#this was... harder to make than i anticipated 😅

[elizabethshaw]

Fifteen and Ruby in every episode

Boom

[juletheghoul]

covetous

a/n: Jesus Maggie, you really called me out on my bullshit for this one. Originally I want this story to just be a bunch of sexy encounters in a morally questionable world, now we're talking about feelings and love and how the hell did we get here? (This is how I would imagine him the first time he sees his Girl) Please enjoy this un-beta'd, barely edited request. All mistake and errors are mine! please enjoy

Warnings; 18+ no minors, Marcus pov, vague but big-legal age gap, there's no actual sex, but memories of it, vulgar yet romantic musings, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) he’s still pretty possessive, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus - let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 1.1k (😅)

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

War is easy. It’s a language he’s fluent in, something he excels in. He is blessed enough to have survived more battles that he could count and has been more than rewarded for his prowess. Battle plans, marches and military strategy are almost second nature, the fury, the heat of battle, all that he can anticipate and it’s probably the main reason he’s come this far in his life. 

Soldiers, camp life and brutality, those things are easy for him to understand.

Other matters, love, affection, attraction; these things are…harder. 

Physically, he’s perfectly adequate. He's never been ignorant to his looks, or his build. He knows that he fills the societal ideal for a man. He’s broad, he’s strong, he has a good face and no physical flaws.

He’s never been short of attention from the fairer sex either but that doesn’t mean anything as far as he’s concerned. He’s had his trysts, and he thinks he might have even been in love before but his luck seems to stop, and stay within his vocation. 

In his younger days, he’d broken his fair share of hearts, he’d been gifted the virtue of many a virgin in hopes of tempting him into a marriage. None of them had held his attention for more than that one night, and sometimes, in the late hours wherever he found his rest he secretly feared the Gods might be punishing him. Withholding the partner he hopes to find as payment for those broken hearts left in his wake. 

As he grew older, wiser and more practical he learned to ignore that little emptiness. He saw it more as a blessing. Would he be where he was now with a woman waiting for him? Would he have hit his station with children bearing his name pulling at his thoughts in the middle of battle? Perhaps the Gods had simply made a trade. His life, or his heart. 

He’d been content with his lot in life, until he’d seen her. 

She’d served at a gathering he’d been loath to attend. His eyes tracked her, the shine of her hair, the curve of her hip, her pretty smile. Her eyes had locked with his for half a heartbeat and he’d felt it in his belly. A rolling, like waves in a stormy ocean. 

She’d gone about her business, efficiently fulfilling her duties while the guests all spoke animatedly around him. He’d joined in after reigning in his reaction, but she’d taken every ounce of his attention with her. 

He’d negotiated her purchase the next day. 

-

She was quick. She learned everything faster than a lot of the others in his service, and she seemed to anticipate his needs before he spoke them. Most of the time, he barely needed to say anything at all, and so he kept quiet. Kept his thoughts, and his feelings to himself. 

His biggest need though, was her. He wanted her bad enough to hurt, to ache.

He was well aware of the practices in other houses. Slaves were there to obey, and in most houses that meant obeying with work, and with their bodies. He saw no issue in this, it was the way of the world. No matter how badly he wanted her though, he couldn’t make himself order her to spread her legs for him. Maybe it was a foolish, childish thing but he wanted her to crave it just as he did. He wanted her wet, he wanted her begging for him, he wanted to see pleasure and lust on her pretty face. 

He wanted her to want him. 

A year passed, and every second in her presence was exquisite torture. A torture he submitted himself to freely and with a perverse pleasure. It was a test of endurance, until the fateful night she’d come to him with her wet tunic, all of her body on display through the sheer fabric. The shadow of her cunt had sent him into a frenzy and when she’d come back and caught him fucking his fist he’d thought it was just another form of punishment. 

It was that look on her face though, that heavy lidded, open mouthed way she stared at him, nipples hardening that had finally made him crack. 

That first night he’d taken her, he’d stayed up in his bed, almost blinded with want. Her body had not alleviated the craving for her, if anything, it’d only made it worse. He’d replayed their encounter over and over, obsessed with the taste of her on his fingers, obsessed with the feel of her lips on his. From then on, she’d only cemented her hold on him. Her quiet obedience, her subtle seduction, the way she’d managed to scrape the shape of herself onto his brain.

She’d made herself the figurehead in his mind, the holy place at which he prayed, the Goddess he served. If he could, he’d light a thousand candles at the altar of her cunt, and pray to them daily.

He fought harder to return to her, he took note of her wants, of her preferences, and made sure to cater to her, despite no one in the house, not even her realizing. He dismissed the younger boys that lusted after her, he was covetous of her to the point of violence. A small smile from her could dictate his mood. The thought of her in pain made him feel like some feral wolf caught in a trap, ready and willing to chew part of himself away to reach her. 

Sometimes, after he’d spilled inside her, he’d let her fall asleep in his bed and relish the way she clung to him in her sleep. It was a double edged sword though, their stations in this life. A part of him fears that her want is only an act, a way to endear herself to him, her Dominus. A foundation to earn her freedom, or coin, or influence through him but then he sees the shy way she smiles at him and his fears are silenced to nothing. 

She cannot fake the way she flutters around his cock, she cannot pretend to feel nothing, not when he sees the same jealousy he feels shining through her eyes at the mention of the mostly political proposals he’s denied. The things she says, the way she takes her pleasure from him, all of these things only compound his delusions that just maybe, she feels for him a fraction of what he feels for her. 

It’s a sort of madness, truly, how that part of him that was the perpetual soldier had in so many respects switched their roles, had given her a control–a power he was sure she didn’t realize she had. 

He was sick with want for her, ravenous, and yet unable to soften himself in a way that would make her see the truth, make her see just how much she truly meant to him. He couldn’t make himself show her, that whatever she asked of him, he’d do with a smile.

For now at least. 

- Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi  @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed  @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery @its-nebuleuse @missladym1981 @inept-the-magnificent @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @ladyofmidlo72 @greenvita @honey-on-your-tongue @ladylovesloki @alexiamargot06 @purple-fig @picketniffler @somedayheaven @flw3rrr

[azsazz]

Shots & Spins

Hockey!Azriel x Ice Skater!Reader

Summary: Req from @kristijenner19: I saw you were thinking about hockey!AZ because same. How about a fic where she's a figure skater and they're trying to teach each other their respective sports. Imagine poor Az trying to do a spin/jump/twizzle and a reader who can barely ever make a shot into a goal

Bonus points if they switch their skates and have to re-learn how to skate with the new blade

Warnings: Mild panic attack, mentions of readers injury (torn ACL), trauma from coaches (verbal) mentioned.

Word Count: 3088

Other Fics in the Hockey!Az AU: Penance, Shut Out, Out of Order, All's Well That Ends Well, Brr-eakdown

HOCKEY SZN SOON MY LOVES 💙💙

Notes: I swear I meant to make this cuter but of course, I had to give it some angst 😅

_________________________________________

“What is this?” You question. You’re probably being rude, with your nose scrunched in disgust. With the way you’re holding the pair of skates as far away from your body as possible, you’re pretty sure you look like the biggest bitch on all of campus. But for the life of you, you can’t figure out why Azriel has handed you hockey skates.

“They’re skates,” Azriel answers. You rip your glare from the offending skates at his obvious response. Your heart stumbles in your chest at the sight of his pink lips twitching, begging to reveal that grin he spends most of his time expertly hiding.

You don’t even realize you’re leaning closer in anticipation, so eager to see that smile until the hitch of his breath snaps you back to consciousness.

You rock back on your heels so quickly you nearly tumble over. Would tumble over if it weren’t for Azriel’s quick reflexes, his large hands enveloping your waist and steadying you back on your feet.

“Thanks,” you reply flatly, dipping your chin to the ground to hide your flaming cheeks. There’s not an ounce of amusement in your body.

“You’re welcome.” You don’t like the smugness in his tone or the way he’s playing with you. Tilting your face back up, you muster all the annoyance lancing through your veins at his retort, shooting him the nastiest glare.

“That’s not what I meant, Az, and you know it. Why am I holding a pair of hockey skates?”

Azriel sits on the bench beside the empty arena, and you want to pout. Why would you want to spend any more time at the rink than you already do? You’re bone-fucking-tired and your knee is feeling stiff. You overdid it in practice this week, trying to get back into the shape you were in before the time you’d been forced to take off, and it’s hitting you hard. All you really want to do is crawl home, roll out your muscles, and dive into a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

When you don’t join Azriel, he says, with a humor you don’t feel, “Don’t tell me you forgot about our little bet. Or how you so gracefully lost it.”

Of course you hadn’t forgotten. Who could forget losing at something as simple as a race across the arena? Afterwards, you tried to blame it on the differences in the ice, how it was colder and harder than you were used to, as it was prepared for the hockey team’s game later that weekend.

A rookie mistake, honestly. One that you’ve been kicking yourself over up until this very moment. Well, if you could kick with your injured leg, that is, you’d be doing just that.

You grind your teeth as a memory rises to the forefront of your mind. Your coach’s voice rings in your head, shrill and reprimanding. Why would you take such foolish chances? You need to get your head in your sport or you’re never going to make it on the Olympic team, let alone the University team.

Shame presses down on you, and your eyes prick at the criticism you should be used to by now. Your private coach from your time before Velaris University, Amarantha, had been very creative with her insults, always coming up with comments worse and harsher to cut down any semblance of confidence you had in your sport.

You bet she’s thrilled that you won’t be back in her presence until you’re healed enough. If you heal enough to relearn the very trick that took you out of the running for the Olympic team in the first place.

It must be a thing, coaches insulting their prodigies. You glance at Azriel from the corner of your eye and wonder if his coach is the same way. If Rhys is brutal with his teammates.

And you hate losing. It was Azriel who you wished forgotten about the bet you’d so stupidly agreed to, but here he is, wearing the same look that got you into this position in the first place.

You take your time studying him as you mull over how to get out of this. Azriel’s broad shoulders take up the space of two people, and his deep, dark hair falls over his brow, growing out into the perfect flow all the players seem to be sporting right now. You wonder if it’s superstition or they actually like the look. His thick lashes sweep as he bats them, and your cheeks take on a pink hue as he pretends to preen under your attention.

“Look,” he all but sighs, giving up his act. He leans back, reaching over to grab something out of sight. When Azriel rightens himself, he holds a pair of figure skates, a sheepish smile on his face. The apples of his cheeks mottle with pink. “I got myself figure skates, so we can both look like fools out there. Together.”

Fuck. The sentiment makes your throat tighten. He doesn’t have to be so damn thoughtful, you’re hardly even friends for Mother’s sake.

“Fine,” you manage when you can speak again. You plop onto the bench beside him. Your knee throbs dully in protest, but it’s nothing you haven’t been able to smother before. You’ve worked through worse conditions than hockey prepped ice, have skated in casts and aches so deep you weren’t sure you’d be able to compete at all if it weren’t for your raw love for the sport and your brutal stubbornness, holding yourself to the highest of standards.

And it’s not like you’re going to be doing your usual tricks. No, that’s all Azriel. All you have to manage is a few forward spirals, twizzles, and perhaps an axel just to show off a little, because there’s no way he’ll be able to recreate all of that in one go.

You just hope your knee stays steady for a few more hours.

The both of you lace your shoes in silence. The hockey skates are so different from your figure skates, you note. The blade is much thicker than you’re used to, more curved too. The boots are shorter, and you grimace at the lack of ankle support.

Not to mention you’re not entirely sure how well you’ll be able to stop without your toe pick.

Azriel leads you to the ice. You step on tentatively, giving the new skates a test. They have a lot more give than you’re used to. They’re not as snug, but easy enough to navigate. Muscle memory kicks in and after a few sluggish runs up and down the ice, you think you’ve gotten the hang of it.

The rest of this bet should be a breeze, especially compared to how Azriel is faring.

His face is contorted with a concentrated frown. He looks stiff as a fucking board, which make you giggle and him complain about. “How the hell do you wear these things? I can barely even move my ankles!”

“Practice makes perfect, young Padawon,” you tease, testing how best to shift your weight on the new blades. The pressure on your knee isn’t terrible, thanks to the looseness of the hockey skates.

“Yeah, yeah,” Azriel waves you off. He trails behind you at a slower rate, focused on getting used to the stiffness of the figure skates on his feet. “Just wait until we scrimmage.”

Ugh, no thanks. This is just perfect for you, the both of you out on the open ice, all alone. You don’t want to ruin this peaceful bliss by bringing your competitive personalities into it.

“I knew if we raced under different conditions I’d have won!” You exclaim, zipping past Azriel again, showing off. He glares playfully, but you’re much too busy admiring your skates to notice the way he’s tucked his lip between his teeth, hiding a satisfied grin.

His toe pick digs into the ice, grinding down as he gets a feeling for the foreign piece, but his eyes stay glued on you.

“Ready for a stick and gloves already, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know,” you throw a smirk back in his direction, crossing your arms over your chest and cocking a brow. “You ready for twizzling?”

“Twizzlers?”

You roll your eyes at his lame joke, but your heart still skips at his wry smile. It’s more than cute. You push off your blade, moving closer to him.

Which is fine, until you try to use your toe pick to stop, only for the realization to hit that there isn’t one on these skates.

You go barreling into Azriel, who catches you in his arms. Your motion throws him off balance and before you even have the chance to squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself, you’re both falling to the ice.

Azriel hits with a grunt that reverberates through your bones. You’d think that Azriel breaking your landing would be less painful than it is, but with the way the muscle is packed on his body, he’s just as hard as the ice that’s no longer beneath your feet.

“Sorry,” you cringe. It comes out breathless and embarrassment flushes your cheeks, but you’re frozen to your spot and all too aware of how his large, warm hands are wrapped firmly around your waist.

“No worries.” Your lashes flutter as his breathy whisper caresses your face. He’s probably just winded, that’s why he sounds like that. Yes, that’s exactly what it is. “Didn’t think to remind you how to stop.”

“I know how to stop,” you argue, but there’s none of your usual fire tainting the words. You can’t even muster one of your famous glares that you reserve for the normally broody hockey player. You break eye contact as the humiliation begins creeping in. You scratch your nail distractedly down the waffled fabric of his olive colored henley. “I just…forgot, I guess.”

The hitching of his breath in his chest shifts your body and you jolt, the situation slamming into you like a truck.

You scramble off Azriel, grimacing at the sound of your blades clinking against his. His grip loosens, hands falling away as you slip to the ice beside him.

You shoot to your knees, then not-so-carefully climb to your feet. Azriel holds his hands out from where he’s still lying on the ground, like he’s more than ready to catch you again should you fall.

You’re positive the heat of your cheeks could melt the entire arena’s ice right now. You need to get the fuck out of here before you embarrass yourself further. You need to never show your face around here again. You’ve already transferred schools once, what’s one more time?

Azriel calls your name, but you hardly hear him over your racing thoughts. If the sheer embarrassment wasn’t enough, Coach Weaver’s voice now fills the rest of your head, screeching about your recklessness and how you could’ve injured yourself—

He’s quicker than you thought, or you’ve been trapped in your mortified headspace for too long because Azriel’s on his feet, towering over you and pulling you into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” your voice trembles and his hands tighten around you. He lets you bury your face into his chest and pretends not to notice the tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. You’re fucking trembling, and his heart is pounding just as hard.

This is all his fault.

“Breathe, sweetheart, breathe,” he tries to console. He looks around frantically, like one of the sports therapist students or coaches might be walking past the rinks this late at night. There’s no soul in the building besides the both of you, everyone resting for their busy weekends of competitions and away hockey games. “Please.”

You focus on his words, how he guides you, three seconds in, three seconds out. You focus on the soothing patterns he’s drawing down your back, focus on the beating of his heart and latch onto his scent: night-chilled mist and cedar.

“Sorry,” you croak when you finally manage to calm yourself and slide a step back. Your gaze sits pointedly on the ice. You don’t want him to see you like this, a woman who’s about to fucking crumble.

“Don’t be,” Azriel says softly. His hand finds your face, and as much as you don’t want him to, he lifts your chin. You don’t fight it, emotionally exhausted. You should have asked for a raincheck, but you can admit to the fact that Azriel’s gentle touch is a comfort that you can’t help but lean into.

Sad, hazel eyes meet yours. They’re more golden brown than green, a forest of hues backlit by a burst of gold. Your breath hitches as he drags a thumb softly across your lips. They part, even though you don’t mean them to, and the whisper of breath that leaves you passes over his hand, crawls up his arm, and sends shivers down his spine.

“You okay there, sweetheart?”

You’re not sure you can hold yourself together enough to answer his question without completely melting into a puddle at his feet.

Your silence must be answer enough. Azriel takes both of your hands in his own and guides you back toward the bench where you left your shoes. His grip is reassuring, and you’re so tired that you don’t even have it in yourself to sling a witty remark his way.

For what might be the first time in your life, you allow yourself to be taken care of.

You can’t even muster a chuckle at the way he stumbles over the toe pick on his way off the ice, or the way you’re waddling in these skates. You feel anything but graceful and strong right now, but with Azriel’s hand in yours, it’s not as off-putting as you feared it might be.

“Sit,” he says, keeping his fingers clasped around yours as you heed his command. It brings you eye-level to his hands, puckered and pink and scarred to hell. They’re beautiful in every way. He embraces his story, and it’s an incredible strength, one you’re much too terrified of attempting to recreate.

“Azriel, no,” you protest, jolting forward when he lowers himself to his knees before you. You plant your hands on his shoulders, ready to force him away because you’re more than capable of taking your own skates off.

He catches your wrists, and you didn’t think his eyes could soften any more, but they do, and you melt. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Let me take care of this for you.”

You try to swallow past the knot in your throat to thank him but are unable to. Instead, you nod and reluctantly sit back.

Azriel’s gentle with his movements, like you’re a wild doe that he’s helping free from a snare. He unties the tight knots, and your heart pinches when he struggles for a moment. You wouldn’t notice if you weren’t watching so intently, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Like he knows you need to see this.

You carefully keep your mind from wandering into how good he looks like this before you.

He slips the first skate off, and you stretch your toes. It’s a reflex. Azriel smiles, peeking up at you just in time to catch your blush. His gaze ducks away before you become embarrassed, setting your foot down and holding your other ankle, lifting to get to work.

You hiss softly at the ache in your knee.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Concern laces his voice, and you’re quick to reassure him.

“No, no,” you cringe a little at the lingering sting. “It’s nothing.”

“Sweetheart.” Azriel says sternly. Seriously. “That reaction wasn’t nothing. What’s wrong?”

You sigh, defeated in more ways than one. You don’t want to admit that the injury that threw your entire career off-kilter is acting up again. You’d rather not have anyone know.

Perhaps Azriel is different. Or, maybe he’s forcing you, because the gold in his eyes is intense, pinning you to your spot. His mouth is set in a straight, firm line. He looks like he means fucking business.

You avert your gaze. You’ve never admitted defeat like this, but if Azriel can wear his scars so proudly, maybe you can too.

“I tore my ACL a few months ago.” You admit, sniffling. You can feel the shock in Azriel’s gaze, but you refuse to look him in the eye. He’s the first person at this school outside of your coach who’s hearing it. You’ve never been so vulnerable, especially with someone you hardly know. You press on nonetheless. “It’s been fine up until now.” A white lie. “But it’s been a little sore since I started practicing my jumps again.”

“How many months is ‘a few’?” He questions, and he’s not going to like the answer, so you opt for brushing over it.

“I’ll go back to seeing my therapist,” you offer instead, but even you’re not too sure how much truth your words hold.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Azriel says, and you don’t want his sympathy, but you’re too exhausted for your usual anger to stir to life. “You need to take care of yourself, before it gets any worse.”

His sentiment has your nose stinging, eyes prickling once again. What the fuck is wrong with you these days? Get it together, girl. You can cry in your own room, not in front of the hot boy who’s helping you with your godsdamned shoes.

You drag your gaze back to his. “I will.” You think.

He studies you for a moment before nodding, accepting your answer whether he believes it or not. You don’t have it in yourself to care right now. No, you just want to be back in the safety of your dorm.

Azriel is even more careful removing this skate and helping you slip into your shoes. He makes quick work of his own, and while his head is down, you admire his stature. Broad shoulders and chest that tapers into a tight waist, an ass for days.

You’re not done drooling over him when he stands, offering you a hand.

You slip your palm into his, ignoring the electricity that zips down your arm. You’re hyperaware of him by your side, and it’s only when he’s absolutely sure that you’re steady on your feet that he drops your hand.

You try not to feel too disappointed at the loss.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart,” Azriel offers, and you trail him from the arena, your heart feeling a bit fuller with the nickname.

_________________________________________

Azriel Hockey!AU Tags:

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks @bloodicka @whyshouldihaveanam3 @elle4404 @cherry-cin @quinzzelx @i-am-infinite @feeriqueivre @blightyblinders @kennedy-brooke @nyxbranwenn @dee-writes-smut @konaanaria13

[egglygreg]

“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”

Matthew 10: 29-31 NIV

Whoo boy this was quite painful to colour 😅 trying to make all the colours work next to each other was much harder than I anticipated, and it was really hard to make sure the whole thing stayed legible.

I’ll be putting it up on my Redbubble today (the other scripture arts I’ve done are already up on there)

[pedriache]

HEYYY i wanted to req an arda fic cause thats my BAE fr🤞 so it goes like this arda and fem!reader are good friends (who secretly like each other) and then one night their feelings come out SOMEHOW and then after they like start kissing/making out and its just this emotional moment between them that theyve been waiting for for so long😋😋😇 UGH I CANT I LOVE HIM

Midnight love — Arda Güler.

Pairing: Arda Güler x Fem!Reader

Summary: Telling your best friend a guy asked you out would usually be an exciting moment, both equally excited. But after telling Arda, he only seemed nonchalant, not necessarily caring. And you would be damned if you didn’t figure out why.

Word count: 1.04k

Disclaimer/s: none! just a little jealous!arda though..

A/N: ARDA REQS MAKE ME A VERY HAPPY WRITER. Wait I lowkey don’t know if I followed this req very well… feel free to ask for more i’ll try harder next time😅

The sky above twinkled with a billion stars. You loved visiting Arda’s family home on the outskirts of Altındağ. It was rare when he was home, that you’d have time to do so, but you’d gotten lucky by having a four day weekend.

Now, you two both sat on the back patio, your heads tilted at an awkward angle to watch the stars, a tradition you’d had since you both were kids.

“Oh!” You suddenly shoot upright, causing the boy to do the same, his eyes shining in surprise. Your heart flutters as you look at him. He looked so good tonight. “You’ll never guess what happened at work the other day. I’ve been meaning to tell you all day!”

Curiosity takes Arda over as he leans back on the couch, his head lulling to the side with a smile, “yeah? Tell me what?”

“Okay, y’know that one guy, Marcus? The one who I work the morning shift with?” You continue slowly, building up anticipation.

Arda’s eyes, still glued on you, narrow at the mention of Marcus. You’d brought him up during a few facetime calls, but it never seemed too important. Plus, Arda never enjoyed hearing you talk about men like that.

“What about him?” Arda clears his throat, not knowing why this conversation was starting to get in his nerves as it’d just started. It could mean nothing. Marcus, could mean nothing.

You lean back on the couch, “he asked me out.” You shrug.

So he did mean something. Right. Okay.

“Oh, that’s cool.” Is all he says.

That’s it. No ‘congratulations’ or excitement. Just, ‘oh, that’s cool.’ ?? His face even lacked emotion and he’d diverted his attention back to the sky, pushing aside the conversation like it was nothing.

Your eyebrows scrunch together, “that’s all?”

Arda’s eyes flicker to yours, a look of confusion on his face. “Yeah? What else am I supposed to say?”

Now you were just flat out peeved. “Uhm, I don’t know? Something other than your monotonous ‘that’s cool’” You mock his voice, “I mean, seriously?”

Pursing his lips, Arda looks to the stars, silently begging them for the right words. He knew exactly why what you said had him acting like a dick, he just couldn’t admit it. If he did, that meant he could potentially ruin what you two had. If he didn’t, and you were going to go on that date, he’d potentially lose you for good.

You, on the other hand, weren’t afraid to admit how much you liked Arda. You’d known for years, but he was always so.. confusing, so you chose to keep it to yourself. Now you could move on, but now he was acting like this.

“What’s your actual fucking problem.” You laugh dryly, your eyes burning holes into his head.

“Congrats!” Arda sighs, “I hope that date goes well, i’m happy for you.”

Pursing your lips, you cross your arms. “I didn’t say I said yes.”

You didn’t say yes… You didn’t say yes?

The boys brown eyes flicker toward yours, “what?”

“Yeah, I said no—why are you smiling?” Your eyebrows furrow, noticing the way his lips had tugged upwards ever so slightly.

“Smiling?” His face falters, “i’m not smiling?”

“I literally saw your lips twitch, you were totally smiling!?” You laugh, although it was more out of confusion than actual humor. “Fuck are you smiling about?”

Arda shrugs, his lips pulling into an amused, thin line. “Nothing, nothing.”

You don’t let up though, “bullshit.”

“I—“ He huffs, “I’m just surprised you’d turn him down. You’ve been complaining about being single recently, so I find it funny that you turned him down, that’s all!”

Yeah, I wonder why i’d do that. You think. Because of you. How can you not tell?

You hadn’t noticed you’d dazed off, your mind wandering to Arda once again. How could he not notice how you feel after all these years? With how many hints you’d dropped, it seems crazy to think he doesn’t know. Maybe he did, maybe he was just avoiding it because—

“Hello? Earth to you?” Arda’s waving his hand in front of your face.

Blinking, you pull yourself together. “Y’know.. For someone so smart, you really are stupid.” You sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly as you look at him.

“What?” He’s the one speechless now.

“You’re just very oblivious, it’s insane, honestly.” You didn’t mean it in a rude way, you were just baffled. “I rejected Marcus, because I didn’t want him to ask me out, I wanted—“ You shut yourself up, your mouth snapping shut.

Arda’s eyes search yours, his heart hammering in his chest. “You wanted me to.” He finishes for you.

“Yeah.” You admit, hesitantly looking back to him. “But—“

“No!” He interrupts, “no, no ‘buts’, please.” Arda’s eyes soften, his hands reaching out to cup your cheeks. You hadn’t realized until now how close you were, how close you had been.

“Oh.” You clear your throat, “okay.”

“I didn’t want Marcus taking you out either, i’m just pissed he had the courage to do it before I did, I was being a baby.” He rambles, “i’m sorry.”

“Can we just stop talking.” You ask, leaning into his touch, your eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips. “Please?”

Arda feels his chest swell a few sizes as he takes a second to stare at you, overwhelmed with emotions he’d tried to bury for so long.

“Of course,” he whispers, lips brushing against yours delicately.

With one hand cupping your cheek, the other trails down to your hip, pulling you impossibly closer. He was lost in you, and you in him. Every feeling you’d felt for each other prominent in the way neither of you seemed to need more air. Your breaths mingled in between kisses, smiles mirroring each other.

You, finally pulling away, giggle. The sound music to Arda’s ears. He grins at you, placing two kisses on your flushed cheeks.

“I should’ve done that a long time ago.” He murmurs, head resting in the nape of your neck where he leaves another soft kiss.

“Yeah, you should’ve.” You hum, pulling his face away to look at it, taking in his lopsided grin. His eyes, his nose, oh you were so screwed.

DTS , @halfwayhearted <3

[darkluminosity]

1,6,11,12,13 for the writeblr ask game :)

Hi anon! 👋🏼 Thanks for the questions! This is going to be quite a long post since there are five questions to answer 😅

1. What was your writing-highlight this year? What made it special and how will you reflect on it next year?

The biggest writing highlight for me was starting to post my work at all. It was initially terrifying to think about sharing my writing with the world, especially online, where people can hide behind their keyboards. But what made it special is that by doing so, I've made some really wonderful friends and have learned a TON about myself, writing, and other neat things! (Plus, it's so heartwarming to know I'm not alone in my writing struggles, lol.) I'm excited to continue this journey with other writers, especially delving into other methods of writing, POVs, characters, genres, maybe even co-writing... it's been fun!! I have a lot of ideas and want to challenge myself in the new year. 😉

6. Did you make any new writeblr friends? give a shout-out! if not, it's time to praise one of your old besties <3

Yes, I made some dear moots! Huge shoutout to @fi-niamh for being my first AO3 friend and for the enormous support in encouraging me to start sharing my writing in the first place.

Also a shoutout to @chaotic-snowflake for the major help with my action scenes (I'm thanking you in advance lol), for some beta reading and for helping me to jump on board the Kaeya train lol 😆 (and lastly, for the fun co-op times!)

Also a shout out to @kimoawo for being my first writer friend who's also a fellow Diluc main! I appreciate the gift fic you did so much too 🥰 and the co-op memories!

You three Genshin fanfic writers have specifically inspired me so much through your writing and through our interactions ❤️ I appreciate you!!

Also shout outs to my other writer and creator friends @agirlandherquill, @17panicattacksinatrenchcoat, @jaysc0ve, @deadghostgirl12345 and @mousiekosmos!

11. Which scene was harder/easier to write than anticipated? why?

I'll answer these for Fighting Winter since that's my main WIP right now.

The chapter with Kaeya going into town was probably my first major hurdle, only because I've never written so many different characters in one chapter before. But Kaeya helped to move that one along.

Chapter 17 (Panic) was one of the toughest overall so far, because it was just really long.. I also had various ideas I wanted to capture and keep in one chapter. I could see some parts very clearly in my mind, but putting the scene into words and having the proper emotional buildup was tricky. Plus, I had to think about some of the details and do some research.

The first four chapters of Fighting Winter were easier to write than I expected. I wrote the first drafts on a 5-hour plane ride and while waiting in lines at the airport. And chapter 4 is still my absolute favorite (along with chapter 17) 🥰

12. If your character(s) had their own new year's resolutions, what would those be?

Hm, I'm not sure how to answer this... they're not my characters lol (I'm borrowing them 😆).

In the context of Fighting Winter (at the moment), Eula would probably resolve to learn more about Diluc. Kaeya wants to truly reconcile with Diluc, and Diluc just wants to break the curse and protect Eula.

In general (outside of Fighting Winter), I don't know what their new year's resolutions would be. I think Diluc and Eula would resolve to protect Mondstadt, although their methods are different. And I'm not sure if Kaeya would have any formal new year's resolutions 🤔 I feel like he goes with the flow on things.

13. How did you change as a writer? did you learn anything new? started to plan instead of pants? share your wisdom!

The most important writing tip I've learned is to enjoy the journey instead of always focusing on the end goals (whether it's finishing the story, writing a certain amount of words per day or staying on a strict schedule, etc.) and I'm also learning to take care of myself along the way. 💙 I've been using writing to help me learn more about myself and to challenge myself to grow as a person.

[ppnuggiexxx]

I'M FREE TO COMMENT!!! My headcanons for Satan, Sitri, Amy, Belial, Zagan, and Mammon spanking him request is so good! Don't worry about it! I did request a lot of characters after all! I love it especially how eager Satan is 😁, it could be a punishment for throwing a fuss about spending time with the other kings 😠, he's more than happy to indulge you anytime 😉, his tail would be wagging if he had one 🐶, he always moans & encourages you to go harder 😳, he won't leave until his butt is scarlet ♥️, he leaks precum from anticipation O///O, how desperate you are to squeeze Sitri's butt like me 🤣, he's more than happy to indulge you (⁠゜⁠o⁠゜⁠; he would let you know you can go harder if you did it softly 👍, it turns him on if you're rough with him O///O, Mammon would do it since it would make you happy ☺️, he only wants you not to restrain your greed 😏, how he encourages you though ⁄⁠(⁠⁄⁠ ⁠⁄⁠•⁠⁄⁠-⁠⁄⁠•⁠⁄⁠ ⁠⁄⁠)⁠⁄, he would get hard with his heart racing the more you do it 💓, he would even boy items to give you more options 🪙, Amy absolutely loves it 😍, it's a punishment for him arguing with Amy 😅, he couldn't help but blush when you're also doing in front of an audience 😳, he would try to hide how hard he is while glaring at him 😠, he felt like he's in heaven when you start 😇, Satan might give you advice that would excite him more 🫴, Sitri isn't happy that he's getting it but not him 😠, you should be punishing Jiyu 😅, Belial does enjoy it despite not getting hit much 🤭, he's willing to try it out & you need to be gentle 👍, he doesn't mind occasionally & would let you know 👍, Zagan would have prefer something else but he would take it 👍, he blushes as he prepares himself especially he's naked but you're not 😳, he definitely came to enjoy it O///O, and he would cry the harder you go 😭 Thank you so much for doing my request because I love it so much :)

OMGGG I WASNT EXPECTING FEEDBAKC BUT TYSM !! im so glsd you liked them :D im sorry again for how short thry were 😔👊 but i def tried my best to keep them in character 🫡🫡 BUT TYSMMM i love reading feedback and responses to requests 😍it makes my day so much !!! feel free to request again if you ever wish too !! :DD

[mya-valentine]

Cracking the Surface: Juri’s Hidden Struggles

Synopsis: Itadori’s training sessions with Juri take a dark turn as she pushes him harder than ever before. After showing a rare moment of vulnerability, Juri becomes increasingly aggressive, using their sparring as a means to vent her own frustrations. As Itadori struggles to keep up, he begins to sense that her harshness isn’t just about making him stronger—it’s about the internal battle she’s facing. His growing empathy clashes with her desire to keep her walls up, creating a tension that only deepens when Gojo steps in, hinting that Juri’s anger is rooted in her own painful past.

A/N: This one is pretty long😅

The next morning came quickly, and with it, the familiar dread of Juri’s training sessions. Itadori arrived at the training grounds early, his body still aching from the previous days but determined to push through. As usual, Juri was already there, waiting with her usual air of confidence and intensity.

“Morning, brat,” Juri said, her tone sharp and commanding. “Ready for another round?”

Itadori nodded, his expression set with determination. “Absolutely. I’m ready.”

Juri’s left eye flashed briefly with purple cursed energy as she assumed her fighting stance. “Then let’s get started.”

The training session began with Juri pushing Itadori through a series of grueling exercises. She tested his speed, agility, and endurance, her attacks coming at him with almost supernatural speed. Itadori struggled to keep up, but he was getting better at anticipating her movements. Each time he thought he was making progress, Juri raised the bar even higher.

After a particularly brutal exchange, Itadori staggered back, panting heavily. Juri was on him in an instant, her speed making it almost impossible for him to react. Her foot connected with his side, sending him sprawling to the ground. He groaned in pain but forced himself to look up at her.

Juri was standing over him, her expression hard as ever. But today, there was something different in her eyes—a flicker of something softer, something that didn’t quite match her usual harsh demeanor.

“You’re holding up better than I expected,” she said, her voice slightly softer than usual. “For a while there, I thought you might break sooner.”

Itadori, catching his breath, looked up at her with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. “Thanks, Juri. I’m doing my best.”

Juri’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, then she shook her head, as if shaking off an unwelcome thought. Her expression hardened again, the softness disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. “Don’t get complacent. You’ve still got a long way to go.”

Itadori nodded, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. He stood up, ready for the next round, but his mind was preoccupied with what he had seen. Juri had let slip a hint of something beyond her usual tough exterior—a vulnerability or perhaps a flicker of empathy. It was a side of her he hadn’t seen before, and it made him reconsider his earlier assumptions about her.

As the training continued, Juri’s intensity remained unwavering. But Itadori noticed that her attacks, while still fierce, seemed to have a different edge. There was a careful precision to them, as if she was pushing him not just to break but to genuinely improve. 

Despite the grueling nature of the training, Itadori felt a newfound respect for Juri. He could see that beneath her tough exterior, there was more to her than just a sadistic trainer. There was a reason behind her harsh methods, a purpose that went beyond mere cruelty.

At the end of the session, Juri stepped back, her breathing slightly heavier than usual. She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow and glanced at Itadori with a hint of satisfaction.

“You did well today,” she said, her tone still stern but with an undercurrent of approval. “Keep this up, and you might actually make a decent sorcerer.”

Itadori smiled, grateful for the acknowledgment. “Thanks, Juri. I’ll keep pushing myself.”

Juri nodded and turned away, her usual aloofness returning. “Good. Now get some rest. We’ve got more training tomorrow.”

As Itadori headed back to his room, he reflected on the day’s events. Juri’s brief slip from her usual demeanor had given him a glimpse into her true self—a person driven by something deeper than just anger and revenge. It made him more determined to understand her, to break through the barriers she had built around herself.

He knew that earning her respect would be a long road, but for now, he was content with the small progress he had made. And as he prepared for the next day, he did so with a renewed sense of purpose, ready to face whatever challenges awaited him—both from Juri and from within himself.

The next day, when Itadori arrived at the training grounds, something felt off. The air around Juri was different—charged with tension, like the moments before a lightning storm. Her usual smirk was nowhere to be found, replaced with a hard, almost emotionless expression. She was already in her fighting stance, cursed energy crackling around her as her left eye glowed with its usual fierce purple hue.

Itadori felt the shift immediately. Something was wrong.

“Morning, Juri,” he greeted cautiously, trying to gauge her mood. “Ready for today?”

Juri didn’t respond with her usual sharp banter. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and cracked her neck. “Get in position,” she barked, her voice colder than usual.

Itadori blinked, surprised by the sharpness in her tone. He took his stance, bracing himself for the usual drills, but before he could even prepare fully, Juri launched herself at him with blistering speed. Her foot connected with his chest, sending him flying back into the dirt, knocking the wind out of him.

“Focus!” she snapped, her voice laced with frustration.

Itadori scrambled to his feet, clutching his chest, but Juri was already on him again. Her strikes were faster, harder—more aggressive than anything she had thrown at him before. He barely had time to dodge as her hand shot toward his face, only to feel the searing heat of her cursed energy skimming his cheek.

“What the hell, Juri?” Itadori coughed, trying to recover. “I’m trying!”

“Not hard enough,” she snarled, her movements almost a blur as she circled him, each attack sharper and more dangerous than the last. “If you can’t keep up, you’ll die. Simple as that.”

Itadori was struggling to block her attacks, and for the first time in weeks, he felt like he was barely surviving instead of improving. Juri was relentless, and the usual careful precision in her movements was replaced by something harsher—almost like she was venting.

He barely managed to avoid a vicious kick aimed at his ribs, skidding to the side as Juri’s heel cracked the ground where he had stood.

“Is something wrong?” Itadori shouted, trying to catch his breath. “You’re going way harder than usual!”

Juri paused for just a second, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Shut up and fight, brat.”

Itadori raised his arms in defense, but her next attack came at lightning speed, her fist crackling with cursed energy as she slammed it into his guard. He grunted in pain as the impact rattled his bones.

This wasn’t like her. Sure, Juri was always tough, but she never fought like this—so wild, so full of anger. It was as if something had snapped inside her, and she was taking it out on him.

“You’re—you're pissed about something,” Itadori said, his voice strained as he blocked another flurry of kicks. “This isn’t about the training, is it?”

Juri’s eyes flashed dangerously, and for a moment, her movements slowed. It was just a split second, but Itadori caught it—a flicker of hesitation. Her jaw clenched, and she gritted her teeth.

“Don’t pretend you know me, Itadori,” she growled, her voice low and laced with venom. “You’re just a kid with no idea how the world really works.”

Itadori’s brows furrowed. There it was again—that hint of something deeper, something that she was trying to bury beneath her tough exterior. He remembered the previous day, when she’d let her guard down for just a moment, and how it had made her seem… human.

Was that what this was about? Had she realized that she’d shown too much?

“You’re pushing me harder because you let something slip yesterday, aren’t you?” Itadori asked, his tone softer but still firm. “You don’t have to—”

Before he could finish, Juri was on him again, her kicks landing faster than he could process. Pain exploded through his body as she delivered a roundhouse kick to his side, sending him crashing into the dirt.

“I said shut up!” she roared, her voice trembling with something more than just anger. “You think this is a game? You think you understand me? You don’t know a damn thing, kid.”

Itadori struggled to push himself up, coughing as the wind was knocked out of him. He winced as he clutched his ribs, but he didn’t back down. “I know you’re hurting,” he managed to say, his voice rough. “You can act tough all you want, but I’ve seen it. You’re carrying a lot of pain.”

Juri’s eyes flashed with rage, and her cursed energy flared up around her like an electrical storm. She raised her hand, and for a moment, Itadori thought she might actually finish him off.

But then she froze. Her hand hovered in the air, trembling slightly as the purple glow in her left eye dimmed. She stared at him, her face contorted with a mixture of frustration and something else—something raw.

“You don’t get to talk about my pain,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “You haven’t lived through what I have. You don’t know what it’s like to want revenge so badly that it eats you alive.”

Itadori, still on the ground, looked up at her, his eyes filled with empathy. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, Juri. But I know that carrying it alone isn’t going to make it better.”

For a moment, Juri just stood there, her breathing heavy, her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white. She looked away, biting down on her lip as if trying to keep her emotions from spilling out.

Then, with a sudden burst of frustration, she turned her back on him. “Get up,” she muttered, her voice low. “We’re done for today.”

Itadori pushed himself to his feet, still aching from the brutal session. He watched as Juri stormed off toward the edge of the training grounds, her body tense, shoulders rigid with barely-contained emotion.

Itadori didn’t call after her. He knew better than to push her any further right now. But as he stood there, watching her walk away, he couldn’t help but feel like he had glimpsed something real, something vulnerable beneath her walls.

And for the first time, he wondered if Juri wasn’t just training him to be stronger—maybe, in some way, she was trying to train herself to be stronger too.

Later that evening, after Itadori had managed to recover from the brutal training session, he found himself standing outside Gojo’s office. The door was slightly ajar, and he could hear Gojo humming some upbeat tune from within. Taking a deep breath, Itadori knocked.

“Come in, Itadori!” Gojo’s cheerful voice called out. “I was wondering when you’d drop by.”

Pushing the door open, Itadori stepped inside to find Gojo lounging casually in his chair, legs propped up on the desk, his usual blindfold in place. He waved lazily at Itadori. “So, how’s training going with our dear Juri?”

Itadori hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh… about that. Today was… intense.”

Gojo tilted his head, his smile unwavering but his tone curious. “Intense? How so?”

Itadori shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know if I did something to piss her off, but she’s been pushing me way harder than usual. It’s like she’s angry or upset about something. She’s not just training me anymore—she’s venting.”

Gojo’s expression didn’t change, but Itadori could sense his interest deepening. “Oh? Did something happen between you two?”

“I think she’s mad because yesterday, she let her guard down a little. She said something kind of... nice, and I think she regrets it. Today, she was just... different. It felt personal.” Itadori looked down, unsure how much to share. “I tried talking to her, but she just got angrier. I’m worried she’s pushing herself too far.”

Gojo listened quietly, tapping his fingers against the desk as Itadori spoke. Finally, he sighed and lowered his feet from the desk, leaning forward slightly.

“Sounds like Juri,” he said, his voice a bit more serious. “She’s got a lot of baggage, and she’s not exactly the type to talk about her feelings. But it’s good that you’re noticing these things. Means you’re growing in more ways than one.”

Itadori nodded, though he still felt uneasy. “Do you think you could talk to her? I just don’t want her to go overboard.”

Gojo gave him a reassuring smile. “Leave it to me. I’ll see what I can do. You go get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

Later that night, Gojo found Juri at one of the secluded training areas, her fists still glowing faintly with cursed energy as she practiced her kicks and punches in a storm of speed and electricity. The air crackled around her, and her left eye glowed purple, casting an eerie light on her face. She was clearly still fuming from earlier.

“Yo, Juri,” Gojo called out casually, leaning against a nearby wall, arms crossed. “Heard you gave Itadori quite the workout today.”

Juri didn’t stop her movements, but her eyes flicked toward Gojo for just a moment before she resumed her training. “If he’s still breathing, he’s fine.”

Gojo chuckled, unfazed by her cold demeanor. “You know, Itadori’s worried about you. Said you seemed a bit… off today. Care to share?”

Juri scoffed, finally stopping her relentless assault on the invisible enemy. She wiped sweat from her brow, her expression sharp and guarded. “What, now you’re a therapist, rat? I’m fine. I’m doing what you asked—training the brat so he doesn’t get himself killed.”

Gojo stepped closer, his usual easygoing smile still in place, but there was a glint of seriousness in his voice. “You’re pushing him harder than normal. It’s like you’re trying to bury something, Juri. He’s not just another tool for you to vent your frustration on.”

Juri rolled her eyes, turning away from him. “You should be grateful I even remembered our deal and didn’t just end the brat. If I really wanted to, I could have snapped his neck. I’ve been nice.”

Gojo tilted his head, his smile not fading but his tone becoming more pointed. “Killing Itadori would’ve been breaking the deal. And we both know you’re not going to break it. You need me as much as I need you, remember?”

Juri’s jaw clenched, but she said nothing, her back still turned to him.

“Look, Juri, I get it. You’ve got a lot on your plate,” Gojo continued, his voice softening slightly. “But Itadori’s just a kid trying to survive in a world full of curses, same as you were. You don’t have to be so hard on him.”

At this, Juri turned sharply, her eyes flashing with anger. “Don’t compare me to him. He doesn’t know anything about surviving. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have everything taken from you. He’s just some clueless kid, and I’m supposed to train him? Why should I care?”

Gojo remained calm, his gaze steady. “Because you know better than anyone what it’s like to be angry, to want revenge. But you also know that holding onto that anger alone will eat you alive.”

Juri’s fists tightened at her sides, her cursed energy crackling again as her frustration surged. “I don’t need your lectures, old man. I’m not some lost soul you can fix. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Gojo sighed, giving her a look that was almost fatherly. “I’m not trying to fix you, Juri. I just don’t want you to destroy yourself before you get your chance to take down the people responsible for your parents.”

For a brief moment, Juri’s guard faltered, and Gojo saw the raw pain in her eyes, but just as quickly, she slammed her emotional walls back up.

“I know what I’m doing,” she repeated, more to herself than to Gojo. “And if Itadori can’t handle it, that’s his problem.”

Gojo nodded, stepping back with a small smile. “Fair enough. But try not to kill him, okay? He’s got a lot of potential, and I think you see that too.”

Juri didn’t respond, but as Gojo walked away, she stood still, her expression unreadable. She hated how easily Gojo could read her, how he always managed to get under her skin. But more than that, she hated that he was right—about Itadori, about her anger, about everything.

As she resumed her training, she couldn’t shake the image of Itadori’s concerned face from her mind, and it only fueled her frustration. She didn’t want to care, didn’t want to let anyone in. But no matter how much she tried to push him away, Itadori had gotten under her skin too.

And that, more than anything, terrified her.

The next few days passed with Juri pushing Itadori harder than ever. Every training session was brutal, her strikes faster, more precise, and always teetering on the edge of being lethal. She never once gave him a break, barely allowing time for him to catch his breath between rounds. Itadori didn’t complain—he could see the storm brewing behind her eyes, the frustration, the rage, and something deeper that she refused to show. But it was always there, lurking just beneath the surface.

Gojo’s words weighed on her, as much as she hated to admit it. The fact that Itadori’s concern had actually gotten to her made her feel weak, and weakness was the one thing she couldn’t afford. Not when her every waking moment was fueled by the need for revenge. She kept reminding herself that Itadori was just a job, a means to an end, someone she was training so she could eventually get close to Sukuna.

But every time she saw him panting on the ground, his body bruised and bloodied but his spirit still unbroken, something tugged at her. He reminded her too much of herself, and that’s what pissed her off the most. His resilience, his determination—it was familiar in a way that made her uncomfortable.

On the fifth day of their relentless training, Itadori collapsed after a particularly harsh round, chest heaving as he tried to recover. His face was covered in sweat, his muscles burning, but even then, he managed to lift his head and smile at her.

“I’m… getting… better… right?” he panted between breaths.

Juri, standing over him, crossed her arms and stared down at him, her face hard as stone. “You’re still too slow.”

Itadori groaned but didn’t argue. He knew better by now.

Juri turned away, walking to the edge of the training grounds to take a moment for herself. Her fists clenched and unclenched, electricity sparking between her fingers as her cursed energy flickered with agitation. She had been on edge ever since her conversation with Gojo, and Itadori’s relentless optimism wasn’t helping.

“Why do you keep trying so hard?” she finally snapped, her voice cutting through the silence. She didn’t turn to face him, her back still to him as she spoke. “You know you’re in over your head. You’re never going to be strong enough to take on Sukuna. You’ll just end up getting yourself killed.”

Itadori, still lying on the ground, blinked up at her in confusion. He wasn’t used to Juri speaking like this, and it threw him off. “I… I know it’s dangerous. I know Sukuna is stronger than anything I’ve ever faced. But I’m not giving up.”

Juri’s shoulders tensed. “You say that now. But when you’re staring death in the face, we’ll see if you’re still so eager to keep fighting.”

Itadori sat up, his breathing finally starting to steady. “Why are you so sure I’m going to fail?”

Juri whirled around, her left eye glowing with purple cursed energy, her expression fierce. “Because you’re too soft, kid! You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything, to have nothing but hatred driving you forward. That’s what it takes to survive in this world!”

Itadori stared at her, his gaze steady despite her outburst. “And that’s how you live, isn’t it? With nothing but hatred pushing you?”

Juri froze, her jaw clenching as her cursed energy flared even more violently. “Don’t pretend you know anything about me.”

Itadori slowly rose to his feet, wiping the sweat from his brow as he faced her. “I don’t know everything about you, Juri. But I’ve seen enough to know that there’s more to you than just anger. I don’t think you’re as heartless as you want me to believe.”

Her fists tightened, sparks of electricity dancing around her knuckles. “You don’t know anything,” she growled, her voice shaking slightly. “I’ve already made my peace with what I have to do. This is who I am now. Revenge is all I have left.”

Itadori’s gaze softened, and despite the pain radiating through his body, he took a step toward her. “Maybe that’s how you feel now. But it doesn’t have to be.”

Juri’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by his words. Her cursed energy flickered for a moment, the glow in her left eye dimming as she stared at him in disbelief. “You really think that, don’t you? That I can just… stop?”

Itadori nodded. “I do. You’re strong, Juri. But there’s more to strength than just fighting. You don’t have to keep carrying all that anger by yourself.”

Juri turned away again, gritting her teeth as she tried to push down the emotions that were threatening to bubble up. “You don’t understand,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “I can’t just… stop. My parents—everything they took from me—I can’t just let that go.”

Itadori watched her, his heart aching for the pain she was clearly carrying. “I’m not saying you should forget what happened. But if you keep letting it consume you, you’ll lose yourself completely.”

There was a long silence between them. Juri’s breathing was shallow, her hands trembling at her sides as she fought to maintain control. She hated that Itadori had gotten under her skin, that he’d seen through the walls she had built around herself. She wanted to lash out, to tell him to shut up, to stop pretending like he knew anything about her pain.

But she couldn’t.

Finally, she turned back toward him, her expression unreadable. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

Itadori smiled, though it was more tired than usual. “Nope. Guess I’m just stubborn like that.”

Juri stared at him for a moment longer, then let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. If you’re so determined to keep going, then we’ll keep training. But don’t think for a second that I’m going to go easy on you.”

Itadori nodded, his smile widening just a bit. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

As Juri prepared for the next round, she couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of frustration and something else—a feeling she wasn’t used to. It wasn’t trust, not yet. But it was something close.

For the first time in a long while, Juri felt like maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t as alone as she thought.

.

.

.

The Burden of Strength Masterlist

[frozenwolftemplar]

🌈for the ask game?

Lol, every partially-finished thing still languishing in my drafts 😅

Seriously though, looking at the fics I've posted, that one's a little tricky to answer. The first one that comes to mind is my Carmen Sandiego fic '3 A.M.,' where I had to fight tooth and nail for pretty much every word, but I literally wrote that in the endnote for the final chapter, so everyone knows it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Thinking harder about it, two more come to mind. First, 'Memorable.' (the one with Cass and the lighthouse). I don't often write multi-chaps, so pacing and plotting and just writing something of that length is something I find difficult on a good day. The fact that most of that fic was written through a pretty bad case of post-covid brain fog and fatigue, i.e. a series of not good days, made it all the harder.

The second one would be Koll Island: Insanity. That fic is based on an AU PocketProtector created (I highly recommend any and all her 'Tangled' fics, especially 'Decay'), where the Moonstone drives Cass insane and her and Cap live on a tropical island now (there's more to it than that, but that's the gist). On top of wanting to make sure it honored Pocket's vision for the AU, the story I wound up telling dealt with some pretty heavy themes of Cap coming to terms with his and Cass's new situation and accepting that new normal. I knew where Cap needed to go, mentally, and wanted to make sure I conveyed it in a way that really communicated the change he goes through; it wound up being harder than I anticipated (really happy with the result, though!).

For some more isolated themes or scenes I struggled with:

-the opening scene of 'Once Upon a December;' I was so anxious for that fic to live up to the idea in my head that I gave myself writer paralysis and re-wrote it three or four times.

-Cass's worries about her future that make up the second half of 'Burned but not Broken.' I had (and still have) so many thoughts and feelings about Cass's Burned Arm, organizing them all into something coherent while still making sure the fic clipped along at a nice pace was quite the challenge.

-Chapter 13 of 'The First Night.' It just would not come together for reasons that I still can't figure out.

Thanks so much for the ask! This was fun!

[babysharl]

Okay, so since it's taking my an eternity to update Permanent Mark (I'm writing and rewriting one scene over and over cause I never quite am happy with it) I'm posting here a little snippet of the 4th chapter (it's the start of it). The chapter is currently sitting at 10k words and I estimate it would take around 2-3k more to finish 😅. Anyway, the snippet's under the cut 🙃

--

The photograph sat at the bottom of both his chat with Pierre and his chat with Joris. Their last messages to him. Charles had yet to answer them. A full day later. Arthur had asked too, but he hadn't sent the picture and Charles had had the chance to talk to him in person yesterday at dinner. Charles was just glad his mum didn't like to gossip online. Else, he would have had to explain it to her too. And see the look in her eyes.

He was lying down on a couch in a random break room in Maranello he had found unoccupied after finishing his workout. He probably should’ve already gone home, started packing, and had a light dinner. There was a car coming to pick him up at his apartment tomorrow morning at 6am. He wasn’t even going to have time to sleep even the 6 hours and a half or so that he was used to unless he left right now. If Alessia knew he was still in the same place he laid down after their workout post sim work, she would scold him. After all, Charles knew he was going to be making her job harder when he turned up tomorrow with a bunch of knots on his back, a crick on his neck from the position. He still didn’t move. 

The hangover yesterday had only reminded him that he wasn’t as young anymore, and he definitely couldn’t drink like that and expect his body to deal well enough with it so that he could be functioning at 100% for the next race. He still had a lingering headache that the hours at the sim had done nothing to help with. And despite everything that followed, Charles had still pretty much enjoyed himself. Would do it all again. Even now, at the factory, he could feel the residual of the happiness brought by their result two days ago bouncing off the walls. It was in the way he could still see most of the lights turned on through the windows in the buildings on the other side of the complex, in the way he could hear chatter in the offices next door, laughter. People pulled off extra hours because they felt energised by their good result. 

Too bad it wouldn’t help much. 

Charles had a feeling his hours on the sim hadn’t really done much to fix their setup for Turkey, which their car just wasn't  suited to, and on top of that he wasn’t comfortable with the way the car felt. And if he wasn’t comfortable in the sim, he could already anticipate the car being a legitimate nightmare on the actual track. Hence why he was still lying down. It wouldn’t even matter if Charles turned his performance down on Friday because he fucked up his back here, the general pace of the car would mask it. He could pick it back up for Qualifying. 

Hence why he didn’t really care if he stayed there, becoming one with the couch, for longer than he should’ve. So Charles had kept scrolling down social media, catching up on his friends’ lives through small captions and pictures of their kids growing up. Trying not to think about Joris’ and Pierre’s texts, about the pictures, about the headlines. Trying not to think about Max. Max, who wanted the kind of life —sans the constant exposure— that Charles’ friends were constantly sharing on their socials. Max, who heavily implied he wanted a family with him. Charles didn’t know why he kept coming back to that fact, instead of the other two big headlines of Max’s first approach to him after almost eight years. He was retiring. He wanted to come out. Both facts still managed to be obscured by the other thing. Even if Charles just wanted him back in his life as a friend. It was a tough pill of information to digest. That after eight years, when it came the time that Max wanted to walk away from the sport and settle down, his thoughts had still gone to Charles. Charles had been trying to digest it for a month already. 

The clock marked 9 pm by the time he closed Instagram and went back to Whatsapp, sending a quick text to check if Arthur was still around and wanted to have a late dinner. Although Charles would’ve gone straight to bed if he could, too. He was still tired from Sunday, and from the workouts Alessia had put him through to burn the alcohol away. While he waited, Charles felt unable not to go into Joris’ chat, staring at the pictures from the tabloid once again. To an outsider, it would just look like two coworkers waiting for a cab. But Charles knew exactly what both his friends were thinking when they saw the picture they sent him. 

There were only two pictures. In the first one Max was on the phone, Charles was standing a few feet away with his eyes closed. He and Max weren't even standing close. Charles was clearly drunk. The look in his eyes, his stance, the flushed face. That was what the article was honing in on. A drunken Charles Leclerc, celebrating a measly P4. How low he had fallen. A drunken Charles Leclerc being 'helped to a cab' by Max Verstappen. 

In the second one, the one both Pierre and Joris had sent him with a few '??????', Charles was getting into the cab while Max held the door open for him. And it wasn't the gesture itself that made them send it, though, no. Charles was sure that was not the reason why both of his best friends had texted him. It was the way he was looking at Charles, the way he placed his hand on the edge of the car door frame so that Charles’ wouldn’t hurt his head going in. It was the fond expression on Max's face that did it, clear as day even in the blurry picture. 

Yes, they were fond of each other. But the general public, their fans, didn't know that. They had never really been too close during the weekends back when they were together. Kept their distance for most of the time they were actively working. Back when they were dating, spending time together during the weekend had been times they could count on one hand and reserved for when they knew there were no journalists hanging around, only team personnel that already knew about them and knew to keep their mouths shut. 

Charles didn't want to know what they were talking about on social media after that tabloid released the pictures. It hadn't even been a day when Mia came to find him at the gym to yell at him, Charles only halfway through his workout under the attentive gaze of Alessia. It was Tuesday afternoon now, two more meetings with Mia, countless hours on the simulator, and Charles knew he couldn't leave his friends’ messages sitting unanswered any longer. 

Probably because they would think —if they didn't already— that the silence or lack of an immediate answer was enough of a confirmation. In reality, Charles hadn't even texted Max after he boarded the plane. Hadn't even had time to do so. 

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

Hellooo my lovely! 💖💫I am here to distract you! If you're up for it, I'd love to hear your answers to the gold obsidian egg and van gogh tapestry questions of that writing ask game you reblogged? 👀 Sending lots of love and good thoughts your way!!! 💛💛💛

hiii lovely 😘 why are you always just the absolute sweetest?? 🥺💞

gold obsidian egg: what do you treasure the most about your wip?

ooooh i had to reflect on this, because although i absolutely treasure writing four walls, i'd never really paused and tried to distil into words exactly why! i think there are probably two main things:

1) escapism - i love being able to completely immerse myself in characters and a world that feels so vividly real to me, and the safety/freedom of exploring the complexity and wonder of relationships and connection in such a safe space 💗

2) world view - this is going to be harder to explain, but i'm going to try 😅 whenever i write something, i get really immersed in the headspace of my protagonist - like to the point where i'm going about my daily life i'll find myself thinking about the way they'd experience the same environment that i'm in, almost get like - little flashes of being them?? eg, when i'm out walking and i feel my keys in my pocket, it's like for a split second i'm alex in four walls with his little set of miles's keys (i probably sound insane 😭). that's always been a feature of my writing process, but i feel like i've been able to connect to alex in this fic more vividly than i've ever connected with a protagonist before, and i've just absoltuely loved the process of immersing myself in his headspace and trying to view/describe the world in the way i imagine he might. and idk, putting myself in someone else's headspace also just constantly gets me to reflect on the experience of how different situations/emotions/internal thought processes really feel which is something i find endlessly fascinating.

it probably sounds ridiculous, but it's actually changed the way i view so many everyday things around me - like there are things i notice differently or didn't notice before from spending so much time in his headspace. also, writing in a way that i imagine might be how alex in four walls would think feels like it's just opened up new gateways for me in my writing and the way i use language.

god sorry, that was a very long and rambly answer and god knows if it even makes any sense to anyone who isn't me - in short: there is a lot that i treasure about my wip 💜

van gogh tapestry: do you create from any specific emotion? what drives you?

oh wow, this is such a good question. in terms of what drives me - i honestly don't really know, i've just always written and always have a drive to create characters and worlds through that particular medium. i genuinely don't feel like me if i'm not writing something. but i think also it comes from a drive for deep (and safe) emotional connection - and that's something that comes from my connection with the characters i'm writing, their connection with each other, and the connection i have with the people who're reading it too.

i've always been someone who feels things very deeply, so i think i'm quite largely driven by a desire to express the emotions i maybe don't get the opportunity to or feel to big to in real life. i'm not sure if there's any specific emotion that drives me - i think it's more just that sense of feeling everything so poignantly that does. for four walls though, i do feel like i drew particularly on the emotions of belonging and pining. i also notice that i always write best when i'm in a state where i'm feeling things particularly poignantly, even when those feelings can be quite negative or challenging ones - i don't know why, but that's usually when i feel like i connect best with my writing.

okay that's enough before i go off on a whole other tangent 🤦‍♀️ these answers have ended up being way more in depth than i'd anticipated - anyone who's read this has really ended up with quite the little glimpse into my psyche 😅

[r0und3bitch]

BFF's 💔- G.O.M.D (get off my dick):

Summary: One thing leads to another...

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!!!!! Best Friends Kink, Daddy Kink, Hair Pulling Cursing, Cum Kink (sort of? i think? LOL) Good Girl Kink, SLIGHT (sliiiiiiiight slight slight ass) play

Notes: One GIF can change your whole day and one post can drive you to do wild things. 😅😮‍💨🫠Like write this entire little one shot in RECORD TIME. MINUTES. If there's spelling errors, stfu. This is the quickest I have ever put something out. I have no one but myself, @mackenzielovee and @lovedetlost to blame for this one.

Song Inspiration: J. Cole - G.O.M.D.

Rafe could barely comprehend what was happening as you flipped him around on the couch. What had started out as casually fooling around was quickly escalating to more— much more than Rafe had anticipated. 

Yet there you were, bringing yourself down so hard on him he nearly screamed as he watched his best friend coat her walls with every inch of him he had to offer. 

No one was home and both of you were taking full advantage of that. There was not a single soul to hear you. 

He licked his lips at the sight, your hand gripping the side of his neck for support, watching your face contort wildly as you rode him, nice and slow making sure you took your time on him, giving Rafe the view of his life. 

“That’s it…” he breathed deep in your ear, biting at your skin slightly. “That’s it. Good girl…”

He pinched at your nipples through the nearly see-through tank top you were wearing, bringing his teeth down to bite gently on your hardened nub through the fabric as you moaned wildly. He lost  it the second he pulled the fabric up to expose your bare chest, catching your bare nipple between his teeth. 

His hand reaches around your neck, grabbing at the back of it to pull you closer to him, lips only inches apart. 

“You really want it, baby?”

You can’t believe he even asks to ask. Truth be told, he doesn’t. And he knows it too, proof before him as he watched you become an actual mess before him with his own eyes. Still though, he fucking loved to hear it. Needed to hear it. 

“So bad, daddy…”

Instinctively his hand finds its way to your hair, fingers pulling you back with a delicious tug, doing dangerous things to your already intensified state. 

“Rafe…”

He feels you start to tremble on top of him slightly, bringing his hands down to grab at your body to help move you up and down on top of him. He watched as your forehead falls to his as you glanced down to watch yourself take him. Over and over and over again, face melting into every emotion to ever exist. The image of you doing so is the most amazing thing Rafe Cameron has ever seen in his life. 

“You like watching yourself fuck me, hmm?” He asks, dripping with control. But this time, you want it. And for once in the entire twenty years you’ve known him, you let him have it. Let him have you, full control over you, in every way possible. 

And the second you give it to him, you know deep down it’s what you’ve always wanted. 

The feeling of him hitting the deepest parts of you leaves you too stunned to speak— too dumb to know how to use words as you nod your head up and down. 

“Me too, baby.”

His lips are on yours before you can process it— his kiss is bruising but beautiful— so beautiful and removed from yours too quick it’s like you have whiplash when he pulls back. 

You feel that familiar burn in your lower half, mind fucked so dumb you don’t even realize what you’re doing as your fingers find your clit, so desperate— more than you have ever been in your life for a release. 

Rafe slaps your hand away with a smack not a second later, earning a loud gasp from you, riding him faster now— the hardest you ever have— even more desperate for your release now at the loss of contact. 

“I thought you were gonna be my good girl?”

Your begging now, could plead with actual tears if you let yourself with him now, face set in a full pout as you slam your walls down around him harder now, your pace relentless. 

“I am, daddy…” 

The feeling of his fingers replacing your own on your clit makes you shriek. 

“Then why are you riding my dick like a little slut, baby?” 

The noise you make at his words should truly be illegal, making Rafe feel things he didn’t even think remotely possible, let alone with his best friend. You feel Rafe slip his other hand down your ass, and when you feel his finger slip easily into your other hole, you know you would do absolutely anything in the world for him. 

When he feels you clench down on him, he knows you have only seconds as he watches you unfold on top of him, loving every single second of it so much he wishes he could just watch this on repeat— not that it doesn’t already live rent free in his mind. 

When you recover from your high, it takes only one split second glance at you for him to know you’re plotting— and whatever it is that mischievous little grin you’re giving him while still riding his dick is doing dangerous things to him, his own release imminent. 

“Wait—please cum in my mouth, Daddy—”

He’s too stunned to speak at first, mouth falling open upon hearing your dirty words, your pace still just as unforgiving as he forces himself not to blow inside you. 

“Please daddy, I’ll do anything. I’ll be a good girl, promise.” 

One final mesmerizing look up at Rafe seals your fate.

“I need to taste you, Rafe. Please…”

He poses his earlier question to you yet again, his voice thick and raspy. 

“You really want it, baby?” 

Only to be met with the exact same response. 

“So bad, daddy…”

The last thing you see is him licking his lips again, the sight making you moan out loud as Rafe catches you on your upward thrust, pulling you off his dick with ease, tugging you down to your knees to bring your mouth where your other lips had just been, your tongue already swirling down his length, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you finally get what you want.  

“You’re gonna be the fucking death of me, you know that?”

He watches you literally nod, all while your mouth stayed curled around him beautifully, both hands coming up to wrap around what little your mouth couldn’t, the feeling sending Rafe into onvillion as he cums deep in your throat with one deep final thrust as your eyes bulge, finally getting to taste him—absolutely loving the way it feels—the warmth of him coating different walls this time, both of you nearly crying at the feeling as he grabs your chin, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. 

“Good fucking girl…” 

...

Taglist: @goldenjo @itsalexwin @lurkymurker @barbietiingz @drewbooooo @mackenzielovee @mor-bs @totallynotkaibiased @aaleksmorozova @onlygetaway @tsnelf7 @starkeybae @kotzmagoatz @maybanks-cupcake @valentinearc @valeriiecameron @lovedetlost

[kikixreverie]

for the prompt thing, touch starved bucky smut maybe? Like him being really desperate for reader 😅

Yes.

Also sorry that I keep edging you guys with these drabbles, for some reason I am just incapable of writing really short smut, so I always end up writing too much, and then panicking and ending them early 😫

Anyways-

He was gone from the second you kissed him, barely able to form a single coherent thought with the feel of your soft lips against his, your tongue flicking against his upper lip before dipping into his mouth, pulling back only enough to kiss his neck just the same, each press of your lips or tongue sending him deeper into the addiction.

He had never let it get this far, always forcing himself to keep a decent distance from you, knowing that the second your skin touched his, he'd never feel satiated again, and he was right.

You'd only been sitting on the couch with him, but your thigh was slowly moving closer and closer to his, and the arm he had draped over the back of the couch had eventually drifted to your shoulder, pulling you closer to him so that not even halfway through the movie you'd put on, you were effectively sitting on his lap.

But it was never enough, he needed you closer and closer until suddenly someone was leaning in, and the kiss was so much more intense than either of you had anticipated.

Bucky stared up at you breathlessly as you settled yourself onto his lap, and he began counting the contact your body had with his, gentle palms holding either side of his face, lips against his collarbone, nose brushing against his neck, your thighs squeezing his own and your chest pressed tightly to his.

It was so much and yet never enough, he needed more, needed you closer, he needed you everywhere all at once.

"Fuck, please doll, just-" He groaned, unable to stop his hips from grinding against yours, voice shaky as his head fell back against the couch, lips parted for every panted breath.

"Do you wanna take me to your room, Buck." You asked, looking up at him through your lashes as you kissed the divot in his chin, throbbing as you pressed yourself harder against the evident hard on through his jeans.

"Fuck yes." He rasped, and wasted no time in standing up with you still in his arms, carrying you to his room so fast you didn't even realise you were there until you landed softly on his bed, watching as he pulled his black t-shirt off over his head and began unbuckling his jeans.

Before he could actually take them off, he was bending back down to you again, needing another taste, needing to feel you again, he couldn't wait a second longer.

He was dizzy with need, not even given the chance for embarrassment at the strangled noise he made when your hands landed on his bare chest, traveling to his stomach before your fingers were brushing against the soft hair that followed from his navel, into the exposed waistband of his boxers.

"Sweetheart, please. I need to feel you, need you to touch me- I'll- I'll fucking beg for it if you want me to."

You gave him a cheeky smile, flipping the two of you over to sit on his waist, before you tore your own shirt off, leaning close to kiss him once again, your hands exploring his body just as he needed.

The image of Bucky begging for you to touch him was delicious, and you grinded against him, biting your lip when Bucky's eyes rolled back, a moan catching in his throat, but you weren't going to make him do that, at least not yet-

You pulled away just enough to meet his eyes, and wet your lips before you spoke, "I won't make you beg, Bucky, not yet. You don't know how much I need this too."

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| Bad Taste ||

Matt Murdock x female reader (& tiny bit of Frank Castle, this is part of what I'm calling my Strawberryverse series 😅🍓 check it out on my masterlist hoes!)

Tags/warnings: degradation so please turn around and do not read if you're not into that! Matt is a bit mean in this one, biting, mocking, p in v unprotected sex (wrap in RL!), aftercare.

Author's note: wonder what those other secrets could be huh? HUH?!

"...and you think you're going to catch up to me with my fifteen minute head start?"

"Darling, I know I'm going to catch you."

You smile nervously, the anticipation of the imminent chase already fizzling through your body and you know he can sense it.

"Sounds overly confident but, whatever." You shrug, pretending to come off as nonchalant, grabbing your jacket and keys and heading towards the door. "And make sure you're saying your 'mississippis' properly before you come after me…"

Matt just grins, flicking open the latch on the chest in a way that has you biting on your lip.

"Don't you worry about me, sweetheart. You better get going… "

You run out the door, starting the timer on your watch before you bolt down the stairs two at a time, knowing exactly where you were going and how you were going to get there without Matt picking up your trail too easily. Both Matt and Frank were keen to have you practice various skills with them just in case you ever had to run for some reason and got separated. They were adamant of course that it would never happen, and they'd always be there to take care of you but it didn't hurt to be prepared and besides, you enjoyed training with them more and more…

As soon as you get out of the apartment building, you circle the block and weave a figure eight around the next two to throw him off. Scent was the big giveaway. You always washed with the unscented soap anyway but little did he know that you had plotted with Frank to leave a change of clothes at a couple of pre agreed locations. You laughed to yourself as you ducked and dived through variously stinking smelling alleyways and fragrant restaurants to confuse and mask Matt's ability to track you down with the enhanced sense.

The fifteen minutes were over much quicker than you had thought as you reached the first bag drop, the duffel hidden behind the dumpster of a bar where you snuck inside to speedily change in the toilets. You took off your own clothes, stuffing them inside the bag and pulled on one of Frank's old t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants. You were trying your absolute best to stay cool and calm. The less stressed and excited you were, the harder it would be for him to pick up your trail, but you couldn't help the way your skin broke out in goosebumps as you stashed the bag back in its hiding place and took off down the street to the next point, always looking over your shoulder and glancing up at the rooftops as you went.

There was a light warm drizzle in the air, even better you thought smugly, it would dampen down your path more. After ten minutes of darting through crowds on main streets and then cutting through the park, you reached the site of the second bag. This one was bound to throw him off.

The view from the rooftop where you stopped for a quick breather was something spectacular, almost half the city laid out, small and twinkling before you. You shook your focus back, but it was too late.

"Matty," you gasp, as he silently slips his arms around you from behind. You hadn't even reached your final hiding place and he'd found you already.

You could feel almost every solid inch of him all in black, pressing against you. One arm slung around your waist and the other braced across your chest, his fingers splaying over your throat and jaw, holding you firm but not too tightly.

"Thought you'd be faster." You remark.

He scoffs. "You're getting better, but don't push it."

You wiggle your ass back against his groin, smirking as he roughly clears his throat. "What if I want to?"

"Careful." you noted the dark flavour to the word. The game had changed.

He presses his nose into the nape of your neck and inhales deeply. "Mm, you smell like him. Bet you thought you were being clever."

"I was."

Matt's grip tightens. "Oh angel, you should know better."

"Maybe I do…"

You shiver as the kiss of his soft lips is soon surpassed by edge of his teeth grazing over the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his voice dropping ridiculously low. "And, you're wearing my clothes…"

You choke down a moan as the graze turns to a nip, pinching and pulling the skin before his tongue laves over the heated redness. "You know what that does to me."

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry as a desert, between your legs was anything but. "Maybe I do."

He shoves you forward and you catch yourself on the edge of the wall with your hands, bracing yourself as Matt hooks his fingers in the waistband of his sweatpants and yanks them down and off over your shoes. Oh. Yes, that's what it does to him.

"Oh, no panties? It's no wonder I could smell you all the way across the city." He kicks his boot in between your feet making you shuffle them further apart. "Spread your legs, that's a good girl."

Your eyes almost roll back in your head as you hear the quiet but unmistakable sound of his zipper, his hand is warm, placed on the small of your arched back while the other smacks his cock against the swell of your ass.

"It's almost like you wanted me to catch you." He purrs, gliding the hard, swollen tip through your glistening folds. You instinctively push back, aching for him to sheath himself inside, but he holds you in place, content just to tease.

Matt smirks and smiles hearing how you whimper pitifully for him as he circles and rubs his cock around your clit and then presses the tip at your entrance, but no more.

"Hm, it's just like how you teased me sweetie, had me running in circles to get to you. It's only fair."

You huff in frustration. "Matt, please."

When he lines up and thrusts inside you up to the hilt your legs almost give out.

"How's the view?" He asks the question so casually, like he's not scooping an arm around your middle, holding you to him as he slowly drags his cock almost all the way out before punching back in forcefully making you yelp.

"It's- oh god, it's…" the words won't come, he feels too fucking good, he's giving you exactly what you needed from him. You let your head fall back and lean against his shoulder, reaching behind and trailing your hand down to trace the edge of his mask. Your fingers drag over his full lips and he licks them into his mouth, catching them on his teeth and sucking as you pull them out.

"Fuck, Matt…"

"Does Frank know your little game? Does he know you're not even taking our training seriously?" You shake your head pathetically as he keeps plowing into you. "That all his pampered princess wants is to get her needy little pussy fucked?"

"Oh goddd…" you're halfway gone and you know he's barely started. He rucks up the shirt you're wearing, his large hands cupping your breasts, half-gloved fingers pulling and twisting at your peaked and sensitive nipples making you moan out into the night sky.

"Look at you sweetie, Daddy's favourite cock-drunk slut so desperate for attention. You know he's gonna ask me how you did, if you're getting better," Matt slides a hand down your stomach and between your legs to play with you, spreading your slick wet essence over and around your swollen clit, focusing on the movement and pressure that makes you shake and struggle in his hold.

"...and you know what i'll tell him?"

You gasp and shake your head again, lolling it back against him as he stokes your desire into an intense inferno.

"That you're a dirty, shameless, depraved fuck toy, just begging to be used." He punctuates each adjective with hard thrusts that have you ruining your nails clawing against the brick to stop from falling forward. "Am I right?" he asks, but he's not even looking for an answer, knowing that every word is pulling you apart, making you weak and crave more of this humiliation. Nonetheless, he grips your hair, twisting his wrist and pulling your ear toward his lips.

"Answer me, sweetheart." He growls, flooding your body with heat and slick and coaxing a wavering moan from your pretty throat.

He releases your hair and settles his grip around your neck, stilling the movement of his hips. "Slut." He whispers it sinfully, he knows it's not something he should be calling you but in that moment he groans, lips crooking up in a snarl as he feels you squeezing him from the inside in reaction to the degrading name.

"Oh you like that, desperate little bitch."

You whine, you don't know what else you can do but let the sharpness of this double-edged sword sink into you, drawing its sweet rivers of blood out. You were the one holding the whetstone after all.

He resumes fucking you, slower than before but with strokes so deep and full you're not sure how you're going to get back down off this rooftop when he's done with you. You lean forward over the top of the wall, forced by his hand between your shoulder blades, the change in angle making your eyes glaze over as your mouth drops open so your repeated cries of pleasure have somewhere to go.

Matt's beginning to lose control, smacking his palm down on your ass hard before he pulls out and grabs your arm, picking you up and hauling you to the door at the opposite side. You grasp at the skintight black shirt that does nothing to hide his strength as he manhandles you against the cool metal of the door, hiking your leg up and wrapping it around him as he sinks back inside you. His lips meet your own for the first time that day and it's far from pretty. Teeth tug and scrape at each other's lips and tongue, the riot of what you would never call kisses muffling the mess of other sounds that are assaulting Matt's ears - the creaking of the door as he seemingly tries to fuck you through it, the slick wet squelch of your pussy, and the breathless nonsensical pleas from you, all pushing him further and harder from grace.

"Fuck kitten, I'm gonna fill you up, is that what you want?"

Your eyes are so tightly closed, you're barely able to hang on to him with the way he's rutting into you so hard, yet you manage to nod weakly against him, moaning long and loud as he calls you out again.

"Filthy whore."

He presses the dirty words into your heated skin, gasoline on the already raging fire within you.

"My fucking perfect little slut… that's right angel, my dirty fucking girl."

You feel his teeth break the skin. It's just on the border of too much and just right. He's never been so wicked and wild with you before, mocking but so possessive and so you let go with a cry, arching and writhing within his grip, making good on his promise as he spills deep into you with a deep feral grunt, the motion of his thrusts unforgiving, unceasing until you're both entirely spent.

When he lets you down you almost drop to your knees but he catches you, the fleeting thought of letting you clean him up put away for another time. He pushed you hard this time and the last thing he wants is to push you away. He pulls off the mask letting it fall to the floor as he assesses you.

"Are you alright? Sweetheart, m'sorry if I hurt you." He tips your chin up gently with his fingers and you blearily smile, the soft caress of his lips on your cheek a warm and comforting contrast to the torrid minutes before.

"You could never hurt me, Matt."

Once he's satisfied you're okay, he retrieves your discarded clothes and helps you dress after he tucks himself away. He holds you close in at his side, half carrying you back home where he runs you a bath, treating you like a princess until you hear Frank getting back.

He knocks on the door and sticks his head round, greeted with the tender view of Matt washing your hair. "Alright if I come in?"

"Hi Frankie." you purr appreciatively as he pecks you on the lips, and you feel Matt sweep your hair forward to hide the purpling mark at the side of your neck.

"So how'd it go," he aimed at Matt. "our girl show you a thing or two?"

"She sure did." Matt replies, carefully massaging the shampoo suds into your scalp.

"I thought it went really well, even if he did catch up to me" you added, humming contentedly as Matt's fingers work their magic. "I'm getting better, faster too."

Frank grins at you as he cuffs Matt playfully on the side of his jaw. "S'that so? Great job darlin', bet you're tired huh? How 'bout you come 'n cuddle up with me when you're done, yeah? Wanna hear all about it."

When Frank leaves the bathroom Matt leans over you, pulling your hair aside to lick and kiss over the bite. "Our little secret." He breathes against your ear, helping you up out of the tub and wrapping you in a huge fluffy towel.

"Mm, Matty…" your fingers brush lightly over the bruise. "are there any other secrets you'd like to share with me?"

Matt pulls you into his embrace with a grin. "Oh angel yes, but all in good time."

Matt tags:

@phoebe-danvers @saintmurd0ck @mindidjarin @castlesnchurches @peterman-spideyparker @pastafossa @mattmurdocksscars @mattmurdockspainkink @marvelswh0re @munsonownsmyass

@hellskitchenswhore @pedrito-friskito @sweetieswiftie @briefcasejuice @shedaresthedevil @freshabogados @e-dubbc11 @father4giveme @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @imperfxctly-me @stress--relief @murnsondock @stupidthoughtsinwriting @whistle1whistle @tea-and-wine @emiemiemii @imherefordeanandbones @m0nster-fvcker @creatingjana @echos-muses @babykaz

[narancias-headband]

Doing this to La Squadra

Apologies, that TikTok just... Inspired me...

Okay so... That link broke?? It was a TikTok wherein men would take a shot, then get a glass of water thrown into their face before receiving a hearty slap. Soooo... That's the basis here. 😅

And I think I'm gonna just...

NSFW - 18+ - Minors DNI

Risotto

He's gonna have to be drunk drunk first. Probably gets peer pressured by the rest of the team to let you. Handles it like a champ; doesn't flinch, doesn't whine, just takes it. Oh, but that slap did something to him. He's a bit scary the rest of the night, dark and intense. Don't worry, he's not mad. He's literally just really horny and doesn't know what to do about it. He might make that your responsibility.

Formaggio

He thinks it sounds kinda fun, and he's not even that drunk. Excitedly gets in position and gives you this big cheesy grin. It was not as fun as he expected, but he's a good sport. He laughs and smiles as he readjusts his jaw. It hurt a lot more than he thought it would. Will ask you to kiss it better sometime later.

Prosciutto

Shoots you down immediately. Says it sounds barbaric. Once someone says that 'he's just scared' you see his jaw tense. Not wanting to be seen as a coward, he sits across from you, straightens out his jacket, looks you dead in the eyes and downs his shot. You better be ready to follow through. This is about him proving something now, and you're here to make that happen. He's very tight lipped about the whole thing afterwards. He's not letting you know how he feels. Lets his hair down since it's all wet now anyway. 👀

Pesci

When you explain what the plan is, Pesci is terrified. He can hardly down a shot anyway, and now you're going to splash him with cold water and slap him across the face? He's going to take some serious convincing and peer pressure. If/when he finally caves, do him a favor here; make the slap look worse than it is. When he's able to brush it off better than anyone expected, he gains some massive respect with the team for a while.

Ghiaccio

He's not into the idea. At all. But after a few insults from the team, he's angrily getting ready for it. He's got something to prove, I guess. He's got quite the scowl going on until your hand hits him. Whoops... Was there some pent up anger in that slap? Maybe. He probably deserves it, though. He tries to stay stoic, but man that slap did something to his brain. He hates that he liked it somehow. His scowl stays plastered across his face, but if you watch his eyes intently, you'll see them shift to a dreamy, faraway look. He's going to be extra mean to you for a while because he's bad at emotions.

Illuso

He's more worried about the splash of water than anything else. Will whine about not wanting to get his hair wet. Once you concede to not splashing him, he's game. Downs his shot and sends the cockiest, most shit-eating grin your way. Why did you let him weasel his way out of the splash? He deserves it. This slap isn't nearly enough of a comeuppance for the cocky bastard. Or... Maybe it was. It hit much harder than he expected, and now he's kind of mad that you went through with it. He's going to be pouting all night about it. You're gonna have to do some serious sucking up in order to get back on his good side.

Melone

Is excited for anything that makes your hands touch him in any way, shape, or form. He's fidgeting in his seat, amped on the anticipation, as you get ready. Full on moans when you hit him. He's the worst. Genuinely hopes this becomes a new tradition. He'd love to get slapped by you again. He bruises like a peach and he'll soon have a hand shaped purple splotch across his cheek. It makes you feel awful, but don't worry, he loves it.

[lizzie-is-here]

Helloo here again to request another K.B fanfic where Kate purposely tries to get in an argument with Y/n so they would break up because she thought the king pin situation was getting a little too dangerous and she didnt want Y/n to be involved so she said harsh things to her till Y/n got really hurt and broke up with her but then Y/n still wanted to be friends with Kate so she kept bugging Kate till Kate stops ignoring Y/n again and they hang out with each other again and end up getting back together and Kate admits that she didnt mean everything and that it was all just to protect Y/n bcs she couldnt afford losing her and she also says she still really loves and cares for Y/n and always has bcs Kate realized nothing can or will separate her from Y/n?😊💜

Ooo can u pls make it really angsty to and fluffy in the end? Tysm!💜

(Hope it's not to much😅)

Fem R to btw Tyyy!

Lots of love!💜

🤍request!🤍

character: kate bishop x fem!reader

warnings: cussing, angst, arguing, kate being an ass with good intentions

a/n: ok i changed it around a little bit, but i tried my best on the arguing 😭 it hurt to write y’all but it was emotionally satisfying in a weird way too. anyway hope u enjoy!

“You know, it’s, uh… It comes with a price.”

“What does?”

“This life you wanna live. To really help people. I mean, try to help people, anyway. Comes with a lot of sacrifices. And some things you’ll lose… forever.”

When Kate texted you saying that she needed to talk, you weren’t sure what to think. And now, standing out in the freezing cold outside of your shared apartment, you still aren’t.

“What do you mean, ‘break up’?” you ask, watching Kate’s face fall. “We’ve been together for two years, I thought it was going really well. Did I do something wrong-“

She shakes her head immediately, instinctively dropping into Protective Girlfriend™️ mode.

“No, no, no, no, no no,” she says. You narrow your eyes.

“Then what’s going on? Why aren’t you being honest with me?” You take her hand. “I want to help you. I promise, whatever it is, we can figure it out together.”

Ouch. Right in the heart. Kate sighs, steeling her resolve as she realizes this is gonna be a lot harder than she anticipated.

“Why does it matter?” she demands, raising her voice. “Every time I look at you, my stomach just fucking drops. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand you. Whatever we had, it’s gone now.”

“Not everything can be solved by just ‘talking it out’, and I know that that’s hard for you to understand, but it’s true. I gave up on us months ago.” She forces each word out, hoping that you’ll break up with her quickly and she won’t have to spew more lies.

But instead of backing down, you fire back. “You’re still lying! Kate, what is going on?”

You know her too well. All of the late nights and early mornings, all of the movie nights and drives to nowhere built up. And now you know each other better than yourselves.

She knows what she needs to do, no matter how much it’s going to hurt.

“I’m not sure how much more obvious I can be, (Y/N), the signs are everywhere. I don’t love you anymore!”

You don’t reel back like they do in movies. You don’t flinch. You go deadly still, meeting the gaze of the woman you love, and you take a shaky breath.

“I hope whatever you’re doing all this-“ You gesture around. “-for is worth your efforts. Because I clearly wasn’t.” Your eyes flit over her form. “Goodbye, Kate.”

You hurry inside before the tears fall, leaving her alone in the cold. She nods in satisfaction, even if she’s emotionally wrecked now. She won. She came here to do one thing, and she accomplished that.

As Kate walks away, though, it still feels like she lost.

———————————————————————

After that night, you were what one would call a hot mess.

You were already on break from college, but you were moping around even more than usual over the past few days. To lift your spirits, you had tried nearly anything that took your mind away from your girlfriend.

So now, your apartment smelled like cookies (several plates of which were stashed away), there were several bags from your retail therapy trip, and the TV had only displayed Hallmark Christmas movies for the past 48 hours. Plus, all of Kate’s things had been shoved into a closet.

But every time you put a new baked good into the oven or ordered another cart of clothes, you thought about Kate. You couldn’t help it.

In all fairness, when you spend that much time around someone and abruptly stop seeing them, you’re bound to miss them. Even if they were a bit of an asshat to you. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

On one hand, Kate had been very forthcoming about what she thought of you. And it wasn’t nice. You winced every time you remembered her harsh words.

On the other hand, something was clearly going on. And even if that didn’t give her behavior a pass, it provided an explanation.

Plus, if something serious was going down, you wanted to help her, even just as a friend.

It’s four days later, on Christmas morning, when you finally cave.

‘Hey, it’s me’ you type before quickly deleting it.

“Of course it’s you, dipshit,” you mumble.

‘Hey, I know things kind of went to shit the other day but if you wanna hang out and talk sometime I’d be totally up for that :)’

You analyze the message. “Is that too passive? Maybe.” After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you shake your head decisively. “No, it’s fine, I’m just gonna send it.”

Taking a few breaths to hype yourself up, you hit send and immediately fling your phone away.

“Oh, god, that’s too cringey, why did I send that, she’s gonna think I’m some desperate loser. I bet she’s telling me to fuck off right now-“

Grabbing your phone, you pause. No response. But she read it.

“So we’re playing that game,” you chuckle. “Alright, Bishop. Let’s go.”

———————————————————————

At the Barton’s house, Kate is miserable. She already feels bad enough for deliberately arguing with you and saying all that shit, and now you’re reaching out.

Well, more like sending messages every two minutes that get increasingly more passive-aggressively polite.

Kate’s phone displays 174 messages from your contact. A ding.

175.

She groans from the bottom of her soul, flopping onto the couch as Lucky licks her hand.

Clint, being the perceptive Avenger/assassin he is, notices her very obvious wallowing.

“What’s wrong, kid?” he asks, not sure if he wants to hear the answer.

She pushes herself up. “Wait, you actually want to know?”

“Eh, not really.”

Laura gently elbows him as she grabs the shreds of wrapping paper from the floor to throw in the trash. “Clint…”

“Fine. Yes.”

“I started an argument with my girlfriend so she would break up with me and now she’s being too nice and asking to hang out this week and I don’t know what to do,” Kate sobs, burying her head into a throw pillow.

Clint holds up a hand. “Okay, slow down. Let’s start at the beginning. Why did you start a fight with her?”

Kate shrugs. “You said that this life came with sacrifices,” she reasons.

“And that correlates… How?”

“So I gave up something important so she wouldn’t get hurt.”

Clint thinks he might have an aneurysm right then and there. “Kate. Kate. What part of ‘This life comes with sacrifices’ equals ‘break up with your girlfriend’?”

She opens and closes her mouth a few times. “Well, it just sounded like you were talking about sacrificing a person… or something.”

“I have a wife and three kids! I meant your private life and your free time!” he exclaims.

Kate bolts up faster than Nathaniel Pietro Barton’s second namesake and grabs her phone.

“Oh my god, I have to apologize. I need flowers, and lights, and jewelry, and-“

“Calm down, kid,” Clint says. “First things first, you need a quick flight back home. I’ll call in a favor from Tony, I’m sure he can get you a quick flight.”

Ten minutes later, Kate’s packed up and ready to go, and a private jet is getting ready at the airport. After hugging the Barton family goodbye and wishing them a Merry Christmas, her and Clint scramble into the car and drive off.

They make it to the airport in record time, skipping security with a single flash of Clint’s ID.

“Alright, you better not screw this up,” he says.

She nods, bouncing on her heels. “Yeah. Yeah, I won’t. I’ve got this.” Jumping at the archer, she pulls him into a hug. “Okay, thanks so much gotta go, bye!”

———————————————————————

You gave up after three hours of messages, resorting to moping about. Some Christmas this was.

It’s 7:30 and pitch black outside when you hear a knock on your door. You pause before opening it, until you hear a familiar voice.

“Please open this! I don’t wanna drop your gifts- I mean my stuff!”

“Kate?” You fling open the door.

Your girlfriend (Ex? Whatever, technicalities) is carrying a bouquet of lily of the valleys and sprigs of holly, a jewelry box, and a disturbingly large bag of holiday foods.

“I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry, and I want to explain. You don’t have to take me back, just, please, hear me out?”

You don’t have the heart to turn her away, so you nod, stepping aside as she shuffles in.

She drops everything on the counter, sinking into the couch. You sit, keeping a bit of distance.

“You said you wanted to explain,” you begin, nodding to her. “So?”

Despite the jet lag, Kate rushes into the story.

“So, this is going to sound crazy, but I’ve spent the last six days with Clint fucking Barton- I know, insane.”

Your eyebrows raise. Her literal hero? Damn, so that’s what was going on with that giant arrow and the rumors of a second Hawkeye.

“And we were dealing with some pretty dangerous people. Mob bosses, mercs, Russian assassins, you know.”

You didn’t know.

“And… I thought if they figured out about our relationship, you’d be in danger. And I couldn’t let you get hurt from my mess.”

“I’m sorry I went about it the way I did. You were right, I should’ve just talked to you about it. I was just so… scared.”

You soften. Yes, she made a mistake. A big-ass mistake. But she made it from a place of worry and love. Smiling, you take her hand.

“I forgive you. I know you must’ve been worried, and everything must have been going so fast…” She begins to sniffle and you pull her into a hug. “You had good intentions, Kate. It’s alright now.”

She buries her face in your hair. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean any of the shit I said, I was just-“ Unable to manage more words, she just shakes her head.

You softly shh her, nodding in understanding.

“Does this mean I can stay here for a while?” she asks, voice shaking. “‘Cause I had to arrest my mom and I really don’t want to live with my stepdad after she framed him for murder and I tried to chop off his face.”

“Kate, baby,” you chuckle. “You’ve had a tough few days, huh?” She only groans. “Of course you can stay. What kind of girlfriend would I be if I kicked you out of our apartment?”

She jumps from your arms before you can react, wide-eyes and suddenly 12x more hyper.

“You’re taking me back?”

You nod, smiling at her antics. Without a pause, Kate scoops you up, spinning around in circles as you squeal. “Oh my god, thank you! I’ll never pull that shit again, (Y/N), I promise.”

“I know, I know,” you laugh as she slows, still holding you up. “I am making you do the dishes for two months, though.”

She leans in to kiss you. When you part, she shrugs. “I’ll gladly do all the dishes if it means you’re still my girlfriend.”