#okay this gets complicated and makes for very little sense.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Man 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You stare at your phone. It can’t be. After everything else going wrong, you can’t deal with Floyd. It suddenly makes sense why he was messing around with your phone. Ew, he’s kind of a creep.

You don’t answer and put the phone away. Well. You have no money, you’re about to have no home, and your milk is spoiled. Don’t panic. You can figure this out. You’re an adult, aren’t you?

First, go to the bank. You need milk. Once you have a coffee, you’ll worry about the whole eviction thing. You leave the convenience store and open Maps to look for the nearest bank kiosk. Not too far, one block. At least you’re getting your steps in.

You follow the directions on screen and turn to cross the road. You’re so distracted, you forget to look both ways and nearly get hit by a gleaming bumper. You wave a head but don’t look up. You need to get to the bank.

You come up to the pulsing blue dot and glance around. Huh. You don’t see a bank. You turn around and face the ATM built into the side of the building. Oh goddang! You walked to a bank machine, not a bank. Is it you? Are you the problem?

You drop your shoulders. Alright. You’ll just try again. You scroll to the next location and spin around, nearly colliding with a new wall. Oh, not a wall, a person.

You look up at Mr. Henson as he watches you with a line between his brows. Somehow, you’re not very surrpised. This guy is everywhere. It’s almost like he has no hobbies.

“Oh, hi, sorry, excuse me, I’m just on my way to the bank--”

“Ah, running short? Need me to spot ya?” He raises his hand, showing a black credit card.

“Um... noooo,” you utter in confusion. The other day, you ran off after calling him names. You really don’t believe he’s changed his stripes. He’s still a snarling tiger getting ready to feast. “Thanks, but I--”

“Things are tight. Job market’s trash, housing isn’t any better, and those banks,” he whistles and puts his card away, “they like to fuck around, don’t they?”

You look at him, scrunching your face up.

“Y-yeah. Weirdly, I did just get a notice to...” your voice trails off. “Why are you bugging me?”

“Bugging you?” His brows pop up and he guffaws, “oh, sweet lips, you’re funny, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know few jokes but--”

“Think a little harder, cupcake,” he lowers his timber and stares at you.

You blink and wet your lips, pushing them together. Think about what?

“Look, about yesterday--”

“I’m talking about today,” he insists.

“Sure, uh...”

“Do I really need to spell this out for you?”

“Spell what out?” You cringe, clawing for some hint of what he means.

“Your bank card isn’t working, right?” He asks, you nod. “You’re getting evicted.” Another nod. “You have no job.”

You make a face, “yes, okay. Rub it in. Alright. I get it. You’re some important guy and I’m a loser. Don’t worry. You own this city but I think I’m on my way out.”

He sighs and presses his fingers flat on either side of his nose. He drops them and opens his eyes again, “it was me. I’m the reason you—Don't you understand what I can do to you? I got you fired, kicked out, and poor in one day. What else do you think I could do?”

Your chest hollows out and your stomach lurches. What? Him? He just doesn’t stop.

“Sir, what—why would you—I'm sorry I called you a meanie. I was upset and the coffee, I tried--” You sniffle and shudder out a half-sob, “I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, well, you shoulda shut those sweet lips and opened those ears, huh?” He grins, “look, cupcake, you’re not going anywhere. You try to run back to your family, I’ll find you. Your mom’s a good lady, you shouldn’t trouble her. She doesn’t make enough teaching brats to put up with another one.”

“My mom—how--”

He spins his finger in the air, “catch up, honey bun. Alright? This is it. I’ll lay it out real clear for you, right now. You have no money, no home, you have nothing. You are nothing.” He jabs his finger at you, “so, I can solve all your problems and make you something.”

You look around. There’s really no way out. He’s a psychopath. You think. You don’t really know the difference between that and sociopath.

“Are you like CIA or something?” You ask.

He scoffs and flinches, “oh man, you are something else. Really, each time you open that mouth, I’m blown away by the idiocy. Rather just get blown, you get it?”

You shake your head and pout.

“Look, I think we can sort this out, Floyd. Really, I’m really sorry and I understand now. I get it. You’re very important and I messed up. I’m nothing and I did everything wrong. And from the bottom of my heart, I apologise. So, can I please have my life back?” You say, “I think we’d both be happier if we just went on our way and never saw each other again.”

His eyes dart away and he stares into the distance. Exasperation wrinkles above his brow and he looks back to you, hands on his hips, “too late, buttercup. So, let me put it as plain as I can. You don’t get a choice. You belong to me now. Just like everything else in this city. You are mine.”

“You can’t... do that.”

“I am doing that,” he insists. “Another thing,” he raises his hand, showing his palm, “it’s Lloyd.” He emphasizes the consonants of his name, “Lloyd Hansen. You can call me sir or Mr. Hansen. Hell, if we’re getting frisky, you can call me daddy.”

“Ugh,” you groan in disgust and curl your lip.

“Ugh?” He mimick the noise, “I’m about to--” He shakes his hand and sucks in the end of his sentence, “fine. Show, don’t tell. Got it.”

You cry out as suddenly he lunges at you. He grabs you by the back of the neck and hauls you forward down the sidewalk. He marches beside you as you writhe and paw at his large hand. You whimper, helpless as pedestrians move out of your path.

“Your mouth got you into trouble, now let’s see if it can get you out,” he growls.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the man #the gray man #drabble #series #au #mob au

[slippery-minghus]

whew. just spent what felt like forever packing one (1) very large box of kitchen things. doesn't feel like i did a lot, but it was just as much time and effort going through the shit and throwing out what i don't need as it was actually packing. so having only one box to "show for it" feels a little misleading lmao.

taking a short break now, and then one more spurt of packing before i call it quits for the day 💪

#i feel like i've done so little compared to last saturday but i also did intentionally start with easy-to-pack shit #and not things that needed to be sorted and wiped down and all of that #it's going to take precisely as long as it's going to take and the kitchen is much more complicated than the bookshelf lmao #i also took all the magnets/stickers(held on by tape for display w/o commitment!) off my fridge and dishwasher #and they look so barren now 🥺 #the kitchen is just so much little fiddly shit. but the most annoying stuff is packed #i'll have about one box of essential dishes/pots and then another for my pantry (which will likely be easy to downsize) #doing this all on my own does feel more daunting that i want to admit but it's also making me very proud of myself #my mom wants to come help but it just so happened that i found The Place while she's on her many-week cross-country rv trip lmao #which honestly is fine because one of the most stressful things about moving is everyone teeling you to pack your shit This Way Not That Way #this way i can pack everything in the way that makes sense to me and i'll know where all my shit's ended up #hoooooooh okay i am exhausted but i need to get up and keep going #i said i'd work til 4 and that's 40min away i can do this #narrating my life #my legs feel kinda tingly from standing so long 🤪

[seananmcguire]

That Xiran Jay Zhao video about the amount of time it takes to get paid by the publisher, a couple of time she says "that's just the way it is." Are there actual, legitimate business reasons for holding off paying someone 6 or 8 or more months what they've earned for their book? Or is it the publisher basically going "We'll pay you when we pay you. What are you gonna do about it?" because they're essentially the one in charge?

And is it the same for all authors? Or is there an unofficial "tier" system based on your name? Are they telling people like Stephen King or James Patterson or Neil Gaiman "you'll see your money in 8 months" or are they more likely to be getting monthly checks just because of who they are?

There are some legitimate business reasons, yes.

Okay, so let's look at the way a book is sold to a publisher. I'm going to use very round numbers, because I don't want to do a lot of math right now. So say I sell a book for $15,000 under the traditional three installment contract--signing, delivery/acceptance, and publication. What this means is I sign the contract, I get a $5,000 check! Yay! I will also get checks when the book is turned in and accepted, emphasis because it means I can't just give them a word jumble and claim I turned the book in, and then again when the book comes out. We're ignoring side situations like "book is never turned in" and "book is never published."

But wait! My agent gets 15% off the top of each of those checks, which isn't a whole lot at $5,000--$750--but means I'm receiving effectively a $4,250 check, and then waiting maybe a year for the next one.

In the US, 1/3rd of that check goes automatically to taxes, and I cannot math that very well, but it's about $1,416. So I'm left with $2,834 as my payment for the year. This is why most authors will have day jobs.

This structure makes sense. They pay you to call dibs on your book: they pay you when the dibs pan out: they pay you when they can start making money. Now, recently, some publishers have started going to a four stage advance payment, and I can't see any real justification for that. Maybe someone will give me one. I'd be fascinated to know what it is.

So here's the thing: until the book is out, there is no more money. You've been paid for the book, but it's not making money for the publisher yet, and so of course you're not getting more money. It used to be the expectation that your advance would pay your bills while you wrote the next book; that is clearly no longer the case. I live in Seattle. A single check from a three-stage advance isn't paying my mortgage for a month. But.

Once the book is out, it can start making money, and that's when things get complicated. Say a bookstore places an order for 10 copies of AWESOME NEW BESTSELLER. Yay! That should be ten sales, and ten units of whatever your royalty is, right? Only these are physical items, and bookstores can return them, so your publisher marks it down as "ten sales, five reserve against returns," meaning you're only getting credit for five sales until the return window (usually a year) runs out. Where it gets a little hinky is when the bookstore sells all ten and orders ten more, and the publisher still has it marked as "five (now ten) reserve against returns." Basically, you're only getting credit for half your sales until that reserve window closes.

Sadly, thanks to certain retailer policies, this has been grandfathered into applying to electronic sales as well.

TL,DR: The delay in royalty payments is to give bookstores time to sell the books, and mean that your publisher doesn't pay you for a hundred sales, only to ask for the money from fifty to be given back when books are returned. This could happen faster in the modern world, but that would involve publishers paying us faster, and they like to keep the money in their hands as long as possible.

To the best of my knowledge, no one is A Big Enough Author that they can demand their money now, right now. And this is why trad publishing continues to self-select for the wealthy and the young.

[moondirti]

animalic (1)

series masterlist

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader rating: mature word count: 1.9k summary: he won't stop until he gets you warnings: enemies to lovers, injuries, kissing, minor ATSV spoilers, size kink (?), mentions of gore and death, not spell checked nor edited, honestly not my best work but the horny is all that matters notes: stayed up all night for this because i had to get it out of my system before finals. there'll be a few more parts, i promise i'm not this cruel haha

“I thought grace was a prerequisite for your little spider-club.” 

Your quip sounds disjointed – even to your own ears – entwined with wheezes that rattle your splintered rib cage. In all honesty, the circumstances don’t seem to be favouring you; he’s got you confined upon the wreckage of your own fight, hanging off the remnants of a crane that dangerously tips over a quarry. And though this isn’t the worst you’ve faced, Miguel’s presence always seems to make things more complicated than they need to be.

You’d had a stable hold on the beam, ready to pull yourself up and dematerialise to wherever he wasn’t. Until, of course, the asshole kicked your elbows off. Now, your fingers remain as your only attachment to the structure, shaking violently with their diminishing strength. Your torso isn’t faring any better, either – the bleeding both internal and trickling from the gashes in your hoodie. 

(You wonder if he’s toying with you, like a panther with its food. Of the rare times he’s assigned another spiderman to pursue you, they didn’t tend to drag it out for this long. 

But, you suppose, Miguel’s different.) 

He takes a small step forward, lifting his foot over your digits. He could crush them like this, turn the bone to powder and keep pressing until it macerates in the gore. You can’t put it past him, really, not if you utter one more self-sabotaging word. You’ve seen him rip through steel and silk alike, fueled on the resentment that simmers deep within his very essence. Yours is merely the same fate that’s befallen every other obstacle that’s dared to come his way. 

But the tension buzzes between you two, thickening until it’s palpable enough to taste. Miguel is quiet as ever, completely still save for the flickering light of his dimensional travel watch. You envy his position – that resolute stature, brimful of power as his shoulders square, his calf rippling with subdued strength, still stretched over your hand. You blame that, or the mask, slick with sweat and humid as it sticks to your nose. Or the glasses that slowly slip to reveal your squinting eyes. You blame anything apart from what it is; that fear that steadily begins to flood your senses, numbing it all into one, cohesive panic. 

You’ve never been good at life or death scenarios. 

“Or, maybe, the big boss thinks he can break his own rules?” 

The air snaps. With an infuriated roar, he lunges at you, razor-sharp talons swiping at your face. In your frenzied dunk to avoid them, your fingers drop. 

You plunge to the bottomless chasm below.

Okay. Let’s try to get this right, one last time. 

Your name doesn’t matter. It hasn’t, not for a while now. 

For the past year, you’ve been on the run from the Spider Society. You don’t exactly blame them for it, either. Every world you’ve crashed has gone to shit, despite serious lack of trying. Food-barren wastelands, borderless warzones. Truthfully, after the mantle of Earth 7BB-1 convected in on itself, you were inclined to turn yourself in. 

Independant of the fact that Nueva York seems to be the only place you can’t fuck up. Regardless of the relatability you have with the residents of its lobby. You were bitten by a radioactive spider just the same, and for all the good you’ve tried to do, you’ve never been a spider-hero. If it meant that no one else got hurt, you really would have been able to cope with lifetime confinement.

(Greater good and all that.)

Would’ve. Could’ve. If it weren’t for Miguel O’Hara’s interjection, and his goddamn alternative solution, things just might have turned out that way. 

You’re not dead. 

The realisation whips your consciousness into high alert, eyes snapping open to survey your surroundings. You process the light first, its brilliance piercing through the bromine-doused cotton that stuffs your skull. Then, it’s the pain that, up until this point, had been thrumming in the background. It crackles, marrow-deep, tearing down the tendons in your shoulders to the throbbing area around your ribs. They’re in doubtlessly worse shape than they had been at the quarry, the ache searing across to engulf your spine too. 

He had let you fall on your back, that dickhead. 

But– 

You’re not dead. 

It doesn’t take you long to figure out why that is. 

A red forcefield entraps you, droning its monotonous hum, partially obscuring everything beyond your own reflection. You can see the faint impression of a silhouette – no, multiple – stalking you on the other end, a great shadow court. They warp and grow with every passing second, gorging on your offered vulnerability, awaiting some wordless signal from the harbinger of death, to execute justice upon the one who’s been causing them so much trouble. Jess Drew. Hobie Brown. Ben Reilly. 

(They’d been more forgiving, once. Willing to negotiate peace, to treat you more than the screw up you’ve proven to be. 

His voice overrode theirs. Always.)

It’s easier to make out the devil himself – more so than the others. You’ve come to memorise the slope of those shoulders, how his fists clench at his sides as he circles you. You imagine the smug set of his jaw and those eyes, just as luminous as the cage you curl within. The puck at the base is recognisable, akin to the capture weapons he’s thrown at you previously. He’d saved your life, then.

On a technicality. You’ll bury that thought to rage over later. 

“How–”

The question hardly forms before you’re ripped in two, the atoms of all but your spirit splicing into one another in a defect of blue and orange. The glitch exacerbates the fractures that threaten to knock you out, racking through your system as it rearranges your matter into amorphous forms. It’s only when something is thrown into the enclosure do you snap back to. A bracelet clatters to the floor. 

“Didn’t know whether you’d be used to the glitching yet.” A disembodied voice remarks. It’s at a particularly whiny pitch – you assign it to Ben. 

“We… tried to get it on you, kid. But you–” A feminine inflection crops up. Jess sounds the same since the last you spoke. 

You glower at them from the corner of your eye – unsure if they can actually see you – and snap the day pass on. Your spectral abilities were handy at the best of times; to shift from the corporeal, coming into immateriality, makes the most complicated situations evadeable. You credit it for your continued survival, if nothing else. Yet to speak like you could control it, especially while unconscious, was pushing it. You clearly weren’t able to activate it when you needed it the most.

And now you’re here. 

“I’m not going to ask what you want, so let’s keep this short– y-yeah? Either you let me go, or this Earth’ll be the next to unravel.” Despite your intentions, the demand escapes you in a long-winded croak. You hear Hobie snicker, the laugh teetering the edge of approval. Anyone can tell the promise has no foundation.

“That won’t be happ–” 

“Leave us.” 

The room clips into white noise. You fail to focus on anything but that echoing order. 

His voice comes across clearer than all else, too, cadence resonating past any natural boundary, tugging your heart right where it’s tender. There’s that fear again, that singular dread, only ever triggered by his indifference. Perhaps more potent than fury, his patience gives away an all-assured determination. Deadly. 

You bite your cheek, steeling your expression into one of similar apathy. It feels like a child’s attempt at dress up, grubby hands clutched around mother’s lipstick, painting on a clown’s complexion. Crackling apprehension brushes across your most vulnerable parts; layer by layer, you’re skinned as the group files out. Bare nerves are all that’s left for your faceoff with the hulking man.

He throws another puck to the floor. His own forcefield conjoins to yours. 

His cheeks have gotten hollower, you notice, emphasising the cheekbones that are just as keen as everything else about him. He offers no smile, no grand boast of victory. Instead, he breathes – calmly, fixedly, and lets you absorb the overwhelming magnitude of his size once more. He’s aware of what it strikes in you, can see it in the way you falter upon every reintroduction. Miguel is colossal, a reality that has never been more apparent than in this cramped enclosure. 

You know that if you stop to ponder it, it’ll ruin you. 

Rearing on your heels, you bounce from your place on the ground, making a grab for his watch. He anticipates it, having caught the decision blaze in your pupils, and side steps, pivoting to gain the upper hand while your back is still turned. You rebound off the field wall, stumbling back when he yanks you by your hoodie. Your shoulder presses into his chest, and he moves to wrap himself around your form.

Your skin prickles. His body passes right through you. 

His recovery time is nearly nonexistent relative to your last fight – quick learner – but you’re still swift on your feet, bolting to his watch again. It’s a millisecond too slow, for his talons sink into your forearm when you start to pull away. 

Your pained yelp loses momentum as he slams your back against the wall, using a knee to pin your other arm in place, his free hand wrapping around your neck. 

He’s close. Too close. Your stomach flips, pushing up on your oesophagus until you choke with the bile that sears its lining. Your breaths are as deep enough as his clutch will allow, index and thumb cutting off the circulation on both sides of your neck.

Ichor blooms from the puncture points at your wrist, the warmth puddling at your palm, not yet heavy enough to drip down onto the floor. You don’t think he realises how deep his claws are, how near he is to scratching bone. You don’t think you do, either. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should, and while you’re sure you’ll regret not prioritising it sooner, you don’t think– Don’t think–

“I-I’m not goi…going home,” You gasp. 

“It’s not up to you, Wraith.” Miguel growls, chokehold loosening.

It hits you, then. Animalic. He smells addictingly animalic. Like musk, a blend of brine and hot air and hints of a patchouli aftershave that still clings to his jaw. Your eyes flutter, seeking all you can get of the latter. Unwittingly, you move in closer. 

You haven’t been this close to anyone in a long time. 

His expression oscillates between a sneer and a grimace, nose pulling up to reveal the very pointed ends of his two canines. Set side by side with plush lips, you zero in on the thought of experiencing the contrast with your own. 

He’s huge. 

Closer. 

Completely overwhelms you, in size and presence and–

Closer. 

Your ribs ache. Your back groans. You’re quickly losing feeling in your fingers, and movement – soon – if you don’t do something. 

Your breath weaves with his. He doesn’t reciprocate when your lips brush, but he doesn’t pull away, either. 

You kiss him for longer than you should. Longer than you need to. It’s firm, and not unlike what you expected. 

(World-shattering, all the same.) 

Your skin prickles. It takes all of your rationale to pull away – dematerializing out of his grasp, and into the portal you’d activated from his wrist.

chapter 2 →

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#miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #spider-man: across the spider-verse #spiderman: into the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #spider man across the spider verse #spider man #spider man 2099 #spiderman 2099 #marvel #fanfiction #miguel o'hara fanfic #x reader #enemies to lovers #slow burn #animalic

[sukifoof]

hii i was talking about this on twitter so i think i will just copy paste it here cuz i’ll probably delete it there at some point <3 twitter frightens me but i love my mutuals here we are all insane about flowey in the same way

 i think saying “you’re the type of friend i wish i always had” is a really important thing for asriel to admit... this whole time asriel has dealt with so much grief and guilt about chara that it separated the actual person chara from the idealized version of them in his head who he has never stopped grieving. its a huge part of his character that hes unable to view them as they were because that’s just how his ptsd and guilt affects him. as someone who went through a similar thing that kind of grief can mess with your head and how you view yourself and the person who’s gone really badly. the pacifist route, for flowey’s character specifically, is a really good example of how grief and ptsd can make you feel disconnected from yourself, everyone around you, and like if only the person you lost was back everything would be perfectly fine again. the fact that he can admit they weren’t perfect and that he made the right decision is a huge character development that we don’t get to see in the no mercy route because he’s still convinced that this idealized version of them birthed from bereavement will make everything okay. similarly to how he believed toriel might have been able to fix him, he wants to believe there’s someone out there that could somehow return him to who he was before being traumatized, but the reality of it is this is just who he is.

his grief and trauma is a huge part of who he is like it is with real people, but it doesn’t have to be all of him. i think the emphasis the fandom puts on whether chara was Good Or Bad completely misses the point that it doesn’t really. matter i guess?? they were a kid people loved and now they’re gone. we're seeing people deal with the grief this brought and we know so little of who they are because there’s also a degree of separation about who they are to the people they loved as well. idk i hope this makes sense i think a lot about how chara is a kid who hated humanity and calls themself a demon. to me that just shows an EXTREMELY traumatized child with self hatred. i don’t know why there was ever this huge moral argument about chara when they’re literally just a kid with issues. they weren’t taught how to deal with how they felt and likely held themself in lower regard compared to the dreemurrs. its the same thing with asriel, he feels responsible for them being gone and his own trauma. he just wants a friend who can teach him to understand his grief or someone who can at least let him view the situation for how it really is

i just think. flowey is so well written but not understood very well by the fandom because the type of thing he’s gone through is kind of hard to grasp. it’s a weird situation that doesn’t have a completely black or white Is He Or Chara At Fault kind of answer. they were children. people are complicated and want someone to blame when something goes wrong and flowey directed that at himself. hes such a fascinating and well written character i love him dearly i hope u guys understand how insane he makes me <3

#undertale #utdr #flowey #asriel #asriel dreemurr #chara dreemurr #chara #utdr analysis

[yesimwriting]

I feel like the reader in best friend!Felix is actually really smart, heck, let's say genius even, but is really oblivious when it comes to sentiment. The reader gives off nerd vibes, but they're so smart to the point it's a cool kinda thing. And if this was before Felix met Oliver, I feel like reader, like Farleigh, would get bad vibes from Ollie too but would be too shy? I guess, to say anything cause hey, they're new and stuff. I like the fic:) It's nice to read something like that, without the explicit content, I mean:D

A/n: omg love this,, definitely doing a bestfriend!felix blurb on this concept later, i just wanted to explore character dynamics for a second lol

fun fact: i originally pictured bestfriend!reader as a literal genius with -3 street smarts, it's just info that didn't make it into the fic!!

also i could see reader as being so smart they skipped a grade (if we want to add to the power/social imbalance by making reader a little younger, but not like weirdly younger) open to thoughts on this !

i picture bestfriend!reader as having an elle woods quality to their intelligence in terms of awareness (and maybe aesthetic, it is the early 2000's lol),, reiterating the most complicated parts of a lecture perfectly during a study session while half focused on applying lip gloss, aces exams while hungover (bc felix insisted on going out), and never registers how impressive all of it is

very much "what? like it's hard" but as literal as that statement could be

which could add to reader's shyness/uncertainty bc she forgets she's a little intimidating

okay but the potential of reader getting bad vibes from oliver if she became close friends with felix a little after oliver did?? too good

reader doesn't want to alienate oliver, he's the only one around felix that's also an outsider, that should make it easier to bond

but!! because reader is that smart, she has this gut feeling that tells her to keep him at arm's length,, but bc she's not the best at picking up on feelings, it's basically just that 6th sense thing that girls have that tells them when a guy has weird/unsafe intentions

bc reader can't articulate their concern, or understand it, they try to be nice, but oliver can tell that there's this distrust there

it drives him crazy

first of all, reader should be the easiest one to win over bc she's not one of the elites and she's a little awkward from time to time, it's frustrating that there doesn't seem to be a crux for him to use to weasel his way into reader's heart

oliver's aware that he can get close to felix without the others liking him as long as they tolerate him enough in public, but with reader, oliver knows more about felix's real feelings for them than felix does

that adds this timing element to the situation that’s stressful, because as soon as felix realizes how he feels about the reader, that will be that

meanwhile, reader is a little worried about being dropped bc of the tension between her and oliver, but oliver doesn’t fully notice that, he’s too distracted by his feelings

it's not fair, oliver "had" felix first, but oliver's perfectly capable of adapting to the situation, so he accepts it and looks at it practically

oliver knows that there is no fully "in" with felix unless you like him, so despite any resentment and jealousy he feels towards you, he decides that he'll do whatever it takes to get it

#bestfriend!felix #saltburn x reader #felix x reader #felix catton x reader

[ginnsbaker]

Bulletproof (3/?)

Part Summary: But she just keeps on murmuring, lost in her dream. You try to make sense of her muffled words, but it's hard. And then, out of nowhere, she sighs your name. It's not loud, but it's filled with a kind of longing. Your heart skips a beat. She's dreaming about you. 

Or the one where Wanda accidentally pulls you into a very vivid dream

Chapter word count: 2.8k+ | Tags: Slight Somno, Explicit Dream Sharing, Sharing A Bed, Mutual Pining, Maybe Resolved Sexual Tension | Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Author's notes: I have no explanation for this, Your Honor.

Series Masterlist

-

The sleeping arrangement becomes less complicated following your return to Wanda’s room, days after you splurged on a hotel suite.

It’s less complicated in a sense that Wanda did away with the pillow barrier and began sleeping on the bed with an ease, almost as if you weren't there. While you found her newfound nonchalance puzzling, you've learned your lesson about making assumptions. After the recent embarrassment, you've become more careful about reading too much into things.

But with the pillow gone, so too was Wanda's warmth that you'd grown accustomed to when you first started sharing her space. 

The soft "good morning" greetings, ones that used to set a gentle tone for the day, disappeared. Most mornings, she's up before you, the other side of the bed cool to the touch. On the rare occasion you do wake up before her, you hustle through your morning routine, eager to vacate the space. You hope this gives her the peace of a bathroom unoccupied and the luxury of starting her day in solitude, without the need to navigate around someone else in her sanctuary.

However, as days meld into one another, you notice that Wanda's behavior has reverted to how it was in the beginning–not cold, but seemingly indifferent. The occasional smile she throws your way feels more like a courtesy, perhaps an acknowledgment for saving her life, rather than a desire to be your friend. When you talk, the conversations remain on the surface, never diving deep. Gone are the days of sharing little secrets, dreams, or thoughts; now, the chats are cordial, almost scripted.

She said everything was okay, but it sure doesn't feel like it. That awkward moment with her pillow keeps replaying in your mind. Every silence between you two makes you wonder if you really did make her uncomfortable.

As the day wraps up, you get into bed and notice Wanda's already asleep, facing away. You let out a deep sigh. You can't keep avoiding the topic. Listening to her steady breathing, you decide: tomorrow, you'll talk to her and try to fix things between you two.

-

Except, something unexpected happens in the middle of the night.

Still deep in slumber, Wanda drifts over to your side, her leg carelessly resting on yours as she nestles closer, with your arm inadvertently near her chest.

From your time sharing the bed, you've come to understand that Wanda can sleep soundly through almost anything.

Yet, as you carefully attempt to wriggle out from beneath her embrace, wanting to give her more space, it has the opposite effect. Wanda's grasp tightens, pulling you closer. Before you can fully comprehend the shift, she's straddling your thigh. A sudden heat radiates from her core, making contact with your leg, and an involuntary gasp escapes your lips.

In her deep slumber, Wanda starts to murmur softly, words flowing in Sokovian. Her voice, hushed and sultry even in sleep, becomes the most tantalizing sound you've ever heard.

You can feel the faint brush of her lips against your neck, sending ripples of anticipation down your spine. Her fingers begin to dance lightly across your exposed abdomen, each touch igniting a spark that makes you swallow hard. This is uncharted territory, teetering on a delicate edge. 

Overwhelmed, you can only manage a soft, “Wanda?” hoping it might wake her up.

But she just keeps on murmuring, lost in her dream. You try to make sense of her muffled words, but it's hard. And then, out of nowhere, she sighs your name. It's not loud, but it's filled with a kind of longing.

Your heart skips a beat. She's dreaming about you. 

But before you can articulate what this means, an arresting image takes shape in your mind: the bed beneath you creaking softly as Wanda, devoid of any garments, moves atop you. Her head is thrown back, a cascade of her hair tumbling down her back, her face etched with raw emotion. The soft, dim light of the room captures the gentle curve of her breasts, her erect nipples, rising and falling in time with her rhythmic movements. Each bounce, each motion pulls you deeper into the vision.

It must be Wanda's powers. Steve once tried to explain the intricacies of her abilities, but all you gathered was that she could craft intense illusions in one's mind.

You never imagined you'd experience it firsthand. Especially not in such a... provocative manner.

As quickly as that consuming image formed in your mind, it's torn away, leaving you breathless and disoriented. You feel a rhythmic motion against your leg. It's Wanda. The dampness of her panties seeps onto your skin, unmistakably warm and wet. Each subtle movement of her hips sends a tangible pulse through the both of you. 

In your desperation, you whisper, “Wanda?” trying to pull both of you from the heated dream world. But as you reach out to her, another overwhelming image infiltrates your thoughts.

This vision is even more raunchy. Wanda's thighs frame your view, her glistening core just inches from your face. You can see every detail: the way her soft folds part for you, inviting, enticing. Hesitantly, your tongue reaches out, sinking into her.  The scent of Wanda, both heady and sweet, envelops you. A moan escapes your lips, relishing that first taste—you from the dream and quite possibly, the real you. You delve deeper, your tongue exploring, stretching her, teasing every sensitive spot. With each push of your tongue, Wanda gasps, her moans getting louder. She rides your face with abandon, grinding down against you, chasing her pleasure. 

The vision recedes, much like the previous one, leaving behind an unsuspecting Wanda nestled against you.

The line between what's real and what's in your mind becomes dangerously thin. Wanda's fingers clutch at your waist with a desperate strength as she grinds fervently against your leg.  

You can't help but let out a moan, “God, Wanda…” The pleasure is as much yours as it is hers.

Any caution, any reservations you held onto, start to slip away.

Your thigh instinctively rises, pressing tighter to Wanda, matching the urgency of her grind. Her breathy moans become more desperate, and you can feel the tension in her body as she gets closer.

“Ah, Y/N…” Wanda hisses, and for a moment, you think she has finally woken up. But when you risk a glance down, her eyes are still firmly shut, the rocking motion of her hips becoming more frantic.

The tension builds, and soon Wanda's entire frame stiffens. As she crests the wave of her climax, you can feel her wetness, warm and abundant, seeping through onto your leg. The sharp bite on your shoulder punctuates the moment, her moan echoing softly in your ear.

As her tremors subside, Wanda's weight presses into you more heavily, her chest heaving against your side. You can't help but glance at the evidence of her release smeared on your leg. On an impulse, you gather the moisture with your fingers, hesitating just for a brief second before tasting her. The slightly sweet, unmistakably intimate taste causes a shudder to travel through your body. The throbbing heat between your own legs becomes nearly unbearable, making you shift restlessly beneath her.

Wanda rolls away, and suddenly, it's like a splash of cold water hits you. You just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, thinking, what the hell just happened. The warm fuzziness from earlier turns to guilt. You can't help but wonder if you crossed a line, even if it was all so unintentional. 

You can't take the weight of it any longer. Every second on that bed, every rustle of the sheets is a cruel reminder. Quietly, you slip out of the bed, taking one last glance at Wanda, her form peaceful, oblivious to the storm inside your head.

The cold floor greets your feet as you head towards the door. Your steps echo, each one sounding heavier than the last. The corridor outside seems darker than you remember, but maybe it's just your mood. You keep your head down, not wanting anyone to see the guilt written all over your face.

The door to your cell looms ahead, and entering feels like you're punishing yourself, willingly locking yourself away. But in some twisted way, it feels like what you deserve right now. The cold walls seem like old friends, and the thin mattress beckons you to lie down. The bite on your shoulder pulses with every heartbeat, and you hug your knees close, trying to find solace in the dark. 

The hope now is that sleep, if it eventually comes, will help you find clarity or at least forget, if only for a few hours.

-

The next morning, Wanda stirs, her hand lazily reaching out to the space next to her, expecting to meet warmth. Instead, the sheets are cold, the bed emptier than she remembered.

Yawning, she stretches her limbs, and that's when she feels it – the discomfort between her legs. The sticky reminder of her dream. Her face turns crimson, and she's momentarily taken aback, but soon gratitude takes over as she realizes you're not there to witness her state.

Shuffling out of bed to freshen up, the water from the showerhead splashing on her helps clear her head. Yet, as much as she tries to banish the thoughts, the memories remain persistent. Since the day she walked in on you with her pillow, an image has planted itself firmly in her mind. The visual of your naked form, vulnerable, lost in pleasure—it was an image she couldn’t shake off. 

Wanda has been skillfully evading you for days. While shared spaces in the facility meant you were bound to cross paths, Wanda became remarkably adept at staying out of sight. You'd walk into the dining area, she'd just be leaving. You'd be heading to the training room, and she'd abruptly turn, murmuring about forgetting something.

It's not that she's afraid of confrontation. It's the exact opposite. She fears the pull she feels toward you, the visceral need to close the distance. And with the memory of that day—of catching you so intimately involved with her pillow—she fears she might not be able to control herself. The trajectory your relationship has taken prior, the slow-build of a bond, was at a dangerous tipping point. All it might take is one lingering gaze, one innocent touch, and she worries that restraint would crumble.

(She believes she's keeping her feelings hidden, contained within her, but the truth is, they already surfaced in the most unexpected way. If only she knew.)

-

Throughout the day, you remain conspicuously absent from the usual spots in the compound, making Wanda's self-imposed avoidance unexpectedly effortless.

Wanda tries not to think about it too much, assuming you were called away on a mission.

-

As the night deepens, Wanda finds herself glancing repeatedly at the door, anticipating your return. She adjusts the sheets, fluffs the pillows, and even listens for any signs of movement outside her room.

But the hours tick by, and you never show.

-

As another day passes and another night comes, Wanda's worry deepens. Every night, she finds herself waiting, hoping you'd walk in. But you never do. Unable to stand the suspense any longer, she finally turns to Vision, the only person in the compound who always seems to know where everyone is.

“Vision?” she begins hesitantly, catching him in one of the quiet hallways. 

Vision blinks at her, his eyes briefly flickering in that peculiar way of his, as though processing data. “Wanda,” he begins, his tone always measured, “What do you need?”

"It's about Y/N. Have you seen them? They haven't been back to my room in days," she blurts out, a little more desperately than she intended.

Vision pauses, analyzing for a moment. “I have noticed that they've been spending a significant amount of time in their old cell. They've mostly remained isolated.”

Wanda's heart sinks. The thought of you confining yourself to that cold, lonely cell pricks at her heart. “Did something happen? Did they get a mission or…”

Vision interrupts gently, “No mission, Wanda. As far as I'm aware, they've chosen to stay there.”

Wanda's throat tightens, the realization that her behavior might have indirectly pushed you away, making her nauseous.

“Thank you, Vision,” she says softly, her voice wavering slightly. 

She needs to find you, to talk things through, to clear the air.

Whatever it takes to pull you once again out of that goddamn cell.

-

You're there, curled into a tight ball, deep in slumber when Wanda finds you just moments later. The soft rise and fall of your chest is the only indication of life in the otherwise still cell.

Wanda pauses at the doorway, taking in the sight of you. Her eyes slide over your arms, noticing the muscle lines even in sleep. She looks up to your face, which seems so calm and quiet. Your lips are just slightly open, and she wonders what you might be dreaming about.

But then the reality of the scene hits her. 

The cold, unyielding floor you're sleeping on, the way you've curled up, trying to find some comfort where there's none. It’s a far cry from the soft bed upstairs, and a pang of guilt hits her hard. She’s been so focused on avoiding you, she didn’t think about where you'd end up. 

This isn’t right, and deep down, she knew it. 

With cautious steps, Wanda approaches you, her fingers itching to reach out and pull you into her arms. But she resists, instead crouching beside you. 

“Y/N,” she whispers gently, placing a hesitant hand on your shoulder, giving it a light shake.

You stir, eyelids fluttering open to meet her concerned gaze. For a brief second, confusion paints your features, but as recognition dawns, you sit up abruptly, creating distance.

“Wanda? What are you doing here?”

She takes a deep breath, looking a bit anxious. “We need to talk.”

You shuffle backwards as Wanda catches the slight distance in your eyes, realizing that her recent coldness has probably hurt you more than she thought.

You say nothing and hug your knees to your chest, half of your face hidden from Wanda.

She hesitates, and then slowly says, “I know why you've been hiding in here.”

Your eyes widen in shock. Images flash before your eyes, moments from that night replaying, guilt flooding you once again. “Look, Wanda, I know what I did, and... and that's why I'm here,” you stutter out, pointing to the bleak surroundings of the cell. “It's where I deserve to be.”

Wanda, however, looks perplexed. “Wait, what are you talking about? I'm here because I've been... avoiding you. And you've been avoiding me… hence, you coming back to this cell, right?” She genuinely seems unaware of what you're alluding to, which only confuses and surprises you more.

Shit.

Now it's you who have to explain.

But you remain mute, eyes darting everywhere but at the wary girl in front of you.

“Y/N,” Wanda prods. 

You're convinced that this is it. Surely, with the power she possesses, she'd obliterate you right here and now for crossing such a line. Because you have no choice now but to tell her the truth.

“I…” You hesitate, taking a deep breath, trying to find the right words to confess your sin. “That night you came close to me in your sleep... I woke up to it, to you... acting out your dream on me.” Your face flushes as you meet her gaze, expecting disgust or anger. “I didn't stop it, Wanda. I should have woken you up, pulled away, but I didn’t. I... I let it happen. I’m so sorry.”

Wanda's eyes go wide, and her cheeks flush a bright red. “You... you did what?” 

You'd think her tomato-red cheeks were cute if the situation wasn't so mortifying. But right now, it's clear she's grappling with what you just said. She stammers, trying to find her words. “I... I had no idea.”

For a brief moment, memories of waking up with a sticky sensation between her legs and remnants of a vivid dream about you come flooding back. Wanda never thought she'd acted on it, not in reality. The realization is mortifying, but also, she can't help the faint flutter of excitement that twists in her stomach, thinking about how you let it happen. 

“I... I can't believe it,” she whispers, torn between embarrassment and something… forbidden.

For a drawn-out minute, neither of you shifts. It's as if you're both frozen, trapped in the aftershocks of your confession and Wanda's conflicting reactions to it. But before either of you gets the courage to make the first move, the cell door clangs open loudly. 

Both of you jump, startled by the sudden intrusion.

Steve Rogers strides in, looking relieved. “There you are, Y/N. And Wanda?” His brows raise in surprise, likely not expecting to find the two of you in your old cell.

“I have some good news. Wanda, you can have your room to yourself from now on.”

Wanda blinks, looking both relieved and disappointed. But before she can voice any of it, Steve turns to you with a small smile. 

“Because Tony has now assigned yours.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #captain america civil war #the avengers #oneshots #steve rogers

[celtic-crossbow]

Blood Ties Chapter 8

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, vomiting, child injury, allusions to gunshot wound, pregnancy complications A/N: Okay, this one turned out to be a monster. My brain is fried so any mistakes I made, I'll fix later. I really really hope Daryl isn’t OOC here. I tried to put myself in his shoes, knowing what I know about him. Anyway! On with the show!

*Click here to be added to taglists.

Moodboard by @dannyo000 💙

You stayed closer to the RV while the group had gathered around Carol to provide support. While you wanted desperately to be there for her, you couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of guilt. Your baby was safe inside your belly while her Sophia was lost in the forest. 

Rick had dispatched the two walkers that had scared the little girl into running, but found her missing when he returned. He had since taken Daryl, Glenn, and Shane back into the trees. Daryl was a tracker and a damn good one. If anyone stood a chance at finding her, it was him. 

“You okay?” 

You startled from your thoughts to see Andrea staring down at you with concern etched onto her face. You must really look like shit. You had completely forgotten about food and water along with the items you had gathered once you and Daryl had made it back to find that Sophia had disappeared. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” You didn’t sound very convincing even to your own ears. You were still dizzy with a trembling in your limbs that just would not subside. Your stomach was still uneasy. When wasn’t it uneasy, actually?

“You’re looking a little pale. Can I get you anything?” She laid a hand against the RV and leaned into it. 

“Some water, if they found any?” Your voice was so gravelly, your mouth dry. Your lips felt as if they’d split open should you smile. 

“Yeah! Shane found a ton! One second!” 

Then she was off! You didn’t have the energy to track her movements, instead deciding to place your forehead against your knees. You truly did feel horrible. If this was what women called “the joys of pregnancy” you would pass, thank you very much, and just get handed the baby. 

“Here.” Reluctantly, you raised your head, finding a plastic cup at eye level. With a minute nod, you sipped slowly at the cold drink. It felt like heaven on your parched throat. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Huh?” You were absolutely abstracted. When she asked again, you really had to stop and think. “I guess at the CDC.”

“Oh, hun. That’s not good. Let me see what I can find for you.” Andrea began to turn but stopped when you laid a hand on her arm. 

“I really don’t think I can stomach anything. Everything makes me sick.” You ran a hand through your hair, grimacing when your fingers became trapped by some knotted stands. You had eaten the candies Carol had given you with only mild relief. There was not a second of reprieve from your stomach attempting to crawl out of your throat. 

“You need nutrients. For the baby.” She urged, crouching down in front of you. 

“I know. Maybe I can try when they find Sophia and we can go back to the normal amount of fear and anxiety.” One side of your mouth lifted into a ghost of a smile when you heard her chuckle. 

“Okay. But let me know if you change your mind.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Glenn and Shane returned first, the former handing out tasks to keep everyone busy. Most likely trying to control panic. You were no exception. The man sent you to grab the things you had found. You didn’t hesitate to inform him there was too much to retrieve on your own. 

“You’ll just have to make trips then, won’tcha? He scoffed, turning away and leaving no room for argument. 

You still wanted to show how useful you could be but you felt like hammered shit. The dizziness and trembling remained, and your ass met the pavement once you had arrived back to your treasure pile. There was no way you were coming back out there again. Listening for any signs of danger, you began to consolidate. Only the most useful things were placed in the suitcase, the remainder left on the ground. Zipping up the thing, you were beyond grateful for the wheels. 

Daryl and Rick had returned by the time you made it back. Sophia was not with them. Carol was in hysterics. Honestly, you weren’t sure that she had ever left the mindset. It didn’t take any persuading for you to relinquish the bed in the RV to her that night. 

Come morning, weakness and exhaustion were a suffocating blanket wrapped tightly around you. You wanted to stay there and sleep but that wasn’t even remotely an option. Not while Sophia was out there. 

Everyone was issued a weapon. You were given a second knife and holster, this one taking up residence on your hip. Only Shane, Rick, and Daryl were carrying firearms. Some bogus bullshit about everyone else needed to be trained. You were trained. However, there was no use arguing and you felt too horrible to engage in a losing battle. 

“What’re ya doin’?”

You lifted your head to find Daryl glaring at you. “My taxes. What’s it look like?” You replied with an over exaggerated roll of your eyes. 

“Ya ain’t goin’.” His tone left no room for negotiation. Unfortunately for him, there was no way you could care less. 

“Not asking permission, Dixon.” You made to walk by him but he caught your arm in passing. With a stern look at his hand on your bicep, you hissed “let go.”

“Nah, ya need ta stay here.”

“I can take care of myself.” 

“Ain’t you m’worried ‘bout.” He shot a pointed look at your stomach. 

You snatched your arm free. “That’s sweet, but again, I’m not asking your permission.” It was getting easier and easier to walk away from him. You weren’t so sure that was a good thing. 

Andrea and Dale were engaged in what appeared to be a heated conversation as you passed by. You had an inkling on what it was about but it was none of your business. It was Andrea’s choice and she felt it had been taken from her. You could sympathize, recalling the helplessness you had felt when Jenner closed those doors. You and the blonde were on opposite ends of that spectrum. You had wanted desperately to live while she had been ready to die. 

The group had already crossed the guardrail and entered the trees with you and Andrea pulling up the rear in a jog until you caught up. While she continued forward, you chose to hang back. Daryl had taken the lead, constantly scanning for footprints or other disturbances that could possibly indicate Sophia had been through the area. You could have helped him, but it would likely not be well received given he had rebuffed the idea of you being there in the first place. 

“Stop lagging behind.” Shane grumbled at you, halting his steps until you passed him. “Shouldn’t even be here.” You weren’t sure if he had meant for you to hear him. Nor were you sure of his reasoning. Because you were a stranger? Because you were pregnant? Regardless, you let it slide. You were there to help find Sophia. 

Your steps remained steady which meant Lori had slowed her own while talking with Carl. Yet another conversation you had no right to hear, but you did offer a tight smile in passing. You ended up behind Glenn, absently comfortable with that. He had said the least to you but when he did speak, he was kind. 

It wasn’t much further before Daryl gave a signal to slow. When he lowered into a crouch everyone followed suit, including you. The transition left you dizzy and leaning forward to place a palm on the dirt in order to maintain your balance. The all too familiar twist and cramp of your stomach signaled the impending purge. Maybe you should have stayed behind. 

Your steps were silent as a ghost. You retreated from the group, backtracking as far as you safely could alone before you no longer had control. All the water you had managed to drink splashed onto the dirt, leaving you once again empty. You were going to die from starvation or dehydration at this point. It was a terrifying reality. The only option would be to find a pharmacy and seek out something for nausea. But what was safe to take during pregnancy?

Your first few steps were unsteady but you managed to level your gait at some point while tracking your way back to the others. Before you could really gauge whether your absence had been noticed, there was a tolling of bells in the distance. Church bells?

The small group as a whole began to sprint toward the sound but you? You couldn’t run if you tried. The dizziness was worsening, your extremities feeling not unlike lead weights. You knew now Daryl had been right. You should have stayed behind. Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve. Now, you had no choice but to move forward. Making the trip back to the RV alone would be more dangerous than falling a little behind your group. At least they could hear if you called for help. 

When you finally saw the space in front of you open up to an old church house and the familiar shapes of your fellow party members, you could have cried. Well, actually, you probably physically couldn’t cry. Dehydration was taking hold, a fact that you knew without anyone pointing it out. You hadn’t needed to pee since the previous afternoon. Your tongue was sandpaper. Your skin was dull and a bit itchy. You were going downhill and you didn’t know what to do about it. 

When you noticed that a portion of the group had broken away from Rick, Shane, and Carl, you wondered if your mind was beginning to go as well. Why were they splitting up? Lost in your confusion, Daryl was nearly on top of you before you even realized he was approaching. 

“Wha’ the fuck d’ya think yer doin’?” He hissed in an exaggerated whisper. Oh, he was mad. Oh wait. He seemed to always be mad. “Don’ think I didn’ see ya sneakin’ off back there. Yer gonna get yerself killed.”

“You’re right.” You stood a little straighter. If you had to admit you were wrong, you would at least be confident about it. 

“D’ya think this is a game? There’s fuckin’ corpses out— wait, wha’? 

You barely suppressed a chuckle at his expression. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be out here. I’m a liability and I’m… not okay.”

“Daryl, we should go.” 

He held up a hand, silencing Andrea without even looking back. “Whaddaya mean ‘not okay’?”

“I can’t eat. I can’t even drink water without puking. I think… I think I might be—”

“Nah.” He interrupted, shaking his head. “Don’ even say tha’ shit. Jus’ need ta getch back to the RV. Y’can rest n’ I’ll take the bike. Find some meds or somethin’. Doubt anythin’ in Merle’s stash would be good fer the kid but I’ll check anyway.” 

“Huh.” You raised your eyebrows, damn near astonished. 

“Wha’?”

“I think that may be the most you’ve said to me at one time since we’ve known each other.” The corner of your mouth lifted and— it may have been a hallucination —you could have sworn you saw his lip twitch as well. 

“Stop. Can ya walk?”

“For now.” You took slow, albeit steady, steps to go around him, noticing that he never once tried to get ahead of you. He was worried. If you were this sick, what were the chances of your baby even making it? What if it was gone already?

“Le’s head back.” He instructed as the two of you passed by the suspicious gazes. Daryl had to lead them but his actions made it clear they would walk at his pace or venture ahead and get lost. Right now, his pace was your pace. You couldn’t make everyone suffer for your inability to keep up. The point was to search for Sophia, which meant as much ground needed covered as humanly possible. With a great amount of difficulty– and a few unsteady steps –you managed to pick up some speed. Daryl had taken only moments to be at your side once again, dipping his head as if requesting an explanation. 

“So this is it? This is the whole plan?” Carol’s meek voice came from behind you, both you and Daryl turning to regard her. With a hand on your shoulder, he steered you to a downed tree and pushed you to sit. 

“I guess the plan is ta whittle us down into smaller n’ smaller groups.” You felt a tap against the front of your shoulder while holding your head in your hands. Daryl was still focused on the discussion but was offering you a tumbler of water. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled. You’d be stupid to let your pride persuade you into rejecting the offer. He gave you a nod and continued to listen to Lori's defense of her husband. Personally, you had nothing against Rick and believed he had once again made a call that was twisted to come back and bite him in the ass. No one wanted to blame him but in the face of fear and grief, blame was an easy scapegoat.

“C’mon.” Daryl gave you a moment to take one more sip and then helped you stand, clipping the water container back to his belt loop. It was blatantly obvious that his concern was for his baby, which in turn ensured that he made sure you were safe and healthy, but you couldn’t lie: having him be kind to you was something you wished you could grow to depend on. It was nice. Fleeting but nice. 

A wave of dizziness had you listing to the side, only briefly fearing you’d fall before you felt his arm around your waist.

“Easy.” His voice was calm, almost soothing to your frayed nerves. As you got your feet back under you, you nodded that you were okay. He lingered, watching you with those deep blue pools. If you weren’t careful, you could get lost. 

Several feet behind, Andrea cleared her throat, pretending to be looking at something up in the canopy when both you and Daryl quickly separated. How long had you been staring at him? Your cheeks warmed, actually managing to make you feel impossibly worse. Although, he had been looking right back. The tiniest of smiles upturned your lips, unbidden.

And then there was the unmistakable echoing crack of a gunshot.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Whether it was you or someone else in the group, the unease in your gut was more than the ever-plaguing nausea. Behind you, Lori had stopped again to look back from where you had all traveled from. 

You were all watching her, but Andrea was the one to speak up. “You still worrying about it?”

“It was a gun.” The dark-haired woman replied, her gaze still far away.

Daryl hadn’t moved from your side, and he was doing a terrible job at hiding his disquiet. “We all heard it.” 

Lori looked like she might start moving forward again, but she only managed to shift on her feet before looking back. “Why one? Why just one gun?”

You saw Daryl glance at you from the corner of your eye. He was losing patience. “Maybe they took down a walker.”

With a tilt of her head, her expression screamed unimpressed. “Please don’t patronize me. You know Rick wouldn’t risk a gun to put down one walker, or Shane. They’d do it quietly.”

Carol fidgeted where she stood, looking as if she felt she had to say something. “Shouldn’t they have caught up with us by now?”

Daryl took a breath. “There’s nothin’ we can do ‘bout it, anyway. Can’ run ‘round these woods chasin’ echoes.” He chanced a glance at you, and you knew then that he was eager to make them move to get you back to the RV. You’d never say anything yourself. That much was clear by how you had started to push yourself to move faster when you shouldn’t have been moving at all. Unfortunately, Lori didn’t seem to like that answer.

“So,what do we do? Same as we’ve been?”

“Beat the bush fer Sophia, work our way back ta the highway.” He hadn’t moved far from you at all, but extended an arm to indicate you should turn around and start walking. When there was a distinct lack of footfalls, you were the first to look back. Daryl looked at you before following suit. Carol and Andrea were engaged in conversation, though their hushed voices kept the nature inaudible. Daryl started toward them, waving you off when you tried to call him back.

“We’re all hoping and praying with you, for what it’s worth.” Andrea was offering a soft smile, extending some comfort to Carol. You winced when Daryl leaned in toward them.

“I’ll tell ya wha’ s’worth– not a damn thing. S’a waste’a time, all this hopin’ n’ prayin’. We’re gonna locate tha’ little girl. She’s gon’ be jus’ fine.” When he turned, you hid your smile behind your hand. “M’I the only one Zen ‘round here? Good lord.” There was nothing you could do to keep from chuckling. “Glad ya think s’funny.”

“Sorry.” You mumbled, still smiling, but at least treading onward. 

It wasn’t much longer before your legs felt like they might fail to hold your weight. Not only weak, but aching. You could feel your pulse pounding in your head. Daryl continued to offer you water, never bothering to drink any himself, you noticed.

“How much farther?” Lori gave voice to the question you had been thinking for the last half hour.

“Not much.” Daryl reached for you when you stumbled but you shook your head. His eyes remained on you when he continued his reply. “Maybe hundred yards as the crow flies.” The answer seemed to satisfy her for the moment at least. “Hey.”

You grimaced as the cramps you had been feeling in your legs seemed to move into your stomach. You hadn’t realized that your hand had immediately pressed into the area. When you finally heard Daryl and looked at him, you were bombarded by the naked concern shining in his eyes. 

“Y’want me ta carry ya?” 

Though taken aback by his offer, especially in front of the others after he had spent the better part of the day more focused on you than on the tracking he was out there to do, you shook your head adamantly. “No. No, I’m good.” Another cramp, only slightly sharper than the one that preceded it. It was still enough to have you draw a hissing breath through your teeth.

“Don’ mind. C’mon, ya need ta rest n’ we’re losin’ daylight.”

Before you could turn him down a second time, Andrea began screaming somewhere nearby. When had she wandered off? Daryl was readying his crossbow, tapping Carol on the shoulder as he started running. “Stay with ‘er!” He pointed back to you. The woman nodded even though he was long gone.

“You okay, honey?” She asked, brushing some hair away from your face after you selected a tree to lean against. “You look terrible.”

“I just need to rest. Maybe try to eat something.” You all but panted. The pain was still sporadic but each seemed to hurt worse than the last. As it was, you were torn between needing to vomit and the urge to drink the entire container of water Daryl was carrying. 

There was an awful commotion from the direction everyone had disappeared. Daryl soon came sprinting through, slipping the strap of his crossbow over his head before he reached you.

“Sorry.” He huffed between breaths at the same time he swept you up against his chest and continued toward the highway, everyone else right on his heels.

“What happened?” You asked breathlessly. If he noticed, he didn’t comment on it. 

“Some girl came ridin’ on a horse. Saved Andrea’s ass but she was lookin’ fer Lori.” Wincing at being jostled when everything already hurt, you opened one eye and caught his grim expression. “Carl got shot.”

The remaining members of your group made it back to the highway in record time without you holding them up. Daryl gingerly lowered you onto the steps of the RV and pressed the water tumbler into your hand. Then he left to go fill in Dale and T-Dog. 

Your hands were shaking as you sipped down some water. First Sophia went missing. Then Carl had been shot. Children weren’t spared from the cruelty of that world. You felt your eyes burn with the desire to cry, yet no tears would fall.

“There are no blessings anymore. Nothing real to hope for anymore.”

And for the first time, you considered the possibility that maybe what Jenner did had been intended as a mercy. How could you even consider bringing a baby into that hell? Maybe you should have stayed behind with Jacqui, letting her hold your hand as she had done after the blood draw. Maybe it would be better to let whatever was wrong with you steal from you until there was nothing left. 

Your chest began to pull tight again, your breaths quickening in an attempt to keep pulling in air. Your pulse was thrumming away in your temples, making your eyes ache and your vision blur. All you could think was how badly you wanted to cry but couldn’t. You sat up straighter in hopes that it would make breathing easier, a small sound escaping when your stomach cramped again. It must have been loud enough to alert Daryl because when you opened your eyes, he was walking toward you, his brow pinched in concern.

And in looking at him, watching him react to your discomfort because of the little life the two of you had created, you instantly regretted ever thinking your baby shouldn’t be allowed a chance. That Daryl shouldn’t be allowed a chance to be a father. 

“Hey, hey, wha’s wrong? Talk ta me, Y/N.” 

You were grabbing at his arms and attempting to stand, but in your panic, your voice failed you. The ability to breathe went right along with it. Halfway upright, with Daryl’s hands on your upper arms to aid you, you managed two words: “Something’s wrong.” 

“Shit. Okay. Listen, we’re jus’ gon’ get everythin’ together. Leave a note fer Sophia. Then we can–”

You cut him off with a scream that made his blood run cold. Your arms wrapped around your middle and held tight, trying to smother the pain stabbing relentlessly at you from the inside. In some distant, dark crevice of your mind, you felt him lift you and heard him shouting. There was the roar of an engine. Daryl’s bike. You blinked, dots and wavering images making it hard to decipher what was happening. You were sideways on the bike, cradled tightly to Daryl’s chest. How the hell? 

“Hey, listen ta me. Ya listening?” You gave him the weakest of nods. “Need ta hold onta me. Means ya gotta stay awake. Can ya do tha’?”

“Son, take a car. We can move more around and make a–”

You blinked slowly and watched Daryl look up and away from you. “There ain’t time!” You blinked again, his blue eyes back on you. “Y/N, can ya do tha’?!” You didn’t– couldn’t –answer verbally, but moved slightly to wrap your arms around his middle as tightly as you could, which wasn’t tight at all. “Stay awake.” He was already moving, pulling his legs up as he picked up speed. When your stomach cramped again, you only squeezed him tighter with a sob. “I gotcha. Just keep holdin’ on. Yer doin’ great.”

Minutes felt like an eternity, and eventually, you sacrificed holding up your head so the strength in your arms could hold true. When you opened your eyes, all you could see was blue sky. Blue like Daryl’s eyes. Would the baby have had his eyes? 

The wind was no longer blowing. The sound of the engine had disappeared, but you were moving. Daryl was yelling. There were other voices but you were too tired; it hurt too badly. So when darkness beckoned, you took her hand.

Taglist:

@stitchintimefan @thegeorgiahuntsman @livingdeadblondequeen @deansapplepie @feral4daryl @walker-bait-1973 @lazyneonrabbit @bizquake @littlelovingideas @ririi-3 @ankhmutes @blackvelveteen1339 @sokkasimp101 @lehhos @1ivinqdeadqir1main @loganlostitall @sshewonders @callmeyn @queenmizuki @crazyunsexycool @zehiiro @sunnybunnyy2 @gimalo135 @lothiriel9 @lilyevanstan1325 @gutsby @isakyakiisak @in-this-minute @eljaynosine_triphosphate @hutchersonsgurl @abbyreedus @wifeof-barnes @BananaFire11 @graciepies @Alaaabdaldeen @georgiadixon @mfnqueen1 @Esgoraths @fanngirl19 @she-could-never @Kenzimae67 @nessa-mayfield @ilovedilfs4everthings @s0urw00lf @Miyah-hearts @the-lonely-abyss @bymailin @angelbunny222 @m0ss-g0blin @d0p3ys-delusions @blazeflays @annhells @abi67sblog @Nessieart @imgeorgeclooney @brinteylovesaliens @eduardast4rgirl @ass-butt-themusical @daryldixmedown @alanamarie @Bultamer @secretmelanie

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x you #daryl drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl dixon imagines #daryl dixon imagine #daryl x y/n #daryl x female reader #daryl x you #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x reader smut #daryl dixon the walking dead #twd daryl #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon angst #daryl angst #the walking dead daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl #daryl dixon twd #daryl fanfiction

[lot-of-nothing]

Entwined (Ch. 1)

Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Since your youth, the relationship between Melissa and you has been complicated. In all of your years knowing her, she just can't admit that she isn't as straight as she thinks.

Warnings: Toxic Melissa, smut, and very veiled internalized homophobia

Authors Note: If ya like it, let me know and I'll write more.

On and off.

That’s how you would describe your relationship with Melissa to your closest friends. They would inevitably roll their eyes and make a face, annoyed with how Melissa had you wrapped around her finger.

It started in high school. She would start dating a new guy, he would leave her unsatisfied in more ways than one, and then she would find those missing pieces of her relationship in you. 

You were best friends after all…. and best friends would do anything for each other, right? 

The first night you spent together was always vivid in your memories. Her green eyes flashing with mischief before she took your hand and pulled it to her thigh. Mel told you how badly she was aching, how it was almost painful. That she needed her best friend to help resolve what her boyfriend couldn’t. 

She knew about your sexual orientation. She knew how hard it was for you to date. When you hesitated, Mel said it was like practicing for when you had a girlfriend. Only if she knew how beautiful you found her to be… that she was only making things harder for you. 

Young and naive, you gladly accepted her offer - desire flooding your senses as soon as she drew your hands to her body. She guided you through every motion and step, telling you exactly what she liked. Like a sponge, you soaked up every word and memorized every fraction of her body. Never wanting to forget a thing. 

Little did you know the knowledge would come in handy again… and again… and again.

—

“I should probably get going.” Mel breathed as she pushed herself into an upright position. You had been bathing in the afterglow of your sexual dalliance when you must have looked at her too yearningly. She didn’t want you getting too attached.

“I wouldn’t mind if you stayed. It’s no big deal.” You tried to shrug off her wanting to leave so soon. It was best if you played it cool rather than let her know how much you really wanted her after all these years. 

It was clear she didn’t give much thought to your statement. Slipping out from under your sheets, Melissa snatched up her underwear and bra from the floor. She was always in such a rush after you were finished, “I don’t want the neighbors gettin’ the wrong idea.”

That's what she had always told you - ‘I’m not gay.’ 

For years, you always had a biting remark in return. 

‘Yeah. It’s not like you just spent a half hour between my legs or anything.’

“What? Worried they might think you’re gay?” Your words were twinged with venom. Now, rather than wait for her to make the excuse, you threw it back in her face. It always irked you that she could say such a thing to you given all you had experienced with one another. 

“A woman can enjoy the company of women and not be gay.”

You scoffed, unable to contain yourself, “You’re delusional.”

Melissa’s lip curled and her brow furrowed. She always hated when you would get pissy with her, so she decided to snap back at you as she clipped her bra in the back, “I don’t need your shit, okay? I came here for a good time after my shitty date.”

You faked a smile and let the sarcasm drip from your tongue. “Glad to help.”

—

You knew the relationship wasn’t healthy, but this is how it always went. 

She would call. She would come over. You would fuck. She would want to leave right after. You would get pissed. Then you wouldn’t speak until she wanted back in your bed.

—

You gathered saliva in your mouth and then pushed your tongue between her folds, drenching Melissa’s sweet cunt in your spit. 

After the last sexual dalliance, you told yourself you wouldn’t end up on your knees for her again. But 45 minutes ago you received a partial nude from the redhead, and she had you reeled back in once more. It was a scandalous picture of her standing in front of her bedroom mirror with her hand between her legs. The caption she sent with the photo was ‘Missing you.’

While it was infuriating she could send a picture at random like that, you were in your car minutes later ready to drive over to her house. 

Your hands gripped behind her knees, keeping a gentle pressure to make sure she was spread wide for you. Her hands were buried in your hair to prevent you from lifting your face away from her swollen heat. But in all honesty, you weren’t planning on going anywhere until she came all over your tongue.

“Oh, fuck!” Mel whined, pushing her hips up to grind against your face. Her enjoyment made you smile, and sadly, a small ounce of hope lingered in the back of your mind that maybe you could fuck her good enough that she would want to be with you.

“Yesyesyesyes… God, you are incredible.” Melissa hissed out, chasing her orgasm through rough bucks of her hips.

You pulled back, fighting against the grip for her hands. You provided her with a singular lick to her cunt and then paused, teasing her, “You want to come?”

“Yes~”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

“Good girl…” You hummed, pulling away entirely to retrieve the strap. 

—

She had barely recovered from taking a pseudo-rage filled fucking when she crawled from bed. Her legs wobbled underneath herself as she wrapped herself in a robe, trying to make it clear a third round wouldn’t be an option. “I guess you better be goin’.”

“Sounds good.” You took the hint with grace, choosing to let her statement roll off your back rather than stewing on it. You slipped from the bed, unclasped Melissa’s strap (that she kept around just for you), and tossed the sex toy on the bed. You then proceeded to get ready in silence, not offering anything to Melissa that might display your displeasure. 

The redhead was slowly unnerved by your silence as you zipped up your trousers and pulled your shirt over your head. She stared at her nail beds, trying to start casual conversation, “Gary proposed.” 

You glanced up at her quickly, brow furrowed in angry questioning. While you were not proud of how easily Mel could reel you in, you wouldn’t have come if she was still in a relationship let alone engaged. 

Melissa noticed your incredulous look and finished explaining, “I said no.”

You breathed out a scoff as you tucked your phone in your back pocket and scooped up your sweater off the floor. “That sounds about right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Melissa was clearly unhappy with your tone, but you refused to glance her way - slightly enraging her further. 

Swiping your wallet and car keys from the bedside table you finally glanced over to where Mel sat on the edge of the bed. It was difficult to tell if she was more angry or embarrassed by your criticism, “I’ve learned the hard way, Mel. You’re hardly one to be tied down by something as trivial as love.”

Melissa was left speechless by your blatant honesty, and she could only stare as you gave her a curt nod, “I’ll see you around.”

—

She wasn’t gone for a half hour when you received a text from her - ‘Again tomorrow night? ;)’

It immediately forced you to roll your eyes. How you loved and hated that she was like this. One moment she would be so oppositional to any form of attachment, and then the moment someone ‘played hard to get’ with her, she would be fiending for their attention. 

What was worse is that you were no better than her. You replied almost automatically - ‘I am off at 4. Come over whenever.’

Link to Chapter 2

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary #toxic relationship #if you like the fic then let me know. it was fun to write :)

[ladyloveandjustice]

To give my Real Opinion on the whole Clark vs Lois issue (since people are giving me theirs), I'm surprised it is an issue, since it's very clearly supposed to be an conflict where both people made decisions that made sense from their point of view but still hurt each other. It makes sense that Clark would be insecure about telling Lois this when she's acting distrustful of Superman, and it makes sense he'd freak out and not handle a situation where she was putting a lot of pressure on him well. It also makes sense that Lois would be angry (and probably humiliated) and upset that Clark not only lied to her face when she was begging him to tell her the truth, but left her where she couldn't help him when she was worried sick about him.

Honestly, I think a lot of you aren't being honest about how you'd feel if you had a friend who disappeared every time something dangerous happened, you spent a lot of time frantically searching and worrying about that friend each time, only to find out oh hey, your friend was well aware of how worried you were and was actually right there but they were pretending to be someone else instead of letting you in on what was happening. You'd feel played with.

And Clark also KEPT lying when she was basically saying "hey stop lying to me. I know." He did it instinctively. She was begging him to tell her, and he didn't. That's going to hurt, and that's going to be galling. She definitely felt she had no other choice than to do something drastic, because she can't enter a relationship with someone she knows is lying to her and here he is, refusing to come clean. She's a reporter, the need to know drives her.

"Lois isn't entitled to Clark's private information, they haven't known each other that long", sure, but Clark vanishes in dangerous situations and causes real distress, Clark has been discussing Superman with Lois and unconsciously trying to manipulate her feelings on him while not telling her the whole truth, and you'd feel weird if someone did that, you'd feel kinda violated! And even if someone told you they weren't doing that to laugh at you, wouldn't you be hurt and humiliated?!

When exactly IS Lois entitled to Clark's info? When they start dating? How many months is it okay for him to date her without him telling her he's actually the guy she spends every waking minute trying to interview? Would he have told her as their relationship got serious? Not knowing that is probably scary and if I was Lois I'd think twice about if I wanted this either!

And what's especially scary is that yeah, he did leave her behind to so he could possibly go get killed when she was begging him not to. That's terrifying. She was probably terrified the entire time she waited. He was able to take her choice away from her, and Lois does not like feeling helpless. Clark was scared of her getting hurt, so he enforced his will and so shewas scared for HIM. and then he refused to talk about those worries!

It's also pretty galling when she's already helped him out in several fights- she's proven she can be useful and helpful! I'd be mad too! I'm sure there was a little vindictiveness in her actions- you see how you like it when someone takes your choice away too.

At the same time, Clark is clearly not comfortable showing people his whole self. He still doesn't know who he is, and he goes into panic mode about it. He's very scared of people being hurt because of him. What he did made sense from his point of view. And I'm sure he's not happy to be forced to reveal his secret.

It doesn't matter 'who's more right'. It's not a game they get to win! They both violated each other's boundaries. Their feelings both make sense from their perspective, and interesting conflicts are complicated. And I like it when characters don't just react to everything flawlessly. There's a lot of drama in secret identities, and sometimes stories have conflict.

I do agree this should have happened later in the season or as a season 2 thing, but that's sadly just life in this streaming hell era. They didn't know if they'd get a season 2 to tell the story they wanted. We have to take the conflict as it is. And let's face it, if Lois had taken longer to figure out, y'all would be making fun of her for being dumb. Lois is for some reason always the butt of that joke even though nobody else can see Clark is Superman either- and when she does figure it out (as she usually does!) and has anything other than positive feelings about it she still gets blamed. Just enjoy having a character who can have complex feelings.

If you hate relationship conflict, there's stuff for you out there! Read Superman Family Adventures by Art Baltazar, it's very cute low stakes low conflict stuff and has an actual Himbo Clark.

#my adventures with superman #my adventures with superman spoilers #lois lane #clark kent #superman

[meaispunk]

(stay quiet dummy) — suguru g. ! nsfw ahead

CONTENT ౨ৎ fingering⸝⸝semi-public⸝⸝name calling (“dummy + stupid”)⸝⸝suguru being a pervert + mean(?)

WORD COUNT ౨ৎ 1.6k

a tutoring session with nerd!suguru but his patience is running thin with you. you two have been sitting down at the same table for the last three hours reviewing cellular processes and the endocrine system, but no matter how many times he repeated words, used a different technique, and even gave you an example .. you just couldn’t get it.

“are you stupid or something ?” he says bluntly, looking at you with a bored expression and then down at the answers that are incorrect once again. “I’m not!” you scoff rolling your eyes already annoyed with suguru when he insulted you for the tenth time and quite frankly you’re also getting frustrated with yourself, “not my fault this biology stuff doesn’t make any sense !” you comment defending yourself while your eyes fall to the red marks that pointed out your mistakes. literally, why is the endocrine system so complicated ?!

suguru rolls his eyes at your remark, pushing up his glasses, “of course someone as air-headed as you wouldn’t get something as basic as biology!” he leans in, “do you even know what a hypothalamus is ?” his voice is very condescending and sarcastic. ugh, god why does a nerd like him have to be so annoying, yet so hot?

“do you know how to shut the fuck up?” you snap back glaring at suguru now face-to-face with him. your sudden outburst had the nerd chuckling lowly at how adorable it is to get you riled up so fast. he’s not even fazed at all he leans into your personal space almost nose to nose with you, “shutting up isn’t something I do” still keeps up his satiric tone but this time his lips turn into a grin. is it hot in here or is it the obvious tension you two created?

his gaze seems as if he’s looking you up and down, “you do realize how close we are right?” if he gets any closer, your lips would almost be touching. suguru is right, you two are practically so close to kissing if you or he leans up. “I noticed..” you whispered staring up at those dark brown eyes of his. you slowly leaned up to kiss suguru … until some student walked by around the area making you quickly look back down at the textbook in front of you. you really hope that students didn’t notice how close he and you were seconds ago.

your breath hitched when feeling his hand rest on your thigh rubbing it up and down, oh my god his hands.. “s..suguru..” “shh.. don’t want anyone hearing us, okay princess ? they’ll go tell the principal” he slowly slips his hand underneath your skirt grazing your inner thigh. god, his warm and comforting scent is driving you crazy. “now, be quiet for me... you can do that, yeah ?” he whispers into your ear while his two fingers begin to rub small circles on your clothed clit.

“… you’re a pervert” you bite back a small whimper while looking down at what’s happening below the desk. the way he rubbed small and slow circles around your clit, feeling his body press a little bit to your side and those half-lit eyes just staring at you wanting to see your reactions up close. “why, yes I am.” he whispers right back into your ear letting his nails drag along the inside of your thighs, “such a naughty girl getting riled up by something so simple.” he leans in closer until he can feel his breath all over your ear.

suguru tilts his head to see your flushed face, the tiny lip bite and eyebrows furrowing in concentration. his voice is low and husky, “right here ?” he lets his fingers trail down lower, teasing you by touching the hem of your underwear. “mmhm..” you nod looking over to suguru then back down at your lap growing more fuzzy and and and on his touch. lifting your skirt more, you let out a soft breathy sigh giving both him and yourself a perfect view. “oh, I’m sure you’re very pretty down there…” he says in a hushed tone, letting a finger trail cross your underwear, teasingly touching you. “do you want me to take a peek?” his eyes shift from yours to focus on your intimate area, your face getting flush.

his voice is still very low, almost like he’s whispering sweet nothings to you, or dirty talk — you can’t tell. all you know is that you want to feel his fingers inside your soaked cunt. “suguru please .. don’t tease” you plead to keep your voice low enough for him to hear.

suguru who just lets out a quiet laugh, reaching down with two fingers and slowly pushing your panties down to your knees, exposing yourself completely.he looks up at you for a moment, you can see the hunger in his eyes. “such a naughty girl…. you know you could get in trouble for this… but you like it, don’t you?” he licks his lips, his tone still quiet, “yeah ? and you’re the nerdy pervert touching me like this ..” you replied still keeping up your sassy attitude with him. you stifle a moan when you feel him enter a finger curling it up and slowly pumping it in and out of your wet hole. “oh right, I’m oh so nerdy.” he says mockingly, focusing on his task in hand, soon inserting a second finger.

his fingers slowly pumping in and out of your pussy curling them once in a while, reminding you to keep your voice down and not to let a whimper escape out of you. “touch yourself, okay? I’m sure a dummy like you can do that” he utters out focused on pumping his fingers in and out of you while your breath hitches when you begin to slowly rub on your clit.

"suguru — oh my god." you whine out a bit too vocally for his liking which got him to stop, "stay quiet or I'll leave you here, dummy." god the way he whispered that into your ear was making you even more aroused and bothered. "good girl.. just let me please you okay? maybe after you cum you can get that brain of yours to work" suguru taunts lightly watching his fingers coated in a light shiny sleek pumping in and out of you. biology was the least of your worries when he makes you cum on his fingers and then drag you to his dorm to fuck you from behind.

#. ( six eyes mark ) #ᥫ᭡. ₊˚⊹꒷ 𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑎𝑐𝑎𝑙. #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hello from the other side of the world. Could you share a little about hiraeth? It's okay if not, I know you said it was hard to explain, but I'm guessing the Wikipedia article is, ah, very simplistic.

What was the feeling that made it silent like a church? Introspection? Was it because of the specific music of tha song, or is the subject of hiraeth always this impactful?

Sorry if this is dumb or insensitive or something, I really know next to nothing about Welsh culture (my country wasn't even invaded by the British Empire, if you can believe it), but that part of the story really stood out to me, and the way you explained it so casually to your friend and he seems to have just understood makes me feel like I'm missing a very big piece of context.

Anyway, thanks for sharing your adventures and shenanigans with us, and it's okay if this is too complicated for right now.

The number of places Britain didn't try to colonise is so low that makes you a unicorn, I think. Congrats!

Happy to explain though, no worries. Part of it is the song itself, which is worth a listen to get the vibe; I do mean a bit of a hush fell over the moderately busy restaurant. It's got hella vibes.

But yes, hiraeth is a very important concept in Welsh. The best translation is 'homesickness', or maybe 'yearning', but it's more complex and nuanced than that. Sort of hard to explain. I've seen it used to describe the urge Welsh people get, when they've been away from Wales for too long, to reconnect; to journey back and climb a mountain and look down into the valley and let your soul heal. I've seen it described as the feeling of bone-deep belonging, the sense of coming home that some people feel who visit Wales for the first time, and find it speaks to them. The land reaching out for the soul, the mountains into the mind. That's hiraeth.

(There's a poem that turns up on Welsh tourist tea towels a lot, no idea where from, but it sums it up as: "To be born Welsh is to be born privileged. Not with a silver spoon in your mouth, but with music in your blood and poetry in your soul.")

I've also seen it described in internet memes as "longing for a home you can never return to", which in typical Anglophone fashion, is almost right while fundamentally misunderstanding and stripping away the most important part. Because it's the longing for a Wales we can never return to. The version of our past, without English occupation, that can never exist again. Thanks to Wales having had a fairly complex cultural and historical makeup, we were not unified as a single country until after English occupation; plenty of unified elements existed before that (uniting under a dragon to drive out the invading Saxons, for example), but not what in the modern day we'd understand as a country. But we ARE a country now; so it's a sort of shared dream. The country we could have been, should have been, can never be. The lost version of us.

That's hiraeth. It's all hiraeth. And it's all specifically Wales.

#asks #wales! #closed for cleaning on mondays #hope that makes sense it's hard to convey

[melancholymetropolis]

Exchange

plot: In which a Bridesmaid finds out she accidentally got married in Vegas months prior.

pairings: Clan Leader!Gojo Saturo x Lawyer!Reader

genre(s): Second Chance; Accidental Marriage

warnings: unedited (mostly). Golden Retriever/ Fox Au. Gojo is a goofball and makes Y/N laugh a lot. She is very much anti-marriage, but open to love. COMEDY. Couple's Banter. Lots of fluff. Gojo fell first and hard. New Love.

a/n: this will be a mini series with weekly updates.

w.c: 3.5k

“You have gotten even more beautiful since the day you left me.”

My eyes immediately widen from the sentiment. The air in my throat had become thick and my hands had begun to shake. I almost didn’t recognize his voice. Its cadence was a distant memory; one I had left behind months ago. In Vegas, of all places. It was the way he said “beautiful” that transported me back in time. It was the first thing he said to me. In a dark club, under neon lights and a cloud of smoke. He didn’t use basic, sexually charged words to get my attention. He was respectful, I liked that about him. He had been the only guy to introduce himself and offered to pay for my drink properly. He called me things like “beautiful”, “gorgeous” and “breathtaking”. Those three little words had meant more to me than whatever bullshit the other guys were doing. 

His electric, blue eyes seemed to glow in the low light. They never wandered anywhere else but my face when we talked. He seemed genuinely interested in everything I had to say. From me saying that it was my first time in Vegas to how much I hated crowded spaces. I had only come to the club to celebrate a friend’s engagement and was labeled the designated driver for that night. If I recall, he said my job was “honorable” and applauded me for taking it seriously.

And, in an effort to make up for our lost drink, he gave me his number. Told me to call him when I was free. 

Gojo’s eyes were just as I remembered. So bright and powerful— almost inviting to look into. He wore a navy blue suit to compliment the intimidating orbs and brighten his pale complexion. His unruly, white hair had been combed back with a singular curl setting in the middle of his forehead. The silver watch on his wrist looked heavy and vintage— possibly a family heirloom of some sort. I had forgotten how tall he had been. Even though I had worn six-inch heels, he still was a few inches taller than me. And I definitely was not a short woman.

“I left you?” I said, finally coming back to earth. “I don’t recall ever doing such a thing.”

A sly smirk began to form on his face. “Oh really?” He replied, taking slow steps towards me. “That’s mighty convenient on your end.”

“How so?”

“It relieves you of any guilt.”

A painful silence fell between us. Our eyes locked in a heated exchange, while our hands remained by our sides. I couldn’t deny the connection we had—couldn’t forget the spark. 

“Bride or groom?” I asked, turning my back to him. 

The tall man grew closer to me. He took his stance about two feet away from my spot on the balcony. He placed his forearms on the edge and leaned forward. There was a painful aura lingering above his head. Something was wrong. It was more than simply not seeing me for a few months. It wasn’t my habit of escaping in the middle of the night. It was complicated and conflicting.

“Groom,” he sighed, looking at the beautiful countryside of Japan. “I'm guessing you're here for the bride, given the Bridesmaid dress.”

I hummed in disagreement. “I know them both, actually. We worked at the same law firm for a couple of years. I believe I introduced them to one another, all those years ago.”

“Oh, okay,” Gojo snickered. “A divorce lawyer playing cupid. And I thought I saw everything.”

A quiet giggle fell from my lips. “That's right. Consider me a walking paradox.”

“That you are,” he replied sweetly.

The tension from earlier had broken and was replaced with a sense of familiarity. 

It was nice.

A few breaths later, Gojo opened his suit jacket and pulled out a white envelope. He handed it to me. 

I gave him a questionable look. “What's that?”

“Open it and you'll see,” was all he said before placing the envelope into my hand. 

I lifted the tab and pulled out a folded piece of paper. At the very top was the letterhead for the Clark County Department of Records in Nevada State. The letter read:

  Dear Mister Gojo Satoru,

We are pleased to inform you that your marriage license has been processed successfully and your certificate will be arriving at your residence in 3 to 4 weeks. 

As of April 25, both you and Ms. Y/N L/N are legally m—

“Nope,” I said, folding the letter and shoving it back in the envelope. “No the fuck we aren't.” I handed it back to Gojo. “Over my dead fucking body.”

“You hate me that much, sweet pea?” he chuckled. 

“I don't know you to hate you,” I replied, stuffing the envelope in my clutch purse. “And I would like to keep it that way.”

“You're breaking my heart, Y/N,” Gojo replied. His tone was still playful but there was a twinge of sadness in it. “Surely being married to me couldn’t be that bad.”

I scoffed and plucked a flute of champagne from the waiter’s tray. I took a big gulp of the bubbly beverage and sighed deeply.

Fate must've had something against me. I must've done something extraordinarily vicious in my past life to warrant such treatment. Marriage? The whole thing felt like a nightmare. I spent my whole life running from the false institution that was called “marriage”. It's a contract that almost always ends poorly. From spouses cheating on the other to emotional abuse and gaslighting— I had seen the most stable of unions crumble after a few decades. Families broken apart by secrets,  betrayal and unfortunate circumstances. Men and women alike pleading  for one more chance to correct their mistakes. And if that doesn't work, greed takes over. The desperate struggle for power between the couple and how it always ends badly. 

Marriage wasn't something I was particularly fond of. I didn’t see my sentiment changing any time soon. Even if the tall drink of water before me was legally my husband. 

I finished the rest of my beverage and placed it on a different waiter’s tray. I took several more deep breaths and turned my back to the white haired man. 

The alcohol had sedated the raging storm of emotions swirling in my being. A somber feeling eased into my heart, but I quickly shoved it back down. The blasting music in the background had made it abundantly clear that we couldn't do this here. Not now. Not at my best friends’ wedding. 

“I just need time to think this over. Figure out my next move,” I reached in my purse and pulled out a business card. I placed it on the railing. “Call me tomorrow afternoon and I'll tell you how I'd like to proceed.”

“Wait, Y/N—”

“Goodnight, Mr. Gojo.”

I didn't even look back as I walked away from him.

“Come on, Jessica,” I practically begged. “There has to be a way to end this shit sooner.”

“I hate to break it to you, Y/N,” my colleague sighed. “But there isn't. As you could imagine, a lot of people accidentally get married in Vegas. The number is close to about 50,000 couples. And a little less than half of them get their union annulled. Meaning, divorce court is overloaded with requests, follow ups and cases. If you file your paperwork today, you probably won't get a response for 1 to 3 months. Even then, the annulment might not even go through.”

“Because I was already married to him for six months without me knowing?” I said, pinching my nose bridge.

“Yup. To the judges eyes, it might not look like a mistake. He can still deny your annulment.”

My head was pounding and my mouth dry. An unknown fear started creeping up my spine. When I thought of the goals I set out for myself, for my life, marriage was never on the vision board. Especially not an accidental one. And definitely not one with a white haired, blue-eyed, Japanese man. However, he seemed to be awfully giddy about the union. Gojo sent upward of twenty text messages asking me how I was feeling or if I needed anything. He, also, suggested having lunch together to talk everything over. 

I looked out the cab’s window, watching the restaurant come into view. The place was clearly exclusive and very expensive. The right side of the establishment was made entirely of glass, overlooking the ocean just below the cliff. The sun was high in the sky and the clouds danced across her warm light. Waiting patiently in the front of the establishment was a familiar flock of white hair. The taller man had been shrouded in black this time. His overcoat perfectly matched the crisp suit underneath. The stark white shirt seemed brighter in the light; it made his chest glow. 

He looked entirely too perfect. As if he wanted to deflect my attention from something else. 

“Okay, Jess,” I said, pulling my gaze away from him. “I would like to survey all my options before I make a final decision.”

“Take all the time that you need, Y/N,” she replied in a sympathetic tone. “I will assist you in whatever way I can.”

“Thank you,” I smiled. “I will ring you soon.”

The car came to a gentle stop at the restaurant’s doors and I quickly ended the call. I thanked the driver once more and opened the car’s door. I barely had time to place my high heel on the pavement before a flock of black appeared in front of my door. A pale hand flickered in the doorway with outstretched fingers. I could only see his glowing chest and black attire from that angle. Not his face. I swung my other leg out of the other vehicle and took hold of his hand. The taller gentleman takes a firm grip and aids me out of the cab. As I rise from the leather seat, my eyes ease up his glowing chest and broad shoulders. They cascade up his broad shoulders and slender neck. His sharp jawline was relaxed and his plump lips in a soft smirk. Round sunglasses rested on his nose, covering his electric eyes. His white hair was messily styled atop his head and, also, seemed to glow in the sunlight. 

With my bag resting on my shoulder, I used my hand to close the car door behind me. Gojo held my hand tightly as he started to walk to the restaurant. The fingers were warm against my cool ones. It felt nice and. . . comforting. I didn’t have the desire to pull away from him. The realization we were still holding hands didn’t dawn on me until he dropped my mine. 

“Let me take your coat, Mrs. Gojo.”

And just like that, the cocky bastard ruined a perfectly good moment with a couple of words. 

I allowed him to slip my trench coat from my shoulders and settled in the seat before me. The taller gentleman slips off his jacket and takes the seat across from me. A toothy grin plastered on his lips as he eased the round sunglasses off his face. His eccentric eyes were already glued to my face. His gaze was unwavering. It was almost like he was waiting for me to say something in response to his little comment. The white haired man was ready for battle.

Unfortunately for him, I left my bulletproof vest at home. 

“Do you come here often?” I asked, bringing a glass of water to my lips.

Those bright blue eyes flickered to my lips. They darkened at the sight of such glossy softness and lingered on them even after I had placed the glass back on the table. It was almost like he was in some sort of trance. Lost in a memory that he treasured and never wanted to part from. 

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Gojo?”

“What gloss is that?” He questioned, abruptly breaking his gaze from my mouth.

“It’s from Juvia’s Place,” I answered with a raised eyebrow. “Why?”

“It just looks so good on you,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I want to buy you a lifetime’s supply.”

“You’re laying it on a bit thick there, don’t you think?

“That’s what you do when you’re on a date.”

“This is not a date,” I deadpanned. 

“Sure it is,” Gojo chirped. “I mean why else would we be in such a romantic establishment.”

The wife joke seemed to be a warning shot in hindsight. The taller gentleman was trying to test the waters to see just how far he could push me. I left him stranded the day prior. In mid sentence. He was not able to plead his case, explain his side of the situation. I had laid my intentions out to him loud and clear. I wanted zero parts in this relationship. Our union was supposed to be limited anyhow. A vacation fling that went on a little too long for anyone’s liking. At least for my liking. The marriage was clearly a mistake and one I wanted to rectify quickly. However, any time I clearly displayed my disinterest in our union, Gojo was quick to deflect with a quip. That meant he wasn’t going to take anything I said or did seriously. I would have to approach this matter from a new angle. 

I would have to play his game and play it well. 

The waiter walked over to the table and set down our menus. “Is there anything I could get started for you?”

I hummed sweetly and looked over at Gojo. “What do you recommend? I’ve never been here before.”

The man’s chest practically swelled at the sentences. A new source of pride pumping through his veins. A sly smile fell on his lips as the words started to pour from his lips. In Japanese. 

“What dishes do you have without shellfish? She’s allergic.”

The question caused my eyebrows to shoot up. 

I didn’t remember disclosing that information to him. At least, in the past twenty-fours that we had reunited. That could only mean that he remembered the little tidbit I shared all those months ago. Six months to be exact. He carried that information with him for half the year, almost like he intended to use it again. His memory must’ve been impeccable, which was why he was able to recognize me at first glance at the wedding. Looking back, I didn’t even notice him until he approached me on the balcony. I had been seated with the rest of the wedding party, practically on a stage overlooking the venue and I still didn’t spot him. He would be hard not to notice. He was one of the only people I knew with stark white hair and was under the age of eighty. Along with those electric blue eyes that pierced me like a needle. The chemistry we had was undeniable and I knew we shared a mutual attraction to one another. 

Would that be enough to have a fulfilling marriage?

The waiter skated away with our orders and Gojo’s eyes locked back with mine.

“So, how long are you in Japan for?” He asked, bring a glass of water to his lips.

“Originally, I was supposed to only stay two weeks for the wedding,” I answered, tapping my hand on the edge of the table. “But, a potential client just called and asked for a consultation. They are from New York but live in Japan temporarily. So, the answer is a little unclear for me at the moment.”

The taller gentleman sighed, amused. “It seems like I have a little bit of time before we part ways once again. The heavens have truly blessed me this time.”

“And just what do you intend to do with that information, Mr. Gojo?”

“I’d like to convince you to remain Mrs. Gojo for the rest of our days together.”

“As in for the time being? While I am in Japan?”

Gojo smirked at that comment. “As in for the rest of your life, sweetheart.”

I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. “And how exactly are you going to get me to do that?”

Gojo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His pink lips spread into a full blown smile. Those blue orbs sparkled dangerously as they flickered over my face. He seemed to be brimming with excitement. He wanted nothing more than to display his nefarious plan and keep me entangled in his spider’s web. 

“Originally, I planned on going the traditional route,” he conceded. “Showering you in gifts, expensive dinners and maybe a romantic weekend trip to Nokonoshima Island.”

“Buying a woman’s love? That is very traditional.”

“I know, but you are not a traditional woman,” he observed. “You are a divorce attorney. You are used to men attempting to buy a woman’s affection.”

“Very true.”

“So I came up with a proposal.”

“Do tell.”

“As you said, you don’t know me to hate me. Which means you don’t know me to like me either. And I, personally, think I am pretty fucking awesome.”

I chuckled, loudly. “You’re that confident, huh?”

“I am. Which is why I am suggesting that, for however long you are in Japan, we hang out.” 

“Hang out?”

“I would like to use this time to get to know each other. Continue what we started back in Vegas. Before you left me.”

“I didn’t leave you.”

The white haired man scoffed and leaned closer to me. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s not lie to each other. You practically ran your pretty booty out of my hotel room the moment the sun came up.”

“That’s not true!” I interjected with a smile.

“It is true! And you had the nerve to leave me a couple of twenties on the nightstand like I was sorta cheap whore you met on the street. I never felt so violated in my life.”

A fit of giggles burst from my lips, shattering the remaining wall we had between us. 

“That was never my intention! I just felt bad for ripping the buttons off of your Armani shirt. So I gave you some cash for dry cleaning.”

“There’s no need to explain yourself, Y/N. Your message was loud and clear,” he sighed dramatically, leaning back in your chair. “I was just your sexy little secret for the weekend. No plans of marrying me. You just wanted to hit it and quit. Leaving me to deal with the pain of your absence alone. Not even a cover to keep me warm, just the memories of our last rendezvous.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” I laughed, shaking my head. 

“However,” Gojo replied, completely ignoring my comment. “Unlucky for you, I have decided to get revenge by blackmailing you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“If you don’t hang out with me while you’re in Japan, I am gonna tell everyone you snore in your sleep.”

“I do not!”

“And you are a blanket hogger!”

“Blasphemy!”

“And you got me pregnant while we were in Vegas.”

A slew of laughter erupted from my being and I could feel tears beginning to prick the edges of my eyes. “ That is not even scientifically possible."

"It is so!" He laughed. "Why else would I have morning sickness and swollen ankles?"

"Gojo, please. I cannot breath. . . !"

"How could you attempt to abandon your child, Y/N?" He crossed her arms over his chest and playfully shook his head. "I am not fit to be a single mother and take care our baby alone."

"Well," I paused and attempted to catch my breath. "You should've just kept your legs closed and this wouldn't have happened."

The taller man let out a dramatic gasp and placed a hand to his chest. "Did you. . . did you just try to slut shame me? After you basically paid for my services? How dare you?"

I lifted a glass of water to my lips; a weak attempt to calm my explosive chuckles down. I gulped the cool drink down and placed the glass back on the table. In the same instance, the waiter started to place our meal before us. There had been a collection of small plates carrying different items on them. Some had stir-fried vegetables and garnish, while others had different kinds of sauces. The bigger plates had anything between sashimi and grilled fish to sauteed pork and beef. Once the waiters were done plating, our table was suited for royalty. All the different dishes came together to create a marvelous spread and their aromas were simply magical together. 

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a little bit of everything,” Gojo replied, meeting my gaze over the food. “I hope that’s okay with you.”

Like a light switch, the playful (borderline pain in my ass) was tucked away from view and replaced with a dashing gentleman. Familiar feelings started to bubble in my chest. Ones I had tucked away months ago. A small wave of adoration danced between our beings. Along with attraction. The little exchange, our unorthodox banter, had lightened the tension that was between us since we reunited. It made room for why we were originally drawn to each other. His playful, almost youthful, side was almost like a cushion in my high-stress daily life. He breathed cool air into my hot tempered mind and gave me a sense of mental clarity I never experienced. It was easy for me to like him. To be attracted to him. To lust for him. But to love him?

That seemed like a different story. 

“It’s perfect.”

---------

Part II

a/n: don't fight me y'all! i've been adulting something fierce. as previously mentioned, this will be a series and i will post updates regularly. if you would like to be on the official taglist, let me know.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #x reader #gojo satoru #jjk satoru #gojou satoru x y/n #gojou satoru x you #jujutsu satoru #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen satoru #satorugojo #jujutsu gojo #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #chubby!reader #plus size reader #black reader #chubby reader #gojo saturo fluff #gojo x black reader #gojo x black y/n #gojo x plus sized reader #gojo x chubby reader #accidental marriage

[lovelybrooke]

So about the genshin impact ask!

I was wanting to maybe ask for a platonic yandere Harbinger like Dottore with a teen reader but if it's a little complicated to write considering he gets mischaractarised alot lol I don't mind any other harbinger :D

Thank you!

Platonic Yandere Il Dottore x teen reader.

I'm gonna be completely honest, my understanding of his lore/personality is very surface level since we didn't really get to know him during the Sumeru Archon quest. It was mostly just setting him up as a villain.

However, I've really been wanting to get back into genshin, so I thought this would be a good start. Please feel free to tell me if there is something wrong with my characterization. Also please request more genshin stuff, I'd love to write for it more.

masterlist

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I see Dottore is very manipulative and controlling. No matter who you are, he will find a way to take control of you and your life. Dottore is known as the doctor, so I could see him taking you in a student, especially if you have the same views as him when it comes to the Archons. If you don't, then he'll manipulate you into thinking the way he does. He will not have you worshiping those false idols around him. I could also see him growing fond of one of Arlecchino's orphans. Why he's so drawn to you is a mystery. You could remind him of his younger self, striving for recognition among a sea of morons. Perhaps you're low ranking Fatui member, someone who works under him and strokes his ego in a way he oh so enjoys. Either way, the outcome will always be the same.

Dottore needs to control you. It's in his nature. As his student, he sees nothing wrong with telling you what to do and how to do it, including moving into a spare room in his lab. He doesn't understand why you feel the need to argue with him, he is your superior and you will listen to him. However, there is a small part of him that is worried for you, and it's easy to make sure you're okay when he's the one making every decision for you. If you just let him decide what you're eating, and what you're learning, and when you can leave the lab, then you'll be perfectly safe.

Dottore feels no problem with manipulating you, in fact he enjoys it. You are a child, expressed in the way you act and the way you are so, very naive. It's for your own good really, and it really isn't manipulation if what he's telling you is the truth. The world outside his Lab is dangerous, scary, and would rip you alive limb to limb if you're not careful. So, you should just let him take care of you, it's easier that way.

Some days, you'll get a completely different Dottore. One who's sweet and caring, who lets you have a few extra minutes at breakfast before starting classes. Who smiles at your clear excitement when you preform an experiment right. However, there are other days when Dottore is more cruel, who yells and screams when you try to leave. Who says he will hunt you down, that there isn't anywhere in Teyvat that can keep you safe from him. Who locks you in your room when you're misbehaving. You know that it's his clones, but sometimes they stay for too long, wearing down you down until you're on your last leg, only for his mood to flip. It's scary, and honestly you're not sure if that's the point.

Dottore encourages any behavior similar to his. This isn't just strictly related to his work, he will praise you when you're cruel to others, when you are calculating in stressful situations, even when you're short with him, a part of him is proud. Dottore likes when he can see himself in you, it fills him with a strange sense of joy, one that he usually finds disgusting. But when it's because of you, he doesn't find himself hating it as much.

Dottore doesn't want you interacting at all with the other harbingers, or anyone else for the matter. He want's you all to himself. You are his, that's final. He needs you to be with him, he'd never admit it but he doesn't know what he'd do without his favorite student. He'd go even more insane without you, so don't you dare leave him.

---

A/n: Idk about this one, Dottore is so hard to write for. Sorry if this was short.

#yandere x reader #soft yandere #platonic yandere #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact

[bobsyourdylan]

Okay, so – a few thoughts on Izzy’s death. I’m sure other people have also laid this out, but I haven’t stumbled across it yet, so this is partially for me to get my thoughts organized. For the record, I love Izzy – he fascinated me (in a horrified sort of way) in season 1, and then he grew on me significantly in season 2. What a weird little guy. But also – I’m fine with them killing him off, and also with how they did it, because I think it makes sense for the story. But I know that a lot of people are super upset about his death, and also about the way he died. So, a few semi-coherent thoughts on that: 

Why not a sacrifice play?

This writer’s room is so self-aware, so deliberate about engaging with tropes – there is no possible way that they sat around breaking the story of Izzy’s death and no one said “woah, wouldn’t it be symbolic and gut-wrenching if he sacrificed himself for Ed? Or Stede?” No way. So why didn’t they go that route? 

Izzy’s arc in season 2 has been all about becoming his own man, separate from Ed/Blackbeard. Like – that’s what he’s worked towards, this whole season. That is his growth. It would be insulting to take that away from him at the last minute, and make his death purely about Ed and Stede.

Listen, I love a sacrifice arc as much as the next person. But Izzy’s life isn’t about sacrifice anymore – that’s the whole point of his season 2 arc. He has spent decades sacrificing both himself and Ed to the altar of Blackbeard. No more. 

It also means that Ed and Stede’s mourning doesn’t have to be tinged with the guilt of “he sacrificed himself to save me/my partner.” They can mourn Izzy purely for himself, because he is worth mourning. This, I would argue, is the send-off that Izzy’s character deserves.

Izzy’s death wasn’t accidental on Ricky’s part – it wasn’t a stray bullet.

We see from the scene when the crew is locked up in Spanish Jackie’s that Ricky recognizes Izzy. We know from their conversation that, for Ricky, Izzy is the epitome of piracy – Izzy, not Blackbeard, is the legend.

The thing is – Ed and Stede are both in the scene where Izzy dies (I’m not sure if you can see Stede on screen, but the bts photos show Rhys’ position, on what would be the far right of the shot). Arguably, Stede would have been the easier shot – Ricky wouldn’t have had to complete a full 180-degree turn before he could pull the trigger. So why doesn’t he go for Stede, who abandoned him to the tender mercies of Spanish Jackie in the first place? Or Blackbeard, arguably the greatest/most famous pirate alive, with the possible exception of Zheng, who he’s already targeted? Sure, you could argue that he’d going for Ed here… but I don’t think he is. The shot’s too low to be accidentally aimed for Izzy – it would hit Ed’s knee or something, probably. I think that yes, it’s a panicked shot, not well-aimed at all. But if it’s aimed at anyone, I think it has to be Izzy. And at the very least, the symbolism of it is very much not accidental.

For probably the first time since they created Blackbeard, Izzy isn’t just a stand-in for Ed. His significance is his own in this scene – in all of his interactions with Ricky. He’s not targeted because he’s Blackbeard’s first mate (why go for the first mate when you could go for Blackbeard?). He’s targeted because he’s Izzy Hands – because he is significant, powerful, famous, respected in and of himself.

And more than that – this is an arc about the end of piracy. And Izzy Hands is piracy – the show has been telling us from the beginning that piracy is a mixed bag, full of the good and the bad, and Izzy represents that  – represents both the toxic, violent side of piracy, and the side of piracy that he grows into, that he explains to Ricky – piracy as family, home, belonging. Izzy dies, and it hurts, because not only is he a great character, but he represents in one person all of the complicated, hilarious, heartbreakin, violent, loving aspects of piracy – and of the show. But it is so, so important that Izzy dies as himself – not as a symbol or shield of Ed, or Stede, or Blackbeard. Not even as a symbol of piracy, but instead as the active embodiment of piracy – as something/someone who grows, changes, ends. Not as static or passive, but as better than when we first met him, as transformed as Buttons in his own way. 

Izzy’s death sets up a possible revenge arc:

We know that everything in this show ties back to the main relationship between Ed and Stede. Izzy’s death is, I think, significant on its own, for him as a character – but it is also, by necessity, significant to Ed and Stede’s relationship. Namely – it sets up an interesting conflict for season 3 re: a potential revenge arc for Ed. 

Now, clearly they’ve carefully ended season 2 on a relatively high note in case we don’t get a season 3. But we know they’re gonna be terrible at running an inn, and we know there’s unfinished business with Ricky. Ed’s current strategy of dealing with everything that’s happened seems to be “I don’t want to be a pirate, get me out of here” – which, while fair enough, won’t last, because that’s the nature of unfinished business. So, at some point, Ed and Stede are going to need to confront Ricky again. And, if the writers decide to lean into the revenge arc, I’d say the odds are pretty high that, when Ed lays eyes on Ricky again, we get a flashback to Izzy’s death. 

And this sets us up for a pivotal, and necessary, moment in Ed’s character arc: when confronted with pain, loss, negative emotion in general – can Ed deal with it without losing himself? Ed needs a balance between the Kraken, Blackbeard, and Edward, and we see at the end of season 1 and beginning of season 2 how challenging that balance is for him to find, especially when confronted with loss or pain. We can see Ed working towards that balance when he’s interacting with Low – Low’s taunts don’t push Ed to violence, but instead get to Stede. But comparatively, Izzy’s loss is a much greater blow, and at some point, Ed is going to need to confront that.

Plus – we know the writing team are thinking of Izzy’s death at least partially in terms of the mentor/mentee arc, which often confronts the question of revenge – after the mentor’s death, the mentee is required to choose on their own how to go on, what kind of person they want to be. And this often requires a confrontation with both the mentor’s loss and a decision about how far they want to take their desire for revenge.

Why not a cooler death?

Okay — I get this criticism. I do. Izzy is an amazing fighter, we all love that about him. And you can keep most of the above symbolism and still have him die fighting two dozen British soldiers. 

But — again — we are back to the root of this show: Ed and Stede. 

Izzy has two deaths this season: one in the premiere, one in the finale. The first is Stede’s fantasy. Cool swordfight, and Stede triumphs, obviously — but the premise of the fight is that Izzy’s a great swordsman and Stede bests him because now Stede’s a great pirate. This is Stede’s ideal pirate fantasy. 

But Izzy’s actual death is not like this. It is messy and inelegant and painful and no one gets any glory from it at all and Ed is crying with Izzy dying in his arms, and Stede wants to help, goes for bandages, but he doesn’t know what to do and it’s not enough anyways — And this is not a fantasy anymore. This is piracy, and this is the piracy that Ed wants to escape. And it’s important that Stede sees this, sees what Ed is done with. 

And it’s also important that Stede tries to save Izzy. Izzy isn’t just a symbolic barrier between Stede and Ed anymore, to be sacrificed to Stede’s reunion fantasy. He’s his own person, with his own death, and Izzy has grown, yes, but so has Stede.

And by using Izzy’s death to make this point, we both get Stede learning the reality of piracy and growing beyond his fantasy, and the glorious fantasy fight kiss i love you reunion between Ed and Stede (if Ed and Stede had reunited by fighting off dozens of British soldiers, but Izzy had died doing the same, the dissonance would have messed with both the death and the reunion, because we the audience wouldn’t be able to distinguish between the fantasy and reality worlds). And getting both of these is the premise of the show — fantasy and reality both. 

And sure — you can be mad that the show used Izzy in this way. But that is the show’s premise — everything is in service of the protagonists and their relationship. This is not a surprise— it’s been openly talked about since day 1. 

You don’t have to like what the writers did. You don’t have to agree that it was the correct choice. But they have proven to us, time and time again over the last year, that they are self-aware and careful with this show that they know we love so much. So we absolutely owe it, to them and to ourselves, to ask why they made a choice that not everyone may agree with. What is the payoff? Why did they decide to do this thing that they knew would upset fans? Because we know it’s not that they hate us. So what is it? You don’t have to agree that the payoff is worth it. But do the writers, and the show, and yourself the favor of recognizing that there is a payoff here.

#screaming into the void #as someone who studies and teaches literary analysis for a living #i am begging everyone to please at least try to think through the reasons for this arc #ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #the izcourse #ofmd s2 meta #ofmd meta #our flag means death #our flag means death s2 #i’m gonna regret getting involved and i know it #but i just had to get this off my chest

[somber-sapphic]

Was wondering if I would be ok to request a sick reader with Wandanat where readers just come out of surgery (could be for anything, like injured on a mission, wisdom teeth etc) and they’re kind of loopy still, not really sure if it counts as a sick fix though so I don’t mind if it’s not your thing 😅

A Little Less Wisdom

〖Notes: Okay, I had my wisdom teeth out a few months ago and I thought I'd be funny after waking up. NO. I just cried. I cried a lot. And then I got confused and hit my ride home. It was a long day.〗

〖Summary: You need your wisdom teeth out.〗

〖Word Count: 1320〗

〖Pairing: Wandanat x Sick Reader〗

☾Masterlists☽

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Out of all of the problems you could face as a superhero, ‘impacted wisdom teeth’ was never on your list. It hadn’t even crossed your mind; it just wasn’t something you’d ever believed that you’d need to worry about. Maybe there was a part of you that considered the possibility, but when there were so many other more dangerous things to worry about dental health didn’t really make the top hundred.

But two weeks ago, when your girlfriends had noticed the way you were avoiding hard foods and the copious amounts of over-the-counter pain meds you were taking, they finally said something. It really didn’t click to you that anything was wrong until Natasha had brought it up, a look on her face that betrayed her true concern.

Once they had completed their makeshift intervention, you began to notice the real pain in your mouth and began to wonder how exactly you had ignored it in the first place. Your best guess was that something was always hurting from one battle or another, that this one just didn’t seem too pressing. That sprained ankle had been a worse issue than the tooth pain. Until you noticed it, of course.

After a checkup from Dr. Helen Cho (who reiterated over and over again that she was not a dentist) and a few x-rays later, you were found to have “severely impacted” wisdom teeth. Not just regularly impacted, but severely. Not only that, but it was all four of them. You didn’t do anything in halves.

Wanda had been shocked at how well you had been hiding your discomfort, while Natasha was more focused on helping you to feel better. She wanted you to have surgery as quickly as possible, stating her concerns about possible complications and expected recovery time.

This was her way of expressing her love, getting overly caught up on details, and making sure that everything was 100% taken care of so that neither you nor Wanda had to worry. She was a wonderful girlfriend.

The day of the surgery came and went, a mission getting in the way of your dental care. This didn’t particularly bother you, part of you (as embarrassed as you felt) was incredibly nervous about the operation. You had read up about it in secret and had learned about every single complication ever recorded in human history.

This was, of course, a bad idea. Now you were panicking about dry-socket, nerve damage, infection, and possible death as a result of the anesthetic. The idea of being completely out of control of your surroundings was not one that you particularly enjoyed.

Unfortunately, beings who wanted to destroy the human race could only keep you from getting your wisdom teeth out for so long. The day arrived and you were mildly freaking out about it. Wanda, who could literally sense your emotions, had been trying to keep you calm by distracting you with silly little tasks and offering small comforts.

Natasha was less subtle about her attempts to soothe you; she straight up hadn’t left your side the whole day. She kept murmuring reassurances to you while you watched some dumb TV show and had even done research of her own to combat what you had found. She combatted your fear with love and statistics. These two very different ways of trying to make you feel less anxious were working very well together to put you at ease.

You lay back in the dentist’s chair and stared with panic-filled eyes at your loving girlfriends who were hovering in the doorway, unable to enter the sterile field. Suddenly, a very loud thought filled your head.

It’s all going to be okay. Breathe. We’ll be right here. You’ll be okay.

It was hard to describe how it felt when Wanda projected a thought into your mind. You could tell that it wasn’t a thought of your own, it had a comforting feeling. A soft, gentle, loving feeling. It put you at ease more than the intravenous anesthetic that was being pumped into your body.

The last thing you felt as you closed your eyes was that lingering emotion that Wanda had pushed into your mind.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“They’re waking up,” Natasha murmured, nudging Wanda slightly. The witch looked up from her phone where she had been anxiously tapping away at some game, a look of relief flooding her face. The two women stared down at you, both smiling as your beautiful e/c eyes fluttered open.

“Hey sweetie, how are you feeling?” Wanda cooed softly, reaching out to brush a few strands of hair out of your lashes. You opened your mouth as if about to speak, but then closed it again. You repeated the motion a few times, your eyebrows furrowing slightly as you started to reach up for your mouth.

“No no no, let’s not do that. We’ve gotta leave that alone for now, okay?” The brunette chastised, quickly pulling your hand away. You pulled a pout, but the time it took for you to actually change your expression was absolutely hilarious. It took you a full five seconds to register that something had been said and react to it.

“Mh mufh iffmahds.” You mumbled around the gauze, the words you were trying to say lost around the cotton fabric stuffed into your mouth. Natasha leaned forward and bent down to kiss your head, leaving her lips there for a few moments to express her relief. She knew that nothing bad would happen to you, but the anxiety was always going to be there.

“Just rest baby, we’ll talk when you’re a little more awake.” She said kindly, grabbing Wanda’s hand as your eyes fell closed again. The redhead turned to her and grinned before kissing her soft pink lips.

“They’ll be okay Wands.” She reassured, resting her forehead against Wanda’s.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The peace of you being sort of asleep only lasted for twenty or so minutes. This time when you woke back up, you were ready to go. You quite literally came up swinging, your eyes wide and yelling something that neither of your girlfriends could understand through the gauze.

“Woah! Calm down, it’s alright babe, it’s okay.” Natasha said, reaching over to grab your fists.

“The chicken! The chicken’s comin’!” You cried, forcing the words out as you struggled against the grasp of your concerned girlfriend.

“What are you talking about? There’s no chicken!” The redhead replied, sounding frantic as she dodged a kick aimed at her face. You weren’t fully coherent, but your fighting skills were still very much intact. You had trained for this and were using your training to keep yourself safe from the aforementioned chicken.

“Robot chickens! So many, too many, can’t do it, gotta go!” You spat out, starting to get out of the reclining chair. You made it halfway up before falling back again, not entirely prepared for the weight of gravity. Gravity was hard.

“Y/n, Y/n. Listen to me. There are no chickens, okay? We’re in medical, you had surgery, and it’s all okay. Relax babes. You’re safe. It's just Nat and me.” Wanda soothed, putting every bit of calming energy into her voice. She felt bad for using witchcraft on you to alter your emotions, but she needed to calm you down as quickly as possible.

Thankfully, it worked. You sat back and relaxed, your body going limp against Natasha’s. You quite literally fell against your favorite assassin but remained conscious this time, breathing heavily as you relaxed again.

“I don’t like poultry.” You grumbled, nuzzling your face into Natasha’s shoulder. The redhead laughed softly, and Wanda let out a weary sigh, a grin spreading over her face. The operation was over, but it was becoming more and more obvious that that had been the easy part. Now they had to deal with an incredibly confused, slightly high you who would probably remember absolutely none of this.

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