#you don't have to like...deliberately try to dry things?

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all, weird question time! Asthma related this time: Can the smell of mildew/damp/whatever that is be an asthma trigger? A pipe broke in my house earlier this week, and it is fixed but now anytime I go near the room it was in it's triggering an asthma attack, and the door to that room is like right next to the kitchen so that's a fairly large problem. We set up an air purifier and a dehumidifier in the room, but is there anything else we should be doing? how do you get rid of mildew?

[syluslnd]

howdy, hope you’re well!! love your work and saw reqs were open…

if you haven’t done this yet, how abt sylus finding out reader/MC has voice + praise kinks ?

sylus finding out that you have a voice and praise kink

it had been a normal day-or at least, you thought it had been. You were sitting on the couch in Sylus's room, idly flipping through a book while Sylus worked nearby, his presence filling the space with that quiet intensity he always carried. His deep, calm voice had been drifting in and out of your mind as he spoke to someone on his comm device earlier and you had tried-really tried—not to let it get to you.

But his voice always had this effect on you, sending a shiver down your spine every time he spoke in that low, commanding tone.

Worse still, was when he praised you, offering those casual compliments that left you struggling to breathe. His praise mixed with that voice-well, it did things to you.

Apparently, you hadn't hidden it as well as you thought.

Out of nowhere, Sylus's voice cut through the silence, bringing your thoughts to a halt.

"You've been staring at me, sweetie" he said, his tone laced with amusement, though his back was still to you. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Your heart leaped into your throat and you quickly turned your gaze back to your book, trying to act casual. "I-I wasn't staring” you stammered, though your face was already heating up.

He chuckled softly, the sound sending another wave of heat through you. He turned slowly, giving you that sharp, knowing look that always made you feel like he could see right through you. "Lying doesn't suit you, kitten" he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he moved toward you.

You felt the air shift, the atmosphere growing heavier as he approached. Before you could say anything else, Sylus knelt in front of you, his eyes dark and curious. He reached out, gently tilting your chin up with his fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You're blushing” he observed, his lips curling into a smirk. "Now, why's that?"

Your throat went dry as you searched for an excuse, anything to throw him off. But Sylus's intense gaze held you in place, making it impossible to form a coherent thought. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping even lower, almost a whisper. "I've noticed something, kitten. You react to my voice." His thumb brushed your cheek, his touch soft but deliberate. "Is that what's been on your mind?"

Your breath caught and you felt your pulse quicken. You opened your mouth to deny it but nothing came out. Sylus's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he continued. "Or is it the way I praise you? You like it when I tell you how good you are for me, don't you?"

Your heart pounded and you couldn't help the way your body tensed at his words. His voice had taken on that teasing, dangerous edge that always left you flustered and overwhelmed. He knew. He definitely knew.

Sylus chuckled darkly, leaning even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered “Is this what gets you off, sweetie? My voice? My praise?" His breath was hot against your skin and you could feel the tension building inside you as his words sunk in.

You couldn't respond, too caught up in the way his voice wrapped around you like a command, like something you couldn't resist. He pulled back slightly, watching you closely, his fingers still resting under your chin. "I can feel it, you know" he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "You're trembling and all I did was talk. Imagine if I really tried."

Your cheeks burned and you squirmed under his gaze, unable to escape the intensity of his presence. Sylus's smirk never faltered and he shifted, leaning back on his heels, eyes still locked on you. "Go on, kitten” he said softly, his voice silky smooth.

"Tell me the truth. You like this, don't you? You want me to keep talking, keep praising you."

His words sent a jolt through you and you couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips. Sylus's smirk widened at the sound, his eyes darkening with satisfaction.

"That's what I thought" he said, his voice dripping with amusement. He shifted closer again, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. "Do you like hearing how good you are for me? How much I enjoy watching you fall apart under my voice?"

You nodded weakly, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you struggled to keep yourself together. Sylus's fingers brushed your cheek again, trailing down to your neck, his touch light but electrifying. "Such a good kitten" he whispered, his voice deep and smooth. "Always so eager to please me."

The words sent a shockwave through your body and you couldn't stop the way you arched toward him, desperate for more.

Sylus grinned, clearly pleased with how easily you were unraveling under his teasing.

"I could keep going all night, sweetie" he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw.

"But I want to hear you say it. Tell me how much you like it."

You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper as you finally admitted, "I... I love it, Sylus. Your voice... your praise... it drives me crazy."

His eyes lit up with triumph, and he let out a low chuckle. "Good girl" he purred, his breath hot against your skin. "Now we're getting somewhere."

Sylus leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving yours as he smirked. "Let's see just how much you can take."

[finalgirllx]

Mattheo's Nurse

my own take on a favorite trope - healing mattheo after one of his many, many fights. for @thatdammchickennugget's hogmarch challenge, the prompt i went off of was 'why do you do this for me? are you sure you're not in love with me?'

1.2k words | suggestive content | minors dni | f!reader implied

Becoming Mattheo Riddle's personal nurse was not part of your grand plan. However, an incidental run-in where you tended to him after a courtyard scuffle led him to recognize you as possibly the only person who would help him with concern devoid of judgment. That's how you fell into a routine of him 'just happening' to appear wherever you were settled, weaponizing his puppy eyes until you eventually agreed to patch up his wounds in order to minimize his visits to the hospital wing.

Mattheo had come to your dorm room tonight, causing you to let out a dramatic sigh, wordlessly directing him to sit on your desk chair while you fetched your ever-expanding collection of first-aid supplies.

As you inspected his marred knuckles with a light touch, he winced from the pain at the pressure points. There was some swelling, discoloration, and a hefty set of cuts all over his one fist. The drying blood along his joints seemed not to be his own.

"Oh, stop that," you chided him over his complaints. "Shouldn't you be used to the ache at this point? Damn masochist, aren't you," you continued, poking fun at Mattheo while casting 'glacius' on the water packs you had gathered just for this reason.

In response to your ribbing, Mattheo playfully bit his inner cheek, his expression shifting from pained to something more suggestive.

"You'd like that, I'm sure," he quipped. His eyes narrowed, trying to persuade yours to meet his as you applied the ice pack to his scratched hand. "You make quite the nurse," he continued, his voice dripping with flirtation. "And quite the sight, too. Seeing your pretty face distracts me from any wounds to my dignity. You think candy stripers are still a thing? Might be easier to tend to me in a shorter skirt," he added while his less injured hand found a comfortable resting spot where your waist met your hip.

"A better patient would stop causing such a distraction," you countered swiftly, deliberately avoiding that very gaze because you knew how quickly you would fold for the magnetism of his deep brown eyes. Yet, your actions defied your attitude as you allowed his hand to remain where it rested, his fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your clothing, which sent a shiver up your spine.

Mattheo smirked, indicating just how much he wanted to acknowledge what you both felt.

"Let me guess. You don't just carry around medical supplies because you want to play doctor," he mused. "I think you're helping me weekly because you're in love with me," he wiggled his brows, confident in his suggestion.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, silently conceding to the truth in his words but unwilling to admit it. Instead, you quickly regain your composure, lightly patting his cheek before adopting a more serious expression. "Hush, you're being disorderly. I can't fix you up with all this chatter," you scolded playfully, feigning annoyance.

Mattheo hissed, his eyes scrunching shut, reigniting your helper mode out of fear you had touched another sore spot. The guilt was short-lived, however, when the prick turned his head in both directions to show a bruise forming along the other side of his cheek, not the one you had touched. He just wanted to tease you, prompting you to retaliate with an additional pat out of spite on the uninjured cheek.

"Stop this. Remember, your life is in my hands; don't forget," you quipped snippily.

"Regardless of your consistent threats to my life, every time I come to you for help, I’m choosing to put my trust in you because you have feelings for me. And that's also why you're avoiding looking at me," he countered with a smug attitude, correctly assuming that this would finally get you to lock eyes with him. Which you did; looking right into his eager gaze paired with long lashes of everyone's envy. Even the few curls splayed over his forehead added to the appeal that despite him just coming from another bloody fight, you had to utilize every ounce of willpower to avoid melting at his ability to switch from intimidating to irresistible in an instant.

"Also, as my nurse, I’m surprised you don't know the cure-all to any injury," Mattheo begins again, and you suspect more nonsense is about to spill out.

You couldn't help but scoff. "What would that be?"

"A kiss."

You were utterly undone. "Bloody hell," you muttered, blushing profusely before deciding to indulge him this one time. You wouldn't quite treat him to some lip action, however. So instead of giving in entirely, you placed a small, modest peck on the tip of his nose.

The giddy expression that overcame him was worth it to see, but Mattheo, being himself, couldn't resist being a little greedy and pushing his luck further.

"Oh, on the nose? That only gets me halfway there," he complained with mock concern.

You could only smirk. Mattheo seemed to know better despite all attempts to convince him otherwise, which wasn't surprising given how perceptive he was. That, coupled with your consistent fumbling and his astute observation of your unwavering willingness to help him every time. Still, you weren't ready. While Mattheo's charm did get him quite far in leaving a lasting impression on you, you also knew that relinquishing yourself to the growing feelings would entangle you with the rest of his troubles, just as he would with yours. For now you'd prefer to let it simmer rather than dive right in. However, it didn't hurt to fantasize about how it would go.

For example, giving into the desire that your entire body ached for, to crawl into his lap and crash your lips against his. You longed to taste the metallic tang lingering from his blood-stained bottom lip that stirred with the scent of his cigarette addiction. You wanted to experience the absolute bliss that the softness of those pillowy lips would guarantee, all the while feigning surprise that this hardened bad boy could have any soft spots at all.

You craved to feel the hands responsible for splitting countless jaws roam your body with an unprecedented level of adoration, letting him fondle every last curve to ensure he learned all of it. You wanted him to discover all of your weak spots and master the art of caressing them in such a way as to elicit endless waves of pleasure every time. You yearned for him to possessively grope your ass, keeping yourself pressed to him as closely as possible while his other hand held the back of your head to draw out your kisses. His touches would solidify you as his, not just as his 'nurse' but in every sense that someone could belong to another.

Snapping yourself from drifting thoughts, you managed to deflect under the guise of needing to retrieve more supplies for an additional small cut you had overlooked. You came back, and despite your hesitancy, you wanted to leave Mattheo with a glimmer of hope.

"Tell you what," you started. "Let your hands heal so they can be of full use, and I'll grant you the other half of that kiss."

"Atta girl. That I can do," he grinned triumphantly.

"Yes, yes, now hold still so I can properly heal you."

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

TF141 reactions to "want me to paint your nails?"

PRICE has never been asked that question before

knee-jerk reaction is no. because he is a man.

but he knows better than that, too; it's just an assumption he was raised with and he's lived too long and seen too much to care about other people's judgement.

he leans over and watches you paint yours. seems harmless enough.

he allows you to paint one (1) pinky nail.

you do as neat a job as you can. very deliberate strokes. sliding one of your unpainted nails around the edge of his cuticle to catch a smudge.

you say "there you go :)"

he nods, seems pretty unaffected by the whole thing. just indulging you, it's a good captain thing to do. fun is allowed sometimes as a little treat.

if you catch him looking down at that one painted pinky nail in thought, in meetings, running his thumb over it in thought, no you didn't.

GHOST balks. acts like that's a stupid question. this is a lie.

even if you shrug and say okay, your loss, he feels kinda tingly about it in the stomach for a minute.

but if you were to just... maybe reach over and pull his hand in anyway, he wouldn't stop you.

he just lets you paint his nails. all of them. just sits there like it's not happening.

activates the monkey grooming part of his brain. not only are you doing a nice thing for him for no reason, you're touching him.

like, you're holding his hand almost. that shit is intimate.

his touch-starved ass starts having pavlovian reactions to the smell of nail polish after that.

GAZ says yeah. asks you to show him.

you lean in and show him the hand you're working on.

when you pull his hand over to do his, he pulls an uno reverse. flips your hand over in his.

plucks the nail polish brush out of your hand and starts painting the thumbnail of your non-dominant hand.

he's just doing it as an excuse to have your hand in his. he does not deny it when you point this out. no, he's not letting go.

his grip is secure. you protest and he counters by asking you how long it takes to dry. how many layers. if this is your favorite color. how to clean up that dot he just made on your fingertip.

he is so coolheaded about it that he flusters you the more you try to argue. you eventually have to just shut up and let him work. and answer his questions.

he is smirking.

after that, he makes a point to grab your hand whenever you're not wearing gloves and check your nails. if they're chipped, he quips it's time for him to fill you in.

SOAP says sure >:)

do not trust him. this is a mistake.

the minute you scoot over to pick his hand up, he yanks you over and wrestles you to the floor.

pot of nail polish? spilled. your freshly painted nails? ruined. done for.

you should've known. like this is seriously your fault. you know him.

he gets your nail polish on his fingers by accident. then happily smudges it wherever he can reach. 

he loves wrestling :) and playing too rough on purpose

eventually he will apologize for ruining your manicure.

helps you repaint them. you're awed when he does a better job than you could.

he has steady hands. part of his demo skillset. and he likes sketching, so

you don't have to clean up any of the nails he paints.

he even uses your detail brush to draw a little something on your accent nail to remind you of him. you think it's just something to make up for his bullshit, but now whenever he sees it (and that thumbprint of nail polish he left on the back of your shoulder and didn't tell you) he feels like he signed you <3

...

more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[joyoushyuck]

(minors dni)

Donghyuck claims to hate you.

It is raining pitchforks. Water splashes as you run on the sidewalk, footsteps slippery and attire ruined. You are soaked to your bones and in a desperate need for shelter. That is why you don't think twice and let your feet guide you to the one person you swore you'll never involve yourself with.

Donghyuck claims to hate you.

He opens the door, countenance unpleasant and hair messy, headphones hung around his neck. The faint buzz of television is audible inside the house. Donghyuck is only wearing a pair of black sweats, his nipples staring back at you in all their perked glory. You try not to stare. You might be pathetically failing.

His lips part in surprise at the sight of your drenched figure. You are shivering, legs weak and the chatter of your teeth resonating loudly in your ears. A warm palm wraps around your elbow and ushers you in.

Donghyuck claims to hate you.

He deliberately gets your coffee order wrong all the time. He doesn't laugh at your jokes and throws passive aggressive comments at every given opportunity. He flashes all thirty-two of his teeth whenever Karina drops by to say hi, but his jaw locks like a saltwater crocodile the moment he spots you.

Donghyuck claims to hate you.

He forces you to sit on a chair, drying your hair with a fluffy white towel. His oversized shirt sits just above your knees; you shut your thighs together to cover your bare parts. Your eyes are heavy with sleep as he rubs the towel on your head, so you lean against his (toned) abdomen and close your eyes. He lets you be.

Donghyuck claims to hate you.

He's waking you up, shaking your shoulder gently. His face is inches away from yours. You pretend you don't notice the way his eyes flick down for a fraction of a second; it might be your sleep muddled brain making things up.

He offers you a hot mug of coffee. He is seated on the other end of the couch, body facing you, seemingly concerned about your state. He is still shirtless, his nipples are still staring back at you, and you aren't able to think straight anymore.

Donghyuck claims to hate you.

But you think it's all pretence when you pull him into a kiss and his passion is unrivalled as he kisses back. His hands come to settle on your waist and neck, head tilting to get as close to you as possible. His hand rubs slow circles on your waist in an attempt to calm the both of you.

Donghyuck claims to hate you.

“I don't,” he grunts. He's buried deep inside of you. Droplets of sweat glisten on his forehead.

He's kissing you again. You think he likes it from the way he won't stop doing it. You bet your lips are swollen, because his surely are and he wasn't even on the receiving end of all those bites. He nestles his face on the crook of your neck when he comes undone; you've already got off thrice.

Donghyuck claims to hate you.

He helps you clean with the gentlest hands, softly spreading his fragrant shower gel all over your body - your chest, stomach, back, thighs - leaving butterfly kisses while he's still there. It somehow goes south from there. Again.

He falls to his knees and grips your thighs to keep them open, tongue working wonders on your throbbing clit. He has little to no self-control is what you interpret. Not that you have any to begin with.

Donghyuck claims to hate you.

He insists you stay over, he'll sleep on the couch if it’ll make you comfortable. When you suggest he take the bed and yo- you don't ever get to complete the sentence because no, he'll never let you do that. You pretend your heart doesn't swell with a little something at that; what were you even pretending for anyway?

Because even though Donghyuck claimed to hate you, he isn't pretending anymore when he tucks you in his chest and cards his fingers through your hair, lulling you to sleep. His hands are holding your head like you mean the world to him. You smell like him too, and it's the most at rest you've been in a long time.

Maybe you aren't pretending anymore too. From the way you are nuzzling into the warm expanse of his (still shirtless) chest to the way your hand absent-mindedly pats his back, you don't think it's an act of cat and mouse.

But you'll not think about it now, you'll save it for when the morning comes. Now, you'll fall into a deep slumber in the embrace of the man whom you've loved forever.

(He's loved you for longer, but you don't know that just yet.)

-

Note

My inbox is open! You can send in your thoughts/requests for any of the dreamies!

[natsaffection]

I’m sorry if this is too much to ask

I recently went through a breakup with my girlfriend (recently as in last night) and I need some Natty fluff and comfort. For an idea reader and nat are bestfriends and have been through S.H.I.E.L.D for many years before Nat was promoted to an Avenger and reader was left behind as an agent.

Reader broke up with their relationship a day before Nat got home from a mission(clarification that nat n reader share apartments) injured and its just the two worrying about eachother to mindlessly cuddle and comfort eachother.

could add in soft sex for plot but ill let you decide the rest 😞✊

Held Together. | N.R

Warnings: friends brake up, injury

Word count: 2,3k

A/n: Hey you. I know this isn't going to help you much, and I definitely want to lend you my ear if you ever want to talk about things like this. I know how it feels, and I also know that saying it will get better doesn't exactly help. So please don't hesitate to write to me. 🩵

The first time you saw Natasha, you were both in the S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility, hidden deep within the confines of a classified location. The facility was stark, all concrete walls and fluorescent lighting, with the faint scent of sweat and determination lingering in the air. You were new, just another recruit with a mysterious past, handpicked for reasons that weren't fully explained to you. But then again, secrecy was the foundation of S.H.I.E.L.D., and you had learned quickly that questions were often better left unasked.

Natasha stood out immediately. Not just because of her striking red hair, which seemed to catch the light even in the dullest corners of the room, but because of the aura of quiet confidence she exuded. She moved with a precision that spoke of years of experience, each step deliberate, each movement economical. It was clear that she was in a league of her own. But it wasn’t her skill that drew you to her, it was the look in her eyes. Beneath the stoic mask, there was a flicker of something familiar, something you recognized in yourself. The guarded pain of someone who had seen too much, too soon. The training sessions were brutal. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t coddle its recruits, and you were pushed to your limits, physically and mentally. But every time you faltered, Natasha was there, a silent presence at your side, pushing you to keep going. She wasn’t the type to offer comforting words or a reassuring pat on the back, but her actions spoke louder than any words could. She trained with you, sparred with you, and when you were both covered in bruises and gasping for breath, she would sit with you in the quiet moments, a rare smile tugging at her lips.

Over time, what began as mutual respect grew into something deeper. You found yourself seeking her out, not just in training but outside of it. Late nights in the common room, nursing cups of coffee and talking about everything and nothing at all. You learned that Natasha wasn’t just a hardened spy. She was fiercely intelligent, with a dry wit that could cut through any tension. She had a past that she kept close to the vest, but in those quiet moments, she would let slip little pieces of herself, and you would do the same. It was during one of those late-night conversations that you both discovered just how much you had in common. You shared a dark sense of humor, born from lives that had demanded you grow up too fast. You both knew what it was like to be used as a tool, to have your choices stripped away, and to fight tooth and nail to reclaim some semblance of control.

The turning point in your friendship came during a mission in Prague. You had been sent in as backup for Natasha, who was deep undercover, trying to extract a high-value target from an enemy compound. The mission had gone south, bad intel, compromised routes, everything that could go wrong did. Natasha was pinned down, outgunned and outnumbered, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, you thought you might lose her. But you didn’t hesitate. You stormed the compound, using every skill you had learned, every lesson drilled into you during those grueling training sessions. You fought your way to her, the two of you battling side by side, back to back, until you managed to extract the target and make your escape.

When you were safely back at the extraction point, covered in dust and blood, Natasha had turned to you, her eyes fierce with a mix of adrenaline and gratitude. She didn’t say anything, but the look she gave you was all you needed. From that moment on, you were partners in every sense of the word. There was an unspoken understanding between you..a bond forged in the heat of battle, one that neither of you questioned. Over the years, that bond only grew stronger. You became the team that everyone wanted on their mission, the pair that could get the job done no matter the odds. You were the calm to her storm, the steady hand that balanced her fierce determination. And she was your anchor, the one person you knew you could rely on, no matter what.

But it wasn’t all about the missions. There were moments of light in the darkness inside jokes that no one else understood, late-night movies when you both should have been sleeping, and the kind of trust that only came from knowing someone inside and out. You knew her favorite coffee order, the songs she hummed when she thought no one was listening, and the way she always checked her weapons twice before a mission, even when she didn’t need to. And she knew you, knew the nightmares that woke you in the middle of the night, the reason you kept your distance from most people, and the way you always carried that one memento from your past, a small token of a life you barely remembered. She never pushed, never pried, but her presence was a constant reassurance, a reminder that you weren’t alone in this world.

Then came the day when everything shifted. Natasha was summoned to Nick office a meeting that would change the course of both your lives. When she emerged, she looked different, as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, but there was something else too a distance, a sense of something slipping away. She told you about the Avengers, about the offer Fury had made. You could see the excitement in her eyes, the way her posture straightened as she spoke about it. And why wouldn’t she be excited? It was a chance to be part of something bigger, something that could change the world. You listened, nodded in all the right places, and when she asked what you thought, you plastered on a smile and told her how proud you were.

But inside, your heart ached. You knew that things would never be the same. You didn’t want to hold her back, didn’t want to be the reason she missed out on something extraordinary, but the thought of losing the connection you shared filled you with a dread you couldn’t shake. And slowly, that fear began to materialize.

As Natasha got more involved with the Avengers, the calls became less frequent, the visits even more so. You found yourself spending more time alone, throwing yourself into missions to drown out the loneliness. The once unbreakable bond you shared felt like it was fraying, the threads pulling apart one by one. The more you tried to reach out, the more distant she seemed, until one day, you realized that the Natasha you knew was almost a stranger to you now. She had new friends, new responsibilities, a new life. And where you once stood side by side, you were now watching from the sidelines, unsure of where you fit in her world anymore.

But the memories remained. Every time you walked past the training room, you could almost hear the echoes of your past conversations, the laughter that once filled the empty spaces. The ghost of what you had once had lingered, haunting you in the quiet moments. You didn’t know what the future held for you and Natasha, but one thing was certain: the bond you had shared was changing, evolving into something you couldn’t yet understand. And as much as it hurt, you knew that you had to find your place in this new reality, even if it meant doing it without her by your side.

The apartment felt too quiet, the silence oppressive as you sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the empty walls. Your things were mostly packed, boxes lining the hallway, and the last remnants of your life here waiting to be sealed up and carried away. You had made your decision the day before, the weight of it still sitting heavily in your chest.

You had ended it. Ended the friendship, the partnership, the life you had built with Natasha. The pain of watching her drift further away into her new life as an Avenger had become too much to bear. Every day had been a reminder of how much you were losing her, and it had finally reached a breaking point. You couldn’t stand being the one left behind anymore, always wondering when or if things would go back to the way they were. So, you had left a note on the kitchen table, explaining as best you could, trying to make her understand why you needed to leave, why you couldn’t keep living in the shadow of her new world. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it to her face, not after everything you’d been through together, so you had written the words, packed your things, and left the apartment.

But now, sitting in the empty space you once called home, the reality of what you’d done settled in, and it hurt more than you could have imagined. You didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to give up on what you had with Natasha, but you didn’t see any other way to protect your heart from breaking further. It was supposed to be simple. You would leave, and Natasha would come back to an empty apartment, read the note, and understand. She’d move on, and so would you. That was the plan.

Except plans never go the way you expect them to.

The sound of the front door creaking open jolted you from your thoughts. Your heart stopped as you heard footsteps heavy, uneven. Natasha was back. You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be gone, far away, already beginning the process of moving on. But you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Not yet. You stood up, feeling your heart race as you heard Natasha’s familiar footsteps drawing closer. When she finally appeared in the doorway, your breath caught in your throat. She looked exhausted, her skin pale, and there was a grimace on her face that she couldn’t quite hide.

But what really terrified you was the blood on her jacket and the way she was cradling her side as if trying to hold herself together. “Natasha..” you whispered, the word barely audible as the shock of seeing her like this hit you. Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, she just stared, as if trying to process that you were really there. “Y/n..?”

“You’re hurt.” you said, your voice trembling as you took a closer look. "It’s not as bad as it looks..” she replied, trying to offer a reassuring smile, but it faltered as she winced in pain. “Stop pretending.” you snapped, though your voice was laced more with worry than anger. “Why didn’t you go to the medbay?”

Natasha shook her head, letting out a strained sigh “I just..needed to come home.” she said softly, her eyes flickering around the room, taking in the packed boxes, the half-empty closet. “I thought you would be gone..?” The words hung in the air between you, heavy and filled with the tension of everything that had happened, everything that hadn’t been said.

“I was supposed to be..” you admitted. “Come here, let me help you with that.” She didn’t resist as you guided her to the bed, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she tried to stay composed. You carefully unzipped her jacket, wincing at the sight of the blood-soaked bandages underneath. It wasn’t the worst injury you’d seen her with, but it was bad enough to make your hands shake as you reached for the first aid kit. She winced as you peeled the blood-soaked fabric away, revealing a nasty gash along her side. It wasn’t life-threatening, but it was deep enough to require stitches.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” you asked, your voice thick with emotion as you began to clean the wound, trying to keep your hands steady. “I didn’t want you to worry..” Natasha replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I guess that plan didn’t work out too well.”

“Damn it, Natasha..” you muttered, blinking back tears as you worked. “You can’t just..you can’t just keep doing this. Keeping things from me. Pushing me away.”

“I wasn’t trying to push you away.” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “I just..I didn’t know how to handle all of this. You, the Avengers, everything. I thought I could balance it all, but I was wrong.” You paused, your breath hitching as the weight of her words settled over you. “Nat-” you started, but she cut you off.

“I read your note.” she said, her eyes glistening as she looked down at you. “I know why you left, and I can’t blame you. I’ve been so caught up in everything else that I forgot about the one person who’s always been there for me. And now I’m scared I’ve lost you.” Tears slipped down your cheeks as you finished dressing her wound, your hands lingering on her skin for a moment longer than necessary. “You haven’t lost me.” you whispered, your voice shaking. “But I can’t keep living like this, Natasha. It’s tearing me apart..”

She reached out, her hand trembling as she cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing away your tears. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice breaking. “I never wanted to hurt you.” You leaned into her touch, closing your eyes as the warmth of her hand seeped into your skin. “I know.” you whispered. “But things have to change. We can’t keep going like this.”

Natasha nodded, her own tears spilling over as she pulled you into a gentle embrace, her arms wrapping around you as if she was afraid to let go. You buried your face in her shoulder, the scent of her familiar, comforting even through the layers of blood and sweat. You both held on to each other as if it was the only thing keeping you grounded, the only thing keeping you from falling apart. For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence was filled with the sound of your combined breaths, the rise and fall of your chests in sync, the steady beat of her heart against your ear. “I don’t want to lose you..” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you hadn’t said.

“You won’t.” she promised, her voice filled with quiet determination. “I won’t let you.” There was a moment of silence, thick with unspoken emotions, and then, before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in, pressing your lips softly to hers. The kiss was tender, hesitant, as if you were both afraid to break the fragile connection between you. But the moment your lips met, it was like something inside you both clicked into place, the distance and the pain melting away, replaced by the familiar warmth of being with each other. Natasha kissed you back, her lips moving slowly, carefully, as if savoring the moment. When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against hers, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.

“I’m sorry..” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Shh..” Natasha murmured, her hand moving to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. “We’ll figure it out.” You nodded, unable to speak as you felt the tears slipping down your cheeks. Natasha gently wiped them away, her touch so soft it made your heart ache. You didn’t know what the future held for you both, but in this moment, with her arms around you and her lips still tingling from the kiss, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Carefully, you helped her lie down on the bed, her head resting on the pillow as you pulled the blanket over her. But before you could move away, Natasha caught your hand, her grip surprisingly strong despite her exhaustion. “Stay with me.” she whispered, her eyes pleading. You nodded, your heart swelling with emotion as you crawled into bed beside her. Natasha immediately curled into you, her head resting on your chest, her arm draped over your waist. You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close, as if you were afraid she might slip away if you let go.

The two of you lay there in silence, the only sound the soft rhythm of your breathing and the steady beat of your hearts. The tension, the hurt, the fear..it all seemed to fade away as you held each other, the warmth of her body against yours a balm to the wounds that had been festering between you for so long. You pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, your fingers gently stroking her hair as she sighed contentedly against you. “I love you, Nat..” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I love you too.” she murmured, her voice filled with so much tenderness it made your heart ache. You tightened your hold on her, burying your face in her hair as you let the weight of the day finally slip away. For the first time in a long time, you felt a sense of peace, a sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to each other. And as you both drifted off to sleep, wrapped up in each other’s arms, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

[inkdrinkerworld]

for soft beefy!james... he’s so the type to cry when you cry. like you come to him in tears and immediately he’s pulling you into his lap and cradling your face in his big hands, using his thumbs to brush away your tears and asking you what happened... getting teary when you sob even if it’s over something frivolous bc it hurts his heart. idk if this is anything, feel free to just ignore but i love the way you write your beefy!james <3

oh my goodness!! this is perfect!!! mention of hate from super fans of rugby but not descriptive

he's just come back from training when he hears the hiccupping breath. it's not often that james is greeted with your tears and he feels his chest constrict at the sound of them.

"angel?" he calls, toeing off his shoes as he ventures further into the living room for you.

you're laying on your side, face halfway smushed into a pillow as your body shakes with your sobs.

"angel, what's wrong?" he asks, dropping to his knees before you. james' hands are gentle where they wipe away the racing tears.

he can feel his own emotions rising, feeling the pinpricks of tears pooling behind his eyes.

you heave a breath, clearly trying to speak. james gives you time, "m'not-" you pause, inhaling deeply, "saw that stupid advert, the one with the dogs in the shelter."

james coos, picking you up easily and fitting you in his lap as he sits on the floor. you twist in his lap and say, "m'gross jamie, got tears and snot all over my face."

james manages a laugh, though it's not his usual one. "no you don't," he kisses your tear stained cheek. "you sure the advert was the only thing?"

his hand rubs your back, waiting for your answer. you deliberate while you twist at the hem of his shirt. "saw the messages under that post," james knows which one you're talking about instantly. "s'not very nice."

james feels the pinpricks again and nudges your face with his nose. "want me to do something about it?" he knows you're a big girl, that you can handle your own battles, but james hates the ideas that some of the teams' fans can be vile.

"no no," your tone is firm. james still wants to fight it though, he wants to let is be known that it isn't alright. "it'll pass right?" you ask, eyes shining with unshed tears as you look up at james.

"course it will," he kisses your forehead, fishing his phone from his pocket.

"jamie, what are you doing?" you yawn through the words and james knows that if he doesn't get up now, you're both going to remain on the floor during your nap.

"making sure you're okay, angel." he selects a photo of you from his camera roll- one of you in his team's hoodie as you watch the game at home.

"can i?" he asks, just to be sure. your nod is hesitant. a kiss is pressed to the column of his throat in thanks.

it's a picture that his mum had taken the last time he had an away game that you couldn't go to.

'biggest supporter, biggest love xx' is the caption, james kissing your teary face one last time before standing up.

"let's go take a nap, angel;" he holds you to his chest as he walks to the room. "i love you." you kiss him, soft and slow, and a little sticky from where your tears have met his dry cheeks.

"i love you too, jamie."

[evilminji]

Speaking of Summoning?

We don't see people fuck it up enough. Or CAPTIVES deliberately fuck up their captor's work. Like? Yeah, you are hogtied so tight you look three parts chain to one part man, but you can still WIGGLE.

Aggressively wiggle over that rune until it's too blurry to function! Kick at it with your heel until you scrape the paint! Smear that shit around! You're not here because you WANT to be! Fuck being a polite hostage. Make their life difficult!!!

Or BETTER?

The "$4000 bucks for chalk" take!

It's not the MATERIALS that make John "fuck you" Constantine a force to reckoned with. It's the DECADES of time, training, mistakes, fuck ups, FIXING those mistakes and fuck ups, then surviving the resulting fires.

Any idiot with a voice and some poor impulse control, can use most of those books.

John is GOOD at what he does, because he SURVIVED it. Knows when to stop. What to fuck up on purpose. HOW to do it. And what the results will be.

You're not impressive because you can light your dick on fire with magic.

You're just an idiot.

And when some "you are held back by your FEAR~!" Delusions of grandure fucko, one AGAIN crawls out of the muck like he's something God damned special, and not on the quick bus to a gory unspeakable end? Plays fast and loose with things that SHOULD NOT be let free? Yeah, John exhausts himself keeping millions of people from learning what the inside of Hell looks like.

Wakes up here.

Honestly surprised he wakes up at all.

Most of Dark is here. And Every Single One looks UNSPEAKABLY pissed. Like they got chewed on by a tree thrasher. That was probably on fire, given half the burns he's seeing.

The bastards monologuing, probably thinks they're hanging off his every word. Arrogant prick. Mostly though it's just intense eye contact and eyebrow charades over gags. Head gestures. Seeing who has what and if anyone's concussed. Honestly? You get good at shit like this, after a few too many times bound and gagged.

First mistake always is and has been, not killing them when you had the chance.

But... Zatanna is looking way too pale. And when she sharply gestures with her head? He sees WHY.

Blood on the floor. Not random. Just shitty, shitty writing and no binding agents. Oh sweet merciful fuck. It's not even CHARGED. No grooves to HOLD the blood in a way to keep most of it away from the air. Just splatter painted with some cheap brush on the unscrubbed floor, mixing and contaminated by god knows what, IN LAYERS.

Because it keeps drying.

Because OF COURSE IT KEEPS DRYING, YOU FUCK.

You are DOING IT WRONG.

Is he using THEIR blood? Oh sweet fuck he is. Are you ser-!? One of them is a CHIMPANZEE! Blood's blood literally changes! John's is fucked up! This idiot really things you can just slap it down like PAINT and trot off on your merry lil way, doesn't he? Why don't you just throw "Chemicals" at it next! Big ol bag of whatevers on hand!

At least he has people to share his outrage and horror with.

Oh god, is he STILL talking? Really. REALLY? How long has he...?

Wait. WHAT.

Crazy pants has "found" (more likely was lead by the nose too) a way to True Name Summoning people?! As in "kidnap from literally anywhere and bind them to your will, because unlike normal Summoning Targets they can't fuck off back home under their own power, so it's either submit or stay trapped until you die"??! Oh fuck. Oh shit, oh fuck.

And, OF COURSE, he's going to TEST his new fun trick?

On the Justice League.

Fucker, turns and starts chanting. John is closet, but everyone throws themselves forward. Even though none of them can really move, they have too TRY. His eyes shoot around the shit writing. Trying desperately to make out familiar symbols. Anything. Something. THERE!

He never thought he'd be grateful for all those far too drunk nights and pounding morning hangovers. But he is FAST wiggling across the floor, scrunching and swinging himself around, too sharply scrape the heel of his boot at the concrete floor, just inside that omenious off color Summoning. The layers of blood, painted down again and again to keep the "fresh", stick together like paint chips. Are raised just enough, his shoe tred catches, and all but pops the rune he's aiming for clean off.

Power surges as the spell completes.

He yanks his foot back before he runs the risk of losing it.

The light flares. And between one moment and the next? There are white hazmat boot standing just on the other side of the writen line, from John's face. He looks up into a young, pallet swapped, face. Nightwing, younger then he should be, wrong colors, different uniform. Confused look on his face quickly melting to that familiar "someone's about to get their ass kicked" look as he assesses the situation.

John grins like the MEANEST lil shark. (And yes, he DID steal this look of an ex.)

It WORKED.

Because half the people behind the kid? Not THEIR League. Hero's, yeah, he left that rune alone. But the "civilian identity" that was tied up in the "of this reality" one? Whoops! Guess it was forced to grab any applicable version of the Hero, from the Multiverse, who WASN'T currently off duty. Sure hope your bindings work on THEM!

AND it didn't tip off every single hero OFF duty!

The kid steps over the binding line, bends down, and snaps the chains around John with his bare hands. Offers him a hand up. He takes it. Gets a front row view of alternate versions of his colleges testing to see who is and isn't able to step out. Quiet a few are. Oh dear~, oh dear~. All these Heros! What's a lad to do, huh chucklefuck?

They would like a word.

@nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation @lolottes @babbling-babull

[bangchansbackohmygod]

MTL for Dry Humping: SKZ Edition

-Most-

Han: Nasty Boy. Freak in the sheets. Desperate slut. "Hannie, not when other people can see!" "Han, wait until the movie is over-" "JISUNG. GIVE ME TWO SECONDS TO GET OFF MY PANTS" He ain't listening, babygirl! He wants you bad and he wants you now, so unless you're gonna use a judo move to swing him over your shoulder, the first time the two of you orgasm per sexy time is dry humping without fail. He's still a nice boy so if you were ever actually upset he'd let you go without hesitation, but let's be honest, your complaints don't hold much weight when you start panting as soon as he starts grinding his hips against you.

Changbin: Post gym sex! Post gym sex! He's sweaty and he's full of adrenaline and he isn't gonna try and pull off his sticky gear when he can get some relief from your supple curves right now! You should start working out with him because otherwise he'll be coming home and getting sweat (and drool and ***) all over your cute pajamas. Bucks against you extra hard if you stroke his muscles and praise him for how hard he's been working. Worship all of him because he's going to be doing the same to you.

Lee Know: His favorite thing- withholding as much as he can while giving you just enough to make sure you fall over the edge. He wants to hear you whimper and cry about how much you want him to touch you, how much you want him inside you, while all he does is drag your hips up and down his lap. Coos sweet poison in your ear as he feels your dampness growing, his glittering eyes betraying none of the frenzy he feels underneath. The act itself doesn't do much for him, it just turns him on like nothing else to watch you shudder through a climax that he barely put in work to give you. He's mean and he's going to make sure you enjoy every second of it.

Jeongin: Cute little puppy boy, so embarrassed at how often he wants you. Like I’ve previously stated, I feel like his mind gets a bit fuzzy when he’s in the throes of passion. That sweet, fumbling, wonderful personal time that he wants to give his best for you in. Of course, when he trips on his way to the bed, pinning you down with his full weight and failing to unbutton your jeans, his plans to bring you to deliberate ecstasy with his fingers is traded for rutting against you like a beast without a thought. It’s how you like your baby best, eyes watery and cheeks red as he apologizes for taking what he wanted (which, of course, is what you wanted)

Felix: Our gentle jack-of-all-trades, he's much more dependent on your preferences and so he'll be doing this only upon request. When he does, he prefers to have you perched on his lap. His princess, all pretty in your lacy little negligee. He wants to be strong for you in a way that he doesn’t usually show. His forehead resting against yours as he softly talks you through it between his own low groans, his hands alternating between your thighs, hips, and waist as he finds the perfect pace. Kiss him slow and kiss him deep, in this moment he is completely and utterly yours.

Chan: He may like to tease, but he likes giving you what you want even more. You're so good to him, and he just wants to reward that goodness, yeah? So it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy…*ahem* holding himself against you, he just has trouble keeping himself from doing more. That whine you make when you can feel his excitement against your thigh, it just makes him want to dip his fingers inside you as a taste of what’s to come. Or to hook your legs over his shoulders so he can literally taste the nectar flowing out of you. He’s not an impatient man, but for you? Anything short of ravishing you is a waste of his time.

Seungmin: With a mix of a lower libido and a general air that he's used to the finer things, I just feel like it'd be rare for him. He likes his privacy and he likes getting his way, so despite his age he isn't gonna act like some horny teenager when it comes to sex. When it's time, it's time, and while he won't be mean about it like Minho, he won't budge an inch on getting you both your full satisfaction. Funnily enough, the only times he'll offer it up is when you least expect it. He thinks it's funny to catch you off your guard, pressing you against an alleyway wall and asking if you want to get off on his thigh now or not get off that way for the rest of the year.

Hyunjin: What's that you say? Hyunjin can't possibly be the least? What about his signature elegant laziness in his dance style? What about the Red Lights MV? Surely he's kinky enough for this?! Well guess what, you're wrong! I consulted the cards and they told me he'd absolutely never dry hump you because he's too much of a brat. He's not gonna settle for your shorts when he could be buried in your tight hot wetness. He's gonna throw a very pretty tantrum if you grind on him for more than thirty seconds without moving to undress. He's poetry in motion, all limbs and lips and sensuality- what makes you think he's gonna waste his lovemaking time on anything other than direct contact?

-Least-

(Anyway hi kids I'm back from the dead have a post I love you all)

[vanesycho]

i feel xiaojun so hot when he's scolding us......... this man is so pretty i cant

please...if Xiaojun scolded me, I would beg for more😔🙏🏻

and this look...sigh

wc:0,9k

──────────────────────

You were in Xiaojun’s studio apartment. Xiaojun was focused on something at his desk, and you were sitting next to him. You were careful not to make a sound, he seemed tense enough today so you didn’t want to make him any more nervous. However, Xiaojun’s attention was distracted by a careless move you made. You quickly looked down, the item that fell didn’t break thankfully. When Xiaojun inhaled angrily, you swallowed and turned to him. He got up from his chair angrily and started walking towards you. “Y/n, how many times have I told you, you need to be careful in the studio! Everything is sensitive here, and you know that. Can’t you even stay quiet for two minutes?”

Your mouth was slightly open, you didn’t know what to say, you averted your eyes as Xiaojun leaned towards you, you spoke with a shaky voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He frowned slightly, leaned in even more, you felt his breath on your face, his voice was more serious and deep than usual. “Then be more careful. This is not a place to play games. Do you understand, baby?” You raised your head to him, your noses touching, it felt weird to feel his voice so close to you. Okay, he was really angry right now, but why was this so attractive? That seriousness on his face, the way he frowned, his deep voice, the way he spoke in a low whisper...

You felt his hand on your chin, bringing you back to reality. He gently squeezed your chin, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “I asked you a question, Y/n. I don’t like it when you don’t answer. Are you deliberately testing me today?” You swallowed hard, nodding quickly. “Yes, yes, I understand.” Xiaojun paused for a moment. Something in his eyes softened, but he still tried to remain distant. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He knew he was being overly sensitive today and he hated to show it to you. “Okay…Just be more careful next time, please.” Xiaojun turned away, but your eyes were still on his charming stance. This strange attraction you felt towards his nervous state took him by surprise.

A while passed, and you listened to Xiaojun with admiration as he started to tell you a few things about his work. In fact, you couldn’t even listen most of the time, your mind was still on how attractive he looked when he was serious. You looked at his hand holding the pen to write, then you let your eyes wander for a while to his veiny arms that were visible because he had rolled up his clothes, then to his exposed neck, and finally to his lips that moved when he spoke.

Xiaojun stopped talking when he noticed the look in your eyes, tilted his head slightly to the side and frowned again "Y/n, are you listening to me?" You looked into his eyes and pulled yourself together, sitting up straight "H-huh? Yes, I am listening." He focused on your gaze without saying anything to you, moved his chair towards you and leaned over you slightly "Why are you looking at me like that?" You pulled back, when you looked away he tried to catch your gaze but you refused "How am I looking? I'm just listening. I don't understand what you mean." He grinned at this attitude, leaned back in the chair, crossed his arms. "Really? Because I can see the difference in your gaze, I'm not stupid Y/n."

You stayed silent, Xiaojun took a deep breath when he realized you weren’t going to answer and shook his head. He stood up, you leaned back into the couch you were sitting on and he supporting himself by leaning one arm. “Either you tell me now or I’ll make you say it, do you want me to get mad again?” You licked your dry lips, well that didn’t seem like a bad idea but of course you couldn’t say it out loud. Xiaojun laughed lightly when he couldn’t get another answer from you. “Hah, really? Don’t tell me you like it Y/n.”

You felt your whole face burn, you were honestly embarrassed that you found it attractive, and you knew very well that he would make fun of it. Xiaojun bowed his head and laughed loudly, stepping back, crossing his arms. “Do you really like being scolded like a naughty girl? Hm? Baby?” You swallowed, knowing that denying it was no use anymore but you tried. “No, it’s nothing like that!” he laughed hysterically, "Is that so? Because you look like you're waiting to be scolded again. No, of course I can do that, but I don't have time right now. Still..."

He came closer, you felt a slight push on your shoulders, you lay down on the couch and found Xiaojun on top of you. "W-what are you doing?" he started to press small kisses to your neck, his hand going under your shirt and caressing your skin. You held your breath for a moment when he brought his knee between your legs and pressed into you. He chuckled at your reaction, you felt his breath on your neck but he pulled back after a while. You just stared as he turned around and sat at his desk. "What was that?" he said as his gaze focused on the paper in front of him. "That was the last bit of affection I showed you before scolding you in bed, because know that I won't be this gentle with you at home."

[makeitmingi]

The Cat and Dog Game [Chapter 31]

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy

Pairing: Yunho x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Chef!Reader, RestaurantOwner!Yunho, MaitreD!Hongjoong, Waiter!Yeosang, Waiter!San, Waiter!Mingi, SousChef!Seonghwa, SousChef!Wooyoung, PrepChef!Jongho

Summary: Yunho's dream was to open and run his own restaurant. But he doesn't know anything when it comes to cooking. Until you came along and accepted the job, bringing with you a small crew. How will the black cat tame the energetic golden retriever?

Word count: 3.3K

"Great work tonight, everyone. Thank you." Yunho smiled, bowing his head to everyone. Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho bowed back, grabbing their things and heading for the door.

"Coming?" Jongho asked.

"No, you guys go ahead. I'm going with Yunho tonight..." You rubbed the back of your neck. Seonghwa, who already knew this, just nodded his head. While Jongho and Wooyoung exchanged amused looks with raised eyebrows.

"Stop that. He's already nervous as is. And I'm no better. I don't want to add to that." You hissed at the two. Jongho chuckled and wrapped an arm around you, hugging you to his side.

"That overgrown puppy better not try anything with my precious jagi." Wooyoung cupped your cheeks.

"Relax." You rolled your eyes.

"We'll see you tomorrow then." Seonghwa smiled softly. You nodded and waved goodbye to them as they jumped into their cars to drive home. You stood outside for a while more.

"Hey, there you are." Yunho poked his head out, looking for you. You turned around.

"I'm almost done here. Then we can go back." He smiled as he straightened up, coming over to hug you to him.

"Take your time." You chuckled, reaching up to pat his head. The both of you entered the kitchen. While waiting for Yunho to clear up with the rest, you did some prep work for tomorrow. Nothing too complicated or things that would create a lot of cleaning up to do. You made the filling for the pastries and some toppings.

"Hey, (y/n). Do you need any help?" Hongjoong came in, having finished his tasks for the closing of the restaurant. You looked around at what you were doing.

"Could you help me bring these containers... and these... to the walk in?" You requested.

"Sure. Just these?" He checked. You nodded in confimation. Hongjoong moved the containers for you.

"Let me help you with that." Yeosang entered the kitchen, helping you dry the equipment that you were currently washing up so it wouldn't create too big a stack.

"Where should I put these?" He asked.

"The bowls go onto the shelf there and the spatulas go there in the corresponding holders. They're labelled. Everything else can stay on the counter to dry since we'll be using them tomorrow morning." You informed. Yeosang hummed and did as told.

"Hey, I'm done. Ready to go?" Yunho came in. You dried your hands and went to the locker room to hang your apron up. Coming out with your night bag, Yunho immediately grabbed it for you.

"Yunho, don't worry. I can manage." You said, wanting to take your bag back but he just held it away from you.

"Don't worry about it." He smiled. Mingi and San came to the back to grab their things too.

"Goodnight. See you tomorrow." You all exchanged goodbyes.

"Goodnight, (y/n). Sleep tight." Mingi and San, to tease Yunho, encased you in a group hug, making you stand in the middle of them. You burst out laughing, wrapping one arm around each of them.

"Thank you. Goodnight, see you tomorrow." You smiled. Yunho looked like he was going to explode, his eyes twitching.

"Yah, yah. That's enough." He yanked you away from the two, pushing you behind him protectively. He glared at his friends for doing that deliberately. With one final wave, Yunho escorted you to his car, opening the passenger door for you to enter first before putting your bag in the back seat.

"Are you hungry? We can get some supper before heading back." Yunho offered.

"I'm not. But if you are, I don't mind stopping somewhere to get food. Or I can cook something for you if you get hungry, I don't mind." You chuckled, shrugging.

"Oh, here's the thing. I would love that... But my house is pretty much a void of fresh food..." He said in embarrassment.

"Yunho!" You laughed in disbelief.

"What? You know I don't cook. Plus, I have a girlfriend that's a chef. There is literally no need for me to cook." He scoffed. You pursed your lips, finding yourself a mush at Yunho calling you his 'girlfriend'.

"And it's not that bad. I have snacks and ramyeon." He defended, making you giggle.

"Alright, let's just go back then." You said. Yunho hummed, hand coming over to hold yours, keeping only one hand on the steering wheel. Yunho let out an internal sigh of relief, feeling you lace your fingers with his.

"Here we are." After Yunho pulled up in a parking space, he grabbed your bag and led you upstairs to his house. You removed your shoes at the entrace way before following him in.

"It's not much but... it's home." Yunho gave a crooked smile rubbing the back of his neck. He spent the entirety of last night cleaning.

"Thank you." You smiled, looking around.

"I'll put your bag in my room. Feel free to look around, make yourself comfortable. Help yourself to whatever." He told you and disappeared down the hall.

The apartment was simple yet modern. The couch was tucked in the corner, behind it was a floor to ceiling window. There were two rooms, one bedroom and one room that looked an office.

"Is this where you game?" You asked, noticing the gaming set up he had in the office.

"Yeah but there's pull out bed. My parents sleep there when they come over. Or Gunho..." He informed. You nodded with a hum and walked into Yunho's bedroom. It was like yours, a little plain. There was a bath towel, face towel and spare toothbrush sitting on the bed, having been set out by Yunho.

"These are for you to use. Let me know if you need anything." He picked the items up and held them out to you. You tucked them to your chest, going to your bed to get some clothes to wear to sleep.

"You use the bathroom here. I'll use the outside one." Yunho smiled.

"No, Yunho. It's okay, it's your bathroom. I'll use the spare one." You chuckled. He shook his head in denial.

"No, I insist." Before you could protest further, he ran away while cackling, leaving you standing there in the middle of his bedroom.

"Yunho..." You shook your head and went to take a shower. As you stood in the bathroom, you smiled to yourself. The towels smelt like Yunho and now, you did too, after using his soap.

"You're crazy." You scolded yourself. You gathered your dirty clothes and exited the bathroom.

Yunho came out from the bathroom at the same time. He looked good, dressed more homey, his hair ruffled and slightly damp from washing. His big grin made he look even more handsome and your heart soar.

"Was your shower good?" He asked, tilting his head. You nodded your head and Yunho came to hug you, tucking you to his side. He leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

Yunho prayed you couldn't hear his heart racing. Now, you were in his home, staying over. And you smelt like him!

"I can see your imaginary tail wagging." You teased him, jabbing his side.

"What is that supposed to mean?" He whined as he squirmed away, ticklish from your jabbing. You laughed and went to the living room with him trailing behind you.

"Where's your dirty clothes? We can throw them in the wash. Should be done by tomorrow." Yunho asked.

"It's fine. I'll just bring them back to mine to wash." You shrugged.

"But the cooking smell will linger and become stale." He reasoned. Alright, you agreed with that. You followed him to the washing area and threw your clothes into the washing machine. After putting in the soap and starting the wash cycle, all that was left to do was wait. Yunho turned to you with a mischievous grin.

"Yunho!" You squealed as he suddenly lifted you up, hugging you. He laughed at your frightened outburst.

"Let me go! Put me down!" You hit his shoulder. Yunho giggled and placed you down on the counter so you were eye to eye with him. His hands planted on either side of your body, trapping you.

"Don't do that, you scared me." You scolded. He smiled, meeting your eyes. Your hands came up to cup his cheeks.

"I'm really glad you're here, (y/n)." He said honestly, gaze becoming soft.

"Yunho..." You smiled softly. Your arms wound around his neck, hugging him. You felt one of his hands come up to hold your waist as he tucked his face into the crook of your neck.

After you and Yunho moved to the bedroom, you sat together and just talked. Although, while you were talking, you noticed Yunho just staring at you with a dreamy look on his face. You stopped talking and laughed at his expression.

"Are you okay?" You giggled. Yunho groaned and leaned forward, burying his face against your chest in embarrassment. You held his head, laughing at him.

"Don't laugh at me." He whined.

"Why? You just looked so cute while you were spacing out." One hand coming to stroke the back of his head.

"I just can't believe you're here." He murmured. You smiled softly, you felt the same. This feeling you had when you were with Yunho, you've never felt anything like this before.

"Stop hiding already." You laughed, gently grasping the back of his collar to pull him away.

"No!" He protested, grasping your hips and knocking you down instead. You laughed as Yunho laid his head on your chest.

"We can't sleep like this." You scoffed.

"Why not? I'm perfectly comfortably." His arms wounds themselves around your waist, effectively caging you in Yunho's embrace. You felt your cheeks heat up as you rolled your eyes. You sighed in defeat, one arm slinging over his shoulders and the other dress playing with the ends of his hair.

"Fine. If you have a bad back tomorrow, don't blame it on me." You sighed. Yunho nodded his head, even if he did have a bad back tomorrow, no way would be regret it.

"Yunho... I know I already said this but I'm happy you got to meet uncle Junghyun despite everything... " You said.

"Thank you for letting me meet him. And for telling me more about him." He replied.

"I'm trying... to open up more. I want to tell you... it's just..."

"Shh, it's okay. I understand. You don't have to rush into it, I'll always be here when you're ready to tell me." He promised you, squeezing your waist reassuringly.

"I can barely cope with it myself, after so many years. I don't even know where to start, everything in my head is just a mess. I've always been scared of letting people into my world." You sighed.

"It's okay to be scared. I know that some wounds just never close, but it's not your fault, (y/n). Just know that you are not alone."

Feeling your breathing even out, Yunho lifted his head to see you fast asleep. When he heard the washing machine beep outside, he reluctantly wiggled out of your hold and went out to move the clothes into the dryer.

"Done." He smiled and turned off the lights, hurrying to the room to be by your side again.

"Goodnight, love." Yunho gently lifted you over his arm so you were safely tucked to his side. He smiled down at you.

Planting a soft kiss to your forehead, Yunho closed his eyes and joined you in dreamland, hoping that you and him could just stay there forever.

-

You woke up first, hoping to leave before Yunho woke up since you were meant to clock in earlier. However, when you came out of the bathroom, you saw him sitting on the bed, looking lost.

"Oh... There you are..." He smiled sleepily when he saw you, his voice deep and sleep ridden.

"I hope I didn't wake you up. Go back to sleep. I'll see you at the restaurant later when you clock in." You chuckled, coming over to hug him. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face against your abdomen. Your fingers carded through his slightly tangled hair. He mumbled something.

"What? I can't hear you." You giggled.

"You didn't wake me up and I don't want to go back to sleep. I'll clock in with you. There's no way I'm going to let you leave without me." He repeated, looking up at you.

"Yunho... The whole reason why you clock in later is because you stay later to help the others with the clean up." You sighed.

"I know but I told them I'm bringing you on a date so I'll clock in with you and do the work first." He reasoned.

"The boys are not gonna like this."

"Please, they're fine with it. If it makes you feel better, I promise it won't happen often." He gave you his puppy eyes and pout, which didn't even match his deep voice.

"Alright. I'll go out and wait." You patted his back. Yunho nodded and crawled out of bed, going to the bathroom to wash up.

While Yunho was in the bathroom getting ready, you tidied up the bed, arranging the blankets and the pillows. Then you sent Seonghwa a message to let him know that you were fine and that nothing happened in the night.

"I'll make us some coffee?" Yunho offered. You hummed and followed him out to the front. It was cute that despite not using his kitchen, Yunho had a small coffee set up.

"Welcome to Yunho's cafe!" He grinned. You smiled seeing how enthusiastic he was.

"May I have a large iced americano to go, please?" You ordered.

"Certainly! Coming right up." Yunho began making the coffee. You watched as he made the coffee for you, a little frown of concentration on his face.

"Iced americano!" He yelled out, as if you were not just in front of him. You winced, covering your ears at his volume.

"Thank you." You smiled.

"On the house, for the prettiest girl ever." Yunho winked and held the cup out to you. You scoffed and rolled your eyes, looking away as you grew shy at his compliment. Yunho chuckled at your reaction before beginning to make his own coffee. You stayed with him, sipping your coffee as you accompanied him.

"We should go before we're late." You said, checking your watch. You never liked being late to work. Grabbing your stuff, you and Yunho left his house to report for work.

"Should I be worried that you're driving one handed?" You chuckled as one of Yunho's hands came to hold yours.

"I would never knowingly put you in any danger, (y/n)." He scoffed. You couldn't help but laugh.

"If you say so." You shrugged, teasing him. He was about to protest but he felt your hand still hold his, with no sign of letting go any time soon. He smiled happily, giving your hand a loving squeeze.

"I can't wait for our date later." Yunho smiled. You nodded in agreement, you enjoyed your dates with Yunho.

"And there she is." Wooyoung smirked as you pulled up, giving you a small wave.

"You're alive." Jongho chuckled as you came out of Yunho's car. You rolled your eyes, slinging an arm around him.

"You're just as bad as Hwa." You scoffed. Jongho really cared for you, he just never showed it or expressed it like Seonghwa and Wooyoung did. But you know he cares. They all did, that's why they are your chosen family.

"Hey." Seonghwa knocked the back of your head and clicked of his tongue. Yunho bowed his head to greet everyone as he opened the door to the kitchen.

"Alright, let's get started." You said, putting your hair up into a bun and tying your apron on before washing your hands.

"I'm going to get started on the Paris-Brest (ring of choux pastry with praline cream filling topped with flaked almonds and icing sugar)." You announced to them, reading off your list for the day.

"Are we doing big quiche or mini quiches?" You asked.

"If we're doing shredded duck and with the fennel then I think let's do a big one." Wooyoung suggested.

"Starting on that. I'll do a thyme embedded crust." Seonghwa raised his hand.

"Next, there is a mixed berry lemon muffin with crumble topping. Who is taking that?" You turned to the rest. Wooyoung raised his hand to take the item. That left Jongho with the fluffy Japanese cheesecake, which he had experience making those before to the perfect consistency.

"Whoever is done will do the Ispahan cake (French raspberry, rose and lychee cake) and the Basbousa (Egyptian semolina cake with coconut orange syrup)." You informed.

"Can I help?" Yunho came up to you as enthusiastic as ever.

"Not me, Yun. Maybe the others might need help." You chuckled, turning back to your choux dough.

"Y-Yun?" Yunho's eyes widened, growing flustered at the sudden nickname you threw out there. You turned to him, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"N-Nothing! Nevermind... S-Seonghwa hyung! Let me help you!" Yunho ran over to where Seonghwa was at the stove.

Although, somewhere along the way, Yunho found himself back by your side, helping you with even the smallest of tasks. He liked helping you and appreciated that you were willing to teach him.

"Oww!" Yunho suddenly jumped, making you jump as well. He stuck his finger into his mouth while you stomped over with a frown. Grasping his wrist, you took his hand to see what had happened. You saw the blood ooze out the side of his finger.

"Yunho is off knife duty. Now you, come with me." You mumbled, dragging him along with you after addressing the rest.

"I'm fine, (y/n). It's just a cut." He sighed as you sat him down in the locker room, going to retrieve the first aid kit in the corner. You didn't reply him.

"Are you mad?" He asked sadly.

"I'm going to stop the bleeding first." You said, not answering his question. You held a small piece of gauze to the wound.

"Okay, now stay still. This is going to sting a little but I need to disinfect the cut." You warned him. Yunho didn't say a word, wanting to let you finish dressing his wound.

"Ahhh... That hurt..." He winced, kicking his feet as you sprayed the disinfectant over the cut. There was a childlike pout on his face. But Yunho opened his eyes when he saw you gently blowing over the wound. There was a worried frown on your face, an expression Yunho had not seen before.

"(y/n), please don't be mad." Yunho said, his free hand curling around your waist as your hands busied to wrap his finger up.

"I'm not mad at you. I just don't like seeing you hurt... Our professional knives are sharper than the regular home kitchen knives. I should have warned you." You shook your head.

"Hey, don't blame yourself either. I'm the one who wasn't paying attention and got hurt cutting raspberries." He cupped your cheek.

"You're banned from using knives without supervision from now on." You frowned.

"Nooooo, please. I have made it so far in doing kitchen things without supervision. If I can't even use a knife on my own, I'm as good as useless." He whined.

"You can go back to weighing ingredients." A small smile finally appeared on your face as you patted his head.

"That's so boring!" He groaned, pressing his forehead against your stomach. You scoffed and shook your head but couldn't help laugh at how silly Yunho was being. As long as he was around you, you would never find him useless.

~

Series masterlist

[otrtbs]

Hi I hope you're doing well 🌷

I had a question. I'm totally asking out of pure curiosity, it's not a criticism or anything of the sort.

In ahb (this masterpiece of yours) Sirius's favorite painting is Degas' Dancers.

I wanted to know if you knew the background of this painting and if making it Sirius' favorite was a deliberate choice or if you had no idea at all.

Because the Ballerinas in Opera Garnier in Paris were all really young and mostly, they were poor. The dancers were often their family's hope to crawl out of misery.

The audience was full of men.

In fact, the sad flip side was that there was a whole prostitution network behind the scene. With these young girls. Men could pay for backstage access to watch ballerinas change and sometimes rape them.

So Degas was a big customer.

That's how he painted the dancers and most of his works.

That's again how he sculpted the ballerina, her tutu was added meaning the 14 year old girl was posing nude.

Degas is also suspected of being Jack the Ripper, there are a certain number of credible leads and potential evidences.

That's why I was wondering if you knew.

Since there is this whole chapter where they insult Picasso (as they should) I found it strange that Degas being a known major p*do did not receive the same treatment.

Ps: I'm french, I don't know if I made any mistakes writing this, if I have please excuse me I tried my best 🙏

Okay hi, hello! I am doing well and I hope you are as well! You have unlocked Art Historian Thesis Nat, so I am going to put an extremely lengthy post under the cut, I'm so sorry (this is literally my area of study,,, i fear i am incapable of being brief about this)

I do want to clarify that right off the bat, I don't necessarily think many of these art historical figures are "good people". Like none of them are the best, most moral, upstanding citizens you should model your life after (but they're also dead sooooo). But I also understand that I did take some time in my fanfiction to make my hatred for Picasso very clear, and so I can also understand the confusion in not extending that same hatred towards Degas. But there are a few reasons for that, that I'll try to explain below!

The direct historical documentation of Pablo Picasso's violence towards the women in his life is vast and damning. If you want particularly good insight into his violence and abuse, then I recommend reading Marina Picasso's (Picasso's granddaughter) memoir titled: Picasso: My Grandfather. I also recommend Françoise Gilot's (romantic partner of Picasso) books, Life with Picasso and Picasso and Matisse. It is through the memories of the people who loved Picasso and who loved him in turn, that we hear of his sadistic nature that drove his lovers to suicide and we get personal letters that he wrote to Gilot in which he says things like "Dora, for me, was always a weeping woman… And it’s important, because women are suffering machines" and "For me there are only two kinds of women: goddesses and doormats." His granddaughter has this to say about him: “He submitted [women] to his animal sexuality, tamed them, bewitched them, ingested them, and crushed them onto his canvas. After he had spent many nights extracting their essence, once they were bled dry, he would dispose of them.” And Gilot says: "I am the only one to not have been sacrificed to the sacred monster(…) and is alive to tell the tale. He was a wonderful person to be with, it was like fireworks, amazingly creative, so intelligent and seductive(…) but he was also very cruel, sadistic and ruthless with others and with himself (…) It was the greatest love of my life, but you have to protect yourself (…) The others did not, they clung to the powerful minotaur and paid a very high price."

Why this matters: The evidence for Degas being so virulently misogynistic and cruel towards women is extremely less substantial and more speculative in nature.

Degas being Jack the Ripper. Degas being Jack the Ripper started off as a tiktok theory posed in early 2024, (though you can find an article as early as 2004 written by The Guardian's art critic here) and while fun to think about and speculate, it isn't true. August and September and November of 1888 is when the Jack the Ripper crimes were committed in London and Degas was in the South of France at that time receiving medical treatment because he was in extremely poor health. (Which you can find in The Letters of Edgar Degas edited by Theodore Reff (I'm sure there's. free PDF version out there somewhere)). Also, self-admittedly speculative, but Degas didn't visit the East-End of London when he did make his excursions to London because he was classist 😭. So, it would be odd for him to know the ins and outs of the streets where the murders took place. And also he had failing eyesight starting at 36, so the odds of him being Jack the Ripper are extremely slim.

The Ballerinas Yes, while it is true that the ballerina's were often subject to horrific conditions and were prostitutes for the "wealthy" patrons of the opera house, this does not mean that Degas partook in that. in fact, most historical documentation surmises he didn't. Degas considered himself a "realist" painter rather than an impressionist painter, wishing to document "real life" in all of its ugliness, beauty and unstylized truth. Therefore his primary concern was documenting the opera house and ballet in all of the moments, not just when the girls were dancing on stage. And in many of his paintings, Degas captures the opera patronsn in his ballerina paintings as lurkers behind the stage curtains as sinister black shadows, or as men predatorily watching in nice suits (e.g. Ballet, 1876 and The Rehearsal of the Ballet Onstage (1874)). But Degas himself, was NEVER a ballerina patron, he is even quoted as saying "People call me the painter of dancing girls. It has never occurred to them that my chief interest in dancers lies in rendering movement...". (now this is not because Degas was morally outraged at what was happening to the ballerina's, but because he viewed the men abusing the girls as committing a sin against God by sleeping with prostitutes). But while Degas had access to backstage, he was never a customer. And in fact, Degas is a notorious, well-documented celibate. This is because Degas believed sleeping with women would make him lose his special painting ability. No lie. Here's a direct quote from Vincent Van Gogh in his a letter to his brother Theo about the artist: "Degas lives like a little lawyer and does not like women, for he knows that if liked them and went to bed with them, he would become intellectually diseased and would no longer be able to paint." Degas was also known to reject ballerina's advances as well (again, fearing women would take away his magic painting power).

Feelings towards women By all accounts, Degas friends describe him as being reclusive towards women to being jovial with them, but always kind to them outside of a working environment. He even developed friendships with his fellow contemporary women painters. In a working environment, Degas was obsessed with perfection, demanding ballerinas contort their bodies in painful positions, and making them hold those positions for hours at a time. By all accounts, this was not because he hated them, but was obsessed with capturing their movements, the limitations of the human body, and he demanded perfection from himself. (x x x) (i.e. his obsession for his work and drive for perfection as a painter made him demanding and harsh towards his subjects, not his pure hatred of women).

Conclusions: So by many accounts, Degas was not particularly fond of women, and had little regard for his dancers. But the claims that he must have slept with the ballerina's and been a patron/customer "because that's what all men did back then" are not backed by any evidence. only evidence to the contrary. I went in on Picasso because those that were close to him have written first-hand accounts of his monstrocity. This is not the case with Degas. So, while I didn't tear him down like I did Picasso, I wasn't lauding him as a saint either. I highly recommend reading the article called Degas's Misogyny by Norma Broude which details the ways in which modern times have run away with this idea of Degas being a sadistic woman-hater and how we've gotten to this point. Anyway, TLDR; I was aware of the dark "underside" of the Paris Ballet at the time in which Degas was painting his works. Do I think he is Jack the Ripper and a man who participated in ballerina prostitution? No, not at all. At the end of the day, I am just an art history girl, telling anyone who will listen that there is not enough documentation on Degas to take these claims as 100% truth, or put that man up there with Picasso. Peace and Love! <3

[luveline]

Hi! Could you please write a daddy-daughter day with Roan and Eddie? Like Eddie and Roan listening to Eddie's music, going to Wayne's, and just doing cute things like when Reader went out with her friends please?

hi sweetheart yes I can, I loved this idea, tyty! dad!eddie x fem!reader, 3k (cw reader is tipsy at the end)

"Okie-smokie," you say, standing at the door with two options. "Ro, pink or silver?" 

You show Roan your earrings. Eddie crams his foot into his sneaker and ties the laces, listening as Roan deliberates your two choices. "I think you should wear the pink ones because you have pink gems on your bracelet." 

He can hear your smile. "I think so too. Thank you, lovely girl." 

"Roan, you have your shoes on still?" Eddie asks, toeing into his second shoe. He stands tall when he's done and brushes down his jeans. "Coat?" 

"I don't know where my coat is," she says. 

"I'll get it," you say. "It's in our room." 

"Okay. You have your purse?" Eddie asks. 

You laugh as you run up the stairs. "Stop doing your dad checklist! We have everything." 

Roan waits by the door in what Eddie believes to be her nicest outfit ever. He's been experimenting with elaborate hairstyles, and this one takes the cake. 

He'd woken her up early for a shower and washed her hair, some tactile bonding to start what's looking to be a great day. She'd nearly fallen back asleep, and again when he was drying it with the cold diffuser. After that he sectioned it and pulled two triangular sections from the front backward, and with the help of four rubber bands and a little bit of hair mousse, he secured it out of her face, curled and pretty. 

She's wearing a short-sleeved white t-shirt under stiff black dungarees with black sneakers. You suggested white sneakers, but Eddie joked that he wouldn't make her look too perfect (her white sneakers are full of mud from when they went looking for frogs last weekend, and he hasn't told you yet). 

"Hey, can you get her, uh, her blue jacket? The navy one? I think her vinyl coat will be too uncomfortable with the short sleeves." 

You appear on the top step already holding it. "I'm psychic." 

Once Roan has been helped into her coat and Eddie's made sure you both have money and water, he locks the door to your (his) house with his key. It took him a long time to start calling it his house. Not that he ever thought you'd shoot him out of it. So far, there hasn't been a day since you got together where he worried it wouldn't last. 

And here the kissing begins. 

You might pretend otherwise, but Eddie knows you're jealous of today. Not in a cruel way, the envy isn't eating you alive or anything, but he knows you wishes you could come, and he also knows you know that's not how these kinds of days work. If you're with them, Eddie would have to share his attention. Alone with Roan, he can pour it all in. You're not so codependent as to resent that, and you're happy for them. But again, you're jealous. 

"Why did I make plans?" you ask him, your hands bunched in his t-shirt. 

"Because you'll have fun," he says, dipping his head down to kiss you. 

You smile and lift one shoulder. "I will. You have fun too, okay?" You bend at the waist to kiss Roan's cheek. After a moment, you kiss the other. "My big girl, you look so grown up today, we should've taken more photos." 

"I think ten was enough," Roan says.

"It wasn't," you and Eddie say at the same time. You sigh morosely, though it's not entirely genuine. 

"Okay, I love you both. Say hi to Uncle Wayne for me." 

"We love you," Eddie says. You pout and get in your car. You've parked behind him, so they stand waving at you as you leave. "She loves you so much," Eddie says to Roan. 

Roan shrugs her shoulders, pleased and trying to be humble about it. "Dad," she grumbles. 

He puts Roan in her car seat and they drive to Uncle Wayne's for lunch. It's not far, but it's enough to listen to Roan's tape, featuring her current favourite song, a nonsensical rock song called 'She Don't Use Jelly' by The Flaming Lips. It's not Eddie's taste but it's worth it just to listen to Roan shouting along to the song, her building excitement before she gets to sing, "He uses maaaa-gazines!" 

After that is Sheryl Crow. Eddie wants to switch the tape to something harder but Roan's already singing, and it's so funny to hear her sing 'All I Wanna Do' that he can't make himself change it. He rolls down the windows so she can feel the wind on her face and she dances in her seat, tripping over the words with gusto. 

Sheryl Crow is all your influence. As soon as the song ends he pops the tape and drives the car at a crawl. He's had Roan's favourite, and then yours, but now it's time for real music. He isn't raising no prep. 

Roan is more than used to rock music. She loves it most of the time, though her taste complicates as she ages. Eddie puts on a tape you made him painstakingly at Christmastime full of ripped live performances, the sort of music you can't find on CD yet. The very first song is 'Sad But True', Metallica live from Mexico, '93. Roan bobs her head up and down with the beat. Eddie literally could not be more proud, better when she pulls out her air guitar and challenges him on who's best. 

After almost crashing the car into the picnic bench on Wayne's front yard, Eddie pulls Roan out, and grins as she races up the steps to the door. She doesn't knock —Wayne's home is Eddie's home is her home. 

"Uncle Wayne!" she bellows. 

The smell of sausages and fried onions is inescapable. Eddie loves Wayne, and he loves his extra special hotdogs, but he can already sense the mess Roan's about to make. Ketchup stains have defeated half her wardrobe over the years. 

Wayne's turning from the stove with a huge grin. He wipes his hands on a rag and chucks it at the counter, bending down with his arms opening to catch Roan as she sprints at him. 

"Oh," he groans, "Hi, Roanie. Where have you been? I told your dad eleven thirty, and it's almost twelve." 

"We had to help Y/N find her nice pants," she says, wrapping her arms around Wayne's neck. 

Wayne gives her a grandfatherly squeeze, adoring but nonchalant. 

"We didn't have to help," Eddie says, "but she made breakfast, so it would've been mean to not help." 

"Still sounds like dad's fault," Wayne says. "Yeah?" 

"Yes," Roan says, turning in Wayne's arms to beam at her betrayed father. 

Wayne kisses her head and puts her down. He asks how you are, to which Eddie can answer honestly. You're good, and you're very happy lately making wedding arrangements even though you don't know what you're doing for lots of it. Roan is still torn on whether she wants to be the best man or the maid of honour. You'd been winning, until Eddie told her she could still wear a dress as best man. 

The hotdogs are ready for eating straight away. Unlike Eddie, Wayne is prepared for Roan's mess. He pins a bib around her that he's had since she was two with a rabbit on the front. It should've been trashed a while ago, but in a show of quiet love, Wayne scrubs it spotless every single time she wears it. The white background is still a bright white. 

They eat hot dogs and talk about nothing. Wayne and Eddie see each other every single day, but Wayne and Roan definitely don't. Now that she's getting older, there's been talks of consistent sleepovers. Eddie doesn't want Wayne to spend all week in work and then have her on the weekend because, while she is an absolute delight, Roan is also hard work, and especially on Fridays when she's tired. But Wayne wants to have her, and Roan loves him more than anything, so sooner or later Eddie's going to have to say yes. 

He won't lie, he could use the break. But not tonight. 

"Dad," Roan says, fried onions and bread falling down her front and back onto her plate.

"Yes, my rude girl?" 

She licks her lips. Wayne tilts her head back to wipe her mouth clean with a paper towel. "Thank you, Uncle Wayne. Dad, can we get a movie tonight?" 

"Yeah, babe, we can get a movie, but I thought you wanted to go to the Hawk?" 

"There's no space for talking in the Hawk." 

"And you want to talk to me," he summarises. 

"Duh. Wayne, can I have more smustard, please?" she asks through chews. 

Wayne meets Eddie's eyes as he squirts mustard on her hotdog. It's a look Eddie didn't know he wanted to see until Wayne started giving it, a mixture of she's funny and you're raising a good one, kid. 

Eddie cleans up the hotdog mess before Wayne can stop him and they dawdle, not wanting to leave but with things to do. They're ten minutes late for their manicure appointments. 

The Hawkins manicurists are slightly judgemental middle-aged women who love Roan. They've seen her a couple of times, once when Eddie had been on a few dates with you but was far from your boyfriend, and Roan wanted, "Pretty nails, like Y/N," after she'd seen your painted nails for a wedding, and then a couple of times after with you, but it's been a while since he was here, and the new young nail technician surprises Eddie. 

"Hi," she says, smiling at Roan, "I know you, don't I? You and your mom came in a couple of weeks ago. How did your gems last?" 

"They came off when we went waterfall walking," Roan says, sounding exuberantly pleased by this. 

"Wow, waterfall walking, that sounds fun!"

"Yes!" 

Eddie grabs Roan under the armpits to help her into the tall chair. "It was fun until her wellies split. She had cold feet." 

"Oh no. What do we want today, miss adventurer? The same as last time, or are we trying something new?" 

Roan looks up at Eddie. He takes a seat beside her, her coat in his lap. "Whatever you want, Ro. No, um, extensions though." 

"No, I wouldn't suggest it," says the nail tech. "Maybe I can show you some pictures and you can see if you like something? I can do whatever you want me to." 

Roan ends up asking for nails that look like the ocean. The nail technician is an artist, creating a beautiful illusion of real water on her nails, and colourful sea creatures on the nails big enough to accommodate them. 

"Are you bringing your wife back soon?" the nail tech asks, covering Roan's skin with her hand as her nails cure under a UV lamp. 

"She's not married, yet," Roan says. 

"She's my fiancé," Eddie says mildly. He kind of liked wife better. "And she doesn't let me spoil her often, so probably not." 

"She couldn't stop talking about you," the nail tech says. "And you," —she nods at Roan— "I was kind of jealous. I'm still jealous. I hope my baby comes out as pretty as you." 

"You're having a baby?" Roan asks, gasping, almost knocking over the UV lamp. 

"I am! Yeah, I am, she's not coming anytime soon though. But by Christmas I'll have her." The nail tech brings a buffing file to Roan's pinky finger and sands against the edge gently. "She better be as nice as you, miss adventurer." 

"I think Ro might be one of a kind," Eddie says. 

Roan smiles at him as though he's hung the moon. 

They visit the video store after the nail salon, hand in hand. Roan is more than ecstatic at the aquarium on her nails, and it's making her sweet. She walks as close to Eddie as she can without stepping on his shoes, and doesn't let go for anything. Or, almost anything. 

"Steve!" she shouts when she sees him, Harrington himself bent over the kids aisle arranging movies. 

"Oh, no," he groans. Roan runs full pelt at him and he pretends to almost fall over. Roan laughs and tugs him back up, and he says thank you with a short hug. "Hi, Roan." He looks up to see Eddie, and glares with a mock disdain. "You. Where's my spirit level?" 

"Your–" Eddie's lips part, and then snap shut. "My bad, Stevie. I still have it, I swear."

"Well give it back, I want to mount my new TV on the wall and I can't because you never answer the phone." 

"I do," Eddie protests. 

"No, you don't, I think I've spoken more to Y/N since you moved in with her than I've spoken to you. Which, actually, I prefer her. And I want you to invite her to my housewarming party next week." 

"Am I invited, too?" Roan asks. 

Steve smiles at her, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Of course you are. Robin's going to bring Mr. Stink too." 

Mr. Stink is Robin's big fat tabby cat. Roan loves him so much she cries every time she has to say goodbye to him.

Eddie and Steve hug and only pat each other on the back once, which is progress. Having guessed why they're there, Steve pulls them into the backroom to show her all the new kids movies, and lets Roan pick as many as she wants to put on his account. Despite his hug and his party invitation, Of course you're invited too, Steve glares at Eddie fiercely from across the checkout counter. "Do not bring them back late, Munson. You cost me six dollars, last time." 

"And I tried to give it back to you," Eddie says, the bag of movies hanging from his elbow, Roan the other. 

"Don't insult me. Bye, my favourite Munson, make sure you bring me a nice drawing for my new fridge," Steve says. He speaks much more kindly to Roan than he does Eddie, but Eddie doesn't think for a moment that Steve doesn't like him. They've just always been like this. 

"Okay! Tell Robin I miss her, please, and Mr. Stinky." 

"Anything for you. Bye, bye," he calls. 

Eddie waves at him and they stroll out of the video store like kings, Eddie with all their movies and Roan with one of the huge bags of ready popped popcorn. She's walking on sunshine with every step, nearly skipping by the time they reach the car. 

He doesn't understand it. Eddie's just Eddie. He doesn't get it, but he has a moment when he's strapping her back into her third car seat, knowing one day she's gonna be so tall they can get away with a booster seat. One day she won't need a car seat at all. He just loves her so much he can’t handle it. 

"Show me those nails again, babe," he says. 

She pulls her wrist up, her fingers hanging down, and says, "Lookit." 

He loves her. She learned it from you. You'd done it as a joke, Roan does it because it makes her feel cool. 

"Gorgeous." He pulls her hands into his. "What else do you want to do today?" 

She shrugs. Eddie strokes down a crop of windblown baby hairs with a licked thumb, waiting for her to decide, but she must get distracted. She reaches out to do the same to him, moving his hair behind his ear. 

"That's for me," she says, looking at the little 'R' behind his ear. 

"Yeah, that's for you. I was going to get your full name, but I couldn't take the pain," he lies. 

Her nose wrinkles in amusement. "Then how did you get the big ones on your arms?" 

"I was less of a crybaby when I had those ones." 

"You're not a crybaby, dad," Roan says, giggling.

He pouts and sniffles at her. "You really mean that?" he asks tearfully. 

Roan pushes his shoulder lightly. 

"Did you decide what you want to do?" 

She nods vehemently. When she tells him what she wants, Eddie really could burst into tears. 

You're a little tiny bit tipsy when you come home that night. You try not to show it, but Eddie knows you better than he knows the back of his own hand, and as soon as you sit down he's taking big sniffs of you to make sure you know you've been found out. 

"Stop, you're like a puppy," you grumble fondly. "Wait, where's my Ro?" 

"Bathroom. Come here, let me take your shoes off." 

You lift a tired foot into his lap. "I had, uh, a margarita. And a cosmo, too. It was happy hour!" 

"Sweetheart, I couldn't care less what hour it was as long as you had fun." 

You preen, your face swinging into his shoulder. One of your earrings jabs his bicep. "Did you have a good day with Roan?" 

"We had a great day." He struggles to get your shoe off as you slide down his arm. "Maybe my favourite day with her I've ever had that wasn't with you." 

"Really? I'm so happy. Oh, wow, what? Nice nails, handsome." 

You pull his hands into your lap. They're painted in a uniform black, but there's a clownfish painted on his thumbnail. "They're super goth," you say. 

"You think so?" 

"The clownfish is a choice. Can I get one too?" 

Eddie kisses your flushed cheek. "Yeah, babe. The nail tech tried to get me to have a seahorse–" 

"Bit on the nose." 

"Exactly," he laughs. "Exactly. But our day was awesome. She was such an angel, and she must've made everyone smile everywhere we went, she–" Eddie sits up, speaking with pride in every word. "We went to Wayne's, and the nail salon, and the video store because she said the movies aren't good for talking and she wanted to talk to me, and I asked her if she wanted to do anything else, and she said," —Eddie squeezes your thigh— "she'd do anything as long as we could have a hug." 

"She has you in the palm of her hand," you laugh, looking up at him with eyes nearly closed. 

Roan skips into the room, hands dripping water, and catapults herself over the armrest back into Eddie's lap. Without asking, she dries her hands on his t-shirt. 

"Hello, princess," you say. 

Roan drags the half-eaten bag of popcorn over to your side. "Hi. I saved you some." 

You take a handful of popcorn and promptly spill it down the front of your shirt. Roan helps you by picking them off of you and eating them, cramming her mouth until her cheeks have chipmunked. 

"Don't do that, you'll choke," Eddie says.

"I won't," she says, little bits of popcorn spraying him. 

"Ro," he laughs, his hand held over her mouth, laughing so hard it wobbles her in his lap. 

[brisquad-unit-4402]

technical guide and example scenario to kissing with a tongue piercing

this started as a shitpost style warmup/hc and then spiraled into a fic which spiraled into a style experiment. p much everything is deliberate except for the lowercase because i don’t believe in capitalization on my phone. now here’s a pretentious makeout scene where neither reader nor claude get the big 4k 120fps big picture at all

tags: gender neutral reader, pre-relationship, requited unrequited pining, oral fixation, making out, implied sexual/suggestive content, yeah i guess claude comes across as a sub here idk i didn’t really consider those dynamics much for this fic but if that means something to you then power to you

⚠ claude and reader jokingly call each other whores

⚠ implied piercing kink, hand/mouth play

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

reader: what’s it like to make out with a tongue piercing

claude: huh

good?? question??? he isn’t a prude but he doesn’t kiss and tell either. that shit stays locked up. he’s a private person no matter how much he likes the one asking questions. unfortunately

claude: why do you ask?

but he does like the person asking the questions. regret courses through him the second he says it aloud.

reader: just curious

reader: it’s just a stud so sometimes i forget you have one but when you’re kissing it’s hard to not notice isn’t it

claude: it could be

reader: can you stick your tongue out?

claude: [he does so]

regret! regret! regret! it’s turned to a flood washing over his thoughts. he chides himself. why are you so obedient, claude, why are you so eager to please, and for the love of god quit thinking like that before you get any ideas!

great. now there’s a nasty little thing called hope twisting through his brain and making it feel emptier than usual.

reader: i guess you’d have to be pretty into it to feel it

claude: [closes his mouth.] i guess

reader: so what’s it like?

reader: kissing, i mean

claude: that’s just your lips so it’s whatever

reader: no, dummy, i mean with tongue

claude: it’s just making out

claude: even i forget it’s there

reader: there’s no difference at all?

claude: woah woah woah woah i didn’t say that

reader: so you do notice it?

claude: well i don't but other people do

reader: is it good?

claude: i hope

claude: i mean

claude: well i don't think it's bad and no one's told me it's bad and i'm not bad [he thinks]

claude: so it's probably good. but i wouldn't know

reader: i should have guessed

claude: [a little.] yeah

claude: i mean

claude: yeah

he feels like he went outside in only boxers and got roped into an all-day affair. admitting things is already too much exposure. there’s so much he wants to say but it’ll take up all the space, ruin the mood. true feelings tend to come out clumsy according to claude.

the shred of hope lingers.

claude: i guess

claude: it’s smooth?

claude: because it’s so small?

claude: and the metal is just like that?

reader: [understanding, theorization]

claude: if it was a hoop it would be different

claude: but it’s not

claude: [unelegantly.] so it’s not

reader: i’m going to ask something stupid

claude: [gets a grip.] hey, i’m stupid

reader: no you aren’t

reader: i wonder what it feels like

claude: is this the question

reader: now it is

reader: can i try?

claude: getting a tongue piercing?

reader: no, kissing you

claude: [a brief sound]

claude: me?

reader: yeah

reader: i want to know how it feels

reader: i won’t be weird i promise

reader: and if not that’s cool

reader: i shouldn’t have brought it up i don’t want to make you feel weird or anything

reader: but i’m

reader: really curious

this is a bad time for his mouth to go dry. claude presses his lips together, only to pry them apart after remembering your request. he needs a swift bonk to the head. cold shower. 50,000 years of solitude. fuck he needs to stop thinking about this.

or keep thinking about this. it’s the best chance he’s got. it hurts his heart thinking about it. it’s indulgence. he can’t let himself pretend but he can’t let go of it either

claude: how are we doing this

reader: i guess we could try kissing first

claude: like frenching or

reader: lips first?

claude: oh right right

aaaaaaaaaa.

he feels giddy and heartbroken. and anxious. and it’s over before he really figured it out

claude: wait

why are lips so malleable? why do the tiniest presses make him feel so? so? giddy-heartbroken-anxious-dirty. this is out of order. friends don’t kiss friends with tension like this. but they are now.

reader: we forgot about the piercing

claude: right

reader: i guess that was a warmup. ha-ha

claude: yeah

claude: here goes nothing

reader: you’re such a dork—

he knows. he could always use the reminder. not now though. instead he refamiliarizes himself with lip on lip, slightly ajar, then rising. a gap between for hot breath to escape. the air grazes the slope of his cheek.

reader: mmh—

anxiety and dirtiness outweigh the other two, and the latter more than the former. he’s kissed before. reader has too. it doesn’t have to mean anything. it doesn’t have to mean anything. he repeats the thought but the message gets lost along the way.

claude: —.

reader nips so claude opens more. predictably so. and traitorously fervent. doesn’t mean nothing. his heart begs for some honesty but he can’t speak, mouth’s a little busy at the moment, not a great time to talk about feelings and whatever. he’d like to but, you know, clumsy words

clumsy tongues

the one over the bite, he means; warmth follows the lick at the tip of your tongue and down his throat and straight to his belly

claude:

you make yourself right at home. the breath is interrupted before it grazes his cheek because your hands rest there instead. claude follows your movements, shadowing as you explore, marking the depths before lulling at the entrance

reader: stay still

claude:

reader:

dammit, obedience, like a subservient dog. trembling like one while reader reenters. he nearly forgot the whole reason they were doing this until it prodded at the soft tip of his tongue.

claude: []

he’d nearly ignored the instruction. he tries not to think of it as a command, not while you trail up his tongue. little swirls that set him at ease and on fire. down onto the central. the answer at the top of the stud.

do NOT hit teeth, claude clawmark. do not hit teeth. he knows how it’s done but it’s so over if he messes up with you. fuck, this is wrong. you can’t be this hot and claude is so going to hell after this.

the metal preserves body heat but it tends to feel cooler to unfamiliar tongues. it’s important to be gentle with this. he licks low and languid, beginning a rhythm. simple circles. shouldn’t be difficult for you to predict the bead. god. what is his life

his laps are simple enough to pick up on. you lay your tongue on his in different positions to feel the stud. at this point claude’s done trying to analyze. his notes are minimal: sometimes you’re flat on his and that’s a strange feeling. the tip seems to have no effect on you, but it hits the space usually glossed over because of the metal so that’s exciting. when you press the sensitive side to the stud, you twitch back, and claude’s urge to chase rears its head.

reader: .

the challenge is taken. and now that the rhythm’s established claude speeds up. the sensation helps filter out the thought that this is an error. not on your part, of course, you’re just curious. that’s exactly why he should have denied: this is never going to happen again and he’s never going to admit how tragic that is.

but you nudge the piercing more, and the pressure makes his heart lurch.

he tilts your chin to his in a moment of surrender.

you play him like a damn instrument. his throat is full of lava boiling over with your touch, each hungrier than the last. the shivers just give you more openings to eat him up

claude: [needs to breathe.] hold on

reader: nngh?

claude: gotta

claude: gotta breathe

claude: christ,

claude: you’re shameless

reader: [between kisses at the corner of claude’s mouth.] yeah, i’m the whore here,

reader: said the guy with a tongue piercing

claude: hey since when are tongue piercings a whore thing

reader: since you kissed me like one

he’d been extremely polite, what the hell. at least, polite compared to what he really wants. still. you’re the one kissing me even when we aren’t using tongue, he thinks. the emotion behind it is unrecognizable.

yet you hum with muffled laughter as you kiss him. for not the first time it registers that he likes making you smile, even at his expense

he likes you but that’s never been a revelation.

and he quite likes how this feels when he tells his conscience to shut the hell up already. he takes your hand

reader: [with curiosity. you'd call it unrecognizable too]

thoughtlessly he holds it to his lips

claude: this is what it feels like when you touch it

the piercing, indeed, feels smooth on your fingertips as it rolls by the pads. his tongue lingers not far behind. those fingers twitch at the blend of tongue and lip; one of them sweetly curls at the stud. it’s always been easy to forget that the piercing is there but especially now as the plush of his lips closes. open-mouthed kisses become closed, leaving the true motions of his tongue—and the piercing, and the finger coiled beside it—they're obscured.

reader: [does it matter?]

reader: [Do the stage directions matter?]

claude: [looks up]

he quite likes the sight too

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[happilyhertale]

Hold on to me – Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: You've passed the time all evening at your boyfriend's company Christmas party, having one drink in your hand after another - until you get the idea to enjoy your boyfriend's company.

Pairing: Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Dry humping

Author’s note: My first Smuff Daemon one-shot story! It's also my first modern Daemon story, so I hope you like it! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.1 k

Other stories of mine

12 days of smuff

You emerge from the ladies' room with carefree grace and a soft laugh escapes your lips as you accidentally bump into another party guest, eliciting a warm smile from the other person. With a brief gesture of apology, you continue on your way, perhaps the celebrations have tempted you to indulge in a few more drinks than you had intended.

However, the fact that your boyfriend holds the position of Chairman of Targaryen Industries, and today's celebration is dedicated to another triumphant year, has ensured that you constantly have a new drink in your hand.

Unaware of the attention you are receiving, your boyfriend discreetly observes your every stumble, every visit to the bar and the infectious giggle that accompanies your orders. Lost in the merriment, you playfully turn round and sip your gin and tonic while letting your gaze wander thoughtfully.

Whilst you are unaware of the watchful eyes, one question runs through your mind – where the hell is your handsome boyfriend? Slowly you move through the festive atmosphere, trying to answer this question.

When Daemon's enchanting purple eyes are fixed on you and you suddenly feel his gaze. You turn round and your eyes meet, a happy grin spreading across your face. With deliberate slowness, you make your way through the bustling crowd, and remarkably, your gazes remain intertwined. The magnetic connection intensifies, and with every step you take towards him, a subtle warmth rises between your thighs.

There he stands, a picture of strength, his muscular physique visible even through the fabric of his shirt – his silver hair a striking contrast to your dark locks. And at this moment, he is at least as overwhelmed by your appearance as you are by him. It seems as if the world around him fades away and he forgets the conversations he was having just a few moments ago.

As you reach him, he wraps his arm around you effortlessly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and pulls you close to him.

"You seem drunk," he murmurs in your ear and you just grin.

"Maybe a little..." you say, your words a little slurred.

Daemon smiles and gently kisses your nose – but you want more. You stand up on your tiptoes and your lips enclose his. Daemon starts to grin as your hands lose themselves on his chest and you try to undo the first few buttons of his shirt.

"Mmhm... I don't know if this is the right place to go into this," he mumbles.

But as he speaks and you hear his deep voice, you immediately feel the effect as the warmth between your thighs turns into a pulsation that you can't ignore. You whimper slightly and bite gently into his lower lip. A slight growl forms in his throat and before you can react, he takes your hand and pulls you with him. While he pulls you along and you only have eyes for his handsome face, you don't notice the glances that follow you from some of the employees who would like to be in your place right now.

Daemon leads you away from the party, away from the hustle and bustle and people's conversations, into a secluded corner. You don't hesitate for long and kiss him again as he pulls you close once more. His hand holds yours tightly as he nibbles gently on your lip.

You whimper slightly as Daemon's other hand grips your hip. With a subtle movement, he slides his thigh between yours, grazing your sensitive pearl, which briefly satisfies your pulsing. With a gasp, you break the kiss, your lips slightly parted and your eyes meet. Your senses are still clouded by the alcohol, but you can't miss the grin on Daemon's lips.

Daemon's hand pushes you down slightly, and you feel the stronger friction, which makes the pulsing of your warm core even more bearable – you whimper slightly again. Only the few layers covering you prevent direct contact between you. You exhale heavily and look at him as his thighs begin to move. And suddenly you feel how the pulsing becomes unbearable again with every movement. You want to relieve yourself and try to free your hand from his to open his trousers.

"Tsk, tsk," you hear him and he shakes his head slightly.

"I want you to rub against me... I want to feel you tremble and come undone, love... On my thigh," he murmurs and you moan slightly as he leans forward and nibbles lightly on your lip. Daemon's hand begins to move you in rhythm with his thigh and you can't help it as your hips begin to follow his movement, hoping to experience release.

His lips now fully enclose yours, swallowing down your continued moans as his tongue begs to meet yours. You grant it and your tongues dance around each other as your hips move faster. His hand still has a firm grip on yours and is now on your bum, pushing you closer to him and pressing you tighter against his thigh. Another loud moan escapes your lips and you press yourself even tighter against him, feeling the friction against your nerve bundle, making your pussy clench around the emptiness inside her – you're convinced his trousers must be completely soaked by now.

Your other hand slides down his neck, you grab his hair almost desperately, trying to find a hold and elicit a soft grunt. His grunt is accompanied by your whimpers and moans as Daemon's hand on your hip lets you slide more firmly against his thigh. You feel him tense his muscles and increase the friction for you as you grind yourself against his thigh again and again. His hands squeeze you tighter and the kiss becomes greedy, almost devouring you. "Hold on to me, love... And just let yourself go," he grunts against your lips.

His teeth find their way into your lip again and that's enough. You moan into his mouth again and a whimper follows. Daemon bites harder into your lower lip and sucks lightly on it. Your eyes are shut tight as your movements go slack and you feel your pussy clench around the emptiness that so desperately wants to be filled. Daemon begins to grin as he watches you - your eyes tightly closed, your lips slightly parted, but still trying not to make a loud sound. Your movements slow down and he savours the way you ride out your orgasm on his thigh.

You breathe heavily and he leans forward, lightly bites your earlobe and leaves a fleeting kiss right on your soft spot under your ear.

"Just wait until we get home, love," he murmurs in your ear, revitalising the pulsing between your thighs as your eyes slowly open.

@hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemonds-eyeball @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @valeskafics @dreamlandcreations @hopelesswritergall @wetbitchlibrary @bl4ckph0enix @autumnhymns @fan-goddess @msmorningstaarr

[justatalkingface]

In Lack Of Defense to Aizawa

-And to varying extents literally every other UA staff member, and basiclly anyone in any sort of authority or who just exists in MHA at all.

Something I saw recently (when I started this post, months ago, anyways) that kind of pissed me of (that I'm posting here, with no connections to where it happened, because it was on a nice fic I like and I don't want to bring crap into the comments just because I don't agree with the author's view on something) is the idea that Aizawa is... how do I put this, more excusable because he doesn't know the full story behind Izuku and Bakugou.

And... to some extent, that isn't wrong, is the thing. He doesn't know that Bakugou systematically made Izuku's life hell, so he can't be expected to react to it (you can question how he would react to it, and that's a completely fair thing to be concerned about, all things considered, though that isn't the point of all this)... but. The thing is, he can be expected to react to what he does know/see, and that's the vastly justifiable criticism of him as a teacher comes from.

Day One: Bakugou attacks Izuku for.... existing with a Quirk. And here's the thing, Aizawa does stop that, but Izuku, and most people who read the story, phrase that as, 'Aizawa stopped Bakugou! Good job Aizawa!'. That's not the right response. The right response is: Aizawa stopped Bakugou, as is his literal job; it's not something that should be acknowledged as unique or impressive. Aizawa being the only person in Izuku's life to stop Bakugou is not glowing praise for Aizawa, it's blistering condemnation for everyone else. Not letting your students try to kill each in front of you is, in fact, the bare fucking minimum.

And here's the where the problem starts: Aizawa does that... and nothing else. Good Old 'Expel 'Em All' Aizawa watches a student attack a fellow student in front of him (after, for the record, sabotaging the same student in the race by blasting him with his explosions, which... is also something that, at least, should be something discussed, if not be summarily expelled over, since being happy is expulsion worthy in Aizawa Land, or being someone that reminds him of All Might) and his response is complaining that Bakugou is making him do more work. Which. You know, is bad. He doesn't even scold Bakugou, or warn him, or do anything to punish him for this.

'You're giving me dry eye, damn it!'

Yes. Because, when one student attacks another, that is the concerning point. How it inconveniences you.

(For the record, I'll touch on all the other problems with this chunk of time, which are present but not actually on target for this post, just to be thorough: doing this test at all, when they already passed, doing it on day one, doing it, apparently, because they were excited and/or because he reminded Eraserhead of All Might, threatening to expel Izuku for daring to not having control of his Quirk, being proud he only broke one finger, not doing anything to help him stop breaking his bones, teaching his students that he'll only lie to them by his whole, 'Logical Ruse' bit, (which if anything should make his threats have less bite when he fails to follow through on them every time), and sabotaging the score when, as I've discussed before, there's no way Toru, at the very least, could outperform Izuku on a test around the physical abilities of her Quirk when her Quirk is invisibility.... a test that, for extra hypocrite points, he couldn't have passed as a student.)

Day Two: Bakugou actually tries to murder Izuku in a training exercise. And I say murder deliberately; All Might explained what would happen if he hit Izuku with his gauntlet, and doesn't even argue with that assessment, instead saying, 'He won't die if he dodges!'.

In other words, Bakugou is saying, 'He'll die if I hit him!'

The next day, after reviewing the test, Aizawa says.... 'Bakugou, stop acting like a seven year old.'

Not: we're taking away your gauntlets until you can use them responsibly. Not: killing people is wrong. Not: disobey a teacher again and I'll expel you. Not: Any form of punishment or disciplinary action for, again, an actual murder attempt.

Grow up.

...Do you see where the problem is here?

Beyond this point, there's god knows how many times Bakugou yells at and/or attacks Izuku for Reasons(TM) throughout their entire school life, none of which is actually hidden from anyone, culminating in the Final Exam where Aizawa admits they have problems working together.... which is, in itself, phrasing that puts the burden as much on Izuku as it does on Bakugou. That is, needless to say, bullshit: the problem is completely on Bakugou's side, because Izuku would be pathetically grateful to his abuser if they could work together, and he constantly does his best to make that happen, no matter how often that never actually works for him.

This phrasing fits Aizawa's 'solution', which is to pair them together for their exam against All Might, again putting the burden for Bakugou's attitude on Izuku rather than dealing with it himself, with the (again, lied about) consequences of not going with the rest of the class on their summer outing, along with probably being closer to flunking out of school. This attitude culminates, ultimately, in BvD2, where Bakugou does everything to start the fight, including launching the first blow, Izuku is defending himself, yet they are both held equally responsible.

So. In Aizawa Land, if I walk up to someone with a crowbar, start hitting them, and they hit me back so I don't crack their skull open, we're both to blame for the fight; after all, they hit me, right? Seriously. Has he arrested civilians for fighting back against people trying to rob/rape/murder them? Because under this logic? The victim is just as much to blame as the robber/rapist/murder.

Alright, so as much as these posts are generally scathing criticisms, I do strive to be somewhat fair. All of these points? All of these points apply to All Might. And to Nezu. And Midnight. And Present Mic. And Class 1A. And Class 1B. And... you know what, let me sum it up: this applies to everyone who has seen Bakugou and Izuku interact, and went, 'Aww..., they're rivals!'. Which. Is basiclly every named character with any screen time, barring maybe the original version of Best Jeanist, before he became an empty shell whose only job is to praise Bakugou.

This isn't a unique problem. This is a Bakugou Problem. This is because no one can hold Bakugou accountable for anything he does, ever, and because of his quantum characterization, Bakugou lives in a consequence free reality where he says and does one thing, and literally the entire world goes selectively blind to act like he did something else entirely. It makes him come out of every situation smelling like roses, even if he spent the entire time bathing in shit, and it makes everyone around him pay the price for him instead. I'm only focusing on Aizawa for one reason: because the fandom worships him.

People love the Kakashi replacement more than they did the original model, and unlike Bakugou this isn't contentious; Bakugou may be more popular but Eraserhead's love is far more universal.

Dadzawa, despite being blatant falsehoods, is the most common take on him, but it's not even that that sparked this rant; it's that people look at him as an actual, flawed, person who makes mistakes, but refuse to go to the next logical step on those mistakes because he's 'doing his best'.

Because he's not.

He has never done his best, because he is falling asleep in class. There is no way for me to look at this disaster, sleeping in class, threatening his students, constantly eroding their trust in his words, and think, 'he's doing his best', because he isn't.

'Doing your best' means, basiclly, you never could have done this, because of some inability, but your trying anyways. All Might is trying his best, because he doesn't know how to teach at all (now that he's done training up Izuku, anyways). He's failing, yes, but he's clearly trying.

Aizawa isn't, because he's not trying. Unlike All Might, he can teach, is the thing, he's just choosing not too. Once in a blue moon, when the school administration puts it's baleful eye on him he actually does teach; he did help Momo and Shoto, for example. Problem being, he only did it then, when he was forced to test them, instead of... any time before their exam (while still somehow missing Shoto's entire everything at the same time, which is failure on such a enormous level it's kind of impressive). Then, of course, there's his mini-me, who he took from a skinny branch of a scrub to being able to use his combat scarf proficiently in battle, an absurdly exotic weapon who having an even a basic mastery must have taken months of difficult, intensive training. If Aizawa was 'trying his best', he'd be doing that teaching... you know, at all, basiclly and not when he's being held at professional gun point, or when it's for his one favorite who isn't even in his class.

Aizawa isn't doing his best, he's doing the absolute minimum he can to keep this position.

And just... look. I get that he's tired. I get he has two full time jobs. I get that that's easily the most sympathetic emotion for basiclly everyone these days, that everyone can vibe to existential exhaustion on a soul deep level. But the thing is, every Hero teacher we've seen, period, is an actual Hero. Beyond Aizawa, the only person we see having trouble with that is All Might who is, A, a new teacher, B, canonly shit with his time management and has a long, storied history of overdoing it, and C, is missing most of his internal organs. Forget teaching, every morning the man wakes up vaguely surprised he's still alive! All Might has a great excuse for being tired and overworked. Everyone else? Everyone is also working two jobs, with Present Mic working three, and still handling it a lot better than Eraserhead is.

No one made Eraserhead come in the next day after being brutally beaten to the point where he had permanent damage and was still covered in bandages, which probably set back his recovery by weeks, realistically. No one is making him work so hard he has to take naps in class to stay functional. And yet, he's the only one who can't seem to keep that schedule up.

He chose to have two jobs, and unlike most people with two jobs, he doesn't need them; he's not being a teacher so he can get a steady paycheck and have food to eat, this is a luxury to him, a choice he's willingly making for fun, not to support himself.

What I'm saying is: if the man can't handle being both a full time hero and a full time teacher, then maybe he should stop doing both at the same time. Aizawa being tired doesn't make him a good teacher, it just makes him bad at time management.