#things are different. things have changed.

[alwayshappyhoursomewhere]

#remember how most LJ culture occurred in the comments?

Remember how LiveJournal let you have several icons (or avatars or "pfps" as you might call them now)? And you'd carefully choose an icon to fit the subject matter, your tone, and the blog on which you were commenting or posting?

And it could make your argument look that much snarkier if you used a rude one? Or you could use it to add a multiplier to a joke?

And icons, alongside banners and wallpapers, were a whole genre of fanwork with its own design language, conventions, and norms, including carefully crediting people for them?

That was neat.

[sageshouldknowbetter]

Some may be apprehensive that Severance won’t portray Mark’s interaction with Helena in the tent as the sexual assault it was. But not only will they — they already are.

Mark’s behavior toward Helly has completely changed. He doesn’t sit next to her at Irving’s funeral. He shuts down attempts at conversation with offhand, vague snarky comments and a defiantly blank facial expression. When Helly knocks on the door to the bathroom, his eyes dart around like an animal cornered. Where he once would have slowed down for her in the hallway so they could talk, he walks much faster ahead. He’s trying as hard as possible to avoid her. To ignore her. To run away.

Now contrast this with his treatment of “Helly” when she first walked out of the elevator in season two. He waited for her to arrive! He was so relieved she’d come back! And when they were walking down that hallway and he was explaining the situation with Ms. Casey, he stopped mid-stride, turned to her with a smile on his face, and said “Look, Helly—“

He never got to finish that sentence. But some say he was going to confess that though his outie had a wife, his affections lay with her. And I think they’re right.

So why is he acting so differently now? The answer is obvious: “Because they are smarter than us, okay? They know everything.”

After the assault, Mark likely feels like a complete idiot. He spent so much of season one deconstructing his beliefs and breaking free from Lumon’s propaganda. And the minute he believes he’s immune to their lies and no longer a corporate slave, he is taken advantage of and hoodwinked by the very figurehead of said company, masking as someone he loves.

A symbol of Lumon convinced him he was safe. Tricked him. Invaded him in the most intimate way possible, with him completely oblivious, “like an idiot.” Right when he thought everything might be okay.

So maybe Lumon’s right. Maybe there’s no point in fighting. Because if he was stupid enough to not realize his own friend was being possessed by her billionaire doppelgänger, then maybe Lumon is correct about innies being nothing more than pawns. Maybe they are people, and he really is… not. (That’s how Helena treated him, anyway.)

And if that’s the case, of course he wants to give up looking for Ms. Casey and lose himself in work! For a moment he thought he was a human being, deserving of autonomy over his own body and capable of something more than sitting behind a desk — but his assault sends that all crashing down. He is an extension of his outie, made for work and nothing more. Going beyond that gets dangerous. That’s what got Irving killed… and him in Helena’s tent. And Helly? He cannot trust Helly. As far as he knows, his only confirmed moment with Helly since the OTC was when he was holding her in his arms, his jacket wrapped around her shoulders. Why should it be Helly coming back to the severed floor? If Helena could trick him before, who says she can’t learn from her past mistakes and trick him again over and over? Mark refuses to be humiliated and hurt after last time, so he avoids her (and Dylan!) and puts up a barrier of cool, snarky indifference — just like how he deals with grief.

But we know that indifference is a mask. When Milchick walked out of the elevator after revealing he knew about him and Helena Eagan, Mark had no one to pretend for — and he went completely stiff, blankly wide-eyed in an expression extremely reminiscent of his usual innie self. Whatever the reasons for this, one thing’s for sure: Mark does deeply care about what happened in the tent. And at least for now, he will lose himself in Cold Harbor to cope with it.

Lumon certainly got their productive worker back. But good Lord… at what cost?

[lordcrumps]

4T2 Comfy Gamer Kit

Sul Sul!

Myself and SpringSims wanted to convert this kit together, so we collaborated and did the entire thing!

There are a few options with some of the items, so please read carefully. Details are under the cut!

This set features;

Functional Camera

Functional Alarm Clock

Collection file

Split recolourable subsets where it makes sense

Tons of swatches to choose from

More clutter which is always a win!

Shelves

Desk with plenty of slots

A side table with a TON of slots!

Thank you @deedee-sims for the desk that I cloned from! Helped a bunch!

DOWNLOAD

Functional Camera

The first folder you will see is named "Choose One - Functional Camera", in this you can see the Deco version and functional version of the camera. Both versions will work in your game, if you want a functional camera, please read the "read me" file, as it has an edit of a mod from our lovely friend @episims.

It does require this mod but allow my edits to overwrite the mod version you are using, either cellphone or no cellphone! So yes, for the functional one you will need to download the rest of the mods / cameras etc from Epi!

The original functional camera mod is found here

Neon Light Options

Inside the second folder named "Neon Light Options" has two comparison photos, both lights can also be used in game, but the reason for the two options is purely because I wanted the room to glow like the other EA Neon lights, but I couldnt get the glass and neon bulb to work well together. So there are two options, one that is more true to Sims 4 but does not illuminate the room, and another where its adjusted to work better in the Sims 2. Please see the Read Me file in this folder for more of an explanation!

Poster Options

For those who have my Every Base Game Wall Deco files you can remove the folder named "REQUIRED FOR REPO VERSION" inside the "Poster Options" folder. I only included it just in-case. This version has the art work repo'd to all the other poster meshes so you can swap and change the art on different meshes.

The Standalone version does not require any extra files, it is in there just in-case you do not have the main Poster file mentioned above.

@sims4t2bb thanks!

[luvrrszn]

messy

RAFE CAMERON x FEM READER (18+)

summary coming back from college, the last thing hookup!rafe expects to return to is rumours that you’ve been sleeping with jj

warnings angst, happy ending though!, lowkey miscommunication, all characters r of age !! brief jj x reader but that's just for the plot okay...

a/n ok stay with me now basically reader is 18 (graduated hs, but taking a gap year) and she's the same age as jj/john b/everyone else while rafe is 19 and was having his first year in college !! yo why did this idea lowkey come to me in a dream during a nap Zzzzzz and ooc kelce for this one my bad

masterlist

it was supposed to be a summer thing.

something fun, fleeting, memorable yet forgettable. a secret, of course, because rafe would never risk his reputation by being seen with a pogue, would he?

but the sneaking around was useless, everyone knew that something was happening between the two of you. well, everyone that mattered anyway. they saw the way his eyes lingered a second too long on you, how his grip tightened just a little when he led you through crowded rooms. they noticed how you always left parties together.

but none of that meant anything.

it's casual, it's just convenient.

that's what the both of you told anyone and everyone who asked.

that's what you kept telling yourself when you found yourself wanting more.

especially when rafe told you he was moving away for college.

—

at first, you waited.

you told yourself it was a polite thing to do, waiting for some time before getting with someone else.

but in reality, you were waiting before moving on, in hopes that you'd get a text from rafe, who was hundreds of miles away, a text that would change your relationship.

but it never came.

then the daily check-ins and "miss u babe" texts lessen in frequency.

you're lucky if you get a text once a week.

you think maybe he's just busy. give him the benefit of the doubt right? maybe he's still trying to cope with the new workload, or making new friends.

you're proved wrong when you click on topper's close friends' story on instagram.

weekend after weekend, rafe's clubbing, partying, with a different girl on his lap each time.

well, if he's clearly not bothered to text, why bother waiting?

—

and when he finally remembers that his sweet girl is waiting for him, you're not waiting anymore.

you don't even bother to open his texts.

why?

because you're too busy having fun with jj!

it's casual, fun, spontaneous with jj. you don't have to worry about being seen "too close" in public, it's just you and jj maybank having fun!

you party, go to the beach, hanging out with your friends. you surround yourself with your people, always making sure you're too busy to be thinking about rafe. you bury your feelings deep, and do anything you can to take your mind off of it.

having grown close to rafe's friends too, you go to parties on both figure eight and the cut, always with jj. and you make damn sure everyone sees.

you secretly hope rafe's friends tell him.

—

in the weeks that follow, you're too busy having fun fooling around and partying with jj to notice the text from rafe that tells you he's coming back for winter break.

—

"hey, you gotta hurry a lil if you wanna get some of the good booze before the kooks get 'em all!" jj yells at you from down the stairs.

"i'm coming, just wait!" you huff as you struggle with your earrings as you walk down the stairs. you had spent the night at sarah's just so you could get to the party down the street more easily.

when you get to the landing of the stairs, jj lets out a low whistle as you do a little spin. you're wearing a short sparkly skirt that barely covers anything, and a very low-cut black lace tank. remembering that it was rafe's favourite outfit of yours sends a pang of sadness through your chest, but you push it aside.

the moment you step out onto the street, you can already hear the loud music blasting from the house down the street. you and jj race down the road, and of course you win! (he let you win...)

"yo! see you brought your little dog with you today." kelce chuckles, handing you and jj a bottle of beer each as you two enter through the front door.

"hey, y'know i'm just playing. good to see you, maybank." kelce says, arms up in mock surrender once you glare at him. he winks at you, and then he disappears into the crowd.

after dancing for what felt like an eternity, you slip upstairs to the bathroom to get a bit of air and space.

when you finally push open the bathroom door, the muffled bass from the party instantly flooding back into your ears. the air is thick with smoke and spilled liquor, the dim hallway lights flickering unevenly. as you step out, adjusting your top, your breath catches in your throat.

there he is.

rafe fucking cameron, back from college, standing at the bottom of the stairs like he never left.

he's leaning against the wall, one hand lazily gripping a red solo cup, the other tucked into the pocket of his jeans. his gaze is already on you—intense, unreadable. the kind that makes your stomach flip in a way you wish it wouldn’t.

you immediately look around for an escape route and you realise you're fucked, with no way out except down the stairs, past him, and out the front door. when you finally refocus your gaze on rafe, he looks different, somehow. sharper. more tired. tall, so tall. you don't remember him being that tall.

but despite everything, he's still the same rafe—the same cocky tilt of his head, the same way he takes up too much space without even trying.

you force yourself to keep walking, gripping the wooden railing as you descend the stairs, ignoring the way your pulse pounds in your ears. you won’t give him the satisfaction of stopping.

but of course, rafe doesn’t let that happen.

the moment your foot touches the last step, his free hand curls around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. the grip isn’t tight, but it’s enough—enough to send a shiver up your spine, enough to remind you that he’s right here.

"didn’t think i’d see you here, bug," he drawls, voice thick with amusement. his fingers skim down your arm, lazy and deliberate. familiar. "heard you’ve been keeping yourself entertained while I was gone."

your plan worked. he'd heard about you and jj. but why on earth were you feeling like absolute shit?

you wriggle out of his grip.

"get out of my way, rafe." you grit out before darting through the crowd and out of the front door.

but he's hot on your tail. he's not letting you go, not this time.

he grabs your waist and spins you around, holding you in place this time, so you don’t slip away.

"don’t act like you care now, rafe. let me go." your voice is soft, pleading almost.

his smirk falters for half a second. but then, just like that, it’s back—only meaner this time.

"oh, but i do," he murmurs, stepping closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "see, i come home after months away, and what do i hear?" he tilts his head, eyes dark. "that my girl has been playing house with a pogue?"

the way he calls you his girl doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you’re too angry to care.

"but that’s the thing, rafe! i am a pogue! i’ve always been, and that’s the issue you’ve always had! you’ve always been too ashamed of that, so why do you care about me now? you can’t move away and expect me to turn my life upside down for you once you get tired of college girls and come back to outer banks!"

and for a while, rafe is stunned. he’s never seen you this angry.

rafe’s jaw tightens. his grip on your hip flexes before he snatches his hand away, like your skin suddenly burns him. his smirk is long gone now, replaced by something darker—something stormy.

"that’s not—" he starts, but he stops himself, exhaling sharply through his nose. he drags a hand down his face, as if physically trying to pull himself together.

because you’re right. and he hates that.

his tongue swipes over his bottom lip, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of whatever he’s trying not to say. when he finally looks at you again, his eyes are sharp, frustrated.

"you think i don’t care?" his voice is lower now, rougher. "you think i came back and the first thing i did was find you because i don’t give a shit?"

you fold your arms over your chest, willing yourself to hold your ground. "i think you came back because you ran out of things to distract yourself with," you snap. "and now you’re just—what? picking up where you left off? you don’t get to do that, rafe."

before you can react, he pulls you into his chest. your enveloped by his familiar smell, his cologne, his shampoo. he has one arm around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head. his chin rests on the top of your head.

you don’t even notice you’ve started crying until you feel rafe’s grip tighten, his hand splaying against the small of your back like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

"shh," he mutters, his breath warm against your hair. his voice has lost its usual edge, no more cocky drawl, no more sharpness. just rafe. just the boy who used to sneak into your room at night when he had nowhere else to go. just the boy who left, but still came back.

you try to push away, but he doesn’t let you—not completely. his hold loosens just enough for you to look up at him, your vision blurred with tears.

"you don’t get to do this," you whisper, voice shaking. "you don’t get to leave and come back like nothing happened. like i—like i didn’t—" you cut yourself off before the words spill out.

like i didn't matter

like i didn't miss you

like i didn't love you.

rafe stares at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. his thumb swipes gently over your cheek, catching a stray tear. the touch is so soft, so familiar, so cruel.

"you think i didn’t miss you?" his voice is hoarse now, strained, like he can’t believe you’d ever doubt it. "you think i wasn’t losing my fucking mind without you?"

your breath hitches.

when you finally regain your composure, you whisper, "you left for college, rafe. what was i supposed to do? wait around for you?"

rafe exhales sharply, shaking his head, "it's not about that. it's about you acting like you didn't care when i left—then immediately turning around and shacking up with jj!"

"you are mad that i didn't wait around for you!" you scoff incredulously.

you shake your head, scoffing again. "unbelievable." you turn to leave, trying to escape his embrace, because if you stay, you’ll say something you’ll regret. but before you can take a step, you're right back in rafe's arms again.

"i didn’t think i had to ask," he says quietly.

you freeze. his voice isn’t angry anymore—it’s something else, something raw, something that makes your chest ache.

"i thought you knew."

you swallow hard, refusing to look up at him. "knew what, rafe?"

he lets out a breath, tipping your chin up with his fingers so you look at him.

"that it was never just a summer thing for me."

rafe's confession leaves you breathless.

"and because i can’t stand watching you act like i don’t mean anything to you when i know that’s not true." he continues, voice softer, warmer.

your stomach twists. "you don’t know anything."

rafe steps closer, his hands settling lightly on your waist. "don’t i?" his voice is lower now, rougher. "you think i don’t notice the way you look at me? that i don’t feel it every time you’re near me?"

you shake your head, but your fingers have already found the hem of his shirt, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

"you’re full of shit."

"maybe." his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smirk, but there’s something softer in his expression. "but you still want me."

you hate that he’s right. you hate that no matter how mad you are, no matter how much you try to push him away, you still want him just as much as you always have.

and he knows it.

rafe leans in, his nose brushing against yours, giving you every opportunity to stop him.

you don’t.

the moment your lips meet, it’s over. the tension snaps, the anger dissolving into something hungrier, needier. his hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you let him, let yourself melt into him like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

because maybe it is.

"so what now?" you whisper, voice somewhat uncertain.

rafe exhales a small laugh, shaking his head. "whatever you want."

you roll your eyes. "that’s not an answer."

"wow, i could feel you rolling your eyes."

he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "then here’s one: i want you. not just when it’s easy, not just when it’s convenient. i want you."

"no more sneaking around?"

"no more sneaking around." he smirks. "i’ll even let jj live."

you shove at his chest, laughing despite yourself, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the weight that’s been sitting in your chest lifts.

[dduane]

I have been trying to write fic (well, smut) set in a world where certain things are slightly different to serve the fic's plot.

However, each time I try I have run into a problem: my head insists I need to justify the changes - I need to know comprehensive details about how the world works so I can ensure everything is consistent and not too f'd up.

So I get bogged down, and don't write a word. What do?

In your position, I’d sit down and write myself a bible.

This is how I did my prep for Barbie: Fairytopia.* And how I’ve done it for various works of fic presently on AO3… and how I’m doing it right now for the new Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rats of Sumatra III project. I was taught this art by my animation story editors at Hanna-Barbera, and it’s stood me in good stead. (Peter and I pulled down our first miniseries assignment from a company that told us “we gave great bible.” And that was true.) 😄

When I say “bible” I don’t necessarily mean something that thick! (Though some of mine have been pretty hefty, with one TV project’s bible running more than a hundred pages… because I knew I had skeptical and underinformed TV execs to convince about something historical.) For the kind of purpose we’re describing here, your prep bible could be quite short: maybe looking like a bullet-pointed “shopping list”, five or ten pages long. It can be just as long or short as it needs to be to cover all your salient points.

The idea is simply to put down, in concrete form, a list of the main “different things” you need to know and remember about your alternate universe when you’re working in it. This is where you do your justification work, in as much or as little detail as you need to convince yourself you’ve got the necessary bases covered. The virtual “stage manager” who sits at the back of the theater of the Writing Department in your mind, judging when things are right, will be your guide here, and will advise you as to when you’ve got enough and it’s time to stop. And once this stuff is down on the page, you’ll be a position to judge critically whether everything makes enough sense to work with, and slots together correctly.

This is also a bit like (for the prose part of a project) outlining, in that it’s incredibly freeing. Once you’ve got this background nailed down, you know you can safely turn your attention away from it and get down to the serious business: drama, and the character interactions that express it. (And inevitably as you’re doing the bible writing, you start getting ideas for how the substrate you’re laying down is going to affect the conflicts between and among the characters. The bible stage can be incredibly fruitful this way.)

It would be facile to describe the bibling process as “getting the easy part over with first”. Because sometimes it’s not easy! But it’s worth doing first, because having done this first relieves you of the ongoing anxiety caused by knowing you may have to keep inventing or rationalizing stuff on the fly. (Which can produce the kind of micro-blocks that a writer can generally really do without.) …Not that you’re not going to be inventing things on the fly anyway: that’s a normal part of the writing process. But the biggest and most obvious issues will have been handled already, and you’ll know they have; which is always a weight off one’s mind. And the fewer of those weights you have loading you down, when you’re in the midst of the labor of composition, the better.

Anyway, give it a shot and see how it works for you. And then you can, like the rest of us smut writers, get on to the really pressing business: making sure you haven’t lost track of where all the characters’ arms and legs (and things) are when you’re writing those hot steamy sex scenes. 😏

Hope this helps!

*ETA: My remit on this job did include creating a bible for them. But I write a rough-draft one for myself first, including various meta that I needed but they didn't.

[cathnospam]

Deku watched you and Bakugo fucking and haven’t looked at you both the same way since.

Deku KNOWS what sex is, he knows after years of being with other sexually active people and living with other women he has been sexually attracted to, and eventually hormones were bound to take place in everybody in class 3-a and it would be another added topic of discussion after high school graduation.

HE even lost his virginity to Ochako not too long ago.

It was different seeing you both though.

Neither you or Bakugo through out the years seemed interested in anybody, any man that flirted with you, you either brushed them off or completely ignored and Bakugo, despite how pretty he CAN look his attitude usually scare women away, and whether he acknowledges it or not he can be pretty dense so everybody concluded you both aren’t into the dating scene.

It seemed so normal between you both until last night.

When he seen Bakugo in between your thighs.

HE DIDNT MEAN TO WATCH HE SWEARS, but he went to look for his notebook he left in your dorm after a study session and heard your door unlock with Bakugo’s loud mouth ass grumbling for you to hurry up.

Out of panic he fled to your closet and hid there, he doesn’t know why he did, he wasn’t snooping or doing anything wrong, plus bakugo and you trust him enough to freely walk into their dorms, but too late he’s stuck now.

“You’re so needy. And stop poking me with that thing—ah-“

“Mmhm. Shut up.” Bakugo grumbles into your neck, from behind, practically pushing you inside with each thrust of his dick. “Y’pissed me off today.”

“Don’t I always—-AAAOWW—MMHPH!”

Your smart remarks get muffled with a harsh hot smack to the ass and a kiss, it definitely sounded like it hurt to Deku, but he watched in shock seeing him caress your ass under your skirt.

His green eyes grew twice its size, Bakugo had lifted off your shirt, and began his attack on your neck and cheek while he undid his belt with one hand, “Fuck you smell good.”

Throwing off his black tank top and laying you on the bed, “You taste even better though.”

The mixed sounds of your giggles and moans as his lips puncture your skin from your neck down to your tits to suckle on made Deku reluctantly twist his legs,

He was getting hard.

He never viewed you in this way, yes, you were a beautiful woman, but after knowing you since middle school his crushes towards you have came and gone eventually developing into a brother and sister relationship.

….but it may change now.

“Oh ‘Suki~” You sigh softly, tilting your head to the side to get a good look at your nasty Blondie. His nose resting atop of your pussy as his lips were wrapped around your tiny clit, you felt the ministration of the back and forth suckles which made your jaw slack.

Deku looked away reluctantly, covering his eyes feeling some guilt. This was a private matter between you both, even if it was a shock he still felt like he was intruding. And boy he tried.

He tried so hard to just keep his eyes closed until you both were finished, but the noises you made not only drove Bakugo insane , but him as well.

“Mmhm.” Katsuki groaned in content inside you, hearing your voice get higher and your breaths get more ragged he knew you were close ,”Mmhm that’s it. That’s it baby c’mon—“

“BABY?!”

Deku thought this was insane to hear, never have he EVER heard Mr. Hardass to ever speak…so sweetly to you?

His big green eyes peaked through the closet door shades , covering his mouth as he almost gasped seeing Bakugo press your thighs back to eat you further, “Fuck…”

Bakugo couldn’t ignore his hard on for long.

And neither could Deku.

“I love your moutthhhhh.” You half moaned half giggled feeling yourself grow closer while your back was arching. Bakugo’s pride always was sky high when he fucked you. And somehow you saying that made Deku….jealous? Just a little, but he couldn’t focus on that too long.

You looked so sexy when you’re cumming, your little cute fingers playing with your nipples. The way you hips buck into Bakugo’s mouth, how soft and whiney your voice gets when you’re crying his name.

Next thing you know Deku’s hands were palming his growing errection.

Nononono he can’t. He can’t get off to his best friends, it’s ….dirty. Bakugo would kill him and you might feel disgusted with him.

But Deku’s mind wasn’t in tandem with his body because his hand was already inside his pants.

“Ssssshit girl I didn’t tell you—-“

“Don’t care.” You words muffled as you lay on your stomach between his thighs, capturing his tip between your lips to suck on . You giggle and moan when you feel a warm hand slap against your ass.

The way how you nearly could take him all in was such a turn on to Deku. You’re the same girl that was just choking on a noodle earlier today at lunch, but now you’re taking in Bakugo’s dick like a champ.

“Fuck…” Deku couldn’t help it his fingers teased his own tip, precum already enough to lube his shaft while he matches the pace of your bobbing head.

Your boyfriend began to massage your ass a little, groaning your name in frustration because he was already so close to cumming, “You and that fucking tongue…”

The green haired boy was also close, watching you made him wish it was him instead of his own best friend you were sucking off.

How many times have you done this with him? Was it yesterday when you both left class? Was it those times you both went to bed early? Deku kept rethinking all those times you both were alone and it was nearly too much he almost took away his own orgasm, so he pumped his dick faster to the view of Bakugo’s fingers slipping inside your soaked cunt.

Who wouldn’t thought he’d be spending his evening cumming with his best friends.

You and Bakugo were spent. It wasn’t unusual, being pro hero’s in training a night of just oral would sometimes just be enough.

That wasn’t enough for Deku thought he though,

“No no no don’t go to sleep!”

He watched as you and your boyfriend cuddled naked on top of the covers, breathing still heavy, his big hands grabbed your chin so you can turn and face him to taste yourself on his tongue.

“‘Suki…” you breathed feeling him lift your thigh over his legs, he didn’t even have to move that much to already his dick press against your clit.

“Sssh sssh shhh. Just lay down and take it okay? I got you.” His breathing was heavy, though he was exhausted he just couldn’t stop here and he knew you were too so he didn’t mind fucking you while you were half sleep and on your side.

And luckily, Deku had a front view of it, your pussy spreading from the size of his dick, you were doing so good taking him in.

He started to stroke himself again, he was still so sensitive from just cumming, he couldn’t stop though your voice was so fucking attractive all on its own, “S’goooddd~”

Despite the deep long strokes, your boyfriend was so gentle with making sure he wasn’t too rough, leaving you more sore than you already were in the morning. He nibbled and sucked on your neck, he tried so hard not to moan, he hated how he sounded when he did, but the way your soft fat ass kept bouncing on his pelvis he couldn’t help it and it made you clench harder.

“Just like that baby just cum all on me…there you go..fuck—“

This was just too lewd, but at this point your little best friend didn’t care, he was gnawing on his lips, eyes focused on the sight of your pussy and your eyes rolling back while your boyfriend was in your ear talking oh so dirty to you about your body, your pussy, your moaning. It didn’t take long until you felt that familiar knot.

“Oh shit shit shit shit!” Deku thought, he was close too but he knew it was ganna be messier this time, but he couldn’t stop himself he wanted to cum too right there with you both.

Bakugo’s thrust got sloppier and shallow, catching his own orgasm to join you (and Deku). He covered your mouth with his free hand because you usually get loud when you cum on his cock. But fuck that he kissed you instead to swallow your moans.

Grinding inside you, all three of you came. It was honestly the best and scariest orgasm Deku’s ever had with just his hand. Best from his front row seat view, scariest because he was afraid Bakugo heard you moan your name from the closet.

He swore he did from when he looked up in that direction while you were still on cloud 9, but maybe that was just his imagination.

Maybe.

You both were finally asleep. You laid on top of him, buried in his neck, and Blondie facing the window holding you tight, Deku decided to make it his mission to quietly leave.

There are many secrets Izuku had to keep in his life, but this was one he knew he had to keep for the sake of KEEEPING HIS LIFE.

But it didn’t stop the new view he had towards you both.

Who would’ve thought you both were his new Jack off material.

[plethorawrites]

Hey, so imagine Jason with a reader whose parents are simply the most loving beings in the universe, like R's father taught him basic things that neither Bruce nor his biological father could (like how to fix a broken sink, how to assemble a cabinet and even love advice) and R's mother was practically like a mother to him (visiting them regularly even when her daughter is not home, bringing soup when they know he is sick and helping him choose Valentine's Day gifts for the reader).

This may be the cutest prompt I've ever received. I love soft Jason soooo much!! (I fear I am not out of my obsession stage yet.)

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

Jason Todd obviously grew up with few to no parental guidance and when he got it, it was more often than not negative like manipulation and abuse or neglect.

So, when he meets his girlfriend's parents he's understandably extremely nervous. From what you've told him, they're sweet. But he knows perception can change quickly and let's be real, he's not the good, kind-hearted person anyone would want for their daughter, in his opinion.

That said, when he does meet them for the first time and your mom envelopes him in the biggest hug he's received aside from you (a chronic cuddler, which he's come to appreciate.) he's a little stunned for the moment. It takes him a minute to even remember how to speak to introduce himself.

This man, all 6'2 and 240 pounds of him, actually seems shy for a moment, trying to make a good impression. You find it adorable when his cheeks blush after your mom compliments him on all the nice things you've told them about him. He didn't even know you bragged about him to people, let alone the extent of it. Like yeah, sure, you showered him in affection all the time, but that was at his apartment or yours.

The fact that you had actually mentioned him often enough that they knew about some of his quirks— his disdain for fish because Bruce made him eat it all the time as a kid at fancy events until he couldn't stand it anymore and his desire to meet for dinner not lunch since he had an obscure sleep schedule because of his "job" was astounding to him.

Even though they couldn't know what it was, you still boasted about how he was very passionate about it and you were proud of him for how hard he worked. That, admittedly, made him blush a little harder.

"She says you've got late hours, I hope dinner won't interfere," your mom would tell him considerately.

He shook his head. "No ma'am. I don't work until later."

She beamed. "Well good, then, because we've been dying to meet you."

Even the things about him that he assumed most parents wouldn't be thrilled to hear about, yours didn't seem to mind.

"You grew up in crime Alley, right?" Your father was questioned, in between the salad and entree.

Jason swallowed. There it was, he assumed. The disapproval he was anticipating. "Yes, I did," he replied, nodding.

"It's a difficult area to grow up in," your father noted. "A very close friend of mine was born over there. He's as tough as they come. Very resilient and reliable."

Jason was taken by surprise. "Uh- yeah, yes. I suppose you learn to be loyal when you don't have many people to trust." He internally cursed himself for saying that. It was too dark and pessimistic.

"An admirable quality," your mother said sincerely as you squeezed his hand under the table. "It must have also exposed you to a lot of different types of people and given you a very broad outlook on life."

He just nodded, swallowing some of his water.

Your father had similarly commented that he seemed to have a great work ethic, which Jason clearly appreciated and considered important. Your dad also, at the end of dinner, when you were out of ear range, made a quiet remark to Jason about how he seemed to make you very happy and that's all he ever wanted for his daughter. Jason had been expecting shovel talk or threats. At the very least, judgemental stares, the way he was used to, but instead your parents were absolutely lovely.

And it very clearly wasn't some temporary ruse, either, like he thought it might have been. They really were good people, just like you. When you moved in with him, your parents helped the two of you pack your old apartment and unpack in his. Your mom even insisted on cooking dinner since the two of you were exhausted from all the moving. He would never say no to her cooking, since aside from Alfred's, it was the best he'd ever had.

It was only a few weeks later, in the middle of summer, when your air conditioner broke down. It was Gotham, so obviously it was hot as hell. And of course no one was reliable when it came to actually coming to fix it. Your father, however, was used to fixing things and came over when you casually mentioned it to him after it was broken for a week or two.

He was about halfway through with it when Jason came home and he immediately felt bad just letting him, so your dad pointed towards some tool and asked him for some help.

"I don't really know how to fix an AC. Vehicles are more my thing," he confessed, lifting a wrench to his hand.

Your dad shrugged. "Not that hard. I'll show you."

Jason glanced at where you were sitting at the table with a glass of lemonade, giving him a light shrug. "Okay, sure," he muttered, rolling up his sleeves.

Jason liked to think the two of you had a pretty solid relationship, as far as honesty and commitment went. He loved you, he was almost positive by the time you'd been dating 15 months that he wanted to marry you.

But you still, occasionally, fought the way all couples did. And when you did, it was usually because he struggled to keep plans or left you waiting up for him, only to come home desperately needing stitches.

The worst it ever got was when he deliberately lied to you, swearing he'd stay out of something dangerous and going straight into danger the second he could. Even though nothing that bad actually happened, you were more than a little angry. In fact, during the screaming match you had, he could swear he saw the exact moment your heart broke when you told him you thought he cared more about being Red Hood than he did about you.

You left for hours. Four of them.

And when he heard a knock at the door, he was hopeful it was you, having forgot your keys. Instead, it was your mom. His heart dropped, wondering what she was doing there—planning to yell at him for how he treated you, grabbing some things for you so you could stay away for several days, breaking up with him on your behalf.

All she did was invite herself in, making some coffee (just the way she knew he liked it) and sitting on the couch with him. He was confused and silent, until she spoke up.

"She's not saying what the fight was about," she told him. "I assume it's your work. The uh-... nightly aspect of it?"

He blinked a little. Something about her tone was more suggestive than he liked. "It- partially, yeah," he admitted. "I didn't mean to break my promise."

She nodded. "I know," she muttered. "And I don't think she's mad, just...scared. She doesn't want to lose you."

"She won't," Jason replied instantly.

Your mom's lips quirked into a small smile. "Then tell her that," she suggested, adding that: "Trust is fragile. It takes a long time to build it and a single action can shatter it." She patted his knee, standing up and he stood too, walking her to the door.

"Why do I have a feeling you know what the fight was about, even without her telling you?" He asked quietly if not with some suspicion.

"You're a very good man, Jason," she told him. "But it doesn't take a genius to know why those hours you work are so obscure." Before he could question or deny what he felt she already knew, she was giving him a small kiss on the cheek, the way she often did to greet and say goodbye. "Call her," she said. "I'll make sure she picks up."

So he did. And you did answer, like she promised.

You made up, like always and it wasn't even six months later that he was calling your parents, asking for blessing to propose to you. Of course they said yes and we're thrilled to do so. Your mom even helped him pick out the ring. Which took hours, half because he couldn't decide and half because she kept starting to cry.

When he finally did find the right one, she naturally helped him plan the proposal, too. He wasn't always the greatest at romantic gestures. At least not grand ones. He was always better at the subtle shows of affection—remembering dates and details or taking care of you when you're sick. He doesn't want to do anything overwhelming, but filling the apartment with twinkling lights and telling you—with several tears in his eyes—how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with you, is plenty for you.

"Yes?" He repeats, almost in disbelief that you'd agreed so quickly to marry him.

"Yes, yes, obviously," you repeated, sniffling to keep from crying as you gave him your hand, letting him slip the ring on your finger.

His arms immediately enveloped you, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around like you weighed nothing. Setting you down, his lips found yours for a deep, long kiss, before pressing his forehead against yours and nuzzling your nose.

"I love you so much," he repeated, even though he'd said it three times already.

He already saw plenty of your parents, at least four or five times a month, but it seems like he sees them nearly everyday when the wedding planning starts. Your mom is more concerned with invitations and linens or vows while your dad really just shows up for cake tasting, or trying the catering companies. Not to mention to judge and criticize the venue options.

Still, they're there more than his own father figure is, sort of like they have been since he met them. They're there on your wedding day, crying in the front row when he uses his love of literature to craft was perhaps the most beautiful wedding vows ever recorded. They're there to take care of your apartment when you're on your honeymoon, coming to water the plants and collect the mail, not to mention stock the fridge before you get back.

They're there for your birthday and his, as well as Thanksgiving and Christmas. They're there to help prepare for the baby when you eventually have kids, your mom by soothing Jason's nerves and your dad by helping him paint the nursery or assemble furniture. They're there after the baby is born and visit whenever you need a babysitter for a few hours or even days to spend time together.

They're there, he realizes. They're there and he loves that, not just for you or for the baby, but for himself too. For the little kid inside him that never fully felt like any adults around him truly had his best interests at heart.

[kashverse]

valentine’s day is a day of love, a day of romance, a day of thoughtful gifts and heartfelt gestures. at least, that’s what it’s supposed to be. in reality, it’s a chaotic mess of procrastination, poor planning, and half-baked ideas that somehow still turn out endearing.

gojo, for one, is convinced he’s got it all figured out—until he realizes a week before that he, in fact, does not. cue the absolute frenzy of online shopping, where express shipping fees start resembling down payments on luxury cars. you have never seen someone willing to pay $250 to ensure a singular plushie arrives on time, but here you are, witnessing gojo justify it with “it’s the principle, babe.” and when one of the plushies arrives looking like a legally-dubious cousin of hello kitty, affectionately dubbed "salutations feline," you know better than to ask questions. you just nod, accept the gift, and pretend it’s exactly what you wanted.

toji is really trying. genuinely. he even set aside money in a little envelope weeks ago, determined to get you something nice. unfortunately, he has the memory of a goldfish and cannot, for the life of him, remember where he put it. after turning the apartment upside down in a mild panic, he sighs, gives up, and buys you flowers instead. the disappointment in his eyes is real. but then, in a turn of events that could only be described as divine intervention, he finds the envelope wedged in the back of his underwear drawer while changing after a couple’s shower. he immediately drags you out for a fancy dinner, smug as hell, as if he planned it this way all along.

nanami is not here to play games. doubting his valentine’s day preparedness is like doubting if gravity will continue existing tomorrow. the moment you started dating, he created an excel sheet of your preferences. the list includes everything—things you’ve mentioned wanting in passing, your favorite colors, gift ideas you’ve sent him, and couple activities you’ve liked on social media. by the time february rolls around, he is four and a half weeks ahead of schedule. while others are scrambling for last-minute gifts, nanami is already wrapping yours in high-quality, sustainably sourced paper with a perfectly tied bow. he will not reveal how much thought went into it—he simply hands you the gift, kisses your forehead, and tells you to enjoy.

geto does not do things halfway. when he plans a valentine’s day surprise, he plans a valentine’s day surprise. there is a live band. live dancers. a live chef preparing a five-course meal. for a brief moment, you wonder if you’ve stepped into a wedding reception. as much as you love the grandeur, a part of you wishes there was something more intimate—something just between the two of you. it isn’t until he gets down on one knee and pulls out a ring that it all makes sense. the hidden cameras, the elaborate setup—he wasn’t just planning valentine’s day. he was planning the moment he’d ask you to spend forever with him. naturally, you burst into tears, because what else is there to do when suguru geto proposes?

choso, bless his heart, approaches valentine’s day with pinterest. a mistake. the sheer volume of ideas overwhelms him, and suddenly, he has 598 saved pins and no clear direction. still, he tries. he does 60 of them—which is a lot—but somehow, he still sits there at the end of the night, shoulders slumped, muttering, “i should’ve done more.” you, surrounded by candlelit dinners, handmade gifts, and personalized love letters, have to physically hold his face and tell him he has done enough.

sukuna does not do valentine’s day. he has made this abundantly clear. and yet, despite his insistence that it’s a “pointless holiday,” you notice he’s a little different that day. his usual sharp comments are softer, his touches linger a little longer, and he does things for you without being asked. no grand declarations, no fancy gifts, just small acts of care—holding you closer, making sure you’re comfortable, easing up on the teasing (only slightly). and while he still grumbles about the holiday, you catch him staring at you a little too long, the corner of his lips twitching up in something dangerously close to affection. maybe next year, he’ll actually acknowledge the holiday. but for now, this is enough.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Random question, could you give some ideas on Irish names your family may have in the 1950-60s? I got a character with an Irish grandpa with 9 brothers and sisters (3 brothers and 6 sisters) and I only got the oldest sister name (soairse) and his name (Caine). I guess I could just name the rest some form of jack and Margret since those seem to be popular, but I wanted to see if there were some “interesting” names you found in your family tree that maybe one of the siblings got named after some ancestor?

Firstly for the sake of clarity: I'm American, not Irish. All of my ancestors for the last 4-5 generations have lived here, and while I like learning about the language/music/culture, I am absolutely not an expert. I HIGHLY recommend getting a sensitivity reader, I'm sure someone in the comments can wave at you if they're willing to take on the job.

Second, Triple-check the spelling, pronunciation, meaning and provenance of any names you do choose, and ABSOLUTELY DO NOT TRUST ANY BABY NAME WEBSITES, they're basically all AI slop at best. The best written-down lists and meanings are actually on Wikipedia.

Third: If you want to learn more Irish names, you can look up the names of like, any Irish musician or artist. I think spotify still has Genre Playlists, if you look up "Irish Folk" you'll get a shitload of names of Real Irish people- and hey, if Hirohiko Akari can name all his characters after 80's pop bands, you can make a subtle ref to modern musicians. Also you'll get a bunch of fun music! --- So while I was writing this, I somewhat departed from the intent of this response, and am putting the last point under a cut because the post got long. And weird.

So there is a thing in Irish-american families, and I think it's true in the British isles still where there are "Family Names", where the same set of first names is recycled over and over and over across generations. My dad's family has exactly three male names that they rotate through over the generations: Roy, Emmet and Jack*. In that order, where the son takes the father's first name as his middle name. My great-grandfather was Roy Jack Surname, my grandfather was Emmet Roy Surname, and my dad is Jack Emmet. My sister and I were AFAB, so the names skipped us and my male cousin in my generation is now Roy Jack. In the event that there are more than three living men with the same surname in the family, that's when they start reaching for the Given Names Of In-Laws We Like and might introduce a new name into the lineup.

*Names changed for privacy above and hereafter, but you get the idea.

So if any of your characters are descendants of that grandpa? They may share a first or middle name with one of his siblings. in fact, they may share the SAME first and middle name with a living relative, and be called "Junior" or "Young Firstname" to distinguish them from the relative they were named after.

My mom's family is from England and has a similar tradition: any new girl born into that family gets a name that is based on the name of one of her living female relatives, usually by sharing the same first letter or syllable. Elanor after Eloise, Vivian after Virginia, and also Jenny after Virgnia via 'Ginny' and every variation of Margret ever, which there are way more of than you'd think.

I cannot recommend doing what they did with Male names though: Name literally every boy Bob* for like five generations, and distinguish individuals by middle name (Bob-Howard and Bob-Benjamin) surname (Bob-Jones and Bob-Bailey) or Honorific (Captain Bob, Dr. Bob, Bob Jr.) when yelling out the kitchen window.

Most families have to good sense to not have the same name repeated in a generation, even if it has a shitload of nicknames. A mother and daughter might both be Margrets (with different nicknames), but two sisters or cousins wouldn't be.

If you've got in-laws you like, but their surname didn't carry over to their kids, you can also just use their surname as a first name! "Regan" is a first and last name, as are Riley and Bailey. This works out in some cases but not in others:

I have a pretty rare surname- last time I checked, there's only 14 people with it worldwide. It's similar to two other VERY COMMON Irish Surnames, but spelled different and from a different region. It's also Very Definitely A Surname- nobody would see my surname alone and think its a firstname.

Since I don't want to bandy it about, we'll pretend that it's "Breathnach", which has a similar vibe.

My Iowa family is Enormous and all descended from my Great-Aunt Lilyanne, Emmet-Roy's sister. Being a good catholic girl, Lillyanne took her husband's surname when she married, and most of her descendants still have that surname, and none have Breathnach.

After the last of my grandfathers grandchildren were born my Iowa family was sad- all but one of Emmet-Roy's grandchildren was female, and my male cousin has his father's surname. Assuming that we would all marry and take our spouses names, the Iowa family despaired that that the Breathnach name would die out!

So one of my second cousins decided that she would Carry On The Family Name, by giving it to the son she was carrying as a Firstname.

Yeah.

Being "Breathnach Surname" is bad enough, but this was compounded by the fact that the Iowa family's surname is Thomas.

YEAH.

My poor cousin Beathnach Thomas, who always has to re-do his paperwork because NOBODY ever puts the names in the correct boxes, who had his first name printed on every jersey he ever had because the uniform place went "that can't be right!", who cant buy his own beer because he's had so many drivers licenses confiscated because liquor store owners and bartenders think his ID is a fake, who has to not only spell his name to everyone he meets, but explain it too.

Then I made it worse.

I ran into cousin Beathnach in Bozeman, Montana quite by accident a few years ago, and while catching up, I mentioned that I was married.

"You know, it's a real hassle, but I'm kind of glad I've got the name I do. I'd heard you sister changed her name, and now with you married- I'd be sad to think we were running out of Breathnachs, you know?" he laughed.

I had to explain.

I married the most wonderful man in the world, who has an extremely common first and last name. Which was kind of a problem, because he shares it with some truly rotten people that always come up during background checks and he has have to explain he's not THAT asshole. It also sounds like and is only a letter or two off a lot of other very common names so his mail is constantly sent awry.

My husband will shortly abandon his too-common-for-comfort surname and become the newest Breathnach, taking the total to 15 (the paperwork takes a while).

...So the name lives on through us anyway, and poor cousin Breathnach Thomas went through all that for no reason. He got very quiet, got up from the table and walked outside to the veranda of the restaurant we were in to stare into the picturesque scenery for a while.

"Well, it's not like people change their first names..." he sighed, when he returned to the table.

"...You know how my sister changed her name? She only changed her first name. She's still a Breathnach." I explained quietly.

I've never seen a man look so haunted.

"I know lots of people who've changed their first names, actually. Mostly for transgender reasons, but a bunch because they just didn't like the one they were given." I added, because if he's going to get his world turned over, it's best to flip it all at once.

His brow furrowed at the ponderous speed of a continental collision, approaching the idea with caution. "...I'll have to think about it."

It's been about a year, but since then, I'll get a text from him every few weeks, auditioning a new given name. I do my best to be fair- I give him the meanings of those names, how they're likely to be misconstrued (some are tolerable annoyances, some pose a safety risk), and if he'd be sharing that name with anybody notable or troublesome. The first few were clearly based on Breathnach, but he began to branch out, and the trend of names has indicated that the idea of Naming Himself is causing my cousin to examine himself, and come to some Realizations (TM).

I realize I have gotten completely off-topic from your actual ask, but I urge you to really get into the nuance of nomencalture, because a name can tell a fascinating story.

[reasonsforhope]

"A tiny lizard found only on one tiny Caribbean island has seen a dramatic 1,500% increase in its population, after just a few years of island restoration efforts.

In 2018, researchers estimated there were fewer than 100 individuals of the critically endangered Sombrero ground lizard (Pholidoscelis corvinus) on the small hat-shaped Sombrero Island, part of Anguilla in the Caribbean. Just six years later, there are more than 1,600 of them, a recent survey has found.

“I am beyond thrilled to see the ground lizards on the road to recovery, and this is a fantastic reward for everyone who has worked hard to restore Sombrero,” Jenny Daltry, Caribbean alliance director at conservation NGOs Fauna & Flora and Re:wild, told Mongabay. “Too many island species have been lost already, and we really need to prevent extinctions whenever we can.”

Today, Sombrero Island hosts large seabird colonies and several unique and rare species. But invading mice, likely brought to the island on ships or other means by people, as well as climate change impacts, have wreaked havoc on the island’s inhabitants...

To turn things around, Fauna & Flora, Anguilla National Trust and Re:wild began restoration efforts in 2018. They trapped and removed all the mice by placing bait from June to August 2021. They also developed a “biosecurity plan” in which researchers regularly check the island to ensure it’s still mouse-free.

Given Sombrero’s remote location, the likelihood of reinvasion by mice is considered low, Daltry said. She added that the teams are also developing “remote surveillance cameras with AI capability” to automatically detect and alert them of invasive species.

While the mice may be gone, the threat from hurricanes fueled by climate change still loom close. While the researchers have been working to restore the island’s native vegetation, the island has lost much of its original soil cover, which will take time to rebuild, Daltry said. With no tree cover yet, any severe hurricane or storm surge in the future “could set back the speed of recovery of the soil layer and vegetation,” she added.

However, Daltry said she’s hopeful that even the current sparse vegetation provides the Sombrero ground lizards “with vital food and shelter, giving them a much better chance of survival when the next storm strikes.”

“This could make the difference between survival and extinction,” she said."

-via Mongabay News, December 20, 2024

[kiragecko]

I think this is an aspect of 'write what you love'.

Your story needs details, but try to focus on the things you love enough that you'd get EXCITED to be corrected about them by your most autistic critic. That person is going to engage with your story hardcore and they are GREAT. What would you actually LIKE them to focus on?

A lot of people don't like math. Including it in their story gives them a glowing weak-point which can cause suspension of belief to collapse. If you don't understand how calendars work, and don't particularly want to, don't send your protagonist to school on Monday, September 1st every year.¹ Just mention 'the first day of school'.

But also, don't focus on the details of a translation of an ancient text if you aren't interested in how translation works.² Mention your army has a supply chain, but don't start telling us how it works if you aren't interested in military history nerds excitedly explaining all the nuances you missed.³ Etc.

It can be tempting to mention something to flesh out your world. Just an off-hand detail. This can work! But you need to be careful. Off-hand details work best if they are either:

general, with no precise numbers or details that you don't really understand, OR

aspects of your exhaustive world-building which you know A LOT more about than you are showing on the page.

-

But the opposite is also true! DO include the math if you love math! Especially if you're confident enough in your math ability that you can handle people pointing out small errors.

Research medieval swords, tell us all about your sword's weight and handling. Then laugh to yourself, and take notes, when a fan explains how that type of sword's construction involves metals that weren't available in parts of the world that ALSO had the type of armour you mentioned in some other section. Fix things in the sequel, or decide to run with things as is, if that's a bit more realism then you're interested in. It isn't a big deal.

Tell us it's been 2000 years if you LIKE building timelines and studying cultural change across millennia. Fill in that timeline with things that will never show up in the story, and then get excited when something abruptly becomes useful 3/4 of the way through the writing process!

-

Writing isn't a battle with your readers.⁴ Someone knowing more than you isn't the end of the world. They will be drawn to you by poorly researched details, but there are endless levels of research. You don't need a PhD to reference something.

(Actually, if you can attract the PhD-wielding autistic critics, you should be proud! You get free expert knowledge! The WEIRDEST niche facts! You knew enough to draw people in through ESOTERIC and HIGH-LEVEL mistakes!)

-

¹ The year doesn't perfectly match the cycle of weeks (365 isn't perfectly divisible by 7) so every year, days of the week line up differently. September 1st can be a Tuesday, or a Friday, or a lot of other days that aren't Monday! It's okay that you forgot that JK Rowling, it really wasn't your biggest mistake.

² It might have rhymed in the original, but the person translating it in front of you is unlikely to find translated words that rhyme perfectly. Puns only sometimes translate. Just ... please don't include subtle wordplay that works perfectly in translation!

³ Military history nerds are often AMAZINGLY detail oriented. DO NOT include details about the military, boats, or trains unless you want info dumping!

⁴ I don't think OP is saying that it is. But, sometimes writers fall into that mindset.

speculative fiction writers i am going to give you a really urgent piece of advice: don't say numbers. don't give your readers any numbers. how heavy is the sword? lots. how old is that city? plenty. how big is the fort? massive. how fast is the spaceship? not very, it's secondhand.

the minute you say a number your readers can check your math and you cannot do math better than your most autistic critic. i guarantee. don't let your readers do any math. when did something happen? awhile ago. how many bullets can that gun fire? trick question, it shoots lasers, and it shoots em HARD.

you are lying to people for fun. if you let them do math at you the lie collapses and it's no fun anymore.

[thehighladywrites]

— “Bless me.”

☀︎ — pairing: nerd azriel x bimbo reader

☀︎ — summary: this is a little flashforward of what life looks like for you and azriel at different milestones!

☀︎ — warnings: sexual themes, fluff, pregnancy, smut

☀︎ — amara’s note: guys this is it💔 it’s been so fucking fun snd i’ve loved writing for them!!

series masterlist

The proposal

After four grueling years of college, you were about to walk the stage, hand in hand with Azriel. Both of you were dressed in matching black gowns and caps. You’d begged for a pink gown, but had to settle for pink heels, nails, and gorgeous Alaïa dress.

Azriel looked sinful in the suit you picked out while you were out shopping together. It was honestly dangerous to shop for him, that changing room was practically begging you to drag Azriel in it.

He also thought about ditching his glasses and that made you kinda sad because you loved seeing him in his glasses, he was so painfully cute in them.

“Not the glasses, baby. Please—you gotta leave ‘em on.” Honestly, you would beg if you had to. But Azriel didn’t let you beg he just nodded and kept them on.

He didn’t have time to think too much of it.

Because he was busy sweating bullets, not just from the ceremony’s heat but because of the diamond ring hidden in his pocket. The ring he had been saving 2 years for. It was for sure the most expensive thing he had ever purchased but the exclusive internship had paid well and you were going to get a good fucking ring.

As you waited to walk across the stage, Professor Lawder, looking fabulous in her academically decorated scholar gown, approached you and Azriel with a warm smile. “So, what are your plans after college?”

Azriel shyly smiled before letting her know what he’d been up to. “I’ve been offered a position at a company, Professor.”

Professor Lawder’s eyes widened with admiration. “That’s fantastic, Azriel! I always knew you’d achieve great things.”

You’re heart was overflowing with pride and joy for him as you chimed in with your signature bubbly enthusiasm, “He’s being super modest! He’s going to Synergy Tech! Dunno what they do there, but Azriel loves it there and they’re lucky to have him.”

Professor Lawder’s jaw dropped in amazement, clearly impressed. Synergy Tech was one of the worlds most leading companies in technological innovation and getting offered a job was no easy task. Azriel’s cheeks flushed a cute shade of red as he shifted nervously, his hand discreetly brushing against the hidden ring box. You gave him a reassuring squeeze, your happiness bubbling over.

“That’s very, very impressive and I wish you nothing but luck! And what about you, Ms. L/N?” Professor Lawder asked with a gentle smile.

You shrugged and gave a dazzling, slightly clueless grin. “Oh, um, well, I haven’t really thought that far ahead. College was, like, super tough, and I’m just ready to, you know, have fun and see what happens! Maybe travel with my man a bit, find some cute hobby or, like, just live in the moment. Who knows?”

Professor Lawder’s smile grew more amused and approving. “Well, it sounds like you’re ready to enjoy whatever comes your way.” Professer Lawder hugged you both before wishing you good luck one last time before you walked the stage. It was a wonderful feeling and you were so glad it was finally over. You cheered loud as fuck when Azriel was awarded with several honors diplomas and got a medal for his stellar grades.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you come with me for a moment?” Azriel asked after taking pictures with your friends and family.

“Okay! Where are we going, baby?” asked with a bright smile, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you held your diploma in one hand.

Azriel’s smile grew more tender as he led you away from the crowd and into the quiet math building, the very first place you two met. The empty hallway seemed much smaller and more insignificant than it used to be.

He gently took your hand in his, guiding you to the old seats where you first bonded. As you both settled into the familiar space, Azriel took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart.

Okay, this was it. He was totally going to do it.

Azriel looked at you with an intense, tender gaze. “I’m insanely in love with you,” he said, his voice quivering with emotion.

You put a hand on his chest, your sparkly eyes lighting up with joy. “Awww, I love you too,” you smiled, your voice filled with warmth and affection.

Azriel took a deep, shaky breath, his eyes twinkling with a mix of nerves and adoration.

“You’ve completely changed my life,” he began, his voice wavering with emotion. “From the moment we met, I knew you were someone extraordinary. You’ve brought so much joy, love and laughter into my world, more than I ever thought possible for someone like me.”

He smiled at you, his cheeks flushed with a mix of boyish excitement and nervousness. “I want to make you as happy, forever. You deserve every bit of happiness, love and devotion in the world, and I want to be the one to give it to you.”

Azriel took a deep breath, his eyes full of tender love as he knelt down on one knee as best as he could while being stuck in the back of the classroom. With a trembling hand, he opened a black velvet box to reveal a stunning ring that sparkled with every color of his affection for you.

“Please, bless me by becoming my wife,” he asked softly, his voice filled with heartfelt sincerity. “I want to spend the rest of my life loving you and making you as happy as you’ve made me. I want to be your husband and the father of our kids, your rock, your trusted. Please, allow me be yours. Marry me, my love.”

You gasped, your hand flying to your mouth as your eyes filled with tears. In no time you started sobbing. You didn’t glance at the ring, just Azriel’s eyes that were so filled with love.

“Yes! Oh my god, yes! I’ll marry you!” you squealed, your voice high-pitched with excitement. Tears streamed down your face as you flung yourself into Azriel’s arms, knocking him back. He held firm, never letting you go.

You buried your face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. “Az,” you hiccupped between breaths, “I love you so much. Like, I can’t even—oh my god!”

Azriel’s chest vibrated with a quiet laugh, his dimples deepening as he pressed his cheek against your hair. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmured softly, his voice steady despite the overwhelming emotion tightening his throat. “I love you too.”

You sniffled, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your mascara smudged and your eyes sparkling. “We’re gonna be, like, the cutest married couple. We’ll have an amazing life and there’s so much we’ll do! We’re so perfect and hot and we can literally do whatever because we’re married.”

His lips curved into that rare, quiet smile reserved only for you. “Whatever you want,” he assured softly, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m all in.”

You beamed through your tears, your voice bright despite the emotion clinging to it. “Duh, you kinda have to be now. I’m gonna be your wife. And I’m just gonna let you know now—I’m very high maintenance.”

Azriel’s heart flipped at the way you so confidently called yourself his wife already, and then he laughed, low and warm, because of course you were high maintenance. “So, no big changes there, huh?”

“Nope!” you said proudly, popping the p. “But I know you’ll take such good care of me and it means the world to me.” Your hand lifted, thumb gently brushing across his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. “God, Azzie, I couldn’t love someone more than I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. ”You’re totally the love of my life.”

Azriel’s eyes softened as he gently took your hand. Slowly, he lifted the stunning light pink diamond ring from its velvet box and, with steady hands, slid it onto your finger. It fit perfectly, sparkling as though it had been made just for you.

You leaned in, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. When you pulled back, your eyes drifted down to the ring resting perfectly on your finger. It sparkled brilliantly—a huge pink diamond that practically glowed in the light. Your eyes widened in awe, lips parting in delight.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, voice trembling with excitement. “It’s so perfect. I’m gonna cry, Azzie.” You blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Are ya sure you want me as your wife? Like, forever?” you added softly, the last part coming out almost shy.

Azriel’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion. The mere thought of not wanting you made his chest ache. He would’ve married you right after your first tutoring session if you’d let him.

“Of course I do. Do you have any doubts, my love?” the thought made his stomach hurt. “Do you not want to do it?”

You shook your head vehemently. “No! I mean, yes, I wanna do it. But—what if you get bored of me?” You bit your lip nervously. “I mean, I can’t exactly have intellectual conversations with you or whatever. Ya know I’m not that smart, right?”

Azriel’s lips twitched as he fought back a smile. This was all coming from the girl who had trouble pronouncing colonel.

“You’re very smart, first of all. And I’m not marrying you for debates, sweetheart,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “I’m marrying you because you’re my love and I don’t need anything else. Just you.”

Your heart melted as you softly kisses your future husband. “Okay, then. I wanna be your wife.”

————————————————————————

The wedding

Did anyone think your wedding would be small? Absolutely not. You hadn’t shut up about wanting a huge, fat Plaza wedding where everyone you knew would be invited, and you’d party all night with your insanely handsome husband while wearing a stunning Ellie Saab gown and sky-high Jimmy Choos. It had been your dream since you were a little girl.

You had all these plans, all these meticulously crafted visions for your perfect day, the flowers, the venue, the glitz, and glam but nothing, nothing, could have ever compared to the reality.

Nothing could have compared to Azriel.

Not the faceless groom who had always existed in your girlish dreams. Not the exclusivity of the prestigious venue or the shimmering of the evening.

Because it was him.

His steady hand holding yours as if he never intended to let go. The way his eyes never left you, not when you walked down the aisle, not when you exchanged vows, and certainly not as you danced in his arms under the soft glow of chandeliers.

Azriel made your dream wedding look trivial in comparison. He was the only part of the fantasy you’d never dared to dream up, and yet, he was better than anything you could’ve imagined.

At one point, you had actually wanted to elope. You literally couldn’t wait to marry him, pestering and prodding him every chance you got.

“Ya sure we shouldn’t just run away and get married? Wouldn’t it be sooo much fun, Azzie?” you’d asked, your eyes sparkling mischievously.

And yeah, Azriel totally wanted to marry you as soon as possible. The idea of waking up next to you as his wife was all he ever wanted. But he knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about the wedding, how you dreamed of wearing a baby pink dress that wouldn’t be done justice in a courthouse was the only thing stopping him from saying yes.

“I would love to, sweetheart,” he had said, brushing his thumb gently over your knuckles. “But I know you want a beautiful wedding, and that’s exactly what we’ll have.”

And he’d made good on that promise. Because here you were, twirling on the dance floor in a stunning soft pink Ellie Saab gown that shimmered under the chandeliers, the air filled with laughter and love, all while Azriel’s gaze never left you, utterly captivated by the woman he was lucky enough to call his wife.

It was a small wedding, just your closest friends and family gathered intimately but it was still at the Plaza, still the fairytale wedding you had always dreamed of.

You beamed up at him, practically vibrating with excitement. “Can you believe we’re actually married? Like, you’re my husband. I can call you my husband now. That’s so hot, like, ‘Oh yeah, let me get my husband,’ or ‘My husband knows what to do.’”

Azriel’s lips quirked into that quiet smile reserved just for you. “I think you’ve said ‘husband’ more times in the past minute than most people do in a week.”

“And it’s only the beginning,” you giggled, leaning closer. “I’m never getting over this, husband.”

His hand found the small of your back, grounding you in that gentle, steady way only he could. “Good. Because neither am I, wife.”

Then he gave you the softest, most loving kiss ever. It was a kiss filled with the promise of your future, the one you’d spend together.

—

Sand. Palms. Warm weathers and the ocean.

You had been surrounded by your favorite things with your favorite person. It had been a few days since your wedding and you were now on your honeymoon.

The private island your father had gifted you as a married couple was absolutely perfect. It was completely magical and completely hidden away.

A single sprawling villa stood at the heart of it, with panoramic views of the turquoise ocean. Vibrant flowers bloomed in every imaginable color, their fragrance mingling with the salty breeze. Fruit trees, heavy with sweet, ripe fruit, dotted the landscape. And you were sharing it all with your husband.

That’s right, Azriel was officially your husband now, and you were his freaking wife. Sometimes it didn’t feel real, and other times it felt very real.

Like those times when Azriel made you ride him, begging you to call him nothing but husband. And he called you nothing but wife. His sweet wife, his beautiful wife, his sexy wife.

Azriel was unbelievably romantic, spoiling you left and right with thoughtful little gifts. Yesterday it was a jaw-dropping pair of diamond earrings; the day before that, a golden anklet etched with your initials intertwined. Every step you took made that anklet jingle softly, a reminder of how deeply he loved you.

It was also a cute reminder when he folded you in half, ankles in the air as the jewelry jingled. You had fucked just about everywhere. Outside, inside, on tables, in the hammock, on the beach chairs, and even right on the beach itself. That was the privilege of being utterly alone. You could do whatever the hell you wanted, scream and moan as loud as you pleased, without a single soul hearing or seeing Azriel slut you out.

That’s why you’d packed the sluttiest outfits imaginable — stringy bikinis, barely-there skirts, and see-through dresses. All scraps of fabric that Azriel would be tearing off anyway.

Your favorite ensemble was the white silk nightgown from Agent Provocateur that you’d worn on the first night. It was bridal, beautiful, and the match that lit this trip. The second Azriel saw it, he’d lost control and sanity. You’d ended up in so many positions that you couldn't walk without help the next day. He’d truly worn you out.

You still remembered the way his eyes had darkened when you stepped out of the bathroom and spun for him, showing off that sinful gown.

That was probably why you were now slipping into a baby pink lace bra and panties set — delicate and stunning. You tied it all together with a silk robe that wasn’t hiding anything, only highlighting everything. An open invitation, really.

“How’s dinner going, husband?” you asked, your freshly manicured hand grazing down his shirtless back.

“It’s coming along nicely, actually. Are you hungry, sweetheart?” he asked, pushing his glasses up his nose and scrunching it adorably as he stirred the sauce.

You smiled at the little quirk you loved so much. His glasses made your heart race every time. “Uh-huh, sure. I’m hungry. Actually, I’m reeeeally hungry.”

“Yeah? It’ll be done soon, and—”

His words faltered when he glanced down at you.

There was so much love and lust swirling in your gaze, your pupils dilated and locked on him. His throat went dry, forcing him to swallow once—then again.

“Everything okay, husband?” you asked innocently, voice soft and sweet, knowing damn well you were driving him crazy. There was nothing innocent or sweet about the way your hand dragged down his chest, all the way to his built abs and v-like that disappeared down his pants.

Azriel’s voice came out rough. “Oh, you’re not being fair, sweetheart.”

A slow, playful smile curled your lips. “Azzie, c’mon let’s fuck. Right here, right now.” you grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the kitchen island. There you looked up at him with those doe eyes, all innocent and sweet before you carefully let your robe drop.

“So, you gonna make me beg? i’ll totally do it,” you suggest with a little smile.

“Alright then, beg.”

—

“Wait—don’t hide your pretty face from me—fuck,” azriel reaches over and grabs both your hands in one of his.

God, you were being slutted out, whimpering mindlessly as you bounced in his lap. his ridiculously big dick was fittin’ just right, so snugly deep in your cunt.

“I want to see my wife’s face, so fucking pretty, might just cum from looking at it,” azriel was also a mumbling mess, groans and noises of pleasure escaping him whenever you lifted yourself and sat back down, your cunt sucking him in greedily.

The house was filled with so sinful noises, the noises were just sloppy, nasty, each ‘plop!’ and ‘pap!’ that echoed from both bodies was sending a wave of chills down azriel’s spine. The loud sounds echoing through the room only spurred him on more, making him fuck you harder, deeper, wanting to hear you cry louder.

“mm- az, there baby. righttttt there, fuck me good,” you’d weep out in a sweet whimper. he was in so fucking deep. A ring of cum had started to form around the base of his dick and dripped down his balls from how wet you were. you felt every delicious stroke, felt the way his tip kissed your cervix. fuck- you rolled your hips in circles, making his already fuzzy brain go more empty.

the combo of your sinful hips and the way your wet cunt was vacuuming each and every inch was just pushing him closer to the edge, turning him into a fucking mess. “o- oh fuck, ‘m gonna cum. keep ridin’ me, ride me good—shit, I-I think i’m gonna cum.” Azriel’s brows furrow in pleasure as he pushes the hair that fallen over his eyes back.

“ ‘s okay, azzie. you can c- cum inside,” you whisper breathlessly against the crook of his neck. he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as your hips rut into him quicker.

“god- ‘m cummin’ fuck- ‘m cumming,” he moans, and his entire body erupts. his hand snakes down between your perspiring bodies just as he rubs tight circles on your clit, the small move pushing you over the edge as your walls spasm around his leaking tip, still spurting out rope after rope as your fell against his chest.

Your eyes are glossed over in pleasure and you felt like bawling your eyes out. There was nothing more beautiful than post sex with Azriel. It was all so emotional and sweet and you didn’t miss the way he held you closer.

Your pulled away from him, just enough to see his face. Azriel was already staring at you with no less lust or love than before. You pouted a bit before kissing his swollen lips. He’s so pretty, god.

Azriel’s inside were swirling around and it didn’t help that you were looking up at him, freshly fucked with so much love and submission in your eyes. It was like your eyes were saying the words you couldn’t. Azriel’s hand carefully stroked your bottom lip from your between your teeth.

“These eyes, man. You keep looking at me like that and I might get you pregnant, sweetheart.”

Azriel as a dad? A DILF? Fuck yeah.

“Do it then, knock me up, Azzie.”

————————————————————————

The pregnancy

You stood in front of the mirror, frowning as you tried to zip up your cute, frilly mini skirt. It wasn’t fitting quite like it used to. “Hm, there must be something wrong with this skirt. It’s not fitting me anymore,” you muttered, tugging at it a little. You huffed in frustration but quickly brightened. “Oh well, I guess that means it’s time to go shopping!”

You slipped on your favorite pair of black Manolos, but as you tried to squeeze your feet into them, they didn’t quite cooperate. You wiggled your toes and huffed again, forcing them in. “No way are my Manolos not fitting. They have to. These are my favorite!” you said, your voice tinged with frustration as you took a few shaky steps, struggling to balance.

Azriel walked in, his brow furrowing in concern when he saw you wobbling. “Everything okay, love?” His gaze drifted down to your feet, then to your stomach. He couldn’t help but notice how your clothes didn’t seem to fit as they usually did.

You stumbled a little, catching yourself on the vanity. “I don’t get it, Azzie. This skirt and my shoes… why aren’t they fitting? I haven’t changed that much have I ?!” Your confusion was evident as you looked at him, a little panicked.

Honestly, it had been three years since you graduated college and two since getting married. Did you just put on some weight?

You turned your head to Azriel, hands clamped infront of you in all seriousness. God you were totally gonna die if he said yes. “Azzie, am i getting fat?”

“No, no, sweetheart,” Azriel said quickly, his hands gently brushing over your arms, his touch soothing as if to reassure you that everything was okay. “You look healthy. I promise.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “But… Azzie,” you gestured at your shoes, “these are my Manolos, they should always fit!”

Azriel chuckled softly, his smile warm and affectionate. “Do you want to get new ones?” he asked, his voice light as he gently helped you out of your clothes, clearly more focused on making you comfortable than anything else.

You let out a sigh, the panic easing just a bit. “That sounds nice, Azzie. Thanks,” you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude, feeling the love in every small thing he did for you.

Not just the small things—but the big things too. Azriel’s job was stupidly well-paying, and he was loaded. It was a reward for all his hard work in school, and it made you so proud. He was the main provider and never expected a penny from you, spoiling you rotten and taking the promise of taking care of you very seriously.

He knew you’d lived a life of glamour and glitz, and lord knows he wasn’t about to mess that up. Azriel had even told your father that he’d step up and take care of you the second he landed his job as a very important something at a tech company…thingy. You never really knew what he did, but he was so hardworking and cool that it didn’t really matter.

—

Azriel noticed the changes in you immediately. You were moodier than usual, avoiding your favorite foods—especially your beloved strawberry sweets—and, to top it all off, you’d missed your period. He knew your cycle well and tracked it enough to know that a missed period was a rare occurrence. And you? Avoiding your favorite sour strawberry candy? That was unheard of.

Azriel couldn’t help but also notice how extra clingy you’d become, but he didn’t mind in the slightest. He loved you dearly, after all. You wrestled normally very clingy but not like this. For the past two weeks, you had been practically glued to his side.

You napped on top of him like you couldn’t bear to be apart for even a second. You wrapped yourself around him as if you were a koala bear, holding on tight while he read or worked. And when he left the house—even for just a few minutes, you’d become teary-eyed, giving him a sad pout as if he were leaving for an eternity.

It was both endearing and a bit concerning for him. Azriel couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the sudden shift in your behavior made him wonder. Was something off? Was this just a phase? Or, as he suspected, was it something more?

Either way, he couldn’t deny that he secretly loved the extra closeness. He’d never seen you so needy, and God you were needy at times, but it made him feel needed in a way that was deeply comforting. He would brush your hair from your face and kiss your forehead, trying his best to reassure you when you would cry about the most random things—like when he’d gone to grab groceries for ten minutes, or when he had to step out to take a call.

“You okay, love?” he asked softly, brushing a few stray hairs behind your ear as you curled up next to him once again.

“I just missed you, Azzie,” you replied, your voice small but full of affection as you nuzzled into his side before you sobbed again.

Azriel chuckled lightly, his fingers tracing comforting patterns on your back. “I’m right here, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

It was a little intense, but it also made his heart swell to know just how much you needed him.

He had a strong hunch that you might be pregnant, but he couldn’t say for sure yet. So, being the overprepared and cautious person he was, he did what any sane person would do: he bought eight different pregnancy tests.

“Juuuust to be sure,” he muttered to himself as he set the tests down on the bathroom counter, glancing over at you. You were sitting on the bed, still unaware of his little purchase.

He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but he was seeing the changes in you. And it really didn’t help that you were fucking like bunnies everywhere, everyday for so long without any protection.

Azriel cleared his throat, looking far too calm for someone who had just bought eight pregnancy tests. “So, sweetheart, I think I know what’s going on with you. You might be pregnant. And I’ve bought you the market’s top-rated tests.” He said it with a certain air of professionalism, like he was pitching an idea, and it left you utterly confused.

You stared at him, blinking. “Huh? Eight tests? Ain’t that kind of… a bit much?”

Azriel, however, was completely unfazed. “You see, my love, you can never be too careful. And I also suggest we visit a doctor’s office.” He handed you a massive glass of water, like it was a peace offering. “Just to help smooth things over,” he added, his eyes darting away, a faint blush creeping across his face when you arched an eyebrow at the absurdly large glass of water.

You stared at the massive glass of water, then back at Azriel. “Azzie, this is, like, a lotta water. You trying to drown me or something?” you giggled, swirling the glass dramatically before gulping it down with determination.

Azriel’s lips twitched into a smile, but he stayed close, clearly taking this whole situation very seriously. His gentle instincts wouldn’t allow for anything less.

With all eight pregnancy tests clutched in your hands, you made your way to the bathroom. “You’re staying right outside, right?” you asked, pointing a manicured finger at him. “I need you with me, Azzie baby.”

Azriel nodded, leaning against the wall like the dutiful husband he was. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll be just outside.”

After a few tense minutes, you stepped out of the bathroom, wide-eyed, holding up the tests like some dramatic reveal on a reality show.

Each one displayed a positive result—two lines, a digital readout, even one that estimated how far along you were in weeks. No doubt about it. You were pregnant.

You blinked down at the assortment of tests, then back at Azriel, your voice trembling. “Azzie,” you whispered, tears welling up. “We’re having a baby.”

Azriel’s eyes softened, wonder filling his expression as he stepped closer, gently cupping your face. “My love,” he said, voice low and filled with awe. “We’re having a baby.”

You sniffled, overwhelmed, then suddenly let out a laugh through your tears. “Oh my god, I’m actually going to freak out! I already love her so much—I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Azriel’s lips curved into a soft laugh, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek. “Her? You think it’s a girl?”

You nodded lovingly. “Totally. I just know it, Azzie. You’re so a girl dad. And she’s gonna be adorable and for sure super smart, just like you.”

Azriel’s laugh deepened, warm and genuine. “Then she’ll be perfect, just like her mom,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

—

Pregnancy was unique, and Azriel found it endlessly charming. The way you waddled around in your third trimester never failed to make his heart swell. You didn’t think it was cute, but to Azriel, it was nothing short of endearing. And he made sure to let you know it every chance he got.

It hadn’t started out easy, though. Morning sickness had you in its grasp for weeks, and you couldn’t help but blame Azriel for it every time it hit. One day, after a particularly rough attempt at cooking chicken, you were hunched over the toilet, and when Azriel walked by, you just couldn’t help yourself.

“You did this to me!” you yelled, your voice a mix of frustration and nausea. “I’m sick, and it’s all your fault, Azriel. God, I can’t even eat chicken anymore and—”

But your rant was cut short when the reminder of the chicken hit you again, and you immediately had to empty your guts once more.

Azriel stood there, helpless but always ready to support you. He nodded in agreement, his face a mixture of amusement and sympathy. “It’s all my fault,” he agreed quickly, his voice full of mock guilt. “I’m so sorry for getting you pregnant. How irresponsable of me.”

You shot him a look, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, it’s totally your fault,” you said dramatically, sinking down onto the cool bathroom floor and leaning your head on his shoulder as he crouched next to you.

Azriel didn’t mind; he just wrapped an arm around you, offering comfort. Even as you faced the discomforts of pregnancy, you refused to wear anything you didn’t like. You weren’t about to settle for ugly maternity clothes, not when you could still squeeze into your regular outfits. And so what if your t-shirt was riding up your stomach? it was still cute and you’d wear just that. It was just you plus a bump.

Even with you sick and throwing up left and right, Azriel didn’t think he’d ever seen you so beautiful. You were glowing and had this ethereal beauty surrounding you at all times. It made no sense at times that someone as beautiful as you existed.

—

In these final weeks, the fear of giving birth and the reality of taking care of the baby were your biggest worries. Azriel, always attentive, made sure to check on you daily, asking if you had any pain, discomfort, or thoughts you needed to share.

You sighed deeply, looking over at him. “Well, I’m kinda scared, baby.”

Azriel scooted closer, rubbing your feet, and the second his hands made contact, it felt like a weight lifted from your shoulders. His touch was like magic, calming your racing thoughts.

“Yeah? Wanna talk about it?”

You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “I’m scared of giving birth, ya know? I watched some videos, and honestly, I’d rather not do it at all. Like, babies should be born painlessly, right? I know it’s gonna hurt like a bitch, and I’m just… terrified.”

Azriel leaned in, his hand still caressing your foot gently. “I won’t lie to you, honey, it’s gonna be scary,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady. “But listen to me: you’re not going to be alone. I’m going to be right there with you, every step of the way. I’ll hold your hand, I’ll be the one to remind you how strong you are. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back into him, feeling his warmth and the sincerity of his words. The fear didn’t disappear entirely, but with him beside you, it seemed just a little more manageable. “I jus’ don’t wanna mess it up. I want to be a good mom, ya know?”

“You’ll be an amazing mom. The best,” Azriel said without hesitation, his voice full of certainty. “You’ve already proven that. And we’ll be doing this together, so you’ll never be alone.”

You smiled, feeling a little braver. “Thanks, Azzie. I really needed to hear that.”

“Always, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand still holding yours with a tenderness that made you feel like you could take on anything. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “So, does this officially make you a dilf?”

Azriel chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yeah, and just like that, you’re a milf,” he teased, his smile growing as he gave your belly a gentle rub.

You liked the sound of that, you and Azriel officially being hot parents.

—

“Okay, I need this baby to get the fuck out.”

Yes, that’s right. You were still very pregnant, and it was starting to drive you mad. Hot one second, cold the next, hungry then nauseous. Everything felt off, and you were so uncomfortable. You were too damn pregnant.

“Oh my god, just get out, get out, get outtttt!”

Azriel stood next to you, trying to be supportive as usual. He was breathing way too loud, and standing just a little too close. “Seriously, breathe louder, Az. That’s just great,” you snapped, throwing your hands up in frustration. Your pink diamond ring caught the light, and your eyes narrowed in irritation.

“Sorry, I’ll just stop,” he said casually, clearly not bothered by your outburst.

Great. Now you felt fucking awful. He wasn’t the one who’d been throwing up for the past few months but he’d been the one holding your hair back, rubbing your feet, and making sure you were comfortable 24/7. You definitely didn’t want to stop breathing because that would cause him to die and you just couldn’t have that.

“‘m sorry,” you said, your voice shaky as you reached for him, burying your face in his shoulder. “Didn’t mean to snap. I don’t want you to stop breathing. You’re not annoying, I’m just—” you sniffled, feeling like a mess. “I love you so much, but gods, I’m so over being pregnant. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Please don’t hate me.”

Azriel’s eyes softened as you broke down into his shoulder, his hand instinctively moving to soothe you. He wrapped you in his arms, pulling you closer as he gently rubbed your back, his presence steady and grounding.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. “I know you’re done. You’ve been so strong this whole time, and I’m proud of you. But we’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

You sniffled, your face buried in his shirt, feeling the warmth of his embrace despite the chaos swirling in your mind. “I just feel like I’m going to lose it. I’m too hot, then cold. I can’t eat without feeling sick, and everything aches. I just want her here already. I love her so much, but I can’t do this anymore.”

Azriel chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering for a moment as he whispered, “How about we get her out by going for a walk and eating something spicy? Heard that works wonders. And if that doesn’t, uh… I heard sex helps.”

The blush creeping up his neck was unmistakable, and your heart squeezed at how he still managed to get shy around you.

You grinned through your tears. “How about we skip all that and head straight to the part where you fuck me real good?”

Azriel’s lips curved into a slow smile, though his face was still red. “Y-Yeah—hell yeah. Let’s do that.”

And he did. One very good fuck fest and 7 hours of labor brought your beautiful baby girl into the world. She was perfect—so tiny, so sweet, and when she opened her eyes, they were unmistakably Azriel’s.

“You did it, sweetheart,” Azriel whispered as he held her close, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s here. Our babygirl is finally here. Thank you, my love. For blessing us. For your hard work. I’m so proud of you.”

Azriel kissed you deeply and as you looked at your baby girl and the love of your life, you knew every ache and tear had been worth it.

—————————————————————————

Life

You kissed the top of her head, her soft black hair looking just like her father’s. You sat on the couch with your 6-month-old baby girl nestled in your arms. When she was born, she looked just like you, but as she grew older, her sneaky little features started looking more and more like Azriel’s.

You loved her so freaking much, and sometimes you’d just start crying out of nowhere. She was a tiny part of you, someone you made with love. It was honestly wild.

“Oh, my sweetest baby angel. You’re all mine, and I love you sooo much, yes I do! Yes I do!” you cooed, nuzzling your nose against her tiny button one, making her giggle wildly. She was seriously a masterpiece. Like, such a cutie.

After feeding and rocking her, her soft snores filled the room, and you found yourself counting each adorable little breath. Pregnancy had been… a lot. You weren’t exactly the sharpest crayon in the box, and sometimes you worried about whether you’d be a good mom. But Azzie had always been there.

Carefully, you stood up and tiptoed to her bedroom, which was right next to yours and Azriel’s so you could get to her super quickly if she fussed. You gently laid her down and pulled out all the baby monitors you had stocked up on. No way were you taking chances with your baby girl.

And sure, maybe three monitors and an Owlet sock was a tiny bit much, but whatever. And Azriel totally agreed.

You found him standing next to the door, still clad in his handsome dress shirt and slacks. Your walked over to him as you slumped your body against his, melting against his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. "Every day I thank the gods we didn't end up with a fussy baby. she goes to sleep so easy." he smiled, placing his chin on the top of your head. 

Here’s a cleaned-up and polished version while keeping her adorable, slightly flustered tone intact:

“Right? She’s totally in sync with me, and I’m so happy she’s so calm.”

“I really missed you today. A lot.”

Your heart started beating faster. Azriel was so casual about stuff like that, and it made you blush every time. He used to be shy and reserved about sharing his feelings, but now he’d just say it right to your face without hesitation.

And, of course, it turned you into a blushing mess over a few simple words.

“Y-you did? I missed you too.”

His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer. His voice dropped to that low, heart-melting tone he knew drove you wild.

“I missed you very much. Very, very much. And I’m going to show you exactly how much.” You giggle and blush like crazy when be grabs your waist and carefully chucks you over his shoulder, giving your ass a loud smack.

God, you love your life.

🏷️:

[syoddeye]

Seconds. Ghost x f!Reader.

Tidal disruption events occur when a star passes too close to a supermassive black hole, and is pulled apart by the black hole's tidal force. AT2018fyk is the name of a tidal disruption event in which a supermassive black hole devoured a star, then came back for seconds.

He doesn't believe in fate, but he believes people are creatures of habit.

And what luck, she is.

She slips into the pub quietly, her arrival swiftly overshadowed by the crowd. Rainwater trickles off her jacket, puddling on the wood beneath her as she keeps her hood drawn, hiding her face until she finds her usual corner. There, at the end of the bar where it bends into the wall, she sits, peeling off the outer layer to reveal the dark, muted clothing beneath. Barely a sliver of skin exposed. A mouse, just as skittish and meek as he remembers.

The glasses are new. Thin frames, like a librarian. His fingers twitch with the thought of plucking them off her face. The thing in his chest purrs.

He could move. Let her see him, watch the fear bloom on that soft face of hers in real-time. But no. He's not in a rush. He's had days to settle, to breathe. To cram himself back into the worn shell of Simon.

No more adrenaline coursing through his veins, no caffeine pills burning his insides. Just paracetamol and ibuprofen dulling the ache in his bones. But there's an ache deeper than that, which no pill or tablet can touch.

She isn't supposed to be here. Not again. He told her that when he pulled out and rolled her over.

If I see you again, it's for keeps.

The hunger pulls. 

Rears its ugly head at the sight of her and gnashes its teeth.

Inevitable, inescapable, it tears him apart in violent tides. His ribs press too tight around what wants her, threatening to snap open like a steel trap. It pulls his reason gossamer thin, then shreds it. Patience crumbling into dust.

This mercy he's giving her? Letting her have one round in peace? It's the most of what he'll be able to give her.

He thought he'd had his fill. Thought she'd be smart enough to heed his warning. He had ripped her apart, drank down the heat of her, and left nothing but the cooling remnants of a weepy girl who could barely get the words thank you out of her mouth.

He remembers how she burned, coming undone in his hands. Whined about too much and too big. And yet, she lived.

Clever thing, piecing herself together while he rinsed off, turning tail out of the dingy motel room. Hurtled right out of his reach. 

He never had the chance to track her down, shipping out the next day. Never the chance to change his mind.

He shrugged it off. He could live with it. He'd learned to live with a lot of things he wished were different.

But his hunger is a thing with memory. And as soon as he sees her, nursing a drink with her nose in a book—he knows he's not done.

Some things circle back whether they mean to or not.

[honeyncherry]

everything i never asked for - joe burrow

summary valentine’s day with joe

content fluff fluff fluff

You didn’t expect much for Valentine’s Day this year. The past couple of months had been rough, between everything that happened and Joe’s whirlwind schedule with the Pro Bowl, Honors, and the Super Bowl. You figured today would be low-key. Maybe just a lazy morning, a home-cooked meal, and some much needed rest.

And that was exactly how the day started.

You wake up to slow, warm kisses along your shoulder, Joe's voice still rough from sleep as he murmurs, “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.” He pulls you closer, his arm heavy around your waist, and for a while, you stayed tangled in the covers, soaking in the rare, quiet stillness.

By late morning, he’s in the kitchen making breakfast (if you can even call it that). He’s in a pair of grey sweats that hang low on his hips, hair still messy, leaning against the counter with a smug look as you do most of the work.

He claims he’s helping, but really, he’s just standing behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, sneaking bites of the pancakes you’re making.

Later in the afternoon, your phone buzzes. A friend asks if you want to meet up for a little Galentine’s date. You hesitate, glancing at Joe, but before you can even consider turning it down, he nudges you.

"Go."

"No—"

"Seriously, go. You deserve a break from me," he jokes, smirking as he stretches out on the couch. "Besides, I promise I won’t waste away in your absence."

You narrow your eyes at him, sensing he’s up to something, but he looks completely unbothered. Eventually, you give in, grab your things, and head out.

The afternoon is easy, spent catching up and laughing, but a small part of you keeps thinking about Joe. How effortless the morning felt. How rare it is for him to have time to just be.

When you finally return home, you’re not expecting much, maybe him still sprawled on the couch, half-asleep. But the second you step inside, you realize something is different.

The lights are dim. Candles flicker along the dining table, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. The smell of something savory lingers in the air, and standing in the middle of it all is Joe. He’s changed into something nicer, sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms as he finishes setting the table, looking both ridiculously proud of himself and a little nervous.

"What is this?" you ask, blinking at the setup.

"A proper Valentine’s Day," he says, wiping his hands on a dish towel before making his way over to you. "Figured you deserved at least one romantic surprise today."

The table is set with the fine china set you two received as a housewarming gift. A homemade meal is waiting, something he clearly put effort into, even if a few little mishaps, like the slightly burnt garlic bread, give away his struggles. A bottle of wine is already open, two glasses waiting.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, he tugs you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, fingers rubbing gentle circles into your back as he whispers, “Missed you today.”

The evening flows effortlessly, filled with laughter, teasing, and Joe dramatically complaining about “how hard cooking is” as he watches you take your first bite. He studies your reaction like it determines his entire fate, waiting for your verdict. You hum thoughtfully, dragging it out just to mess with him before finally breaking into a smile.

"It’s actually really good, Joe."

"You’re lying."

"No, I swear! Well… except maybe the garlic bread."

"Knew you were gonna say that."

You’re both grinning. He reaches across the table, fingers brushing over yours and his voice softer as he says, "I know things have been a lot recently."

He pauses, thumb grazing over your knuckles before meeting your eyes again. "I just wanted today to be about you. You deserve that."

Somehow, that means more to you than any grand gesture ever could.

After dinner, you both end up curled on the couch, his arm draped over your shoulders as some random movie plays in the background. You’re not really paying attention, just floating on the high of the day, tucked against his side, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over your arm.

Then, without warning, Joe suddenly untangles himself from you and disappears into the kitchen. You barely have time to question it before he’s back, a small bakery box in his hands, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Chocolate cake?" you ask, already smiling as he flips the lid open to reveal two thick slices of rich, decadent cake from your favorite bakery.

"Went out earlier and got it while you were gone," he says, settling back beside you. He grabs a fork, slicing off a bite before holding it up to your lips with an expectant look. "I’ll share. If you’re nice."

You roll your eyes but take the bite, humming in satisfaction as the sweetness melts on your tongue. It’s perfect, exactly how you like it. But before you can even reach for your own fork, Joe steals another bite, straight from your slice, grinning like he’s getting away with something.

"Joe!"

"What?" he says around a mouthful of cake, not even remotely guilty.

You huff, reaching for the box, but he shifts just out of reach, holding the fork and the cake hostage. It turns into a game, him dodging your attempts to take control of the dessert, laughter bubbling between you, the weight of the last few months feeling lighter than it has in a long time. Eventually he relents, letting you have your share, though not without sneaking a few extra bites when he thinks you’re too distracted.

By the time the cake is gone, Joe shifts slightly, adjusting so you’re tucked even closer. His fingers mindlessly trace over your knuckles where your hand rests against his chest, the warmth of his body easing you into a quiet, content haze.

You let out a sigh, fingertips grazing over his arm. "Thank you for today." His lips brush across your forehead, then your cheek, before finally pressing a tender kiss to your lips — his own silent way of saying you’re welcome.

The movie plays on, just background noise now, filling the quiet between your slowed breaths. His thumb moves absentmindedly over your wrist, a quiet, familiar touch that still makes your heart flutter after all this time.

Just when you think he might be drifting off, Joe presses another kiss to the top of your head, lingering for a second longer than necessary.

"This was nice."

You smile against his shirt, barely lifting your head. "Yeah?"

He hums in response, his chest rising and falling beneath your palm. "Yeah. Just us. Feels good."

There’s something unspoken in the way he says it, in the way his hold tightens around you, like he needed today just as much as you did. Maybe more.

You don’t say anything back. You don’t need to. Instead, you let your fingers lace through his, soaking in the kind of serenity that can only be found in moments like this.

As the candlelight flickers, casting golden warmth over the both of you, you realize that maybe you hadn’t expected much for Valentine’s Day. You hadn’t asked for anything, hadn’t wished for anything elaborate.

But Joe?

He’s always there, giving you more than you ever thought to ask for.

[leikeliscomet]

Playing another round of lets-see-what-bad faith-takes-and-derailing-is-going-on-on this post again:

@a-witch-bird I pretty much already covered this in the FOUR part follow up of this post that didn't need a follow up if tumblr aces were capable of looking at asexuality from a systemic, political and social lense instead of generic 'support everyone' tumblr posts.

Let me make this clear: If you only support asexuals if asexuals have sex, that is not asexual support. If you only support asexuals if asexuals experience sexual attraction, that is not asexual support. Saying asexuals are allowed to not have sex and deserve human decency without having sex isn't an attack on sex favourable aces. If you or any other asexual genuinely think that me saying asexuals should have support on the basis of it being *human decency* without having sex as factor then I'm sorry but you can't be saved. Compulsory sexuality truly fucking won if you're actively pushing back on not just the ace community but *YOUR* own right as an asexual to not have sex if you don't want to. We're actually cooked.

'Let people be queer in queer spaces - if you changed the nouns in your rhetoric and it sounds like TERF shit maybe do some self reflecting'

Can you point me to this universe where TERFs support sex repulsed asexuals and sexless people cus it's not this one. Yeah if you completely recontextualise what I've said to something I literally never said to the point it's completely unrelated then it would sound like 'TERF shit'. Yeah different things mean different things what is this word salad?

'Let people be queer' why are you equating sex favourability as queerness? Is the idea of an asexual not having sex not queerness in a queer space? 'Let people be queer' yet you're recommending I self-segregate myself into a 0 sex asexual community which you think won't even match me anyway and use a new label when you have no idea what my asexuality is or what my preferences even are yet you're so sure I'm so different to you 'as an ace' 'as a sex averse asexual' as if I couldn't have any similarities to you at all or as if I couldn't be different. You're telling me based on your assumption of what my asexuality is that I have no space in this community yet it's 'let people be queer'

In a way I kinda have to thank you because you've helped prove my post yet *again*. This is what happens when you spout asexuality is valid but have no self awareness about compulsory sexuality. This is what happens when you don't read the theory. This is what happens when we have no asexual politic outside of 'the a isn't for ally'

When it comes to asexual allyship a lot of people wanna have their cake and eat it too (pun unintended). People like a lil 'aces are valid' moment but don't actually unpack compulsory sexuality. People see sexless queer representation and always clock puritanism before they ever clock asexuality. No one's actually reading the ace theory and texts coming out. Everyone keeps doing surprised Pikachu faces whenever a conservative or TERF says they're against asexuality despite the fact ace activists have been saying since day conservatives are not anti sex but anti sexual autonomy. 'Aces are queer' until we actually are. Even ace support posts keep ending with some expectation or condition that asexuality is #valid as long as asexuals still perform a small quota of sex/sexual activity. I'm so over 'Aces still have sex!' 'Aces are hot' Aces are sexy' 'Aces aren't virgin vanilla prude sexless puritans!' disguised as support.

Like no. Sorry. Until you accept that some asexual people's no is permanent, that some asexual's singleness is permanent, that some asexual's childless-ness is permanent, that some asexuals are the 'no' in little to no sexual attraction and i'd say most importantly, that queer sexlessness isn't a biological, social or moral failing, I don't believe you'll ever genuinely support asexuality. (In reverse, I also feel similar about aromanticism and romance).

Like a lot of u haven't gone beyond 'the a isn't for ally' and it shows. I don't want people to support asexuals just because we're soooo hot or because we write the best smut apparently or because we could have hypothetical sex or because we could do hypothetical kink or because our minds are soooo dirty actually or because we'd do romance reallllyyyy well or because we can still have kids or because asexuals hand out water bottles at the orgy or some shit. I want people to support asexuality because no sexuality is deviant and it's basic human decency.

[frogmoisturethief]

ughhhhhhhhh I’m gonna fail my lab practical tomorrow