#did this work as a deterrent

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Bsjdhdi oh my god Eddie being like "FUCK IT" and grounding Roxy in Meteors for the first time. She just pauses, mid-crime committing, turns to look at him and just says "I'm what?"

He just said it. He didn't think too far into it at the time but once she's been arguing with him on what the fuck he's talking about for a bit, (he can't ground her! How dare he!) and she's eventually sent back to her room to cool off, he realises how fucking hard it's gonna be to actually ground her. She's had nothing her entire life! How do you meaningfully use taking something away on a (kind of) kid when said kid is only just starting to get used to having something to take away? He doesn't wanna impose any kind of old restrictions that she's still learning she doesn't have anymore! He wants her to feel like she does have freedoms, that she does deserve them and that nobody is going to take them away ever again! And taking them away again so soon, even if just temporarily, wouldn't exactly help!

Like!!! He can't just stop her from going out on the grass by the tower block to play with Cassie!!! She's lived most of her life never knowing what grass looks like or what the sunshine feels like!!! It'd be cruel to deny her of that again, even for just a day!!!! He can't take away any of the toy cars she's been excitedly digging through cereal boxes for either, cause she's only just grasped the idea that something other than her keytar can belong to her (nevermind does) and that she doesn't have to give her stuff away to nearby kids!!! Limiting her video games??? She's lived her life lacking the dexterity and strength control to play any of the arcade games she's been surrounded by constantly!!! He can't do that to her again!!!

What's left?? Deny her of her favourite cookies when Fazbear denied her adequate food and time to actually eat it during her short time in their custody as a biological being??? Stop her from going to the Plex that she's pretty much one hundred percent emotionally reliant on going to pretty much every single day??? Don't give her the pocket money she's only just learned she can use to get things she wants??? That she earns herself on the paper round she and Cassie share???

How is he supposed to follow through with this and actually ground her now that he's said he's going to? He can't bare to give her a repeat of what she's already had when she's supposed to be safe from all of that!! But if he goes back on it, he's just telling her she can get away with everything and never face the consequences of her actions. Sometimes she just wants to be a troublemaker and he feels it's good progress that she feels she has that choice, but it's his job as her guardian to somehow teach her about consequences to being a little shit and a half, he can't just let her get away with it! Especially when Cassie doesn't! It wouldn't be fair!

Eddie sat at the table agonising over what to do for ages, eventually coming up with a possible solution. The next morning, when Roxy is about to rush off to the Plex like always, she stops in the hallway. Eddie's just sat there, on a chair, against the front door, reading the paper like this is perfectly normal. She stares at him for a sec and then asks what he's doing. He explains that he promised a while ago that he wouldn't mess her around and that he'd always keep his word, which unfortunately for her, means he wasn't joking when he said she's grounded.

"What do you mean I'm grounded?! Are you just gonna sit here all day?!" Haha of course he's not gonna do that! He promised he would never stand in the way of her going home to the Plex! It would be wrong of him to do so and he can accept that! But she is still grounded...

So he's just gonna sit here for an hour and slow her down instead. If she can get through the door? Well, she earned it so good job! But otherwise? She's gonna have to wait.

Listen, she is not fucking happy. How dare he!! She'll just make him move!! He didn't say she couldn't do that so it's fair game!!

This does NOT go to plan. Eddie planned for this. His chair has been weighted with every heavy item he could cram into the bottom of it. He's hidden the key to the door in his pocket so even if she does move him on the weighted chair, she'll still have to get the key off him, which he knows she's more than capable of doing, but also knows she wouldn't think he'd have it for a good ten minutes at least. And the deadbolt at the top of the door is locked and she can't reach it unless she gets something else to stand on.

Roxy tries every trick in the book but there's fucking tungsten cubes in this chair man, she's strong as hell but that chair's not budging. How did he even move this here?! She's so frustrated with it, she's tried pushing it, pulling it, biting it, tying rope to it and pulling on that with her teeth like tug of war, getting Cassie to help, scratching at it, getting in the tiny gap between it and the door, and finally, whining with the sad puppy dog eyes as she sadly nuzzles him and tries her damn hardest to look like she's going to cry. He doesn't budge. At all.

He and Cassie are kind of enjoying this ngl. Cassie had originally been annoyed at this plan because, well, she would have had something confiscated or not been allowed out to play with Roxy later. It didn't seem fair that Roxy wouldn't get the same punishment, but nah she gets it's now. Roxy's too impatient for this not to work lmao

She's so frustrated and annoyed with it, complaining about how unfair it is while Eddie just sits there, cool as anything, and patiently explains again that it's just until the hour long timer runs out. Literally as he's automatically started reassuring her that he's not preventing her from going anywhere, just slowing her down, she suddenly yells really loudly, then shouts to Cassie at the other end of the hall that her dad sucks, dramatically falling backwards on the floor to sit there and sulk about it.

She's got a whole week of this ahead of her and she's so fucking mad about it. She's taken to just seeing how much of her annoying the shit out of him can he take before he caves and gives up. She started small by flicking elastic bands at him, hitting him with a pillow and throwing a few eggs at him. By the end of the week with him still not budging on this, she threw a bucket of paint on him, then the bucket at him in sheer frustration. This is after her master ice water plan failed along with several contraptions she came up with to move the damn chair. She's taken this as a challenge and she's throwing everything at him, but he's just not fucking budging!!

She has until the end of the hour on the last day to successfully move him and she tries everything, right up to the very last second. The timer goes off. The grounding is over. She screams in frustration, she's genuinely devastated she's lost this battle. She can't stand it! She's free to go again, and just like every other day of this, she rockets away to the Plex again to take her anger out on random shit over there.

When she's cooled down and she's back at the flat several hours later, they have to have a long chat about it. She ends up with one more day of this because of the absurd lengths she was going to all week, so she spends half of it sulking in her room and the other half whining all sad and mopey Eddie won't let her out just a little bit early, come ooonnn Eddiiieeee it's just twenty minutes it's basically nothing, pleeeaaassseee let her out now please please please she'll never dunk him in ice water ever again she pinky promises so pleeeaaasssseeee-

This man is like steel. Never in all her life has she known someone so unwilling to cave to her. Fazbear Entertainment were awful, but she knew she could make them cave if she didn't let them break her. This guy though? Not even wasting any energy trying to break her. He's just fucking sat there. He's not hurting her, he's not taking anything away from her, he's not threatening to scrap her, he's just sitting there. She can do whatever she wants, she just has to wait sixty minutes first. Not even a day, it's just one singular hour, that she could easily fill with something else if she so chose too, but she's too fucking committed now. And that was the god damn plan.

The consequences of being an asshole are that she's now actively choosing to throw an hour away on this every single day for no reason. Her efforts even mean she ends up adding to that hour in clean up. She's caught by her own hubris. By her own stubbornness. The sunk cost fallacy has claimed another victim. She's gonna win eventually, it's just a matter of when.

#meteors au #meteors roxy #meteors cassie #meteors eddie #he's so mean and cruel and unjust and she's so nice #so cruel!!! so unjust!!! how could he do this to her!!! </3!!! #he's a fucking saint though oh my god he KNEW she'd take it as a challenge and would do all sorts of shit #and he did it anyway!!! and god damn did she not disappoint!!! #he's genuinely ASTOUNDED by some of the shit she pulls to get him out of her way!!! #she's getting her ideas from the construction equipment at the plex and it's FASCINATING to watch her improvise a fucking crane #it probably would have worked too if she'd have known what she was doing!!! #there's no saving him once he starts teaching her robotics and she has a better understanding of automatons #the tungsten can only save him for so long. after that? he's on his own lmao #by then she's probably more content to just ya know... do something else for an hour though #like even if she succeeds in moving him she's gonna be more interested in the fact she fucking did it then the fact shr can leave early now #'wait... wheres the key??' and then she has ti he reminded when her hour is up because she was too busy looking for it #but ya know by that point it's probably not really effective a deterrent to little shit behaviour dndjid #how long until hes just turning the flat into an escape room to ground her and the only actual deterrent now is the fact- #she can't always be bothered to play the game anymore #but ugh fine whatever she'll play... she's gonna complain about it the whole time though

[louistonehill]

A new tool lets artists add invisible changes to the pixels in their art before they upload it online so that if it’s scraped into an AI training set, it can cause the resulting model to break in chaotic and unpredictable ways. 

The tool, called Nightshade, is intended as a way to fight back against AI companies that use artists’ work to train their models without the creator’s permission. Using it to “poison” this training data could damage future iterations of image-generating AI models, such as DALL-E, Midjourney, and Stable Diffusion, by rendering some of their outputs useless—dogs become cats, cars become cows, and so forth. MIT Technology Review got an exclusive preview of the research, which has been submitted for peer review at computer security conference Usenix.   

AI companies such as OpenAI, Meta, Google, and Stability AI are facing a slew of lawsuits from artists who claim that their copyrighted material and personal information was scraped without consent or compensation. Ben Zhao, a professor at the University of Chicago, who led the team that created Nightshade, says the hope is that it will help tip the power balance back from AI companies towards artists, by creating a powerful deterrent against disrespecting artists’ copyright and intellectual property. Meta, Google, Stability AI, and OpenAI did not respond to MIT Technology Review’s request for comment on how they might respond. 

Zhao’s team also developed Glaze, a tool that allows artists to “mask” their own personal style to prevent it from being scraped by AI companies. It works in a similar way to Nightshade: by changing the pixels of images in subtle ways that are invisible to the human eye but manipulate machine-learning models to interpret the image as something different from what it actually shows. 

Continue reading article here

#Ben Zhao and his team are absolute heroes #artificial intelligence #plagiarism software #more rambles #glaze #nightshade #ai theft #art theft #gleeful dancing

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Dillons has signs on their small carts saying that taking them past the bounds of the parking lot can make the wheels lock up

I see no locking mechanisms on the wheels

I have never once considered taking a shopping cart out of the parking lot

Until today

#i didnt #but man was i tempted #just to see what happened #i wanna know how they lock up #theres nothing on the wheels to indicate that they should #HOW DOES IT WORK I NEED TO KNOW #DID THEY JUST PUT THE SIGNS ON AS A DETERRENT #CUZ IF I WAS STILL IN HIGHSCHOOL ACROSS THE STREET FROM THE STORE THAT MAY NOT HAVE STOPPED ME #FROM TRYING TO STEAL A CART #IT WOULD HAVE MADE IT EXTREMELY ENTICING IN FACT #WHAT MAKES THE WHEELS LOCK UP #if i was still friends with the guy that was a department head there id ask him if he knew #i mean i could probably still ask him but i dont remember them having those signs when he worked there #but hes a manager at walmart now so maybe he has forbidden shopping cart knowledge #cuz he is also a guy that likes to know things #he mightve helped me hijack a shopping cart in highschool to see how the wheels locked up #we wouldve returned it to a cart return afterwards #some questions can only be answered by testing them out yourself

[iww-gnv]

New York lawmakers proposed three new bills last week that would make it difficult for wage theft violators to conduct business in the state. The legislation would bolster the power of state agencies to crack down on wage theft by stripping violators of their liquor licenses or business licenses, as well as issuing stop-work orders against them. The legislation was prompted by reports of rampant wage theft against New York workers, including two investigations published by Documented and ProPublica. The stories revealed that more than 127,000 New Yorkers have been victims of wage theft during a recent five-year period, but that the New York State Department of Labor was unable to recover $79 million in back wages owed to the workers. The stories were based on an analysis of two databases of wage theft violations obtained from the U.S. and New York Labor departments. The databases provided previously unreported details on how much money had been stolen from workers and also shed light on which businesses had committed wage theft. “We knew from our conversations with labor and from our constituent service caseload that wage theft is a chronic problem,” said Sen. Jessica Ramos, a Democrat who sponsored the legislation. “We did not have the data to understand the scale of the issue in New York state until the ProPublica and Documented series came out last year. Having this reporting as a tool set us up to put this package together and focused our attention on” the capacity of the Department of Labor. The legislation — dubbed the “wage theft deterrence package” by lawmakers — includes three bills, which are co-sponsored in the State Assembly by Assembly members Kenny Burgos, Harvey Epstein and Linda Rosenthal.

#news #us news #uspol #us pol #new york #new york news #wage theft

[ellemj]

Insufferable: 12 Days of Smut #2

Bucky Barnes x Reader One-Shot

Summary: You and Bucky get separated from Sam and Sharon during a mission in Madripoor and are stranded in a motel room until you can get in touch with them again. How do two sworn enemies pass the time?

Warnings: profanity, teasing, fingering, possessive!Bucky, oral sex (male receiving), slight face fucking, female masturbation, unprotected sex, praise, some use of y/n, hate sex, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires any other warnings.

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: I feel like this one is better than yesterday's but idk. @littlemiss-yeehaw helped me make some executive dialogue decisions and helped keep Bucky as the hot little shit that we all know him to be.

         Power Broker is watching. You’ve read the spray-painted words on the wall a million times now as you stand in the dark alleyway, telling yourself over and over again that picking a fight with Bucky isn’t going to make your current situation any better. Even if it is his fault that you’re miles from where you should be, being chased by god knows how many bounty hunters, and so far from Sharon and Sam that your comms aren’t even working at this point. Fuck it, you’ll pick a fight.

         “Is this how you wanted to spend Christmas Eve?” You spit out the question with as much malice as you can, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back against the brick wall of some shuttered, probably illegal business. Bucky’s face contorts in annoyance as he lifts his right hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s getting so tired of you tonight. First, you stupidly thought it would be fine for you and Sharon to partner up and head out into Madripoor on your own. Sam and Bucky were quick to snuff out that idea, even though Sharon was fully on board with you. Nobody gives a shit if Sharon used to be the power broker here or if you have more kills under your belt than most other trained assassins on record. Madripoor is lawless, crawling with criminals who will never pay for their sins, and it’s no place for two attractive women to be running around alone. Even if you can both take care of yourselves, why invite conflict by walking around town without either Sam or Bucky as a deterrent? The fact that you didn’t want to walk around with the damn Winter Soldier right behind you was almost insulting. Did you question Bucky’s reputation? Do you not understand how notorious he is in a place like this?

         “With you? No.” Bucky answers with just as much malice as you threw at him.

         “Then you should’ve listened to me and let me and Sharon take the lead.” You scoff. Bucky shoots you an indignant look, but you stare right back at him with your own expression of disdain.

         “I don’t take orders from you.”

         “That’s exactly why we’re in the situation we’re in now.” You mumble the words out just loud enough that he can hear them. He stands a few feet away from you and you watch him as his pulls his phone from a pocket of his tactical pants and begins typing away on it. You imagine he’s texting Sam a message that says something like if you don’t find us in the next two minutes I’m going to kill this girl. What he’s actually doing is searching up the nearest place that rents rooms to lowlifes without asking any questions. He wants the two of you off the street as fast as possible so he can try to get in contact with Torres and find out how to get your comms working again. Until comms are working, you’re basically doing everything blind, and that won’t work for Bucky. Not when he has to worry about three other lives besides his own.

         The cloud of anger swirling around you isn’t quite thick enough to stop you from appreciating the way Bucky looks tonight. He’s dressed in his usual full tactical gear that he wears for most missions, with one unusual change: his vibranium arm is on full display. He picked a top that is conveniently missing the entire left sleeve. You understand why he chose it, knowing how his name and even his arm precedes him. One look at him tonight, at the colorful lights of Madripoor nightlife reflecting off of his dark metal arm, keeps even the most aggressive men here at bay. No one would dare mess with the Winter Soldier, especially not when he’s radiating as much anger as he is right now. Well, no one besides you.

         “I’m not going to keep waiting around here for you to come up with a new plan.” You announce, pushing away from the brick wall and tossing your hair over your shoulder. Bucky looks up from his phone, narrowing his eyes at you. “We know where Sam and Sharon were headed, we can just meet them there.” You start heading for the street at the end of the alley, but just as you brush past Bucky, he grabs your arm roughly and stops you.

         “No, we’re going to get somewhere safe and wait for Torres to fix comms before we do anything.” Bucky’s holding your arm tightly, keeping you just a couple of inches away from him as he looks down at you with a harsh gaze. You shake his grip off but don’t move away from him.

         “What makes you think you get to decide on the new plan?” You ask, leaning in a little closer as the question leaves your lips. You almost let out a laugh when Bucky’s eyes flit down to your where your lips are mere inches from his own. You’ve done this dance with him before. You’ve been in plenty of these tense situations with him, moments in the field where you’re so against each other that you can’t decide if you want to fight him or fuck him. Of course, you’ve always simply fought him in the past. Fucking him was never actually an option, but hell, it sure is satisfying when he does something that lets you know he thinks about it as much as you do.

         “I’ve already decided on the new plan. You can either go along with it or go out and get yourself killed. I’m starting to not really give a shit about what you do.” Bucky retorts. He looks down at his phone again, breaking the intense eye contact that you were sort of enjoying. “There’s a motel two blocks over. I say we go there and wait for Torres to figure out what the hell is wrong with comms.”

         As much as you want to continue defying Bucky, you know it’d be a hell of a trek from here to wherever Sam and Sharon are right now. There’s also no guarantee that they made it to their destination, they could’ve run into any kind of trouble in a city like this. They might be acting out their own backup plan, just like you and Bucky. Bucky turns around and starts heading for the street, not even looking back to see if you’re following. When you let out a soft sigh and he hears your small footsteps echoing off of the brick walls, he knows he’s won this fight. He doesn’t even try to hide the smug look that’s spreading across his face. Winning an argument with you is something he can be proud of, because it doesn’t happen very often.

---

         Christmas Eve in Madripoor. Has anything ever sounded sadder than that? Christmas Eve, surrounded by a community of people who have done enough horrendous things to rival the entire population of Guantanamo Bay. Bucky sinks into the only chair in the dingy little motel room, checking his phone once again to see if Torres has called him back yet. Still nothing. Nothing from Sam or Sharon either, though he didn’t expect anything from them since the area they were headed into is known to utilize various types of phone and device jammers, transmitting radio waves that block phones from connecting to cell towers.

         You study Bucky from your place on the foot of the bed. He’s leaned back in the small armchair, clearly attempting to get comfortable but failing because he’s way too big for such a little seat. He closes his eyes and lets his head rest back, giving you a chance to really look at him. He’s let his stubble grow out a little more than usual this month, neglecting to really shave it with all of the back-to-back missions you’ve both been sent out on. It suits him. Someone as cold and calloused as Bucky shouldn’t have a smooth baby face. Your eyes coast further down, focusing on where you can just barely see his pulse on the side of his neck. You wonder how many times you’ve made his pulse quicken with anger in this last week alone. Probably enough to give the guy high blood pressure. Your gaze is just settling on his broad shoulders when his eyes blink open and he catches you staring.

         “Are you going to sit there and stare at me until we get out of here?”

         “Maybe. It’s what you do to everyone else, why can’t I try it out?” You ask. There’s a reason Sam likes to call him the bionic staring machine.

         “Try it out?” Bucky laughs, lifting his head from the back of the chair now. “You stare all the time.”

         “I do not.” You’re almost offended at his accusation. You? Staring all the time? At him? No fucking way. Maybe sometimes, but you thought you were covert enough about it that he never noticed. You just can’t help it sometimes. You’re intrigued by him every bit as much as you hate him. He’s over a hundred years old, yet he looks like he’s only a few years older than you. His taste in music is that of an elderly man, while his taste in clothes is perfectly in style with the current era. You hate the way he’s constantly berating you and attempting to order you around in the field, but you like the way he looks at you when you give in and take an order once in a blue moon. So, sometimes, you stare.

         “You’ve been staring at my arm for half of the night.”

         “Because it’s the only thing I like about you.”

         “Right, the only thing.” Bucky repeats your words slowly, as if he’s tasting them. You maintain eye contact with him as he licks his bottom lip. Against your better judgement, your gaze darts down to his mouth, to his mouth that always seems to say things that drive you mad and turn you on simultaneously.  “You know, I thought you might be nicer around Christmastime.” A genuine laugh breezes past your lips at the absolutely insane thought he’s just shared with you.

         “It’s a little hard to be nice when we’re stuck on skull island on Christmas Eve, Bucky.”

         “Be honest, you wouldn’t have been any nicer if we were back home.” He tilts his head to the side as he analyzes your body language. You’re sitting on the foot of the bed with your legs dangling over the edge. Your weight is resting back on the palms of your hands and you seem perfectly at ease. Bucky’s finding it a little surprising that you haven’t gotten up and made a dramatic exit yet. He’s surprised that you’re still going along with his plan at all honestly. He has to wonder why you’re so oddly content sitting here bantering back and forth with him while Torres takes his sweet time figuring things out.

         “Wouldn’t you have been off to Sarah’s for Christmas if we were back home?” Bucky raises an eyebrow at your question. He didn’t know that you knew he was close with Sam’s family. Though, he probably should’ve assumed since you knew Sam long before he did. You’ve probably even met Sarah before.

         “Maybe. Spending Christmas in the tower doesn’t sound very memorable.”

         “It’s not.” You say softly, thinking back to the last three years. It’s not that you didn’t have anywhere to go for Christmas. In the past, Sam has invited you to go see Sarah and the kids the week of Christmas, even Clint extends an open invitation for you to spend every Christmas with his family. But something about being around happy families on the biggest holiday of the year makes you feel the same way you do when you’re third-wheeling Wanda and Vision. You like to be around the Christmas cheer and festivities but you feel like you don’t fully belong. You’ve spent the last three Christmases in the tower on your own and it’s not that bad. A little lonely and not your favorite time of year like it used to be, but still, not that bad. Bucky picks up on your slightly sullen tone and the way you seem a little more distant suddenly.

         “You’re welcome then.” Bucky says, a smug smile taking over his features. You shoot him a slightly confused look.

         “For what?”

         “For giving you a memorable Christmas.” He says it like he’s just given you an actual Christmas gift. You laugh lightly just as his phone is lighting up with a message.

         “You say that like I’d actually thank you for sabotaging our mission tonight and getting us stranded in the shittiest place on Earth.” Bucky’s smug smile remains plastered across his face, even as he glances down and reads the text from Torres.

         “Looks like we’re stuck here for a while longer. Sam and Sharon got through to Torres and said they’re holed up somewhere across town, just like we are. Fury doesn’t want anyone making any more moves tonight without working comms and surveillance.” Bucky’s words bring your bad mood right back to the surface in an instant. You fall back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, covering your face with your hands.

         “How long is a while longer?” You’re dying to know.

         “Could be a few hours, could be all night.” Bucky says nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world that the two of you are stuck here together. It’s infuriating. You push yourself off of the bed and start for the door, but Bucky’s quick to rise from his chair and cross the small motel room in a mere four steps, reaching you just as your fingertips are brushing the door handle. He plants his flesh palm firmly against the wooden door, effectively stopping you from being able to open it. Fuck his super soldier strength.

         “I’m not staying here all night. There are things we could be doing besides sitting here waiting around.” You say impatiently, wrapping your hand around the door handle but not pulling yet. With the way the two of you are standing, Bucky’s chest is brushing against your back and for the life of you, you can’t figure out why the hell he’s so close.

         “What else could we be doing out there? You walk out that door and into the street and every bounty hunter in the city will be on you within five minutes. I’ve been hunted here before, Y/n, it’s not a game you want to play.” The energy between the two of you is so tense, so electrified, you wonder how your hand hasn’t sparked against the metal door handle.

         “Well, it’s a good thing you don’t give a shit about what I do.” You throw his words from earlier right back in his face. As Bucky’s hand against the door curls into a fist, you stand there waiting for him to back off. If he really doesn’t give a shit, he’ll let you walk out of here right now. But of course, Bucky gives a shit. Bucky gives so much of a shit that the mere thought of you waltzing out into the city at this hour, opening yourself up to unlimited danger, has him ready to burn the whole place down. You swallow as your grip on the door handle tightens, listening to Bucky’s even breathing right behind you.

         He doesn’t even know what’s come over him when he finds himself moving impossibly closer to you, letting his chest fully press against your back now. He leans down a couple of inches until his lips are grazing over the shell of your left ear, with his right hand still braced against the door over your right shoulder. He’s trapping you there with his body.

         “You are so fucking insufferable.” He whispers the insult against your ear, but it somehow it doesn’t even feel like an insult. It almost feels like he’s just whispered a little sweet nothing in your ear. Your grip on the door handle falters and Bucky notices, so he keeps going. He’ll do whatever it takes to get you to stay here, to stop you from walking out into Madripoor and getting yourself killed tonight. If this is what it takes, so be it. “You wanted me to stop you, didn’t you? You wanted me to force you to stay.”

         “N-no.” You lie, hating the way you stutter through the simplest two-letter word known to man. It’s so hard to think with him this close to you.

         “Insufferable and a liar.” Bucky tsks, just as your hand is fully falling away from the door handle. He can’t help but smile at how easily this is working on you. If he’d known he only needed to be a little more authoritative and stand a little closer to you to make you listen to him, he would’ve tried it a long time ago. You watch, with goosebumps spreading across your skin beneath your tactical suit, as Bucky’s right hand skims down the flat surface of the door slowly. He continues on until his hand reaches the deadbolt just above the door handle. Click. The sound of the lock clicking sets off a chain reaction. A wave of confidence spreads through you like a wildfire and you turn around in the small space that Bucky has you trapped in. You thought he might step back once you were face to face, but no. He maintains his position, but now with his chest nearly touching yours and his breath fanning across your face. Though you feel confident and sure of yourself in this moment, when you look up at him like this you feel small. You feel like he could push you against the door and have his way with you if he wanted, and you couldn’t do a thing about it except enjoy it. The thought actually turns you on way more than it should, considering how independent and stubborn you are.

         “Insufferable and yet you’re trapping me in here. Who’s the liar?” You taunt, tilting your chin up and looking into his blue eyes. His normally cold, steely gaze has a different look now. There’s something bright behind his eyes, something exciting. Your eyes dart down to his mouth, lingering on his bottom lip a little longer than they should have, before you meet his gaze once more.

         “Don’t look at me like that unless you’re going to kiss me.” His tone is harsh but his eyes are daring. He wants you to kiss him. He’s daring you to do it. Unfortunately, you’ve never been one to back down from a dare. Even the stupidest of dares. So, you commit to it. You look at him the exact same way you just did, letting your eyes coast down his face and soak in the sight of his full lips. When you meet his gaze one last time, there’s only one little thought in his mind.

         That’s it, good girl.

         You have to raise up on your toes to reach his lips, because of course Bucky Barnes would stand there refusing to make it any easier for you. He wants to see you struggle to get what you want from him. After making his working life a living hell for months, he’s going to have you exactly how he wants you, or not at all. So, as you stand a little taller on your toes, Bucky acts like he couldn’t care less that you’re about to give him something he’s fucking dreamt about every night since he first started hating you. When your lips press against his, his bottom lip finds its place between the two of yours and he almost scoffs at how timid you’re being. It’s like you’re testing the waters, and he’s not having any of that. He’s quick to fist his hand in the hair at the nape of your neck and walk you back one step so your ass hits the door. He breaks the kiss before it’s even been a second, giving you an annoyed look as he holds you in place between his body and the door.

         “Let’s try that again.” Bucky says the words right against your lips, as he nudges your legs apart with his knee and then slots his thigh between yours. As he bends his knee, his hands travel down your sides to grab onto your hips. He angles your hips down just slightly, as he brings his leg up an inch, and you look down right as your clothed cunt makes contact with his thigh. You inhale sharply at the unexpected move, but you don’t move at all. You stay right where he wants you, and he waits patiently for you to look up at him again. When you finally do, a switch inside of you flips and you know you’re about to sabotage tonight’s mission even more. You pull Bucky down to your mouth, kissing him with so much heat and intensity that his hands briefly loosen on your hips, like he wasn’t expecting this from you. After two seconds, his hands start sliding right back up your waist until you feel them both tangle in your hair, which he uses to pull you even harder against his mouth. You don’t think the kiss can get any more intense, until you feel his tongue dancing across your bottom lip. You part your lips without hesitation, letting him dominate the kiss in an instant.

         You taste so fucking good. So. Fucking. Good. So good that Bucky doesn’t notice the first time you grind your pussy against his thigh, he’s too focused on exploring every bit of your mouth with his tongue and savoring the taste of you. But the second time? Fuck. The second time you grind down on his thigh you moan into the kiss and Bucky has to stop. He pulls back while keeping one hand in the hair at the nape of your neck. The look on your face is pure lust. It’s longing. It’s making Bucky’s cock twitch in his pants and making it really hard to decide what to do with you first. God. That one kiss opened up the floodgates.

         “Let me hear that sound again.” Bucky encourages you while using his hold on your hips to guide you to grind down a third time. He watches between the two of you as you drag your cunt along his thigh. The moan that leaves your lips this time is too much. He’s had enough. He quickly pulls away from you, taking two steps back and running a hand through his hair. He eyes you as you stand with your back against the door, catching your breath and staring right back at him.

         “I want a memorable Christmas.” You speak so softly that Bucky has to rewind it in his head to really catch onto what you’ve just said. You want a memorable Christmas. You’re asking him to give you a memorable Christmas. He looks you over slowly, carefully, taking in every detail of the way you look right now. Your skin, though still covered by your tactical suit, heats up to an uncomfortable degree under his watchful gaze.

         “Say please.”

---

         He’s going to hate fuck you. There’s nothing else you could possibly call it, and honestly nothing else you’d want to call it. You’re standing in front of the bathroom sink, locking eyes with Bucky in the reflection of the mirror. You really thought he was going to take you to bed, but no. As soon as you gave in and said please like he wanted you to, he pulled you away from the motel room door and pushed you into the bathroom. He wants to take you from behind but he wants a clear view of how much you’re enjoying it the whole fucking time. If he’s about to fuck away the obscene amount of tension that’s been between the two of you for the last few months, he’s going to memorize every damn face you make, every sound that leaves your lips, and every inch of your body. He’s going to ruin you, so that every time you think about how much you hate him, you can’t help but think about how much you loved being fucked by him.

         You’re both quiet, except for heavy breaths and a few soft moans and groans, as Bucky starts taking off his clothes behind you. He juts his chin out slightly after dropping his shirt on the floor, gesturing for you to take your clothes off too. You follow his moves exactly, dropping your shirt on top of his. He takes a few seconds to admire the way your breasts sit so perfectly in your bra, but then he finds himself growing annoyed at even that little bit of fabric obstructing his view. He undoes it for you, with only one hand, while his free hand begins undoing his belt. Of course this fucking man can undo his belt with just one hand. After a few more agonizingly slow seconds of the two of you undressing, you’re both completely naked. Bucky takes a deep breath in, and when he breathes it back out it warms the back of your neck.

         Just like earlier, Bucky nudges your legs to spread a little wider, using his knee. Your body obeys his silent command like it’s routine for you. He loves the way you respond to him so willingly. He’s never had you like this, not even a little bit, and it’s giving him such a high. It’s the first time he’s ever had you listening to him without a single word of rebuttal, without any stubbornness or refusal. He should’ve fucked you so long ago.

         Bucky’s vibranium index finger traces over your spine, from the very top to the bottom, sending a chill all throughout your body. It only cools you off for a second, before he uses that same hand to push you forward until you’re slightly bent over the sink. His flesh hand dances across your ass, deftly dipping between your legs and making contact with your wet folds. He drags two fingertips back and forth there, collecting your wetness before focusing his touch on your clit. As soon as he applies pressure, your back arches and your ass presses back against him. That’s when you feel his hard cock, standing fully erect, nearly between your ass cheeks. He’s big. So big that for a second you fear there’s no way he’ll fit inside of you, but something tells you that you were made for his cock. It’ll fit. He’ll make it fit.

         “You can’t stand to be around me, but you’re nearly dripping for me.” Bucky says lowly, rubbing slow circles against your clit. A string of moans slips past your lips and he smiles as he watches your eyes close in the mirror. “That’s it, you like that, don’t you?”

         “You talk too much.” You snap, opening your eyes and meeting his gaze in the mirror. His smile darkens and he pulls his hand away from your clit. You should’ve kept your mouth shut. Suddenly, his ring and middle fingers plunge so deep inside of you that you see stars. He curls them, dragging his fingertips against the walls of your pussy over and over. He didn’t start out slow by any stretch of the imagination, no. He begins fucking those two fingers in and out of you at such a perfect pace that your legs begin feeling weak far too soon. You grip the edge of the bathroom sink so tightly that your knuckles turn white.

         “You don’t even have to answer me, baby. I can tell you like it.” Bucky punctuates his words with another hard thrust of his fingers, and then curls them again, in a way that makes that familiar knot in your lower stomach tighten more and more with each passing second. You try to drown out his voice, focusing instead on how fucking skilled he is with his hand. Bucky’s mesmerized as he watches you draw closer and closer to your orgasm. He almost wants to let you have it. He considers finger fucking you straight through it, and then giving you another on his cock, but he isn’t going to be that nice to you. If he only gets one orgasm here tonight, then so do you.

         The whine that leaves your lips when Bucky pulls his fingers out of you should embarrass you. You should absolutely hate how needy you are for him, but you feel his cock twitch against your ass when he hears the sound and you love it.

         “You like that, don’t you?” You tease. You love using his words against him. You do it often in arguments and he hates it. His jaw clenches, but he says nothing in response. Instead, he wraps his flesh hand around his cock and gives it a few quick strokes before lining it up with your entrance. He looks down between the two of you, letting his eyes roam down your arched back, straight to where his cock is poised and ready to slide in. He knows he’s big. He knows his cock is above average, both in thickness and in length. He knows the nice thing to do would be to warm you up a little more, build up to using three fingers on you before finally fucking you slowly until you adjust to his size. But the two of you aren’t ever nice to each other.

         So, Bucky begins pushing the head of cock inside you, letting his head fall back and his fingertips leave bruises on your hips and waist as he holds you firmly in place. He’s only an inch in and you’re already feeling the sting. Shit, he’s the biggest you’ve ever had. He hasn’t even let you get a look at his cock yet, but as he forces it into you, you’re thankful he didn’t let you see it first. You might’ve chickened out. Bucky isn’t even halfway in before you’re moaning and trying to pull off a little, attempting to wriggle out of his grasp.

         “Stop fucking moving.” He seethes, his head snapping forward so he can look at you in the mirror again. “You’re going to take all of it.”

         Everything was a blur when he finally bottomed out inside you. He didn’t even pause once he was fully inside you, he immediately began dragging his cock back out and then pushing it in again. After the third thrust, you started to feel pleasure.

Bucky alternates between watching the way you’re falling apart for him in the mirror and looking down to watch his cock repeatedly disappear into the most perfect cunt he’s ever fucked. He truly can’t decide which view he likes more. The first time you moan his name sends him into a tailspin. He has no control over the way he fists your hair in his right hand and yanks you back against his chest, keeping your back arched and your face perfectly visible in the mirror. He fucks his cock into you so relentlessly, repeatedly hitting just the right spot inside of you, that you’re sure your previous thought was right. You were made for his cock. There isn’t a doubt in your mind.

When you start pushing your ass back against him, meeting each of his thrusts, Bucky bites down on his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood. When he started this, he had every intention of finishing inside of you. He wanted to do it without anything between the two of you, he wanted to cum inside of you so deeply that you’d feel his spend dripping out of you for the rest of the mission. But suddenly all he wants to do is cum in your mouth. He wants you to know what he tastes like. He wants to see what you look like on your knees for him. The harder he fucks you, the more he thinks about it, until he’s positive he won’t be able to finish this any other way.

So, not even a moment later, Bucky is pulling his cock out of you and pushing your shoulder downward. You instantly understand that he wants you on your knees, and you oblige him without giving it a second thought. When your mouth opens without even a second of a pause, Bucky slides his length past your lips. His head falls back and a sinful groan graces your ears as he revels in the feeling of your tongue gliding along his shaft.

“Good girl.” He groans. Good girl. Fuck. The praise has you snaking your own hand between your legs, chasing your own release as Bucky uses your mouth like he owns it. In his mind right now, he does own it. After a few seconds, he looks down at you once again and notices what you’re doing with your hand. You moan around his cock as you rub circles over your clit and the vibration from the sound sends Bucky right to the edge. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You look up at him, your eyes giving him clear permission to let go. You want him to cum in your mouth. Another groan is ripped from his chest, and you hear your name fall from his lips just as you taste his cum. Your own orgasm comes crashing down right as he’s finishing in your mouth, and he watches you closely as you carry yourself through it.

Bucky wraps his hand around the base of his cock and pulls it out of your mouth slowly, the two of you maintaining eye contact like it would be a sin to look away. Seeing your mouth full of his cum gives him an unfamiliar feeling deep in his chest. He feels possessive. He wants you to know that you belong to him now.

As you swallow everything that he gave you, there’s only one way to describe how you’re feeling. While you still hate this man with every fiber of your being, you feel like you belong to him now. Your body isn’t your own anymore.

You belong to the man you hate most, and you kind of like it.

TAG LIST (if your user is crossed through, Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you):

@gyokujyn @mrsjoequinn @thealloveru2 @nixxaswrld @ordelixx @fandomsfeminismandme

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #mcu #bucky barnes x you #marvel #the winter soldier #winter soldier #12 days of smut

[crowfeathers]

watching two 1.5 hour lectures in a row tonight melted my brain idk how non-art majors do this. thats fucked

#have an ethnography project in anthropology and modernism prof just would not shut up about david's oath of the horatii. #did not think art history classes would focus so much on one work of art and yet. #tbf i couldn't attend in-person bc of covid so a) there would have been a longer break in-between and b) i wouldn't be staring at screens #im also realizing switching to majoring in film might not be all that worth it bc my focus is on animation anyway. what better way to #hammer out projects and put them out there than to simply Make them instead of merely learning film studies. i imagine having less hands-on #projects in film is my main deterrent from switching. i really want to take courses on it still tho but im kinda keen on getting a bigger #rep in college. idk it's complicated #also i made creative writing my minor over the summer so to switch majors to film would make me wanna minor in art instead bc i already #have so many credits in it i might as well + i need that illustration exp in case i really do make comics after college. Lmao #my career path is not well-thought out to say the least. i just know my dream is going into the entertainment field that's all i care about

[igotanidea]

Just right: Anthony Bridgerton x reader

part 1 to too much

part 2 : not enough

part 3 : almost there

part 4: Stuck

A/N: I am NOT sorry for all the possible spellings and punctuation mistakes there. It's been almost 2 months since "Stuck" and I am FREAKING OUT posting this while crying because it's over. Enjoy and thank you <3

Warnings: end of series, 4082 words (!!)

***

He felt like a fool.

Reverting to his old ways instead of showing all the emotions coursing through his veins.

Turning around and walking away, leaving her alone, when all he wanted was to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness.

But how would the viscount Bridgerton look, while doing so, observed by all the ton, including the two biggest gossipers in the person of lady Featherington and lady Danburry?

Seemed like whatever he would choose to do, he would end up being a dolt.

“Anthony!”

He didn’t even flinch hearing someone calling him, nor recognize the voice. Too stubborn to stop he only continued his marching pace, hoping for the love of god that whoever dared to try and approach him in this furibund mood would get discouraged.

Not very gentlemanly of him.

“Anthony!”

He quickened his pace.

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“What?” he almost spat spinning around on his heel, leaving a dent in the ground, taking on his most stern expression. If his obvious ignorance of the caller was not a deterrent perhaps the frown and fiery eyes would.

Supposedly it might have worked on anyone else, but soon enough Anthony transformed from the head of a family and the viscount into a little child, upon noticing that it was his mother, exhorting him to the halt.

“Mother…” he muttered looking at the ground, having only confirmed his previous theory of his role in this entire disarray.

“Let us take a walk.” Violet smiled brightly taking her eldest’s arm and imposing a walking rather than soldierly pace. “What did you Anthony?” the gentle expression never left her face even when she was scoffing her unmanageable child.

“Why would you think it was me that--?” the viscount took the last resort to protect his own pride, but the tightening grip on his forearm betrayed the fact that Violet knew the entire backstory, behind the marital disagreement.

“I raised you. I daresay it gives me enough knowledge to not answer your question. “

“If you let me –"

“Don’t, Anthony. Y/N has been nothing less but charming since the beginning.. "

"That's the way to describe her--" the man muttered

"Strong-willed and persuasive, surely, you wouldn’t take anything but, but charming nonetheless. So do tell me so we could remedy the damage before it arises further.”

“Shall you mistake me for Daphne and ask about my feelings—”

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“I am a man, mother. A head of the family.”

“Clearly said head has been missing guidance in the right direction.”

“Mother!”

“Do not raise your voice on me son.”

“Apologies…”

“Good.” Violet beamed serenely “Do you think me so little knowledgeable to ask your emotions? I do not. I’m merely asking for facts, which you clearly have such a strong inclination to.”

Anthony mumbled something once more.

“do you wish you lose your wife, viscount?”

“What?” such possibility never crossed his mind. Y/N’s anger, her hurt, pain and merciless avoidance – yes. Abandonment and lack of her presence nearby? No. She would never… She could never. Lord above, who was she thinking she was? A woman married into a noble family wanting to cause a scandal by resenting her husband?

And once again, while his heart should have been shattered and humble enough to clarify the turmoil, the sudden blood rush turned into clenched fists and ire. All because he could not bare the thought of losing her for good, however hiding behind all the negativity was easier. It was something he was used to for years.

Nevertheless it was impossible to deny the facts further. It was her influence that caused the improbable openness in his soul was the exact same reason of his spirit bleeding.

And he needed her back.

Each minute without her was a minute lost. A minute less in the so very limited time they were given as a miracle on earth.

“What do I do?” he raised gaze at his mother, now truly looking like a lost man. Man in love, who was probably not the most romantic and gentle one with words, but still deeply infatuated with the woman who gave her whole life to him.

“Do not fret my dear. We shall alleviate the situation immediately.”

***

Y/N’s feelings were beyond anything possible to describe with words.

There she was, with her feet rooted to the ground, wishing for – and willing to accept – apologies but met with the harsh reality of the stone wall of Anthony’s behavior.

Accompanied by Eloise, smirking like the know-it-all she was, and Benedict with the compassion written all over his face.

Presumably, shall they not be there, the young lady viscountess Bridgerton would abandon all the pretenses of a woman of her position and begun blubbering in the middle of the promenade. However, the most mischievous of Bridgerton siblings acted with wit and sense, involving their dear sister-in-law in a challenging conversation, capably hauling her away from prying eyes and gossipmongers, preventing any possible rumors about incongruousness.

***

For unmistakable reasons she was not in the mood to see their ludicrous older brother and with the sudden disappearance of Violet, Benedict and Eloise took the privilege to invite Y/N back to the Bridgerton’s family house and extend the invitation for indefinite period of time. After all, Anthony might have been the head of the family as he proudly announced to anyone who was willing to disobey his wished and/or not listen, but Benedict was the oldest bachelor of the house and was more than willing to make a few decisions of his own to finally be seen as something more than merely second son and waiting for his time. 

***

Violet returned home few hours later and accepted the presence of her daughter-in-law with a mysterious smile and not a single word of objection. As amazing and uplifting as such approach might have been, it was also highly surprising. Viscountess Bridgerton was well known for her mitigating skills and tendency to scotch conflicts almost immediately, especially in her own family.

And it raised a lot of questions and secrets that Y/N and Eloise tried to uncover spending the night in the former’s bedchambers, talking for hours, creating conspiracy theories and preparing for whatever may have been coming.

Cause the fact that Violet was going to help her oldest son in winning back his wife’s attention was more than conspicuous.

Only that Y/N, who was forgiving and accepting at the begging was slowly turning cold at the fact that her husband could not simply apologize but rather resorted to some intricate ways of regaining her favor.

After a year of marriage, should he not know her enough for independent ideas and not seek his mother's avail?

***

First thing happening in the very early morning, was Y/N’s most trusted servant humbly asking for her lady’s time, which was bizarre and – as any other family may have deemed – inadequate and even shaming.

Moreover, any other house would quickly discard the commoner showing at the mighty's doorstep but Bridgertons were prone to discarding rules in private and with those who earned their trust. Be it servants or nobles. And Y/N was no exception to the rule, welcoming her maid with a smile upon seeing the person from her own household.

“My lady.” The girl bowed so low, she almost touched the floor with her nose.

“My dear Laura, please stand up, there is really no need for that-“ Y/N grabbed her hands and forced the girl up. “I assure you that-“

“But Lady Violet and Miss Bridgerton –“

“I assure you that they do not expect you to kiss the ground they walk on.” Y/n almost laughed at Laura’s discombobulation. Poor one was doing everything in her power to not make her lady embarrassed and act like a good and obedient servant, almost expecting Violet or Eloise to be cruel and judgmental.

“Dear Y/N, did you give your helpers the idea that we are some sort of tyrants?” Violet send her daughter-in-law a honest smile, which immediately got Laura’s reaction in the form of blushing.

“Lady Bridgerton I apologies if my appearance is the dishonor on-”

She didn’t even finish the sentence, met with Y/N, Violet’s and Eloise’s laugh and a polite look from more balanced Francesca sitting on the chaise longue.

“Do not fret, my girl, we are more than happy to welcome you in our household.”

“Tha-thank you my lady…”

‘Now I assume you came to talk to your lady, so we shall give you some privacy. Come girls, make haste for the matter to cover is of utmost delicacy.”

“And how shall you know it mamma?” Hyacinth almost twitched her ears, not really understanding much of why Y/N was with them rather than with Antony, but curious as a young girl could be.

“Precisely mamma, how shall you know?” Eloise, immediately picked up her sister’s question, only not so susceptible to extenuations.

“Eloise Bridgerton, I shall expect you to practice the bowing before your incoming debut in front of the queen. Daphne made quite an impression and –“

“Daphne was deemed diamond of the season and such title is below my ambition.”

“Regardless, you do not want to trip or slip do you?”

Eloise (and everyone else) obviously remembered what happened to Featherington’s sisters and the embarrassment so with a heavy, exaggerated sigh and one quick, sharp, bright look at Y/N Eloise left the room, followed by her mother and sisters.

And once the lady and her trusted eyes and ears of the house were alone, who could stop the two of turning a lot more unmindful of societal norms?

“My lady, the lord has been quite annoyed since the quarrel you lordships have had. He even refused to eat his favorite meal.” Laura confessed with blushing cheeks

“Are you to tell me that Prescott prepared the roasted pork for Anthony after he was so unjust towards the lady of the house? I shall have a word about a loyalty with him upon my return.” Y/N satirized wholeheartedly.

“When shall you return my lady? Seeing as that viscount is not the one to have a change of heart and admit his wrongdoing easily?”

“He will Laura. One way or another I am fairly convinced my husband may take a long way to do so and take the aid of his mother whilst deciding. It’s just I am not fully convinced if the apology made with cheating are worth accepting.”

“Oh! You took the lower route here my lady forgive the audacity.”

“Just the route of a woman who expect honesty from her man.”

“Fair enough I suppose. But shall you be agitated my lady I take it you do not wish to accept the viscount bestowment?”

“Bestowment?” Y/N frowned a little in confusion “and what shall that be?”

“I do not know, my lady. I am merely a messenger—”

“I believed you to be on my side Laura.”

“And I am, my lady! But one do not object the command of the lord, that is clearly ready to vent his anger on the first soul that happen to be unfortunate enough to be around.”

“My god, you are a prattler!” Y/N laughed “where is that gift in question? Cause since it is mine either way we might as well get a little curious, shall we? Would be such a shame to put it to waste.”

Laura stood up from her chair and started heading to the corridor, but Hyacynth was first to barge into the room carrying some parcel that was almost bigger than her.

“Y/N! Is this that gift from Anthony!?” clearly she was eavesdropping  “Can we take a look, please? It’s so big I wonder what it is? Come on, open it up! Open it up!”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Eloise muttered but there was no denying she was equally curious as her sister.

Y/N only rolled  her eyes, inviting all the girls over and opening the box. Fishing out the most beautiful and definitely expensive new dress. The color was perfectly matching Y/N’s complexion and the material delicate yet durable – Anthony knew his wife and her adventurous tendencies.

“It’s so beautiful and elegant” Francesca whispered touching the dress with delight.

“So what, he think he can just buy her the garment and she will forgive him?” Eloise scoffed “Men are so simple minded and belittling of women!”

“Try it on, Y/N!” Hyacinth encouraged, almost jumping from excitement

“Do not try it on! This would be relenting!” Eloise objected.

“He made a gesture!”

“It’s not a gesture! It’s an attempt of buying her forgiveness!”

“Y/N!”

“Y/N?!”

“Quiet!” Y/N finally managed to break through the noise of two sisters. ““No offence girls, but this is my marriage and my decision. One I have to make by myself. So thank you “ she smiled brightly but with a hint of annoyance “for your positions on things, but I am perfectly capable of weighting the significance of the gift, on my conviction to forgive or not forgive him.”

“Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!” “Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!���

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!”

***

Anthony was waiting for her in the garden outside some estate she had no idea existed. After all, Y/N has spent her entire life in London, rarely being invited to the cottage. And in this case it could have been used a leverage, not that he was aiming for measuring forces and cold calculation.

No.

He was walking back and forth, almost trampling a path in the ground in a place where it should never be. Nervous enough to anxiously fiddle with his fingers like a lady before her debut entering the society. Hoping she would come. Wishing for any entity in heaven might want to listen that she would take this dress he send her as an expression of humility rather than boosting like a rooster. Praying that Eloise wasn’t there with her sharp tongue and unrestrained thoughts to discourage his beloved from accepting both the gift and the invitation.

The minutes turned to hours and even his father’s pocket watch refused to work with Anthony in this important moment. Having no regard to the poor flowers any other plants standing no chances against his heavy riding boots, the time seemed to stand still.

For whatever it was worth it, Anthony Bridgerton swore to himself that he would rather turn into a sack of boned waiting in this desolate place than walk away while there was still a glimmer of hope she might appear. He was done and fatigued with missed opportunities, poorly chosen and ill-spoken words.

It was never his intention to said all those atrocious words to her.

Too much.

Dear Lord.

Now that he was thinking about it, his heart was capering in a way that filled him with self-hatred. After all the pain he might have caused her during that little hurtful exchange while she did nothing more than be there for him. Even if he not exactly wished for it. Even if he himself didn’t know that her presence in his life was the best thing that happened since his father’s death. If not since forever.

Anthony wasn’t the one to believe in signs or any spiritual influence on earth, but the more he was dwelling on his own misery, the more deliberative of their first meeting he was becoming.

It was late lord Bridgerton’s death anniversary and as any other year – he separated himself from the rest of the family. To show how adamant his heart and mind was and to underline that this was nothing more than just another day in a line of any other similar ones. But the truth was, he wanted to visit his father’s grave alone without any possible disturbances or havoc that his younger siblings could have caused. None of them really knew Edmund Bridgerton the way Anothony did. The first born son, the heir to the title, deprived of his father’s guidance and presence and forced to take responsibility for the family in way too young age.

He needed to be by himself, cause god forbid anyone seeing him showing any signs of humanity and indulging in grief.

And his family knew and accepted it.

She didn’t.

Just a stranger, strolling by herself in the area, looking like a commoner, having no regards to the sanctity of the moment nor the place she found herself in.

And worse for her – spotting Anthony in the never-seen moment of vulnerability written all over his face.

“Lord Bridgerton” she bowed in a way that showed that the savage, Anthony took her for, actually had manners. And that he knew him, but this was not so unexpected.

He only grunted in response to annoyed by an unfortunate set of circumstances that worked against her. The viscount himself was not going to bow to a girl that was clearly a servant, with messy hair and in a dress that was far from anything a woman, even of lower position should be seen in.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be, girl?” he muttered under his nose, throwing daggers with his eyes.

“I’m sorry my lord but-“

“You should be sorry. I am convinced your lady nor your lord will be pleased with the fact that their service wanders alone in an area that does not belong to them!”

“Service?” Y/N smirked looking at him with amusement and twinkling eyes. And Anthony with his youthful energy and virility could not miss the fact that she was actually pretty.

“Yes, service.” He hissed at her “now get out of here girl, before you get yourself in far more trouble from me and end up on the street!”

“I shall-“ she obviously was not going to let anyone maltreat her like that, but her acuity wore up that very moment. She noticed the weariness in viscount’s eyes, noticed the monument nearby, and realized what day of the month it was.

“Forgive me, my lord.” She bowed in respect “I shall be on my way. And I shall not mention this meeting to anyone, hopefully wishing for you to forget my impertinence.”

She was gone as fast as she appeared, and Anthony thought to never see her again.

Until the next rout Daphne was attending, where he actually did.

Immediately realizing the scope of his previous mistake, upon learning that the service girl was in fact Miss Y/L/N, the youngest daughter of Lord Y/L/N. And met with another look of those glistening eyes and amused face expression. Forced to accompany her for the evening, since apparently Lady Bridgerton and Lady Y/L/N has made some arrangements for the future.

He was thinking it was all just a coincidence back then, but now he came to conclusion that it must have been his father who send this girl into his life. Knowing better than him that she would turn his ways around, challenge him, test him patience mercilessly and yet – that she would be the one to love him unconditionally and whom he would love with all his broken and unperfect self.

And the burden of possibility of ruining it all for them was even more overwhelming.

He clasped his hands behind his back, walking shorter and shorter distances, turning back more and more often, stuck in his belief that he would stay here as long as she didn't show up, even if -

“Anthony.”

Viscount spun around so abruptly it almost caused him falling to the ground.

She came.

She truly came.

It was like meeting her all over again, back in time, back next to his father’s grave.

Only she wasn’t looking like a servant girl now.

She was wearing the dress he sent her, looking not only like a viscountess, but like a queen herself. His queen. His wife. His love. His everything.

Her skin was radiant due to the color of the material (just like Violet predicted), cheeks flushed, hair done in perfect curls surrounding her face, bright like a sun.

“Y/N….”

“It was so unwise on your part viscount to call upon me and invite me into a wild place a woman like me should never step foot on.” She said sternly, but the everlasting and never changing glistening of her eyes betrayed her true intention “and perilous, may I say? Far from the city? Lady travelling alone? So many hazards awaiting me on the way.”

“Benedict and Colin were following your post chaise.”

“Oh I knew I heard someone laughing on the way. But my coachman brushed my concerns off!”

“Did you really believed I would send my greatest treasure into the wild without proper security?” Anthony took a few steps forwards, reaching for her hands and placing gentle kiss on her knuckles.

“Your brothers?” Y/N let him show the courtesy, but raised eyes in skepticism of the words.

“Believe me my lady, you should never underestimate the man of the Bridgerton house.”

“In what aspect my lord?”

“In every aspect, dear.” He looked deep into her eyes.

“Why did you ask me to meet you here?” Y/N quickly averted her eyes, because Anthony’s gaze were so full of passion, love and genuine remorse and apology she found herself falling into his charms. And this couldn’t have been so easy for him. “You sister discounselled me on coming here.”

“And yet, you came my lady.” Anthony reached for her chin and slowly, gently and with tenderness turned her face towards him so that their eyes had to meet again.

“Anthony I –“

“My love, I am sorry.”

“this is not—”

“Let me speak” he hushed her, not breaking eye contact. “I asked you here, because this is the very place where my father asked for my mother’s hand. Where he pledged her his undying love, support and loyalty. And you, out of all people in the world, learned how much I cherish my father’s memory and his legacy.

“Anthony-“

“Therefore, here I am. Standing in front of you, expressing my deepest condolences-“

“Oh, dear lord, Tony!” she cried out in frustration “stop using the words you would say to me if Lady Whistledown were nearby! Tell me how you feel!”

How he felt was not with words.

How he felt was expressed by the way he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to his chest, capturing her lips in the searing but gentle kiss that conveyed more than any noble and dignified words of a lord could.

I love you.

By his strong arms encompassing her like a shelter from the storm.

I won’t ever let go of you.

By tender caress of her hair and back.

I will always cherish you.

By the way his lips were moving against her, whispering silent words understood only by two souls forevermore yearning for each other.

I am sorry.

She was the first one to pull back for air, reluctantly so.

“My love. My beloved.”

She smiled at him, connecting their foreheads, allowing his arms to tighten around her waist and waiting for what was coming next to assess the truth behind his words.

“Am I too much now?” she whispered

“You are always too much. To much for me to keep. To much for me to even wish and pray for. Too much of a blessing in my life. Too much in the best possible sense and—”

This time It was her who cut him off by a kiss, silencing anything else that might come from his lips. He was honest and sincere. And if he was trying to apologize by saying anything else and backing out on what he said back there she probably would not forgive him sensing manipulation. But this?

“I forgive you.” She whispered against his lips.

“Thank God.”

“Is this cottage inhabited or--?”

“No. It’s not. And I intend on taking advantage of it right this moment.” He grabbed her and carried inside bridal style, ready to not get back to London for at least a couple days.

(spoiler alert below)

I got a request for a fluff pregnancy fic.... <3

@pietrawebster @chrissisheadisinclouds @fuzzym4m4 @gloomysel @urfavnoirette @dd122004dd @milkbummm @bevstofu @taniasethi @syraxnyra @christinabae @pandoraneverland @bevstofu @topguncultleader @jana-jaeynneee @myaa21212121 @ziarah @cat-lockwood @leaf-rose-thorn @elissanatok @lily3450 @nervousmumbling @budugu @frickin-bats @sillyfreakfanparty @amberpanda99 @nycthophiliaa @myaa21212121 @bananaadeleigate @everybodystaycalm @fmhcatt @sankareatheundead @cat-lockwood @1potato2rulethemall @bloommart @lorinevv @taylorswars @jessiegerl @glocuseguardian3rd @angiieguevara @laurasdrey @jholiday @smailaway @some-random-stranger-007 @beckahhope @bookishtheaterlover7 @eclecticcollectioncloud @thingfromlove @dutifullyannoyingfox @kitkat14sblog @dancingandreadingwithv @heyits-zedo @superhighschoollevelnerd-blog1 @ben-has-arrived @kindaslightlyacidic @espressopatronum454 @miluiel1 @powellssaturn @jess4rush @krismdavis @yourgirlypop

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fic #bridgerton angst #anthony bridgerton angst

[darthannie]

An idea for a drabble or something: Tommy Shelby with an innocent reader who squirts for the first time and doesn’t know how to react.

a/n: Oh I love this. Here's a lil drabble for ya. Hope you enjoy, Anon!

water works

Thomas Shelby x f!reader

Warnings: smut, squirting

You can’t remember the first time you met Tommy. All that mattered was the fact that you were directly under him with his fingers deep inside your cunt. 

He had been a gentleman, but if he was anything he was direct. You ended up back at your house and he asked you if you wanted to fuck him. You took a moment to answer. You’d kissed a few men before, but a man had never touched beyond a bit of heavy petting. 

“I haven’t- I’ve never been with a man,” you said apprehensively. You were unsure if this would be a deterrent. 

He raised his glass of whiskey as if to give a toast. “Well, here’s to firsts.” 

He threw back the remnants of his glass and grabbed your face to pull you in for a very messy and passionate kiss. 

He pulled back and you led him to your bedroom. This was the first and only time you led anything with him. He took complete control. There was not a single move you made that didn’t seem prompted by him in some way. He held your wrists over your head as he kissed you, pressing you down into the bed. He didn’t even bother undressing you fully; he opted to pull up your dress and pull down your undergarments. 

He bent down to lick your pussy, tasting how wet you had gotten. He inserted two fingers and you moaned so loud you were sure the maids in the other wing would hear. 

He set a relentless pace. If his plan was to wear you out, it was working. You felt something building up inside you rather quickly. 

“Tommy. I don’t know how much I can last. “

“Hold it,” he repeated, “hold it.”

It was so demanding you couldn’t help but hold whatever it was from coming out. But then, it did. It came in waves. Tommy’s shirt was completely soaked. You had no idea your body could do that. Your jaw fell and you pulled away from him once the shock started to set in.

Tommy was having none of it. “No, no come back here. You’re going to do that again.”

“I don’t think I can,” you countered

“You can. You’ve got one more in you.” He caressed your leg to coax you back to him. You gave in easily. Not many men had as much charm as Thomas Shelby.

His tongue ran a stripe against your clit and you shivered. Tommy licked and sucked before inserting the same two fingers he had before. It only took a minute before your legs were shaking and you were once again wetting his shirt and making the sheets damp. He ran his hand up and down your leg as you came for him.

He moaned and said, “There’s a good girl. Now it’s time to see if you can do that on my cock.”

#annie’s asks #annie writes #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader smut #thomas shelby smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fic #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby

[seeminglyseph]

people are pissed at Critical Role for not committing to cutting ties with WOTC like they aren’t sitting there like “That’s a really great public image we helped you gain. would be a shame if we had to begin negotiations severing our brand, I mean we both benefit so well from this partnership. Look at how much you accomplished because you worked together with the fans, that’s a lot to throw away. Why don’t you give that license another look-over and see if it would have the results you really want. Because no one wants to do anything they might regret here.“

Guys, it’s a “pretty nice shop you got here.” what do you think is scarier to WOTC? Critical Role impulse cutting ties, or Critical Role very patiently going “well, it would be really unfortunate if you did that, we’d have to really rework everything we do here. I mean in order to save money ourselves, you know how companies work, we’d have to cut down on the Dungeons and Dragons content we use. With the Amazon show we’ve already been working on shifting to a more original fantasy universe, and if you wanted to claim a lot of this you’re going to end up in a fight with the Tolkien estate again...“

The long term game would be more devastating by far and way way more of a deterrent for a business minded argument rather than artist-minded one. 

#critical role #sometimes. you have to play the long game #sometimes you have to make very polite even toned statements and make unblinking eye contact with someone else #'I hope someday that you find someone who will mourn you. respectfully.'

[moonstruckme]

hi!

can i request tasm!peter meeting reader after having to do long distance?

if not thats okay! love your writing:)

have a great day<3

Thanks lovely, hope you have a great day as well!

Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 683 words

You don’t just give out copies of the key to your apartment, so when the front door opens you think you’re about to be shot. 

Breath caught in your throat, you freeze in the hallway and say the first deterrent that comes to mind. “I’ve got a gun!” 

The laughter that responds is as familiar as it is cheeky. “No, you don’t,” Peter says. 

“Jesus.” Your heart starts again, and in that split second your feet are already moving. 

Peter opens his arms as you throw yourself at him, taking your weight happily. “Nope, just me,” he quips, his harsh grip at odds with the levity of his voice. 

“Still a bad joke.” Your own voice is thick with fondness. You press your face into his neck, getting your boyfriend as close as you can. “What are you doing here?” 

“I live here.” He gives your upper back an excited squeeze. “You miss me?” 

“Not even,” you mumble into his shoulder. You go ahead and wrap your legs around his waist, and Peter chuckles, starting to walk the both of you towards your couch. “You scared the shit out of me, you know.”

“Yeah, maybe not my best plan.” He collapses downward, and you fold yourself around him more completely, getting comfortable in his lap. You think you’ll just never leave, honestly. “I thought the surprise would be more fun than scary.” 

“I could’ve met you at the airport.” 

“May would’ve killed me.” He palms the back of your neck, lips finding your hairline. “She wanted to pick me up herself, but she’s letting you have me for dinner. I have to be back by ten.” 

You let out a petulant whine. “Why does she get to decide?” 

You adore Peter’s aunt and he knows it, but when you’re having to battle her for custody of your boyfriend all that love goes right out the window. 

“I know,” Peter commiserates. “You’d think after a semester of taking care of myself in another country, I’d be allowed to stay out until at least eleven.” 

You hum, vacating your spot in the juncture of his neck in favor of seeing his face. You pet down the cowlick at the crown of his head, and Peter catches your hand, kissing your palm. A warm thrumming starts up in your chest. It’s similar to the sensation you’d gotten during your evening calls while Peter was abroad (well, your evening, his late night), but more. Better. You’ve missed feeling it like this. 

“How was Hertfordshire?” you ask. 

Peter gives you a look like you’re being silly. “I told you already.” 

“It’s different in person.” 

He smiles, thinking. “Small. Grassy. Cute, but not much to swing off of.” There’d been no vigilante work while Peter did his research abroad. He talked like it was a welcome break, but you could tell he missed it. Something changes in his look, eyes going soft and flirty. “No pretty girls.” 

You bite back a smile. “Let’s not do the women of Hertfordshire a disservice,” you chide.

“Fine.” Peter rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “None of my pretty girl.” 

He lifts his chin and you oblige him, touching your lips to his. It’s a kiss months in the making, and it heats quicker than either of you are expecting. Your heart thunders and throbs to the point of aching. You shuffle closer in Peter’s lap and his hand presses into the small of your back, both of your breathing turning harsh and desperate. 

“Missed you,” he says into your mouth. 

“I missed you more.” 

“Wanna bet?” Peter lifts you off the couch, and his casual strength shouldn’t surprise you anymore but it does. You laugh, again wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“Shouldn’t we start to think about dinner?” you ask as he carries you towards your bedroom. 

He hums, reluctant. “What time is it?” 

You look to the side to check the clock on your microwave, and he kisses your cheekbone while you do. “Almost seven.” 

Peter hums against your skin, pressing another kiss to the side of your nose. “We’ve got time.”

#tasm!peter parker #tasm!spiderman #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x fem!reader #tasm!peter parker x y/n #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x self insert #tasm!peter parker fanfic #tasm!peter parker fanfiction #tasm!peter parker fic #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker blurb #tasm!peter parker scenario #tasm!peter parker drabble #tasm!peter parker one shot #tasm!peter parker oneshot #the amazing spiderman fanfiction #the amazing spiderman #tasm peter parker #tasm spiderman #the amazing spiderman fandom #the amazing spiderman x reader

[akutasoda]

Can I request Sunday with Noelle reader?

Reader will guide every guest and tell them everything she knew in Penacony, since her job is tour guide.

But in reality, she want to be a knight in Xianzhou Luofu but failed every test dispite she work so hard on it.

Reader is from Luofu, but travel abroad to study life more and try to gain some experiences.

Sorry if my request is weird…

atleast someone believes in me

synopsis - after rejection from the cloud knights you seek a change of pace but there's someone who sees your potential

includes - sunday

warnings - gn!reader, reader is based on noelle, reader is from the xianzhou, fluff, slight angst, rejection?, wc - 1.6k

a/n: your request isn't weird at all!

taglist - @teddirika

failure hits hard for most people, especially when it's somebody's first attempt at achieving their dream. failure becomes a deterrent, planting the idea that their dreams can no longer be accomplished - which can be untrue but since they would be too focused on their failure they can no longer focus on how to improve. people who experience failure often seek comfort in settling for something easy, something that they won't fail at.

you were born and raised on the xianzhou luofu. you grew up alongside the cloud knights and would regularly watch them on patrol and sometimes would even sneak out to watch them fight a wandering mara-struck. your eager curiousity did not go unnoticed by your guardian, who managed to catch hold of somebody willing to grant you some basic training. it boosted your dedication to becoming a cloud knight and eventually you took your training into your own hands.

day in and day out, you would spend toiling over your techniques and ensuring they were perfect. you had a deadline, your birthday was soon approaching and as soon as that passed you would be allowed to join the cloud knights if you're skills passed the test. admittedly you became so wrapped up in your training that you often would forget basic needs but you were determined to become a cloud knight.

your birthday could not have come any sooner. the day after, you were straight out of bed and headed down to enlist into the cloud knights - a few people you knew had recently also enlisted and passed the tests, they told you how you would have no issue and you believed them. when you got there, they accepted your initial application and told you that if you passed the physical trials you would be welcomed into the cloud knights. all those nights, days and evenings had lead up to this very moment. the moment where all your training was meant to pay off and help you achieve your dreams. was... was meant to.

you don't know why or how but you were denied, you were told you're skills just weren't what they were looking for but nothing more. rejection hit you immediately. it tore out your dreams and replaced them with a sense of hopelessness - how could you spend so much of your life dedicated to becoming a cloud knight just to be rejected, surely that meant you couldn't achieve anything right? you returned home with dry tear streaks that were soon replaced when you shut the door.

some may say you overreacted but the rejection really hit you hard. you felt ashamed to still be living on the luofu and desperately searched for elsewhere, you needed a fresh start is what you told yourself. brief words had been overheard about a world called penacony, where dreams can come true. even though your dream was to become a cloud knight, you doubted that could become true and so maybe you could settle for something simpler.

you gathered what little money you had and left for penacony in shame. when you arrived you immediately inquired with the hotel lobby staff about any potential jobs that could be gifted to you - you made sure to specify that they could be anything. one of the workers left for a brief moment before returning and telling you that there was a few jobs available inside the dreamscape. you didn't really care what the job was you just wanted something to distract you from the pain of your rejection from the cloud knights.

unfortunately the only job available was a tour guide. you weren't native to penacony and this was infact your first time even in penacony but it seemed like an opportunity, you could bury yourself in mounds of research into penacony to become a tour guide and not think about the cloud knights. after a long time with bargaining with various officials, you managed to land a job as a tour guide - the only thing you had to do was research all of the dreamscape before your first ever shift.

your habit for hard work had led you to spend hours upon hours staring at the maps of penacony and its dreamscape, reading all of it's history and eventually becoming acquainted with some locals who told you some tips. on your very first shift, you were paired with a young silver haired girl who introduced herself as firefly, she was a fellow tour guide and offered to oversee your first shift to make sure you were good to go. she was a sweet young girl and even complimented your knowledge of penacony even as a newcomer to the land of dreams.

due to your extensive studies, you becane extremely well versed in the knowledge of penacony and it's history. very quickly, more and more newcomers would request your tours as word spread very quickly about your tours. this time as a tour guide served well in gaining experiences and opportunities to learn something new, those that took your tours often would become very chatty. you met all kinds of people from all other the galaxy, except they all had similar reasons for turning to penacony.

you still thought about the cloud knights from time to time. you'd watch the bloodhounds from time to time and they vaguely reminded you of the knights, not by much but enough to drag up unpleasant memories. sometimes you did wonder that if you trained a little bit harder you could retake the test and become a cloud knight - however the idea of failing again would only put a greater shame on you and you didn't want that.

the dreamscape become a comfort to you, the job as a tour guide was alot more fun than anticipated and you enjoyed meeting people from all walks of life. unfortunately, you had now spent a long time in the dreamscape and started seeing the truth beyond golden hours flashing lights and slot machines. one of your tours had been ended abruptly when the person you were helping around slipped into a deeper pocket of the dream - you soon followed just in time.

you were met with familiar yet unfamiliar scenery but what quickly caught your attention was you're tourist being attacked by some kind of walking television and robotic dog. you didn't really think about your actions and instead opted to charge straight ahead to protect the tourist. out of pure habit, you still carried some kind of weapon from your cloud knight training days and it finally payed off - you made quick work of the weird figures and made sure to check on your tourist before looking for a way out.

you wandered the distorted halls with your guest, always keeping them out of harms way but it seemed your saviour came in the form if a certain silver haired halovian. sunday had heard about a tour guide and their tourist being captured into a deeper pocket of the dreamscape, and because it was a more dangerous zone filled with all sorts of memes he figured it would be best if he went himself - it would also help to silence the wanderers.

what sunday wasn't expecting was a trail of dead meme's which eventually lead him to you and your tourist. he was rather impressed a tour guide such as yourself was so capable with a weapon. he made quick work of escorting the two of you into golden hour and sorted out the toruist before turning to you, 'you appear to be quite well versed in combat for a tour guide' he started.

before you had a chance to answer he continued, 'your skills would befit the bloodhounds more no?' you simply shook your head and replied 'my skills are merely acts of self defense nothing more'. sunday frowned slightly before taking a quick glance around golden hour, he turned back to you with a proposition

'it may be optimistic of me but could i offer you some more work? payed of course.' you knew what he was getting at and you sighed before responding

'with all due respect mr.sunday, i don't have an interest in attempting a carer for fighting' you looked down slightly to avoid his gaze which seemed practically suffocating.

'that's a shame then, a tour guide with your skills could be effective in helping those curious enough to get lost in the corrupt parts of the dreamscape', he smiled before continuing

'it shall still be an offer if you wish to accept, but for now may i extend my personal thank you for keeping a paying visitor safe'

sunday's offer really toiled with you for a while. the cloud knights back on the luofu rejected your skills but now somebody was praising them - you felt more inclined to believe the cloud knights. but maybe this was what you needed, it was a fresh start and you were being offered it so sunday wouldn't turn you down right? it would appear not as when you showed up at his office he seemed like he had been expecting you because truth be told, sunday was enamored by your willingness to help those you do and more importantly you're skills in combat.

he had read your employee file, it had all your basic information and when he found out you originated from the xianzhou, he couldn't help but wonder why the cloud knights hadn't scouted out your exceptional skills. however, if they weren't going to help you utilise your skills, he would.

#—stellaronhvnters. #x reader #x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr sunday #honkai star rail sunday #sunday x reader

[mightyflamethrower]

“Name me a single objective we’ve ever set out to accomplish that we’ve failed on. Name me one, in all of our history. Not one!”

-President Joe Biden, August 16, 2023 

Joe Biden in one of his now accustomed angry “get off my grass” moods dared the press to find just one of his policies/objectives that has not worked. Silence followed.

Perhaps it was polite to say nothing, given even the media knows almost every enacted Biden policy has failed.

Here is a summation of what he should instead apologize for.

Biden in late summer 2021 sought a 20th anniversary celebration of 9/11 and the 2001 subsequent invasion of Afghanistan. He wished to be the landmark president that yanked everyone out of Afghanistan after 20 years in country. But the result was the greatest military humiliation of the United States since the flight from Vietnam in 1975.

Consider the ripples of Biden’s disaster. U.S. deterrence was crippled worldwide. China, Russia, Iran, and North Korea almost immediately began to bluster or return to their chronic harassment of U.S. and allied ships and planes. We left thousands of allied Afghans to face Taliban retribution, along with some Western contractors.

Biden abandoned a $1 billion embassy, and a $300 million remodeled Bagram airbase strategically located not far from China and Russia, and easily defensible. Perhaps $50 billion in U.S. weaponry and supplies were abandoned and now find their way into the international terrorist mart.

All our pride flags, our multimillion gender studies programs at Kabul University, and our George Floyd murals did not just come to naught, but were replaced by the Taliban’s anti-homosexual campaigns, burkas, and detestation of any trace of American popular culture.

Vladimir Putin sized up the skedaddle. He collated it with Biden’s unhinged quip that he would not get too excited if Putin just staged a “minor” invasion of Ukraine. He remembered Biden’s earlier request to Putin to modulate Russian hacking to exempt a few humanitarian American institutions. Then Russia concluded of our shaky Commander-in-Chief that he either did not care or could do nothing about another Russian invasion.

The result so far is more than 500,000 dead and wounded in the war, a Verdun-stand-off along with fortified lines, the steady depletion of our munitions and weapon stocks, and a new China/Russia/Iran/North Korean axis, with wink and nod assistance from NATO Turkey.

Biden blew up the Abraham accords, nudged Saudi Arabia and the Gulf States over to the dark side of Iran, China, and Russia. He humiliated the U.S. on the eve of the midterms by callously begging the likes of Iran, Venezuela, Russia, and Saudi Arabia to pump more oil that he had damned as unclean at home and cut back its production. In Bidenomics, instead of producing oil, the president begs autocracies to export it to us at high prices while he drains the nation’s strategic petroleum reserve for short-term political advantage.

Biden deliberately alienated Israel by openly interfering in its domestic politics. He pursued the crackpot Iran Deal while his special Iranian envoy was removed for disclosing classified information.

No one can explain why Biden ignored the Chinese balloon espionage caper, kept mum about the engineered Covid virus that escaped the Wuhan lab, said not a word about a Chinese biolab discovered in rural California, and had his envoys either bow before Chinese leaders or take their insults in silence—other than he is either cognitively challenged or leveraged by his decade-long grifting partnership with his son Hunter.

Yet another Biden’s legacy will be erasing the southern border and with it, U.S. immigration law. Over seven million aliens simply crossed into the U.S. illegally with Biden’s tacit sanction—without audits, background checks, vaccinations, and COVID testing, much less English fluency, skills, or high-school diplomas.

Biden’s only immigration accomplishment was to render the entire illegal sanctuary city movement a cruel joke. Given the flood, mostly rich urban and vacation home dwellers made it very clear that while they fully support millions swarming into poor Latino communities of southern Texas and Arizona, they do not want any illegal aliens fouling their carefully cultivated nests.

Biden is mum about the 100,000 fentanyl deaths from cartel-imported and Chinese-supplied drugs across his open border. He seems to like the idea that Mexican President Obrador periodically mouths off, ordering his vast expatriate community to vote Democratic and against Trump.

Despite all the pseudo-blue collar dissimulation about Old Joe Biden from Scranton, he has little empathy for the working classes. Indeed, he derides them as chumps and dregs, urges miners to learn coding as the world covets their coal, and studiously avoids getting anywhere near the toxic mess in East Palestine, Ohio, or so far the moonscape on Maui.

Bidenomics is a synonym for printing up to $6 billion dollars at precisely the time post-Covid consumer demand was soaring, while previously dormant supply chains were months behind rebooting production and transportation. Biden is on track to increase the national debt more than any one-term president.

In Biden’s weird logic, if he raised the price of energy, gasoline, and key food staples 20-30 percent since his inauguration without a commensurate rise in wages, and then saw the worst inflation in 40 years occasionally decline from record highs one month to the next, then he “beat inflation.”

But the reason why more than 60 percent of the nation has no confidence in Bidenomics is because it destroyed their household budgets. Gas is nearly twice what it was in January 2021. Interest rates have about tripled. Key staple foods are often twice as costly—meat, vegetables, and fruits especially.

Biden has ended through his weaponized Attorney General Merrick Garland the age-old American commitment to equal justice under the law. The FBI, DOJ, CIA, and IRS are hopelessly politically compromised. Many of their bureaucrats serve as retrieval agents for lost Biden family incriminating laptops, diaries, and guns. In sum, Biden criminalized opposing political views.

Biden has unleashed the administrative state for the first time in history to destroy the Republican primary front runner and his likely opponent. His legacy will be the corruption of U.S. jurisprudence and the obliteration of the American reputation for transparent permanent government that should be always above politics, bribery, and corruption.

If in the future, an on-the-make conservative prosecutor in West Virginia, Utah, or Mississippi wishes to make a national name, then he has ample precedent to indict a Democrat President for receiving bad legal advice, questioning the integrity of an election, or using social media to express doubt that the new non-Election-Day balloting was on the up-and-up, or supposedly overvaluing his real estate.

The Biden family’s decade-long family grifting will likely expose Joe Biden as the first president in U.S. history who fitted precisely the Constitution’s definition of impeachment and removal—given his “high crimes and misdemeanors” appear “bribery”-related. If further evidence shows he altered U.S. foreign policy in accordance with the wishes from his benefactors in Ukraine, China, or Romania, then he committed constitutionally-defined “treason” as well.

Defunding the police, and pandemics of exempted looting, shoplifting, smashing, and grabbing, and carjacking merit no administrative attention. Nor does the ongoing systematic destruction of our blue bicoastal cities, Los Angeles, New York, Portland, San Francisco, Seattle, and Washington, D.C. All that, along with the disasters in East Palestine or Maui are out of sight, out of mind from a day at the beach at Biden’s mysteriously purchased nearly 6,000 square-foot beachfront mansion.

Biden ran on Barack Obama-like 2004 rhetoric (“Well, I say to them tonight, there is not a liberal America and a conservative America — there is the United States of America).”

And like Obama, he used that ecumenical sophistry to gain office only to divide further the U.S. No sooner than he was elected, we began hearing from the great unifier eerie screaming harangues about “semi-fascists” and “ultra-MAGA” dangerous zealots, replete with red-and black Phantom of the Opera backdrops.

What followed the unifying rhetoric was often amnesties and exemptions for violent offenders during the 120 days of rioting, looting, killing, and attacks on police officers in summer 2020.  In contrast, his administration lied when it alleged that numerous officers had died at the hands of the January 6 rioters. In addition, the Biden administration mandated long-term incarceration of many who committed no illegal act other than acting like buffoons and “illegally parading.”

The message was exemptions for torching a federal courthouse, a police precinct, or historic church or attempting to break into the White House grounds to get a president and his family—but long prison terms for wearing cow horns, a fur vest, and trespassing peacefully like a lost fool in the Capitol.

Finally, Biden’s most glaring failure was simply being unpresidential. He snaps at reporters, and shouts at importune times. He can no longer read off a big-print teleprompter. Even before a global audience, he cannot kick his lifelong creepy habit of turkey-gobbling on children necks, blowing into their ears and hair of young girls, and squeezing women far too long and far too hard.

His frailty redefined American presidential campaigning as basement seclusion and outsourcing propaganda to the media. And his disabilities only intensified during his presidency. Biden begins his day late and quits early. He has recalibrated the presidency as a 5-hour, 3-day a week job.

If Trump was the great exaggerator, Biden is our foremost liar. Little in his biography can be fully believed. He lies about everything from his train rides to the death of his son to his relationship with Biden-family foreign collaborators, to vaccinations to the economy. Anytime Biden mentions places visited, miles flown, or rails ridden, he is likely lying.

Biden continues with impunity because the media feels that a mentally challenged fabulist is preferable to Donald Trump and so contextualizes or ignores his falsehoods. Never has a U.S. president fallen and stumbled or gotten lost on stage so frequently—or been a single small trip away from incapacity.

So, yes, Biden’s initiatives have succeeded only in the sense of becoming successfully enacted—and therefore nearly destroying the country.

[after-witch]

Love is the Honey [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title:  Love is the Honey [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You were kidnapped by Chrollo Lucilfer, and truth be told, things aren’t exactly terrible. You don’t have to worry about bills or paying for groceries or appeasing a shitty boss. It’s come at the price of your freedom, but it might be worth it. There’s only one thing you can’t accept, and it’s the one thing Chrollo won’t stop trying. 

word count: 5417

notes:  yandere, kidnapped reader

Outside, the city lights are all whites and reds and greens, twinkling and glistening amidst the darkness of the night sky. But from up here, you hear nothing of the bustling night outside. 

No sounds of half drunk friends giggling with arms linked, traveling from bar to restaurant and back to bar again. No car horns laid upon by impatient drivers, eager to get home after a long day at work. No quarrels, no compliments, no queries about what you’re doing later tonight. 

Nothing at all.

Up here, in this hotel room, there is only you and the quiet hum of the air conditioner--and of course, Chrollo. Better known as your kidnapper, who is (at least for the moment) blissfully quiet. Minus the sounds of turning book pages, but those hardly register. Not when you’re absorbed in your own book, and not when you take a break and stare out the window at the city below.

Far, far below. He tends to book rooms as high as he can get them. You’ve wondered if he does this on purpose, a deterrent, since you can’t hope to escape out the window. Or if he simply prefers to be up and above everyone, literally and figuratively. But maybe you’re overthinking it. 

Maybe the luxurious rooms he prefers to book tend to be on the higher levels. Above all the noise of the city, of the restaurant on the first floor, of the laundry that churns out fresh sheets and towels, washing away dirt and fluids and whatever else someone has left behind in a hotel room. 

Did the workers ever wonder about the people behind those dirty towels, those rumpled sheets? Did a bellboy ever see you, your tired expression, and think, Hm, I wonder if she’s all right? Did the maid who turned over your hotel room see the stacks of books piled up near the window, the blanket and pillow stuffed on the chair, and wonder: But aren’t they a couple? Why would she be sleeping on the chair and not the bed?

Truth be told, there’s only two things that infuriate you about your current situation. One, that Chrollo repeatedly tries to put the moves on you. And two, that he insists on trying to make you sleep with him in the same bed. Keyword being, of course: trying. You’ve yet to give in.

The rest of it? The rest of the life that came with Chrollo, you can accept. It’s almost cathartic. Sure, you don’t have freedom of movement, of choice, of life.

But you have freedom from so much else.

Freedom from having to work day and night just to make enough money to pay your bills, and sometimes you still got behind on them. Freedom from worrying about whether or not the funny sound your sink made was an issue with the plumbing that would drain your savings and rack up more debt. Freedom from your friend’s drama and your mother’s exacting expectations that you could never meet. 

Besides, the lifestyle he forced you into gave you opportunities you’d never have otherwise. You usually stayed in high-end places, fancy hotels and condos; there was the occasional ramshackle safe house, but they were few and far between. They were always just the right temperature with just the right amenities, keeping you safe and comfortable. 

You got to do whatever you wanted, within reason. You could read as many books as you could get your hands on; you could ask for crafts and hobbies, and he typically indulged in. 

You ate good food every night and never wondered where your next meal would come from, or debated skipping meals to save money. You’ve tried dishes that you only read about in books or saw in films about rich people. Sure, some of it you couldn’t pronounce, and there was an air of superiority in the way Chrollo explained them to you. The taste, however, was completely worth the pompous comments.

And Chrollo himself could be tolerable. Sometimes. He was always up for a discussion or debate. You didn’t mind the traps he set, the way he tried to worm his way into your psyche at unsuspecting moments. Because what did that matter, when you knew you weren’t likely to get away from him unless he happened to die. Your life was this now, so who cared, really, if Chrollo wanted to psychoanalyze you because you wanted pizza for breakfast three days in a row? 

Sometimes you wondered what it said about society that you felt genuinely relieved to be kidnapped away from it all. The financial obligations. The social stress. All of it replaced with near constant indulgence in your personal whims and your mind’s lovely but strange ability to relax despite what should have been a high-stress kidnapping scenario. 

But… the damn bed situation. 

That’s one thing Chrollo refuses to do--accommodate your desire to sleep separately in any reasonable way. You’ve given up asking him to request two beds, you’ve even stopped asking if you would call room service and have them bring up a cot for the floor. But it would be nice if he would at least book a room with a sofa, and not simply a chair, which no matter how expensive the room is, is never comfortable enough for sleeping. 

He won’t, though. He’s nothing if not persistent in his romantic pursuit of you, outlined in little touches, the way he likes to lean in close to speak with you, voice hushed and husky and flirtatious. He’s offered to kiss you, flat-out, sometimes. You refused. He continues to offer, continues to touch, continues to want. 

He’s stubborn, in that respect.

But so are you. 

Which is why you don’t put up with it, don’t indulge in it, and ignore it as best you can. 

He may have kidnapped you. He may have taken away your freedom, but he wasn’t going to force you into a relationship. That was the one thing he wouldn’t take from you. 

On that, you stood firm. 

You just hoped the ground would never crack underneath the weight of his expectations.

--

“Dearest,” Chrollo says, and you don’t bother hiding the way you roll your eyes. It’s a pet name for a lover, and you are not a lover.

“Mm,” you respond, non-committal. You keep your eyes laser-focused on the coloring page in front of you. It was something they sold at a gas station gift shop, one of those books with complex lines and fanciful illustrations, aimed at adults with nothing better to do. Which, it so happens, turned out to fit you just fine.

There’s a pause. And then the shift of his clothing as he gets up from the queen sized bed and pulls out the chair across from you. He leans his elbows on the tiny side table, and you’re forced to scoot your book onto your lap to avoid it getting creased. Jerk.

You flit your eyes up to him.

“What’s up?”

At this, he exhales through his nose, almost a snort. Not quite as inelegant,  you suppose.

“You’ve been behaving rather well these past few weeks.” He considers. “Months.” He considers, again, this time tilting his head in what appears to be an exceptionally practiced gesture. “You’ve always behaved well, actually, haven’t you? From the start. From the moment you woke up in my…” He seems to reach for a word. “In my care.” 

You purse your lips. 

You remember the first day well. 

--

You were walking home from work, feet aching, mind thinking of a million obligations you had to get done before the week was out. That’s when you heard footsteps from behind you. 

You immediately froze. The footsteps stopped when you did. Slowly, you turned around, and there was a man standing there. An attractive man with a wrap around his forehead. When he saw your stricken expression, he smiled. 

“I apologize,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

You pressed your lips down. “It’s fine.” Your heart raced, because you weren’t stupid, and strange men coming up to you at night was iffy at best and dangerous at worst. You were going to cross the street and head into the closest diner, just to be safe. Or that’s what you planned to do, before it went sour. 

Before you could do anything, there was a terrible pinch in your neck and you saw his arm pull away just slowly enough to spot the needle in his hand. Everything went hot and blurry and when you woke up, you were in a hotel room bed with silk sheets underneath you and Chrollo Lucilfer standing above you. 

“Good morning,” he said, and smiled. 

--

Had it really been months since you were taken? You don’t exactly keep track of time, unless you’re eager to catch a certain movie on TV or you’re tracking the release date of a new book. You remember when you had to keep track of time for other reasons--making sure you got just enough sleep to avoid collapsing, calculating your work hours so that they would cover the bills, stretching your food budget thin enough to last the month.

Now, all you have to worry about is convincing Chrollo to head out to the bookstore on release date to get you what you want.

“Okay,” you say, after he’s been waiting long enough. “I don’t know why you’re bringing this up.” 

You feel like a teenager being praised by their parents. The praise he gives is unwanted, confusing. You don’t know what to do with it, so you stare down at the book in your lap, and let your mind wander to more fun things. Maybe you should have used a darker green for the leaves--

“I’m curious as to why you’ve behaved this way.” 

You shrug your shoulders without looking up. You’d like to get back to coloring, but if you tell him that, then he really won’t leave you alone. 

“You haven’t tried to escape,” he continues, leaning in closer. There’s mint on his breath. He sometimes crunches them, and the sound irritates you. When you tell him so, he seems to do it more, but you genuinely can’t decide if he does it on purpose to piss you off or if he’s that damn addicted to the little candies and their breath-pleasing effect.

“You don’t try to ask anyone for help. You don’t put up a fuss when we move from place to place.” One of his hands reaches forward and rests on top of yours. When you move to pull away, he interlocks his fingers with yours. His skin is warm and the intimate contact is unpleasant.

It’s this gesture that irritates you, finally, and you tug on his hand. He doesn’t relent and you huff. 

“So what? Do you want me to act like that? Do you want me to start screaming at the hotel concierge, “Help, I’ve been kidnapped!’?”

He chuckles. “There wouldn’t be a point, dear. No one would--”

“I know,” you interrupt. “No one would be able to help me. That’s not the point. I don’t ask anyone for help because it would be pointless. I don’t try to run because it would be pointless.” The edge of the coloring book suddenly becomes very interesting, and you bend the corner back and forth as you talk. “So why not take what’s good here and run with it? Unless you want me to start clawing at you every time you put your fingers near my thigh.” You let yourself grin, however empty it may look. “Actually, that sounds like a good idea.” 

“You don’t fight me,” he muses, more to himself than to you. “But you do have a mouth on you.” His lips twitch, almost an imperceptible annoyed gesture, before his expression smooths back out into familiar calmness. But you saw it, and it makes something in your gut feel tight. He normally doesn’t care if you get snarky, but what if…? 

His grip on your hand relaxes and he lets you pull your fingers away.

“You’re being annoying, and I’m going to color over here.” If your words are a little slower than usual, you can’t blame yourself for feeling nervous. But the half-smile you get in return is familiar territory, and the anxiety in your gut eases up.  

You sigh through your nose and scoot your chair backwards, taking your book to the room’s large windowsill and pulling yourself onto that instead.

“Can we get takeout tonight?” You ask, without looking up. The light by the window is nicer for coloring, you decide, if a little bit more uncomfortable for a long coloring session. 

“We’re going to cook tonight.” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s watching you, still sitting at the table. He leans his cheek against the palm of his hand. “The grocery delivery came this morning.”

You pout, all worries from the odd conversation gone. What little storm clouds that do show up in your life are, almost always, easily pushed away.  “I really wanted takeout from the place we got the other day. Can’t we do groceries tomorrow?”

”No. I don’t want the meat to spoil.” His voice is firm, and he doesn’t respond to your pouting or the whittling, vaguely cloying tone you’ve taken. 

You let your body sag in defeat. Oh, well. 

It’s one of the few instances in which you know you can’t, and shouldn’t, push him. Chrollo has always been very particular about food. Or food waste, you suppose, is what he’s most particular about. 

You learned your lesson on that months ago, when he insisted you finish the last bite of a meal you’d ordered, admittedly, out of spite. The stomach ache was not worth whatever triumph you imagined you’d get from sticking something in his figurative craw. 

You take up your colored pencils again and start to fill in yet another empty space. 

“Fine,” you mutter, determined not to let it spoil your otherwise relaxing evening. “But go easy on the garlic this time. It makes your breath stink.”

“Duly noted,” he murmurs. And there’s something almost wistful in his tone that catches your chest for a moment. But you push it away. 

Doesn’t matter, nope. What matters is the coloring page in front of you, the relaxing motions of gradually filling in each space with your desired color, the ability to focus on nothing but this activity and not have to worry about anything outside the walls surrounding you. 

You don’t look up.

--

Days blend into weeks blend into the blurry, vague--mostly comfortable--existence that is your life.

Or it used to be comfortable. Lately, very lately, Chrollo has become a bit stranger. It’s almost as if he’s on edge about something, which naturally puts you on edge. If he has something to worry about, then it must be serious, indeed. 

But it’s bothersome. Because not only has he been behaving as if something big is on the horizon, he’s gotten a lot more insistent on his desire for something more with you. Maybe his nervousness is making him less shy about approaching you and your veneer of coolness towards any affectionate gestures.

This morning, when you stepped out of the shower, the chair you’d pushed up against the window, also known as your bed for the past two weeks, was gone. Not moved, but simply gone. You didn’t bother asking him where it went. The cool smile on his face as he pulled his change of clothes from the hotel drawer was answer enough.

Maybe you should have yelled at him. But thoughts of his glances lately, the tentative way he’d begun to talk with you, the gut-roiling fear of something happening, stopped you.

And that’s why you’re here, now, sitting in the same bed as Chrollo Lucilfer despite swearing to yourself that you’d do everything in your power to avoid this moment. 

That’s why you’re enjoying the moment so fully right now, despite his proximity to you. He’s just… sitting, for once. Sitting and reading, or pretending well enough to fool you. Doesn’t matter, as long as he’s not trying to make a move.

But of course, he speaks, and breaks the peace. 

“Are you enjoying the book, love?” 

You turn the page.

“Not your love. But yes.” 

You glance over and see him set his own book down on the side table. No bookmark in sight. You wonder if he was actually reading it or if he was just pretending tonight. You’re not sure which would annoy you more. 

It doesn’t matter, because while you’re considering how you’re going to put off going to sleep for as long as possible, you feel the unmistakable sensation of his hand on your thigh. Your muscles tense immediately, and your brain seems to simultaneously. 

“Perhaps,” he says, shifting closer to you on the bed, “you can take a break from your book.” 

“I’d rather not,” you reply, biting, and try to shift your thigh away. But his tender touch becomes a firm grip on the meat of your thigh. You make a strangled noise and he leans in, voice irritating in your ear.

“You look beautiful tonight.” 

Your book gets set on the bed, half-open, and you swat at his hand. He doesn’t budge.

So you try something else. 

“What’s most beautiful about me?” You glance up at the mirror on the other side of the wall, above the faux fireplace. “The sweatpants that I’ve worn two days in a row, or that piece of broccoli stuck in my teeth from dinner?”  He finally did let you get takeout, after the groceries were used up. “Thanks for that, by the way.” It’s not entirely sarcastic.

“You’re welcome,” he says, voice all silk. You wonder, briefly, if he’s ever entranced anyone with that soft, low tone that should drip charisma but instead makes you want to poke him in the eye. Maybe it would have entranced you, if he didn’t take you forcibly. But you’ve sworn to hold onto the one thing you can keep--your consent--and you’ll be damned if you shrug that off like you have everything else he’s taken.

He brings his other hand up to trace the top of your ear and you flinch.

“Stop.” You sound for all the world like you’re fighting with a sibling who has decided to irritate you deliberately on a very long car ride. “You’re being--” Irritating? Pushy? Creepy? A little of all three? “You’re in my space and I don’t like it,” is what you settle for. 

It takes a few moments. But Chrollo does shift himself away from you, slowly removing his hand from your thigh, resting back in his previous position which was close but not unbearably so.

“You’re quite stubborn.” It’s said in a quiet tone that makes you want to think; it makes you want to wonder why he’s being so much more insistent lately, why he got rid of your chair when it’s something he’s indulged (not without complaints, mind you) for months. 

You pick up your book with an overly dramatic, obvious gesture, hoping it doesn’t look as false as it feels. 

“Well,” you tell him primly, resolving to get through the night with your dignity intact. “So are you.” 

--

To say that you were surprised the rest of the night passed uneventfully would be an understatement. It took you hours to fall asleep, because you were sure--absolutely sure--that Chrollo would take advantage of the nighttime proximity to slide his hands around your waist or kiss your neck or something else unwanted.

But he didn’t. If anything, he was quieter than normal. There were no honey-laden queries before you went to sleep, his usual attempts to drag something personal out of you; all he did was bid you goodnight and rest his eyes. 

It was enough to make your stomach churn. 

And here you are, picking at breakfast. You weren’t in the mood for eggs--because of how restless you felt? You weren’t sure--but that’s what he gave you, and it’s what you were going to eat this morning.

The breakfast table is unusually quiet, almost taking on a veneer of domesticity, until he speaks up. 

“I’m taking you to meet someone today.” You look up, genuinely shocked. He continues, ignoring the wary, uncertain expression on your face. “Several people, in fact.”

The runny yolk clinging to your fork seems suddenly interesting. It makes a little pattern when you scrape the fork against the bottom of your plate, dragging gooey orange with it.

Your voice is thick with sarcasm, a tone you often take with him when the subject gets uncomfortable. 

“Soo… is this a ‘I’m taking you to meet my parents’ type of thing? Because I don't think t hey’ll--”

“No,” he says, interrupting. Something in his clipped tone makes you immediately clam up. There might as well be a red sign above his head, flashing, DANGER, DANGER, DO NOT ENTER. So you drop it.

“Companions,” he continues, more calm and routine now. He begins to butter your toast for you (a gesture he insists upon, and which you hate) as he speaks, and you shove a piece of warm egg white in  your mouth. “The closest ones I’ve had.” He pauses. “Except for you, of course, dearest.” He says this last bit to soothe your ego, as if you were offended--you weren’t.

You eye the toast he drops on your plate and pick it up. Maybe if you eat faster, you can get some reading time in before you go… wherever it is he’s taking you. Thinking about it too much makes you feel a little sick. 

“What’s the occasion, anyway?” The toast is warm and perfectly buttered and delicious. It annoys you, that he knows how to butter your toast so well. It’s such a stupid, small thing--but it’s grating, especially right now, with things so out of sorts. “You don’t normally let other people near me.”

He smiles, and you could swear it’s wistful. “No, not normally. This is different. It’s customary to introduce our companions once they’re… settled.” 

You don’t like how he says the word settled. You don’t like how he says the words companions, either, for that matter. You’re about to tell him as such, when he speaks up, asking a question that raises your alertness even higher. 

“Are you going to be good today?” 

Your lip quirks up, mouth still filled with toast, when you answer. This morning, the sass feels forced. 

“Am I ever bad?”

He hums, and sips his coffee. “That depends on the perspective, doesn’t it?”

You don’t respond, and the two of you eat in silence that doesn’t quite feel companionable. There’s something in the air. Thick and buzzy. You can’t shake off the feeling of dread that’s building inside you, and it doesn't get any better when Chrollo finishes his meal and stands to go clean up the dishes. 

Or when he leans over the table and places his hand on your hand.  His favorite gesture. Your fingers twitch but you resist the urge to smack him away today. It feels like the wrong move right now. 

“Really,” Chrollo says, adding your name with a seriousness that you’ve rarely heard. “Do behave yourself today.”

You swallow the toast and pretend the knot in your stomach is from the eggs.

--

Suddenly, Chrollo seems far more normal than you’ve ever viewed him before. Far more safe. And it’s this newfound perspective that keeps you almost clinging to his side.

You forget the names of the people in front of you as soon as Chrollo introduces them. You hope it doesn’t matter . You’ll probably forget their faces, too, if you don’t see them often enough. But you won’t forget the absolute power that radiates from them, even standing here simply and casually. You feel this with Chrollo, too, but never to this degree. Is it because Chrollo turns himself down for you, or because there’s only one of him? 

After, it’s time to introduce you. Chrollo has the decency to keep holding your hand--you don’t want to be separate from him for once, at this moment--as he nudges you forward just enough. He tells them your name--you wonder if they care, and then doubt it. 

“And it goes without saying,” he continues, some sort of soft pride in his tone, “that they’re my--”

Christ, you’re scared of the people in front of you, and maybe it’s the terror that pushes forward that impulsive, intrusive desire to keep Chrollo from telling his companions that you’re dating or in a relationship or whatever he had in mind. 

“We’re roommates,” you blurt out, loud, obtrusive. “Just roommates.” 

You’re proud of yourself for saying this, as you are every time you manage to keep the only thing you have left intact. Proud and relieved and feeling high from the adrenaline of it all. 

But oh, the way Chrollo grips your hand tighter. Oh, the way the expressions on the people in front of you shift in varying degrees, eyebrows raised, expressions disbelieving. One of them, impossibly huge with a matching mane of hair, snorts out a laugh that he smothers when Chrollo inclines his head just a fraction toward him.

Oh, you have fucked up. You have fucked up in a way that makes your stomach drop, makes your hand begin to tremble, and not just because of Chrollo’s increasingly uncomfortable grip on your hand.

--

The lock clicks behind you and it seems to resound louder than ever before. Was the hotel room always so chilly? Maybe the heat wasn’t working. 

Or maybe it was the fact that Chrollo said not a single word on the ride home, or on the way into the hotel, or in the elevator on the ride up to your room. You thought he might have calmed down on the way home, but no such luck. On the way, you tried to think 

You drop your coat on the bed and resolve to hop in the shower, to get away from him for a bit, to hopefully let things get back to normal. But he says your name, almost too quiet to hear, and you slowly turn to face him.

“Chrollo?” Your throat feels tight and you swallow against it. 

He’s staring down at his hand. At his finger. Then he looks up at you.

You’re about to make an absurd joke about a wedding ring, anything to ease the tension, but the deepened look in his gaze stops you. Deep and dark and almost frenzied. Your heart suddenly feels like it’s leaping. You pissed him off, you really did, and he didn’t have to say a thing for you to know it.

“Roommates.” 

He takes a step toward you. You take a step back. He takes a step forward. And you go back, until you’re against a wall. The shell you’ve made around yourself, carefully laid with quips and smirks and endless distractions, cracks with each of his footsteps.

”Listen,” you say, voice light and wobbling. Maybe you can save this. Maybe. “About tonight, I know I shouldn’t have said--”

“Be quiet,” he says, firm, unrelenting. You shouldn’t push him, and your stomach drops to the floor as he presses himself against you. 

In a moment, he’s not just against you--but kissing you. It’s not a nice kiss, nothing soft or sweet. There’s frenzy in it, desperation, frustration. You don’t know if lips can bruise but if they do, yours surely will. You keep your teeth clenched but it doesn’t stop him, licking and biting at your lips as your stomach flips horribly. 

It’s too much. You don’t want this, not like this, not him, not here--

After far too long, he slowly pulls himself away from you. The dark expression in his eyes has only deepened.

“You’ve really never seen it,” he says, breath warm against your cheek. He sounds as if he’s finally realized something important. And he has.

“What?” You blink, you shake your head, you want to get away. You turn your head away from him, anything to stop seeing that look in his eyes, but his hand grips your chin and turns it back. “I’ve never seen what?”

“The red thread,” he murmurs, the words soft against your lips.

“What are you talking about?” You don’t hide your confusion, voice cracking and airy.

The hand holding your chin relents and he trails his thumb over your sore lips before pulling away entirely.

“The red thread,” he tells you, and instead of anger in his voice there is only a deep indulgence. It scares you far more than the chilly atmosphere in the car ride back. “Why do you think I chose you, hm?” His voice drops lower and the words are too close, too intimate, too much. “We’re soul mates.” 

Your brain scrambles, but not a single snarky word comes to mind. You weren’t… completely oblivious to the concept of soul mates. You knew people who swore they could see a connection between them and someone else. Red threads, sure, and sometimes other things. Names etched on skin. Symbolic tattoos. But you had never seen anything like that on your body.

Was there really a red thread connecting the two of you? It would explain a lot of things. Like why he took you. Like why he put up with you.

“I don’t want to be soul mates.” You don’t mind it, the freedom from all those burdens. You will pay the price of captivity if it means release from all that, but this last thing? Your ability to be yourself, to be separate from him in some way? You won’t give that up. Not willingly. Never. 

He only chuckles, short and dark, at your words. There’s something bitter in it.

“It doesn’t matter what you want.” His hand comes up to caress your cheek again, and the unwanted touch seems to remind you of everything he’s taken from you. You’re starting to feel sick. “The thread that connects us was pre-destined. You could hate me, dislike me, all you want and…”

“I don’t hate you,” you interrupt, blunt, blurting. Intrusive thoughts win out again. 

He raises his eyebrows and his eyes widen and in that, there’s a fraction of vulnerability. Like a tiny fissure. 

“No? Then why do you persist in refusing me?” 

Looking at him is hard, but this time, he lets you turn your head away, dropping his hands to his sides. You’re stuck right in front of him, regardless. It’s the least he could do.

“I don’t like you… like that.” You bite on the inside of your cheek. “I mean, well. You kidnapped me. I don’t think that’s unreasonable to say.” You glance at him, but he doesn’t look angry. Merely interested.

You take a deep breath, and a confessional sigh escapes your throat. “But I can live with this.” You gesture towards the room. “With being kidnapped, I mean. It’s not all bad.” You think about how you no longer rip your hair out from stress or cry yourself to sleep wondering how the bills will be paid this month. “As long as you’re not trying to do… the relationship stuff.” You drag your teeth over your bottom lip.  You can still taste him, insistent and firm.

Tentatively, you let your gaze return to meet his. Behind his eyes, you can practically see the clockwork and cogs moving.

“I see,” he says, slow, thoughtful. “Thank you for the clear explanation.”

“Are you mad?” 

He smiles. It looks like a weight has been taken off his chest, and that scares you. 

“Of course not. Apologies will be in order for your behavior earlier today. But as for the rest? I’m not angered in the slightest.” 

“Why not?”

The hand, the one he claimed held the red thread, catches against your own. His fingers interlock with yours and you feel too numb to pull away this time.

“Simple, dearest.” He pulls his fingers tighter and somehow it feels like your hands will never part again. It’s a ridiculous thought, childish, but it makes your heart quicken anyway. “Since you are so prone to acclimating to your… situation in other respects, I feel confident that you will not always feel so negatively towards a relationship with me.”

You want to protest. You start to, but you can’t find the words–sarcastic or otherwise. 

“After all,” he continues, voice low and smooth and confident now. His other hand returns to your chin, tilting it up as he stares at you, assessing, greedily taking the sight of you in. “I have the rest of our lives together to change your mind.” 

#yandere chrollo #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #yandere chrollo lucilfer #afterwitch writes

[muzansfangs]

Bloodstain.

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader; mention to past Shuhei Hisagi x f!reader; Rukia, Ichigo and Renji;

Format: multi-chapers story;

General warnings for the following chapters: nsfw, age gap between Sosuke and the reader (who is twenty-three years old), post TYBW events, solitude, touch-starved Aizen, possible spoilers, mention to hook-ups, vaginal sex, use of alcohol, drunk sex, unprotected sex, marking the partner, breeding kink, rough sex, dom!Aizen, sub!reader, accidental pregnancy, protective Aizen, struggling with emotions, mutual pining, self-doubting, domestic fluff, conflict with the Central 46, mention to violence and gore;

Warnings for this chapter: mention to war, casual hook-up between Shuhei and the reader, use of alcohol, self-deprecating behavior, fainting, mention to pregnancy;

Plot: With Yhwach’s defeat, you can finally go back to your ordinary life in the World of the livings, or so you thought. Staying in the Soul Society for another day to attend the celebration of the glorious victory over the Sternritters did not sound that bad, until you crossed paths with your recent fling. Drinking too much to forget about it, you end up falling at the feet of your greatest source of distress: Aizen Sosuke.

MASTERLIST | PROLOGUE | TO THE NEXT CHAPTER

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟’𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐧.

People chattering about unimportant matters, taking swigs of saké, finally enjoying the gentle breeze of a summer night without drawing their blades to defend their lives were delightfully comforting. The Seireitei was gradually going back to restore its former beauty. Some buildings were still undergoing renovations, the injured soldiers and Captains were still recovering from the fierce battles they had fought, but that night people were, at least, leaving their barracks and homes to enjoy the jollifications of Yhwach's downfall.

No more battlecries and bloodcurdling screams of agony echoed through the streets, replaced by the unmistakable glee of a crowd of people who had survived the brutality of a war no one was prepared for. There was hope twinkling in the eyes of the kids playing around the Soul Society, looking for the officers who had saved their lives to thank them and proudly announcing they were soon going to enroll at the Academy. Their parents, injured and tired, watched them from afar, not frightened anymore by the idea of a Sternritter slicing their heads off of their shoulders.

You faintly smiled, your eyes searching for your friends to join them. You were pretty sure you had caught a glimpse of Renji's crimson hair in your peripheral, but you had been dragged in the opposite direction by the human tide marching towards the drinking stalls.

Perhaps, you should have accepted Rukia's suggestion to spend the day at the Kuchiki Estate and attending the festival together. Yet, the idea of bumping into her stolid, grumpy brother, who tended to pop out of no where and make you regret stepping into his manor every single time you wandered through the intricate corridors of his mazy house, sounded unappealing back then.

Still, the perspective of being humiliated by Byakuya's paternalistic way of chiding you did not seem that awful now that you were literally adrift and in need of assistance to find your way out of the flood of drunk and dancing people surrounding you.

You were genuinely frustrated, head whipping around erratically, yearning to spot a familiar face. Apparently, you were destined to spend the night alone. Or so you thought.

Hands sliding down your hips and dragging you out of the crowd made you both let out a pathetic screech and almost draw your blade. The risk of accidentally slashing someone, though, worked as a deterrent to unsheathe your zanpakuto and therefore you resolved on the self-defence lessons you had received from Urahara. Swinging your right arm on your right, you tried to backhand your kidnapper across the jaw. Missing your target, you scoffed and, when your feet touched the ground again, you were determined to knock your aggressor down.

His hand promptly wrapping around your ankle the moment your foot tried to hit his side, prevented you two from spending a most likely awkward night in the Fourth Division's hospital wing. Now, face to face with the stranger, your jaw went slack and you were glad he decided to break the ice first. Out of everyone you could run into, of course you had to meet your most recent fling.

"We need to stop meeting like that" Shuhei jested, cocking his head to the side upon letting go of your ankle and granting you the chance to lower your leg.

Your parted lips closed, hands tugging the hem of your skirt down, whilst the angles of your lips lifted in a soft smile "Definitely" you agreed, nodding your head and raising your hands apologetically.

"I think you owe me a 'thank you, Lieutenant Hisagi'. Maybe also a kiss, or two to idolatrize me like I deserve, you know?" he bantered, folding his arms against his chest, his dark grey eyes vainly attempting to fathom the layers of your mind .

But you both knew there was only one person around who could do that and, surely, it was not Shuhei Hisagi.

You scrunched up your nose and waved your hand at him dismissively, mentally cursing yourself for not having cleared things out between you two before the commotion caused by the war. How could you, though? With you living in the World of the livings and being a university student with a part-time job at Urahara's shop, you did not have much time left to visit the Soul Society.

On the other hand, Shuhei was always swamped with work and dealing with his new Captain was decidedly a challenge. After that one-night stand you had a couple of months ago, when you offered him a place to stay to spend the night after a mission in Karakura, you had not talked about your relationship anymore. What were you two? Allies and friends aside, obviously.

"There's no need to gloat. I'm not a damsel in distress. I would have found my way out of there anyway. — you replied, a tinge of feigned annoyance in your voice as you shot an arrogant look at him — Sorry about it, but no kisses tonight" you added, right before you heard someone calling out your name at your back.

You glanced above your shoulder quickly, eyes landing on Rukia and your younger step-brother, Ichigo, waving at you enthusiastically. It was refreshing seeing them smile again after everything you all had been through. It still felt surreal.

Shuhei followed your gaze, quirking a dark eyebrow up resignedly. Another day wasted in trying to figure you out, another chance to confess his feelings evaporating before his eyes.

"Just tonight? What about tomorrow?" he asked you, a small grin crossing his lips as you felt cold sweat collect on the back of your neck. He was undoubtedly giving it his best shot.

"You are persistent. The war changed you, I see" you commented, avoiding his question as you always did.

"I know what I want now. Or better, who I want".

His words caused you to falter, lips parting as you let the implications of his assertion sink in. He wanted you, he had really just thrown his intentions at your face and left you with the burden of making such a decision over a night, letting it weigh on your shoulders at the worst moment possible. Maybe you deserved it: striving and ripping your heart out of your chest, while everyone else cheered and celebrated the incoming years of peace and stability, was nothing but the law of retaliation you had ended up subjecting yourself to with your evasive way of handling love-issues.

You swallowed forcefully, but before you could even pronounce his name again, Ichigo's voice pierced your ears again and you shrugged in defeat, taking some lumpish steps back to join your crew.

"I really should go. See you tomorrow, okay?" you stated way too quickly for your own likings, hoping he would drop the topic for the time being.

Shuhei nodded his head at you, hands raising to give you the thumbs-up "No problem" he reassured you, but you could tell he yearned to spend more time talking with you. His gaze was longing for more than a frivolous chit-chat, just like it did that infamous night spent in talking on the small balcony of your flat, among the bittersweet scent of peonies.

You two had an undeniable connection. But it was not enough for you. It would have never been enough, because you had, much to your dismay, molded your standards over the worst person ever. You refused to even say his name, to add another problem to deal with to your already plagued mind, even if you had to admit you had not been able to get him out of your head since you crossed paths again on the battlefield a few days ago.

That man, your nemesis, the achetype of everything you should have viscerally hated, was undeniably the only one who knew what secrets your eyes harboured. Your relationship with him was far from being healthy.

It was the antonym of healthy, actually.

A public enemy, an emotionally unavaiable man with a pretty evident god complex could never be able to show empathy to anyone, not even to himself. Surprisingly, though, your interactions had always been quite inspiring. Who was this man? A brilliant genius gone bad, alone, utterly alone. It was infuriating how he could read your mind the same way he read your body language during a fight. Drawn to him, you wondered why you had always had such a low sense of self-preservation and found yourself enticed by unreliable men with a debatable scheme of things.

"Gosh, what did Shuhei tell you? You look distraught" Rukia noted, furrowing her brows.

"Distraught? You've been way too kind. She looks more like a cantankerous granny who got rolled over by a car" Ichigo interjected, earning a kick in the shins by the short shinigami.

Or, as you loved to call her, his biggest 'what if'.

Fixing your attitude, you forcefully smiled, shrugging it off with a nod "Oh, it's nothing! I haven't slept well in that Inn. — you partially lied, albeit your back agreed with your complaint — It's more like I'm not used to sleep on the floor" you added, as the three of you took what you assumed was a short-cut to the village square.

"I will pretend to buy your words. Frankly, just because I heard there's a stall selling plushies of Chappy and I intend to purchase the limited edition one" Rukia saved you, tugging at the hem of Ichigo's sleeve to drag him along and leave you some space to clear out your mind.

You were glad Rukia had seen it in your eyes. You would have caught up with them later on. For the time being, all you needed was a distraction. A distraction in the form of saké and candy floss, to be precise. A weird mix, way too sugary and disgusting, but with your head in the clouds and your heart sinking into a sea of sorrow you did not feel like self-deprecating about your eating habits.

Distancing yourself from the jolly atmosphere around you sounded like a good idea and you therefore decided to venture towards the old barracks. You did not pay much attention to where you were going, your feet led you up through a wooden staircase, your hands occupied by your snacks, as you kept on brooding over your shortcomings. On top of that stood your inability of trying to be happy, for once.

"Fuck it all, fuck me and fuck him" you grumbled, gulping down the alcohol in search for a magical solution to your problem.

You were soon spent, the taste of the saké mixed with sugar left such a syrupy taste indulging on your tongue that you almost felt like puking. The Moon was no longer shining up above, ominous and dark clouds gathered on the horizon, ironically matching your mood. Not long after the first thunder rolled out in the distance, a droplet of water splashed onto the tip of your nose and you pouted. Rain. It was raining.

You could not make it back to your room at the Inn to find shelter and you were way too far from your friends's quarters to make it in time before it began to pour. Also, how would you have made it there in the first place, when you kept on stumbling on your feet and your vision was beginning to get blurry?

Cussing under your breath, you glanced at the doors at your right. No officers were there, or at least so you had been told. The idea of getting soaked not to barge in and wait for you to sober up out in the rain did not even crossed your mind for a second. Marching towards one of the doors, you sighed and raised your hand to slide it open. Your grip on the jug, thoug, loosened, your hands trembling all of a sudden making you frown, as the sound of pottery shattering into a million splinters made you flinch. How did it happen? Were you really that far gone?

What you did not expect, though, was for your knees to buckle as the wave of a familiar reiatsu hit you with such a force to make your rotula ungraciously hit the floor. You were drunk, there was no doubt about it, but you were not hallucinating. Your wary eyes flicked up, the sharp jawline of the man you had been cursing for years and longing for blessing your vision like a lucid dream. The eye-patch, the way his lips curled into a cocky grin upon watching you struggle onto the floor, even his posture gave away the fact that it was not a trick your mind was playing on you.

He was there, a palm away from you.

You gawked, the tall man in front of you peering down at you like someone who was inspecting a wounded animal at their doorway with unbridled curiosity. There you were, unable to move a muscle, out of your mind and puzzled by his presence. He was not supposed to be there.

"Fancy meeting you here" he chimed, hands behind his back, as he leaned forward just enough to make sure your eyes were staring deeply into his shimmering caramel one.

Your mouth had gone dry, it felt like chalk, a million of questions popping into your mind one after the other made your head spin. You were supposed to talk, to say something, to stand up and leave but all you did was whispering a name, his name.

"Sosuke" your vision darkening, as you eventually slumped down at his feet with a thud, unable to withstand the stress and his reiatsu in the poor state you were in.

How he had missed the way you, only you out of everyone, called him by his first name, even if he had almost killed your step-brother and your beloved father. There was no way he was going to leave you, the potential form of entertainment at hand, stay out there alone, unconscious, and miss his opportunity to get under your skin as he always had done.

“Pitiful” he uttered, rolling you over your back with his foot and bending down to hook his hands underneath your armpits to drag you inside the warm room.

You two could not know it back then, but this was the first link in a chain leading to a series of unfortunate events that were going to inevitably end in only one way. The day you were going to hold a pregnancy test in your hand, standing on the threshold of Kisuke’s shop, staring at him with a dumbfounded expression on your face, was not that far.

AUTHOR NOTE.

My dear readers, I am honored to finally introduce you to my Aizen Sosuke fan fiction. I had been thinking about this for months. I still have no idea of how many chapters long it will be. Stick around and find out yourselves. All I know is that the next chapter is going to be shameless filth. The same story will be uploaded on my Wattpad profile under the username of @/muzansfangs. As per usual, likes, comments and, mostly, re-posts are greatly appreciated.

Love, Luce ✨

TAGS: @pseudowho @stygianoir @onyxino @sashi-ya

#aizen sosuke x reader #aizen x reader #bleach x reader #aizen sosuke smut #sosuke aizen x reader #bleach smut #hisagi shuhei x reader #shuhei hisagi x reader #ichigo x reader #rukia x reader #kisuke urahara x reader #kyoraku shunsui x reader #kuchiki byakuya x reader #aizen smut #urahara x reader #grimmjow x reader #zaraki kenpachi x reader #bleach

[theflyindutchwoman]

You make that your home screen, you're gonna be running the Academy training course in a bomb disposal suit. I would never do that. It is now my lock screen. Listen, I wouldn't have gotten this stupid plaque if you didn't have my back today. So, you know, thanks. For what? Doing my job?

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 2.08 - Clean Cut

Going back to these early moments is always fascinating… To see how far they've come… How Tim was already struggling so much with keeping his wall, pretending to be annoyed with Lucy's antics, but failing miserably. Like when she takes advantage of the situation by taking so many pictures of him, using Rachel as an excuse to get away with it. He may try to use threats as a deterrent but his tone is much softer than usual. Even his grumpiness is quickly replaced by amusement. Especially once Lucy pulls one over him, by making him her lock screen instead of her home screen, finding a loophole. A simple way of showing how comfortable she is around him at this point. His jaw clench… His little smile, so bashful… How he's trying to hide it by lowering his head - not that he's fooling anyone. And this is a good way to get back at him for making those TShirts after he caught her sleeping during their night shift. And he knows it… Most importantly, he absolutely loves that she can give as good as she gets. That she isn't afraid of him and sees right through him. He may not be able to verbalise it but it is important to him. Just like it means a lot to him that she made sure he would get his award.

Or 'this stupid plaque' as he says… And that's truly a Tim Bradford thing, to downplay his own achievements. But this is someone who takes pride in his job, who actually probably found comfort in it when his personal life was falling apart. So for all his protests, deep down, it's clear that he is touched to receive it. Just like he is touched that Lucy fought so hard to clear his name and had his back the whole time. Again. Just like he had hers during her Plain Clothes Day for instance. And this leads us to this sweet moment between them, with Lucy repeating his own words from Redwood back to him… 'For what? Doing my job?'… This was really the moment where Tim showed her his softer side. Where he helped ground her. That was a turning point in their relationship, which makes her choice of words so meaningful. She is a quick learner. The way her eyes twinkles when she says them… Her smug smile… She is absolutely enjoying herself. But here's the thing : she did more than just her job. Again. She didn't hesitate to go toe to toe with a superior officer (again!), regardless of the consequences for her. As a rookie, her position is precarious but that has never stopped her. She has had Tim's back from the very beginning, looking out for him. This goes far beyond than merely doing her job.

Then again, those are the same idiots who practice kissing for 'work'… And who apparently have no understanding of the concept of personal space… In front of their colleagues. Like I said, going back to these early moments is always fascinating… To see how far they've come… And to see how some things haven't changed at all. How they've always used 'work' as a way to express their feelings without realising it.

#the rookie #chenford #chenfordedit #lucy chen #tim bradford #2.08 #Anatomy of a scene - Chenford Edition

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Thick!Fem!Survivor in a Bikini

Requested: Yes! [love your works. never stop doing those please.. also just see your request are open so.. i want to request for ghostface, the legion (frank and julie), wesker, the trapper and the doctor react to their fav fem!survivor in like a bikini outfits (also if you could make her have a big boobs or maybe like some sort of chubby body then i would love it even more :))]

Warnings: ✨Spice✨, FEM!Reader

A/N:

Ghostface

Pictures. So so many pictures, each one more perfect than the last in his eyes. And there was never enough, no matter the fact that he had so many that his card read as full. Good thing he had a spare on him! This one empty of any photos, though soon to be full as well. He’ll waste away the whole trial following you around, his hands running along the thick curves of your body whenever he can get close enough without you noticing him. But even if you did notice him, it’s not much of a deterrent. Did you really think you could show up in front of him while wearing that and just get away?

Frank

Drooling. Drooling SO much. He’s staring the second he sees you, immediately reaching out to grasp your thick waist in his bandaged hands as he presses his chest into your back, his mask on the ground as he bites and sucks on the back of your neck, grinding into your plush ass through his jeans. Frank is such a sucker for big girls, it makes him look stupid and by the end of this trial you will be sitting on his face, your thick thighs smothering him to death. Legit doesn’t even care if you actually kill him while doing it, since he’ll just be resurrected by the entity anyways. He hopes.

Julie

Much like Frank, Julie is drooling, wanting to bury her face between your thighs and just suffocate. But Julie is just a tad bit more subtle than Frank. She’s not just outright groping, she’s fingers trailing softly down your spine, plucking at the strings of your bikini. She’s not deep bites and bleeding scratches, she’s a whisper in your ear, carrying the most sinful promises. She and Frank are two people that compliment and contrast each other perfectly in almost every way. Brawn and Brain, Force and Manipulation, Fast and Slow. She’s likely to invite you to share both her and Frank’s bed, once she’s done making you ride her fingers in this trial.

Wesker

Wesker is definitely surprised to see you in such an outfit at first, staring you down from a distance, slowly getting closer to you, taking in the shape of your body from every angle he can see, and once he gets close enough? He can’t help but let ouroboros wander over your skin, slipping under your scant clothing, between your thighs. Even when you’re crying and shaking from everything he’s doing to you. How could you ever expect him to resist when you just looked so good like that? Like a present just for him.

Trapper

N I C E. You can’t look at Trapper and tell me he doesn’t like thick girls. He fucking LOVES thick girls, remembers how he used to trail after daughters of the miners with chests so thick they almost popped out of their modest gowns, hips so thick that they showed through all the layers they wore. Part of him enjoyed indulging in thoughts of how it was money that his family gave their fathers that kept their bellies so full, kept them as thick as they were, their healthy pallor. He’s reminded of those thoughts as he looks at you. Granted, you’re not so modestly dressed as them but he actually likes it, likes the way they scant fabric clings to your skin. But what’s even better is when he rips it off you, clutching you to him even as you squirm, feeling along your curves, between your folds, cupping your full breasts. Yes, he really enjoyed this.

Doctor

Very bold of you to assume that the Doctor didn’t carefully plan this all out, to the very last detail. Down to convincing the Entity that yes, the bikini was necessary, and that no, he definitely didn’t have anything particularly heinous on his mind. Not that she believed that at all, but he had been doing particularly well in trials and she thought he deserves to be rewarded. Which is how you ended up Adrianna Imai’s bed (she was going to KILL you in all your future trials with her), The Doctor’s hands emitting little pain-pleasure sparks as they roamed your skin, snapping at the strings of your bikini while emitting his usual maniacal giggles.

#dbd #dead by daylight #Danny Johnson #danny johnson x reader #frank morrison #frank morrison x reader #julie kostenko #julie kostenko x reader #Albert weaker #albert wesker x reader #resident evil #evan macmillan #evan macmillan x reader #herman carter #herman carter x reader