re doing okay.
you stared at the picture, the knot in your chest tightening. he looked happy. he looked like he belonged.
and you realized, with a sinking clarity, that you didn’t fit in his world anymore.
you called him that night.
he picked up on the second ring. “hey.”
“hey,” you said, forcing your voice to stay steady.
“what's up?” he asked, and you could hear the faint sound of a match playing in the background.
“are you busy?”
“not really,” he said, muting the tv. “what's going on?”
you took a deep breath, trying to find the words. “sae… i don’t think i can do this anymore.”
there was a pause. “do what?”
“this,” you said, your voice cracking. “waiting. pretending we’re okay when we’re not.”
“y/n-”
“i love you,” you interrupted, your chest tightening. “i always will. but this isn’t enough for me. not for you either. i can’t keep holding onto something that feels so far away.”
his silence was deafening.
“i don’t blame you,” you continued, tears streaming down your face. “you're chasing your dreams. you're where you’re supposed to be. but i can’t keep pretending i'm okay with being left behind.”
when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “i never wanted to hurt you.”
“i know,” you whispered.
“i still love you,” he admitted, and you could hear the pain in his voice. “but i don’t know how to fix this.”
“maybe we can’t,” you said, the words breaking something inside you.
neither of you said anything after that. the silence was heavy, final.
“i should go,” you said eventually, your voice trembling.
“y/n-”
“goodbye, sae.”
you hung up before he could say anything else, dropping your phone onto the bed.
and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself cry.
the time difference between japan and spain was eight hours.
it wasn’t just time that separated you, though. it was everything, the life he had, the life you wanted, and the realization that sometimes, love wasn’t enough.
you deleted his messages the next morning, one by one. and as you walked out of your apartment, the ache in your chest felt a little less suffocating.
because the truth was, letting go didn’t mean you stopped loving him. it just meant you loved yourself enough to move on.
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© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.
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leilawanderingaround · 12 hours ago
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I miss him already... Phainon, come home but don't come back like Kevin. Hoyo, I beg of you.
“I don’t know who you are, nor why you’re here.”
It is common to be wary of strangers, especially at this dark time when the black tide continues to wreak havoc on the people of Amphoreus. So when the supposed savior of the world suddenly appeared outside of the golden gate of Okhema, you were already expecting the worst. Aglaea’s golden threads were wrapped tightly around every corner of the city, ready to attack at any moment. Three gates were opened by the Tribios, prioritizing the civilian’s life above all.
And you—one of the best soldiers of Okhema, born with Oronyx’s blessing—were ready to raise your sword and strike if needed.
“At your order, my lady,” You said, standing before Aglaea. Your sword raised, shielding her figure from the deliverer. Her golden thread too, wrapped around your arms in a form of protection.
“At ease, my dear.” She smiles reassuringly. “Three against one is quite an advantage, isn’t it?”
“But let me make this one thing CLEAR”
Your sword clashed against his as Aglaea’s golden thread surrounded you two, waiting for the right time to attack. With one more clash, you successfully push him far away enough to create a distance between the two of you. He is a natural fighter but his moves lack skill. This boy probably picked up sword fighting not long ago without anyone to guide him. And unfortunately for him, you have way more advantage over speed and experience on the battlefield.
With one sweep move, your sword pressed against his neck as the golden threads immobilized his limbs.
“Deliverer, state your business here at Okhema.’ Aglaea gracefully drops down next to you, her eyes coldly staring at Phainon’s bound form. You can also hear the sound of wings clapping nearby, the Tribios too are here.
“I’ve got people to PROTECT. Friends I can’t NEGLECT. So I’m not taking chances, dear”
“So Aedes Elysiae has fallen I see.” You sigh as you watch The Tribios tend to the white-haired man’s injuries. You refused Tribbie’s help earlier since there was barely any wound. Sure, Phainon was able to cause a bruise or scratch here and there but nothing major enough to ask for help.
“I’m very sorry for your loss. Is there anyone beside you who survived the Black Tide? Okhema is always willing to lend a helping hand,” Aglaea said, though her facial expression didn’t change much. Aglaea has changed a lot since the time you first got to know her.
She was colder and more calculated. And the same thing could probably be said about you. The Chrysos Heirs are willing to use every scheme and face every criticism as long as Amphoreus remains standing.
Even if it meant getting rid of one of their own…
Ever so slightly, Aglaea’s threads remain wrapped, invisible to other’s eyes. And your hand still rests upon the handle of your sword.
“If you make one WRONG move, then you’re DONE for
Anything I don’t APPROVE, then you’re DONE for”
“ Castrum Kremnos too will fall in the hand of Nikador” you said to Mydeimos, not very much bothered by the heavily injured state that you are in. If Thanatos wanted to claim your soul, they would have to earn the right to it. “ I’m sorry to disappoint you. What you are doing right now won’t change anything. The loss of my life won’t make a difference, not for you and not for Kremnos either.”
As The Undying, everyone you inflict on his body soon disappears yet the fatigue is clear on Mydei’s body. He groans, sending another wave of spike your way, impaling your arm yet you barely react to it. Your words though cold, said nothing but the truth. Despite the blessing that Oronyx has granted to you, you are not a Chrysos Heir. Your blood isn’t golden, your body is not suited to bear a core flame. You can do nothing to change Kremnos’s fate.
So all of Mydei’s effort to locate and catch you off guard to force you to help him was all for naught.
“Then tell me, oh blessed one?” Mydei has to take in a deep breath to stop himself from shouting at you, his gaze lingers on your heavily wounded yet still-standing body “What am I supposed to do now?”
“You could either go with me and eventually avenge your people by killing Nikador. Or you could accept your fate here and be frozen in time by my hand.” You said, letting out a heavy breath. Your vision began to go blurry from the blood loss.
“Still acting so high and mighty even now? You could barely move, oh dear blessed one.” Mydei let out an amused laugh. Such is a person worthy of the title of the str, strongest soldier of Okhema.
“Oh, I am no longer suited to fight in this state. I will have to lend this honor to another person. I’m sure he is worthy of your challenge.” You shake your head, already sensing the hurried footsteps of Phainon. “My mission here is done.”
Behind you, the figure of Phainon began to materialize. His body drenched in blood, blade held tight by his hand. He approaches you, using his cloak to cover your battered form. “I’m sorry, teacher. It seems like I was late”
You chuckled at the pitiful tone of his voice “No, no, I think you came at the perfect time.”
I could put a spell on YOU, and you’re DONE for
Boy, you better RUN, or soon you will be DONE for”
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marcelinenocturne · 1 day ago
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᧙ Just a note about how great könig and *ೃ
Minors DNI! ⌑ Inspiration link (๑´`๑)
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Warnings: My opinion, fluffy headcanons, König’s big body struggles
• • ┈┈┈┈ ๑ ⋅ ⋯ 🖇️ ⋯ ⋅ ๑ ┈┈┈┈ • •
When people mention that König is a big guy, some might picture a tall and lean man. But for me, that’s hard to believe. Others imagine him as a wall of pure muscle, with a physique akin to a bodybuilder, simply because it’s "visually appealing." However, this completely ignores the military context he comes from.
His body was literally trained to be resilient and strong—exactly what the army looks for. Ever seen a heavyweight lifter? You don’t need to be an expert to imagine that beneath all that gear hides a massive guy weighing roughly 100 kilos or more, who probably consumes 4,000 to 6,000 calories daily just to keep up.
To be honest, I can only picture his large, thick chest paired with broad, veiny arms, his body easily twice the size of an average man. I think about his slightly bloated belly after a buffet—because let’s be real, the restaurant probably took a loss after König kept calling the poor waiter over every two minutes.
Have you ever tried shopping for clothes for your “pet bear”? Fancy brand shirts struggle to contain him, with the buttons at the top stretched so tight they give you a sneak peek of his skin beneath. Or his massive biceps refusing to let the sleeves even make it past his arms. Meanwhile, you’re standing outside the fitting room, hearing him mutter curses in German.
If you’re brave enough to peek inside, you’ll probably catch him trapped in some poor one-size-fits-all shirt. And don’t even get me started on pants—those things always get stuck halfway up his thick, round thighs. He’ll be visibly annoyed because he really liked the pants, but alas, there’s no bigger size. Poor König. Clothes that fit his upper body end up baggy in other areas because they’re made for overweight frames rather than muscular ones.
You can try to comfort him by saying he looks better without clothes anyway, but all you’ll get in return is one of those “don’t tempt me” stares. Speaking of his struggles with clothing, König faces an even greater punishment with underwear. The elastic bands are often too tight, and while some brands accommodate “above-average” sizes in the front, nobody seems to think about guys with big butts. His underwear ends up too short in the back, leaving the edges of his perfect, round cheeks exposed like a pair of tempting melons barely contained by micro-shorts. He’d be so flustered and grumpy about it.
But having a König all to yourself has its perks! Lying on him is like lying on a breathing mattress—though sometimes the mattress might let out a cabbage-scented death cloud. Okay, that part isn’t great, but having him as your living bed still has its advantages. Especially when he’s lying on his stomach, and you can throw yourself on top of him, feeling the gradual warmth of his soft, comfy body. His behind, in particular, is irresistibly plush. If you’re the playful type, you might even pretend to “hump” him while he’s face-down. It’d be hilarious—until he flips the script and you’re the one getting wrecked.
To clarify, my take on König is neither that of a bodybuilder nor a big guy without strength or purpose. He’s the real strongman—the kind who could knock someone out with a slap, lift an 80-kilo man and snap his spine, or twist necks like he’s prepping a chicken for stew.
In short, he’s got that famous “dad bod,” but scaled up—not just tall, but wide as well, which is wonderful. No matter how big you are, you’ll always feel small next to him. That warm, soft body could break you if he hugged you too tightly, and isn’t that just perfect? <3
This post isn’t meant to criticize anyone or their preferences. I just wanted to share how I imagine König beneath the uniform. ૮₍꜆꜄ ˃ ³ ˂ ₎აApologies if I offended anyone ૮₍ ´• ˕ •` ₎ა
Remembering that I am not fluent in English so if there is any error it is the translator app's fault. ૮₍⇀‸↼‶₎ა🇧🇷➛🇺🇸
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crimsonnsstuff · 11 hours ago
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Dark thanos x babysitter reader she came to babysit thanos ' little sister. 'Cause his parents believe he's not responsible enough to take care of his little sister. Reader tried to befriend thanos but after finding out he's an active drug addict after overhearing his parents convo. So she started to stay away from him. Doing everything possible to Stay out of his sight. When parents are overseas and reader has to work overnight. That's when the took his chance with her. She tells him off she has a bf but thanos doesn't care. Non Con pls <333
It’s not exactly as you requested, but I’m lazy! <3
You recently got a new babysitting job. You were babysitting Thanos’s little sister. Thanos was a grade above him, but you have never talked to him. You’ve heard other people talk about him, and how he’s a junkie, but you didn’t think that was true. Sure, he was a bit eccentric.
You knock on the door. To your surprise, Thanos opens the door. You haven’t really seen him before. He had a controller in his hands and a set of headphones on. He lifts one of the muffs up. “What?” “Oh, hi. I’m here for my babysitting job” you mutter. He opens the door, letting you in.
He plops down on the couch. “My parents will be out in a sec.” He groans before going back to his game. You nod and stand there awkwardly. Suddenly, his parents come out, suitcase in hands. “Oh, hi dear!” His mom exclaims. “Hi,” you say softly.
“Sorry, we are in a rush. Make sure yun-hee is in bed before 9. No food or drinks before 7” she says. You nod, “okay, sounds good!” You say smiling. They both rush out the door. You turn to Thanos.
“Where’s Yun-hee?” You ask. He lifts one muff off his ear. “Who knows, probably sleeping. All that little shit does is sleep.” He groans, putting the muffin back over his ear and going back to playing his video games. You sigh, sitting down on the couch next to him and scrolling on your phone.
The rest of the day you played with Yun-hee, having pretend tea parties, letting her braid your hair. You woke up in the middle of the night. You look over at the clock on the nightstand. It was 2am. You stand up. You were only wearing a pair of underwear and a T-shirt. You throw on a pair of shorts.
You quietly tip-toe out of the guest room. You walk into the kitchen, flicking the light on. There was Thanos, in nothing but grey sweatpants. You gulp. “What are you doing up?” He asks. “I’m thirsty. “Where are the cups?” “Top left cabinet.”
You open the cabinet, pulling out a glass. You put it under the tap, filling it up with water. You turn back to look at Thanos and see him putting something in his mouth. “What’s that?” You ask. He holds up a ziploc baggy with several different colored pills, shaking it. “That shits not good for you.” “Why do you care? You’re not my damn mom.”
You sigh and turn back, sipping out of your glass. You feel two cold hands on your waist. You flinch and turn around. “What the hell are you doing!?” You ask, bringing your hand up to slap him, but he catches it before you do. “Playin around.” He says.
He grabs your other hand, pinning them both in front of you with one hand. He brings his other hand up and squeezes your breast through your shirt. “Thanos..!” You whisper-yell. “I-I have a boyfriend!” He looks around the room. “I don’t see him anywhere.” He says, smirking.
Your heart drops. Was this really about to happen? Your eyes tear up. He grins and picks you up, setting you on the counter. “For me?” He says, looking down at your thin shorts. You sniffle. “Don’t cry yet.” He growls.
He pulls your shorts down, along with your panties. “You’re already wet. You like this.” He says, quirking a brow. “N-no, I don’t!” “Yes you do.” He says, plunging 2 fingers into your core, making you double over in pain and pleasure.
He starts to thrust that roughly. His fingers dig into your insides, making you whimper. You grip onto his arm, sobbing softly. He smirks and pulls his fingers out, reaching up and wiping them in your face.
He pulls you off the counter, spinning you around and bending you over it. He yanks his sweatpants down. He pumps his cock a few times. He taps it on your clit and you sniffle. He grunts as he slides into you, your pussy squeezing him so tight. You yelp and he slaps your ass. “Shut up, slut. You want this.” He growls.
You start to think about your boyfriend. What would he do if he saw you like this, bent over a counter while getting railed by this purple haired fuck. Thanos wasn’t even moving, but your legs were shaking from how deep he was. You grunt softly as you feel him tearing your pussy up.
He thrusts in and out roughly and you whimper. He grabs your hair and slams your face down into the counter. Your tears fall onto the marble counter, sobs falling past your lips. He grunts, throwing his head back. “You sound so pretty when you’re crying.” He growls, getting off on your sadness.
He grips your hips, pulling you back onto him in time with his thrusts, completely using you for his pleasure. You squirt on his cock and he snorts from how quick you came, but he doesn’t stop thrusting. “For someone who has a boyfriend, you sure love this.” He says.
You shake your head, unable to get words out. He pushes a hand down on your back, forcing you to arch it more. He slaps your ass, leaving a red handprint. “Fuck, this view..”
You leans down, chest pressing against your back. He pulls your hair, giving himself access to your neck. He bites down on it, making you yelp. He pulls back and lick a tear that was falling down your cheek. He leans back, pulling your hands behind you back and thrusting into you harder.
“Gonna ruin you for your boyfriend..” he grunts out, thrusting deeper and faster, stretching you to the limits. “Shit, shit, shit!” He murmers, cumming deep into your pussy. He keeps thrusting, fuckign his cum deeper into you.
He pulls out, tucking himself back into his pants. He pulls your panties and shorts back up. “Let that drip out and I’m gonna fuck your ass until you can’t walk.” He says, walking out of the kitchen.
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aquarius-johnny · 2 days ago
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content warning: mature content incld. mentions of alcohol, sexual language
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loverboy!johnny who decides to go to a party with the intention of having a one night stand simply because it goes against everything he has done up until this point; his attempt to try something new.
loverboy!johnny who sees you across the room with a cropped oversized zip up jacket, sipping on what he can assume is a concoction of the cheap liquor this party has to offer; debating on whether to talk to you or not.
loverboy!johnny who takes a chance on fate and goes up to you when your friends walk away to grab another drink.
“hey,” he says over the loud music blaring through the speakers.
you look up at him and smile, surprised that the man you’ve been throwing glances at all night finally came to talk to you. “hey,” you respond, taking a sip of the drink you’ve been nursing all night.
“are you here with anyone tonight?” he asks, bending over towards your ear so you’re able to hear him.
“just my friends.”
he nods in understanding. “think they’ll let me take you away from them for a little bit?”
your hand finds his as he leads you up the stairs into an empty bedroom he found.
loverboy!johnny who pushes you up against a random bedroom wall, groping you like his life depended on it. his lips attacking your neck as you unzip your jacket, exposing a newly lace bra you wore for occasions as such.
“fuck,” he sighs against your soft skin. his mouth licking and sucking tender areas of your skin, causing you to gasp, moan, and giggle under his touch.
loverboy!johnny who melts under your touch as your nails dig into his chest, leaving behind crescent shaped marks as you ride him.
loverboy!johnny who groans as you moan his name into his ear, as he penetrates deep inside of you, forcing out profanities from your lips.
loverboy!johnny who fucks you into oblivion as if you were sent from the heveans above meant just for him, hindering you incapable of forming coherent sentences as he fucks you just how you like it.
loverboy!johnny who makes it his life mission to find that sensitive spot inside of you as he roughly thrusts his hips into you, making you feel something you’ve never felt with others before him.
loverboy!johnny who ensures you cum over and over again, leaving your body quivering and wanting more.
loverboy!johnny who offers you a ride home as a thank you for letting him fuck you, offering you to walk you to your door when you get there, only for you to kindly decline his offer.
loverboy!johnny who clearly doesn’t understand the concept of a one night stand, writes his phone number on your hand in sharpie, hoping you’ll call him so he can see you again.
loverboy!johnny who thinks back on the night he met you, replaying how perfectly your pretty little cunt fit around him and how pretty you look, drunk off his cock.
loverboy!johnny who desperately asks for your number from one of the friends you were with that night he met you, when he didn’t hear from you in the past two days.
loverboy!johnny who hits you up to come over, throwing away the idea of a one night stand because he just loved the idea of you being his.
loverboy!johnny who fucks your brains out, making you cum multiple times in a row because he loves how good you taste. he fucks you like he hates you, but you loved every single second of it and so did he.
loverboy!johnny who introduces you to his roommates by name, letting them know they’ll probably be seeing you around a bit more.
loverboy!johnny who intended for you to just be a hookup, ended up wanting you to be his because anything else went against his nature — and he’s a creature of habit.
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a/n: i’ve already written a whole smut based off this as it was in my drafts, hehe
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elssero · 2 days ago
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YOOO CONGRATS ON 1K !!! <333 i’ll totally send in an ask for funsies hehehe (but ofc no pressure to write it!)
sooo how abt a one shot with reader and teenage hawks (like 17 or 18? but definitely before he has his official hero debut) and him and her started as partners at the commission, but they click from the start and are total trauma bonded best friends to lovers
ANYWAYS THEY’RE TRAINING TOGETHER BC THEIR HERO DEBUTS ARE COMING UP SOON AND SO THEY SPAR 🤗 he flirts, she flirts, he get flustered, she pins him and wins the match, they both go quiet and stare at each other longer than “just friends” would—
the age old story that i eat up every time tbh 😪 bonus points if he confesses and lands an actual non-platonic date with her, but i’ll leave it up to youuu <3
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impending lovers.
hawks
-from partners in the commission, to friends, and maybe something more.
part of my 1k event! submit your asks!
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‘ready to get your ass beat today birdboy?’
keigo stands around 15 paces in front of you, an amused look on his face.
‘i thought i told you to stop calling me that’
the gym is empty other than you two, it gives you the ability to speak freely, act freely, a small sense of freedom. but only when it’s just you and him.
you had originally thought it best to ignore him, all those years ago when he was brought into the commission just a couple of months after you were.
he was.. a distraction.
you think he still is.
but when he smiled at you on the first day you met him you knew it was no use.
‘you finally decided on a hero name?’
‘oh um yeah- i think im going for hawks.’
hawks. it suited him. it felt powerful, matched his huge- beautiful red wings. it’s why you had suggested it in the first place.
‘you went for my suggestion huh?’
he looks away- maybe a little embarrassed. bashful and blushing at your realisation that he picked the only name you suggested.
it’s always been like this. you tease and you laugh, border on flirting until- nothing. nothing ever happens, your beginning to think nothing ever will, although that’s probably for the best.
‘of course i did- come on, we’re wasting good sparing time’
the first part of his sentence is hushed, whispered, as though he doesn’t want you to hear it.
you don’t comment on it, instead you get into position, fists in front of your face to avoid a potential quick attack from him.
you’ll always find yourself here, standing in front of him, a couple feet away, just slightly out of reach.
he doesn’t count down, instead lunging towards you in one quick movement. you watch his hands, he’s not looking to punch, it’s more of a grab, a push maybe.
you move to the left- not quick enough, he trips you up with the side of his wing but the impact sends you both tumbling in the same direction.
neither of you give up, tossing around on the ground- hands reaching to grab the others in an attempt to stop them moving.
you hook his legs on yours, immobilising his lower half before you climb over him, giving yourself the upper hand.
it’s harder for him to fight you from below you, he’s trying to push you off, but your legs have his in a vice and it becomes clear to him that your not going anywhere.
you have his hands now, pinned together above his head, he’s attempts to move his wings, but their trapped under both of your body weights. you have him.
you haven’t really been looking at him- other than predicting where he was going to put his hands, he’s unmoving now, accepting defeat. it gives you a second to look at him, his face.
he’s staring at you, your faces are alot closer than you thought. your nose is inches from his, you can feel his breath on your face, you can feel his chest rise and fall.
your staring at each other now- and he has this look in his eye, you’ve seen it before, for split seconds. it’s admiration- but there’s something more. he looks almost dazed.
you want to move- but you can’t. there’s nothing holding you down but the idea of ruining this moment- so delicate, soft. it breaks your heart.
you can’t indulge, you’ve never let yourself before. you see him, of course you do. you’ve always saw him.
you see him fly, you see him laugh, and cry- your the only one who ever sees him.
it hurts that he’ll never see you too.
it’s better to push him away, don’t let yourself indulge.
in one quick movement your separated from him, you miss the look of panic in his eyes as he jumps up after you.
walking away, going to grab your water or a rag to dry the sweat, just anything to have a little space from him.
you don’t make it far.
‘wait- stop-!’ his voice is a little frantic- whatever he’s about to do is unplanned.
‘how long are we going to pretend?’
it catches you of guard- he’s gripping your hand, spinning you towards him. the look of upset on his face breaks your heart all over again.
‘what are you talking about?’
he shakes his head, even lets out a little laugh, as though he’s saying something obvious that your not understanding.
but there’s something desperate about the way he’s holding your hand in his, about the uneven breaths he’s letting out, about the way he’s looking at you.
he’s desperate- and suddenly it all makes sense.
‘i can’t keep pretending you don’t mean everything to me.’
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girlyrafe · 1 day ago
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──── ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴍᴇᴛ .ᐟ
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ᡣ𐭩 ❝ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ¡ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ⟡ ݁₊ ❞
⌗ with chris sturniolo .ᐟ.ᐟ
ᝰ summary .ᐟ You didn’t expect Chris to be so disarming. Sitting across from him, your nerves settle without warning, his easy grin pulling you in. He’s not what you imagined—gentler, curious. And somehow, he sees you.
₊ ⊹ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
You hover near the doorway, unsure what to do with yourself. Your boyfriend had practically barged in, talking too loudly as he shook hands with the guy he called Chris, leaving you trailing behind like an afterthought. Now you’re standing there, feeling completely out of place, your hands clutching your bag, your eyes flickering nervously around the room.
Chris isn’t anything like you imagined. You’d pictured someone intimidating, maybe rough around the edges—someone who matched the world your boyfriend seemed so comfortable in. But Chris? He’s… different. He looks relaxed in a way that draws your eyes immediately, slouched in a chair like he owns the place, his tousled brown hair poking out from under a backwards cap. His baby-blue eyes flick to you once, then again, lingering just a little longer this time, his gaze soft but curious.
“Gotta light up,” your boyfriend announces suddenly, stuffing a baggie into his pocket. His tone is careless as he jerks his chin toward the door. “Don’t touch anything, alright?”
The door slams shut behind him before you can respond, leaving you alone with Chris. You freeze, not sure whether to sit or stand or say something, and the silence feels heavy for a moment. When you glance up, Chris is watching you, his head tilted slightly, like he’s trying to figure you out.
“You don’t have to just stand there,” he says finally, his voice warm and teasing. “Come on, sit. I don’t bite.” Then he pauses, a playful glint lighting up his eyes. “Unless, you know, you’re into that.”
Your face goes warm immediately, and you let out a nervous little laugh, unsure whether to be embarrassed or amused. You decide to sit, perching carefully on the edge of his couch, your knees pressed together, your back impossibly straight. You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes your heart race in a way you’re not used to.
Chris leans back in his chair, stretching out comfortably, his gaze never leaving you. “Relax,” he says softly, his lips quirking into a lopsided grin. “You’re safe. Promise. I’m not as scary as your boyfriend probably made me sound.”
You blink, surprised by the way his voice makes you feel—calmer, somehow, even though you’re still clutching your bag tightly. “He didn’t really say much about you,” you admit shyly, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Well, that’s rude,” Chris replies, pretending to be offended. His grin widens, and there’s something about it—about him—that feels… safe. Inviting. “Here I thought I was unforgettable.”
You let out a quiet laugh, still fidgeting with the strap of your bag, and his expression softens like he’s just won something. “There it is,” he says, his tone low and almost reverent. “Knew you had a cute laugh.”
Your cheeks flush, and you look down, unable to meet his eyes. “Thanks,” you mumble, your voice so small it almost gets lost in the room.
For a moment, you don’t say anything, and neither does he. You expect the silence to feel awkward, but it doesn’t. When you finally glance back up, Chris is still looking at you, but not in a way that makes you nervous. It’s more like… wonder, like he’s mesmerised by you in a way you can’t quite understand.
“So,” he says suddenly, leaning forward just enough to close the distance between you a little. “Does he always drag you along for stuff like this?”
You shake your head, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Not really,” you say softly. “I guess he just didn’t want to come alone.”
Chris snorts, leaning back again. “Classic.” He watches you for another moment before his grin returns, playful and warm. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad he did. You seem way cooler than him.”
You blink, startled by the compliment, and then let out a small laugh. “You don’t even know me.”
“True,” he says, his smile softening into something more genuine. “But I can already tell. You’re sitting here all polite and sweet, like you’re afraid you’re gonna break something just by being here.”
You laugh again, your nerves unravelling little by little, and it feels… nice. His words don’t feel rehearsed or calculated; they feel real, like he actually means them. And the way he’s looking at you now—like you’re something rare and special—makes your heart flutter in a way it hasn’t in a long time.
He starts talking, his voice light and easy, and before you know it, you’re laughing at everything he says. Real, full laughter that spills out of you before you can stop it. You feel yourself leaning forward slightly, your shoulders relaxing as the space between you feels smaller and smaller.
“You’re cute when you laugh,” Chris says at one point, his grin widening as you try (and fail) to fight the blush creeping up your neck.
“You’re just saying that,” you mumble, looking down.
“I’m really not,” he says, his tone low and sincere, and when you glance up, his eyes are locked on yours, impossibly soft.
By the time your boyfriend comes back, reeking of smoke and tossing out some half-hearted excuse for taking so long, the spell should break. But it doesn’t. You’re still caught in the warm haze of Chris’s voice, his jokes, the way he’s been looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room.
Your boyfriend slings an arm around your shoulder, but for the first time, it doesn’t feel reassuring. It feels heavy. And as you glance back at Chris—his grin easy, his eyes full of something you can’t quite name—you can’t help but wonder: how did you ever think your boyfriend was the interesting one?
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ajvocals43 · 22 hours ago
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Country Girl (Shake it for me)
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Word Count: 3378
Warnings: Rushed writing (not edited), body image issues, cheesy cliches
Summary: Y/n is in love with Dean, but what happens when she decides to show him what he's missing out on?
A/N: I couldn't let Dean's birthday go by without writing a fic for him. This was done really quickly and hasn't been edited but I've had this idea for a while. I will also say, I didn't add it but if you play Whole Lotta Woman by Kelly Clarkson during the beginning of the bar scene, it hits. That, along with Country Girl by Luke Bryan are what this was based off of.
Hot. That was my only thought as I stepped out of the backseat of the dark chevy impala. I stared up at the western themed motel in the small town in the middle of seemingly nowhere. Dean was freaking out, as per usual when it came to the “Wild West”, and what better place to be for all that than Texas. It’d been a long time since I’d been to the lone star state; not since I was a teenager trading months between my parents. It hadn’t seemed as hot then. Right now, I felt like I was standing on the surface of the sun in my dress pants and blouse that I’d worn to interview families while Dean and Sam went to the Morgue. I really needed some shorts. Really, I needed the confidence to wear some shorts. 
“Is anyone else sweating balls out here?” I asked the brothers who were grabbing their things out of the trunk to head into the room. My question fell on deaf ears as they both continued their conversation inside the air conditioning. They were probably both tired of my complaining since it hasn't stopped since we hit the dry heat earlier this afternoon. I sighed, grabbing my bag, shutting Baby’s trunk and heading into the room. Sometimes we split into 2 rooms but most times there were rooms that had 3 beds, or 2 beds and a cot that we would rotate through each town. This would have been my turn to have a cot but luckily, there were 3 beds lined up against the far wall. I sighed as the air conditioning kicked on and I felt the vent above me start to blow cold air into the room. 
“Better, princess?” Dean called from where he stood at the thermostat on the wall opposite me. I nodded, feeling the cold air chill my skin from the hot summer sun outside, walking over to my bed on the left side of the room. 
“Didn't you grow up in Texas, Y/n?” Sam asked from where he sat on his laptop. “Shouldn't you be used to the heat?” 
“I alternated months. And I never came in August because no sane person comes to Texas in August, Dean!” I called over my shoulder, rifling through my clothes for something that wasn't coated in sweat. 
I heard Dean chuckling behind me as he moved about the room. “Sorry, I don't choose where monsters kill people.” 
“Please, you're just happy you get to wear a cowboy hat again.” I shot back.
“You're damn right I am!” Dean said with a smirk. “And don't forget the boots, either, sweetheart.” 
I rolled my eyes as I went to get out my laptop, unable to stop the smile that crept onto my face. Sam was right, I'd spent a lot of time in Texas growing up and I'd loved it. Times had changed though and while there were pieces I'd always love and miss, it wasn't home anymore.  But I did have to admit, seeing Dean’s excitement made me feel something that I hadn't felt in a long time. It was rare to see him like this and for a second, I just let myself enjoy that, not knowing the next time I would be able to see it. 
Yeah ok, so I'm one of the dumb girls who fell for Dean Winchester. Sue me. I'm not going to go through the whole story of how the brothers saved my life and we became besties but then I started to grow feelings for the elder brother through the endless flirty banter. It's not necessary and I don't want to waste time on it. But it didn't change the facts. I was in love with him. And he didn't even notice me. 
Could I be more of a cliche? 
 Apparently, yes. 
We had a lot of work to do, so we got to putting the stories together and starting on the research for the night. And it took forever, especially considering how tired we all were from the drive into town. We decided to have dinner and call it an early night. 
 We’d spent a couple hours researching and coming up with a plan before Dean announced that he was bored out of his mind and going out. Sam looked at me, we both knew I was going with him. 
It wasn't that I didn't enjoy going out with Dean, I relished and feared the alone time in equal measure. Because on one hand, having time alone with Dean usually meant I got to see parts of him that I don't think he lets others see very often. And that just made me all the more hopeless because it felt like what he told me in these moments connected us on an even deeper level and that I knew him better than any one night stand or past girlfriend ever could. Because I knew the now Dean. The one that had been through hell, purgatory and so much more. I could understand him because I knew he wasn't the same 26 year old hunter that those girls had thought they could fix. I was under no delusions of being able to fix Dean Winchester. He was a fully grown adult and I was not his mother. But I think what kept my unreasonable hope of ever being with him going was that I accepted him. Bad habits, snap decision making, self-sacrificing traits and all. Because he was Dean. And all those broken parts that left scars and tore apart past relationships made him the most caring, courageous and loving person I'd ever known. 
On the other hand though, going out alone with Dean sometimes meant having to deal with broody moods, childish behavior and… picking up girls. Girls who looked nothing like me. I wasn't ashamed of my size…for the most part. I could appreciate my curves most days, but there were times where I struggled not looking like the bartenders or waitresses at the establishments we stopped at. The kinds of girls Dean picked up. He rarely ever went home with girls now, but it still happened. And it was not a fun time for me to sit in the backseat so he could drop me off at the hotel with Sam like I was a kid. Or even worse, when I refused to ride and had to walk or wait for an Uber to come pick me up. Because then, Dean wouldn't leave until someone safe showed up to come get me, and while I appreciated the thought, I did not appreciate the glares from the girls or the feeling like I was a child who couldn't take care of herself. 
Regardless, because we were friends, I wanted to look out for him. I knew Sam got some anxiety when Dean would just up and leave sometimes because you never know what could be lurking in the shadows, especially in our line of work. Or at least that's what he told me. I had the stinking suspicion he just wanted me out of the room because he knew about my feelings for Dean and didn't want to monitor my moping while he was gone. Which was understandable. 
 Dean and I got into our respective sides of the car as usual. Sam normally rode up front in the passenger’s seat, but would sometimes sacrifice the leg room for me when I got car sick. This wasn’t new by any means and yet, my body’s reactions were as if this was the first time we’d been this close together. I was hyperaware of his smell, the sounds of the leather moving and adjusting underneath us, the feel of the engine under me. I rustled through his box of cassettes on the floor before landing on Bob Seger. Dean gave me a look as I switched out the Led Zeppelin that had been in earlier. I shrugged and turned up the volume as the opening notes of Rock ‘N’ Roll Never Forgets came through the speakers. Dean was still giving me a weird look so I ignored him and started singing, waiting to enjoy the feel of the rushing air cooling down the car as we pulled out onto the road. 
Surprisingly, we didn't go to a bar though. Dean pulled Baby into a parking spot in front of a western shop that couldn't have been more than a mile away from the motel. What were we doing here? With the lack of movement on my part, Dean rounded the car and opened my door for me.
 “Come on, Princess. Let's get some gear.” I just stared at him. Why were we here? “You comin?” He asked when I just stared at him in shock. 
“Uh… y-yeah.” I stuttered. I truly didn't expect this from him. I scrambled to get out of the car and follow Dean who had turned with a smile and begun to walk into the store. 
As I entered the store, I got over my shock and figured he probably wanted a hat. Or boots based on the extensive collection that lined 3 of the 4 walls in the store. I followed him for a little before I ventured off to find shorts. The sweating was starting to get uncomfortable and I couldn't last much longer in jeans and dark shirts. I wandered through the racks, attempting to find clothes in my size, of which there weren't as many as I would like. But I did find some. A few lighter material tops and shorts that seemed like they’d fit. But I got distracted (I know, terrible for a hunter) and missed Dean sneaking up behind me. 
“What about these?” I turned to find Dean with a pair of what could barely be considered shorts. And sure they were cute with all their jewels and the belt that was looped through them, but they would no doubt look like underwear on me. 
“You’re funny.” I said as I turned back to what I was looking at. 
“I do.” he agreed, “But what's wrong with these?” 
“Theyre short.” I scoffed. 
“Isnt that the point of shorts?” he asked, seemingly confused. He wasn't wrong. And on good days, they were something I might wear. 
“I see your point. I guess” I said hesitantly. 
“Great! Then let's grab some boots…” he turned and eyed a scrap of fabric that was supposed to be a shirt “and this” he picked it up “and get out of here.” I laughed and followed obediently. 
We picked up some boots because we needed to be “authentic” for some reason and left for the motel. When we got back to the room, Sam was still in the same place we’d left him. “I’d assumed you guys went to get food or something.” He said before turning his computer towards us. “But get this. I think I found what we’re looking for.” 
The rest of the hunt went pretty smoothly. A simple salt and burn, and only Sam got mildly injured from being thrown into a wall. So we decided to celebrate. Well…Dean did. I figured this time I would stay back. 
“Why didn't you go with?” Sam asked from his place at the table. 
“Didn't feel like it.” I shrugged, not looking up from my book. 
“Uh huh.” Sam said. He paused for a while before saying “Y’know, he's not going to know how you feel unless you show him.” 
“Show? Not tell?” 
“Well we all know both of you are terrible at expressing your feelings. So maybe showing would be easier.” At this, he shut his computer and turned to look at me. 
I put my book down. “I love your confidence in me Sam, but you see as clearly as I do what his type is.” I said, trying not to let my sadness show. 
“Maybe…” he drew out, “But I also know my brother.” 
“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked. 
“It means, you should go to the bar.” Sam said, as if it were that simple. Maybe it was for other girls. The ones who didn't have the history we did. 
“Im scared Sam.” I finally confessed. 
“And?” he asked. “I don't remember you ever letting a man control your life.”  
He was right. I was a total cliche but… to be honest, I loved making people realize they'd underestimated me. The bar wasn't far, close enough to walk even though Dean had taken the car. Sam’s words got me thinking. And while I was terrified of being rejected by him, I felt like I owed it to myself to have a good time, regardless of what or who Dean was doing. 
So it was time to get off my ass and stop moping. I went over to my duffel bag in the corner of the room and found the shorts and top Dean had picked out earlier that week. What better way than to make a man regret than to throw his own choices back at him. I jumped into the shower and pulled on the clothes. It was a lot more skin than I usually showed but… it'd do the trick. The shorts did wonders for my ass and the top the same for my boobs. And while I wasn't fond of my thighs spilling out the bottom with the highest inseam of a short I'd ever had, it was a pretty sexy look. As a hunter, I never wore makeup so I did my hair and was about ready to leave, when at the last minute, I changed my regular thick boots for the cowboy boots we’d gotten earlier that week. It'd been a while since I'd rocked the denim and boots look, I kind of missed it if I was honest. 
And with that, I bade Sam goodbye and walked out the door. When I walked in, it was actually pretty crowded. It must've been a dancing night because when I looked to my right, there were at least 30 people on the floor line dancing. Maybe I'd head over there. But then I spotted Dean at the bar and I made my way over to him, swaying my hips just a little so as to draw a bit of attention from those around me. Maybe they’d see what he was missing. I stopped in front of him and he seemed stunned. Probably surprised that I came out tonight when I'd been adamant about staying in the motel earlier. But then, of course, the bartender returned and started flirting with Dean.
Refusing to let that break my mood, I turned and smiled at someone on the other end of the bar. He smiled back and waved. Just then, the music changed, and I heard the beginning guitar of Luke Bryan’s Country Girl start blasting from the stage. It was one of the few newer line dances I’d kept up with. I'd gone dancing years ago with a friend of mine and she taught me it so I at least knew one modern dance. I jumped up and strutted over to the floor, my steps falling to the beat of the song. 
And wow. In my constant fight against the supernatural, I sometimes forgot how much fun simple things like dancing could be. I lost myself in the moves, getting more into it until I was in the middle of the floor, smiling and laughing with those around me. Throughout the song, I let my worries fade away and let myself embody the spirit of the lyrics. Until it came to an end. I turned around to leave and found Dean had moved from the bar to one of the smaller standing tables that rounded the dancefloor. I made my way over to him. 
“I almost forgot how much fun those are.” I panted, coming off the dance floor. 
“Yeah, I bet.” Dean answered as he slid a glass of ice water to me across the small table top. “You were a natural out there though.” 
I took a sip and let the cool water slide down my throat. “That? It's really just about getting the repetition.” 
“Nah, I'll leave that to the professionals,” he held his bottle of beer up in a salute to me. “I'm just fine with my place watching.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked, looking back to the dance floor. “Who were you watching? The blonde? The redhead?” I tried for nonchalance. 
“You.” I heard him say behind me. It took a second for the word to register. 
I turned around, confused. “What?” 
“I'm always watching you. You know that.” 
Right. I really needed to stop getting my hopes up about things that were not real. “Dean, I appreciate that, but I promise, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself-”
“It's not like that and you know it.” 
“Dean, I-”  I started. 
“Baby, don't make me spell it out for you; you know I want you.” He deadpaned. 
My jaw dropped. There was no way I had just heard that right. “Huh?”
He looked at me silently, waiting for me to wrap my brain around what he was saying, like it wasn't the last thing I had expected to hear come out of his mouth. 
“You…want me?” I asked finally. “Like me, Y/n, me?”
Dean chuckled slightly. “So the teasing wasn't intentional. 
“Teasing?” I asked, bewildered. “What teasing?” 
“The dancing, the flirting, the tight clothes-” 
“Tight clothes?” I blurted. 
“Not like that.” he started. I hadn't realized the sexist connotation to those words as he’d said them. “Sweetheart, you have to have realized what you do to me when you wear those jeans, or leggins, or those deep v tops.” 
“That's because they don't make a lot of clothes that fit bodies like mine.” 
“Really?” his voice dropped. “Cause I'm pretty sure that every stitch of clothes you're wearing, right down to those boots were made specifically to fit every inch of your body perfectly.” He grabbed onto my belt buckle and pulled me, harshly against him. “And to drive me right out of my damn mind.” 
Well fuck me. 
Literally. Please. 
My eyes dropped to his lips. Inches from mine now, I could feel his body heat radiating through our clothes. He leaned down, his right hand moved from my belt up my back and into my hair, grabbing a fist full of curls and pulling gently, drawing my eyes up to his. I licked my suddenly dry lips as I watched him smirk before leaning in slowly, giving me plenty of time to back out. Fat chance of that happening. I raised up on my toes and met him halfway, sealing our lips together in the single hottest kiss I'd ever had. I'd laughed at the amount of girls that gushed over his abilities but holy hell. They were right. I held onto him as we kissed every last breath out of our lungs, only pulling away when it started to hurt. I felt his smile against my own as we caught our breath.  
This was crazy. Absolutely insane. And incredible. “Damn woman.” Dean said, his breaths matching mine. “You drive me crazy.” 
“I know the feeling.” 
“Yeah?” he asked with a smirk. 
“Yeah.” I said dreamily. But my smile sobered as I remembered the bartender. “But what about-” 
“What about what Y/n?” he asked. 
“The bartender?” I asked. He looked at me blankly. “Shes cute.” 
“And?” he asked. “Princess, have you seen yourself?” He made a show of looking me over. “You’d drive any man out of his mind. I'm just lucky you chose to do it to me.” 
“Who said this was for you?” 
His face turned damn near murderous for a moment. “Let them try it and see what happens.” With that, his hand slid down to wrap around my waist and pull me impossibly tighter to him. There would be no doubt to anyone that we were together. “You’re stuck with me now sweetheart.” 
“Sweetheart?” I asked, playfully. “Not ‘princess’?” since that seemed to be his favorite name for me as of late. 
“You like that, huh?” he asked gruffly. “Well…you're mine, princess.” And with that, he leaned down to kiss me again. 
Masterlist 
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v1b3ss · 3 days ago
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✧A Dance of Synchrony and Solitude✧
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♡Neuvillette x fem!reader♡
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11:37pm-
Loud.
That's what it was. It was overwhelmingly loud and crowded. So many people, and yet here you were– standing alone by the bar with a glass of half-drank champagne in hand and anxiously observing.
You had been invited to Fontaine's grand ball only because Lady Furina insisted you come. For context, you had been enjoying your afternoon in the city when you spotted Lady Furina whining about something. Curious, you had gone over to see what the fuss was. After a bit of eavesdropping, you had discovered that Furina had left her money at home, therefore being unable to pay for her macaroni. You kindly paid for her and that's when she insisted you come to the ball later that night, so here you are.
You had been scanning the crowd all evening and still couldn't find Furina anywhere. You felt so out of place-- so awkward in this pompous event. Nobles, politicians, and other upperclassmen were present and you were but a mere botanist.
Where is she..? you couldn't help but ask yourself in your mind. It occurred to you that she was probably dealing with adoring fans in some other room of the grand estate.
With a sigh, you begrudgingly forced yourself to push off of the bar and leave your drink there as you went to find Furina. You awkwardly shuffled through people, muttering small, half-hearted apologies and mumbling "excuse me" a few times.
After successfully pushing through the mass of people and making it closer to the stage where a live orchestra was playing, you let out a sigh of relief.
Okay, you're away from people, you have a good view of the room, if you don't find her, the door is just to your left... you thought to yourself, looking around and over people's heads.
No sign of her anywhere...
Sighing once more, you decided to turn for the door when you spotted a figure with white hair and dark blue attire. Ah, that must be Furina!
With a wave of relief you pushed through people once more. You didn't exactly want to leave--this was a grand event. You were just lonely.
You squeezed through people who were rushing to approach the white-haired figure that was calmly walking away. The clamors of the crowd grew louder the closer you got to the figure, making you all the more anxious to reach Furina.
However, just as you were about to call her name, someone shoved you with an aggravated huff, causing you to collide with the person you had been following. Well-- who you thought you were.
You collided head-on with the person, quickly finding that that person was quite tall with a wide chest. You let out a small "oof" as your face was pushed into their chest before you took an unsteady step back.
A hand that was undoubtedly larger than your own swiftly and firmly caught you, holding up your back, pulling you back to your feet.
"Ah-- my apologies. Are you alright?" That was most definitely not Furina. Furina didn't have a deep velvety voice like that.
You were hoping that the person you had just bumped into was, in fact, not who you now thought it was. However, that voice was unmistakably known throughout all of Fontaine. Catching sight of the figure only confirmed your suspicions.
The Chief Justice, Neuvillette, was standing above you, lilac eyes staring at your own with a much friendlier gaze than that ever seen in court. Of course-- he still had that somewhat apathetic look to him. It was simply part of his character.
It suddenly occurred to you that you were staring at him like an idiot and had not answered his question yet. You cleared your throat and took a step back, keeping your head down as you sputtered out a response.
"Oh-- um...yes, I'm fine... thank you..!" You muttered awkwardly, tripping over your words. You could practically feel his sharp gaze directed towards you. You glanced up at him again before looking away into the crowd in the hopes that Furina would be here to save you from your embarrassment. The only thing you were met with were the jealous and envious stares of the citizens and elites around you.
Neuvillette noticed your anxious gaze and let out a small hum, acknowledging the fact that you were uncomfortable in the "spotlight," so to speak. He leaned down to speak to you a bit more privately.
"I assume you would like to stay out of the eyes of the public..? There's a private room here," he said quietly as your head snapped in his direction, staring at him in bewilderment. You hadn't expected him to get so close all of a sudden, especially after bumping into him.
You spoke with uncertainty, your response somewhat forced as you said, "I...wouldn't mind that... can we go now, please..?" You asked, feeling your stomach twist and your heart leap to your throat. There were so many people here and they all seemed to hate you.
Neuvillette, though bad at dealing with mortal emotions, understood that this entire ordeal was rather...overwhelming for you. He gently took your hand and used the other to wave over a few members of the Marechaussee Phantom, giving them a directive to keep the guests away as he softly tugged on your arm and led you away.
You were caught off guard by the sudden movement but followed nonetheless.
A few melusines kept the people at bay as you and Neuvillette disappeared into a dark hallway before turning into a room lit by candles and a fireplace. In one of the loft chairs you spotted another figure with white hair and blue clothing. Furina turned to see who had entered the room and her expression went from suspicion to delight.
"My, my, (Name)!! Neuvillette, how kind of you to bring me our esteemed guest!" She exclaimed with excitement, standing up and approaching you with a smile before hugging you. As she pulled back, she kept her hands on your shoulders and spoke to Neuvillette.
"This is the one I was telling you about! This lovely lady paid for my lunch, so the least I could do was invite such a kindhearted person to our ball."
Neuvillette nodded and hummed, his hand on the small of your back as you stood still, smiling awkwardly at Furina.
"Ah, yes...well, I'm here," you said with an uncertain chuckle. You were never one to be so awkward, but you had just met the Furina this afternoon, and literally had your face in the Chief Justice's chest but a few moments ago.
"(Name)..." Neuvillette repeated your name as if trying to recall if he had heard of you before. With a sigh, he then spoke again, this time, to you.
"Please-- have a seat. I insist," he said, using a hand to gesture to one of the sofas in the luxurious room. Furina nodded and smiled happily as she took your wrist and pulled you over to the sofa, sitting down and pulling you with her.
"Oh, (Name), I'm so happy that you showed up! When I didn't see you, I thought I might've been a little too pushy, but you're here, and that's what matters!"
You nodded along what Furina was saying, taking note of how Neuvillette took a seat across from the two of you and stared at you specifically.
While half-heartedly listening to Furina's ramblings to you, Neuvillette studied you. He felt as if he had seen you somewhere before..perhaps he had seen you in the paper once, or simply recognized you from a walk. Who were you, exactly?
-----------------------12:56am----------------------
After a much-needed break, you followed Neuvillette and Furina back out towards the ball. They said that you could stay with them for the remainder of the night, and for that you were thankful.
For Neuvillette, it was a convenience. He got to learn more about who this mystery woman was and what she was doing here. He wanted to know why Furina had taken such a strong liking to you, and this was exactly how he was going to do it.
Furina dragged you out onto the dance floor as she giggled mischievously. The smooth sounds of the violin and the deep notes of the piano along with the sounds of chellos, trumpets, and other various instruments of the orchestra reverberated through the ballroom as Furina guided you through the movements of the dance.
"No, no-- you're doing it all wrong! Here, it's like this, and then this, and then you kinda go like this..." Furina said, teaching you to dance which left you completely and utterly befuddled. What was all this for?
Furina, on the other hand, was quite happy with how things were going. She had a plan-- a good one. In order for this to work, she needed you to at least know the basics of dancing. If you tripped up, that was fine. As a matter of fact, it was even better.
Then, the slow dance came on.
Marvelous! I'm such a genius. She thought to herself as she glanced over at Neuvillette. She prompted him to come over, as if she had something she had to tell him.
When he stepped onto the floor, Furina pulled him towards you and spoke hastily. "My apologies, I have business with the governor. Neuvillette, be a gentleman and finish the dance with our esteemed guest, will you? It's rude to keep someone waiting, after all!"
Without waiting for a response, she rushed off through the crowd of people, leaving the two of you hand-in-hand.
Neuvillette was stunned for a moment, staring blankly at the space where Furina had run off to. He looked dumbfounded and felt just as perplexed as he appeared.
After a few seconds, he snapped out of it and looked at you apologetically, not knowing what to make of the situation. Luckily, he wasn't the only one feeling awkward. You just stood there, vision zeroed in on where he was holding both of your hands with his own.
You glanced up at him, hoping to be able to excuse yourself, but before you could get the words out of your already open mouth, the slow dance started up and people flooded into the dance floor.
The two of you looked rather surprised as people began to dance. This was when you realized that the only way to get out of this without causing a scene was to join the fray. Only one problem though-- you didn't know this waltz. Or any, for that matter. From the looks of it, Neuvillette seemed just as lost as you were. He too had no clue how to dance.
Seeing as how Neuvillette was seemingly stuck in one place, you took the initiative to pull him along with the rest of the guests, trying to find the correct timing. Luckily, the slow dance was just that: slow.
You attempted to spin with him, dragging him along with you as you copied the movements of other patrons. It didn't take long for Neuvillette to realize what you were doing and put in some effort as well. The two of you clumsily followed in the footsteps of the strangers who were your examples.
Little apologies were heard only between the two of you as you accidentally stepped on one another and maybe spun a little bit too fast.
While Neuvillette was typically a knowledgeable and collected man, he had no clue how to act in such an abrupt situation. He was, quite literally, dragged into this. It was so...out of the ordinary for him. He didn't know how to feel about it, but that wasn't a surprise. He struggled to comprehend human emotions. Give him a break, he's trying his best.
The dance ended just as quickly as it had started, and the two of you were both left rather embarrassed and befuddled. It was quiet, and you really didn't feel like speaking up. You had no idea what to say! Fortunately for you, Neuvillette stepped up this time and took the initiative to speak first.
"I apologize, I have never engaged in a waltz before..." he said rather quietly, hoping that you would be the only one to hear. His gaze was averted as he continued on. "I haven't had the time to learn before. Please excuse my profuse clumsiness."
Wow. Even while embarrassed, he still managed to be so gentlemanly and professional in his apology. What a cutie patootie.
You smiled gently at him and let out a huff of amusement as you replied. "No, no, it's more than okay. I had no clue what I was doing either," you stated honestly. It then occurred to you that the two of you were the only ones left on the dance floor and people were staring.
With a flushed face, you quickly scurried off of the floor, dragging Neuvillette along with you. After all, it's rude to just run off mid-conversation.
You towed the two of you along to the balcony of the grand estate, closing the large solarium doors behind you as you did so. You breathed out a sigh of relief and walked over to the edge of the balcony, happy to get both some fresh air and some space. Neuvillette was just as pleased.
His slow and hesitant steps were heard from behind you as he approached the railing of the balcony, albeit a few feet away from you as he placed his hands on it.
Silence ensued. The only noise was the muffled chatter of guests inside and the soft shuffling of leaves as they swayed in the breeze. It was nice...
After a good thirty seconds or so of complete, comfortable silence, you spoke up. "That was...unexpected. I think we were played," you stated with a huff of amusement.
Neuvillette looked over at you through the corner of his eye, curiosity and a hint of amusement evident in his gaze.
"Indeed... I do think that Lady Furina has decided to play cupid tonight," he said with a more relaxed tone. He had never had an encounter like this before, and the way the conversation so casually continued, even on such a bizarre topic, was refreshing to him. When he said that he was going to learn more about this "mystery woman," he was not expecting this...
You nodded and gave a long hum of agreement as you looked over the mountainous terrain of Fontaine. It was a clear night, and the moon was bright enough to illuminated both of your faces. Neuvillette looked rather ethereal with how the moonlight accentuated his pale complexion. However, if you were to ask him, he would feel the same about how the soft light bounced off of your skin.
He, who was inhuman in nature and struggled to comprehend the emotions of said humans, found himself rather...at peace. When was the last time he had felt as if he belonged? Especially within the presence of a mortal. Far too long, he concluded.
You spoke up once more, bringing Neuvillette back to reality and away from his desk thoughts. "Furina most definitely set us up...but I wonder why," you mused, the perplexion from the situation clear on your face.
Neuvillette hummed before speaking again, his low voice now holding a tone of curiosity within it. "Well, I do trust her judgement, to some extent... she has good intentions. She most always does, but I cannot help but question her choices from time to time," he admitted. You let out a small chuckle which, to his surprise, made him feel a tinge of happiness. How peculiar...
You let out a content sigh as a smile graced your lips. You glanced over at him for a moment with an amused smile, unaware of Neuvillette's pride in making you laugh as you proposed something. "This was fun... I think Furina knew what she was doing," you said as you turned your head back to the green landscape. "If you'd like, or if you have time, I'd like to meet up for lunch sometime. Maybe we can learn to dance properly for the next time an event comes up," you joked lightheartedly.
Neuvillette smiled softly and glanced over at you. How can a man, so infamous for being a cold, strict judge, look so soft and compassionate so suddenly?
"I do believe I would like that..."
-----------------------9:33am----------------------
The memories of the ball were fresh in your mind, even as you sorted through the small jars of herbs within your apothecary. As people entered your shop and browsed your wares, you noticed that a few stopped to stare and whisper.
That doesn't happen...
Eventually, after the fifth person stopped to chat with their friend, you turned around and gave them a confused yet somewhat annoyed expression as you crossed your arms.
"Is there something on my face? People have been whispering all day," you said with irritation clear in your tone of voice.
The people, rightfully surprised, looked at you with astonishment. After a few seconds of silence and wide-eyed staring, one of them spoke up.
"You don't know? People heard about last night," they said, pulling out a newspaper. You recognized it as The Steambird, the local newspaper of Fontaine.
Taking the newspaper with a small "thank you," you read over the front page. You were astonished to see a photo of you and Neuvillette on the balcony from last night. The headline you read made your face heat up in embarrassment.
"Monsieur Neuvillette and Local Botanist Mademoiselle (Name) seen at Fontaine's Grand Ball--Read for More Information!"
Handing the newspaper back to the pair that were in your shop, you thanked them quietly, even through your rather dazed state. They then made their purchases and left with a polite wave.
Not soon after, when you were checking your mail, you found an envelope. You hummed and looked at it with curiosity. It looked important. Wax seal on it, the emblem of Fontaine-- the whole nine yards.
Bringing it inside and sitting at your desk in the back, you opened it. You still had no clue who it was from, but you could tell that it was something from the Fontainian government with how regal and professional it looked. Not at all nerve-wracking. Last time you checked, you had paid all your taxes in time.
Upon opening it, you found polaroid photos of you and Neuvillette, again at the balcony, but from different angles and at different times. Shocked, you searched through them for any clues on why you were sent a legal document with pictures of the brief interaction you had with Neuvillette last night.
There was a small note inside with very elegant handwriting on it. You mentally gave appreciation to the person who wrote it. The note read, "Dearest (Name), I hope you enjoy your memorabilia from your first night at Fontaine's Grand Ball! Hosted by yours truly, of course. Please feel free to drop by any time for lunch! And please, let me pay. You covered last time, so I'll do it now! Consider this your free-lunch-with-Furina coupon. Hope to see you soon! -With love, Furina"
Ah...that made sense. Looking at the bottom, you found another small note.
"Also, I didn't take these pictures-- Charlotte did ♡"
If you were to guess, you'd say that Charlotte also wrote the story that just so happened to make the front page. Well, this will probably be good for business. Unless, of course, some crazy Neuvillette fanatic comes looking for you because you got attention for it...
With a sigh, you set the envelope down, and just as you did, what looked like a ticket fell out. Picking it up, you noticed that it was a reservation. A reservation for a very prestigious restaurant known here in Fontaine. A reservation for two, it said, and your name was listed alongside Neuvillette's. How convenient that it was listed as a couples' night.
Furina could be so mischievous at times, truly.
But oh well-- you would probably never forgive yourself if you didn't take such an opportunity. ♡
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𓋼𓍊Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed this. I've been getting back into writing, and have had this one in my drafts for a while. I haven't posted since 2024, so this is my first post of the year! Yes, late, I know, but hey-- I'm a busy gal. Please let me know if you'd like a continuation of this, and requests are always open! 𓍊𓋼
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cmentary · 6 hours ago
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Sevika x Reader - College AU
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Sevika x reader, college au, 4th year reader, 5th year teachers 'helper Sevika', later on reader's tutor, no "y/n" or "reader", reader is referred to as X because she just is.
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Today is one of those days which you don't experience many times in your life. Usually it's 5, unless you're unlucky enough to be forced to take a few more due to your failing grades. Luckily X didn't experience this displeasure and she was just about to start her 4th year of college. 
She was never forced to repeat a year, her grades were just fine… Except for math. 
Throughout the years she was blessed with an amazing tutor, a lovely lady in her 50s, who's been getting her to pass math each year since 7th grade of primary school. Unfortunately, people age, her tutor did and so did her mother. Because of her mothers condition, the math tutor was not able to support X this year. Reasonably it sent her into VERY lightly panic. 
With teachers like that and brains like this, on the first day after summer X was unable to find any crumbs of hope to brighten the day up and it would only get more complicated from this point. 
Housing system? Completely changed, this year everyone got assigned new dorm rooms. Unlike for the previous three years when X would share a room with some student a year below her, who'd rarely attend lectures, disappear for the whole night for parties and come back in the morning to sleep though half of the day, now she was completely alone.
Now what would greet her was an empty room, which she didn't decorate much, it didn't seem necessary (and it's not like she could afford much dust catchers). The only thing brought into the simple dorm was a pair of bags filled with clothes and necessary hygienic products. 
As the first few weeks flew by filled with simple classes like linguistics and those subjects directly related to her major, alongside those which she could deal with were also those she couldn't deal with much, especially math. 
It was almost half of the way towards the first session into the semester when the math teacher brought to class some sort of an assistant. Which from the looks surely did not seem like one. Teachers ‘little’ helper was a woman well above 6 feet of height, dark skinned, tanned enough to look as if she was golden, with short brown hair usually with it's top half tied up, not dressing too assistant-like, most of the time wearing sweatpants and t-shirts or compression shirts both which hugged her muscles tightly. She was a year five student, probably shooting towards becoming some sort of a substitute teacher.
She brought insecurities to boys from X's year group, being much more well built than the majority of them. During lectures whispers and giggles could be heard between other girls, who'd wonder whether she's even a woman with a silhouette like that. What was caught by X's attention was how a student made it, to be standing near the teachers desk, not sitting somewhere in the crowd AND still having time to hit the gym to maintain physique as impressive as hers. 
A few more math lectures ran by, accompanied by naps overtaking X's consciousness and occasional glances shared with the teachers assistant. Her expression stoic, yet surely irritated and disappointed with the lack of attention from the group of students. No matter how detailed and pretty were X's notes, everything the math teacher said would go in through her one ear and escape through the other. A pretty silly idea was born in her mind. How ridiculous could it possibly be to ask the older student for help in math? Not in class of course, since that surely would be considered forbidden, but it wouldn't hurt much to ask for help outside the lectures. At least couldn't help more than failing the semester. 
As one of the cruelly un-understandable lectures came to it's end, the teacher left, so did the crowd of uninterested students. As for X… she was catching up on sleep, pretty much looking dead as her head layed on her arms on her desk. She felt a strong hand on her shoulder, shaking her lightly. “Come on sleeping beauty, the class is over”. As X rubbed her eyes to regain her vision's focus, her head rose to gaze towards the voice that woke her up. She looked around herself to see the lecture Hall empty as the lights were already halfway turned off. “Fuck sorry” X mumbled more to herself than to the other, but her disorientation caused the taller woman to let out an amused chuckle as she slowly headed toward the exit. X's quickly stuffed her bag with whatever she left laying around and caught up to the other. “Wait a second I've been meaning to ask-” taller woman stopped and turned around to face the tired student. “I know you're probably really busy with lectures, gym, finals and whatever you could possibly have going on, but… I suck at *pointing vaguely towards the whiteboard filled with calculations* whatever this is supposed to be and I was wondering if I could somehow persuade you to… tutor me a little because the exam is coming up, my tutor has an elderly sick mother and I can't figure out any of those stuff on my own. Since you're here I'm assuming your math skills are thriving and mine couldn't been worse and-” a subtle deep laugh cut X off her endless ramble as a piece of paper written somewhere halfway through her monologue was written and put into her hand. “Here, my phone and dorm room number. Save your silver tongue for the teachers. If you want to pay me, bring a drink with you, for both of us and then we'll get to talking.” She waved you off and walked away. 
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dadrielle · 1 day ago
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I am sorry my tags about the fire came across as accusatory or weaponized; that was not my intention. I thought the middle tag which you left off, #maybe they kinda wanna just chill rn, made it clear that I was just acknowledging there was an extra reason they probably didn't want to get deep this time. I was not saying that you do not care about the fires, nor was I saying I think that's why people asked the less deep questions. The reason I didn't put it in the post itself was in fact because as you said, it's not really relevant to a general critic of the show format. It just felt weird to me not to nod to the fact that that happened and was affecting the crew quite a bit, so that was me doing that. Sorry.
I am glad to hear that the post wasn’t intended to be about Cole. I did read some of your other posts before replying to this one, and I did also find the kids question cringe and unfortunate, cuz like, why does the gender of their kids matter even slightly? Gross, really. It was not obvious to me that this post was intended to only be about that, though, and I do think some of my points stand here, because when you say this (bolded emphasis mine on the second bit):
"the bleed over of fanon is depressing"
and
"a lot of you are showing your asses in terms of how you don't actually gaf about the characters or the story the players have chosen to tell."
it implies that you are talking about many things that you consider to fall into that category of fanon bleedover. Given that the kids question isn't even a fanon thing (as fanon is usually a thing a lot of people subscribe to) so much as one person asking a cringe question (to validate their individual headcanon), it is not at all obvious to me that's what you meant in the OG post.
And logically when follow that up with this in the same post:
"that's what you wanna ask about? it's selfish, honestly."
it sounds like you are also applying that to everything that fits into the category of fanon bleed over.
This is what I meant by splash damage. I am glad my assumption that this was about the glasses question was wrong but I don't think it is unreasonable to look at it and think that's what you're talking about. I do not think I was the only person who read it and thought that. If you say something is lame and that lame questions are selfish, people who ask questions you find lame are going to think you are calling them selfish whether that is your intention or not.
I dunno man, I tried really really hard to make it clear that I understand your frustration and share much of it, that I think it's valid to not like that kind of stuff in Q & As, and I tried really hard to provide context for what I was saying and to avoid coming across as super accusatory. I straight up just hate live Q&As as a thing, personally. Con Q&As make me wanna sink into the floor. Maybe my wordiness here is part of the problem; I know I overdo it when I am trying to be precise about what I'm saying. That’s a me problem. But I commented because we are in the same community and this felt harsh and I wanted to talk it out because that feels healthy to me. And now I know you did not mean this to be about Cole, so I do think that is a worthwhile thing to get out of talking directly. I did not respond because I'm hating on you; I did not say you're a bully. But if you are consistently having people say that they feel like you're coming for them when that's not your intention, I would consider whether you should try temper that brashness for the sake of clarity and not hitting people in the crossfire.
Anyway, yeah, if we wanna talk further, I do think DMs makes sense. I didn't actually see this second reblog until I had written most of this and I did want to clarify wrt to the tags publicly which is why I am posting this despite the DM invitation above.
I hope you enjoyed last night's episode. Have a good one.
I shouldn't be surprised by the fireside chat being the state it was, seeing as I don't follow any CR themed blogs myself or really go into the tags because I find it frustrating but still, the bleed over of fanon is depressing and a lot of you are showing your asses in terms of how you don't actually gaf about the characters or the story the players have chosen to tell.
I love my au's, I love my headcanons, I love my not quite canon ships, but they're for me and the people who chose to enjoy them if they want to. and what makes creating those things more fulfilling is trying to really be true to the character it's about, otherwise just go play with OCs
this will be my last salty post on the matter (guess we'll see) but man, the timing? all of this crazy shit is going on, it is well established that the audience is frustrated with how little downtime we've had with these characters and getting to see those long rest bonds we got to enjoy with previous campaigns, 4SD is over, and that's what you wanna ask about? it's selfish, honestly.
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elasgottoomuchfreetime · 2 years ago
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Do you think Crowley told Aziraphale that Gabriel literally told him to stfu and die?
I suspect he didn’t. Cause it just seems like a thing he‘d want to spare his Angel from. On the other hand Aziraphale might not care? Given all the stuff Gabriel and the others probably threw at him throughout his time in heaven.
However it went, imagine the rage Crowley must be in while Gabriel (who was mean to Aziraphale probably throughout their whole existence) casually strolls around the bookshop and says things like You ever feel like everything would be better if you were just near that one particular person.
The goddamn audacity.
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demigod-of-the-agni · 10 months ago
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Spider-Man India, but... where from India?
A SUPER long post featuring talks of: cultural identity, characterisation, the caste system, and what makes Spider-Man Spider-Man.
I’m prefacing this by saying that I am a second-generation immigrant. I was born in Australia, but my cultural background is from South India. My experiences with what it means to be “Indian” is going to be very different from the experiences of those who are born and brought up in India.
If you, reader, want to add anything, please reblog and add your thoughts. This is meant to be a post open for discussion — the more interaction we get, the better we become aware of these nuances.
So I made this poll asking folks to pick a region of India where I would draw Pavitr Prabhakar in their cultural wear. This idea had been on my mind for a long while now, as I had been inspired by Annie Hazarika’s Northeastern Spidey artwork in the wake of ATSV’s release, but never got the time to actually do it until now. I wanted to get a little interactive and made the poll so I could have people choose which of the different regions — North, Northeast, Central, East, West, South — to do first.
The outcome was not what I expected. As you can see, out of 83 votes:
THE RESULTS
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South India takes up almost half of all votes (44.6%), followed by Northeast and Central (both 14.5%) and then East (13.3%). In all my life growing up, support towards or even just the awareness of South India was pretty low. Despite this being a very contained poll, why would nearly half of all voters pick South India in favour of other popular choices like Central or North India?
Then I thought about the layout of the poll: Title, Options, Context.
Title: "Tell us who you want to see…"
Options: North, Northeast, Central, East, West, South
Context: I want to make art of the boy again
At first I thought: ah geez. this is my fault. I didn't make the poll clear enough. do they think I want them to figure out where Pavitr came from? That's not what I wanted, maybe I should have added the context before the options.
Then I thought: ah geez. is it my fault for people not reading the entire damn thing before clicking a button? That's pretty stupid.
But regardless, the thought did prompt a line of thinking I know many of us desi folk have been considering since Spider-Man India was first conceived — or, at least, since the announcement that he was going to appear in ATSV. Hell, even I thought of it:
Where did Spider-Man India come from?
FROM A CULTURALLY DIVERSE INDIA
As we know, India is so culturally diverse, and no doubt ATSV creators had to take that into account. Because the ORIGINAL Spider-Man India came from Mumbai — most likely because Mumbai and Manhattan both started with the same letter.
But going beyond that, it’s also because Mumbai is one of the most recognisable cities in India - it’s also known as Bombay. It’s where Bollywood films are shot. It’s where superstar Hindi actors and actresses show up. Mumbai is synonymous with India in that regard, because the easiest way Western countries can interact with Indian culture is through BOLLYWOOD, through HINDI FILMS, through MUMBAI. Suddenly, India is Mumbai, India is a Hindi-only country, India is just this isolated thing we see through an infinitely narrow lens.
We’ve gotten a little better in recent years, but boy I will tell you how uncomfortable I’ve gotten when people (yes, even desi people) come up to me and tell me, Oh, you’re Indian right? Can you speak Hindi? Why don’t you speak Hindi? You’re not Indian if you don’t speak Hindi, that’s India’s national language!
I have been — still am — so afraid of telling people that I don’t speak Hindi, that I’m Tamil, that I don’t care that Hindi is India’s “national” language (it’s an administrative language, Kavin, get your fucking facts right). It’s weird, it’s isolating, and it has made me feel like I wasn’t “Indian” enough to be accepted into the group of “Indian” people.
So I am thankful that ATSV went out of their way to integrate as much variety of Indian culture into the Mumbattan sequence. Maybe that way, the younger generation of desi folk won’t feel so isolated, and that younger Western people will be more open to learning about all these cultural differences within such a vast country.
BUT WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH SPIDER-MAN INDIA?
Everything, actually. There’s a thing called supremacy. You might have heard of it. We all engaged with it at some point, and if you are Indian, no matter where you live, it is inescapable.
It happens the moment you are born — who your family is, where you are born, the language you speak, the colour of your skin; these will be bound to you for life, and it is nigh impossible to break down the stereotypes associated with them.
Certain ethnic groups will be more favourable than others (Centrals, and thus their cultures, will always be favoured over than Souths, as an example) and the same can be said for social groups (Brahmins are more likely to secure influential roles in politics or other areas like priesthood, while the lowers castes, especially Dalits, aren’t even given the decency of respect). Don’t even get me started on colourism, where obviously those of fairer skin will win the lottery while those of darker skin aren’t given the time of day. It’s even worse when morality ties into it — “lighter skinned Indians, like Brahmins, embody good qualities like justice and wisdom”, “dark skinned Indians are cunning and poor, they are untrustworthy”. It’s fucking nuts.
This means, of course, you have a billion people trying to make themselves heard in a system that tries to crush everyone who is not privileged. It only makes sense that people want to elevate themselves and break free from a society that refuses to acknowledge them. These frustrations manifest outwardly, like in protests, but other times — most times — it goes unheard, quietly shaping your way of life, your way of thinking. It becomes a fundamental part of you, and it can go unacknowledged for generations.
So when you have a character like Pavitr Prabhakar enter the scene, people immediately latch onto him and start asking questions many Western audiences don’t even consider. Who is he? What food does he eat? What does he do on Fridays? What’s his family like, his community? All these questions pop up, because, amidst all this turmoil going on in the background, you want a mainstream popular character to be like you, who knows your way of life so intimately, that he may as well be a part of your community.
BUT THAT'S THE THING — HE'S FICTIONAL
I am guilty of this. In fact, I’ve flaunted in numerous posts how I think he’s the perfect Tamil boy, how he dances bharatanatyam, how he does all these Tamil things that no one will understand except myself. All these niche things that only I, and maybe a few others, will understand.
I’ve seen other people do it, too. I’ve seen people geek out over his dark brown skin, his kalari dhoti, how he fights so effortlessly in the kalaripayattu martial arts style. I’ve seen people write him as Malayali, as Hindi, as every kind of Indian person imaginable.
I’ve also seen him be written where he’s subjected to typical Indian and broader Asian stereotypes. You know the ones I’m so fond of calling out. The thing is, I’ve seen so much of Pavitr being presented in so many different ways, and I worry how the rest of the desi folk will take it. 
You finally have a character who could be you, but now he’s someone else’s plaything. Your entire life is shaped by what you can and can’t do simply because you were born to an Indian family, and here’s the one person who could represent you now at the mercy of someone else’s whims. He’s off living a life that is so distant from yours, you can hardly recognise him.
It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, yeah? But, again, you’re looking at it from that infinitely narrow lens Westerners use to look at India from Bollywood.
AND PAVITR PRABHAKAR DOESN'T LIVE IN INDIA
He lives in Mumbattan. He lives in a made-up, fictional world that doesn’t follow the way of life of our world. He lives in a city where Mumbai and Manhattan got fucking squashed together. There are so many memes about colonialism right there. Mumbattan isn’t real! Spider-Man India isn’t real!! He’s just a dude!! The logic of our world doesn’t apply to him!!!
“But his surname originates from ______” okay but does that matter?
“But he’s wearing a kalari dhoti so surely he’s ______” okay but does that matter?
“But his skin colour is darker so he must be ______” okay but does that matter?
“But he lives in Mumbai so he must be ______” okay but does that matter?
I sound insensitive and brash and annoying and it looks like I’m yapping just for the sake of riling you up, so direct that little burst of anger you got there at me, and keep reading.
Listen. I’m going to ask you a question that I’ve asked myself a million times over. I want you to answer honestly. I want you to ask this question to yourself and answer honestly:
Are you trying to convince me on who Pavitr Prabhakar should be?
... but why shouldn't i?
I’ll tell you this again — I did the same thing. You’re not at fault for this, but I want you to just...have a little think over. Just a little moment of self-reflection, to think about why you are so intent on boxing this guy.
It took me a while to reorganise my thinking and how to best approach a character like Pavitr, so I will give you all the time you need as well as a little springboard to focus your thoughts on.
SPIDER-MAN (INDIA) IS JUST A MASK
“What I like about the costume is that anybody reading Spider-Man in any part of the world can imagine that they themselves are under the costume. And that’s a good thing.”
Stan Lee said that. Remember how he was so intent on making sure that everybody got the idea that Spider-Man as an entity is fundamentally broken without Peter Parker there to put on the suit and save the day? That ultimately it was the person beneath the mask, no matter who they were, that mattered most?
Spider-Man India is no less different. You can argue with me that Peter Parker!Spidey is supposed to represent working class struggles in the face of leering corporate entities who endanger the regular folk like us, and so Pavitr Prabhakar should also function the same way. Pavitr should also be a working class guy of this specific social standing fighting people of this other social standing.
But that takes away the authenticity of Spider-Man India. Looking at him through the Peter Parker lens forces you to look at him through the Western lens, and it significantly lessens what you can do with the character — suddenly, it’s a fight to be heard, to be seen, to be recognised. It’s yelling over each other that Pavitr Prabhakar is this ethnicity, is that caste, this or that, this or that, this or that.
There’s a reason why he’s called Spider-Man India, infuriatingly vague as it is. And that’s the point — the vagueness of his identity fulfils Lee’s purpose for a character that could theoretically be embodied by anyone. If he had been called “Spider-Man Mumbai”, you cut out a majority of the population (and in capitalist terms, you cut out a good chunk of the market).
And in the case of Spider-Man India? Whew — you’ve got about a billion people imagining a billion different versions of him.
Whoever you are, whatever you see in Pavitr, that is what is personal to you, and there is nothing wrong with that, and I will not fault you for it. I will not fault you for saying Pavitr is from Central due to the origins of his last name. I also will not fault you for saying Pavitr is from South due to him practising kalaripayattu. I also will not fault you for saying he is not Hindu. I also will not fault you for saying he is a particular ethnicity without any proof.
What I will fault you for is trying to convince me and the others around you that Pavitr Prabhakar should be this particular ethnicity/have this cultural background because of some specific reason. I literally don’t care and it is fundamentally going against his character, going against the “anyone can wear the mask” sentiment of Spider-Man. By doing this, you are strengthening the walls that first divided us. You’re feeding the stratification and segmentation of our cultures — something that is actually not present in the fictional world of Mumbattan.
Like I said before: Mumbattan isn’t real, so the divides between ethnicities and cultural backgrounds are practically nonexistent. The best thing is that it is visually there for all to see. My favourite piece of evidence is this:
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It’s a marquee for a cinema in the Mumbattan sequence, in the “Quick tour: this is where the traffic is” section. It has four titles; the first two are written in Hindi. The third title is written in Bengali*, and the fourth title is written in Tamil. You go to Mumbai and you won’t see a single shred of Bengali nor Tamil there, much less any other language that's not common in Maharashtra (Western India). Seeing this for the first time, you know what went through my head?
Wow, the numerous cultures of India are so intermingled here in Mumbattan! Everyone and everything is welcome!
I was happy, not just because of Tamil representation, but because of the fact that the plethora of Indian cultures are showcased coexisting in such a short sequence. This is India embracing all the little parts that make up its grander identity. This scene literally opened my eyes seeing such beauty in all the diverse cultures thriving together. In a place where language and cultural backgrounds blend so easily, each one complementing one another.
It is so easy to believe that, from this colourful palette of a setting, Pavitr Prabhakar truly is Spider-Man India, no matter where he comes from.
It’s easy to believe that Pavitr can come from any part of India, and I won’t call you out if the origin you have for him is different from the origin I have. You don’t need to stake out territory and stand your ground — you’re entitled to that opinion, and I respect it. In fact, I encourage it!!!
Because there’s only so much you can show in a ten minute segment of a film about a country that has such a vast history and even greater number of cultures. I want to see all of it — I want him to be a Malayali boy, a Hindi boy, a Bengali boy, a Telugu boy, an Urdu boy, whatever!! I want you to write him or draw him immersed in your culture, so that I can see the beauty of your background, the wonderful little things that make your culture unique and different from mine!
And, as many friends have said, it’s so common for Indian folks to be migrating around within our own country. A person with a Maharashtrian surname might end up living in Punjab, and no one really minds that. I’m actually from Karnataka, my family speaks Kannada, but somewhere down the line my ancestors moved to Tamil Nadu and settled down and lived very fulfilling lives. So I don’t actually have the “pure Tamil” upbringing, contrary to popular belief; I’ve gotten a mix of both Kannada and Tamil lifestyles, and it’s made my life that much richer. 
So it’s common for people to “not” look like their surname, if that’s what you’re really afraid about. In fact, it just adds to that layer of nuance, that even despite these rigid identities between ethnicities we as Indian people still intermingle with one another, bringing slivers of our cultures to share with others. Pavitr could just as well have been born in one state and moved around the country, and he happens to live in Mumbattan now. It’s entirely possible and there’s nothing to disprove that.
We don’t need to clamber over one another declaring that only one ethnicity is the “right” ethnicity, because, again, you will be looking at Pavitr and the rest of India in that narrow Western lens — a country with such rich cultural variety reduced to a homogenous restrictive way of life.
THE POLL: REINTERPRETED
This whole thing started because I was wondering why my little poll was so skewed — I thought people assumed I was asking them where he came from, then paired his physical appearance with the most logical options available. I thought it was my fault, that I had somehow influenced this outcome without knowing.
Truth is, I will never really know. But I will be thankful for it, because it gave me the opportunity to finally broach this topic, something that many of us desi folk are hesitant to talk about. I hope you have learned something from this, whether you are desi or a casual Spider-Man fan or someone who just so happened to stumble upon this. 
So just…be a little more open. Recognise that India, like many many countries and nations, is made up of a plethora of smaller cultures. And remember, if you’re trying to convince Pavitr that he’s a particular ethnicity, he’s going to wave his hand at you and say, “Ha, me? No, I’m one of the people that live here in the best Indian city! I’m Spider-Man India, dost!”
(Regardless, he still considers you a friend, because to him, the people matter more to him than you trying to box him into something he’s not.)
*Note: thank you dear anon for letting me know that the third title was Bengali, twas my mistake for literally completely forgetting
#long post + more tags that kinda spiral away BUT expand on the points above AND kinda puts everything together concisely#BROS THIS IS AN HONEST TO GOD ESSAY#THAT HAS BEEN COOKING IN MY HEART FOR A WHILE NOW. SIMMERING FOR MONTHS BEFORE FINALLY BOILING OVER IN THE LAST WEEK#genuinely hope you read MOST of it because yes it has Quite A Lot Of Exposition but it all matters nonetheless#put in a lot of thought into this so i expect you to do your part and challenge your thoughts as well#you see how i'm not asking for you to listen to me. but to actually Think. i want you to cook your thoughts and add some spice and flavour#and give it a good mix so you can come out of this a little more wiser than before#because!!! yeah!!!! spider man india is just that!! he's indian!!!!! we don't need to collectively agree on where he comes from#bc it gets rid of that relatability factor of spider man. at the most basic level#think of it as a schrodinger's. he is every single culture and none of them at the same time. therefore none of us are wrong!! sick!!!!#pavitr's first priority is making sure HIS PEOPLE are safe. that's probably as far as we can go that relates him back to peter parker spide#he loves his people and working in the name of justice to FIGHT for HIS PEOPLE is just the duty/responsibility he takes up#it makes sense that he loves everyone and every culture he engages with bc that's the nature of spider man i suppose#if peter parker spidey acts as the guardian for the regular folk.. then in my mind pavitr spidey stands as the bridge uniting the people#because society as its core is very fragmented. and having pavitr act as a connection to other folks.... mmmmm beautiful#that's what i'm talking abouttttt !!!#anyways guys this is literally 3001 words on my document EXCLUDING THE TITLE. THAT'S 7 PAGES AT 11pt FONT. i'm literally cryingggg wtf#pavitr prabhakar#spider man#spider man india#desi#desiblr#atsv#across the spiderverse#atsv pavitr#indian culture#india#desi tumblr#what the fuck do i tag this as#agnirambles
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