#where it’s like it’s never even occurred to the author that something that might be normal for Americans

[autistichalsin]

In retrospect, four years later, I feel like the Isabel Fall incident was just the biggest ignored cautionary tale modern fandom spaces have ever had. Yes, it wasn't limited to fandom, it was also a professional author/booktok type argument, but it had a lot of crossover.

Stop me if you've heard this one before: a writer, whether fan or pro, publishes a work. If one were to judge a book by its cover, something we are all taught in Kindergarten shouldn't happen but has a way of occurring regardless, one might find that there was something that seemed deeply problematic about this work. Maybe the title or summary alluded to something Wrong happening, or maybe the tags indicated there was problematic kinks or relationships. And that meant the story was Bad. So, a group of people takes to the Twittersphere to inform everyone who will listen why the work, and therefore the author, are Bad. The author, receiving an avalanche of abuse and harassment, deactivates their account, and checks into a mental health facility for monitoring for suicidal ideation. They never return to their writing space, and the harassers get a slap on the wrist (if that- usually they get praise and high-fives all around) and start waiting for their next victim to transgress.

Sounds awful familiar, doesn't it?

Isabel Fall's case, though, was even more extreme for many reasons. See, she made the terrible mistake of using a transphobic meme as the genesis to actually explore issues of gender identity.

More specifically, she used the phrase "I sexually identify as an attack helicopter" to examine how marginalized identities, when they become more accepted, become nothing more than a tool for the military-industrial complex to rebrand itself as a more personable and inclusive atrocity; a chance to pursue praise for bombing brown children while being progressive, because queer people, too, can help blow up brown children now! It also contained an examination of identity and how queerness is intrinsic to a person, etc.

But... well, if harassers ever bothered to read the things they critique, we wouldn't be here, would we? So instead, they called Isabel a transphobic monster for the title alone, even starting a misinformation campaign to claim she was, in fact, a cis male nazi using a fake identity to psyop the queer community.

A few days later, after days of horrific abuse and harassment, Isabel requested that Clarkesworld magazine pull the story. She checked in to a psych ward with suicidal thoughts. That wasn't all, though; the harassment was so bad that she was forced to out herself as trans to defend against the claims.

Only... we know this type of person, the fandom harassers, don't we? You know where this is going. Outing herself did nothing to stop the harassment. No one was willing to read the book, much less examine how her sexuality and gender might have influenced her when writing it.

So some time later, Isabel deleted her social media. She is still alive, but "Isabel Fall" is not- because the harassment was so bad that Isabel detransitioned/closeted herself, too traumatized to continue living her authentic life.

Supposed trans allies were so outraged at a fictional portrayal of transness, written by a trans woman, that they harassed a real life trans woman into detransitioning.

It's heartbreakingly familiar, isn't it? Many of us in fandom communities have been in Isabel's shoes, even if the outcome wasn't so extreme (or in some cases, when it truly was). Most especially, many of us, as marginalized writers speaking from our own experiences in some way, have found that others did not enjoy our framework for examining these things, and hurt us, members of those identities, in defense of "the community" as a nebulous undefined entity.

There's a quote that was posted in a news writeup about the whole saga that was published a year after the fact. The quote is:

The delineation between paranoid and reparative readings originated in 1995, with influential critic Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick. A paranoid reading focuses on what’s wrong or problematic about a work of art. A reparative reading seeks out what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art, even if the work is flawed. Importantly, a reparative reading also tends to consider what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art for someone who isn’t the reader. This kind of nuance gets completely worn away on Twitter, home of paranoid readings. “[You might tweet], ‘Well, they didn’t discuss X, Y, or Z, so that’s bad!’ Or, ‘They didn’t’ — in this case — ‘discuss transness in a way that felt like what I feel about transness, therefore it is bad.’ That flattens everything into this very individual, very hostile way of reading,” Mandelo says. “Part of reparative reading is trying to think about how a story cannot do everything. Nothing can do everything. If you’re reading every text, fiction, or criticism looking for it to tick a bunch of boxes — like if it represents X, Y, and Z appropriately to my definitions of appropriate, and if it’s missing any of those things, it’s not good — you’re not really seeing the close focus that it has on something else.”

A paranoid reading describes perfectly what fandom culture has become in the modern times. It is why "proship", once simply a word for common sense "don't engage with what you don't like, and don't harass people who create it either" philosophies, has become the boogeyman of fandom, a bad and dangerous word. The days of reparative readings, where you would look for things you enjoyed, are all but dead. Fiction is rarely a chance to feel joy; it's an excuse to get angry, to vitriolically attack those different from oneself while surrounded with those who are the same as oneself. It's an excuse to form in-groups and out-groups that must necessarily be in a constant state of conflict, lest it come across like This side is accepting That side's faults. In other words, fandom has become the exact sort of space as the nonfandom spaces it used to seek to define itself against.

It's not about joy. It's not about resonance with plot or characters. It's about hate. It's about finding fault. If they can't find any in the story, they will, rest assured, create it by instigating fan wars- dividing fandom into factions and mercilessly attacking the other.

And that's if they even went so far as to read the work they're critiquing. The ones they don't bother to read, as you saw above, fare even worse. If an AO3 writer tagged an abuser/victim ship, it's bad, it's fetishism, even if the story is about how the victim escapes. If a trans writer uses the title "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter" to find a framework to dissect rainbow-washing the military-industrial complex, it's unforgivable. It's a cesspool of kneejerk reactions, moralizing discomfort, treating good/evil as dichotomous categories that can never be escaped, and using that complex as an excuse to heap harassment on people who "deserve it." Because once you are Bad, there is no action against you that is too Bad for you to deserve.

Isabel Fall's story follows this so step-by-step that it's like a textbook case study on modern fandom behavior.

Isabel Fall wrote a short story with an inflammatory title, with a genesis in transphobic mockery, in the hopes of turning it into a genuine treatise on the intersection of gender and sexuality and the military-industrial complex. But because audiences are unprepared for the idea of inflammatory rhetoric as a tool to force discomfort to then force deeper introspection... they zeroed in on the discomfort. "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter"- the title phrase, not the work- made them uncomfortable. We no longer teach people how to handle discomfort; we live in a world of euphemism and glossing over, a world where people can't even type out the words "kill" and rape", instead substituting "unalive" and "grape." We don't deal with uncomfortable feelings anymore; we censor them, we transform them, we sanitize them. When you are unable to process discomfort, when you are never given self-soothing tools, your only possible conclusion is that anything Uncomfortable must be Bad, and the creator must either be censored too, or attacked into conformity so that you never again experience the horrors of being Uncomfortable.

So the masses took to Twitter, outraged. They were Uncomfortable, and that de facto meant that they had been Wronged. Because the content was related to trans identity issues, that became the accusation; it was transphobic, inherently. It couldn't be a critique of bigger and more fluid systems than gender identity alone; it was a slight against trans people. And no amount of explanations would change their minds now, because they had already been aggrieved and made to feel Uncomfortable.

Isabel Fall was now a Bad Person, and we all know what fandom spaces do to Bad People. Bad People, because they are Bad, will always be deserving of suicide bait and namecalling and threatening. Once a person is Bad, there is no way to ever become Good again. Not by refuting the accusations (because the accusations are now self-evident facts; "there is a callout thread against them" is its own tautological proof that wrongdoing has happened regardless of the veracity of the claims in the callout) and not by apologizing and changing, because if you apologize and admit you did the Bad thing, you are still Bad, and no matter what you do in future, you were once Bad and that needs to be brought up every time you are mentioned. If you are bad, you can NEVER be more than what you were at your worst (in their definition) moment. Your are now ontologically evil, and there is no action taken against you that can be immoral.

So Isabel was doomed, naturally. It didn't matter that she outed herself to explain that she personally had lived the experience of a trans woman and could speak with authority on the atrocity of rainbow-washing the military industrial complex as a proaganda tool to capture progressives. None of it mattered. She had written a work with an Uncomfortable phrase for a title, the readers were Uncomfortable, and someone had to pay for it.

And that's the key; pay for it. Punishment. Revenge. It's never about correcting behavior. Restorative justice is not in this group's vocabulary. You will, incidentally, never find one of these folks have a stance against the death penalty; if you did Bad as a verb, you are Bad as an intrinsic, inescapable adjective, and what can you do to incorrigible people but kill them to save the Normal people? This is the same principle, on a smaller scale, that underscores their fandom activities; if a Bad fan writes Bad fiction, they are a Bad person, and their fandom persona needs to die to save Normal fans the pain of feeling Uncomfortable.

And that's what happened to Isabel Fall. The person who wrote the short story is very much alive, but the pseudonym of Isabel Fall, the identity, the lived experiences coming together in concert with imagination to form a speculative work to critique deeply problematic sociopolitical structures? That is dead. Isabel Fall will never write again, even if by some miracle the person who once used the name does. Even if she ever decides to restart her transition, she will be permanently scarred by this experience, and will never again be able to share her experience with us as a way to grow our own empathy and challenge our understanding of the world. In spirit, but not body, fandom spaces murdered Isabel Fall.

And that's... fandom, anymore. That's just what is done, routinely and without question, to Bad people. Good people are Good, so they don't make mistakes, and they never go too far when dealing with Bad people. And Bad people, well, they should have thought before they did something Bad which made them Bad people.

Isabel Fall's harassment happened in early 2020, before quarantine started, but it was in so many ways a final chance for fandom to hit the breaks. A chance for fandom to think collectively about what it wanted to be, who it wanted to be for and how it wanted to do it. And fandom looked at this and said, "more, please." It continues to harass marginalized people, especially fans of color and queen fans, into suffering mental breakdowns. With gusto.

Any ideas of reparative reading is dead. Fandom runs solely on paranoid readings. And so too is restorative justice gone for fandom transgressions, real or imagined. It is now solely about punitive, vigilante justice. It's a concerted campaign to make sure oddballs conform or die (in spirit, but sometimes even physically given how often mentally ill individuals are pushed into committing suicide).

It's a deeply toxic environment and I'm sad to say that Isabel Fall's story was, in retrospect, a sort of event horizon for the fandom. The gravitational pull of these harassment campaigns is entirely too strong now and there is no escaping it. I'm sorry, I hate to say something so bleak, but thinking the last few days about the state of fandom (not just my current one but also others I watch from the outside), I just don't think we can ever go back to peaceful "for joy" engagement, not when so many people are determined to use it as an outlet for lateral aggression against other people.

[whynotreinventmyselfeveryday]

I love those posts/polls where you can tell the author has not for a second considered that the person interacting with it might not be from the us

[callie-the-creator]

insomniac

sfw. warnings: reader is fmab, mentions of kira and his murders, l can’t sleep, etc.

author’s note: i miss l so much. :(

l sat in his characteristic crouch on the edge of his chair, fingers entwined, eyes intently focused on the monitors before him. the task force headquarters was dimly lit, the flickering screens casting a bluish hue across the room. he had spent countless hours reviewing evidence, piecing together clues, and trying to identify kira, but the elusive criminal mastermind continued to evade him. l won't rest or, at the very least, he refused to. his main focus consisted of two things: keeping y/n— his girlfriend— safe and away from any danger and catching kira (l had dedicated the past few years to the investigation pursuing kira), a figure known to kill those whom he deems morally unworthy of life.

so many criminals have died.

his mind raced with possibilities, tracing and retracing steps, connecting and disconnecting dots. his suspicions often circled back to the same few individuals, but without concrete evidence, he was trapped in a maddening loop of speculation. he needed proof, something tangible that could lead to an arrest. the gnawing uncertainty kept him awake, denying him the rest his body craved.

as the hours dragged into the early morning, l's eyes, bloodshot and weary, drifted to the cot where his girlfriend, y/n, lay sleeping. her presence had been a rare comfort in his life, a steadying force amidst the chaos. she stirred slightly, her breathing deep and rhythmic, oblivious to the turmoil that raged within him. "y/n...?" he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. he wasn't expecting an answer; he just needed to hear the sound of her name, something to anchor him to reality.

she groaned softly, her eyes fluttering open to meet his. "hmm...whaaaat?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. it was clear she wasn't pleased about being woken up, but she tried to focus on him nonetheless.

l hesitated, his mind teetering on the edge of a precipice. he knew what he was about to ask could shatter the fragile peace they had, but he couldn't suppress the question any longer. "would you betray me?" he asked.

y/n blinked, her drowsiness giving way to confusion. "what are you talking about?" she inquired, pushing herself up on one elbow. "why would you ask something like that?" she added.

l’s gaze remained fixed on her, searching for any hint of deceit, any flicker of guilt. but all he saw was a concern, her eyes wide and earnest in the dim light. "i’ve been thinking…” he began, his voice steady but laced with tension, "about kira, about the people who might be capable of such things. and it occurred to me that...i don't know if i can trust anyone anymore." he said, sadly.

she sat up fully, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, her hair all messy. "l, you know me," she said softly, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. "we’ve been through so much together. how can you even think i would betray you?" she questioned, despite knowing very well that l had every right to not trust her. after all, he was the head of the investigation and thus the arch nemesis of kira. he must remain vigilant, it is all he can do to ensure his safety.

"i don't know what to think anymore…” he admitted, his tone betraying the depth of his internal struggle. "i just…can't afford to make any mistakes. you know that.” he sighed. this was the last conversation that he wanted to have with y/n, despite it needing to be addressed.

y/n reached out, her hand covering his. "listen to me," she said firmly, her touch grounding him. "i am not kira. i would never do anything to hurt you or anyone else. you have to believe that." she partially pleaded with him. if they wanted to put their relationship on ice because of this minor bump in the road, then so be it, but y/n is sure that it would only result in hurting them.

l’s eyes softened, the storm within them momentarily calmed by her words. he wanted to believe her, to cling to the hope that at least one part of his life remained untouched by kira's darkness. "i want to believe you.” he said quietly, "but i can't let my guard down. not even for you,” he said matter-of-factly. “i’m sorry…”

y/n sighed deeply. she then slid out from under the warm blankets, her bare feet meeting the cold floor with a shiver. standing beside him, she gazed down at him, his hunched form bathed in the eerie glow of the computer screens. leaning down, she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, her lips lingering there for a moment before she ran her hands through his unruly black hair. "can you at least come to bed then?" she asked softly.

the night had stretched on for far too long, and the first light of dawn would soon pierce the gloom. l shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling almost imperceptibly. "don’t know," he replied, his tone detached and distant, eyes never leaving the monitors.

y/n let out a small, plaintive whine, her worry for him bubbling to the surface. she wrapped her arms around him from behind, pulling him into a tender embrace. "please?" she murmured, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. "you need to rest. just a little while…”

l felt the warmth of her breath against his skin, the comforting pressure of her body against his back. for a moment, he allowed himself to be still, to feel the weight of her concern and the depth of her affection. he glanced at her, then at the clock on the wall, the numbers blurring slightly in his tired vision. his gaze returned to her, meeting her pleading eyes. "fine," he said finally, his voice tinged with reluctant resignation before mustering a small, almost imperceptible smile. "but five minutes is all you’re getting."

[trippinsorrows]

10 things + r. reigns

authors note: so, a lot of this stems from convos with the lovely @fearlesschimera where one tree hill was brought up. and i loved me some nathan and haley. plus, i'm loving everything about this otc era and needed to write something about it now vs having to wait with my other stories cause we ain't there yet lmao

might be a part two. idk if this even makes sense tbh

words: 3.1k

warnings: none, really? some language? kayfabe story.

There are exactly two sides to Roman Reigns.

The good side and the bad side. 

And Nova Reigns has experienced them both with an unfortunate increase in the latter versus the former. 

She can pinpoint exactly when it started, too. 

When things started to get difficult again.

2020. COVID. While the world was an absolute mess, chaos and death occurring globally every day, her husband of over ten years wasn’t much better. He’d decided to stay home, not wanting to risk bringing home anything that could put her pregnancy with their first daughter, Arabella, Bella as they affectionately called her, at risk. 

It was also so he could figure out just what the hell he was doing with his career. Roman was frustrated. Tired of going along with what was always told of him instead of doing it his way. And it’s why when he returned back to work that summer, he came back a completely changed man. Bigger, stronger, meaner.

This was a different Roman Reigns. The likes of which the WWE had never seen.

And it’s been a ride ever since.

Up and downs along the way. 

A lot of ups up until WrestleMania 40 where after 1,316 days as the undisputed universal champion and unable to let go of a betrayal from so many years ago, Roman lost. He lost his title and something so much deeper that night.

His sense of self.

Nova did the best she could in the months he’d been off to keep his spirits lifted, to support him, often encouraging Bella to ask her dad to do stuff with her even when Nova technically could. Asked him to care for their two year old daughter, Camillia, Cami, as she worked from home, something she’s done for almost the entirety of her post college career. 

But most importantly, Nova worked to help Roman repair the relationship with their oldest son, Roman Jr., RJ, as they’ve called him since the day he was born.

To say the relationship is awful would be an exaggeration. No, it’s just…..fragile.

A fragility that Nova has tried so hard over the past couple of years to strengthen to no avail. A large part of the issue being the fact that her twenty year old son is just as stubborn as his father. Twins, she often calls them. Similar heights, build, personalities, etc. 

Great when they want to be. A pain in the ass when they don’t need to be.

A painful situation all around though, especially when she thinks back to how this all started, to how someone like Nova ended up with someone like Roman.

And it’s a simple answer, really.

He was an idiot.

Well, when it came to English, that was.

Once upon a time ago, Roman wasn’t the massive WWE superstar that he is now. He was just Roman Reigns. The typical, popular jock of their high school. A football player with the stereotypical ego to match. And she was just Nova, the geeky underclassmen who always had a secret crush on the boy she never thought in a million years would look her way.

And truth be told, if not for the fact his coach threatened to bench him if he didn’t raise his English grade, he probably never would have. Hell, she’s certain the only reason he knew she existed was because she was the best and smartest kid in class, so of course their teacher would recommend her for a tutor. 

The answer was initially no. Not necessarily because she was opposed, but more because her crush on him was too big to not get distracted. Even though his jerkish tendencies should have done just that. 

But Roman has always been charismatic and persistent, and before she knew it, she’d agreed. And that agreement changed everything because it showed her for the first time the nice side of Roman, the side that secretly loved music and was surprisingly good at math. The side that struggled with feeling like he’d never be good enough or live up to his family’s athletic reputation both in football and wrestling.

It made her realize and see that Roman was just as human as everyone else. 

It made her fall in love with him.

And that was rocky, too. Navigating his constant struggle of wanting to admit his feelings for her while also being embarrassed about her and wanting to hide their relationship. It created a fair set of conflict, and Nova shed her fair share of tears.

Especially as she sat on the floor of her bathroom, plush, purple rug cushioning her bottom but not the blow that was the two lines on the pregnancy test in her hands. But, seven months later, with her mom on one side and Roman on the other, she shed a different set of tears. Different kinds of tears.

Happiness.

Happiness at welcoming her first child into the world, Roman Reigns Jr. 

RJ

Being teen parents, especially at the tender ages of 16 and 18 was most definitely nothing like it was depicted on the reality shows. It was rough, especially as Roman started college, opting to stay local to help her raise their child as she finished her senior year. They fought, they argued, they disagreed, but at the end of the day, they still loved.

And it was that love that carried them through the rocky years of Roman trying to figure out just what he wanted to do with his life as Nova worked a job and raised their son while pursuing her degree in software engineering. She also stayed local to benefit from the help of her family while chasing her dream. It was rough, it was hard, but they did it.

Even with having to be on food stamps and financial assistance at times to take care of their child, Nova struggling to enter the male dominated workforce of tech and Roman not always having consistent income, they did it. 

And they were happy.

They still are. Just….not like it used to be. 

Nova still loves her husband with all of her heart and soul. They’ve been through too much together for her to ever really leave him, but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t cross her mind from time to time. Especially over the past four years, watching him almost revert back to that bully from high school as he manipulated and mentally abused his family, his cousins, his lifetime best friends so much so that the Bloodline he worked so hard to create crumbled right before him.

And it’s only deteriorated since he lost the title to Cody Rhodes. Solo had turned on Roman, brutally kicked Jimmy out of the Bloodline and invited in non-family. Week after week, taking shot after shot at her husband, his cousin, his flesh and blood. 

Going so far as to take the sacred ula fala and declare himself the tribal chief. An honor that was bestowed upon Roman by the elders of his family. It finally reached a point where Roman had enough, making his grand return at SummerSlam and preventing his once enforcer from taking the very title Roman still believes is rightfully is. 

He’s made intermittent returns since then, each one proving just why Roman Reigns is being considered one of the greatest of all time, even while still in the middle of his career. His aura is unmatched. The sales don’t lie. The numbers don’t lie. 

The OTC is WWE. 

But, Roman has been a bit on edge since he was unexpectedly jumped by his other cousin, Jacob, Solo’s latest dangerous addition to the Bloodline.

Nova especially knows he was even more pissed because she’d taken the girls to his show that night, at his request.

He hates looking ‘weak’ in front of him, despite the fact that both were too consumed in kids' devices to pay attention. But, she was. And if anything, it was hard for her to see him be attacked like that, all alone. 

No one in his corner.

Jey’s moved to Raw.

Jimmy is still trying to figure out if he even wants to come back.

Solo has lost his damn mind. 

Sami…..no comment.

And Paul is still recovering from his brutal assault by the new Bloodline. 

The island of relevancy has a population of one. And while that one is formidable as all outdoors, he’s still just a man.

Granted, as much as it pains her to see Roman go at this alone, it’s hard for her to feel all the way bad for him. He did this. His actions drove his family away. 

Well, not all of them.

“Game!” Bella’s soft voice pulls Nova from reflecting on memory lane as she redirects her attention to where her son sits on the sofa in Roman’s locker room, Cami on his lap, grabbing his phone.

RJ chuckles, unlocking the iPhone and asking, “what you wanna play?”

Cami gasps and claps her hands. “Cookie!”

“Cookie Kingdom?” RJ asks, clicking around on his phone and handing it to her. “There ya go, lil’ bit.”

Nova’s smile is warm as she reflects on what feels like so long ago. “I remember when you were that little.”

RJ looks up at her, and it never ceases to amaze her how much he looks like his father. Complexion a little deeper, melanin he inherited from her, but outside of that, Roman could never deny paternity. 

He sucks his teeth. “Mama, don’t start that.”

“What?” Nova pouts, leaning back into the sofa, Bella tuned out of the conversation as she watches Bluey on her tablet. It’s always a bit funny to her how uninterested these kids just are when it comes to seeing Roman at work.

At least, not until he’s actually in their line of vision.

“You’ll always be my baby.” Because he will. Twenty and over 6ft tall or not, he’s her baby boy. “And speaking of baby, what’s going on with you and that girl you been dating?”

RJ rolls his eyes and adjusts Cami on his lap. He’s so good with his little sisters. “Nothing.”

Nova smirks knowingly, picking up on the faint hit of redness on his cheeks. “Sure don’t seem like nothing.”

“Mama, she’s just a friend.”

“So ya’ll aren’t sexually active?”

RJ turns up his nose, clearly disgusted. “Ma, how you just gon’ ask me that?”

“Because I’m your mama and not ready to be a grandma, and your daddy would kill you if you were to get a girl pregnant halfway through college.”

It’s not missed upon Nova how the mention of Roman seems to completely dampen his mood. RJ rolls his eyes. “Like he cares at all.”

His comment hurts her. Deeply. “RJ….”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you.”

She ignores that apology, wanting to focus on the initial comment that has her stomach knotting for all the wrong reasons. “Your dad loves you, Junior. You have to know that.”

There’s a slight delay in his answer, and that alone is enough to make Nova know she needs to talk to Roman again tonight about actually talking with his son. A below the surface level conversation. A heart to heart.

“I know that, mama. I do. It’s just….” RJ blows out a breath and shakes his head. “You know how he is.”

She does. Very well. “You can say it. He’s an ass sometimes.” She’s so grateful for the headphones on Bella’s ears and the deep infatuation Cami has with her brother’s phone.

“You said it. Not me.” Mother and son share a laugh, RJ admitting, “I know he means well.”

“He does,” she agrees. “But, that doesn’t mean he can’t do better. I’ll talk to him again.”

RJ immediately looks like he feels bad, which only makes Nova’s chest ache more. “You don’t have to—”

She lifts her finger to silence him. “You’re my son. He’s my husband. I love you both, and it kills me to see ya’ll like this. I’m gonna do what I can.” And that’s a vow. The three of them have been through too much shit over the years for her to just allow the relationship between the two most important men to fall apart. She won’t let that happen. 

She can’t.

And speaking of, the door to Roman’s locker room opens, her husband walking in looking every bit as strong, powerful, and determined as he looked when he interfered yet again with Solo’s match and especially as he closed the door of that cage and challenged Jacob. 

Nova shifts in her seat, the memory bringing up other kinds of feelings which are entirely inappropriate given the presence of her children.

Cami is the first girl to notice him, lifting up her little arms and reaching for him, nearly dropping RJ’s phone in the process if not for his quick reflexes.

He most definitely got that from Roman as well, because Nova has not an athletic bone in her body.

Roman walks over and takes her from RJ, kissing her cheek, gaze almost reluctantly falling on RJ. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Nova starts to scold Roman for such a cold introduction to their son they haven’t seen since he left for his sophomore year of college over a month ago. “Mom asked me to.”

She’s good at reading between the lines, picking up on the fact that he’s essentially saying he’s only here because of Nova.

Not Roman.

Roman notices this, she’s sure. He’s a perceptive bastard. But, he says nothing. “How’s school?”

“Fine.” 

“RJ.” And her son can be a petty bastard. Like father, like son. She directs her statement to Roman, “I was thinking we could go to his game tomorrow—”

RJ, however, is quick to dismiss this. “You don’t have to.”

Nova’s gaze on Roman allows her to see the hurt that flashes in his eyes at the rejection. But as has been the case lately, he pushes it aside, replacing it with indifference. “You heard what he said. He doesn’t want us there, so we wo—”

“That’s not what I said.” RJ leans back against the chair and shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head, clearly frustrated. “You always do this. Always hear what you want to hear.” He scoffs, head turned, muttering, “I see why everybody left you.”

Nova gasps. “RJ!” She sees it, the hurt that’s just tripled and is about to be expressed in anger, leading to another big blowout between the two of them. Thankfully, this is the moment Bella finally becomes aware of Roman’s presence.

“Daddy!” She pulls off her headphones, climbs off the sofa and runs over to him, hugging his legs. 

Roman doesn’t hesitate to pick her up, both daughters in his arms as Nova leans over, running her hand through her fresh silk press. This. This is what she wanted to avoid. These are the kinds of situations that leave her in tears as she vents to her therapist about her ever growing stress levels, how torn she feels in what to do in moments like this. 

Roman is her husband, but RJ is her son. Neither is fully right, but neither is fully wrong either. How does one handle that?

Thankfully, it’s not long after that Roman is being called to prepare to get back out in the ring. This means a probably needed separation from the two titans in her life. Nova holds Cami this time, while Bella hangs onto RJ as they’re escorted ringside. 

It takes a bit of persuasion to get RJ to agree to come with her. She can see he’s ready to just leave.

But, reminding him of how big a help he is with the girls seems to win him over because while he’s certainly not in the best of places with his dad, RJ is a mama’s boy through and through. He loves him some Nova and would do anything to help her. 

Even if it means helping her with the two siblings that came as a complete shock to him.

It still makes Nova laugh a little as she recalls the horrified and almost disgusted expression on his face as she and Roman broke the pregnancy news to him.

“I didn’t even know ya’ll still did that.” And if his statement wasn’t bad enough, he just had to add insult to injury as the blunt almost 16 year-old he was at the time. “Ain’t ya’ll kinda old to still be freaking?”

No. 

Never that.

“Daddy!” This time it’s Cami who’s calling out to Roman, recognizing his new music before he even emerges from the back looking as badass as he always does. Nova is temporarily in a state of awe, overhearing Bella asking RJ to hold her so she can see better. 

Roman has come so far, done so well for himself, even with things with his family being a hot ass mess, there’s still no denying he is it. That he has it. It’s undeniable. She almost feels bad for Cody.

He’ll always be stuck in Roman’s shadow. 

The thought makes her suddenly curious about what could be one of the reasons behind the strife between her firstborn and husband. Nova tucks this in the back of her mind, planning to discuss it further in therapy.

As Roman moves into the ring, Nova stands on the sidelines, holding her baby girl on her hip, smiling back and forth between the two. She watches Roman move around the ring on their commercial break

And when his gaze falls on the set of them, her heart swells as he mouths ‘I love you’ before seamlessly transitioning back into that hardened, determined expression.

And this is why there’s two sides to Roman Reigns. The good side being the one that she sees in that brief, vulnerable exchange. The one that used to kiss her pregnant stomach as he confided in her his fears about not being a good dad, about feeling not ready, about worrying about failing in life. 

Failing her. 

Failing himself.

Failing their child.

The man who worked so hard and gave everything his all to prove he was someone, becoming that someone, yet somehow losing something in the process.

Nova knows it’s still in there though, knows that he is still the boy he fell in love with many moons ago. She knows that as frustrated as he makes her, as cold he can be, as disconnected he can seem, that love is still there and just as strong. 

And she’ll fight for it. 

For him. 

For their son.

For their family. 

She has to.

[deathblacksmoke]

too sweet

pairing: matt dierkes x f!reader

cw: fluffy little drabble — cuties in love, bordering on so fluffy i might pass out about it, unprotected p in v sex, mentions of rough sex

word count: ~900

author's note: needed matt fluff, wrote matt fluff 🩷

title from “too sweet” by hozier.

It feels a little possessive, the way he slings an arm around your shoulder and pulls you flush against his side.

He’s always a little arrogant and you love that about him. There’s a bit of softness that it seems is reserved for you and you only — a quick temper when he snaps at one person or another, but always tender when he turns his attention back to you, eyes sparkling and smile wide, ready to take your hand in his again.

His face is painted with a smug expression when you look over at him — he’s so gorgeous, and as you study him, it occurs to you that the possessive nature of his hold is probably something closer to pride.

It matches your own. You love being his.

Whatever this thing is between the two of you, it’s still so fresh. Your skin still heats everywhere he touches you, your heart still races, and you wonder if it will ever stop feeling like that.

You take a moment to wonder distantly when he’ll ask you. It feels like such a big scary thing, but you want it. You feel so at peace, here with him, where he sees you and listens to you. He flies you out, shirks his responsibilities for the afternoon so he can be the one to pick you up from the airport with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. He makes you feel special.

He moves so quickly from bossing the guys around to glancing over to you, expression softening, hand raising in a small wave. You melt for him, watching the show from the balcony behind his booth. The best spot in the house — you can watch him work.

He spends his entire off day letting you drag him around a city he’s been to a thousand times, letting you stop him time and time again to take his picture. You want your photo library full of him, to look at when he’s gone from you. He never complains, not about you.

You want him to ask.

You’re taken out of your thoughts just in time to watch the moment he catches you staring, his smile widening as he pulls you closer, placing a kiss to your forehead.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his tone playful.

“Nothing,” you respond, too quickly to be believable but he doesn’t push it. You lean your head against his shoulder, getting as close to him as possible, pleased to have the conversation another time.

You know him well enough by now to know that a switch has flipped in him, too.

You aren’t used to it like this — blanketing your body, whispering soft and sweet praises in your ear as he rocks gently into you. There isn’t a part of you that isn’t touching, which isn’t out of the ordinary—

But what you’re used to is different, on your belly for him with him draped across your back, or gripping your hips so tight there are bruises that stay for weeks, head shoved into the pillow and filth spewed at you. And you love it like that, the way it juxtaposes itself with how sweetly he treats you in the moments leading up to it and the moments following. The way he’s always too sweet for you even when he’s calling you names and turning your cheeks a ruddy red.

It feels different this time, as he has your hands in his grasp above your head not to restrain you, but to hold them. To keep you close. He lets out the smallest gasp when you lace your fingers through his, placing breathless kisses to your lips.

It’s bliss.

Bliss when he slides his hand between your bodies, the angle awkward for him with how he refuses to put any more space between you than is absolutely necessary but managing to pull your orgasm from you as expertly as he always does.

He looks at you like he’s in love, a look you’ve never known as well as right now — you don’t know what to do with that, as he’s draping himself over you again and placing kiss after kiss all over your face before spilling inside of you with a whimper.

“Fuck—” he groans. “I fucking love you.”

And your head swims.

You consider not bringing it up, letting him clean you up with such care, not speaking a word. Maybe it was a heat of the moment thing, and you can be okay with that.

But as he gathers you into his arms, face pressing into your hair and inhaling, you have to ask.

“Did you mean it?” you ask him, feeling suddenly shy and uncertain. You’re so scared he’ll say no, feeling your hands trembling before he takes them in his and turns you to face him.

His face says it all, but he just nods, seeming shy and uncertain himself.

“Couldn’t ask me to be your girlfriend first?” you inquire, mostly a joke although you can’t help but find his order of operations amusing. He always has been a little unorthodox.

“I thought that was implied,” he shrugs, making you laugh at him. “Isn’t it?”

Thinking back through every moment you’ve spent with him, all the time he’s spent treating you so nice and making you feel so loved, while you spent it wondering when he’d finally ask you.

He’s been yours all along.

You nod, settling back comfortably into his embrace. “I love you too.”

tagging: @concretenoah @circle-with-me @darksigns-exe @ladyveronikawrites @throwingmetothelions @baddestomens @thatchickwiththecamera @abiomens @lma1986

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

[xdjville]

wayv and their own love languages

pairing: wayv x gn!reader

cw: mentions of sex in winwin's (only in words, no descriptions), yangyang (half)jokingly being a hater in xiaojun's, proof read but i'm tired

author's note: i had to physically stop myself from getting carried away with kun's so it wouldn't end up twice as long as the others man i love him

#kun

quality time

if it wasn't for kun being so busy, he would literally be glued to you at the hip. only with you around he's able to truly relax, you're like a power outlet that he can use to charge his battery. what you're doing doesn't really matter to him that much, he will enjoy anything as long as you're there, but the slow, quiet moments when you're both in your own worlds have to be the ones he cherishes the most. of course, he loves going out with you and having a blast too, but something about those occasions brings him a sense of domesticity and really lets him unwind. like when you're both in his studio - him at the desk, composing or working on lyrics, while you're on the couch in the back with your laptop, focused on your own tasks, the silence being broken only the few times that kun asks about your opinion on whatever he came up with, or when you stand up to get a drink and place a kiss on his cheek as you walk by. or it could be him cooking dinner for the two of you, showing off his skills as you sit on the counter, humming quietly to his playlist playing in the background. every now and then he'd turn around to give you a piece of the food he's making for a taste test, repaying each good idea of how to improve the dish with a kiss.

#ten

thinking about you

ten is pretty much thinking about you every second that he's awake (and sometimes in his dreams, too), he's never not thinking about you. he often gets reminded of you by random things, whether because he thinks there's a visual resemblance (he then usually sends you a photo and a "you lol"), because it's something you like, or because it's somehow connected to a shared memory of yours. he brings you up in conversations a lot too, to the point where some of his friends seem to know you quite well without having actually met you. when he's travelling, he always takes many photos to send you along with voice messages about how his day went, and buys souvenirs or little trinkets to gift you when he's back. on the rare occasion when he's grocery shopping on his own, he makes it his mission to find all of your favorite snacks, which more often than not gets him distracted from the list you had put together for him, so you end up with a bunch of candy and no dinner (which is exactly why him shopping alone is a rare occurance). he also really likes putting together playlists with songs that remind him of you, some of them he'll send and give you access to, but there's also a few he made private which he listens to on days when the longing feels worse than usual.

#winwin

"i love you"

to most, it might seem like not that big of a deal, but to winwin those three words hold more meaning than all other existing ones combined. a meaning that's so important and valuable, binding even, that he uses them carefully and scarcelly in order to not abuse them. for most of his life they were reserved only for the closest family members, then, although in a different sense, also for his fans. saying them romantically for the first time was a whole new sesantion to him, and to be honest it still feels a bit foreign and uncomfortable. not because he doesn't love you, that he sure does and he makes sure to show that in other ways, but actually saying it out loud just makes him feel so bare and out in the open. hence his "i love you"s are usually muttered into the crook of your neck when you're pressed together after making love, breathed against your lips when he breaks the kiss only for a second so you can't see his face gaining more color than it already had, or whispered into your ear as he gently strokes the back of your head, your tears soaking into his sweater.

#xiaojun

sharing

xiaojun doesn't really do this purposefully, as a way to show his affection, it's just that the concept of "mine" and "yours" genuinely doesn't exist in his mind when it comes to you. want a bite of his food? it's yours as much as it's his. out of moisturiser? you probably use the same brand anyways. really like that one hoodie of his? might as well have been yours in the first place. he never expects the same behavior in return, he's totally fine if you value your privacy and he makes sure that you understand each other's boundaries, but he never lets go of that "what's mine is yours" mindset either way. xiaojun really enjoys showing you off ("shoving your relationship into people's faces", as one german boy likes to call it), so you wearing his clothes or jewelry is his absolute favorite thing ever. he then stares at you with heart-shaped, sparkly eyes, a wide, lovesick grin on his face, and the tips of his ears burning red (to the german boy's disgust).

#hendery

being vulnerable with you

very few people get to see the other side of hendery than the cheerful, quirky self that he usually is. the side that's exhausted and afraid, that pains and ugly cries. a lot of doors have to opened to reach it, but he trusts you more than anything and anyone, ever. he doesn't think he could be any more real and unfiltered as he is with you, it's almost like it's more comfortable than when he's all alone. when you're there, he can just let everything go and express his feelings in a way that's most true to himself, without faking or conceiling anything. all those nights he spent crying because of his past, present, and future, because of his fears and scars and sorrows, you've been there for him. and although in the morning when you're tangled in your sheets with puffy faces and dry skin either of you knows better than to mention whatever was said that night, he's truly, deeply grateful, and each time he makes a promise to himself that one day he'll tell you that.

#yangyang

kissing

yangyang's nothing if not a kiss person. it's his favorite thing in the whole world, to be able to just connect your lips until he forgets his own name because yours is all he can think about. little pecks, french kisses, make out sessions, spiderman kisses - you name it, he loves all of them and they're all his favorites, as long as it's you who's on the other end. you often try to push him away because you just ate something with garlic, or because you have yet to brush your teeth in the morning, but none of that really matters to him. in fact, he cherishes every sensation that comes with it, be it a taste of what you ate, the feeling of your dry lips when you forget to put on chapstick, or a string of saliva that keeps you connected after you pull away - god, that one makes him go weak in the knees. he especially likes when you take the initiative, it makes him feel loved and all warm inside (he would never admit that though). and if you lead the kiss, maybe a bit riled up from something happening at work or because you've missed him? oh, he's a goner.

#taglist ➼♡ @bambisnc

©xdjville

[ellewritesalright]

Nine Long Years - Part 7

Nikolai Lantsov x Rietveld!reader, Kaz Brekker x sister!Rietveld!reader (platonic)

Part 6 --- Masterlist

Synopsis: After watching your brothers die, you found yourself working on the Volkvolny. In the many years since then, you somehow became the queen of Ravka while your brother somehow survived firepox and life in the Barrel, rising through its ranks. In disguise during a diplomatic trip with your husband Nikolai, you meet Kaz Brekker for what you think is the first time, only to find out that he is your long-thought-dead little brother.

Author's Note: Well... long time no see. I'm happy to finally share this part. it's been several months in the works since I have been very busy with college. So thank you to all who have stuck around. This part takes place around the start of the Ruin and Rising book, and is a fair bit shorter than the last few parts have been (btw I can't believe I've written over 40k words for this series) but I hope you all like it. I went a bit easier with the angst than I expected by giving these two a slight break

Warnings: mentions of death, angst and fluff, mentions of sickness, injury, panic attacks, firepox. If I'm missing something pls lmk

Word Count: 3,570

……….

SIXTH YEAR

Genya's handiwork stung. Though she was fixing your injuries, the nature of her Corporalki abilities was that she had to undo your injuries in a similar process as their infliction. You tried not to complain as she treated your fractured and cut shoulder, but you were still swallowing back a scream. Tamar ran a soothing hand along your head as she and Tolya held you down.

"Hold still for me." You could vaguely hear Genya say.

You gave a slight nod, all you could manage at the moment. The pain was excruciating. There was fire all along your shoulder blade and up and over to the corner of your collarbone where the Darlking's nichevo'ya had clawed at you. Like sticking a red hot iron to flesh. You were biting down so hard on the handle of Tamar's axe that you thought you might break a tooth. The Tailor's hands hovered over your shoulder and your body jolted but Tolya tightened his grip.

Everything was dark. It never occurred to you how musty and dank an underground tunnel system would be. You'd never considered a place like this could even exist. But here you were, below ground, in the darkest, dankest little "room" you'd ever been in. And no amount of candles or incense trays staved your new fear of the dark.

When you closed your eyes, you could see Nikolai. The way his eyes frantically found yours across the room. How he screamed when his brother was torn apart by the Darkling's shadow creatures. The silent nod of understanding as you guarded Alina while he helped his parents escape.

You wondered where he was now. With any luck, Nikolai escaped on the Kingfisher. He was safe and sound and able to fight the war while Alina and the rest of you were all underground. He had to be safe. Saints above and below, by the grace of Ghezen, and on the holiness of even the Fjerdan god, he had to be safe.

Because if he wasn't, you simply wouldn't know what to do. 

You felt the pain end, and you glanced back at the trio of corporalki behind you.

"There," Genya spoke softly, easing her hands away from your shoulder. "This is about all I can do. The scarring doesn't go away completely."

Her eyes dropped in shame, one of the scars on her cheek pulling as she frowned slightly. Tamar and Tolya had released you, and you sat up. You gently took Genya's hand, giving her a grateful smile.

"You've healed me to full strength, and that's all that matters," you said kindly. "Thank you."

She smiled back at you.

……….

Time blurred together underground. You were still guarding Alina, and you'd constantly accompany her through the elaborate tunnels. You didn't trust the Apparat running this little underground cult. He had come to Alina's aid, that was true enough. But there was no doubt in your mind that the snivelly, power-hungry little man had some ulterior motive. Nikolai had told you about him many years ago while at sea.

"The religious counsel to my father is a weasel of a fellow. That man would bite the head off a live snake if it meant he would gain control of a single chapel, let alone the whole of Ravka," Nikolai said of the Apparat. 

You could only hope Alina wasn't the snake in this case.

You worried for your sun summoner. It was no wonder that you all looked worn after your fight with the Darkling, but most of you had healed up despite your weariness. Yet Alina didn't seem to recover. She had lost use of her summoning in the past few months. It was difficult to say if that was because you were so far away from the sun, or because of the strain from her last fight with the Darkling; either way, you'd never seen her look so pale and sickly. 

"It doesn't seem like anything helps her," Mal worriedly whispered to you one evening as you two ate off to the side of the usual huddle your group maintained. "Not water, or food, or any sort of activity."

"She probably just needs sun," you said, trying to ease his mind. "Once we figure out how to escape this place, we'll get her above ground and she'll be better."

"What if that's not all? When she fought the Darkling--"

"Don't think on it, Oretsev." You cut him off. "That's no way to be, with your worrying. We'll get her out, and she'll get better. That's it."

Mal let out a long sigh and went back to eating.

Your words had carried conviction. You had no idea how your group would escape, but you didn't mention that. It was all you could do to lift your friends' spirits, even though you were as unsettled as you'd felt since you were a girl in a Ketterdam harbour.

In the evenings, you roomed with Tamar and Tolya. Often sleeping between them, their breathing--and Tolya's snoring--reminded you that you were alive and somehow safe, no matter how temporary.

But even so, the dank underground smelled like death. It was like you were back on the cobbles of Ketterdam, seeing your brothers in every corner of every dark cavern in this place. They haunted you, even here. And, with no one to distract you from them, no one to hold you and reassure you that you weren't at fault for their sickness, their ghosts dogged you all hours of the day.

There were a few children underground, and sometimes when they'd cry you could just feel the sobs your baby brother cried against your shoulder when Da had passed away. You could taste the sick you emptied into the harbour after you lost your brothers. 

It occurred to you that maybe this was your lot in life; maybe you were just meant to be haunted. You were plagued, for lack of a better word.

You couldn't count how many times a day your mind strayed to Nikolai. Worries or memories would surface, and you were unable to stave them just as you couldn't stave thoughts of your family. Truthfully, you didn't want to keep them at bay anymore. If you could die tomorrow and join your brothers, you would rather die with Nikolai in your thoughts than with nothing but fear and grief dogging your brain.

The anger you'd harboured for Nikolai had vanished. Your grudge seemed so insignificant now that you were separated like this. Everything seemed insignificant when you were trapped in a tomb.

At night the only reprieve you had from all the ghosts was when you'd finally fall asleep, your fingers clutching Nikolai's ring on the chain around your neck. 

……….

When you and your friends finally surfaced again, it was a mad dash escape from that weasel and his cult. 

You were running through some forest with them. You had no idea where you surfaced, all you knew was that it wasn't just the Aparat's cult after you, but a sect of Vasily's old Grisha-hating First Army. The soldiers were hot on your tails as you dashed through the trees. Tolya and Tamar were on your right, Genya was to your left, and Alina and Mal were slightly ahead of you. Shots were being fired behind you, and you weaved and ducked to avoid bullets as you ran aimlessly. Some of the Grisha you were travelling with used their skills to take on those in pursuit of you, but there were too many of them. 

Just when it felt as though you would never make it out of this forest and away from the soldiers, you heard a familiar shouting of command. Repeat revolvers starting gunning from above, and you grabbed Genya and ducked to the side as the Kingfisher flew overhead, taking out your remaining foes. 

It was all a blur as the flying ship landed. Your mind was whirring as Genya helped you to your feet, guiding you to the ship. You watched the others climb aboard, then you took your turn as well. As you clutched the wooden rails, you remembered the last time you'd been on this vessel, how you fell asleep below deck, curled up against Nikolai.

Nikolai.

As soon as he reentered your mind, your head was whipping around to catch sight of him, for surely he was here. It didn't take you long to hone in on him. He was speaking with Mal, grim expressions on both of their faces. Alina was there too, guzzling down a water flask; she looked automatically healthier now that she was out of the dirt and into the sun, but still not at full strength. Your eyes went to Nikolai again, and he seemed to be glancing around as well. When his eyes locked on yours, you swore you almost started to cry. The tension in his brow loosened, his strong shoulders relaxing for a second before he quickly excused himself from Mal and Alina. He strode directly over to you, bracing you in a hug. You clutched him back, face bundled in his chest as he gripped you so tightly.

There was a long moment in his arms as you embraced, but you both needed it. You'd gone months without knowing if each other were alive, much less alright.

"Thank every Saint that ever was," Nikolai chuckled in relief as he held you. He leaned back, bracing your arms. He noticed the rip in your jacket where the nichevo’ya had cut up your shoulder in the chapel. While the cult was able to provide a new shirt and trousers for you, there'd been no replacement jacket for you underground. "That's no good. Here." 

He shed his military coat and slung it over you. He dusted off the sleeves as you just stood there watching him. You'd almost forgotten how warm his hazel eyes were.

"Are you alright?" He whispered, his hands still holding to your forearms almost as if reminding himself that you were really there in front of him.

There was no way to tell him about your time underground, about the scar on your shoulder and the feeling that maybe your whole life was just haunted. It took everything in you to reply with hope.

"Better now," you whispered back, nodding softly.

He smiled regretfully at you. You knew him well enough to know that he had something to say, but you weren't going to pressure it out of him. The last time you'd seen him you were still upset with him over his engagement–something that felt inconsequential now. Months away from him had turned your anger to dust, and now you just wanted to wipe clean and move on as best as you could--with or without him.

Nikolai looked at you for a moment, then hugged you again. He whispered something in Kerch, an old saying that you could remember your Ma and Da saying to one another when you were younger and your world was a farm and a family that was whole.

"My soul knows no richer than yours," he muttered into your ear, speaking your native tongue in his pretty lilt.

You teared up slightly. Your hand made a weak fist against his chest as you replied in Kerch. "You're infuriating."

"I know." 

He cupped your cheek, and you leaned into his palm, staring at his soft hazel eyes.

"Go below deck, and I'll join you in a moment, alright?" He whispered kindly.

You nodded and made your way below. It took Nikolai longer than expected to join. There were others below deck, a few injured Grisha and Nikolai's First Army soldiers being tended to. You watched bones being reset, blood being transferred, and breathing assisted. You flinched as one of the soldiers coughed up blood, making a hauntingly familiar noise. Just as you looked away for fear of nausea, a hand grabbed yours. Nikolai had sat down beside you, and he gave your hand a comforting squeeze.

He let you lean into his side as the two of you sat there in silence.

……….

The Kingfisher flew for nearly a half hour more, but Nikolai stayed with you below deck until they had to dock the flying ship. When you arrived at the Spinning Wheel, there were lots of Grisha-friendly First Army there to greet everyone. The rescued were all led to different rooms, and as someone approached you to get you settled, Nikolai murmured something to them. They nodded and helped you through the winding hallways. You were given a bedroom with an adjoining bathroom, and you wondered what you'd done to earn a private space like this. Surely many people at the Spinning Wheel had to share rooms. 

Once you were alone, you shed your dank, dirt-covered cult clothes and discarded them in the bedroom while you ran a bath for yourself. 

As you sank into the warm water you let your mind settle. It felt odd to feel safe again. After your time below ground, you didn’t know when you’d feel this way again, but you were grateful it was now.

There was a soft knock on the bathroom door, and you heard Nikolai's voice.

“I took your clothes to the washers and brought you clean trousers and a shirt. I'll leave them just outside the door here for when you're finished your bath," he said kindly.

"Thank you," you called out, your voice slightly unsteady. 

The thought of Nikolai on the other side of the door made your heart race. There was something about the moment that felt distinctly like your first trip to West Ravka back when you began to know him more as Nikolai than Sturmhond. The separation by only a door felt as excruciating as it used to feel watching him get into bed beside you without being able to reach for him. Prudence and politeness governed you both so strictly back them, and it had taken reign once again.

You shut your eyes and tried to relax some more in the bath, but your peace had shattered at the thought of Nikolai being so near yet so out of your reach.

You huffed to yourself as you got out of the bath and dried off. You took the clothes Nikolai had left for you and dressed yourself. The layers of soft white linen were slightly thin, but certainly not unappreciated. After months in the same clothes that you were rarely allowed to wash, you were overdue for something clean and fresh. 

Without realizing it, your feet carried you to your bedroom door. It wasn't as though you knew where anything was in this place, but you twisted the knob and stepped into the hallway anyways. You made it two steps before you realized he was there, leaning against the wall beside your door.

"Hi," he said, blushing slightly.

You nodded at him. "Hi."

"Can we talk?" He asked, his eyes earnest.

You nodded again, stepping back into your room and letting him follow.

There were no other chairs or seating in the room, so you sat on the edge of your bed.

Nikolai sat a respectable distance beside you. "I wanted to tell you that--what's this?" 

His eyes were on your shirt's wide collar, where the edge of your shoulder scar peeked out. You hooked a finger into your collar, pulling it to show a bit more of the scar as you angled your back to him too.

"Oh… it's from the nichevo’ya. One just barely nicked my shoulder as we first escaped into the tunnels." You felt a slight sting as he gently grazed his thumb along it. You relished his touch and the reminder that he was alive and with you so much so that you didn't even mind the sting. "Genya says it's permanent."

"I should have been there," he murmured.

You shook your head, turning back to look at him. "No, I'm glad you weren't. You needed to be above ground."

"I should have been with you." His eyes had that earnest look crossed with slight guilt.

"You had to get your parents to safety and rally what was left of the First Army, Nikolai."

"I wanted to be with you." He said as he held your hand, interlocking your fingers. "You're the woman I love, and I thought of you every second of every day I wasn't with you. Saints, I need you more than I need air."

You leaned closer to him, pressing your forehead against his collarbone. It wasn't meant in any romantic way, more just as a silent way to express that you loved him too, that you cared deeply for him. He brought his one arm around your shoulder as the other still held your hand.

"That's why I'm not going through with it," he said, and you could feel the rumble of his words against your head.

"With what?" You whispered.

"The engagement with Alina."

You leaned back slightly to look in his eyes. "What?"

He thumbed along your cheek. "Once the war is won, Alina and I will not be getting married. She and I have spoken already."

"But what about the unification of Ravka and the first and second army?"

"That can happen some other way." He looked deeply into your eyes. "But once we've won this war, I only want one thing."

You sighed and gave him a sad smile. "Niko–"

"Will you marry me?"

Your breath caught in your chest.

There was a time you thought he would ask you this, before you landed in Ravka more permanently, before you got launched into this war against the Darkling. But you knew he still had his ambitions.

"Is it because your brother's dead? Because you're guaranteed to be king now?" You asked.

He sighed and shook his head. It was hard to tell if he'd expected any apprehension from you. "It's because I love you. More than anything else I could ever think of. When I first arrived at the Spinning Wheel, everyone else whined about the cold of the mountains or the fact that they missed tea service and their evening kvas, but all I missed was you." He gently squeezed your hand. "Every day I spent not knowing if you were safe, if you were alive… I could barely sleep, barely eat… You're all I could ever want."

The look in his eyes was reminiscent of his soft yet resolute stare when he’d placed that crown on your head. It felt like a lifetime ago that he whispered honey in your ears and you listened without a shred of apprehension. But right now this wasn’t honey. This was raw. This was real. This was Nikolai in a state of total resolve. And you knew you wouldn’t be made a fool if you accepted him.

"I am all you want?" you whispered in response, your lips curling upwards slightly.

"You are. I want to spend my life with you," he smiled. "Will you marry me?"

“Yes." You nodded, a full smile forming on your lips. “I'll marry you. Of course I will.”

Nikolai broke into a grin. He cupped your cheeks and kept grinning at you, his eyes locked with yours. “Saints, I love you more than anything.” He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, then dipped down to capture your lips.

It was the first you’d kissed him in months and months. Truly, you hadn’t felt his lips on yours since before you’d crossed the fold. It ignited a forgotten hunger in you, and you kissed him back with a deep longing.

“I missed you,” he murmured as you pulled back for a moment. You noticed tears in his eyes. “I was so stupid, and I’m sorry for how I treated you. I never should have proposed to Alina, or made you feel like I only wanted you in secret. I want you, I’m proud to want you, and I never want my love for you to be a secret. I want you as my queen–my truest companion, as you have always been. I just… I want you.”

You kissed him again, wrapping your arms around him. You leaned so far against him that he rested his back against the headboard, bringing you with him. You missed the closeness with him, the intimacy of being pressed into his body as you kissed. Your fingers threaded into his golden hair as you sighed into his soft lips.

“Do you forgive me?” He whispered and you took in a breath.

Your fingers idly traced the skin right above his shirt collar. “I’ll forgive you once you get me a ring and make it official.”

“I gave you a ring years ago, my dear.” His finger went to the chain around your neck, and he pulled it loose from under your shirt, making his old silver ring dangle between you. “One could argue that we’ve been engaged all this time.”

“Then one could also argue that you were most definitely cheating on your fiance when you proposed to someone else,” you smirked at him.

“Ouch. I deserved that,” he chuckled.

He cupped your face again, his palms warm against your skin.

“I’ll get you a new ring. Something regal and fit for the most beautiful queen Ravka will ever know, moi tsaritsa.”

You smiled and leaned down to kiss him again. “Good.”

..........

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment on this new part--I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in this series or to be added to the Nikolai taglist please comment on this part or send me an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Masterlist

Taglist: I will reblog this part with the tags because there's too many of you to tag and tumblr won't let me do it all at once :)

[starlightshadowsworld]

Heroes of Olympus but when Jason returns to Camp Jupiter, he's pissed.

He doesn't cower at the sight of his camp but stands taller. A steelness in his eyes no one at Camp Half Blood has ever seen before.

But one those in Camp Jupiter know all to well.

"Twelth Leigion Fulminata, stand at attention."

He doesn't even need to raise his voice as every single Roman demigod stops what their doing to look at him.

The only thing on their faces is fear.

"Oh would you look at that, you do know how to follow orders." Says Jason, strolling forward and.

Two centurions scramble to get a seat for him, Jason sits down nodding in thanks and dismissing them.

"Does anyone care to explain, just what the fuck has been going on here in my absence?"

Octavian raises a hand and Jason snorts.

"Augur, why am I not suprised? The floor is yours."

Octavian nods, a grin on his face and began to explain what had occurred.

All the while Jason listens, his expression giving nothing away. When Octavian finished, Jason sighed loudly and ran a hand through his hair.

"If there's one thing I can't tell you idiots off its for making my life boring. Your dismissed...actually one last thing Augur?"

Octavian paused, turning back around to face Jason. "Yes, sir?" Jason frowned "wipe that smug look off your face before I do it for you."

Octavian went pale, all traces off amusement gone from his face.

"Thank you. Your dismissed, get out of my sight." Octavian left without a second word.

"Jason"

"Praetor Ramirez-Arellano"

Reyna winced, and she wasn't the only one. Jason never called her by her title unless they were in the Senate.

He was hurt.

"Do tell me, has Augur Octavian missed anything in his explanation?" Reyna shook her head, for as pretentious as he was Octavian had spoken the truth.

Jason rose to his feet.

"Oh but he did, he neglected to mention that there were 3 Praetors standing before us. Now, unless the rules have changed their are only supposed to be 2."

Jason looked past Reyna, his gaze resting on Percy who waved awkwardly. "State your name."

Percy, feeling very much like he was intruding in on something answered him. "Percy Jackson."

Recognition flashed in Jason's gaze, and he softened momentarily. "Percy Jackson, son of Posideon? Formerly apart of this Camp?" He asked, gesturing to his orange Camp Half Blood top.

"Yup."

Jason nodded "apologises, Jackson. Your friends and I traveled here, you may wait in the Senate. I will release them to you momentarily." Percy grinned "thanks, erm... Sorry about all of this I really didn't know."

Jason held up a hand "that's quite alright, you are not at fault for this." Percy left and Jason's smile vanished.

"Tell me, when did the Senate allow for a new Praetor to be reinstated? And why someone so new? I'd get if it was due to an it emergency field promotion, but that wasn't the case."

He couldn't even look at her and it hurt.

"I thought you were dead, Jason.

Jason laughed, but there was no humour in it. It sent chills down everyone's spines.

"Really? Than please, show me the search parties, point me to the evidence you collected that bought you too such a conclusion. For that matter, where's my funeral pyre?"

Jason shook his head, anger and sadness in his eyes. "Don't bullshit me. You didn't think I was dead, you didn't even look. And frankly I don't think you cared too."

He looked Reyna in the eye. "You replaced me, with a Greek. I get shit for being named after a Greek hero, but none of you had a problem with this. You wanted to replace me, Reyna. I'm sorry it didn't work out for you."

He shook his head, turning his back on her.

"Jason, wait I-"

"We have several guests at our gate that we need to welcome. I've already had their weapons checked but you've proven how little you trust my authority so you might want to hurry up on that."

And with that he left to the Senate.

Jason swapped his outfit with Percy who apologised once again.

"Really man, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault. My Leigion had been trying to get rid of me since the day I showed up. Unfortunately for them, I'm more valuable alive than dead." Explains Jason, Percy frowned.

"Well, fuck em." He grinned when Jason laughed in suprise. "You are definitely something else, Jackson." Percy grinned wider "see you're learning fast. I think we'll be good friends you and I."

Jason raised an eyebrow "you sure? Most of my friends stab me in the back." Percy nodded, a sincerity in his eyes that made Jason almost believe he wouldn't.

It felt too good to be true.

"Well, I'll just have to prove you wrong." Percy put a hand out "Percy Jackson, son of Posideon and former Praetor." Jason shook his hand. "Jason Grace, son of Jupiter and current Praetor."

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

[frvnkcastles]

hey i hope ur okay! 🥰

can i ask frank castle x reader?

reader is two months pregnant, but one day she goes out with her friend and fights with her. When she gets home Frank is waiting for her in the living room, but she starts to have a panic attack and ends up having a miscarriage? ...and Frank helps her

I'm sorry if it's so specific, I love your writing and I really trust you to write this! (if you like it and feel comfortable, of course ❤️)

FOLLOW ME DOWN ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: After a fight with your friend, you go home to Frank for comfort only to end up in the throes of a panic attack and, what’s worse, a complication in your pregnancy.

Warnings: Miscarriage, hurt/comfort, panic attack, feminine nicknames

Word count: 1.7k

Author’s note: Anon, I can’t tell you what it means to me that you said you trust me with this! I really hope I did your request justice, and I’m sending so much love to you and anyone who may have experienced this <3

You prided yourself in always being an understanding, open-minded friend who could be relied on, who was all ears no matter what the problem was, and you didn’t handle conflict all too well. Somewhat of a mediator, you rarely put yourself in a confrontation, and always attempted with all your might to keep things civil and peaceful — so, needless to say, arguing with your friends or other loved ones was not a common occurence.

And yet, on a Saturday that was supposed to be fun and a way to unwind, you and your friend of many years ended up having the most heated fight you had had, possibly ever. In hindsight, it was difficult to even remember what had sparked the fire or what had fueled the flames, but it had ended with you storming out of the diner you had met up in, wiping away tears while driving back home. You had been so excited to catch up, to tell her all about your progressing pregnancy and relationship with Frank, and it could not have gone worse.

You found comfort in the fact that Frank would be at home, waiting for you. The fight had left you wounded and fragile and he always knew what to say, how to make things better, and he was good at calling you out if necessary, with the gentlest of ways, of course. He understood you in a way that no one else did, and he was excellent at helping you piece together whatever had been broken.

It was his never-ending love for you that had helped you confess to him that you were pregnant, because God surely knew you had had reservations about it. It hadn’t been planned in the slightest, and you knew that Frank’s past was going to impact his feelings about it, understandably. Yet, when you had come forward and meekly admitted that you were secretly really happy about it and wanted to keep the baby, he had reacted better than you had anticipated and hugged you tightly. He was, of course, anxious but he hadn’t hesitated to agree with you and insist that he really wanted it, too.

Arriving at home, you slammed the door shut harder than you had meant to, and Frank flinched on the couch where he had been mindlessly watching a hockey game. You quietly apologized for the noise, and as you awkwardly kicked your shoes off, Frank sat up straight and observed you and your defeated face. Your belly wasn’t too much in the way yet, but you still struggled to bend down and put your shoes in the right place, though before Frank could shoot up from the living room and do it for you like he had begun to do with everything, you managed.

”Didn’t think you’d be back so soon, sweetheart”, Frank commented, gently probing. Even though he didn’t come right out and say it, he could tell something was wrong; it was written all over your face and your unusually quiet mood. He frowned, watching you closely as you staggered into the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water, one that you didn’t quite get to finish when your hands began shaking and tears pooled in your eyes.

Once your sniffles filled the silence, Frank was up in no time. He made his way to you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist while he spun you around and tilted his head down to meet your eye. One of his hands came up to your face, his finger tenderly lifting your jaw despite your feeble attempts to pull away from his exposing hold.

”What happened, sweet girl? ’M right here to hear ya out, whatever it is”, he reassured, his voice firm and gravelly and more than capable of tearing down your defenses. Bursting into loud cries, you buried your face in his chest and he quickly hid you in his protective embrace, quietly shushing you.

”We had a fight. It was so—so stupid, but she got so mad and I just… I had to get out of there”, you sobbed, hiccuping and fighting for air. Frank caressed your hair, trying to get you to calm down, but you only escalated from there.

In a blink of an eye, Frank’s tight hold on you went from comforting to panic-inducing, and your breathing picked up. An uneasy tightness gripped your chest and you started to spiral, struggling to inhale and exhale and your head spinning, forcing you to pull away from Frank and bend over the countertop.

”Hey, hey, sweetheart, look at me. It’s alright, it’s gon’ be okay. Just breathe with me, yeah?” Frank instructed, effortlessly recognizing the tell-tale signs of a panic attack, his hand on your back as he lowered himself to your level. He made a dramatic gesture with his hand to mimic the flow of air, and locking eyes with him, you tried your best to follow his lead. He could see the fear in your stare, but he willed himself not to chase you down that path. He was usually pretty good at that, keeping himself controlled and calm, even if you were the total opposite of that.

”Just like that, attagirl. Keep goin’. You’re doin’ so good”, he praised you, giving you a solemn nod to confirm that you were doing exactly as he wanted you to. Slowly but surely, it did start to feel like you were regaining charge of yourself, but before the terror could completely subside, you felt a sharp pain in your abdomen.

Groaning in agony, you doubled over, your breathing growing erratic once more. ”Frank—Frank, something’s… something’s wrong”, you stammered, holding your belly as the pain seemed to only grow.

No longer as calm as he would have liked, Frank’s instincts kicked in. He quickly grabbed his boots from the doorway and pulled them on before snatching his keys from the kitchen counter and then reaching you again. ”I’m gonna carry you, okay, sweetheart? I’m takin’ you to the hospital”, he spoke, his words shaky but his hands unwavering as he lifted you into his arms. You cried out, your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to keep the panic attack at bay, but it was proving to be impossible.

Frank buckled you in his truck and then jumped behind the wheel, wasting no time in rolling into motion and heading straight for the hospital, all the while telling you to breathe. You were writhing in pain on the passenger seat, holding your stomach and trying your hardest to keep breathing, despite how imminent your doom felt. Your head hurt and there was an invisible anvil on your chest, and in the moment, you weren’t sure you’d make it.

Speeding only enough to get you to the hospital as swiftly as possible but not enough to endanger you even further, Frank held a steel grip on the wheel. His heart was pounding and he felt sick to his stomach, but for you, he tried to keep himself together — even if he was fearing the worst.

Things moved quickly from there, as it didn’t take the nurses long to figure out they were dealing with something serious. You were sedated and wheeled away, and Frank was left pulling his hair and pacing back and forth in the waiting room. As soon as you were out of his hands, he lost his cool and broke down into tears, his palm covering his mouth as he leaned against the wall for support. He had hovered over you the entire pregnancy, always on the lookout for any threats, but he couldn’t have prepared for this.

Midnight arrived by the time you woke up. You were groggy and your head felt like it had been filled with rocks, but your weary eyes slowly grew accustomed to the dimly lit room you had been taken in, with the machines around you beeping and, most importantly, Frank seated by your side. He was holding your hand and keeping it against his mouth, needing any part of you close to him. At first, you smiled at the sight of him. But you quickly saw the redness in his eyes and the despair on his face, and it got you to shake your head, refusing to believe what his expression was telling you.

”Don’t tell me”, you whispered, your eyes filling with tears as you watched him wipe his own face and give you an apologetic look.

”They tried their hardest. But it was too late”, Frank spoke quietly, his voice hollow and dejected as it filled the room with the painful truth. Sobbing yet again, you hid your face in your free hand, and with a sniffle, Frank kissed the back of your hand repeatedly, his way of consoling you without words — because truthfully, he didn’t know what he could have possibly said to alleviate the hurt you both shared.

”I’m so sorry”, you cried out, ”I’m so sorry, Frank.” That was your first instinct, to apologize for reeling him in and signing him up for more pain. He had already lost two children, how could you possibly make up for adding another one to that list? You felt like you could drown in the regret and shame, even if you had done nothing wrong, and he tried his damnest to help you understand that.

”It ain’t your fault, baby. You hear me? You haven’t done anythin’ wrong. You’re perfect, aight? Perfect”, he emphasized, leaving no room for argument as he met your sorrowful gaze. He was heartbroken, too, but he would have never blamed you for this. ”I still got you. And we’re gonna get through this together”, he added, squeezing your hand.

For a moment, you just sat there in silence, mourning together like you would be doing for a long time, but eventually there was a knock on the open door and you looked up to find your friend standing there. She looked so small and sad, clearly ashamed of your fight, and you felt the same way. Frank kissed your hand once more before getting up to give you a moment, and as he left the room, your friend walked over to the seat he had abandoned.

She whispered an apology and you instantly opened your arms to invite her in for a hug. She dived into your hold and you embraced carefully but with feeling, both of you feeling the urge to mend your bond and get past the argument you had had.

You had been torn down and reduced into a mess, but you knew that with your friend and Frank with you, you could rebuild.

[kwwallen]

❀skinship with xdinary heroes

gn!reader x xdh(ot6!)

genre: fluff (sfw)

warnings: -

words ~0.6

from the author: еnglish is not my native language, enjoy reading! (*´︶`*)ฅ♡

Gon il

Gunil loves skinship, but most often he is afraid to impose himself. He’s really scared that he might scare you away with his actions, so he’s always waiting for you to do it. when will he understand that you are comfortable... believe me, he won’t let you go just like that. well, you saw his hands?? I just want to say “strangle me in your arms!” I’m afraid he’s a really strong man and sometimes he may not calculate the force with which he squeezes you, but he can be understood and forgiven. I think my favorite time for skinship is the evening before bed, when you are just lying on the bed. rather, you don’t think about anything that happened to you during the day, but just try to relax

Jongsu

This cat loves hugs very much, although at first he was very shy. Now he himself demands that you be in his arms, even if it’s just the touch of fingers, it pleases him. sometimes he can rest his chin on the top of your head, muttering something barely intelligible, these are such intimate moments of your life. not the biggest PDA fan, but would never mind holding hands. he’s probably the type who will buy you a paired mittens for the winter(*´˘`*)♡

Gaon

very tactile, his hands will be everywhere! he always holds you by the shoulders or back. he just needs you to hold your hand. less often he puts his hands on his waist and hips. He is definitely the one who will walk into a room and ask “where are my hugs?!” He will also be offended when you are busy and do not pay attention to him. someone who will tease a lot! oooh, we all remember those moments at live shows where he supposedly cuts off the hand that Jooyeon is holding on to. he would do the same to you, I just can't, I think he likes to act sillyyyyyy.

O.de

touching occurs unconsciously, you don’t even notice it at first. Seungmin is quite calm, but as soon as he comprehends what just happened, his ears turn pink. he feels comfortable being with you and rather acts on instinct. as if he knows when you want to be touched and when you should refrain from it.

Junhan

this doesn’t happen as often as we would like, simply because he is very shy and afraid that you will be unpleasant. he may easily hold your hand and seem distant, but he is not. Khan is very pleased with such actions from you, he’s just embarrassed. Maybe this will pass over time when you trust each other even more. I advise you to be the first to take the initiative, I don’t think he will refuse. even though his face may not show any emotion, he really appreciates that you feel comfortable with him.

Jooyeon

Juyeon, I think, really likes skinship. he constantly holds you in his arms when you are near. needs touch and care, will give his love through them. he is the one who changes position of his skinship every 5 minutes, so it is impossible to stand quietly with him. he is the one who will giggle cutely in a hug and will also tease a LOT!! seriously every skinship attempt you make ends with either a tickle battle or him embarrassing you and you trying to move away from him. but he won't let you do it.

©kwwallen//copying and translation is prohibited

[cinnamonest]

Uwahhh ty anon <3 I had two other requests for more Xingqiu content as well so please appreciate this thought blurb I've had drafted for a while

Something I've been thinking a lot about is that not only is Xingqiu so incredibly petty and picky and controlling, but it's made so much worse by the fact that he lacks self-awareness of it.

Like, he's always been told by adults that he's oh-so-mature for his age, and he's internalized that, made it part of his internal self-image. Not to mention, becoming a successful author isn't something most teens his age have accomplished either — he feels very “adult,” like he's smarter, more conscientious, more considerate than his peers, and better than them for it too.

And it’s true that most of the time, he usually is all of those things, but this makes him entirely unaware of the ways in which he is, in fact, very much immature.

He's picky. He likes to have things the way he wants them. Part of why he fails to realize how picky he is, is due to the fact that all his life, he's usually had anything he wants handed to him, and anything he finds issue with resolved, and it all comes so easily that he's never considered that perhaps it doesn't go that way for normal people, and that perhaps he wouldn't be quite so agreeable if he was ever told “no,” that his agreeableness and easygoing nature is really just due to the fact that he's never faced with anything to be disagreeable about, a near-total lack of resistance to his will. Even outside his family home, usually waving around money or speaking his father's name is enough to get him what he wants.

And being raised in an environment where he's only ever known a marriage dynamic where one specific partner is completely submissive to the will of the other, he's not even prepared to conceive of anything short of it. After all, his parents arranged the marriage to begin with, surely they would pick someone just as agreeable as his mother.

He likes to pick what you wear each day. When the servants ask what you'd like to eat that day, he answers for you. When people ask questions about you, he answers for you too (although to be fair, in those social circles, they usually direct questions at him anyway, as if you're some animal that can't answer yourself).

He always tells you what you'll be doing, where you'll be going for the day, never asking for your preference — it quite literally simply does not even occur to him that you might have one.

It's not malicious, and he's got that usual cheerful and easygoing demeanor about it all, but it's a clear total disregard for your personhood nonetheless, even if not intentional or conscious.

But you can tell there’s a certain degree of stubbornness in him. It comes out the moment there’s any resistance to his will, when there’s a moment where something can’t go exactly as he wants. It’s never directed at you, at first, since you have done everything in your power to comply, but you notice it coming out towards others — that time one of the family servants had to inform him they didn’t have something he asked for because a shipment was delayed, or when they tried to stop the two of you from leaving because his father needed to speak with him first, so on and so on. The sudden change in expression, tone, body language. Crossed arms and heavy irritated sighs, frustration in his voice — deliberate, a tone he knows will only make the poor family servants that much more apologetic. Maybe he likes feeling that power over them, you think.

The first time he hears no from you, though?

He doesn't even really know how to process it. Just a blank stare of stupor, a few blinks, the usual gentle smile hasn't even faded from his face.

…Huh? Come on, get up, like I said, we're leaving…

He reaches down to grab your arm — and you pull back. You swat his hand away. You cross your arms and clench your jaw and say that word again — no.

And there's a long, long pause.

…What?

You feel his hand wrap around your arm, this time too quick to pull back. He says it again, a tone that's merely confused, not angry, still in a state that's struggling to comprehend your resistance.

What are you doing? I said—

And you interrupt him.

You jerk out of his grasp. You scowl and tell him he can leave, that you're staying home, that you're mad and need time alone. You turn on your heel and start to walk away.

Once again, you feel his hand wrap around your arm.

Only this time, it's harsh.

And this time, it jerks you backward with a force that slings you down onto the ground.

There's a few seconds of silence. You hear his heavy breaths from the exertion of the movement.

You don't get to say something like that.

His words are still not angry, per se. Not harsh, more disbelief, almost intonated like a question.

Likewise, his expression and tone aren't ominously dark like some might be. It's more of a scoff, stubborn and still somewhat baffled. More petulance, rather than outrage.

And there's that same shift in expression and posture — the crossed arms, brows furrowed in disdain.

Really, what's gotten into you?

It's said more quietly, almost like a hissing sort of voice, grumbly, bitter. You're still in too much of a daze from the fall to react beyond a surprised grunt when you're pulled back up onto your feet, a few quick swipes of his hands dusting your off and smoothing our your clothes, only for him to notice a newly-formed tear in the fabric from the harsh movement. You get another exasperated sigh.

Now we'll have to have someone fix that…

This time, you're drug forward with force, a firm grasp on your wrist, a subtle threat that this time you ought not pull back.

And this time, as your feet stumbled forward in compliance, your obedience is clearly a source of satisfaction, based on the shift in his expression, the soft hum of contentment. Now that you, like everyone else, have bent to his will, as everything does with enough pushing.

It's good that whatever came over you was over so quickly. That was very unlike you.

Still, of course, he's going to be a bit cold and petty about it for a day or so, and you just know you'll get yet another overbearing mother-in-law lecture when he inevitably goes whining to her about your behaviors like he always does, always getting her to try and teach you how to behave properly, rectify any perceived flaw he finds with you, like a child begging Mom to repair a malfunctioning toy.

Can't have you thinking you could ever do something like that again. You really need to be more mature, he tells you. You can't always have things go the way you want in life.

[astrum-naut]

no escape

characters: yandere! league of assassins head! damian wayne x healer! Reader

summary: you were just a medic. nothing more, nothing less. but, the league’s current heir seems to think otherwise.

content warnings: power dynamics / power imbalance (head!damian, healer! reader), technical child abduction and labor, kidnapping, implied murder, unhealthy relationships, co-dependency (?), jealousy

word count: 2k 

Always remember that this is a work of fiction and everything written does not fully encompass and describe Damian Wayne’s personality and character. Feel free to send in asks / questions / clarifications / thoughts about the work.

You didn’t know what your life would be without Damian Al Ghul in it.

It was a bold claim to make considering he might have not regarded your existence any importance at all. From the moment you were born, your utmost priority was placed on his safety and overall well-being - as you showed an innate talent for advanced healing magic. The Al Ghuls desired the best, and with your forebears dwindling in numbers - they were willing to place their chances on the nearest child who showed potential.

It wasn’t a complete nightmare as outsiders made it seem - the only few you could interact with anyway. In the outermost region of Nanda Parbat that bloomed with herbs, elders would tell tales of warning whenever you were about to return to the base. A bittersweet smile is what you could only offer in members, obligated to to swallow the reality being a healer has to offer. The duty of aiding wounded members was already enough, but their stories of bloodshed was part of the ordeal you had to accept.

As times have passed, so did the eventual rise of the heir. If you were being any honest, you found him to be a bit of a brat. There was no denying his skills or swordsmanship. but as a child who grew beside him, you couldn’t exactly read his mind. You didn’t know where you exactly stand with him, but it doesn’t matter in the end. There was a level of authority and cockiness whenever interactions were required between you two, and you were only obligated to fulfil your part as a medic.

If you were being any more honest with yourself, during the late nights wherein other girls your age talked about mundane topics, you would admit that you found some level of attraction towards him. Your choices were already slim since you barely left the palace and the interactions you have with the assassins were limited. But, as your mind grew hazier throughout the night, you would almost have to lie to yourself if you didn’t think about his green eyes that shone like emeralds - or his broad form that barred scars of battle wounds as he grew of age.

Your perception of him was a convenience, something to help pass the time whenever you yearned for a legitimate life outside the walls. You never actually thought of pursuing any kind of relationship with him, a ridiculous thought to even entertain at the position you were in. A mere service person is what you are, a staff at the abode - not a potential bride or lifelong partner. 

It was a mindset that helped you at least cope with the thoughts of love swirling in both your heart and mind. Yet, it doesn’t help numb the pain you feel in your chest as one of your colleagues announces an upcoming bridal showcase for Damian’s future spouse.

—

“Feeling down about the announcement, (Y/N)?” One of your colleagues, Farah, coos as she tidies up the clinic. You remain silent, focused on organizing the medicinal herbs gathered earlier in the day. Your affections for Damian wasn’t exactly a secret, but it was well-maintained enough by your co-workers. It was like a passing conversation whenever something serious was not occurring within the day.

The other staff who were in the room giggle discreetly and you finally scowl. “Why are you even acting like we’re in a secret relationship or something, it’s not even that serious.”

They ignore your heated words, shooting you playful looks or cheeky smiles. 

“Really? Don’t you find it odd that he was willing to accompany you during the latest scavenge for the items needed today? He’s never done that with us.” Leila pipes up, shoving Mariam for extra emphasis. The latter’s smile became even brighter, “Or the time the sanctum was under attack and he was looking for you first?”

You shrug the notion off, “I’m just one of the healers who can immediately heal him, there’s nothing more to it.”

The girls roll their eyes once more.

“Why are you so in denial about it? Haven’t you thought about the times he’s willing to go easier on us just because you were there? Or the small tokens or gifts he gave you from abroad? Or– or! The times he confided in you while you’re healing him?! He’s never even said anything similar to us unless it was to scold us while healing him!” Farah counts on her fingers comically and you’re tempted to laugh at her exaggerated expressions.

“Maybe the problem is he’s not available…” Mariam says loudly at the back of her hand, a  guffawed sound escapes from Leila.

“I don’t care if he’s available or not. He never notices me, and if I were really paying attention to his advances or not*–” You defend yourself before you’re cut off by their combined giggles.

“(Y/N)’s got it bad*–”

“I hope you’re spending an equal amount of effort delegating and prioritizing your job as you are in this gossip.” A deep voice booms throughout the chamber, and all of you stiffen as your eyes land on the speaker.

It was Damian, with his strong arms crossed and his heated stare pinned to you.

The others scurry off, finding sudden interest in leaving you alone with the heir. You swallow the tension building in your throat and find the words to say, “I a-apologize for our discussion. It wasn’t at all necessary, pardon our unprofessional behavior.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds and your life nearly flashes in front of you. He finally sighs and makes his way towards you, he takes off his green and gold garb as he gestures towards his arm. “I require the fixing of a laceration placed here. Make it urgent.”

You want the ground to swallow you whole, barely peeping out a sound in response to his order. Your hands hover for a few seconds as you try to ignore the swole of his upper muscles, his large biceps relaxed under your proximity. You don’t know if the heat of the atmosphere translates to your face, but you fight off the urge to think about his body further,

He doesn’t say anything, but you admit his judgemental gaze leaves you feeling unnerved. The Al Ghul's signature green eyes always held some kind of scrutiny behind the pretty color, and you were lying to yourself if you didn’t acknowledge how small you felt whenever any of their sights landed on you. You constantly felt like a prey that was meant to be devoured. 

You were being more dishonest if you didn’t wonder how it would feel if any emotion other than contempt or disappointment were to show in his eyes.

“What was the discussion about that it required you to be distracted on your duties?” His voice, god, his voice. It was articulated, like he was immediately ready to counter any of your arguments or excuses.

You pause for a split second, trying to calm your nerves. Why were you even nervous, anyway? It’s not like he knows your crush on him, even if he does - you’ll never be with him. If you were lucky enough, he would exile you from the palace and not decapitate you for entertaining such aspirations, unworthy of a healer born and raised alongside the legacy of assassins he was born into.

“Unrelated endeavors to your obligation to heal our fellow comrades, I presume? ” He cuts into your thoughts, your mouth left agape at his suggestion. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as your heart pounds against your chest, “You are of age, it shouldn’t be much of a shock considering whatever looms in your mind. Although…”

Something swirls in his eyes as he speaks again, “I’m not the least bit gratified when you take your eyes off your duties, what lies in front of you with your capabilities and talent. I shouldn’t have to tell you this, considering your calibre. You should know better to read the situation to better gauge what’s happening around you. You must focus on what matters most, anything or anyone else is unacceptable.”

You sputter, exasperated at his statement. “W-what? I’d like to think I’m making an acceptable, even outstanding effort in my job. Have the hours or ages spent dedicated towards ensuring the league’s utmost safety and health not enough for you?”

He narrows his eyes at you and the phlegm builds in your throat, tightening your ability to breath.

When he was younger, he was privy to scoffing at the smallest of things, like a typical child under his stature would. He’s grown out of that phase with enough firm glares from his mother, shrinking to the power she withheld over him as his son - the few moments you would enjoy his slouched form and withdrawn eyes. You were used to his judgemental gaze over the sloppy techniques you performed, even grabbing your hands a few times to readjust the gauze or bandages you’ve placed on another soldier. 

Damian became older, but the feeling you received from the interactions never changed. You wondered if his mother would immediately decapitate her head from her signature sword after laying your calloused hands on her son, a form of retribution for all the years you’ve been trapped on the island. 

“Just know that you are lacking in your duty as of this moment and others that have come before it. If I had known that you were this distracted, I would have assigned you closer to where I can see your performance clearly. Many healers have spent their entire lifetime here, binded by other league members, and this circumstance is no different should I see you slacking off - engrossed over a matter more important than the mission - you should know I do not take kindly to those interfering with your loyalty to me. Do I make myself clear?”

The taste of blood floods your mouth and for a split second, you wonder if your end would be closer than normal should you decide to rip his laceration open. 

You don’t muster a response as he pulls your arm closer to him, searching your eyes for an answer with his emerald gaze. His grip was strong and firm, but it didn’t crush your limb when he decided to intimate you when you were both children. Even as he was seated, you were of equal height - and you were luckily enough he didn’t decide to tower over you as usual.

You were accustomed to these exchanges, but it didn’t stop you from trying to stop your tears bursting at the corners of your eyes.

Damian tuts, “Do you understand me, handmaiden? Or do you want me to make you see your errors more directly?”

“Understood.” You blurt out as fast as you could, your molars grinding against each other at the rage bubbling in your stomach.

He doesn’t speak again but you know it means more than you will ever understand.

He releases his hold on you and you try not to stomp towards the opposite direction, the feeling of his eyes on your form never fading. You could barely remember if the treatment was finished but you don’t even care anymore. If your death was near, you could eventually go out on your own terms. Maybe even try visiting the local village for some poison you could consume in your slumber.

But something in you disregarded that notion. Like you wouldn’t be dead for a long time unless Damian had something to do with it, whether you wanted it or not.

You didn’t know what the feeling was, but it was definitely not pleasant as goosebumps fluttering your skin. Was he that upset at your retort? It was hardly the worse way you spoke towards him. Even if that was the case, you would’ve been murked by both his grandfather and mother eons ago.

Still…

You weren’t an expert, but you were sure it wasn't irritation you felt raking against your form. 

[sugugasm]

𝟒𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄 — ft. geto suguru

· ₊ ⊹ synopsis — geto loses his virginity.

「❀」 word count ! : 2.7k

「❀」 pairing : geto x fem! reader

「❀」 content warning ! : minors do not interact, virgin killer! reader, soft dom geto, reader instructs geto :p, sort of whiny geto, pussy whipped geto, cowgirl, missionary, slight choking, blowjob, protected sex.

「❀」 author’s note ! : oh my god i’m so so excited to share this. i haven’t written anything for my bby in so long, excuse any mistakes, this hasn’t been beta read. i thought of this randomly after listening to subby asmr yes i did. so so sorry ab the ending, ik it’s rushed, but i needed to finish this </3 special thank you to @venusflytrapstar for helping my tiny writers block. ur a gem.

the majority of geto's evening seemed to be going well. your and geto’s anniversary was a success after a beautiful meal at your preferred restaurant—his treat—and a romantic stargaze in the hill where your first date occurred.

well, that is, up until the two of you made it back home.

without saying anything, you had left the room and entered the bedroom. he trails you in confusion, a twinge of anxiety in his stomach. he’d considered whether he might have upset you in some way, but as soon as he opened the door, a much more exciting surprise greeted him.

his girlfriend—you— naked.

“you look.. fucking beautiful.”

you lift your hands up to your chest, kneading your breasts in your palms as you eye his every move. geto doesn’t take his eyes off of you, his piercing gaze never leaving your own as you part your lips to speak, “and you look nervous. am i making you nervous, geto?”

you lift your hands up to your chest, kneading your breasts in your palms as you eye his every move. geto doesn’t take his eyes off of you, his piercing gaze never leaving your own as you part your lips to speak, “and you look nervous. am i making you nervous, geto?”

he swallows, “a little bit, yeah.” he laughed, masking the cracking pitch of his voice, before losing himself in thought. you were aware that he was a virgin. you knew of it months before you started dating. it’s not that he didn't want to—you were absolutely gorgeous—but he was afraid of looking like an idiot. he didn't want you to think of him as an immature, inexperienced loser.

but to him, that’s exactly what he was.

“why’re you nervous? scared you’ll cum too quick?”

well, that was one of the things on the list.

“very funny,” he utters. getting up from your position, you inch your way toward geto, pressing your bare chest against his clothed one. geto couldn’t hold back the sudden arousal sitting in his pants. his cock was practically petting your thigh, and it gave him goosebumps.

“you’re so hard. i can feel it.”

untying the draw strings of his sweatpants, you reach a hand into his boxers, rubbing and cupping his balls in your palms— heavy, “they’re so full, baby. why don’t we fix that, hm?” your question got lost in translation the minute you began to lower down onto your knees. as your skin hits the cool, wooden floor, you kiss him through his boxers. the gray fabric felt soft on your lips, but geto’s hard on simply ruined that.

geto had already reached his peak when you eventually stopped teasing him, leaving you with a stiff cock in your hand. he was big and quite girthy. pretty. his length was further defined by veins that protruded from the base all the way to the skin before his tip. geto was shuddering in your grasp, and although he was trying to shield it, you read right through him.

“god, baby. you’re so handsome like this. i should've done this a long time ago, don’t you think?” your teasing antics seemed to be successful. each syllable you spoke was accompanied by a little groan for the man above you. he had his arms resting beside him with his fist bawled in what looked like anticipation. he was waiting for you to make some sort of movement, but you wanted to take it slow tonight.

“yn, do something please,” he whines we’re humoring you. you begin to pump him at a slow pace. the pre-cum beginning to leak from his tip made the process all the more smoother, the self made lubricant giving you a boost.

“something like what? you have to use your words, geto.”

geto could almost roll his eyes at your games but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t making him fall apart. you hadn’t even stuck it in your mouth yet and he wondered how difficult it’ll be when he finally gets the chance to cram you full of him. call him a creep, but he always pondered about what it would feel like— your walls, gripping and pulling on him as you cry out his name for more, your tits bouncing with every thrust, and your body reacting to the pressure of an orgasm that he brought you too.

perfect, it would be perfect.

“in your mouth..” he finally answers. it was only a matter of time before your mouth met the tip of his cock, starting off with a slow lick to the slit. you then move to the base, kissing the skin near his shaft and moaning while doing so. geto didn’t know this, but you were getting more pleasure out of this than he was. you just couldn’t wait to see the look in his eyes when he empties himself in your mouth. and hey, depending on the playful mood you’re in, you might even tease him some more.

“you’re so pretty. so, so fuckin’ pretty.”

sappy. typical geto.

you suck on his cock as if it’s a pacifier, placing your hands on his thighs as you bob your head back and forth. the suckling sounds and your grip had geto stumbling back a bit, his hand finding the wall as he leaned back to watch you work your magic. he was as hard as a brick and your enthusiasm about it all wasn’t helping his case.

“wait, wait, wait, baby- fuck!”

you didn’t wait, you just kept going— and now, at a faster pace. you were gawking around him, your throat closing and then opening right back up again. it made everything worse when you made eye contact with him. geto was already in love, but this? this was heaven— his heaven.

“stop looking at me like that,” he mumbles, “i’ll cum soon-“

you release him to catch your breath and share a few words, “that’s the goal, baby. can you be a good boy and cum ‘f me,” you ask, swallowing him once again. as your throat grew accustomed to expanding and shutting around him, it became easier to take in more of him. with tears threatening to spill from your eye sockets, you squeezed your thumbs and did your best to get as much of him into your mouth as you could.

tiny crescent marks tainted your palms and the waterworks were rolling. geto hadn’t said a full sentence in a minute, making your eyes open to shoot him a glance.

and god, was he beautiful.

he hadn’t even gotten the chance to slip inside and he was already so sensitive. his eyebrows were furrowed, his bottom lip was sandwhiched in between his teeth, and his eyes had fallen just enough to look directly into yours. he hadn’t even realized how out of it he was.

you pull your mouth away from him to resume pumping him like earlier. with a drool covered mouth, you smile and politely say, “c’mon suguru, i know you wanna’ let it go.”

“fuck, fuuck! i do, i do. please make me cum, yn- shit!”

begging. it was exactly what you wanted to hear, and now that you’d achieved your goal, it was only right for your good boy to be rewarded, “yeah? i know you do. i can see it all over your pretty face. you’re so cute when you’re needy,” you giggle.

just then, geto started to fuck into your hand, desperate to finally unravel everything he’d composed. deciding to let him have this one, you allow him to ride out his orgasm. you’d done quite enough, and seeing him this way was much, much more entertaining.

“i’m cumming, i’m cumming. fuuuck me- yes!”

you yearned to hear more of the groans coming from his mouth. when his cries finally subsided, you rose from your knees and walked him over to the bed.

now, this was both nerve-wracking and exciting. geto didn’t really have a clue what to do other than the basics; move your hips and keep your rhythm. yes, he’d watched porn before, but those were never true to life. the actors were primarily simply doing what they do best, which is acting. all of it was a scam. the only knowledge to be attained was how to do everything incorrectly.

“i don’t know how to do this,” he blurts out, catching your attention before you could make any further movements, “i really like you- love you, actually. i don’t wanna’ fuck this shit up, y’know?”

you smile, sensitive eyes blinking up at him, “you won’t, trust me. you have an excellent teacher,” you smirk and take your place on the mattress. he was angsty, but he trusted you, and he wouldn’t do anything he wasn’t comfortable with— you wouldn’t allow him to.

you smile, sensitive eyes blinking up at him, “you won’t, trust me. you have an excellent teacher,” you smirk and take your place on the mattress. he was angsty, but he trusted you, and he wouldn’t do anything he wasn’t comfortable with— you wouldn’t allow him to.

he suddenly feels your cool hands cover his cock with a condom. he would’ve surely appreciated a fair warning before hand, because the same rush he felt earlier had returned and so did his boner. “can you take your shirt off for me?” you ask, patting the mattress for him to take a seat soon after. “i don’t want you to do all the work,” he whines, joking you and resting his head against your pink pillow.

“it’s your first time. it’s okay to be a pillow princess.”

“take that back, for real.”

after sharing a laugh, the time finally comes. your pink acrylics wrap around geto’s cock and you feel him flinch at your touch. your hands were still cold, but your pussy would be warming him up soon.

“fuck, geto. look at you, fitting right in, baby.”

putting him inside wasn't difficult, but keeping him inside would surely be challenging. despite how much of a godsend it was, you were just so wet. it was just so sexy seeing him in this position. surely you enjoyed being tossed around occasionally, but controlling a man's orgasm had a distinct quality to it.

“shit, princess.” geto’s hands hold on to your hips as you slowly begin to glide up and down his cock. you started with just the tip first, getting him used to your walls. you were trying your best not to squeeze him too hard, but it was difficult not to.

although it was just the tip, it was driving you absolutely crazy, “how do i feel, suguru?” you ask, hands grazing his chest and shoulders as you gradually accept more of him inside of you. your tits we’re hanging so prettily in his face, nipples harder than ever. the urge to shove one in his mouth came over you quickly but was soon suppressed. you wanted him to make progress on his own.

“so good. s-so motherfuckin’ good,” he groans and it was almost like he read your mind. to your surprise, geto latches his mouth on to one of your breasts. his tongue swirled around your nipple as he sucked and tugged on it like it was his last meal.

and he couldn’t show favorites.

moving his hands from your hips, he cups your tits and his hands and kneads either. sucking on one while massaging the other, “keep going,” he utters, letting go to take a breath, “keep fuckin’ me, just like that.”

that caused you to show out now, your hips rotating in circles as you threw your ass back— now slamming you down onto him a bit harder, “just like this?”

“yes, baby- fuck!” he closes his eyes and wraps his arms around your waist. kisses are placed on your neck and chest before geto quickly buries his head between your tits. his man-bun was starting to fall apart, and so was he. you start to feel geto pulse inside of you and you knew he’d be cumming soon.

“you wanna’ cum? hm? it’s okay, suguru. i know i’m making you feel so good. it’s alright to let go.”

only then did he start to thrust upward to mirror the motion of your hips. his cock was now hitting the sweet spot much more quickly thanks to your power and his combined, “i wanna’ cum, pretty girl. please make me c-cum,” he chants several pleas as he slams your hips down onto his lap. he was more than just needy, he was desperate.

he was so close and you were bouncing on his cock like it was life or death. it became impossible for him to hold back from the buildup. geto hardly gave you a chance to speak before taking the plunge to pin you down. he needed to fuck you, and he was completely bottoming out. while he was shifting positions, he was too greedy to stop. you could still feel him pushing into your cunt even while in the process of laying you against the sheets.

“suguru- baby, you were so close-“

it was his first time and all, and maybe pleasuring him for the night was your goal, but he couldn’t help himself. you looked too good, and you felt even better. you’d already given him an enormous about of pleasure, now it was your turn.

“just let me fuck you, baby. i promise i’ll give it to you right, please open up ‘f me.”

you didn’t know where the wave of confidence came from, but you definitely didn’t hate it. his sensual, yet assertive manner had you ready to submit already, “if you need any help i’ll be right here to- oh fuck!”

your words were abruptly cut short when geto sent you a hard stroke. it was like he already knew exactly where to poke at, “shit, baby. wrappin’ around me like a glove,” he states, keeping a steady eye on your facial expressions.

your expressions were creased with both pleasure and anguish. geto gave you strong, prolonged thrusts that caused the mattress beneath you to squeak, as if forgetting how enormous he was already. your entire body was rocking at the same rhythm of the your skin slapping against one another’s.

“s-suguru, ‘s so deep..inside m-me,” you stutter, lifting your head to look at him continuously fuck you dumb. he was chasing his orgasm and yours, hoping to be able to finish with your cream coating his dick till you had nothing left to give.

“you’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you? letting me fuck you like this to get myself off, but you wanna’ cum too, don’t you?”

you could do nothing more than nod in agreement while biting your bottom lip. by watching his cock move in and out of you, you were nearly put into a trance. more of your essence spilled onto him with each retraction he made.

“‘m gonna’ cum, suguru. i love you- love your dick s-so much.” slurring your speech made it seem as though geto was performing much better than he believed he was. with his hand raised to your neck and a light pressure applied to the side near your ear, geto, whose orgasm was trailing closely behind your own, was making eye contact with you.

he could feel your small hand hold on to his wrist for support. he was fucking you enough to make your eyes cross, whimpers broken just enough to arouse him some more, “m’ cumming, daddy. ‘m cumming-fuck! yess, ooh!”

he spilled everything he had into the condom after hearing the nickname, which was more than enough for him. the warm liquids could still be felt in your stomach even though he wasn't precisely filling you.

“fuuuck, yn. i fuckin’ love you. so much, pretty girl, so much.” hurrying his head into your shoulder, he continues to fuck you until you’re ready to cum again.

and you do.

you felt completely drained, not only from the hard work from earlier, but from geto’s cock basically wringing out all of the cum you could produce. geto pulled out and left a smile on your face, “not too bad for a virgin, huh?”

you smile, “not too bad. not too bad at all.

©️ SUUNMIC 2023

tags : @venusflytrapstar @hiraizens @ryujnn @takemichiluvr

[aiura-stan]

I love the idea that Teruhashi might be thinking this. (I know she isn’t Teruhashi, but still.) It’s so outright aggressive and mean, instead of her more low key “Saiki should be obsessed with me!” thoughts as in canon proper, lol.

Also notable that the first mention of Saiki being markedly different from other people is here: “If a normal person heard them he would undoubtedly have a mental breakdown after three seconds.” Maybe it’s true, probably an exaggeration on Saiki’s part, but it definitely highlights that what he deals with, mentally, is on another level, and he is able to deal with it.

LMAO. this one made me laugh… it’s like yikyak but worse!! like yikyak but including things people wouldn’t even say on there, read out loud… phewww.

Saiki says his powers are “in the wrong” rather than peoples’ thoughts. However, the way he words the second part about how you can’t dress up what’s on the inside strikes me as odd. I was trying to think of the reasoning behind this sort of sentiment that Saiki expresses here, because it repeats later in the manga proper. And I think, it boils down to this incorrect assumption he has, that people’s thoughts are their true feelings. My guess on where comes from is probably either Kuniharu or Kuusuke, who both express a lot of resentment for him. In each of their cases, that really is how they feel, and they make no effort to change it, and there’s not a lot of positive emotion thrown in there either. At least as a child, Kuusuke spent a lot of time actively trying to hurt his brother. And Kuniharu probably did too, if we take all of the examples of him trying to get “revenge” on Kusuo into account.

So it never occurs to him at first that people might have intrusive thoughts, or have thoughts they don’t necessarily believe pass through their heads, or thoughts they ultimately challenge and thoughts that directly contradict their behavior.

Okay angsty rant over lol

‘nother thing that strikes me as funny, not in a good way this time… really now. I have never met a girl who was that jealous of another girl’s boobs. If anything, I’ve met girls who got them too young and wished they hadn’t because of teasing.

Maybe it’s a cultural difference, maybe it’s the fact that a male author wrote this who doesn’t really know (or care) about accurately depicting teenage girls’ concerns in a comedy… anyways.

I beg to differ Saiki… that IS an incredible tattoo and I want to see it… I want that tattoo.. haha. And who cares if some people are bald?? and trans people exist?? Saiki likes to complain about things that do not matter at all. I guess he probably feels like it’s a burden to keep other people’s secrets, or something. He is just a teenager after all.

tbh I kind of wish that Asou had kept this if only for dramatic effect

come on… look at this…

Sigh. I love examples of Saiki interfering with fate just to help someone.

Okay, that’ll do it for part one of this post. Part two in a bit. 💕

[silversweetpea]

Peer Review

pairing: Spencer reid x reader (gn)

word count: 1895

warning: This is probably really sappy but other than that i don’t think so?

summary: The genius and the student and the very obvious thing between them they both weren’t seeing.

author’s note: this is wildly self indulgent because I'm struggling with staying motivated with school and really just wanted to image a cute coffee date with Spencer. I have an idea for a second part so keep an eye out for me continuing to be wildly indulgent the next time I get sad about making my reference page lmao

❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀

You weren’t hiding your college course from your coworkers. If Hotch or Morgan or even Garcia had asked you would tell them flat out that you had classes you were studying for. It wasn’t a big deal and if anyone in the world was going to understand what it was like to be addicted to working on something, it would be them.

If you were to hide it though, you would want the man approaching your table to be the last to know. 

“Hey Doc, what’s up?” Reid smiled again, a little dopey and a little bashful, the same one that you got every time you called him by the nickname. Seeing him in this moment was almost worth having been at the table since you had slipped out of the office yesterday afternoon. 

“Just, uh, you mentioned this coffee shop on the past few three cases straight. I figured I might as well try it while I had a chance.” It was your turn to smile, world suddenly a little brighter at his comment. You’d be the first to call anyone else in your circumstance hypocritical or indecisive to be so giddy over someone proving that they’ve been listening to you while trying so hard to hide something from them. Lucky for you, you weren’t anyone else and Spencer, as attentive as he was, had yet to comment on your sudden love of textbooks or attachment to your laptop.

“Good right? Have a seat, tell me what you got.��� He was quick to slip into the spot across from you, long legs brushing yours under the table. You’ve never been more thankful for the close quarters as you are in that moment. Your laptop gets drawn towards you, but not quite closed. There was no telling if it would turn back on if you gave it a chance to rest.

“I have no clue. I didn’t know what most of the drinks had in them and by the time i got to the front of the line there were people behind me. Whatever it is cost six bucks.” His voice is tired and part of you longs to cup his face in your hand, to run your finger along the bags forming under his eyes. You’re not sure how tired he must be to not rehearse his order like usual but you’re not sure you could handle finding out either. It helps explain the dramatic drink - nearly half of which you’re sure is whip cream - in front of him at least. 

“Well, give it a try.” Spencer looks skeptical of the rather frilly drink in his hand but when you nod towards it, you get to see him lift it to his lips. More importantly you get to see the slight mustache that forms on his upper lip.

Your brain wonders what he would taste like if you kissed him. 

The more rational part of your brain simply leans over and uses a spare napkin to wipe the offending sweetness off his face.

It doesn’t occur to you that Reid has issues with people in his space until you’ve already settled back into your chair, napkin at your side and a dumbstruck look on his face. You’ve never seen brown eyes so blown wide or his hands so still where they still held his drink.

“Sorry about that. It’s worth it though right?” Spencer barely blinks as you give a stilted laugh and sip at your own drink - despite the fact that its now well past its peak at hours old. 

“Yeah,” The tired edge is gone, replaced with something breathy. Whatever it is though, Spencer gets a hold of himself with a short clearing of his throat and a look to the laptop you had nearly, blessedly, forgotten about. “What are you working on?”

“Oh just, stuff,” Raised eyebrows, teasing smile. If your job didn’t kill you, if this homework didn’t kill you, it would be him. Even as you cringe you can feel the knock of his knees against yours again. “You know, organizing my email, going through old files, that sort of thing.”

Hands you would recognize by shadow alone close the distance, small as it is, painfully slow. It’s a polite way to argue, an unspoken question you answer with a resigned sigh and a sip of your drink once more as you watch those beautiful features light up with surprise.

“This is an essay.” The words aren’t accusatory like you had thought they would be, they’re not even joking, just confused. It makes looking up at him a bit easier though it does nothing to stop the way that your heart skips at the eye contact.

“In theory.” Your weak response makes him smile again, mouth faltering with no noise as you slid the laptop back towards yourself. 

“Why are you writing an essay?” It’s innocent but your eyes are already skimming through the paper again, spotting all the mistakes that Spencer’s just seen and feeling your stomach plumet at the extent of them all. The bravery that had been surging through you at his presence suddenly slipped away. 

“You have to promise you won’t laugh.” His hair falls into his eyes just a bit when he nods, face serious in a way that you’ve never seen outside of the field. Though you suppose that you’ve only ever had a good reason to invite him out alone once or twice and if he was nervous with the group he’d probably keep that to himself if possible. Your eyes drift back to your cup at your side and the finger you have running around the rim of the cup to avoid looking at him. “I’ve been doing an online class recently. Figured it was about time to start updating what I know so I don’t get rusty.”

The silence between you feels unjustly vulnerable. 

“That’s...wow.” Soft as a feather. Would that be what it felt like to feel his breath on your skin too? Not looking up means that you can’t tell what he’s trying to say with just two words and it only takes a second to compose yourself. 

“I know it’s nothing compared to your wall of degrees bu-” Your gaze only snaps to Spencer when a warm hand covers your own.

“No that’s not it. I just can’t believe you found time to go back to school with all the cases we handle. Do you ever sleep?” Silence again, as if the rest of the cafe is holding its breath too while you search for some sign of insincerity. There isn’t though, not with Spencer. 

“There’s a reason I like this coffee shop.” The noise comes back all at once when you catch the smallest bit of a laugh. You don’t mind this one though, it almost sounds relieved coming from him. “Though I like it less when I’m cut off for the day.”

“How long have you been here?” Warmth floods your veins, embarrassment catching you by surprise. The strange looks of baristas who ring you out several times a visit was one thing. Watching Spencer’s brow furrow, or his hair shift as he leaned ever so slightly towards you, was another. 

The cold air feels like a brick being dropped on your hand when you pull back into yourself. Your eyes glue themselves to the laptop screen and the blinking cursor that seemed to mock you there. 

“Long enough to rewrite this essay four times and still hate it. I meant to write it in the hotel rooms but the case wrapped early and then there was paper work and-” You hadn’t even noticed the hand snaking back in your direction until the laptop you’d been focused on was pulled from your grip.

“Let me take a look,” Spencer says as if you’re not floundering like a fish out of water. The nerves have just enough time to build in your throat, suffocating you, before you realize that you’re just as anxious about the ease in which the genius offers his help. Its the same way that he saves you a seat on the jet or offers to grab you something from the breakroom. Its the same as when you share those quiet in-between moments where you learn about his life in exchange for bits of your own and marvel at how perfect they seem to fit together despite your concerns.

“If it’s bad you can say so. I know that I’m not the best at the whole essay thing. Tests I can study for but open ended ‘explain this concept I barely touched upon in class’ moments aren’t my strong suit.” He says nothing, but you can see a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. It’s hard to tell what that means for your paper but for your heart is means another skipped beat. The words keep coming in an attempt to ignore that though. “You know maybe I should just go. It’s not fair to make you review that on your day off-”

“(Y/n), calm down,” The anxiety simmers and then evaporates completely when he looks up at you again. the smile makes his eyes shine and Spencer voice is light with a laugh that doesn’t seem quite able to break free. You’re sure in that moment that time stops, that you’ve spent an eternity just allowing yourself to get lost in familiarity. Your line of work doesn’t leave much room for domestic day dreams, nights spent at the dinner table or lazy Sunday afternoons but for a minute you can see it all ahead of you and reflected back in Spencer’s gaze. “Your essay is fine. I’m just going to leave some notes for you to review later and then you can have it back.”

“Why not just tell me now?” The words are still breathless, but when he looks back to the screen, the sound of typing filling the space between you two, your lungs seem more accepting of the air you gulp down. For the first time in your life you understand how it must feel to be a smoker, addicted to the same thing robbing you of your ability to breathe.

“Because I’m walking you home. You look like you haven’t slept since you left the office.” Easy, confident, said in the same tone of voice that he’d use to tell you the sky is blue and although you want to argue, want to insist that you stay put until the essay if finished and submitted you don’t have it in you to deny him that truth. 

“Okay, just let me grab something to drink that isn’t hours old.” 

“Here,” Spencer hands off his drink in one hand and swipes your laptop bag with the other, throwing the strap over his shoulder. “It seems like something you’d like.”

When he stands, you’re pretty sure you catch a glimpse of red in his cheeks, but you’re so busy thinking about the fact that you’re sipping from the same cup that you can’t trust your own eyes. Nor can you fathom how he knew that this was your favorite drink if slightly sweeter from the caffeine free flavoring used. 

All you know is that when Spencer almost trips over himself to hold the door open on the way out, you’re thinking again of what it’d be like to kiss him. 

[httpseungmxn]

Youthful Changes

Song Mingi x Reader(afab) 

Authors notes ;

This is dedicated to the biggest Mingi super fan I know, and also the love of my life, Kaizen 🫶 

Warnings ; smut, pwp, thigh-riding, degradation, dom!mingi x sub!reader

Triggers ; Slight Violence/Blood/father fighting son

This is my first time writing on here, and I was really nervous about posting this, so I apologize if there are any grammatical errors !

Sat in the car now, I attempt to remember everything that just occured in a matter of mere minutes.

It all had started when I, as well as my sisters, had been invited to a family get-together. However it wasn't our personal family. It was family we knew from when my mother dated my step-dad. It had to be well over ten years that we had seen them now, so getting an invite from them was a surprise to all of us. 

Thinking back to that time period, the woman and man we were decently close with in my child years had been always so kind to us. Allowing us to accompany them on trips, and stay at their house whenever we had trouble with our heater. However the boy they called their son was almost always nowhere to be seen. 

They always claimed that he would be in his room gaming, outside with friends, or even at school. I never believed it though, because as soon as we left to go back home, I'd pass his window and see him staring. Probably glad that us strangers were finally leaving. Ready to finally leave that mess he called a room, and do whatever he wanted to do.

Back to the current years, we never heard from them. I'm sure they thought about us, as we thought about them. However no one ever made an effort to reach out to each other. Well, until now that is.

Though, due to what happened here today, I doubt we'll be seeing them for a while again. Especially not the father. He seemed so angry when I was saying goodbye and walking out the front door. I could tell something was going to happen as soon as my body was out the door.

It all started when everyone was outside, talking with each other about what they had done over the years and how they had been. I always hated socializing, and finding a quiet place to chill was always my specialty. Though the only quiet place I could find, happened to be the couch in the livingroom.

Thats where I first saw him, for the first time in over ten years. He had grown quite a lot, and had a whole makeover. His skin a beautiful honey tone, and his hair as black as coal. I was startled when I saw him. Never once did I ever expect to see this boy, no, this man outside of his room while we were all over.

I slowly walked over to the couch and sat at the end, which unfortunately wasn't very far from him, since he decided to sprawl out right in the middle. I stared at the tv, feeling rather awkward because I didn't truly know how to interact with him anymore.

When I did muster the courage to glance over, he was staring at his phone and texting someone, I assumed it was his bestfriend or his girlfriend.

As soon as he saw me looking at him, a deep scowl came onto his lips and he tilted his phone away, “ don't you know its rude to stare at peoples phones. ”, the voice came out deep and almost made me jump. That was definitely not something I expected.

I somehow had dropped my phone in the process and got off the couch, kneeling to grab it from where it had landed. Just inches away from his boot. Glancing up at him briefly out of fear that he'd be even more annoyed or might even kick me.

What I didn't expect was the faint smirk on his lips, while he looked down on me like I was a bug he could squash.

Tensing as his boot moved forward right between my legs and up under my skirt. Letting out a soft gasp when I felt the boot press against my most sensitive area. “ are you crazy?! ”

Rolling his eyes and looking away, he pat his lap, “ get up. ”

I looked at him with wide eyes. Oh yeah, he was definitely crazy. “ no! You're insane ”, I hissed out at him, worried that someone would hear and think we were fighting. We were both into our twenties, so I don't know why I was worried that we'd be scolded lile children.

Grabbing my chin between his thumb and finger, he narrowed his eyes at me for a moment, “ I said, get up. ”

I gulped, nervous by this new interaction with him, scared of how close he was to me because I'd never been this close to a boy before. Doing as he said, and climbing onto his lap. Resting on his right thigh, looking away from him almost immediately. My ears were probably red and my face was hot from embarrassment. 

Letting out another soft gasp when I feel him start to move my hips, looking down to his thigh as he makes me ride it. Trying not to let out any noises that would alarm people and cause suspicion. My hand coming up to cover my mouth, slowly allowing myself to move instead of him pushing me along slowly. 

Eyes instantly shutting when the fabric of his jeans brushes my clit just right through the panties I'm wearing.

“ Wow, you must be a slut. I haven't done hardly anything to you, yet you're already soaked. ”, embarrassed by his words, hiding my face with my hand.

Letting out a startled noise when I'm pressed down on the floor suddenly, staring up at him scared. What was he going to do? Would he yell for everyone to come in and tell them that I had thrown myself onto him? Would he run to his father and tell him he never wanted us over again?

I was greeted with the exact opposite of either of those though as he spoke up. “  keep quiet, slut, I don't feel like getting yelled at today. ”, nodding slowly at his words, still trying to process all of this.

Moaning suddenly when I feel a bulge in his jeans press just right against my clothed pussy. “ I told you to keep quiet. ”, muttering a soft apology to him while covering my mouth quickly.

Staring up at him shyly as he slowly begins to grind the bulge against my clothed pussy. Slow and sensual movements to make everything feel right. And everything did feel right. So much that I could feel myself drifting to cloud nine.

Eyes rolling back slowly, hand dropping from my mouth and coming up to grab at his shirt. Just as a moan was about to leave my lips, his hand quickly came down over my mouth. Moaning into his hand as the grinding sped up.

This was way better than the grinding I'd do on my pillow here and there in the darkness of my bedroom when everyone was asleep.

This was mind-blowing, and something I could quickly get used to. Though, I doubt I would be able to get used to it if we continued to stay in circumstances such as this one. Keeping quiet as he dry humps me with our families right outside the back door. 

Mingi looked up to said door for a moment when he heard a voice but looked down to me almost instantly when the person walked away. I took the time to admire him as he fucked me while fully-clothed. He really had changed a lot since the last time, and I was starting to like the change.

I also had the thought of, if this is what it felt when clothed, how would it feel when naked? Would he ever treat me to something like that? Maybe I could get a ride up here sometime when his parents were away for a business trip or on vacation for an anniversary.

Those thoughts were knocked out of my head when my orgasm hit me like a train. Eyes rolling back, moaning his name against his hand. Looking back up to mingi to see the look on his face as he hit his peak as well.

Eyes shut and eyebrows furrowed from the extreme pleasure, mouth open as though he were going to groan but nothing coming out.

Letting out a soft sigh when he finally pulls away, sitting back on the couch and helping me up. My legs were shaky as I went to sit down, but I never got the chance because my sister was telling me we were leaving.

Saying my goodbye to the wife and husband, sparing mingi a longing glance in hopes that maybe he was feeling the same way as me. And luckily I was, he was staring at me with a faint smirk, and with a nod of his head I was walking out the door.

Thats when things must've gotten bad, because I could hear yelling and thudding as soon as I was outside. Worried but following along when my sister told me to hurry. Letting out a soft yelp when a loud thud is heard on the window next to me. The window of mingi's room

Staring at the sight scared and worried. Mingi was pressed against the window, his nose dripping blood. He didn't look scared of sad though, he still had a smirk on his lips and I knew he'd be alright when he winked at me. Hearing the door behind him shut, I felt relief flood into me knowing that the man had left him be. 

Looking back to him one last time and blushing when I see him staring at me still, eyeing me up one last time before he waved at me. Waving back shyly and quickly walking to the car.

That lead us back to this current moment, on our way home, mind never leaving the thoughts of the boy and what we had done in his livingroom. I wondered if his dad knew and that's why he was angry, but I was confused on how he would've found out when they were outside the whole time. My eyes widening in horror when I think of the cameras they had all over their beautiful house and the tablet in his hands that always alerted him of sudden movement in the house.

Cheeks lighting red when I think of the thought of the man having gotten an alert about mingi pinning me to the ground and dry humping me there. It would be embarrassing if I had to see his father ever again, especially in the near future.

My thoughts are jumbled when I get a text on my phone, and just as the blush on my cheeks leaves, it comes right back. Staring at the photo I had gotten, it was Mingi, sat at his desk with his shirt up to show off the bulge he had with a little text below it that said, “ don't think we're done just yet, slut. ”

Song Mingi was a wild card and I'd be happy to play the game anyday.

Authors end notes ; I don't know why its so spaced out, I'm really sorry for that 😭

Tell me if you want a part two or more ateez oneshots !