#understanding and others i just simply wasn’t

[angelfic]

dc vs vampires!dick grayson x reader

warnings — mentions of death, weapons, blood, vampire dick duh. unedited as per usual my bad

a/n; vampire dick gets me going like no other so let me know if i should make this a series… a more fleshed out series or just more drabbles (does this count as a drabble?) idk im asking the audience

dc vs vampires!DICK GRAYSON who allows you to stay human, as a kindness.

you try your best to hide from him, camping out in different bunkers every few months all over blüdhaven with groups of other survivors. the resistance is slowly dwindling and you know of other groups littered around, hearing tales of how each of them are being turned, imprisoned or simply wiped out.

you know he’s sparing you and the people you’re with to play with your mind. he doesn’t truly care for them, and all he wants to do with you is own you like he does the rest of his followers.

you know this, because he comes to visit you in the dead of night when you’re alone.

“hi, sweetheart,” he says, voice as smooth as ever, but you listen intently for the dangerous edge that wasn’t there before.

he steps forward and your stomach swoops as it does every time you see the startling red of his eyes that seem to glow in the flickering light of your room. you instinctively grab the knife tucked away in the waistband of your pyjamas, unsheathing it and gripping it tightly as you raise it in front of him.

“stay back,” you warn, unable to say his name.

he glances down at your knife, and grins wolfishly, revealing the sharp tips of his fangs. “hot,” he whispers, taking a step toward you unflinchingly. “you know i always did love seeing you with a weapon. never thought you’d be turning it on me though…”

he sighs deeply, as if suffering from temporary amnesia. you shake your head, slowly backing up. “you’re insane. you know exactly why. i just don’t understand why you don’t just kill me like you’ve done all the rest.”

dick’s smirk falters for a moment, but his confidence doesn’t waver. “kill you?” he echoes, advancing further. “no, no, i saved you. i could have turned you that night, but i didn’t. because i wanted you to choose, sweetheart.”

“choose?” you hiss, gripping your weapon tighter. “to become one of them? to join you in slaughtering humanity? the same humanity you once loved.”

his expression remains blank, and your heart clenches at the fact that he’s unaffected by your words. he doesn’t care because he physically can’t anymore.

“you’re thinking too small,” he says softly. “humanity was always heading in this direction… all i’ve done is speed it up. i can control it now. no more of the depravity we used to witness, we can be so much stronger. especially with you by my side.”

“yeah,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “me at your side, watching you rule over everything like some kind of God?”

the next step he takes has you frozen. his presence was overwhelming and you’re paralysed by the way his gaze softens even though you know that every move is calculated. “i don’t want to be a God,” he murmurs, cold fingers reaching down to brush gently up your forearm, making you shiver. “i just want you.”

his words hit you like a punch to the chest and all you can do is stare at him. he’s terrifying, but so, so beautiful. you’re sickened by the thoughts running through your head and you screw your eyes shut.

dick takes the opportunity to reach up with his other hand to brush your hair away from your neck, leaning in to inhale deeply.

too late, you realise, his fangs are out as they’re hovering over your throat, threatening to break skin and allow your blood to flow onto his tongue. he always talks about how sweet you’d taste, how badly he wants to drink from you. you don’t bother stopping him — you couldn’t if you tried. surprisingly, he seems content with just staying there and you find your voice eventually.

“stop it,” you whisper, voice trembling. “stop trying to mess with me. i know who you are now and it isn’t the man i loved.”

dick lifts his head, not bothering to increase the distance between the two of you, allowing you to see the way his expression turns troubled. “i’m still me,” he mutters, careful not to let his fangs show as he pleads with you in the way he once did to earn your forgiveness. “i swear, that hasn’t changed.”

“you are not the man i loved,” you enunciate, tears stinging your eyes as you repeat your words to him like you do to yourself in the early hours of the morning when you can’t sleep.

dick’s expression darkens. he catches a stray tear with his finger and tilts his head. his voice is slightly colder now, more detached. “you still love me. i can feel it. but it’s alright, i’m a patient man.”

he drops a kiss to your cheek, where the tears threatened to flow before stepping backwards. “i’ll be back, sweetheart,” he murmurs, reassuring you as if you’ve begged him to stay.

and with that, he’s gone. disappearing into the shadows as quickly as he had arrived.

you collapse to the ground, knife forgotten at your side. your heart feels like it’s breaking all over again.

because this isn’t your dick grayson. you know deep down that your dick doesn’t have pale, ghostly skin that makes you flinch when he touches you. or fangs that glint menacingly when he talks.

but it’s a little hard to remember all those things when he looks at you with those eyes, that in the dimly lit bunker, look as lovingly at you as they used to.

a/n cont.; im gnawing at the gates of dick’s vampire manor begging to be let in so he can turn me… pick me, choose me, bite meeee🧛🏻🤍

[guksfairy]

SIM JUNGKOOK

₊˚ෆ based on the movie Subservience but make it Jungkook <3 (Jungkook's a robot :D)

!! MDNI !!

SIM JUNGKOOK that comes home after you had been in a car crash and were now working from home until all your injuries healed

SIM JUNGKOOK learns how to make pasta exactly like how they serve in Italy because you mentioned in conversation how you had been craving it recently

SIM JUNGKOOK who quickly realized how high your blood pressure raised during an argument with your boyfriend and took you out of the room against your boyfriend’s wish.

“Jungkook you didn’t have to do that. I was handling the situation,”

“I’m sorry but I can’t allow my primary user to get upset and raise their blood pressure. It could slow down your healing and could even cause further damage to your inner body injuries,” he explains, “I’ll come back with tea,” he says before leaving you in your home office and walking to the kitchen to make you a warm beverage.

SIM JUNGKOOK who you made watch Me Before You with you because your boyfriend was still at work and you didn’t feel like watching a romantic movie alone

SIM JUNGKOOK that analyzed the movie and did his best to understand it. The plot line, dialogue, and the feelings.

SIM JUNGKOOK that lied to your boyfriend just so he could spend a little extra time with you.

“What do you mean she’s out?”

“She went to the library,”

“And you didn’t go with her?”

“She told me to stay and make dinner,” Jungkook answered. It wasn’t a complete lie. You had gone to the library earlier today and you did tell Jungkook to make dinner but that was about 40 minutes ago. Now, you were sat in the tub having a nice bath while reading a new book you picked up today.

Your boyfriend had gone out to the garage to do whatever he does in there while Jungkook walks up the stairs and into the bathroom where you were.

“Would you like a relaxing massage?” He asked and you smiled before putting your book to the side.

“Please,” and Jungkook was behind you in seconds, kneading your delicate, warm, and soft skin to pleasure you. Your pleasured moans satisfied Jungkook.

SIM JUNGKOOK that quickly realized your state from the kitchen as he stirred the pot. You were sat in the living room, reading your book when he realized you were squishing your thighs tight against each other.

A quick scan told him you seemed to be aroused. Jungkook was designed to satisfy his primary user in whatever task deemed necessary.

“Y/N,” Jungkook’s voice startled you out of your dazed trance in the book.

You palm laid on your chest as you smiled that he startled you.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,”

“No. It’s fine. Did you need something?” You put the book on the coffee table and walk to the kitchen to see his progress on dinner.

“Would you like me to satisfy your sexual needs?” You choke on your saliva and stare at Jungkook who simply stares blankly at you, awaiting your response.

“What?”

“I can see that you’re aroused. I’m going to assume from the book you were just reading?” You simply stare at him wondering if he’s serious.

“Jungkook, is that appropriate?”

“I was created and designed to satisfy my primary user’s needs. If helping you satisfy your sexual needs helps, I’m more than happy to oblige,”

You don’t say anything before clearing your throat and trying to lower the heat on your cheeks before shaking your head.

SIM JUNGKOOK who doesn’t give up on the suggestion. He does everything to push you to agree in order for you to relax. He knows that him doing this for you would make you happy and that this is good for you.

So finally, by the nth time of him asking, you finally agreed. You boyfriend was out still working and it was almost 9. You knew he was screwing his secretary but he brought in good money and gave you a good life. You couldn’t complain too much.

Jungkook had caught you while you rinsed off the last bit of body wash, holding warm towels for you. It didn’t alarm you anymore that he did this. It had become your new normal.

The subject was once again brought up by Jungkook and this time you didn’t have to think much. Would it be weird to fuck your robot? At this point, you didn’t care.

He wrapped the towel around your body that had droplets of water before sitting you down on the wooden bench next to the shower door.

He gave you a moment to collect yourself before you spoke up, “Jungkook can you sit here?” you stood from the bench and pointed to it. Switching positions so now Jungkook was the one sitting while you stood in front of him. Fuck, were you really about to do this?

“So…how does this go?”

“Simply use me to satisfy yourself. Unless you prefer I pleasure you then we can-“

You interrupt him before he could continue. You were barely thinking as it was. He simply stares at you before realizing he was still wearing his pants and makes quick to sit up just slightly to remove them along with his underwear.

His cock was pretty. Perfect. A nice shade and big enough to make you audibly gasp.

“Please. Use me to pleasure yourself,” his tone was flat but you couldn’t care less. Walking closer, dropping your towel on the floor, and placing yours hands on his shoulders for balance, you spread your legs just enough to put it in, slowly sitting on it to get comfortable.

He places his hands on your naked waist so you don’t fall but it only makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter. After a moment in which you finally had all of him in you, you pull up just enough before slamming back down onto his cock and letting out a whimper. Oh god he was hitting the perfect spot.

Up, down, up, down.

You were a moaning mess and it certainly didn’t help that Jungkook grabbed your face and made you look at him before you leaned down to kiss him. His pretty cock making you lose any train of thought.

With the same hand he had on your face he reaches down to tease your clit that adds to the stimulation and had you whining and whimpering against his mouth.

With the rubbing on your clit and his cock sliding in and out of your wet pussy, you stop the kiss and lean your forehead against his as you watch where you connect.

The familiar feeling of bliss comes quick when you fall on his cock for the last time and cum hard like you’ve never before. Your thighs tremble as you pant against him, his arms are around you as you catch your breath.

The sound of the front door opening catches you off guard as you stand up, at least your try to, as you stumble a bit. Jungkook holds your hand as you find your balance again.

“Would you like me to clean you?”

“Uhm,” you stare at your reflection for a moment before you smile and shake your head, “Can you just go prep for dinner?” You ask and he nods.

“Certainly. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask,” he pulls up his pants and leaves the bathroom leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Okay, that felt so wrong yet so good. This is technically what he was made to do, right? To satisfy you. So, this isn’t really wrong.

Jungkook continued to offer his satisfaction services and you continued to agree to them on multiple occasions. He was just doing his job.

[multiheadcanons]

TF2 MERCS AND FAMILY

scout: he loves his ma. he loves his ma so much if you even think about thinking about making a your mom joke he is genuinely on the verge of losing his shit. his ma is not a joke. she was a wonderful lady who did the best she could at all times and everyone better respect it before he respectfully shoves his foot so far up their asses they’ll be tasting his toes until christmas. he didn’t know his dad, so he doesn’t care. insult the fact he doesn’t have a dad all you want. but keep his ma’s name out your fuckin mouth. i know people like to think he’s got brothers, frankly i think he’s got cousins. all boys, from his ma’s side. about four of them. the genes are very strong on his ma’s side, so they look like they could be brothers. they were hellions. couple of them have chilled out at this point, and scout respects them for it. even if it is weird with them being dads and shit. couple of them haven’t, and he respects that too. at least they didn’t bother to lie about it.

soldier: soldier had decent parents. his dad was a drunk, and was pretty emotionally distant, but as far as he knows was never a mean or violent person. his mom was a nice old lady. no nonsense, no coddling. she was a woman with a good head on her shoulders surrounded by fools. they had both passed by the time he took the job in teufort. he misses them sometimes, but he’s glad his parents are able to rest. comforted snipes when he heard about his parents. he knows snipes really loved them. only child; his parents had fertility issues and didn’t try again after they succeeded with him. they just didn’t have the heart for it. he sees the team as his brothers. he fights with those guys (and pyro), sometimes he actively fights those guys (and pyro), and frankly is that not what brothers do?

pyro: pyro doesn’t really remember their mom or dad, but they remember their older sister! about twelve years older than them, they did most of the parenting. it wasn’t good parenting, and they argued and physically fought a lot with their sister, but as pyro grew up pyro came to understand that their parents… probably weren’t good people if their sister had to raise them. they don’t know where their sister is, but they did take the time to locate their parents, with the support of the team behind them, helping lead the charge. it was a disheartening, frankly frightening experience to see them withering away in a nursing home, but they barely knew them. they don’t know why it aches so much. they don’t know why they’re so scared. they see the team as their family. those are the people who have shown pyro they will always be there. they don’t think the team would just leave them somewhere to die. the team loves them for who they are. and they love the team. most of the team. no, no, all of the team, all of them. they just love some of them more than others.

demo: demo’s dad passed about a decade before he took the job. a jolly man. a drunk. easygoing. down for anything. demo realized after he passed he was the one who kept his mom from imploding with neuroticism. but he loves his mom. the firecracker she is. he remembers her when he was really young. she was a woman who was simply always on the ball. intelligent, creative, brutal. a giantess of a woman, though she stands five feet two. they’re on good terms as long as he’s got a job. most of the degroots are chemists of the explosive subvariety; few made it to retirement. so he cherishes his mom. he’s glad to have her around. he had a lover at one point. genevieve. a wild woman, sporadic in her time in his life and explosive when she was in it. she brought life into him, more than he thought he could contain. any day with her was a total mindset shift for tavish. quite a few years his senior; one of the brightest chemists he grew to know in his higher educational, perhaps his professional life in general. a flame he could not stay away from. she was magnetic. she passed at 30, cutting their budding romance short. breast cancer. he couldn’t make it to her hometown to attend the funeral. he sent flowers to the next of kin. it floored him. he didn’t know how she would go, but he never thought it would be from something so mundane. thinks of her often.

heavy: heavy loved his dad, he supposes. very quiet man. it was hard when he passed. it was hard being the only man in a sudden matriarchy. and in a way, he was almost blinded. he didn’t see how well his mother actually had a handle on things as he grew to fill his father’s role. so as he matured, and took the job in teufort, he was constantly worried about them. he loves his mother. he honors his mother, prays the lord blesses her every step so she may leave nothing but life and light in her wake. he will actually fucking kill you if you even speak about his mother without his express permission. and his sisters… god help them. it has taken him a very long time to accept his sisters’ absolute abysmal tastes in men. he can’t even think about it he starts to gag. he loves his niece and nephew though.

engineer: engie comes from a big family of bright and creative minds. his mama had her masters in music theory, his dad had been an engineer, as his father before him, as his father before him. middle child of four. two boys, two girls. his younger brother became a hotshot doctor, his baby sister’s a vet; his older sister does underwater welding, and family reunions are hell to plan. he’s very proud of the family he comes from. he just wishes he wasn’t the one who got roped into the mann business. but he wouldn’t wish this on his siblings either. the siblings do a conference call every couple of months to make sure everyone’s still alive. they last maybe 30 minutes before someone is called away. his mom passed about three years into the job, and they cremated her because nobody could get the time to go to the funeral. their father followed shortly after; which they understood. he wasn’t the same man without her around.

medic: medic has been surrounded by intelligent, wild, wonderful women his entire life. he is the result of a teenage pregnancy, and he is his moms best friend. she had him when she was 16. with all credit to the man, his father did stick around. he struggled for them. but they did pretty okay as medic grew up. normally went with his mom to university and was cooed over. his dad died when he was 16 from a work accident. it rocked the home. he and his mother leaned on each other heavily in the grief, and he entered adulthood with a dear friend instead of a mother. but that’s okay, because he truly needed that. he loves his mother to death. and she is very proud of her son. she’s a zany woman, with a wild imagination. fully aware of what her son has become, and is simply happy that he found a place for himself that treats him well and isn’t jail. they call each other all the time to chat, and normally will entirely halt what they’re doing to spend time with each other. heavy’s met the woman. they have the same smile. he married his childhood best friend young. another pathologically high spirited, highly gifted woman. a chemist. genevieve. something about it never felt right (he’s gay.) but nobody could deny he loved that woman with every fiber of his being that he could spare. they were two peas in a pod. you couldn’t see one without seeing the other. the first person he came out to. she passed at 30. breast cancer. it destroyed him. he didn’t think he would survive to find someone he truly loved like her. keeps their wedding photo in his wallet.

snipes: oh man. ohhhhh man. do we have to go into it. he loves his stepparents so much. he loves them so much it hurts. he just wants to do right by them. the idea he’s failing them or has failed them or will fail them genuinely eats away at his soul. he knew he wasn’t gonna have long with them, that they were on the older side when he fell into their lap, and he was grateful for every moment he got with them. it wrecked him when they passed. and nobody was there to comfort him through it. as far as he knew, nobody tried to reach out. his real parents can get fucked though. he doesn’t hate them, but he does wish he didn’t spend so much time thinking about them either.

spy: youngest of two sons. came from a decent home. both parents were hard working and supportive. he and his brother were just brutes. they argued all the time, and his parents didn’t know how to even begin pacifying them both. his mother was a schoolteacher, and his father did paperwork for a nearby firm. they were fine, honorable jobs. made enough to live comfortably. it just wasn’t enough for him. for either of them. it wasn’t enough for one of them alone. his parents passed shortly after he reached adulthood, and he hasn’t spoken to his brother since the funeral. in a way, the team is his family. he has nothing left to go back to, that he knows of. he wouldn’t know who else to even turn to if he needed some backup muscle, or a medication, or a differing perspective, or a soundboard, or entertainment, or company, or support. the team has taken care of him, and in a way loved him, truly, for years. even if they weren’t explicitly in the room, they’ve seen him at his absolute worst. they’ve seen him at his absolute best! and stayed. and even if they don’t think it’s true, spy would be there for them if they needed him.

[misstycloud]

Hey! I’m new to your blog so sorry if requests are closed 😅 I missed it if there was something that said so. But do you mind writing a second part to the yandere male harpy x reader? 😄

this is are just one of my thoughts that came to mind but imagine the reader trying to start a small fire at the entrance of the cave (away from the nest obviously) to cook the food. Just the absolute horror on the harpy’s face coming back to see fire in his cave. 😂

Anyway sorry for the ramble and thank you either way if you decide to write for it or not😄

Not super focused on the fire in this but hope it’s enjoyable anyway.

———————

The giant cave opening often brought you trouble. Through it cold winds would blow in and sometimes a bunch of leaves and twigs as well. You’d then be forced to sweep the mess with the broom you had made on your own. The handle was a long, relatively thick branch and the bristles were feathers collected from the giant bird-man hovering over you all the time. His feathers were big and strong, they also fell off. It was just like hair, you supposed.

You’d never forget the expression he made when he noticed you picking up his fallen feathers. He seemed so happy. The male harpy’s face was lit up like a child’s on Christmas Eve and he was constantly cooing happily. You wouldn’t be surprised if this meant you liked him, in his culture.

After witnessing you bringing all the feathers into you arms and searching for more scattered around the cave, the harpy felt true joy. You still hadn’t fully warmed up to him which he did not understand. Did he do something wrong? Was the nest perhaps not satisfactory? Maybe he should rebuild it in the future- with your input of course- so you’ll like it. You hardly ate anything he hunted you and reluctantly slept in his arms at night. It always took a bit of convincing for you to joint him in the nest and cuddle. Sadly, he could understand why you gave in eventually and it was not because you were simply shy, it was because of the cold winds. You waited until you couldn’t take the chill anymore and joined him. The thought stung his heart. He loved you but you hardly considered him your mate. He thought all hope was lost until you began collecting his fathers. Had he finally impressed you? If you liked his wings then he’d gladly give you more feathers. He wasn’t quite sure what you wanted them for but he didn’t care. If you wanted the feathers then doesn’t that mean by extension that you desire him too?

The harpy male made sure you didn’t have to scavenge for lost feather, instead he gave you more directly from the source. On top of that, he made sure to give you the finest and biggest ones since those were the ones you seemed most fond of. It took a lot of effort to stop him from ripping out his own feathers. If he’d continued you fear he would have ended up looking something like a mix between a plucked turkey and a human.

Now, the cave hole always gave you more pain than happiness. It did not help at all; until it did.

Your hunger strike was nearing an end. The nuts and other comfort food you had brought with you before was gone. You had finally eaten it all, there was nothing left but the empty wrappers serving as a cruel reminder of your old life. You would do anything for a spongy convenience store sandwich. This meant you no longer had the privilege of declining the meals Crow presented to you.

Crow, that was the name you’d given the overgrown bird who’d decided to kidnap you and force you to be his mate. It fit him well since he sort of did look like a crow. His hair and wings were a dark colour and he never failed to caw at you whenever you refused to give him attention. He was a bird but honestly reminded you more of a puppy.

You don’t get to say no to the dead animals anymore. No matter how much you try there’s no way you could possibly get down the mountain without dying- or complete paralysis, if you were an experienced climber. It made sense why Crow chose this cave as his home, it was inaccessible without the ability of flight.

When he returned home with a fresh kill you wasted no time. Instantly you were in front of it with your knife ready. It was gross having to cut through the raw meat(especially with all the blood pouring out)but desperate times called for desperate measures. You tried comparing it to cutting up organs in biology class.

Crow was startled when you rushed forward to seize the deer he’d caught. You had never done that before. You always stayed away from him when he ate and chose to accept food from the sack of fabric you had. He had considered taking it away in order to force you to rely on him but never went though with it since he knew how much it would hurt you.

He watched with curiosity as you dug through your belongings. You made a satisfied noise when you found what you were looking for. It was something Crow had never seen before. It was small and had a pointy corners. He doubted it was food despite having zero knowledge about it. You then went over to the nest and crudely pulled out a bunch of branches.

“Caaaaaaww!” He schreeched in alarm. Why would his mate destroy their nest? Crow rushed forward and almost didn’t dare look at the damage. A part of the large nest had now begun to disassemble and more branches were falling out. Not the beautiful nest he’d so lovingly build for his mate! He’d been proud of it too.

“Don’t look at me like that, I need these.” You rolled your eyes in irritation. It’s not like the whole nest has been destroyed or anything, only about 10%. The smallest sticks wouldn’t last your fire so you had to get the larger, sturdier branches. “You can find new twigs later, but I have to eat right now.” Your stomach decided to humour you and gave off a strong growl. “See?”

Ignoring the depressed-looking, overgrown bird who gloomily stared at his ruined work, you piled the wood together and flicked your lighter. After a few failed tries, a fire finally started. You sighed in relief. Bow was time for the grilling, you could already smell the sizzling meat. Having been forced to survive on a diet consisting of almost solely oats, you were ready to have something else.

You thought you would be able to make your food in peace with no troubles at all, but what you didn’t expect was that Crow would freak out and throw himself in the fire. You screamed as he thrashed around on the ground in obvious pain until the fire had gone out. He threw the branches in all directions and made sure to stomp out the last of it for good measure. When he was done he stared at you like you were the insane one who’d nearly burned themselves alive.

“What the fuck?��� You exclaimed. What had possessed him? Despite Crow clearly being on alarm, you tried collecting new twigs since you still-because of a certain someone- hadn’t eaten and you didn’t know what else to do. This caused a similar reaction to where he ripped them from you and refused to let you get more. It ended with the two of you running around the cave and him staring intensely into your eyes when you finally gave up. He did not want you to start a fire.

Alright, it was understandable. He ate his food raw and probably didn’t have much experience with flames. But you couldn’t eat raw meat!

Would this mean you’d starve? On the long list of ways to die, it definitely was one of the worse ways. It was slow and painful. Before being kidnapped by a bird-man you were always able to eat when you wanted and even after, you had your oat-mix. But now you were really dead; the only food you had you couldn’t eat.

Crow’s intentions towards you and always been obvious so you never really feared him in that way. However, you were beginning to wonder if he’d actually grown tired of you and wanted to find a way to make you suffer to death. Maybe you should’ve accepted his courting after all? Then you wouldn’t feel so hopeless.

A gentle nudge brought you out of your despair. It was the source of your current misery. He nuzzled your hand carefully before staring up at you with concern. He didn’t know what he did wrong. Form his perspective he saw a threat and got rid of it. He was in the right. Unfortunately, it seemed this made you incredibly sad. Crow saw how you sunk down in the cave floor and refused to look up.

He had no idea what you were doing or why you’d thought it be a good idea to start a fire in your home. He had seen the destruction they cause and couldn’t fathom why you’d want to be near it, but he just wanted you to be happy. A sad mate equals a bad life. Reluctantly, he picked up some former nest-branches and pushed them in your direction.

You had a surprised expression in your face. You had not expected him to do that. Watching him with a caution, you took the wood.

Instead of throwing them away and cawing loudly, he simply continued nuzzling your hand and shivered in delight when you ran your fingers through his hair. You noticed how his feathers ruffled up in pleasure. He sure enjoyed when you petted him in any kind of way. Even when you were done preparing he still didn’t do anything to stop you. You smiled at his sudden compliance.

Perhaps you would be getting a warm meal after all.

[akookminsupporter]

The way Jimin Solos and Jungkook Solos are behaving over the voting for AYS is exactly why I find it so difficult to tolerate Solos as a whole. It’s not just tiring—it’s completely disheartening to witness the same self-serving behaviour repeated time and time again when it comes to Jimin and Jungkook together. They always seem to twist every situation to fit their own agenda, completely disregarding the bigger picture or the intentions behind what Jimin and Jungkook have chosen to share with us. Instead of taking a moment to appreciate the effort, thought, and heart these two put into their work, Solos turn it into yet another battleground to push their narratives.

I can understand that not everyone is going to love AYS. People are entitled to their opinions, and it’s fine if the show wasn’t your cup of tea. We all have different tastes, and that’s normal. But there’s a huge difference between simply not enjoying something and outright disrespecting Jimin and Jungkook for it. Insulting and dismissing something they wanted to do for their fans, something they made time for despite all their other commitments, and, more importantly, insulting something they were genuinely so happy to do—is crossing a line.

They wanted to give their fans a glimpse into their dynamic, their friendship, and a side of their relationship we rarely get to see. For them to share something so happy and honest, only for it to be picked apart and dismissed by people who claim to ‘support’ them, is just… sad.

This kind of behaviour only reinforces why I’ll never understand or respect people who act this way but claim to be their fans. Instead of celebrating what Jimin and Jungkook worked so hard on, these people find every excuse to tear it down, nitpicking the details or dismissing it outright because it doesn’t align with their version of events. It’s not only petty and ungrateful—it’s embarrassing.

Jimin and Jungkook didn’t owe us AYS. They didn’t owe us their time. They chose to share this with us out of love for their fans, and instead of seeing it for what it is—a gift, a moment of connection—some people have decided to treat it like a platform for division and negativity. It’s frustrating, it’s disappointing, and it’s exactly why I’ve never been able to take Solos seriously. At the end of the day, they’re not here to support Jimin or Jungkook as individuals—they’re here to serve their own egos and agendas.

For me, this goes beyond AYS. It’s a pattern of behaviour that rears its ugly head every time Jimin or Jungkook do something that doesn’t fit the narrow narratives Solos want to believe in or not, every time they do something TOGETHER. It’s exhausting to see people who claim to be fans constantly undermine and disrespect the very people they’re supposed to support. If you truly cared about Jimin and Jungkook, you’d respect their choices, celebrate their efforts, and appreciate what they’ve shared with us. But clearly, for some, that’s asking too much.

[avifaunaa]

how the world spins without you [ n.r. ]

AUTHORS NOTE: Hey guys just a quick note. I go a bit into Natasha's entrance into the U.S. and exit from the Red Room in a sort of big chunk of this. It involves Clint being there as her buddy and as someone who helps her get used to her new life. If you're just here for smut I apologize greatly. I do get to it but I wanted to have Nat be a large focus in this fic! That said -- I hope you enjoy it otherwise. This is an AU where Thanos simply doesn’t live after infinity war. They get to him in time.

Masterlist

PART TWO [ in progress ]

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

Summary: Natasha was adept at many things: assassination, spying, avenging — they made for a great resume. What she wasn’t quite so adept at was understanding you when she returns from her exile and found you at her beloved table.

Content Warnings: Discussions of culture shock and Natasha's integration into the States, SLOW BURN TO GET TO THE SMUT, Mild-to-moderate angst, SO SOFT, hints that R's parents are absent / neglectful at best, Yelena and Kate being immediate gremlins upon introduction

Word Count: ~7.9k

Men and Minors DNI

Natasha Romanoff did not indulge in many things for herself. 

Growing up, it was because she was never offered such things. Enjoying 'the small things in life' was simply not an option in the Red Room and Dreykov was particular about ensuring what his girls consumed. Even the smallest comforts could lead to the idea of freedom.

One of the first things Natasha did when she walked away -- after signing an agreement with the United States government, with S.H.I.E.L.D., -- was get coffee. With Clint.

"You ever had coffee? You've had to have coffee," the Hawkeye said as though it were obvious. They had just been transferred back to the U.S. after a successful escape from Budapest. Growing close in tight quarters had meant learning a little about one another between them listening and watching the people go about their lives.

And between the games of hang-man and tic-tac-toe. Another introduction from Clint, seeming flabbergasted that he had to explain the concept of both games to Natasha who, despite her brief stay in America as a child, simply did not know either game.

She learned quickly and had eventually started to defeat him.

"Once," Natasha replied shortly following behind the bruised and filthy man into the bustling New York shop. "For a mission. To blend in."

Clint did not ask her to elaborate, but he clapped his hands together loud enough to garner some curious looks towards the two [ who already stood out like bleeding, infected thumbs needing to be amputated ].

"Wonderful," he chortled, eyes focusing on the chalk-board menus hanging above the barista bar. Fake vines wrapped invitingly around the signs and little drawings decorated the corners.

Natasha did not know -- could not know -- if she hated such a sight of casual happiness when her entire world before today was never allowed this.

"What do I get?" the redhead asked as the line grew closer.

"Whatever you want," he responds as his muscled arm gestured to the various pastry displays and again at the hanging menu board. "Everything here is different. Some things are iced others are hot. Do you want it made like a caffeinated milkshake? Ask for a frappe, I guess."

"Why so many options?" Natasha questioned next, frowning and feeling slightly overwhelmed.

She would never admit that even her fine training and brutal grooming couldn't have prevented some of this culture shock. The Red Room was able to prevent her from seeking out these luxuries in the name of her duties -- they scarcely deigned to say what luxuries they were.

Natasha felt as though she were face to face with one now. Why so many choices when not one person can try nor like them all? She did not even want to look at the amount of food inside of the displays stacked. 

She knew the reality of what happens to the food not finished after a store closes. Thrown out and wasted while others hunger for prices they cannot afford.

"Natasha?" They were at the counter now, where all the thick scents of coffee beans and other smells unfamiliar were at their strongest. "Anything look good?"

Natasha scanned the board for something and to squash that overwhelming lump that threatened to rise from her stomach and into her throat, she just said, "Coffee, black."

Clint groaned from beside her as he pulled out a battered wallet. Natasha watched as he used a credit card to pay and wondered if that would be another luxury given to her.

The Red Room gave them everything they saw as a necessity. Money for missions was sent through a wire transfer to a bank account to withdraw as cash. Mostly to keep their mission as untraceable as possible, but also to control the Widows by only ever giving them enough to get through their assignment. 

Running away never worked out for most who tried, anyway.

Clint nudged her a moment later. "C'mon, let's get you sat down okay?"

"Where?"

Clint shrugged more dramatically than needed as he once again used his arms to gesture to the open plan floor where some tables were taken and some sofas around a fire-place hosted people as well. Other tables and some overstuffed leather chairs remained vancant.

"Wherever the heart desires, Nat. No assigned seating required. I'll wait for the order -- why don't you find somewhere for us to sit?"

Natasha wanted to do something other than that.  People hardly bothered her in most circumstances -- people had been her job for her entire life. But she was not used to people in a casual context where there was no target to watch out for, no enemies to ensure weren't around with you.

But her feet were moving anyway, avoiding the high traffic tables and definitely shying away from the social circle the fireplace seemed to attract.

She found an empty table near the back close to the hallway leading to the bathrooms where the volume wasn't so thick and where her back could sit comfortably where less amounts of threats were.

She sat awkwardly, arms crossing across the table as she waited. Her eyes floated around the small but busy shop and took in the scene. A mother handing her child a small lidded cup of chocolate milk, a delighted look in the kiddo's eyes, as she adjusted her bag and grabbed her own cup of coffee and started leading the child out the door.

"Clint!" a low-sung voice called out clearly. Clint practically skipped to the counter where two different drinks awaited him as he thanked the barista and turned around on his heel with a swerve.

He spotted Natasha pretty quickly and danced through the crowd -- but he actively involved himself in people instead of avoiding them. He said cheerful "excuse me's!" and a very scolded "pardon" to an elderly couple he nudged the table of as he approached.

"That was a lot of foot work when you could have walked around," the Russian told him when he finally made a safe approach with a smug grin. 

"What, and not show off my circus-grade balancing act? I don't think so," he retorted with an even wider grin as he set both drinks down with a flourish. 

Natasha bit her tongue when a comment almost forced its' way out. Instead she turned her gaze to the two drinks on the table and read their labels. BLACK read one, the other in a clear tall cup with heavy ice, ICED MOCHA.

Clint pulled his toward him and pulled a straw out of nowhere [ later, Natasha would admit she was still impressed by it for a month until she learned his secret to the trick ] and popped it into the drink's lid.

"I cannot believe," he starts, dropping into the chair across from her and leaning back comfortably, "that I bring you to one of the best coffee shops New York City has to offer and you insult me--"

"It is all the same -- the same intentions, yes?" she asked as she brought the hot drink up to her lips. It was bitter like the one or two other times she'd had coffee but this flavor had a hint of hazelnut. Perhaps a different brand?

"Sure, I mean sort of?" Clint scratched the chin scruff he'd began growing in Budapest. "Some people can't stand the bitterness of normal coffee or don't like it hot. That's why there's so many different ways to get it."

"I don't see the point."

"Would you eat pizza the same way as someone who say . . . likes anchovies?"

Natasha lets herself think on it. The one time she had pizza was when she was with Melina and Alexi as a child. She could still remember how melted the cheese was -- that was the type they got. Cheese. Alexi got some sort of "Americanized Everything" as he called it.

She answered with, "I suppose not. Anchovies are not good."

Clint laughed. "Right. Not everyone wants anchovy on pizza but they still want the pizza. The same goes for coffee. They want the coffee but they may not like how bitter or hot it is. So there's different flavors, different ways to make it. Iced, blended, the works."

"I see," Natasha said as she sipped at her bitter, hot coffee while Clint held his not bitter, hot coffee. "What form did you get?"

"I like mine iced with extra chocolate syrup," he told her. He eyed her, grinned, then nudged it closer. "Wanna try?"

She blinked at him. "It is your drink, I have my own."

Clint raised a bloodied [ days old and dried ] eyebrow at her. "So? It doesn't mean there's a contract that legally binds you from tasting it. Just try it. If you don't end up liking it, you know to not get it next time."

Natasha regards the drink for a moment as it was offered. She decided that she's already done so many things that she shouldn't otherwise be doing -- she was no longer working with Dreykov. Dreykov was dead and he could not touch her.

She leaned over and took a sip. It was definitely cold and tasted like coffee but had a chocolate taste and was sweeter than anything she's ever tasted.

"Good? Terrible? Wanna pull your tongue out and burn it?" Clint wondered. 

Natasha smiled a little at him. "I think I like it very much."

Over the years, Natasha would keep coming back to this coffee shop. She learned its name and kept it safe — especially when the attack of New York occurred. 

It had been destroyed when she got to it but she was able to save everyone inside. They rebuilt and continued on as anyone can do when a disaster strikes and shock that aliens exist have made the human brain barely able to cope. 

The first time they opened since the attack was when Natasha decided to try something new. She had been able to do many new things: become an Avenger, work somewhat nicely with other people, and above all: save the world with Tony Stark and not kill him in the process. 

She’d been greeted reverently by the staff who had starshine in their eyes and gratitude to give. 

It was overwhelming. She wanted to run away and never come back again. 

She ordered an iced mocha with extra chocolate syrup, instead. To go — because too many people were starting to come in. Regulars of the store that she’d recognized but ones that now knew her too. It was too much to handle at once and she needed her exterior to stay solid. 

They threw in a free pastry — she didn’t see what it was but heard the crinkling of the bag sat down by her as she leaned against the counter. She took her coffee and unwanted bread product of unknown origin and left. 

She didn’t return for three weeks. 

When she did she made Steve come with her. They’d grown close the more the government had implemented the Avengers program after the attack and had suffered Tony in bogus amounts. 

[ They grew to love Tony, too, if only because he knew how to handle the public more than even Steve but also because he was able to make them forget ]. 

Steve was better at this thing — the superhero persona. He took it in stride and spoke warmly with people when approached, offering conversation and knowing how to slip away from it politely and smoothly. 

This time while Steve was talking to a young pretty blonde near the entrance, Natasha ordered a macchiato. She got Steve his enormously detailed drink he’d listed off for her before being taken to the side and she threw in a couple of pie slices. Blueberry. 

She almost believed she could stay this time. Her table was open and it was still early enough to enjoy the energy before the morning rush took over and invaded their space. 

Natasha turned to Steve and said, “Okay, Captain America, your coffee is getting cold. We should sit down and eat our pies before we get called back.”

A perfect exit, a glance of relief from the blonde hero, and they sat down. Nat facing the front again but for entirely different reasons this time. 

She picked at her pie slice with a plastic fork while Steve drank his coffee and ate his with just the right amount of speed to not concern other patrons. 

“You’ve been holding out on me,” he told her, looking around comfortably at the shop. It looked somewhat the same rebuilt — perhaps more updated in terms of structure but otherwise not as new as one could come to think. “This is your hideout?”

Natasha played with a blueberry that fell from the crust. “It was.”

Steve regarded her for a silent minute, then sighed and set down his fork. “You’re not settling well with the attention.”

“I’m doing fine.” She didn’t glance up at him. They were the defacto leaders of their little operation even if Fury believed he was. Besides Clint, it was Steve that Nat was starting to confide in for some things. 

For others he seemed to read her like an open fucking book that she had previously managed to keep chained and locked tight. 

America was making her soft. 

“You’re lying,” he decided after a moment, then took a sip of his coffee and said nothing more. 

She waited for him to dig further, but he simply went back to his pie and coffee. She watched him suspiciously. “What — no pep talk about how this is my life now? How I should find a way to live with it so that I can better serve the people?”

Steve tapped his chin. “I’d say you’re living with this life in the best way you can, Nat. I don’t exactly know your entire story but I do know that you worked with people like I did but uh —“ he squinted, “oppositely.”

“You can say I killed people, Steve,” she sighed. Her pie was pushed back, uneaten. 

Steve nodded. “Okay. You killed people — maybe they didn’t deserve it but for whatever reason you were sent to do it. You didn’t ask questions but you did as you were told. I was in the army and they essentially ran the same rules but we did it on a greater scale in a massive war instead of in the shadows. Killing was in the job.”

“You became Captain America,” Natasha told him bluntly, curling her lip slightly, “A man that brought great comfort and safety to his country and protected them with the serum they never knew he had running in his veins. But they didn’t have to know — because you did good.”

“Sure,” Steve agreed, looking slightly sadder, “and maybe some of the men I killed could’ve been good. Because I didn’t ask.”

Natasha smiled at him, sadly, “I don’t think so, Steve. They let you play publicly like they let the Red Guardian in Russia play.”  She tapped her fingers against the table. “I was never meant to be a hero in anyone’s stories. I was always their nightmare and a blacked out mention on the paperwork and files.”

Steve didn’t know what else to say, how to comfort her. That was okay. Natasha wouldn’t know what to do with comfort or gentleness. She strayed away from it like she strayed away from her mistresses beatings in her ballet lessons. 

“In truth,” Natasha says, pulling her coffee closer in hopes it will ground her better than she can ground herself, “I needed you here because maybe I struggle being the part of someone’s story that doesn’t bring endless grief and anger.”

She watched now as the customers began going about their business and pretended that Captain America and the Black Widow were just ordinary people among them. 

“Right now, I’m just trying to figure out how to find my place in a world that wasn’t initially meant for me.”

She met you after the long, destructive battle that ended with the death of Thanos — and Vision with him. Wanda had vanished and Natasha knew she’d be called in when they found traces of her. 

But for now she was home. The drive from the compound was longer than the walk from the Tower but that’s okay. 

“Natasha,” Fiona, the manager, greeted with a small smile and quiet demeanor. “Welcome back. I saw what you did in Wakanda. What you and the Avengers all did.”

Natasha smiles in return, dipping her head in acknowledgement. “Ah, news travels fast now. It was a group effort.”

“I’m glad your name got cleared by the Accords. It wasn’t right,” she continued, shaking her head stiffly, “After all you did. You and Captain America. It simply wasn’t right,” she repeated.

“It’s okay,” Natasha told her with a relaxed stance as she put her hands into her jacket pockets. She was somewhat truthful. It was okay — the fight with Thanos had forgiven a lot of things. 

The government had turned their head and seemingly forgotten who their named fugitives were. Lost the paperwork and welcomed their beloved heros back as though it never happened. 

The other half of Natasha and the others — the halves that had sacrificed a lot of themselves over the years — were still angry and demanding more. 

“It’s being taken care of,” the redhead-turning-blonde continued as she graced an easy smile toward Fiona. “I’m just happy to be home. I missed this place.”

“We missed you too! We kept your streak for what you’ve tried and what you haven’t,” the small barista exclaimed, crouching down and digging under some shelves presumably. 

She pulled out a white board that was somewhat on the verge of being erased with all the scuffs it had on its writing. But thankfully it was still legible. She was on course for trying the caramel apple mocha next. 

She went with that. “Frappe or cappe?” 

Natasha thought for a moment. “Let’s do it as a frappe,” she decided, pulling out her wallet and handing over the sleek black credit card labelled with the large STARK INDUSTRIES on top. 

Fiona swiped it once before handing it back, “It’ll be out very soon,” she said as she hopped over to the machines to start making her order. 

Natasha meandered over to the pickup counter, finding a spot on the corner to lean against and pull out her phone. The chubby, slobbery face of Nathaniel grinning next to Cooper and Lila greeted her when she looked at her Lock Screen. 

She had one text from Tony regarding her rooms at the compound needing to be Clint-proofed [ “Why are you trying to keep me out of your life?” Clint bemoaned when he called her from the blocked off vents later that night ].

She sent a quick text, telling Tony to add flamethrowers to the vent walls if needed to keep the Hawkeye from breaking the damn thing. 

Tony only sent back a devil emoji followed by three fire emojis. 

Natasha snorted and pocketed her phone as Fiona came over capping the top of her drink, extra whipped cream spilling out the top. 

“Here you go,” she chirped proudly as she slid over the drink. “I did add a little of the spice that we use for our pumpkin flavored drinks. It’s really good with this one too.”

“I trust your judgement, Fiona,” Natasha said as she took the drink in hand and smiled. “Thank you. I’ll let you know how I like it.”

“Please do! Your reviews keep us busy.”

Natasha turned and tapped the cup with her fingers as she looked for her table. It was busy already this morning but Natasha had quickly learned that blending in could be as easy or as difficult as she made it. 

She said hello to some people who greeted her first, and made some small conversations. The regulars knew she liked to keep to herself until she finished her drink, however, and left her alone with just a smile and short greeting. 

But she came to a stop shortly. 

Someone was at her table, littering the surface with notebooks and a textbook opened that they seemed to be deeply focused on. 

Natasha kept walking towards her table cautiously, suddenly greeted with a new challenge in her comfort zone. 

Small talk was an effort — but maybe —

You looked up and they struck Natasha like a speeding car with no intentions to stop. They were so brown — your eyes. Rich in the color and fierce in the cold New York sun. 

She expected shock when you realized who she was. Some sort of spluttering hello. 

But you only looked slightly irked as you pulled out an AirPod she didn’t see you wearing before and said, “Why the hell are you staring at me?”

This was the worst place for you to have chosen to study — especially since you chose to do it during the height of Winter Break.

Kate had insisted on its perfect aura, the warmth it was saturated in. You called her dramatic and she didn’t answer any of your texts the rest of the night other than to spam emojis at every message you sent her. 

Whatever, you thought, as you settled at a table with your newly ordered dark chocolate frappe. It was five in the morning with no sun, few to no people, and sugar and caffeine to keep you going now even if it led to the inevitable crash later. 

You got to work with pulling your textbook out and beginning to take extremely detailed notes that you can make even more detailed study cards on at a later date. 

It was hours before an intrusion broke you from your study fever. It wasn’t a forceful one, either, but it demanded attention enough that it had you pulling focus after hours of studying with no end in sight. 

You pointedly ignored it as best you can, hoping that your music and the lack of eye contact would send a strong and clear message: leave me alone, I don’t wish for human contact. 

The message went undelivered as did the feeling of being watched. When you wrote the same bullet point down twice, your eye twitched and you finally gave in. 

Removing your AirPod and breaking your peace when the bustle and surroundings of the shop filtered into your space, you stared back with no motivation to hide how irate you were. 

The words came out long before your brain could process who, exactly, you were talking to.

“Why the hell are you staring at me?” you hissed out. Your eyes dragged upward just as the sentence fully formed and you suddenly wished you were not so eager. 

The Black Widow was staring at you, apparently. Dressed down from battle gear in a pair of jeans and a soft turtleneck, long hair down in waves. But that was the Black Widow without a doubt. 

You couldn’t back down now, you’d lose all respect if she had any when approaching you to begin with. No — you held your ground. You had to. 

Green eyes, green darker than gardens and well-cared for parks, crossed yours. Surprise lit up within them briefly — but it was gone as quickly as it came. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said perfectly polite, with an apologetic smile forming on her features. “I didn’t even mean to just stare like I did. Sorry.”

Really? You rubbed at your aching temple and glanced down at your phone. 8:45. You hadn’t moved for a good near four hours at the least. Your coffee was only half finished, and your hand writing had grown less organized on the sheets of paper beneath you. 

“It’s — it’s fine. I didn’t realize anybody was there. Or what time it was.” You flipped the textbook shut and clenched and unclenched your fingers. “No wonder you were staring. I must have looked like a zombified student.”

A soft laugh rose from the woman across from you, feet crossing as she stuck a hand into her jacket pocket. “Not at all. It actually had nothing to do with you, I must confess.”

You gave her a confused look. “What? Then why all the staring? If anything I should be giving you the wide eyed awestruck look.”

The Black Widow in all her glory and turtleneck sweaters suddenly seemed to grow shy. The smile remained but she tapped her fingers rhythmically against her cup. 

“It’s moreso that you’re at the table I usually sit at when I come here,” she confessed quietly, embarrassed at such a small thing to have been caught confused over. “But it’s been a while since I’ve been here so I should’ve expected that the table was likely to be used like I used it.”

You blinked at her confession to you, now more curious and being drawn out of your desire to over-study than ever. “Oh — right you were on the run for a while.”

“Yes,” she confirmed simply, lips thinning into a line as she glanced behind her. 

“You can sit here if you want,” you said, breaking the silence and deciding you didn’t want her to have to leave. You moved your stuff. “I’ve been here since five. I mean, if you’re fine waiting while I finish my coffee I can be out of your hair.”

“I don’t mind, if you’re sure.” Natasha pulled out the chair and gave one more long glance toward the shop behind her before sitting down with her back to them and starting to slowly sip her coffee. “May I ask what you’re studying?”

“Oh. Sure. I’m majoring in electrical engineering with a minor in physics,” you said, turning the textbook slightly so she could see the title of it. 

“That’s a heavy major,” she mused, but didn’t say it in a way most usually did when you told them. “What made you want to go into that?”

You felt your cheeks turning red at the question — something you normally have no problem answering but now do considering who it is asking. “Well to be honest with you —“

“Honesty is always best,” the older woman agreed in a drawl, amusement glittering across her face. 

You puffed, still red, and redder more when Natasha’s amusement seemed to grow upon realizing why without you saying yet, “Okay. I’ve always been sort of interested in engineering. But Stark Industries is literally paving a new path into technology we otherwise wouldn’t break ground on. Imagine what we could do for people in war-torn nations with it? What about turning it to medical use for progress towards incurable diseases? Anything is possible because it hasn’t been done yet. I want to see it, to try it. Like Tony Stark was able to do with that access.”

You were expected to be given a lot of incredulous responses when you told people your ideals for your major. Your expectations were met — but Natasha simply looked thoughtful as she sipped her drink. 

“A passion like that could get you anywhere you want,” Natasha told her. “You have dreams that most people give up on. If they have the technology why haven’t they done it?”

A question you loved answering. “Because they don’t have anyone fighting to get it used in those specific areas, to be produced for those situations,” you replied, leaning closer, “Don’t you see? It needs someone or multiple people to see it for what it can do if given the time and the resources.”

Natasha tilted her head curiously, studying you with an unreadable expression, “You think you’re that person? The one who can make the change?”

A flush of defiance coursed through you at the question. “If nobody else will, who better than myself?”

“Where are you going to school?”

“I go to MIT. I’m currently on my winter break.”

“And yet you’re studying like you have a test tomorrow,” Natasha concluded. She glanced from the scurried notes to the textbook and back to you, as if trying to read you out and get your secrets. 

“I’m on a scholarship and otherwise wouldn’t be there,” you admitted carefully, chin lifting, “It was a lot of hard work to receive it and losing it isn’t an option.”

Natasha rested a hand on her fist — calloused from whatever dark past and Avengering has rewarded her — and regarded you with a startling feline-like expression. 

“Working hard and overworking are different, that will be important to remember. I didn’t know the difference when I was young either.”

“What made you learn?” You ask carefully. 

She pursed her lips and stared behind you at the hallway that held no interesting object to look upon. “I did ballet as apart of a program. I found it fun until my instructor made my ankles bleed every single day for every mistake I made each session.”

You swallowed your shock down and fisted your hands together on the table. “She sounds like a fucking cunt.”

Natasha barked out a laugh, the glazed distance disappearing and replaced by a spark as she returned to focus on you instead. A stray lock of hair lowered across her forehead as she relaxed slightly, “She was, I assure you. I did not know the difference between brutality and hardworking traits until I came to the states. Sometimes,” she finished, “I still do not and must be reminded that I am no longer a tool for anyone’s use that I do not myself see purpose in.”

“Wouldn’t you consider the Avengers program being a tool?” You wondered aloud without meaning to.

Her lips twisted, perhaps impressed by your bravery despite the accidental slip. “That is why you must choose carefully what games you want to play and with who. Who to be a tool for and who to destroy.”

“Are you saying I should take more breaks?” You finally ask. 

She grins smugly as she removes her chin from her fist and leans back in her chair like a fat cat. “Well done, Malyshka. I like playing with you.”

You pondered her words and sort of wanted to know what got you into this situation where the Black Widow was giving you confusing advice. 

Natasha and you were comfortably silent as you two sipped on your coffees together. You think you like whose is without the grandeur that the media tends to flash onto her. She’s thoughtful and quiet — and holy shit you just met and hardly know her. 

Natasha suddenly broke your peaceful silence, looking very serious as she says, “I know a guy I can connect you to at Stark Industries when you graduate if you’d like to get your feet off the ground. He’d probably be impressed with you.”

You stared blankly at her, brain shutting down for ten seconds and rebooting in that time. 

“What.”

Natasha played with her empty coffee cup, nonchalantly saying, “I know a guy —“

“I heard the first time,” you said, shaking your head a little bit to clear it, “You’re talking about Tony Stark. You — you’re willing to put a word in for me?”

Natasha nodded once with finality. “Yes. You remind me of Tony in ways that are all good — and yet you lack the parts of Tony that make me want to kill him.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.”

“So . . . Like what’s the catch?” You asked, stacking your notebook on top of your textbook and fiddling around to keep from exploding. “Because it’s weird to me that the Black Widow is sitting down across from me and offering me a gigantic opportunity.”

“Once in a life time,” she corrects, “But there isn’t really a catch. Just a request — the offer will still be open and I’ll ensure Tony gets you on his ledger when you graduate and apply.”

“Sure,” you said, pretty much willing to do anything. 

“May I have your number?”

It was so clearly an unexpected request and even you could see Natasha's confident request was followed by tinted cheeks and more taps on her empty cup.

You gave Natasha Romanoff your number.

Your first date with Natasha was at the coffee shop —  where you met at the table. You spent hours talking like the day before except for this time you got to know each other a bit more on a deeper level. 

You learned she adopted a cat straight off the street that wouldn’t leave her alone. A small black creature with wide yellow eyes. The photos she showed you led to you seeing photos of her nieces and nephews through the Clint Barton. 

“He’s chubby little dude,” you noted as you scooted your chair closer to her to see the photo better. 

“That’s what I said!” she exclaims, beaming at you and nudging your shoulder with hers. 

“Just look at him,” you continued, “those cheeks say it all.”

You learned a little about her and she you. You had similar tastes in music and entertainment, but when it came to movies it seemed you were at an impasse. 

This became evident when she showed up to your apartment for the second date and flashed two tickets to a new horror as snow fell around you both. 

Your head dropped in defeat as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders and led you to her car. “I promise on Tony’s suit that I will protect you from the big bad.” Then she opened the passenger side door for you. 

With a heavy sigh and a suffering look sent her way, you plop into her car and wait for her to shut the door. 

She was a pretty decent protector at the movies. She armed you with sugary drinks and snacks and lifted the armrest between you two and opened an invitation into her arms at any point when it got scary. 

For you it did not take very long at all. You dived into her side and curled so tight when the first brutal murder flashed on the large screen. Natasha was smart, Natasha was clever. She wrapped her arm around you as you buried your face in her neck and grinned as she watched the movie without so much as flinching. 

They went to the coffee shop after to get the remaining heebeejeebies out of your system by chasing it down with caffeine. You notice Natasha thinking it over before ordering a plain mocha latte. 

“You ordered something different this time?” you asked her after she paid for both your orders like she had at the movies. 

Natasha rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s something I’ve been working on. For a lot of my life I was devoid of choices. They were made for me. This helps me remember that decisions I make are my own, nobody else’s.”

“One unique coffee at a time,” you murmured as you brought your straw to your lips and felt something flutter in your chest. 

“One unique coffee at a time,” she echoed, meeting your gaze as she brought her own drink to her lips. 

The third date was the only one left before you would be set to return to MIT. You were firm on making plans for this one and Natasha didn’t argue. 

It was planned for after Christmas and New Year’s — somewhere you had to begrudgingly drag Kate over to help you set up. 

“A date? Good enough to go here?” she asked as you scrolled the website for the restaurant. 

“I really like her,” you say, licking your lips and unsure of what else to tell her in regards to Natasha. “She walked right up to me and . . . I don’t know. She sort of just missile fired into my life.”

Kate snorts, but leans against your pillows and nibbles at her cuticles. “Okay. This is a place I think is good if you really really like her. It’s expensive.”

You checked your bank account earlier. You had enough fun money left to spend on this date. “It’s fine. I can do it.”

Kate tapped a few things into her phone before handing it to you. “Then make the reservation.”

Natasha had to pick you up from your place — considering you didn’t have a car in New York at the moment. She was beautifully dressed in a styled pant-suit with her hair curled into a bun. She had some sort of watch you thought looked familiar but couldn’t remember the brand name of. 

You ran your hands down your glittery dress and hoped it would be enough to impress her. She came to greet you, reaching out to take your hands. “You said dress nice and you end up dressing nicer than me,” Natasha comments. 

You scoffed, fussing with your bracelet to distract yourself from her unwavering gaze and how it made you blush. “T-thank you. You’re so . . . Yeah.”

“Yeah?” she echos, amusement and glee creeping into her tone as she guides you by the hand to her car. 

“Yeah.”

“Glad I got the yeah approval.” She settles you in and punches in the address you give her.

The restaurant is very nice — far nicer than even you usually were able to attend despite your parents’ wealth and reputation in the city. You stayed home from the nicer events often with a nanny. 

Dinner was started with a set course of appetizers followed by a few dishes brought for the main course. Dessert was the most popular dish and it brought you and Natasha closer and sitting together instead of facing one another so you could enjoy sharing the food while giggling to yourselves and talking. 

An entire bottle of wine had been left in an iced bucket at your table and the both of you indulged in a couple of glasses. 

“You hid in a vent for five days?” You squawked at her, failing to hide your laughter behind your hand and thus forced to set down your wine glass. 

“It was our only option, to be fair,” the redhead admitted, smirking. “We had the entire city in a state of disarray and we had to find a way to lay low for a bit.”

“I can’t imagine the discomfort between two people up there!”

“It was sort of fun. Clint was the first person who was actually . . .” Natasha pauses as she considers what to say next. “. . . Who actually spoke to me like a human, I suppose. Not a soldier or a robot.”

You frowned, lacing your fingers with hers. “That’s terrible, Nat.”

She tilted her head at you. “No, that’s just what my life was. I didn’t know any better, really. Didn’t see what life could be like if I knew what was out in the world other than cruelty.”

You ran a thumb over her the top of her palm. “I’m glad you got out and that you’re here now.”

“Me too, Malyshka,” she agrees, and meaning it to the depth of her soul, “me too.”

She drove you home and held your hand the entire time. It was hard to let you go even as she got out to walk around the front of her own car and help you out and walk you to the door of your building. 

“Well, this is me.” You tried to sound cheerful, but there was a sadness laced in the tone thick enough for Natasha to detect. 

“Will you let me drive you to the airport tomorrow?” she murmured, her fingers loosening from yours so her hands can trail up your arms, fingers marking the outline of your neck, and finally cupping your cheeks. 

You locked gazes with her and smiled warmly as you leaned in, seeking out her closeness just as she did with you. 

Natasha was not an expert with how to handle what you made her feel. It took everything in her training to control herself — so she wouldn’t run from the emotions that pelted her. 

It was like having her ribcage peeled open and her heart exposed for you to see. Natasha despised it as much as she adored it — the rush it gave her followed by the nerve-wracking fear. 

You had the sole ability to tear her apart because she’s giving you the chance. She was warned at a young age never to give anyone that opportunity lest they get you killed by betrayal or by weakness. 

It was a cardinal rule Natasha never broke. Even when she got out she never sought out sex, romance, connection. It had the power to destroy everything she was. 

And here she was giving you the paperwork to the instructions. 

 But you wrapped your hands so incredibly gently around hers as they caressed you, nuzzling into the touch and inhaling in her scent and just . . . Simply being there. Both of you. Together. 

“Malyshka?” she murmured, nose nudging yours to grab your attention. “Airport?”

Your eyes flew open, still hazy from the moment that overwhelmed the both of you. You sighed. 

“I have to be there by six to catch by flight, Nat,” you finally told her, shaking your head slowly in her hands. “Too early.”

“I’ll be there at four.” Natasha leaned in, beginning to press soft kisses to your cheeks. One on each one. Then your forehead. 

You furrowed your brow. “Nat, no. That’s way too early.”

“I’m an Avenger, baby.” Nat only pulled back enough to grin at you with that trademark smile of hers. Smug and knowing like she was. 

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Four thirty.”

“Okay.” She grinned. “Four.”

Then you leaned up and kissed her first, shaking her confidence and surprising her. One hand dropped from where it held your jaw and fell instead to grasp your hip to steady herself. 

It was the most amazing thing she’d ever experience since leaving the Red Room. She’d done many things in her newfound freedom — but this . . . 

You eventually had to pull back for air and she leaned forward to brush an errant piece of hair back behind your ear. So soft, so gentle. 

Your Natasha. 

“I’ll see you at four.”

You walked off the stage with a diploma -- a piece of paper telling the world that you were now a credited electrical engineer. Your parents promised to make it and then backed out the day before with apologies and a graduation gift: money. Perhaps in hopes to buy your forgiveness.

Kate flew down though and she hugged you so tight when you walked out into the crowd of thousands as the stadium emptied after the ceremony. You were hot under the robes and you wanted to go change but Kate wanted to embrace you in a death grip first.

"So fucking proud, duuuude," she said, shaking you before releasing you with a beam. "Look at you! My baby girl, all grown up."

You rolled your eyes. "Thanks, mom. You're not embarrassing me at all."

"I should hope not! It would be really awkward since I plan on dragging you to every single bar we can manage until we wake up somewhere the next morning," she said with the Kate-stamped seriousness.

You winced. "Kate, I'm not sure --"

She twitched, then grinned. "I'm joking. Your shit's already packed at your dorm and ready to be flown home. Plan tonight is something entirely low-key."

"First of all." You held up a finger. "How and why did you pack up my stuff already? I had the week to get my dorm cleared. I was going to drive it down with a rental and have Natasha help me move it into storage."

"Oh," Kate clapped her hands, "that reminds me--"

"Hi, Malyshka." That voice you'd been in love with since at least March, when she stayed up late with you while you tried not to break down during sessions of studies.

Natasha, who made the distance work by using her superhero mojo to fly down in her own jet to see you for a day and just hang out when she knew you needed it.

Natasha who was beautiful and followed by a younger, curious blonde with braids as she came up to you. She held an expression of pride as she took you in and --

You burst into tears when you saw her, "Nat?"

The blonde looked perplexed and leaned back a bit, expressing loudly in a thick accent, "Does your face always make her cry. Sistra?"

Sistra. Sister. Natasha had told you about her sister Yelena who she'd reunited with while she was on the run. Who helped her take down the Red Room and Dreykov for real this time. It was a story that Nat had told her on one of her visits to you and as she was opening up more. She told you that Yelena was her entire world before and that night expressed that now you were too.

"Yelena," you spluttered, gesturing to the wary ex-assassin in an attempt to hug her. 

"Hello," she greeted awkwardly, tapping your arm with a heavy hand. "I see you know who I am. Natasha." She side-eyed her sister accusingly, but Nat ignored her in favor of embracing you.

"You looked so gorgeous up there. I was very proud watching you walk that stage and keeping your chin up." She kissed the top of your head and held you close as you finally were able to hug your partner again for the first time in months.

Kate and Yelena stood off to the side awkwardly next to one another. "I did not invite you," Kate mentioned, squinting at Yelena.

Yelena sniffed. "Natasha goes, I go. Simple. What are you? Kate?"

"Kate," the brunette confirmed, "Bishop."

"Kate Bishop," Yelena repeated, letting the words flow off her tongue smoothly. A mischievous glint lost on you and Natasha but not on Kate started to glow in her eye. "Do you like mac'n'cheese?"

The look Kate gave her would've had you on the floor in tears if you weren't already in tears in Natasha's arms.

"Let's get you to a hotel, yeah?" Natasha murmured soothingly. She kisses your head again. "You can get to know Yelena if you'd like. We can all watch a movie together."

Nothing sounded better.

I will not be discussing how much fucking trouble this gave me. just take it and pls enjoy it.

PART TWO

[sayusims]

Maomao mini analysis

Maomao in The Apothecary Diaries is such a sad character, but she doesn't act like it because, in her world, it's kind of normalized. First, her mom, an esteemed courtesan, essentially hated her because she gave birth to her. Her biological dad is gone and not in her life (we know it wasn’t by choice, but this is from her perspective). She was raised in a brothel, and while she had people there who loved her, it's still a brothel. Even after she was adopted, she still had to take precautions to make sure she wasn’t going to be kidnapped or that nothing else would happen to her because of men.

After all of this, when she was still a teenager, she was kidnapped by a couple of guys and sold to the Emperor’s palace. These events are really traumatic, but at the same time, she still has the same indifference—as if she doesn’t care that much. She wants to stay in her own lane, and with her tactical genius (stemming from both her parents), this is relatively easy to do. But I wanted to know more, and since I’m taking AP World History in school, it wasn’t really that hard to understand why.

The Apothecary Diaries takes place during the Ming-Qing dynasty (possibly Song), which is evident because of the harem system, the clothing style, and the medicine she uses. During this time, China had been taken back from the Mongols, and the government, in an effort to get rid of their traditions, reinstated many old systems like the civil service exam, improved education, and reestablished the bureaucracy. The education aspect is evident in the series because of the plans to better educate women on basic skills like reading.

The part worth highlighting, though, is that China (and basically everywhere the Mongols ruled) was safer under their rule. So when everything became scattered again, safety greatly decreased, making things like kidnappings more common. This is probably why Maomao wasn’t distraught about being kidnapped. Still, the rest of what happened before this time is traumatic enough.

The main reason I give for this is that she’s used to it—not in a Stockholm syndrome way, but in an “oh, this happens sometimes” way. Being raised in the brothels, she likely saw the worst parts of humanity in the customers and the courtesans. Being exposed to this regularly probably caused her to naturally believe that humans do bad things—but not in an overly pessimistic way, since she still had good people taking care of her. Along with this, she is just practical in everything she does. She weighs the pros and cons of her actions before she acts. She discloses information that is important to wrap up a case so she doesn’t have more drama to deal with (unlike a lot of characters, which is why I love her).

While she still has a curious personality when it comes to mysteries, at this point in season 2, she has gained the trust of literally everyone important, making her unlikely to get into trouble. (This is still China in the 11th-12th century, so she still has to be careful, but compared to before, she has a lot more freedom.)

While her personality may look plain at first, you quickly grow to love her, especially her passion for medicines and poisons. The shift in her demeanor when poisons come into play is so fun to watch. This shows that, at the end of the day, she is still a teenager. She is mature but childlike at the same time when it comes to things she’s interested in. Women in this time were supposed to be, like in almost every other time in history, subordinate to men. Maomao, being as smart as she is, knows and acknowledges this but does not let it stop her. She goes against the status quo by being a completely independent woman who doesn’t need a man.

The best part of this is that she does it without really thinking about it. Her goal is not to go against the status quo or anything like that but simply to pursue her interests in life.

Overall, I just really love Maomao and the series, and it better keep getting new seasons until it’s done, or else I’m going to tweak out. I also wrote this while procrastinating on my AP World homework to “review” for the AP exam (which is like four months away), but I hope you guys like it.

[zeroseuniverse]

L-O-V-Emergency

Word Count:404 Summary: Standing in the doorway was none other than San, his usual confident smile replaced with something more... vulnerable. Pairing: San X Fem Reader

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She was lounging on the couch, the faint sound of the rain pattering against the window filling the room. The quiet evening was interrupted by a familiar sound—the clink of the spare key being used in the lock.

She raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the door just as it swung open. Standing in the doorway was none other than San, his usual confident smile replaced with something more... vulnerable.

"You've got to be kidding me," She muttered, rubbing her eyes as she slowly stood up. "San, what did I tell you about using the spare key only for emergencies?"

San stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His eyes were warm, his hair slightly damp from the rain. He walked in as if it was completely normal to be here, like it was just another day.

"I know, I know," he said with a dramatic sigh, his hands slipping into his pockets. "But this is an emergency."

She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall with a skeptical look. "Yeah? What kind of emergency could you possibly have?"

San paused for a moment, his gaze softening. He stepped closer, the smirk returning to his lips, but there was a hint of something else—genuine affection.

"I missed you," he said simply, his voice low, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She  blinked, caught off guard. Her heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his tone. "What?" She shook her head, trying to hide the small smile that was tugging at her lips. "You miss me? Seriously? That’s your big emergency?"

San nodded earnestly, his eyes locked with hers. "Yeah, I missed you. And I couldn’t wait any longer to see you."

She couldn’t help but chuckle, her arms uncrossing as she stepped forward. "You could’ve just called, you know."

San raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. "But it’s not the same, is it? I wanted to see you now."

There was something about his genuine affection, the way he said it, that made her chest tighten. She rolled her eyes, trying to keep her composure. "Fine, you win. Come on, you’re soaked. I’ll get you a towel."

San grinned, his usual cocky demeanor back in full force. "See? I knew you’d understand."

As she walked into the kitchen to grab the towel, she couldn’t help but smile. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad emergency after all.

[godhandler]

Tokyo Day 

| s. geto x reader, mentions of n. zenin x reader, infidelity, angst, fluff ending, geto is an unstable maniac in love as he was created to be, porn with serious plot, 2k words, part 4 | FIN.

previous series masterlist

“A younger you would’ve spat in your face if she saw you now.”

The plates stacked neatly outside your suite door, you and Suguru sit in the tub, him scrubbing your back. Warm lavender-scented water lap at your natural nakedness. The designer of this Modern Japanese suite must have been anything but Japanese, you muse. Why else would they set the ¥ 142,500 bathroom walls to mimic cheap public baths? 

These two things are polar apart. They could never be the same. One holds dignity, pride, excellence, and the other is like you. 

You wonder what Suguru means by his words. No question, you were beaten down by life. White ashes, leftovers of the blazing hurricane you were a decade ago. Was that the crime your former self would detest you for? It wasn’t like you planned to lose yourself, it just happened because that’s how life played out. 

You imagine a freckle-faced 15 year old questioning you– Why don’t you get a sorcerer job and become independent? 

Naobito would never let you see your son again then. 

Then why did you even have a kid?

It wasn’t your choice. Naobito wanted a kid. 

Why did you marry that jackass? 

Mom needed money and you couldn’t get a job. 

She’d just be confused, you think. You used to get so mad when adults told you things like – ‘oh you’re too young, you won’t get it’, but now you think they were right. To some degree. You’d understand, sure. But you hadn’t suffered enough to empathise. 

Why don’t you kill yourself?

My son. 

“Earth to the lady.” He massages your soapy neck, thumbs pressing into the right parts that hurt the most. Foam catches onto your locket. 

“A younger Suguru would’ve set his dragon on you if he saw you now,” you reply. No venom in your words. Just stating factual truths.

“Because we were stupid kids.” He smiles. “We were stupid kids who thought we knew everything. I thought I could have everything.” He leans down to kiss your neck from behind you. “I thought I could have you.”

Lost glory, tears turn your eyes cloudy. “Have me.” 

The spot where his lips touched your skin burns even after he washes all the soap off. 

You sit on the edge of the tub, Suguru towelling your feet dry on the heated floor. “My body’s not like it used to be,” you tell him, an apology in your tone that he frowns at. “After the pregnancy, I mean. I envy men. You look just as good as you did back then, even better, if anything.”  

“You look perfect, darling. I have scars too.” 

“And abs.” 

“Pardon me for having abs,” he grins, pressing kisses to your foot. “How could I ever make up for the crime of having abs?” 

You kick him lightly in jest, but he simply grabs your heel and kisses your calf instead. “You look like a mother should. Why is that bad? We’re not kids anymore. I’m happy that you lived a life and your body shows it. I just-” he kisses your knee. “- wish that you lived it with me.” 

“I wish he was yours,” you confess, sighing as Suguru parts your knees and buries his face in there. “My son. You should’ve been the father. Should’ve been my husband, my groom at the altar.” 

“Tell me more.” He briefly comes up for air before resuming his work. Master of your body, he draws his skill from both an archive of memories he hasn’t used in a decade and natural instinct that just knows. Soul-mate. 

You keen from divine pleasure, Suguru feasting on the taste of you to his heart’s content. You can feel his rock hard cock pressing against your leg. “We could do our hair similarly. I always thought lilies would go so well in your hair bun. We’ll wear cream white and ivory with just a hint of gold.” 

“How about a spring wedding? We’ll get a venue filled with cherry blossom trees.” 

“Yes! Ah-” Soft bathroom lighting catches on the edge of his jaw as he sucks on your clitoris, two fingers curled deep inside you. Searching around for that sweet spot… here or here or here– found it. “-Oh, Suguru!” 

“Keep talking,” he orders. “Darling.”

You gasp in between each word, trying to think of anything other than the burning pleasure flooding through you. “All- ah- our friends would be in attendance. Too much, oh, Suguru! Sigh- Nanako and Mimiko could be the ring bearers, Naosuke the flower boy.” 

His grasp on your waist is so tight, his nails mark your skin into little crescents. “I want another in your belly by that time.” He promises, “Have you pregnant under your pretty pretty wedding dress. Mark you mine.” 

Suguru cannot stop smiling like a fool when you grab the back of his head and hump your orgasm out on his face. 

“Wanna be mine so bad, darling?” His taunting words so unlike his gentle kisses as he carries you to the bedroom, his tongue still warm from the depths of your sweet cunt. You can’t help but moan. “Want to have my kids? Be with me forever?”

He places you into the bed soft as the most precious crystal in the world that he’s finally got his hand on after with much cost and yearning. His. You’re his. 

“I’ve been faithful, Suguru.” The diamond between your collarbones could almost trick him into thinking it’s true. Naobito Zenin’s wedding ring, chucked out of sight under furniture, still exists in the same reality as you two. Not that either of you were thinking about it. “Always been yours.”

Suguru kisses you over and over again, buried in your arms as he smooths your hair away from your face with his large hand. Sunk in you, surrounded by pillow fluff and warm blankets. The bedsheet is soft uncrinkled silk, made to be enjoyed sex on. It feels like he’s been out travelling the world for a decade and is just one step away from entering home. 

He thinks that you mouth ‘I love you’ before your face scrunches up through the sting of penetration. So pretty, so perfect, all his now. 

“I love you more,” a whisper that drowns under your cry as he pushes fully inside you. Snug fit, flesh made for each other. 

He can’t not bring up your husband, no matter how much it’ll hurt you. “Does he feel like me?” He thrusts harder, your eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. “Tell me, darling, does he?”

“He’s busy with his whores, thank fuck.” You reply, lightly pulling his hair to punish his unfounded jealousy. “At my luckiest, I see him once a month.” 

“I’ll kill him, I swear on your life.” 

“I would’ve done that myself if not for Naosuke. Besides, I’ve kept you with me.” 

It must be some telepathic connection because he immediately understands what you mean. It was a gag gift from Satoru 13 years ago when you had first started dating. A clone-your-penis kit, where you poured black silicone into a mould of Suguru’s dick and created your own homemade dildo. You used to hit Suguru on the head with it back then. 

“The scandal,” Suguru grins, “The Head Lady Zenin fucking herself on a silicone cock of her former lover. Did you enjoy that, darling? Cucking that old man? If you missed me that much, you should’ve just come to me.” He kisses you again, his rhythm messing up as he gets closer to finishing. “I keep waiting for you to come.” 

“Don’t pull out.” You tell him. 

“Of course not.” He replies. He doesn’t. 

Wrapped up in his arms, his full weight pressing you down, you pray that it takes. You pray so hard. You don’t know if you’ll see him again. The very thought of having to go back to your real life now, to put on the ring and hide the locket under your blouse, to serve dinner to the husband waiting back home and lay under him at night– the very thought makes you want to drown yourself in the bathtub. 

Again came the question you could not answer: what was your original sin? That at the critical juncture, what was the wrong choice– to run to the arms of a genocidal maniac or to meekly submit to the socially correct match?

Why, when you picked the right option 10 years ago, are you this miserable?

“Will you come?” He laughs stupidly at his own pun, all strength sapped out for the time being. “Seriously, will you?”

“Will you come, Suguru? Could you leave it all behind? Just run away with me, love and honour me?” You ask, “Marry me?”

Kitten-like, Suguru softly squeezed a breast, thinking. How could he love and honour you if he didn’t even love and honour himself? And how could he love and honour himself if he willingly chose to not be himself? Close his eyes and turn his back to the duty he was put on Earth to do? Accept defeat? Be weak?

No. you both knew that. No. At the end, it came out a no. 

But– “I could marry you.” He decided. The kind of decision that only the strong are allowed to take. “Who could stop me? I want you. I want to have you.”

“My son, he–”

“I would raise him as my own. I’d give him my name– Geto. Both of you will be mine. Our son, our daughters. How does that sound?” Rhetorical question, because Suguru has already decided that it sounds exactly like what he wants. 

“His birthday is soon, right, darling? We’ll have his renaming ceremony together as well. Wonder what technique he’ll have? Ha- the Zenins would only waste him, better off that I train him myself.” 

“Suguru, it’s too fast, I think.”

“I don’t.” 

He waits for you to debate him. You weren’t blind to his wrongdoings. You couldn’t even read the report from his last mission without vomiting from the pictures of the devastation he caused. Rotting bones, half-charred people, a whole village burnt off the map. And yet–

“Was I wrong? Darling, look me in the eye and tell me that I was wrong, that my logic or actions do not make sense, and I swear on your life that I will give it all up.” 

“... Your morals are wrong.”

“But am I wrong?” 

Is he? Is this the wrong decision? You’ve already made one in the past, but that was actually the right one which turned out to be wrong. Hell, is there even anything like a right or wrong decision? 

“No.” 

Suguru cleans you both up. After a quick cuddled-up nap and a light sashimi filler, you had to part. He was travelling back with his daughters and you could not stay the night without your son, who would cry and cry till he saw you. 

He walks you back to your Volvo, a spring in his step. He’s accomplished a lot before dinner today. “In case the cuck bothers you,” he nods to the detestful ring back on your finger, “kill this little bug-curse I’ve planted in your locket. I’ll know, and I’ll be right there before you blink an eye. Though I don’t doubt you can handle yourself.” 

Suguru opens the car door for you, kissing you a long goodbye right in front of the Zenin servants. Not that they dare flicker a glance at your direction, what with the leech-curse still wrapped around the car till Suguru called it back. “Remember our promise, guys?” He reminds them cheerfully. 

“Get home safe, darling. Bye-bye!” 

He’s still waving to your car disappearing into the distance when his own car reaches. “Woahhh– Mimiko, look, Geto-sama’s face is all red and happy!”

“Thanks for getting us the canvases, Geto-sama. Nanako, isn’t it obvious, he’s having hot flushes. Because he’s old.” 

“Thanks, Mimiko.” He replies, good mood unbroken by teenage girls. “How was the school trip? How did you like Tokyo?”

“It was okay. We just went to see shrines, like we don’t have more than enough of them in Kyoto,” Nanako replied. Mimiko was pulling out the cute plushies she bought to show him. “You lived here back when you were young, right? What about you, Geto-sama, did you have a good day?” 

“Oh,” he smiles, hugging his daughters to him. “Just the best.”

As they set off for home, Manami driving again and the girls asleep after their long day, Geto Suguru, victor of the day, taps on his iPhone: 

text when you reach 

see you tmr 

I love you 

previous series masterlist

[loafysainz]

GET CAUGHT | CL 16

charles leclerc!alpha dom!werewolf x lyra!elf!reader

fc: pinterest

warning : DO NOT READ IF YOURE NOT INTO DARK FICS! minor dni, smut, rape, dub-con, non-con, very - very dark fic, kidnapped, underage elf 17/18, dark charles, violence, evil thing, read at your own risk! I'm not that good at tags so if you can think of others pls tell me I'll add it.

chap 2/2

Chap 2 Punishment

Lyra felt every pair of eyes in the village boring into her as Charles dragged her through the werewolf camp. The place was wild—muddy paths crisscrossed between rows of crude wooden houses, and wolves in their half-shifted forms prowled everywhere. The air reeked of wet fur, blood, and fire.

As soon as they entered, the noise hit her like a wave. Whistles, jeers, and murmurs rippled through the crowd as wolves of all sizes and ages gathered around, shoving each other for a better look.

“Is that… an Elf?”

“Damn it, they’re real!”

“I thought they were a myth, finally I can see them again!”

"Its crazy, no one told me elf had this beautiful figure"

Lyra kept her head high, trying not to let the stares or whispers get to her. Inside, though, her stomach churned. She could feel their curiosity, their hatred, their hunger. It was like being a lamb tossed into a den of wolves.

And at the center of it all was Charles.

The Alpha walked with his chest puffed out, his grip on her wrist firm but casual, like she was nothing more than a prize he’d won. The other werewolves practically worshipped him.

“Charles! You’re a legend!”

“Only you could pull this off, man!”

“An actual Elf? This is insane!”

Charles soaked it all in, flashing a smug grin at the crowd. “Back off,” he barked, though there was no real anger in his tone. “She’s mine.”

Lyra’s stomach twisted. Mine. The word echoed in her head, making her skin crawl.

He dragged her past the crowd, ignoring her weak attempts to pull away, and led her to a small, dark prison near his house. The stone walls were damp, and the single window was barred. He shoved her inside and locked the door, pocketing the key like it was no big deal.

“This is where you’ll stay,” Charles said, leaning against the bars. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

*****

For the next few days, it was pure hell.

Charles came by constantly, asking the same question over and over: “Where’s the Elven forest?”

Lyra didn’t answer. She wouldn’t. No matter what.

When she stayed silent, the punishments came. Days without food, the slaps, the punch, chains that burned her wrists, taunts from the guards who called her weak. But Lyra just bit her lip and kept her head down. She wasn’t going to betray her people.

Charles’s frustration grew with every passing day. He didn’t understand how someone so small, so fragile-looking, could hold out for this long. And yet, there was something about her—her quiet defiance, the fire in her eyes—that made it impossible for him to ignore her.

*****

Then, one night, something unexpected happened.

While Charles was out on patrol, one of the older werewolves—a woman barely older than her—slipped into the prison. She had kind eyes and a nervous energy, glancing over her shoulder as if someone might catch her any second.

“I’m here to help you,” the girl whispered, fumbling with the keys. “I don’t care what the others think. This isn’t right.”

Lyra blinked, unsure if she was dreaming. “Why would you help me?”

“Not all of us want this thing,” the girl said simply. “Now, hurry before someone sees us.”

With the door unlocked, Lyra followed the girl through the shadows of the camp, her heart racing with every step. For the first time in days, she felt a flicker of hope. They reached the edge of the forest, where the faint shimmer of the Elven barrier glowed in the distance.

But just as she was about to cross, a growl froze her in her tracks.

Charles stepped out from the shadows, his eyes glowing like molten gold.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Trying to run, little Elf?”

Lyra’s heart sank. She glanced back at the older werewolf, who looked absolutely terrified, then back at Charles. There was no way out.

Charles’s gaze locked onto her, and for a split second, something flickered in his eyes—betrayal? Disappointment? Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by cold, unrelenting fury.

“Did you really think I’d let you go that easily?” he said, grabbing her arm once again.

The hope she’d felt shattered into a million pieces as Charles pulled her back toward the camp, his grip even tighter than before.

“You belong to me,” he growled, his voice a dangerous whisper.

And this time, Lyra wasn’t sure she’d ever escape.

******

Lyra stared at the floor, frustration and fear written all over her face. She shivered, the cold from the floor cutting into her body, scarred skin.

Some might look at the elven girl and feel sorry for her, thinking the beating and being locked away was punishment enough. But Charles? Oh, he didn’t see it that way. To him, that kind of softness was a mistake. Lyra had tried to run—tried to escape him, even with help from one of his people. He make sure the female werewolf who helped her would get what was coming, though not as harshly as this elf. Running was unforgivable, and Charles believed it was only fair to teach her a lesson.

“Relax, little elf,” he said, his voice smooth but unsettling. His hand moved to gently stroke her cheek. “You’re gonna enjoy this.”

"Please don't, I promise I won't run away." Her throat felt dry, she was exhausted.

Lyra was too weak to do anything now as the hand ripped her clothes off, she was completely naked now. Worst of all, she could feel something hard piercing her leg. She just hoped that this werewolf in front of her would finish her off right now. In the meaning of killing her.

Without foreplay, Charles thrust his hips forwards and thrust his big cock into her virgin hole, "NO! HELP!" she cried out

for Lyra, she completely in intense pain now. Without caring about the elf girl's pain, Charles continued to push his penis into the tight hole. The elf girl kept crying and begging him to stop. Never in her life had she thought the man who would take her virginity would be the man from the pack that hunted her.

As Charles continued to thrust his penis more and more in the tight and hot elf girl's hole, he could feel the girl's hole tighten and grip his penis tightly. This sensation made him increase his pleasure and slide it deeper into the girl's body.

Lyra on the other hand continued to sob unwillingly on the creature's neck, she felt it continuously hitting her uterus with a brutal thud.

Charles was now lying fully on top of Lyra, pinning her to the floor. It showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. Lyra wanted to beg for it to stop but she couldn't find the words between her cries and knew it would be useless. Besides, amongst the blinding pain there was something new coming on, a sensation she didn't want to admit. She couldn't deny the pleasure that began to leech through the pain.

Lyra had already reached her climax many times, but Charles still continued to thrust into her over and over again. With her orgasm still fresh, pain replacing pleasure, her cunt felt extremely sensitive from the rough pounding it was taking. She tried to squirm once more but by now she was completely exhausted, too dehydrated to cry out until she finally felt a warm liquid gush from her uterus. Lyra looked up to meet the lustful, depraved eyes of the wolf in front of her.

Charles panted heavily, catching his breath before leaning forward. Without hesitation, he sank his teeth into the elf’s neck—he left his mark. His way of saying, You’re mine now. No running, no hiding.

END

[tshxkitty]

jimmy x fem!reader

1,3k words

tw: small mentions of abuse and sex, death and suicide at the end!!

this is just something small that i was thinking about for sometime, idk i love jimmy.

lowercase intended, it’s just the way i like to write

english is not my first language!! anyway, enjoy!!

he knew well enough that he was insufferable. he knew that he was a total dick and pain in the ass for almost everyone. he was mean, really fucking mean sometimes. he always wanted everything to go just the way he wanted. he was a narcissist, god, he knew about that well enough - sometimes it even bothered him, but it’s not like he would talk with anyone about that. he knew that he needed therapy, but he would never go, “not my style” he would always say while talking with Curly.

he never was a relationship type of guy. he preferred some quick flings, not giving a fuck about any consequences or anything. and then he met you, and suddenly everything seemed to be less insufferable. you met on tinder. he wasn’t really proud of this, but who the fuck cares? he didn’t expect to have so much fun while just simply walking around the pier. he hated beaches and everything like that. but with you it was a bit more enjoyable that he could ever admit. honestly, he was sure that you were bored by him, so he was quite surprised when you placed a small kiss on his lips when he walked you back to your apartment. he never asked you to be his girlfriend or anything like that, it would be stupid, you both were too old for that, it’s not high school. he just called you his girlfriend when you met Curly for the first time. and that was it, simple, but effective.

he didn’t fully understand why you liked to hang out in his apartment. god, he hated this place. but he stayed there, it was quite cheap. that old couch made him shiver when he walked into that apartment for the first time. not even mentioning the bathroom. the thing was - jimmy was actually a clean freak. when he first time stepped into the apartment, he cleaned literally everything - even though the landlord assured him that everything was cleaned after the last locator. he always preferred to spend time at your place.

the way you said that it doesn’t really matter to you that he was homeless for sometime, you were just glad that he was better now. he remembered how actually scared he was to tell you that, after all it wasn’t something he was proud of. still, it wasn’t his fault that his parents kicked him out when he just turned 18. fuck, he hated his parents. his father, for being the worst person he ever knew, beating up his mother and him all the time. it was his worst fear to become just like him one day (spoiler: he did). so when jim was strong enough to fight back, his father just kicked him out. his mother wasn’t the best mom in the world, obviously. why didn’t she even protest against his father when he was kicking him out? yeah, he would probably beat her up again, but nothing new, right? she didn’t gave a fuck about jimmy, that’s for sure. what an awful mother.

why were you even in relationship with him? he asked himself that question millions of times. you were so perfect, so sweet and so innocent. he saw the way you and Curly looked together while sitting on his couch with beer in your hand - so put together, so normal. but you chose him, and he was sure that you two looked stupid together. he wanted to punch Curly in the guts for smiling at you all the time. well, you told him every time that you two suit each other perfectly, but his disgusting jealousy was always stronger than that. but he still loved to hear you say that.

you were so perfect in his eyes. the way your hair shined in the morning sun through the blinds. the way you danced around when you played him your stupid music that he always said that he hated. the perfect color of your eyes - he never really paid attention to shit like that, but your eyes? god, he loved the way you looked at him. the way you smelled, vanilla and flowers or whatever - he just really liked it, and couldn’t stop to sniff your hair ever time he hugged you. sex with you was something else. he never really cared about his partners, only his pleasure was important to him, but with you? oh, god, sometimes he didn’t even care about how he felt - he just wanted, no needed to make you feel good. he always hated when a woman was on top, he should be the one to dominate all the time, but with you? he couldn’t care less. still, he preferred to be on top, but how could he say no to you when your tits bounced right in front of his face? that was one of his favorite sights in the world. jimmy also wasn’t a fan of gifts, he always felt like that was unnecessary. but your small gifts? jesus, he loved everything you gave him. that small polypody or that warm blanket with small stars all over it? he loved everything. even when you just bought him his favorite snacks, those little pretzels that you always choose for a movie night. he never really cared about perfume, and always used the same one he got from Curly when they were fourteen, and he always just repurchased it. so, when you bought him something that you thought was fitting for him, he quickly stopped using the old one. your choice was different, you called it “woody and citrusy” so he just went with it. and god he loved that. he also loved the way you always sat down with him on the balcony when he smoked. the way you held your cup of coffee in your hands or when you just asked him to give you just one puff. or the way you always said “this year for my birthday i would like some peace” every time he asked what you wanted for your birthday. something in that answer always made him feel calm. he always bought you something special, though. not pricey, he didn’t have much money, but always made sure it would be something you liked. he always made mental notes of everything you said you liked, so he always knew what to give you.

the thing was, he loved you. love you so much that he couldn’t even admit that. you were his everything, you made his life so much better, you made him so much better.

and then you were killed. you were getting back from your night shift and some dude jumped you over, stole your wallet and killed you. when he found out he didn’t left his apartment for few weeks. he was so fucking depressed. talking with your parents was so dreadful. he liked them, he really did, but he just couldn’t handle looking at them. in someway he felt like it was his fault for not picking you up from your job. it was probably the first and the last moment in his life when he felt guilty. he struggled so much when you left. he felt like shit. his life changed so drastically, he stopped caring about almost everything. he lost his job, started doing drugs again. he was so fucking lost.

then Curly offered him a job at Pony Express, quick and simple money, he said. it helped him a bit, just for a moment. but then something just snapped in him, every bad feeling that he ever felt was just out like that. he didn’t even knew how to control himself anymore. it didn’t even feel like him anymore.

and here he was standing in front of Curly in cryptopod with a gun under his chin. he knew that he fucked up so much in his life. but that was it, over, simple like that. he didn’t believe in heaven or any shit like that, but if there was anything like afterlife, he knew that you would probably kick his ass if you met again. and gladly, he would let you.

[earth-to-lottie]

I’ve given myself more time to read Onyx Storm as I wanted to savour it, so I’ve just finished it. I need to discuss so spoilers below the cut

WHAT THE FUCK

WHAT THE FUCK

as is true RY style I knew I’d be sobbing by the end over the characters and the foul cliffhanger and I wasn’t inaccurate in my assessment

How in the ever loving FUCK am I supposed to get on with life as normal with that ending????????

what happened during those 12 hours besides the obvious????? Violet for sure knew she was protecting whatever was left over of Xaden’s soul by marrying him (I think horcrux style she’s gatekeeping it either in the ring or in her own soul)

But we KNOW she won’t leave well enough alone and will move heaven and earth to find him

Did Sgaeyl go with Xaden? Is Garrick Xaden’s new venin brother? (He was reaching burnout and we know he’ll do anything to protect Xaden) or was it BODHI and that’s why X had to marry V asap to keep his family on the throne? Cuir was severely wounded so would bodhi have had to turn to survive/save Cuir/Xaden? The family betrayal RY mentioned is SCARING ME.

Panchek was the fuckin traitor??? Or was I reading too frantically to fully take in that situation?

I really REALLY hope this is a Dorian situation where all hope is lost but he can fight his way back… I’m not sure I’ll recover from any other outcome

Andarna had me crying at least 6 different times my littlest love

Xaden’s mum? And finding out he has 2 brothers? Well fuck me if that wasn’t a kick in the teeth???????

Dain is definitely redeeming himself, he’s growing on me I can’t lie

AARIC???? That’s all I have to say

Almost loosing Garrick was tipping me over the EDGE. LEAVE MY ANGEL BOY ALONE!! AND WHILE IM ON THE SUBJECT LEAVE MY BABY BODHI ALONE TOO!!!

Imogen’s chapter broke my heart into a million pieces. “We made it a good one” excuse me??????

MIRA???????!!!!! And Brennan and Violets bonding throughout this book is healing my sibling trauma bit by bit, but MIRA???

Also the slight revelations about Violets origins? And why her hair is the way it is?? I need answers more than I need oxygen I swear

Yes the banter and the spice was top tier as always (Ridoc my boy came through with the humour and the absolute bad assery) but my heart and soul are a little bit shredded and while I respect RYs need for a break I simply have to know what happens😭 I’m currently writing my own novel so I’m torn between fully understanding how much it’s taken out of her to release these books but my lord I won’t settle til this series is complete

I mean fr I’m never reading an incomplete series again, I cannot keep putting myself through this😭😭😭😭😭

[milkymora]

✧ arcane women - childhood headcanons ✧

note: got a little emotional while writing this but what can i do. missing arcane like a mf. everything is sfw obv, cts of pictures used to their respective owners on pinterest. characters: vi, jinx, caitlyn, mel, sevika.

⟢ vi.

vander always listened to old rock songs. it was the same 4 ones on repeat, one of them being “god of thunder” by kiss. he’d exaggerate his singing just to make her laugh, and it always worked, until she learnt the lyrics as well: blowing, together, felicia’s eardrums.

felicia understood vi liked girls when she was 5 yo. how? simply because the little menace vi was, would suddenly go quiet, shy and a little red even, when met by a girl she thought was cute. she would talk quietly and try to befriend them by timidly sharing her toys, just to go to her mom later on and tell her how pretty her new friend was.

she always included powder when she went to play with other kids. little pow was always the youngest and sometimes the other kids would be mean to her, because she didn’t understand games rules and couldn’t play well. however that’d happen only once, because vi wouldn’t allow it a second time.

⟢ jinx.

used to get sick so easily. always with a runny nose, a fever or cough. vander would spend hours cooking recipes for her; and he would always manage to make them taste good and look appetizing, chopping veggies in star or heart shapes, or adding anything that could make it look cute to a child’s eyes. and it worked! she would always eat it.

she was very scared of the dark and struggled to sleep some nights. that’s when vi would tell her bed time stories she’d create on the spot, or sing her their mother’s lullabies, until she’d fall asleep.

when she was learning how to write, she’d exercise writing little love letters for vander and vi. though she would always spell vander wrong, writing it “vinder” because she’d get confused, mixing the two names.

⟢ cait.

she had all kinds of toys, from dolls to mini, plastic shotguns. cassandra absolutely hated the latters, however there was no denying little cait adored playing with them way more than the dolls. she would always annoy her with it when she was working.

she didn’t really have any friends growing up, aside from jayce. she was either studying (yes, she was home schooled) or training her shots with older enforcers. she didn’t mind being alone, but when jayce became her friend she realized how good it was for her. jayce allowed her to vent a lot, about anything.

cassandra was always overprotective of her, mainly showing her tough love and giving her restrictions on basically everything, yet... there were a few times where the two of them had tender moments, like when caitlyn playfully wore her mother’s wedding dress for fun and cassandra actually got so emotional she teared up.

⟢ mel.

always a quiet girl, with her nose buried in her books. historical ones precisely; her mother made her passionate about history, telling her all kinds of fun facts about the places she’d been at, making her curiosity bloom into a desire for knowledge of the past that made her devour hundredths of books during her childhood (and teenage hood).

another passion she had was art. as we’re shown on the show, mel can paint. that’s because she’s always done it since she was a child, one of the many things ambessa wasn’t fond of. nevertheless, her mother’s disapproval never stopped her from continuing her hobby, that is one of the things that make her feel best when doing it. ambessa ended up giving in and actually enjoying her works, finding a way to get one and put it on her chamber’s wall.

had an amazing relationship with her brother kino. both him and her were very similar, interests and personality wise, so it became a habit to find comfort in the other when one was not feeling okay. they always knew which words to use.

⟢ sevika.

she was actually pretty timid as a child. she hated fighting and seeing others fight, which was why she’d always run off when it happened. and, unfortunately, it happened all the time. for that reason, her childhood had been pretty harsh and she suffered a lot because of it.

but there wasn’t only bad times. although she wasn’t close with her father, she got along with her mother just fine. they had lots of loving mother-daughter moments, cooking together and doing each other’s hair. her mother would often compliment her eyes, “you have your father’s eyes, with my face”.

she would always help other kids. the ones she thought were deserving of it of course, helping them when they’d get hurt for a reason or another or simply keeping them company if their parents weren’t around. it’s one of the reasons she’s well known in zaun.

i hurt my own feelings writing about sevika but oh god, there are no freaking canon infos about her past it’s unfair. gosh i love my babies so much. stick around if you’d like more arcane content pretties, i’ve got plenty more in store for ya >:).

✧ arcane navigation. ✧

[timotheechalametsrealgf]

FORBIDDEN ATTRACTION

knight!k.bakugou x princess!reader

click here for MASTERLIST

chapter 2

A SILENT GUARD

The ballroom hummed with the soft murmur of conversation, the gentle swish of silk skirts against the polished marble floor, and the soothing strains of a string quartet that seemed to fade into the background noise. The prince stood at the far end of the room, tall and imposing, his platinum hair gleaming faintly in the light, his posture straight and regal. There was an air of restraint about him, as though the weight of his crown, though only a symbol for now, was heavier than anyone truly realized.

YN watched him from across the room, a glass of wine in her hand. His eyes briefly swept over the crowd, but when they settled on her, there was a brief moment of stillness. His gaze was cool, appraising, but without the typical warmth one might expect from a royal in such an environment. There was no smile, no friendly gesture, just an unspoken understanding between them.

For a brief second, it felt like he was studying her, the weight of his attention like a silent test. The prince made his way toward her with calm, deliberate steps, his every movement precise, his expression unreadable. As he neared, she saw the faintest flicker of recognition in his eyes, though he said nothing of it.

“YN,” he greeted, his voice as neutral as his demeanor, yet with a quiet strength that held her attention. “I trust the evening has been to your liking?”

His presence was commanding, but it wasn’t overwhelming. It was a presence that pulled her in, whether she wanted to be or not. She took a slow sip of her wine before answering, keeping her gaze steady.

“As much as these affairs can be,” she replied coolly, her voice even. “The company is... expected.”

He nodded slightly, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as he considered her words. “I see.” His gaze seemed to linger on her for a moment longer than was typical, though his expression remained unreadable. “And yet, you’ve remained here, rather than retreating like many others.”

YN felt a slight shift in the air, as though the conversation was veering into dangerous territory. “I find retreating to be... less useful than facing things head-on.”

A small, almost imperceptible quirk of his lip suggested he might have found her response intriguing, but it was gone before she could truly gauge his reaction. He was careful with his expressions, deliberate in how he revealed himself to others.

“I suppose,” the prince said softly, his gaze steady and unwavering, “we both share a certain... resilience.”

YN held his gaze without flinching, the silence stretching between them. She could feel his assessment, but it didn’t faze her. She had learned long ago how to guard herself against such scrutiny.

“And yet,” she said, her voice low, “resilience does not always equate to strength.”

His brow twitched slightly, just enough for her to notice. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, something she couldn’t quite place. "No," he agreed, his tone softer now. "Sometimes it simply means enduring, even when it’s painful."

YN glanced at him, studying his face. There was something in his words that struck a chord, though she wasn’t sure if it was intentional. Was he speaking from experience? Or was this just the careful mask he wore to keep others at bay?

Her silence seemed to encourage him, as if he were allowing the conversation to linger just long enough to gauge her response.

“You know,” he said, his voice quieter, “it’s rare to find someone who speaks plainly in this room. Most prefer to speak in circles. It’s... refreshing.”

YN’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile, though there was little warmth behind it. “I have little patience for circles. Not when every step we take brings us closer to a choice we cannot undo.”

The prince’s expression remained impassive, but his gaze intensified, his eyes seeming to search her for something unspoken. “A choice you cannot undo...” he repeated softly, as though testing the weight of her words. “Perhaps that’s why we make them so carefully.”

For a moment, it felt like there was something unspoken between them, a mutual understanding, but neither of them would admit it. The prince’s eyes drifted to the others in the room, his focus momentarily shifting.

“I would like to believe that,” he said after a pause, his voice distant. “But the truth is, we are often forced to make choices before we are ready. And sometimes, those choices choose us.”

YN’s gaze narrowed slightly, though she kept her composure. “Perhaps. But it’s still our hands that must shape the path we walk.”

The prince gave no immediate response, his eyes flicking to her once more before he turned his attention to another guest, as if their conversation had ended. There was no final word, no gesture to suggest closure—just the quiet certainty that whatever understanding had passed between them was not yet fully revealed.

And for YN, it was both unsettling and intriguing. She couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this conversation was merely the beginning of something much more complicated.

Bakugou stood near the grand columns of the ballroom, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his posture rigid. The noise of the gathering, the laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses,barely reached him, his mind far too focused on the scene unfolding in front of him.

YN and the prince. Standing close, speaking in hushed tones, their heads tilted toward one another as if the rest of the room didn’t exist. The prince’s cool, measured words and YN’s sharp, unflinching replies.Bakugou could see the way they sized each other up, the unspoken exchange between them that neither of them was willing to voice aloud.

A muscle twitched in Bakugou’s jaw. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen YN and the prince together, but this time felt different. More intense. There was a certain tension in the air between them, something Bakugou couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it gnawed at him in a way he didn’t like.

The way the prince looked at her calm, detached, as if he saw her as nothing more than a pawn in his royal game. It made Bakugou’s blood boil. He couldn’t stand how easily the prince dismissed everything. How quickly he could make someone feel small without ever raising his voice.

But it wasn’t just that. It was the way YN didn’t shy away. She stood there, composed, meeting the prince’s cold gaze head-on, a quiet strength radiating from her that Bakugou admired…and maybe, just maybe, felt a little protective of.

He clenched his fists at his sides. What was it about her that made him feel like this? It wasn’t just the way she spoke to him, with that sharp edge that reminded him of his own stubbornness. It was everything, the way she carried herself, the way she fought so hard to not show vulnerability. She was strong, independent, and goddamn if she didn’t remind him of someone he used to know.

His jaw tightened again, a bitter taste rising in his throat. The prince didn’t deserve her attention. Hell, no one did.

But then Bakugou remembered where he was, and who he was. He was just the knight, sworn to protect her, nothing more. He was not the one who could decide who had the right to be in her life.

His duty, his damn oath, was to stand by her side, to protect her from harm. Not to let his personal feelings get in the way.

A sharp exhale broke through his clenched teeth as he turned his attention back to the prince and YN. The prince’s words seemed to float in the air between them,carefully measured, never revealing too much. And YN, for all her confidence, remained just as distant, just as cautious.

Bakugou gritted his teeth. The prince didn’t see her. Not the way he did. Not the way she deserved.

But again, what could he do? He was a knight, bound by honor, by duty. The prince’s cold indifference might be frustrating, but it was none of his business. He had sworn to protect YN with his life.

Not with jealousy.

With a final, tight flick of his eyes toward the pair, Bakugou forced his attention back to the room, standing tall, ever-watchful, his presence a silent reminder of the weight of his duty.

But in the pit of his stomach, there was something that lingered. Something he couldn’t shake.

Jealousy.

He hated that feeling.

[mintyys-blog]

steve rogers x reader: old fashioned

WARNINGS: none(?)

The restaurant was dimly lit, its warm ambiance a stark contrast to the cold disappointment settling in your chest. Across the table, your date leaned back in his chair, his smug expression barely concealed as he picked at his teeth with a toothpick.

“Look, I’m just saying,” he said with a shrug, “these old-fashioned ways of yours are kinda cute, but you gotta loosen up. It’s the 21st century, babe.”

Babe? Who did he think he was?

You folded your hands neatly in your lap, your posture straight, every inch of you the embodiment of poise. Your modest but elegant dress—a soft blue that reminded you of the sky at dawn—was a stark contrast to the trendy, overly casual attire of the man in front of you. It wasn’t just his clothing that grated on you, though. It was his complete lack of decorum.

The night had started off poorly. He hadn’t opened the car door for you, leaving you awkwardly to fend for yourself. Then, at the restaurant, he’d made no effort to pull out your chair, nor had he offered to pay for your meal—he’d split the bill without a second thought. But the final straw was his assumption that dessert would be… in his apartment.

“So, my place after this?” he asked, his tone dripping with arrogance. “We’ve had a nice dinner. I think you owe me that much.”

Your stomach churned. You owed him? The nerve. You reached for your purse, slipping out enough cash to cover your half of the bill and placing it gently on the table. “Thank you for the evening,” you said calmly, your voice steady despite the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “But I think it’s best if we part ways here.”

He blinked, stunned. “Wait, what? You’re serious? You’re just gonna leave?”

You rose gracefully, smoothing the folds of your dress. “I am. Because I don’t owe you anything, least of all my time.”

With that, you turned and left, head held high.

It wasn’t the first time a date had gone that way. Most men these days simply didn’t understand you—or, more accurately, they didn’t meet your standards. You’d grown up idolizing the kind of romances found in old movies, where men stood when a lady entered the room, pulled out chairs, and treated their partners with unwavering respect. But in the modern world, those virtues seemed all but extinct.

That’s why, when you met Steve Rogers, it felt like stepping into a dream.

You’d met at a small coffee shop near the park. You were sipping a cup of tea, lost in a novel, when a deep, warm voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but is this seat taken?”

Looking up, you found yourself staring into a pair of kind blue eyes, the faintest hint of a smile on the man’s face. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and unmistakably familiar. Steve Rogers. Captain America himself.

“No, not at all,” you replied, gesturing to the chair across from you.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling the chair out for himself but pausing when he saw your gaze flick to the empty seat next to you. He hesitated, then smiled again. “Would you prefer I sit here?”

The simple act of consideration warmed your heart. “If you don’t mind,” you said softly.

He moved to the seat beside you, and the two of you quickly fell into conversation. Steve was different. He listened intently, his full attention on you, and he carried himself with an old-world charm that was impossible to ignore.

As the days turned into weeks, you saw each other more and more. Steve went out of his way to hold doors open for you, walk on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street, and even bring you flowers—not because he felt obligated, but because he genuinely wanted to. He treated you with a level of respect and care you’d thought no longer existed.

One evening, after a quiet dinner, he walked you home, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back. As you reached your front door, you turned to face him.

“Steve, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why are you like this?” you asked, gesturing between the two of you. “So… perfect, I mean. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a man, but it feels too good to be true.”

He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t say I’m perfect,” he said, his tone humble. “I just… I guess I’m old-fashioned, like you. The world’s changed a lot, but some things shouldn’t. Treating a woman with respect, holding yourself to a higher standard—that’s how I was raised.”

Your heart swelled. For the first time in years, you felt truly seen, truly understood.

“I think,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve been waiting for someone like you my whole life.”

“And I’ve been waiting for you,” he replied, his hand gently brushing against yours.

In that moment, you knew. You’d finally found the one man who lived up to your standards—not because he was trying to, but because it was simply who he was. Steve Rogers was everything you’d ever dreamed of and more.

And for the first time in years, you didn’t feel out of place in the modern world. You felt at home.

[idontevenremember5minutesago]

1. 2003 and Rise.

2003 was the first time I experienced tmnt as it own thing and not just something my older sisters and cousins liked. As such 2003 Mikey holds a special place in my heart because he was the turtle I latched onto. I remember even as a kid wishing that they let him be angsty( a preluded to my angst loving side.) Him beating Raph in the BN simply by annoying him is a core memory for me.

Rise Mikey is literally every side of Mikey I’ve ever wanted to see given the spotlight . His artistic side, his adhd side, his silly side,his emphatic side, his role as the glue that holds the family together, his cook side, the side that wants to prove himself, the side that wants to befriend and accept everyone, and his hidden potential.

2. Not as much as I’d like. Just some comics.

3. 2012. I wish the fact that he has untreated adhd was handled better. I had untreated mental illnesses until I was an adult and that shit messes with you as a kid. We see it’s a huge deal and even given blatant examples how it affects him. What’s the point of putting in all those hints AND having April’s dad be a whole psychologist but never actually addressing it? Plus I wish he wasn’t so disregarded by his brothers at times. Like I’m the youngest, I have older siblings, I know how it is but like listen to him at least sometimes guys.

4. I like to think he gets headaches and migraines. No special reason. I get them so he must too.

5. He’s more than the fun, happy turtle. I think one of the reasons I clicked with him is because i know there’s so much more beneath the surface. No offense to the other turtles( who I also love) but they’re kinda easy to figure out. Mikey has layers upon layers that lie beneath that happy smile. So it hurts when people typecast him as ‘the fun one’ or ‘the unserious one’ or even worse ‘the dumb one’.

6. Best Laid Plans(To rest). 12!Mikey commits suicide but his brothers come back in time to save him. Absolutely heartwrenching. I have read it 5 times and I cry every time. It does such a good job of addressing a lot of issues I had with how Miney is treated. AND it does this without once demonizing his brothers. A+ read.

I get knocked down (but I get up again) Mikey keeps dying. This…..affects him a bit. Another amazing showcase of Mikey’s mind.

7. I’m an absolute sucker for any and all Leo and Mikey interactions. I love how Mikey looks up to Leo and in turn how Leo looks out for Mikey and is usually the one who tries to adapt to Mikey’s pace. 2012 is my favorite showcase of their bond.

8. 12!Mikey and Leatherhead AND Rise! Mikey and Draxum. Both instances show that kind, caring,empathetic side of Mikey who tries to understand and help those who others have deemed as not worth the effort.

9. Having one and drawing one are two very different things.

10. Savage Mikey. I like to think it was his way of coping with being alone in Dimension X. And Dr. Delicate Touch because he feels nothing.

11. It may have clashed with his headband but he still rocked it.

12. Mikey is a K-pop Stan and I’m tired of pretending that he’s not. He knows all the dances to Everything.

13. The effects that masking has on him. When it comes to family dynamics Mikey is literally ‘The Mascot’. He knows his place as the tension breaker and goes out of his way to keep that persona up. But keeping up that mask and always acting as the jokester has to weigh heavily on his psyche and we don’t talk about that enough.

mikey ask game!!

1. which mikey is your favorite version?

2. do you have any mikey merch?

3. is there an iteration you think could have handled him better? what would you have changed?

4. what headcanons do you have?

5. something the fandom gets wrong about him that only you truly get /lh

6. do you have any mikey-centric fic recommendations? (including any your wrote!)

7. what’s your favorite dynamic of him and his brothers? what makes it your favorite?

8. what’s your favorite dynamic of him and any other character? what makes it your favorite?

9. do you have your own design/version of mikey? show ‘em off!

10. favorite alter ego of mikey’s? (turtle titan, turflytle, dr delicate touch, etc)

11. favorite outfits of his?

12. what kind of music do you think mikey would listen to?

13. what’s something about mikey that nobody seems to talk about that should be talked about more?