#he's impractical but it's okay because he's cute.

[neet-elite]

↳ EVENT 05. Sebastian (Yandere)

Pairing: Sebastian / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 2,241 Warnings: yandere, blood play, knife play, pet name (bunny), implied self harm (not depicted!!!), blood drinking, dacryphilia Prompt(s): 18 — yandere Wanna take part in the event?: CLICK HERE!!

A/N: the bread and butter sebastian... tbh i think the yandere trope fits him so well. loner in the mountains? always fun to write sebastian being a bastard tysm for sending this prompt in !! mwah!!

All you had to do was follow some simple instructions. They're not even that hard to follow, made intentionally dumb for his pretty baby to understand. And only thee of them too! Isn't he kind? He doesn't expect much from you, because you're already perfect in his heart eyes. Three rules, that's all. Just keep quiet. Stay put. Don't try and open the door. And deep down, Sebastian knows that you're good. Such a good girl, aren't you? The idea that you'd be intentionally trying to disobey and attempting to leave him isn't even worth entertaining— because there's a much more understandable reason behind your mistrust, isn't there?

Plainly put, he imagines that you're trying to provoke him only to see if he's being serious about his love for you. Metaphorically poking the bear just to feel the sharp sting of its teeth on your neck, a sure reminder of his affections for you. And in that respect, he can understand why the locked basement door handle was jiggling around in spite of his clear cut rules, frantic in how even the wood shook against itself. In your quest for seeking his attention, you've in turn reminded him to buy more locks. See, you really are such a good girl, aren't you?

Walking down each step one at a time, he listens to the way the door slowly starts to stop squeaking. Every step down the sound of the handle grows quieter, softer, as if his presence alone was enough to whip you back into shape. Which is preferable, in all honesty. And so he finds himself smiling from ear to ear in pride as he gets to the door, pressing the side of his face to it to listen to you scurry around, waiting until you've eventually settled on some place to sit before digging the room key out of his back pocket to unlock the door.

"Bunny?" He affectionately calls out to you once he enters, quickly scanning the room before easily finding your fearful gaze. And oh how you wear fear well, how those big wide eyes look like pleading to him, especially as he takes a few steps forward only to close the door behind him, turning his back to you briefly to lock it again. Something he hates doing, y'know? Taking his eyes off of you for even a second— if he had it his way, you'd be glued to his hip. But he understands how impractical that would be, and so settles for captivity. "Did you need something?" He questions, tone sickeningly sweet in how fake he's being right now.

One step forward, and he watches as you cower from him on the bed. Another few steps forward, and he's privy to the sight of you huddling under his bed sheets, panic stricken expression going straight to his perverted cock from how cute you look when trying to hide from him. And then; how he hears you audibly gasp when he next speaks. Are you a little scared, bunny? It's okay, he won't be as savage as the bear. Because despite needing to punish you for misbehaving, he's doing so under the impression that you're asking for it. Going against his rather easy to follow rules in hopes of having him enact penalisation.

"Because, I seem to remember telling you not to leave this room, right?" He smiles when he reaches the edge of the bed, taking the opportunity to sit beside you as you remain stuck in place. Frozen in fear, which his cock likes very much so. Burning with greed right in the pit of his stomach, how it rises to tighten around his lungs when all you do is stare back at him. Cute, he thinks. So fucking cute when you're so scared, his fingers straining with want to pet your pretty little head.

For he's not stupid. He can read between the lines, see through your little victim act. Because he only ever wants what's best for you, remember? Which is why there are rules in the first place— it's all just to help you be as happy and as comfortable as possible, meaning he has to always keep an eye on you. Ah, just you wait till he tells you about the hidden camera surrounding his room, too! Allowing him to watch your every move even when he has to unfortunately leave the house, or even just to the kitchen. You need protection, and given your stunt over trying to knock the locked door down, he's convinced that you're just testing his limits. Wanting him to prove to you that he'll be at your beck and call— from anywhere. Even from within your own new four walls. Home.

A tut soon escapes him, but it's half hearted at best. It's difficult to be upset at your lack of verbal communication when you look so sweet when silent, and he considers himself an expert at understanding you regardless of whether you talk or not. Your silence, in his mind, is proof of such fact, and he takes a moment to consider your wants and needs. Head cocked to the side in thought, not attempting to get any closer to you in favour of simply thinking. Like watching an animal at the zoo, wondering what it must be thinking about.

"Ah, I know." He states apathetically, suddenly standing from his seated position and smiling warmly down at you when you jump back in fright. He's studied you for a while now, y'know. Creeping behind bushes, stalking late at night outside your bedroom window— your sleeping face is so pretty, God, the amount of times he's stroked himself silly to the sight, fogged up your thin windows like a bitch in heat. But now that he's finally got you in his room, tucked away under his bed sheets, locked safe and sound, he thinks you've never been prettier. In part because you suit the look of absolute despair as he walks towards his computer desk, digging through one of the old drawers to bring out a shiny item for you. A gift, if you will. A promise of his obsessive love, and how he'll never stop, even if you keep trying to escape. He'll happily prove himself to you over and over again if that's what it takes!

Lust pools in his tummy at the look you give him upon shining the knife in the dim light of his basement room. Barely held in his hand, spinning the item around a few times to inspect the sharpness. Could it be cleaned? Probably, but his cock twitches at the thought of sharing blood with you, even just a minimal amount. He always washes it after use, and accidentally making you sick by way of an unclean blade only gets him more excited. Instinctive cravings rolling down his spine at the thought of having you rely on him even more than you've already been forced to, shaking in his steps as he once again returns to the bed; only this time he follows your movements as you shuffle away from him and onto the corner of the sheets, prompting him to reach out to tightly grab at your arm so you can escape no further.

Maybe he's holding you a bit too tightly, but the tears that well in your eyes as your gaze flicks between his wide smile and the knife only serve to turn him on some more, tent in his pants just for you, oh you pretty thing, he's so hard because of how cute you are! Isn't this what you wanted? Isn't that what love is? A little pain for a lot of gain. Knife in hand, inching his body closer to your own and adjusting his grip until he's right before you, leaking precum all over himself to the way your eyes drop to his needy cock more than once.

He was right, you are after him, aren't you?

Lifting the knife to right in front of your face, unable to stop his smile from growing at the way you shield your view from it, he tells you a little secret. Letting you know exactly how he plans on showing his love for you, because you deserve some warning for letting him indulge like this. That, and his cock practically begs to scare you some more, to watch those tears roll over and stain your red cheeks in selfish satisfaction. Perverted gratification, would that he could start petting at his fat bulge before you, but you still need to be taught some bedside manners. Such as;

"Stay still." He says calmly, flipping your arm around with ease so as to have access to the inner side, locking his fist around your snappable wrist without much care.

"Wait— Sebastian, I'm sorry, just don't—"

Just looking at you is enough to shut you up, cold stare gawking as if he hadn't a single care about you; a stark contrast to his still yet trembling cock in his pants, repositioning his body and "accidentally" thrusting his cock more in your direction. Fuck, you shouldn't hand him such power over so easily, the sight of your eyes squeezed tightly shut, forcing a few tears to drip drop onto your cheeks, and eventually his bed, has his body positively thrumming with sadistic enjoyment.

Part of him wishes you'd continue begging, let him see just how desperate you can get when faced with your new toy. But more than that, he wants to remind you of his cruel love. It's what he came down here to do, isn't it? What you slammed the door for, right?

"Please be good for me and sit still," He repeats himself, adopting a softer look in the face of your clear fear. As cute as it is, he loves you, his heart pleading to comfort your frightened state. "It'll be over soon, promise. Don't wanna hurt you, kay?"

And before he has a chance to register your response, his knife comes into contact with your pretty wrist and the squeak the metal brings out of you is enough to leave him yearning. Eyes rolled back briefly in hedonistic pleasure, from a single fucking yelp. God, you're so perfect. So pretty and perfect that he can't wait to defile you with his dirty knife, to bare witness to your extreme vulnerability, stand up to the challenge of tending to your self imposed wounds. All in the name of love— it's his life purpose at this point.

It makes sense in his lust fuelled mind, anyway. Overflowing with love for you, brimming over and out into his trembling fist wrapped securely around the knife, all it'd take is a little more pressure. Just a small amount downwards, breach the first layer of your skin and—

Fuck, he's panting. Literally heaving over your quivering frame like some sort of twisted deviant. You know he's doing this out of love, right? That he just adores you way too much to let your actions go unpunished, taking a single shaky inhale before digging the tip of the knife into your soft, supple, skin.

Not too deep! No, this is more of a warning rather than anything more substantial, but it's enough. Enough to leave him drooling over your arm at the mere sight of bright red trickling down it, staining the metal dark for him to lick at later. A measly surface level scratch in his eyes, staring at the mark intensely as he drags the knife across the width of your arm, cock jumping in his pants with every grunt and sigh that escapes your pretty kissable lips with his violent movements.

Lovers meet eyes once he's done, the knife clumsily falling from his hand and onto the bed below, the way you flinch away from the offending item is what finally convinces him to give him cock a little more attention now that you've been properly punished. Pawing away at his jeans with heaving lungs, unable to decide whether to watch the blood trickle from your new cut, or to stare at the horrified expression you now wear as he effectively jerks off right in front of you.

He steals the illusion of choice away from you in one swift move anyway, grabbing at your arm and tugging it with a bruising grip to his lips. Immediately flattening his dirty tongue over the fresh wound, openly moaning against your skin at the taste of your sweet blood. Violence does not always take physical form, and he knows it to be true when he drips saliva along the cut, hoping to dribble parts of himself into you just as much as he's attempting to clean you all better. Or, perhaps more honestly, selfishly using your taste to get off to.

But there is so much love to be had in violence too, isn't there? The tender way his grip softens, now that he's drunk off your blood. How he's rushing to undress himself with one hand because he simply can't stand the thought of not showing you exactly what you do to him just by existing, by crying so prettily like that as he debases you in the secluded privacy of his basement room. With teeth and tongue, lapping with the intent of sucking you dry, huffing in your scent, mumbling over your taste— there is love, here.

Perhaps a little too much so.

#500 event! #sdv smut #sdv sebastian smut #sebastian smut #stardew valley smut #stardew valley sebastian smut

[babygray-dam]

Gintama. Plush Doll Pen Pouch Super DX ~Pajama Boy ver.~ (銀魂. ぬいぐるみペンポーチ超DX～パジャマっ子ver.～)

I’ve been semi-obsessed with these pen pouches from Jump Festa 2020 for a while. Look how cute they look in their little bed pockets!

I finally bought one and I, uh, didn’t look at the measurements.

... He is a big boy.

And the funniest thing? He's not even a good pen pouch. I tried to put the pen in the picture inside him, but he’s so full of stuffing, the actual pouch is too small for anything except an eraser or two.

#gintama #hijikata toushirou #this is the least useful pen case I now own. #but also very much the cutest. #he's impractical but it's okay because he's cute. #i too am impractical but cute. #i'm buying the other one very soon.

[walpu]

Hellohello, peeking from the corner

And dropping by to request Aventurine x reader that likes to give him trinkets and souvenirs from their travels.

And then one day they came with Ashy Paste/Grey Bean Paste version of them and him together all smiley faced and all.

(Fun fact, from a leak: Aventurine's actual name is Kakavasha. Fun fact 2: Kakava is a celebration event of the Romani people)

- 🪽

Aw it's such a cute request 😭 shaking crying asking hoyo to make the second part of the cats event with penacony and belobog characters

I've seen the leaks about his name and the meaning behind it since I'm literal insane about this man. Honestly this is such a pretty name 🥹

Hope you'll enjoy reading this 🌸

giving Aventurine Ruan Mei's cat creations that resemble the two of you

characters - Aventurine notes - gn!reader, fluff, was written with the established relationship in mind but works for pre-relatioship stage as well, no beta see I'm capable of writing something other than angst

First of all, he absolutely adores it when you give him small gifts from your travels.

It's a reminder that you care about him enough to think of him when he's not around.

And while yes, it's obvious that you care, it's nice to know that you care enough to go out of your way to do something for him.

He's a miserable man with no friends okay even the small trinket is enough to make him happy.

Keeps them safe and takes care of each and every gift you give him. Brings some a lot of them with him to casino or/and to his business meetings, claiming that those are his lucky charms.

If it's a peace of jewelry then he would not hesitate to buy several sets of clothes just to have numerous outfits specifically to show off your gift.

If it's some unusual gift then he would not leave you alone until you tell him where did you get it.

Speaking of unusual gifts. He certainly didn't expect that your visit the Herta Space Station will result in you bringing with you two... cat thingies?

At first he simply doesn't get it. It's a bit impractical for you to get a pet since you're traveling so much, no?

But then he notices. Something.

"Darling, call me a delusional romantic but don't they resemble us, hmm?"

When you tell him that those cat thingies are, in fact, creations of Ruan Mei herself, and you just accidentally helped her to creat two cats that resemble you two, he can't help but laugh.

"Ah, sugar, seems like it's not just me who is a helpless romantic. So you've missed me that much that you made are a cat just like me, haha?"

You explain to him that you didn't actually adopt them, Ruan Mei just let you take them with you for some time to examine how socialization with others outside if the Herta Station may affect them.

At first he thinks it's for the best, since, once again, it's impractical to keep them as pets.

Spoiler warning he'll pout and whine when it's time to return them to Ruan Mei.

Loves observing them. Like genuinely adores doing it. Especially if it's the cat that resembles you. Would pester you to take a look every time the cat acts like you.

Would probably feel a bit uncomfortable around the Aven!cat but eventually would warm up to him as well. Mostly because he'll notice how much the reader!cat loves him.

Takes a lot of pictures of the cats together and sends them to you.

"Us <з" "Yeah well they were literally made after us so..." "Uuuussss 😚😚😚"

You know how a lot of cat thingies were talking in high pitched voices? Yeah he would chuckle and pester you to try to talk like that as well.

Lmao but imagine Aven!cat saying something about risks and gambling and benefit etc etc in this high pitched voice. Aven himself would probably chuckle and say something like ”haha little guy knows what it's all about” but would sulk if you'll tease him about it.

Would probably try to buy them from Ruan Mei afterwards lol

#hsr aventurine #hsr #honkai star rail #reader insert #aventurine x reader #aventurine #walp's writing

[judebelle]

one with gavi where u guys r long distance and finally see each other again and it’s just cute and fluff

did i mention i missed you? - p.g. x reader

pairing : pablo gavi x fem!reader

cw : just stomach churning fluff

wc : 1.2k

author note : i need to write fluff more often cus wtf

---

it had been 34 days, 6 hours, and 43 minutes since you’d last seen pablo.

just kidding, you had no clue how long it’s been, but you felt sick with longing. all you knew was it had been a little over a month, and you couldn't wait any longer.

he played in barcelona and lived there as well, but you attended university in cueta, spain. it was around a 13 hour drive away, and with both your schedules being so busy and it being impractical, neither of you could drive so far on the regular.

it was just past mid terms, and you had planned to make a trip to see pablo. you two had talked about it, and he said he wasn’t too busy, and that you two would be able to spend a good amount of time together.

and that was all you needed. you packed your backpack and convinced an unsuspecting taxi driver to drive you to barcelona.

keep in mind, you were a broke university student, you didn’t have money to buy a plane ticket to barcelona as well as a return one. of course if you told pablo, he would pay for it, but you didn’t like to ask him for money.

13 too many hours lately, the taxi driver dropped you off at a coffee shop not too far from pablo’s house. you bought two small coffees and started your walk with your backpack slung on your hunched back. you were so excited you felt giddy.

you tried to get your mind off seeing your boyfriend in a few minutes because if you kept thinking about him, you might've just fainted and dropped the overpriced coffees on the ground.

your hands were full, so you couldn’t text pablo that you were closeby, so you just walked until you got to his house. you placed one coffee on the stone ground in front of his door before ringing the bell and picking the coffee back up.

you were smiling like a little kid, your body shaking slightly with excitement.

it took a little bit of waiting, but the door finally opened.

there he was, in all his glory.

his hair was all disheveled, his grey sweatpants and white t-shirt wrinkled and wonky. he was napping.

he rubbed his eyes in confusion before looking at you, looking at his watch, and back at you.

a toothy grin spread on his face, accentuating his dimples. he bit his lips before finally opening his arms, calling you to hug him.

you squealed in excitement, your hands beginning to wrap around his neck before realizing you were still holding the coffees.

you quickly stepped into his house, placing the coffees on the table near his door before turning around and squealing again, finally getting to wrap your arms around him.

he engulfed you into a warm hug, chuckling into your hair. he dipped his head into the crook of your neck and breathed in your scent. “missed you so much, hermosa.”

you laughed and squeezed him hard.

“i took a long ass taxi ride over here, so you better have missed me.” you planted a teasing kiss on his cheek.

he pulled back from you.

“you took a taxi? bebé, that’s so unnecessary and unsafe! what were you think-“

you shut him up with a kiss, his arms going back to wrapping around your waist. he shut the door behind you, stopping the cool evening air from hitting your back.

“shh, just wanna kiss you” you whispered, kissing him and shrugging your backpack off your shoulders and onto the floor with a thump.

he laughed into the kiss before sighing in satisfaction.

he broke the kiss to look at you.

“did i mention that i missed you?” he teased.

you smiled “no, maybe you should say it again..”.

he bit his lip and kissed you on your cheek “i missed you”. he kissed your other cheek, “i missed you” before kissing your forehead, eyes, nose, and lips. “i missed you, i missed you, i missed you,”.

you giggled and grabbed his arms, pushing him back. “okay, i think i got it. i take it you.. missed me?” you questioned sarcastically.

“spot on, mi amor.”

---

you had finally finished greeting each other. he took your backpack to his room as you removed your shoes and used the washroom downstairs. he came back down to see you handing him a coffee.

“drink it, its a new place nearby, never seen it before.” you said, smiling softly.

he smiled and gently took the coffee. you both took a sip at the same time, locking eyes.

ew.

both your faces scrunched in disgust. the coffee was bitter, bland, and just plain disgusting. it was like drinking plastic.

“ew, what is this?!” you said, covering your mouth dramatically.

he turned the cup over to see the label on the cup.

“el café..?” (the coffee)

he drew his eyebrows together.

“that’s the name of the shop? the coffee?”

you both laughed at the choice of shop name. “how unoriginal can somebody get?”

---

after dumping out that expensive cup of trash people called coffee, you two snuggled up on his bed and turned on the tv.

you had changed into one of his clean boxers and crewnecks which were both too large on you, the fabric your body.

he scrolled through netflix, hovering over each movie he deemed interesting before you dismissed it with a “ew no”.

“baby, how can we watch a movie if you say no to everything?” he looked down at your curled up form, snuggled into the warmth of his torso, leg thrown over his waist.

you shrugged “not my fault everything on here is shit.” he giggled at your words.

after what seemed like an eternity, you two had finally picked a rom com. pablo didn’t necessarily like romantic comedies, but you did, and he loved you. he just decided he would suck it up for 2 hours.

funny enough, the 13 hour car drive was starting to creep up on you. your eyelids felt heavy. the mixture of the exhaustion and you being back in pablo’s warm embrace sent you into a deep sleep.

pablo didn’t notice, and continued watching the movie, internally cringing at some moments. he would be lying if he said it wasn’t interesting.

when you two would finish watching a movie, you would usually complain about how stupid the characters were, or discuss the plot. but ironically, pablo had a lot to say about this specific film.

“i don’t understand why he would leave if he really loved her? i just don’t get the whole concept of loving someone so much that you’re willing to leave them. it’s so stup- y/n?”

he stopped his rant halfway when he saw you practically knocked out against him. you were snoring lightly, which was unnoticeable when there loud movie was playing.

he smiled softly, admiring your gentle features, and placed a loving kiss on your forehead before reaching for his phone.

he snapped a picture of you cuddled up against him and posted it on his instagram story, captioned:

“mi chica soñolienta <;3” (my sleepy girl <3)

#gavi #pablo gavi #gavi fanfic #pablo gavi fanfic #gavi fluff #pablo gavi fluff #gavi smut #pablo gavi smut #gavi angst #pablo gavi angst #gavi x reader #pablo gavi x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #football x reader #football #neybelle #fem!reader #football smut #smut #angst #football fanfic #fluff #soccer #judebelle

[canonmisogynyvictimstournament]

PROPAGANDA

CHI-CHI (DRAGON BALL)

1.) okay so to start at the beginning, she was introduced as a young kid but they put her in a super revealing bikini styled outfit. pretty sure it was supposed to be armor too, so besides just being a disgusting design choice even in-universe it’s impractical. but besides that she was pretty charming as a kid, she was cute and funny and pretty tough, and had a cool gimmick in her blade/ laser helmet. even when she reappeared in late Dragon Ball, she was a bit abrasive but was overall rational and kind. she was strong enough to make it into the World Martial Arts Tournament, one of only 16 to qualify.

but come Dragon Ball Z and on, she’s reduced to just a shrill, nagging, aggressive wife and mother. all she gets to do is cook, worry, and berate her husband and sons. her physical strength is only used so she can comically hit Goku. sure its played for laughs, but he’s shown to be afraid of her. I only recall her leaving her house once or twice in DBZ. just the worst mother character stereotype, with nothing left to make her likeable. she’s portrayed as irrational but despite her aggressiveness, half the time her wants are completely reasonable. can’t blame a woman for not wanting her husband to die every other day!! her writing us ass but I still love her and she deserves better!!!

2.) So in Dragon Ball she wasn’t the BEST character to start out with. Toriyama hasn’t ever been the best at writing women or not making stupid fucking sex jokes about them. So she had to deal with that. The outfit she wore as a kid was… NOT GREAT. Let’s say that! Then in late Dragon Ball her entire character revolves around Goku and trying to marry him, which she gets by tricking Goku and getting beaten by Goku in a tournament in one hit. Not off to a great start. Then Z started and Toriyama just… gave her an ENTIRELY NEW new personality, and that new personality was just a stereotype of a tiger mom. Regardless of how correct she might’ve been about letting Gohan fight (and she WAS completely correct, he was 5-6 for a HUGE chunk of Z) the narrative frames her as a hysterical and unreasonable woman nagging at the menfolk and not letting them do things. So naturally people hate her without even considering why she’s upset because the story itself frames her as in-the-wrong. The whole franchise also just forgets that she’s a martial artist and never has her DO ANYTHING.

This is only scratching the surface, there’s a LOT more because the franchise is like 40 years old and we’d be here all day.

3.) GODDDD okay so full disclosure i guess shonen is such an easy pick but like. out of every shonen wife she was and is THE most hated by the narrative and creator (maybe tied with sakura omfg). shes always made out to be a beast, got her fighting skills shafted after she got married, was always played like she was hysterical for worrying about her kid dying in battle, and not to mention the creator actively HATES her. like toriyama just straight up hates writing her. its bad. its really bad. shes just “bitch wife” but for no reason :(

BUMBLE (WARRIOR CATS) (CW: Domestic Abuse)

1.) Back with another Warriors submission, I bet you’ll be getting a lot from other people too LMAO. Bumble is a kittypet (housecat) who befriends the male protagonist Gray Wing’s girlfriend, Turtle Tail, and lets her stay in her house. This gets Gray Wing all pissy because he’s controlling of Turtle Tail and shares most of the wild/clan cat’s proclivity for looking down upon kittypets. Turtle Tail gets pregnant by another kittypet, Tom, who tries to control her by hiding the fact that humans take away kittens after they’re born. Eventually Bumble comes clean about it so Turtle Tail returns to the forest. Some time later, Bumble is found in the forest seeking refuge because Tom has been physically abusing her, scratching her where the humans can’t see. So, she’s CANONICALLY ACKNOWLEDGED as a domestic abuse victim (unlike Squirrelflight who meets all the textbook signs but the narrative and authors deny it). How do you think our good guy protagonists, i.e. Gray Wing “The Wise” and Turtle Tail, respond to an abuse victim seeking refuge? They tell Bumble to go home, thinking to themselves that she’s fat and soft and therefore would be useless in their group. Bumble stands up for herself and asks to speak with the leaders of the group. One of them asks if Bumble could just get along with Tom better (bro???) and when Bumble says it’s not within her control, the leader suggests being nicer to the humans instead. Another rival leader butts in and verbally abuses Bumble again by ripping into how fat and lazy and useless she would be. Despite Turtle Tail having been friends with Bumble and Bumble had helped her through her own hard times, to Gray Wing’s approval Turtle Tail chooses not to intervene as Bumble is forcibly escorted back to her abuser. But that’s not all. Later Bumble is found in the forest maimed and dying, and it seems likely that Gray Wing’s brother Clear Sky, a male with a long history of violence, is the culprit. Rather than mourn the dying innocent cat, Gray Wing’s primary concern is how other cats might be mean to Clear Sky if they think he’s a murderer, and reassures himself that refusing to help Bumble in her time of need was still the right decision.

2.) I have no idea how she managed to be written so horrifically from an abuse victim and woman (/she-cat I guess) standpoint but here we are. Okay so my memory is a bit fuzzy but basically Bumble was a character in Dawn of the Clans and a close friend to Turtle Tail, a major character, as well as a character who lived close to Tom, an abusive dickhead of a cat. Bumble was largely depicted as just a really sweet cat. Turtle Tail was very briefly the mate of Turtle Tail, but once she got pregnant, he became super violent towards both her and our gal Bumble. Tom actively hid the fact that, once her kits were old enough, Turtle Tail’s kits would probably be taken from her, and made Bumble keep quiet about this too, but Bumble eventually told Turtle Tail the truth, Turtle Tail left and Tom became extremely violent towards Bumble because of this, and was extremely abusive towards her. Eventually, Bumble ran away from him to where Turtle Tail and co were and begged to stay, since the wilderness as a whole was genuinely more safe than being around Tom was. Naturally, this meant kitty xenophobia from cats who had only arrived in that area recently, because everybody was insistent than, since she was a kittypet/house cat, things wouldn’t work out, and even her friend Turtle Tail denied her on this, insisted she was too soft to live in the wild and only sent her towards a cat Bumble wanted to convince because she was absolutely certain she’d be denied. Also our good old protagonist Gray Wing got to spend this scene being all upset about this soft cat wanting to join them to escape an abuser and was all bitter about the fact that Turtle Tail lived with her for a short period of time, and he also got to have a sweet romantic moment with Turtle Tail after denying an abuse victim an escape from her abuser. Also as much as I like Tall Shadow usually she sucked ass in the following scene because she was essentially telling Bumble to go find a way to make peace with Tom as if she was not the one being abused (Bumble pointed out that Tom was the one who would need to make peace for it to happen, not her) and that she should just make life better by going back to being a housecat and being spoiled despite the fact that she was actively at risk with her owners because of Tom. Then she leaves after being threatened by several cats there and is called soft on the way out. The next time she appears she is literally dying, and her death is just a plot device to create a stupid little mystery which is solved in a very stupid way. Also her abuser does continue to be a shithead and for some reason is fully permitted to kidnap his own children but he also gets a heroic death and the only reason I will not rant more about him is because this is too long already. Long story short Bumble deserves the world and everybody who decided not to let her escape her abuser just because they thought she was soft sucks

3.) Is nice to the group of starving, feral wild cats that left the mountains so their friends and family could have more food to eat and befriends one of them to the point of opening her home to her after she leaves the group because the guy she likes is too dumb to notice she likes him and keeps falling for his brother’s love interests.

Unfortunately, because Bumble is a house cat who lives in a house with people and not a Wild and Free cat, this is a grave and horrible crime (luring a wild cat into the safety and comforts of domesticity) and is villainized for the rest of the arc, including for things wildly out of her control

I.E.

Her owners taking in an aggressive male cat that bullies and abuses the two female cats already living there

When Bumble’s friend leaves and goes back to the wild cats, Bumble leaves her home (as the abuse as has gotten worse) to see if she could either get help or have her friend return so the abuse isn’t as bad again)

Bumble eventually dies in the wild because the feral cats all hate her for ‘stealing’ their friend and tricking her into becoming a kittypet for awhile and refuse to help Bumble adjust to wild life or even teaching her how to hunt.

They are littl e to no hard feelings at her death beyond ‘good riddance’ but the aggressive tomcat that chased her out of her home is later regarded with good feelings and regret at such a ‘good, heroic cat’ passing when he dies despite him literally never doing a good or kind thing in his life and actually causing trouble for the wild cats right before dying

#polls #round 3 #week 5 #new #cw domestic abuse

[senorablack]

Big Boy Purchases

Words: 1028 Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Humor, adulting like pros Summary: Our boys buy some things for their house. That's it, that's the fic.

Leather looks nice and it’s comfortable as hell, but it’ll be a pain in the ass come summer. “But it’d be metal as fuck.” Eddie argues. “It’s, I don’t know, impractical. Come on, man, three seats? Nah, at least if we get the brown sectional we have more space annndd we could pull off the cover to wash it.”  “Expect a lot of fluids to sully our couch, aye, Stephen?” Eddie squints. “It’s Steve.” He replies, then walks Eddie to the sofa in question. “And yeah, you’re the clumsiest person I know. And we’ve both met Robin.” “God said, you can only have good hand-eye coordination or those deviant, sinful genes that makes a guy wanna blow another in the parking lot of a Piggly Wiggly. Not both.” “Is guy suppose to be you?” Steve asks with a raise brow. The back of Eddie’s knees are at the edge of the sofa. “Duh, man, I’m the most clumsiest person I know. And we’ve both met Robin.” “Cute.” Steve says, and all but throws Eddie into the cushions.  Eddie whimpers. Melts. Groans so inappropriately that Steve has to kick him in the shin to get him to simmer down. “Dude, this is a family place so would you keep it g-rated?” “Out of body right now. Leave a message.” Eddie closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “After. The. Beeeeeeep.” “So?”  “I concede. I surrender. I god damn yield.” Eddie says. “Is this—am I dead?” “See? Imagine kicking off your shoes after a long day of running around the restaurant.” “God? Is that you?” “No, but I get that a lot.” This opens Eddie’s eyes. He frowns. Shakes his head. “Nah, man, you can do better than that.” “What I keep telling myself, but for some reason I still keep you around.” Steve says, offering Eddie a hand up. Eddie takes it and immediately pulls him into a side hug. “Atta-boy.”

Quilt and wood? That’s summer camp. That’s visits down at the his parent’s lakehouse for the Fourth of July. That’s grandma sneaking you her kitchen sink cookies when your parents aren’t looking. It’s stealing whatever you can find from the linen closet and making forts in front of Saturday morning cartoons. It’s a—

“Hell no.” Eddie scoffs.

“Dude, can’t beat a classic.”

“Its antiquity is not being questioned here, Harrington.” Eddie says, face scrounged up in disgust.

“Why are you shitting on all my suggestions?”

“Because we’re two young twenty-somethings who binge drink on Thursdays, and not Ethyl and fuckin’ Bethyl settling down from a wild night of bingo at Cedarwood Senior Home.”

Steve crosses his arms and mutters, “I was just joking about the floral print pillowcases.”

“Okay, yeah, you’re done. My turn.“ 

Eddie doesn’t give Steve the chance to protest. After a quick peruse around the selection of comforters, Eddie finds a dark grey one with light grey stripes. It’s thick and heavy, and looks soft as hell.

Steve, still sore about being knock down, doesn’t say that though.

“If this was up to you, our bed would be on the ground with two sheets and a pillow we have to fight over.” Steve says. 

Eddie turns on him and cocks his head to the side. Narrows his eyes. Steve glares.

“You forget to eat or something?” Eddie asks.

“Fuck off.” Steve pushes at his shoulder. 

“Will a Swedish meatball calm you down?” 

“The blanket, Eddie.”

Eddie grabs Steve by the wrist and places his hand on the display comforter.

“What’dya think?” Eddie asks.

He rubs a bit of its cloth against his cheek. Steve pulls off, giving the hovering department attendant an apologetic smile. 

“I dunno…” Steve says, but he can’t keep up the lie.

“It’s simple. It’s practical. It’s like, so nondescript that it’s almost a statement.” Eddie says in a rush.

“That sentence meant nothing but we’ll circle back to that,” Steve says and is at a loss, because it’s nice. It is. And he really doesn’t want to agree.

“Fine, it’s not bad.” He says.

“Not bad is as good as a maybe. And sweetheart, your maybes always lean yes with the right push.”

“Calling me a push-over, Munson?”

“Course not, man.” Eddie says, throwing in their new bedding into their basket. “I’d never.”

-

He isn’t sure that’ll fit, but he wants it real bad. It’s silly, but he even thinks that he’s never wanted anything this badly. Which means he’s officially an adult. With adult appetites. It’s gross how much he’s excited.

“How bad,” Steve asks between pants, “do you want it?” 

They are both soaked and out of breath. And no matter what, it’s just not going in.

“Well, if you’d grab a better hold of that leg…” Eddie tries, but he’s also struggling. They both pause their work.

“Look, I know I talk big game, but I feel like my body is on fire back here, man, can’t we just—“

“Thought you said you could go aaaaall afternoon, big boy?”

“That was before I knew it was going to be ninety-eight degrees out.” 

“What if it like, warps, or I dunno, fades in the sun while we’re gone?”

Steve groans and tugs off his shirt. Eddie watches because who the hell is going to stop him?Steve’s not wrong, it’s fucking searing out, but he really is worried about their new purchase. Sure Steve was the one to find it, but Eddie was the one that had to have it—it being this ridiculously long, 6-person, solid walnut table that could extend out to 8. It’s everything he wanted in a dining table and a son of bitch puzzle to get into the damn house. Once they figure it out, he’s drafting up a new campaign. 

“Okay, okay. We just have to adopt a new strategy. We take off the table legs. Then it’s extender pieces. And boom.” Steve says, and then points at Eddie before he can argue, “But boom after beer break.”

Eddie ties up his hair. Most of it falls back down again. He gestures for Steve to walk before him with a hand out and a deep bow. 

“Boom after beer break.” He sighs.

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #steve x eddie #my steddie fic

[luwritesomething]

HEY I KNOW YOUR WORKING IN MY OTHER REQUEST RN BUT HEADCANNONS ON WHAT DATING RANDY WOULD LOOK LIKE KINDA LIKE AN EXTENSION ON THE CUDDLING HEADCANNONS YOU JUST DID 🤩🤩🤩🤩

Randy Meeks Heacanons: Dating Randy would include.

Warnings: Swearing lol, probably typos or bad constructed english

Edited?: Like always, no.

Reader's pronouns: Not stated, gender neautral.

Summary: Dating Randy headcanons!!

Author's note: RANDYYYYYYYYYYYY not enough works for him, so i gotta keep up with his requests. also kudos to alex for requesting constantly with great ideas :) i had so much fun making these.

criticism, comments and reblogs are always appreciated! requests are open, especially for scream! hit that anon button and tell me your ideas. in the scream fandom, i write for billy loomis, stu macher, randy meeks, tatum riley, sidney prescott, mickey altieri, kirby reid, chad meeks martin, mindy meeks martin, tara carpenter, anika kayoko and laura crane.

a lot of forehead kisses

cheek kisses too

he just looks like the type. he's gotta go to class? have a cheek kiss. you're meeting up? cheek kiss. you made him laugh? cheek kiss. going to sleep? cheek kiss. whatever, cheek kiss.

him being rather shy at the beginning of your relationship, but growing bolder as the time passes.

holding hands!!!! he loves holding hands. he actually blushed the first time you guys held hands, he's that cute.

getting along with his little sister martha!!! even teaming up against him with her lmao.

lots of dates, and a lot around getting food/eating/cooking/going to restaurants.

but i'm also not gonna lie, movies and dates are a big deal.

movie marathons! movie nights! going to the theater!

cuddling with randy (headcanons here)

you better not like guilty pleasure movies too much because if he has to cinematically roast you HE WILL.

learning a lot about movies and cinematography because he doesn't shut the fuck up.

but it's not like you want him to shut up like, ever.

competing to see who can insult people more 'culturally'

(like homo-repressed mama's boy, creepy tarantino film student, leatherface, pussy ass-wet-rag)

he likes dancing with you and will do so with absolutely every excuse he can think of.

the kind to get drunk, flirt with you and get really sad when you tell him you have a very loving boyfriend (he doesn't realize that's him)

really sweet

if he ever meets your parents, he'll most probably win them over. he's still walking on eggshells around them.

compliments you/what you're wearing every single day.

even if it's just your socks, he always says something nice to you.

he's so greatful to have you.

the type to walk out of arguments when things get heated, before any of you can say anything you'd regret.

he adores you, he could listen to every single thing you say for the rest of his life.

randy doesn't care if you're just talking about your favorite type of pen, he'll listen like you're trusting him with the secrets of the universe.

he remembers a lot of little details because of this.

call him 'pretty boy' and he'll be yours forever.

not a cheater :) (THE BARE MINIMUM---)

he rarely ever lies to you. he'd let you go down to the basement with him in a horror movie, and that's a shit lot of trust.

quotes different romantic dialogues from different movies, but it's always at the most unexpected/worst timing.

he's so goofy i love him.

always making sure you're okay, no matter where you at. it doesn't have to be a frat party for him to worry about your well-being

randy walks you everywhere, no matter how impractical that can be.

especially at night. he doesn't want you to go out alone when it's dark.

overall, he's a really good boyfriend, although i'm not getting involved with the angsty stuff.

#randy meeks #randy meeks x reader #randy meeks x reader fluff #randy meeks headcanons #headcanons #jamie kennedy #randy meeks x reader headcanons #randy meeks imagine #scream #scream 1 #scream 1996 #scream 2 #scream 1997 #scream franchise #scream fandom #scream x reader #randy meeks is the best but he's so underappreciated #niche characters #lu writes #writing #my writing #alex ghost

[yokohamapound]

HIHIHI

Can I request Chuuya and kunikida with a s/o who likes to braid or style their hair??🤭 I LOVE YOUR ACCOUNT SM HOPE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY(or night!!)

How did you know long-haired pretty boys are my weakness? :D

Characters: Kunikida Doppo, Nakahara Chuuya

Contents: gn!reader, brushy-brushy

Kunikida Doppo

Kunikida’s got an interesting style of hair, considering the amount of time and effort he puts into making sure he looks neat and clean all the time. You would think a long underside to his hair would be impractical, but he makes it work. 

I don’t think it’s in his list of attributes for an ideal spouse to enjoy brushing and styling his hair for him, but he was certainly pleasantly surprised the first time you approached him with a brush and a glint in your eye.

He’s so tall he has to sit on a chair while you stand behind him. He sits down patiently, resting his hands on his knees. Kunikida looks almost meditative as you tug the hairtie free and spread his hair across his shoulders. 

Kunikida closes his eyes as you work the comb through his hair, running your fingers after it. Not only does it feel good, it manages to slow his ever-marching thoughts down to a stroll.

He might be in constant pursuit of his ideals, but he knows when to stop and appreciate a moment. You taking time out of your day to lavish a little bit of care on him is definitely worth savouring. 

Because most of his hair is short, you’ll be somewhat limited in what you can do with it. You can mostly braid the long strands or put them in a ponytail, but he will dutifully wear whatever style you choose for him that day.

I’m afraid he may object to wearing hairclips. 

He likes those springy, phone-cord ties since they don’t pull on his hair, and the poor, gullible fool has worn a scrunchie to the office at your behest a few times. Dazai was most amused. 

Kunikida: “Shows what you know, Dazai. It decreases the risk of traction baldness in men.”

Dazai: “It also makes you look totally rad!” 

Nakahara Chuuya

Okay, you only need to take one look at Chuuya to realise he’s fussy about his hair. His style is…complicated, to say the least. As with the rest of his style, he’s definitely cultivated it to go along with his look. 

He puts up a couple of token complaints the first time you start trying to brush his hair, but it doesn’t take him long to realise he enjoys it. The feeling of your fingers running across his scalp is damn near enough to send him falling asleep. 

Chuuya does feel a little twitchy about you sitting behind him. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s those hard-earned street rat/mafioso instincts, but he gets over it. 

Sorry, you won’t be putting any cute bobbles or barrettes in his hair, but you might get away with a couple of black bobby pins here and there. He might not even notice if they’re round the back. 

He used to tie his hair in a little ponytail at the nape of his neck but I’m happy to tell you he also looks great with a high ponytail. Although he does wonder why so many people are staring at his neck now—is his choker crooked? Sadly, he won’t wear it for long because it interferes with his hat. 

Yeah, he’ll let you braid the long bit that falls over his shoulder, and he’ll punch the lights out of anyone who has anything to say about it. 

Expect lots of sarcastic comments, though.

“What am, your stylin’ head?”

“If you pull it, I’m smackin’ your ass with the brush, dollface.”

#Yokohama Pound #bungou stray dogs #bsd imagines #bsd headcanons #Kunikida Doppo #Nakahara Chuuya #Kunikida x Reader #Chuuya x Reader

[batsycline69]

Of All The Dive Bars In All The Cities

Summary: Of all the dive bars in all the cities in all the world, and Marc Spector walks into the one where you got walked out on. And he came to make sure you were okay.

Pairing: Marc Spector x f!reader

Words: 10,952

Warnings: f!receiving oral, unsafe sex, public bathroom sex, alcohol mention, reader gets drunk, midwest bar

A/N: This was just a fun little Marc Spector in Chicago thing, but then it turned into bathroom sex

At this point, it really only makes sense. Your life, after all, has more or less become some sort of cosmic joke after all. By some string of bad luck, you can’t find a good date to save your life, and tonight, your lack of luck has really hit rock bottom.

Improv Guy is rounding the thirty-five minute mark of regaling his tales of the misadventures he and his troop got into. At least, that’s where he started. You haven’t gotten a word in in the last twenty minutes and switched from listening to people watching about ten minutes ago, so you’re not sure where he is now. The only other thing that’s really held your attention is the guy who spilled beer all over his friend right by your table. You’ve been enjoying watching people dance around the puddle as they walk by.

Outside, the snow is coming down hard, and while this date has left much to be desired, you don’t want to have to wait for the train in this weather. You wore an impractical outfit because at some point, you had a good feeling about this date, and you wanted to look cute. Now you just wish you’d spent less time getting ready, or at least wore a better coat.

You’re down a beer. You ordered something you weren’t familiar with because Improv Guy recommended it, and your optimism still hadn’t died so you thought you’d try something new. Of course, you hated it. And the whole thing seemed to spiral from there, so your only option was to drink your beer and hope that it would make things go a little more smoothly. Not only were you wrong about the guy, the beer, the outfit, things were about to go from bad to worse.

Modest Mouse is on the speakers, and as you’re trying to find something, anything, to help you look like you’re paying attention to this conversation, in walks your ex-boyfriend. If this whole situation didn’t suck so bad, it’d be funny. Marc fucking Spector walks into the bar like the punchline of a fucking joke. He just got up and walked right out of your life, seemingly out of nowhere, after ten months of dating.

You straighten up, suddenly keeping your eyes fixed on Improv Guy. You’re jumping onto the train while he’s talking about some brewery you’ve never heard of with an incredible IPA that’s so hoppy. Literally anything that will keep you from making eye contact with Marc.

Just as you’re about to take a sip of beer, you remember you already finished your glass. And what once seemed like an excuse to get a break from Improv Guy turned into a risk of having to talk to Marc, and you’re pretty sure you’d rather not have a distraction drink than the most awkward conversation you could conceptualize having.

“Hey, do you want me to get you another one?” Improv Guy asks, pointing to your empty glass. You’re shocked he could have been paying enough attention to your presence that he noticed, but you’re thrilled he did. If he goes up to the bar, you won’t have to run into Marc. It’s perfect.

You grin. “That’d be great, thanks.”

“Sure thing. What did you think of that one?” Improv Guy asks. It’s the first question he’s asked you in over half an hour.

“Uh...I didn’t really like it,” you admit.

Poor Improv Guy’s face falls. He’d been so excited you picked this beer, raved about it for five minutes. When you tell him you’ll just have a 312 instead, he looks crestfallen, but he sulks off to the bar nonetheless.

You pull out your phone to distract yourself so you can’t make accidental eye contact with Marc, but you feel your eyes start to float off towards the bar. At first, you pretend you’re just looking out for Improv Guy, but then, they start searching more, and in the crowd, you find him.

Marc is standing almost directly across the bar from your table. He could see you if he looked. Thank god he doesn’t. You’re not sure if it’s because he hasn’t noticed you or if he’s doing the same thing you’re doing and pretend he hasn’t noticed you.

Of course, it’s Marc, and you practically need a degree to read him.

You try to sink into the chair you’re in, attempting to keep out of sight. If Marc hasn’t noticed you, you definitely don’t want to give him a reason to. Your mind is running wild with listing every reason it would be bad to have Marc see you right now, and you can’t pick out the worst one.

Waiting for Improv Guy to come back feels like an eternity, but finally Improv Guy appears, two glasses of beer in his hands. He looks a little less upset than he did when he left. The betrayal of your somewhat pedestrian beer choice has faded. And as he approaches the table, you realize what’s about to happen before it even happens.

Improv Guy’s eyes are just on you and the table. He’s forgotten about the puddle of beer.

The scene plays out in slow motion in front of you. Improv Guy falling face first towards you. Beer sloshes forward in the glasses, lurching right at you and your impractical outfit. You’re going to be freezing when you leave, which is probably going to be approximately two minutes after this beer lands on you.

His eyes widen a bit, frozen in a moment when he realizes his error, and how it will likely cost him the date. Poor guy really thought he would get a second after all this to begin with.

Except Improv Guy never hits the ground. One glass spills over a little, unceremoniously splatting on the ground, but Improv Guy is jolted upright by a firm hand.

“Oh, thanks man,” Improv Guy says, turning over his shoulder and obscuring his—and your—savior. But even without seeing him, you know.

Your eyes flick over to where Marc had been standing last your gaze lingered. Marc’s handsome scowl is gone.

Improv Guy steps out of the way, and your missing ex has been found. And as he’s revealed, his eyes land on you for a split second before he looks back to Improv Guy. He gives a small polite nod before his eyes flicker back to you one last time. He walks away without a word.

You’re not sure how you wanted the situation to go. You want to tell yourself it was best case scenario, but if that was true, why did it hurt so much?

Through your daze, you offer a weak thanks as Improv Guy slides your partially spilled 312 to you across the table, and gulp down your beer.

You want to turn around, find out where Marc went. Is he staying? He knows you’re here; there was no way he didn’t see you. He looked at you. Twice.

What’s he even doing here? You’d heard he left the city. He didn’t tell you himself ever, but you heard through the grapevine. You never could get over how easily he disappeared from your life without a trace. He’d been so thorough, like he wanted to make sure there were no traces of him left in your life.

“That guy just totally saved the day,” Improv Guy says.

You feign a laugh. “Yeah,” you say. You take another gulp of beer.

“It’s so wild. It reminds me of this time my buddy and I were at this place down in the North Loop…”

And just like that, you zone back out, able to turn back to your frantic thoughts. Improv Guy is back to spinning the tales of his after-show shenanigans. You’re trying to stay focused at least in his general vicinity, but the temptation to look around for Marc again is rising. But making eye contact with him now might make things worse. Before, it could have been played off as accidental. Now, it’d be without a doubt intentional.

“...for his birthday we went to a Sox game and we--”

“Sox?” you ask suddenly, snapping back to your date and setting down your glass of beer. “You’re a Sox fan?”

Improv Guy seems surprised by your interjection. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re actually speaking when you’ve been quiet for most of the date or if he hadn’t expected his endless story to be interrupted.

Your question is the beginning of the end. Improv Guy felt very passionately about the White Sox. So passionately, he took great offense in your lifelong allegiance to the Cubs. He forces politeness as he promptly ends the date. It’s the greatest relief since the date started. He even said he’d take care of the tab.

After reveling in the victory, you realize you should leave. You’re alone now, and Marc is here. You’re not naive enough to think he’s here for you, but he does know you’re here. For all you know, he saw your date walk out on you. But there’s something that keeps you in the split leather seat you’re at, staring at your half-drunk glass of beer.

It’s humiliating. You feel like a failure because you’ve never been able to find what you lost with Marc in someone else. And that’s what you were looking for all along. Your date with Improv Guy was doomed from the start because you never got over your stupid, handsome, infuriating ex-boyfriend.

As hard on him as you may have been, Improv Guy wasn’t the absolute worst date you’ve been on. And at least he wouldn’t break your heart the way Marc did. You wouldn’t even allow him close enough to give him the chance.

You down what’s left of your drink before walking over to the bar. Yes, you should go home, but you’re already here. At that point, really, it’s easier to stay. So you scour the menu for the second cheapest beer just to spite Improv Guy, and as you turn back to your table, you see the seat that Improv Guy had just been sitting in is occupied. And not by an unassuming stranger who thought it was open. You wish.

Marc is sitting with his hand is curled around a glass. He’s staring dedicatedly at the drink, as if it’s going to be some sort of coincidence that he happened to pick the exact table you’d been sitting at. Because it’s not like he could ever actually talk to you.

After a sigh, you walk back to your table and sit across from Marc. You don’t speak. He doesn’t look up at you. You’ve fallen back into one of your stubbornness stalemates.

The silence is tense. Once upon a time ago, a silence like this would have been unusual. You found comfort in your silences. His head resting in your lap as you rake your fingers through his thick dark curls. Curled up with each other in bed, the palm of his hand running up the stretch of your arm. Your silence was a surrender to each other.

This isn’t that. The silence is heavy, sitting with you at the table. It feels weighed down by everything that should have been said but never was. It feels like stale with grief and guilt.

You sip your beer, keeping an eye on Marc the whole time. You haven’t even spoken a word to him yet and he looks annoyed. The fucking nerve, honestly. This man breaks up with you out of the blue and all but disappears from the planet, then he shows back up in Chicago after a year from who knows where and sits right across from you, and has the fucking nerve to look annoyed.

“How long are you in town?” you ask finally, cutting through the silence.

Marc seems to sigh. He takes a gulp of beer but still doesn’t look up. “I leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

You just nod because really, what else is there to do? What do the two of you have to talk about that can be resolved in a few hours? He walks back into your life like he’s an old friend wanting to catch up before he has to be at the airport in the morning instead of someone you had serious baggage with.

“You’re...dating again,” Marc grumbles. He’s not asking. He knows what he saw. The thing that was even worse was he saw how it was going. And while he doesn’t sound condescending per se, he doesn’t sound pleased. Maybe even sounds a little judgmental.

There’s a beat where all you do is stare at him. You swear he’s fucking with you. He’s actually trying to make you lose your mind, and he might be succeeding.

“Yeah, Marc. I’m dating again,” you snip back “Can we not do this right now?”

Silence again.

Marc does silence very well. Better than anyone you know.

You lean forward and set an elbow on the table, pinching the bridge of your nose as you let out a long sigh. Had this man ever really been worth all the trouble you put up with for him? Maybe your whole relationship was rose tinted, and seeing Marc was the thing you needed to break the spell. Maybe by the time Marc Spector leaves this bar, you can finally move on.

Because as idealistic as you are, you know hell will freeze over before Marc Spector opens up and explains whatever happened when he broke up with you. You’re better off, you tell yourself. This moment is so truly trash awful that you can almost convince yourself of that.

“What are you doing here?” you ask finally, looking back up at Marc.

For the first time since he saved you from a beer-soaked fate, Marc looks up at you, and it feels like a kick to the gut.

His dark eyes are alive with remorse. The fact that it’s snowing feels like a little bit of insult to injury, or maybe you’re just overly nostalgic. It snowed on your unofficial first date. Unofficial because attempting to date Marc Spector is like trying to approach a spooked horse, and you feared using the words ‘first’ and ‘date’ in the same sentence were going to scare him off.

How right you’d been.

Getting Marc to commit was like the youthful innocence of trying to hold water in your hands in the bathtub as a child. Maybe if you just squeezed your fingers tight enough, this time it would all stay. But try as you might, the water would slowly trickle out, and all you were left with were wet hands and the memory of the dream you’d been so certain you could achieve.

You thought if you showed him how much you cared, how much you wanted him to stay, he’d listen. But he never did.

One of the worst parts (because try as you might, you could never condense it to just one) was that it didn’t even seem like Marc did it because of you. You could have pulled the moon from the sky just for him, and it would have only made him leave faster.

From the start, you knew Marc wouldn’t accept good things willingly. The end of your relationship was just the natural progression of things. And as stubborn as you are, you can only combat someone who refuses to accept what you’re trying to give them for so long. Marc left the city for good without another word. Or at least that’s how it looked at the time. But obviously it’d never been for good because here he is, sitting across from you.

“It doesn’t matter,” Marc replies. And of course that’s what he says. Of course he’s going to deny you any explanation whatsoever.

“Not in this state,” you say with a sigh. “Here. This bar. This table. What are you doing?”

“I…” He sighs and runs his hand down his face. “I didn’t come here because I knew you’d be here.” He pauses, working hard to keep whatever’s going on in his head hidden. “How about next drink is on me?” he asks. He looks up from his beer for the first time since you sat back down.

You rest your head against your hand and let out a puff of air. “Yeah, alright,” you reply. At some point, you have to surrender to the fact that this whole night is a curse against you. If your biggest win is getting a free drink, you’ll take it.

There’s another long pause. Pool balls clack together, followed by the sound of a group cheering. The music is barely audible over the loud drunken voices around you. The rest of the bar is in full swing, and you and Marc are in this odd standstill that you’ve never quite faced together before.

Marc occasionally glares at the reflective surface of the old pinball machine next to the table before his eyes dart back down to the scratched wooden surface beneath his glass. His back is tense and every time he goes to set his beer down, hit comes down a little too hard. He startles himself with it. It’s the only time he’ll occasionally glance towards you, as if assessing if you were as startled by it as he was.

“Listen, I...I just didn’t want you here all on your own, okay?” he says finally. “I saw your...date walk out.”

“Right,” you respond.

“Are you...okay?”

Of all the dive bars in all the cities in all the world, and Marc Spector walks into the one where you got walked out on. And he came to make sure you were okay.

If it wasn’t so humiliating, it’d actually be pretty sweet.

He doesn’t sound sure of his question. As impossible as it feels, Marc seems almost as embarrassed as you. He was totally going to ignore you, pretend like you hadn’t ended up at the same bar, until he saw Craft Beer Guy give you the slip. He couldn’t walk up to you and ask if you wanted company, no, because this was Marc after all, so he waited for you to get up so he would be able to skip a step.

Now he’s here, asking about your well being.

You sigh. “Yeah. I’m okay.” It’s not often Marc Spector waves the white flag, so you count this as another one of your few wins.

When you look up again, you see he’s still looking at you. His soft brown eyes linger on you for a second, almost as if assessing whether you’re real or not before he looks back down as he sips his beer. And in that second, you can tell he’s drunk. Like, very drunk.

A drop of sadness ebbs through your whole body as you look at this man you had seen a life with once upon a time ago. A man you so badly wanted to give your love to but who never seemed willing to accept it. This isn’t the first bar he’s been in tonight. You’re not so sure if it’s even the second. And he’s so tightly wound with his white-knuckled grip to his composure, he was able to keep it somewhat hidden from even you.

He’s hurting. You see it in a way you rarely did when you were together. It’s more than embarrassment, it’s more than the awkwardness that comes with running into an ex. No, Marc is hurting far beyond you and this bar. He always has been. He just rarely has his grip this loose on the reins to allow you to see it so clearly.

“Are you okay?” you ask finally, drinking from your glass.

His lips quirk up into a small forced smile. When he broke up with you, you swore it was the worst heartache you’d ever have. But looking at that smile, you think this one, the one from seeing that look, takes the cake. The number of breakdowns you had in front of him during the time you’d been together had been plenty, and even now that there is so little at stake because he’s leaving first thing in the morning probably to never see you again, he refuses to let you know he’s hurting.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Marc replies, He finishes off the last of his beer before his eyes land on your almost-empty one. “I’ll go get us another round.” He stands up and goes up to the bar before you even have the chance to respond.

Now you’re really fucked. You thought you were having the shitty night, but obviously you can’t just leave him all on his own. He’d never in a million years ask for your help. He’d say no if you asked if he wanted it. When you were together, if something was clearly bothering him, he’d never open up to you. He’d give some sort of vague answer always before telling you not to worry about it.

If you had a dollar for every time Marc told you to not fucking worry about it, you would live someplace a lot nicer than your cramped one bedroom with the radiator that has currently been loud enough to keep you up at night.

Once he disappeared for days. Well, not disappeared exactly, but didn’t tell you he was going to be away for a few days until he was already gone, and then only let you know through a text. Needless to say, you had been livid, even more so when he showed up and tried to blow the whole thing over by pretending it never happened.

The fact that this is the guy you can’t get over makes you question your judgement. But that’s not really fair either, because when things were good with Marc, they were really good. Like “this is what life could look like” good.

The summer you’d been together, you went to a few Cubs games together. He grumbled about the lines at concessions, but he still waited in line because you were excited when you saw they had soft pretzels. He’d get you the overpriced beer they sold in the seats during the game. And once the game ended, win or lose, Marc would keep his arm around you as you waited for the train back to your place from Wrigley Field.

He always seemed a little lighter on those days. More playful, a little more touchy. Absentmindedly taking your hand to trace his fingers over yours. Giving you little nudges whenever he’d tease you, trying to get a rise out of you. He’d look at you through those dark lashes of his with a cocky little smirk on his face.

When he returns from the bar, Marc sets your drinks down in front of you without a word. He sits back down, his eyes fixed on the full glass in front of him with a small look of disgust on his face. You hope it’s not towards you; deep down you know it isn’t but being able to guess the real reason behind Marc’s loathing doesn’t do much to make you feel any better.

You take a sip, keeping your eyes on him. “So…” you hedge once your glass hits the table. “I heard you moved.”

Marc nods. “Yeah.”

As patient and understanding as you’re trying to be, Marc is getting on your last fucking nerve. You know that’s more because of the sort of day you’ve been having, but still. Can’t the man offer up one single detail about himself without it needing to be pried from him?

“And…?”

Marc’s lip twitches into a frown before going pin straight again. “I, uh...I’ve been in London.”

“London?” You blink. You were expecting something like New York, maybe even the suburbs if he was looking for something to shock people, but you hadn’t thought he left the country all together.

You knew he traveled a lot for work, had been all over the world, but never thought he would move somewhere else. You knew very little about Marc’s life in Chicago. Only that, at one point in time, he’d temporarily invited you into it.

“What have you been doing in London?” you ask when Marc just offers a silent nod in response.

“It’s...it’s a long story.”

You groan. You feel a little guilty about it, but honestly. “Marc,” you sigh, “I can’t do this all night, okay? I appreciate you coming over to check on me, and it’s...it’s nice to see you. But you can’t absolutely disappear out of my life for months and come back like nothing happened.”

Marc’s jaw tenses. He drinks from his glass to put off a response. He wipes his hand down his face and then sighs. His fingers tense into fists and then relax before he speaks. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low, as if he’s afraid that speaking too loud will allow you to hear all the sadness he’s trying to hide. He looks as if he wouldn’t mind sitting out in the snow and letting the elements claim him. He looks like even being within your vicinity has ruined something that he never should have touched. Like he thinks was supposed to be a new phase of your life—one without him—and he can’t even do it.

You’re sure this isn’t the conversation he wants to be having right now either. Marc’s drinking habits raised some concerns while you were together, especially after the nights where he came home late with very little to say. Judging by the state he’s in, he’s had one hell of a day, and all of this probably isn’t making it any easier. But if he’s going to sit with you, if he’s trying to comfort you in some way, you’re entitled to something. The truth, even at least a little bit of it. Because comforting you means confronting he was the one that caused some of the hurt you needed to heal from.

“What’s going on?” you ask finally.

“Nothing,” he replies.

“Dammit, Marc!” you say, clearly exasperated. “I’m trying here. One day, we’re eating takeout and watching old movies, the next you’re saying everything we built after almost a year was a mistake. And now you’re here, and you...you’re not talking to me. And I shouldn’t be surprised because this just like it was before, but I…”

Marc shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have done this.” He moves to stand up but you shake your head.

“No. Talk to me. For once, please, just talk to me.” You wish there wasn’t that edge of desperation in your voice, but fight against it as you might, this is the man you love. And were you a more selfless person, you could maybe put all the hurt aside and just focus on him, but you feel entitled to something more than his cryptic vagueness.

“What do you want me to say?” Marc snaps. “I came in and messed up your life, and I’m sorry. I should have...I never should have stuck around that long. It only hurt you in the long run.”

“No, Marc. The times where you were around weren’t what hurt me,” you reply. “The fact that you left like you didn’t mean anything to me did. I tried so hard to make things work because I thought you were worth it, and you wouldn’t let me.”

He shakes his head again. “I’m not worth it, alright? You wasted your time.”

And that feels like a fucking slap in the face. The worst part is, you know he isn’t intentionally trying to hurt you; he genuinely believes that the time you spent with him was a waste of your time.

As you sit in stunned silence, Marc scowls at the table, his hand firmly wrapped around the glass in front of you. He can’t even look up at you after he says that, knowing how much of himself he’s actually revealed by saying something like that.

“That’s not true,” you say finally. “Yeah, it hurt like hell when you left, but I didn’t...I don’t regret any of that, Marc. I didn’t waste my time, and I don’t regret loving you. You got under my skin because you basically told me nothing, but I chose that when I chose you. And I kept choosing it every time because I looked at you and knew you were someone deserving of my love. And at some point, it stopped being a choice. Now it’s the default, and I’m going on shitty date after shitty date trying to replace you, and it’s not working because no one can replace you.”

Your words are rushed because, at first, you wanted to make sure you said them before you chickened out, but then, after a certain point, you couldn’t stop them.

Marc stares at you, and you can’t quite pinpoint the expression on his face. There’s pain and longing and fear. You can see him trying to close it off, hide it all from you, push it under the rug, but he can’t quite do it. He doesn’t respond. His eyes close for a minute, and he looks back down at the table.

He definitely wasn’t expecting a love confession. To be fair, you weren’t expecting to give one either.

You feel your face get hot. You take a gulp of beer. This time you jar yourself by setting your glass down too hard. Marc doesn’t react.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you say, standing up quickly, and fuck, you’re more drunk than you realized. You play off your teetering as you walk towards the bathroom without daring to glance back.

A collage of local show posters plaster the walls of the single-stall bathroom. You lock the door behind you, pressing your back against Brittany’s declaration of love to David etched on the wall with Sharpie and let out a sigh. To stop the room from spinning, you close your eyes. If you could, you’d scream. This whole night has been one train wreck after another, and you’d been the cause of a good many of those.

It’d been what, ten, fifteen minutes maybe, since Marc first sat down at your table. It took you fifteen fucking minutes to fold and confess your love to this absolutely impossible man. You hope he at least waits until you get back to leave. You left your purse at the table.

You push yourself off the wall, stumbling forward a little bit to look at yourself in what little space of the mirror hasn’t been graffitied. You look rough. Not really physically in anyway. Your hair was still just as adequate as it was when you’d deemed yourself worthy to go on your date with Improv Guy. But something from within you looks so shaken.

This whole situation is so completely Marc, and it feels like you both are just circling around this over and over; you serve up your heart on a platter for Marc because you just can’t help it, and he never accepts because he can’t imagine a world where you’d choose him freely.

It’s an endless circle that you can’t pull yourself out of because you don’t want to. You so badly want to see Marc get better and to be there to watch it happen, and he fights against that ever being a possibility at every turn of the way.

You should have just stayed home tonight. The date wasn’t worth bracing the snowstorm outside, and now any hope you had of leaving Marc Spector in the past is delayed because he’s currently sitting at your table waiting for you to come back. There’s not a single bathroom exit besides the door you came in through otherwise you would genuinely consider climbing out the window.

Right now, you could be at home ordering whatever you wanted; Improv Guy hadn’t even been interested in splitting fries (and that should have been your first warning). You wouldn’t have to cower in the bathroom because in a drunken stupor, you decided the time and place to admit your lingering love to your ex-boyfriend is at the sticky-floored dive.

Tonight was a nightmare, or at least you wish it was. You’d far rather wake up in your bed to the sound of your roommate still up with the TV too loud in the other room than go out and face Marc.

There’s a knock at the door and you mutter a curse under your breath. Whoever’s waiting doesn’t know you’re not actually using the bathroom. You could just lie. But you’d feel guilty that someone who genuinely had to use the bathroom had to wait because you were afraid to look your ex-boyfriend in the eye after your unplanned outburst.

“Just a second!” you call out, giving the stunned, flustered look coming from deep within you once last glance. The knock comes again, this time a little harder. You sigh. “Yeah, coming!” You stomp to the door, irritated that after everything you’ve dealt with tonight, now you’ve got some impatient asshole waiting outside.

But that’s not your luck. Instead, Marc is at the door. His eyes are fierce on you, almost as if he’s about to chew you out. He stands there for a minute, his hands balled into fists at his sides as he looks at you. And then he shoves you back into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

“What the fuck, Marc?” you ask, the indignation in your voice cutting through the slightly breathless quality that would have been more apparent otherwise.

He takes a step towards you, and even in the dim light of the cluttered walls, you see the lust in his eyes. You catch on fast.

“Did you mean all that back there?” he asks. His voice comes out husky.

You don’t step back as he approaches. You just look up at him slack-jawed, drowning in his gaze as he takes you in.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“You still love me?” He knows what he heard; your words lit a fire inside of him. He wants to hear you say it again so he can hold it as fully true. Wants to hear you own up to your confession instead of hiding from it in this bathroom.

“I still love you,” you reply.

Marc takes another step forward, backing you against the wall. He ducks his head down against your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “You didn’t like any of these other guys as much as you liked me, huh?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No.”

“You missed me?” he asks, before pressing hungry kisses against you.

“Uh-huh,” you reply, too drunk and caught up in the moment to even consider being more intelligible. Marc trying to get you to egg him on is turning your brain to mush because you can hear how badly he wants it. He’s drunk enough to want you to know.

His hands are on your waist, gripping tight as if he’s afraid you won’t be here otherwise. He presses against you. He pauses for a moment, practically breathing you in. His lips travel up the length of your neck to your jaw before finally crashing his lips against yours.

It’s far from the Marc you knew, who’d always been controlled, testing you as much of himself, waiting to push you as far as you’d let him. It’s consuming and frantic, but it doesn’t make a difference to you; you would take sloppy kisses from Marc over the best kiss from Improv Guy or any of your other just-not quite-right-for-you dates. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but he’s giving himself over to you in a way you’ve never quite experienced. There’s a desperation in his movements, like this is an audition for a role he really can’t lose.

Marc presses you more firmly against the wall, his hands wandering, gripping wherever he can. Your back, your ass, your hair, almost reverent in their exploration. Almost like he’s trying to make sure to have you memorized for when he leaves again.

But fuck that, because you don’t want him to leave. No, you want a good thing that will last. And in this moment, with your inhibitions shoved in a trunk somewhere, you want Marc to stay, and you’re willing to do whatever it takes, even if it absolutely must take place in this bathroom.

Your fingers curl up into Marc’s thick locks of hair. His tongue laps at your lower lip before fumbling into your mouth. He pulls apart suddenly, fast kisses moving back down your neck, his hands wandering, grabbing. Palming at your back, then working lower as he begins to sink to his knees. He pushes your skirt up around you skirt up above your waist with one hand while the other reaches around and grabs your ass.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice so heavy with lust and desire. Even though you’re questioning him, your fingers are back to being wrapped up in his hair as he kneels before you.

And while his movements maybe a little out of character, his lack of response to your question is exactly the norm for Marc. He lets his actions speak for him. And the action is sliding your skirt and tights down to your ankles, leaving you in just the lacy pair of underwear you’d chosen just in case things had gone well with Improv Guy tonight, one of the ones you bought after Marc broke up with you because buying an arm and a leg of nice lingerie seemed like the thing to do.

Marc lets out a throaty noise, almost a growl, when he sees you. He knows that he was never really meant to see these; these were meant for the eyes of some other man. The thought drives him a little closer to the edge.

“Has anyone seen these?” he asks, trailing his tongue along your upper thigh.

You let out a sigh and shake your head. “No,” you reply.

Marc presses his forehead against your hip, lips worrying at your sensitive skin as his fingertips curl beneath the top of the waistband. There’s one moment of hesitation, though maybe that’s only the little bit of his usual teasing he can afford, before he tugs the panties down to pool at your ankles with everything else.

“I am not setting a single bare foot on this floor,” you tell him, your voice still breathless.

“Fine,” Marc mutters back. He undoes your boot, tugging your tights off your foot, before slinging your leg over his shoulder. You sway a little on your one foot, not in the ideal condition for this, but Marc grips your hip, steadying you against the wall.

You raise a hand to keep your balance with the help of the paper towel dispenser on the wall, and just as you’re beginning to reorient yourself, the ground drops out beneath you. Marc makes no hesitation as his tongue hits your clit right away. He knows your body, knows what you like better than anyone, and he’s going to prove it to you.

“Fuck!” you gasp. Your grip on his hair tightens as you fight back the punched out groan that wants so desperately to escape. But no matter how loud the music is playing over out of this bathroom, you know it’s not loud enough to cover up the sounds Marc can make you make if you don’t keep yourself under control. There could be a break in the music and someone could hear. Or worse, someone could be waiting right outside the door. Oh, fuck, you didn’t even think about actually leaving the bathroom. People are going to see the two of you come out and know exactly what happened.

But before your thoughts have any more time to spiral, Marc begins lapping at your clit, pressing hard and white-hot pleasure builds from your core. One small whimper slips out as he continues to drag his tongue over that same sweet spot that’s clearly already proven to be your eventual undoing.

Marc’s free hand winds around your thigh slung over your shoulder. His fingertips brush against your inner thigh, kneading at the flesh. The fingers of his other hand dig into your hip. His body is nestled so close to you as your hips cant against his tongue, trying to savor more of that blindingly euphoric spot.

In a rare moment of surrender, Marc doesn’t hesitate to give it to you. This man is lapping at you like he needs you to survive. It’s obscene and frantic, and yet, your legs feel weak from it. You can’t look away from where Marc is knelt down before you, because you’re not sure there could be a single thing hotter than how badly he wants to be here doing this right now.

Once he’s sure you’ve situated yourself in a steady position, his hand moves from your hip before he slips a thick finger inside. You let out a funny whine as you try to stifle a larger, more instinctive noise.

Marc knows. He pulls his finger out almost immediately, resting a cheek against your thigh, grunting a little as if trying to not completely lose control of himself at the sound of how much he’s already unwound you. You can feel his eyelashes against the sensitive skin as he closes his eyes and shushes you. His breath warm on your thigh before he bites down softly.

Your chest rises and falls as he waits for you to cool down, but you’re still aching for him, clenching down at fullness that was only so briefly there when you need more. This man has given you the most earth-shattering orgasms you’ve ever had, and the worst fucking part is he knows it. He can tell how badly you want him and how impatient you’re getting.

If this was before, he’d make you wait. He’d take his time with you, enjoy watching your undoing. But lucky for you, he’s aware the allotted time for your little public escapade is finite. He presses one more kiss to your thigh before taking his index finger and dragging it down the length of your seam before dipping it back into you, curling up.

Your back arches as you bite back the sound that he knows you want to make. He might even be trying to get you to make it despite his previous warning to stay quiet. You wouldn’t put it past him, especially with how wild he’s gone at the thought that he’s the only one you’ve been thinking about since he’s been away.

His tongue flicks at your clit teasingly before pressing down with the length of his tongue. A low moan comes from Marc’s throat, muffled by your slick folds as he refuses to part even an inch from you. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He adds a second finger, pulsing deep inside of you. You’d feel bad for how hard you’re yanking on his hair if it really wasn’t his own fault. It’s not like he seems to mind, either. In fact, with every small tug, his passion only seems to grow.

Marc is licking and sucking and groaning against you with a sloppy enthusiasm that was so different from his usual self, and fuck, he’s barely started, but you feel that warmth building from your core. You have no say as your hips start grinding against his tongue, trying to work yourself even closer to your release.

He stops suddenly.

You whine, opening your eyes up to see him look up at you. Your slick is smeared all over his lips and chin. His eyes are heavy-lidded, lips swollen, and you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking of how beautiful he looks in this moment if your life depended on it. There’s something in his eyes that looks as if he’s found peace, and it may just be the endorphins running through his mind because, well, sex, but in the lustful phase as you near your orgasm, you want to believe it has something to do with more than just that. You want to think that you, really you, not your words, not your cunt, has something to do with that peace. Because you want to believe that’s the one thing you can offer Marc he can’t get anywhere else.

He unhooks your leg from his shoulder and starts to fumble with your tights where they’re pooled beneath you.

“What are you doing?” you ask for the second time.

This time he responds. “Trying to...figure out how this is supposed to work,” he grunts, a bit of annoyance in his voice.

“Why?”

“So you don’t have to touch the floor with your foot.”

“Why would I--”

“Fuck it.”

Marc doesn’t even let you get your question out before he lifts you up. You grip down onto his shoulder, trying to kick loose your tights that Marc is dragging behind as he carries you to the counter—oh god, he’s going to set you down on that thing—but you realize your boot is still on.

“No, Marc, not fuck it,” you say, teetering in his grip. “My...fucking...shoe.”

He shushes you again. You can’t believe him tonight, the audacity of this man. He sets you down onto the counter of this bathroom, and you’re going to need to shower twice and burn your skirt and tights for what you’re about to do. But the sight of Marc knelt back down before you, tugging your boot and your tights off, beginning to kiss up the length of your leg as he spreads your thighs open, makes it a little worth it.

His lips work up to your knee before his tongue drags across the surface of your inner thigh.

You sigh at the feeling, your whole body tingling with delight despite how questionable all of this is. You’re already disgusting and at this point, you’ll have regrets in the morning either way, so why stop now?

Marc stands before you, meeting your eyes since this whole thing started. You see love in his eyes and you have to pretend like you don’t so you don’t make it out to be something other than drunken lust. Marc left you, and all of that is behind you. This is...oh god, is this pity sex? Is he pitying you for still loving him?

You don’t get the chance to ponder the question. Marc is undoing his belt, but his eyes never leave your face. Your legs are spread for him, open for what he really wants, what you’re trying to convince yourself he really wants, but his eyes don’t falter.

Yours on the other hand wander to watch Marc’s hands on the button of his jeans. He’s already hard. You haven’t laid a hand on him and you can already see a clear impression of where his cock is trying to break free from his boxer briefs.

He’s watching the blissed out look on your face as you watch his hand sink into his boxers and wrap around himself. His jaw sets eyes blinking shut for a moment as his hand moves just out of your sight. He thrusts himself into his hand a few times before slowly releasing the bulge from his underwear.

His cock springs out, twitching before you. And as gross as this bathroom is, you’re far past the point of pretending you’re above this. Yeah, you’ll let him take you on this bathroom counter. Marc pushes you back slightly so you’re leaning against the mirror. He grabs your legs and tugs you forward.

It catches you off-guard. Your skirt rides upand you gasp. Before you have the time to settle and see what he’s doing, he rams himself inside of you and you let out a louder-than-you-would-have-liked moan.

Marc pauses, and you feel yourself squeezing around him. He lets out a low groan and tosses his head back. “Fuck,” he breathes. Your legs are folded at his hips before he reaches around your thighs and grabs them. And then he slams his hips towards you, holding himself deep inside, groaning as you throb for him.

You let out a huff in place of the yelp you’d make if you were anywhere else. Your eyes clamp shut and your mouth hangs open. The sensation of Marc filling you up feels honey sweet inside of you. Your hands ball up in fists at your side, unable to reach him.

Marc notices. You see him hitch an eyebrow for just a moment as his concentration breaks. Something in his eyes goes wild.

“Touch yourself,” he growls.

You nod, panting as Marc starts picking up pace, eyeing you hungrily. You uncurl your fingers, bringing a hand down. Your fingers slide down easily over your slick. The breath catches in your throat as your fingers start to circle around your spit-slicked clit.

“Yeah,” Marc says, his voice wrecked at the sight of you before him. His grip on your legs tightens as he starts slamming into you again. “Just like that.”

He’s hilted up at an angle because the counter’s just a bit too high. Your back digs into the countertop of this sink. It’s uncomfortable and messy, but fuck, it’s good.

Marc’s hair falls down, the curls brushing against his forehead as he pounds into you. He’s deep, his cock nestled into a spot inside of you that’s making you see stars.

Your fingers keep circling your clit, inching yourself closer while Marc tosses his head back again, a strained groan ripping from his throat. Everything in your body feels alight, and you’re trying to prevent everyone in this bar from knowing it. For the first time since you got here, you wish whatever generic bar guy in charge of the music would turn it up because you feel yourself getting close, and Marc is fucking you like he wants to get caught.

His nails are digging into the skin of your thighs with his unwavering grip. His mouth hangs open as his head falls back, and even in this shitty, dim lighting, he looks incredible. Light catches the bridge of his nose, his lips, his chin. And then he looks down at you, hunger in his eyes as his face is cast into shadow. He’s close. You can hear it in his voice. You recognize that panting. You feel the desperation as he pounded himself as deep as he could get into you.

You’re squeezing around him as your fingers move faster over your clit, your pants becoming slightly more audible the closer you get. He’s getting close, which means he’s going to let you come. You let out another slightly-too-loud moan, and Marc stops all together.

You let out a whine. “Why…”

Marc’s gaze meets yours, and there’s a warning in his eye. He’s telling you to stay quiet and he doesn’t even need to say a word.

You rut your hips, trying to get him to move again, letting him know you’ve received the message, but he still stills. A rumble grows from his chest after he takes a minute to settle himself, and without warning, he begins pounding into you frantically.

To stop yourself from screaming out, your hand rockets up from your clit to cover your mouth. A moan muffles against your palm.

“No,” Marc orders. He takes your hand in his and moves it back down against your clit. Oh fuck he’s challenging you. You have to stay quiet and just white knuckle it through the most incredible orgasm you’re going to have had in a very long time.

You bite down on your lip, Marc’s cock shoved to the hilt inside of you, nudging at something so brilliantly bright, and you feel yourself about to spill over.

“Yeah. Yeah, come on,” he says. “Let me feel how good I make you cum.”

And that does it. Your breath stutters before you gasp, everything exploding from within you. The room spins, and it’s not just the alcohol. Leave it to Marc fucking Spector to make you feel like you’re floating inside a Chicago dive bar.

Your fingers still, landing against your hip. But as you come down from your high, you realize Marc’s not stopping, and you’re still reeling from the first time you came.

“Don’t stop yet,” he orders. “You’ve got one more in you, don’t you?” His voice is low, like he’s holding on as tightly as he possibly cam to not completely lose it in here.

You nod, hips grinding against Marc’s as he keeps pounding away at that same spot. “Oh fuck…” you whimper out, and you sound like a wreck. You’re sure getting your head knocked against the mirror hasn’t done any favors to your hair, but as you feel yourself getting close again, you can’t be bothered to consider the condition you’re going to leave this bathroom in.

The warmth builds, and you genuinely believe you might shed a tear. It’s almost overwhelming as you are at the mercy of Marc and his cock, suspended in the time just before you come again. Marc seems like he’s toying with you. He knows you’re sensitive; he can still feel you pulsing around him. But he’s the one who gets to make you feel this good.

The fucking nerve.

“Marc…” you whine.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks breathlessly.

This man is really going to make you beg while he fucks you in a public bathroom at a fucking bar. And you’re going to do it because you can’t wait any longer.

“Please.”

His lips twitch up just a bit. A primal sound rises from his throat. “That’s my girl,” he mutters before he he his his crash against yours yet again.

He pounds into you, prodding at that spot deep inside you. You make a little whining noise; it sounds desperate in your ears, but maybe that’s why Marc makes a choked out groan. The tight grip on your legs, the warmth filling you up from the inside, it’s all enough for the breath to catch in your throat.

“Come on, baby, do it again. Let me feel you,” he says, and his words sound strained. He’s close. He’s doing as best as he can to wait for you. And that’s….it’s enough.

You gasp before finally tipping over the edge. Your eyes squeeze shut as you let the feeling rush over you, bright and tingling. Everything feels muted, like you’re hiding under the covers, warm and hidden beneath the pleasure that’s blanketing you.

Temporarily, at least, because almost immediately after, Marc’s voice breaks through your haze.

“Fuck!” he grunts out. His head jerks back again and you can feel him pulsing inside of you, filling you up.

You marvel at him. Some indie director would froth at the mouth for a shot of Marc in this bathroom, because somehow, his undoing is one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. Even in this gross little bathroom, Marc Spector has commanded some kind of godly afterglow.

You’d spent the whole night pretending to forget how handsome he really was, you forgot to enjoy how handsome he really is. Your limbs are still tingling as you come down from your high, and you’re not thinking clearly quite yet.

But as the fog clears and your eyes adjust to Marc’s beauty like adjusting to the sun after coming out of a dark room, you’re stuck with the truth of what just happened: you fucked your ex-boyfriend in a dingy bar bathroom. And you liked it.

It’s gross and raunchy, but the needy look in Marc’s eyes when he burst into the bathroom looking for confirmation you still love him practically excuses it all. And you know you shouldn’t have done it, and in the morning when your head is pounding you’ll have more space to care. Right now, you’re still riding the high of Marc Spector admitting that he needs you, admitting that there’s something still between the two of you, and that’s a lifetime achievement.

Marc pulls out, and moves quick to pull his pants up, but as inebriated as he is, Marc can’t hide the lingering longing in his eyes as his gaze occasionally flicks over to you. He picks up the tangled mess that your tights and underwear have become and passes it to you.

“I, uh…” Marc stops at the door of the bathroom, his hand hovering above the handle before grabbing it, but he doesn’t leave just yet. “I don’t think we should have done that.”

You sigh. You’re over the moon, cock drunk and just plain drunk drunk, and he’s already planning his escape. Just like old times. And you’re going to play your part, just like always. “Don’t leave yet, okay?” you ask, making progress on your tangled tights.

Marc hesitates, but his eyes don’t waver. Even hunched over cursing whatever entity made tights so easy to ensnare your underwear, Marc is looking at you like something he wants so badly but can never have.

“Yeah, sure,” he says. The words come out clear, like there’s some kind of sobriety you can provide him that he won’t even have a few hours from now.

“Promise?” You look up, wanting to gauge the expression on his face, like that usually does any good. But tonight, it’s different; you already know that. Marc looks so open. Open in a way that you were so infrequently granted in your relationship. This is a different kind of beautiful than his way-too-long-indie-movie-sex-scene beauty from earlier; no, the look on his face is Shakespearean longing. Leo in 90’s Romeo + Juliet, eyes upon Claire Danes for the first time. But then you think of how it ended up for them, and you almost wish you didn’t see it.

“Promise,” he says. He sounds like the words make him ache, and you’ve probably had too much to drink for this right now because all you want to do is latch your lips back onto his, to keep him in this bathroom so this doesn’t have to end. So you don’t have to leave this room eventually and give him back up.

You nod and shuffle out of sight from the doorway, before locking it once Marc is gone. It takes an eternity, but you finally manage to free your underwear and clean yourself up after your adventures. With your lens of post-sex clarity, you try not to take a good look at anything so you can’t dwell on how bad of an idea that might have been.

As you emerge from the bathroom, your eyes land on Marc who is at the table as promised, his hand wrapped tightly around the empty beer bottle from earlier in front of him. Your gaze shifts to the bar and doesn’t stray. The last thing you want to do is make accidental eye contact with a stranger who figured out what you’d been doing in the bathroom.

A few minutes later, you arrive to the table where Marc is sitting with two shot glasses in your hands.

Marc’s face drops the second he sees them. “No.”

“What? You were the one who said we shouldn’t have done it.” You set the two glasses down, pushing one towards Marc.

Liquid the color of apple cider vinegar sloshes around in the glass, a bit spilling out onto the table. You could smell it the whole time you walked over, and considered turning back and setting it back down at the bar because even you don’t really think this is a good idea. But it would be a little funny. You and Marc drinking Chicago’s most horrendous liquor, malort. Swallowing essentially motor oil as punishment for your raunchy romp in the bathroom.

Marc looks down at the shot glasses with disdain before his eyes shift back up to you. “That doesn’t mean we should drink this shit.”

Before you can back out, you take your shot. You instantly regret it and fight back every single urge to spit it back up. It burns going down. Even worse, it lingers once it’s gone.

“You look miserable,” Marc says. There’s an amused sparkle in his eye that feels a little more comfortable than the longing you’d seen earlier.

“You too could look this miserable,” you say, voice choked through the burning feeling lingering in your throat. And following the world’s worst pitch, Marc picks up the glass and shoots it. He grimaces, but handles it far better than you did. Just a look of disgust that’s only marginally different from his usual look of disgust. And yet, you could spot that difference anywhere, could catch the microscopic changes in Marc’s buttoned-tight demeanor.

For one moment as you and Marc make attempts to recover from the malort, you’re not two ex’s with lots of history. You’re just two people sitting with each other as if it’s the natural state of being. There’s a comfort settled between the two of you. Through your miserable shared experience, you somehow nestled back into the way things had once been, or at least an echo of it. Some sort of vignette of the nights you’d spent with each other in shared comfortable silence, a need for words abandoned.

Marc’s dark eyes are fixed to the table, but there’s a twinkle in his eye that suggests somewhere beneath the stoicism, he finds this situation a little amusing too.

“Did you see the Bean?” you ask finally, your voice low and hinting at a bit of teasing.

“What?” Marc grumbles.

“Did you see the Bean?”

After a beat, Marc looks at you, his mouth drawn into a tight line. In this moment, you can practically hear his internal grumblings. Why do I bother? First she makes me drink that shit, now she’s asking me about the fucking Bean.

“No, I didn’t see the Bean.”

“No? I thought that was the thing to do for tourists.”

“Tourist?”

“What about Navy Pier?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. Giving Marc shit was always a good way to pass the time, especially because he let you do it for a lot longer than he would anyone else. “Did you go on the ferris wheel at Navy Pier?”

Marc breathes your name before running his hand down his face. He sighs.

“Did you get a deep dish pizza at Lou’s?”

“You’re real funny,” Marc says, his voice his an unwavering deadpan. “What, are you going to ask if I took a picture outside the sign at Wrigley next?”

You scoff. “No, because you’d actually do that one.”

Marc grunts. His hand is wrapped around his empty glass again. He stares at it. But despite his gruff response, you see the corner of his lip quirk up a bit. “You’re a real pain in the ass sometimes, you know that?”

“It’s never come up.” Your eyes shift from his, looking out the window nearby. Outside, large flakes of snow fall from the sky, glowing red from the neon in the window. It collects on the cars parked at the meters in a thin sheet. It’s not much, but it’s the first snow of the year.

“Aw shit,” Marc mumbles.

“What is it?” you ask, eyes falling back to him.

Marc shakes his head, looking up from the phone in his hand. “Nothing. It’s nothing. My...my flight just got cancelled. It’s nothing.” His shoulders are tense, and you know it’s not nothing. You’ve never known the specifics of Marc’s family life—hell, that may not even be why he’s here—but you know he’s itching to get the hell out of Chicago.

“Shit. Where’ve you been staying?” you ask.

“Listen, don’t worry about it. It’s not your problem, alright?” He stuffs his phone back into his pocket. “I’ve gotta go figure all this out. But…”

“Where are you staying?” you repeat.

“I don’t know. I have to figure it out.” Marc’s voice is short, clipped, and his mouth is drawn thin.

You sigh. “It’s snowing hard out there--”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why the flight--”

“Marc. It’s snowing hard out. The roads are going to be a mess. I live nearby. Skip the Lyft and just...stay the night at my place tonight. You’re too drunk to figure something out right now anyway.”

Marc’s hand tightens into a fist on top of the table. He scowls at the scarred wood, but the fact that he hasn’t immediately said no is something. He could actually be considering accepting your help, and that’d be some substantial progress when it comes to Marc Spector.

But you know what he’s thinking about. It’s the same thing you’re thinking. You’re just going to bring him over after all that in the bathroom? Going to go back to your apartment and pretend like none of that happened? Kinda messy. But it’s you and Marc, always destined to occasionally crash into each other, and you’re sinking your claws onto Marc’s world to keep him in your orbit just for a little bit longer.

He sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!!! Kind of feel like I could maybe do more with this so please let me know if you liked it!!!!!!

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #i am nervous again to be posting on the internet

[parasytte]

Can we please get more Casey and Elijah stuff there so cute!!

just posted a fic w them, so i’ll give you some random facts about our cheerleader and jock :)))

casey is a big crybaby. he likes to act like he’s all cool and collected but he isn’t. he breaks down sobbing at anything.

elijah is kinda oblivious and really delusional. casey is more observant then eli, but almost just as delusional.

elijah enjoys being little spoon (even though it’s a little impractical because of his size) and casey likes to lay on top of the person he’s cuddling with (you or elijah). just full on smothering.

casey comes from a single father who spoiled him beyond relief.

i think it’s funny to think that elijah is a lightweight and the littlest bit of alcohol or weed gets him fucked up but it doesn’t really affect cas that much. also when eli gets like that i imagine him to be incredibly clingy, whiny, and he starts crying.

casey doesn’t like driving.

elijah is actually pretty good at singing but he’s shy about it.

cant think of anything else okay bye

#yandere oc #mlm yandere #yandere poly #poly yandere #yandere #yandere male #male yandere #yandere ocs #yandere boy #yandere oc x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere love #yandere imagines #yandere jock #yandere x reader #soft yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #parasytte ocs #casey hayes my oc #casey my oc #elijah caddel my oc #elijah my oc

[ilyasorokinn]

barzy at Disney park of your choice?? ❤️❤️ thank u tayla ily

DISNEY ADULT

i love you too cam! *muah*

mat at disneyland was like a kid in a candy store. everything he saw, no matter how impractical, he wanted to buy, "what about this?"

"what are we going to do with mickey silverware, mat?" you asked, letting out a breath as you had followed him from store to store all day.

"we'll figure something out." he shrugged.

"no, we don't need it. i already said yes to the mickey soap dispenser and the towels and that stupid stuffed animal."

"hey! sven was not stupid." mat defended.

"okay, whatever, i'm saying no to the forks and the spoons. we don't have any room left in your suitcase."

"well, that's why i have yours." he shrugged again.

"this is not and will not be your last time at disneyland. you don't need everything!" you pointed out.

"but they're so cute," he whined.

"and we have no place or space for them," you whined back in the same tone, "let's go." you grabbed his hand and tugged him out of the store, "i want to ride some rides."

"fine." he sighed, letting you drag him in the direction of the ride you wanted to ride. after dragging mat onto matterhorn, he came out holding his back.

"you good?"

"well, we can cancel that chiropractic appointment we had because i think i'm all straightened out now." he joked, wincing in pain.

"do you want a churro?" you asked, your tone similar to when you're talking to a child.

"yes." he instantly smiled, like a child.

"all right, let's go." you laughed, letting him drag you to the nearest churro stand.

by the end of the night, you had been at the park since it opened. you had seen almost everything, and even though your trip wasn't over, mat wanted to experience everything so you were awake every morning before park open and were there until it closed.

"what'd you think? your first day at disneyland?"

"can't wait for more." he sounded like a kid, "and i'm regretting not getting that shirt."

"oh, my god!" you rolled your eyes.

#mat barzal imagine #mat barzal imagines #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal fic #mat barzal blurbs #mat barzal #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fic #nhl blurbs #nhl #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey fic #hockey blurbs #hockey #new york islanders imagine #new york islanders imagines #new york islanders blurbs #new york islanders fic #new york islanders #taylor writes #taylor writes: hockey

[bahbahhh]

currents

the true story of mipha's grace.

NPC POV | Miphlink and Zelink | multichapter | rated T

also on Ao3

As promised in celebration of 500 followers on tumblr: A thematic successor to desire path and thank you for listening in which we are getting zelink from a NPC POV as well as a metaphor through nature. I wanted to give Mipha some love because I often seen (and have done this myself) her placed in a negative or shallow light with respect to Link and Zelda's relationship in botw. I also believe deeply you can love someone completely and not be meant for each other and that is okay. Follows Mipha's diary entries/Champions' Ballad. Suggested listening: What Was I Made For - Billie Eilish thank you to @zeldaelmo for beta reading this <3 you are tremendous!! And a shout out to @mistresslrigtar who took a little sneak peek for me (:

Chapter 1

notes: mipha's diary entries 1-3

They say the Divine Beasts are meant to resemble ancient creatures native to their region of origin. Mipha knows rivers flow all over and the sea is vast, but she’s never seen anything like Vah Ruta. She stands in the company of her father, King Dorephan, and others in various positions of leadership among the Zora in the belly of the ancient machine. They gather in shallow water that surrounds the main terminal, which has remained dormant since the excavation from the lake depths, having a preliminary discussion about pilot nominations. Allegedly, the Princess of Hyrule has been quietly making rounds across the realm, asking for “Champions” to operate the Divine Beast in the prophesied battle against the Calamity. Zora’s Domain is to be her last stop. 

“This is the mighty weapon of the Zora?” Trello, captain of the Zora Knights, asks flatly.

“Capable of drowning legions of enemies and freezing the water in the air into boulders of ice it can hurl like a trident, or so the Sheikah researchers say,” Seggin replies.

“It doesn’t resemble any fish I’ve seen. Jiahto, were you able to locate anything in the texts?” Muzu asks. 

“We once had a hunting group bring back fish with a nose like a sword from the Faron Sea, but this machine’s nose is flexible. There were seals, albeit mammals not fish, that once lined the Akkala island cliffs. Like those found in the Gerudo desert, these had similar tusks and were round in shape, but they balanced on flippers and lacked the ears and proboscis,” the Zora researcher says. “That is what this type of nose is called. Commonly referred to as a trunk.” Jiahto is Mipha’s least favorite member of the newly appointed Royal Council. “Undignified, if you ask me.” 

“I think it’s cute.” Mipha says, gazing up at the carving of the Sheikah eye in the stonework. 

“Cute?” Jiahto balks and then continues,“I heard the Goron’s Divine Beast is shaped like a fire lizard and the Rito’s an eagle. This familiarity will give them an advantage in their mastery, for sure. Our pilot needs to be wise enough to understand the ways of this mysterious creature.”

“I believe it is called an elephant.” Mipha lifts up her finger. 

“How do you know that?” Jiahto’s fin’s fold tight against his scales. Imagine that, someone with knowledge he doesn’t yet possess! 

“I asked the Sheikah.” Mipha shrugs. 

“It is cute,” her father agrees. He flashes a big black eye down at her and she smiles. Jiahto is also his least favorite member of the Council.

Muzu speaks up,“Just because it is unfamiliar, doesn’t not mean it is impractical. I’m sure our fins and gills are very curious to Hylians, too. And yet, look who they call upon when there is trouble in the waters?”

“And they will call upon us again. Very soon.” Her father looks over his shoulder through the openings in Vah Ruta’s walls. “According to the Sheikah, the Divine Beasts require someone worthy enough to control them. So while we might make our selection, I believe the Divine Beast will make the final determination.”

They begin to discuss among themselves. Jiahto favors a wise choice, and offers himself. Trello, a strong choice, and recommends one of his knights. Seggin, seconds it should be a knight, but recommends a different Zora. Muzu wonders if they should conduct trials for nominees to prove their worth. Dento, another Council member and a blacksmith, seems content to listen and occasionally grunts disapprovingly to stir up more debate. 

Her father has drifted away from them quietly, a feat seemingly impossible for someone so large and yet, he goes unnoticed toward the terminal, with his eyes still fixed on the Domain. Mipha moves to join him. 

“I fear the arrival of the Princess will bring tremendous danger to our home,” he says quietly.

Mipha sets her hand on his arm. It pains her to see him worried, but this is not a wound she can heal. It is the price of Kingship. “Father, if the prophecy of Calamity Ganon’s return is really coming true, could she also be seen as a symbol of hope? That she brings not danger, but a solution?”

Her father finally pulls his gaze away from the Domain and smiles at her. “You have grown into a wise Zora, my daughter. Seggin also tells me you are quite ferocious with that Lightscale trident. You will be a powerful, sensible, and beloved leader for our people one day.” 

Mipha squeezes her father’s arm, pride swirling in her chest, and steps back toward the terminal. There is a sudden shutter through the Divine Beast, a song of churning gears echoing through the chambers. The terminal blinks to life, a cool, inviting blue spreading across the intricate carvings. Mipha feels the machine’s eye on her somehow, like the spotlight of the moon, and it is the most seen she has ever felt in her entire life. It doesn’t feel like a choice, like favor. It feels like destiny. All at once, the secrets of Vah Ruta wash over her. She knows how to raise the trunk to bring the rain, how to blast beams of ice from the tusks, how to aim a mighty beam of burning light straight across Hyrule. If she were to lift her feet now, she is sure Vah Ruta would walk with her. All of this becomes her, like it’s been there all along, in a single pulse of blue light into the next. 

“Me?” Mipha whispers, bringing her hand up to trace the silver across her chest. 

“Absolutely not!” Muzu lunges forward and pulls Mipha back by the shoulders. Seggin is there too, with his weapon brandished, like the terminal might sprout hands and attempt to grab her. Dento and Trello jump in front of her, making a shield with the bodies. Even Jiahto is there, so agitated by the terminal's sudden glow, that his normally blue scales look purple.

“But-” Mipha starts, trying to find the words to describe to them what just happened, but Seggin cuts her off.

“It will pick someone else,” he commands loudly toward the terminal, his voice echoing off the walls.

“You are meant to be a healer!” says Dento.

“A leader!” says Trello.

“But maybe I can-” Mipha tries to pull her arms free from Muzu’s hold, but his hands are ironclad against her scales. Her father stands before her horrified, the spines of his fins flared, eyes wide on the terminal. She can see a strange conflict ripple across his face. He says something in old Zora, so low and guttural that she feels it vibrate the metal beneath her feet. She doesn’t know what he says and the terminal doesn’t answer. It just glows. She hears Muzu gasp. 

Her father waves his hand and the council starts to corral her back away toward the exit.

“Father, please, I can help if you just–”

“Danger is coming to Zora’s Domain. We need you here, Mipha. Your duty is with your people,” her father says. “It will pick someone else.” 

Behind him, the terminal blinks once and then dims. 

…

“But aren’t all Zora strong swimmers?”

Mipha looks down at her younger brother, his eyes crinkled up at her with an eagerness she finds most delightful, and takes a deep breath to prepare herself for the lengthy, repetitive explanation it often demands. Only eight springs have passed since he hatched, and although he is strong, he is still too young to join his peers in the Dive. Mipha offered to advise him individually in effort to evade more interrogations from the Council about what occurred on Vah Ruta the day prior and now finds herself standing on the banks of Ruto Lake just after dawn, teaching him the ways of the water which are best learnt after at least noon. 

But Sidon is excited and thankfully no longer crying, and very ready, so here they are. 

“Yes. But being a strong swimmer does not guarantee safety. Water is indefinitely wild. Misleading. Dangerous when it wants to be. To be a Zora is to know all the secret languages of water.” 

Sidon sticks out his chin. His tailfin, which hangs the length of him off the back of his head and folds on the ground behind his feet, sags with disappointment. “O-kay.”

Mipha pats his shoulder gently. She isn’t so far removed from her own Dive and those innocent years prior not to remember how he is feeling. The agony of waiting. The constant yearning to be bigger without comprehending what you are asking for. What you are wishing away. “You are a strong swimmer. And you will be a smart one, too. The very smartest once you know how to identify the different currents: undertows, rip currents, riptides–”  

“There are different currents?” Sidon interrupts.

Mipha shakes her head. “Yes. Depending on what kind of water you are in – a river, a lake, a bay – what time of day, the status of the tide.”

“But does it really matter if you are a strong enough swimmer?” Sidon tilts his head so dramatically that the black feather on his headpiece nearly touches the ground.

“See these tiny waves here?” She points down to her feet as a small rush of clear water washes over her toes. Her fins flex against the chill. “No matter how big or how small, the water pushed by a wave needs a way of traveling back out to the larger body of water. In this case, the lake. A rip current isn’t part of the waves lifespan like an undertow is–”

“Wait, they aren’t the same thing?” Sidon gasps.

“A rip current doesn’t pull you under, it will pull you out. A rip current is created when the water a wave pushes up onto shore finds a fast opening back out. Usually a beak in the sandbar floor. This creates a narrow path of very strong water and will pull even the strongest of swimmers away from the shore. It is especially dangerous near open water like the sea, but they can occur in any body of water with breaking waves. If you are Zora, you know how to spot and beat the rip current.”

“Beat the rip current?” Sidon makes a fist and pumps it excitedly.  “How do I do that?” 

“In time, in time.” Mipha wipes the sleep from her eyes and suppresses a yawn. “First you need to learn to spot it.”

“So what’s an undertow, then?” 

“Think about when we’ve been bodysurfing in Necluda. That feeling when the wave sort of pulls you right up under the crest of it? Right before you catch and can ride it all the way up onto the beach? An undertow is the pull of a wave right before it crashes down.”

Sidon fans his arms out like he’s flying or floating. “It’s so fun!”

Mipha sets her hands on his and eases them back down to his sides. “Yes, surfing is. It is important to know how you are having that fun, though. And what to do if the waves and that undertow grow too strong.”

Sidon nods and sets his brows low. He does this when he’s ‘thinking extra hard’. It always makes Mipha smile.

“What about a riptide?” 

For some reason, Mipha’s eyes turn upward. The moon is pale against the bright morning sky, on its way down to the horizon where it will sleep and rise again with dusk. Her eyes land on the southern wall of the reservoir where just beyond, Vah Ruta stands dormant in the center of the lake. “A riptide, well, a riptide is similar to a rip current because they can pull you out from the shore, but a riptide is much stronger and fixed.” Mipha glances up. “Riptides are connected to the tide. To the moon. Whereas rip currents are created, can pop up and disappear...riptides just are.”

“Like the ten-year storm?” Sidon asks.

Mipha smiles. “Just like that.”

…

Like clockwork– like it’s written in the very stars that shine over Zora’s Domain itself, dating back to time immemorial even to the mighty Zora, the Lanayru Region has been plagued by torrential rainfall in the wet season once every ten years. 

It’s funny, to say there is anything other than a wet season for a province completely surrounded by and defined by water, but everything from the flora to the fauna know this rhythm and pay due respect. For despite its necessity to every living thing in all of Hyrule, an overabundance of water will mercilessly and swiftly drown anything that underestimates it. Even the Zora. 

Thankfully, flooding hasn’t been a problem for the Zora since long before Mipha’s great-grandfather’s grandfather was even born. The reservoir, marking the ancient intersection of Zora architecture and Hylian engineering, contains the most destructive torrents when the heavy rains come. The waters around the Domain still swell though, and the gentle river named for Mipha’s people whips like a powerful tailfin across Hyrule. It replenishes every shallow stream, every thirsty lake and pond and marsh along the way, even reinforcing the protective gully around Hyrule Castle itself with enough water to sustain life for the next decade. 

Muzu says the Zora River is the vein that connects Hyrule’s heart and brain. He’s never clarified which is which, so Mipha likes to imagine her people are the heart of Hyrule.

That means that when waves that started around her feet finally crash against the stone walls that cradle Hyrule Castle, Link hears the echoes from inside the knight's quarters there, and it sounds just like her heart beating.

The distant struggle of her people during these storms is memorialized by the stone monuments that surround her home. It is the duty of a Zora King to recast the tablets during their reign, adding new wisdom in reflection and relevant current events to the chronicle. The monuments of the past kings are transferred to the waters under the Domain and set into the crystal pillars with luminous stone. Muzu says this is why the Zora live longer than any people in Hyrule. Not only do they record events, but they learn from the past, bear witness to how it is retold, and use that wisdom to literally reinforce the framework of dominium they call home.

The significance of the Dive ceremony is twofold. The first involves a collective review of the old monuments under Zora’s Domain. Every Zora swims as deep as they can – no one has ever claimed to find the bottom. A millennium or so ago, it is said Zora from the Lanayru Sea, the same group her father’s family came from, traveled to the Domain and a Zora almost as massive as her father now, with teeth like a saw blade, dove into the darkness, not emerging again for over ninety minutes, and still could not find the bottom. 

Secondly, it is a significant milestone for the youngest Zora who dive from the East Reservoir Lake into the waters surrounding the Domain to formally join the community.  Only after the fall, when they’ve chosen the water and not the sky, are they said to be blessed with the long life of the Hyrule Zora.

Mipha remembers fondly when she completed the Dive. A Zora isn’t eligible to make the Dive until their fins are fully matured. She’s given up trying to understand how Hylians age. Something about candles and sugar bread makes them taller and stronger. For the Zora, it takes wet seasons, sometimes five, sometimes fifteen. The ten-year storm always comes when it's meant to. Clockwork, stars and all that.

But what else felt written in the stars that day, along with the rain that fell from the sky in sheets (she’d overheard Seggin say it was pissing rain that storm in particular), was it was also the day she met Link. The Zora aren’t secretive when it comes to their traditions. Their history is literally written in stone for any traveler to study. The terrain surrounding the Domain just creates a natural barrier, like the volcanic mountain that surrounds the rock-people’s city to the north or the miles of shadeless desert around the Gerudo to the south. Most travelers prefer easier paths. 

Nevertheless, Mipha’s father’s father began sending out official invitations to witness the Dive to each region leader every ten years. For a long time, no one came. The journey for the Gerudo is long and dangerous especially when you account for the fact the request requires them to travel in weather they are unaccustomed to. The weather also keeps the Rito away and the Sheikah prefer to remain hidden despite rumors the Hylian King took a Sheikah advisor shortly after the royal Princess was born. The Goron are happy to stay on their mountain, but always send their signature “rock roast” with well-wishes for strength. The Hylians in the outskirts of the Central Hyrule, those that cling to the warm waters in Faron or line the cliffs facing the Necluda sea with giant windmills rarely stray from the main roads that all lead to Hyrule center, especially with the recent rumors of the monster populations increasing. 

So it came as a bit of a surprise when a modest-sized group of them from Akkala, albeit the majority soldiers from the citadel there, appeared on the Great Zora Bridge, soaking wet and eager for shelter and good company. Their newly appointed captain, a fisherman turned soldier, had intercepted the invitation on route to the newly founded Ancient Technology Laboratory and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to share his admiration for the Zora with his regiment. He claimed to have interacted with many during his years at sea and credited one group in particular with saving his life when his ship capsized during a storm.

Mipha’s father was ecstatic to share her Dive with the Hylians. He expanded the feast, opened the dry guest chambers, and personally escorted the Hylians up the mountainside, stopping to read each stone monument to them and answer any curious questions. From what Mipha recalls, there weren't many, but she was also distracted by the captain’s profoundly energetic four-year-old son. She didn’t even know his name, a detail somehow lost amongst the bustle of adults enjoying deep conversation and the constant pattering of rain. She resorted to calling him ‘little boy!’ and was so busy keeping him from slipping off the cliffs or irritating a hidden, otherwise non-hostile octorock, that she almost forgot what they were climbing for until they were at the top and her people were waiting. 

As she looked over the edge of the reservoir and gazed upon the dark and distant waters below, she was overcome with the feeling this was more than just a flying leap. She knew what to expect – the sensation of her stomach floating in her belly, her eyes becoming so wind-whipped that she teared up, the rush of cool air across her fins when she finally hit the water, but for Mipha, daughter of the King Zora, the late Queen’s living shadow, with fins fitted for nobility and braced for elegance, the ceremonial Dive was more than formally joining her community. It was the abandonment of her juvenility. A mysterious transformation that never made much sense to her, as if by some ancient magic sparked by the speed of her fall and the embrace of her Domain, she would emerge from the waters and be suddenly mature. Responsible. Boring. 

“Little girl?”

Mipha turned and spotted the Hylian boy, blond hair slick against his pale skin, his eyes so prominent on his face that she was able to see they shined bluer than the  sapphires on her newly placed silver gorget.

“I’m not a little girl,” Mipha corrected him. “If you were paying attention instead of trying pester that poor octorock, you would have heard completing this Dive means I’m an adult.”

The Hylian scrunched up his face and moved his hands in front of him intentionally. 

Mipha frowned. He sighed and cleared his throat a few times, as if suddenly unable to find his voice in his throat. 

“Oh, do you speak with your hands?” Mipha asked. 

The boy shook his head eagerly. 

“And sometimes you speak out loud?”

The boy gestured in a way that implied that was correct. 

Mipha softened a little. “I'm afraid I don’t know too much, I only just started my study on foreign languages as a part of my training, but…” She signed the letter slowly and spoke. “M-I-P-H-A.”

The boy’s face lit up. He looked up at her with those sapphire eyes, big and round and filled with wonder, like she had used magic to heal a hidden wound. “L-I-N-K.”

“Link?”

“Yes.” He found his voice and laughed. 

“Right, well, it’s nice to meet you, Link.” She felt her cheeks fill with warmth and was thankful for the camouflage of her crimson scales. “So no more of this little girl or little boy business!”

He tilted his head curiously. 

“You really weren’t paying attention were you. The Dive, becoming an adult, all of that?”

Link shook head disbelievingly and lifted his eyebrows. 

“I will be,” Mipha insisted with her hands on her hips.

He waved his hands about himself flippantly, implying ‘me too, eventually’.

“You are still very much a kid, I am afraid to say.” Mipha said.

Link suddenly took a step closer and used his hand to measure their heights. She was a good half a foot taller than him at least. He peered past her over the edge of the cliffs and then back at the adults–Hylian and Zora alike, lost in their chatter. 

“Will you still look like a kid? When it’s done?” He asked. 

Although magic was known by the Zora, the manipulation of water by some, healing art by others, there was no natural sorcery that could age the body rapidly. Everyone she’d ever seen complete the Dive looked the same after. “Yes, I think so.”

“So what changes?”

Mipha thought for a moment, wringing her hands together, not wanting to speak out loud her fears of maturity and duty. “I suppose nothing.”

“Okay, so you’ll come play with me some more when you are finished? Please?”

His father came then and fetched him back to observe. And her father was there with Muzu and Seggin and the other Elders, giving a speech about tradition and honor and ceremony. He spoke at length about his daughter, a Princess, and his hope for her path, the promise of her stature, but when Mipha leapt forward off the side of the cliff, all she could think about racing Link around the home sculpture, skipping rocks across the Bank of Wishes, and learning as much as she could about Hylian sign language. 

And when she finally emerged from the waters, that’s exactly what she did.

…

“But which one is the most dangerous, sister?” Sidon tugs at her pectoral fin, pulling Mipha from her thoughts. 

“I’m sorry,” Mipha says, shaking her head. “I was adrift in thought. What now?”

“A riptide, a rip current, or an undertow. Which is most dangerous?”

“If you can’t recognize when you’ve been caught in one, they are all, my dear Sidon,” Mipha says, her eyes drifting back toward the reservoir. Years have passed since that day. And while the friendship that grew from their first meeting allowed Mipha to hold onto her adolescence a little longer, she and Link had indeed grown up. Seven of his Hylian years were spent primarily in her Domain, and during them, they both grew taller, his voice (when he used it) became deeper, and their days filled with less play and more training for war. The Calamity prophecy came from the west followed shortly by a call to arms from the Hylian King. Link was a tremendous swordsman, so it came as no surprise when his father was summoned from Akkala to the castle, Link left as well. 

They wrote letters for many years. Mostly, Link lamented about the poor quality of food, longing for slices of raw salmon and blue crab legs and dried seaweed with salt. He mentioned there was talk about making him a soldier and then sometime later, rumors he was being considered for the Royal Guard after he returned from the hostile Great Hyrule Forest unscathed and wielding a sword with a blade like moonlight. But he also reminisced about their time together freely, how she taught him how to swim and he taught her how to parry and the time he tried to jump off the reservoir and broke both his legs. Mipha had fetched him from the water, healed him, and refused to speak to him for a week. 

He also said even though it is not permitted, if they make him a Royal Guard, he’ll still wear her earrings. She never found out how that fared. He hasn’t returned her letters in a year. 

“Mipha?” Sidon slips his little hand into hers.

“Sorry, sorry, what was the question again?” Mipha shakes her head. The silver charms that adore her fins jingle like bells. 

“Someone’s coming,” he says.

“What?” Mipha looks over her shoulder. Above them, halfway across Luto's Crossing, is a lone horseman decorated with the colors of the Hylian Royal Family. And although she hasn't seen him in five years, she knows she could recognize his silhouette even if it had been a hundred. For a moment, she forgets about what happened inside Divine Beast Ruta. She forgets about the Council and duty and destiny. 

She cups her mouth with her trembling hands and shouts: “Link!”

The horseman stops. His face finds the sunlight. His jawline is sharper and his skin is tan, but his eyes still shine like sapphires. He lifts his hand up above his head and signs her name. 

Mipha takes off running.

#bahbahhhwrites #bahbahhhart #botw #loz #breath of the wild #legend of zelda #the legend of zelda #loz botw #botw fanfiction #loz fanfiction #mipha #link #zelda #miphlink #zelink #tloz #bahbahhh500 #follower milestone

[findafight]

RE: Supernatural Hawkins au - I feel like some angst can be introduced in a way of Eddie not trusting Steve after he tells the party about the grimoire etc (and rightfully so bc he doesn’t know Steve like the rest of them do) and corners him after the meeting to say that he’s keeping his eye on him and that this better not be a fucked up way of getting to all of them -

And Steve - being like okay. I get it. Keep me accountable, keep a close eye on me. and Eddie’s like. Fuck. Wait why do I feel-

Ooooooooh anon. Hoohoohoo...

Now, I imagine that were this to happen it would be before vecna et al but after Steve becomes the Pied Piper of supernatural Hawkins. So maybe his parents come home over the winter holidays and give him the lowdown on the Family Business, and Steve freaks out a bit and sits on it for a day or two before calling his not quite code red.

And Dustin brings Eddie along because, Steve, he's basically Pack now too, and Eddie is like wait what the fuck those rumours about Steve being the almost-humans of Hawkins go-to babysitter are true??

And Dustin gives him a Look, like yes, obviously, Dustin has been talking Steve up for months did Eddie not believe him? Rude.

Robin interrupts with "can we PLEASE get this show on the road? Steve looks like he's about to keel over from stress."

"wait right here" Steve says as he bolts out of his living room and reenters lugging a book that's huge. Just. Completely impractical in size. I'm talking 75 x 75 cm and 20 cm high type deal. Stupid big. Occult big. Ritual big. It sets Eddie's teeth on edge.

Steve heaves it onto the coffee table, and says "we have a big problem"

Nancy Wheeler leans over to inspect the tome, the goddamn Grimoire, and Steve smacks her hand away from opening it.

He stands, hands on his hips, and takes a deep breath.

"over winter break, my parents came home. And they told me about the...the Family Business, as they called it." He glares at the book, his nose scrunching with the scowl and Eddie might call it cute but that's for him to know and now else to find out. "They're Monster Hunters."

There is a silence that stretches and stretches and Eddie thinks he might vomit from the turbulent emotions filling the room, none of which, however, are the betrayal he expects.

"Steve..." Robin starts, trails off.

"they don't know anything, apparently, despite this shit being in the family for generations." Steve begins pacing. "They have no idea about any of you, or that Hawkins is apparently the unofficial supernatural capital of Indiana. Everyone is safe, but I--"his voice cracks, and Eddie would maybe feel sorry if this wasn't King Steve telling him this, wasn't a goddamn hereditary Monster Hunter standing in front of him. He just feels fucking pissed.

"I'm worried that they're gonna start hanging around more, and that they're going to realize that--" Steve's hands are running through his hair, nervous. "I don't know, I smell like a pack of werewolves or my best friend is my Selkie magic assigned soulmate" and Eddie wasn't sure he believed that rumour even when Dustin confirmed it, that it didn't seem possible for someone like Harrington to be bound by such pure magic to Robin Buckley. "- or that whenever I go out a gaggle of kids that aren't quite human seem to follow me."

Robin stands, opening her arms for him to fold into, puzzle pieces locking together.

"I just don't want anyone to get hurt because of me." He says, muffled, into Robin's shoulder. If Eddie didn't know better, he'd say he was crying.

Dustin quickly joins the hug, and the rest of the gaggle of teens, including Erica Sinclair, follow suit. Nancy stays back with Eddie, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

Eddie can taste the worry in the room, a sour bitterness on his tongue, all directed towards Steve. He doesn't get it. The guy just admitted to being part of a dynasty of people who kill the kind of people in this room, and no one is worried he's going to hurt them, just that he might be hurt.

Eddie lets the others do the planning, which is generally accepting that they need to let Claudia Henderson and the Sinclair parents know, not tell the Wheelers, and keep Steve's parents far away from Hawkins. Easy. Sure.

He hangs back as Nancy herds the kids into her station wagon, waving as she leaves. Robin putters in the kitchen, so Eddie takes the opportunity to step into Steve's space.

"I don't know if this is some fucked up long con, Harrington, to get all the inside information on the supernatural beings of Hawkins, but I'm watching you." He jabs a finger into Steve's chest, snarling. "Somehow you got those pups to trust you, worry about you, but I don't. If you even seem a threat to those kids, or you step outta line, I'll -" then it hits him, the wave of sadness and grief and--and relief. Eddie has never been good at individual emotions, finds them confusing and too specific and make his teeth hurt, and he feeds better from groups anyways, but. Steve is all but screaming how he feels into Eddie's ear.

"good." Steve says. Nods. "You'll look out for them." As though that's a normal thing to say when a vampire has expressly threatened you. "If something happens, if my parents get to close or shit hits the fan, I need you to do what you need to do so they're safe. So this godforsaken town is safe."

Eddie blinks, stepping back "wait. You want me to-"

Steve nods again. "If push comes to shove I need you to burn any trace we were ever here and make sure all the little fae kids are safe." He takes a breath. The hard zest of determination overpowers anything else Eddie might otherwise have sensed. "You have to kill me and my parents, and make sure no one ever knows."

#eddie munson #steve harrington #supernatural au #human steve #steddie #listen. i didnt know how the line 'i need you to take me out' so itd have a double meaning and also have steves parents involved #vampire eddie #finda writes stuff #anonasaurus #findaanswers #human steve au

[canonmisogynyvictimstournament]

PROPAGANDA

KALLEN KOUZUKI (CODE GEASS) (CW Mind Control Mention)

1.) Kallen is constantly subjected to objectification. Most of the times she pilots her mech (giant robot), she's in this gratuitous shot of where she's bent over and it shows her ass or her boobs, and none of the men are subjected to this position or shot when they pilot. When she finds out that Zero (the leader of the resistance who she loves, respects, and follows) and Lelouch (a Britannian (the people occupying her country) who's her classmate and who she doesn't particularly like) are the same person and also that he has one-time-use-per-person mind control powers, instead of being conflicted about both her feelings and Lelouch being Zero in the first place and, y'know, THE MIND CONTROL, the next time we see her after she learns this (granted, after a time skip of a few months) she's just still in love with him and has no reservations about following him or, y'know, HIS MIND CONTROL POWERS. If she had any reservations or trust issues or mixed feelings, she dealt with them off screen during the time skip between season 1 and season 2. Because she has to be part of the show's harem nonsense, you see, god forbid her screen time and feelings about Zero/Lelouch once she knows he's Zero be mainly about HER or EVER stray from positive and romantic. And her character's focus/screen time at this point shifts from being about Japan (her home country) to being so much (albeit not entirely) about Lelouch and her feelings for him, and she's still a great character and one of the best pilots on the show but COME ON. And then so much of the official and gacha game art has her with this blushing waifu face that isn't reflective of the core of her character at all, and it's just like. why. why would you do this to her when it just makes your story worse. Like, Kallen's treatment takes the show's ranking down from A to A- all by itself.

2.) Wants liberty for her nation is a talented mecha pilot yet the ungodly sexualisation doesn’t do her justice at all. Also gets swept under Main Character’a Harem

3.) Do you know how hard it is to find a non sexual image of her??

CHI-CHI (DRAGON BALL)

1.) okay so to start at the beginning, she was introduced as a young kid but they put her in a super revealing bikini styled outfit. pretty sure it was supposed to be armor too, so besides just being a disgusting design choice even in-universe it's impractical. but besides that she was pretty charming as a kid, she was cute and funny and pretty tough, and had a cool gimmick in her blade/ laser helmet. even when she reappeared in late Dragon Ball, she was a bit abrasive but was overall rational and kind. she was strong enough to make it into the World Martial Arts Tournament, one of only 16 to qualify.

but come Dragon Ball Z and on, she's reduced to just a shrill, nagging, aggressive wife and mother. all she gets to do is cook, worry, and berate her husband and sons. her physical strength is only used so she can comically hit Goku. sure its played for laughs, but he's shown to be afraid of her. I only recall her leaving her house once or twice in DBZ. just the worst mother character stereotype, with nothing left to make her likeable. she's portrayed as irrational but despite her aggressiveness, half the time her wants are completely reasonable. can't blame a woman for not wanting her husband to die every other day!! her writing us ass but I still love her and she deserves better!!!

2.) So in Dragon Ball she wasn't the BEST character to start out with. Toriyama hasn't ever been the best at writing women or not making stupid fucking sex jokes about them. So she had to deal with that. The outfit she wore as a kid was… NOT GREAT. Let's say that! Then in late Dragon Ball her entire character revolves around Goku and trying to marry him, which she gets by tricking Goku and getting beaten by Goku in a tournament in one hit. Not off to a great start. Then Z started and Toriyama just… gave her an ENTIRELY NEW new personality, and that new personality was just a stereotype of a tiger mom. Regardless of how correct she might've been about letting Gohan fight (and she WAS completely correct, he was 5-6 for a HUGE chunk of Z) the narrative frames her as a hysterical and unreasonable woman nagging at the menfolk and not letting them do things. So naturally people hate her without even considering why she's upset because the story itself frames her as in-the-wrong. The whole franchise also just forgets that she's a martial artist and never has her DO ANYTHING.

This is only scratching the surface, there's a LOT more because the franchise is like 40 years old and we'd be here all day.

3.) GODDDD okay so full disclosure i guess shonen is such an easy pick but like. out of every shonen wife she was and is THE most hated by the narrative and creator (maybe tied with sakura omfg). shes always made out to be a beast, got her fighting skills shafted after she got married, was always played like she was hysterical for worrying about her kid dying in battle, and not to mention the creator actively HATES her. like toriyama just straight up hates writing her. its bad. its really bad. shes just "bitch wife" but for no reason :(

#polls #round 1 #week 1 #new #cw mind control

[kayadrake123]

Kiss it better

Cassandra Cain x GN!Reader

here’s some Cass cause I love her and it’s actually ridiculous that I haven’t written about her yet. Enjoy!

…………………………………………………………

“Ow!”

You flinch away from the soft fabric dabbing at your face when the disinfectant touches a particularly painful cut. You usually have no problem sitting through someone tending to your more severe wounds, like a huge gash down your leg, but there’s just something about cuts on your lip and nose that gets to you and makes you act like you just got stabbed.

“Sorry…” Cass mumbles, waiting for your permission to touch you again. When you nod, she immediately goes back to disinfecting the cut on your lip.

Patrol was pretty successful tonight. You and Huntress finally took down a Black Mask operation you’d been following for months. There’s nothing better than seeing the annoyed look on his face and knowing that you were the cause of it. Although you did take a bit of a beating, your wounds weren’t really that bad. Just a small cut on your lip and a huge one on your nose that you got after being thrown through a glass window. Probably a few bruises too.

After checking you when you got back to the cave, Alfred let you go, telling you to wash up and tend to your more minor wounds. He would have done them himself, but you were in quite the rush to have your movie night with Cass, who had gotten back from patrol an hour before you. When Cass saw your face however, she was insistent on helping you clean them and making sure you’re okay. You told her you were fine but she just wasn’t having it, so you let do her thing.

You always have to tell yourself when she gets like this thats it’s because you’re her best friend, and friends worry about each other. Of course she loves you. Just not in the way you wish she did.

You two are in her room, sitting on her bed with your legs crossed as she sits on her knees and leans over you to touch your face. One hand is busy cleaning your face while the other rests on the base of your neck, rubbing slow soothing circles on the skin. It’s so intimate, the way she’s holding you like you’re the most fragile thing. You want to wrap your arms around her so bad, but you know that would be impractical considering she’s a bit busy right now.

You watch the concentrated look on her face, her eyes narrow as she tries to avoid hurting you again and her nose crinkling in a way that makes her look so cute. Cass used to be the hardest person to read when you first met her. She barely showed any emotion and the fact that she didn’t speak much made it hard to know exactly what she was feeling. But when she started warming up to all of you, she became one of the most emotional people you knew. Her eyes hold all of her emotion, and it’s the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

So when something flashes in her eyes, you immediately notice her change in emotions to something akin to worry. Your hand moves to hold the wrist by your neck, hoping the gesture would comfort her.

“What kind of movie are you thinking about watching?” You ask her, running your hand up and down her arm. “Romance? Comedy? Rom-com?”

Cass’s eyes don’t move away from what she’s doing, barely showing any reaction at all, but the goosebumps forming on her skin tell you all you need know. She clears her throat. “Romance.”

You smile at that.

“Period drama romance? Or like a ‘Love Rosie’ type of romance movie?”

She smiles and leans down to grab a plaster for your nose. “We’ve watched ‘Love Rosie’ like a hundred times,” She moves the hand not currently in your hold back to your face, opening the plaster with one hand. “I love ‘Love Rosie’,” You say it with a dreamlike tone to your voice. Your smile grows when Cass places the plaster on your nose, a proud look on her face as she observes her work. “I don’t usually like romance movies, but that one is an exception.”

“We watched it last weekend after Bruce’s gala,” She reminds you. There’s a teasing smile on her face, which tells you that she wouldn’t really mind watching the movie again, but she just wants to annoy you.

A lightbulb turns on in your head. “Speaking of galas…” You trail off as you stand up from her bed and turn to face her, her hand falling from your grip.

She gives you a suspicious look. “What?”

“You promised me that you’d teach me how to dance properly.” You pout recalling her words that night. “You said I looked like I was going to trip over my own feet.”

Cass lets out a breathy laugh at your cute face. “I was kidding! You dance amazingly.”

“I would still very much like that dance lesson so…” You hold your hand out.

Her eyes widen. You notice a little red tint on her cheeks and the way she avoids all eye contact with you. ‘She’s so adorable’ you think to yourself. After a second, her features soften and she puts her hand out for you to take it. “Now?” She asks.

You nod your head. “Mhm, right now gorgeous,” You laugh as you pull her to her feet. “Show me those ballerina moves of yours.”

She laughs. “What about the music?” She lets go of you to grab her phone before switching on her speaker. “Anything in particular?”

“Hmm…” You pretend to think. “Some Lana Del Rey?”

“Young and Beautiful?”

“Young and Beautiful.”

The song starts playing and Cass makes her way back over to you. You smile at her and move your hands to rest on her hips, hers move to go around your neck. There’s still some space left between your torsos, and you so badly want to close that space by bringing her closer to you. You both start moving to the music, doing a walts kind of dance. Cass starts counting for you to follow her, and you try your best to keep up with her, but she’s just too good.

“Oh my god, I look like an idiot.” You groan, but it morphs into a laugh.

“No you don’t. You look perfect.” She reassures you. “You’re perfect.”

Her words make your heart skip a beat. But you play it off, thinking that she’s just saying that cause she’s your friend and she supports you. Nothing more.

You smile before moving your hands to spin her around, a cute squeal leaving her lips as you do. When she comes back to face you, her smile drops along with yours.

Your faces are so close that you can see the whole universe in her eyes, and god is it beautiful. Her eyes trail down to your lips for a second before gazing back into yours. You still in your movements when one of her hands gently cup your face, her thumb stroking underneath your eye. You’re so close that if you just lean forward you could-

“Does it hurt?” She asks you.

“Does what hurt?” You’re confused about what she’s asking.

“Your face?”

You smile teasingly at her. “Yeah kind of, but you could kiss it better.” You laugh to play off your seriousness and real desire to kiss her. You stop however when Cass gives you the most thoughtful look.

“I like your new haircut,” You tell her, not being able to stop compliments from falling from your lips while she’s looking at you like that.

“Yeah?” She asks back, almost breathlessly.

“Mhm. I never really got the chance to tell you but,” You suck in a breath when her eyes move to your lips again. “I really like it.”

Cass just nods her head, her eyes fixated on your lips now.

Her thumb slowly traces your bottom lip. “Can I kiss you?”

You’re starstruck.

Absolutely frozen.

Your head is telling you that you’re having some type of fever dream right now, and that this is not real. But her hand, the hand on your face proves otherwise.

Slowly, you nod your head. “Yeah…” You whisper.

Her eyes flick across your face for a second before she leans in, planting her soft lips on yours.

It’s slow and oh so intimate that it makes your chest feel like it’s about to burst. The familiar smell of vanilla fills your nostrils as you take it all in. Her hair feels so soft as you graze your fingers through it. You tell yourself as she pulls you in closer by your hip that this is what heaven feels like. Right here, in the arms of the girl you’ve been in love with for ages.

She wants you. She feels the same way you do for her.

You finally pull away from each other, goofy smiles spread over both your faces. In the background the song continues to play on, making the atmosphere even more romantic that it already is.

“You.” Cass says, her hand cupping the side of your face as one of your hands hold the other one.

“Huh?” You question her.

“You said you like my haircut,” She tells you, pointing at her close-to-shoulder-length hair for emphasis. When you nod for her to go on. She turns her finger to you. “I like you.”

She blushes a bit at the smile you give her, but instead of teasing her for her bluntness as you always do, you instead pull her face closer to yours, kissing her for the second time tonight. You lay a few pecks on her lips as you pull away, your hand moving to rub her cheek tenderly.

“I like you too.”

And that’s all it takes for her to kiss you again, letting your love confessions hang in the air as you continue to dance slowly to Lana Del Ray.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

#cassandra cain #cassandra cain x reader #cassandra cain fluff #orphan x reader #batgirl x reader #batfam x reader #i love Cass so much

[novasdarling]

thoughts about sundress + no panties season with your faves? 👀

Good one!!

Yandere Thirsts! Dark Content!

Okay so I'll only list a few cause I love so many:

Chrollo would be possible the most reserved (besides illumi). It's not he doesn't like it, but he's a calculated man. Doesn't want to tackle you down to the ground. Would rather tease you, play with you a bit. May even make you regret your decision. Hands creeping down your leg and under your dress when you two are out for dinner. About to let everyone know what you two are up to if you don't keep quiet. Whispering in your ear how good you look, how if he wanted to he could just take you right there and then. Chrollo is living off of how you react to his advances and touches more than anything.

Uvogin is a beast when it comes to you. Just a man that loves to fuck. Usually clothing isn't an issue for him, anything is easy to rip. But the fact you're wearing no underwear on purpose and a dress that is so easy to lift. It's a blessing to him! A miracle! Something he's waited for, for so long. He's feral, uses it to his advantage every moment he can. Has his hands between your legs most of the time. Almost crying when you try to push his hands away. Though you both know when he gets tired of playing he can easily have his way. Let's just say he's gonna put up a fight when the season is over.

Illumi is....well confused at first. I don't see him as being a very sexual being before he meets you. So he may not be well versed in these actions and why. But once he does, he decides to indulge in it. Leading you away from crowds to have some fun. Letting his hands linger on your waist and ass. I think he's more enjoying that it's there if he wants. Also that to him, it means you want him like he wants you.

Todo is a man who is obsessed with you. Obsessed and makes it well known. The sundress and no panties mix drives him up the wall. He's already so happy about the sundresses, jokes saying they show off your body so well and it allows easy access. He didn't think you'd take that comment seriously, but here you were. In a cute sundress without any underwear. Can go two ways-1. Almost faints at it, just fucking nose bleed when you tell him. Or 2. Becomes a monster, not as bad as uvogin, but still bad. He may even do both, faint then get up and fuck you like crazy. You're lucky if you get out of the house.

Nanami is confused, it takes him a whole for him to understand. Now because he doesn't know why, oh he knows. It's more because he sees it as foolish and a bit dangerous. What if a gust of wind comes? Then everyone will see you bare, everyone will see what should be only for his eyes. That part makes him hesitant. Keeps you inside till you agree to change. Even if he sees it as impractical for outside, he won't lie he's obsessed with it when you're inside your shared apartment.

Aizawa, another man who sees it as impractical more than anything. Don't get me wrong, he smirks at the idea of it. Enjoying the thought of it. That he could simply lift your dress and you'd be ready for him. But his hero status is stopping him from doing it in public, if he even let's you out. Will probably stop you and tell you to change if he finds out about it. From there on, he'll lift up any dress you wear to double check. Is it to make sure you're wearing something under, or to see more of you? Who knows.

Present Mic is a man who loves these things. Loves teasing, leading each other on, so this is just perfect for him. You're lucky if you leave the house. As soon as he realizes he's just crazy, dragging you to the bedroom, to the kitchen to bend you over the counters. It just doesn't matter, he just needs you. From now on, he may insist you start wearing underwear less. After all, it just makes things easier, especially when he gets to see him cum run down your leg.

Shigaraki doesn't completely understand it at first. It's impractical to him, it would be so easy for a slip up to happen. Especially in your shorter dresses. I think it would take you wearing them in the house, bending over and giving him a great view, for him to understand. To finally get why it's so great. He becomes a creep, lifting up your dresses all the time. No matter who's around. Wondering if you're wearing anything under. He becomes a little menace, hands lifting your dresses even if you're talking to someone else. Asking you if you're wearing anything with others around. If you are, he asks why as yesterday you didn't when you guys went out. Loud enough for others to hear. He mainly becomes more annoying about it. However, he will fuck you, that he does in private though.

#yandere #yandere thirsts #uvogin #chrollo #illumi #todo #todou #nanami #aizawa #present mic #shigaraki #hxh #jjk #bnha #mha #yandere chrollo #chrollo hxh #yandere uvo #yandere illumi #yandere todou #yandere nanami #yandere aizawa #yandere present mic #yandere shigaraki tomura #nova speaks #yandere thoughts