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What do you think of people who are therian, otherkin, and alterhuman? Or, perhaps, the ideas of alterhumanity as a whole?
this is a good question had to look up what some of these things were, so bear in mind my understanding is limited and fresh, HOWEVER this one seems pretty easy for me to speak on philosophically because it falls under a BASE philosophy that i have always had
as far as identity and body, my trot is that everyone has the right to do whatever they want with their body, which includes of course things like gender affirming ways (or even humanity affirming or unaffirming aways). that also includes ways in which you identify yourself.
some otherwise well meaning buckaroos get wrapped up in things like 'well i am okay with the standard pronouns but what about neo pronouns of buds who say they identify as non human or a dang tree.' i mean WE ALL KNOW there is the old scoundrel joke about attack helicopters and the thing is this: i genuinely, sincerely, without any reservations believe you can legitimately identify as a helicopter.
who am i to say you are not one? how do we even define what a HUMAN or UNHUMAN is in this swirling mix of matter and energy? is there even really a point where i end and you begin? there are OF COURSE standard answers to this that help us get through the day in a material way, but i feel like once you start talking PHILOSOPHY AND EXISTENCE and really ZOOM OUT then you are opening things up to a grander perception of this timeline, where things like 'what even IS my body?' become very abstract
in a world where all i REALLY know is that 'i think therefore i am' i am not really ready to start imposing strict definitions of these things on other people
what i personally care about is RESPECTING others and showing them kindness. so if someone is identifying in a way that is unusual (not in the sense of bad but in the sense of literally not usual) i will always just say 'okay that is very cool and exciting thank you for telling me'. i mean HECK, as a non dysphoric trans person i identify in a technically unusual way.
it is SO EASY to just 'yes and' other buckaroos expression of themselves. it is SO EASY to just 'yes and' love and exploration. so i fully support and am excited about and whole heartedly believe in any way that buds see themselves fitting into this timeline
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pornstar!shiu who started out as your agent. he’d book your gigs, stand and watch with cigarette in hand as you were fucked on film for a fat check that he’d take a cut of.
pornstar!shiu who would take you out for celebratory drinks after landing larger acts—be it a shoot for a dirty magazine or a collaboration with the current biggest name in adult film. shiu is good at getting you in—and he doesn’t much mind watching your artwork either.
pornstar!shiu who helps you set up a secondary source of income: an onlyfans. he helps you garner an audience, set your prices and start looking for guest stars. he lines a few up, lets you pick from them and even pours them a drink when they come over to film. shiu lets you have privacy with these shoots, but insists on staying in the house just in case anything goes sideways: they never do, though. most of the guys you film with are put off by the look shiu gives them when they first walk in. mean.
pornstar!shiu who slowly starts to get sick of accommodating the men you film with. it's just work, sure, but he doesn't get jealous like this of the girls that his other client Toji works with. he doesn't watch their videos back on repeat to make sure their hands don't wander where they aren't welcome. he doesn't fuck his fist at night thinking about him. it's just a you thing.
pornstar!shiu who gets an email one day from a well known pornstars agent practically begging to hitch up a collab between you and him. satoru gojo is a name shiu has heard plenty times before, be it through the business side of being your agent or through his computer speaker when he's edging himself to mindless porn in the dead of night. he knows he fucks good, seen it first hand.
pornstar!shiu who knows you're excited for this shoot, to finally get to try out the guy known for giving real orgasms in hopes of a more raw shoot. shiu almost feels bad when he tells you, twenty minutes before your shoot, that gojo can't make it. that he's sick with something nasty and you'll have to reschedule if his calendar opens up for you.
pornstar!shiu who listens to you whine about how you promised your online audience something good tonight. nods as you beg for him to find someone else on such short notice. he pretends to scroll through his phone and send a few texts as you stress your pretty mind over leaving your followers hanging. shiu can't help but smile at your desperate pout when he tells you that no one can make it on such short notice... but that he does have another idea, albeit an unconventional one.
pornstar!shiu who, within twenty minutes, has your face pressed into your pillows and his hand forcing your arch so he can fuck you just that little bit deeper. the moans you let out, even though they're muffled by your satin pillow, are nothing short of pornographic. it's fitting, and pulls a smile onto shiu's face because he's hearing better moans from you than he thinks gojo could ever pull. and god you feel better than he'd ever imagined: he wonders how he'll ever lay down for another person again know that he's felt you wrapped around his cock.
pornstar!shiu who insists it's just a favour: just work. he's given you five orgasms and a dirty movie to show for it too. you two fuck for an hour and he showers at your place before helping you edit and post it over dinner. it's casual, nothing awkward, but when the comments start rolling in about this new man that makes you cum like none other has, you swear he blushes.
pornstar!shiu who quickly becomes a regular on your page. goes from being your agent to somewhat of a partner in film. over the course of a few weeks, you have more money than you know what to do with: people keep subscribing to watch you cum on his cock in the mindless way it seems only he can pull from you. your library grows daily, with videos of him fucking you on the kitchen counter, whipped cream eaten straight from your chest, to videos from his perspective as he takes drags of a cigarette while you get your fix from your lips wrapped around his thick cock. he's somewhat of a pornstar himself now.
pornstar!shiu who, for someone who insisted this was just work, gets into the habit of kissing you through your orgasms. or conveniently forgetting to press record so that your marathon sex session on his couch stays for his eyes only. or starts leaving things at your house on the off chance to have someone else over to film with, so they'll see his hair gel or large shoes by the front door and realise you're spoken for, even if he doesn't have the right to speak for you.
pornstar!shiu who's asleep in your bed one night, his cock still nestled deep inside of you after making love to you for the first time. you're littered with lovebites and your mind is hazy with feelings you never thought you'd have for your agent of all people. the night is dark, and as you're cockwarming the man who is much more than just a co-star to you, your phone dings. he stirs, and you check it to find a message from Satoru Gojo, who is asking after you. he says he's upset you didn't get to film together the other week but he hopes you're feeling better. your sickness seemed pretty nasty, from what your agent said when he cancelled on your behalf.
what a shame!
#shiu smut#jjk shiu#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#shiu kong smut#shiu kong x reader#shiu x you#shiu kong x you#jjk x you#shiu kong
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Season 2 Squid Game Men + Who Their Jealous of
Pairing: Squid Game x GN!Reader
Warnings: mentions of killing, murder but not yandere
Author's Note: This wasn't requested but I thought I would post something in filling for the requests I'm going to post after school and this weekend as much as I can before The Rookie season 7 comes out and I would like to write for that too. Also I'm sorry if this also sucks, because I didn't want to literally be the same for all
Squid Game Women's version will be posted soon!
Seong Gi-hun:
Is jealous of Young-il
Can't put his finger to it, but he doesn't trust him very well
He takes Young-il's silence as a threat sometimes and the way he looks at you
Before he joined the games, jealously or insecurity was never a problem for him
But after what he went through, murder isn't even a second thought for him anymore
Wants to tell Young-il off, but Young-il would know he's bluffing and even Gi-Hun thinks so too
Front Man/Hwang In-Ho/Young-il
Is also jealous of Gi Hun
Joined the games to stop Gi Hun telling the others how to win them
But after seeing you, his mission changed
Would try to get the chance to talk to you whenever he could; dormitory, breakfast or lunch time, before the games starts
But almost always Gi-Hun wants to talk to you. I mean who wouldn't
Tries to keep his composure calm but in his mind he wants to kill Gi-Hun
Thanos
Jealous of Min su and Lee Myung-Gi
He knows Min su is very quiet and probably doesn't have the courage to ask you out, but can't help he upset about it
Always watches Lee Myung-Gi to see if he's interacting with you
Hating on Myung-Gi for the crypto scam is one thing. But it's another if he's also interested in you
Always has you on his team and cusses anyone out for wanting to pair off with you or team up with you
Kang Dae-Ho
Jealous of Thanos
Hates it when he calls you señorita/señor
Wants to have the courage to just tell him off, but he's afraid of how he'll be perceived
Starts thinking he's not good enough for you
Lee Myung-Gi
Also is jealous of Thanos and hates him
Already lost Jun-Hee and can't bear the thought of losing you too
Sees Thanos tries to flirt with you and he clenches his fist so much that it sometimes hurts to hold anything afterwards
Jun-ho
Is expectionally a chill guy
Sometimes he has an off feeling about Gi-Hun
He also wants to take down the people on the island, but he's also concerned how close he might be to you or spending nights out watching the salesman
Will try to go with you every time you go out with Gi-Hun
Salesman
Is jealous of anyone that tries to get close to you, but mostly Gi-Hun
Especially that Gi-Hun has been looking after you and the salesman
Will take matters into his own hands if necessary, which he always thinks it is
Had compassion for Gi-Hun first, but knowing that he's been looking after you two, can't help but think of where to bury him
Taglist:
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Home Bliss | The Salesman x Wife!Reader |
Summary: He may be a psychopath but he pouts when his wife does not respond his messages.
Warnings: S2 Spoilers - Suggestive - Soft moments - S1 Salesman personality with S2 personality - Obsessive!Salesman - Soft!Salesman
He liked to follow a routine, wake up besides you, your soft snores filling the room and your sweet natural aroma.
Take a moment to aprecciate your features, face, body, see the marks he had left behind after a rough night of sex.
If some were fading away then he would take a mental note to give you some new ones later.
Then he would move, letting you sleep some more, sometimes he would nudge you so you two would shower together, an activity he enjoyed a lot.
Washing your body, feeling the soap against your skin, water falling between your breasts and down your collarbone.
Did it lead to him being late becuase he could not control himself under the image that resembled a goddess? Yes.
But he never cared, he made it up by getting the double amount of names crossed from his list.
Preparing his briefcase for work was a private act, the password for the safe know only by him, even if the content itself was not grotesque, he prefer for you to know very little about what he did for work.
After it he would have breakfast with you. A black coffee with no sugar and a red appel, you would often make some bread for him, another thing he loved. Home coked food. He would teast the love you poured when making it. And would leave the house feeling full and loved.
Oh, and with a kiss. He could never leave the house without getting a kiss from you. A sweet long kiss, soft lips and cold hands caressing his face and hair.
And that look, a look that made him feel less of a monster and more human, a look only someone deep in love could give.
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
The Salesman had just ended another day at work and at the park where he would entertain himself by offering bread or fair tickets. Most would choose the second and find out they had lose.
After it he would go to a near bakery and buy some sweet desserts for you, he knew how much of a sweet tooth you had.
He pulled out his phone while he waited for his order, pouting when he saw no new messages from you.
What was his little wife doing?
Were you mad? He did not notice something different in the morning. You acted as you usually did, doting him like he was a starved man for affection.
For your affection? Maybe he was. But only yours.
Was about last night? He knew he was quiet rough, harder than most nights. He could not help himself when he saw you in one of his old shirts, showing your precious legs to him and your half closed eyes.
You looked cute and hot after a nap, he always told you to not wait him awake if he told you he was going to be late. But you were admant about it and wanted to see him before sleeping.
So, instead of going straight to sleep he had took you to his special room, where he showed you just how aroused he was, how much he liked pushing your limits. Making you scream his name and cry. Licking your tears and edging you over and over. Pain and pleasure blurring the line, as he spanked you, making you count and thank him for them.
Oh, your red ass looked so cute with his printed hand on it, he could cum in his pants by it.
Of course he also made you ride himself while he kept a strong hold on your neck, giving you different pressure, cuting out the air that went to your lungs and then letting you breath. He loved to see your eyes roll back, when he would hit that special spot inside you with the sensation of lost air.
Your life was in his hands and you gave him all the control over it.
Even if you were too tired this morning and with more marks than usual...he knew you had liked it.
So no, that could not be the reason.
"Order six!!"
Well, he would have to return home and see for himself what was happening.
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○
Back at home the kitchen was a mess. You had decided to prepare your husband a well deserved dinner (even if walking did hurt like hell). In order to focus your phone was long forgot in your bedroom, were it rested with messages from him.
Not like you could know, too focus in the task at hand, the rice rested in a near plate, the meat being made at medium just like he liked it.
A small salad was also ready and waiting, you even went out to get a nice wine for both. Friday nights were the best nights to get drunk together.
It was all ready, you made your way to the dinning room, serving the plates in a fancy way, two glasses full of red wine.
You checked the hour and nodded to yourself, he would be home soon. You still needed to change.
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
The Salesman opened up the door of his home, he frowned when he noticed the lights were off.
Slowly he moved towards the dinning room, were a flick of light was coming from. He started to get worried, did someone break in and hurt you? Just the idea sent rage into his body.
His lips formed a thin line, eyes now sharp and calculated as he walked in.
As he circle the corned his worried flew away, there you were, drinking a glass of wine, wearing his favorite clothes just for him and with the smell of home made dinner that made his heart beat fast and his body relax.
"Love, I kept texting you all day" He greeted going to hug you and kiss your head. "Why did you not respond?"
He gave you a pout, his eyes sad, he was a lot of things and one of them was being a softie for you, his dear wife.
"I was making you dinner, left my phone away so I would not get distracted"
He nodded but still looked over you with worry.
"One, one text its all I need to keep going" He said in a soft whisper "Dont ignore me again"
You had to bite down your smile, for someone who could get freaky and even sadistic in bed, he also had his lovable side, a bit possesive and obsessive but still lovable and yours.
"It wont happen again, now why dont you get out from these clothes and join me for dinner? I did your favorite"
His mouth watered at the sight, he was indeed hungry, and seeing the food was making him even more.
"Of course my love, and later I will show you how grateful im for it" He smirked kissing your temple.
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
#squid game imagines#squid game x y/n#squid game x reader#the salesman x reader#salesman x reader#I LOVE MY HUSBAND
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17 stuck with you — jealousy jealousy !
scaramouche x gender neutral reader
content warning: oblivious idiots
MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT: YOUR POINT OF VIEW
When you and the others returned from the island, you walked into the dorms to find everyone either drunk or in the process of getting there. When Yae asked what everyone wanted for catering, the unanimous answer was alcohol—until Jean reminded them they’d need food too.
You’d had a drink or two and were playing a halfhearted game of cards on the floor with Venti and Aether. Nobody seemed interested in going to bed. Getting drunk was the perfect way to forget the stress of the show.
Scara sat near the door, absentmindedly pulling out blocks in the game of Jenga Fischl had set up beside him. The atmosphere was surprisingly calm…for now.
Then Mona stood up from where she’d been teaching Yoimiya how to make a drink and plopped down next to Scara. He didn’t look too thrilled by the move.
“So, Kuni?” she slurred.
You froze at the name. Scara had made it clear that nobody but you called him that.
“Don’t call me that,” Scara muttered, his voice flat.
“Aww, why not? I thought I meant more than that,” Mona teased, clearly influenced by the alcohol.
“Can you go bother someone else?” Scara shot back.
“Don’t be like that!” Mona huffed, nudging him with her shoulder. “Want a massage? You used to love my massages.” She said the last part while looking directly at you, her hand casually caressing Scara’s shoulder. You quickly looked away, trying not to make it obvious that you were listening.
Scara removed her hand from his shoulder, pointedly avoiding eye contact. Mona didn’t let it go.
“Why won’t you just pay attention to me?” she whined, leaning closer.
“Can you not?” Scara finally turned to face her, his voice sharp. “What the hell are you even doing here?”
At this point, the whole room was trying to act like they weren’t paying attention, but it was clear they were all watching
“I just wanted to talk—” Mona began, but Scara interrupted her.
“I mean, what are you doing on this island?”
“I came to win you over,” Mona said, as though the answer was obvious.
“You’re the one who broke up with me,” Scara huffed, crossing his arms. “Don’t give me that bullshit.”
Mona took a long swig from her drink, unfazed.
“I didn’t want to,” she sighed, her voice thick with alcohol. “I would’ve stuck it out if your mom hadn’t… well…”
You felt a flush of heat spread across your face at the mention of Scara’s mother. You weren’t the only one who noticed; Childe, Aether, and Kazuha exchanged glances, each looking more uncomfortable by the second.
Scara grabbed Mona’s glass from her hand, his fingers tight around it. “You should shut up.”
Mona, however, was too far gone to be deterred.
“How could I not take the contract? You know how bad my old management was. I had no choice. It was either that or you. You know how it is.”
It was only when she noticed the entire room was staring at her that a little sobriety seemed to return. She clamped her palm over her mouth and stared at Scara, wide-eyed.
“Sorry… I didn’t mean to say that,” she mumbled, her voice the most sincere it had been all night.
Scara didn’t answer. He just stared at the ground, his face unreadable, while Mona rambled her apology. The rest of the room shifted awkwardly, unsure if they should intervene or just let it pass. You could feel your heart race, had that been the real reason for their breakup? You had always thought Scara had ended things on his own terms.
Mona reached out for him, but Scara stood up abruptly, stepping over the scattered Jenga blocks on the floor as he moved toward the door. It creaked open, letting in a cold gust of night air before slamming shut behind him.
The room fell silent for a moment. Then, Mona stood, swaying slightly, and started after him.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Kazuha murmured, but his words were drowned out by the sound of the door shutting once again.
“Did you guys know about all that?” Venti asked, turning to Aether.
“Since it’s out in the open, yeah,” Aether sighed.
“We need to stop giving her drinks,” Lumine muttered under her breath.
“I’m kind of worried about Mona going after him,” Childe said, rising from his seat to peer out the window. “Knowing Scara, he might drown himself… or her.”
“I’ll go be a witness to the murder then,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. Childe gave you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as you made your way out the door.
You didn’t know why you felt the sudden urge to follow him. It had always been about trying to surpass him before. But tonight…tonight you just wanted to catch up to him. To be equals.
SCARA’S POINT OF VIEW
The bench is cold beneath him and the sea breeze is a sharp slap against his face as he stares out at the crashing waves. It’s quiet but it does little to distract him from the turmoil in his chest. His fingers curl around the cigarette, the thin paper already loose from where he pocketed it earlier. He twirls it between his fingers absently, trying to focus on the motions instead of his thoughts.
The urge to light it is almost unbearable. He can almost feel the familiar ache, the way the smoke would crawl its way down his lungs and quiet everything inside him. It would help him forget. At least for a little while.
But he promised he wouldn’t.
Your words echo in his head like a soft, repeated prayer, something that clings to him even when he’s alone. He knows if he takes that drag, it’s one more step back from everything he's trying to hold onto. One more thing he’ll have to explain to you, and he can’t stomach that right now.
So instead, he flicks the cigarette into the sand, watching it settle there like a tiny, forgotten thing, and then turns his gaze back to the sea. His breath hitches in his chest. If it isn’t the lack of nicotine that’s bothering him, it’s something else. Something sharper, older.
Something that happened more than a year ago.
Mona’s slurred words made the memory hit him with the force of a slap. It wasn’t her betrayal that stung, not really. He knew the two of them were never that serious. But it was the fact that she had chosen his mother over him. The fact that his own mother had paid her off like it was nothing.
Mona had once been sweet back when they first met. Her determination to be an idol had reminded him of you in a way. Maybe he was just searching for a piece of you in anyone he could find.
“Scara?”
He doesn’t have to turn to know it’s her. He can smell the alcohol before he hears the soft, slurred voice, and when he finally looks up, there she is, weaving on unsteady feet, her hair tangled around her shoulders, eyes glazed.
She’s drunk.
God, what a fucking mess.
“I—uh—can I sit?” She hiccups, and despite himself, he shifts slightly to make room on the bench, the muscles in his back tense, coiled, but his body obeys the unspoken politeness he’d long been taught.
Mona doesn’t wait for a response. She just slumps beside him, her hands gripping her knees like she’s trying to hold herself together.
“I didn’t mean it,” she says after a long silence, the words coming out in a rush, broken by more hiccups. “I didn’t mean to say it to everyone. I swear, I didn’t. I was just—I was just trying to make you… jealous, or something.”
Scara doesn’t say anything. He can already feel his patience wearing thin, his hand tightening into a fist. He knows where this is going.
“You know how I get when I drink,” she continues, her voice small, vulnerable in a way that makes his gut twist. She leans into him, her breath warm and sour with alcohol. “I was just trying to get a rise out of you. I thought... maybe it’d make you care more. Maybe it’d make you feel something for once, you know?”
He stares ahead, trying to focus on the horizon, trying to avoid the heat of her body next to his, the smell of liquor clinging to her like a second skin. She’s slurring more now, and with every word, the tension in his chest grows heavier, pressing down until he’s almost suffocating.
He can feel her swaying beside him, her body suddenly lurching forward as she clutches her stomach. He reaches out instinctively, used to her being like this, his hand awkwardly rubbing her back just to keep her from falling over. She feels so fragile in his touch, but that fragility doesn’t excuse the way she’s always tried to pull him back into her drama.
She leans in, too close again, her words spilling out in a rush like she's been holding them back for too long.
“You know...” she starts, her eyes dark and unfocused. “I only started acting out because you wouldn’t pay me any attention anymore. You were always complaining about YN. Always.”
She lets out a short, frustrated laugh, and then hiccups, her face flushing. “I know it wasn’t love, Scara. I’m not stupid. It was just a stupid distraction wasn’t it, from whatever you felt for them.”
He looks over at her, eyebrows furrowed.
“Even if you didn’t realize it back then, I did. Even if all we had was physical you can’t deny it worked. We were good at that. So yeah, I got a little carried away. But if you hadn’t been so busy chasing them around, maybe we wouldn’t be here right now.”
He can’t even find it in himself to deny it. After he had started dating her you’d started avoiding him for one reason or another. Maybe you thought everyone would get the wrong idea.
But it killed him.
“That doesn’t mean you can just run off and take the first offer my mom gives to you,” he snaps, his tone cutting. “If you really didn’t like the way I treated you that badly, you could’ve left. You could’ve walked away. No one was holding you here.”
He shakes his head, frustrated they were having this talk now of all time, “But you didn’t, did you? You stayed. Because you knew being with me—even if it wasn’t love—would give you the eyes on you that you wanted so damn badly.”
“You’re right,” she admits, the words coming out quietly. “ But I didn’t know what else to do. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care.”
Scara scoffs at that.
“It didn’t look like it. All I saw was someone who was more interested in being the center of attention than me,” He shakes his head, turning his back to her for a moment. Honestly, he could keep going. But they were only having this conversation because she was drunk. There was no point, he was over it.
He exhales sharply, his tone flat when he speaks again, as if he’s just given up.
"Yeah, okay," Scara mutters, voice distant. "It's fine. It’s not like you’ll even remember this tomorrow, anyway.”
It’s the only thing he says, just to make the whole thing stop. He knows she’s looking for something else. An apology, maybe, or some kind of validation. But he’s too fucking tired to give her that now. And it’s not like he’s going to receive one.
"Really?" Her voice rises in a way that makes him want to shove her away. "You're fine with it?"
He doesn’t respond, though now he’s just waiting for her to puke all over him. The sound of the ocean lapping against the shore is the only thing filling the silence, until she’s leaning in closer, her breath hot on his ear, her face too close.
“You know,” she whispers, her words slurred and soft, “I wouldn't mind going back to what we had. Just for a night.”
Before he can stop her, she’s pressing her lips to his, soft and insistent, her body leaning into his as though this is what she’s been waiting for all along. Her mouth is warm, her hands finding their way to his chest, and for a moment, Scara’s heart stops.
Not because he wants it, but because he doesn’t.
He’s frozen, a quiet alarm ringing in his head. This isn’t real. This isn’t what he wants. Not from her.
Even if it was only for a few seconds, the moment stretches too long until he can finally pry her away from him. And when he does finally pull back, his hand is shaking.
“Don’t do that,” he says, voice tight with something: frustration, anger, confusion, maybe a little bit of pain. “Don’t try to fix this with... that.”
She blinks at him, confused, the haze of alcohol still clouding her eyes. "But... but I thought... we could—"
He stands up abruptly, cutting her off before she can make this worse. "Just... don't." The words hang in the air, heavy with finality.
She looks rather pitiful sitting on the bench like that, and he almost feels bad. Almost.
“You should just go,” he says, his voice flat, the exhaustion finally catching up to him.
But then, as he turns to leave, he sees you.
In the distance, walking towards the kitchens, your figure framed by the fading light. Seeing you makes something inside him twist. He starts to wonder why you’d come out soon after he stormed off. The idea of you coming back, walking over to him like you actually care. Just that thought is enough to loosen the tight knot in his chest. He didn’t even realize how much he was holding his breath, waiting for it. For a moment, he lets himself imagine you doing it. He almost expects it, but the longer he stands there, the more he realizes it’s just a fantasy. He watches you for a moment, then his stomach drops when he realizes if you were out there you must’ve walked by him.
You had seen the kiss.
YOUR POINT OF VIEW
Your feet moved before your brain had a chance to tell you no. It was a strange instinct, one you didn’t quite understand. You’d never been one to comfort Scara. You’d been at odds with him for as long as you could remember, enemies in every sense of the word.
But after what you’d learned about his mother just the thought of him being alone, struggling with it, gnawed at you. You wanted to check on him. You needed to check on him.
The island was massive, and Scara wasn’t exactly known for his athleticism, so you figured it wouldn’t be too hard to find him. Still, your mind raced as you walked, trying to come up with something, anything, that would make him feel even a fraction better. What could you say to him that wouldn’t sound patronizing, or worse, awkward? You weren’t even sure you could help him, but you had to try.
And then, there it was.
The beach. The bench. The figure slumped against it. Scara. The cigarette in his hand. You’d found him.
Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to steady yourself. This wasn’t a time to lose control. But before you could take another step, your eyes caught the familiar outline of someone else. Mona. She was walking toward him, wobbling a little as she approached, and suddenly the moment felt off.
You stopped in your tracks, half hidden by a few tall bushes nearby, your body suddenly rooted in place. You should’ve turned around and gone back to the party. Scara was clearly occupied. He would be okay, right?
But no. Your eyes stayed locked on the two of them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away.
Mona was standing next to him now, her chest heaving slightly from hiccups, and her words were slurred as she spoke. Scara wasn’t saying much, but his hand moved, almost instinctively, it seemed, to rub her back, slow and careful. As if he was...comforting her. You felt your pulse quicken, a strange sense of something building up in your chest, something like a heavy weight pressing down on your ribs.
A normal person would’ve walked away, turned around and walked back to the party, chalking it up to nothing more than two people talking, nothing more than Scara being himself. But you were never normal when it came to Scara. So instead, you stayed rooted in the shadow, just watching like some creep. The words you had rehearsed in your head seemed meaningless now, overshadowed by the confusion swelling inside you. What was happening?
And then, without warning, you saw it.
Mona leaned in, her lips pressing against Scara’s.
The world tilted on its axis. You didn’t even know how to react at first. A cold knot of jealousy, something sharp and unexpected, wrapped around your chest, and you felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs.
Scara, someone you’d considered your mortal enemy, the person you had spent years fighting against, was kissing Mona. She wasn’t even trying to hide it, her hands clinging to his chest. Just the sight was enough to leave you standing there, paralyzed.
You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.
It was a mantra you were repeating in your head. But the jealousy gnawed at you in a way you didn’t understand, the sting in your chest a sharp reminder that maybe you cared a lot more than you’d ever let on. You’d always been jealous of Scara throughout the years, that feeling was something familiar. But this was something different. Your stomach is twisting with something you couldn’t name. Something that hurt to acknowledge.
Oh.
Oh.
Without even thinking, you turned away, stepping back into the shadows, your feet felt heavy beneath you. You had no idea what you were feeling anymore. Or you did, but you couldn’t even voice it.
Scara was kissing Mona. Your Scara. Your Kuni. And you were standing there, like a fool.
If you had run after him a bit faster would you be the one he’d be kissing? That wasn’t the problem, though. No. The thing that bothered you the most was the way it made you feel like an outsider. The way it reminded you, in an almost painful way, that you weren’t the one he turned to for comfort.
That was how it had always been. Always. It shouldn’t have mattered.
But it did.
You didn’t know when it happened. Maybe it was the way he looked at you when he was angry, or the way he tried to hide his vulnerabilities. Maybe it was the constant back-and-forth, the challenge. Maybe it was the fact that he was always there, whether it be to hit you with a snarky remark or laugh at you when you fell second to him again. He’d always been there.
But you cared. And that made you want to punch something, or scream, or both. You’d never imagined a day when you would care about Scara in any way other than annoyance, or the irritation of seeing him always one step ahead.
Suddenly, your feet moved as fast as they could to get you out of there.
The walk from the beach to the kitchens feels like it takes longer than it should. The adrenaline from earlier is wearing off.
You step into the kitchens, the cool air inside a sharp contrast to the warmth of the night outside. The lights are low, casting shadows over the countertops, still littered from the dishes from earlier. A clink of glass catches your attention first, and then a familiar voice.
“You finally made it in here.”
You stop, looking up until your eyes land on Heizou. His casual smile is the same one he always had, though there's something softer in it tonight, like he’s been waiting. He’s got a glass of water in his hand, and you realize he must’ve been looking for you. He’s the last person you want to see right now, but he doesn’t seem surprised by your presence.
“You didn’t go back to the party,” he continues, setting the glass down on the counter. “I figured you might be hiding in here. You don’t look like you’re in the mood for another drink.”
You’re about to reply, but he catches you off guard by speaking up.
“Are you okay?”
You pause. It’s a simple question, but for some reason, it feels heavy. Before you even know what’s happening, the words just spill out.
“No, I’m not okay,” you start, your voice a little more brittle than you intended.
“I just... I just watched him. Scara. I saw him with Mona. It’s like everything I’ve been trying to avoid came crashing down in front of me. I don’t even know what to feel. It’s just... why is everything so complicated? Why does he have to make things so complicated?”
Heizou doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t look at you like you’re insane for spilling everything. He just watches, his calm expression making the chaos in your head even more prominent.
“Is that really what’s bothering you?” he asks softly, the faintest hint of concern in his eyes.
You blink, realizing that you’ve been ranting and completely unaware of how you’ve been projecting everything onto him. Heizou seems to sense it too, because next thing you know, he’s stepping closer, his presence warm and steady as he leans a little into the counter beside you.
“Hey,” he says, his tone gentle. “Come on. You need to relax.”
Before you can protest, Heizou wraps a reassuring arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. He places a hand lightly on your head, urging you to lean into him. You hesitate for a moment before giving in, resting your cheek against his shoulder. His body is a familiar comfort, though you didn’t expect it to be this comforting tonight. In the quiet of the kitchen, you realize how exhausted you are.
“You know,” Heizou says, his voice quiet but teasing, “I have no chance now, do I?”
You blink, not fully processing his words. “Huh?”
Heizou laughs softly, caressing his hand over your cheek, “Still as oblivious as ever, huh?”
You feel your brow furrow. “What are you talking about?”
Heizou’s fingers brush through your hair gently, like he’s trying to sort through his own thoughts. “It’s him, right?”
You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your heart beating a little faster. “What? No. I—”
But before you can finish, Heizou cuts you off, a playful glint in his eyes. “You know, I saw you two kiss on the show. The hot tub.” He pauses, studying your face for any shift. “It was... something, wasn’t it?”
You feel your stomach tighten, the thought of the kiss now a distant, uncomfortable memory. “You know that was fake, right?” you say quickly, trying to downplay it. “It didn’t mean anything. It was just part of the show.”
Heizou’s eyes stay locked on yours for a long moment, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. He nods slowly, but there’s a slight edge to his tone. “Yeah, I get it. But it was your first kiss, right? It had to have meant something. At least to you.”
You swallow, the words suddenly feeling sharp. Your chest tightens, and you know you have to say something. You didn’t want to hurt Heizou’s feelings after he came all the way out here.
“No. It didn’t,” you say, your voice firm but tinged with something that feels more like a lie than you want to admit. “It was all fake. The kiss...everything. It didn’t mean anything.”
You don’t notice at first, but Heizou’s smile falters just the tiniest bit. “Yeah. Sure,” he says, his voice warmer now, almost wistful.
He doesn’t say anything else, but the silence between you both stretches out, heavy with unspoken understanding. You feel a little stupid for saying so much, for trying to convince him, or even yourself, that it was all nothing. You knew it was far from nothing.
Heizou finally breaks the tension, grabbing the water bottles he came in for. “Yeah, sure. Well, I guess I should get back to the others and sober them up. But... good luck, okay? With everything. With…him.”
You stand there, watching him leave, suddenly realizing you’ve just unloaded more than you intended. But before he walks out the door, Heizou looks back, giving you one last knowing look, then disappears back into the hallway.
You’re still standing there when you hear a soft voice outside the kitchen door.
“Interesting.”
You freeze. Your heart skips a beat.
You turn slowly, your breath catching in your throat when you see Scara standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, like he’s been listening the entire time.
For a second, all you can do is stare at him. And then it hits you, the way Heizou’s words must’ve sounded to him. The way you had tried to downplay the kiss. The way you’d tried to convince Heizou that it meant nothing.
Scara raises an eyebrow, looking almost amused, but his eyes were glazed over with something else. “Didn’t mean anything, huh?”
The words stick in your throat, and before you can even try to explain, the hurt in his eyes is enough to make you realize he’s probably already misunderstood.
SCARA’S POINT OF VIEW
Scara barely registered the words Mona was slurring anymore, his thoughts still tangled in knots from everything that had just happened. The sour taste of her lips still lingered. That wasn’t what bothered him. What bothered him was the thought of you seeing him like that. Seeing him with Mona.
He had to get out of there. Fast.
His mind raced as he stormed off, barely even registering where his feet were taking him. His body moved on autopilot, following after you towards the kitchens.
When he reached the door, he paused for a moment, chest tight with a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. There was a soft clinking sound from inside. The low hum of voices.
And then he heard it.
Heizou. Of course. Scara narrowed his eyes, already annoyed. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with him.
The door was slightly ajar, and without even thinking, Scara found himself inching closer, the need to know what was going on outweighing the nagging voice in his head telling him to turn around. To leave.
What he saw made his stomach churn in a way he hadn’t expected.
You were standing there, your face softer than he’d ever seen it, as Heizou pulled you into his side. The way your body melted into him like it was second nature to be close to him was unsettling, like something sharp had just slid under his skin.
For a second, Scara froze. His thoughts were clouded with the absurdity of it. You with Heizou? Who didn’t know you like he did? Absurd.
It wasn’t like you owed him an explanation. Yet the sight of you resting against him, affectionate, something Scara hadn’t seen you do with him made him... unseen. Like he didn’t belong in your life at all. The knot in his chest pulled tighter.
His breath caught, and before he could do something stupid he stopped himself. What was he even supposed to say? He wasn’t entitled to anything from you. He wasn’t yours.
So he stayed outside, watching. Listening.
He could hear Heizou’s voice, low and teasing, and then yours, soft but firm.
“No. It didn’t,” you said, your voice cutting through the quiet kitchen, and Scara’s chest clenched painfully. “You know that was all fake, right? It didn’t mean anything. It was just part of the show.”
His heart skipped a beat, the words slicing through the silence like a blade. His stomach churned, and the weight of them hit him harder than any punch.
It wasn’t supposed to matter. It shouldn’t matter.
But it did.
Scara’s fingers dug into the frame of the door, his knuckles white. The words rang in his ears, repeating over and over. He tried to steady himself, tried to remind himself that it was all a game. The hot tub wasn’t supposed to mean anything to him, until it did.
But hearing you say it, hearing you so casually dismiss the kiss, made him feel like he was choking on something sharp and heavy. It was all fake. He had no right to feel that way.
The worst part was, he didn’t even know what to do with it. With you.
You’d both made it clear from the start that this wasn’t supposed to be anything. A show, a performance. The kiss was meaningless. Just another part of the script. He didn’t expect anything different. But hearing you say it so coldly and without any hesitation made something in him snap.
Before he could take a step back, Heizou’s voice drifted through the door again, a quiet laugh in his tone. “Yeah, sure.”
Scara could practically hear the smirk in his voice.
“Yeah, I get it. But it was your first kiss, right? It had to have meant something. At least to you.” The burgundy haired nuisance continued.
Scara's breath hitched, his chest tightening even further as he leaned in closer to the door, his pulse quickening. He felt an uncontrollable wave of frustration crashing through him. He could feel the words hitting him, one after the other, like Heizou’s voice was a punch to the gut. But worse was the feeling that came with it. The one that told him Heizou was right. That it had meant something. That he had somehow allowed himself to believe that the kiss between you and him had meant something beyond a simple game. He hadn’t realized how stupid you were making him.
But then your voice came through, clear and harsh, “It was all fake. The kiss...everything. It didn’t mean anything.”
Scara’s fingers trembled at the doorframe. The knot in his chest was tightening, twisting around his lungs. You were denying it. Denying him. The kiss, the heat, the rush of it. You were dismissing it like it had been nothing more than a convenient illusion. You weren’t wrong, the rational part of him knew that. That didn’t mean he had hoped you’d thought otherwise.
Everything he had been fighting so hard to bury flared back to life, hotter than before.
Heizou chuckled, a lighthearted sound, but it only made Scara feel more exposed. “Yeah, sure.” Heizou’s voice grew quieter, and Scara heard him getting ready to leave. “Well, I guess I should get back to the others and sober them up. But... good luck, okay? With everything. With…him.”
The kitchen door creaked as it swung open, and Heizou left without a second glance, his footsteps fading down the hall.
He was about to turn and leave, he had too. But just as always with you, he couldn’t help but fight back.
“Interesting.”
You stood there in the doorway, looking caught between embarrassment and something else, your face pale, your eyes flicking nervously between the open door and him.
Scara stared at you for a long moment, his throat tight, before he spoke, his voice low and strained.
“Didn’t mean anything, huh?”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
YOUR POINT OF VIEW
Scara lets out a dry chuckle, sharp and almost bitter, before walking off. Your heart is still racing, adrenaline surging through you. The confusion is all still a blur.
And yet you follow him.
Something you’d never do, especially with him. But a part of you still wants to make sure he’s okay. And a bigger part of you doesn’t want him to walk away with the wrong idea.
“Why’d you follow me here?” you ask, your voice louder than you intended, still thick with that adrenaline.
He stops abruptly and turns around, eyes dark, but there’s something else there, too: vulnerability.
“Why did you follow me?” he shoots back, his voice low, taunting almost, but you can hear the frustration beneath it.
You stand there for a moment, trying to find the right words, but your thoughts feel tangled. “I just... wanted to see if you were okay,” you say, quieter now, your shoulders sagging. “I know your mom sucks, but...it seems like you were occupied.” You didn’t mean it to come off as bitter as it did.
Scara freezes for a split second, his gaze narrowing into something hard. “She’s the one who came onto me, okay?” His voice is biting, “I shoved her right off. And you can’t say shit, you were all over him back there.”
For a second, you can’t say anything. You feel a hot flush rise to your face. You take a breath, and then the words spill out, almost before you can stop them. “That didn’t even mean anything,” you mutter. “He was just... comforting me. I said that so he wouldn’t feel bad.” You don’t want to explain why. You’re glad he wasn’t there for the entire conversation.
Scara’s eyes flicker with something sharp. “Fine,” he spits out, hands gesturing in exasperation. “It’s all fake, then. Fine! It doesn’t matter. Whatever, you don’t need to explain yourself.”
You feel the words sting, and before you can even think, you’re snapping back. “Fine! Fine, Scara. If that’s what you want to believe, go ahead.”
You both stand there for a few seconds, glaring at each other, neither of you willing to back down. And then, just like that, you both start walking in the same direction.
You glance at him, a little incredulous. “You go first.”
Scara doesn’t even look at you. “No, you go first.”
“I said it first!” you protest, taking a step forward.
“No, you go.”
A beat of silence. Then, in unison, both of you groan.
“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath. “This is stupid.”
Neither of you says anything else, but you both start walking again. Side by side, but without speaking. The tension between you hasn’t fully dissipated, but now it’s more muted, like you’re both too tired to keep fighting.
By the time you reach the door to the dorms, the adrenaline has started to drain away, leaving only the residual ache of whatever you two just went through. You both stop at the doorstep, standing for a moment in the cool night air.
Scara's eyes drift lazily over to a bottle resting on the corner of the porch, a forgotten drink from earlier in the evening. Without a word, he picks it up, twists off the cap, and offers it to you, his face impassive.
“Want some?” His voice is quieter now, a little less sharp, though the remnants of the earlier tension still hang in the air.
You take it without thinking, your hand brushing his as you grab the bottle. Your throat feels dry, like you’ve just run a marathon, like everything from tonight has left you parched. He’s always left you out of breath.
You take a long sip, the alcohol burning down your throat, and pass it back. Scara drinks, then hands it back to you with a quiet gesture. You both settle onto the steps, the weight of the night pressing down around you, but the silence feels somehow comfortable now.
You’re not sure why, but with each sip, you feel a little less tense, a little less angry. It’s still there, but it's somehow quieter now. Maybe because it doesn’t feel like you need to have all the answers, not right now. Not with him sitting next to you like this.
For a while, neither of you speaks. The only sound is the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore and the occasional sip from the bottle between you. You pass it back and forth like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The weight of the argument is still there, sure, but somehow it doesn’t matter so much anymore.
SCARA’S POINT OF VIEW
The quiet hum of the night surrounds you both as you sit on the porch, the sounds of crickets and the occasional hum of the waves filling the spaces between breaths. The bottle you’re passing back and forth feels less heavy now, unlike the unspoken things still floating around like ghosts between you and him.
You break the silence first, your voice quieter than you intended. “So, what were you and Mona talking about?”
He doesn’t answer right away, taking a slow swig from the bottle, his eyes fixed somewhere off in the distance. His lips press together in a tight line, but he finally turns to you, his expression unreadable. “Well, she was talking at me, really. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. She was asking if I was ever in love with her…”
You raise an eyebrow, curious, “Well, were you?”
Scara’s gaze shifts. His body is tense. He doesn’t meet your eyes immediately, instead looking off to the side, like he’s searching for something.
He feels the precipice you're both on.
He wants to jump.
“No.”
The word hangs there, and for a moment, everything is still. He can feel the air between you both shift, like the ground beneath your guys’ feet has tilted slightly.
“Really?” you ask, more quietly this time. “How did you know you weren’t in love with her?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He shifts on the step, his foot tapping idly against the wood. He wants to say he just knew, as cliche as that sounds. His eyes are fixed forward now, knowing if he looks at you his words won’t leave his mouth. He takes a swig.
The words come out slowly, like he’s still figuring them out as he speaks.
“I don’t know... I just knew, I guess.” He hesitates, then adds, “What I felt for her is different from what I know love is.”
The silence stretches, and he feels like you’re standing at the edge of something with him.
He’s waiting. He thinks he’s always been waiting for you.
“And you… know what that feels like?” you ask, voice softer now, almost hesitant, like you’re testing the waters.
His eyes finally rake over you.
“I do now.”
You opened your mouth, and he’s hoping something, anything, comes out of it. He felt like he’d just sliced his chest open and was bearing his heart to you with bloodied hands.
His words hang in the air for a long moment, strange and heavy. Your gaze catches his, and for just a second, there’s a flicker in your eyes, something guarded but knowing. Scara holds your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, it’s like everything in him stills. The air is thick, as if the words you’ve both danced around are hanging just out of reach. His fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle, the cool glass a stark contrast to the heat creeping up his neck.
He knows this feeling all too well. The way his chest tightens when he realizes something he’s been waiting for will never come. His mother’s attention. You. It’s a feeling he’s all but accustomed too. But there you were, just out of his reach. He doesn’t expect you to understand. Hell, he doesn’t even understand himself half the time. But in that moment, sitting next to you, he wants you too.
The weight of your unspoken words presses on him. But maybe that’s all this will ever be, a weight. The knowledge that he’ll never feel the same way about anyone else and that you’ll never feel the same about him. That thought stabs at him like a shard of ice in his chest, cold and sharp. He wants to say something, but the words aren’t there. Not yet. Not ever, maybe.
“We should go inside,” he murmurs, breaking the silence, his voice almost a whisper against the night’s stillness.
His voice drops further, and he shifts slightly on the step, his leg brushing against yours. It’s an unconscious motion, but it feels deliberate somehow. Like he wants to be closer but knows better than to ask for it.
“Yeah,” you pipe up from beside him, “We should.”
Yet you both sit there for a few more minutes, passing the bottle until nothing is left in its wake. He doesn’t look over at you again, doesn’t dare too. Instead he gets up and goes inside, leaving you behind.
Something you’ve always said he’s good at.
[00:00:00] POST PARADISE DATE TAKE ONE
YAE: So, do you want to talk about today?
SCARAMOUCHE: Talk about what?
YAE: The kiss, obviously. What else would we talk about?
SCARAMOUCHE: What happened to "Hi, how are you?"
YAE: [LAUGHING] This is a safe space.
SCARAMOUCHE: It absolutely is not, but you want to talk about the kiss? Fine. It wasn't real. I didn't even kiss her back, she was drunk and I don't love her. And I'm not that much of an asshole to take advantage of someone drunk. I'm a terrible person, but not that bad.
YAE: [SPEECHLESS]
SCARAMOUCHE: This is fucking stupid. Why did l even have to explain myself? I have nothing to prove to anybody. [GETS UP]
YAE: Scaramouche, wait—
SCARAMOUCHE: [WALKS OFF SCREEN]
stuck with you!
materlist — prev | next
(typos) *slide 6: feelings wheel / *slide 8: i just had this realization
first update of the year wow!
sorry guys i’m scared to do the keep reading button so…😛
after typing oh. oh. i was like ooh bitch i ate
also ignore how scara lowk littered uhm he picked up his cig after dw! environmentally friendly king!
pls comment or send me an ask if u enjoyed i need motivation 🤗
comment on the MASTERLIST if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!
notes — four updates during break ur welcome! my break ends in two weeksish so idk if ill be able post another one before then so let me rest xx
synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!
taglist — (closed) @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @flowerypesky @creammpuff @boxdisappeared @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @reivelmin @animeobsessed56 @femaholicc @vi0let-writes @izayumi-chan @aloflapse
#scaramouche x you#scaramouche x reader smau#scaramouche x yn#scaramouche x gender neutral reader#scaramouche x y/n#scaramouche x male reader#scaramouche smau#genshin smau#scaramouche genshin x reader#genshin x reader#stuck with you smau
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Family Secrets: Part 7
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Hey ya know how in canon Donnie yoinked that magic crystal from Draxum's place and used it in his goggles to be able to see mystic energy? Yeah so he never got that crystal in the AU, if you remember. Instead, Donnie unlocking Ninpō way earlier in the AU is what allows him to see mystic energy. He can't summon an arsenal of weapons yet, however! He may gain access to magic much quicker than in canon, but his progress with it is gonna be a lot slower, for now he only has the mystic sight.
I'm gonna make another post soon where I'll explain a bit more in details how I imagine Donnie's Ninpō evolves throughout the story (kinda long overdue ngl lol)
As for the whole Shelldon being mystic thing uh... well so I've had this headcanon for a while now (and I've seen other people share it!!) that the reason why Shelldon acts so much like an actual person isn't just because of Donnie's skills with programming. Basically, he subconciously used a little bit of mystic powers while creating him and that caused Shelldon to develop what I guess you could consider a "soul". Anyway, I wanted it be canon in the AU, but that also means that Donnie is gonna notice Shelldon's mystic energy the second he looks at him using the mystic sight soooo yeah had to include that in the comic lol.
#tiz sep au#tizel art#my art#digital art#teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#tmnt#rottmnt#rottmnt au#rottmnt donnie#rottmnt april#rottmnt splinter#rottmnt shelldon
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⋆.ೃ࿔*:・ teddy’s notes: so basically i know next to nothing about photoshoots and stuff and this is just something i imagined and tried to convey in words. also im using my lil hc that bakugou has piercing holes in his ears, occasionally wears some small hoops or just dots just so they dont close. enjoy!
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・ contains: sexual tension? i guess?? masturbation, bakugou discovering his praise kink through reader. gender neutral reader. i think that’s all. not proofread!! im too tired sorry babes
just a thought on timeskip! bakugou where he begrudgingly agrees to do one photoshoot for some jewellery brand he doesn’t care about. since beat jeanist kind of forced him to do this and threatened to make him the face of his new clothing line, katsuki thought “fuck it”. and he is very well used to people looking at him in awe, as smug as that sounds, and he expects a huge set with dozens of people running around and whispering between each other, like he’s seen happen when he was visiting kirishima on his shooting.
he’s seen the obnoxiousness of the photographers, the over the top extravagancy of the designers and panicked makeup artists and other workers, and he despises the atmosphere that settles in studios, so of course he doesn’t wanna fucking do a shoot. but best jeanist assures him that the photographer/designer/whatever the fuck is a friend of his and a professional, and this shoot will be very different from any of the things he’s seen.
and it is different indeed.
the studio he goes to is a penthouse on top of a building; and as soon as he steps in he is met with a big ass room and windows that circle the said room, opening up an immaculate view from ceiling to the floor. and he counts only 3 people roaming in and out of the doors that lead to other rooms, which is a fucking surprise. him and his manager exchange a suspicious look before you finally emerge from one of the rooms, so busy setting your camera that only a timid call of your name from his manager is able to bring you back to the world.
a warm smile appears on your face as you extend a hand to his manager, which he shakes a little too excitedly for bakugou’s liking, enamoured smile stretching on his lips as he introduces himself. after slapping the back of his head, katsuki also shakes your hand and grumbles about getting this over with as he strides forward to the makeup artist.
he observes everything while his face is being touched with different brushes and powdered to the point of him sneezing it all off; one guy works on the lighting around the centre of the room where the shoot is going to be filmed, one girl runs around with a rack of clothes, gathering the stuff he will be wearing— mainly the jewellery he will be wearing since this shoot is supposed to be focused on that. and you occasionally chat with his very obviously crushing manager and continue to lead your small team, managing to build something out of nothing, and bakugou finds the atmosphere uncomfortably intimate.
there is no constant muttering around, a background noise he’s used to hearing even outside of the studios and all that; there is no arguing and no stress and no drama, which katsuki finds to be very weird, but somehow pleasant. a soft tune plays in the background after he gruffly declined an offer to put his own music if he wanted because no, music is indeed personal, and while you hum under your breath, oblivious to his staring, bakugou finds himself allured.
soon he is seated on the lonely looking stool: for the first round he’s got a couple of earrings in his ears, all rich looking gold and not as simple as he thought they would be, all carefully chosen by you. you stand extremely close to him, your hands coming up and down as you imagine how every piece would look on him and choose the best ones, the ones that fit only him, and at some point katsuki notices that he waits for your approving, pleased expression to appear with baited breath.
you don’t press him about posing a certain way, more focused on directing the lighting’s guy, most of your face hidden behind your camera as you angle it to capture the radiance of the stones and the way they compliment his skin tone. you gently order for some of the curtains to be opened and closed while you change sides and katsuki’s sure that he is doing literally nothing, just looking the way he thinks he looks good and relaxing when you smile down at the pictures on the small screen of your camera.
he is very much infatuated at this point, though. with how your soft voice guides everyone, guides him to sit a certain way, place his hands a certain way, asks him if you can touch him before you hang your camera on your neck and your soft fingers hover over his skin, scared to touch as if he’s made of porcelain yet gentle in the way they tilt his head to the side, effectively showing off his neck and the gold necklace that rests over his exposed collarbones.
“you’re a natural,” you mumble under your breath appreciatively, nimble fingers styling his hair, as you nearly stand between his spread legs. “nearly every shot is perfect.”
katsuki fucking prays that his chest isn’t turning red because the red will then crawl higher and reach his face too, and looking like a blushing schoolgirl in front of you wasn’t an option, not at all. he is used to being praised, unresponsive to it because frankly he couldn’t give a flying fuck about what people thought of him, however you’re so close and so soft and so sweet with that silky voice of yours and your charming smile.
you touch his cheek, wiping something off with an attentive gaze and pursed lips, and inquire if he wants to take a break or anything, but katsuki refuses. he honestly doesn’t even know if he wants this to be over, yet he knows that he will have to find your number one way or another, no explanation needed. everyone leaves to eat or whatever and he is finally left alone with you, waiting for you to come back from the makeup stand.
“bakugou-san?” you ask him and he snaps his head up, noticing a black pencil in your hand. eyeliner, he recognizes. “mind if i put some on?”
he nods and your free hand cups the side of his face, tilting it to your pleasing, moving him around any way you want because he lets you. while you apply and smear the liner over his lash line and lids, thumbs moving softly over the skin, katsuki is wondering: is he that touchstarved that fleeting touches, professionally required even, from a stranger he met a couple of hours ago make him want something he doesn’t even know he needed before? it’s fucking pathetic, awfully stupid of him, but when your thumb slides down to rub the corner of his bottom lip bakugou is pretty sure you aren’t just giving him some extra attention.
he isn’t a baby who needs someone to do things for him, you could’ve asked him or the makeup artist to do this stuff, yet you figured out that he isn’t opposed to your close proximity and stepped in, thighs brushing against each other and minty breaths mingling with his.
katsuki’s losing his mind by the end of the shooting, hoping that the loose pants that he is adorning are able to conceal the half hard dick he’s been trying to get down for the last half an hour.
and when he is finally home, alone, he shoves his hand deep in his pants, fist getting a hold of his fully hard, raging boner, a relieved groan escaping his throat as he strokes it up and down, thinking about the way you smelled so pleasantly and smiled at him like he was a gem, a pregnant stone you found, just like the real ones in the expensive accessories he’s worn today. dozens of cameras flashing in his face from different angles couldn’t compare to the attentiveness of your gaze that never left him during the shooting.
and while he is getting closer and closer to release katsuki thinks of the praises you muttered under your breath, how you appreciated him, told him how good he did for you and how pretty he was.
“doing so good f’me,” you whispered, looking at him through the camera while he slowly threw his head back to show off a necklace, careful to not stumble off the small stool, and he acted like the mesmerised tone of your voice didn’t make his dick harder. “wonderful, angel.”
fuck, when was the last time someone’s words had such impact on him? feels like a thousand fucking years, but katsuki’s too fucked out to think about that, gasping as he convulsed through his orgasm, his hand unable to slow down as spurts of milky liquid covered it.
“good boy.” rings in his head and his phone vibrates along with it.
a message from his manager containing your number.
#— teddy’s writing shop 𐙚🧸ྀི#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#bakugou x you#katsuki bakugo x reader#mha#bakugou katuski x reader#bakugou fluff#bakugou smut#katsuki bakugo fluff#katsuki bakugo imagine#katsuki bakugo mha#bnha bakugou#mha bakugou#bnha x you#bnha bakugo katsuki#bnha x reader#mha x reader
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divine intervention, a higher power, some type of god looking above us threatening to crush human kind with an obedient hand — it’s what you think of as violet brushes her teeth in front of your bathroom sink— the mirror showcasing her god-esque reflection. flourished by love, renewed by white roses and promise, renewal of optimistic promise floods her with every look she throws your way.
cursed by perfection by the gods who created us. the muscles of her back contract with each slight of movement, the black ink mesmerizes your line of vision, she quickly catches your eye as you step out of the shower, body glistens from steam, droplets falling on the blindingly white marble floors.
easily, you ditch the towel hanging on the metal hook before stalking violet as if she's the prey you desperately need to sink your teeth into.
“we’re supposed to be leaving soon.” but violet doesn’t believe it, not when you’re giving her that in-disposable gaze, eyes saturated with lost as the need revives within you like gasoline on raging fire.
bare as the day you were born, you hop onto the counter top, vi spits the remainder of toothpaste coating her breath minty fresh. “or we could not.”
carefully, spreading your legs open for her, vi groans, not caring when her towel loses it’s hold around her waist, exposing the pink bush coming from her the muscular v-shaped line, leading you into what you’re craving most.
“we’re already gonna be late as it is. this isn’t helping, princess.”
“but all i wanna do is help.” you pout, feigning concern as vi slids herself between your legs and just like that she’s caught in your venus fly trap.
“baby, that’s nice but, ahhh—”
fingers she should have been prepared for glide over her slick pussy, your digits gathering the golden honey wealth, coating your skin thicker with each stroke.
“shit, you shouldn’t, we have to—”
“what? go? or come?” vi curses at herself before she drops her damn strands of pink against your shoulder, whimpering as you slide two fingers inside her soft walls, “two every different things, violet. i’ll give you a third option, yeah? how does me staying inside work? is that good for you, baby?”
“yeahhh, you know it is.” violet crumbles, hips bucking forward as she reaches down, playing with her clit as your fingers make home in her soaked pussy as she falls under your spell. each slight of your hand is a hex to her psyche, a reminder of what belongs to you, what only you can do.
what only you can make her feel.
“you’re just too pretty to not to fuck, baby. do you know that? how much i adore you, how much i treasure you — that i would do anything to make my babygirl happy?”
the words feel like a symphony to violet, her clit throbbing intensely as you flick her hand away, circling dramatic circles against the the pearly bundle of nerves. the tables have shifted, you have her right where you so damn well please, and violet submits to you with all the love her heart possess.
a tidal wave of reassurance coats her skin as the comfort of your wave wraps her up, as soothing as a warm blanket on a frosty night. the ice within her is gone and all she feels is warm, saturated heat. violet sobs into your neck as you fuck her through the impossible high, powder-blue eyes sob find a flood within them and the dam releases when you tell her much you love her. pussy and heart in harmony as affirmations of love are whispered in her ear, all else is forgotten.
it's all it takes for two infinitely promised lovers to melt for the other, transcending anything full of purpose, a pair of futures blending into an uncontrollable tsuamni of unknowns, trapped in the iron fist of nothing more than reduced to a blinding heat until a trail is discovered, a soulmates path to intertwined perfection.
violet's stuck and begging for more as she rides out each thrust of your fingers, a cracked shred of her whimpers echo throughout the walls. for a moment, you wonder if it's phantom, a moment plucked from your imagination but the skin of her inner thigh feels softer than her calloused hands. it's welcoming each graze of your blunt fingertip, begging for more of whatever she's willing to give.
almost as if your knees bend at the pew in a cathedral, she pleads for mercy, sharp teeth marking your shoulder with territorial need. then, violet falls. every sturdy and strong muscles becomes limp, blindful trust full of passionate love surrounds her heart until she has nothing else to give. this is all she's ever wanted.
to be truly yours.
#idek what this is um??????#i'll have something more cohesive SOON#i promise :')#there is probably errors in this so uh sorry#vi#vi arcane#vi league of legends#vi x reader#vi arcane x reader#vi smut#vi x you#vi fanfic#arcane smut#sub!vi#league of legends
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⋆ and if we bite each other, the pain is sweet.
farmhand!sevika x farmer’s daughter!reader. men & minors dni.
synopsis: you find a woman in your barn who looks suspiciously like the fugitive who remains wanted on your town's bulletin board. but you've always a soft spot for the strong ones.
cw: age difference, older woman/younger woman, outlaw!sevika, farmhand!sevika, farmer's daughter!reader, reader has curly hair, reader is in her twenties, reader is feral for sevika but tries to keep it cute, soft!masc!reader (i'm not sure if she counts as masc in this but that was the intention! i said soft bc there are times where she dresses overtly femme in the beginning), muscular!reader, strong!reader and sevika is insane about it, touch starved!sevika, soft!sevika, sevi getting praised and spoiled as deserved, petnames, non-sexual intimacy, seduction, dirty talk, praise kink, strength kink, you manhandle sevi like a mf, begging, cunnilingus, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, tribbing, face riding, nipple play, reader waxing poetic about sevi and pretty she is, dom!reader, pleasure domming, sub!sevika, bdsm elemetns, dom/sub, power play, subspace, implied switch!sevi, mommy kink (specifically mama!). notes: guys i'm so fucking PISSED because tumblr deleted the fucking ask that made this even happen. but nonnie please know this is for you and i hope you love it, mama. also this got a little crazy. did not intend to write sub!sevi but then i was possessed and saw the light.
The morning mist hasn't burned off yet when you find her. In the barn's half-light, dust motes swim like sparks around the stranger's sleeping silhouette, her broad shoulders rising and falling against the hay. There's dried blood on her knuckles, you notice, but her hands are curled gentle as a child's against her chest.
Your daddy's shotgun rests steady in your hands, barrel aimed low but ready. The wild dogs haven't raised any alarm; they're curled near the woman like she belongs there. You watch her breath, take in the way her mouth hangs a little open like she’s aching to feed. Moths flutter against the high windows, their wings catching dawn's grey light.
"Daddy's gonna want to know why I didn't shoot you," you say softly, your voice carrying in the hollow space.
Your short hair tickles your jaw as you tilt your head, studying. You’ve chopped it for the summer and the heat you applied to it is lifting. You can feel the curls right bursting around your cheeks.
There's something about the woman's face - even in sleep, it holds a story you've seen somewhere before, maybe on that board in town square you've trained yourself not to look at too closely.
The stranger's eyes open - dark and steady as well water. She doesn't startle, despite the gun trained on her. Just watches you like she's reading something written in the air between you both, her gaze catching on the way your corset top pulls tight across your chest, the intricate lace trim exposing your shoulders to the morning air and accentuating the swell of your breasts.
"Would you have?" the woman asks, voice rough with sleep and something else. Her accent isn't local - has too many edges.
Your lips curl.
"Ain't shot a thing yet that didn't deserve it."
You shift your weight, dark jeans whispering against your boots. The corset suddenly feels more revealing under the stranger's gaze, dawn light playing across the ropy back. "You got a name?"
"Sevika." A pause, heavy as August air. "You always dress up to do barn chores?"
"Only when I've got a feeling about something." You step closer, morning light catching in your hair like a halo, shotgun lowering just slightly. You can smell gunpowder and road dust on her, underneath the hay. "Kitchen's got coffee on. Might even have some bacon, if you can convince me you're worth feeding."
Sevika sits up slow, careful, like she's trying not to spook a wild thing. Her shirt is rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms mapped with scars and something that might be tattoo ink. "That an invitation or an interrogation?"
"Guess that depends on what kind of answers you give."
You rest the shotgun against your shoulder, turning toward the barn door, letting morning spill across your exposed skin. You don't look back - don't need to. You can feel Sevika's eyes on you like a physical touch, can hear the soft grunt as she stands.
The horses shuffle in their stalls, steam rising from their backs. Outside, a rooster crows - late, like always. Everything's waking up slow and sweet, the way summer mornings do.
Your pulse thrums steady in your throat. There's danger in this - in the way Sevika's boots fall into step behind you. But you've never been one to let fear stop you from taking in strays. Even ones that look at you like they'd like to devour you whole.
As you walk, you can tell that she’s drinking in the sight of the farm as strangers tend to do. The acres go for miles, the sky straining and stretching across its great, green rolling body. Most of the buildings—the farmhouse, the barn, the bustling chicken coop—were built raised by your mother’s hands. She was an architect romanced and rescued by your father, though you suspect she did the rescuing more than him.
You shimmy a hand down the downy back of one of the newest calves, nose scrunching with affection as he moos back at you. Eventually the house looms before you, the windows popped open and laundry swaying outback despite the expensive machine your mother couldn’t do without.
“You comin’?” You murmur, and Sevika blinks from where she’s been watching you stand in the doorway, your back well-muscled and strong.
⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺 ⟡ ݁₊ .
The screen door snaps shut behind you both with a familiar whine. Morning floods the kitchen through tall windows—your mother's insistence on "proper light for proper cooking"—and catches on the copper pots hanging above the island. The coffee pot gurgles its last, right on time.
You set the shotgun in its place by the door, muscle memory, though you keep half an eye on Sevika as she takes in the space. The kitchen tells its own stories: your mother's architectural drawings spread across one end of the table, your daddy's mud-caked boots by the back door, fresh-cut flowers in a Mason jar that catch the light just so. The dishes on the side of the sink are speckled stone, sanded and glazed by the artistry of your older sister. The washing machine hums through the wall, keeping time like a heartbeat.
"Sit," you say, gesturing to the worn oak table. It's been scratched and stained by three generations of family suppers, and something in you stirs at the sight of Sevika pulling out a chair—this stranger inserting herself into your history. "Less you'd rather stand."
She sits, those capable hands folding on the tabletop. Her shoulders are still coiled tight, ready to run, but her eyes follow you as you move through the kitchen's familiar dance. Two mugs from the cabinet (your favorite and daddy's backup), bacon from the icebox, cornbread left from last night.
"Sugar?" you ask, though you've already reached for it. The container clinks against your rings as you set it down.
"Black's fine." Her voice is softer in here, like the domesticity of the space has gentled her edges. But when you lean past her to set down her mug, you catch a whiff of leather and gun oil beneath the barn hay. Your curls brush her shoulder, and you feel more than hear her sharp intake of breath.
You take your time settling into the chair across from her, adding three sugars to your own coffee with deliberate movements. Your mother would be appalled at you entertaining company in just a corset top, but there's something thrilling about the way Sevika's gaze keeps catching on the lace trim, on the exposed line of your collarbones, the rise of your breath.
You let her observe because you’re doing the same. Sevika is gorgeous, the kind of beautiful that sinks deep inside of a woman and wears her out. Her grey eyes are like two beacons and they remind you of the deer you’d beg his father not to shoot. The ones you would run after, flapping your arms to get them to scatter.
Her face is almost ridiculously romantic, with a strong nose sitting pretty in the middle that reminds you of royalty. Her eyes are never-ending, a pit that gapes into who she is. Her skin is textured, as it gets when you’re (allegdly) living on the edge of the law. You can tell she’s older than you without her saying it. Something about her radiates maturity, the same as your mother who’s practically seen the world rise and fall.
"So," you say, watching her over the rim of your mug. "You gonna tell me what brings a woman like you to sleep in my barn? Or do I need to go take another look at that board in town?"
Her jaw tightens, but she doesn't flinch.
"Would it change your mind about the bacon if I did?"
"Depends." You lean back, let your chair creak against the floorboards. Through the window, you can see the laundry dancing on the line, your mother's favorite dress a splash of yellow against the morning sky. "On whether you deserved what put you there."
Sevika's fingers tighten around her mug, and you catch sight of old burns across her knuckles. "Most things ain't that simple."
"Most things worth protecting ain't either." You slide the plate of cornbread toward her, a peace offering. Your voice softens; you were never good at acting hard. "Eat something, sugar. Then we'll talk about what kind of work needs doing around here, if you're planning to stay.”
Something shifts in her expression—surprise at the endearment maybe, or relief. When she reaches for the cornbread, her sleeve rides up, revealing more of that tattoo. It looks like a snake, or maybe a dragon, curling up her arm. You wonder how far it goes, what other stories her skin might tell.
The washing machine clicks into its spin cycle, and somewhere outside, your daddy's truck rumbles to life. The morning's moving on, and there's work waiting. But for now, you let yourself sit in this moment: the sun warming your bare shoulders, the quiet sounds of Sevika eating at your family table.
“I suspect,” she says, her throat bucking as she swallows, “that your parents will have a bit more sense about hiring a fugitive for farm work.”
You shrug, pick a corner off the cornbread on her plate.
“Everyone out here is struggling. We all need someone or something. The only reason we’re faring slightly better is because this place was paid off as an anniversary gift by my grandparents.” You glance out the window. “Plus, I’m my daddy’s favortite. He tends to listen to me.”
There’s something sad about the way you say it, as if it aggrieved you to be so loved. But the moment passes and you’re looking back at her, lips full and curved like the moon.
“It’ll be good for us,” you decide and she lets it go. “Get seconds if you’d like, sugar. I'll intercept them.”
“I’m older than you,” Sevika rumbles and you hide a smile, cock your hip out as you grab a basket for the chickens.
“Doesn’t make you any less sweet on the eyes.”
At that her head ducks down and you laugh, the sound clear and bright like a bell.
⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺 ⟡ ݁₊ .
With that Sevika finds herself hired as a farmhand under the stern eye of your father and the knowing eye of your mother. The work is honest and she relishes being able to lose herself in it, settle into the rhythm and flow of this little world your blood has built.
She doesn’t know what to do with you however.
Now, Sevika has lived several lives at this point. In fact sometimes she awoke in the night under the strain of them, the urge to run stampeding from where it sits behind her teeth and under the flat of her tongue. She understands on some level that women find her attractive, brooding. She’s unsurprised at the hints you keep dropping over the weeks. You probably find her intriguing, see her as a means to rebel with her older age and criminal nature.. (“I’m literally in my twenties, Sevika. ‘M not a baby.”)
At least that’s what she thinks at first. But then, she begins to doubt herself and overanalyze your rather…creative attempts to satisfy your coveteous nature.
The first is when she wakes up one early morning, the sky slurred between cotton candy pink and a warm lilac, to find you taking a bath in a two-bit shining steel contraption of a tub. Your body is trembling, but you seem at peace. Your curls are heavy and swollen with water, made longer by the weight of the moisture. She watches your back flex as you move, takes in the hidden strength of your arms and peeking thighs. Your muscle takes her aback, makes her stomach warm real down low.
She should move—your parents will be up soon—but you’re just so captivating when you’re kissed by the dawn. The water sloshes as you pour it over yourself, the underside of your breasts flashing as you soap down. And then you turn, peeking over your shoulder and gazing at her with faux-bambi eyes as you trace a hand up and over your chest to get your back.
She feels warm, teased in a manner that makes her throat squeeze and her hands clench. She doesn’t know what to do with this, doesn’t know how to naviage this eager rabid want that you show her so openly. And it just doesn’t stop.
But what really gets under Sevika’s skin is the kindness that you insist on bludgering her with, especially when no one’s watching. It’s genuine, unexpecting, and claws at her skin with tender phantom fingers.
Just the other day, Sevika had been unable to successfully ward off a duo of wolves and three sheep had been lost in her efforts. She’d apologized gruffly and repeatedly until your mother stepped forward and cupped her chin with a firm hand, telling her to “fuck off with this bullshit because it wasn’t intentional and you tried your best.” What was with you women and nurturing her?
After, Sevika had gone back to where the lasty wooly body lay—the small innocent bones of a lamb. She had felt sick at the sight because the lamb wasn’t a lamb in that moment; she’d seen something else. You saw the lean figure of her body as it bent over in some sort of grief, distraught at the sight of the dead animal beneath it.
Sevika, You had said with shining eyes. Are you alright?
Sevika had looked at you long and hard before making a noise from deep within her throat. Turning swiftly, she tried to block you off from the sight.
I don’t think you’ll want to see this, she’d muttered and you’d settled your hands on your hips.
I’ve lived this long before you were working here, you reminded her.
Sevika’s face was still broken in an open expression of confusion and remorse when you moved forward. Carefully, you swallowed the bulk of her body into the warmth of yours. You weren’t nearly as big, but you held your own and you held her fast. The two of you stayed just like that, with your hand tucked neatly behind her head as you steadied her.
Now, she watches as your broad shoulders dip as you kneel to pick up the limp body of a fallen chicken. These goddamn wolves needed to be dealt with.
It’s in their nature, sugar, you’d told her.
“Wait,” she calls out and you turn to look at her, your cheeks apple-full under the thicket of your lashes.
“Hmm?” you say back, your voice curious.
“Put gloves on if you’re gonna touch it. It probably had some sort of disease.”
Sevika walks closer, grabbing a spare pair of gloves she usually keeps for the other town boys who your father has helping him throughout harvesting week. She holds them out, those dark eyes glittering like grey moonstone.
You look up at her then, curls haloed around your soft face. They’re still kept short, dust your dimpled chin. You look so young and probably always would, the baby fat clinging to your cheeks like the hands of a lover. Sevika continues to gaze down at you, firm and unrelenting, and you smile gently as she eventually looks away.
You’re not moving fast enough, so she crouches down and takes your hands, sliding each glove on and making sure the fingers fit. She notes that your nails are square and glossy, painted an icy pink. You watch with an affected air, scooping the small body up when she finally lets go.
“I’m sorry,” You say to the glassy eyes of the hen and Sevika’s heart seizes.
“‘M sorry, sweetheart,” she tells you, gentle and understanding.
You glance at her and then back at the animal you hold.
“No need to apolgize, you didn’t do anything wrong. Can you help me dig a grave for her?”
Sevika doesn’t know if it would really be worth it to bury it, but you’re a little sad and so obviously cold in your oversized cotton tee and denim shorts. Your skin lights up with the mid-afternoon sun and Sevika can see all of your goosebumps and the fine dusting of hair.
“I—sure,” she agrees and You nod, walking away and trusting her to follow.
Before you begin to lead the march, you turn back and cup her elbow.
“Thank you, sugar.”
And that’s all. She wants to fucking eat you.
You continue to unravel her expectations like cotton thread.
You catch her before dawn another morning, when the sky's still tender with sleep and dark like the evening is loath to leave. She's checking the fence line, and you appear like a vision with two thermoses of coffee and your father's old flannel draped over your worn dark green longsleeve. When you pass her the coffee, your fingers linger on hers longer than necessary.
"Thought you might be cold out here, sugar," you say, and the endearment makes her throat tight. She's not used to being the one called sweet things.
You settle beside her on the fence, close enough that she can feel your warmth. The morning fog rolls across the fields like a dream, and Sevika finds herself watching the way it catches in your hair and the bones of your fingers, how it makes you look ethereal and solid all at once.
"You don't have to keep doing this," she says roughly, though she cradles the thermos close.
"Doing what?" Your voice is innocent but your eyes are knowing.
"Taking care of me. Bringing me things. Being..." she gestures vaguely, unable to name the way you make her feel seen.
You laugh, and she shivers. "Sugar, has it occurred to you that maybe I want to? That maybe I see something in you worth cherishing? That I’m just being genuine?"
The word ‘genuine’ hits her like a physical thing. She ducks her head, unused to this kind of naked affection, but you just reach over and touch her jaw with gentle fingers.
"You're allowed to let someone be sweet on you," you murmur. "Even if you're pushing forty."
There's teasing in your voice, but your touch is reverent. Sevika wants to protest—about the age difference, about her rough past, about how someone as bright and whole as you shouldn't want someone as weathered as her. But you're looking at her like she’s the human version of the Promised Land, and all her arguments die in her throat.
"I don't know how to do this," she admits, voice barely above a whisper.
"Do what?" You're stroking her jaw now, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.
"Nothing. I need to get back to work."
You lean back, let her go.
“If it’s about learning,," you call, your voice trailing after like smoke, "the good thing is that I'm a real good teacher."
The next time I’m in town, she thinks, I need to buy a pack of damn cigarettes.
⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺 ⟡ ݁₊ .
From then on, you start to learn her tells. Like how she always positions herself between you and any perceived threat, how her hands flex when she's trying not to reach for a weapon that isn't there anymore. How she startles, less now, when you're gentle with her.
You catch her in the barn one afternoon, trying to wrap her own ribs after a particularly rough day breaking the new stallion. Her knuckles are white with the effort of reaching around, face drawn tight with pain she won't admit to.
"Sugar," you say softly, and she freezes like a spooked deer. "Let me help you with that."
Her eyes dart to you, then away. "I've had worse."
"Ain't about what you've had." You cross to her, boots quiet in the hay. "About what you deserve now."
You take the bandage from her callused fingers, and she lets you - that alone feels like a victory. This close, you can see the way her breath catches when your fingers brush her skin. Like caring for her is its own kind of violence.
"Lift your arms for me, darlin'," you murmur, and something in her expression cracks when you call her that. Like she can't quite believe the sweetness in your voice is meant for her. But she obeys, raising her arms slowly, letting you wrap her ribs with careful precision.
"You don't have to-" she starts, but you shush her.
"I know I don't have to. Want to." Your fingers trace a scar on her side, old and silver in the afternoon light. "Anybody ever just take care of you, Sevika?"
She doesn't answer, but the way she trembles under your touch says enough. You secure the bandage and let your hands linger on her waist, thumbs brushing bare skin above her jeans.
"Well," you say, pressing a lingering kiss to her shoulder, right where that dragon tattoo curls toward her neck, "better get used to it. I take good care of what's mine."
Her sharp inhale sounds like thunder, and when she turns in your arms, her usual swagger is nowhere to be found. Just vulnerability, raw and beautiful as a sunrise. You cup her face in your hands, thumbs stroking her cheeks, and she leans into your touch like she's starving for it.
"When did you decide tha?" she asks, voice rough. "That I’m yours?"
You smile, soft and sure, and smooth out the furrow in her brow. "You were mine the moment you settled onto my land, sugar. Just took us both a minute to catch up."
And maybe you came on too strong, ‘cause she yanks herself back and straightens her shoulders.
“Thanks.”
You sigh, loud and irate. She’s so fucking—
“No problem, honey.”
⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺 ⟡ ݁₊ .
It happens during the last heat of summer, when the air sits thick as honey on your skin. You're in the barn, having just finished moving hay bales—work that would've taken twice as long if you weren't so used to it. Your blue and white bandana top clings to your chest, sweat stealing out from under it, and you can feel Sevika watching you from where she's meant to be fixing the tractor. You arch your back a little more, make sure to display the way your little rose-bud panties poke over the worn mouth of your lightwash, knee-length jean shorts.
You've caught her looking more and more lately. Noticed how her eyes track the contraction of your arms when you're lifting feed bags, the way she startles when you easily hoist yourself into the saddle. Like she can't quite reconcile your soft curves with the strength beneath them.
"You gonna fix that tractor, sugar?" you ask without turning around, smile curving your lips when you hear her shift. Your desire is practically shaking the bones of your teeth."Or you just gonna watch me work?"
Her throat clicks.
"I’m—I'm nearly done."
You hum, reaching up to stack the last bale. Your shirt’s knot loosens a little ‘round your back, exposing the dip of skin, and you hear something metallic clatter to the floor behind you. When you turn, Sevika's staring at you with those storm-grey eyes, wrench forgotten at her feet. There's grease on her forearms, sweat at her temples, and she's looking at you like she's finally ready to break.
"Something wrong?" you ask innocently, crossing to her. Your bare feet are silent in the hay.
She swallows hard when you reach her, especially when you grip the tractor's edge on either side of her, caging her in with arms that could just as easily lift her. "You know exactly what you're doing."
"Do I?" You lean closer, letting her feel the strength in your body. "Tell me what I'm doing, sugar."
Her hands flex at her sides, like she's fighting not to touch you.
"You're driving me crazy," she admits roughly.
“Oh,” you whisper, pursing your lips. “Do I make you nervous, baby?”
She flushes, tries to scramble back, and you laugh, soft and low.
"Driving you crazy, huh? Only fair. You've been driving me crazy since I found you in my barn." You trace a finger down her jaw, feeling how she trembles. "The way you look at me when you think I can't see. The way you try so hard to be good, to keep your distance."
Your other hand finds her hip, grip firm. You squeeze them in warning.
"I've seen how you watch me work. You like that I'm strong enough to handle you?"
She makes a broken sound, head falling back. "[Name]."
"I've got you," you murmur, and then you're lifting her onto the tractor's edge like she weighs nothing, stepping between her legs. Her eyes go wide, pupils blown, and her hands finally, finally come up to grip your biceps. "Been wanting to do that for weeks. You know you gotta tanline right here?"
You finger the thin edge of her boxers from beneath her jeans,
"Christ," she breathes, fingers tightening on your arms. "You're gonna kill me."
“Are you religious? That’s cutesy,” You smile, pressing closer until you can feel her heartbeat racing against your chest. "Nah, sugar. Just gonna take real good care of you." Your hands slide up her thighs, feeling the way she shivers. "If you'll let me."
She answers by pulling you into a kiss that tastes like summer storms and surrender, and you smile against her mouth. You've got her right where you want her—trembling and warm in your capable hands.
"That's it," you whisper when you pull back to breathe, one hand coming up to cup her face. "Let me handle you, mama. Just like you need."
And Sevika, who's spent years being the strong one, the dangerous one, the one who protects—she lets herself fall into you, lets herself be gentled by your hands. Maybe this is what surrender feels like: not a defeat, but a coming home.
⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺 ⟡ ݁₊ .
Your most prevailing thought is that you’re pissed you didn’t get to see Sevika like this earlier.
Her back arches beautifully, her chest rising with pleasure as you hold her down on the floor by the hips. Your mouth is relentless, suckling at her warm pussy with fervor. She tastes sweet and she’s so soaked, her arousal dribbling out of your mouth and onto your chin. You hum as she roots a hand in your hair, tugging harshly as she grinds down in tight little circles.
She’s whimpering, high breathy sounds that you’re determined to keep streaming from her slick lips. She’s still quiet, as you expected, but Christ does she want it. You let her use you, sliding your hands from her hips up to cup and grope her tits. Her nipples are erect, so hard and pretty and pointed toward heaven like she’s trying to tempt God. She’d probably succeed.
The sun slips through the slats of the barn and it illuminates her skin, the brown of it so warm that you almost feel as if you’re both on fire. You slip your tongue into the tight clutch of her cunt, gently dipping back and forth so that you’re fucking her on your tongue, and squeeze her ass in silent demand. She digs her nails into you, moans loudly, but still doesn’t heed.
With a groan of irritation, you clutch her ass with a grip of steel and begin to bounce her on your face until she starts to see the bigger picture. Eventually, she’s moving on her own—fast and uncoordinated as that bright spiral begins to coil in her stomach.
“Oh my God,” she groans. “Just like that. Please.”
You pull away, spread her apart.
“I know, mama,” you murmur and then dive back in.
Her thighs come up around your head and you let her crush you, shaking your head like a dog in heat as you nurse and lap at her pussy. Above you, Sevika twists one of her nipples and you feel her body tense in response. You bring a hand up to rub at her clit, and she jerks.
When she cums, she’s so bright and beautiful—like a star imploding onto itself. Her legs fall open and she lets out a low whine, like an animal, her hips still circling as she attempts to ride it out.
“Hold on, mama,” you tell her. “I’m gonna give it to you.”
You move quickly, undressing completely and laying your body against hers. Your tits push into hers and she nuzzles into your neck, mind still hazy. You soothe her, digging a thumb into her lower back as you slip two fingers into the meat of her. She lets out a strangled yell at the overstimulation, but you hold her to it.
You fuck your fingers into her, until the squelch is more than obscene, watching as she shakes and writhes alongside you. You use your other hand to guide her to your mouth, kissing her messily as you introduce a third finger to her pussy.
“Oh,” she moans, low and raspy, and you coo at her. “Oh, shit. Holy—holy fuck.”
“Yeah? Does that feel good, baby? You have to tell me what you like.”
“I—mmm. Yes. Yes, it feels good. I need—I need—”
Sevika trails off, eyes wide and watery. You roll over, tucking her under you while you continue to finger her. You raise one of her legs, widening the angle, and she squeals. You laugh lowly into the seam of her neck before sucking the skin between your teeth, biting down and bruising her.
“What do you need, mama? More?”
“Yes, but—,” She blinks, attempting to clear her head. “I want you too. I want you to finish with me.”
“With you or on you?” You watch her face as you ask, eyes following the twitch of her brow. “Maybe in you?”
That makes her shiver, and you smile as you sit up.
“Whatever you want, baby,” you mutter as you manhandle her into how you want her. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”
She shivers again and you pull her up, drawing her against your chest so that your tits are once again pressing up against each other. Carefully, you extend her strong legs over yours and inch forward until your clits catch. The friction is insane and your mouth drops open along the same time that Sevika goes ramrod straight.
You dive right in, fucking up so that your cunts slide and swallow each other. She’s so creamy, her previous orgasm sliding down her thighs. There’s a moment where your control dips, where she’s the one ramming the two of you together and leading you up so that you can grind harder until she stutters again.
Then it’s back and you’re holding her down, spreading her even further open as you rub your pussy roughly against hers. You need her to stay down, need her to take what you choose to give. Sevika is beneath you, trembling and open mouthed, and you stick two fingers down her throat ‘till she’s gagging wetly around them.
“Oh m’God,” you moan, your eyes never leaving hers. “You’re such a fucking slut, mama. Jesus.”
That does it and you feel her pour into you, thick and warm. You follow shortly after, rocking and pushing down against her as you chase the feeling. She’s sobbing, a hand coming up to grip at her throat as she tries to match your movements.
You slow, come to a stop, and stroke her face as you rise off of her. Tenderly, you kiss at her cheeks and eyelids as you sush her.
“I know, baby. You were so good. Such a good, perfect, strong woman. Hmm?” You kiss her temple. “You did so well, mama.”
She’s shaking, so you hold her until she’s less far away. You want to get up, get her some water and maybe something to eat but she’s holding you captive. Sevika turns into you, body big and curved like the moon come to earth.
The afternoon light paints everything gold, and you know you’ve got work waiting—always do, on a farm. But for now, you just continue to hold her. Somewhere outside, those wild dogs are keeping watch.
© hcneymooners.
⚚ special taglist: @blackdykegirlblogger @gaysevika @lovelifelaughsakuna @thesevi0lentdelights @rios-st4rs @16novvs @rottngrl3 @namuranguinhos @pllduniverse @swordfemm4 @alexthewalex @baeumonde
#sevika x y/n#sevika x reader#sevika x you#sevika arcane#sevika league of legends#wlw smut#lesbian#sapphic#arcane smut#arcane fanfic#arcane x reader#female!reader#fem!reader#mine ; 🐎.
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☆彡 cinnamon pt 2 ˳༄꠶
character: kang dae-ho (player 388)
˳༄꠶ summary: five sfw and nsfw general headcannons for dae-ho
sfw headcannons
★ he’s a man that knows how to dress himself well. in korea, the importance on appearance is a reinforced by society so lots of people dress good, but i’m telling you that he knows how to keep up appearances - even if his clothes remain casual, all his outfits look good on him; he mainly wears black high waisted dress pants w/ wide pant legs paired with a loose fitting shirt & a cardigan or an oversized hoodie w/ cargo pants
★ he has a sad playlist that he jams out to regularly; even if nothing bad happened. he could be doing the most mundane task - like walking down the streets of korea - and one of the most heartbreaking songs would be blasting out of his earphones
★ he hates needles, and i mean he hates them. sure, he got a tattoo, but if he has to do anything like getting his blood drawn he’ll bolt it out of there - unless you’re there and you hold his hand
★ he’s one of those people that keeps all their app tabs open on their phone. and probably barely has any storage space because of the amount of pictures he has of you and other things; he doesn’t want to delete them because he thinks he’ll forget the moment
★ he’s big on physical touch. there isn’t a moment where he can go on without holding your hand or wrapping his arms around your shoulders from behind. it’s also normal for him to place tiny kisses on your face whenever the opportunity arises
nsfw headcannons
★ loves to tell you how beautiful you are when you please each other. your hair could be messy and sticking to your face, or you’re sweating profusely, but it doesn’t matter. he never wants to think your any less than beautiful
★ he really likes when you ride him; especially when he’s just laying flat - no hands on you or anything - on the bed and you lay your palms flat on his shoulders for support
★ the idea of you just using him for pleasure really gets him off - like if you were stressed and needed to blow of steam so you decide to pin him down and be a little bit mean and condescending while you please him; he usually cries when you guys fuck like that, but it’s always out of pleasure
★ he wouldn’t want to have sex anywhere besides the bedroom. i feel like both of you tried it once in a more public place - like maybe one of your guys’ cars or in a hotel room - but it turned him off so bad that you both agreed to not try that again
★ he’s all for waking you up by eating you out (consensual somnophilia); hearing you gasp as you awake and having you card your fingers through his hair to tug on it, it’s one of the best sights he’d ever witnessed. he usually does this on the days he has to work cause he loves riling you up, but he always makes sure to clean you up before he leaves
the end! i hope you enjoyed <3!
© cheetabites. don’t translate, claim or repost my works on any platform. jan 3 2025.
#★; ayuri’s sg headcannons#squid game#squid game 2#squid game season 2#player 388#kang dae ho player 388#kang dae ho#kang dae-ho#squid game x reader#squid game x you#squid game fanfiction#squid game fanfic#squid game imagine#squid game headcanons
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Hiiiii! i was so obsessed with your lando cooking one but i have another idea kinda where’s its a little similar but reader is his private chef or something ??? Plz i love you’re writing so much 🥰
Stay With Me. ✷ Lando Norris
Pairing: Lando Norris x Privatechef!reader
Summary: When he finally musters the courage to talk to his private chef and eventually invite her to stay for dinner.
Word Count: 2.3k
Disclaimer/s: flufffff :3 meet cute ,, ish??? and forced proximity almost (not at all) Just Squint idk
Vera’s Voice! LOVE THIS REQUEST AYYEEE , hope u enjoy!!!! thank u for reading my fics!!! mwaaahhh
Lando never thought he’d end up with a private chef.
The idea sounded unnecessarily extravagant when his management first proposed it. He wasn’t a picky eater, and takeout worked just fine. But after months of rigorous travel, racing every other weekend, and well… his need to somehow always mention the disgusting food pile in his pantry on live streams… his team insisted on the idea.
It wasn’t about luxury, they claimed—it was about nutrition, recovery, and convenience. Lando reluctantly agreed, figuring it would be just another stranger in his house.
And that’s exactly what you were.
The first time you arrived, Lando only caught a glimpse of you—a short, polite nod as you introduced yourself by name.
You didn’t linger. No small talk, no unnecessary pleasantries. You brought bags of fresh groceries, prepared everything with quiet efficiency, and left him with neatly plated meals stored in his fridge.
And this routine went on for weeks.
Lando grew used to hearing the door click open mid-afternoon, a soft shuffle of feet in his kitchen as you unpacked your things.
He kept his distance, a little unsure of how to approach you. You worked so intently that he didn’t want to interrupt, and honestly, he didn’t know what to say.
So, he settled for his usual routine: nodding, mumbling a quick thanks, and letting you go about your work.
But as the weeks passed, he found himself oddly intrigued.
He noticed how precise your movements were—the way you diced vegetables or measured out spices. He caught whiffs of garlic and herbs wafting through the house, making his mouth water.
Once, he saw you pause by the stove to taste a sauce, your face lighting up with the faintest hint of a smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to pique his curiosity.
He wanted to know more about you.
It wasn’t until a quiet Tuesday afternoon that Lando finally mustered the courage to do something about it.
You’d just arrived, placing your bags on the kitchen counter and rolling up your sleeves. Lando was sitting on the couch, his laptop open in front of him, pretending to be preoccupied.
But he wasn’t working.
He was watching you out of the corner of his eye, nervously tapping his fingers against the keyboard.
Finally, he took a deep breath, stood up, and walked over.
“Hey,” He said, voice a little shaky.
You turned, startled. “Oh. Hi.”
Your voice was soft but firm, and your eyes quickly darted back to the chopping board as if you didn’t want to intrude.
Lando scratched the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of himself. “I was, uh, wondering…” He hesitated. “Do you ever get to eat what you make?”
You blinked, genuinely surprised by the question. “Not usually,” You admitted. “I just cook for you.”
“Oh.” He shifted on his feet, feeling a bit awkward. “Well, that doesn’t seem fair, does it?”
You tilted your head slightly, your lips curving into the faintest smile. “I don’t mind.”
Lando cleared his throat. “Still, you’ve been cooking for me for weeks, and I don’t even know if you think it tastes good.”
You laughed at that, a quiet, melodic sound that made Lando’s chest feel a little lighter. “I taste as I go. You haven’t complained, so I assumed all was fine.”
“It’s more than fine,” He said quickly, then winced, realizing how eager he sounded. “I mean, it’s really good. Like… amazing.”
“Thank you.” Your cheeks flushed a faint pink, glancing back down at the cutting board to hide your sudden blush.
Lando watched you for a moment, then blurted, “Can I help?”
You froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You want to help?”
“Yeah,” He said, trying to sound casual. “I feel bad just sitting around while you do all the work.”
Your lips twitched, almost as if you were holding back a laugh. “Well that’s technically what I get paid for…so..”
“Well, I don’t mind lending a hand..” He stepped closer.
“Um.. Alright,” You said slowly. “But I don’t think I can trust you near a stove from what your management told me, so how about slicing and dicing?“
“Sounds good.” He flashed a smile, quickly coming to your aid.
And Lando wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to help, but you quickly realized he was hopeless in the kitchen.
He now stood next to you, an apron tied loosely around his waist (as he insisted to feel official), struggling to peel a carrot. His grip was awkward, and the peels kept getting stuck in the blade.
“Like this,” You said, stepping closer and wrapping your hand around his to guide him.
Lando froze at the contact, his pulse quickening. Your hand was warm against his, and for a moment, all he could focus on was the soft scent of your vanilla shampoo and the gentle lilt of your voice as you explained the technique.
“There,” You said, releasing his hand. “Try now.”
He nodded, a little dazed, and attempted to mimic your movements. The carrot peeled more smoothly this time, though not without a few mishaps.
“You’re a pro.” You complimented, earning a wide smile from him as he continued.
Lando watched you, his confidence growing with each little laugh he managed to pull from you.
The atmosphere felt easy now, the awkwardness from before fading into something warmer. He grabbed another carrot and set to work, determined to keep up with you.
As the meal came together, the smells filling the kitchen made his stomach growl audibly.
You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” He admitted.
You flashed him a smile before you mindlessly tidied around the kitchen, thankfully washing dishes as you cooked. You made sure to plate his food, sliding a portion toward him as usual.
But before you could reach for your bag and finish cleaning up, Lando hesitated, leaning against the counter.
“Wait,” He said suddenly.
You paused, glancing at him. “Hm?”
“Stay with me.” Lando said almost too eagerly, quickly catching himself before stuttering. “Like stay for dinner.”
You felt your eyes widen at the offer, your heart skipping a beat. “Oh, I don’t usually—” Your voice started, but he cut you off, his words tumbling out in a rush.
“I insist.” He smiled before shifting on his feet, suddenly shy. “You’re always here, making these amazing meals, but you never eat them. It feels wrong. Like… you deserve to enjoy this too.”
You hesitated.
The idea of sitting down to dinner with him felt… different. But there was something in the way he looked at you—hopeful, genuine—that made it impossible to say no.
“Um.. Okay,” You said softly, nodding as you set your bag back down.
Lando’s face lit up, and he immediately set about pulling plates from the cabinet, his excitement almost contagious.
And it was… nice.
You sat across from each other at the small dining table, sharing the meal you’d just prepared—a hearty steak, (opposed to the salmon you were incredible at making but you were instructed to never prepare him seafood), roasted vegetables, and a side of creamy mash. It wasn’t anything overly fancy, but it was perfect, and Lando couldn’t stop himself from saying so.
“You’re too kind,” You said, your tone teasing.
“I’m serious!” He insisted. “I don’t know how you make the vegetables taste this good. It’s like magic or something.”
You laughed again, a little less reserved this time. “No magic. Just practice.”
You talked as you ate, the conversation flowing easier than Lando expected. He learned that you’d gone to culinary school, that you loved experimenting with new recipes, and that you preferred baking to cooking.
And to his surprise, you were extremely funny, with a dry sense of humor that caught him off guard.
“I’ll need to try your pastries one day then?” He said with a quirked brow as you shook your head.
“Unfortunately, not on the nutrition plan your management gave me.” You bit down a laugh.
“One cheat day won’t hurt…” He pushed for it.
You sheepishly shrugged. “I’ll consider.” Another laugh escaping your lips as he let out a stupid groan with a roll in his eyes.
And, for the first time, Lando felt like he really saw you—not just as the chef who came and went, but as someone he genuinely wanted to know.
When the meal was finally over, you started to stand, reaching for the dishes, but Lando stopped you.
“I’ll take care of it,” He said.
Your brow furrowed. “But—”
“You cooked. I’ll clean. That’s the deal now.”
You hesitated, then nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Okay… Thanks.”
Soon, you grabbed your bag to leave, Lando walking you to the door, feeling an odd pang of disappointment as you stepped outside.
“Same time tomorrow then?” You asked, glancing back at him.
Lando grinned. “Only if you’re eating with me again.”
Your smile widened, and for the first time, you didn’t look like you were in a hurry to leave.
“Deal,” You tried to hide your excitement.
“Goodnight.” He smiled.
“Goodnight.”
And as you walked off while he closed the door, Lando was already looking forward to tomorrow.
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Holiday request: the audit
"What time is your bedtime?" Uncle demands just as Damian is about to go to Batcave to suit up. For a moment, he fights the urge to proclaim he doesn't have a bedtime because he is not a child. Then he remembers that Uncle had been the one to install the anti-child soldier rule in the League of Assassins.
He allowed them to be trained to defend themselves and the organization but not to be sent on missions or be trained to the point he claimed as "abusive." Uncle believed that the young of Infinity Island should be treated like children and that doing so was not a means of offense.
Instead, Uncle thought providing a peaceful and gentle childhood was a gift. Mother claimed it created weaklings, which is why Damian had pushed himself to this point of skill, but even she had known that her brother's wrath would fall upon her if her more intense training techniques were introduced to him too early.
Damian would like to believe he was one of the best in the League of Assassins, but he knew he wasn't. Uncle Daniel's rule made it hard for him to advance against larger opponents.
He could best everyone in his age group in controlled duels and sparring, and he stood a great chance against the idiots in Gotham streets, but only because none of them had any official training.
In the beginning of his life in Gotham, Damian consistently lingers in the background in battles against enemies such as Bane, Killer Croc, or Scarecrow. He was skilled enough to know he would be a liability if he attempted to take a point, but Father had quickly adjusted his training, and Damian was slowly but surely advancing in his skill set.
Mother would be pleased to learn he was better than the assassin's two age groups above him and that his pain tolerance hide rose. Uncle Daniel had likely noticed as well.
He knew it was due to all those hours out in the field of Gotham's darkest streets.
It had been one of the first things he had been displeased with Father over, and if he wanted his plan to work, he needed to make the sacrifice.
"Nine o'clock," he grumbles, crossing his arms. "Nine thirty if it's not a school day."
Uncle Daniel smiles proudly, leaning back into the doorframe of Father's office. The rest of Father's brood stands around looking confused as Uncle shoots Father a smug look, only to frown at Father's glee. Even someone as great as his uncle had thought Father wanted them on the field.
Not that they had all forced his hand. Damian should show him all the security his father had installed to keep him in the manor and the surveillance hours during which he broke through said security to fight crime.
In fact, Damian should asked Drake if he still had the video where Father had shouted at the top of his lungs, "For the last time, just STAY HOME and let me handle the EXTREMELY dangerous hostage situation, kids!"
Only to slap a hand over his face when Brown had taunted him through the coms. "You can't tell us what to do!"
"Yeah, B, you must learn to control your children." Todd's mockery was nearly drowned out by the sound of gunfire. "We're out of control."
"Damian can not stay home alone," Father says, snapping him from his thoughts. He's glancing at the other idiots in the room, who are all making faces, but this is just the opportunity Damian has been waiting for.
He's not about to let them ruin it with their stupid demand to join Father in the field.
He raises his chin, blurting out his demand. "If we all stay behind, Uncle Daniel shall go with you, Father. To keep you safe."
Both men look butler disgusted, which is what prompts Drake to speak up. "You know Bruce? I actually feel a little under the weather today. Maybe I can stay with Damian, and Mr. Fetnon can go for me."
"That won't be necessary when Steph-"
"Oh shoot B! I have this really big essay due tomorrow, and I was going to stay on coms tonight while I worked on it. I can't go with you. Sorry"
Father appears desperate when he flings his eyes to Richard, who only shrugs. "Sorry, Cass and I are going undercover tonight at the new club. I can't watch your back while trying to get party college kids to tell me where the new drugs are."
"Jason-"
"No."
"I guess I have no choice." Uncle Daniel sighed as if this was all a big chore that Damian had thrown at him. "I'll make sure your incompetence doesn't get you killed. Let's go."
Father's teeth are gritting, but when the visitor steps closer to whisper in his ear, all the protest drains from his body, and he, too, sighs wearily. Damian wished he knew what was said between them, but his uncle had covered his mouth, so he could not lip read.
"Fine. But no killing." Father bites, and Uncle scowls
"I don't kill. I know how precious any life can be." He seers, getting into Father's face. He stabs his pointer finger in the middle of Bruce's chest, pressing down roughly on every syllable.
Damian is about to step in, recognizing the rising anger in his mother's brother, only to watch, in real-time, as Father seems surprised by the comment. Much to his hopeful glee a slight blush rises on the man's cheekbones, even as he turns around to moved the clock.
Uncle rolls his eyes before sinking into the ground as Father vanishes from sight. The office has a long silence before Brown breaks it with a nasty snort.
Utterly mannerless, that one.
"Oh, the sexual tension! They will definitely be fuc-" She cackles, only to pause when her eyes land on Damian as if she had forgotten he was there. Brown reached up to pet down her hair, clearing her throat. "They seem like good friends."
"What? I don't believe you understand. Father and Uncle can barely stand each other."
Drake snickers. "Barely stand"
"Enough," Richard speaks up, popping open the top two buttons on his shirt. It's part of his disguise to look as alluring as possible, though Damian doubts someone would give an idiot who can't correctly dress himself the time of day. "Let's leave Bruce and our house guest alone. We all have jobs, so Steph, get on coms, Tim, get some chicken soap, and Damian, get to bed."
"Wait, I'm not actually sick-" Drake protests, but Richard walks right through his protest. He pushes the idiot out of the office and marches him down the hall toward the kitchen.
Damian watches them go before glancing over his shoulder to where Brown vanishes from sight down the pole to the Batcave in a flash of yellow hair. He nearly joins her, but Uncle would have his head when- and it would be when, not if- he found out he wasn't sleeping.
He still has a year to get them together. He must make sacrifices that wound his pride, such as these. Damian pouts to his room but changes into his sleepwear and brushes his teeth anyway.
His bedtime is only ten minutes away.
#dcxdpdabbles#dcxdp crossover#the audit#Part 3#holiday requests#Bruce and Danny are enimes to lovers#The kids know#But Damian doesn't#Steph and Tim tease Bruce a LOT
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I have a silly thought that I would like to share with you. Sometimes, I make random noises as a sort of verbal keysmash. Wouldn't it be funny if the verbal keysmashes were somehow Lemurian swear words? Or an old Philos curse?
Gibberish … Maybe?
How I imagine the LADS men reacting to you accidentally saying something in another language. Whole time you just made a random noise and have no clue what they’re even talking about. A/N: Imagine saying "manamana doot dee de dee tee" and they think you just cursed them out in a different language
Zayne
Doorways and staircases really suck sometimes because why did you completely forget what you came in the kitchen for as soon as you walked through the cased opening. You stood there dumbfounded and made a random noise which you could only refer to as a ‘verbal keyboard smash’
Zayne: Where did you learn that? MC: Learn what? Zayne: You just said ‘Forevermore’ in latin MC: I literally made the most random noise my brain could think of Zayne: That was latin clear as day MC: How the hell do you know latin? Zayne: I studied it MC: Why? Zayne: Why not?
From then on Zayne sends you random quotes in latin just to see if you can tell what they say. You keep telling him you never learned latin and have no clue what he’s talking about. After months of him teaching you bits of latin you two have your own little secret language now.
Rafayel
Your brain must've stopped working for a second because here you are opening the oven with your left hand and reaching in with your right hand. The problem? The oven mitt is on your left hand. Just as the tip of your finger is about to hit the edge of that scalding hot cookie sheet you pull your hand back making the most random shocked noise.
Rafayel: What did you just call me? MC: What are you talking about? Rafayel: You just basically called me a barnacle muncher in glubbanese MC: Glubba what?! Rafayel: Who taught you that? MC: Nobody taught me anything what in the blue fuck are you talking about? Rafayel: Are you seeing other Lemurians? MC: I made a random noise Raf get outta my ear with all this
You turned to pull your baked goods out of the oven and set them on the stove. You quickly turned the oven off before turning back to him.
MC: Also aren’t you the only Lemurian left Rafayel: Me and my aunt Talia … wait!
He grips you by the shoulders
Rafayel: Was it her?! I knew it! I'll be back MC: NO! I-
You didn’t get the chance to finish your sentence as he turned on his heels and made a beeline for the front door. You try to stop him from storming out the door, but he was too fast. You stare at the door dumbfounded because you still have no clue what the actual fuck glubbanese is.
Xavier
Xavier was the perfect body pillow to lean against while you read a book. Perhaps you were a little too immersed in your book because when the major plot twist came the most unintelligible string of gibberish came out of your mouth. You felt Xavier stiffen behind you which broke you immersion.
MC: What's wrong? Xavier: Why did you say that? MC: Say what? Xavier: You just said something rather strange in Philosian MC: I said what in philosophy? Xavier: I’d rather not repeat it MC: Xav I literally just made a random noise Xavier: Well that random noise is ‘hairy anus’ in philosian MC: WHAT???
You sat up so fast you somehow managed to fall off the couch hitting your elbow on the coffee table. Xavier pulled you back onto the couch checking to make sure you were okay before you notice the grin he’s trying to hold back. He finds this whole thing hilarious.
MC: Stop laughing! Xavier: I should’ve known you didn’t mean to say that MC: I didn’t say anything I made a random noise Xavier: I’m sure you’ll be more careful next time MC: If Philosian sounds like random throat noises then yea I guess I'll be more careful
Sylus
You were laying on the plush couch in Sylus’ study while he was taking a few business calls. He said he would be done soon however the boredom was getting to you. With absolutely zero thought you blurted out a random noise. You didn’t think much of it until you looked over and saw Sylus starring at you; his brows furrowed and his head cocked. You sat up confused on why he was looking at you as if you’d just called him a no neck bitch or something.
Sylus: Where did you learn that? And when? MC: Learn what? Sylus: You just tried to curse me MC: I didn’t do anything…… Sylus: That was a curse in ancient Philosian MC: That was random gibberish Sylus: …. MC: Fix your face Sylus: Trying to get rid of me sweetie? MC: I’m not trying to do anything! Sylus: Unfortunately for you those curses don’t work on me you’ll have to try something else MC: What in the blue hell do you mean ‘try something else’ I didn’t try anything in the first place!
Ever since you supposedly tried to curse him in a language you’d never heard of he’s constantly teasing you. He checks in from time to time to see if you’ve taught yourself any new spells and you tell him the same thing every time.
MC: Sylus it was a random noise Sylus: Keep telling yourself that Sorceress
#love and deepspace#sylus love and deepspace#lads#sylus#love and deepspace sylus#lnds sylus#lads rafayel#lads xavier#lads zayne#lads sylus#lnds#lnds zayne#lnds xavier#lnds rafayel#l&ds sylus#l&ds rafayel#l&ds xavier#l&ds zayne#xavier love and deepspace#zayne love and deepspace#rafayel love and deepspace#nikaaaaimagine
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## one true love !!
summary──── ben feels true love with you, his enemy, and finds himself able to break from the toxic masculinity he surrounded himself with.
pairings──── soldier boy / benjamin x anti-hero!male reader
warnings──── nsfw content, porn with too much feelings, fluff, slight angst, foul language, probably (very definitely) ooc soldier boy, top!reader, sub!bottom!ben, gentle love, praise kink, hair pulling, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, vibrator, pet names ( love, baby, pup, etc. ), short oral ( r. receiving ), love-making, mating press, missionary, riding, aftercare, light D/S dynamics, pillow talk, a lot of vulnerability, ben proposes to reader unexpectedly, enemies in forbidden love, internalised homophobia, morally grey!reader, possessiveness, homophobic slurs, canon typical misogyny, reader’s anti-hero name is lucifer, reader has magical powers
author’s note──── i might’ve made him too soft and vulnerable, so forewarning that he doesn’t show much of his asshole side in this fic. the ooc warning already says much, i guess?
MINORS DNI !!
Peaceful jazz music and well dressed crowd fills the grand hall decorated in gold curtains, men and women from different wealthy families flaunting around their riches with drinks in hand. Adorned in nothing but expensive attires that feeds off of the poor were most guests that have been invited to celebrate another success of Vought-American with a superhero movie that starred its own team, Payback, while the heroes themselves remained in their pretty little costumes for the publicity and fame.
Cameras, photographers, and journalists lurked in the corner section of the hall, where they’ve been assigned to fulfil their destiny of capturing significant moments that are interesting enough to be written on headlines or shown on television.
Nights like this were when Soldier Boy wanted to beat the shit out of Vought employees for their incapability in making celebrations entertaining. The lack of excitement and chaos infuse Ben with excessive boredom that just gives him the urge to shoot himself in the head, all of its professionalism becoming nothing but a burden and straight up pain in the ass. He’s been hardly enjoying the night, having to put up with Crimson Countess attached to his hip at all times to keep appearances, which he admits is worse than fucking a loose cunt. It didn’t make him feel better that Stan fucking Edgar was watching, making sure things are under control.
The jazz music suddenly stops short with a loud screeching sound that has everyone covering their ears in pain, startled murmurs filling the air as all eyes turned to the stage where a famous band stood, confusion also plastered across their faces. One of them repeatedly presses down on the piano’s key, frowning when it does nothing as if it lost its function all of a sudden. Sensing the panic slowly rise among guests, Stan opens his mouth to speak, only for his words to die in his throat when the lights begin to flicker.
“You know, I’m quite displeased to not have received an invitation.” Deep, resonant, husky voice littered with confidence and cockiness erupt out of nowhere as the flickering lights return to normal, an utterly familiar figure making themselves known.
Gasps, of either excitement or fear, falls from everyone’s lips to your powerful presence that almost immediately caused a shift in atmosphere. Soldier Boy’s breath hitched, feeling his throat dry as he cleared his throat and swallowed.
You don’t miss the quick look of surprise and panic flashing across Stan’s face before they were hidden behind his casual mask of greedy businessman, making the corner of your lips twitch up.
“You’re simply not welcome here, Lucifer.” The man uttered with barely contained irritation despite his best efforts to remain calm, spitting your antihero name — given by, not Vought, but the public themselves — in distaste.
Amusement emerge on your expression, completely unbothered by the antagonistic perspective Stan sees you with.
There’s an underlying overconfidence and arrogance to the way you hold yourself, a man who clearly knows how influential and threatening your own existence is and isn’t even apologetic for it. It wasn’t just for a show — you knew you mattered, knew exactly your worth, and didn’t hide behind the fake persona of a beloved public figure that pretends they’re enjoying a single bit of what they’re doing. Your ego and pride seemingly rivals that of Soldier Boy’s yet yours come more naturally, like you were born with it without the need to develop them in amidst of your life to trick yourself into feeling more relevant. You held charisma, a charm that seems to pull people closer to you despite the dangerous, deceitful, fucking jackass attitude you had that’s supposed to be driving them away. It makes Ben want to either punch your face or suck your cock like a fag whore.
“Fair enough,” You shrugged. “But I certainly make parties more fun. You could learn a couple or two from me.”
Stan’s eye twitches in annoyance at your arrogance; it’s much worse that he can’t use anything to stomp on it because your ego wasn’t fragile like the others. While most men, supe or not, wrap their self-importance in toxic masculinity in order to feel superior than they actually are, you were fully comfortable with yourself. Your emotional capacity was extremely high that developed you to become invincible against criticism or rejection. He can attempt to hurt your feelings, manipulate you, use your own ego against you all he wants — none of it will force you to surrender or submit no matter what because you, quite simply, loved yourself too much to be under power hungry maniacs.
When Stan can’t seem to muster a snarky remark, you smirk and invite yourself in, walking further into the grand hall as you snap your fingers, the white bright lights turning into colourful disco lights with your magic.
You stared at the band members on stage, eyes glowing red, and forcefully overtake their minds to play an upbeat party worth music instead of the boring jazz they did. It’s not that you dislike jazz music, it’s peculiar and beautiful on its own, you’re just not really fond of formal parties where everyone’s required to be in their good behaviours, barely having the time of their life if not to shove their riches down less wealthy people’s throat, which you don’t particularly find amusing or fun at all.
It seems to excite the guests, some of them even beginning to bop their heads to the catchy rhythm, moving their previously still bodies along with the beats. Energy surges through them, life revealing itself within their eyes that was filled with misery before you barged in.
“Let go of the fucking formality, ladies and gentlemen.” You grinned wide with your arms spread open to your sides. “It’s time for a true fun party!”
Ben was in awe when all cheered at your declaration, how quick you were able to turn this entire place into your own playground despite the hosts — authorities — being present, how much of a natural you were at gaining people’s faith and attention without doing more than show up and be yourself.
It should be making him envious; he’s doing all these heroism, model, actor bullshit and hiding behind a perfect macho-man façade to be loved and paid attention to for fuck’s sake, and yet it’s so easy for you to bend people at your own will just by being yourself. He should be pissed as he always did when others get the spotlight more than him, but Ben couldn’t find it in himself to.
How the fuck is he going to be pissed when you look so disgustingly hot doing all of it?
“He’s fucking doing it again,” Countess seethes through gritted teeth, glaring at you. Her little tug on his arm snaps him out of daze as he shifts his gaze to her. “Taking all the attention away from you. With the rate he’s going, I wouldn’t be surprised if he interrupts everything you’re in.”
Ben had to pretend to irritably clench his jaw, and smiled with sarcasm. “As if I’d let him. Fucking asshole needs to be put in his place.”
He knew you heard him when the corner of your lips pulled up in a smirk, one of your brows raising to shoot him a challenging look. It sends a thrill down Ben’s spine as he scowled, giving you a death glare that everyone sees for it is; rage, hatred, despise.
“Pleasure to see you here, Soldier Boy. Crimson Countess.” You greet in a feigned enthusiasm, swiftly taking a cocktail from the waiter that just passed, and approach them in all your glory.
“Fuck you,” Soldier Boy quickly snarled as Countess spits, “Get the fuck away from us.”
Amusement instantly cross your face, nearly making both of them want to punch you. “So much for greeting lovebirds in clown costumes,” You dejectedly say with a hand over your chest for dramatic effect, in contrast to the mocking way in which you spoke. “C’mon, I just made this boring, useless party worth your precious little time. At least now you can stop being a pussy hiding behind an awfully constructed television personality.”
That strikes a nerve in Soldier Boy as his face hardened and a cold look appeared, stepping forward warningly, “I’d choose my next fucking words wisely if I were you.” Countess tugs his arm in a nervous manner while scanning their surroundings, taking notice of people watching your interaction.
You meet his glare with a calm yet daring look and leaned closer, “I wouldn’t. I know I can beat you.” Your eyes glowed in red once again as you grinned confidently.
Ben’s hand twitched, but before he could make a move, a woman approached you from behind and tugged on your elbow, interrupting the little rivalry you had going on. “I’m sorry, do you mind if we dance and have fun for a bit?” She shyly but bravely asked you, not even sparing Soldier Boy a glance.
An unimpressed look flashes in your eyes that only Ben took notice of, the subtle annoyance to the woman for cutting into your rather hostile conversation. You, however, plastered on an emotionless smile within a split second, not giving anyone the chance to see through you. “I’ll lead the way,” You barely looked at him before walking off with her to the centre of the hall where bodies swayed to the beat.
It takes everything in Ben not to square up and make a mess of this party when you started dancing with her, your body dangerously close to hers as she stares at you with a look that made him want to strangle her slim neck. As if you’re a divine sculpture created by Gods, like you’re the entire universe, most precious being to ever exist in this planet, like she knew everything about you when she, in fact, absolutely did not. But he does.
And Ben knows he’ll be screaming your name, holding you impossibly close to him, digging his nails onto your back as you grind into him — everything she wished you’ll do to her — when all of this shit show is over.
At the end of the day, no slut or pussy fucker would come home to you but him; you’ve chosen him despite the countless amount of people throwing themselves pathetically at you, and Ben will make sure he’ll forever be the only one who does.
Lewd squelching, sucking sounds fill the dimly lit bedroom of your home as the stench of sex and arousal surround the air, more prominent due to your and Ben’s enhanced senses. You sat comfortably against the headboard of your shared bed with Ben in between your legs as he sucks and slurps your cock, taking it as far as he can in his mouth and gagging. Tiny muffled moans or groans escape him occasionally, hips grinding against the mattress to stimulate his own aching dick while the vibrator you bought for him nestled deep inside his prepped hole.
“You love my fuckin’ cock so much, don’t you?” You chuckled hoarsely, almost degrading, and Ben shudders. “It’s alright, love. m’not goin’ anywhere.” Your fingers tread through his hair, gently scraping your nails against his scalp, making him groan as his hips stutter.
Maintaining eye contact with you, Ben inhales a deep breath through his nose before taking your cock further down his throat, tears gathering in his eyes when he nearly gagged. A genuine smile adorns your face when he looks at you expectantly, the most beautiful green eyes you’d ever seen holding desperation and self-doubt. Pleading expression that he shows only to you.
“You want me to praise you, pup? Call you good boy?” He whines in response — God, that fucking sound you know he’d rather die than let anyone else hear. Ben doesn’t have any idea how much it affects you, the fact that you’re the only one whom he allows a vulnerable side of him show.
Realising he has to earn what he yearns for, Ben gently wraps his hand around the base of your cock where it didn’t fit and starts to bob his head. You moaned softly, throwing your head back; the sight being such a blessing to Ben’s eyes that makes his own cock throb and needy. He swirls his tongue on the underside of your shaft, his free hand gripping your thigh for support.
“Doin’ so good, love. You’ve gotten better at this,” You cooed, petting his hair and gently thrusting up into his throat. Ben closed his eyes, a blissful look appearing on his face as he relaxed and allowed you to move instead.
The trust and faith Ben has in you makes something explode within your chest, heart swelling in love and adoration at your troubled yet adorable partner.
Building a healthy and trustful relationship with him was more difficult than anything you’ve ever done before, considering the absolute bigotry his father forcefully fed into him and all the unresolved issues he had with himself. Despite the tough and harsh exterior he constantly put on, you had seen right through him when you first met — those broken spirit that yearned to be loved or needed by people hiding behind his douche, Soldier Boy persona, a man that his imbecile of a father always wanted him to be. It amused you as much as it squeezed your chest; one of the first strongest superhero being a fucking attention starved bastard was undeniably funny, but pitiful. It’s also why you fell in love with him.
You’ve accepted that Ben was always going to have a deep rooted homophobia in him, that there won’t be a day where you’ll be seen in the public with him holding hands like star-fucking-crossed lovers, that he’ll always be too much of a pussy to be fully himself — but you never expected him to be so open, comfortable, with you like this to the extent of willingly trusting you with a needy and desperate version of himself.
Benjamin is laying his heart out bare for you to take, and you didn’t know whether you wanted to make love to him or fuck his brains out. You decided with the former.
Confusion settles on Ben’s expression when you gently pushed his shoulders to make him pull away, a sudden worry if he’s done something wrong, but all thoughts flies out the window after you passionately smashed your lips against his and guided him on your lap. Ben gasps when you pulled the vibrator out of his hole and replaced it with your thick fingers, hooking his arms on the back of your neck.
“So good, love. Lookin’ all pretty for me.” He moans at your praise, the compliment making his heart flutter rather than boost his ego.
“s’for you…” They come out in whisper from his lips, littered with slight reluctance around the edge, but you hear it loud and clear. “All for you. I— fuck… just for you,” He grinds on your fingers, crying out when you curled them just right to stimulate his prostate.
You almost feel dizzy for his words that he’s never uttered before.
The utmost pride he upholds made it difficult for Ben to completely submit to you, often being a disobedient brat that needs to be put in his place or a quiet, reserved man that’s embarrassed to be loved by another man which causes him to be tense for the first half of this activity — so seeing him like this, hesitantly yet openly letting you in to his comfort zone, spilling the thoughts he’s always been fearful of admitting, holding you tight to him as if you’d slip from his grasp if he let you go, was pleasantly surprising. Your heart flutters, butterflies filling your stomach as the urge to protect and gently take him apart piece by piece runs like electricity through your veins, fuelling your desire for Ben.
You thrust your digits with gentle pace, Ben’s hips moving on its own to chase the pleasure. “That’s right, baby. All f’me, yeah? My pretty darling?”
The gentleness of your whispered voice and your eyes staring at him with pure love sends shivers down his spine; Ben holds your face and nods, pulling you in for a kiss. You can feel his suppressed fear through his desperate lips, the doubts that lingers in his mind that you might see him differently for being so vulnerable like this, and you quickly silence his thoughts by slipping your tongue inside his mouth.
Ben mewled when you add another digit in him, now having three fingers penetrating his hole, as he breaks the kiss to breathe for air. There’s a hazy look in his tearful eyes when he meets your gaze, “Take care of me, please.”
You groan at the plea, immediately pulling your fingers out to instead align your cock with his entrance. Ben must’ve been waiting for so long because he doesn’t hesitate to sink down on it almost in an instant, a loud collective moan escaping the two of you. Your hands gripped his hips while he rested both hands on your shoulders, and fuck he felt so fucking good. The way his warm, tight velvety walls deliciously clamp around you as if swallowing your cock whole, the way his divinely beautiful body perfectly fit against yours like he was made for you.
“fuck… you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” You praised, kissing up his throat as he threw his head back in pleasure. “Completely mine, so is Soldier Boy. Everythin’ about you, Ben. It’s all mine.”
Ben nods vigorously, gripping the back of your neck and starting to ride you at a perfect pace, tiny sounds escaping his mouth. Slipping his fingers through your hair, he gently tugged on them just enough that had you groaning, and laid his forehead to rest against yours. “Y-yours- ah… Yours as… as much as you’re fucking mine,” He grunts out, possessiveness hanging onto his every word that shot excitement through your body. “No one gets to f-fucking have you… oh fuck—!” He cuts himself off with a strangled moan when you snapped your hips up.
“Yeah? Not even that slut that danced with me on the dance floor?” You teased, smirking.
His bright green eyes seem to darken as he sinks even further down on your cock, forcefully stretching himself out, hissing at the delicious pain. You moaned, wrapping an arm around him to pull him to your chest. “Fuck, especially her.” Ben almost growls, one hand coming up to wrap around your throat, feeling you throb and seemingly get bigger inside him due to it. “You… belong to me, o-only me.”
You hum, moaning softly when he squeezed your jugular just right. “Always, my love.”
Relief washes over his entire body as he begins to roll his hips and move again, leaning down to suck and kiss on your exposed collarbone. “Oh fuck… It’s— a-agh…! Tell me- tell me, please…” He whined desperately.
Ben needed to hear you say it, have the promises of you completely belonging to him nailed into his brain so he’ll never feel insecure or doubtful again. He’ll never admit it, but you always know every little thing that goes on inside his head, those haunting words of his father that seems to have a tight grip over him. You’re the only one that could see right through his soul; someone exactly opposite from his father, someone who fearlessly challenges the normality or ancient traditions, someone who actually have their shit together that enabled you to be mature, wise, unapologetically yourself.
You were extraordinary in every way possible, and Ben knew his inner vulnerable — not quite the man his father wanted him to be — self was safe with you. Always secured. Never judged nor ridiculed, instead embraced perfectly by your strong and warm arms that shields him away from the mental, emotional harm.
He knew you would catch him when he falls. You would keep him and his treasured thoughts safe. You weren’t afraid to love him loudly, wholeheartedly, and Ben allows himself to be brave just this once without thinking about his fears.
Trailing one of your hands up his nape, you pull him back to a searing kiss, pouring all the desire and love into it. Ben melted, his hand on your throat loosening as you gently twist your bodies around to lay him down on the bed without pulling out. He whimpers and chases you when you detached your lips from his, which nearly made your heart explode.
“I belong to you, my love.” You whispered, kissing down his neck and chest, thrusting your cock sensually slow inside him. Nothing quite like the animalistic sex you two usually have due to your powers, but it was more right than ever. “My heart, my body, my soul, my spirit. All for you, belong with you.”
Ben feels as if his heart would hammer right out of his ribcage from how rapid it was beating.
Your soothing yet powerful presence all over the place, hovering over him and embracing every bit of the damaged part of himself that he refused to acknowledge. There’s resistance gnawing on his skin, the unhealthy urge to push you away and guard himself again with a thick wall despite being the one who willingly showed vulnerability, but Ben uses all of his ability to shove it down. He wanted to listen to your overwhelmingly romantic and gentle words that he’s been taught men should never utter, he wanted to be held with so much care like he was your most prized possession, he wanted to be actually loved. For once, he wanted to allow himself to not be drowned in the toxicity his father had force-fed him with.
It doesn’t take you a second to notice him relaxing even further underneath your body, practically leaning onto your existence as the pretty noises escaping his mouth seems to gradually get louder, like he stopped holding himself back.
An awe surrounds your expression, genuinely taken aback by him letting everything go, and a soft sigh of pleasure falls from your lips. “That’s it, baby. You make the most prettiest sound. Don’t hold back,” Cooing gently, you adjust your hips and rolled into him, brushing his prostate at a perfect angle.
Ben keened, arching his back. “Fuuuck… oh, please. Deeper.”
You obliged, keeping the same slow and sensual pace but pushing further inside. “You’re made for me, aren’t you? Just as I’m made for you,” You sharply snap your hips once to emphasise, and he cries out. “We’re one, my love. No one can have me, I come home to you and only to you no matter what.”
His breath hitched, the pleasure and your words sending explosions of euphoria into his brain, nodding mindlessly at your promises. “Y-yes, fuck… I’m- I’m yours, too— ah, hng…” Tears spill from his beautiful green eyes as he spread his legs more wide, one hand grabbing your wrist that was propped beside his head to stabilise your body, almost clinging onto you while the other scratched against the mattress. “F-fucking Christ, always- always yours.”
“I know,” You softly acknowledged. “Always mine, no matter how much some part of you can’t accept it. I can see right through you, love. I understand everything about you.”
“I- oh yes! There, fuck!” Ben sobs when you start picking up your pace, hips bucking against you. “Y-you do… God, you a-always fucking do.”
That causes a grin to spread across your lips before you leaned down to devour him again.
Truth be told, Ben was afraid of how much you saw everything he’s been trying to hide all his life. It takes a bit of his soul every-time he learns to be indifferent, more sick and twisted. The innocence in him had died out long ago, but the desperation of a child never vanquished — the pathetic, ruined and heavily deprived of any love someone that he always forced himself to forget or get rid of, was seen entirely by you without much effort. He didn’t need to say anything, you always understood all the hidden insecurity, longing, pain, and fear nested deep in his mind. You also understood why he was the way he was, why he does what he does, who he had to become.
To be loved is to be seen and understood, he guesses.
A love he’s never thought he’ll ever experience from anyone, let alone his supposed enemy. You gave it to him, though. All so willingly, happily, like he was meant for it, like he was always meant for you.
Strangled, loud moan was forced out of him when your hand wrapped around his achingly hard dick, making him feel dizzy from all the overwhelming desire and pleasure. Every bit of love that emits from your touch sends a frying electricity through his veins, fulfilling his inner thirst that was supposed to be unquenchable.
“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck—!” Ben wails, arching his back and digging his nails on your forearm as your thumb rubbed his sensitive slit and smeared precum all over. “C-close… oh, Christ! Cummin’, cummin’, please—”
“It’s alright, Ben. I got you,” You purred, slamming your hips down on him. “Let go, cum for me.”
As if that’s all the permission he needed, Ben instantly tumbles over the edge with a loud breathy whine as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, sticky loads shooting out from his cock to his stomach. Body spasming and head thrown back, letting his mind-blowing orgasm wave right off of him, still clinging onto you. You gritted your teeth when his hole tightened impossibly around you, feeling yourself throb and ache to release.
Ben — in spite of his cloudy, mushed state of mind as well as hazy and cock-drunk look in his eyes — suddenly wraps both strong legs around your hips to keep you in place, which forces you forward to bury yourself deeper inside him, eliciting a growl of curses from you.
His mouth splits into a dumb, shit-eating grin. “Inside, baby. Fill me up… give me all you got. I need you.” He moves his hips and squeezes down like a fucking expert prostitute, and it’s enough to have you let out a guttural groan as you spilled inside his tight hole.
Ben released a shattered breath, moaning delightfully at your warm cum that taints his insides, his hand that was gripping your forearm moving down to caress his belly where he could feel you finishing.
It makes your breath hitch; the action sparking a deep hidden desire and possessiveness within you that you’ve had shackled for so long in order to not be too greedy.
But Ben, oh your precious Benjamin, pressed down on his perfect belly and whined so brokenly that tugged the strings of your heart, as if he wanted something so unreachable. He attempts to bury his face on the pillow in what you recognised as shame and you quickly hold his face to keep him from hiding from you, subtle concern glimmering in your gentle eyes.
“What’s bothering your mind, love?” You whispered with such carefulness, afraid speaking too loud would break the bubble of sensitivity that surrounded the two of you as you pressed a light kiss on his temple. “You can tell me, Benji. It’s not embarrassing nor shameful.”
Ben’s heart swells at the way you cage him in your protective arms and words, the back of his eyes stinging from the tears that threatened to come out. He doesn’t deserve you; he never did, but you’re so good to him and he doesn’t think he can live without you. No, he knows he can’t live without you.
What would he do without your captivating eyes looking at him with so much passion no one ever gave him before, your gentle voice uttering such carefully crafted words that embraces rather than cut through him, your big and muscular yet warmly protective arms holding him like he was a treasure to behold, your soul healing and rebuilding every damaged bit of his spirit like it was your purpose? What would he do without you?
And fuck, everything would be so much easier if he wasn’t a fucking man. If he wasn’t such a pussy who’s afraid of risking everything.
You gently roll your hips against his, slow and steady, as if to comfort his nerves and overthinking thoughts with a soft pleasure.
Letting out a quiet, breathy sigh, Ben holds your face close and internally fights back against the restraints that wanted to keep him from opening his soul up to you. “We’d be… We’d be so much happier if I wasn’t a fucking man,” His whispered voice breaks at the end.
His heart ached and so did yours, a realisation dwelling on you of how serious Ben actually was with your relationship. It comes off as an unexpected admittance. While you knew he did love you like you love him, you didn’t think it was to this extent of imagining the countless possibilities if either of you was a woman instead, much less he’d think of himself to be the woman. It was odd and so unlike him — true love brings out something within people, you suppose.
Tears glimmered in his green eyes that’s filled by storm of emotions.
Ben hated this, hated you for making him such a crybaby and a pussy, but he’s so in love with you it fucking hurts. He doesn’t know what triggered him to be an annoying, pathetic, insecure loser the moment you held him. God, he’s Soldier Boy for fuck’s sake!
Then, you look at him with so much tenderness like he hung the moon and was the only thing that grounds you down to earth, and Ben realises it’s this.
“You’re such a fucking fool,” You affectionately cursed with a tone barely above whisper before pressing a lingering kiss on his lips. “I wouldn’t have spared you a glance if you weren’t. Women never captivated me, love. Only you.”
Wrapping his arms around your back and burying his face on the crook of your neck, Ben inhales your scent as you gently rock your bodies together. “Love me more,” He almost demands, voice low and trembling.
You smiled, “Of course, Benji.”
Pressing a sweet kiss on his head, you grab the back of his thighs and push them to his muscular chest, Ben’s flexibility despite his well defined physique making it easier for you to fold him. In a swift motion, you slam down on him, beginning to pound away the loud thoughts that made home in his mind. Angelic, high pitched sounds escape Ben’s mouth with each rough thrusts, bordering on pornographic. The blissful look across his face enhance his already ethereal features, and you can’t help but stare intently at him.
“You look so beautiful like this, love. Taking me in so well, letting me cherish you.” You praised, earning a needy whimper from the love of your life. “My Benjamin… my brave soldier.”
At the unexpected pet name, Ben’s body jolts and a choked sob erupted from his throat, suddenly pushed over the edge as he cums undone on his stomach. “F-fuck!”
“G-god, baby…” You groaned, shuddering in pleasure at the way his gummy walls spasms around your girth. “Drivin’ me insane, y’know that? Cummin’ with just my words alone? Shit, wanna fuck you hard and love you at the same time.”
Digging his nails on your back, Ben attached his lips on your collarbone with an intent to leave several possessive marks, making you jut your hips forward. “D-do it, fuck me.” He mumbled breathlessly.
That’s the only permission you needed to let go of your own self-control and just rut into him like an animal, thrusting your cock with more vigour and roughness that forced the headboard to repeatedly bang against the wall. Feeling the way your shaft practically drill into and rearrange his guts that brought immeasurable ecstasy, Ben finds himself finally unable to make out a coherent thought as drools drip down his chin. The two orgasms you milked out of him already left him sensitive enough, his thighs quivering under your grasps.
Lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin and wet squelches filled the room, accompanied by feral noises of both of your moans and grunts.
It’s nearly incomprehensible how you’re able to quickly switch between loving him and treating him like a slut next, a perfect balance to Ben’s constant yearning for admiration or appreciation and his tendency to always be an inconsolable brat that needs to be put back in his place.
He feels so complete and whole, so loved. And so so fucking dumb for your cock. He could stay like this forever without heavy expectations weighing over his head all the time, just taking you whole and letting you ruin his body, looking all pretty and beautiful for you. Yeah, he can do that. Being pretty and sexy has always been a talent of his, after all. He can even learn to cook for you like a fucking perfect, pretty housewife, maybe you’ll stuff him full of your cum again while at it and tell him to keep them in. Fuck, he can do that too. He wants to do that.
“Oh fuck, Ben…” An almost pornographic, low growl rumbles from your chest when he squeezed down on you, his warm walls fluttering against your girth from the imagination. The coil in your stomach tightens as you twitched inside him, too close to your high.
“I- ah—! Please, pleaseplease—!” He babbles, one hand shifting to press your ass and push you in deeper, syllables slightly slurred from how cockdrunk he was.
Understanding his wordless signal, you increase your pace with an angle that drives your instincts wild, a chill running through your spine from the overwhelming pleasure. Seeing Ben completely fall apart and surrender underneath you gives your ego an infinite boost, the powerful man such a sobbing, wrecked, pretty little mess just because of your cock. Drunk in every little euphoria and precious love you feed him. Oh, how fucking adorable and gorgeous he was.
Before long, Ben feels you throb inside him and pulls you in with what little willpower he had left, clumsily slipping his tongue in your mouth, overwhelming you with different sensations of his body against yours. It’s enough to have you harshly ram your hips down in one swift motion and empty yourself inside him, a loud wail of your name leaving Ben’s lips as he finishes as well. You feel his body tremble violently due to overstimulation, breath stuttering.
“You look so fucked out,” You laugh breathlessly, hips softly grinding to ride out your climax. “Still fuckin’ hot when you’re all dumb n’ mindless.”
Petting his disheveled hair, a soft contented hum leaves Ben as he closed his eyes and nuzzled to your touch. The entire erotic sight of his hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat, tears staining his cheeks, hazy look across his eyes, and swollen lips sends amusement and satisfaction through your veins — you definitely fucked whatever self-loathing thoughts he’s had out of his head.
Having completely spilled inside him, you moved to pull out only for Ben to groan in protest. “Stay the fuck in,” He grumbled, panting to catch his breath.
“I need to clean us up, love.” You gently say, but kept yourself sheathed inside him as your lips attach to his neck. “Wanna take care of you properly.”
Ben quietly sighs in content, “You already do.” Before he tilts his head to capture you in a passionate kiss. You slowly pull out of him in amidst of the moment, holding his face and reciprocating with equal passion.
He breathes low and heavy when you start to wipe him up with a wet towel you magically conjured up, running it across his body gently as your other hand massaged his sore hip with such tenderness. Your eyes taking in every part of his physique feels much more innocent now compared to before, deep appreciation and subtle awe flashing across your irises the more you stare, which causes his cheeks to tint slightly. You find it adorable how shy or embarrassed he gets whenever you look at him like he’s something born out of the stars in contrast to the overinflated cockiness he displays when others compliment him; it just proves he feels different, more special with you.
You shoot him a gentle smile that makes his brain shut down and his heart jump.
Christ on a cross, just what did you fucking reduce him into?
“Will you marry me?” The words had left his mouth before he could even process.
You froze, eyes wide as you snapped your gaze to him at the same time his own widened in shock. Fuck, did he just say what he thinks he did? After you fucked him ‘til he couldn’t even speak properly? God, his legs feel wobbly after all that delicious pounding of your dick in his tight little—
His distracting thoughts were interrupted by your hands cupping his cheeks and forcing him to look at you. There’s a bit of doubt lingered across your expression, worried that you mistakenly heard him, and Ben’s gaze softened. “Will you marry me?” He repeats quietly this time with genuine emotion, wiping away your worry.
Excitement and happiness seem to explode within you as you beam; “Yes! Fuck, yes, I’ll marry you.” However, your smile slowly deflates and a foreign look of insecurity replaces the joy surrounding you. “Are you… are you sure? You’re not pushing yourself?”
Confusion spreads across his face, “Why would you think I am?”
“It’s just not that easy to break away from all the homophobia, love.” You softly remind him. “You’re still having a hard time accepting it, could barely even call yourself the right term. You’re afraid, and that’s fine. We can continue on like this. You don’t have to marry me because you feel obligated to.”
Ben frowns, his hand pulling you down to the mattress at his side as he props up on his elbow and stares at you incredulously. “You think I wanna fucking marry you just ‘cause I’m guilty about hiding this? Did it ever occur to you that I actually fuckin’ love you?”
You smile to yourself; what a long way it took for him to just be able to admit that. At least he’s letting himself know he can be vulnerable with you now, compared to when he was convinced you’ll despise his inner self — a big fucking pussy, he says — and completely shut himself off in the beginning.
“Hey,” He grabs your chin to make you pay attention. “I know I still don’t do enough to show you, but I do. I really fucking do, baby.”
You look into his captivating green eyes for a second before releasing a deep breath, “I know. Trust me, you don’t have to do enough to show it, I can already tell. And I love you too.”
Ben nods and kisses your lips, lying down beside you. Your hand instinctually attaches to his waist, caressing his soft skin and shooting warmth throughout his body.
He can’t help but stare at your features, the way you look different now from how you looked at the party you crashed earlier. A certain amount of coldness, hostility and displeasure usually lurked your expression in a daily manner — hidden behind the undeniable charisma and obnoxious arrogance — directed at others that told exactly what their worth to you was; nothing. Ben hasn’t seen a day you were even remotely pleased by someone in the long years of knowing you, the people who attempted to get in your good graces often ended up screwing everything up instead and irritating you enough to kill them off.
But with him, you wouldn’t even spare him a cold glance. Your gaze twinkling with a pleasant spark, always warm, always comforting, always proud. God forbid you look at him with hatred like you’re supposed to. So affectionate for a man who’s been named after the Devil by the idiotic public that only sees what you let them see.
It is then had Ben realised; to him, true love is you.
True love is when you embrace a part of him that he deems undesirable, mend his broken soul, and melt the ice of deep rooted trauma surrounding his heart — it is when Soldier Boy doesn’t drive you away from seeing Benjamin, an ordinary boy from South Philadelphia who desperately wanted to make his father proud. You see them as one, as equally significant parts of him.
Good fucking Lord, he was a gigantic imbecile if he didn’t want to marry you, even if the idea still makes him feel quite… odd. Fuck’s sake, he really needs to learn how to deal with this homophobia bullshit, doesn’t he?
Ben licks his lips anxiously, reluctance plastered on his face. “I… I actually got the rings,” He hesitantly admitted.
Your eyes widened. “You did?”
“I- Jesus Christ, of course I did! I know I don’t fucking do shit like that, okay?” He snapped before quietly muttering, “Just wanted you to believe me when I propose.”
“I do,” You don’t miss to give him comfort, grabbing his hand. Ben’s nerves soothes at your touch. “I just thought we still have a long way to go and you need more time to figure yourself out.”
He shakes his head, “Gotta claim you before some fucker decides you’re free for them.”
“Yeah?” You smirked, raising one eyebrow. “Could’ve gone with a collar, y’know. It would get your point straight across. Plus, it’s more visible.” Tapping your neck to emphasise, which made Ben swallow.
Yeah, you’ll look good with a collar in his colour. You can even wear both. That’ll definitely get his point across to anyone that even looks at you. Maybe next time, he decides.
A mischievous smirk spreads across his lips, “That’ll fucking work best. Think I could put a leash on you too?” He teased, letting out a chuckle and sliding his hand up to your neck and hold you there.
“Mhm, fuck yes,” You almost purred from how pleased you were at the idea.
Ben laughs, lightly squeezing your neck in affection before turning around to rummage through the cabinet on the side of your bed, pulling out a velvet box that’s in the shade of his green. You could tell he was enthusiastic and overwhelmed with emotions from the way his hands slightly trembled, though you made no mention of it to avoid bursting his adorable bubble.
His grin was as bright as the sun on a sunny day when the ring perfectly fits around your finger, already snuggling comfortably on your skin and bringing a weight of new purpose in life. You slip the other ring on his as well, feeling the entanglement of your destiny with one another, the red strings of fate on both of your pinky fingers thickening. It’s a sacred oath that ties you to each other forever.
Warmth spreads around your chest at the fact it’s his first time giving you a gift and it’s something so unexpectedly intimate. A silver engagement ring with a ruby in his shade of green and his name engraved on the inner side; practically a part of his soul, settling itself home around your finger. You shift your gaze to the one he wears — the same silver ring but with a dark red ruby instead, your signature colour, and you assume also have your name engraved on the inner side as well.
A big, significant step for a man who’s constantly afraid of what others think about him, and you couldn’t be more prouder.
Lying back down on the bed together, Ben turns his back on you and scoots closer to your chest, making you smile when he grabbed your wrist to pull your arm over his torso. He always loved being hugged by you from behind despite the fact he’ll never admit it out loud; as much as it sounds pathetic and unmanly, he doesn’t argue with himself of how it gives him safety and protection from the harsh judgmental world. Being in your arms always dissipated the cruel words of his father carved in his mind.
You gently pulled him closer to your body and pressed a kiss on his shoulder blade. “Don’t have to rush about coming out, love. It’ll take more than a simple courage to be open about something considered taboo by our society. You’re still dealing with personal issues, we’ll focus on that for now.”
Ben’s heart warms at your consideration, unable to resist the urge to stick to you like a glue as he leans back on your chest. “How the fuck did you do it? This feels like a pain in the fucking ass,” He muttered disdainfully, though there was a hint of willingness in his tone, like he’s willing to make an effort just for you.
You shrugged, “m’not exactly shaped by my childhood trauma, Benji, and I didn’t like my parents that much. Never really gave a fuck about somethin’ that has no benefit to my life whatsoever.”
“Entitled asshole,” He laughs.
“So are you,” You teased, making you both erupt in loud laughter.
I could get used to this, Ben thinks as genuine happiness glows bright in his heart, your love anchoring him and providing a solid land for him to stand on. Dealing with his own problems doesn’t sound so bad when you’re there for him every step of the way. With your protective arms around his body, both Soldier Boy and Benjamin knew their heart will always be safe with you.
For once, Ben believes he can finally learn to create a family of his own.
Until disaster struck and life suddenly decides to not be fair on someone as fucked up as him — ripping his world apart into shreds in the form of coward, betraying bastards known as his fucking teammates.
© all rights reserved to hadesrise ──── stealing, plagiarising, or using my works for monetary gain is strictly prohibited. ask permission before reposting or translating.
#hadesrise#gay#male reader#x male reader#the boys#the boys x reader#the boys x male reader#soldier boy#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy x male reader#soldier boy x supe!reader#soldier boy x you#imagines#smut#the boys fanfic#the boys tv#jensen ackles#jensen ackles x reader#jensen ackles x male reader#jensen ackles x you#male x male#lgbtq#lgbtqia#soldier boy fluff#the boys soldier boy#male reader insert#soldier boy fanfiction#soldier boy fic#top male reader#top reader
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near the start of the essay ooooough this hits hard
(edit) a few more things i wanted to pull out:
(alt text in image description)
basically, supporting trans people means supporting trans men and that means you have to shift your paradigm to fit men into feminism. there's not an alternative
Is there a term for that phenomenon that happens when people tell transmen/transmascs not to go on testosterone/not to try to look more masculine because it'll make them ugly/fat/hairy/bald/whatever negative thing?
I know it's not transmisandry, but does it have a name or is it just general transphobia?
I mean surely that's not NOT transphobia? but I'm also not, like, in charge of how transmasculine people talk about stuff so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
#im beginning to feel the sort of thing the author here is describing as ive passed my one year on T mark and i started it right after i#moved so most everyone here does NOT remember me much as a 'girl' though some do and im not cis passing at all#but yeah actually just like two days ago i was talking to a woman at a car shop and i was behaving as i always do and i felt like she was#really cold to me and i just assumed she was grumpy like thought nothing of it#until one of my friends who's mostly a girl and presents as one came in and the woman was so much kinder to her#and like idk this woman do what you like ofc#but it just startled me a little#because ive also seen flashes of that in public like women stepping away more than they used to#things that are hard to quantify even#and i think that's somethign that makes people doubt you#or they think you're criticizing women having feelings or defending themselves#im not#im saying that since most of my life and ALL of my growing up years were spent on that side of things it is saddening and isolating to find#yourself being on the other side of that (being the man who is perceived as the possible threat)#especially when 'the other side of that' is not actually any safer for you (i am not safe with cis men and i do not have the safeties that#privilege grants them)#and that's just one small thing but it extends much further#and i think so frequently the response to that is 'well you chose to be trans so cope. women will always be scared of men'#which is craaaazy reductionist reactionary and gender essentialist (also aren't we TRYING for a world where women aren't scared of men??)#like i don't think i need to tell the woman in the car shop that actually her marginal more kindness towards a girl than me is destroying#intracommunity feminism and doesn't she understand-- because for one she's probably transphobic (trust me i know the region) and for two#just way out of my line she's a complete stranger#WHAT I DO WANT when i tell these stories and what many others on this topic do as well#is for the response to not be 'fuck you cope' but to acknowledge that this is a real thing that a vulnerable group of people experience#and to try to build more community between people who feel alienated like this and those we feel alienated from#transmascs and transfems and cis women and nb people and gq people and any other marginalized gender expression are NOT ENEMIES#im saying man it sucks a little and it feels scary when you're used to a certain amount of societal support around you that you never even#noticed until now you're out and publicly living as transgender which is something already dangerous to be#and now you're feeling that support disappearing in front of your eyes and you didn't even know it was there until it was gone#like im perhaps describing it dramatically here for effect
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Second Time's The Charm XI
Alexia Putellas x Reader
Summary: An old face watches a match
She wasn't as young as she once was.
Teaching hadn't originally been her first choice as a job but after finishing school and spending a few years bored senseless as a receptionist, at age twenty-five, she'd made the change to teaching children in their first year of school.
Now, twenty-five years later, she was getting older and her students seemed to be just as wild and excitable as they always had been.
This school trip hadn't exactly been planned by the school, not fully anyway but a generous donation from who knows where had her and a few other teachers taking a three classes of wiggling and excited five year olds to a home match for the Barcelona women's team.
"Let's get to our seats now," She says, trying to get everyone in her class seated and happy but it's like trying to fight a group of wet cats - a losing battle.
"Miss, he pushed me!"
"Miss, I want to sit with my friends!"
"Miss, I can't find my bracelet!"
"Miss, my Mami gave me spending money!"
"Miss!"
"Miss!"
"Miss!"
She sighs to herself, rattling off instructions in a way that only a practiced teacher could.
"Lucas, stop pushing people. We use our nice hands with people. Isabella, you can sit next to your friends if there's space. Ana, your bracelet got put into your bag. Pedro, spending money can be used at half time. Now, everyone needs to sit down or else they won't start the match!"
It takes a little while to get all the kids settled and she briefly thinks about how this would be a hell of a lot easier if the school had more people who could chaperone.
It's a fleeting thought because she knows she can't do anything about it now but still, it would be nice.
Nice like it is now to watch one of her old students walk out as one of the most well known footballers not only in Spain but the world as well.
Alexia Putellas, the captain of Barcelona, leads her team out - head held high and back straight. A far cry from the little girl that used to slump in her seat in class and cry when someone took her ball at breaktime.
There weren't many students that she remembered so well - a handful that have ended up in politics, one that somehow ended up at the UN and one whose arrest made national news.
But Alexia was one of the good ones, helpful and polite most of the time.
She can remember though, with startlingly clarity the second day of classes.
It had been her second day as a teacher ever and she'd been supervising the playground at lunch when Alexia had appeared and dragged her off.
She'd dragged her all the way to the slide where you'd been waiting.
"You have to marry us, Miss," Alexia had said, eyes wide and incredibly earnest," We want to get married."
"Er..."
"You have to, miss," You'd joined in," Because we're in love and my Papa always said that people in love get married."
She'd been speechless then but still done as you and Alexia said, a little charmed by those two little girls begging to be married under the slide.
Alexia was easy to follow now, her exploits known throughout the country on and off the pitch. You'd faded though and your old teacher wasn't quite sure where you'd ended up.
Likely something successful and important.
Even as a little girl, you'd had a good work ethic. Work before play, always, was something you'd abided by.
She could see you as something important now. Your parents were doctors, she's pretty sure, so maybe you followed in their footsteps.
It would suit you, she thinks as she watches Alexia slam the ball into the net for a third time today.
Barcelona wins.
But that's entirely to be expected.
What isn't expected though, is for the staff from the team to invite the classes down onto the pitch to meet the players.
"Carlos, don't run! Mia, don't yell over someone! Lucas, again! Stop pushing people! Everyone will get a turn!"
"Some things never change then."
She turns with a smile. "Alexia."
"Hi, Miss."
"You don't have to call me that anymore."
Alexia's brow wrinkles. "What else would I call you? You've always been my teacher."
"You're an adult now, Alexia. You don't have to call me that anymore if you don't want to."
"But I do. Is that alright?"
"That's okay. So long as you want to."
Alexia beams, the same big smile she had as a five year old when she would come to the desk with a picture she drew of herself in the Barcelona kit.
It's still strange to see that exact image in real life.
"I'd like to introduce you to one of my daughters. This is Maya."
"She's beautiful."
"Mi Amor is just changing our other daughter. They'll be out in a minute."
"It's nice to see that you're doing so well. A good job. A nice family."
"We have dogs too! And my wife's old cat! She built me a house, you know? My wife, that is. Not her cat."
It's nice to see that Alexia's word vomit from her childhood hadn't changed much either. She was so stoic and quiet most of the time but any topic that drew her interest could be (and would be) talked about for hours at a time.
"That's nice to hear, Alexia."
"And we bought a villa in Greece for our next holiday! And I bought her this nice matching bracelet and necklace set! But! You can't tell her because it's going to be a surprise!"
"A special occasion?"
Alexia looks affronted at the idea. "I don't need a special occasion to show my wife how much I love her! Just my love!" She turns, glancing over her shoulder and her whole face lights up. "Oh! Amor, you're back! Look, Miss Rivera is here!"
Miss Rivera looks over to the tunnel where you have emerged from, a babbling baby on your hip and a rock of a ring on your hand.
"Oh, hi, Miss!"
She sighs. "I told Alexia that you two don't need to call me that anymore."
You frown. "But you've always been our teacher. What else would we call you?"
"Miss, this is our new baby Elena." Alexia puffs out her chest proudly. "My wife gave birth to her. Doesn't she look good for giving birth a few months ago?"
You slap her on the shoulder before pressing a kiss to where you just slapped. "Don't listen to her, Miss. She'll take any excuse to talk about it."
Alexia nods solemnly. "It was very scary because there were complications but she's doing so well now. Both Elena and my wife. Right, Amor? She's a doctor, you know. Very successful."
Again, Alexia seems to preen like a peacock as if you being so successful and so smart brought her such pride.
"You've both been very successful," Miss Rivera says," I'm so proud. A long way from that marriage under the slide, huh?"
You grin, intertwining your fingers with Alexia's.
"But still married."
#woso x reader#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas#woso community#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso
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